#i think that was when i first started thinking about suicide seriously? like wondering about the concept

[cherienymphe]

Smells Like Teen Spirit (Rafe Cameron x Reader)

Warnings: NON/DUB-CON, abusive relationship, domestic violence, attempted murder + suicide, mentions of blood, loss of virginity, underage drinking, jealousy, kook!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ cont.

summary: Being one half of the royal couple of Figure 8 isn't what it's cracked up to be.

~

The first time Rafe hit you, it was on your birthday.

Like every year, your parents threw you a big party that hosted no less than a hundred people. A good number of those people were friends from school and familiar faces you’d grown up with. The other bunch were family friends that had more in common with your parents than you. You took their pretty cards filled with money and thanked them with a smile, relieved when they scampered off to congregate with the other forty somethings.

It was the same party every year. Half the people of Figure 8 in attendance, an abundance of gifts you could barely keep up with, and a light scold or two from your mother to smile and greet the next person who came in. Your hair was flawless and your dress was the perfect length.

The only difference this year was the presence of a boyfriend at your side.

“Rafe, if my dad sees us, I will never hear the end of it.”

Your tone was light and teasing, and you said it with a smile, but there was a hint of seriousness there. It really didn’t matter how older you grew to be, you were sure you’d always be your daddy’s little girl. The older man already hadn’t been the most excited when you told him you were dating Rafe Cameron, Ward Cameron’s son, and you were positive that the Cameron family’s reputation was Rafe’s only saving grace.

You’d just turned eighteen then after all and was already flaunting your new adult status.

The blue-eyed boy in front of you merely chuckled, tightening his arms around your waist and leaning in to kiss you again. The house and the yard were filled with almost too many people, so you hadn’t hesitated when Rafe discreetly guided you upstairs.

“He’s too busy talking about his new boat, isn’t he?” he wondered. “He’ll talk all night if they let him.”

You lightly tapped his chest, but you didn’t voice any disagreement.

Your back was leaning against your bedroom door, the muffled sounds of some classical music reaching your ears through the wall. Rafe’s hands were tight on your waist, and you both felt and heard him chuckle again, his lips still pressed against yours. Only this time, he kept laughing—softly and to himself—and you gave him a slight frown when he pulled away.

“I was just thinking…” Rafe pulled you close again. “How hilarious it would be if he was going on and on about that damn boat…none the wiser to his daughter getting fucked on her birthday right upstairs.”

This time you hit him a little harder, and Rafe only laughed again.

“You’re not funny,” you scolded, deflating a little as you pulled away from him. “Way to ruin the mood.”

You said it quietly as you sat down on the edge of your bed, but Rafe heard it clearly, and when you looked up at him, you recognized the look on his face instantly.

“Funny,” he started, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the door. “Mentioning sex usually has the opposite effect on most people.”

You rolled your eyes with a turn of your head, looking towards your window. The atmosphere was different, now, and you didn’t know if it was your fault or Rafe’s. He joked like that sometimes, and you knew it, so you could recognize that maybe you were being too sensitive.

The topic at hand, however, was a sensitive one for you.

“I really don’t want to have this fight, right now,” you mumbled.

You could feel his gaze on you, but you didn’t return it, determined to just stare down at the people in your yard. The air was thick, the tension even thicker, and you reached up to rub your arms, trying to rid them of the goosebumps that had appeared. Rafe hated being ignored, and you knew that, but you couldn’t bring yourself to continue the conversation because you knew what was brewing.

Rafe was the perfect boyfriend. He was pretty—the kind of pretty that even some girls would be jealous of. He came from the kind of family that taught him about manners and respect. He never hesitated to do what he could to make your life easier despite growing up wanting for nothing. You didn’t think it was possible for an already spoiled girl to be spoiled some more until you started dating Rafe and he proved you wrong. He treated you like a princess, so yes. Rafe was the perfect boyfriend.

Mostly.

“I’ve been really understanding, you know…”

Rafe’s voice was low, and your gaze dropped to your lap.

“…but we’ve been dating for what? Eight months?”

You swallowed, eyes burning.

“Do you know how hard Topper and Kelce would laugh at me if they knew my girlfriend of almost a year refuses to have sex with me?”

You scoffed, finally looking at him, brows pulled together.

“You make it sound like I’m punishing you,” you breathed. “Rafe, this has nothing to do with you, I… I’m just not ready.”

“…and still no ETA on when you will be, huh?”

You blinked at him, lips parting at his callous tone and words. You looked away, blinking back tears because you would hate it if you cried on your birthday of all days.

“You’re being an asshole.”

You whispered it, and you heard Rafe huff.

“I’m not trying to be,” he told you, and you heard him move closer. “…but come on. I get it…”

The bed dipped as he sat down next to you, and you felt his hand on your face, fingers grazing your cheek.

“You’re nervous, and it seems scary, but you’re treating me like I’m some stranger on the street, and not…your boyfriend. You know I’ll take care of you. I always take care of you, and that’s why I don’t understand it,” he bit out. “I treat you like gold, and here I am, eight months in and wondering if you even feel the same way.”

You whipped your head around to stare at him in disbelief, looking between his eyes. You didn’t know how he could be serious, but as you gazed at him, you realized that Rafe was very serious. You took a moment to scoot away from him just a tad.

“I show you everyday how much you mean to me, Rafe…but because I won’t have sex with you that means I don’t love you? So just forget all the other stuff, I guess,” you sneered.

Rafe reached for you when you started to turn away, shaking your head and lightly pushing at his hands. Today was your birthday, and you were fighting with your boyfriend…because sex was something you just weren’t ready for. You snatched your arm out of his hold, standing on unsteady legs.

“When you first brought this up, I told you then that I wasn’t ready, and you made it clear you were okay with waiting. Was that a lie?” you asked him, meeting his gaze.

Rafe ran his hand down his face, huffing to himself.

“No, but I just didn’t think I’d still be waiting almost half a year later.”

He was standing, now too.

“So, why are you? No one’s forcing you to stay here, Rafe,” you sadly told him with a shrug. “You don’t have to be with me if sex is that damn important to you. There are plenty of other girls out there who will happily give you what I don’t want to.”

You crossed your arms over your chest.

“…and I know because I see the looks they give you…and the looks they give me.”

You were used to envy. You’d been on the receiving end of it all your life. Growing up on this side of the island guaranteed that from birth, but you also knew it was because your standing was only rivaled by Sarah Cameron. If Rafe’s sister were anyone else, you might have found yourself involved in some one-sided rivalry, but Sarah was a lot like you.

Just a girl born into fortunate circumstances.

However, what you weren’t used to was envy because of the man you loved. When it came to your house and your lifestyle and everything else, it never bothered you because no one could take those things from you. Rafe, on the other hand… You knew what he was like and what he was used to. It was why you’d been very honest about your sexual history and lack thereof from almost the beginning. If Rafe was going to leave you for someone else all because you wouldn’t have sex with him, you would have rather he do it early.

Not now…not eight months in because now you loved him, and the thought made you want to cry, and it would take just as many months to get over him.

“If I wanted any of those other spoiled bitches then I wouldn’t be here,” Rafe told you. “Besides, you think I’m just going to walk away with nothing after investing so much time and money and energy into you?”

You reared back at that, eyes widening just a tad, and Rafe seemed to realize how that came out. He sighed, reaching for you just as you stepped away from him. You heard him curse when you left the room, ignoring the sound of him calling your name as you hurried to mix yourself in with all of your guests downstairs.

Rafe talked about you like some business investment he was waiting to get a return on. It hurt, a lot, and while you wanted to believe he hadn’t meant it like that in his head, you couldn’t help but to wonder if that was really how he saw you. Your mother smiled at you when she saw your face, none the wiser to your temporary absence. Your own smile was forced as she introduced you to their new golfing buddies.

You didn’t know when Rafe came back downstairs, only quickly glancing away when your eyes connected with his after some time. If your parents noticed your distance from him, they didn’t comment on it, and after a while, you barely noticed it yourself. You immersed yourself in your friends, halfway listening to boyfriend troubles and semester woes.

This was the only thing you and Rafe ever fought about. Plenty of your friends had boyfriends before who tried to pressure them into doing things they didn’t want to do. You were always the friend to tell them to dump them without hesitation, so why hadn’t you done the same? Was it because Rafe was so perfect in all other aspects of your relationship? The back and forth hadn’t ever been so serious before…not until tonight.

As you sipped on the drink you weren’t supposed to be having, you remembered the hurt you felt when Rafe implied you didn’t love him. What a crazy thing to say. You treated him just as well as he treated you, never mind the fact that you told him every day how much you loved him…but because you wouldn’t fuck him that meant otherwise?

It was enough to make you angry.

“Finally stopped hiding from me…?”

You tensed up for half a second, relaxing with a sigh as you heard him come closer. You were out by the water, now, sitting on the boat dock with one leg swinging. It had been nothing but just you and your thoughts for a good thirty minutes, and you guessed it took that amount of time for Rafe to realize you were no longer in the house.

“I don’t know yet,” you honestly told him.

“I didn’t mean it like that. You know I didn’t,” Rafe quietly said, getting straight to the point.

“…but I don’t know. You don’t even think I love you just because I won’t have sex with you. For all I know, that’s exactly how you see me,” you mumbled.

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Says the guy ruining my birthday!”

You were looking up at him, now, tearfully, and you shook your head. Saying it aloud made you realize just how shitty it was, and you sniffed, pulling yourself to your feet.

“Just go home, Rafe…”

He stopped you from walking by him, and you ignored anything he was trying to say. The more he leaned in, that was when you smelled it, and your frown deepened at the stench of alcohol on his breath. You didn’t know why the smell made you so angry. It was a party, after all, but maybe it was the fact that if anyone of the two of you deserved to drown their sorrows in booze, it was you. Not Rafe. Pushing at his chest, you scoffed.

“One argument…and you’re already getting drunk?”

You jerked your face away from his hand, glowering at him.

“Don’t you want to at least wait for Ward to give you the daily disappointment speech?”

The slap wasn’t as hard as it could’ve been, but it was hard enough to make your face burn.

You were staring at the water from when your head had whipped to the side, and when a nightly breeze blew by, kissing your skin, only then did the dull burning sensation fade away into a painful one. Your lips were parted in shock, and you were slow to reach up and touch your cheek. The silence was loud, and when you finally looked at Rafe, he looked as shocked as you felt.

All of your breath had left you, and your brain was short-circuiting, desperately trying to reconcile your boyfriend with the same guy who’d just slapped you. It didn’t seem real, and yet the dull pain you felt said otherwise. A few tears escaped against your will, and it was only then did Rafe move. His face fell, but you were already backing away.

“Y/N-.”

“Don’t touch me,” you tearfully spat. “What is wrong with you?”

He didn’t listen, grabbing your arms anyway, and you were still in too much shock to really fight back. Rafe cooed at you, trying to take your face into his hands no matter how much you protested. You wanted him far away from you, and your brain was unsure of how to achieve that, still grappling with the memory of his palm connecting with your cheek.

“Hey, I didn’t… I didn’t mean to do that,” he whispered, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close. “Baby, stop.”

You shoved at his chest, hitting it, but he wasn’t deterred. He only rested his free hand on the back of your head, holding you against him, and the feel had more tears spilling over. You kept trying to get away, but Rafe refused to let you, repeatedly apologizing and shushing you. You could feel the cool metal of his ring against your scalp, his lips there too as he kept telling you he was sorry.

Your chest was so tight, and it ached just as much as your face. Your mind was still fighting to make sense of what had happened tonight, and despite Rafe’s apologies for his entire behavior, you told yourself that this was the last straw. Rafe had ruined your birthday in more ways than one, and you were done. You had to be.

…because you deserved better.

The first time you had sex with Rafe—with anyone ever—you’d been terrified.

…and drunk.

An entire month after your birthday, and you didn’t know if you were more shocked or angry that you stayed with Rafe. You had been so determined to leave him that night. He had ruined your birthday beyond repair, and you knew that anytime you looked back on the night you turned nineteen, you’d only remember Rafe slapping you on the dock.

…but you’d also remember his profuse apologies, and the tears in his eyes as he begged you to forgive him.

He was drunk. That was what he kept saying, that he was drunk and acted before thinking. It was barely a reason and certainly wasn’t an excuse, so why did you stay? It was stupid to stay…and yet you did. You let Rafe kiss your face and lead you back to the party that had long died and smile in the face of the parents whose daughter he’d just hit.

You’d answered the phone as he called you, taking almost half an hour to just tell you again how sorry he was and how he didn’t know what came over him and how it would never happen again. You’d never known Rafe to be so apologetic in all the time you’d been dating him. It would’ve been sweet if it weren’t for the circumstances, and the whole time, you’d only been able to listen in silence with your fingers grazing your face.

You hadn’t been able to look him in the eye for days, going over it in your head again and again. Torn between listening to your gut and telling yourself that it had just been a one-off thing, a bad drunken night. After all, what you’d said to him hadn’t been the nicest, knowing how he felt in regard to Ward and his relationship with him. It didn’t make it right…but you had provoked Rafe. You’d said it to hurt him…to make him angry… Right?

…but that wasn’t the case a month later.

Things between you and Rafe hadn’t been the same since. He still doted on you, and your parents still adored him, and you were reluctant to admit you still loved him, but you could never get that night out of your mind. You could never forget how swift it had been, how no thought to you had been spared. Rafe had only been focused on retaliating, hurting you, and it was something you often struggled with. You believed it wouldn’t happen again…but what if it did?

Without even realizing it, you became less argumentative with the blond. You gave him less pushback, you smiled more and became more agreeable to his suggestions. You spent more time with him, making him happy. You believed him when he said it wouldn’t happen again, but in the back of your mind, something in you was doing everything you could think of to make sure it didn’t.

…and that was why you still didn’t quite understand how the fight had started.

Something about Topper…or Kelce.

You were so drunk, it was hard to remember.

“I saw you!”

You had blinked at Rafe from your place on the couch, staring up at him in wonder and confusion. Another Friday meant another party, and promising your mother you’d be back by a certain time, you’d allowed Rafe to help you into his truck. Nothing about the night had been out of the ordinary, and it was why you found yourself wracking your brain.

“Rafe, I… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you softly told him, trying to understand why he was so mad.

The only son of Ward Cameron knocked the glass of water right out of your hand, and you flinched at the action, blinking at the sight of shattered glass on the floor. You’d gotten it to try and help you sober up before you went home, and you stared at the spilled water with parted lips. You were too drunk to fully grasp the severity of the situation you were now in.

Suddenly Rafe was there, too close, leaning down over you with his hands resting on the back of the couch. You leaned back and away from him, eyes wide as he looked at you like you were something he’d find on the bottom of his shoe. Like he was so disgusted with the sight of you, and again, you wracked your brain to understand what you’d done. To understand how to fix this.

Rafe’s blue gaze had been cold, icy, and you hadn’t missed the tick of his jaw. The alcohol in your system hindered your thinking, and that had seemed to make Rafe angrier, like he was furious you couldn’t put it together. Read his mind. Overwhelmed, you hadn’t been able to stop a few tears of frustration from escaping, and that just seemed to really send him over the edge.

“You were in his lap,” he had bit out, and only then did you finally understand.

Your odd relationship with your boyfriend these days had driven you to drink more than you ever had. You’d been sloppy…clumsy, and Topper was nice enough to help you back to your feet after you’d quite literally fallen right onto his lap. You wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, but one look into Rafe’s eyes had you swallowing it down.

He was very serious…and very angry.

You reached for him, but Rafe only slapped your hands away, straightening and looking down his nose at you. It was a look that made you feel so…cold, and with one blink, you remembered that you were alone. Sarah was God knows where, and the remaining Camerons had gone out to eat. The house was usually empty during this time, but it wasn’t this Friday night.

It consisted of you…and your angry boyfriend.

“I should…I should go. Call my mom,” you mumbled, pushing yourself to your feet.

Your attempts to get by Rafe went unsuccessful, and with each block to your path, something deep within your gut just…dropped. Your gaze met a familiar blue one, and nothing about it was warm, welcoming. Rafe seemed to be so mad at you about something so silly, but instead of just talking about it later when you were both much clearer headed…he didn’t want to let you leave.

“Is that what you’re gonna do?” he’d mocked, a mean look on his face. “Call mommy and daddy to come get you?”

Sarah.

You reminded of him of Sarah.

That was what he’d said, what he’d thrown at you. His tense relationship with the other girl was no secret to anyone, least of all you, and you winced at every insult he threw at you. Spoiled brat. Perfect princess. Uptight prude. It shocked you for a lot of reasons, but mostly because Rafe wasn’t drunk. He wasn’t sober, but you’d hardly seen him drink all night and not nearly as much as you, and he was insulting you with confidence, throwing all of these things at you that you never knew he felt.

“I’m just going to go home, okay? You’re being an asshole, and I don’t know why, so I just…”

At some point, your back was grazing the wall, and Rafe was hovering before you, a look in his eye like leaving was the very last thing he wanted you to do. Every move of yours was mirrored, every turn met with one of his own, and for the first time ever…you were afraid of your boyfriend.

When Rafe hit you that night, you hadn’t been scared. Not really. You’d been angry…shocked…disbelieving. Not scared though. You’d just wanted to be away from him, you had even wanted to hit him back, but not once did you remember feeling scared for your life. Not like this night, and you couldn’t keep it together.

“Rafe, please, I just…I just wanna go home,” you choked out, touching your temple. “We can talk about this tomorrow.”

You were so confused as to how you got here. The night had taken such an unexpected turn, and more than anything, you wanted to sleep it off and write the whole thing off as a bad dream. You wanted to get some more water and take a shower and skip to the part where you had a pounding headache in the morning. You didn’t understand how a night of partying had turned into an argument with your boyfriend.

Although, you supposed it wasn’t much of an argument. Mostly Rafe yelling at you and you trying to understand why. Rafe was determined to make this into something it wasn’t, and when it became clear that he wasn’t going to let you leave without dead-ing this whole thing, you frowned at him.

“I fell. You know I fell, you know…”

Your words died in the air as Rafe rolled his eyes, and something in you was telling you that Rafe was going to believe what he wanted to believe. He was determined to make something true, and it startled you to realize that you’d lost this argument before it even began. Slipping from in between Rafe and the wall was a mistake.

A mistake that had consequences.

Your purse was halfway across the room before you could even grab it good, Rafe suddenly in your face again. He was yelling about a whole bunch of nothing, and when you turned from him again, Rafe made sure it was the last time, gripping your upper arm so hard that you actually cried out. His other hand followed suit, and he shook you, hard enough to make your head whip back and forth.

The only time he listened to you was when you asked him to let you go.

…and he did just that…shoving you in the process.

The kitchen counter slowed your fall only a bit, but it added to the pain more than anything else. Trying to get up proved fruitless, because Rafe was there, kneeling before you with one hand on the counter. The other was on your face, forcing you to look at him. You were too drunk to make full sense of everything he was saying, to grasp the danger you were in. When you finally did, it was too late.

…because Rafe was already ripping the dress he bought you a week ago.

You thought it was a joke at first—some awful and insensitive scare tactic—until you were reaching up to pull at the hand around your throat. Your other hand slapped at the cabinets below in panic, and with a knee between your legs, it was impossible to close them. You knew that you were alone, but that fact didn’t stop you from crying out.

“You really expect me to just watch you throw yourself at my friends? Huh?”

The kitchen floor was cool against your back.

“…and laugh about it?”

He was fumbling between you both, and the room was spinning too much for you to understand why. You felt nauseous, and Rafe was hurting you, and you were cold. Not to mention that your head had started to hurt, but you also realized that everything was hurting.

“But you won’t even touch me.”

You felt like you’d been punched in the gut…only lower.

The pain of Rafe’s intrusion had you wailing, and the difference in your reactions couldn’t have been starker. It was hard to decipher, but you were sure that Rafe had moaned, a low drawn-out sigh as he sheathed himself inside of you. You could feel Rafe’s chest heaving against yours, could feel his heartbeat, could even hear his shaky breath.

You, on the other hand…

You couldn’t move. You felt frozen, restricted by something unseen, and when you tried to fight against it, you gasped. One shift had you wincing, and tears spilled over almost immediately. Your hands were pressing against his chest, now, desperately trying to push Rafe away, pushing off of you… out of you. It was no good, Rafe in a whole other world you weren’t privy too as he pulled back.

The feel had you wincing again, and you thought…

Well, you thought wrong.

Your relief was short-lived, and Rafe ignored everything you said as he started to thrust inside of you. His hips barely left yours, only enough to create friction, and you pushed your forearm against his neck, fighting to get him to stop. The pain wasn’t something you could wrap your head around, and you didn’t know if you were grateful or not that you were so drunk.

Every snap of Rafe’s hips made you cry harder, harsh sobs escaping and echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. The sound of your bawling was only rivaled by the groans that escaped Rafe, your boyfriend pointedly ignoring your plight. One of his hands pushed against your face, forcing your head to the side…as if he didn’t want to see your face.

See the reality of what he was doing to you.

You thought at some point that the pain would go away, subside, but it felt like it only got worse with each thrust of his cock. Rafe was a man on a mission with only one objective in mind, and you were having the hardest time sorting your thoughts, realizing that in this moment you were a means to an end. An objective to be met through the use of your body.

…but you supposed it was more than just that.

Rafe was always entitled, a trait you found somewhat endearing much like towards an entitled child, but it hadn’t occurred to you that he’d feel entitled to you too. Before the night of your birthday, you knew the one thorn in your relationship, the one thing to actually put a crack in your relationship. Deep down somewhere, you expected Rafe to just leave you. After all, why wouldn’t you?

There was no universe in which you’d ever consider the possibility of the alternative.

The possibility that your boyfriend would just take what he wanted.

It didn’t last long—or maybe that was the alcohol in your system sparing you—but you couldn’t even be relieved. Even after Rafe pulled out, spent and satisfied and out of breath, the pain still remained. He was talking, and you didn’t know if he was talking to himself or you, but you paid it no mind. You could still feel him deep in your gut, and you rolled onto your side, curling into yourself.

You didn’t hear him the first time, but the second time Rafe told you to get up, he was forcing you to your feet. It hurt, and you could barely walk, and your confusion only grew. His hold was tight, and his tone sounded off, and you discovered why when headlights from the yard bled through the windows and into your line of sight.

He was rushing you to get upstairs, but you kept stumbling from both the pain and your blurry vision. Rafe didn’t let you go until you were just inside of his room, and as you collapsed to the floor, you could hear the door opening downstairs. You couldn’t stop crying even if you wanted to, and you hadn’t even realized Rafe had left—to give some half-baked excuse for the broken glass, no doubt—until he returned, suddenly kneeling at your side and begging you to stop crying.

You tried to push him away, but your movements were sluggish, weak, and you weren’t able to hold your own as he pulled you to your feet. Rafe stumbled into the bathroom with you, an arm around you and holding you up as he started the shower. You didn’t want him touching you, but you were physically unable to stop him. Every step hurt and made you stumble, every wave of your arm made you sway, and when the warm water ran over you both, there was nothing you could do as he washed away every remnant of his assault.

You were at Rafe’s side on his birthday, a small smile on your lips as he kept an arm around your waist. Rose thanked you for coming, not that she would expect anything different, and Wheezie asked if you would be staying over. The youngest Cameron had taken a liking to you—all of them did really—and she looked forward to having you around. You wanted to tell her no, but that wasn’t what you said. Instead, you said:

“Its’ Rafe’s birthday. Why wouldn’t I?”

The dark-haired girl beamed, adjusting her glasses, and her satisfaction was contagious. You knew that Rafe’s dynamic with his family was tricky at the best of times, and while you were sure they loved you just fine, something in you also wondered if they liked who Rafe was when he was around you. They were happy to host you for as long as they could.

They had no idea that it was only 24 hours earlier when Rafe tried to kill you.

Trying to leave Rafe resulted in the last thing you ever expected.

That night—and all the other nights that followed—haunted you. When you closed your eyes, you could only see Rafe at his lowest, holding you down and hurting you. You could only feel the pain of him forcing himself inside of you, and the pain that lingered when he was no longer there. The memory of bloody water swirling down the drain was a constant in your mind. As well as the memory of Rafe putting you in his bed, pulling his shirt down to your knees.

You should have left the night of your birthday, you should’ve gotten out then, and none of it would have ever happened, but you told yourself that late was better than never. You told yourself that you learned your lesson and you didn’t have to experience any more hurt to leave. Your eyes were open, and while you didn’t know if you’d ever go against Rafe legally for what he did, you did know that you were leaving him. You had to focus on each step at once. Trying to think so far ahead was enough to scare you.

Right now, you just needed to leave him.

His entire visage had been eerily calm as you broke up with him, voice shaking as you did. Even he hadn’t been able to deny how your relationship had deteriorated, become something unrecognizable and unhealthy. The morning after, you felt like you were existing outside of your body. You could see Rafe leaving apologetic kisses along your face as you stirred, but you couldn’t really feel it. You couldn’t feel his hands either, not until they found a home between your legs, at least.

Your protest was almost immediate, but Rafe had assured you it was fine…and you were scared.

So, you believed him.

Experiencing pain and pleasure at the same time was foreign to you. Rafe’s previous assault was not something to be ignored, but it felt odd to come around him and hiss from the pain of it at the same time. He was gentle, pressing his lips to yours and grazing his fingertips against your skin. His thrusts had been slow and careful, but the damage had been done, and every push of his hips brought out conflicting reactions.

That was how it always went.

Even after the pain and bruises were long gone, you couldn’t stop being afraid of Rafe. After all, he’d made it perfectly clear that he wouldn’t respect any kind of refusal from you. What kind of relationship was that? How could you thrive in that? Rafe may have been your first everything, but you weren’t naïve. He was an abusive asshole…and you were just too scared to do something about it.

Until last night.

You thought it would be easy. You even remembered internally laughing at yourself for how dramatic you’d made it in your mind. You thought… You thought that Rafe would move on, let you go. After all, he’d finally gotten what he wanted, and you had even exhaled when he nodded, a soft ‘okay’ soon to follow.

“Let me drive you home,” he’d said.

“Okay,” you’d replied.

You didn’t know why you thought it would be that easy.

Things with Rafe hadn’t been easy in months, and your attempted breakup was no different.

You realized that when the needle on the speedometer started to rapidly climb, the sound of Rafe’s revving engine loud in the truck. You asked him what was going on, where he was going, even though deep down you knew. You knew Rafe better than anyone probably, so you knew the answers to your questions before you even asked them.

“Rafe, stop,” you’d begged, reaching for his arm, but the blond simply fixed you with a wry smile.

“Why?” he’d wondered with a shrug. “So, you can leave me? Why would I want that?”

The houses and trees were flying past you outside the window, and you never felt more powerless than in the moment you were trapped in Rafe’s truck, unable to do a thing as he raced down the road towards the end he’d already picked out for the both of you. Any attempt to grab the wheel only resulted in Rafe jerking it—jerking the vehicle in the process—and scaring the shit out of you.

Retracting everything you’d said earlier only resulted in a harsh slap to the steering wheel, a dry laugh from Rafe soon to follow.

“You think I believe that load of shit? Huh?”

“Rafe-!”

“You just tried to break up with me not even thirty minutes ago,” he screamed.

He wasn’t wrong, and you still wanted to, but you were more afraid of dying than living a lie. You pleaded with your boyfriend, assuring him that you didn’t mean it. He only laughed again, and you got the feeling that Rafe was genuinely amused by you. By your tears, by your fear, and by your desperation.

Your heart was racing so fast it could be classified as painful. Your hands were sweating and constantly sliding against the door from where you tried to hold on to it. You pulled at his arm when he swerved into the other lane, swerving back just in time to miss an oncoming truck. Your stomach twisted painfully, bile rising in your throat, and at this point you couldn’t even see the road because of your tears.

“Rafe, please, please just talk to me,” you cried.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the wheel, blue eyes focused on the road with not a glance spared towards you, and you pressed your hand to your mouth. You looked out of the window again, unable to make out a thing, and when you reached for Rafe this time, he didn’t slap your hand away. He didn’t protest when you wrapped your arm around his waist, leaning into him and resting your hand against his chest.

You knew that your tears were staining his shirt, and you didn’t know if you stopped fighting as some unconscious tactic or simply because you were accepting what was impossible to escape. Rafe had to have been going a hundred miles an hour, this kind of speed something your brain could barely fathom. It was after some time when you felt his hand on your head and some time after that when you gradually felt the truck slowing.

