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ipuckwithhockey · 4 years ago

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He Doesn’t Hate You - Boone Jenner

A/N: I’ve been in a Columbus mood... Also, I know Seth is a little problematic but it just seemed to flow best with him as the best friend. This is pretty short and sweet. Let me know what y’all think! (I did not edit this so beware of typos)

warnings: nothing really? some swear words, drinking, nothing too crazy, this is pretty soft

——

You met Boone a few months ago when you moved to Columbus for your new job. You grew up down the street from Seth Jones, and so when you got the job offer in Columbus you couldn’t turn it down. You and Seth were close friends growing up, even when him and his family were moving around for his dad’s basketball career. You had older brothers who played sports with Seth, but you were always on their coat tails trying your best to keep up.

By the time you got settled into your new apartment, Seth had returned to the city for training camp. Seth had insisted that as your surrogate big brother he had to show you around town, and so you found yourself hanging out with him whenever you weren’t working. You didn’t know anyone else in Ohio so if you wanted social interaction outside of work, Seth was basically it.

A couple weeks after Seth got back to Columbus, he started mentioning that you needed to meet the guys on the team. He kept saying that they were like his other family and that you would love them too. You didn’t doubt him, but you were busy and tired with work and big social gatherings just didn’t seem appealing to you.

Eventually you caved, just like you knew you would, and that’s how you found yourself in a casual bar meeting the members of the Columbus Blue Jackets.

You really liked most of the team. Seth was right, Josh was a big teddy bear who you really couldn’t see getting into scrums on the ice, and you were definitely going to be good friends. Pierre seemed like a nice kid who was really finding his way in the NHL, and Cam definitely didn’t seem old enough to be a dad. Cam’s wife Natalie had come too, and she was so sweet. You quickly became a part of the CBJ group and everyone was so great and welcoming…

Except Boone. Boone Jenner.

It’s not that he was being rude, he just didn’t seem too interested in anything you had to say. Whenever you were around him he’d stop talking, or just leave. The eye contact? Non-Existent. He would never even look at you. It was like he just didn’t want to be friends with you and you had no idea why.

You brought it up to Seth one day and he just replied with “He’ll come around. He’s just not good around new people.”

You wanted to believe Seth but something about it just didn’t seem right. Boone was pretty cute, and he was always in a great mood with his friends, and he seemed like a really nice guy when he was with them. If he wasn’t so weird around you, you might actually be into him.

——

“Dude. Why are you being so weird?”

“Seth, what the hell are you talking about?” Boone looks over his shoulder to see Seth coming into the locker room to get ready for practice.

“Y/N thinks you hate her. She keeps asking me what she did to make you not want to be her friend.”

“What? I don’t hate her”

“Dude. I know. I also know you’re not good at the whole flirting thing but avoiding her every time she comes into the room isn’t helping your case.”

“Wh-what? I’m not trying to flirt with her.”

“HA. Yeah, ok..”

And that’s the end of the conversation as more guys pile into the room to get ready.

Boone’s a bit nervous now, and thinks that maybe Seth has figured him out. He didn’t hate Y/N. He actually really liked her. When she showed up to the bar that first night he was almost pissed that Seth hadn’t mentioned how beautiful she was. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. And then she starts talking about football and is giving everyone shit about being Browns fans, and reminiscing about growing up playing soccer down the street with Seth. She tried explaining her job, but it was way over Boone’s head. She was funny, and smart, and sure of herself, and he knew he was screwed.

Boone wasn’t known for being the best with the ladies. He did ok for himself, but he was more of the shy type, while Andy and Jonesy were more outgoing player types. So every time she was around he got nervous. It’s like he just couldn’t think of anything to say, and when he did he thought you would think he was an idiot, so he just avoided you.

——

“Seth, I know you guys just won a big game, but I’m tired and I don’t really want to spend the whole night in a bar pretending to be friends with Boone.” You’re complaining over the phone as Seth tries to convince you to come out with them. You hadn’t seen him in almost two weeks since you’ve both been busy with work. A night out honestly seemed fun, but the thought of Boone making the dynamic weird all night had you trying to get out of it.

“Y/N for god’s sake, he doesn’t hate you! He likes you! and i think you just make him nervous because he’s a fucking idiot.”

He likes you… He likes you?

“Seth. What are you talking about. He barely even speaks to me.”

“BECAUSE HE LIKES YOU.”

“That literally doesn’t make any sense.”

“Whatever. I’ll see you at the bar in an hour!” and he hangs up the phone.

Now you’re just left sitting there thinking about what Seth just said. Boone. Boone Jenner. Likes you? But against all better judgement you kind of get it. He does get a little blushy when you accidentally touch his arm or laugh at his jokes… Maybe Seth is right…

——

“Booner, Y/N is coming tonight, do us all a favor and just make a move already. We can’t take anymore of you being an awkward idiot in front of her.” Seth is teasing Boone as they make their way to the bar to get a round of drinks, but now that Boone knows you’re coming out, he’s nervous. Should he make a move? Will you reject him and then make the whole dynamic of the group even weirder? What if you don’t reject him…

He’s lost in thought while everyone has settled into a booth toward the back of the bar when you appear in front of them. You’re wearing tight black jeans, a leather jacket, and a satin tank top that is loosely hanging off your frame. You look good. And Boone definitely noticed.

“Hey guys, big win, eh?” You make sure to put the very Canadian sounding ‘eh’ on the end as you reach over to ruffle Andy’s hair.

“Yeah, you should have been there! It’s like your job is more important to you than coming to our games!”

“Andy, believe it or not, my job IS more important than coming to your all’s games! BUT what’s most important to me right now, is getting a drink.” You laugh and turn away from the boys heading to the bar, but this time noticing that Boone’s eyes are following you. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t put a little more effort into your makeup and outfit after your conversation with Seth, but that still didn’t change the fact that Boone doesn’t hardly speak to you.

When you make it to the bar, you remember just how busy downtown Columbus can be on a Friday night. It’s packed, and getting a bartender to notice you is going to take some time. You’re almost ready to just give up when you see Boone push through the crowd and grab a bartender’s attention like its the easiest thing he’s ever done. You scoff, knowing that you were still just trying to get up to the bar, let alone trying to get the attention of someone who would take your order.

“Here.” You turn around to see Boone, holding a drink out to you.

“Oh. Thanks! You didn’t have to do that,” you say as you take the drink from him.

“I figured, you’d probably be waiting a while, thought I’d help you out,” he smiles at you and leaves you to walk back to the group. You notice just how long he actually held eye contact with you, and take in his perfect beard and beautiful eyes. Instinctively you raise the glass to your lips as you watch him walk back to your friends, and then you realize he had ordered your favorite drink. How did he even know?

But Boone knew your drink of choice because he was always watching you. He couldn’t take his eyes off of you when you were in the same room.

When you got back to the booth, the seat next to Boone was empty so you sat down and joined in the conversation. The night went on and as more drinks flowed you and Boone started to converse more. He seemed more relaxed and you were actually having a really good time, and every once in a while your legs would touch, sending heat through your bodies.

You and Boone had really done a 180 in the last couple of hours.

The alcohol was probably giving you more confidence than you would normally have, but as you were sitting there laughing at a story that Seth and Andy were trying to tell, you let your hand fall on Boone’s leg. You felt him tense for a second but then relaxed into your touch.

You turn to him and whisper in his ear to thank him for the drink, “you knew it was my favorite didn’t you?”

With your hand on is leg, and your breath hot against his ear, he can barely even focus on what you’re saying, but he manages to nod his head in response to your question.

You let out a little laugh as you lean into Boone’s side and turn back to listen in on the story being told. Seth was right. He was definitely into you.

#boone jenner #boone jenner fic #boone jenner imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #columbus blue jackets #hockey imagine #hockey fic #hockey writing #hockey fanfiction #seth jones

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365daysofsasuhina · 4 years ago

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[ Your Eyes Only || SasuHina Zine 2020 ] [ Hyūga Hinata, Hyūga Hiashi, Uchiha Sasuke, Uchiha Itachi ] [ Death, car accident, [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ AO3 Link ]

She didn’t like the new house at first.

There was a lot she didn’t understand when things began to change. Like why her little sister and her mother came home from the hospital...and then her mother left again. Any time she asked, her father would get so sad. All he would ever say was that her mother was gone, and never coming back. No real explanation. No reason to placate her worry. But Hinata was far too young then to truly comprehend death. So she was left with a quiet, grieving father...and a baby sister who would never know their mother as Hinata had.

She felt so...alone.

And then, after two years in the quiet, somber house...her father tells her they can’t stay there anymore. The weight of his grief has finally become too much, needing to distance himself from the woman and her memories.

So Hinata, Hiashi, and little Hanabi leave the home Hinata has always known for one across town.

It’s cheap - a bit suspiciously so. According to the realtor, there have been two deaths in the home recently, and the remaining family had to relocate...hence the sale. Hiashi, ever the skeptic, doesn’t find the news troubling, and thinks the sizable backyard is worth a bit of rumor milling in the neighborhood.

Hinata, however, soon realizes that something is...off.

She never sees anything. But there are...feelings. It’s often said that children are more sensitive to what lies beyond. And yet no matter how many times she tells her father, he brushes her off as just indulging in childish make-believe. So from the moment they move in, she finds herself a bit...nervous in her own home.

And then...it gets stranger.

Sitting idly on a swing in the backyard, Hinata vaguely pushes herself back and forth with the toes of her sandals in the track of dirt beneath the seat. There’s actually quite a bit of play equipment left behind. Whoever lived here before must have had kids, too. And yet...she can’t help but feel a little awkward trying to play with them. Like they aren’t really...hers.

“...hello…?”

Head snapping up, she freezes like a doe caught in headlights, eyes wide and scanning the yard. Who...who said that? She doesn’t see anyone, but...she could have sworn…?

“...u doing h…?”

With a soft gasp, Hinata scrambles off the swing and tumbles to the grass, heart hammering in her chest. There! It was...a voice! Someone is here, but...she can’t see them!

“W...who are you?” she manages to call out, her own tone shaking with fear. Is it...a ghost…?

...silence.

Trembling and too scared to move, Hinata keeps flickering her gaze across the yard. The swingset is empty, the play fort unoccupied. No one is sitting in the sandbox.

...but then…

Drawn to movement, Hinata’s eyes shift to the largest tree in the yard. From behind the trunk, hidden mostly in shadow...a figure peers back at her.

They look to be about her size. From here, however, she can’t make out much else. But given their hiding posture...it’s clear they’re just as nervous as she is.

There’s a long, quiet impasse as they stare at one another.

“...where...w-where did you come from…?” Her voice is still quiet, almost afraid that being too loud will prompt the figure to attack. But it doesn’t move.

“...I should ask you that...this is my yard…”

Hinata’s brows furrow. “...but...we moved here. My dad, he...he bought this house. It was empty…”

“Empty…? But...”

Whoever this is, they sound like a child. And slowly, Hinata finds her fear fading away, replaced instead by a growing curiosity. Cautiously, she hauls herself to her feet. “...what’s your name?”

“...Sasuke...who’re you?”

“My name is...is Hinata. I’m s-seven.”

“Yeah? Me too…”

Testing her luck, Hinata starts working her way closer. And slowly, she can see more of her new companion. A boy, a little taller than herself. Dark, unruly hair seems to defy gravity, matching eyes watching her warily. And yet...beneath his half-hearted glower...he looks scared. “Where did...did you come from…?”

“My house, duh.” He points to what is now Hinata’s house.

“...are you a ghost?” she whispers.

His nose wrinkles. “What? No! Do I look like a ghost to you?”

Well...he has a point. Ghosts are usually white and see-through, right? But he looks completely solid. And as Hinata inches closer, raising a hand...she feels her fingers press against his shoulder.

“What are you doing?”

“I-I...I had to make sure y-y-you...weren’t a ghost.”

The boy scoffs again. “I told you, I’m not!”

“But…”

“Come on, I’ll show you!” Taking Hinata’s hand and ignoring her squeak of surprise, Sasuke hauls her up toward the house. He opens the slider, heading inside and calling, “Mom! Dad!”

...there’s no reply.

“Ugh, they must’ve gone to town again...they do that a lot without saying anything. I hope Itachi is still here…”

“Itachi…?”

“My big brother. Did you see him?”

“Um...no. I-I’ve only seen you.”

Grunting in reply, Sasuke keeps going, and tugs open the door to the study, which Hiashi has turned into his home office for work. He’s seated at his computer, doing whatever it is grown ups do for work.

“Who’s that?”

“M...my dad,” Hinata whispers, not wanting to get caught.

But Hiashi already heard the door, turning to look at her with a furrowed brow. “Hinata...do you need something?”

Looking to her father, then Sasuke, and back again, there’s a long pause before she mumbles, “N...no, Father. S-sorry. I-I…”

Sighing, Hiashi glances to his computer before looking back. “I told you, I’m very busy. Stay in the backyard and play until dinner, please.”

“Y-yes, Father.” Giving Sasuke’s hand a tug, she leads him back out into the hall, shutting the door.

“...he didn’t see me…”

Hinata glances to the boy, his expression clearly confused. “...I...I don’t know. But...I can see you. I-I can even touch you. You can’t be a...a ghost.”

“But why couldn’t he see me…?”

Though it’s in no way her fault, Hinata’s chest grows heavy with a kind of guilt. “...maybe it’s a...a weird dream…?”

Slowly, Sasuke’s expression crumbles...and he starts to cry, a forearm lifted to try and hide his face. “I-I’m scared! Where are my mom and dad? W-where’s my brother? Why are you people in my h-house?”

Not knowing what else to do, Hinata carefully shuffles closer until she can put arms around him. Though she fully expects him to push her away, he instead clings to her tightly, sobbing unabashedly.

There are many things Hinata doesn’t know...but for Sasuke’s sake, she wishes she could do something to help.

Eventually they retreat to the backyard, sitting together under the tree. A heavy silence hangs over the pair of them. Hinata, hugging her knees to her chest, struggles to think of a possible solution.

But in the meantime, she needs to cheer Sasuke up.

“...what is your brother like?”

Glancing to her solemnly, he takes a moment to think. “...he’s really smart. Mom always said he was way above the other kids. He’s twelve, but he’s taking big kid classes.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And he’s good at sports, too. He plays soccer really good. I get to go watch his games sometimes.” Slowly, a smile starts blooming over Sasuke’s face as he remembers his brother. “He plays video games with me when he doesn’t have a lot of homework. Dad gets mad about it sometimes, though. But Itachi always tries to have time to play with me. He’s the best big brother ever…!”

At that, Hinata feels a small twinge of guilt. Her little sister is two years old now, and mostly spends time with a nanny Hiashi has hired. “...that must be nice…”

“What about you?”

“M-my little sister is two. Her name is Hanabi. She’s too small to do a lot, yet. I hope I’ll be a good big sister…”

“You seem nice. I bet you will.”

For over an hour, the pair of them sit in the shade, talking about their families, and their friends. Bit by bit, they get to know each other better.

And then Hiashi calls Hinata in for dinner.

Sasuke follows her in. Standing in the middle of the kitchen, he watches as everyone but Hinata just...walks around him, acting as if he isn’t there.

And Hinata just can’t understand it…! Why can’t anyone else see him? “Father…?”

“What, Hinata?”

“Is it okay if my...i-if my friend stays for dinner?”

Glancing to her, Hiashi frowns. “...what friend?”

She points right at Sasuke, the boy balking slightly.

But as Hiashi looks, there’s no sign of recognition. “...Hinata, there’s no one there.”

“Yes, there is! H-his name is Sasuke, and -!”

“I have had enough of your wild imagination, Hinata,” her father sighs, cutting her off. “There are no ghosts in this house, and there is no boy in this kitchen.”

“Maybe it’s an imaginary friend?” the nanny offers, already working to get Hanabi fed in her high chair. “She’s lost a parent, and doesn’t have many real friends. Maybe she’s made one for herself. Kids do that all the time.”

“But he’s real!” Hinata insists, expression distraught. “H-he is!”

Clearly frustrated, Hiashi waves her away. “Enough nonsense. Sit and eat your dinner.”

Puffing up and threatening upset tears, Hinata then deflates in defeat.

...they really can’t see him...can they? Is it really just her imagination…?

All the while, Sasuke stares at the floor, expression slack with sorrow..

...well...real or not, imaginary or not...she’s going to try to make him happy…!

After dinner, Hinata sneaks some of her leftovers up to her room. “Here, I...I saved you some.”

“I’m not hungry…”

“But…?”

“I’m fine.”

Hinata’s brow wilts, but she doesn’t fight him.

“...this was my room…”

“I...it was…?”

He nods, and then points. “My bed was over there, and my desk...I had a TV in the corner…and some posters on the wall. Where did it all go…?”

“...I don’t know. It...it was empty in here when we came.”

“...I don’t get it…! Where did my family go? Why did they leave me…?”

Hinata, despite her wishing, has no answers.

Come nightfall and her bedtime, she snuggles down into bed, watching as Sasuke stands silently at a window. “...are you tired?”

“...no.”

“W...what about hungry?”

“No.”

...well that’s strange. “...do you wanna lay with me?”

At that, he turns and looks at her strangely.

“When I couldn’t sleep, my mom would let me lay with her. It a-always made me feel better. Maybe...i-it would help?”

Seeming to mull that over, Sasuke eventually approaches. Shuffling aside some of the blankets, he takes one side of the bed as Hinata turns to lay on her back.

“...I’m not sleepy. Not even a little bit.”

“But you’ve g-gotta sleep sometime...right?”

He doesn’t answer, staring at the ceiling.

Frustrated at her lack of ability to help, Hinata does the same until - eventually - she manages to slip into sleep.

From there, a pattern emerges.

No one besides Hinata can see the boy named Sasuke. And he never gets tired. Never gets hungry. Doesn’t even need to go to the bathroom. Hinata remains convinced he has to be a ghost. But...he’s solid. She can touch him, feel him, see him just fine.

What on Earth is going on…?

At first, Sasuke remains adamant that his family will come back at any moment, just as confused as he is. But as days blend to weeks, and weeks fade to months...he begins to lose hope. And eventually, he just...gives up.

“Maybe I am a ghost,” he murmurs one day, the pair of them sitting on the swings.

“But I thought ghosts were...were see-through? A-and you couldn’t touch them?”

Shoulders shrug. “But I don’t gotta eat, or sleep. Nobody can see me. ‘Cept you. What else could it be?”

Sighing, Hinata doesn’t have any other ideas. “...I dunno…”

“...guess I’m gonna just haunt this house forever,” he mutters, kicking at the dirt with a grunt. “...but at least you can see me. I’d be really lonely otherwise.”

“...me too.”

Come the Fall, Hinata starts school. And after some debate, Sasuke tries to follow her...and it works! Sitting on the bus beside her, he watches the other children curiously.

“Did you go to s...school here?”

“Nuh-uh. My mom taught us at home.”

“Really…?”

“Yeah. It was kinda boring, though.”

All through the day, he tags along in her shadow. And just like at home...no one sees him. No one makes note of him. And yet oddly, even when it’s crowded, no one tries to step where he’s standing...as if, despite not seeing him, they know on a subconscious level that he’s there.

While Hinata sits quietly in class, Sasuke takes to wandering around the classroom. She watches him from the corner of her eye, worried he might get into trouble. But he just observes, curious about the room and everything in it.

But eventually he starts sitting on the floor beside her, listening to the lessons. And at recess, he and Hinata retreat to a corner of the play yard to talk.

“Don’t you wanna play with the other kids?” he asks, twirling a pine needle between his fingers.

“But...t-then you’d be lonely,” she rebukes, clearly repulsed by the thought. “It’s fine...I’m r-really shy anyway. The other kids make me...m-make me nervous.”

Considering that, Sasuke doesn’t reply.

And so it goes. Sasuke tags along every day, joining Hinata in her classes and observing her work, unable to do any of his own. The year passes, Summer upon them once again...and then another year.

And another.

Eventually, the mystery behind Sasuke’s appearance in the yard that day is forgotten. The pair settle into their own kind of normal. Wherever Hinata goes, Sasuke isn’t far behind. He helps her with her homework, listening to her observations about classes or classmates. She mostly remains to herself, everyone else writing her off as that awkward wallflower. And really? She finds she doesn’t mind. Sure, it gets a little lonely...but she refuses to leave Sasuke on his own, determined to make sure he never feels alone.

...like she felt when she lost her mother.

Closing her locker door and ensuring she has all the books she needs for the evening, Hinata gives a quick glance for Sasuke. As usual, he’s leaned against the opposite wall, hands in his pockets. The pair of them are sixteen now. And curiously enough...Sasuke has kept aging. Dark, broody eyes observe the passersby as he waits, hair just as messy as the day she met him.

Her own is longer now, her frame taller but...still a bit short compared to her peers, with a rounded shape and typically-baggy outfits. Even now, in high school, she remains a bit of a recluse.

“Ready to go?”

“Mhm!”

Leaving the school behind, the pair of them start the walk home. The high school is close enough she doesn’t need the bus, and she’s still too young to drive.

“Was it just me, or did Chemistry totally suck today?”

Sasuke’s tone earns a laugh. “I dunno, it didn’t seem so bad…”

“That teacher drives me nuts. His tone is so...nasally. I can’t pay attention to what he says. I wanna just...ram a cotton swab up his nose. See what makes him sound that way.”

“Sasuke!”

“What?”

“That’s horrible!” she reprimands, still laughing.

“It doesn’t bother you?!”

“No…?”

“Ugh...I can’t stand it.”

Rounding a corner, they pause at a red light, the right hand street light barring their passage. “At least he’s not quiet like the History teacher...I have a h-hard time hearing her half the time. If she didn’t write things on the board, I’d never pass the class!”

“That’s where being invisible comes in handy - I can sit as close as I want, no problem.”

“And I’m stuck in the back row!”

As the sign changes, they make to cross, Sasuke snickering. “At least you can see what she writes, huh?” Bored as always, he approaches a newer model car in curiosity, the driver completely unaware as they wait for the light to change.