You were still shaking long after it came to a stop in some wooded area, and the silence in the vehicle was loud. Rafe was just playing with your hair while you trembled against him, and when he stopped, it was only to trail his hand to your neck, gripping the back of it harshly as he forced you to sit up. You knew you looked as distraught as you felt, but Rafe…

Rafe looked calm and in control and nothing less.

His blue eyes ran over your face, drinking in your trembling lips and wet cheeks, lingering on your wide eyes the longest. You felt him rub his thumb along your skin, and when he hummed, it harshly pressed against the side of your neck. Suddenly, the corner of his pink lips curved just the slightest, and nothing about it was soothing.

“I wasn’t serious… You know that, right?”

You didn’t respond because he wasn’t kidding, and you both knew it. Rafe shifted, moving closer, and he brought his other hand up to touch your cheek, wiping your tears away. He studied your eyes, leaning in and grazing your lips.

“It was just…something I didn’t mean. You understand though. Doing things…saying things we don’t mean,” he slowly said to you, swiping his tongue between his lips. “Right…?”

The drop in his voice and the slight raise of his brows had you swallowing, and he was looking at you like he dared you to disagree. Fighting the urge to throw up, and with a shaky nod, you told Rafe what he wanted to hear.

“Right,” you whispered, and he chuckled.

“Alright,” he breathed with a blinding smile, pulling you into his side. “Kelce is throwing together some small thing at his house. I told him we might stop by…”

He trailed off, leaving room for a comment, and you only shrugged.

“That’s fine with me.”

Your voice was barely audible, but Rafe heard you fine, starting the truck and pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“I knew it would be.”

You’d been quiet the whole night, and you’d been quiet all day, only existing as silent support to Rafe on his birthday. If anyone noticed your reserved demeanor, no one commented on it. No one knew that as you wished Rafe a happy birthday, you were afraid of what could happen if you didn’t smile hard enough. When he kissed you, you could only think of how he’d kissed you after threatening to kill you both. Every time Rafe held your hand, it felt like a chain tethering you to him.

You dreaded the moment the party would thin out and everyone would start trickling from the home in pairs, heading back to the comfort of their own homes until just Rafe and his family remained. Eventually they would call it a night too, and you and Rafe would be alone, and you wouldn’t have a choice but to kiss him back when he eventually kissed you.

…and kiss you he did.

“You almost ruined my birthday, you know,” he mumbled into the kiss, making you pause for half a second.

Your only response was a quiet apology, and Rafe sighed into your mouth.

“That’s okay, baby,” the blond purred. “You know I’ll let you make it up to me.”

You were terrified of your boyfriend, and that was why you let him undress you. You let him wrap his arms around you and hold you close and press kisses to your skin. It was surreal to have sexy with someone you were afraid of, like you were being held hostage in your own body. If Rafe noticed—and you were sure that he did—he didn’t care.

He was content to lay you down and bury his face into the crook of your neck. In fact, you were sure Rafe liked your fear, liked that you were so scared of him. You thought it made it all the more fun for him to push his cock into you and feel you tremble in fear. You just knew there was something in Rafe that took great pleasure in making you momentarily sacrifice your fear of him for ecstasy instead.

He forced your head back, and your chest arched upwards into him. You gasped at the feel of his tongue on your skin, gliding over a hardened bud and tasting you. His hips came down slowly, like he was savoring the feel of you clinging to his cock. He sighed with every thrust, and you were never able to swallow down your own moans once Rafe started stroking that fire building within you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, nipping at your lip as he plunged his cock into you.

One of your legs were thrown over his shoulder, and the stretch burned in a way that wasn’t painful but wasn’t the best either. One of your hands was wrapping around his arm, trying to ground yourself as the other twisted into his sheets. You couldn’t stop gasping, clenching down on him every time Rafe hit that spot in you that made you lose your breath.

When he pushed your leg back more, you yelped in pain, but Rafe only hummed. His thrusts became rougher, and he only hummed again when you hissed. Your hand rested on his chest, pushing against him slightly—a nonverbal communication—but Rafe ignored it.

“Rafe…”

His hips were slapping against yours, and you couldn’t even pretend to enjoy it. Your other hand came up too, and he slapped it away, that same hand wrapped around your throat only moments later. You let out a choked cry, reaching up, but Rafe didn’t stop, continuing to fuck you and choke you.

“Look at me-look at me,” he quietly spat.

Too afraid not to, you did, your distressed gaze meeting his even one in the low lighting. He was so close, nose almost brushing against yours, and he looked between your eyes. His hand tightened around your neck, making your heart skip a beat, and his free hand covered your breast, squeezing it, and your free leg kicked at the sheets.

“I will kill you.”

Your nails pressed into the skin on his arm.

“Do you understand me? You try to leave me again…and I will kill you.”

Your heart was threatening to burst from your chest, and the ceiling behind Rafe’s face was starting to blur. The edges of your vision were growing faint, darkness creeping along the outer rim.

“I will dump your body on the side of the road, and I will get away with it.”

His words and cadence were slow, purposeful, and you knew that Rafe was entirely serious. Tears had long spilled over, and you couldn’t stop crying. Rafe shook you, your neck straining from the action, and the whole time he kept fucking you. His lower movements didn’t stop once, sliding into you over and over and stroking your walls all the while he threatened you.

He roughly let you go, and you coughed, touching your throat and shaking uncontrollably. When Rafe shifted, your leg falling to the bed, you pressed your hands to your face, sobbing into the palms of them. Rafe caged you in, thighs meeting yours with every thrust, and he didn’t seem to care at all at the sight of your distress. In fact, he kissed the back of your hands, humming with every stroke, and you could only think that if you had broken up with him on your birthday then he wouldn’t be threatening your life on his.

Ward Cameron may have felt a lot of things about Rafe, but he wasn’t going to let his only son go to jail.

You should have known that when you called the police, throat tight and phone call tearful as they asked what your emergency was. Telling the woman on the other side of the phone that you were hiding from Rafe Cameron inside of the bathroom wasn’t easy. Telling her that he had a gun was even harder, and something in you wondered if they would’ve been as urgent if they hadn’t heard his booming voice from the other side of the door as he threatened you.

You were sitting on the steps when a familiar car pulled into the driveway behind the cruiser, and you felt your face crumble. There was some relief as the older man went back and forth with Shoupe, but it dwindled the longer it went on. When Ward turned his head towards you, you dropped your gaze, eyes tracing the blood on your foot from where a few shards of glass had nicked it. You didn’t dare look up, not even when you heard his footsteps approaching despite the loud protests from the Sheriff.

When Ward said your name, it was cautious—gentle—and you shook your head.

“No.”

Your name rolled off of his tongue again, and you interrupted whatever he was going to say.

“No, no, no! No,” you cried.

You knew what he was going to say, where this was going, and you refused. You were tired, so tired, and each time you’d tried to do the right thing after your disastrous birthday, you got screwed over. Each time, Rafe was one step ahead or using that charming smile and devious words to convince you it would never happen again. Every slap, every shove, every hand around your throat was proof of all the lies that left his lips.

You were sure that the only truth Rafe had ever told was when he said he’d kill you.

 It was silent between you two for some time, and you heard Ward sigh. You bit your lip, worrying it so much you started to taste blood, and you sniffed, wiping your face as you refused to look at the man. When he took another step towards you, you flinched, and only then did you look up to see the way Ward’s face fell.

You watched him press his lips together, only a thin line, now.

“I want you to tell me what happened.”

You scoffed.

“You know what happened. I’m sure Shoupe told you,” you forced out, and Ward exhaled through his nose.

He briefly glanced over his shoulder, looking at his son in the back of the cop car.

“I want to hear it from you. I want to know how a couple’s quarrel turned into-.”

“A couple’s quarrel?” you repeated in disbelief, tears falling as you exhaled. “He threw a vase at me. He put a gun in my mouth.”

You couldn’t tell how Ward took your words, but he did put his hands on his hips.

“Now, Y/N…you know it’s a crime to lie to the police.”

His response didn’t surprise you, and you nodded, your laugh humorless. Ward knew you were telling the truth, he knew just how unhinged Rafe could be, but he didn’t want him in jail. He couldn’t have the Cameron name tarnished by the arrest of his only son on domestic violence charges. Ward would rather handle this in private, away from prying eyes…and it disgusted you.

“I’m not lying, and you know I’m not lying,” you choked out.

“Why would Rafe do this? Right out of the blue?”

You were on your feet, now, sneering at the other man.

“It’s not out of the blue. Rafe has been treating me like shit for months!”

“…and this is the first we’re hearing of it…?”

The eldest Cameron tilted his head to the side, studying you, and you felt your breath leave you. You watched him touch his chest, gaze soft as he seemed to plead with you.

“Now, I’m not saying that’s not true…but you know that’s what they’re going to ask you. They’re going to ask you why you didn’t tell anyone…and they’re going to note how convenient this all is.”

You knew that, and you looked away, hands falling at your side.

“Rafe says you dropped a vase, and it started an argument.”

“He’s lying-.”

“…and anyone can say you’re the liar.”

You pressed your hands to your forehead, squeezing your eyes shut as more tears fell. Even through your lids, you could see the change in colors from the flash of the squad car, and when you opened your eyes again, the procession of red and blue lit the yard.

“That gun is legally his…and no one saw him do what you claim he did.”

“Why are you protecting him?” you loudly wondered, looking at the man in disbelief.

You’d eaten dinner with his family, even watched his daughter some nights, and he’d smiled in your face on numerous occasions, treating you like his own. Now, though…when push came to shove…Ward Cameron was showing you that you were not one of his own. Rafe was his own…and you were now a threat.

He took a step towards you, and you reached out to grip the rail to keep yourself from falling.

“I am just telling you what will happen if you continue with this,” he slowly started, and you crossed your arms over your chest, refusing to look at him. “They will take Rafe away, and I will pay his bail, and he’ll come home with me. There were no witnesses, and everything is pure speculation, a simple case of he said she said.”

You knew that he was right, and you felt yourself start to shake.

“…and in that scenario, I can’t help you.”

You knew what he was saying. You knew that he was talking about protecting you from more than just scrutiny and the law—he was also talking about protecting you from Rafe. Your lips parted, and you shakily exhaled. You felt like you were going to collapse, legs unsteady, and when you looked over…your eyes finally met a familiar blue pair.

You were positive that Rafe hadn’t taken his eyes off of you since they’d put handcuffs on him. If looks could kill, you were sure that you’d be six feet under, and you frantically blinked. No matter how much you wanted to, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from him, and your stomach churned at the memory of his hand on the back of your neck. His other held the gun, angrily forcing the weapon into your mouth as he sneered at you.

Something about returning the smile from some pogue at The Wreck—blond and rowdy and kind of familiar.

You recalled that his name was JJ.

The fight had started almost as soon as you got inside, and you shuddered at the flare of pain in your arm, recalling the way Rafe had shoved you into the wall. You’d only slid down just in time to miss the flying vase. Just thinking about it was enough to paralyze you with fear…and then you thought about what would happen should you choose to have a legal battle with Rafe and his family.

…and lose.

You let out a choked sob, looking away, and letting your face fall into your hands. You collapsed back down onto the steps, Ward’s voice reaching you.

“You tell Shoupe this was all one big misunderstanding…and I can do so much more for you. …but I can’t help you if you go through with this.”

You couldn’t stop crying, because you were trapped…and you knew it. Your parents had money too, just as much as the Cameron’s, but that only evened the playing field, it gave you no advantage, and you were back to square one of your word vs Rafe’s. You knew he would be far more forgiving if you just…did what Ward said. You knew that if you went through with this and lost, Rafe would wring your neck.

“I won’t let my son go to jail, Y/N. One way or another…”

You knew he was telling the truth, the conviction in his tone matching the certainty in your chest.

“…but at least this way, I can help you.”

Your knees bounced as you wrapped your arms around yourself, your tearful gaze focused on the perfectly manicured grass. You curled in on yourself, head falling, and your shoulders shook from your sobs.

“He scares me,” you struggled to say, and Ward placated you.

“I know…I know he does, but you have to let me help you.”

You pulled the ends of your sleeves over your hands, wiping your face. The night was still lit up with red and blue, and you closed your eyes, stomach sinking. It took everything in you to give Ward a shaky nod, and you kept your eyes on the ground as Ward waved the other man over.

You felt like you were betraying yourself, arm still aching and throat still raw from all of your screaming. A lot of your trembling was still from what had happened hours ago, and like that day in his truck…and the night of his party…you’d really thought you were going to die. You couldn’t go through that again, but Ward said that he would protect you because you knew Rafe better than anyone, and you knew that if you tried to press charges against Rafe and didn’t succeed…

He would kill you.

“Y/N wants to talk to you.”

You glanced up at the sound of your name, holding Ward’s gaze for a few seconds before finally meeting Shoupe’s.

“I want… I don’t-I don’t wanna press charges.”

Your words tumbled out, and for a moment, you were sure that Shoupe hadn’t heard you properly. You came to realize that he heard you fine, and his confusion wasn’t from a lack of understanding. You watched him rest his hands on his hips, looking between you and Ward.

“Now, Y/N…” he started, seemingly trying to organize his thoughts. “I heard that phone call. I heard what you said and I heard him yelling.”

“It was just a regular argument, Shoupe,” you whispered with a shrug. “It was stupid. A stupid vase…”

“That he threw…”

The pause was heavy, and you glanced away.

“That I dropped.”

You shook your head when he said your name, and you licked your lips, gaze pleading as they met his again.

“Please, just let him go. He didn’t do anything to me. It was a stupid fight that I exaggerated because…I was angry and things got out of hand, and this just went way beyond what I intended, so…”

The other man didn’t look like he believed you, at all, and you watched him glance at Ward—who hadn’t said a thing—before looking back to you. He sighed, fixing you with a look you couldn’t name.

“Are you sure…?”

Your only response was a nod, unsure if you could lie any more without breaking down. With an aggravated sigh—aggravation at you or at Ward, you didn’t know—Shoupe signaled to his deputy to let Rafe go. Ward was pulled to the side as the two men had a hushed and heated conversation, going back and forth, while your gaze rested on Rafe.

You felt like you were doing the worst thing possible as you watched them guide him out of the backseat. He looked far from happy as they uncuffed him, and just like all night, his gaze refused to leave you. The flashing red and blue bathed him, blue eyes glinting almost dangerously, and you pressed your lips together while you watched him rub his now free wrists.

The other men were distracted as Rafe slowly made his way over, and you didn’t dare move. You were too scared to, and as much as you wanted to pull your eyes away, you couldn’t find the strength to. It was just hours ago that you’d stared into that face as he yelled at you for something as harmless as a smile. Only hours ago, he was pushing you around and threatening you.

…and now those same hands were reaching for you and pulling you to your feet.

You cried for so many reasons as Rafe wrapped his arms around you, rocking you from side to side and shushing you in what was meant to be a soothing voice. They were tight, and you cried harder, apologies slipping past your lips before you realized what you were doing. Rafe was always quick to forgive if you were quick to apologize.

“I know,” you heard and felt him murmur into your hair.

“Please, please don’t…”

You both knew what you were begging for, and he gently shushed you.

“I’m sorry,” you choked out again, repeating it as many times as you thought you should, hoping and praying that it was enough. “You have to know that…”

Your words died in the air at the sound of his voice.

“I should be angry with you…but I understand,” he softly told you. “You were scared, and you should’ve been.”

You sniffed, staring at the red and blue grass.

“I went too far, and you were right to be scared.”

Rafe pressed a kiss to the top of your head, lingering there, telling you the words that brought you temporary relief.

“I forgive you.”

[perfectsunlight]

[30] I, CARRION (ICARIAN)

warnings: heavy themes (depression, suicidal thoughts, emotional distress, family conflict, intense feelings of isolation) and public scrutiny.

DO NOT READ IF THESE THEMES ARE TRIGGERING FOR YOU.

jennie had always been afraid of falling. nothing good came from such an act. falling in love, falling out with friends, falling from fame. it was an act that symbolized the moment one became weak, vulnerable, and at the mercy of the world around them. and jennie kim had always prided herself on being anything but weak.

she had built her life, her career, and her reputation by standing firm. she had learned how to hold herself together when everyone else was falling apart. she knew how to stay on top—how to be untouchable. her world was one of carefully managed control, where every detail was scrutinized, planned, and executed to perfection. but the truth was, beneath that polished exterior, jennie was terrified of the one thing she couldn’t control: losing the people she loved.

falling, to jennie, wasn’t just a physical act. it was emotional, mental—it was the slow, creeping descent into something deeper and darker than she could manage. she had seen it happen too many times, to too many people. friends who had lost themselves in the chaos of fame. relationships that had crumbled under the weight of expectation. but nothing scared jennie more than the idea of falling away from the one person who mattered most.

ivory.

if the wind turns, if i hit a squall

allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

becoming a mother had changed everything for jennie. it wasn’t a decision she had made lightly. in fact, when she first found out she was pregnant, fear had consumed her like nothing she had ever known. she could handle the demands of being an idol, the grueling schedules, the intense scrutiny, the endless pressure to be perfect. but being a mother? that felt like a fall she wasn’t prepared for.

and yet, when ivory was born, it wasn’t fear that overwhelmed jennie—it was love. a love so intense, so consuming, that it redefined everything she thought she knew about herself. ivory became the center of jennie’s universe, the only person who could truly make her feel both grounded and weightless at the same time.

but with that love came a new kind of fear. 

jennie knew the demands of her life—the constant traveling, the public persona, the secrecy—would one day take its toll. ivory wouldn’t always be a child, oblivious to the world outside their small, hidden bubble. eventually, she would ask questions. she would want to know why jennie had kept their life a secret. she would wonder about her father, about the world jennie had shielded her from. and jennie feared that when that day came, ivory wouldn’t understand. she would see jennie not as a protective mother, but as someone who had kept her in the dark, someone who had hidden too much for too long.

i feel lighter than i have in so much time

i've crossed the border line of weightless

the more jennie thinks back, the more she concluded that this burning bridge started when her daughter was just a child. it started when jane would hide from her mother, the small habit becoming a sort of game between the two.

it began with those playful moments of hide-and-seek, when little ivory would giggle, darting away to find the best hiding spots—behind the sofa, beneath the dining room table, or even in the small space behind the curtain, her laughter ringing like chimes in the air. for jennie, it was a cherished game, one that solidified their bond and filled their home with warmth and joy.

“you know i’ll always catch you,” the idol had whispered to her daughter, her voice a playful mix of mock seriousness and warmth as she tried to pull a squirming toddler closer to her. the corners of her lips curled up in a smile, an expression of love that glimmered in her eyes like the soft glow of a sunset. ivory’s innocent laughter was a melody that echoed through the house, drowning out the worries of the outside world, the pressures of fame, and the relentless pace of her career.

in those moments, time felt suspended, and the burdens of life faded into the background. jennie had reveled in their little universe, a sanctuary built on shared secrets and unbreakable trust. they were a team, navigating the unpredictable waters of life together, her daughter’s tiny hand always reaching for hers, trusting that jennie would guide her through every storm.

but as the years slipped by, that innocence began to wane, replaced by the turbulent tides of adolescence. the once-cherished game transformed into a battleground of wills, where jennie found herself no longer seeking out her daughter’s hiding spots, but instead chasing shadows. each giggle that faded into the distance now felt like a reminder of what was lost, a haunting echo of the connection they once shared.

the playful laughter turned into hesitant sighs, and the hide-and-seek evolved into secrets tucked away in the corners of her daughter’s heart. where once she had run to jennie with open arms, she now retreated into her own world, a realm filled with friendships and experiences that jennie could only glimpse from afar. 

but jennie knew she had to be an idol first, she always had to be. but her heart ached to simply just be a mother.

one deep breath out from the sky

i've reached a rarer height now that i can confirm

all our weight is just a burden offered to us by the world

ivory was the perfect baby girl. she always had been, even when she cried and kept jieun and jennie up for hours.

those late nights, filled with the sounds of wailing, never diminished the beauty of her daughter. each cry was a reminder of ivory’s fierce spirit, a testament to the life she brought into their home. the way she scrunched her little nose in displeasure or how her tiny fists waved in frustration were moments that painted a picture of pure innocence.

jennie often found herself mesmerized by the sight of ivory’s delicate fingers wrapping around her own, as if they were meant to fit together. even during the toughest nights, when exhaustion clawed at her, jennie would look down at her daughter and see perfection—the way ivory’s lashes fluttered softly as she finally drifted to sleep, or the gentle rise and fall of her tiny chest, filling jennie’s heart with a warmth that made every sleepless night worth it.

yet, amidst the laughter and joy, there lingered an undeniable weight in jennie's heart. she missed so much—missed first steps and the excitement of new words, the way ivory would proudly show her the drawings made in preschool, her fingers smudged with paint. with every missed moment, a piece of jennie’s soul felt like it was slipping away, replaced by guilt and longing.

but every time ivory saw her, she would run with open arms, too innocent to understand the world of obligations and the pressures that pulled her mother away. “mommy!” ivory would cry out, her voice bright as sunlight, wrapping her little arms around jennie’s waist. those moments made jennie’s heart swell, yet the ache of missed opportunities would linger like a shadow. 

how could her little girl forgive her for being absent during so many pivotal moments? how could she bear the thought of her daughter feeling alone when all she wanted was her mother close by? would she hate her when she was older?

however, despite it all, jennie would never forget the way ivory had changed her, even if she couldn't see it yet for herself. because it wasn’t just her experience and the industry that shaped her.

it was also ivory.

and though i burn how could i fall?

when i am lifted by every word you say to me

jennie remembered the day her daughter saved her life. 

it was the darkest time of her life, the media tearing every piece of her limb from limb. she had done her best, she had tried to kill them with kindness, but her mind had suffered far too much.  each headline was a knife, each article a reminder of her failures, her struggles, the weight of expectations pressing down on her.

it was late one evening, and the rain had poured down in sheets, mirroring the turmoil in her heart. she had found herself standing on the edge of the balcony, feeling the weight of the world resting on her shoulders. the city sprawled beneath her, a maze of lights that felt as distant as her hopes. the thought of jumping had crossed her mind—a moment of reckless abandon that almost felt liberating.

she hated falling, but maybe this time it would be freeing.

droplets of water soaked through her clothes, clinging to her shivering body. whether she shook from fear, the cold, or from crying, she couldn't tell. all she knew was that she was exhausted. she was tired of feeling like this. it would be so easy, so quick to just end it all. her members would be fine, the company wouldn’t suffer much of a loss. her mother would grieve and move on, and her daughter would be taken care of regardless. jennie was a bad idol, a bad person, and a bad mother. there was nothing left for her to try and be good at anymore. a lull of thunder groaned in the distance, the rain not letting up one bit. jennie’s clothes still hung off her form like wet rags, her body just as numb as her mind. with a deep breath, she made her decision. she took one step forward, than another, and then she was at the edge of the railing. her hands gripped the wet metal bar, feeling how easy her grip slipped. they could make it look like an accident. it would be a bit easier to digest for people that way.

but just as jennie prepared to let go of her anguish, a bright, cheerful voice broke through the raging storm outside and inside her mind.

“found you!”

startled, jennie turned slowly, her heart racing as she caught sight of a small figure emerging from the curtains of the doorway leading to the balcony. ivory, only five years old, stood there, beginning to become wet from the rain, her cheeks flushed with excitement. she was soaking wet but beaming, her eyes the same as her mother’s beaming with innocence.

“ivory,” jennie’s voice trembled as she stepped away from the edge, her heart pounding not just from fear but perhaps relief as well. “what are you doing out here?” she whispered, trying to comprehend how her daughter had found her. jieun had been sending the small girl home from school with a personal driver.

but this was jennie’s house, not her mother’s. that could only mean ivory had asked the driver to take her home to her, not to jieun.

jennie’s breath caught in her throat as she stared at ivory, the little girl’s presence pulling her back from the precipice of despair. the warmth radiating from her daughter felt like a lifeline, grounding her in the chaotic storm of her emotions.

“i found you!” the girl repeated with glee, the innocence in her tone cutting through the weight of jennie’s sorrow. in that moment, the world outside faded, and all she could see was her daughter—the embodiment of everything she loved, everything worth fighting for.

but as the reality of the situation settled in, so did the crushing weight of jennie’s anguish. tears brimmed in her eyes, spilling over as she dropped to her knees, unable to hold back the flood any longer. the sheer relief of seeing ivory, of having her here and safe, overwhelmed her senses.

“valentine,” jennie choked out, her voice trembling as she fell to her knees and pulled her daughter into a fierce embrace. she clutched the small girl tightly, burying her face in the soft fabric of her daughter’s damp clothes, feeling the warmth of her small body against her own. “oh, my sweet girl,” she sobbed, the tears flowing freely now, each one a testament to the fear she had felt just moments before.

jane wrapped her tiny arms around jennie’s neck, the innocence in her embrace radiating a comfort that began to mend the pieces of jennie’s shattered heart. “i thought you were hiding from me!” ivory exclaimed, her voice still light, filled with the joy of the game. 

“i’m here, sweetheart,” the idol admitted, her heart aching as she held her daughter closer. the weight of the world seemed to lift just a little, but the fear remained, echoing in the back of her mind. “i didn’t mean to worry you.”

ivory tilted her head, her brows furrowing with confusion. “why are you crying, mommy?” the young girl asked, her dark pigtails soaking with water and her face covered in droplets that reflected light like diamonds.

jennie felt a rush of conflicting emotions. her heart swelled with love, yet the fear of losing her daughter loomed like a dark cloud. “i’m just scared,” she whispered in reply, doing her best to try and not cry even more in front of her daughter.

but all the little girl did was smile up at her mother, the rain not causing her emotions to falter. “but i'm here, you don't have to be scared.” she pulled the idol in closer, and jennie never cried harder in her life.

if anything could fall at all, it's the world

that falls away from me

it had been two weeks since the incident happened and jennie had been fighting tooth and nail with her lawyers to sue those who dragged her daughter in the headlines. she didn’t care what they said about her. the idol didn’t care what they called her, or what they thought of her. all that mattered was ivory—all that had ever mattered was ivory. 

the thought of her daughter’s name being dragged through the mud ignited a fire within jennie, one that eclipsed her own anguish. she was ready to battle, ready to shield her child from the cruel world outside, a world that had become increasingly invasive and toxic. the whispers of judgment and disdain only fueled her determination.

no amount of scrutiny or scandal could diminish her devotion as a mother.

at night, she would lie awake, her mind racing with the words she would throw at the media, the statements her lawyers would issue. she replayed the interviews, the snippets of hurtful commentary, the careless remarks that had turned ivory into fodder for sensational headlines. it made her sick to think that people could be so cruel, so callous about a child who hadn’t done anything to deserve it.

during the days, she stayed busy, ensuring that every detail was managed, every angle covered. meetings, phone calls, legal documents—they all became her lifeline, a distraction from the gnawing worry that threatened to consume her. she felt like a warrior, fighting against an army of nameless faces and faceless voices, all bent on destroying the one thing that mattered most to her.

but in the quiet moments, when the chaos of the day settled, the weight of it all would come crashing down. in those stillness-filled nights, she couldn’t help but wonder how ivory was coping with the backlash. was she scared? confused? had she eaten?

“we need a statement from you,” her manager hesitantly brought up during their next meeting. “you haven’t confirmed your relationship to her yet. i think it is best if you say something officially.”

jennie felt a surge of frustration rise within her, an emotion too powerful to suppress. she stood in the dimly lit conference room, the soft hum of fluorescent lights casting a harsh glare on the glossy table that reflected her tense expression. dressed in a tailored black blazer that hugged her form and paired with fitted trousers, she exuded an air of professionalism, yet the sharp edges of her attire did little to mask the storm brewing within her.

“no.” the word sliced through the air, sharper than she intended, but she didn’t care. “this isn’t about me. it’s about ivory. i won’t put her in front of cameras until she’s ready. if she wants to make a statement, that’s her call.”

her manager frowned, shifting uneasily in his chair, the weight of their conversation heavy between them. he adjusted his tie, a nervous habit she’d come to recognize. “but the media won’t wait. the speculation is damaging. we need to control the narrative.”

“control?” she scoffed, the anger simmering just beneath the surface. the room felt constricting, the walls closing in as she thought about the tabloids ripping apart her daughter's innocence. “what control do we really have? we’re dealing with people who don’t care about the truth—only the drama. i won’t pressure her into speaking before she’s ready.”

she took a deep breath, her gaze drifting to the floor-to-ceiling windows, where rain streaked down like tears on glass. the dreary weather outside matched her mood, but she steeled herself, focusing on the task at hand. “i want to protect her innocence. if the girl chooses to speak, i’ll support her. but this decision has to come from her—not us. i won’t let them twist her words.”

silence enveloped the room, heavy with tension, as her manager hesitated, contemplating the implications of her words. “but jennie—”

“no,” she interrupted, her voice firm and unwavering, echoing off the stark walls. “i won’t make a statement without her consent. she’s been through enough. i want her to know she controls her narrative.”

her manager sighed, recognizing the resolve in her eyes—the fierce determination that set her apart from the fleeting glances of the world outside. “alright, but we need to prepare for the backlash.”

“let them come,” the idol replied without missing a beat, her voice steadying as a flicker of maternal instinct surged within her. “i’ll take whatever hits they throw. as long as none of them hit ivory.”

you have me floatin' like a feather on the sea

while you're as heavy as the world that you hold your hands beneath

jane had always been jennie’s strength. in her highest highs and her lowest lows, her daughter was always her anchor. each milestone in her career, every award and fashion show, was often celebrated with ivory in mind. every time jennie was whisked away for a new brand ambassadorship or invited to walk the runway, she meticulously picked out souvenirs that reminded her of the little girl waiting at home.

the delicate silk scarves from paris, the glittering hairpins from milan, the brightly colored baubles from tokyo—each item was a token of love, meant to fill the void of her absence. but soon, jennie started to notice a disheartening change. the excitement in ivory’s eyes dulled with each new gift, her small hands less eager to unwrap the carefully packaged tokens.

when the idol had moved into her own house, the distance between them became painfully clear. the new home was supposed to be a fresh start, a sanctuary filled with light and dreams. yet, as she unpacked boxes in the empty living room, reality settled heavily on her chest—ivory wasn’t going to be coming with her. her daughter would remain with jieun, it was safer that way. but even she knew it wasn’t just about safety, she had used that excuse too many times to believe it.

the day she officially moved out was the day everything changed. 

as she stood in her new kitchen, surrounded by gleaming appliances and fresh paint, the echo of ivory’s sharp voice felt like a distant memory. that morning, jennie had sat down and explained to her daughter what was going to happen. jane was only 8 at the time, and she was already becoming extremely aware of the absence of her mother.

it was also when the small girl began to stop calling her “mom.”

“why don’t you want to be with me?” jane had asked bluntly, small hands balled into fists as she watched her mother taping another box shut. the innocence in her eyes pierced through jennie’s heart like a dagger. it was a simple question, but the weight of it felt insurmountable.

“i do want to be with you, sweetheart,” the idol replied, forcing a smile that felt strained and hollow. “but this is what’s best for both of us right now. you’ll be safe with grandma, and i’ll be here working hard so i can give you all the nice things you deserve.”

“but i don’t want things,” the small brunette insisted, her voice rising with frustration. “i want you.”

the sharpness of the truth stung like cold water, and in that moment, jennie felt the walls she had built around herself begin to crack. she wanted to scream that she wished she could be with her every moment, but the words died on her lips. instead, she knelt down to her daughter’s level, trying to steady her trembling hands as she brushed a few loose strands of hair away from her forehead.

“i know it’s hard, but i promise, we’ll make this work. i’ll visit you all the time, and we can have fun together. we can make new memories.” the rehearsed phrases felt empty in the air between them, but she hoped they would comfort the little girl.

but even jennie knew her daughter had heard those empty promises too many times.

ivory’s eyes, devoid of any real emotion, searched her mother’s face for reassurance, but instead, they found uncertainty. the moment hung heavy, and as ivory blinked back her tears, jennie realized just how fragile their bond had become.

“i don’t believe you,” ivory finally whispered, her voice small but fierce. but as jennie watched her turn away, something deep within her cracked open, and the reality of her choices loomed larger than ever.

and she finally realized that her daughter was slowly slipping away from her.

once i had wondered what was holdin' up the ground

but i can see that all along, love, it was you all the way down

each of the pinks had taken turns coming over, but tonight, it was just rosé sitting across from jennie. the glow of the candles flickered softly on the coffee table, casting dancing shadows against the walls of the stylish parisian apartment. the faint scent of vanilla wafted through the air, mingling with the sounds of the bustling city outside, a stark reminder of the world that felt both close and distant.

“what’s she like?” rosie asked gently, her tone laced with genuine curiosity as she observed jennie’s hunched figure on the plush couch, wrapped in an oversized hoodie that swallowed her whole. it was a cozy look, a comforting barrier against the chill of the night.

jennie’s gaze drifted to the candles, the flames reflecting the turmoil in her heart. there were so many words to describe her, and yet none of them were fitting enough. ivory was and always would be indescribable. “she’s everything.” the older girl whispered, trying to piece together her words. “she’s like poetry i’ll never fully understand. sometimes she’s the softest verse, the kind that makes you feel warm without realizing it, and other times she’s like the sharpest line, the one that cuts right through you.”

ivory had always been a melody jennie couldn’t stop humming. even when the world was too loud, when the pressures of fame felt like they were closing in, it was her daughter who reminded her what really mattered. how ironic was it? that the person who was her entire world was also the one holding it up. jennie had always known that getting to the top came at the expense of being there for ivory. she had built her empire on sacrifices, and the largest one was her absence from the moments that should have mattered most. each red carpet, each endorsement, each sold-out arena—they were the milestones of her career, but they were also the milestones of ivory’s quiet solitude.

it was upon her daughter’s small, unsteady shoulders that jennie’s world sat. the weight of it all pressed down on the girl, and jennie had given her the world and left ivory alone to hold it up.

leave it now, i am sky-bound

if you need to, darling, lean your weight to me

jennie didn’t know how many times she had called her daughter over the past weeks. ivory was eighteen now, legally an adult, but she would always be jennie’s little girl, no matter how much time passed. and that made it worse—because jennie knew her daughter was still too young to bear the weight of everything being thrown at her.

every unanswered call felt like another crack in the fragile bond between them. she had seen her daughter grow into this fiercely independent young woman, strong and capable, but jennie couldn’t shake the sense that she was crumbling beneath the pressure. the media, relentless as always, had turned their full attention to ivory. speculation, rumors, accusations—all aimed at her daughter, dissecting her life in the cruelest of ways.

jennie had faced that kind of scrutiny before; it came with the territory of being a global icon. but this was different. this was ivory, and jennie had no control over it. no way to protect her. all she could do was wait, hoping—praying—that her daughter would reach out.

the silence was suffocating. she had sent dozens of messages, her fingers flying across the screen in moments of desperation. ivory didn’t respond. not to her, not to jieun. her daughter was mia—not physically, they knew she was safe somewhere—but emotionally, she was unreachable. the longer the silence stretched on, the more jennie’s worry turned to fear.

what was she thinking? how was she handling the constant barrage of headlines, the ruthless commentary from strangers who had no idea what her life was really like? was she struggling alone, feeling abandoned? the thought of her daughter enduring all of this on her own made jennie feel physically sick. she had built her career on being strong, untouchable, but nothing could prepare her for the helplessness she felt now.

late at night, the older woman would find herself staring at her phone, willing it to light up with a message from ivory. she couldn’t sleep, her mind running through all the worst-case scenarios. what if ivory didn’t want to speak to her anymore? what if this silence was her way of pushing jennie out for good? it was a thought that haunted her, even though she didn’t want to believe it.

jennie had always been the one in control—the one with the answers, the one who made decisions. but now, she was at the mercy of her daughter’s silence. all she could do was wait, and it was tearing her apart.

we'll float away, but if we fall

i only pray, don't fall away from me

“have you talked to her?” the idol whispered aimlessly, leaning against the sofa cushion with her head propped on her elbow. jieun glanced over her shoulder, staring at her daughter. the older woman’s gaze softened as she took in jennie’s tired form, slouched on the sofa, her face half-hidden in the dim light. jennie looked like a shadow of herself—hollow-eyed, her usual resilience cracked and exposed, like glass splintered under the weight of her worry. she wasn’t the jennie kim that everyone knew—the one who faced cameras with a certain glint in her eye, who made the world bend to her will. 

no, this was someone far different—this was a mother, unraveling at the seams of her sanity.

jieun sighed softly, crossing the room with measured steps, each footfall silent against the plush carpet. she’d watched jennie navigate the peaks and valleys of fame, but never had she seen her like this. this wasn’t the guarded idol, the woman who could withstand scrutiny and judgment with a steely front. jennie was exposed, raw, with her vulnerability wrapped around her like a second skin.

“she’s safe,” jieun said gently, kneeling down beside the sofa, her voice as calm as she could manage. “you know she’s safe.”

jennie’s lips tightened as she looked away, her eyes lingering on her phone as if expecting it to vibrate at any second. she lost count of how many times she had kept checking her phone throughout the days. it was not completely out of her daughter’s character to be radio silent, but this type of silence felt far more dangerous. it was the kind of quiet that echoed loudly in her maternal mind, amplifying every worry and fear she tried to suppress.

“but she’s alone,” she murmured, voice thin and cracked. “again.” her biggest regret as a mother was being absent for so long in her daughter’s life. it was a regret that gnawed at her like a relentless hunger, an ache that twisted and turned, reminding her of every moment lost. 

the idol knew her mother would only understand somewhat, given she did help raise the girl in her absence. but jennie was her mother. ivory was hers. what if this silence meant something more? what if it signified that jane was falling away from her, slipping through her fingers like sand?

the rain pounded against the window, a steady rhythm that mirrored jennie’s racing heartbeat. outside, the world was drenched, streets shimmering with reflections of streetlights and the distant glow of the city. it was beautiful but also haunting, reminding her of every moment she had taken for granted—every hug, every laugh, every late-night conversation that now felt like a lifetime ago.

jennie’s voice was barely a whisper, more to herself than to her mother. 

“i just wish she would come home.”

i do not have wings, love, i never will

soarin' over a world you are carryin'

jennie remembered the last time her daughter called her “mom.”

she was in la for a quick trip with her members, the sun dipping low in the sky and painting the horizon in hues of orange and pink. laughter echoed around her as they wandered through the bustling streets of venice beach, the salty air mingling with the scent of fried food from nearby stands. she and her members were meant to be celebrating, living in the moment, but all jennie could think about was how far she was from her daughter.

as they strolled along the boardwalk, her phone buzzed in her pocket, pulling her from the moment. she pulled it out, her heart racing at the sight of ivory’s name flashing on the screen. but just as quickly, the excitement turned to dread; she hesitated, caught between the urge to answer and the noise of her friends. the laughter, the music, the clinking of glasses—it all felt so vibrant, so alive, and yet, it felt hollow without her daughter accompanying it.

finally, she silenced the phone, promising herself she would call her back in a minute. yet, in that minute, the moment turned into hours. the sun sank beneath the horizon, and by the time jennie returned to her hotel room, the buzzing of her phone had stopped. she pulled it out again, her heart heavy, and saw a voicemail notification blinking at her. she didn’t need to listen to know what it was—a stab of guilt pierced her heart.

after she settled onto the plush hotel bed, she pressed play, her stomach twisting as ivory’s familiar voice filled the room.

“hi,” ivory’s tone was soft, almost shy, like she was uncertain of how to navigate this unspoken chasm that had grown between them. “i don’t really know why i’m calling.” jennie felt a lump in her throat as she listened. this wasn’t the vibrant teenager she usually heard, full of life and excitement; this was a girl grappling with the shadows of her mother’s absence. there was a pause, the silence on the line heavy and stretching on as if ivory was wrestling with words that refused to come. 

 ivory spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper, as if she feared saying it too loudly might shatter whatever fragile hope she held.

“i miss you,” she murmured. “i mean, i know you’re busy. and i know it’s important… but i just” her words trailed off, dissolving into silence once more. there was a rawness in her voice, a longing that felt like it had been buried for too long, like it had clawed its way up from deep inside her, desperate to be heard. “i did something today. um…”

another beat of silence passed by before the younger girl let out a muffled chuckle, and the unmistakable sound of a sniffle.

“i don’t know what i’m saying.” jane added, her vulnerability in her voice hitting jennie like a punch to the gut. “i’m sorry for bothering you. have fun, mom.” the voicemail ended with a soft click, leaving jennie sitting in stunned silence, the weight of unspoken words pressing down on her. 

later on, she would find out from jieun that was the day her daughter had gotten into hybe. and once again, jennie was halfway across the world for it.

jennie remembered the way she went to the bathroom and sobbed on the edge of the tub, fighting the urge to throw up. everything she had worked for, everything she’d sacrificed—it all felt so hollow in that moment, sitting on the cold tile floor of some high rise hotel in the city of angels.

what kind of mother was she? 

the thought echoed in her mind, relentless and unyielding. jennie gripped the edge of the tub as if it could anchor her, her fingers shades of her daughter’s name with the effort to keep herself steady. she had spent years building an image, carving a path to success and fame, but now, all of it felt like dust slipping through her fingers. she was idolized by millions, praised for her talent, but in the one role that mattered most, she felt like a stranger.

her daughter had achieved something extraordinary, something she would have been so proud of—and jennie hadn’t even been there to pick up the phone, let alone celebrate. she could only imagine ivory standing alone, phone pressed to her ear, hoping to hear her mother’s voice, only to be met with silence.

she’d missed it. she’d missed everything.

jennie’s vision blurred with fresh tears, and she buried her face in her hands, biting back a sob. she could picture every missed moment, every time she’d told ivory she’d make it up to her, every night she’d kissed her through a screen, promising it was only temporary. but her baby girl had grown up in the gaps jennie had left, filling in the spaces with memories jennie would never share. 

if these heights should bring my fall

let me be your own

icarian carrion

part of jennie always knew she wasn’t invincible. she could conquer stages, face the world’s scrutiny, but when it came to protecting jane, she felt utterly powerless. it was a thought that twisted in her gut, reminding her that no matter how much she wanted to shield her daughter from the storm, she was just one woman against an unforgiving world. still, the fierce love she held for ivory ignited a fire within her. 

she would die trying to keep her daughter safe, even if it meant battling the very system that had once elevated her to the highest heights.

the idol leaned back in the plush leather seat of the car, her eyes vacant as she stared out at the blurred lights of the city. the soft hum of the engine was drowned out by the relentless patter of the rain, but it was a comfort compared to the storm brewing in her heart. just as she closed her eyes to escape her thoughts, her phone buzzed insistently in her lap.

she glanced down, the dim light illuminating the screen, and her breath hitched in her throat. the headlines pierced through the fog of her despair.

"IVORY DENIES ANY RELATION TO RUMORED MOTHER, JENNIE."

“LE SSEREAFIM MEMBER IVORY DENIES FAMILY TIES WITH BLACKPINK’S JENNIE.”

“JENNIE KIM—NOT A MOTHER AFTER ALL?”

jennie couldn’t believe the words she was reading. she read the different headlines over and over, trying to understand what was happening right now. her heart sank even further as she read the quote beneath one of them:

“in a recent statement, ivory kim has publicly denied any familial ties to the renowned idol jennie, stating, ‘i am my own person and have nothing to do with her public image or lifestyle.’”

a bitter chill coursed through her veins as the weight of those words settled in. the world was watching, and her daughter was choosing to distance herself from her mother. it felt like an emotional dagger, the kind that twisted and turned, severing the bonds they had fought so hard to forge.

if the wind turns, if i hit a squall

allow the ground to find its brutal way to me

“why would you say that?” she whispered under her breath, her voice trembling. the denial felt like a rejection of everything they had built together, a painful erasure of their connection. she quickly checked her recent call history, tapping on her daughter’s name once again for the nth time. the idol fought the urge to scream when she heard the dial tone go immediately to voicemail. just then, the driver turned onto a familiar street, the sleek glass building of her office looming ahead. the car slowed, and jennie blinked back the tears that threatened to spill, her heart racing with a mix of anxiety and determination. the sleek façade of her workplace, usually a source of pride, now felt like a battleground, a place where she would have to face the raging storm outside.

as the car came to a stop, she could hear the distant shouts and the clicking of cameras, the cacophony of the paparazzi waiting to pounce on her the moment she stepped outside. she felt sick. she wanted to tell the driver to turn around and drive straight to the hybe building. but she couldn’t. 

with a heavy sigh, she adjusted her sunglasses, the dark designer lenses serving as a shield against the world. she took a moment to gather her thoughts, feeling the weight of her daughter’s words pressing down on her chest. she quickly wiped the corners of her eyes with the ends of her sleeves before steeling herself for the hell awaiting her.

taking a deep breath, she opened the car door and stepped out into the pouring rain. the cold droplets hit her like a thousand tiny needles, but she welcomed the sensation, using it to mask the tears threatening to escape. she could feel the cameras flashing, the questions being shouted, but all she could think about was ivory.

“jennie! what do you have to say about ivory’s statement?” one reporter shouted, shoving a microphone in her direction.

"did you pay her to say that?” another voice rang out, sharper than the rest, slicing through the crowd's cacophony and echoing in jennie's mind like a jagged wound being reopened. "where is your official statement?" someone else demanded, and the barrage of voices grew relentless, questions stabbing through the heavy rain, flashes sparking like bursts of lightning even through her tinted lenses.

the idol’s fingers curled into fists as she fought back the impulse to scream, to plead with them to understand that this was more than just a story to her. her skin felt raw, scraped by the flashing cameras and the biting cold, as if each shout and accusation stripped another layer from her, laying bare the ache she tried so hard to hide. but she couldn’t break down here—not in front of the world, not with ivory's fragile truth hanging between them, vulnerable to this voracious hunger for scandal.

she swallowed hard, pushing the tears down, forcing herself to lift her chin. each step she took toward the building was heavy, as though she were dragging the weight of her guilt and grief alongside her. it felt like walking through a storm without shelter, the rain mingling with her tears, each ounce of water a reminder of the distance that had grown between her and her daughter—a distance she’d allowed to widen.

ivory’s innocence, her future, was on the line, and jennie would do whatever it took to protect her, even if it meant facing this battle alone. she could bear the cruelty, the invasion, the unyielding scrutiny if it meant her daughter didn’t have to. this was her responsibility. her burden. and if it came to it, jennie would willingly take every accusation, every whispered insult, if it meant jane could live without this shadow hanging over her.

she had no delusions about the battle ahead, but she would face it—she would endure every cost, every scar, if it meant shielding ivory from this storm. even if it destroyed her, jennie would be her daughter’s armor, her shield.

even if it meant her daughter denied her as a mother, the same way jennie had done for years, she would still keep trying. she would always be a mother, no matter what.

and if that meant she had to fight until there was nothing left of her, then so be it. she’d die trying.

if i should fall, on that day

i only pray, don't fall away from me

previous | masterlist | next

TAGLIST ⸺ ✶ @silantryoo @imahallucination11 @jisooftme @yerimbrit @linnnsworld @edeivveiss @urmom2314 @aespasoooool @mygfiswonyoung @yeetaberry127 @@sixflame438 @yourmyst4r @shegoswhoree @saysirhc @hwm1hyun @literallybipanic @yejiscene @gayforalll @yvsvrn @bunnywonyo @karifrogs @thefckghost @yoontoonwhs @pandafuriosa60 @somedaydream @hotluvlet @pagedpick7 @lizseos @cy8erpunkz @keiji-jin @lizseos @xszn @awkwardtoafault @hellokiraa @chicopichu @chocolatestrawberrykryptonite @lesbian4themis @literallybipanic @tjdc25 @st4r4ngel @jihyos-hoe @jxmis @phamianaz

CLOSED.

[mccardswife]

You are enough

heyy! this is my first one shot so it is not the best but feel free to give any tips!

arsenal wfc x teen!reader

warnings: mentions of violence, bruise, angst, sh, a few cuss words, suicidal thoughts, protective awfc and fluff in the end. Please remind me if I have forgotten some! (don't read if you get triggered)

(not proofread so if any mistakes give me a heads up)

word count: 2144

enjoy!

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

Being a 16 year old professional football player is not the easiest thing in the world. Yes, you do what you love everyday but it has its up and downs. I signed for arsenal 3 months ago but I had no idea it would be that difficult. I don't feel like I belong here, all the girls on the team are truly amazing don't get me wrong, but it is so hard living up to the standards. Especially when I am me, just me and only me. I don't feel enough

After my alarm went signaling me to get ready for another day of training, the thought of going to training today dreaded me, and it has for weeks. Silence, I lay in my bed in silence just thinking of all the bad things that can happen today. If you are wondering where my parents are, the truth is. I live alone, yes, alone as a 16 year old in England. My parents has never supported me playing footy, not even when I was little. They wanted me to have a career that was meant for "girls" and not "boys", but that sounded bizarre. Football is for everyone, but they don't seem get that into their head. My parents kicked me out when they found out I signed for Arsenal, we lived in London, but since I got kicked out I had to get an apartment for myself. It was pretty hard but my best friend helped me and I am so grateful thankful for her. I have not told the team about me living alone for 6 months, they would go all protective and wanting to know why but I can't tell them, not yet. I don't want to be judged. Saying to the girls that I got kicked out of home, even thinking about it makes me feel so embarrassed and ashamed of myself.

I lay in bed, in pain. Physically and emotionally. Last night, after I was out grocery shopping I took the metro home as always, when a man probably doubled my age walked over to me. I then realized that it was my father, he dragged me into a corner and asked me if I still was into all that "football shit". I got furious and started whisper shout at him, turned out that was not the best idea. He started going about me being a disgrace to the family, not only the family but the world, that no one is ever going to love me for playing football, and then he punched me right in my cheek. I felt thrilling pain in my face, but he grabbed my wrists hard and said in my face "You useless bitch, no one cares about you and never will".

That sentence goes through my mind over and over again. I was almost impossible to fall asleep last night, because of the pain I was in both physically and emotionally. What my father told me, got to my head and I was thinking. Maybe he was right, I am a disgrace, no one will ever love me, maybe if it would be better if I just disappeared.

Well, well. Got to get up for training and stop thinking. Seriously y/n, get your shit together...

I walked downstairs to the bathroom and got dressed and tried to cover the bruise on my cheek that now has gotten all blue, yellow and purple. It was really painful and very difficult but totally worth it when I was done and I literally could not see a damn thing. Then I did the same to the bruises on my wrists and after I tried to cover up the dark bags under my eyes but that was a bit more of a job.

Suddenly I got the urge, the painful urge. I took the hidden blade from the mirror cabinet and drawed lines on my right arm. One, two, three, four.

Then I looked at the clock. Shit, I thought. The training starts in two hours and we have breakfast together in the dining room an hour before. The metro usually took 30 minutes, I packed my bag in a hurry and left.

When I walked in to the facility I heard two voices yelling my name behind me. Lotte and Alessia walked quickly over to me. "You excited for training?" Alessia asked you. "Yes totally" I said in a lie, I think they saw that I lied because it did not look like they believed me at all. "What about you Less and Lotte?" you said to try getting the attention away from you. It seemed that it worked because they said in sync "Yes". Less and Lotte looked at each other and we giggled.

When we walked in to the dining room, everyone was there. I tried to brush off all the looks I got. Why does everyone look so suspicious today...

"Come here Y/n, sit with us", Leah said after I served myself food. Leah sat with Katie, Kim, Lia, Caitlin, Steph, Beth, Viv and Kyra. I walked nervously over to them and sat down in the seat beside Beth. They started talking and I just sat there quietly eating my food being in my thoughts until Viv said "Y/n, you've been quiet, are you good". They looked at me concerned, "Me? Yes of course Im good, just sat thinking about the upcoming training today". I lied straight through my teeth. "Okay, if you're sure. but you can talk to us though", Caitlin said. I just said a quietly thank you, and then we walked to the locker room and got ready for training.

We started doing some light jog then got into some training drills. I was already sweating, it was surprisingly very sunny outside today and I wore a long sleeve training jersey because of my scars. "Aren't you hot in that", said Jen to me. I just simply shrugged her off saying no.

I was so exhausted, my body is so tired and I really want to lay down. When we had water break I just laid down on the grass. Sweating, I rubbed my face because I was so tired.

Beth and Viv walked over worriedly, they have become my unofficial parents after my transfer to Arsenal. They looked shocked when they saw me. "What" I said in a panicked voice. "Why do you have a big black bruise on your cheek?" Beth said, "And on your wrists?" Viv said. "Is something going on at home?" Viv asked with a knowing look. "No, no of course not, why would you assume that".

After training everyone looked worried and concerned, my passes and shots got sloppier and sloppier, I was hurting more and more. When I was about to leave, Kim, Katie, Leah and Jen cornered me. With Beth and Viv looking guilty behind. They brought me into a private room and they started telling me what Beth and Viv told me. Then all of a sudden Kim said "You know, all the team has been worried and concerned for a while, I can't remember how many times the girls have repeatedly come and talked to me". I looked at her ashamed. "Why do you have bruised?" Katie asked, "I just fell" I said, the lie obvious.

I started scratching because my scars got really itchy, I really wanted to just disappear right there and then. Then Leah grabbed my right wrist softly and pulled up my sleeve, the last thing before I broke down was gasps from the girls. I started trying to make up excuses but none of them were having it, "come with us" said Beth, "We will bring you to the medical room and then we want you to tell us everything". I desperately did not want to but I knew it was no chance of me getting out of this.

When we got to the medical room they put me on one of the beds. My scars were infected, that is why they itched so damn much. Jen was cleaning up my bruises while Kim cleaned up my scars. I know the people who worked here could do it but I did not want them right now, it is bad enough that now the whole team knows.

Leah then said in her stern but soft captain voice "Now tell us everything". I tried to tell her that it was nothing. What Katie said broke me "Please babe, we only want to help you. We know it has been hard for you but please". Then I broke down again, full on shaking and crying. Desperately gasping for air.

I started telling them everything, how my parents are and that they has never supported me once for the choices I have made, that I don't feel like I belong here because I am only me... When I spit out the truth about me living alone for 3 months because my parents kicked me out and that they were abusing me for years before, I saw tears in all of the girls faces. It was a heartbreaking sight. I told them how I ran into my father last night and what he did and said to me and I started sobbing again and saying silently to myself "It is true, what he said. I am a reckless disgrace full kid".

"You are enough y/nn, I promise you babe" Viv said. All of the others agree but I could not help believing my fathers words. "Actually me and Beth have been thinking for a while, we have a spare room and big enough place for 3, and you are like our kid. I am being for real, we love you as our own family. All the team does, but we wondered if you wanted to come live with us?" Viv asked me. I was hesitant and I think Beth saw that because she said "We are not taking no for an answer". I felt a smile creep up on my face and as desperate I was trying to hide it all the others saw and started smiling too. I said to Meadema, "thank you moms". I realized what I said "shit fuck, sorry I did not mean to".

"Y/nn it is okay, you have no idea how glad that made us, you are like our kid" Beth and Viv said.

After a while of me telling them about my thoughts, how I have been feeling for the last weeks, they decided to get me into therapy. We have a therapist at the facility so we agreed to be going to her twice a week. "I am grateful for all of you, I really am but I just feel like a bother" I said quietly.

"No babe stop" Jen said, Katie walked over to me, she took her hands on my head and said "You are enough, a hundred times enough". "You are like a younger sister to me, it breaks me to see you like this, not only me but all of us. We and all the team loves you. You are the baby of the team."

"We will always protect you, and we will get your so called parents locked up." Kim said to me. "Not Viv and Beth but the other parents" Jen said in a playful tone.

"That I understand" I said with a smile of my face.

Leah asked me if she could tell the other girls and the Gaffer, she needed to anyway but it was nice she asked me. I said yes then she walked outside.

A few minutes later they all came in. Kyra, being kind of like my annoying twin ran over to me and hanged on for me for dear life in a bear hug. I started explaining to them a bit more, and reassured them that it was not their fault but my manipulative parents.

I also said that I called Viv and Beth mum and that I am moving in with them and Lessi and Laura said at the same time "about damn time". All the team broke out in laughter.

"I am sorry for not telling you but I feel a thousand times better now after telling you, I have been scared and not felt at home here for a while but telling you and knowing that I can count on you girls will help me. The whole team is kind of like my family I never got and I can't ask for more than that. I am so grateful for all of you, and I love you"

"We love you too y/nn", Leah said with the softest most heartwarming smile ever. "You are our family, blood or not you will always be family" Kim said reassuring.

"Always," Katie said

"And you are enough" the team said lovingly.

[lacunasbalustrade]

random thought but one of my fav things while watching korean idol variety shows is when idols call their mothers or grandmothers when making traditional food/snacks (i see this most when they’re making kimchi) and idk,, it’s a very tender and warm sight. the way their tone changes into something more familiar and lighthearted when their family member picks up the call and the way their family members are so readily available to help them. it’s those rare moments of familial love and sincerity that stick with me.