“I’d be in big trouble if -”

The pair of them flinch at a squealing sound, halting with a jolt in the middle of the crosswalk. Hands on her ears, Hinata grimaces as a car skids around the corner.

“Hinata!”

“What -?”

“Hinata, look out!”

Turning, her eyes go wide as the vehicle - still barreling down the roadway - heads right for her.

Scrambling to turn around and close the distance, Sasuke’s heart leaps to his throat. He’s not gonna make it -!

With a sickening crunch, the corner of the car clips her as Hinata makes to flee, thrown aside as the momentum sends her flying. Behind them, the car sails across the intersection and crashes into a tree with a screech of metal and breaking glass.

“HINATA!”

Dazed, she watches with blurring eyes as Sasuke scrambles to her side, yelling and yet...he’s so quiet. And she’s so...tired…

Silence.

Then, slowly, a soft sound begins to bleed through. It’s dark...pitch black. Head swimming, Hinata tries to focus on what she hears. It’s like...beeping? Is it her alarm clock? Oh no...she’s going to be late for class, isn’t she? But her eyes are so heavy…

After minutes of struggle, she manages to peel them open, and yet...at first, she wonders if she really did. It’s just as dark, and even as she blinks, nothing changes. But a slight hint of light slowly bleeds into her vision, and reveals odd silhouettes in the darkness. Trying to make out the shapes, it takes time to realize...she’s in a hospital room.

Like the one she remembers from when her mother had Hanabi.

Before she…

Head lolling on her pillow, Hinata tries to make out anything else, but...it’s so darn dark…! Struggling to swallow and attempting to lift her head, her mouth opens and she croaks out, “...Sasuke…?”

...no answer.

Sighing, she flops back prone. Why is she in the hospital…? Did something happen? Nothing really rings a bell...she’s just so tired. Maybe she hit her head…

Maybe she’ll just...close her eyes a little longer…

“...whole joint was…”

“...will that take?”

“...therapy. But…”

Eyelids twitching, Hinata slowly swims back toward consciousness. Is that...her father’s voice...? “...Dad...?”

At the head of the room, both Hiashi and a doctor go still. “...Hinata?!” Crossing it in two steps, Hiashi clings to the railing of her cot. “Can you hear me?”

“Yeah...your voice is...really loud…”

He hesitates. “...how are you feeling?”

“Really...tired. Where…?”

Sighing, Hiashi hesitates. “...do you remember going home from school on Thursday?”

Thursday? What happened Thursday...they had that Spanish quiz, and...something about Chemistry…? “...no…”

“When you were walking home...you were hit by a car. A drunk driver. Thankfully it wasn’t a direct hit, but...he clipped your side. You’ve got some bruised ribs, but...your hip bone was shattered, and your femur was broken. And your impact gave you a minor concussion. The hip was replaced with an artificial joint, but the damage from the broken bones to your muscles was...pretty severe. And you have a cast on your leg for the femur. You’re going to be unable to walk for a while.”

“...a car…?”

“Yes. You...don’t remember?”

Brow furrowing, she tries to think. Something about...Sasuke. He was yelling...did he try to warn her? “A...a little bit…”

“She’s been on some pretty heavy painkillers - that makes it rather hard to be fully conscious and aware,” the doctor then steps in. “Once she’s lowered in dosage she’ll likely recall more.”

“Is...is Hanabi here…?”

“She’s at school right now, but she’s been in to see you, yes. I’m sure she’ll be glad to hear you’re awake.”

Nodding slowly, Hinata then looks around the rest of the room. Is Sasuke still not…?

“Well, the best thing for you right now is more rest.” The doctor nods to Hiashi. “If you’d like, we can continue our conversation in the hallway.”

“Yes of course.” With a last look to his daughter, Hiashi murmurs, “...I’ll be back later. You get some sleep.”

Before she can argue - she doesn’t want to sleep! - the pair of them leave the room, and Hinata feels her head grow heavy. More painkillers, seems like.

Sasuke...where are you…?

As consciousness fades, a terrible thought manages to surface. What if he’s...gone? Was he really imaginary all this time? Did the blow to her head somehow…?

But it trails into silence as her brain submits to sleep.

Several more days pass in a fog of sleep and drugs before they deem her ready to start the next stage of recovery. Put in a wheelchair, she’s taken to a therapy room, a strange brace helping her stand and start regaining some strength in her injured leg. With fewer pain meds, the afflicted muscles have started to ache...but she’s nothing if not stubborn. Day by day, she gets a little stronger. Eventually she’s given crutches, hobbling around until - gaining her balance - she’s strutting around the hallways like a giraffe.

“She should be ready to return home soon. A few more tests, and we’ll clear her.”

“Thank you so much, doctor.”

“Hinata has done remarkably well. She’s quite the fighter, that daughter of yours.”

Listening to the conversation just outside her door, Hinata idly twirls a crutch on its rubber foot off the end of her bed. It’s been several weeks.

...and still, no sign of Sasuke.

Expression somber, she’s all but accepted that - whatever he was - he’s gone. Even as his face looming over her - so scared, so desperate - haunts her when she sleeps, there’s not a trace of him when she’s awake.

Sighing, she maneuvers her other crutch into place, hopping to her feet with practiced ease. The cast will be off in a few more weeks, but she’ll have therapy for her hip for a while after. But for now, she’s as mobile as she can hope to be. Slipping through the door, she offers, “Going to stretch my legs.”

Watching her critically, Hiashi nonetheless nods as she starts to wander. By now, much of the staff knows she takes to going up and down the halls to work on her strength and balance.

But today, she’s feeling especially restless.

Approaching an elevator, she hops in and looks to the numbers. Mostly she visits the ground floor - it has the most open space. But today she’s feeling an itch, and presses a random button.

When the doors open, she finds a quiet, nearly-empty hallway.

Hesitating a moment, Hinata eventually steps out, feeling a bit...intrusive. After a few inquisitive glances, she finds she’s on a floor for long-term patients, and those with terminal diagnoses.

For a moment, she considers turning back. But something presses her on.

Silently padding along the tiled floor, she gives each door a glance. Names are listed along the sides. And as she goes, one door opens, and a cot rolls out.

The figure upon it is covered completely.

Her heart leaps to her throat, watching morbidly as it’s wheeled to another hallway. Throat suddenly dry, she again considers retreating.

But her eyes - gazing across to the branching hallway - then look to the door opposite her.

And this time, her heart stops.

Sasuke Uchiha.

...no, that...that’s not…?

After a long pause, she carefully makes her way to the door. It might not be him. She...never actually asked about his last name. Why did she never…? Mind too shocked, she glances to the doorknob, weighing her options before reaching, hesitating...and then giving it a turn.

It opens, the door slowly sweeping inward.

It’s a single room, the curtain drawn to hide the cot. Chest hammering like a drum, Hinata maneuvers her way through the doorway. There’s no one else in here - no nurses, no visitors. Beyond the typical sounds of monitoring equipment, it’s quiet.

Behind her, the door snaps closed, and she gasps in fear, spinning around as best she can on crutches. When she realizes she’s still alone, she looks back to the curtain.

...does she dare…?

Swallowing down her nerves, she takes another step. Then another. A hand reaches, grasps the edge of the curtain...and slowly pulls.

...and there he is.

Lying prone upon his back, an oxygen mask rests over his face. But otherwise...he’s exactly as she remembers. The same hair, same face...it looks like he’s just sleeping.

And yet...she knows that’s not the case. Suddenly it all fits back together, and yet…

“So, you found me.”

Jolting, her eyes flicker to what was an empty chair at the foot of the room a moment ago. But sitting in it is...is Sasuke…? Hinata looks from the chair, to the cot, to the chair. “...I…?”

“Coma.” His voice is quiet, and yet unbelievably strained. “Since I was seven years old.”

Hinata feels her heart sink. So long…?

“...a few weeks before, my parents were murdered in our house. My brother and I saw it, hiding in the closet. Our mom’s sister was our closest relative, took us in...sold our house. But after a while, I guess my brain just...shut down. I dunno the details, but...that’s what I’ve learned. Sitting here, listening whenever they come in.”

Staring at him, Hinata’s eyes slowly brim with tears.

“...my brother’s a doctor here. It’s how I found out - I saw him in the hallway, waiting for you to wake up. So I followed him...and he led me here. I’ve been here ever since. Trying to just…” He gestures to his comatose body. “...figure this all out.”

“Sasuke, I...I-I’m so sorry, I…”

He shakes his head. “...sorry I haven’t been around to see you. I just…”

“No! No, this...this is far more important!” Hobbling over, she sets aside her crutches and sits in the other chair. Arms gently encircle him. “I can’t imagine…”

“...I know this might sound shitty, but...you being hurt brought me here. I’d never have known, otherwise. But now, I dunno what to do. How to...fix this.”

“You can’t just…?”

“I’ve tried touching my body. Laying on it. Anything to get back...in it! But nothing works! It’s the one thing I can’t touch. I phase right through it, like some kind of ghost. And I’m running out of time.”

“...what do you mean?”

“They’re going to pull my life support soon.” His voice trips over the words, throat tightening as she gasps. “I...I don’t know what will happen to me. If I’ll just...f-fade away, or be stuck here like this…! Hinata, I…” He leans into her, and she feels her chest clench. “...I’m so scared…”

Smoothing at his hair, Hinata’s mind flurries. “D-don’t worry...we’ll think of something…” Holding him quietly for a while, she eventually pulls back, retaking her feet and looking at the sleeping Sasuke closely. There has to be something they can do. Some way to get him to wake up…!

But before she can act, the doorknob turns.

...she has nowhere to hide.

Stepping in, a young man’s eyes are glued to a chart, but then lift and stare at her almost dumbly.

Hinata can only stare back.

“...what are you doing in here?”

Floundering for a moment, Hinata tries to think of an excuse.

“...that’s Itachi.”

Looking back to Sasuke, she almost asks a question before realizing how that will look. Itachi can’t see him. “...I-I…”

“This room is open to family visitors only.”

“I’m sorry Itachi, I -”

“How do you know my name?”

Oh...how’s she going to explain this…? Struggling, Hinata feels herself near panic. “It...i-it’s a long story...I -?”

Arms folding, he looks to her critically. “...I have time.”

“...I…” Where does she even start? “I’m...a friend of Sasuke’s.”

“...really? He’s never once had a visitor. How did you know him…?”

“He, um...that is, we…” She can’t tell the truth...he’ll think she’s crazy! “...my father bought your house.”

That earns a blink. “...we were already moved out when it was sold.”

“Yes, I...I know. But…” She nibbles her lip. “...I saw him there.”

“...that’s impossible.”

“I did, I…!” Desperation brings her near tears. “...at first I thought he was a ghost, or...or an imaginary friend! But...he grew with me. Went to class with me, and...no one else could see him -!”

“Sasuke has been comatose for almost ten years,” Itachi cuts in, tone bitter with sadness. “There is no way he could have been with you - he’s been here -”

“His body, yes! But...he didn’t remember losing his parents. He thought we took his house. He told me all about you! A-and your mom, and dad! I think he...he showed up at that house because it was the last thing he remembered before y-you saw your parents’ deaths!”

Slowly, Itachi’s arms unfurl. “...how do you know that…?”

“Because he told me.” She looks to him pleadingly. “...I know this sounds impossible. R-really, I...I do. But I’m not lying, Itachi - I…I was in a car accident several weeks ago. He came with me here, and...he saw you. Recognized you. Followed you in here, and...he knows you’re going to stop his life support.”

“...how -?”

“Please, you can’t!” She staggers a few steps closer, unsteady on her crutches. “He’s here! Sitting in that chair! If you pull that plug...he might be gone forever. And I...I don’t want him to disappear! He’s been my best friend for ten years. If he leaves - if...if I lose him…” Tears escape her eyes, watching as Itachi balks in shock. “...I don’t know what I’ll do.”

Staring at her, Itachi clearly weighs her words. Fear bubbles in her that he’ll think her crazy, order her to leave.

“...he’s always been so damn logical…”

Glancing over as Sasuke steps up beside her, Hinata tries to think of how to solve this. She has to do something…!

“...I don’t know how you know these things,” Itachi murmurs, drawing her gaze. “But it’s more than clear you’ve meddled in things you have no business in knowing.”

“...please...don’t do this…”

“You need to leave. And if I see you in here again, I will have security remove you.”

“You can’t give up on him! He’s right here -!”

“I’ve heard enough!”

“Please!” Dropping her crutches with a clatter, Hinata clings to the elder brother’s front. “You can’t do this! I...I love him!”

Staring with wide eyes, Itachi stands in shock before opening his mouth to retort.

But then the heart rate monitor begins to scream. Beeping rapidly, the screen shows Sasuke’s heart leaping in pace, threatening to arrest.

“Sasuke!” Tearing Hinata’s hands aside, Itachi moves to check his brother’s chest.

And as he does, dark eyes slowly crack open.

“...you don’t have to shout…”

Freezing, Itachi stares. And stares. And stares. Slowly, the monitor slows, quieting to a typical cadence.

“...and if you ever call ‘nata a liar again...I’ll never forgive you...Itachi.”

Slowly, Itachi staggers back. “...you...this can’t…”

With a grunt, Sasuke struggles to sit up. “Shit...my arms feel like noodles…”

“D-don’t strain yourself!” Hinata cautions, hopping forward to help. “Careful…” Easing him up, she stares at him in surprise. “...how…?”

“...I dunno. Guess you gave me a jumpstart.”

Before Hinata can blush, Itachi sits rather haphazardly on a clattery rolling stool, drawing both of their gazes.

“...this...this isn’t possible.”

“The last ten years I spent following her around would say otherwise,” Sasuke replies. “...it’s gonna take a while to explain. And I’m...really fucking tired.”

“Please don’t overwork yourself,” Hinata murmurs, still watching him warily in case something goes wrong. She still can’t believe he’s awake…!

“...you were really...somewhere else? All this time?”

“Yeah. I think Hinata’s right. I was...stuck to the last place I could remember. Before my brain went off the deep end.” Wincing, Sasuke adjusts his posture. “I didn’t know about Mom and Dad. There were strangers in our house. I was so confused...but when you didn’t come back, I just...gave up. Tagged along with Hinata because she was the only person who could see me, or touch me. Wasn’t until she was brought here I was able to learn anything about what happened.”

Itachi just...stares, clearly having trouble taking it all in. “...and we nearly…”

“I tried to tell you. Screamed at you that I was here. But no one could hear me. I’ve been just...sitting here for weeks, trying to figure out how to wake up.”

At that, Itachi’s eyes move to Hinata, who balks. “...I see. Sasuke, I…” His head bows. “...I’m so sorry. I’ve tried everything. But it had been so long…”

“I don’t blame you. From what I heard, it seemed pretty hopeless. But I guess we got here just in time.”

Silence fills the room for uncounted minutes, all of them just...processing the news.

“...I have to thank you...for watching over my brother for me…”

Looking to Itachi with wide eyes, Hinata stutters, “I...of course! I just...I f-feel bad I couldn’t do more.”

“You did everything you needed to. Given how things all came together...perhaps it was some strange fate,” he murmurs, a hand rubbing over his mouth in thought. “...forgive me, I...this is all a bit much to take in.”

“I...can imagine.”

“Would you…?” He hesitates. “...would you mind if I talked to my brother? Alone?”

“O-of course! I...I’ll go back to my room, and -”

“Where are you located?”

“Um...fifth floor. Room five-oh-seven.”

“And your name?”

“...Hinata. Hinata Hyūga.”

“...thank you, Hinata Hyūga. I...need to call my aunt. We have much to discuss.”

She nods, and then turns to Sasuke, suddenly feeling sheepish as he looks sleepily back. “...I guess I’ll, um...I’ll see you later…?”

“For sure.”

Regathering her crutches with Itachi’s help, she makes her way back to the hallway and the elevator, mind strangely...empty. Maybe it hasn’t all sunken in yet, but...Sasuke’s okay. He’s awake…! After all this time...they finally know what really happened.

As the doors open, she comes up short at the sight of her father, who similarly jumps. “Where have you been?”

“It, uh…” She gives a sheepish grin. “...it’s a long s-story. Dad, do...do you remember my imaginary friend?”

Several hours pass, and Hiashi is just as taken aback as Itachi was. Though Hinata insists he can’t yet go see “proof” until the Uchiha have a chance to have a long-overdue reunion, he murmurs, “...I never would have guessed...I don’t exactly believe in that sort of thing. I...I couldn’t. Not after your mother…”

“I understand. But we both thought we were crazy.”

“I’m sorry. I should have believed you.”

“It’s okay, Dad.”

The next day is a flurry of tests: the last hurdle until Hinata is cleared to go home. Determined, she sails through every one, and is finally given her release.

But first, she takes her father up to the other floor. This time, Sasuke’s door is propped open, and Hinata sticks her head inside. “Sasuke…?”

“Yeah, come in.”

Hobbling through, Hinata gestures for her father to follow. “Dad, this is Sasuke. Sasuke, this is Dad. Though...I guess you already k-know that.”

Hiashi, for once, looks extremely...awkward. “...it’s, ah...good to officially meet you.”

“Likewise, sir.”

The trio exchange a few minutes of awkward dialogue until Itachi arrives, and more introductions are given. “We have much to thank your daughter for, Mr. Hyūga. If not for her...we may have lost Sasuke forever.”

“Yes, she’s…” Hiashi gives her a glance, Hinata returning it hesitantly. “...far stronger than I gave her credit for.”

“We hope once Sasuke returns home, you’ll all come to visit us.”

“...certainly.”

As they talk, Hinata sits on the edge of Sasuke’s cot, watching them.

“Been a weird twenty-four hours,” he murmurs, earning a giggle.

“Yeah...just a little.”

“Hinata, I…”

Turning to him, she gives a soft smile. “It’s okay...I-I know.”

He hesitates. “...I will see you again soon.”

“Of course. But...it’s going to be strange, going home w-without you.”

“...yeah. You too. I don’t even know what my house looks like.”

That earns a somber pause.

“...but I’ll get used to it.” Glancing to the other pair, he sits up a bit closer. “Hey, uh…”

“Yes?”

“Did you…? I mean, when you said…?”

Ah...she’d almost hoped he’d forgotten. Blooming pink, she glances sheepishly aside. “Y...yeah. I meant what I...w-what I said.”

“...okay, good.”

She looks back with a furrowed brow.

“...cuz I love you t-”

“All right Hinata, we should leave and give this family their space,” Hiashi cuts in, a brow perking as the teens lean apart. Clearly suspicious, he gives a nod, watching as Hinata sheepishly fumbles for her crutches.

“Thank you again, Hinata. For everything you’ve done,” Itachi offers with a smile. “And...I apologize for how I treated you yesterday.”

“It...it’s okay. If I were you, I...would have thought I was crazy, heh.”

“Well...I’m just glad that wasn’t the case. Because of you, I have my baby brother back. It’s...hard to put into words what that means to me.”

In spite of herself, Hinata feels her eyes tear up. “...y-you’re welcome…”

“We’ll see you soon.”

“...yeah.”

Following her father down to the lobby, Hinata struggles with herself not to cry.

“...that must have been a tough goodbye.”

She wipes at her eyes. “...mhm.”

“Well...it surely won’t be long until we go visit.” Gently, Hiashi puts an arm around her. “Or maybe they can come see us.”

“Yeah, m-maybe.” Though she’s not sure Itachi would be keen to see the house again.

“...for now, let’s get you home.” Hiashi takes out his keys. “I’ll pull the car around.”

“...‘kay.” Waiting in the lobby, Hinata idles on her crutches, watching as others wander through.

And then, for a moment...she swears she feels a weight on her shoulders.

Jolting, she glances back, and for just a fraction of a moment...she swears she sees two people behind her, both smiling. But with a blink...they vanish. They...they looked an awful lot like…?

Outside, Hiashi’s car pulls up to the door, and Hinata gives her head a shake before hobbling out to meet him.

...maybe she does see ghosts, after all.

Well well well, look who it is! Me xD I know this account has been...very very dead, but I’ve been super busy and just...y’know. Internet things have to take a back seat. BUT! I was invited to work on the SH zine, and managed to get a piece done for it, and...this is that piece! It’s a plot I’ve been sitting on for AGES, and finally got to use here. It’s...rather long, especially compared to most other things on this blog, but hopefully it’s still enjoyable xD You can find the zine announcement here if you want to go check it out, and be sure to show love to it and the other creators that participated! There’s many more great fics and awesome artwork to be had! But this is my piece if it’s easier to read standalone. Thanks for all the support, SH community <3

#sasuhina zine 2020 #hyūga hinata #hyūga hiashi #uchiha sasuke #uchiha itachi #death //#car accident //#best years of your life [ au ]

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mhdiaries · 4 years ago

Photo

Frights, Camera, Action! – Hauntlywood Clawdia Wolf Diary

August 25th

Today I was walking through the streets of Londoom I just wanted to howl and do a little dance because I’m so excited to be here. I didn’t, of course, do the dancing part, since I’m the one with the “clumsy gene” in our family and I didn’t want to fall through an open monster hole cover. It has never bothered me that I’m not as athletic as the rest of the pack, because I think it was pretty apparent even when I was a cub that I was better at writing stories about my brothers’ and sisters’ athletic exploits than participating in them. It’s not that I didn’t try, but my mind and body may have been in concert but they were not playing the same tune. I remember the last organized soccer game I played: the coach put me in the goal partly because I was tall for my age and partly because he thought that perhaps the prospect of a ball being rocketed toward me might keep my attention. It worked for a bit, until the ball stayed at the other end of the pitch for a while, and a butterfly landed on the net. All of a sudden I became a ferocious were-spider who decided to give the butterfly a reprieve. So I climbed up in the net to shoo it away when I heard my dad yell, “Clawdia, turn around!” A ghoul was on a breakaway, and the only thing between her and me was open pitch and the ball. I tried to turn, and my spikes caught in the net, so I just closed my eyes and leaped toward the front of the goal. Somehow the ball ended up in my claws, and I kept the ghoul from scoring. It was my one and only athletic achievement, so I retired with my legacy in check and got a good story out of it, which, I’m sure, will end up in one of my screamplays some day.

September 8th

I was sitting in the lecture hall today not really paying attention like I should have been, partly because I was working on a not-for-that-class writing assignment and partly, okay, mostly, because symbolism in ghost-modern, neo-realist goblin cinema is only slightly less painful than rolling in flea-infested wolf’s bane. Honestly, I have no idea what a goblin miner wearing a red hat and pushing an empty ore cart says about the state of modern goblin-kobold relations. I’m sure it is profound and important, but well... it doesn’t matter. What did matter, howere, was that the professor asked a question that he wanted all of us to answer, and I didn’t hear the question. I could have asked him to repeat the question, of course, but then I would have had to acknowledge that I had not been paying attention, and since this particular professor hates that, I knew I was going to have to wing it on the answer. Which made me nervous, which made me look for something to chew on, which meant I wasn’t listening to the other answers, which meant I didn’t have a clue when he got to me. So when he said, “Ms. Wolf?” I said I didn’t think I could add anything to the discussion that had not been more profoundly stated in the answers my classmates had already given. This caused the rest of the class to burst out laughing, to which the professor said, “While I appreciate your humility, your answer leaves us no closer to knowing how many siblings you have.” I was mortalfied, but even more so when he said, “Please do try and pay better attention going forward.” Unlive and learn, Clawdia, unlive and learn.

September 15th

I’ve been using my iCoffin tablet to do some of my writing lately, and I really like it. I mean, I like the tablet. It’s great for doing video chats, and there are some really cool Londoom based apps that have helped me find my way around the city better. As for the writing part, I still prefer my chewed pen and leghoul pad. It may be old-fashioned, but there’s something about a blank sheet of paper that’s less intimidating than a blank scream with a blinking cursor.

October 1st

The only thing that’s coming down faster than the temperature in Londoom right now is the rain. I’m not sure what the real temp is, but you know it’s cold when a werewolf has to put on her fuzzy wool socks... brrr... fortunately, dad did a good job preparing me for this climate by never allowing to turn the thermostat up past the “I can see my breath” mark during the winter. We would say, “Dad, the house is freezing!” to which he would always reply, “You can either have heat or you can eat.” Followed quickly by, “We’re werewolves, for ghoul’s sake, put on a sweater if you’re cold.” Then we’d all look at mom, who would just shrug her soldiers. It was one of the only things she couldn’t change his mind about. So we’d all just sit snuggled together on the couch watching bad TV, complaining about Howleen’s sharp, unclipped paw nails and making promises about what we’d do when we all moved out and got our own places. I distinctly remember saying that I would turn up the heat so high that it would make Gloom Beach seem like a Yeti cave. So the first time it got cold here, I did just that, and it was every bit as amazing as I imagined it would be, until I got my first heating bill. Let’s just say that grocery shopping for the next few weeks gave me a completely different perspective on dad’s old saying. I’m pretty confident that saltines and marmite will never darken the shelves of my cupboard again after having that formerly tasty combination as my only breakfast and lunch option for a fortnight. I’m really missing being able to snuggle up on the couch with my pack of siblings, and I wouldn’t even complain about Howleen’s uncut paw nails... well, maybe not a lot.

October 6th

I had a great video chat with the fam tonight, and they could not stop talking about Draculaura being chosen as queen of the vampires. They were in complete shock, and I have to admit it was quite a surprise to me as well. The vampires haven’t had a queen since the last chosen one, a young vampire ghoul named Elissabat, disappeared some 400 years ago. What is really curious about this, as if Draculaura being chosen as the new queen right out of the boo wasn’t curious enough, is that Clawdeen told me Draculaura’s choice was confirmed by the Vampire’s Heart. I have actually been doing quite a bit of research on the heart, which is really just a massive jewel with magical properties, for a screamplay I wanted to write about the mystery of the missing queen. There are many scholars that believe the jewel disappeared at the same time the ghoul who would be queen did; so either the scholars are incorrect, or there is more here than meets the eye. I didn’t want to be the one to rain on the funeral though, until I had a little more proof, especially with Clawdeen being so excited about attending the coronation. I did notice that Clawd wasn’t in the room with everyone else, and I’m wondering how he is dealing with this news.

October 7th

Clawdeen has sent me at least 30 texts and emails since last night detailing the fashions she’s thinking about taking to the coronation. I can see her now running around the room with absolutely every piece of clothing she owns spread out so she can mix and match fashions. She’s probably also been through Draculaura’s closet several times as well. I love her so much and I wish I could be there to make her laugh when she starts getting too serious. She’s so beautiful, though, that whatever she chooses will probably steal the show. I finally got an IM from Clawd asking if we could talk. This wasn’t unusual, since Clawd prefers one-on-one conversation to fighting for face time in a group. When he popped up on the screen he looked terrible, almost like he’d been crying, although it might have just been bad lighting. As usual, Clawd didn’t want to talk about himself and instead wanted to know every little thing I was doing. I finally had to say, “Stop howling around the moon and talk to me, little brother.” So he did. He told me that he didn’t trust the Lord Stoker character that showed up with the Vampire’s Heart claiming it led him to Draculaura. What’s more, neither did Draculaura. They both thought Draculaura would be miserable being queen, but that she would feel honor and duty bound to take the throne. Even so he was trying to be as supportive as possible and went on for a few more minutes about things that were worrying him. When he stopped I said, “You really love her, don’t you?” He looked down for a moment and swallowed hard, “She’s my best friend, sis, and I’m about to lose her forever.” Now it was my turn to swallow hard, and then he made an excuse about having to leave for practice and said a hasty goodbye. I’m going to do some more digging into this, because something doesn’t pass the smell test here, and a Wolf’s nose is always right.

#monster high #monster high diary #frights camera action #hauntlywood #clawdia wolf

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thtrelady · 5 years ago

Text

Tiny Dancer

Read it on AO3 HERE

Minako swept into the onsen carrying a bottle of sake and three huge bags. “Where are they,” she demanded as she strode towards Toshiya. She handed the sake over to him with a slight bow.

Toshiya took the sake from her with another graceful bow before stepping out from behind his counter and leading her back into the family space. There, bundled up on the cushions in their living room, Hiroko reclined with a small bundle in her arms. Her face was drawn, but her smile was as wide and welcoming as always as she greeted Minako. Minako sank down on a cushion next to her and peered down at the little package. She gasped when a little head turned her way and large eyes blinked up at her.

“Oh Hiroko, Toshiya, he’s precious,” she said. “I brought things from tour for him and for Mari-chan. Oh! And I just finished the renovations on that studio above the bar so I’ll be starting dance classes there shortly. I know you were looking for something for Mari-chan to burn off some energy.”

--------

“Minako-senpai, we’re here!” Hiroko exclaimed as she came into the studio with Yuuri on her hip and Mari holding her hand. Mari reluctantly let go of her mother’s hand and walked over to join the group stretching near the barre.

Minako smiled and walked over to gather Yuuri up from Hiroko before going to the front of the studio and starting class with the tiny figure in her arms. His eyes tracked from her face to the small children in front of her and he buried his face in her shoulder. Minako kept holding him through the entire first part of the class, making him giggle when she suddenly whirled up onto her toes demonstrating the spin for her beginners. It was only when everyone moved to the barre and she had to make corrections that she surrendered him back to his mother.

--------

Minako rested her head in her hand leaning against the table as she drank and watched the soccer game playing on the TV in the onsen lounge. Toshiya and his friends were cheering and dancing around the room, but she was quietly waiting for the game to end so that she could claim the TV for the start of the skating program. Yuuri was sitting next to her, calmly playing with some blocks and tuning out the ruckus around them.

One block toppled off the pile and rolled out of his reach. Minako watched as the little one struggled to reach his arms further and his little face puckered up in concentration. After struggling for several moments, she could see him start to put some pieces together as he put his hands down on the edge of the table and wiggled back and forth to gather his chubby legs under his diapered butt. He rocked back and forth a couple of times and then pushed up off the ground, holding the table edge and putting his feet firmly underneath him. Minako’s eyes widened as Yuuri stood for the first time and reached out to get his block. He was wobbly, but standing.

“Hiroko!! Toshiya!!” the excited woman called out, “He did it!”

Hiroko bustled out of the kitchen with her hands already over her mouth. She was smiling so widely, but a little tear shone in her eyes when she saw her baby supporting himself on the table. Toshiya wrapped his arm around his wife as the group watched Yuuri get his block. Even the customers in the room stopped celebrating long enough for the chubby hand to wrap around the block and drag it back.

Then, just as suddenly as he’d stood, Yuuri plopped back down on his butt, looking startled at how fast the descent had happened. His chin wobbled, but before he could start to cry, Minako had him gathered up in her arms, snuggling him close. Hiroko dropped to her knees next to them and the two women cooed and praised the baby for how big and strong he was.

--------

Mari shuffled into the class with a pout on her face. Hiroko followed slowly, bent over slightly to let Yuuri hold her finger as he toddled beside her. Minoko looked up and clasped her hands over her mouth at the sight of Yuuri’s stumbling steps.

Oh Hiroko, look at him,” she breathed out.

“Yeah, he’s getting into everything,” Mari muttered to the girl next to her at the barre.

“Brothers.” the girl grumbled back as they shared a moment of sibling camaraderie.

“Minako, watch this,” Hiroko said as she stood next to Yuuri and gently shook his hand free from her finger, “Yuuri, show Minako what you practiced with Mari today.”

Yuuri looked up to his mother and then over to Minako and Mari with his big eyes and took a tiny step back.

“Go on, you can do it,” Hiroko encouraged.

Yuuri stepped forward again and looking over to make sure Hiroko was watching him, raised both arms up over his head and rose up on his tiptoes, turning himself in a slow and wobbly, but very clear dance spin. Coming to stop facing Minako again, he very slowly and carefully shifted his weight to one foot and lifted the other in a tiny arabesque.

Minako cheered, “Beautiful Yuu-kun!”

Yuuri looked up at her and stuck one finger in his mouth, chewing on it nervously as he peeked over at his sister. Mari sighed and stuck her arms out towards him. Yuuri toddled across the room and Mari gave him a hug and a pat on his head.

“Good boy, that was just as we practiced,” she said. Yuuri beamed.

--------

Yuuri clung to his mom’s hand as he used his other hand to fiddle with the hem of his shirt as they walked over to the studio together.

“Are you excited to start classes today?” Hiroko asked. Yuuri hummed and nodded his head vigorously. He’d been asking for lessons with Minako almost as long as Mari had been begging to get out of them. Hiroko grinned down at the four-year-old bouncing along beside her.

As they entered the studio, Yuuri dropped his mother’s hand to run across the room to Minako. “Min-ko-sensei, lookit my tights!,” he cried out doing a little twirl in front of her. He pointed one foot in front of her, “And my shoes!”

“Very good Yuu-kun. You look just right for class,” she said reaching down to help tug the shirt down over his black tights. “Now go stand with Ami-chan and we’ll get started.” Yuuri nodded and looking over to the little girl in braids, walked over to stand next to her.

“Everyone. This is first position. Do your best!”

--------

“Minako-senpai, I just don’t know what to do. Yuuri’s teacher called today to say he’d been hiding the closet at school today after lunch again. And I can tell he’s been crying. But he says nothing is wrong.”

“Oh Hiroko, let me see what I can find out after class today when Yuuri’s doing his extra stretching. You may want to check with Mari-chan also. You know she watches him very closely these days since that boy shoved him on the beach.”

“Thank you. I just want to know what is going on at school and to make sure he’s alright.”

That afternoon Yuuri arrived at class as promptly as ever and immediately began stretching. Minako watched him as she greeted the other seven year olds arriving and noticed that with each arrival, Yuuri would look up and then shrink back, making himself smaller and turning away from the others. Ami sat next to him, but the others seemed to leave more space than usual. Minako tightened her lips, but she had class to run and could only watch for now.

Throughout that day’s class Minako noticed that only Ami directly interacted with Yuuri. Everyone else either ignored him completely or shot dirty looks at him. By the end of class, Yuuri had moved himself all the way to the back corner and was dancing in his own world. Minako admired his form, noting that she needed to work on his turnout slightly and that she really did need to talk to Hiroko about putting him in the advanced class even though it would be early.

“Yuuri-kun,” Minako said as class packed up, “stay a moment will you? I need to talk with you.” She noted that Yuuri startled and that his forehead creased. She also noticed a bunch of heads turn away quickly and whispers start up as the rest of the class left. Minako decided that next class was going to concentrate on plies. Lots of plies.

Once she was sure the last of the others was out of the studio, she turned to Yuuri with her hands on her hips. Yuuri stood, not quite looking at her and shifting his weight from foot to foot. Minako sighed, “Alright kiddo. What’s the story.”

Yuuri looked up and Minako’s heart broke to see the tears in his eyes. “Hiroshi-san says only girls do ballet and he said no one should hang out with me because I’m pretending to be a girl,” Yuuri choked out after a minute of sniffling and shaking his head. “I know that’s not true Minako-sensei, you showed us all those videos!” Yuuri continued, “But they keep shoving me a school and leaving notes in my cubby.” He ran over to his pack and pulled out a handful of notes with words like Fatty and Baby written on them to hand over to Minako.

“Oh Yuuri-kun, why didn’t you tell your mother about this?” Minako asked.

Yuuri sniffled again, “I didn’t want her to pull me from lessons and I thought if she knew they were teasing me at school she would.”

Minako chuckled, “Yuuri, I don’t think you have to worry about that, now let’s get you home and we’ll talk about what we’re going to do to handle this.” She reached out and rumpled the little boy’s hair. “Come on.”

Three days later, Minako-sensei led an intensive ballet workshop during gym at Yuuri’s school. Yuuri was the only one able to walk home that afternoon.

--------

Minako tapped her lip as the children moved through the simple choreography for the upcoming recital. It was becoming increasingly clear that Yuuri was not only the best dancer in her young group, but he was also better than a number of her intermediates. But Minako knew his body was too young to move him to harder classes.

She and Hiroko had a number of conversations about how they could encourage Yuuri without pushing him to injury. Minako had plans for Yuuri and they didn’t involve stress fractures at eight.

Minako looked out the studio window as Yuuko bounced down the stairs from the studio and hoisted her skate bag on her shoulder to head to her skating lesson after ballet. Minako’s eyes widened with a sudden thought, there was something new for Yuuri. And he already knew Yuuko from lessons. She knew Hiroko and Toshiyo would agree since they’d just been talking about finding more activities for him just last night.

Minako spun up onto her toes in glee. “Yuuri-kun! Come with me, I’ve got something fun for you to try.”

The little boy with the big brown eyes looked up at his sensei and reached out to take her hand as they started to walk towards the ice rink.

#yoi fanfic #yuri on ice #katsuki yuuri #okukawa minako #My writing

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macktm · 5 years ago

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WHEW! hey angels. i’m really out here taking the time i could be using to work on my essay to write this huh. love this for me. anyway though, i’m bri ( or aubs or aubrianna or whatever! ), i’m twenty, i live in the midwest ( est ), and i’m playing the actual love of my life, mack. we love a good harry styles clone. SMFSLDFM more on that later though. under the cut is a mini-bio to get you up to date with his intricate backstory in as little words as possible, some statistics, some headcanons, and some connection ideas! feel free to give this post a LIKE, though, and i’lll come to you to plot!

discord: spencer reid stan#8320

pinterest.

aesthetics: clean-cut suits hiding button-downs that are never buttoned all the way up, playing a competitive & shoulder-jabbing game of soccer outside the studio between takes, and handmade fresh fruit & champagne basket arrays.

biography,

mack is from glencoe, in scotland. there, he’s the middle child of three, and the youngest of two boys. his big brother is a brute and his younger sister could serve mack up for dinner if she wanted to.

when he lived in scotland ( which was up until about six years ago, when he was eighteen ), you could always find mack playing a brutal game of shinty in the hills. he was a boy’s boy for sure, and still is ldkfmgdflkgm. he loves goofing off and having a good time and generally being immersed in the company of people he loves. he’d spend way too much time with his family, in the kitchen pretending to help with dinner when he was actually just eating and talking and distracting his father and sister ( the bred cooks in his family ).

mack always found himself compensating for his drunk of a big brother. his brother, graham, is four years older than him, and constantly caused the family strife before he was kicked out. mack, being the heartfelt clown he is, was the beating heart of the family. he kept everyone in love with each other, he made sure there wasn’t a day in which each of his family members were wanting--of attention, of quality time, of someone to fetch the groceries while laney ( his sister, five years younger than him ) was at school. so when mack decided to leave glencoe and start traveling on his own, his family definitely felt winded.

mack is so kind and loving and takes decisions that’d affect his loved ones so seriously that his parents looked to him, rather than to his big brother, to be the heir of their manor. but mack is also..... fickle and fleeting and can’t understand why people want to tie him down and put those good qualities to work to save his life. so instead of agreeing, he broke his family’s heart and decided to follow his own--throughout europe, and then to asia, and finally to america, where he has been setting down for four years as an actor in xoxo.

statistics,

full name. mackinley damien ross.

aka. mack, mickey.

occupation / show & role. xoxo, damien lafferety.

age. twenty-four.

pronouns. he/him.

orientation. bisexual.

physical appearance,

hair. curly & brown.

eyes. blue.

build. muscular & slim.

scars. an appendix scar on his abdomen, and a scar down his right bicep from when he cut his arm open on wire on the ground outside as a kid.

tattoos. n/a.

personality,

zodiac. virgo.

alignment. chaotic good.

hogwarts. gryffindor.

positive traits. nurturing, ardent, benevolent, fun-loving, & compassionate.

negative traits. selfish, fickle, fleeting, & hedonistic.

how they’re portayed. abrasive, promiscuous, selfish, hedonistic, & withheld / reticent.

medical record,

mental. n/a.

physical. has broken a lot of bones playing sports over the years. once had asthma, and still carries his inhaler around for the sake of nostalgia.

phobias. ladders & terminal illnesses.

eyesight. no glasses necessary.

drug use. occasionally. isn’t big on them, but isn’t opposed to doing anything non-addicting.

alcohol use. recreationally.

diet. his diet consists of intricate and carefully handled homemade meals.

background,

birth place. glencoe, scotland.

parents. isla macintosh & alexander ross.

siblings. graham ross ( 28 ) & laney ross ( 19 ).

pets. n/a.

education. n/a.

languages. english, french, italian, & russian.

headcanons,

mack is for sure what harry styles is to the press of the music world. every fic written about him is based on this bad boy heterosexual image of him that the world loves to flaunt and daydream about. it doesn’t help that he loves to play the part he knows everyone else loves to lay out for him. he finds it a little fun to pretend that he was typecast for his lothario, bad boy role in xoxo. but he definitely wasn’t. mack, beneath that tabloid gossip, craves real & true love, would be the first to give his life for the people he loves, gives far more than he receives, etc. he’s just... lowkey about it. his clownery doesn’t really help dial down his frivolous press image either but.... oh well. LMDLGKMFG

mack still keeps in touch with his little sister, who thinks he’s an idiot and hates his acting ( lovingly <3 KDLMFG ). he doesn’t keep in touch with his older brother, though, who’s still a drunk and now has inherited the ross estate after their parents died three years ago.

he lives in a gated la community in a house he bought. it’s the first house he has ever had since he began traveling at eighteen, and the not moving around gig is making him a little antsy.

he loves being surrounded by people. he loves throwing cast parties at his house, drinking wine with friends all night, playing stupid party games, and making people laugh until they cry. between takes he’s never in his dressing room. that thing is probably barren. he’s always goofing off, always kicking a ball outside the studio, always playing pranks on cast members, etc. mack is rarely not interacting with people.

so when he is at home alone at the end of a long day... you can bet he’s wishing he had company. this urge for “something, always” has definitely gotten him into trouble before.

connection ideas,

traveling friend. someone he met when he was out in the world for a year? someone who took his hand and played the responsibility-free game with him? maybe they’re the one who led/pushed mack to pursue acting ( with them? ) in america?

ex. someone who broke mack’s heart because they didn’t want to be serious in the way he wanted to be, someone mack let down when they were just about to get serious because he wanted to keep their relationship private, someone who wanted to used mack for fake relationship clout but quickly realized that mack--once he realizes you don’t actually want him--will make it a point to make you look like a fool while he continues to sleep around openly.

line-buddy. someone who’s always going over lines with mack and/or getting frustrated when their studying inevitably gets sidetracked by mack’s need to drag them out to a gross karaoke bar or something.

on-again-off-again. someone mack is always with, and then fighting with, and then making up with, and then going back to, and then leaving, and then realizing he can’t leave because he wants to give them his attention and he wants their attention in return, etc.

hateship. literally just people who hate mack and think he’s a reckless, brainless idiot. because he is. maybe him and these people have fucked before. u know. MDGVLDFKGM

pr-esque relationship / party friend. someone who is literally always matching mack’s energy, going out all the time, singing karaoke drunk at the top of their lungs together, etc. they’re always realizing they’re being watched and inevitably make out or are all over one another in the meantime to publicly boost but also lowkey make fun of the images the tabloids like to dress up for them. it’s like... these two people ( mack and the mystery muse ) know their reputations are beyond their control, so they live up to them instead, only to go home at the end of the night completely platonically.

caretaking relationship. oh mack loves to nurture. so someone who nurtures and looks out for him right back? we’re eating good tonight.

literally so many more. i’m a vessel. DKLMVKDMFG

#tag yourself i'm me spending eight goddamn years writing all of this SKMFLSDF #the intricacy really jumped out with this one ig #anyone if u wanna dm me on discord instead please do!!! i love this place already though. full stop.#✧ ╱ ː ♥ ː 𝔠𝔩𝔬𝔴𝔫 𝔞𝔫𝔱𝔦𝔠𝔰. ⋯ ooc.#studio3intro

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survivingthejungle · 6 years ago

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hopeless wanderer iii—vikings

You got home without so much as a bump in the road and immediately took care of dressing yourself before anyone else. “Listen to me,” you whispered harshly before leaving to the bathroom to change. “Nobody breathes until I get back.” You had been joined by Ivar, Hvitserk, Sigurd, and Ubbe, of course; they were your original “tour group”. But then two others had surprised you when they asked to tag along— Bjørn, and the man himself, Ragnar. You allowed them, of course, because the more the merrier, but it also meant that getting enough clothes to make all of them blend in would be nothing short of a nightmare. “I’m gonna go see if my parents are still home.” They all nodded and you crept down the stairs to scope out the first floor only to find your mother about to walk out the front door. “Are you about to leave without telling me bye?” you asked her, nearly giving her a heart attack.