[scribblesofagoonerr]

Cos' sometimes sleep isn't enough anymore | Inner Demons

⟫ Alphabet Challenge, C - Cos' sometimes sleep isn't enough anymore

Pairings: leah williamson x teen reader, arsenal wfc x teen reader

I guess I'm on a roll tonight? 3 parts posted so far, I'm not even sure how many parts this will end up with but, um, yeah, i hope you like this one and it's not to heavy to read.

Absolutely none of it's proof-read so yet again it could seem jumbled up or not even make sense but umm I can't sleep and my brain is overthinking at 4 am so this is the result of it :)

Thanks for all the continuous love and support on this so far!

Waking up in hospital, you think over your thoughts about what happened and wonder if you really did mean to do it?

tw: heavy angst, talks of SH, MH, suicide and death.

Bright lights and slow repetive beeps followed by the sterile smell of a hospital enrivoment.

That's how you knew it was bad when you woke up.

You really hadn't mean for it to get to that point though, you made the mistake of cutting deeper than you should have and now you have landed yourself in the hospital.

This was definitely not your smartest move you had pulled.

Something tells you it wouldn't be so easy to hide your pain behind a fake smile now.

You felt the wet tears covering your own hand along with the heavy weight of another body practically leaning on you.

"Geez, did somebody die in here or something?" Was the first words you spoke since you had fallen unconcious and of course, it was with your usual cocky teenage atttiude.

Dark humour has always been your go to, you hate to show any type of vulnerability.

"Y/N/N" Leah voice croaks in surprise as she sits bolt up right to look straight at you. "You're awake, finally!" she immediately breaks down into sobs again as she reaches towards you and wraps her arms around you.

"Yeah, I'm awake but there's no need to cry about it" You struck back with the same cocky atittude, that drove your team mates crazy but loved you never the less. "Seriously though, did someone die? Cos' you're crying that much right now that I'm begining to think so" you note, hiding your own pain behind the smile.

Just keep smiling, nobody will ask questions.

Everyone will think you're fine.

"Seriously, Y/N?" Leah is quick to smack you around the back of the head as she's now giving you one of her famous glares, one that you knew all too well. "You scared me to death, you little shit!" she admits, showing her vunerability.

"Ow. Ow-- Hey, you can't hit me, I'm fragile right now" You can't help but pout and hope for sympathy from the older blonde girl.

"Fragile, huh? You seem fine enough to be making jokes" Leah remarks as she continues to glare at you.

"Come on, you know that dark humour is the way to go sometimes Le" You grin at the blonde, who doesn't seem to have the same idea.

See? Totally easy to hide your pain.

Leah just stares at you in disbelief you're really cracking jokes right now, "You're unbelieve sometimes, Y/F/N" she mutters aloud.

"Uh oh, your using my full name, am I in trouble now?" You can't help to continue with your cocky, I don't give a shit attitude never the less you had worried all of your team mates like you did.

"Right now I'm just glad that you're alive," Leah admits as she rewraps her arms around you and squeezes you gently. "But if you ever scare me like that again then we'll be having a very different conversation!" she tells you, sternly.

"Okay" You wince slightly as the tightness of the hug that the blonde was very reluctant to let go off you. "Seriously, Le. I'm fine now, why are you still crying so much?" You ask, confused.

"I'm crying because I... I thought I had really lost you this time" Leah speaks her thoughts aloud as she still holds onto you like you would disappear all over again. "When I found you, like the... like the way I did, I thought you was going to die" she adds in, quietly.

Your own amused smile starts to falter as you glance down at the bandages wrapped around your arm. "I'm sorry... I am really sorry for scaring you like that" You apologise quietly, starting to realise the seriousness of it all.

You must've had all of your team mates so worried and right now you were only acting like a total jackass about it.

"I was so scared" Leah replies as she pulls away from hugging you before she readjusts to move onto the bed beside you. "There was so much blood, Y/N/N. I... I thought when we arrived at the hospital, it would be too late and I'd be saying goodbye to you instead" she explains, swallowing the lump that formed in her throat.

Shit, why did I go and do that? I've made Leah almost have a nervous break down.

How could you be so selfish? You didn't deserve the love you recieved from your team mate.

"I bet the bathrooms' a right bloody mess now then" You can't help the comment that slips out of your mouth.

Once again, dark humour is a key to hiding the reality of pain.

Leah clicks her tongue at your comment, although she can tell exactly what you're doing now.

You had been doing it all this long so easily, it was just that nobody realised it.

"Why didn't you tell me that it was getting bad again?" The blondes' question is something that catches you off guard.

Guilt-striken to hear her words, you found sudden interest with the crisp white sheets currently covering you.

There was a lot of things that you could have said, but would she want to hear any of it?

Nobody can help me with the way I feel,

I'm so tired,

I wanted to relieve the pain, I wanted a way out.

All of the questions racing through your mind, you actually began to wonder if you had cut yourself that deep on purpose? Did your own selfishness overshadow any other feelings inside of you.

The battle with your inner demons was just too much sometimes, you was just so exhausted now.

So, why couldn't you have just been left to die instead?

"What's going on inside your head, Y/N/N?" Leah's next question brought you out of your dark thoughts. "Talk to me, you know that I'm here to listen" she states with a gentle tone of voice.

Although the next words that you speak are nothing that she can be prepared to hear.

"I think... I think I wanted to die, I wanted an out on life" Your voice quivers as you admit the truth to the blonde, finally.

"W... What?" Leah looks at you with a mixture of shock and hurt.

"I'm so tired, Le-- I'm just so fuckin' tired. I... I can't do this anymore" You express your feelings as you feel yourself tearing up.

It was as if Leah hadn't quite regestered the words you had said, or she had but she refused to believe that you actually did want to try and kill yourself.

"The girls all went to get coffee, um I think that all of the girls will be back soon though" The blonde tells you quietly as she wraps her free arm around you and gives you a small smile.

Denial, it was so easy to pretend there wasn't anything to read into with your most recent confession.

"Leah--"

"I bet they'll be happy to know that you're awake now" Leah cut you off as she continues to give you that weary smile, you weren't sure if she was now clutching onto you a bit tighter in fear of you pulling another stunt like you did.

"Leah, didn't you hear me? I said I wanted to die!" You shout loud enough for her to suck in a sharp breath.

"I heard you, Y/N/N-- I heard you, I saw you, I... I was there for it all. I was the one who found you in the bathroom; You was lay in a pool of your own blood while you were slipping in and out of unconciousness" Leah broke her game of where she didn't pretend you as she turned to face you, you had her whole attention now. "I sat there, pressing a god-damn towel against your cuts, praying that you would make it and you... you tell me that you want to die? You don't get to die. You can't, we need you-- Damn it Y/N, I need you! Y... You're my family! So you don't get to tell me you want to die!" she tells you, the shake in her voice so evident that she's close to tears again.

"What? You... You want to die?" Beth broke the tense silence as she has a distraught look on her face.

"Do you really mean that?" Lia questions as her eyes widen in shock.

Neither you or Leah realise that some of the older girls had made their way back to your room, when they arrived they were delighted with the realisation that you were now finally awake after the long 24 hours but that quickly turned into shock and hurt when they heard Leah's words so boldly, that even the patients down the hall probably would've heard.

"I do, I did... I don't know. I'm tired, I can't... I can't keep doing this anymore" You admit out loud for every single one of them to hear.

You hear the blonde beside you suck in another sharp breath as she keeps her arm firmly attached round your shoulder.

The confession is left hanging in the air, leaving a tense feeling and it was suddenly so quiet that in the room that you were certain that you would even be able to hear a pin drop.

Nobody utters a word, a state of shock written across each one of their faces.

"Sometimes sleep isn't enough when it's my soul that's tired" You tell them, leaving them all stood there grief-stricken with the realisation that you really had been struggling for longer than you wanted to admit.

[occulthours]

If Bonnie took over as headmistress for Alaric, what would her relationship be like with Hope? Would Klaus suddenly attend Parent-Teacher conferences?

Hello anon! Sorry this took me ridiculously long, I've been packing, moving, and adjusting to dorming for uni this year.

@klonnieshippersclub gave a wonderful answer to an ask similar to this (link), but I'll add my own thoughts!

Of all the TVD/TO characters, Bonnie Bennett was not only the most qualified person to run a supernatural school, she was the only person qualified. The fact that Alaric and Caroline were the ones to open it was a bit ridiculous.

Alaric was very abusive to Hope in canon. I never bought the father-daughter relationship the show attempted to push. Alaric constantly used Hope to shield his own children from violence and fully admitted to allowing Hope into the school for that sole reason. He constantly used Hope for her power while simultaneously reprimanding her for having that power in the first place. Shaming a child as powerful as Hope and then being shocked when she grows to be bitter and resentful towards you is peak delusion.

In contrast, Bonnie, who knows what it's like to wield powerful magic (dark or natural) would be far more understanding of Hope. Hope was guilt-tripped into being the school's savior due to her physical and magical advantage over all of the students. There's no way in hell Bonnie Bennett would have a child on the battlefield in any circumstance. Especially given how she was pushed into being the savior of her friend group at a young age. Bonnie would not only refuse to have Hope fighting a grown-up's war, but she'd ensure that Hope gets the proper emotional and mental health she needs (the proper emotional and mental health that a teenaged Bonnie deserved to have) to combat her suicidal tendencies.

Hope was often left alone to essentially raise herself by her family members throughout her life, namely after her parents died, which is something Bonnie could relate to. Bonnie often came home to an empty house due to her father's work schedule and mother's absence. Aside from Grams, Bonnie didn't have any consistent adult figures in her life. Hope, as someone who grew up isolated in a boarding school, was in need of someone to guide her and Alaric did not meet the criteria to do so. Hope would've majorly benefited from having someone like Bonnie as a mentor.

As for Klaus, I do think that Bonnie would be more proactive (maybe a little more than she should be lol) in the home lives of her students. Especially of those she knows the parents of. Seeing as Bonnie had a deadbeat parent, there's no way she wouldn't have shit to say about one of her students having one (I do think that it's unrealistic and ooc that Hayley nor Marcel even tried to reach out to Klaus when he started his deadbeat era to be the shit out of him, but). Bonnie would take the parent-teacher conference to him if she had to. She wouldn't sit by passively as one of her students wallowed in their suffering nor would she use it to her advantage like Alaric did (seriously. He SUCKS.)

Bonnie would relate to Hope in more ways than any of the other TVD/TO could in regards to magic and family, and I would've loved to see them interact in canon!

Thanks for the ask, and your patience lol.

[bvidzsoo]

Love Me Like A Rockstar (5)

ー☆ Chapter 5: Avalanche

Author: bvidzsoo

Pairing: Song Mingi x female reader

ー☆ Warning: cussing, mentions of suicide ー☆ Word count: 8k ー☆ Genre: university!au, enemies to lovers!au, rockstar!au ー☆ Rating: sfw ー☆ Summary: Love. You wanted none of it. You had already been heartbroken very badly once, you didn't wish to go through that ever again. But the Universe works in intricate ways and, somehow, you found yourself webbed up in a local rockstar's life, Song Mingi. He was everything you expected him to be, yet nothing like you imagined him he would be. What happens when you find mutual understanding and have heartful conversations? Will he be able to break down your walls? Will you be able to chase away his darkness?

A/N: Updateee, hehet. Now, now...this chapter is emotionally loaded, but at least we can notice some progress in their relationship lol, it was about time if you ask me. Please listen to Avalanche before or while reading this chapter, it's really important as it portrays Mingi's story and feelings in the past, so please don't skip it! I can't promise the next update will be soon because I have a deadline by next week, but if I won't be too burned out then I might just update towards next weekend. ALSO G U Y S!!!! Tunnel?!?!?!?!?! SONG MINGI'S SOLO???? ARE WE FINE?!?!?! WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE RELEASES T H A T WHILE I'M WRITING A STORY EXACTLY LIKE THAT???!! No, but seriously, I'm completely not fine, I still can't believe this happened BECAUSE IT'S NOT THE FIRST TIME I WRITE SOMETHING AND IT HAPPENS. Okay, I'm done screaming, sorry. I hope you all enjoy this chapter, I tried my best and I hope it turned out okay. Feedback is appreciated, enjoy now!!

Taglist: @orshii @or5i @lovely-red2 @juicy-red @scarfac3 @sunaswifes-blog @voicesinmyhead-rc @teez-the-time @maru-matt @kyeos4ng @deathbyyeekies @chicksmoothie @okokmaybe01-blog

⟨Series M.list ↭ Previous Chapter⟩

♫Playlist♫

            There was a beat of silence, of nobody moving, of nobody blinking or saying anything. My heart shouldn’t have picked up its rhythm so fast, but as my eyes briefly ran over Mingi’s tall form standing in the doorway opposite mine, I realized he looked the same as in the video I have seen on Seulgi’s Instagram story, the only change to his outfit was the black hoodie covering his broad frame—and wet, almost see-through, white shirt.

“What are you doing here?” My mouth was moving before I could think, mind suddenly a puddle.

“Picking up some food since I’m headed home from Outlaw.” Mingi’s explanation came quickly, his own eyes taking in my appearance as they briefly ran over my body. My grip tightened around the doorknob as I suddenly felt embarrassed. I knew I didn’t look like my usual self; my eyes were still red from crying, and I couldn’t help but sniff every other few minute. And I was completely soaked in rainwater.

“What are you doing here?” Mingi asked at once, eyes finally meeting mine. His expression was neutral, but there was something in his eyes—he seemed tired. Black eyeliner rimmed his already sharp eyes, creating the illusion of them piercing right through you. I suddenly felt naked under his attentive gaze, too exposed for my liking. I cleared my throat and stepped away from the doorway finally, circling my arms around my body, just now noticing the teetering of my teeth. I tried to offer my body some comfort by hugging myself, but it wasn’t exactly working.

“I was on a walk when it started raining, so I took shelter in here.” That wasn’t a lie at all, yet under Mingi’s watchful gaze, it felt like one. My eyebrows slightly furrowed at the thought, wondering why it felt like I was lying. Perhaps it was the doubt in his eyes as he looked over me once again, clearly questioning why I was drenched from head to toe if I took shelter in here, but I would not further explain myself to him.

“Right,” His voice conveyed nothing and I tried to hide my surprise as he didn’t prod further, “I understand.”

He stepped outside the men’s restroom finally, making me press myself up against the cold wall of the hallway as it was narrow, sniffing as another shudder ripped through my body. Despite having warmed my hands and cheeks with the warm water, I could feel the cold seep through my bones once again as my clothes clung onto my frame uncomfortably. Mingi didn’t cast me any other glance as he took off towards the main hall and I found myself following after him, licking my dry lips as I tried to hug myself tighter, rubbing at my side clumsily. It was my last attempt to warm myself up. My eyes were trained on the floor as they were burning, but I found them drawn upwards soon, curiously watching the back of Mingi’s head. His black hair was damp, and the blue sheer sunglass I saw him wearing in the video was put on backwards, making me frown as I stared at it as it rested against the back of Mingi’s head. Couldn’t he just take it off? Why wear it backwards? Was this a new trend he was following to become more famous? I scoffed at myself quietly as Mingi and I rounded the corner, walking back inside the main hall of the diner, the lady at the front counter looking up from a notebook she was writing in, cash placed next to it. Her eyes were trained on Mingi only, and I rolled my eyes subconsciously, awaiting her to act like one of his baboons—fangirls—from Outlaw and even from our university, but instead, her eyes held warmth as she leaned down and grabbed something from behind the counter. I found myself rooted to my place, watching the interaction—just slightly intrigued—as if I were a child waiting for their parent to finally move and leave the diner. It was silly, really, why was I waiting for Mingi? It’s not like him and I would be leaving together—yet my feet refused to move despite my thoughts telling me to do so.

“Steak with mashed potatoes and some side dishes, just the way you like it.” The lady said kindly as she placed a casserole inside a bag on the counter, pushing it towards Mingi. My eyes were glued to the side of his face, watching his reaction, waiting for his usual arrogant and flirty self to come to the surface, but instead, a small smile made it onto his face as his right hand slipped inside his pocket. Huh, that was new, I’ve never seen Mingi act like—himself—in front of a woman before.

“Thank you, Dahyun, you always seem to know what I’m craving.” Mingi told her quietly and I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt a sneeze trying to fight its way out of my nose, it burned.

“No, you just always ask for the same meals on the same days,” She chuckled as Mingi extended the money towards her, “You’re a simple man, and my memory is simply too good—it’s on the house tonight, Mingi.”

“But—”

“I already closed the register.” Dahyun winked at him and pushed Mingi’s hand back, ignoring the noises of complaint he made, “Seriously, do you want me to overwork myself?”

“Fine,” Mingi sighed, his eyebrows furrowed. My head started to lightly thump and I found myself leaning against the wall, eyes heavy and burning. My mother would kill me for getting sick for such a dumb reason as to staying out in the rain without realizing it was even pouring. Damn Yunho, it’s his fault, “But at least let me leave a tip.”

Dahyun gave Mingi a pointed stare before her eyes fell on me, suddenly realizing I was there too. I cleared my throat awkwardly as I stood up straight, pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. Mingi turned his head, his eyes falling on me as well, and suddenly I felt—so small. Both of them were looking at me with concern in their eyes, and I couldn’t help but look away as my eyes were suddenly burning with tears in them. Why was I in such an unstable state all of a sudden? My chest felt lighter, my throat wasn’t closing in on me anymore—I was fine, so then why?

“Can you make her some tea? If I’m not asking for too much.” My eyes snapped up in Mingi’s direction as he was looking at me, face still emotionless, but eyebrows furrowed.

“Of course, we’ve still got like five minutes until we’re closing.” Dahyun answered him cheerily and then turned around, opening some cabinets as she got to work.

“Okay, but accept the money this time.” Mingi muttered and placed some bills on the counter, pushing it towards the notebook she seemed to be busy with before we disturbed her.

“Whatever.” Dahyun huffed and cast me a quick glance as Mingi turned to look at me again.

“Are you cold?” Mingi asked and I tensed my muscles, trying to stop the trembling, but it was hard—and it wasn’t even working. But I just gulped and pulled myself together, walking closer to him.

“No.” My teeth clanked against each other again and I sniffed as Dahyun turned to face me, a plastic cup in her hands.

“We only have wild berry tea; I hope you like that.” She said with a smile as she placed the cup on the counter and pushed it towards me. I cleared my throat and looked down at it, the steam hot and inviting as I reluctantly reached out for it. It was embarrassing—this whole situation. I was looking like a mess, on the verge of another breakdown, because why not—my brain decided that I simply wasn’t finished crying over nothing—even if it wasn’t exactly nothing, I refused to acknowledge it. I reluctantly reached for the cup, slightly annoyed that Mingi and this Dahyun girl were looking at me like I was going to break—or explode—at any given moment. I let out a frustrated sigh as my fingers wrapped around the hot cup firmly, skin slightly burning, but I welcomed the feeling as I have stopped feeling my fingers a good few minutes ago.

“Stop looking at me like that, Mingi, I’m fine.” I didn’t mean to snap, but my tone was sharp as I sucked in a sharp breath, bringing the cup up to my lips and blowing on the hot water, the steam warming my skin.

“I’m not looking—anyways,” He cut himself off as he grabbed the bag with his food inside and stepped away from the counter, “Thank you, Dahyun, we won’t be holding you back for longer.”

“No problem, see you soon!” She said with a smile, waving a little as Mingi nodded at her, barely returning her smile. It seemed almost like there was something wrong with him, but I couldn’t tell, I didn’t know him well. He could’ve been simply acting to gain our sympathy—I could see Mingi doing something like that, it didn’t seem too far from his atrocious character.

“Uh, thank you.” I thanked the girl quietly as I slightly bowed my head and she just smiled, waving at me as well as I quickly hurried after Mingi, who had stopped in the doorway, apparently waiting for me.

His hand reached out for the handle, but he hesitated for a second, not opening the door just yet, “It’s still raining…and you don’t have an umbrella…”

I raised an eyebrow as I took a sip of my hot tea, taking a glance at Mingi. He was looking ahead, eyes trained on the road through the glass doors. The sweet taste of wild berries exploded in my mouth and I bit my lip as the warm tea flushed down my throat, warming me up from the inside as I eagerly took another big gulp, slightly burning my tongue.

“Yeah, I don’t have an umbrella.” I said, the two of us looking at each other at the same time, “But it’s fine, I’m already drenched. I’ll just run home—”

“You’re already shivering and shaking constantly, Y/N.” Mingi said matter of fact, and I rolled my eyes almost instantly, “Let me drive you home.”

“You don’t have to, it doesn’t matter.” I muttered with a shrug and took another sip of my tea, but Mingi just shook his head and turned his body slightly towards mine.

“You keep sniffing and you are clearly cold, even if you say you aren’t.” He raised an eyebrow, pointing towards my flushed cheek—I could only hope I wouldn’t have a fever, “You’ll catch a cold at this point, just let me drive you home. It’s not a big deal, really.”

“Mingi,” I sighed loudly, giving him a glare, “I’m fine, I’m not cold and I won’t catch a cold—”

Almost as if the Universe—or my own body—was having a laugh at me, a sneeze forced its way through my nostrils, loud, and an obvious sign that I wasn’t doing too well currently. Mingi’s lips pressed into a thin line as he tried not to smile and suppress his chuckle, making me grumble to myself as I quickly drank the remaining tea, feeling slightly warmer.

“Still going to pass on that ride?” Mingi quirked an eyebrow as a smirk appeared on his lips and I scoffed, crossing my arms in front of my chest.

“Lead the way, Prince Charming.” I mocked, but it only made Mingi giggle as he pushed the door open, the breeze freezing as it suddenly hit me. I instantly shivered and made myself smaller, clutching myself around my middle.

“That’s my car.” Mingi pointed towards a black car across the street and suddenly he took off, pulling his hood over his head, running out into the rain. There was no oncoming traffic, so I quickly left the shop and ran across the road, headed for the passenger seat. As I got there, the car was unlocked and Mingi was pulling the key out of the lock and opening his side of the door quickly, jumping inside. I followed his lead and slammed the door closed after sitting inside, shivering and groaning at the cold gripping at my skin again, pressing myself back into the leather seat of Mingi’s car. He placed the food in the backseat, putting the keys into the ignition. He looked at me, lips slightly pursed.

“Uh,” For the first time in my life, Mingi looked embarrassed as he scratched his nape, “The car’s old so uhm—we’ll have to wait a little bit before we take off. For the engine to warm up and shit, you know.”

I hummed and gulped, grip tightening around the plastic cup I was still holding onto. I did not want to prolong my time spent together with Mingi, so why couldn’t his car work just fine? I watched him as he turned the key, but the engine didn’t start right away, screeching for a second as Mingi tried again, groaning with his eyebrows furrowed. I remained silent as I watched him struggle for a few more seconds until the engine finally rumbled to life, the sound louder than I expected. But it only lasted for another second before it settled down, the pouring rain overshadowing the sound of the old engine. Mingi went and pressed a few buttons on the dashboard and I allowed my muscles to relax slightly, noting the way I was still shaking. When will it stop? It was getting annoying. As if Mingi sensed my train of thoughts, he turned his head towards me and cleared his throat.

“Are you cold?” He asked, making me sigh as I shook my head no, refusing to admit that I couldn’t feel my feet anymore. Maybe if this old wreck could warm up faster I wouldn’t be shaking so much—and I knew Mingi’s car had zero faults right now, but I had to pour my irritation onto something instead of admitting defeat in front of him, “You’re very obviously cold, Y/N.”

I scoffed and my eyes snapped to him as he suddenly leaned more towards me, reaching for something in the backseat of the car, “If it’s so obvious, Mr. Obvious, do something about it—”

My mouth clamped shut the second Mingi was holding a black denim jacket in his hand with a lopsided smile, extending it towards me, “I am doing something about it, here, wear it.”

He let it fall into my lap before I could refuse him and suddenly my cheeks were on fire—and not from the cold. I cleared my throat loudly and averted my gaze as Mingi settled back into his seat with a small grin, watching me as I rolled my eyes, fumbling with the heavy jacket he had given me. I didn’t want to wear it—that was the last thing I actually wanted to do, but a violent shiver racked through my body and I was suddenly moving faster than lightning, groaning as my clothes were still stuck against my body. It was a horrible feeling, but at least Mingi’s seats were leather, easier to clean. I pulled the black denim jacket around my shoulders before putting each arm through the sleeves, trying to ignore Mingi’s eyes on me, and the amused smile he had on his face. It wasn’t funny—but it was probably entertaining to him. I wonder how many girls he took home like this before me, letting them wear his jacket only to flirt with them afterwards as a means of getting to sleep with them. Men were easy, and Mingi was one of them. I could see right through his bullshit, and so, despite the warmth and masculine scent enveloping my senses, I gave Mingi a sharp glare, making him chuckle.

“You’re so predictable,” He said quietly, almost as if to himself, but I heard him, and I scoffed, “You won’t thank me, right?”

“I’m still cold.” I evaded his question instead, giving him a look, but Mingi just giggled, the sound low and deep inside his chest. I watched as his features relaxed and found my heart beating faster once again as I realized that I was enclosed in a tiny space with him, barely a few feet away from each other. There was something different about Mingi all of a sudden as he threw his head back, sighing loudly and gripping the wheel. His eyes fluttered close and I couldn’t will myself to look away, suddenly curious of the man sitting next to me. Who was he? Why was he like this? But the confusing butterflies deep inside my stomach sent me into distress, and I averted my eyes as Mingi opened his, and realized it was becoming suffocating. The silence. I didn’t like it. Mingi wasn’t saying anything, the engine was still dully rumbling and the rain was hitting the roof of the old Honda Prelude loudly. It didn’t feel as restricting as earlier, but my throat was squeezing in on itself and without asking for permission, I reached forward and pressed a button on the stereo, turning the radio on.

The instrumental wasn’t something I have heard before, and the harsh beat of the drums resounded in the car loudly, making my heart jump. Soon, the drum was accompanied by the lively but soft melody of the guitar, guiding it through. It felt like a storm, the loud and harsh beats of the drums lead by the soft yet determined guitar. It was almost as if two sides of the coin were leaning on each other for support—almost as if one was desperate to be shown some light in the darkness. I saw Mingi shift in the corner of my eyes, and I was startled at the intense look in his eyes as he looked at me, lips parted and eyebrows drawn up. He seemed surprised but at the same time almost angry, it was a look I couldn’t read well yet. I didn’t understand why he was looking at me like that. Suddenly, the drums slightly softened, until they became silent, and the guitar guided the melody smoothly, bringing it a comforting feeling. Mingi and I were still looking at each other and I was about to ask why he was looking at me like that, but suddenly the raspy, yet warm, voice resounding in the car took me off guard as my eyes widened, leaving me gaping at Mingi.

『Cut me open and tell me what's inside

Diagnose me 'cause I can't keep wondering why

And no, it's not a phase 'cause it happens all the time

Start over, check again, now tell me what you find

'Cause I'm going out of frequency

Can anyone respond?』

His voice was smooth as the drums and guitar accompanied it, dropping lower at times and feeling like the caress of a whisper at the same time. Mingi’s face had turned emotionless once again as his eyes locked with mine, and I tried to give him a glare, but my mind was focused on the words he was singing—on the message behind his lyrics.

『It's like an avalanche, I feel myself go under

'Cause the weight of it's like hands around my neck

I never stood a chance, my heart has frozen over

And I feel like I am treading on thin ice』

The beat picked up again, the drums louder as the melody grew more aggressive, Mingi’s voice reflecting it and gliding with it. His voice was powerful and held sincerity as he sung, his words ringing through my mind as the raspiness of it became more hearable. I couldn’t hold Mingi’s gaze anymore and I swiftly turned my head, playing with the cup I had in my hands as I gulped, the melody slowing down once again.

『Am I broken? What's the chance I will survive?

Don't sugarcoat me 'cause I feel like suicide

Just give it to me straight, 'cause I'm running out of time

I need an antidote, now what can you prescribe?』

My eyebrows furrowed the longer I listened to his words, wondering if this is what he actually felt like. Wondering when he wrote this song. Wondering why and how was Mingi hiding such feelings locked away in himself, in a way that nobody would be able to see the real him. Why were his words so relatable and why did I suddenly find myself teary eyed, biting my lower lip to try and get a grip of myself again.

『It's like an avalanche, I feel myself go under

'Cause the weight of it's like hands around my neck

I never stood a chance, my heart has frozen over

And I feel like I am treading on thin ice, and I'm going under』

I wonder who made him feel like that. Who had hurt Mingi so much that he felt like he was on the verge of giving it all up. Did he still feel like that? Were the two of us not so much different from each other after all? I sniffed, turning my head to look out the window instead, scared that if I hung my head down the tears would actually fall.