“Oh my God! (Y/N)! You scared the hell out of me,” she gasped, placing a hand on her chest. “I thought you were still asleep. Sorry, hon.” You hugged her and kissed her cheek. “Bye bye, lovey-dovey.”

“Bye, Mama. Love you.” With that she was out the door, and you and your Viking friends finally could move about freely. You knew your father wasn’t home because he typically left to work at about 5 A.M., and it was at least 8 currently. You watched through the peephole in the front door until her car left the driveway before calling upstairs. “You can come down now! My mom just left!” A band of footsteps swiftly followed—except for Ivar, who was aided by Hvit and Ubbe— and they all joined you at the bottom of the staircase.

“You live in a castle!” Hvitserk exclaimed. “I’ve never seen a house this big. Is your family royalty?”

“Oh, absolutely not. No such thing as ‘royalty’ around here,” you reminded them. “My parents just have pretty decent jobs, so we make enough money to live comfortably. This is a pretty average house compared to the rest.”

“I would like one of these houses,” Ubbe mused, looking around at everything he could see.

“Are y’all hungry?” you asked them, already walking towards the kitchen.

“Will you make us those sweets from yesterday?” Hvit asked you, pushing through his brothers to get next to you.

“No. I’ll make breakfast. Cookies are for after dinner,” you mildly scolded like a mother would a child. “If you guys want eggs I can do that. Or waffles, or bacon, or whatever. Whatever you want.”

“Next time you come back to Kattegat, (Y/N),” Ivar piped up from the floor—I really need to grab that wheelchair—, “We might not let you go.” He said it in the tone of a joke, but part of you knew he could also be serious. “You cook for us and give us clean clothes and know the future; I might make you my wife.”

Sigurd scoffed. “Yeah, and then what?” His brother shot him a hardened glare; it was obvious there was some deep, unresolved tension between them.

“Attitude. Sigurd, stop. Ivar, shut up. I’m not marrying anyone anytime soon; end of story, thank you!” You opened up the fridge door, indicating for them to take seats either at the kitchen table or the island. You grabbed a carton of eggs, milk, butter, cheese; pretty much anything you could use in breakfast foods. From the pantry you brought out waffle mix, oatmeal, and cereal, and found the waffle iron and skillet in a different drawer. After setting everything out on the counter, you turned to open the door to the basement. “‘Kay, breakfast is coming in a minute. I’ll be right back!” you called, already halfway down the steps.

It took a few moments, but you finally found where your mom’s old wheelchair had been stashed away and hauled it back upstairs. “Someone help me get this thing set up,” you suggested to no one in particular. Ragnar and Bjørn were the closest to you, so they got up to help. After stabilizing the wheels and locking the leg rests into place, you wheeled it over to Ivar and they followed, ready to get him settled. It took a minute or so, but they managed to get him seated and you got his legs propped up into place. “Do you wanna give it a test run?” you asked him. He looked at you blankly, clearly not understanding. “You can try to move it yourself, if you want. Just push the wheels.” The three of you backed away from him as he tested it out, rolling himself forward a couple feet.

“This is amazing!” he exclaimed, grinning at you. You smiled back, glad to be able to help your new friend.

“Ya think you can turn it?” You let him try to figure it out on his own, and after a couple fumbles, he managed to turn his direction to the right. “Nice!” You paused. “To make it easier though, we can just push you around for today. You can work on self-propulsion later.” Everyone nodded in understanding and you returned to your post in the kitchen, ready to get cookin’.

They fell into what you assumed was normal morning conversation for them, but you paid little attention to the words being exchanged. You were too focused on trying not to let anything burn; you were working on multiple dishes at once and couldn’t be watching them all at the same time, after all. You were only one girl. You heard the echo of your name and looked up from the eggs you had scrambling on a skillet. It was Ubbe trying for your attention.

“What are we doing today?” he asked you. “What is part of this ‘visit’ you are taking us on?”

“Oh! I’m so glad you asked!” you responded, taking the eggs off of the heat and attempting to deposit them evenly among the seven plates in front of you. “First order of business, I say we get coffee. There’s a little cafe in town—it’s my favorite—, and then we can… probably…” you trailed off, trying to think of how else you could fill the time. “Oh, my mom needed me to go grocery shopping,” you remembered, glancing at the credit card taped to a post-it note on the fridge. “So we can do that. And then we can go to the park! My friends and I are meeting there today to play soccer for a little bit. You can watch; or we can teach you if you want!”

“What… what is that?” Bjørn asked.

“Soccer?” He nodded. “It’s a sport, like a game. You— you’ll get it when you see it,” you assured him. You were also half-busy piling chocolate chip waffles onto everyone’s plates, so your explanation wasn’t necessarily adequate.

“You said your friends will be there?” Hvitserk asked you. You nodded and gave an mmh-hm. “How are you going to explain... us?”

“Oh, wow, good question,” you pondered. You racked through ideas in your head for a moment until a decent solution came to you: “Family friends. I’ll just say your family’s friends with mine because of business and stuff. And you’re visiting from Norway. Problem solved.” You walked around to everyone, handing out plates and silverware; and when you had finished doing that you brought them orange juice. Finally finished serving them—that sounded downgrading— you seated yourself on the kitchen counter and dug into your breakfast. After the first few bites, Bjørn broke the silence.

“This is delicious! What is it?” he asked, mouth stuffed and eyes wide.

“Chocolate chip waffles! Aren’t they great?” He nodded, taking another bite. You had drizzled syrup onto everyone’s just to ensure that they were extra sweet.

“Please, never stop bringing food for us,” Ragnar laughed. “This is much better than what we have in Kattegat.”

“That’s the beauty of the twenty-first century, my friend.” An idea crossed your mind. “Speaking of which…” you glanced at Ivar. “Hey, Google!” They looked at you like you had two heads. “Good morning!” The confused stares continued until the ‘assistant’ responded.

“Good morning, (Y/N),” the robotic voice responded. The stares of your friends intensified about tenfold as the robot continued to speak. “The weather today will be sunny, a high of seventy with a ten percent chance of rain. There is no traffic on the highway this morning. You have no new reminders.”

“Cool,” you said, more for yourself than for the robot’s sake. “Hey Google? What are diseases that make your bones weak?” Ivar looked at you with suspicion in his eyes; he knew you were asking because of him, but he wasn’t sure what your goal was.

“Here are some diseases with the symptom ‘weak bones’: low bone density, osteoporosis, osteogenesis imperfecta—”

“What’s osteogenesis imperfecta?” you asked, interrupting the list.

“Also called ‘brittle bone disease.’ A group of inherited disorders characterized by fragile bones that break easily.”

Ivar’s eyes widened along with the rest of his brothers and his father. “That’s me!” he told you excitedly, “That’s what I have!” He was grinning; he looked like a puppy.

“Then that’s what we’ll tell people you have, if anyone asks,” you responded. You smiled back at him. You weren’t expecting to help them make a big life discovery today, but you were glad that it had turned out that way.

—

You had a car full of ninth century Vikings in your car within the next hour, all wearing clothes that you had lent them from your dad’s closet. In the passenger seat was Hvitserk, followed by Ivar and Ubbe in the middle two seats; Sigurd, Bjørn, and Ragnar were sitting in the back three seats. You’d had to teach them all how to put on a seatbelt, and once that fiasco had been dealt with, you started the car up and connected your speaker system to the music on your phone. “Where is that coming from?” asked Sigurd,”Where are the instruments? Who’s playing this music?”

“It’s coming from my phone. I don’t really get how it works, either, but it’s going through the speakers in my car; there’s not actually anyone playing it right now.” He nodded as if he understood; it was obvious he didn’t, but he pretended to anyways.

The song in question was Edge of Seventeen by Stevie Nicks, one of your favorite songs in the world. It was playing at medium volume, but you were in the mood to scream-sing along.

The weather had been beautiful that day. It was the middle of summer, it was warm outside, and the sun was shining. You rolled all the windows down and grabbed your sunglasses off of the hook on your sun visor, sliding them onto your head before cranking the volume up—not too loud, you didn’t know how sensitive they’d be to the noise, but a noticeable amount higher. Your eyes were trained on the road, like any good driver, but when you glanced to your side or in your rearview mirrors, you could see the awe written on their expressions because they’d never had an experience like this before. “How are you moving this?” Hvit asked you, voice slightly raised above the music and the hum of the wind.

“Gasoline!” You told him, not looking too far away from the road ahead of you. You were a fast driver. That isn’t to say you were going sixty miles above the speed limit, because you were still getting out of your neighborhood; but you were definitely going about forty in a fifteen zone. “Are we having fun?”

Ivar, clearly, was not. “This is worse than being at sea,” he groaned, looking like he was going to be carsick.

“Ooh. Sorry. I’ll slow up.” You let off the gas and slowed down, turning the music down as well and turning up the A.C. for him. “Better?”

“Yes.”

“Damnit, Ivar, why do you always ruin everything?” Sigurd was explicitly pissed off at his brother, which was not too unusual. Before the fight could escalate you shut it down.

“Hey! Shut up. If he’s feeling sick I’m not gonna just let him throw up in my car. Get over it. And stop fighting, Jesus! You two are acting like children! Be mature!” They both glared at each other, and then Sigurd glared at you through the rearview mirror. You’d had enough of their bickering, and his attitude. “Sigurd, I will turn this car around and march you all straight back to where you came from. Don’t make me regret this.”

Ragnar, Bjørn, Hvitserk, and Ubbe erupted into laughter. They’d never seen either of the boys ever put into place like that, especially not by a woman who wasn’t their mother. They couldn’t’ve been more amused.

“You will have my boys trained like dogs in no time with that attitude,” Ragnar laughed. You couldn’t help but chuckle with the rest of them. A few minutes passed by, filled by your singing along to your music while the Vikings looked around their new surroundings, fascinated. You pulled into the parking lot outside of the coffee shop.

“We’re here! My favorite place in the world. Do you guys ha— well, no I guess you wouldn’t. Who wants to try coffee today?”

“What is it?” Bjørn asked you.

“A drink. It’s made from coffee beans and it gives you energy. But it is a bit of an acquired taste, so you might not like it at first.”

“It sounds strange,” Hvit noted.

“It is. But I love it. I’ll just get two drinks and you all can try it and see if you like it,” you said, opening your door and getting out of the car, keys, phone, and wallet in hand. The Vikings managed to unbuckle themselves after a few moments and followed after you. You grabbed the wheelchair out of the back for Ivar and he Ragnar got him situated. When you walked in, it was relatively calm and quiet, and you sincerely hoped not to disturb the peace— or rather, you hoped that they wouldn’t disturb the peace. A few heads turned to observe the six gigantic men trailing after a young girl, but you paid them no mind. The Vikings looked all around the building, very confused by it all. You told them you’d tell them all about it once you were seated—outside, so that no one heard you. You ordered two iced caramel lattes from the barista, paid her, and waited for your drinks to be prepared. “I ordered them cold, because it’s too hot outside to be drinking hot coffee, in my opinion. And I got it flavored so it isn’t too bitter for you all. …I hope.”

It wasn’t a busy day so your drinks were ready soon after, and you popped the straws in before handing one to whoever was closest to you, who happened to be Ivar. He looked up at you blankly before grabbing the cup from your hand. He eyed it for a moment, took a sip, and grimaced. “I don’t know if I like it or not.”

Hvitserk rolled his eyes. “Give it to me. Make your mind up.” He took a sip, considered it, then took another. “It’s...good, but very strange.” The rest of the boys all tried it, didn’t know how to feel about it, then tried it again. Your favorite comment came straight from the man himself, Ragnar:

“I want to hate it, but… I like it.”

“See what I mean? Acquired taste. Anyone wanna finish it?”

Hvitserk grabbed it. “Yeah, I’ll drink it.” You chuckled.

Back in the car, you grabbed the shopping list your mom gave you and read over it for a moment. Hvit remained in the passenger seat and looked over your arm, trying to get a look at the list as well. You showed it to him. “Can you even read this?”

He stared at it for a few seconds before shaking his head. “No. What language is that?”

“English. But—” Ivar interrupted you.

“I can speak the Saxons’ language. Give it to me, I will read,” he demanded.

“You aren’t going to be able to read this, but I guess you can try,” you relented, and handed the list back to him. He flipped it around a couple times before handing it back. “That is not English.”

“Yes it is. But, as I was about to say, it’s not the same English that you know. The language has evolved over the past thousand years, and so has the writing.” You had pulled out of the parking lot and were now on the highway to where the nearest supermarket was.

Ubbe spoke up. “Where are we headed now?”

“The store, to go grocery shopping. It’s like a market, except everything is all sold in one place, and you buy it from the store, and not from another person.”

“That seems stupid. Where does the money go?” asked Bjørn.

“The people who own the stores. And the people who work there, but they don’t get as much as they should. You’re right, it is stupid; but it’s how the Western world does things.”

The closer you got to the store, the less keen you were on bringing six ancient Vikings to your local Kroger. You’d stick out like a sore thumb with them all trailing behind them, regardless of whether or not they were dressed to blend. And you couldn’t send them off to fetch items for you, they couldn’t read and they probably wouldn’t know what to look for, anyways!

You pulled into the parking lot and found a spot, putting the worries to the back of your mind. Get over it, (Y/N), this is your life now. You gave them all a warming before anyone get out of the car. “First thing: Automatic doors. There’s a wall of glass at the front that’s gonna open when you get close to it. Don’t let it freak you out. Second thing: absolutely no eating the groceries until they’re bought. Just… follow me and don’t act weird. Try to blend in.”

#vikings #vikings imagine #ragnar lothbrok #ragnar imagine #bjorn ironside #bjorn imagine #ubbe ragnarson #ubbe imagine #hvitserk ragnarson #hvitserk imagine #sigurd snake in the eye #sigurd imagine #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarson #ivar imagine #i! hate! tagging!

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aleapoffaithfiction · 5 years ago

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"Love is not all about loving everything perfect, it is when someones corrosive nature is the only thing that glues you to them which you wished it were never there." ― Michael Bassey Johnson

“I heard you the first time ma.”

Curtains and dinnerware. She’d been going on and on about the need for both for nearly thirty minutes. I’d have to question my own mental capacity if I hadn’t remembered it. With the first day of fall already over two weeks behind us, she complained about the need to change all of the pale coral drapes in the house to be in accord with the season. She raved about multiple shades of red being the perfect color palette for the Brooklyn townhome she resides in but eventually changed her mind by randomly blurting out that it’s too early for things to be so Christmas-y and instead opted for brunt orange. As for the dinnerware, it specifically has to be the nearly five hundred-dollar twenty-piece lace gold Vera Wang Wedgwood set that she fell in love at Bed Bath & Beyond.

It took every ounce of energy I had left within me to get off of the couch, change my clothing, and drive over here per her request after an extremely loaded day at work, so the last thing I want to hear about is her trivial needs and yet...here we are.

“Well, I know it’ll be like pulling teeth to get you over here any other day this week, so maybe we can do a little shopping this weekend. We can pick up Celeste and take that new car of yours for a good drive around the city or maybe we can head back your way so that I can go to Walmart.” Or she and Celeste can take either one of their cars and go on their boring shopping trip without me. With mommy’s early retirement and Celeste’s somewhat loose schedule with her counseling and life coaching career, the both of them have more than enough time to be in and out of stores for the sake of having something to do.

Every now and then, they’ll pester me into joining them for the sake of the three of us spending time together, but I usually dread it. They’re the slow, look at anything and everything for no logical reason, shoppers who slowly stroll around the stores while discussing the most trivial things. And me? I’m usually trailing behind them while huffing and puffing in annoyance at it all. Celeste always deems me to be the annoying little sister who throws a tantrum when everyone isn’t doing what she wants whenever I react in that manner and I always let her know that she can kiss my black ass every single time she says it. There’s a lot more I can be doing on a Saturday besides walking around Walmart and looking at the same ol’ shit.

“Yeah, I guess so.” As she wiped her counter top in the kitchen, I broke off another piece of the piña colada pound cake she made with my fingers and dropped it into my mouth. Per the usual, the flavoring and moisture was to perfection.

“I know I thought you better than that. The spoon is right there.” I let that go in one ear and right out of the other. The only way I’d be using that spoon is if she had some vanilla ice cream to go with this cake and she doesn’t, because it’s the first thing I checked for when I arrived. She only has butter pecan. What is it with older people and butter pecan ice cream anyway?

“Are you still going back home for auntie Shelly’s birthday or are you still thinking about it?” She immediately scoffed with a roll of her eyes and began to fold up the wet kitchen towel so that she could toss it behind the faucet as she always does when she’s finished wiping the counters.

“I’ll probably be there. She’s yet to stop calling and getting on my damn nerves about it. I’ve never known anyone to be more obsessed with their birthday than Shelly. You’d think that she’s turning twenty-one years old with the way she’s carrying on. Oh, and then there’s the part about her wanting a Gucci bag as a gift. She has a lot of damn nerve. Why do people automatically assume because you live in America, that you’re made of money?” And just like that, with her frustration, came her Trinidadian accent in full swing. Though they’re only two years apart in age, both mommy and auntie Shelly clash like no other and yet will give you hell if you dare to test either one of them. Even with the complaints, I won’t be surprised when she flies to Trinidad with that Gucci bag packed with her belongings because she plays the big sister role well and spoils auntie no matter how much she nags about her ridiculous requests. My grandmother, Auntie Shelly, and mommy migrated to the United States when mommy was seventeen and though she’s been here ever since, Auntie Shelly moved back to Trinidad to be with her now husband, Uncle Winston. Supposedly, mommy dated Uncle Winston first and that’s what caused their clashing ways, but that’s a story that I’ve never cared to look into. That skeleton and whatever else involves it, can remain in the closet.

“Because people stereotype. It’s a part of life.” And that’s the truth. You won’t believe how many family members believe my bank accounts are on Oprah levels because my face is on television five days a week. I dread family events for that very reason. I’m all for putting my people on and have definitely extended a helping hand for the sake of granting people opportunities but there are so many people who have no interest in working their way up to where they want to be in life. How do you expect to be somewhere in life without a foundation under you? More than anything or anyone else, the esteem you have for yourself after having busted your ass for an achievement is magical.

“Celeste said that she’d fly down with me for the birthday party if I do decide to go. Why don’t you come too? It’ll be a nice getaway for you and I’ll be able to have both of my children with me.”

“It all depends on the scheduling. I have to warn them weeks ahead if I decide to take a trip because they have to reach out to other analysts or athletes to find creative ways to fill in for me while I’m gone. I can’t just pick up and go. If it’s a weekend thing, I can probably fly out on Friday right after we wrap up on air and just skip out on the Podcast. That should get me there by like Friday evening.”

“Sounds fair enough to me, for as long as you come.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“So how is work?” My eyes instantly widened at the question because it’s one she never asks.

“It’s going great, honesty. I can’t complain even if I wanted to. How can I? I have one of my dream jobs. I’ve always wanted to have a show on ESPN and now I’m apart of a panel for the highest rated show on the network. I’d be a fool to have a single complaint about that.”

“I’ll never be able to understand how sitting around and talking about sports all day long is so interesting but that’s who you are, I suppose.” And there it is; the condescending dismissal of what I love.

Being a tomboy was something that happened to be within my nature while I was a kid, I didn’t ask for it nor did I go seeking that identity. I had no interest in playing with dolls and doll houses, I wanted soccer and basketballs. The whole kitchen and tea party thing was more of my sister’s style. I urged daddy to sign me up for the Boys and Girls Club, every summer league in Brooklyn, and to buy me game systems so that I could play them on those rainy or snowy days when I couldn’t or didn’t go outside and play. Dresses were for church and Easter, as far as I was concerned. Jeans and sneakers were more of my thing and still are; I just sex them up whenever I feel like it because I’ve confidently come into my womanhood and can be multifaced in the way that I dress myself.

I compromised with her by learning how to cook, only because she would constantly drill it into Celeste and I heads that she refused to have her children go out into the world without knowing how to feed themselves, but other than that, all of my thrills were in exciting times like those NFL wildcard games to clinch playoff spots, Venus and Serena Williams coming up in the ranks, or that kid from Akron, Ohio who was deemed to be the greatest human being to touch a basketball while still in high school. Hell, I remember when all of the girls around my way had a crush on Coney Island’s own Sebastian Telfair, meanwhile all I wanted was to play a couple of games of one on one with the guy right in the projects where he, his older brother Jamel, and their cousin, former NBA player Stephon Marbury came up. Though us two girls were all they had, daddy would always happily boast and brag about me being his best friend because I was the best of both words all made up into one. As for my other parent, she refused to understand it and even now, the stubbornness still gets in the way of the potential for us to bond more than we do.

“I’ll never be able to understand how you sit around and watch all of those Housewives shows and yet I don’t judge that you do. If anything, you should be thrilled that I’m accomplishing my goals and doing something positive with my life.”

“Oh, I know you’re doing something positive with your life. I’m not disagreeing with what you do. I’ve told you many times that I’m proud of you, but you know that I’ve never been into those things. You are your father’s child in that aspect and Celeste and I relate more in terms of our interests.”

“That approach is silly though, because despite my lack of interest in a lot of the things that the both of you like or entertain yourselves with, I at least try to figure out a way to enjoy it for the sake of the both of you, but neither one of you grant me the same courtesy. I’ve offered for the both of you to come and visit Bristol and see the studios and you’ve yet to take me up on the offer. I’ve asked you guys to come to games or events, but you haven’t come. So, I stopped asking. What’s the point in wasting my time and setting myself up for disappointment?”

“Sarai, don’t be ridiculous. You really believe that I can sit through hours of a bunch of guys dribbling a ball up and down a court? I’m getting a headache just thinking about it.”