『I need a cure for me 'cause the square doesn't fit the circle

Give me a remedy 'cause my head wasn't wired for this world

I need a cure for me 'cause the square doesn't fit the circle

Give me a remedy 'cause my head wasn't wired for this world』

My grip around the cup tightened and I heard Mingi shift in his seat again, but I didn’t turn around to look at him. Emotions and thoughts of all sorts were whirling in my head, and I couldn’t stop thinking. I haven’t really paid attention to what he sings in his songs before—not that I had many occasions to do so—but this one suddenly felt so familiar, as if there was at least one person in the world who understood my struggles too. I’ve had low points in life before, especially after Yunho left me, and I really felt like there was no way out for me. I didn’t know how to cope and what to do with myself, I became uncaring and closed myself off to the world, only talking to those necessary, and barely doing anything if I could. That was the only time in my life when my art didn’t help at all, when I couldn’t pick up my pencil out of fear of what my mind would conjure up to torment me with. My life revolved around Jeong Yunho, and I knew because of missing him, he would be the only thing I would be drawing. He was my muse, and I hated it for such a long time not realizing that it was in some twisted way helping with getting over him. I have memorized every single feature and flaw of his, knowing it by heart. It was freeing when I was able to highlight all the things I knew he hated about himself, it made it easier for me to remind myself that he wasn’t as perfect as I thought he was. It was just the idea I had created of him in my head.

My fingers were tapping against the cup, following the rhythm of the song as Mingi’s beautiful voice carried on singing, the melody wrapping me up in my thoughts, almost getting lost to the point where I wasn’t paying attention to the song anymore. But it was actually impossible to do that, Mingi had a way to keep you focused on himself even if he was just simply singing, his raspy and warm voice keeping you in a vice grip, making you yearn for more. As the song came to an end, I released a breath I didn’t even realize I had been holding. Mingi was swift as he leaned forward and turned off the stereo, clearing his throat loudly. For a few more seconds nothing was said between the two of us, silence enveloping around us once again. But I didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore, I felt—almost sad, but mostly curious of the making of this song. Of what prompted Mingi to write it. Why were his emotions so raw in this, and who caused him to feel like this.

“It wasn’t bad,” I found myself speaking up, not really thinking through my words first, “you’re not too bad at this, Mingi.”

I didn’t expect him to laugh, and as I turned my head, he was already looking at me with an amused look on his face, covering his mouth as his laughter got louder for a second. My eyebrows furrowed, and I was about to say something less nice to him, but I realized my compliment sounded oddly similar to the one I had gotten from him back at the library. Despite fighting against the smile wanting to appear on my lips, I quickly let out a chuckle, our eyes with Mingi connecting. Despite the depth of the song and the somber atmosphere it created, Mingi seemed to be almost ecstatic as he shrugged, drumming his fingers against the wheel. Subconsciously, I nuzzled further into the collar of the denim jacket, the cologne stronger as I inhaled it, reminded that I was wearing Mingi’s jacket. I didn’t miss the way a fond smile appeared on his face for a few moments, quickly disappearing as he cleared his throat and looked ahead, pressing some other buttons on the dashboard.

“Thank you, getting a compliment from a fine arts genius certainly feels like I have won a Grammy or something.” I scoffed and rolled my eyes as Mingi chuckled, grinning at me for a second before he turned his body fully towards me, taking me off guard, “I wrote this song a long time ago, when—well, there’s nothing to hide here, when Yunho left for college. When I—remained alone at home, here in this town. Nothing was set in stone yet, to be honest, I had absolutely no idea what to do with my life back then. I was eighteen and I was confused and scared. The pressure of figuring out what you wanted to do with your life at such a young age was frightening and breaking me down, to be honest. I’ve always struggled mentally—you know, with depression and anxiety—and I think that period of time was the lowest I had ever been.”

I was soaking in every word Mingi was saying, mind silent and eyes focused on him, wanting to hear more as he continued talking, “Yunho was always the stronger one between the two of us and he always knew from a young age what he wanted to do, so when I realized I hadn’t planned my future ahead like him, I lost myself. And he—left, to college—in a different city. Hours away, leaving me all alone. I know I might sound dramatic, but I don’t deal well with change. I never have and I never will, I’m afraid. It took me almost a year to finally get used to living alone and sometimes I still struggle, it’s really frustrating. So you can imagine how badly I took my best friend, whom I have never been separated from before and we’ve known each other since kindergarten, leaving and abandoning me in the small town I have always hated and had no future in. I fell into deep depression and nothing was helping, like at all. Not even Yunho returning home out of the blue after two weeks of no contact on my part. When he saw the state I was in, we—we cried for hours, Y/N. It was horrible. I hate making him feel like that, because it wasn’t his fault, it was all mine.”

My eyebrows furrowed and my heart clenched upon hearing Mingi’s words, quietly letting out a breath which felt like it was restricting my lungs. In this moment, I heard my own thoughts and feelings in Mingi. His struggles and pain, I understood them. My fingers crushed the cup accidentally, but thankfully Mingi didn’t seem to notice as he took a deep breath and continued, “I wanted to kill myself. If Yuyu wouldn’t have come home in that exact moment—I don’t think we’d be having this conversation right now.”

My eyebrows furrowed and without really thinking, my left hand reached over the center console and I found myself gripping Mingi’s right hand, his skin so much hotter than mine. He bit his lower lip, eyebrows twitching as he averted his gaze all of a sudden, turning his hand upwards so that my fingers could slip over his palm. It was weird how easily my skin tingled at the contact; thoughts silent for once.

“He suggested I find a way of getting these thoughts and feelings out of myself. And after he left once again I knew I had to do something unless I planned on completely losing my mind, so…I took a pen and paper and started writing. Everything I felt, everything I thought. And miraculously, it worked. Slowly, of course, but it started working. I found a good therapist as well and suddenly I could see a way out of this dark cloud hung up around my head, fogging my thoughts up. I searched for a beat on YouTube and realized I could turn these thoughts and feelings into music. And they didn’t even sound bad, but what was most important was that I enjoyed doing it. I felt free, I felt like I could finally say anything I ever wanted. And I knew if this helped me, then it would help others as well, let them know they weren’t alone, and that you can go on even if it seems like you can’t. I wrote this song right before signing up to our university and sent it in as a sample. I was granted access to the studious a week later, and two weeks later accepted to the university. It’s probably one of my happiest memories, especially since Yunho surprised me that day by coming home and celebrating it with me.”

As Mingi was done talking, silence settled between the two of us. Comforting, understanding. I looked down at my lap, mind a whirlwind of thoughts all of a sudden, threatening to rush out at once. The sudden thumb sweeping against my knuckles made me slightly tense, realizing that I was completely holding hands with Mingi. My cheeks burned all of a sudden and my heart jumped, yet despite my thoughts telling me to pull my hand out of his, I didn’t move just yet. The feeling—wasn’t so bad.

“My sketchbook—the one you flipped through without my permission—” I sent Mingi a small glare as he snorted, cutting me off for a second, “is like my journal. I doddle in it daily, sometimes I even write little messages next to the sketches, noting down the things on my mind or just simply how my day went. When I draw, my mind is completely silent, I feel at ease. There’s nothing bothering me and I don’t have to worry in that moment of what the next line will illustrate or what the overall drawing will be. My thoughts are often too loud and I get overwhelmed by them, it’s hard to ignore them, you know? But by drawing, I can escape them and free myself even for a little while, it’s similar to what you must feel when you write music. Just letting go and releasing everything you feel.”

Mingi’s eyes were warm and soft as a small smile appeared on his lips, his skin suddenly burning mine and as my heartbeat showed no signs of slowing down, so, I carefully slipped my hand out of his, turning ahead and staring out at the pouring rain, feeling exposed and too small, “I understand what it must’ve felt like going through all of that. There was a time in my life, when—my whole world revolved around one person only and when—when he left, I thought I would die. I didn’t want to continue on living, to be completely honest. But with time, and thanks to my mother and Seulgi, I built myself back up. It’s fine now—I mean, I’m fine now.”

Mingi just hummed and I could feel his gaze on me as I leaned forward in the seat, rubbing my face as I felt fatigue settle over my whole being. At least I wasn’t shaking anymore, the car had warmed up significantly and my clothes weren’t sticking to my skin so violently anymore.

“Everyone has their story, Y/N.” Mingi spoke up, and I could hear the smile in his voice, “And it was very obvious to me that your attitude towards me is just a defense mechanism—”

“Oh, don’t get too cocky now that I’ve shared something so insignificant from my life.” I snapped as I turned my head, giving him a small glare. Mingi chuckled, holding his hands up in a way that said he wasn’t trying to attack me.

“I don’t think it’s insignificant—”

“Mingi.”

“Tell me something…” He trailed off and I sighed loudly, not in the mood to converse anymore. I wanted to go home, “Are those eyes really Yunho’s in your sketchbook? Because I really don’t think they are. I mean, I know what my own eyes like look and—”

“Whatever, they are yours, okay?” I snapped defensively as I crossed my arms in front of my chest, cutting Mingi off. I knew I should’ve never confessed to him that those were indeed his eyes, because now the shit eating grin he had on his lips and the way his eyes sparkled weren’t worth it. Not when my cheeks felt on fire, and I knew it wasn’t from the warmth inside the car.

“I knew it!” He said triumphantly, giggling a little, making me role my eyes.

“Just because you have pretty eyes doesn’t mean I’m in love with you.” I scoffed and suddenly Mingi froze, staring at me like I said something wrong. I raised my eyebrows at him in question.

“I never said you were in love with me.” Shit. I scoffed and rolled my eyes again, giving him a deadpan look.

“Very well, can’t have you thinking that now that you know those are your eyes.” Mingi laughed, again, as he playfully leaned towards me, making my glare deepen.

“So, you think I’m pretty?” He bit his lower lip and my brain blanked for a second as my eyes ran over his face quickly, taking in his features. Yes, he was very pretty—what the fuck?!

“Just because you have features which are easy to draw, Mingi, doesn’t mean I think you’re pretty. Have I told you already that you’re self-absorbed?” I raised my eyebrows mockingly as I clicked my tongue and Mingi chuckled as he faced forward, turning on the windshield wipers.

“Yes, quite a few times, actually.” I scoffed, putting on my seatbelt when I saw Mingi doing the same.

“Just take me home.” I muttered as I turned my head and looked out the window.

“Tell me your address first.” Mingi’s tone was playful as he turned on the stereo again, this time a channel of a radio playing music in Mingi’s vintage car as he slowly drove off.

            After arriving home I had taken a very long and very hot shower, letting my body stay under the stream for a long time, probably making my mother think that I was drowning. I could feel my muscles finally relaxing, the shivers completely gone from my body as I dressed into my warmest pajamas once I got out of the shower, blow-drying my hair quickly, eager to get underneath my warm blanket. Thankfully my mother wasn’t angry at all by the time I got home, she was waiting for me with two mugs of hot chocolate with marshmallows, and a big hug. She didn’t want to tell me where her sudden affection was coming from, but she said she knew there was something wrong, and that I could go to her the next time I’m struggling. It’s funny how she always knows what the problem is, yet I don’t want to burden her furthermore with my own dramatic emotions.

After drinking the hot chocolate and having a laugh with my mother over the comedy show she was watching in her room, I finally retreated to my own room, under the oh, so warm blanket. I couldn’t help but sigh contently and nuzzle even further into the pillow under my head, grateful to be finally able to rest. But as if the Universe was out against me tonight—and it probably was hence the shitshow today was—sleep never came to me. I was beyond tired, yet I couldn’t sleep. I felt slightly restless, as if I had to do something and I wouldn’t be able to rest until I have done it—and that was drawing. The image in my head was begging for me to be released onto a blank canvas, but I wished it could wait until tomorrow—but it couldn’t, so, with a loud sigh, I sat up and turned on my lamp. The sketchbook was bigger than the one I use as a journal since I rarely use it outside of class, but for what I wanted to draw tonight I needed the bigger one. I flipped it open to a new page and grabbed my pencil, twirling it around my fingers as I sectioned the blank paper, searching for the right angle to start the drawing.

First, I settled on drawing the outlines with faded lines, the background not the most important but since it played a part in the spacing of the drawing, I had to start with that. I went and first did the outline of the car from the inside, adding shading to show where the streetlamps couldn’t reach as the car drove down the empty road, gloomy clouds raining down on us, making the roads slippery and reducing visibility, but Mingi was an attentive and calm driver as he hummed and nodded his head to the beat of the music playing on the radio. His jaw was set and eyes focused up front, on the road, eyebrows ever so slightly furrowed and lower lip quite often between his teeth as he bit into the supple flesh, his lips cherry colored and plump. His jawline long, and sharp; and cheekbones well defined, yet not too sharp; his brow bone more forward, giving him an intimidating look from the side with his eyebrows drawn together. His nose, tall, and long, and pointy—too pretty. I cleared my throat and shook my head, focusing on drawing the rest of Mingi’s features and willing my brain to shut up about whether Mingi was pretty or not—he wasn’t. I couldn’t help but draw the sunglasses he wore so hideously backwards, ruining his overall nice look, making me grimace as I darkened his hair by adding more shading to it. I illustrated the shadows falling over his face as well, his gaze slightly obscured from my view. His long fingers gripped the wheel tightly, the gemstones of his rings glinting whenever the light fell on it in a peculiar way, and I couldn’t help but recall the feeling of his skin against mine as drew the lines defining the muscle of his hands. Just as I went to draw his neck, my phone pinged, slightly startling me as it was loud. It was placed on my nightstand and I groaned as I had to lean over half of my bed to reach it. And as I took my phone into my hands, my heart skipped a beat.

I hate him: are u asleep?

I glanced at the clock and realized it would be soon midnight, I had to get this drawing done and then go to sleep as I had class early in the morning tomorrow. Besides, I didn’t want to talk to Mingi. Why was he texting me? Just because we shared a few sappy stories about ourselves doesn’t mean that we have suddenly become best friends, sharing even more life stories with each other—and most certainly Mingi had no business texting me this late at night. With a huff, I let my phone fall next to me as I continued to draw, focusing on my creation instead. Drawing the neck was easy and quick and I focused on adding little details to it instead, the silver chains he had hanging against his neck tonight, peeking through the collar of his black hoodie. I continued drawing the rest of his body, his arms and torso as well as I could as they weren’t too essential to the drawing as of now. I only wanted to draw Mingi’s profile as he drove, the darkness combined with the streetlamps casting beautiful shadows over his flawless face. But drawing Mingi, knowing that Mingi had texted me all of a sudden felt weird, and I sighed as I dropped my pencil, grabbing my phone again as I unlocked it. He had sent the message five minutes ago, that was enough time for him to fall asleep so even if I text him he’ll only see this in the morning and if he’ll answer I won’t have to text him back anymore—because I didn’t want to be texting with Mingi, at all.

Me: no. u?

As I went to close my phone, his reply came instantly, leaving me surprised. There goes my plan of Mingi being asleep and not having to talk to him tonight…

I hate him: nope, why aren’t u sleeping? Me: i can’t sleep. u?

I chewed on my bottom lip as I shuffled around for a second to be able to sit cross legged in my bed.

I hate him: yeah, same. the rain makes it hard for me to sleep…i hate rain, actually, especially the thunder.

I almost went ahead and typed back that I knew, but Mingi wasn’t supposed to know that. Mingi had no idea Yunho and I had dated back in highschool—Mingi had no idea how much I actually knew about him due to Yunho, and I intended on keeping that a secret from him. I didn’t want to wake up old ghosts in my heart which would bring pain once again.

Me: ig i’m fine with rain as long as i’m somewhere inside, but the humidity kills me. it’s the winter time i actually hate…i can’t deal with cold weather, i get easily sick…

I rubbed my forehead as I pressed send and sighed as I lowered my phone into my lap, suddenly aware of the weird butterflies in my stomach, making me almost nauseous. As I glanced back down at my phone, the three bubbles signaling that Mingi was typing back appeared, and I had to take a deep breath to settle my erratic heartbeat. What was happening? Why was my body reacting in such a weird way?

I hate him: oh, yeah, i totally get the winter thing as someone who loves dressing light. i feel like i am more myself in the summer time lol; my style rocks during the summer and then gets okay-ish during the winter, it’s sad actually…

I chuckled and smirked as I quickly typed back.

Me: why? cuz you can’t show off your biceps during the winter? I hate him: ha-ha aren’t u so funny tonight?   Me: i’m always funny, mingi…

I couldn’t help but chuckle as I quickly sent the message despite Mingi still typing.

I hate him: u wish u were always funny, doll…if someone’s funny then that person is me, y/n Me: yeah, right, u wish, prince I hate him: aren’t u just in a delightful mood tonight, doll?

I scoffed but couldn’t fight off the amused smile from my lips.

Me: it’s all thanks to you, idiot I hate him: i think I prefer u calling me prince, actually… Me: u wish, idiot. I hate him: anyways, what’s your favorite season?

I raised an eyebrow as I read the text from Mingi.

Me: interesting question I hate him: well u said u didn’t like winter, so what do you like then? Me: not u, that’s for sure…

I couldn’t help but cackle at my own reply, feeling proud of myself over such little thing. I could imagine Mingi chuckling and shaking his head at it, perhaps glaring down at his phone.

Me: autumn or spring, really…not too cold nor too warm, in-between, just perfect u know?

There was a second of nothing until the bubbles popped up again, making me realize I was smiling down at my phone, so I quickly cleared my throat and got it together. There was nothing to be smiling at here.

I hate him: i get it, those seasons are really pretty…talking of pretty…do you really think i’m pretty?

I couldn’t help the loud scoff which left my lips at the same time as I rolled my eyes, very tempted to leave him on read and just go to sleep right then and there.

Me: i have already told you, mingi, i don’t think u are pretty because u a r e n ‘t, get it???

The reply was instant.

I hate him: hahahahahahaha; u are cute!

My body froze for a second, eyebrows furrowing as I reread his reply. What the fuck? Me? Cute? Yeah, sure, cute my ass—this idiot was testing my patience and kindness, once again.

Me: u’re disgusting, I’m blocking u I hate him: whatever u say, gorgeous, I know u a r e n ‘t!!!

My jaw clenched at the blatant mocking and I scoffed loudly as I looked ahead, glaring at nothing particular as my blood was boiling. He really thought I wouldn’t block him? There was nothing holding me back from doing so—suddenly the bubbles appeared again, and I looked down at my phone—just slightly curious.

I hate him: sorry if that was too much, i was just joking. i wanted to ask something all night, but i just didn’t know whether the timing was right or not or just whatever, but…are u okay? like…do you feel okay?

I gulped, my anger dissipating like it never even happened, leaving me confused. Was he now worried about me? Why would he be?

Me: i’m ok, why?

It took a little time for Mingi to answer, and it made me gulp as I read it.

I hate him: bcz your eyes were red when we met in front of the restrooms and idk…u just kinda felt off or smth…i just wanted to make sure. Me: i had a rough day, but i’m fine… thanks for asking ig… I hate him: ofc, anytime

Did he mean that? I couldn’t help but wonder. But there were so many things about Mingi that I didn’t know yet and…something changed tonight. I couldn’t completely hate him like before. The conversation we had in his car, the things he willingly shared with me were so personal and hard, yet he trusted me with them. I couldn’t help but feel good about it, thankful in a way, that despite my demeanor he still found me worthy of knowing about his past—of knowing of the backstory of said song we have listened to. I thought Mingi was all smirks and a cocky attitude, nothing in that empty and self-centered brain of his—yet he pretty much proved me wrong today, and for some reason I didn’t seem to mind too much. I couldn’t help but bite my lower lip as I looked down at my phone, realizing that it was past midnight now, I had to go to sleep.

Me: goodnight, i have classes early in the morning… I hate him: sweet dreams, y/n…see u at uni.

『I'm going out of frequency

Can anyone respond?

'Cause I'm going out of frequency

Can anyone respond?』

❱❱ Next chapter

[whorrorbellee]

CHERRYWAVES:TWO

Ghostface! Danny Johnson x f!reader

Danny just had to save you. He just had to save your poor sad life. Knocking your sad frail body against fake plastic tiles. Shoving his fingers down your throat like a kid fishing for pennies. What was it you wrote in your diary? Your shiny white masked knight in a black shroud? Well how cute. Maybe it was time he kept a pet around.Just to play or course.18+ : eventual smut, themes of suicide (reader attempts), selfharm, sexual content, murder, themes of violence

ao3 one masterlist

‘Want to see something gross?’ is spelled out across in blue biro on a post-it note, the bright yellow clings to your computer screen. You look up at Jed whose eyebrow is raised at you. Eyebrows furrowing in return. You watch him spin giddily in his chair, black converse tapping against the floor. You fight the urge to smirk, lips pursing at his actions. Pretending to think about it. 

You shrug and nod. “Come on then”, Jed rises, stepping over to your desk and grabbing your hand. He pulls you over to the dark room and now you're seriously confused. 

You step inside, cloaked in red, he pulls the light switch, squinting as your eyes adjust to the harsh light, you wait in anticipation. Jed smiles down at you and points to the photos hanging over on the wall. You look over. The photos are in black and white so it’s hard to make out what's actually going on. Black spills over the floor. Police are standing over something. It's blackened on the paper and you look up at him. ‘What is it?” 

“Look closer” He pushes your back until your nose nearly hits the page, the smell of chemicals still on the page. You strain your head back. Eyes focusing on the photo’s.

 And then you gasp. Your body tenses. It's a dead body. Blood spilling out like ink spilled over the paper, it's hard to see in the alley way, but the way Jed has shot the photos you can make up the paleing eyes of the victim “Jesus, Jed! Why were you there?” your eyes search the pictures in front of you.

He folds his arms over his chest,“Adam was all uneasy with reporting the murders so Mike asked if I wanted to stop writing fluff pieces and start on real crime” he pauses ,“They think it's him, the killer” 

“Why?���,you shake your head, and then look at another photo, a detective stands at a wall, gloved hand pressing into the bricks, he looks pained, as if he knew the guy.

“Well, the same weapon was used” he mutters, leaning against the wall,“the coroners say the weapon was a knife about inch wide and seven inches long, matches the same stab wounds as the Small brothers”

You sigh, looking at Jed he fiddles with the buttons of his shirt a bit, you take in his outfit. Black Dickies, white shirt, you wonder what he wears when he's home. “Do you think he did this? In an investigative journalist way?”

“No” 

“Huh, why?” your eyebrows raise.

“I'm not sure, I mean first he attacked two guys right outside their house, that seems planned out. But this? well”.You watch as Jed thinks, his hand stroking his chin as his head turns. Your back brushes the cold wall. “I think the killer plans his shit out, he's smart. Why risk getting caught killing some kid in an alleyway? And it is florida, it's probably some gang crime” 

You nod, scraping your shoes against the floor. “So the cafe piece is your last normal, happy article huh?” you smile. 

He grins in return, “oh yeah, time to write about some horrid decrepit loner killer that probably jerks it to porn in his mom's basement”

“Oh! I don't know, maybe he has his own basement”

ANOTHER FOUND DEAD

Jed olson

Junior journalist 

Photo by Jed olson 

See page four for more details 

On the late hours of Friday the 11th. The body of twenty-two year old Jack Stevens was found by a passer by. Jack had been out on run that night, his girlfriend Stella had reported his running route would take him past the same alleyway he was found in. Stella voiced concern about him not coming back that night with a friend over the phone, and was later confirmed to be correct when the police had arrived at her house, “He was always so quiet, he kept to himself, it was just him, the dog and I most nights, unless we played a board game round my mums, it wasn't like him to just run out and not say anything, so when he didn't come back after an hour i knew something was wrong” 

Police have reported the same weapon was used on this victim as the Small brothers, is the work of a serial killer at large? Or are crime rates really increasing in this little town ? 

If you have any information please contact Detective Moore at the RPD +(000) 000 000

Jack’s funeral will be held at Jameson and Jones funeral home at 11am on sunday, any friends and family will be welcome to join. 

“Do you wanna come for drinks on wednesday?” Jed’s leaning over your computer. You're trying to get the brightness right on a photo of girl scouts that raised money for a memorial bench for the Small brothers. The deaths had really affected the small town and the boy scouts had shut down after only a couple of weeks when no one wanted to take over. Now the group had formed into a disjointed version where baking and making crossbows happened in the same hall, inches apart from each other.

“Who's going?” you look around the office.

“Well, Me and a couple of my friends, then Mike said he'd stop by for a beer, and Linda said she has book club at 8 so she’ll stop by for a glass of wine, and then maybe you?” he grins. 

“Yeah okay! Straight after work?” 

He nods. “Great!”

You get home early that night after taking some photos of a new monument set up in the local park for some random pioneer. Your apartment is a mess, you quickly boil some pasta and shove all your clothes into a basket to take down to the laundry room. You change your sheets while you're at it. Then pour some tomato and cheese sauce over the pasta that's been drained off all water. 

You eat quickly, grabbing your keys and a book then cradle the laundry basket to your hip and walk down to the basement floor. The stairs are a pain in the ass when you’re on the fifth floor, but you know it's the reason your rent is so cheap, every other place with an elevator is expensive due to costs. 

The washing machine beats into the wall, you've got about 30 minutes left on the wash cycle and then you can put it in the dryer for twenty. Usually you'd come back up to your apartment, but it had felt like someone was watching you recently, even with your blinds shut, it had felt like someone was so close to you. You could almost feel their breath against your neck. It had only started a couple of weeks ago, the feeling of being watched, and now the murders had started it felt like there was danger so close by. Especially after your little visiter. You wonder if he was stopping by to keep an eye on you or if he was too busy with the murders.

Danny Johnson sits in his black truck, hands beating against the steering wheel as the music thumps through the speakers. Sally Hughes takes a great big bite of a burger and then wipes off the ketchup that has spilled over her son's arm. Danny watches as her perfect blonde hair bounces as she laughs. He takes a big swig of his milkshake and shovels fries into his mouth, he chews quickly. It’s like watching something out of a sitcom, the window in the diner is his own personal TV screen.

“And then this alien comes out of nowhere with this claw ! And rips this girl into bloody bits! And yeah it's stolen from Alien or whatever, but the blood Jed! The Blood wasn't clear or milky and sweet like most B movies, it looked so real. Like it was a deep red and clung to the actors.” Piper chews her burger before carrying on, shes perched against the door and the seat, forcing  her self into the nook of the car so she can get a better look at Jed  “I know you hate that shit and prefer like grotty serial killer, giallo’s or whatever but you have to see it, its like a fucking snuff film, you know? Filmed on a camcorder and CCTV footage.” 

Piper was sort of a plain looking girl, the only discernible quality she had was the long blonde hair that fell to her waist, she was twenty three years old and worked at the arthouse cinema about thirty minutes away. They had met at a showing of the red shoes , it wasn't exactly Danny's kind of movie, but he had wanted to check out the area anyway. The discussion of movies had ended in him walking her home, then they would meet every week for a coffee and a mid-day movie where she worked. He had thought, what's a friend in all this? Might as well get an alibi right? But then she had pulled him in for a kiss outside a book store on main and Danny wasn't looking for anything relationship wise, he much rather save his energy for murder and stalking, not sex. Danny had felt nothing. It was like paper against paper. But a girlfriend was normal. A girlfriend meant the guys at the Gazette would stop asking if he wanted to take their daughters out. 

Danny had soon realised his mistake when he saw you, glossy eyes, someone who wasn't going to chat his ear off about shitty horror movies. Someone interesting. Someone who could love Danny for himself. He hadn't exactly thought about murdering Piper, unless he wanted to get caught, but sometimes after laying beside her soft snoring body he had thought about faking her suicide, something that wouldn't hurt her. As much as he didn't care, breaking up would be far easier.

“Jed? Are you listening?” Piper slurps up her cherry coke, fiddling with her rings “you keep looking over at that kid, are you okay?” Piper mutters, voice hinting at concern, her hand reaches out to his arm. 

“I just thought he was bleeding, but he spilt ketchup down his arm” Jed shrugs, he smiles back at her and then looks at the time.Ten pm, it's not like she had a curfew or anything but Jed had special plans, he had to pop by his little pets home for a quick check up, and then, if Sally was an all clear. He would rip her to shreds on his knife. “I gotta write some stuff up at the office, is it okay if I drop you back?” 

“Yeah, of course” Piper smiles, she collects the garbage from the truck and shovels it into a paper bag. “I'll just pop this in the bin.” 

Jed watches Piper shuffle out the truck, her red hair swaying in the light breeze as she approaches the fry shaped bin, his head turns. Dark eye’s settle on Sally Hughes as she zips up her pink crushed velvet tracksuit, she takes little Joe's hands on her own and wipes them with a wet wipe. She swings her camel purse over her shoulder as she holds Joe’s tiny hand. Pulling him out of the fast food joint and into her white car. 

He watches you through the window, sliding the plastic washing basket on the floor and slumping into the couch. Your hair falls down the side as your leg lifts onto the back, then your other leg. He can tell you're bored. Your phone rings and your head shrugs to the side to the noise, you never really got phone calls. Unless it was important. 

You lift yourself off the sofa and trudge over to the phone. Taking the receiver off the wall, your finger loops round the thick coils. “Hello?” you mutter. Danny can just make out your expression on your face. He doesn't speak as he holds the phone to his ear. 

You look confused. You roll your eyes at the obvious silence. And slam the phone back onto the wall, pulling a cupboard door open and slinking out a bottle of whiskey. It's the same one he saw laying on the floor that night. You pour some in a glass and knock it back. He calls again, watching your angry stomps to the phone, you pull it up to your ear. “Hello?” you sigh and cradle your face. “Jesus christ, just fucking say something” your voice spills out over the phone in a hard hush. 

“Watch yourself” Danny mutters, He hangs up and watches you cradle the receiver against your ear. You look down and then towards the bathroom. The phone falls as you shuffle your feet towards the door, it swings angrily into the wall. You come back into the lounge, knife in hand. A hunting knife, your dads old one. Buck 110, 3.75 stainless steel blade, with a wooden handle, lockback locking mechanism. He had already felt the weight of the knife in his hand, smaller than the one he used himself. Lighter too, he had stood in your bathroom, mask off in front of your mirror and traced his neck with the blade, wondering if you'd ever have the guts to slice his own throat when he would inevitably break in for a quick catch up. 

You pull the blade out and look down at the sharp edge. Walking over to the phone to hang it back up. You pull your jeans down, sliding them over your thighs in a quick recession. Standing over close to the window and then tracing over your thighs with the knife. Danny wishes he had brought his camera. You look out the window. Eyebrows furrowing. Your eyes are searching for something. Him. But Danny slinks into the shadows. His white mask encased in darkness. He pulls out his notepad and writes down something quickly. 

Lips pursing as you shrug your shirt off over your head. You raise an eyebrow and then trace the knife up your arms. Then down your chest. You sigh. Rolling your eyes until you hold the knife against your throat. Gripping tightly. He watches your hands pale around the knife's handle and you push into your throat he sees a dribble of blood fall onto your collarbone. He waits. Your eyes tear up and the knife clatters to the ground. 

You look towards the phone on your wall. Shaking your head and grabbing your clothes from the floor. You walk into your bedroom. Danny stand’s slowly. Clawing at the outside of your window to lift it up. He slides in carefully. Moving with ease against the creaky wooden floor. He picks the knife up from the ground, and pierces the blade through the note, watching blood seep into the picture, He hears your shuffles through your hallway. Taking a quick exit, he watches you from the window standing just in plain sight. You lift the note from the floor. He watches your chest move up and down quickly. Your mouth twitching at the sides as he watches you unfold the letter and close the buck with one hand. Blue ink is smudged across the letter. 

‘Thanks for the show’ 

You don't look up.

[blushhingblue]

Saturday Sleepovers

Yandere! Olivia Rodrigo x Reader

attempted(?) suicide, manipulation

“You’re coming over tomorrow right?” Olivia asked.

Every Saturday, since the beginning of time, you and Olivia would have a sleepover. These sleepovers were done despite sickness, family problems, and just about any other inconvenience. Though, you were starting to dread these hangouts. You’ve grown out of them and just wished they’d stop.

“Of course i’ll be there,” you replied with half a smile.

As Olivia continued to ramble on about whatever, you noticed Amelia, your crush, behind her. She was talking with her friends and she looked as beautiful as ever. After staring for too long, she finally noticed and motioned you over.

“Hey Olivia?” you interrupted her abruptly.

“What’s up?”

She seemed taken aback.

“I’ll be right back,”

You nervously walked over to Amelia and her group of friends. When you opened your mouth to talk, so did she, which led to an awkward silence.

“So Y/N,” Amelia trailed off.

You looked at her with expectant eyes. Your thumbs subconsciously began to twiddle in a desperate attempt to sooth your nerves.

“I was wondering if you wanted to come over on Saturday,” She asked, her cheeks turning a bright pink.

“Sure, that’d be really nice.”

You couldn’t contain the large smile that spread across your face, stretching from ear to ear. She reciprocated the smile and leaned in to give you a small peck on the cheek.

“Cool!” She giddily said and walked away with her friends.

You were frozen in place, the shock still taking its course throughout your body. Why would Amelia, one of the prettiest and most popular girls in school, have any interest in you whatsoever? You’ve lived on the same street for your whole lives, but now that you can both drive, you don’t see much of each other anymore. Being so deep in your own thoughts, you failed to hear the loud stomps approaching you

“What was that about?” Olivia asked, her voice shaky and upset.

You turned around and saw Olivia, her lip quivering and her eyes welling with tears. Your hand immediately reached for hers, and began rubbing her knuckles with my thumb. You learned this calmed her down when, in elementary school, she fell off the swings.

“Nothing. Amelia just asked me to hang out on…”

Saturday! You completely forgot about Olivia and I’s sleepover whilst in the presence of Amelia.

“Sunday. I’ll go once I wake up after our sleepover,”

You tried to cover up your hesitance, but she was already looking at you with glossy eyes. Confusion was etched deep into her forehead when she furrowed her eyebrows. Olivia seemed to think for a moment before speaking.

“Well I wanted to ask you if you wanted to have a long sleepover this week. Are you seriously going to pick me over her?” Olivia questioned angrily.

This seemed like a trap, so you tried to answer as politely as possible.

“She asked me first and we always hang out.”

This didn’t seem to calm her down at all. If anything, it made her far angrier.

“So what you’re telling me right now is that you don’t even like hanging out with me? We’ve been doing these sleepovers for forever! You mean to tell me that tradition means nothing to you?” She spoke accusatorially.

“No, of course it means a lot to me, but it does get sort of repetitive.”

Her hands started to shake. You glanced worriedly between her and her hands.

“We can hang out all weekend next week. I’ll come over right after my homework on friday and we can drive together to school on Monday,” Y/N suggested, just rambling on hoping some magical word would calm her down.

Her hands stopped shaking, but then balled into fists. With knuckles as white as paper from gripping so hard, she just began to cry.

Olivia had always done this. Whenever you tried to hangout with someone that wasn’t her, she would get so upset that she would cry. It also always happened in public. She made sure you felt obligated to comfort her because if you didn’t everyone would shoot you dirty looks.

This was the 2nd time this week alone. You tried to hangout with your other friend a few days ago and she had a tantrum. When you eventually gave in and let her join, she stuck to your side the entire time and refused to let go. She also shot dirty looks at your friend the entire time.

You could never say no to her when she started to cry. It made your stomach twist in all sorts of uncomfortable ways and made you want to cry yourself. The sound of Olivia’s sobs hurt your heart. You looked at her, unsure of what to do. Looking down, you saw your thumb was still rubbing her knuckles, but it didn’t seem to calm her down this time.

“Olivia, please stop crying,” You begged, voice shaky.

The guilt you felt was overbearing. The way she looked at you with such misery made you want to drop every other plan you curated and stay with her until she felt better. But, at the same time, you knew she was a manipulative person and that if you didn’t take a stand now, you never would.

“I’m not hanging out with you on Sunday,” I paused to build some courage, “or Saturday.”

Her despondent gaze contorted into one that read full blown rage. She didn’t say anything, instead she stomped away. As she left, she mumbled plenty incoherent phrases. You watched her leave, that empty feeling running rampant in your stomach.

That night and the following morning, you didn’t get a single call or text from Olivia. It scared you how she didn’t try to reach out. It made you wonder how she was doing, but you knew that if you called first, she would just suck you in.

Instead, you took a hot shower. The warm water cascading down your body soothed all your nerves and worries. The light feeling as you massaged your scalp. Eventually, you got out and put on a casual outfit. You checked the time and saw it was 12:00. Your phone dinged, and you saw that it was Amelia telling you to come over at 1:00. You ate something, brushed your teeth, and began walking over.

As you made it to Amelia’s front door step and rung her doorbell,your phone began to ding. You pull it out and you saw there were a few texts from Olivia asking what time you were coming over. You rolled your eyes and left her on read.

“Hey Y/N! Good to see you,” Amelia said, wrapping her arms around you.

She smelt fantastic like freshly washed clothes and shampoo. Beckoning you into her home, she led you to her living room.

“Would you like anything to drink or eat?” She asked

“I ate before I came here, but I’d like a glass of water if you don’t mind.”

“Of course.”

Once she left, your phone began to ring. Olivia was calling. You quickly declined, hoping she’d give up. But that wasn’t Olivia. She never gave up when it came to you because no matter the circumstance you had to be glued to her hip. She kept calling and calling.

When Amelia came back, she just sat awkwardly waiting for you to answer. Every time someone began to speak, your phone would ring. Though, for some odd reason, whenever your finger inched to put your phone on silent, a wave of fear came with it.

“Are you sure you don’t want to take that?” Amelia asked uncomfortably.

“No, It’s fine,” You assured her, but you were also secretly trying to assure yourself.

You knew that Olivia was either fuming or crying right now. You tried to continue conversation, but with the guilt in your stomach and the constant ringing of your phone, you couldn’t. Finally when you just couldn’t take it anymore, you answered.

“What do you want, Olivia,” You yelled angrily into the phone.

You heard her soft sobs through the phone and immediately shut up.

“Y/N please come over. I can’t live without you,” She muffled through her harsh sobs.

“Speak to me Olivia. What’s wrong?”

“You chose her over me. I’m in my bathroom now looking at all these pills, Y/N. I’m gonna kill myself and it’s all going to be your fault,”

You hung up the phone.

“Amelia, I have to go!” You yelled bolting out of the house.

You quickly ran down the street and to your house. As you jumped into your car and sped to Olivia’s, you prayed that she wouldn’t make any rash decisions. Although she drove you crazy and was far too clingy for her own good, she was still your best friend and you loved her.

Olivia didn’t live too far. About 10 minutes driving, but right now, it felt like an eternity. Unbeknownst to you, Olivia watched you speed into her driveway with a small, devious smile.

Though you didn’t waste any time knocking. Instead, you barged right in and screamed, “Olivia! Where are you?” You were met with silence. You scrambled hastily around all the bathrooms in her house until one didn’t open.

“Olivia, please let me in,” you pleaded, unsure of whether or not she was conscious or even alive.

That was until there was a slight jolt at the door knob. You twisted it and were met with Olivia sitting on the floor, her body lazily thrown against the wall. She was surrounded by countless yellow pill bottles. You kicked them out of the way and immediately sat by her side, your hand instinctively grabbing hers.

“How do you feel?” You asked.

“Drowsy,” Olivia responded, her body shaking.

“Should I call someone?”

She just shook her head in disapproval. You wrapped your arms around her body and repeatedly kissed her on the head. Little did you know, she had that same evil smile painted across her face.

“I’m so sorry I didn’t come over,” You apologized profusely.

You whispered countless “I’m sorry’s” into her hair. A few tear drops escaped from your eyes, wetting her scalp.

“I love you, Y/N.”

“I love you too, Olivia.”

“No, Y/N, I love you. Like really love you,” she expressed, her voice muffled.

Your stomach churned slightly, fully understanding what she meant.

“Now isn’t a good time for this. Why don’t we go lay down?” You suggested.

Olivia nodded against your shoulder, knowing her words were lingering in your head. You stood up, and helped her up. She leaned against you as you led her to her bedroom.

“I’m going to grab you a glass of water, okay? Lay down,” You said, tucking her in and turning on the television.

She nodded, a faint smile on her face. As you left her bedroom and began to prepare the glass of water, you figured you should call Amelia and apologize. Though, like clockwork, as soon as your phone began to ring, Olivia screamed your name. You bolted upstairs, cup in hand, and rushed to her side.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You questioned worriedly

“I heard your phone ringing. I don’t appreciate you calling other girls right now especially when i need you,” She angrily said, grabbing you by the neck of your t-shirt and pulling you into her bed.

A wave of guilt washed over you, and you avoided eye contact with her shamefully. She allowed you to get comfortable before crawling on top of you and cuddling your body. Her grip was tight and unforgiving. You wondered how she had so much strength despite the weakness she portrayed earlier.

Suddenly, you felt a pair of lips pecking along your jawline. You winced uncomfortably, knowing Olivia’s stubborn personality would soon revisit the confession from earlier. You figured this was the introduction to it.

Olivia was stunning. She had beautiful brown eyes and long, brown hair. Not to mention she was funny, and extremely down-to-earth. Almost all of the boys at school had a crush on her and had tried to ask her out at least once. But she always said the same thing, “I’m waiting on someone”. She was practically all you could want in a woman, but she was just your best friend.

“Can I tell you something?” Olivia asked in a whisper against your ear.

You gulped and nodded, her breath tickling your neck.

“When you told me you didn’t want to hang out with me today, it made me realize how I can’t afford to lose you. Of course, I always knew I was in love with you ever since elementary school, but I was never really sure how far I would go to cherish our love. That was until Amelia came around. She opened my eyes to how much I was capable of and I realized I would go as far as to kill for you.” Olivia confessed, her watery eyes boring into yours.

You were at a loss for words. You felt guilty that she had felt these unreciprocated feelings for so long and that she had to constantly suffer through all your meaningless crushes. But you also felt afraid. Afraid of what she could do after coming to this “realization” and even afraid for your own safety.

“Olivia, I think I should go,”

She laughed manically for a moment, before her giggles turned into sobs.

“I just poured my heart out to you and you want to leave me again? How about no! I’m sick of you using me as a stepping stool knowing that I would do anything for you! It’s time for me to be selfish!” She shouted through sobs.

You weren’t exactly sure what that meant, but you weren’t too keen on finding out. You shoved her off of you, and rushed for the door. Though, she was quick on her feet and jumped onto your back. She jerked your neck back, pulling you onto your back. Only one hand left your neck, and the other reached into her pocket. Out she pulled a sharp blade.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N!” She shouted, her tears dripping onto you.

“I know you don’t Olivia. Just drop the knife,”

She shook her head.

“It’s so unfair, Y/N! i’m the full package! I have my pick! Boys and girls drop to my feet just for a chance with me. Yet, i’m stuck on you! Why you? You’re not all that special and despite that I’ve loved you since we were little kids,” She put the blade up to your neck, her hand shaking violently out of anger.

“Did you even take any pills? Were you ever going to hurt yourself,”

“If you didn’t come, I would’ve. But you did come and that’s why I love you so much,”

“What do you were just going to lie to me? You really acted sick!”

“Y/N, don’t be so stupid! You knew all along. You knew I didn’t really take any pills. You also knew that I’ve loved you since the moment I saw you!”

You shook your head and yelled, “Don’t put words in my mouth!”

Olivia laughed and began to caress your cheek with her soft hand while the other was still pressed harshly against your neck, clenching a knife.

“You know I’ve still never had my first kiss. I’ve been waiting for you,” Olivia admitted, her cheeks turning a pink hue.

You were terrified at how fast she could switch her demeanor.

“I mean I haven’t had any practice, but i’m sure you could show me how to do it,” She suggested shyly, struggling to hold eye contact.

While you didn’t want to, you thought it could serve as a distraction to possibly disarm her. You nodded and connected your lips. They were surprising soft and tasted like chapstick, but had a small salty taste due to her tears. She pulled away and looked expectantly at you, waiting for your approval.

“You could use a little work, but it’s not bad for your first time,” You lied, biting your tongue.

She smiled widely, showing you her pearly white teeth.

“You’re going to have to take away a few of my other firsts. I’ve waited too long to stop at kissing,”

[weebsinstash]

So fandom specific posts are to follow eventually, but this is going to be a general concept. I've been thinking A LOT on alternative takes to the red string of fate trope and I started wondering about a hypothetical idea of the strings changing in appearance based on the current health and mental well being of the person they're attached to, even to the point where the strings do not properly appear if you're in bad mental health

For example, some of these AUs have the string where you have to think about it to summon it whenever and you can follow it as long as you want, and some have the string only appear when you are within a certain proximity to your other half

First and foremost, what if, when your string appears, you could make it vanish again at will. Not like permanantly, but like, say, if your string keeps appearing and you don't want it to be used to track your physical location, you have to concentrate similar to using a specific muscle and you can "force them back" so they can't find you. Just imagining the growing frustrations of a yandere who has to wait until you fall asleep to even make progress on your actual location because otherwise it's, them summoning your string for about .5 seconds before you notice and shut that shit off immediately, like two people on opposite ends of the room both toggling switches for the same light

But anyways, back to the alternative appearance strings, could you then imagine a scenario where, your yandere has their string appear and after a certain length, it changes colors for the rest of the strand, signifying your string and your own well-being, and the color immediately signifies something incredibly serious and worrying to them that immediately has them speeding to your side to check on you even if they've never met you before, regardless of if it's a couple blocks over or if they have to follow that string across the world. And then you can pair that with the "string blocking" idea and you have an extremely frantic yandere who is freaking out, "my soulmate is in trouble, why won't they let me come help them?! This is why they need me!!!" Amd they KNOW you are deliberately holding them off so, whatever aspects from that, whether it's a sadistic yandere who is amused by your spunk, or a nurturing yandere who automatically takes this as affirmation that you're just a sweet nervous little bean who needs their guidance, look at you being so scared of your own soulmate you silly little goose--

I only have two alternative colors, technically three different ideas total, but, I considered the idea of someone's string slowly turning white and becoming more visibly frayed if someone is seriously ill and or dying, eventually snapping and disappearing upon true death, and I thought it would be interesting if this "physical health symptom" also manifested for suicidal thoughts and suicidal ideation. Your yandere has your half of the string appear connected to theirs and they IMMEDIATELY know you're in trouble and they come to find you at all costs and you're... so depressed you can't even be excited to meet them and may even still want to die and just tell them to go away. Your yandere all but kicks down your door, "honey I'm here and I'm ready to love you!

Continuing from that last point, the other idea I'm really growing attached to that is probably my favorite is the idea of the BLUE string of fate: a string that appears on someone who is currently not within the right mental state to be in love or needs some sort of help or time to heal from a trauma before they are ready. Your other half tries to summon their string? The other end of it cuts off mid-air and hangs off their hand, leading nowhere, useless, unable to be followed, only a couple inches of blue their only hint if they even have a soulmate at all, but it can't lead them to you, driving them crazy who you are and where you are

I also considered the idea for alternate colors if two people are soulmates but they have, shall we say, an alternative dynamic? Like you could also technically use the blue string (although i personally think green or elsewise for this example would work better) for like, two aromantic people who are platonic soulmates or that have some incredibly strong nonromantic nonsexual love for someone? Or if you had, say, an aroace or just aro person and their soulmate was an allosexual of some kind. Idk it just sounds intriguing to play around with the concepts since you know, there's more than just romantic and platonic love and it can be an extremely nuanced feeling and love also doesn't inherently translate into sexual desires as another aspect and in this essay I will--

Either way, I feel like once I interact with certain tropes for another years, I wanna start throwing some seasonings in there. Spice up this bitch and saute it. I'm out here giving ABO a broader range of vocalizations to the point Omega can make clicking "distress call" noises to signal for help when trapped or injured. I'm over here "what if scenting could be done with any physical touch and the nature of the scent can be intentionally controlled to convey certain feelings so your yandere Alpha could give you a friendly shoulder pat and suddenly you're walking around with Don't Touch My Mate Or I'll Fucking Kill You scent all over you and you have no idea"

I just. Final thing. Can you imagine being in the same room as your yandere and, THEY KNOW they feel some sort of attraction to you they can't explain, but you dont really talk or make any effort to interact with them, and one day you overhear your yandere talking about how they don't have a soulmate yet and they summon their string and half of it is blue and here you are, subtly sneaking out of the room, staring down at your own cobalt thread and wondering, "am I.... THEIR...?"and deciding to intentionally keep it a secret, but eventually you two grow close enough or, someone says something to you that opens your heart and let's you love yourself enough that, a tiny voice inside of you is like "yeah... I WOULD like a partner to spend time and laugh with, i want to koge and im ready to take the risk" and your yandere literally watches your string, and by extension the string on the other end of theirs, completely change colors and finally fully connect, so then you have the slow burn, kind of one sided pining that absolutely explodes in intensity once your yandere finds out it was you all along

Just might be a couple of fun concepts to play around with in the future. You guys know I love drama...

[irenadel]

Pygmalion.

Chapter 4. She rose to his requirement, dropped the playthings of her life.

This chapter gutted me so once more, no beta we die like suicidal teenagers, set after the fateful murder/suicide of “The Only Man In The Sky" The slow burn up and turned the fuck on. We have smut, I repeat we have smut. It's not the smut we need maybe, but it's the smut I deserve. Homelander still needs a friend tho.

Chapter 1. That she, dear she, might take some pleasure of my pain Chapter 2. We sat grown quiet at the name of love Chapter 3. He touched me, so I live to know that such a day, permitted so

He knew you could feel your phone vibrating (the newest, most expensive thing you owned since a harried Vought assistant had delivered it to your door), both because he could hear your heart speeding up in anticipation and because, through the flimsy barrier of your store’s concrete roof and thin ceiling tiles, he could see your hand fly to your back pocket. He was also able to catch a glimpse of the brief pull of your exasperated smile.

He needs you to stop fucking smiling and hurry it up, he thinks almost fondly.

Unfortunately, that quick grin costs you. Whatever goddamn idiot you are trying to service seems to think you are laughing at him (you should, he thinks, rolling his eyes, bored already) and that sets your customer off. And for a second, Homelander is almost pleased by that cocksucker screaming at you. It serves you right. Because you’ve been WASTING your time (his time) and kindness (HIS kindness, HIS rightful property) on the fucking undeserving mud. He’s had to hear you speak to this pathetic, daft old man in the same cheerful, soothing voice you use for HIM. You’ve been smiling at this idiot with that stupid, sickly-sweet (wonderful) smile of yours (his! his by right!) and he, for one, is fucking fed up with it.

It catches him off-guard when you start to cry. The anger comes first, surprising in its suddenness because he’s become so unused to anger when you’re around. But goddamn it, you cry so easily! It’s frankly embarrassing. He feels it hot and indignant and nauseous in the pit of his belly, like he imagines being sick must be like. Cannot decide who this anger is for: you, your stupid job or that idiot trying to apologize. He wants to break something about this, he is going to BREAK that asshole as soon as you stop your sniveling—

“Hey!” Your manager (insignificant, pathetic and completely outside of Homelander’s scope of possibilities) steps in between you and the half-irate, half-apologetic customer (“I was just telling her I didn’t need a fucking online profile! She doesn’t have to get so fucking worked up!”). His authority is immediate and definite and Homelander feels the alien white-hot burn of envy. “You can leave, sir. Customers who speak like that to my people are not welcome here. Goodbye.”

He hugs you and calls you something in Spanish that makes Homelander bristle in outrage. Sends you to your overdue lunch and you are so pathetically grateful it makes him ill.

It’s not right. It is, in fact, obscenely wrong. He feels strangely and absurdly robbed and considers flying off to leave you fending for yourself. It would serve you right if he did. You would have certainly earned it, missy—

Except you don’t quite make it to the roof. You stop on the last couple of stairs, settle your stupid little packed lunch and sit down, face hiding between your knees. You don’t cry anymore, Homelander would have known if you did, you just take deep, gulping breaths… 

He feels stupid for a moment… Then he decides he’ll be damned if he lets you rob him of your tears as you had robbed him of your gratitude.

He breaks the roof’s lock and crushes its alarm mechanism before you have time to even turn his way, let alone protest, and takes advantage of your shock (seriously misplaced, you should know better by now) to sweep his cape out of the way and settle theatrically by your side.

“So… what’s for lunch?” He tries, offering you his best camera-worthy grin and you take the bait for a second before bursting into tears again. You’re such a pain, Homelander thinks, pleased as you, at long last, fall into his arms and let him be your hero. What would you do without him?

Probably bore someone else with your little complaints.

It turns out that what’s for lunch is leftover Thai from Lumlum on 49th between 9th and 10th for him and a salad with shredded chicken and (in his opinion) an excess of bell peppers for you. Homelander is equal parts annoyed and flattered by the leftovers, carefully curated from your dinner last night with the only one among your pathetic friends who can actually afford to eat out. It’s not too spicy, I could stand it and I’m shit at spicy curries, you tell him confidently and he relents solely because he enjoys your endless attempts to get him to eat new things.

You’re still weepy, but Homelander is pleased to see that the city sun, his own marvelous self, and the well-worn routine of your lunch hour has finally made you relax enough to fill the empty spaces with your chatter.

You’ve been doing this since you started going back to work full time at the end of your semester. You bring enough lunch for two and he, Homelander, lets you bask in his presence for one glorious hour of your ordinary life. He sees it as a sort of charity work, given how much it perks you up, no doubt massively improving your day.

Sometimes you talk. Well, most of the time. You talk a lot. It was… unsettling, the way you would get him to spill whatever it was that bothered him. He would start with complaints about Ashley and the incompetent board at Vought and then he would be telling you about Stan Edgar, or god forbid, Vogelbaum. (Or at least a version of Vogelbaum… one you could understand.)

You always had something interesting to say.

“… I get it… sometimes you wish they’d done something that left scars then you’d feel like it was real. Like it counted.”

And then he’d be paralyzed with sympathy and longing. Like he’d almost reached something, some important bit of understanding that had eluded him. Like there was a physical thing between you, tying the two of you together. You’d have found a better way to say it.

Today, you sounded more tired than outraged. He did not like the defeat in your voice.

“… it’s not that I want it to stop… it’s just that it grinds you down, and I don’t know if it’ll ever get better… if it’ll ever stop being so hard and I’m so sick of trying.”

Something like alarm bells pulse through his veins and in a panic-stricken moment he grabs for your wrists (leaving bruises you will later ignore, because by now you have ignored every other warning sign), holds you away from him like you could burn him (hurt him, by means he has only just begun to understand). You don’t seem to grasp the depths of it, just a bare glimpse of the animal fear that had gripped him for a second, and try, immediately, to diffuse it as best as you can.

“Jesus don’t look at me like that, I don’t mean that, I mean… you know?” But there’s that tired look of defeat on you again, like even complaining takes too much effort, as you gesture at your own body (soft, so soft and comfortable in his arms he suddenly wishes he’d had thought to hold you again instead). “Eat right, exercise, work, study, don’t forget to create shit to stay sane… And it feels like none of it truly matters. Like I’m fighting all the time, just fighting against the weight of my own unimportance… my deep, profound smallness… ideas like everyone else, dreams like everyone else, nothing new, nothing relevant… just waves and waves of remembering how fucking unremarkable I truly am…”

He finds it so surprising he laughs at you. Doesn’t even let you process the hurt before he’s barreling on.

“You’re such a silly goose! Of course you feel like that!” And he’s become so used to the comfort of your understanding and lack of judgment that he doesn’t even think to cushion the blow. “You’re all just so insignificant. Just mud really. It’s so hard to find any of you that matter.”

And he’s not looking at your face, because he’s too busy looking at his hands on your arms and wondering how the soft give of your flesh would feel without his gloves. He’s not thinking of your face, or the bitter grimace of betrayal in it, and that is what saves you both, that there is no premeditation to what he says to you next. It comes out raw and true.

“But you matter. You matter to me. That makes you more important than anyone else.”

***

“Please tell me that you’re fucking him,” your roommate says wheeling her chair into the elevator, finally, at long last repaired and miraculously functional for the last couple of weeks. Management seemed to have gotten competent at something. “Sex makes it normal. Sex is nuts and still pretty dumb but understandable at least!”

You walk in behind her and spend the rest of the way to your apartment trying to explain how it isn’t like that with you and Homelander. You’re friends. You have lunch together every day because it’s nice. You talk about your life and his idiot politics because it’s fun to rile him up. You’ve shown him your drawings cause he asked (cause he’s the first guy in a long time who has shown any interest in them, watched you watercolor intently while he rambles on about himself and whatever petty drama is going on in the Seven, winced when you use too much pigment and clicked his tongue in surprise when you recover by using tissue paper, like it’s a soccer match or something).

Not like that at all… but somehow so much better.