“You believe that I wanted to be a part of that purposeless and stupid debutante ball? I mean just think about how sexist and elitist the concept of it is. It’s a ball to present young ladies to the high society and most of all, to display her to eligible bachelors so that she can marry into a rich family. How shallow can you get with something like that? And yet I did it, for you. I hated every single minute of it, including Chase Williams, and his weird topics of conversation. I can’t believe you thought he and I would ever hit it off.”

“It was at that same debutante ball that your sister met her now husband.”

“Okay, so what?” I was seventeen at the time. I wasn’t worried about finding a husband. Shit, I wasn’t even concerned with a boyfriend. I didn’t date in grammar or high school. My greatest concern at the time was gaining acceptance into the undergraduate program at New York University’s Arthur L. Carter Journalism Institute. I wanted it more than anything else and yet during my senior year, I juggled trying to keep my grades as close to perfect as possible while obliging her erratic decisions for me. Chase Williams being my future husband was a failure, but my acceptance into NYU was a success.

Despite journalism being my major and broadcast and multimedia being my minor, I also had to choose a second major within the College of Arts and Sciences and I ended up going with computer science and economics. If the journalism side of things didn’t work out, I planned to go in the cyber security route or I was going to get rich or die trying by trying to be the next Mark Zuckerberg. Thankfully, journalism was truly my calling. I was accepted into the honors program during the spring semester of my freshman year and was given the opportunity to work on an in-depth multimedia piece over the course of one academic year that ending up being reported on by The New York Times. Arguably the best part of my undergraduate years was six rigorous weeks of a summer program in Ghana where I worked as a foreign correspondent. It was an experience that I’ll never forget.

“I wanted you to be a part of that ball to expose you to things beyond yourself. Sports aside, you were so caught up in just you. I believed you needed to see there’s a lot more to life than balls flying all over the place and the occasional outings with your teammates.”

“Yeah, that’s what family vacations are for and even when we did those, it was never anything I liked. I asked you for Knicks game tickets and you took Celeste and I to see Carmen at the Metropolitan Opera House instead. I asked you for a ticket to the U.S. Open and you took us to see Swan Lake at the American Ballet Theater. For my birthday, you told me to pick anywhere in the U.S. to go for a family trip and I chose the Naismith Memorial Basketball Hall of Fame in Massachusetts and where did we end up going? Niagara Falls.”

“You sound so ungrateful right now. This is exactly what Celeste talks about when she says that you throw silly little tantrums when you can’t get your way.”

“I’m not being ungrateful. You’re calling this a tantrum because I’m telling the truth?”

“Well, Sarai, in a lot of cases, you chose things that myself nor Celeste would enjoy so I tried to find things that I thought would interest all three of us.”

“An opera and a ballet show? For me? And even then, I didn’t even complain about it. I just figured out ways to enjoy it despite being internally angry that I couldn’t go to the places that I wanted to go. I had to get a summer job for that.”

“What about when I took you two to Disney World?”

“It was nice.” And it was. It was the first and only vacation I enjoyed.

“Okay then.”

“But, if we’re going to be technical, the only reason why I was able to see all of the things that I liked is because of auntie Shelly. I spent most of the time in the park with her.”

“Sarai, please. All that matters is we went and you enjoyed it.” In a gesture that she’s been doing in response to my complaints since I was a child, she waved me off with a roll of her eyes and turned her attention to the touch screen display on the right-side door of her brand-new Samsung refrigerator that I’d gotten her for her birthday. She threw enough hints out about the two thousand five-hundred-dollar state of the art gadget to convince me that it would be an essential part of her kitchen and I made it happen.

“Daddy would have taken me to all of those places though. That’s for sure.” I went to my first Knicks game with him. I saw my first home run at the Yankee stadium with him. We saw the Nets together back when they were still in New Jersey. We even went to a Jersey Devils game, though I wasn’t that into hockey at the time. In the summer time, we’d go stand outside the gate at the Rucker Park and watch the guys hoop while we enjoyed ice cream cones from the Mister Softee truck lingering on the corner. I had every pair of Jordans that hit the shelves and my poster collection on my bedroom walls? Unmatched.

“I’m sure he would have but he’s no longer with us and I’m not sure why you feel compelled to bring up what he would have done if he were.”

“I guess because it’s the truth.”

“Well he’s not here Sarai. I’m sorry if you don’t think I was a good enough parent for you. I had a roof over your head, I put food on the table, clothes on your back, and made sure you were in a great school. You had good birthdays and Christmas’. We went on vacations, whether you were grateful for them or not. I tried to do my best as a single parent so don’t come in here throwing it into my face what your father would have done. I did what I could and he would have been damn proud of me.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t a good enough parent. Daddy just understood me more.”

“Well guess what Sarai? He was my husband. You don’t think my time with him was cut short too? I miss him just as much as you do. While I understand that he was your everything, I don’t think he would want you to be behaving in the manner that you do. Parents bring children into the world with the expectation to raise them and then one day leave them behind to be here to make a legacy for themselves. Your father’s life was cut short, but ultimately, he was raising you to prepare for a time when death would happen. I’m not going to be around forever either.” The pitch of her voice suddenly increased as she leaned forward to align her eyes with my own.

“I attempted to break you out of that odd mold you were creating for yourself and to expose you to different things because I don’t want you to do exactly what you’re doing right now; being alone out in this world. You’re so hostile towards life itself and it’s such a horrible mentality to have. I’m surprised you’ve kept Taylor around for so long because all you do is push everyone away. You think your father would want you behaving like that? He would have given you a never-ending earful. I’m sorry that he’s no longer here Sarai, but Wesley isn’t coming back. It’s been sixteen years. You have to move on.”

The tears that were once burning my eyes, came trickling down the sides of my cheeks. Many of our conversations always end up here, with her making this point, and then dismissing any criticism that I have for her as me unfairly measuring her up to my father. It’s never been about that. I don’t believe we have a poor relationship with one another, I just know that it has the potential to be so much better than it is. It’s not even about the past, because I don’t have to bring it up, but when I do, it’s always to point out how things are still the same when it comes to her stubbornness about who I am, what I do for a living, and my interests. I’m not as extreme with my tom boyish ways as I used to be, but I’m also not a prissy girly girl either. I’m just me.

“Move on like you have?” She hasn’t. It’s been sixteen years and she’s never remarried. The government funded support groups helped with her coping skills but anything beyond that? It’s been a slow burn progress. When I do attend church with her, I see guys checking her out and smiling in her face all the time, but from her view, they may as well be speaking to a wall. She still wears her rings and his on a necklace that she always wears around her neck and there are pictures up around the house with him in them as if everything is still as normal as it was before our world came crashing down with his sudden death.

“Don’t worry about me and what I have going on. You’re still wet behind the ears with a whole lot of life ahead of you. Don’t waste your time by trying to be like me. You’d be a fool for that. Your happiness is somewhere out in the world waiting for you and it’s up to you to find it or accept it when it finds you. Dry your face.”

I could barely finish off the second slice of cake as my stomach dropped for the millionth time at the sight of the season ending injury that snapped Beckham’s ankle during their week five match up against the Chargers. The sight of him lying on the field clutching his ankle in agony as tears began to pour out of his eyes is still as gut wrenching as it was when I watched it from my couch yesterday and the many times ESPN replayed it as we reported on it this morning. It’s always disappointing to see a player injured but the manner in which it happened to him drew emotion out of me that I hadn’t expected and yet, I didn’t have enough courage to pick up the phone and check on him. I just…couldn’t.

How could I when I spent the last two weeks ignoring any form of communication that he attempted to have with me? His text messages had gone from being sweet messages wishing me a good morning and his own opinions on the segments from the show, to being filled with confusion as to why I refused to respond to him. He attempted to call me three times but I simply stared at the phone and watched it ring. I thought after the unanswered phone calls his persistence would cease, but he then reached out through a Twitter direct message where he asked me if I was alright, because he was worried. A day or so after that, I believe he’d gotten the hint that I was deliberately leaving him unanswered and he stopped.

I thought I would have successfully disappointed and discouraged him when I spoke on the conflict of interest between myself and any athletes beyond the professional setting but it all went into one ear and right out of the other, so I needed to go another route and ignoring him was that. In the midst of the necessary barrier I built between he and I, I hated that I would find myself looking at my phone in anticipation that he’d try again. I scolded myself for lying in bed wondering about him and hoping that he still watches the show. Last night, I berated myself for the tears that I shed in sympathy for what he’s going through right now.

It felt like the Giants were cursed that day. Dwayne Harris left the game with a fractured foot, Brandon Marshall and Sterling Shepard left the game with ankle sprains, and Beckham with a fibula fracture. It was somber in New York, especially for a team that wanted to redeem themselves after such a terrible season ending playoff lost in the prior season. It pained me to read off Harris being out for the season, but it completely sent my mood into a downward spiral when I had to state the same exact verdict for Beckham. As such an explosive player and someone who only gets sixteen games a season, excluding the playoffs, to play the sport that he loves, I can’t even begin to imagine his disappointment.

I spoke with Heather. When I reached out, he was still in recovery from surgery. She said it was successful and he’s okay.

I reached out to Taylor a short while ago and asked her had she heard anything about his surgery. Everything took place today at the Hospital for Special Surgery in Manhattan.

Okay, good. Thank you.

The remaining half of the additional slice of cake I was having went into the garbage. I then slipped into my jean jacket and grabbed my car keys.

“Ma, I’m leaving. I need to run somewhere right quick.”

“Will I see you this weekend?” I knew she wasn’t too far away. She was right there in the living room wrapped up into what NeNe Leakes has going on in her drama filled life.

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“Okay, then. Don’t catch an attitude when I call you.”

“I never do.”

As I neared the door, something within me told me to turn around, and I swiftly approached her and planted a kiss on her forehead. No matter how many disagreements we may have, that’s my mother, and I’m always going to leave her on a respectful note.

“Drive safely. Are you going to see a guy?” The gleam in her eyes instantly evoked the rolling of my eyes.

“Ma, don’t be ridiculous. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

My first stop was Scott’s Flowers, a florist I frequent when I feel like putting a brighter smile on my mother’s face or whenever an occasion calls for someone to receive flowers. They’re so familiar with my face that I don’t have to call ahead of time for most of my orders and today was of no exception. While swiftly flipping through a booklet of floral arrangements that weren’t impressive enough, I tossed it aside and opted for one hundred long stem yellow roses inside of a cylinder glass vase. In the corner of the room was an assortment of teddy bears that caught my eyes, so I chose the biggest one they had. I know if I had surgery, I’d want a teddy bear to keep me company. Scott slipped in a number of sly questions about who I was spending four hundred dollars on at this time of evening, but I avoided lying by diverting the subject matter. I considered grabbing some chocolates but I ultimately chose not to because I’m not sure if he likes it. The bottles of wine he raved about while I was on my way out of the door were pointless too. Wine can either be nice for a celebration or a painkiller for sadness, but it can’t be either for him because I’m sure he’s on a ton of actual painkillers.

“Tell Dominique I said hello.”

“Will do.” Yes, mommy’s name is Dominique. Mrs. Dominique Nicole Thomas-Nazaire. Trini to de bone.

The drive to the hospital was twenty minutes of bad nerves and conversations with myself that drowned out whatever Hot 97 had playing. I hadn’t even announced that I would be showing up and yet, here I am, in the parking lot, about to intrude on he and his family’s privacy as he recovers from surgery. I’ve always considered myself to be a thinker even though I think too damn much at times, but I didn’t spend much time taking into consideration all the things that could go wrong with this mission to do a good deed tonight. Who I am to even think that I may be able to slightly cheer him up with some tired ass flowers that’ll die within a few days, a teddy bear that his little brother will enjoy far more than he will, and two “Get Well Soon” balloons that I grabbed from a dollar store five minutes before arriving here? And I didn’t even take into account that it’s fucking me. I’m not Oprah known, but I’m known enough for people to make a narrative that is far from the truth if I’m seen here.

“You can be such a dumbass Sarai.” I panned my eyes over the parking lot. “Fuck it.”

I cleared my conscious as I slipped out of the car and retrieved all that I’d gotten for him out of the backseat. With the click of a button, I locked all of my doors and quickly trekked through the sliding doors and to the lobby’s information desk to get a pass.

“Good evening, how are you?” The short, stocky, and elderly woman warmly smiled at me while watching me manage to juggle the flowers, bear, balloons, and my purse.

“Hi. I’m well. I’m here to see Odell Beckham Jr.”  “Are you on the list?”

Oh. My. God. See? I’m stupid. How and why didn’t I think about there being a list? He’s only one of the most high-profile athletes in the whole fucking world.

“Um, I’m not sure.” I’m not. Obviously.

“What’s your name? Also, I have to note that visiting hours are ending soon.”

“Sarai. Sarai Nazaire.” Great. Just great.

As her fingers went to tapping away at the keyboard, I began to strategize my escape plan so that I won’t suffer in embarrassment when she tells me that my name isn’t there. While on my way out, I’ll trash all of this, because they’re obviously not going to make sure all of this gets upstairs to him due to it being a security risk.

“Sarai?” I couldn’t mistake that voice. As my head twisted to the left, Heather stopped squinting her eyes and brightly smiled at my presence. God decided to be gracious towards me today. I definitely have to go to church this Sunday with mommy. I’m not going to use cramps as a poor excuse like I did yesterday. My period ended Saturday. Lord, forgive me please.

“Hey Heather.” She adjusted the strap on her Chanel bag while approaching me and immediately engulfed me into a hug. Much like her son, I don’t know how anyone can ever become angry with this woman. She’s just one big ball of positivity.

“I’m so glad to see you. O’s going to be so happy you’re here.”

“They said that visiting hours are ending soon.”

“Oh, don’t worry about that. We’re in good standing with the surgeon. Once you’re upstairs, no one’s going to bother you. I stayed here all night long last night.”

“How is he?”

“He’s alright. He’s in good spirits even though he’s in both mental and physical pain. I know that sounds like it doesn’t make sense, but it does to me. He could be a lot of worse, you know? As I told him, it’s a minor setback for a major comeback.”

“That’s true.”

“And the surgery went extremely well. The fix is as perfect as it’s going to get so I can feel a lot of weight being lifted off of my shoulders and his, even though he’s not going to admit that right now. He has a long road ahead of him before full recovery and of course him getting back to the athletic O that we all know and love, but the fact of the matter is that he’s going to recover. There are people who do not, so he’s blessed.”

“I’m so glad to hear that. When I saw his ankle bend like that, I literally yelped out loud.”

“Oh, so did I. I just about had a heart attack. Thank God I was here. My nerves would have been shot to hell had I been back home.”

“Were you leaving?”

“Yeah, I’m going to head back to the house to freshen up and get a bit of rest. He sent everyone else home about an hour ago. I was the last one hanging around. He claims everyone needs to go and chill out for a bit, but honestly, I think he was tired of the crowd being in the room. He couldn’t get much rest himself with everyone hovering over him and doing all of that talking.”

“Oh my gosh, well then, maybe I can just have this sent up and I’ll just head out. If he’s trying to rest, I don’t want to disturb him.”

“Oh no. Don’t be silly. Please go up, I insist. Even if it’s just for a few minutes, I know he’ll be happy you came by.”

“Okay.” Maybe I’ll stick around for ten minutes.

“I should be back first thing in the morning. Oh, and thank you so much for the words of encouragement you spoke this morning for he and the other wide receivers who were injured yesterday. You’re so awesome Sarai. Truly.” Yet again we were hugging.

“Oh, there’s no need to thank me. I hate to see players get injured. It’s awful.”

“Yes, it is. They’ll be alright though. I just try to think positive. I grabbed him a light dinner earlier because he’s not fond of the hospital’s food and he has some snacks up there too, so he should be okay. He knows to call me if he needs me. You can also call me if anything comes up. You have my number.”

“Yes, I do. I’ll be sure to call.”

“Alright then. I’ll see you soon. Have a good night.”

“Goodnight.”

As she walked away, I realized that she hadn’t given the receptionist clearance for me to be able to go upstairs.

Shit.

“Sarai right? I placed your laminated pass right there. I just need you to step back a bit so that I can take a picture with the camera and print one out.”

“Oh, everything is okay?” My brows raised in confusion.

“Of course. Your name is there.” She said it so nonchalantly, it almost went over my head that my name was indeed on his visitor’s list. I’m sure the picture she took looked foolish and that was confirmed once she passed it to me. How is my name already on the list?

“He’s on the fourth floor. The room is on your pass. The elevators are right over there to the right.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

Flutters filled my core as the elevator ascended to the fourth floor. The feeling worsened as I stood in front of the closed door to his private room.

What will I say? If he saw this morning’s episode, then I don’t want to be repetitive with the words of encouragement. Then again, does he even want to hear that? I know I wouldn’t want to hear the cliché “it’ll be okay” after being told I won’t be able to play for the rest of the season. That’s not okay. Maybe I won’t say anything and I’ll just listen. After so much disappointment and a surgery, who wouldn’t want to vent? Either way, I came all this way, so I might as well go through with this. I’ll kick myself in the ass later on when I’m back home.

“Beckham?” I poked my head into the room. There was silence. As he lay there in bed, he stared up at the ceiling in deep thought until I interrupted him.

“Sarai?” He cleared his throat to rid it of some of the rasp as I stepped into the room and allowed the door to close behind myself. Our eyes instantly met and the glossiness within them sunk my mood even further. I could tell he hadn’t been crying but it was clear that the weight of all that had happened to him over the last twenty-four hours was on his shoulders like a ton of bricks and right now, within this moment, he feels something he typically never feels for himself; helpless.

“Yes, it’s me.”

“Wow. Flowers?” A bit of gleam filled his eyes and he chuckled at the sight of all of the yellowness in my hands. As I glanced around the room, I noticed a ton of balloons, two gift baskets filled with chocolate, but no flowers. “I’ve never received flowers before.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Is it a bad thing?”

“Of course not. I’m flattered, honestly.” I found a nice spot near the window to place them down, so they’d be able to receive a good amount of sunlight and I placed the teddy bear on the couch just near the window.

“I figured I’d get them in yellow to bring some brightness around here. I don’t care what they look like; all hospitals are dull and glum to me. You don’t need that kind of energy around you right now. You want to hug the bear?”

“A hug from you sounds better.” It felt like someone punched a hole into my chest and knowingly squeezed my lungs once he said that. The hesitance was clear as my feet remained just about glued to the floor for a few seconds but I eventually began to inch my way over to his awaiting arms and laid my upper frame on top of his. With him laying down, I was only able to grip both of his arms as he wrapped his drawn-out arms around my body and pulled me close. The beating our hearts synced and somehow, I felt more alive than I did at any point during this befuddling day. A laziness filled me as the warmth of his body relaxed mine and the enthralling scent of his cologne coerced my eyes to close as we basked in the moment. The feeling his fingers lightly pressing into my back informed me of just how much he needed to be embraced and if that could give him just the slightest bit of comfort through this, I’m am willing to give him as many hugs as it takes.

“I ran into your mom. She said the surgery was a success.”

“Yeah, the doctor claims all is well. I have a long road ahead of me though.” Despite me sitting up to be able to look at his alluring face, I was still wrapped up within his arms.

“It takes about six weeks for bones to heel, but there’s a possibility it can be longer. We’ll just have to pace it. For the next four to six weeks I really have to chill out and keep my weight off of it as much as possible. They’re going to put me on a pain management protocol so I won’t be so dependent on the opioid medications which is great for me because I hate how all of that shit is making my body feel. I’m going to be in a splint when I get out here and I have to basically sit on my ass and elevate it ninety percent of the day. In about two weeks, he’ll take the sutures out and then I’ll get one of those boots that you can take on and off. I’ll be able to start slightly moving the ankle then and taking showers. They’ll do an x-ray in six to seven weeks to see how well the bone healed and if all is well then, I’ll be able to start putting weight on it and doing physical therapy.”

“Well, at least you really listened to all that he had to say.” I had to laugh at the way he easily listed off the way his life is going to be for the next month and a half. He didn’t sound enthusiastic about it whatsoever, but he’s certainly well informed.

“Well, yeah I did. I can’t take not being on my feet for so long. All of that sitting around is going to drive me insane.”

“It doesn’t have to. Now is a good time for you to find other things to entertain yourself with.”

“You know what’s crazy? Remember when I said to you that I was praying to God for more time to do things that are beyond the football field like spending time with my family, friends, and the dogs? Now look.”

“Well, I don’t think God decided to grant you that wish by snapping your ankle, but at least you’ll be able to gain some perspective about life in the midst of this.”

“Everyone keeps telling me that it’s going to be alright. Minor setback for a major comeback.”

“Well, I’m not going to tell you that.” His hands trailed down my back as he frowned in confusion in the same manner that I had been doing downstairs.

“What do you mean?”

“You snapped your ankle. You’re lying in a hospital bed. Despite what everyone is telling you, that’s not what you feel. This feels fucked up and pretty shitty. You’re out for the season and now you have to watch your team fight for victories without you. That feels even worse. So right now, it doesn’t feel like it’s going to be alright because it’s still all so fresh and you have the right to feel that way. Be angry, frustrated, hell, even cry if you want to. It’s alright to have those emotions because this isn’t easy. There will come a time when you do feel like everything’s going to be alright, but tonight isn’t it…and that’s okay.”

I don’t know how anyone uses those ridiculous and yet absolutely insulting adjectives such as diva, asshole, little girl, and selfish to describe this man. The majority of the time we see him, he’s covered up in a uniform and is defined by the number on the back of his jersey. For sixty minutes, people create so many false narratives of who he is based upon passionate responses on the field and his will to win. It’s beyond unjust because the person that I’ve come to know is charming, compassionate, and has elements of shyness within him. He’s composed, observant, and aware. He has a keen eye for detail, listens intently, and thinks before he speaks. He carries himself with his head held high and brings about an energy into any room he steps into unlike any other. He puts smiles on people’s faces, tells the silliest jokes to lighten the mood, and shows genuine concern for the well-being of others. He’s unique; a one of a kind Baton Rouge born royal who has made his mark and is continuing to do so no matter what negativity his naysayers speak.

“Thank you for that, Sarai.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to explain yourself if you don’t want to. I’m just curious.” And suddenly I wanted him to let me go. I hate that he could easily feel the nervousness within my now tense fame. To soothe me, he ran one of his ridiculously huge palms up and down my back.

“Yeah?”

“Why’d you ignore me? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. You didn’t do anything wrong. Beckham, you don’t understand.”

“Help me understand.”

“This can’t…” It was me who broke his embrace as the door suddenly cracked open. With one step, I dashed backwards to create some space between the bed and myself.

“Mr. Beckham, it’s time for your final round of medication for the night. You should be able to sleep with this one. Are you feeling any pain?”

“Nah not really. The only thing I’m feeling is flips in my stomach and chills from all of the medication.”

“Yeah, those are typical side effects, especially because we’re giving it to you intravenously. Usually when medication is going straight through the vein it can cause you to have slight jitters, chills, possible anxiety, or it feels like there’s this rush happening within your body. I promise we’re not going to give you anything that is dangerous for you. We’re just trying to keep your pain under control. Remember you had surgery today.”

“I know.”

“At least your girlfriend is here to keep you company. She’ll keep your mind off of it until you fall asleep.” My mouth fell agape at her assumption and he giggled like a young school boy as she viewed his chart.

“That’s true.” If I didn’t have any sense, I would have beamed my phone at his head.

“So, this is morphine and your antibiotic. This should last you throughout the night, but I’ll be in to check on you. Do you have to use the bathroom?” She began to check his pulse and blood pressure.

“Nope, because I’m not going in that bed pan again.”

“Beckham, don’t be stubborn.” I had to butt in. He’s in here for an ankle fracture and he’ll be back for a damaged bladder if he holds his urine due to being too prideful.

“I actually don’t have to go.”

“Are you sure? Why don’t we try? I’ll get a pan.”

“I’ll step outside.” Their conversation was officially shifting into a privacy territory.

“You don’t have to step outside.” Beckham found her responses to be all too funny as I widened my eyes in disbelief. Uh, I absolutely do have to step outside and I’ll be stepping outside of the building if she continues with these assumptions.

“Nurse Meghan, I really don’t have to go. I’m okay.”

“What about number two? Have you had the urge yet?” And then it quickly became my turn to laugh at him as he frowned his face up in sheer embarrassment at such a question.

“No.”

“That’s normal. It may take a day or two for your bowels to open up but if it’s any longer than that we’ll give you a mild laxative to fix that problem.”

“I doubt I’ll need that.”

“We’ll see. Hopefully you won’t. Your blood pressure is great. I’ll check your temperature, insert your medicine through the IV, and you should be good to go. You need anything else for the night? I already showed you how to work the television. On the remote is a button for you to press to call the nurse’s station and I’ll be right here to assist you. You have water right over there if you want it. You want any extra pillows or blankets?”

“Nah. My mom brought me some from home so that I could be comfortable. I’m straight.” He lifted his tongue for the thermometer and within a few seconds she was jotting down his temperature.

“All normal. If anything should change, you know how to reach me.” I’m not sure why but my eyes followed her every move as she worked with the IV to properly insert the liquid within both syringes into the line. She was gentle enough to make sure she didn’t irritate his arm and the vein by pulling on or adjusting it.

“I do.”

“Alright then, I’ll check on you in a bit Mr. Beckham.”

And yet again, we were left alone. His eyes hadn’t panned back up to the ceiling like they were before I intruded on his thinking. Instead, they were directly on me while I leaned against the wall.

“You’re going to go to sleep soon, so I’m going to get out of here. You need your rest.”

“I don’t want you to go.” Why does he say all of the things that men don’t say but actually need to say?

“You’re going to fall asleep within the next ten minutes or so.”

“I’ll fight it. I want to talk to you.”

“You’re so stubborn.”

“I won’t fall asleep. Just stay for a little while longer.” How can I deny someone laying in a hospital bed?

“Okay.”

“So, I watched clips from today’s show on my phone. I couldn’t see the whole episode because I was in recovery and still under the anesthesia when it was on. Scott wasn’t there today, which made the show even better.” My laughter was louder than it should have been because that is one of my co-hosts after all, but gosh, he peeves so many people. There’s one side of him that deliberate does it for the sake of sparking debates and the other side is actually just his personality coming out to shine, often times, in the worst ways. He can be condescending, over exaggerated, and a large majority his sentiments causes our viewers to unleashed full on rants about him on social media but he is who he is and he’s yet to say anything controversial enough to be removed from the show. His disdain for Beckham, Tom Brady, Lebron James, and Antonio Brown never falters. We’ve all learned not to take him seriously whatsoever because if he were to meet any one of the three, he’d never keep that same energy in their faces.

“Yeah, Scott went on vacation with his girlfriend.”

“I see the way he looks at you. I think he likes you.”

“He does.” He flirts, he’s asked me out for drinks once, and his compliments can be overkill. I’m not interested nor will I ever be.

“You’re out of his league. He should know better than that.” Though he attempted to suppress it, I noticed the yawn and the way he attempted to pull the covers up over his body. I decided to help. If I felt the chill within the room, I’m sure it feels worse for him.

“How’s that?” I covered him up to the top of his shoulders.

“It’s great, thank you. So back to what I was saying, he’s out of your league.”

“Is that so?”

“Yeah. I’m sure he knows it too.”

“So, who’s in my league?”

“No one.”

“No one?” I didn’t expect that answer. I figured he’d throw in some joke about it being him. He’s good for a flirtatious moment.

“No one. You’re definitely in a league of your own, but I’m trying to work my way up to bring drafted in. With the first and only pick in the 2017 Sarai Nazaire draft, Sarai selects Odell Beckham Jr. from Baton Rouge, Louisiana and the New York Giants.”

“Shut up!” I knew it was coming. We roared in laughter because of that. He wouldn’t be himself without inserting some kind of joke into the mix.

“Sarai, you know after this you can’t ignore me ever again, right? You bought me flowers, a teddy bear, and balloons. You told me I could be as mad as I want. You were about to help me use the bed pan.”

“Oh, no I wasn’t.” The only way I would have done that is if it were truly an emergency and the hospital had not a single nurse within reach of him.

“Yeah, you were. You tucked me in. All that’s left for you to do is kiss me and then we can start talking about the rest of our lives together.”

“Go to sleep Beckham.”

“You go to sleep Nazaire.” This yawn came with his heavy eyelids struggling to stay open so that he could focus on me. He didn’t have the strength to say anything more. I looked on as he eventually drifted into the deep slumber that he was fighting against and the light snoring was a clear sign that he’d be out for the night.

The reclining chair directly next to the bed had a pillow and blanket neatly folded up in its seat and on the opposite side of the room was the couch. I had options and yet I chose to remain nearby. I’m going to assume this is where Heather slept. She did a nightshift last night, so I’ll do one tonight.

I gently lifted the yellow beanie hat covering his head just a bit and planted a soft kiss on his forehead. I, then, gave him a second one for good measure. As my eyes panned down to his slightly pouting lips, I mentally scolded myself for momentarily craving to feel them against my own. The man is laying in a hospital bed and yet I’m consumed with my own childish and temporary fantasies.

I kicked off my sneakers and curled up into the chair. I didn’t expect it to be comfortable but it isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. The cushion is soft enough to keep my back and bottom without aches throughout the night.

Lastly, I covered myself in the blanket smothered with his scent and propped up the pillow that smelled just the same right under my head.

“Sweet dreams, O.”

Within a half an hour, I was having sweet dreams of my own.

#fanfiction #fan fiction #fanfic #fan fic #odell beckham jr fanfic #odell beckham fanfic #obj fanfic

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brodymeetsworld · 5 years ago

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This Christmas.

When I was a little girl, Christmas was my favorite holiday of the year. My grandmother would cook for days in preparation for the entire family( 6 grown children, 10 plus grandchildren) to gather around the table together (or the infamous kids table.) It was one of the only times of the year I was able see my extended family, and I soaked up every second of the time we had together. I have so many memories from learning how to cook with my Grandma, Aunts, and my oldest cousin Erin. To watching football in the living room with everyone including Granddaddy snoozing in “his chair”, to secretly learning how to play the card game “bullshit” (at a very young age I might add lol) with all of the cousins on the back enclosed porch. We would always end our evening the same way, after dinner we would sing the “Happy Birthday” song to Jesus, and because my little brother and I were the babies of the family, we usually got to blow out the candles on the cake. Afterwards, most of us would attend Christmas eve candlelight service at the Monterey Methodist Church. I didn’t get to go to Church very often, so these services were so special and beautiful to me. Those memories are some of the best memories of my childhood.

After my grandparents passed away, the glue that held our extended family together dissolved. Everyone decided to host their own families for the holidays, and no longer wanted the financial or time burden to feed and host twenty-thirty family members. It saddens my soul to never see my aunts, uncles, or cousins anymore. The only way we see each other and communicate now is through social media or phone calls. One big portion of our family even moved half way across the country to Missouri, so the chances of seeing them anytime soon are slim. I truly haven’t felt the magic of Christmas since Christmas in Monterey, and that was 15 years ago.

After I met and married my husband, and when I became a mom, at the age of 26 and again at 27, I thought that magic would suddenly just appear again! Wrong, if anything, Christmas was harder all around. Not only did my two babies want nothing to do with Santa Clause, or the presents my husband and I worked so hard to buy, wrap, put together, but they were determined to destroy all of our decorations, including 3 separate artificial trees. I was completely emotionally and physically drained the first two Christmas’s with our children. I always just threw it off as of well this is life with two under two, or two under three. It never occurred to me, that one of my children may have special needs.

Fast forward to today, this will be my 30th Christmas. This will be my boys 4th and 5th Christmas. This year they have finally left our beautiful tree alone, and most of the presents underneath it as well. They both love to sing Christmas songs, and watch the snow fall on the ground. Our favorite thing to do right now is make Christmas crafts, and go searching for Christmas lights at night in the car. The proof of them growing and learning is obvious this year, and it brings so much joy to my heart. We also started going to church this year. What brought us to church was learning about our oldest son, Brody, diagnosis of Autism Spectrum Disorder over Easter weekend this past year.

You see, my husband and I always knew Brody was special, but we had no idea how special he really was. We were first time parents, and when Bentley came along just 14 months after his brother, we entered survival mode and did our very best. Looking back, I think Brody started showing signs of Autism shortly after his brother came into the world, around 16 months old. I was in denial for a long time, as well as my husband. I can remember looking back and thinking how hard it was in the beginning with both boys, and I never thought of the hard times as Brody being “abnormal”. I always blamed myself for “not being a good enough parent”, and that’s why he is crying all the time. Or “I’m not a good cook, that's why he won’t eat any of the meals I make for him”. And the one I really truly believed, “I guess I don’t talk to him enough and that's why he won’t speak”. All of these things would torment me every day, and all I could do was vent to my husband or his pediatrician. I even took him to see a ENT doctor determined because he had so many ear infections as a baby, maybe he had a hearing problem. It wasn’t until a close family member kept Brody over night that Autism even crossed our radar. Bless her heart too, she tried to tell me, but instead of accepting help, I was angry with her. The first time I reached out for help with our children and my biggest fear was being confirmed.(crazy when I think back, I really was scared of this diagnosis) I was so deep in denial there was nothing she could have done at that time that wouldn't have upset me. It took a toll on our relationship, and I regret the time we lost together over it.

Before we even received Brody’s diagnosis, we enrolled him into the special needs pre school in our county. He qualified right away, and he started right after his third birthday. He went from speaking one word sentences, to three to four word sentences in a year and half time so far, and most importantly he can communicate his needs and wants. His eating has improved, and we have a list of foods he will eat as oppose to 4 things total. Brody will dance with us down the hallway, and sing silly songs for us. He knows how to say please and thank you, I’ve been told by his teachers he is showing empathy to his classmates, and he can finally say “I love you, mommy” or “I love you, daddy” without signing them to us at the same time. All of these things are so bittersweet for us, because there was a time not too long ago we weren’t sure they were even a possibility.

Easter 2019 comes, we receive our sons test results in the mail. If you’ve never read ADOS results before, they can be a bit confusing. My husband and I read the results, googled our sons comparison score of “4″, and thought he was on the severe end of the spectrum. It wasn’t until the next day did we find out we were wrong, Brody is in fact on the mild end of the spectrum. But the night before was rough, we both cried and cried. Why did we cry? I really don't know the answer to that question. When you receive a diagnosis for your child, no matter the diagnosis, a part of you inside just breaks into a million pieces. I can’t speak for my husband on this, but I know for myself, as a mom, I blamed myself for a long time. I spent so much time trying to think back through out my pregnancy with Brody what I could have done wrong. I think back through out his infancy what could have went wrong, “what did I do, what did I do that made him different.” The end of the school year was coming, and we have a yearly IEP meeting with all of Brody’s team members. In that meeting, the school psychologist who tested Brody, told us it was imperative for Brody to constantly be put into small social circles. She recommended t-ball, soccer, church, birthday parties, etc. So that is exactly what we did. Brody wasn’t old enough to enroll into sports in our county yet, so we accepted every single birthday party invite, and focused on finding a Church family.

We had several invites to different churches in our community, but because I myself hadn’t been to church in over 15 years, I was a nervous wreck deciding which church to attend. Going anywhere, by yourself (my husband works A LOT), with two rowdy boys is hard. It’s 10x harder when you have a child with Autism. I knew I had to get over my fears of my sons meltdowns, and do this not only for my sons social interaction sake, but also so our children could learn about our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. I always wanted to learn about the Lord when I was growing up, but no body ever wanted to wake up sunday morning to attend a church service with me. In fact, the only times I ever attended church was during Christmas or if I stayed the night with one of my friends whose family attended. Now its my turn, it’s my duty as a mother, and as a daughter of the King, to teach my children his word and of his sacrifice for all of us.

I choose our church family, Redeeming Grace Outreach Worship Center. The boys and I go almost every sunday. Both boys wake up excited to go to church, and really enjoy singing and dancing for the Lord. After a bit of a transitioning period in the beginning, Brody will finally go to the nursery without mama having to be there too. I am finally able to read the bible and worship God and take something away from each and every service, and that truly has been a game changer in our life as a family.

So for my 30th Christmas this year, this will be by far my best Christmas yet. Its been a year of ups and downs, a year of believing in miracles (Ezekiel Rhett), a year of building our faith, and a year of learning acceptance. Our son is exactly who he is supposed to be, and he was made in the eyes of our father. Through him, I’m learning exactly who I’m supposed to be too. God has a purpose for each and everyone of us, and our mighty King makes no mistakes. This Christmas will be magical because we made it that way.

#autismawareness #autismacceptance

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sunlitblue · 6 years ago

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Sigh Not So

this was not requested, but i missed my boy race, so here’s a (long) fic based on my favourite scene from much ado about nothing, which is my favourite shakespeare play. it’s also heavily inspired by a modern re-imagining of the play, which i am in love with, called nothing much to do. 10/10 would recommend watching, even if you’re not an english lit nerd like me. enjoy! <3 (PS if u can spot the quote from the original that i squeezed in near the end, then you’re legally required to marry me, sorry i don’t make the rules) (also the title is a ref to a quote from the play, i’m a nerd sorry)

It felt a bit melodramatic to call Race Higgins your enemy, but it was near enough to the truth. The truth was that you had liked him, once, maybe even more-than-liked him, but, as you grew older, the qualities you had once liked in him became obnoxious. It used to loosen you up when he made stupid jokes about whatever was happening, but now he was little more than a class clown who couldn’t take anything seriously. As you grew up, friendly roasts began to sound a little more serious, and, by the end of high school, he was the nearest thing you had to a sworn enemy.

You managed to fight with him about anything, from the correct translation of your Latin homework to the DC and Marvel cinematic universes. It was fun, sometimes, but mostly just exhausting. Sometimes, you wondered if it wouldn’t just be easier to get along, for your friends’ sake, if not for your own, but then he would make some ridiculous comment about how Parks and Rec was better than The Office and you would remember that he was the worst.

He was annoying at track practices, when his hair was impossibly curly, and his eyes glittered with happiness, and he insisted that his team needed half of your soccer pitch to practice for field events. He was annoying in class, when he argued with the teacher about the underlying racism in Anthony and Cleopatra and, sure, he may have been right, but who cared about correctness when you went about an argument in the completely wrong way.

(“You,” Katherine would say every time that you brought this up. “You care about correctness, especially when it’s opposing Shakespeare.”

You ignored her. What mattered was that it was Race arguing with the teacher, and he was always wrong, even when he was right.)

He was especially annoying at parties, when he’d flirt with anyone who breathed – except you, of course. The way he nonchalantly joked with everyone else, and pretty much ignored your existence, except to tease you about your hair or something you had said, made your blood positively boil.

(And, Davey was wrong: you weren’t jealous of anyone, not even a little bit.)

He annoyed you at parties, but his absence from Jack Kelly’s annual Halloween party left a gaping hole. You were dressed as Jim Kirk, from Star Trek, and you had expected him to tease you as soon as you got to the party, insist that you had yourself pegged wrong and that you were definitely more of an expendable red shirt, than a royal yellow. You would respond in kind, with a snarky comment about how he had less personality than a Vulcan commander and all would be right in the world.

But, he didn’t show. Or, if he did, he managed to keep quiet the entire night which, considering who you were dealing with, just made the former more likely. Towards the end of the night, you found yourself leaning against a wall in the living room, talking to a girl that you kind of knew, dressed as Wednesday Addams, and a boy that you didn’t recognise, in a full Batman costume, face-covering cowl, and everything. Maybe, you had had a little too much of the definitely not kid-friendly punch that Romeo had whipped up, or maybe you were just tired, but, when the conversation lulled, Race popped into your mind.

“Hey, you haven’t seen Higgins around tonight, have you?”

“No,” the boy answered, clearing his throat. “I mean, no, I haven’t. Why?”

Maybe it was the alcohol, but you were almost certain that his voice was pitched a little lower than it had been earlier in the conversation. You frowned, it was probably the alcohol.

“No reason, I just feel like everyone’s here and he’s, like, not. It’s weird. And, it’s so uncharacteristic of him to let a night go by where he’s not the centre of attention.”

You winced a little at the harshness in your tone, and the boy must have picked up on it, too.

“You’re being kind of hard on him, don’t you think?”

You rolled your eyes.

“No, I’m giving him the same treatment he gives me, all the time. And, besides, it’s not like I haven’t tried to get to know him – it’s not my fault he’s the biggest douche canoe this side of Canada.”

You couldn’t see the boy’s face in his costume, but you thought that he might have been frowning.

“What do you mean ‘tried to get to know him’? From what I’ve heard he’s a pretty dope guy.”

You scoffed. Did people still say dope?

“Dude, I think I would know. We used to be really good friends, like, maybe even best friends when we were in middle school, and then I guess he just lost interest, like he always does. He’s got the attention span of a studious gold fish, I swear.”

“Well, did you ever talk to him about it? Maybe, it was just a miscommunication kind of thing.”

“Ugh, as if. If he stopped talking to me, it isn’t my job to figure out what his issue is. I just,” you huffed in frustration. “We’re all here, having a good time and making fools of ourselves and he’s just missing in action. Although, I bet if he did come to this party, he’d be dressed as Peter Pan, the boy who never fucking grows up.”

The boy flinched, and you wondered for a second if you had gone too far.

“That’s harsh. You should try to give him a chance, maybe he actually wants to try to get to know you, again,” he said, before drifting off like some mysterious faerie. You weren’t sure when during the conversation the girl had left, but, soon, you were standing alone. You stood there for a moment longer, wondering idly about who that guy thought he was, anyway. You finished the drink in your cup and sauntered off to find some more of that magic punch, not giving the boy in the Batman costume a second thought.

The conversation only drifted through your mind again the next morning, when you woke up, groggy and confused, on Jack’s couch. Maybe you were a little harsh, but you had given Race the benefit of the doubt, once upon a time. He had been one of your closest friends, once upon a time.

You still remembered the last proper conversation that you had had with him. You were twelve, sitting in your bedroom and playing video games, when he paused the screen and turned to you with an oddly determined look on his face. He asked if you had heard the rumour that someone was spreading around school, that you and he were dating. You said you had, still a little confused, and he gave you this intense, unforgettable look, before asking what you thought of it all. You laughed at the idea, telling him, perhaps a little dishonestly, that it was super gross. He was like your brother, you said. You didn’t think much of it, at all. Why would he care, anyway? He had that pretty girl, Zoey. Finch had said that he had seen them holding hands at Sarah J’s party, so you didn’t want to ruin anything for him by admitting that you sometimes wished that the rumours were true. You pressed play and kicked his ass in Tekken.

The next Monday, at school, he acted like nothing was wrong, but, after that, the pair of you started to drift apart. You stopped playing video games together, playful barbs became antagonism and, by the time you reached high school, you had nothing left of the friendship that you had once shared. It was sad, sure, but you weren’t a chaser. If Race didn’t want to be your friend, then so be it.

You didn’t think again about the conversation with Batman boy, or what you might have done wrong to get Race to hate you, until a few nights later, when you were sitting at home alone. You were trying to convince yourself to get up and get something done, maybe cook dinner or do your homework, for once, but, instead you were scrolling through your unexciting Instagram feed. You idly double tapped on a few photos, exhaled out of your nose in lieu of laughter at some stupid memes, and then you reached a picture that Albert had posted, from the weekend’s party. It was him and a couple of other boys grinning at the camera and you were about to scroll past, when you saw a familiar costume. It was yellow and black, with the tell-tale Batman logo on the front, but, this time, the wearer had the hood off. Shit. Shitshitshit. There, in the Batman costume was Anthony Higgins. You had accidentally complained about him to him. Sure, you and Race weren’t the best of friends, but you didn’t want him to think you were an asshole.

You fumbled to your contacts app and called Katherine. She’d know what to do, you were sure of it. After she had got done laughing at you, she offered you a solution: Talk to Race and apologise for what you had said. You knew, logically, that that was your only option, but you really wished that the world would end before you had to apologise to Race Higgins. You couldn’t stomach texting him and figured that you could just grab him after school the next day.