You throw your stuff on your ratty old couch and turn on American Hero both because your roommate likes it and because if you don’t, Homelander will be sulking about it the whole week. God knows how long you spent coaching his atrocious Spanish accent and you intend to spend even more time making fun of his bad attempt to welcome Supersonic into the Seven. (Try not to think about his promise to you. Try not to make it personal and sappy and meaningful that his stupid Mexican ass in his stupid Puerto Rican costume got chosen.)

“God, wish they’d let Queen Maeve host American Hero at some point. She’d be killer at it… You know,” your roommate says from the kitchen while she’s making popcorn. “Sex would be better than you being friendzoned by fucking Homelander.”

“That’s not what—”

“Oh come on! Even you’ve got to be wondering when he’s officially gonna ask you out!”

You say nothing because you’ve got nothing to say. Because you’ve wondered about it and you hate that you have. And you also know how unfair it is. Because his ex-girlfriend (the fucking nazi) just killed herself a few weeks ago. And he was here having a panic attack about it. Because you’re not sure you want it yourself. He still scares you sometimes and you don’t know if that’s the kind of thing you could live with. He’s hurt you before… it gets easy to forget but somehow you haven’t quite managed to. Sometimes he will tell you something that makes you google whether you’re a mandatory reporter in the state of New York. Sometimes he will tell you something that makes your heart ache for him, your alarm bell blair, makes you want to ask him are you happy? Do you want to live like this? You don’t have to… But that’s not the sort of thing a girl who just met him can ask. Especially a girl who is still unsure of what you are to each other or whether she can be anything to him at all.

After all, watching Starlight on TV, blonde and perfect, you wonder how she can stand the terror of being looked at all the time. And that’s what him asking you out would mean. Being looked at all the goddamn time. And no matter how much weight you lose or how many times you go to work or university in roller skates instead of taking the bus, how many YWCA yoga classes you take… you know you’re not the kind of girl people like to look at all the time. Beautiful, angry men who fall out of the sky don’t date frizzy-haired, over-educated, pudgy nobodies. And if they do, people tend not to like it.

Still, he said you mattered. He said it with no hesitation. He meant it.

“I think… we’re taking it slow,” you admit to your roommate and to yourself as you take the bowl of popcorn from her. She looks surprised for a second and then smiles at you and you find yourself smiling back as you settle down to watch the end.

“I get it but,” she says in mock exasperation. “It’s glacial and I want my Queen Maeve VIP passes now.”

You both burst out laughing so hard that you almost miss it. His shit-eating grin that you can never admit you love so much. His dumb red gloved hand that you’ve held in your own before, sneaking around Starlight’s shoulder. She’s my girl now. Come again, you want to ask. Because you don’t quite understand. Because you must have heard wrong. Can’t keep it a secret anymore.

In love.

Your roommate stares at you and it’s not the almost immediate fury and shout of fucking Homelight my ass! that gets you. It’s not the immediate speculation from the voice over, or Homelander kissing Starlight on the lips while your roommate screams motherfucker! at the screen. All of that you could have withstood, maybe not with grace or civility but at least without falling apart. But it’s that brief yet still too long moment of utter pity on your roommate’s face when she looks at you, that makes you stand up without a word and lock yourself in your room, while she knocks on your door and says things you don’t understand about you being a thousand times better than him. Being well rid of him. Fuck him. You’ll be fine

I used to think love could give me significance, back when I dated, you had told him once and he had made a face like he’d swallowed a lemon and told you unequivocally, what bullshit that was. Love does nothing. Love fixes nothing. You either matter or you don’t. You’re important or you’re a nobody.

And yet, it seemed just a few short days ago he’d said you mattered. Homelander had looked directly at you, no trace of guile in his stupid face, just fond exasperation. As if you had been silly to ask, silly to doubt it for a second. You matter to me.

Not enough. Apparently not enough.

***

He should’ve known it from the very first shitty excuse. He’d been focusing on the important things, hadn’t had time for whatever fucking bullshit had made you start acting so weird. He just didn’t have any time for this. He’d needed you there for him through this difficult time and suddenly you were…

Gone. Unavailable. Busy.

First it had been ridiculous errands that couldn’t have been important in any way. He’d gotten Ashley to install fucking washing machines in your building and left a Vought credit card with you in spite of your fucking tiresome protests because he was sick of you being at the goddamn library consulting books you could just fucking buy, wasting your time talking to god knows who, stupid excuses like you were drawing at the library with friends. Who fucking goes to the library to draw? (And who the fuck would go hang out with friends when they had Homelander as an option?)

Then, it was missing lunch at work. Lots of customers. Something about summer and people having more time to browse while shopping and needing to make more sales because you were saving up for the semester.

He’d put his foot down with that. He’d fucking had enough. Because you’d said it without looking at him, your pulse racing, your palms sweating and he had known, known instantly that you were lying. Like everyone lied to him. Struggled to hide the hurt it caused him and cornered you in the back of the store instead, slammed his hand right besides your face making the concrete crack and told you (because he could, because he should, because what he had said to Starlight had been true, if all he could have from you was fear then fear it would be) that you could figure it out with that fucking asshole manager of yours or he would figure it out for you.

And his stomach burned when he’d seen you fight to hold back tears while you nodded stupidly at him. Because you hadn’t held back tears in front of him in ages. Because he’d suddenly wanted to grab you and shake you until you’d cry and let him hold you through it the way it was supposed to work.

You never missed lunch again.

And suddenly it’s not enough. Because you’re not there. You look out into the sky when you should be looking at him. You sound distracted and irritable when you should be fucking glad. You were always so fucking glad to see him. And he wants to toss you aside, fine by him if you want to be like this. You can rot for all he cares.

Except your silences taste like tears. Like the moist, fragile quality of your brown eyes looking at him when you think he doesn’t notice. It’s nothing like the acrid taste of Madelyn’s nervous deception, or the adrenaline spiked rush of Stormfront’s passionate delusions. It’s sharp and bitter and full of sleepless nights.

He knows because he’s gone to your room when you are not there. To catch the smell of the sour-sweet cortisol of your insomnia. Had considered breaking your things in a rage, uprooting your plants, throwing your books into the harbor. (Can’t bring himself to lay hands on you again and this would be the next best thing) But all he manages is to lose himself in the telltale aroma of salt on your pillows. Where you’d laid together. Where you’d said he was your hero. He doesn’t know what the fuck is wrong with you. Suspects it’s these friends you keep having to see, their offensive scent all over your unmade bed. Confusing and alien, too many fucking people in your life that have no business taking up what should be HIS time. Sometimes your goddamn roommate, sometimes some unknown man, or a girl, caked cheap makeup and peroxide and hair spray. Not your smell, oatmeal soap and clean sweat…

He burrows into the pillows and thinks of tearing your sheets to pieces. Would serve you right. He should incinerate the whole bed and everything in it and—

Oh. Oh.

He pushes himself off the bed like it burns him, because he hadn’t expected this, has no framework to place it in. It doesn’t belong here, with you. Because underneath all the extraneous scents, and the other more familiar ones, the dust, the damp earth of your plants and the parchmenty sharpness of your books, there’s the thick, tangy smell of your sex. It shouldn’t have been a surprise. I mean you’re a red-blooded Ame— woman. It’s only natural you should— He shifts uncomfortably on your bed, over-conscious of the knowledge that you’d rubbed one out in the same bed where you sometimes lay down to watch a movie (one of his movies) with him.

He doesn’t move towards it, not really. Just lays back down on your bed and breathes deeply. He tries to think of nothing, indulging in not even the slightest movement. Almost smiles before the intrusion of the sudden, furious thought that your fun might have been not entirely solitary makes him clench his fists so hard the leather of his gloves creaks ominously. You fucking invite so many fucking assholes to this bed it might be hiding in the smell of one of them. (It would explain it, would clear up everything, a reason for your distance that would be simple to fix) He should put a stop to it. No more friends. No more library. No more conversational French meetups. No more Central Park or roller skating to occupy your time. Just your job. Just the important part. Just him.

And he is suddenly, surprisingly, furiously hard, still breathing deeply of you. Cheap shampoo, corner-store deodorant, cotton panties and thick, potent female arousal… but no bitter scent of male cum anywhere in the cacophony of your bed’s smells.

Not yet anyway.

You must have been thinking about him when you did this. Of course. Of course. Your crush was painfully transparent, even if he hadn’t had the telltale spike of your heartbeat every time you saw him. So stupid of you. So silly and earnest, to want the impossible fantasy of your hero. He was almost sorry for you, because it must have been so difficult to see him day in and day out, not knowing what to say or do, wanting him…

And he finds himself facedown on your unmade bed, hands grabbing handfuls of your sheets, because it’s either that or touch himself, and he will be damned if he capitulates in this, like he’s done with everything else around you. He’s so hard it hurts. Erection sandwiched painfully between his body and the soft give of your mattress. A sudden, crystal clear image pops up in his head: your soft, thick thighs and one of your sweet little hands between them. And he’s grinding against the bed, almost without meaning too, almost without permission from his brain, because his face is shoved against what had been the wet spot of your bed and he holds his jaw shut so tightly it’s nearly painful, lest he be tempted to sneak a taste.

The smell is enough, more than enough, as he lets his hips go, imagining you whispering Homelander, Homelander against your bed. You’d sob like he’d heard you sob before, maybe cry a little, but happily this time. Ecstatic transported like that day at the lake. You, soaked in his arms, soaked in more ways than one, smiling at him.

He’s cumming, long and drawn out, with each snap of his hips against your mattress, pounding against it, eyes scrunched shut as if in pain, barely a gasp behind clenched teeth, erection pressed so hard against the bed it almost hurts. He’ll think about it later. It’s enough for the moment, enough to dissipate it all.

He very nearly forgives you.

He’s still laying on your bed when you come back home, still breathing heavily, head blissfully blank, the squelching mess of his own cum inside his suit making him feel so dirty and ashamed he’s already beginning to sport a brand new stiffy. He should’ve heard you come in all the way from the elevator landing. He had, if he was honest with himself. But had also found himself stuck in defiant paralysis, half of him ready to bolt, half of him willing to be caught sprawled on your bed, hand shoved down his pants, just to make you responsible for whatever this was. There was something terribly appealing about you, inattentive, absentee traitor that you were, having to get home and watch him jerk off where you had. Not being able to look away. Not being able to lie about it. Not being able to leave him.

But he does neither.

And when he hears you open your bedroom’s door and call to someone behind you “I’ll be right there! Let me just leave my things!” he is immediately overcome by a raging irritation that does nothing to alleviate the embarrassment of his still lingering arousal. Some fucking library you had to go to! The fucking sort of library that answers “Sure!” in a sweet baritone…

Two things register first. You’re wearing the Homelander branded varsity jacket he got you and your hair is green. Not even fucking blue or red, fucking deep emerald green, clashing gloriously with the colors on your jacket, freshly dyed apparently, lovingly curled for once instead of your usual frizzy mess. He hates it on sight. Hates it because you did not consult him on it. Because you hadn’t thought about him at all when deciding to do something so stupid looking. You had probably been thinking about whoever was on the other side of your ratty, disgusting apartment. Oh he’s going to let him and you know. Oh you’ve gotten yourself in so much trouble…

Except you also look so miserable and exhausted he could swear you’re about to drop.

“… hey,” you say uncertainly. “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

He doesn’t want to think of this, of the fluttering of your tired pulse, and the dryness of your tightly-held lips. He refuses to feel sorry for you. You should be the one begging his forgiveness.

“Weeeell,” he barrels on with a strained, too-wide smile. “You did fucking tell me to drop whenever. Maybe you shoulda thought to put a schedule to that, huh? Maybe when you’re not entertaining. Who’s your fucking friend?”

He hates that you step back. He hates that you don’t even look scared, not really. He smells the tears before they drop from your eyes, before you hang your head in unbearable pain, holding your own sweet arms to your stomach like that can keep your insides from spilling out.

“I can’t. I can’t do it anymore. Please leave.”

And that does hit him like a gut punch, like the physical blow he has never experienced. He reaches for the comforting rage and finds nothing but gaping emptiness. Because nothing you say or do ever sounds right to him. You never give him the right cue cards, the well known scripts… you never let him do what he knows. Homelander may have expected rejection but not this open, wounded mourning. Not you grabbing hold of a wall to lower yourself on the floor while you can’t stop looking at him like he’s the one that has dismissed you. Like you can’t stand to tear your eyes off him now that he’s here.

Fuck you. And your easy tears. And that look of betrayal that should have belonged to him.

“You? YOU?! You can’t do THIS anymore?! And what is THIS exactly, missy? Huh? What kind of fucking performing monkey do you think I am to you? Think that you can have me here whenever you want and out the door when it’s not to your fucking convenience? Oh no, no you don’t. You don’t get to tell me when to fucking go–”

And it takes the bottom out from under him when you choke back “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” Because your pulse is racing and you are afraid. He can see it in the tension of your shoulders and every time you flinch when he shouts. But when you bury your face in your hands, it’s more of those awful, gulping tears and more I’m sorries that he somehow believes you mean.

“I can’t be your friend anymore. I just can’t.”

He had not known this would hurt as it did. He thought he’d known the worst of it when Ryan had walked away from him. When Stormfront had left him when he most needed her. When Madelyn had lied to him. He didn’t know how the truth could hurt so much worse. The truth that all the others had neglected to speak to him, at least you have the guts to say it to his face. He’d always thought he’d have enough pride to face it head on, hadn’t known he would have to bite back bile and the thin, reedy pleading boy he somehow still harbored inside him. Please. I’ll be better. I’ll be good. Please don’t do this.

“I can’t stand it…” You get formal when you’re in pain, like you forget the casual ease of your adopted language and country. Like you want as much distance between the two of you. “I can’t stand looking at you. I’ve tried… I’ve tried so hard…”

And he’s the one who can’t look at you, nauseous and adrift, hands almost curling into fists, almost reaching for your shoulders so he can shake some sense into you, so he can tear you in two before he lets you keep hurting him like this. And he does, he does grab a handful of each fleshy shoulder, fights his own grimace of pain and the part of himself that has every right to demand he bang your head against your bedroom wall until you’ll stop talking, stop leaving, just stop.

You don’t know. He wants so badly to tell you, to show you how close to destruction you are, how little you matter, how easy you would be to snuff out. But whatever it is that is going through your silly little head, it makes you reach back to him, touch his face once and then recoil like he could burn you (he can and he will), like he disgusts you, like he—

“I can’t stand having to look at you and not have you. Please leave. I can’t be your friend when I feel like this about you.”

[sarucane]

Why didn't Izzy shoot Ed (then)?

Turns out that teasing out character logic is fun and people are interested so I'll just do it again ;)

Izzy has good reasons to shoot Ed here. Ed shot his leg and then outsourced the "kill Izzy" job to Frenchie. Now Izzy's a one-legged pirate, and as far as he's concerned his life isn't even worth living.

But Izzy is alive here. And he's alive because of what started when the crew intervened a few episodes back, told him he was in a toxic relationship with Blackbeard. The choices he made after that led to Ed shooting him, but also sowed the seed of a real bond between him and the crew, which led to him being alive here. Which--most importantly for answering this question--adds up to Izzy not being sure anymore that the old way is the right way.

Ed thinks Izzy will shoot him because there's rules to follow. Izzy told Ed "Blackbeard is my captain, not Edward. Edward better watch his fucking step." Well, Ed has come to the conclusion that he can't not be Edward. And he doesn't want to keep living torn between Blackbeard and Edward, alone and hopeless. He's desperate to let go, and is convinced the only thing "letting go" means is death, so he's setting out to make someone force him to let go.

And Izzy is the obvious choice of someone to make him let go, because Izzy does what Blackbeard tells him to.

But it's no longer that simple on this ship. It never has truly been that simple--Izzy was in denial about how human beings work when he demanded Ed just be Blackbeard again. And Izzy's changed, too.

Ed and Izzy are both caught between two ways of being in this scene. On the one hand, there's the pirate script, the Code of the Sea. Life is cheap, new first mates kill old first mates, first mates kill captains. Weakness is death. Roles are static and permanent, and the only "correct" change is death.

On the other hand, there's the Revenge script, where "life means something" and people "live for each other, not just to survive." Where deviations from the norm aren't just accepted, they're encouraged. Where people can be vulnerable and be supported, be weak and still worthy of life. Where people can change.

When Izzy refuses to shoot Ed, he is embodying that conflict. Izzy doesn't shoot Ed because he finds he really is done with the script. Because when it comes down to it, he may have threatened him--but he does not want to kill Ed.

But rather than risk or show the kind of vulnerability he did right before Ed shot him, Izzy frames this in the old narrative terms. He expresses contempt for Ed, that it's weakness that is making Ed come to Izzy for an assisted suicide. Izzy calls him "Eddie" as a way of diminishing him. He uses the kind of language he used back in S1E4, falling back on ideas like 'making a mess' that make sense to him, but invalidate the seriousness of what's happening here.

But at the same time, Izzy's actually setting his first healthy boundary in his relationship with Ed. Not "you need to do/act/etc," but "I will/will not do/act/etc." Izzy's spent years encouraging, feeding, and enabling this toxicity. He's not going to anymore. And he's not going to do it because he knows it's wrong--but he can't say that. Maybe doesn't even really know it.

It's a truly mad mix of growth and regression, and it's no wonder that Izzy falls back on the old script when he's alone and tries to shoot himself. And it's also no wonder that he fails, because he knows this is the wrong way to be. That both he and Ed deserve better.

[dayseternal-blog]

Bouncing off that anon ask from a year ago: what rensioe incomplete/abandonned fics that you wished vould have an ending?

In Memory, Katarinahime. Part 13.

This grief is Ongoing, so I’ll never call your work Incomplete.

Two years.

“Serenity Prayer” by katarinahime - Rated M for depictions of domestic violence, substance abuse, and smut, Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. When their fairytale endings smash to ugly pieces, Hinata and Naruto help put each other back together.

“(common side effects)” (Naruto’s POV) by katarinahime & “Medicated” (Hinata’s POV) by szajnie - Rated E for smut, substance abuse, mental illness, and depictions of violence, self-harm, and attempted suicide, Crime/Modern AU, Multi-chapter, Ongoing. Naruto and Hinata, in a struggling relationship, must confront the pain inside before they can love each other.

Tragedy like this doesn’t heal. It’s a gaping wound that hardens up as is. It’ll always be there, like an impact crater.

I avoided answering for about 9 months. Wondering how to respond without reopening the scars on my hands. How frustrating and painful that a few of the first stories I think of are--

I made excuses: What is "rensioe?" Did they mean "recent?" Maybe I don't feel like answering. What a silly, unending question. There are a ton of unfinished work, including my own, I'd like to see finished. What if I just listed all my own incomplete work? As like a funny joke? What if someone sees their fic here and feels pressured in a bad way or feels called out? Well, I could word it in a way that won't sound bad. What if I just don't want to answer this? I'll work on another rec list instead.

What if I answer this seriously? (In the end, I must look; it's not nostalgia; the past is not a thing to shy from; it's grief and anger and love.)

Just know that I'll never call her work incomplete.

This grief is ongoing.

It's been two years.

I’m trying to tie them neatly beside the shared memories of mourners. A bouquet of love yous, miss yous, lunch on an afternoon, letters and letters lost, so how do I gather the consumed bits of her melded within me of four years, how do I add them to the vibrant, tragic whole?

For every post and prayer, I pushed out a mouth full of love, blooms pulled out from the roots that I traced along the words I consumed, hoping a story I could tell myself would finally make sense of my grief and love me back.

I walk around the impact, leaving notes notes notes notes

For every note, that's one who will remember, just like how I won't forget the memories others compassionately shared with me.

This is a circular staircase, a dark void at the end of the tunnel that used to echo the pieces we once traded, the Pacific Ocean carrying the waves of her earthquake to my shore, wounds-turned-scars that once stung in salt water, an impact crater,

I'll revisit and take care like it's a grave.

Tell me if it hurts. Tell me if you remember. Is she there if I keep writing, if I keep creating, will you see her, too?

I'm sorry anon, you meant nothing in sending this ask, other than well-meaning curiosity. I’ve asked questions with unintended consequences, unwanted at the start and yet here I am dwelling.

This is what I want, what a place of privilege and opportunity I have to share.

So keep me busy.

Especially for angst.

Especially for Modern AU.

Especially for my favorite writers.

If I keep recommending her fics, if I keep recommending her fics, (repeat), (repeat) eventually will everyone read them?

Eventually will everyone know her? If you read her fics, you knew her in a swallowing, you entered the door, flew off, and I hope you never came back, I hope you read her fics.

I hope you share my lists, I hope you read my fics.

I hope you know me in a swallowing and recognize how I consumed her and called our merging an unbearable addiction, I hope you trace the veins of her in my words, I hope the waves spill over you.

I hope you see that I had known her since we started writing.

“Her death hit in waves. Not a flood, but water lapping steadily at her ankles. You could drown in two inches of water. Maybe grief was the same” - Brit Bennett, from The Vanishing Half

Summarizing months of loss, it's a mess. For 5 stages of grief, let's add a sixth.

Desperation.

I see its undercurrent swelling up my words -

What's the point of all of this if no one's paying attention? Remember her!

You haven't heard of her? Look! Fanfiction can be more, it can be the color of the water.

What's the point if people won't read the ones who inspired me, taught me the value of my words, taught me how to be understood.

"Don't forget."

(A note to drive her character forward, the reason to not give up.)

A prayer for your peace. A prayer that all the lives you touched and all the lives you will continue to reach through your writing returns to you in love. A prayer that everything we couldn’t say and everything we wish we did say returns to you in love. A prayer that everything I’ve written and continue to write returns to you in love.

If I could keep your story going, I would. I'm trying to. At least a couple of people might see my posts or visit my page, and decide to read your fics. Feel moved by your writing and love you, too.

This is ongoing.

Two years without you.

I miss you.

I wish you were alive. I wish you would update. I wish you would come back, I wish you hadn't found your own ending, and I wish I didn't feel selfish for thinking so.

I love you.

[yellowocaballero]

⭐️ for either of the fe3h fics <3

ROSETTA HEADSTONE!!!! A fic that was very messy and all over the place but one that I am actually very fond of and that was slightly slept on.

“You’re the other half of me.” Byleth spoke slowly, but for the very first time there was a hint of emotion in her voice. It was wonder. What an amazing first emotion to feel. How lucky! How magnificent! “I’m the other half of you.” Claude smiled. She was so wondrous. So beautiful and special. She’d need a lot of help. Dimitri would provide what he could, but Claude would have to pick up the rest. “You’re the other half of me. And I’m the other half of you. I’m you, and you’re me. Wonderful, isn’t it?” [...] “Is that a friend?” Byleth asked seriously.  “If you want. It’s anything you want.” Her hand was still on his chest, and Claude reached up to softly grasp her hand, pressing it softly against his chest. “Tell you what, Byleth. I’ll trust you completely if you trust me completely. Give me anything you want, and I’ll give you all of my own. Is that fair?”

There's a few different relationships that were very influential for this scene. SSS Class Suicide Hunter's Gongja/Raviel was a big one, but Full Metal Alchemist's Ed/Winry were too: when Ed tells Winry that he'll give her half of his life if she give her half of hers, and she tells him that she'll give him all of her life. Khalid and Byleth are platonic, but there's still something so Relationship about it that makes me go crazy.

I got fond of the character I had created over the course of this story. He started out a lonely, isolated, self-centered person. He was a chronic liar who was fundamentally impossible to understand. He used his separation from others as a microscope, a way of studying and trying to dissect them down into pieces that he can understand. He's the kind of person to brag about this, and a significant percentage of it is self-inflicted, but I felt bad for him. He and Byleth's disconnect, their inability to work together, inadvertently resulted in her death. His first time investing whole-heartedly in somebody was in a dying woman, who had been dead to begin with.

It was what made this moment special to me. He's not psychoanalyzing or dissecting her in this scene - he's just caught in the beauty of this imperfect and banal moment. He sees how amazing it is to have somebody to truly understand. Giving away all of himself is an act of intense vulnerability, the kind he once never would have tolerated, but he does it willingly here - because you can't get if you don't give, and if you give somebody all of you then you can have all of them, and what is shared is doubled.

I wrote Byleth very 'Dead Anime Mom' - everything she said had to be incredibly significant and meaningful. She was perfect and untouchable. It's only in the epilogue that we see her humanity and vulnerability, that she feels remotely on the same level as Khalid. She doesn't understand him and he doesn't truly know her - how fantastic, that there's so much to discover about each other! How miraculous, that this person is about to take her first steps into becoming a human being, and that you're lucky enough to guide her on that path! That you get to become a human being with her!

It's a unique set of emotions that I hope the reader was able to feel alongside Khalid. Both Weekenders and RH were stories about the protagonist joining humanity, and both of them had to do it through confronting the twin calamities of death and love, but I'm a bit more fond of how it happened in RH. I think it may have been the strong The World Ends With You influence, which is a game that splits open the mind of the depressed misanthropic fifteen year old. I remember the first time I felt lucky to exist in the world. It felt like an important part of growing up - and maybe a pre-requisite of survival. It's hard to survive never feeling that sense of wonder. It was great to write somebody experiencing it for the first time.

[void-ink-studios]

Oh Glob, He's Been Kidnapped

A silly romp through Ooo, with a touch of bitter sweet at the end. I hope you enjoy y'all!

A few sidenotes:

I've started picturing the Organizer's voice like Agent 47's handler, Diana Burnwood, in the new Hitman games. No idea why, just felt like it fit her.

Random thought that might end up as it's own post, but I find the idea funny if Scarab's species had no real concept of gender, and Scarab just accepted he/him pronouns because that's what everyone in the pantheon used for him and he just shrugged and accepted it.

Next time, as suggested by @scumbkat I think it's about time Scarab gained his own Nightmare aspect.

Fun fact, this was the instalment to push this series over 100 pages in the google doc.

Word Count: 2,500

Of all things Scarab had expected on this "field trip" (as Prismo put it) to the land of Ooo, this was not one of them.

Where in Glob's name did Prismo go?

Seriously, Scarab had turned his back for, like, maybe 10 seconds. And when he turned back, the human shaped mage Prismo was disguised as was just... up and gone.

At first he thought he had wondered off to another shop in market or something, but Scarab had scoured this place top to bottom at least 3 times, and no sign of the Wishmaster anywhere.

He climbed the tallest stall he could find, earning him some choice curses, and nothing.

It wasn't as if Scarab was nervous or anything. Prismo was a god. One of the most powerful in the multiverse. Just because he was currently human shaped did not make him as vulnerable as one.

But, well, this trip was kind of off the books. If Prismo got his body killed somewhere, they'd have the Organizer to answer to, and Scarab was not particularly looking for a scolding next time she visited for tea.

"Prism!" He called the fake name the Wishmaster had given himself, trying to shout over the chaotic crowd. "Prism, where did you go? We're supposed to be heading back soon! Prism!"

All that got him was annoyed looked from the people trying to pass by him.

Great.

"Hey, big knight dude" a voice called. Scarab momentarily forgot what he looked like, confused at this address. But, yes, he recalled now. He looked much more like a knight, his shell conveniently passing for armor with a bit more flair. He turned in search for the voice. "Over here, man!"

A human. Or, Scarab was pretty sure he was human, he looked enough like Prismo's body to be somewhat confident. He was tall, muscular, with a mess of blond hair spilling out the back of his hat. A mechanical arm waved him over.

Scarab shook off his frantic edges, striding over with an air of confidence.

"Yes, can I help you?"

"You need help, man? Heard to yelling for someone, and I saw you pacing around the place. What's going on?"

"Oh, I seem to have lost my traveling companion. I turned my back for a few seconds, and poof, gone."

"What's he look like?"

Scarab examined the human a little closer. Big smile, sword on the hip, an attitude similar to a happily suicidal puppy. Hmm.

"And how do I know you don't have something to do with his disappearance?"

"Nah man, I'm super good! I'm the hero in these parts."

Scarab decided that, if worst came to worst, he could take him.

"...I'll choose to believe you for now, hero. Short stature, brown skin, long curly gray hair and beard, most garish pink wizard robes possible? Enough jewelry to be mistaken for a treasure chest? Old?"

"Hmmm..."

"Hey, didn't we see someone like that walking around with those weirdo wizards" a new voice chimed in. Scarab's head snapped to the new comer, spotting a... dog? Rainicorn? Both? She didn't have discernable eyes, but very long almost platinum blond hair that had been fashioned into a hammock in the tree.

The hero thought for a second.

"Oh yeah, that's right Junior! Man, I knew those creeps were trouble!"

"You know these characters?"

"They're quick to sniff around anyone with a hint of magic junk" Junior supplied. "Tried cutting my hair for rainbow powers of whatever."