The day went by a little too fast, and, before you knew it, the bell had rung to signal the end of your last lesson. You resigned yourself to your fate and made you way to Race’s locker, which was just a few doors down from yours. He was alone, thankfully, and looked more than a little surprised to see you heading his way.

“Hey,” you tried to smile when you reached him, but you were sure it came across as more of a grimace.

“Hi,” he answered, barely looking at you as he moved books from his locker to his bag.

“Race,” you tried again, putting a hand on his forearm to stop his fairly violent rifling. “Can I talk to you for a minute?” He glanced down at where your hand touched his arm and sighed, turning to you, looking a little deflated.

“Fine. What’s up?”

You took a deep breath.

“Look, I didn’t know it was you that I was saying that shit to at Jack’s. And, I know it was shitty of me to be saying that to anyone, but I didn’t mean most of it. You’re on my nerves half the time, and making fun of me the other half, but that was mean. I’m sorry.”

He looked shocked, and a little pensive.

“It’s, um. It’s okay, Y/N. It just made me kind of sad that we aren’t friends anymore. I mean, we were good together.”

He met your eyes, and you were struck by how much you had missed the way they shined when he was being sincere.

“Yeah, uh, me too. We made a good team. I miss that.”

He looked like he was going to say something else, when Albert came up behind him and put two hands on his shoulders.

“Race and Y/N? Having a civil conversation? I’m entering the lottery on the way home, because today is a day for miracles.”

Race rolled his eyes at you and you laughed.

“Fuck off, DaSilva, you’re not even old enough to get a ticket,” he said jerking the boy’s hands off his shoulders.

“Yeah,” you agreed. “And you waste enough money buying coffee to flirt with Elmer at Jacobi’s.”

“Nice,” Race laughed high-fiving you, and Albert stuck his tongue out at you, before stalking off because he didn’t have a good comeback to dispute the truth.

There was a beat of silence, and before it started to get awkward, Race spoke again.

“Uh, if you’re serious about being friends again, we should hang out some time, maybe go to the arcade?”

You smiled at him, brightly.

“You sure that’s a good idea, Higgins? I’ll smoke you in ice hockey, like I always used to.”

“Uh, you wish. I’m the ice hockey king, baby.”

You punched him in the shoulder and made plans for that weekend. That had gone better than you had expected.

It wouldn’t have been true to say that you had changed your mind about Race right away. You had fun with him, from that first day at the arcade, onwards. It was still a little awkward and there was always a little tension in the room, but you worked through it. You were seniors, you could be mature, if you tried.

(Although maturity certainly seemed to be in short supply when you and Race giggled, together, at the matching sixty-nines that you got on your history pop quizzes, or when he whispered “that’s what she said” in your ear at almost every sentence that came out of Mr Bunsen’s mouth in bio.)

You didn’t hate him, not that you ever really had. You hated that, now, his stupid jokes made you laugh, because you were included in them. You hated the warmth you felt in your chest when you said something that made him laugh, and you especially hated that crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiled at you, sincere and earnest.

You, realised, gradually, that you and Race had never been enemies – you just responded to what you thought was his hate in kind. It was easier to keep roasting one another, when neither one of you broke the cycle. That conversation at the party had been a turning point, for both of you.

Although, you still seemed unable to talk about the elephant in the room. You and Race never discussed how the animosity had begun between the two of you. Bringing it up would force you both to admit how stupid you had been, and neither of you were very skilled at admitting fault. It was easier to ignore it, to dance around it, than it was to deal with it. It was on your mind more often, now.

You wondered what had really happened, because something had to have happened, right? The more you thought about it, the more it made sense. People don’t just stop being friends and turn to enemies, like flicking a switch, especially not two fiercely loyal people, like you and Race. You didn’t mention it, though, for fear that you would slip back into old habits.

You liked Race, you realised, even if the two of you were incapable of having a conversation about emotions. You grinned at one another in private moments of understanding, warm with that feeling you get when you spend time with someone who has the exact same sense of humour as you. It was really good to be his friend again, until it wasn’t.

The argument had started by accident. Race was coming over on a Thursday, after school to work on a project for history. You were determined to get better than a sixty-nine for this one, even if that was the golden number. When Race had rung the doorbell, your mum had welcomed him in, pleasantly surprised to see him. You always had a feeling that she was sadder about your losing Race than you were. She was convinced that the two of you were soulmates, even when you were kids in the playground. She called it a mum’s intuition. You called it heteronormativity, but, anyway.

She chatted his ear off as she waited for you to come downstairs, talking about how much she had missed having a boy around, and how glad she was that the two of you had patched everything up. You caught the tail end of the conversation as you made your way down the stairs.

“What ever happened between you two, anyway?” your mum had asked, innocently enough.

Race laughed uncomfortably.

“Oh, I guess she just got too busy for me. I’m glad we’re friends again, now, though.”

Your mum agreed, and you fumed. Almost as soon as you had pulled your bedroom shut behind you, you gave him A Look. He was alarmed.

“What?” he asked.

“What do you mean ‘what’? Do you seriously think it’s my fault that we stopped being friends?”

He scratched the back of his neck uncomfortably.

“Oh, about what I said to your mom? I mean, yeah, it kind of was. You stopped inviting me over or replying to my texts, so I just figured you were busy,” he sounded unsure of himself.

“You stopped talking to me, Race. Was I supposed to be super nice to you when you always acted like you’d rather be anywhere else when I was in the same room as you?”

He scoffed.

“Are you being for real? We were fine, we were doing great, and then you started hanging out with Katherine or Davey instead of me, which is fine, but it was so not my fault.”

“You pretty much begged for space that day when you asked me about the stupid rumours about us dating, or whatever!”

He ran a hand through his hair.

“I cannot believe we’re talking about this. We were twelve, we were stupid!”

“And, now, you’re deflecting,” you replied. “We were best friends, Race. I just wanna know what happened between us.”

He sighed and flopped on your bed like a petulant child. His blue eyes were stormy, and they looked familiarly intense.

“Fine, it was kind of my fault, I guess.”

You kept yourself from fist pumping.

“It’s just, I felt so stupid!” he continued.

“What do you mean?” you asked, gently, this time, sitting at his feet on the bed.

“So, that day? When I asked you about the stupid middle school rumours?”

You nodded, motioning for him to go on.

“I had the biggest crush on you, and I figured that that was your way of letting me down easy. I was like your brother, right? It sucked. And, whenever we hung out, after that, I just felt so frustrated. I was mad at me, for being stupid and catching feelings and making everything weird between us, but I guess it was easier to just lash out at you. It was dumb, but I don’t think I like anything in the world as much as I like you, you were the first person that I ever felt any anything for. It sucked.”

He scrunched his eyes shut and looked ready to disappear.

“Wait,” you said, still processing his words. “’Like’, as in, present tense?”

He sat up straight.

“I – what?”

“You said like, like present tense like, like currently like.”

He cleared his throat and his eyes scanned the room, as he searched the walls for something.

“Uh, slip of the tongue, whatever. You said like way too many times just then.”

You waved your hand. Semantics.

“Do you, um, like me, as in like-like me, present tense like me, Race?”

He sputtered for a moment, and then swallowed drily.

“I guess, it’s stupid. It kind of never went away, if you can believe it.”

You could believe it. It wasn’t hard to believe, since you could relate. He was waiting, nervously, for you to say something, but your words didn’t seem to be working. Instead of speaking, you moved across the bed, so that you were sitting next to him, both of your heads leaning against the wall.

“I, um,” you took a deep breath. “Uh, same.”

His head snapped to yours and he searched your eyes for humour. He sighed, shakily, and then let out a soft laugh.

“’Same?’ I practically confess my love to you and all you’ve got is ‘same’?”

His eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Well, what else do you want me to say?” you protested. “That I don’t hate you? That I never wanted to hate you? I just figured that you didn’t want to be my friend, anymore.”

“God. We are idiots.”

“Yep,” you agreed.

You sat in silence for a moment, letting the realisation of what you had just admitted wash over you. Race suddenly turned to you.

“So, what happens now?”

You shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. You weren’t sure what you were nervous about now, but the tumble of feelings in your stomach insisted that looking at Race’s eyes would ruin you, so you stared at the white wall in front you.

“Because,” he said, putting a hand on your knee like he was bracing himself. “I kinda wanna make out with you, like, romantically?”

A laugh bubbled out of you and you turned to him, finally. You had been wrong, before, about the consequences of meeting his eyes. They weren’t storm-blue anymore. They were blue like the sky on a sunny a day. They were blue like the ocean, when you’ve spent months away from the sea. They were a sight to behold.

You turned your whole body to face him and gently slipped a hand to the back of his neck, playing with the blonde curls there. You leaned into him, and just before your lips met his, you muttered a word, just loud enough for him to hear.

“Same.”

You leaned in and kissed him, with years’ worth of hidden feelings, and he smiled against your lips. You pulled away after a bit and looked at his eyes. His pupils were blown wide, but they were as blue as ever. You wondered how you had ever pretended to dislike eyes as beautiful as his.

TAGLIST: @bencookisagod @broadwayandbookblog @theygivesyawhateveryouwant @crazymecjc

#race higgins x reader #newsies: the musical #newsies x reader #newsies fanfiction #newsies broadway

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duckybeth99 · 6 years ago

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I was working on backstory fic for the Wilson family before my phone was replaced and now it’s erased lol and I’m not gonna rewrite the entire thing so uhhh here’s the summary

Alma’s a Mexican immigrant, lost her mom before her family left, she lived with her dad and three brothers named Javier, Pablo, and Carlos. She’s the youngest but the strongest and smartest, she moved around a lot before her family settled in riverview and met Alex’s dad in high school. Andrew’s parents got divorced when he was really young and he developed anxiety that started out as test anxiety and grew into social anxiety and performance anxiety, defined by serious panic attacks he had in middle school. He was great at sports, knew soccer, baseball, and basketball with the latter being his main sport in mid/high school. The two started dating in high school, went to different colleges, and got married shortly after they got their careers set up with alma as a vet and Andrew doubling as a school counselor and therapist. Marianna is the first, she grew up knowing Johnny and they both played together in her mom’s vet office and one year for johnny’s birthday they got him a dog from the shelter (now Indiana) with John’s help and permission. Marianna was one of the first people to know Johnny was trans and helped support him all through high school, they were best friends with Harry, johnnys boyfriend in high school at the time, and Marianna was a cheerleader and photographer/main yearbook editor for several years. When Harry left for college and time passed a little, Marianna and Johnny had a brief fling in college that didn’t last only cuz they were better friends bordering on a sibling bond than they were at dating. Marianna studied primarily photography with some journalism and is a freelance photographer typically for events like graduations or weddings. When she joins the gang in magic, mabuz and Johnny give her a magic lasso and teach her to use/fight with it.

Stella is the third child, not much about her. She’s really fascinated in magic especially after she finds out it’s real. Probably best friends with marlin and mo’s kids. She wants to learn magic even if she isn’t born with any of it. Really curious, bubbly, loud, loves all animals like alma and Alex. Clumsy. Loves to draw and loves pink

Aaaaaaaaand Alex. Oh Alex. Middle child, really timid unlike his sisters, real sensitive and emotional kid. Bullied in kindergarten but Beth defended him with what everyone would later realize was a burst of her powers. He joined her and heather in playing as kids until heather split, and Alex stayed with Beth. Alex managed to develop other friends in middle school while Beth couldn’t, though he always maintained she was his best friend even when he developed a crush on her. It didn’t go far tho because Beth got a crush on Travis Middleton who did bully her in grade school but was getting nicer with age. As Beth became more depressed in high school, Alex tried to help but there seemed to be more going on with her than he knew and he didn’t know what to do. When she died, he got badly depressed, withdrew from his other friends and his activities of baking and art, music, gaming, animals, sports, all of it. He couldn’t let go of the fact that he didn’t save her. He withdrew from his family too, though less so than his other school mates. Travis once tried to offer condolences and Alex snapped at him in front of everyone, saying he didn’t know anything about her and letting out a repressed jealousy. Heather invited Alex to a party later on to get him to be social again (and get him to like her after Travis broke up with her) and he instead broke down at the party and left. Time and opening up was what he needed and was struggling with until Beth decided she could trust him with the truth that she was back as a ghost. They started their friendship over again and Alex eventually, finally, got the courage to tell Beth he loved her and dated her. This was short cut when merhib caught word and intervened while Alex went to buy Beth a gift: a crystal heart. Merhib crashed an empty car with his mind into the one Marianna and Alex was in, though neither died. Merhib wanted Alex dead, so he controlled Alex’s neck to snap it with the same power he used for the crash. Dead, Alex returned in the upsidedown (much to the continued frustration of merhib, with a kid who didn’t seem to go away, until he put a curse on him so he couldn’t escape upside). Alex was taken care of by Thomas and Marion while trapped, on a side plot sort of thing compared to the main plot on upside, where the three were trying to find a way to get Alex out and back to Beth. This didn’t work until one lucky breakthrough, and it was only temporary. He was sent back a few days later, but was able to reveal himself to Beth and his family. Sucked back, Marianna vowed to join in the magic world for the sake of her brother and friends and Beth made a final deal with merhib to protect all those she loved in exchange for whatever he wanted from her, including rescuing Alex from the upsidedown for good. Now able to roam freely, Alex mainly lives alone in his own home in the upsidedown as a pet sitter for normal and abnormal pets alike and sometimes helped his mom at the vet disguised as still alive

That’s the basic summary!! I’d also like to think before he was saved and returned to living with his family upside, he lived with either Thomas or Marion. When he felt old enough to move out from his childhood home is when he went back to the upsidedown for the sake of ease of fitting in there better than upside

#welcome to riverview #pls read........ i worked hard on that fic so at least glance at alexs portion cuz He Important

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lucindarobinsonvevo · 7 years ago

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She’s Got It

A secret santa fic for: @queenbeazley! Title: She’s Got It (Also on A03! let me know if you have an a03 account and I can gift it to you : -)) Prompt: Lucien & Jean, meeting via karaoke night AU (bar or location of your choosing) Word Count: 4,000 (almost on the dot) Warnings: N/A A/N: Sorry I wasn’t more present in your ask box, RL has been hectic recently. Hopefully though, you enjoy the fic! I don’t write fluff or Lucien/Jean often (ever?), but I did my best :-) Merry Christmas, and I hope the new year is kind to you!

Well, your daughter only turns eighteen once, was how he mollified himself stepping out of the car. Li comically threw herself onto the ground, but stopped short of kissing the ground. “Oh dear God, I’m alive!” She exclaimed. Her brother scoffed as he slid out of the drivers seat. Charlie looked offended by her comment. “I wasn’t that bad.” He muttered, even though Lucien had to wretch the wheel out of his hand no less than three times.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched a boy in a fairly poor George Michael costume approach them. Charlie’s boyfriend, Danny. Compared to Charlie, who was wearing the same denim jacket he wore every day with the addition of one ‘I killed Laura Palmer’ badge (taken from the shed, from a box of things Mei Lin left behind and Charlie had decided were his). “Good evening Doctor Blake!” Danny said, wrapping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders. The 1980s music pumping out of the pub is a song he recognizes but doesn’t know. “Good evening, Danny.” He smiled. “My driving isn’t that bad, is it?” Charlie asked as they went inside. Danny pulled an expression Lucien recognized from his own marriage that was a ‘you are, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.’ Expression.

“It is.” Lucien said, stepping inside. “Yeah. I’m adding another song for almost killing us.” Li declared. “You wouldn’t.” “It’s my birthday so you have to do as I say.” Li said. Charlie looked to Lucien for help but he put his hands up. “Sorry son. She’s the birthday girl.” Lucien said, as the four of them wandered over to a large booth towards the back of the building. Charlie slid into one side of the booth, pulling Danny with him. He slid in across from him, Li slid in next to him.

It was on his first glance around the room that he noticed her. She was standing up on the stage, holding the microphone maybe a little tight in her hand. Her green drop waisted dress looked like it came directly from the decade in question, paired with a blazer that gave her shoulders rival to his own. He can imagine going to a nightclub in town and finding her at the bar, sipping an exotic cocktail from a glass with a tiny umbrella in it. And that wasn’t even getting him started on her voice.

“The goddess of beauty and love, and Venus was her name-“

She’s got it, yeah baby she’s got it, Lucien thought, the lyrics to the Bananarama song echoing around his head. He hadn’t even noticed her equally 80’s backup singers, equally coated in neon, tulle and poor choices. He tore his eyes away from the singing to look at Charlie, who was waving his hand in front of his face. “Doc? Doc? Earth to doc!” In a comical fashion. “Hm?” “Do you want something to drink?” “Hm?” “We’re in a pub, Daddy.” Li said, “A place where people go to drink.” Charlie is holding his debit card, while Danny poured over a menu. “Uh, I’ll just…Have a lemonade.” He said, and then produced his own card. “Put that away, use mine.” Charlie shrugged, and tucked his card into his pocket. “Drinks on me.” “Oh, you don’t have to do that.” Danny said, blushing. “My daughter will only turn eighteen once.” Lucien grinned, “So drinks are on me.” Danny conceded, and trailed after Charlie as he went to get drinks.

Green dress has gotten off stage, but he quickly spotted her sitting in a booth down near the stage with her friends. There’s quite a large group of them, and they’re all about her age. “Are you going to sing a song?” She asked, looking at the man giving a rather disappointing rendition of Everybody Wants to Rule the World. “Maybe.” He commented, as Li started combing through the enormous book of songs that the machine played. She’d come prepared with a note pad and paper to write down the ones that she wanted to sing, or force her brother into singing.

“Have you heard from your mother?” He asked, softly. “She texted me this morning.” Li said, looking up from the notepad. “How is she?” “She’s fine. She likes Singapore a lot.” Li smiled, “Looking forward to when I come over for the holidays.” He nodded, and sat back in his chair. He was happy with the way custody was split, (or, had been split now she was eighteen) but that didn’t make saying goodbye to his daughter for months at a time any easier. Over time, his relationship with Mei Lin has gotten better, but it still wasn’t great. They tried their best to keep things civil for Li’s sake.

“I’ve got drinks!” Charlie said excitedly, coming around the table. He was holding a small pitcher of beer and a couple of glasses, and Danny was holding a can of Diet Coke, and a can of lemonade, as well as bowl of chips in his other hand. “Wooo!” Li said, enthusiastically as Danny poured drinks. Charlie slid back into the booth and popped the top on his Diet Coke, and slid a can of Kirks across the table to him. “They didn’t have any Sprite.” Charlie apologized, as Lucien took a long sip. “It’s fine.” He smiled, as Danny and Li tapped their drinks together. His eyes drifted away through the crowd, and he spotted green dress laughing with her friends in front of the machine, clearly going up for another song.

“Looks like we might be fighting for control of the machine.” Danny said, draping an arm around Charlie’s shoulders. Charlie looked for a moment like he might shrug it off, and then thought better of it, squishing up closer to Danny’s side so he could see the book. He observed the interaction and smiled to himself. He liked Danny a lot, he thought it was good for Charlie to be with someone who was affectionate.

Not for the first time, he felt a tiny niggle of jealousy deep in his gut. He and Mei Lin had married young, he wanted to upset his father, and he thought she was going to be the love of his life. Li was born, and things got miserable. He’d been determined that his daughter wasn’t going to grow up in an unhappy home, and he and Mei Lin tried and tried to work it out, but it still ended in divorce. Of course, then Charlie fell into his life, and he’d become a full-time father again, not just the half of the year when Li was with him.

He’d been busy, with work and child rearing (and drinking). He hadn’t done much by way of dating when Charlie was young, and he hadn’t since he moved out, either. His eyes drifted out over the collection of people, and then came back to rest on Charlie and Danny. Maybe it was time to get back into the game.

Green dress was back up on stage, her metallic blue eye shadow sparking in the light. She was alone this time, and her slightly drunk friends are cheering loudly by the stage.

´”You with the sad eyes, don't be discouraged-“

“True colours.” Charlie said, scribbling that down on Li’s notepad. “Have you heard her new album? The country one?” Danny asked, to which Li shook her head. Lucien drowned their chatter out to pay attention to the veritable siren on the stage.

“But I see your true colors, shining through. I see your true colors, and that's why I love you-“

“Don’t be afraid, to let them show…” He murmured under his breath. Oblivious to his heart eyes, the three young people at the end of the table pulled him back into conversation. “Alright, Daddy-o.” Li started, “We’ve picked out some songs.” He tore his eyes away from her for the second time to look at them. “Charlie is going to be singing Wake Me Up Before you Go Go-“ “Against my wil-“ “-Shut up Charlie, Danny will be singing Ice Ice Baby-“ “Which is actually from the 90-“ “Shut up, Charlie, I will be singing Cornflake Girl-“ “That is from the 90s, just like-“ “Shut up, Charlie, and you will be singing Mona.” “Which is also from the 90s.” “Which version of Mona?” He asked, ignoring Charlie. “Well, since you keep saying you look like him, the Craig Mac version.” “I think you mean Craig Mac and the Check 1 -2s.” “Whatever. It’s in the book.” Lucien looked at Charlie, who was arms folded and nearly pouting. “I’m lost, who’s Craig Mac?” “Craig McLachlan, people always say Doc looks like him.” Charlie said, filling his boyfriend in on the situation. “Who?” “Remember when I took you to see Rocky Horror?” “Yeah.” “The main dude.” Danny tilted his head and examined the man. “I can kinda see it.” Danny said, “Maybe if you were wearing lipstick.” “I told you I look like him.” Lucien insisted, as Charlie rolled his eyes. “People mistake me for him all the time.” “Sure they do.” Li said, rolling her eyes, too. Charlie is a terrible influence on her. “Well, if they ever make a movie of my life, I know who they’ll cast.” “Yes, Doc, they’ll make a movie of your life. Working at the clinic, driving Li to soccer practice and dragging your son to an 80s night and everyone decides to sing 90s songs.” “You don’t know that. Maybe I’ll save the life of a famous person, or be in a really bad boating accident.” “Yeah you don’t have to actually be good at anything, you just have to have lots of bad stuff happen to you.” Danny agreed. “We’re not living in Scream, Danny.” Charlie scoffed, “And if Doc’s life was made into a movie, what kind of dinky d-lister are they going to get to play me? Some dude who people only remember from one appearance in a shitty kids film, probably.” “Speak for yourself, I’m at least a B-lister.” Danny said, “Hopefully, some hot, young Home and Away alum.” “With my luck,” Li said, “I won’t be played by anyone because it’ll happen when I was seeing Mum.” The three of them tittered, and Lucien, having had enough of his spawns bickering, rolled his eyes. “I am going to que us up at the machine.” He declared, getting to his feet. “Alright, then.” Charlie said, handing him the slip of paper. Li slid out of the booth, and after a moment, got right back into bickering with Charlie. Lucien rolled his eyes, and wandered down to the front of the pub. The karaoke machine sat at the bottom of a little stage, and it seemed to be a free for all when you were putting in your songs.

He cued up each of the songs Li had written down, and then looked over at the machine. He typed in each song so they were cued up, and paused to watch the women on stage, belting out ‘Girls Just Wanna Have Fun’ as if their lives depended on it. Green dress was standing in the crowd, mouthing the word. He could walk up, and talk to her, if he really wanted. There was nothing wrong with that. But he’s a coward, and she’s here with her friends, so instead he goes back to the table.

“Who’s up first?” Li asked, taking another sip of beer. “Me.” Lucien scoffed, “Who else?” “Your freshly legal daughter?” “Don’t be ridiculous. Eldest first.” “Well, by that logic, I should be first.” Charlie counted, “Since I am in fact a one hundred and five-year-old alien.” “Can you prove that?” Lucien asked. “Can you disprove it?” “You look good for your age.” Danny said, “I would have thought you were only eighty-five.” “It’s not my fault I was blessed with beautiful skin.” He’s barely been sitting for five minutes when his song flashes on the machine. “We’ll be here.” Li says, all but shoving him out of the booth.

He hurried to the stage, and took the microphone in both hands. The lights were so bright he could hardly see the crowd, but he did notice Green Dress watching him, interested. Lucien has never thought of himself as a shy person, but damn she was making it hard. Look at you, old fool. You don’t even know her and you’re acting like she’s your high school crush.

The music kicked in, and words danced along the screen suddenly. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d started to sing. He was already at the chorus when his mind kicked in. He’d been swept up in the memory of playing this on Charlie’s school guitar with him.

“Tell you Mona what I want to do!”

He sang, the crowd cheering him on. Suddenly, he’s struck with a devious idea. He moved to the front of the stage, keeping his voice steady as he reached out, drawing on his inner Craig McLachlan, he offered green dress a hand. To his surprise, she took it, and let him lead her to the stage.

In the bright lights, she looks all but angelic. Her hair is ridiculously back combed and it looks like a halo in the light. He can’t tell if her eyes are sparkling or if it’s the makeup, but either way it’s beautiful. She moved left, then right, her hands suspended in the air as she moved in time with the bouncy music. Her lipstick is pink, and has tiny sparkles suspended in it. She smells like a mix of perfume and cocktails. He wants to keep starring at her as she lets him take a hand, hers fits seamlessly into his, and turn her around.

The light catches on the metallic fabric of her dress, and she can’t help but give him the most beautiful smile he’s ever seen as the song finally comes to a close. The romantic lighting fades away, and they’re back to standing on a demountable stage in a slightly dodgy bar in a worse for wear part of town. Only three of the lights work, and behind him the neon lights are only half working. They stand for a moment, looking at each other, before laughing. They get the same clap as everyone else, polite but mostly disinterested.

The next song clicks onto the screen, and both of them scurried off to the tables in the front row. Deciding that the kids could wait, he sat across from her, and they both looked at one another, before laughing again. “I must say, you’re a very talented singer, Mister?” “Lucien. Lucien Blake. And you?” “Jean.” “Nice to meet you, Jean. “And you.” “So what brings a lovely lady like you, to a place like this?” Okay not his smoothest move but it would do. “A girls night. No better decade than the eighties.” She grinned. Her teeth are white and square. “You?” “My kids birthday.” She looked at the stage where Danny was belting out Ice Ice Baby with enough enthusiasm for ten people.

“That’s one of yours?” “He’s actually my future son in law.” Pause. “Should I be worried about my kid dating someone who looks like me?” Apparently, his dad humor amused her because she chuckles. “Ahh, we all mess up our kids, comes with the territory.” There’s something sad under the laughter. He decides to take her mind off it. “Well, children aside, can I buy you a drink?” “Mighty forward of you, am I to assume there’s no Mrs Blake?” “There is not.” Not anymore, not that she needed to know that. She contemplated, before she nodded. She checked her oversized watch. “I’ll have a ginger ale.” Lucien grinned and made his way to the counter. He noticed Charlie is hiding his face, and Danny is now sitting on the opposite side of the table, and Li is all but skipping towards the stage. He grabbed a ginger ale, and a diet Coke for himself.

He returned to his seat, and delivered the lady her ginger ale. “Is this one one of yours?” He doesn’t comment on her usage of one twice. “My only and eldest daughter.” Li was singing off key, but what she lacked in nuance, she made up for with enthusiasm.

“I always wanted a daughter.” Jean said, “But God only saw fit to bless me with sons.” “How many sons?” “Two, Jack and Christoper Jr.” “A family name?” “After my late husband.” “I’m so sorry.” “This isn’t very good first meeting talk.” Jean observed. “As old people, we are strictly limited to discussing our children, marriages and the weather.” “And IKEA sales.” “IKEA is having a sale?” “Yeah it just finished, flat pack was half price.” He clicked his arms in front of him. “Damn. Just missed it.” Jean laughed, and took a sip of her drink, her lipstick left a mark around the rim. Interestingly, she doesn’t use a straw. They lapse into a comfortable silence until Li finishes singing, and Lucien has to do his fatherly duty and ensure he’s clapping the loudest. Li flung herself off the stage, and ran over excitedly. “Did you like it?” “Of course I did.” He said, irrespective of if he actually did. “It was great.” Jean said, as Li eyed her. Apparently, she passed the test, because Li grinned. “I’m going to force Charlie onto the stage.” Lucien caught her arm. “I know ribbing Charlie about his driving and bad attitude is all fun and games, but if he really doesn’t want to do it, don’t force him.” He warned her. “He’s allowed to bow out if he’s not comfortable.” Li nodded, and hurried back to the table.

“She seems like a nice young lady.” Lucien gave a wiry smile. “You haven’t gotten to know her yet.” “Will I?” “I haven’t decided yet.” He replied, “Would you like to?” “I haven’t decided yet.”

Lucien looked up as Charlie took the stage, his hands shaking hard as he tried to keep a tight hold on the microphone. Danny is already cheering, much to the annoyance of the other patrons, but they could all serve to lighten up a little. What Li had lacked in talent she made up for with gusto. Danny…Well Lucien doesn’t know; he’s pretty sure Ice Ice Baby isn’t even a real song, but he’d at least had enthusiasm. Charlie has neither skill, nor excitement, and his singing amounted to him mumbling into the microphone. But he gave it a shot and Lucien supposed that was the most important part

“One of yours?” “Yep.” He replied, as Charlie slunk off stage before he could even begin to clap; Danny cheering as loudly as he dared. He slunk off stage and into the bathroom. Lucien watched as Danny followed after him and supposed he got it covered. Jean touched his arm lightly. “He’s quite brave.” “He always is.” He replied, “Can I buy you another drink?” He inquired, smiling. Charlie would be fine. Jean checked her watch again. “No, but you can sing a little duet with me, if you’d like.” Jean said, swallowing the last of her drink. Lucien observed her for a moment, before nodding. “Of course. What do you fancy singing?” “I’ll surprise you.”

Lucien watched her walk away, and he noticed he’s smiling to himself. She keys in a song to be performed after the woman on stage finishes her (very enthusiastic) version of ’I Ran (so far away)’. While he waited, he wandered up to Jean, coming to a stop next to her. She smiled at him, and she looks like the sun has just risen for the first time.

When the woman gets off the stage, he joins her, there is only one microphone, so they have to stand very close. He can smell her breath: ginger ale and alcohol. Maybe a little bit of toothpaste. The song title flashes up on the screen, accompanied by an unfortunately fake sounding guitar: ‘More Than Words – Extreme’ Huh. He kind of remembers that song, but not too well. Not well enough he could sing it by heart, but It’ll do. Jean takes the opening verse, starting a fraction of a second before he can open his mouth.

“Saying "I love you" Is not the words I want to hear from you-“

Lucien is struck by the thought that her voice would sound beautiful up against a plain piano, maybe a metronome. It’s a beautiful voice, attached to a beautiful woman. He is ridiculously infatuated with her, despite having known her for less than an hour. Matthew was going to think this was a hilarious story when he shares it next time they meet for lunch.

That’s if he survives the teasing from his kids.

“What would you do? If my heart was torn in two?”

Lucien’s heart is already in two, but of course, he doesn’t say that out loud. It’s just a song, after all, it’s meant to be relatable. No one wants to listen to music they cannot relate to. It’s why teen pop sells so well, and also probably why Charlie used to have a wall full of Justin Bieber posters. Because people relate to having a crush, or being in love, or having whatever an Ennie Meanie Miney Mo lover is. And he, in his old age of fifty, can relate to having a heart torn in two. That’s just how it was.

Jean picks up for the Chorus, all but belting the lyrics in true karaoke style.

“Make things new, just by saying "I love you-"”

I love you. Lucien has said a lot of I love yous in his life.

To his mother. To his wife. To his daughter. To his son. To his close friends. To his dogs. He’s said a lot of I Love Yous and he is suddenly and shockingly struck by the fact that he would like, some day, to say I love you to Jean with no last name he met in a dodgy bar in a worn out neighborhood, like a fool. He is a fool. A hopeless romantic, sure, but still a fool. You don’t fall in love with someone you just met. Love takes time, and work, and effort, and he wants to do all that. But first, he just wants to get through this song.

“Touch me, hold me close, don't ever let me go. More than words is all I ever needed you to show-“

Could he have saved his other relationship? Potentially. Touch me. Hold me close. He wanted to hold someone close. He wanted to be held. He wanted romance, and love. Someone once told him, potentially Matthew, that he was built to love, that he had too much of it, and he was destined to be a bleeding heart. That has never felt more true than it did right now.

“La di da, da di da, di dai dai da-”

Beautiful.

“More than words-“

Wonderful.

Her perfume smells chemically floral. Her voice sounds like honey

The music fades out. Kiss her, you fool! Kiss her! Thankfully, Lucien is not a slave to his base urges, and he does not invade the woman’s space more than he needs to. They depart the stage, and she gathers her bag. Lucien casts an eye to his table. The kids are sitting and talking among themselves. Charlie seems to have recovered, and Danny is trotting to the stage. Lucien recognizes the opening to ‘I Love You, Always, Forever” if he’s ever heard it. Didn’t seem like Danny had much musical talent, either. Oh well, C’est La Vie.

Jean is speaking with her friends, he looks over at his one time companion. She’s holding a napkin in one hand, it has the logo of the bar in one corner and a stain that could be anything from grease to beer in the other. She passes it to him, and there is a note scrawled there in purple gel pen.

‘Lucien –

Hope you had as much fun as I did. Call me xx

Jean B.-

P.S: You owe me a kiss for next time.’

Then her phone number, and a kiss imprint, complete with tiny pink sparkles. He looked up, Jean was nowhere to be seen. Neither were her friends. After a moment, he moved back to the table, and sat back down next to Li. He put an arm around her shoulders and looked at her list of potential songs. Your eldest daughter only turns eighteen once.

#tdbmsecretsanta2k17 #mitziwrites #the doctor blake mysteries #lucien/jean #not going on to ff.net due to the fact that it includes song lyrics sorry to ff.net only people

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mhdiaries · 4 years ago

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Diary of Clawdia Wolf

I’ll make you a villain if you read my diary.

August 25th

September 8th

September 15th

October 1st

October 6th

October 7th

#monster high #monster high diary #clawdia wolf #frights camera action #hauntlywood #text post

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relatablyinsane-blog · 7 years ago

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Quadpolar Part 2!

Just want to let you know that i had instant bloggers remorse after that last post. Welp, I've stepped in it now.

So i totally forgot to mention that I'm adopted (see: Symptoms of ADHD; rushing, inventiveness), pretty important stuff. That means my nice, old fashioned, very old, worked in the post office their whole life parents are not, in fact my real parents. What they did was reach into a barrel of discarded babies and pull out a meth head kid. (Sorry to my biological mom reading this, we have to go in context for a bit). For the sake of sanity my adoptive mom will be Mom and my biological mom will be Mama, although that didn't happen til MUCH later.

I was adopted at birth and told as soon as i was old enough to understand, something i appreciate my adoptive parents for. They never kept secrets from me, made sure i knew what sex was right off the bat, my super paranoid mom even gave me a book CALLED "Child lures" (I'm not kidding this was literally a pedophile's handbook for a seven year old to read, look it up. Fucked up.) But as far as how true it all was, maybe I'll never know.

What I was told by my adoptive mom was that my biological mother was a drug addict with two other kids already (my sister was 4 and my brother was 2). My father, who she was with at the time, was also a drug addict. As the story goes (i still haven't dared to ask), while high on meth one day he beat my baby brother so bad that his ribs and arm were broken and he now has permanent neurological damage. Last i knew my brother had just gotten out of jail and was homeless, so his life hasn't really improved. That was about the time the state of Arkansas decided that my mother, pregnant with me at the time, would no longer have custody of her children and we would all be placed for adoption immediately. My sister and brother, who shared a father that was different from mine, were placed in an orphanage and my Mama chose my adoptive parents to take me from birth. I had no correspondence with her for decades and didn't want to- to me she was a vile, despicable woman like all the drug addicts in the world- but i had mever even met someone on drugs so what did I know? So, born in Arkansas, raised in New Jersey and then....

Fast forward to the good part: the part that sticks my crazy ass in the awful state of Maine. I liked vacationing there, but did i want to move there? Hell no! My one best friend in the world, the boy next door who I'd grown up with and was the same age as, was not coming with us. It was in the middle of nowhere, on the eve of my Fifth grade year. Having skipped a grade, I was only 9 at the time. I distinctly recall my first car ride to the rural beach town, during which I had a small mental break down and screamed "THEY'RE DRIVING TRACTORS ON THE ROAD!!!" because that was just <i>unheard of.</i> The only kid on the street, eventual cheer captain, straight A student and model child was my age but wanted nothing to do with the hyperactive menace next door who came over uninvited and played with the dogs. Yep, that was me. Forcing myself into the company of people who didn't want me around.

And thus I started school at the local K through 8. Wait. K through 8? How many kids went to this school????? Must be like TEN THOUSAND!! Back in Jersey there were 2-3 grade levels to a school, 30 kids to a class and 11 of each grade.That's over 600 kids in just two grades! (And i still had no friends. Sob. Seriously i must have been an awful kid.) You never had the same classmates twice, classes switched every grade. I couldn't imagine how FRIGGEN HUGE a school with every grade in it would be!!

What? What's that. There are HOW MANY kids in my class?

16. And how many in the grade? 16.

....so there's one fifth grade? And how many kids in the school??? ......a little over a hundred.

WHAAAAAAAAAAAA.

At first i was pumped. I get to make friends and stay with them all the way till high school?! YES. Except this was when I remember my life becoming a living hell.

At this point i had been on at least three different medications for ADHD and none of them worked. Ritalin, Concerta, Stratera etc. Apparently i was still as annoying as ever because i remember being tormented relentlessly. Like, relentlessly. When there's only 16 kids in the class and you're the target, there's no escape. The teacher's let it happen. I was called hippopotamus. My lunch got spat in. I was mocked in front of the class. I was called stupid. Everyone would argue about having to sit next to me and i would just sit alone, or if someone did have to sit with me (usually the teacher assigned someone which made it worse) they would push my things off my desk or ask to copy my work once they realized i was almost as smart as the smartest girl in the class.

And i let them. I wanted SO fucking badly to be popular, to have a friend, fucking anything. It always blew up in my face. As soon as i was done being used for answers, a good place in line, a random good pick for a team or something, i was immediately shunned again. I buried myself in my extracurriculars (now it was swim team, violin and piano), joined band, chorus, jazz band, softball and soccer. I told my parents very little unless they were being dragged in for parent teacher conferences about how i was inattentive and always acting out. My grades began to slip because I was starting to learn about depression and constantly forgot to do my homework. My strict as hell parents were making me practice piano and violin for hours a day and my only solace was my meager 30 minutes of Nintendo 64 time per day. At one point my sixth grade teacher (stupid bitch, i hope you enjoy your cancer (sorry, y'all)) told my parents i wasn't as smart as everyone said and i should be held back because she thought i was autistic. I'm a lot of things, but not fucking autistic.

In the summer before seventh grade i finally got a reprieve in the form of my still longest best friend and the miracle drug Adderall. For those who don't know, Adderall is an amphetamine based ADHD medication and widely abused for it's stimulant properties. For anyone with ADHD however, it mellows the shit out of us and makes us super focused. Well, I'm a little allergic to it, so it actually makes me aggressive. On top of that, it makes your appetite nonexistent so, surprisingly, your favorite curvy girl Jay developed an eating disorder. Not on purpose at first. I just wasnt hungry so i didn't eat. I skipped breakfast, skipped lunch, ate the light dinner my parents prepared and went to bed. Hunger was nonexistent. Then one day i woke up and discovered myself at about 135 pounds, i tried on my first pair of short shorts out shopping with my mom. I'll never fucking forget looking in the mirror and saying out loud "Wow... I actually look great in these!" I didn't realize it was the Adderall at the time but I let it get worse. Whenever i did eat off my only light dinner schedule i would make myself throw up. I eventually got down to 117 pounds. My lowest weight. I stayed there for years. Once i had a state ID with me at that weight. Even at 12 i looked emaciated. It was revolting. I kept that ID for awhile to remind myself how awful i looked and to remind me that I look better curvy, but then i got fat and it made me sad. But i digress.

When i got back to school I suddenly gave not a single fuck about anyone picking on me. Adderall made my emotions <i>nonexistent</i>, but my temper started to boil. As a punching bag i was still pretty friendly and docile, like a big dumb dog that comes trotting back for another beating time and time again. Now i was silent and glowery. People took notice, and that's where my first real best friend came in. Let's call her Patti. I will always remember the day it really happened. I was the first person in line for recess, a great honor, but all my classmates were playing the "EW I DON'T WANT TO STAND NEXT TO HER" game. As per usual. I didn't really care. Thank god for drugs amirite? But then one voice rang out above the crowd of heckling...

I'm just kidding, it was more of a frustrated "seriously guys? Grow up." and then there was Patti. Someone who'd never joined in the terrorizing- i didn't and still don't blame anyone who didn't speak up. It would have made them a target too. But why? She was a cheerleader. I don't think anyone disliked her. She wasn't "popular" but she'd been going to this school since kindergarten and knew everyone. I guess I'll never really understand. But she was a lifesaver, even before the depression got really bad. She actually got to know me, the real me, she realized (and helped me realize too) that i was funny, and goofy and smart, and friendly. Eventually, because of her, some of the others started to come around too, but none of them were ever quite as close to me as she was. I thank god for this girl pretty regularly. Not as much as i should lately.

But there was still the matter of the bullies- and of my short fuse. I had my first kiss that year and a few short lived "boyfriends"- all from other schools of course, it would have been an unforgivable taboo to be interested in Jay. But that year was the year i put my foot down. As i mentioned earlier, Adderall had made me apathetic, but also very, very aggressive. The rage built slowly for several months until one fateful day in art class. I can't remember what i was doing to deserve this comment, i genuinely wish i could, but one of my usual enemies decided to say "No wonder your parents didn't want you!"

She was across the table from me and before i knew it i had launched myself across the table and had my hand up around her throat. No squeezing, just pressure. Her eyes nearly bugged out of her head and the entire room fucking froze. It was like something out of a movie. That was the first time i ever rage cried. If i ever get angry enough that my eyes start to water, someone's gonna get hurt. We both got sent to the principal, maybe because the sensible art teacher recognized a normally good natured kid snapping. I looked dead into that principal's eyes and told him that I'd had enough. I was tired of being picked on every single day and having nothing done. Teachers watched and let it happen. Some fucking joined in. HE let it happen after i told him time and time again what was going on. I didnt get in trouble. The bullying receded a good amount that day. It didn't stop completely until almost the end of the year.

Through my mother's networking at church i had become friends with one of the most popular girls at a neighboring school- a gorgeous russian adopted girl with a thick accent and a very early onset sex drive. Yikes. In turn, she introduced me to her brother, who i began "dating" for several months. By "dating" i mean we held hands and made out under the bleachers at YMCA dances and he tried to get me to give him a blowjob at my 12th birthday party. Jesus yikes. Needless to say that relationship didn't last long but I'd suddenly earned a reputation of someone who was- dare i say it- close to popular?

Then there was the summer of 2004. The best few months of my life. Patti and i were inseperable, we rode our bikes around the town every day, snuck into the state park, ate ice cream at the little trailer shop nearby, stayed up all night then nodded off through church the next day. And we dreamed. Oh sweet jesus did we dream about getting as far away from our shitty little town as possible and never coming back. I had honestly never been happier and for the first time in my life i had a best friend. I had a birthday party at the end of the school year and a bunch of people came- people from my school!- we genuinely had an amazing time. The girls all slept over and for once, finally, i felt like i belonged.

Eighth grade was a breeze, if you skim over Adderall making me almost punch my mom in the face. It was the first and last time i ever raised a fist to my parents. But it had done it's job. I wasn't getting picked on, i gained a little more weight and filled out nicely, I excelled at academics, won awards in jazz band, joined the bangor youth symphony orchestra, and actually made real friends (none in my school save for patti really.)

So.... That's my life up until high school. That's when i met depression. 😘

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