"What for?"

"We're not sure" the hero sighed. "They keep harassing wizards and stuff, but no one's really gone with them before. You guys new here?"

"You could say that, yes. We're passing through."

"Man, sorry about that. But, if they dragged your bud away, I think I know where they went!"

Scarab released a long-suffering sigh, rubbing his hand under his helmet.

"Glob, Prism, of course, of course you'd get yourself accidentally kidnapped the second I turn my back."

"You don't sound to worried" Junior said.

"I'm not. Prism is more than capable of taking care of himself. But, it is... inconvenient. He probably thinks this is an adventure or some nonsense."

"Hey man, anything can be an adventure! Even kidnappings. C'mon, we'll find him together. What's your name, stranger?"

"Ruby Knight is fine. And you?"

"I'm Finn! And this little lady is Jake Jr. but I just call her Junior."

Scarab was thankful for both his helmet and remarkable poise. If either failed him, he might've started choking on air.

Finn. This was... Prismo's Finn. He finally noticed the tattoo on his chest, a smiling dog cradled in forget-me-nots. Of course. Of course he'd happen to run into the one human Prismo might know.

And... Jake Jr. A daughter, most certainly. Did Prismo know? Most likely, Jake had to have told him if they were as close as he believed, but he made know indication of having ever met her.

Okay... Okay, this is fine, probably. And, it's not like he had much choice right now.

"A pleasure to meet you, Finn the hero. Let's go find my idiot wizard friend, shall we?"

"Alright, let's do this! Adventure time!"

And with that, the human went charging off in a direction through the market. Junior seemed unsurprised, casually standing up.

"We should probably try to keep up. Can't let him have all the fun to himself."

Scarab nodded, quickly catching up and keeping pace with Finn.

"Hey, dude, I don't see a lot of new knights around here! Which princess you work for?"

"None of them. Technically, I work for Prism, but I am my own agent."

"Ooooh, I remember meeting a few of those. They were jerks, way to into their own armor. One followed me around, like all day, trying to embarrass me. You seem cool though."

"A knight obsessed with armor is a lousy knight indeed. I've met a fair share who seem to think the weapons and costumes are replacements for skill."

"I know, right? I got skills though, skills to pay the bills. At least, that's what Marcy and PB say."

Scarab found himself relaxing at least a little bit as he followed this human hero.

"...How you know your buddy would be fine? You sounded really sure about it."

"He's one of the best mages I've ever met. He is more than capable of helping himself if he feels his in actual danger. Problem is he is very bad at telling what is and isn't dangerous."

"Man, that sounds like me. I once jumped into a dungeon without backup, got my ass kicked. By a cat. And another knight, the Bucket Knight. Scarier than he sounds."

Scarab didn't talk to mortals very often, but this he felt was a good one.

One of the fun ones.

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

"Ooooh, what's this do?"

Prismo, meanwhile, was having the time of his life. When three dudes in black cloaks put an arm around his shoulder and offered magic beyond belief, well, he was hooked.

No, Prismo was not an idiot. Everything in there was very clearly cursed, destined to attach or leech or possess the user the second they walked out of the spooky tent with it.

But, no harm if he didn't leave with it.

"That, sir, will amplify your powers into a brilliant burst. You'd be untouchable."

Prismo could tell the goons were getting impatient. He knew he looked like a fat, easy target with his jewelry and demeanor, but he was much trickier than most assumed.

Money's paws were fun, after all.

He could hear them whisper.

"He gonna buy anything or just waste our time?"

"Patience, brother. We'll have him soon enough."

"Can't we just stab him and be done with it?"

"Quiet!"

Prismo chuckled to himself, standing up straight. Scarab had probably noticed he was gone by now, he should probably go back before he split his shell.

"Well guys, this was nice, but I think I should be going now. Lots of neat stuff you got here, but I don't think I'm interested."

He turned with a big smile to see three hooded goons who looked like they wanted to rip him apart.

"...Now?"

"Now."

Two of them surged forward to hold Prismo's wrists, dragging him to a very fancy looking chair.

"Woah, friends, what's the harsh treatment for?"

"Oh shut up, old man. We listened to you prattle on about nonsense for the past hour! We're bleeding you dry of magic, with or without your cooperation!"

Prismo was suddenly very aware of a knife to his neck as he was strapped down.

"Fellas, fellas, you don't wanna do this" he crooned.

"Oh, trust me, it's no trouble, you doddering old fool. It's our pleasure."

"No, no, that's not what I mean. My bud, he's probably looking for me. Not the kind of guy you want to get on the bad side. So just let me go and we pretend none of this ever happened, right?"

"We're not scared of some over dressed, pompous knight! We're wizards, wizards rule fool! Kin, get the bowl, it's gonna get messy."

Prismo rolled his eyes.

Well, this went poorly quickly. He was not gonna hear the end of this when Scarab showed up.

"Yeah, wizards rule, but guys, I'm telling ya, he's not someone you underestimate. I keep him around for a reason, you know?"

"Oh just shut up already! Whatever pitiful little magic you've got won't be worth more than you finally shutting up!"

"Wow, harsh dude."

There was a cold blade against his neck again, making him squeak a little. Okay, he might have to break himself out of this one...

"Uh, guys-"

BANG

There was a loud, grinding bang outside the tent, a yell, and suddenly light.

Everyone groaned at the sudden harsh light, but Prismo smiled at the glittering red armor.

"Prism! You Glob forsaken idiot, you better be here!"

"Ruby, hun, I seem to be in a bit of a pickle."

Prismo giggled a little at the utterly exhausted groan Scarab let out. There was a scream, a warm splatter, and a thud. The knife wasn't on his neck anymore, now kicked far away across the floor.

"Man, this is some serious dark junk." Prismo's eyes widened. He craned his neck, spotting the long blond hair and robotic arm. Oh Glob.

"These are definitely cursed, Finn. Like, the aura in here is toxic."

Jake Jr....

Oh Glob dammit. Don't cry, don't cry...

"Prism, dear, are you okay?"

Prismo blinked, trying to shake away the tears, smiling at Scarab's helmet covered face.

"Yeah, I'm okay, no biggie!"

He felt the straps around his wrists loosen, then him get tugged into Scarab's chest.

"I'm okay, I'm okay Ruby, promise. Sorry for wandering off, I know I'm not gonna hear the end of this, I know..."

Finn seemed to stop moving, slowly turning his head toward Prismo.

"Wait a second..."

Prismo took a deep breath, slowly emerging from Scarab's chest to face him.

"Oh my Glob..."

Prismo expected a lot of things could potentially happen. Yelling about being in Ooo, maybe anger for not being able to bring Jake back, maybe even annoyance for having to save him again.

But he did not expect a hug. A big bear one, that lifted him off the ground, feet dangling an undignified foot and a half off the grass.

"PRISMO!"

Finn laughed as he swung the Wishmaster around, now hugging back both out of respect for the hug, and to not go flying if the human's grip slipped.

"Wait, is that... like Prismo Prismo? As in Prismo the Almighty Wishmaster that dad kept gushing over, that Prismo?"

"The one and only! Man, I didn't know you could leave the Time Room! I'd have invited you on adventures a long time ago!"

"This is a new thing, first time on Ooo, I promise. Finn, you're kind of crushing my ribs here."

Finn carried him outside before finally placing him back on his feet.

"Prism, hm?"

"We didn't wanna attract too much attention. So, disguises!"

"So, wait, then who's that" Junior asked, pointing her thumb toward Scarab. "Is this guy some poor schmuck you hired, or something else?"

Prismo collected himself a moment before holding Scarab's hand in his own. "This is Scarab. He's a coworker of mine and... well, my partner." He placed a soft kiss on one of Scarab's knuckles.

"And you're lucky for it" Scarab sighed. "Who else would I run halfway across a city for?"

"Oh, rad, good for you, man. I know we haven't talked much since... well, we haven't talked much. But, y'know, it's good to see you okay and stuff. And that you've got someone looking out for you."

Junior seemed to be deep in thought for a moment, before she strolled up and tapped Prismo's shoulder.

"I'm uh... I'm Jake Junior." She extended her hand in an offer to shake. "Dad... Dad liked talking about you. It's nice to meet you."

Prismo's smile wobbled, but it was wide. He tried to rub the tears from his eyes, but soon gave up and accepted the hand shake.

"It's nice to finally meet you too. Jake... Man, every other sentence was him bragging about one of you. He really loved you guys a lot."

Junior had a sad smile on her face, nervously rubbing the back of her head.

"Pris, now that I know you can come here, we gotta go on a proper adventure sometime, yeah? And, like, a proper one, not one where you just get kidnapped but some shifty wizard dudes."

"Seriously, they're like, the shiftiest guys I've ever seen and you just... went along with them? No questions asked?"

Prismo giggled nervously as he felt everyone's mildly judgmental stare on him.

"I don't know, it just looked... interesting. Not like they could actually hurt me or anything."

"That might be the case, but if you got discorporated, you would get to me the one to explain to the Organizer why we were walking around with unauthorized bodies."

"Hey, you didn't need to come with me!"

"Clearly, I did."

Prismo groaned, half embarrassed, half strangely happy at the day's turn of events.

He looked at Finn, and noticed the same sad smile Scarab often described the Wishmaster having. "Hey, Finn? If you... wanna hang out, in the Time Room, I can give you my number, or something... I'd like to see you. Same to you, Junior. You and any of your siblings are welcome to the domain of the Almighty Prismo."

Finn slapped him on the back, firmly gripping his shoulder.

"C'mon. Let's head to the Candy Kingdom, there's a bar, drinks are on me."

The two gods walked behind the mortals. Prismo could feel Scarab looking at him, a question trying to push past his mandibles. The Wishmaster didn't answer. He opted instead to tuck his hand into Scarab's and walk in comfortable silence, listening to these two mortals talk.

Maybe things would continue to be better.

Maybe Prismo's heart could take this.

[keep-the-wolves-close]

Steady Heart

Chapter 4: Let There Be Cowgirls and Glasshouse Children

• Pairing: Slow-burn Kayce Dutton × OFC Stella Daniels

• Rating: M

• Photo credit

• Warnings: violence, language, brief mention of suicide

• Word count: 3,748ish

I would love to give credits to @dameronscopilot for being a sounding board for me during this whole process, giving outsider insight, a cheerleader, and allowing me to screech at her about things that have happened during the writing process. seriously couldn't have gotten this far.

Author's note: I hope everyone is enjoying so far!

Jimmy sighed. Another day, another dollar. Another early morning to get barn chores finished before getting his ass handed to him out on the ranch. He couldn’t believe how this hand he’d been dealt was panning out.

The tell tale sstt sstt sstt shuffle of hooves in the round pen could be heard as he walked out of the bunkhouse. Getting closer, he saw Stella working on that horse Kayce had given them. Jimmy stared in amazement as the stud behaved for her. Considering the fact that the other day the horse threw John, himself, and Stella around like ragdolls.

Jimmy leaned on the fence and listened to Stella speak to the mustang. Her tone was gentle, but confident, as she coaxed him to change leads without using her hands at all. At least it didn’t look like she did to Jimmy. He watched in wide-eyed wonder.

“How do you do it?”

Stella’s head snapped to her right at the intrusion of sound. It was still early and somewhat dark. She had wanted to get this done and over with before John started wandering about. She pulled Tank to a slow stop and made him face Jimmy. “How do I do what,” she laughed.

His arms flailed in response. “That! Make him listen! Make him not want to throw you to the moon! To be calm!”

“Oh,” Stella chuckled, “because I’m calm Jimmy.”

He stared at her, open mouthed, and blinked slowly. Laughter bubbled up from Stella’s chest and came out in a joyful ring. “Okay, let me break it down for you like Lee and Kayce did for me.” Stella stepped down off the mustang gently. “First thing you should know is that a horse can hear your heartbeat about four feet away. Give or take the individual horse’s hearing.”

Jimmy nodded but remained quiet.

“The second, which I’m sure you already know, horses are prey animals. Humans are predators. Their first instinct at any sense of danger is flight.” Stella walked closer to Jimmy with Tank. “So when a predator comes up to them nervous, jittery, anxious?” She stopped, with Tank following her lead, about four feet away. “Well, if it were me, I’d probably be thinking what the hell is this predator so afraid of because I should be hauling ass.”

Jimmy started to put two and two together. “So when I saw him flip on Mr. Dutton, and try to throw you halfway across the planet—,”

Stella finished his thought, “— he already knew you were afraid. Because just like we can read their body language, they can quite plainly read ours.” She smiled softly at him. “Come pet him. He won’t eat you. Might sound like a dragon for a second, but that’s about it.”

Jimmy contemplated the invitation. Weaving his way through the fence, he walked toward the resident horse trainer, but the stud started to pull back. Tank snorted. Jimmy's feet stuttered to a stop. Stella got Tank to relax and stand in place. She held her hands out to Jimmy and mimicked taking a big deep breath in and letting it out. Jimmy let out a frustrated sigh.

“Okay that wasn’t exactly what I meant, but it’s a step in the right direction.” Stella giggled. “Alright Jimmy deep breath in,” she breathed in with her free hand, “and out,” she exhaled. “Feel better?”

“I mean, yeah but what was the point?”

“To calm your frazzled nerves is what I was getting at.” Stella smirked at him. Tank nudged her arm and she gave his soft muzzle a pet. “Now walk over to us slow, shoulders back, in a non-aggressive manner.”

Jimmy took a few test steps closer to the pair. When the mustang didn’t overreact, he took a few more gaining confidence.

“See Jimmy? You just have to exercise patience. Not everyone is fantastic at things the first few go arounds.” Tank made a soft noise of intrigue at the lanky man getting closer. “Lord knows I’ve never been.” Stella admitted. Jimmy reached out and let the horse sniff his hand, but Stella warned him. “Go slow and give him an open palm, okay?”

Gingerly he lifted his hand and turned it so his palm faced the sky. Tank leaned his head forward to get closer without actually moving. Jimmy took the direction and carefully stepped closer. Tank sniffed at Jimmy’s hand. Stella petted the horse’s strong neck in encouragement as his lips started to dance back and forth along Jimmy’s palm in search of a treat.

Stella watched with a small ounce of pride as Jimmy smiled wider than she had ever seen thus far. He flipped his hand over and started petting Tank’s long nose and moved up to his forehead. When Stella witnessed Jimmy’s shoulders relax and he reached up to fix Tank’s forelock, she smiled.

While the two bonded, Stella could hear noises of the ranch coming to life for the day. She glanced around with a wide scope, searching for any sign of John.

Jimmy watched as Stella tried, and failed, to look around discreetly. “Did you lose somethin’?”

She shook her head and shrugged. “It’s nothing. I just gotta get out of here when I’m done with Tank.”

“Now come on, Stella. I’ve been around here long enough to know when you’re uncomfortable.”

Stella chewed on her bottom lip as she considered telling Jimmy about the situation with John. Her shoulders dropped. “I pissed John off, and I’m trying to make myself scarce to avoid him until he cools down.”

“What happened?”

“I just heard something I shouldn’t have, and I inserted my foot in my mouth when he confronted me about it.” She smiled sheepishly. “Classic me, you know.”

“Oh. Am I able to help at all?”

“No, not really. If anything, just please don’t tell anyone what I told you.”

He agreed and ignored her confession. “Yeah I should probably get back to the barn work, anyway.”

“I’ll follow you so I can put him back.”

Stella’s phone buzzed just as she finished putting Tank up. She sniffed and wiped her nose from all the dust. Stella looked at the text. It was from Kayce. Hey, you wanna come help me with a horse?

She glanced around and thought about her schedule. The rest of the day was pretty free. The wranglers didn’t need an extra set of hands, and Tank was really the only work she had for the day. She saw an opportunity to have Jimmy learn more from her and Kayce.

Sure. Leaving the ranch now. Can I bring a friend? She texted back. It was a blessing in disguise because she didn’t want to be around to run into John.

“Jimmy?” Stella hollered out. She knew he was still somewhere in the barn.

Jimmy dropped the last few feed buckets into a stack on top of each other. “Yeah?”

Stella’s phone vibrated in her hand as she shut Tank’s stall door. Do I know this friend?

Stella huffed and texted Kayce back. Yes. It’s Jimmy. I want him to learn something useful from us to help him here.

“You wanna come with me somewhere?” She asked, finally looking up at Jimmy.

“Uh, I probably shouldn’t.” He motioned to the outside. “Rip would lose his mind and turn the whole state upside down if I didn’t show up.”

Stella huffed and rolled her eyes. She moved out the barn doors at lightning speed, with Jimmy following close behind. She searched in all directions for the man in question. She spotted him and shouted. “Rip!” His head whipped to face Stella. “I’m taking Jimmy for the morning to teach him some shit. You’ll have him back in the afternoon. The barn stuff is done.”

Jimmy’s mouth opened and closed like a fish as he expected Rip to argue back. When the head man didn’t say anything, Jimmy's jaw dropped even further.

Stella felt the vibration knowing it was Kayce. Uh sure.

Cool beans. Be there soon.

Be safe Stellfire. She smiled at the nickname.

“You’re gonna have to teach me how to do that too.”

Stella let out a howl at the thought of Jimmy doing what she just did to Rip. She locked her eyes on Jimmy, and he almost cringed. “You got everything you need?” He shook his head yes. “Alright, c’mon then.”

They pulled up to Monica and Kayce’s. Stella could see Sam standing on the fence of Kayce’s round pen. Kayce was in the process of getting acquainted with the horse he was working on.

Turning the car off, she glanced at Jimmy. He fidgeted in her passenger seat. “C’mon, you know Kayce just about as well as I do. We all went to school together. He won’t bite.” She smirked. “Much.” Stella hopped out of the car and wandered up next to Sam.

“Hey man, how you been?” She questioned.

“Oh little Stelly! I’ve been good. Well as good as we can be around these parts. Ya know?”

Kayce glanced over with a small smile, but his face hardened when he saw Jimmy sidle up beside her and Sam. He wasn’t a fan of how close Jimmy followed her.

Stella chuckled. “Yeah I’ve heard a thing or two.” Jimmy leaned on the fence next to her. “Oh Sam, this is Jimmy. Jimmy, Sam.” She leaned back so the two could greet each other. “He’s gonna learn a thing or two from cowboy and I today.”

Sam smiled broadly. “Well then you're in good hands, Jimmy.”

The horse squealed in displeasure picking up on Kayce’s aversion. Stella flicked her head towards the pair. “Good lord, cowboy. What’re you doin’? No wonder you need my help.” She jested at him.

“Stella shut the hell up. It sounded like you didn’t make out much better with that mustang of yours. So I don’t wanna hear it.”

A shy voice spoke up from Stella’s right. “Actually, she was doing just fine this morning. He listened to her great.” Jimmy cleared his throat as he tried to build his confidence. He had to remind himself that this was someone he went to school with. “He didn’t even try to throw her across the ranch.”

“Oh he did, huh? How would you know? How would he know, Stell?” Kayce questioned aggressively.

“Oh for the love of god Kayce. He’s not wrong. Tank is doing great, ain’t got a mean bone in his body, but anyone that’s not you… he’s not gonna completely trust.” Stella almost growled.

Sam laughed to cut the tension between the friend pair. “You were the one that invited her here. I don’t know why you’re pissed she’s givin’ you what for.”

“And anyway, I made out just fine with your mustang, thank you very much. It was your father who almost needed the medical help. And thank you Sam. At least someone,” she paused to glare at Kayce’s back, “sees logic around here.”

She gave Jimmy a side glance. “Watch and learn, Jimmy-boy.”

Stella wound herself in between the rungs of the fence. She announced her presence behind Kayce, reaching out to touch his mid-back quickly. His back tensed at her fast finger tips. She murmured behind him as she pulled her hand away. “I’m in with you.” She gripped the lunge line out of Kayce’s hands. The horse calmed down a good bit as soon as the rope switched handlers.

Kayce breathed out, willing the frustration to leave him. “He’s easier on the right, but cross firing to the left,” he murmured an explanation. “When I started making him go left was when he got pissed.” The friend duo could hear Sam as he explained to Jimmy what they were talking about.

Stella looked up at him, her face irritable. They locked eyes in a battle of Kayce trying to get her to forgive him and Stella trying to get him to understand he was out of line.

“Work your magic for me, ma’am.” Kayce smirked and tipped his hat.

Try as she might, Stella laughed through her nose and rolled her eyes. “Just be nice to him, Kace. He’s doing his best to learn.” She whispered.

Kayce backed up and took a spot next to Sam and Jimmy. Sam nudged his shoulder. “What was that, huh?”

“I was an asshole, and she was letting me know.” He gave Sam a look, and then gave the newcomer a once over. “Hey Jimmy. So you said that stud was good to our girl this morning?”

Jimmy nodded. “It was almost like seeing Lee work on him.” He fidgeted with his hands. “So you wanted her to come help?” Kayce nodded. “Why?”

Sam offered his opinion. “He just wanted a woman’s spirit here. To keep good old gelding boy calm.”

“What?” Jimmy brought his brows together, perplexed, not understanding the meaning.

Sam clarified. “Oh, some native teachings say that a woman is the best person to help tame wild horses. They have quiet spirits which helps keep them calm.”

“Well that was what she told me this morning when I asked her how she got Tank to behave. She said, “because I’m calm.” Even though calm isn’t always the word I would use for Stella.”

Kayce laughed at the idea of Stella being described as calm. “Quiet you two. I don’t want her to know she’s my secret weapon.” He stage whispered.

She retorted without looking. “I can hear you, idiot. You’re five feet away.”

Sam howled with laughter and slapped the fence post. “I knew I liked her for a reason!”

Stella smiled at Sam’s joy, and let the horse come to her. It nuzzled into her, breathing heavily. She kept her breathing slow and steady. Calm. She wanted the gelding to feel that and mimic her heartbeat. She was letting him know it was okay to be peaceful with her. She was safe.

“Kace what’s his name?”

“Titan.”

She backed up a good distance, Stella motioned to Titan with her head to the left. If this horse could roll its eyes, he would have. He let out a loud huff and began walking to the left. Stella clicked her tongue. “C’mon boy, trot for me.” She watched him begrudgingly pick up the pace. He started crossfiring. Stella pursed her lips and pulled her brows together. When she stopped moving, Titan stopped and faced her.

“Good boy.” She was proud of the cooperation. Stella walked closer to him and started to describe to him what she was expecting him to do. “So bud, when we do that trot, I need these two feet to move at the same time,” she tapped the corresponding legs, “and these two to move together.” She followed through gently tapping the other legs.

Moving back forward to Titan’s face, she waited for him to give her a look of understanding. His soft eyes blinked at her for a few moments, but then he dropped his head and brought it back up. Almost like he nodded to her.

Stella smiled. “Okay. You ready to try again?”

Titan took a wide stride away from her, already walking to the left. Stella moved back toward the center of the pen, and clicked her tongue. “Trot. No crossfires this time.”

Titan slid into his trot and crossfired at the beginning, but after a small bit of encouraging from Stella, the matching feet started to hit the ground at the same time.

“Hell yeah, there you go buddy!”

Stella let him work to the left for a few minutes and stopped her body causing Titan to meet her. She whispered, “now, you be calm and let Kayce work with you. Please?” She pivoted to face Kayce. “And you, don’t be a dick to him. Ya hear?”

Kayce hopped over the fence to come try and get up on the horse. He traded the lead rope for the reins with Stella, and she gave him a light shove that meant don’t fuck up.

She took her place back by Sam and Jimmy, enjoying giving Kayce a hard time with them. She turned to Jimmy. “So have you learned anything yet?”

“I think I’m starting to get it.”

Things got quiet between the three of them and she zoned out on the horizon. She thought about the situation with John. Stella knew that if he couldn’t be convinced that she wouldn’t say anything, she and her horse would be out of a job, and a home, and she would need pasture fencing real quick for her house.

She had thought about saying something to Kayce, but she didn’t want to overstep. She definitely didn’t want to have him go to his dad because that wouldn’t look good for her keeping her mouth shut. Kayce was also dealing with a lot, and it wasn’t his responsibility to mend her busted up fences. Especially the ones she had messed up herself.

A gunshot behind them snapped her back to the present. Stella ducked out of habit, but bounced back up. Sam and Kayce took off toward the house on the top of the hill. Jimmy looked unsure of what to do. Stella jogged up to Sam who had hollered at the kids to stay out of the house before darting inside.

Stella stayed behind to corral everyone and keep them a safe distance from the house. “Jimmy help me with the kids.”

Monica came out of her and Kayce’s house running. “Stella what happened?!”

“I don’t know! We stayed out here with the kids. Kayce and Sam ran up there.” Stella yelled as Monica sped up to her sister-in-law’s house.

Stella and Jimmy brought the kids up to the house a little closer, but kept a good distance. She spoke to them in a gentle tone and tried her best to keep them calm. Jimmy letting them lean on him when they needed to. When Kayce came out onto the porch, he locked eyes with Stella. Immediately she knew it wasn’t good. He looked like he was going to be sick for a brief second.

Monica came out and she looked heartbroken, distraught to say the least. Her face hardened when she looked at her husband. “You take the kids. Give them a bath. Keep them safe. I’ll clean this up.”

“What can we do to help?” Stella asked.

“Would you mind bringing me cleaning supplies, yellow rubber gloves, and a box cutter?”

“On it.” Stella grabbed Jimmy and rushed off to Monica and Kayce’s house to grab the things Monica had listed off for them.

Sam was still standing outside when they got back up the hill. Stella could tell just from looking at him that it was heavy. She felt wrong just barging in.

She whispered. “Is it okay if I go give this to Monica?”

He nodded. “Just you though. Jimmy, you stay out here with me.”

Stella timidly walked up the porch stairs and into the trailer. The air was thick and heavy. She looked over to her right where Monica stood. Her gaze didn’t linger long because she saw the blood spatter and realized it must have been Monica’s sister-in-law. Her eyes closed in a silent prayer and breathed out hard fixing her glasses.

“Monica, I’m —,” she stopped because those words wouldn’t help right now, “— I have what you asked for. What do you need from me? Jimmy?” She wanted to help in any way she could.

“I’ve got this. Just make sure Kayce keeps the kids away from here. Keep them at our house. Please. I don’t need them to see this.”

“Okay I’ll go. If you need a hand,” she placed her hand on Monica’s forearm and made eye contact, “holler.”

Stella and Jimmy made their way back inside Monica and Kayce’s trailer. She shut the door behind her and closed her eyes. This was not how she expected today to go. She felt a nudge against her arm.

“You okay Stella?”

“Ask me later, Jimmy.” Stella had to find Kayce. “You stay here for a minute.”

Kayce just finished giving the kids a bath. He looked up as Stella walked into the room. The best friends shared a sober look.

“Let me and Jimmy finish getting them ready. You go to Monica.” Stella leaned back out the door and directed the new ranch hand. “Jimmy, go turn on a movie or something for them after. We’ll be good here, right everyone?” The children solemnly nodded.

“Thank you, Stell.”

“No prob, cowboy.” She followed after the kids to help them pick out their outfits and their movie with Jimmy.

Kayce made the journey up to his wife. Monica asked, “Where are the kids?”

“Watchin' a show with Stella and Jimmy down at the house.” He leaned up against the wall. “You want me to finish all this?”

“Looks like a suicide. It's not what it is.” She placed the gloves down and started opening cabinets. “No job, three kids, no food.” She then made her way to the sink to look out the window.

“And my dad certainly can't take care of 'em. We can't.” She turned and leaned against the sink facing Kayce. “Samantha's parents, they do pretty good. They got a nice house in Seattle. Only problem is, they won't speak to her. Knew if she asked, they'd say no. Now they can't say no.”

Kayce looked at her speechless as she finished. “It wasn't a suicide. It was a sacrifice.”

Stella had been listening to Monica from the porch. She chewed her bottom lip, not sure if she wanted to interrupt or not. The kids were safe watching a tv show with Jimmy. She had a few minutes before they would come looking. She shook her head. The bad luck just kept coming.

She stepped into the kitchen and cleared her throat. “They’re watchin’ a show. Is there anything I can help with out here?” She placed her hands in the back pockets of her jeans. She wanted to lend a hand, but didn’t want to be in the way.

Monica sighed, defeated. “No Stella. You’ve helped enough today. Unless Kayce needs you for something, I think you can go. He’ll take over for you with the kids.”

“Y’all stay together. I’ll go help Sam put up that horse for now, and me and Jimmy will be on our way. I’ll have Sam stay with the kids until one of y’all comes back.” As soon as she got back to the ranch, she planned on heading out for a ride. She had to clear the heavy weight on her chest.