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ladydimitrescuspet · 3 years ago

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Picture Perfect

ao3 link! donna beneviento x reader! I tried to make reader as gender neutral as possible so I hope I succeed! tell me what you think and sorry for any grammatical errors! also inspired by this ask that @milfcoven got but I decided to make the painter reader instead of alcina, hope that’s okay, I just thought this was really cute!

***

You'd only been in the village for six months, but you were friends with most of the villagers. Surprisingly, you hadn't been sent to Castle Dimitrescu upon your arrival. The Lady of the Castle had tried to get you to accompany her back to her home, but you declined the offer and she allowed it. You were shocked, to say the least, that the Lady had let you go back to your home unharmed, but she vowed that you'd be under her protection and that nothing would happen to you as long as you stayed here in the village.

Now, here you were watching another woman who was the Head of House Beneviento. She didn't come into the village often and when she did, she never spoke herself, she used her doll, you didn't know her name. You never questioned it because why would you? So when the woman walked up to you, you were surprised by the visit.

"Oh, good afternoon, Lady Beneviento." You greeted, your hand over your face so you could block out the sunlight a bit.

She nodded her head before the doll spoke. "What's your name?" She asked.

"Um, it's Y/N, My Lady. What's yours?" You replied.

The doll pointed to the Lady in black. "That's Donna, and I'm Angie." Angie said.

"Oh, those are beautiful names. If I'm right, Donna means world ruler and Angie means angel, messenger of God." You said. "Both meanings are very fitting."

Angie walked closer to you. "How so?" Angie asked.

"Well, Gods and Goddesses can be viewed as world rulers and if you're Lady Beneviento's messenger, so to speak, then we must be in the presence of a Goddess, little angel." You responded with a small smile to the doll. You glanced up at Lady Beneviento before looking back at Angie. "But, um, is there anything I can do for the two of you?" You asked.

Angie made the motion of wanting to be picked up, you looked up at Lady Beneviento for approval before doing so. "Mistress Donna would like to know if you would paint us." Angie said. "She said she'd pay you for it."

"Oh, I, well, I would love to paint the both of you." You replied. "I could, well, I guess I could come by House Beneviento whenever it's good for you two."

Angie shook her head. "Mistress Donna says it wouldn't be safe for you to come to the House." Angie said.

You furrowed your brows a bit. "Well, I could do it at my house instead. I'd have to clean it, but we can definitely get it done there if that's okay." Angie nodded her head. "Good. I guess just let me know what day would be a good day to get the painting done."

Angie hopped off your lap and went to be held by Lady Beneviento. She whispered something into Lady Beneviento's ear before looking back at you. "Mistress Donna says Wednesday would be a most pleasant day for the painting."

You smiled up at them. "Wednesday, it is then. I'll be expecting you." You replied. Angie said bye to you from her and Mistress Donna before they walked away from you. You quickly made your way back to your home, avoiding eye contact and conversation with anybody who witnessed your encounter with Lady Beneviento. You let out a small sigh before you began cleaning.

Wednesday came before you knew it, but at least you had most of your place cleaned and organised for your guests. As you finished setting up where you would do the painting there was a faint knock on the door. You let out a shaky breath before opening the door.

"Lady Beneviento, Angie, hi." You greeted as you let them into your home.

"Hi, Y/N. Mistress Donna and I are very excited about the painting today. I was so excited about it last night that I couldn't even sleep!" Angie exclaimed as Lady Beneviento carried her.

You flushed at her excitement. "Well, I'm glad you were excited, but I do hope you got some sleep. You know sleep is very important." You replied. "So this is where I'm going to do the painting. I'll start by sketching the two of you first and then I'll paint it. It'll take a few hours at least, but I should have the two of you home before dark." You explained.

"Y/N?" Angie called out.

You turned around. "Yes?"

"Mistress Donna would like to know if it's okay if she takes off her veil for the painting." Angie said. You nodded your head. "You won't be scared of her scar, will you?" Angie asked.

"Oh, precious angel, no. Lady Beneviento is still a Goddess, with or without her scar." You said with a smile. Angie hugged your leg as Lady Beneviento slowly undid her veil. You let out a small gasp. "See? Your Lady's a Goddess, Angie." You said to the doll and you could see a small blush colour Lady Beneviento's cheeks.

"You- you really think?" Lady Beneviento asked softly. It was the first time you had ever heard her speak, her voice sounded like honey. You nodded your head. "Thank you, um, Y/N."

"You're welcome, Lady Beneviento." You replied.

"Donna." You raised your eyebrow slightly. "In your lovely home, Donna will do just fine." She said with a soft smile.

You nodded you head slightly. "Alright then, Donna." You said. "How about we get started?" You suggested. Donna bit her lip before hesitantly moving over to the chair you set out for her. "Is something wrong? We don't have to do the painting if you don't want to."

Donna shook her head. "N-no, I want to. I just, can you, never mind." She waved the thought off.

You moved closer to her, taking her hand in yours. "Hey, listen, I'll do whatever you want me to do." You said.

"Mistress Donna is a bit self-conscious about her scar, Y/N." You looked at Angie. "Mistress Donna was wondering if you'd paint her an eye instead of painting her scar."

You nodded your head before looking back at Donna. "Is that what you would like, Donna?" You asked. She nodded her head. "I can do that. If that's what you want then I can do that." You replied.

"Mistress Donna says thank you." Angie said motioning for you to pick her up.

You have a small smile. You placed Angie on Donna's lap before asking a question. "Are you two... connected?"

"In a way, yes." Donna replied.

You hummed. You sketched her and Angie mostly in silence, occasionally asking her to turn a certain way. It took you a few hours to sketch them out like you had that it would, but you wouldn't have enough time to get it fully done to give it to her before dark.

"I didn't realise how late it was getting." You said when you looked at the clock. "I apologise for keeping you in town for so long." You stood up from your seat and looked at Angie. "You should probably get this little angel to bed soon, My Lady."

Donna frowned a bit. "Donna, please. I'd like for you to call me Donna." She replied. You simply nodded your head at her request. "I suppose we should get going. Could you hold her while I do this?" She asked, gesturing towards the black veil on your couch.

"Of course." You said as you took the doll from her lap and held her.

"Y/N, can I tell you something?" Angie asked. You smiled at her and leaned your ear down to her. You let out a soft gasp at what she told you. "Is that so? I'll be sure to make it extra special then, just for Donna... and you too, angel." You replied to the doll softly.

It wasn't long before you waving goodbye to the two of them as they headed back to their home. You had agreed on Sunday for Donna and Angie to come back for the painting, and they did. You'd just woken up when you heard the knock on your door. Smiling to yourself you made your way over to let them in.

"Donna, Angie, you're here early!" Nonetheless, you allowed them into your home. "I need a shower, but make yourselves comfortable. I made some tea if you'd like to have some, Donna, cups are in the cabinet on the right." You called over your shoulder as you made your way into the bathroom. When you came out, you found Angie asleep on your couch with Donna's veil over her while Donna was sat in a chair sipping on a cup of tea. "Angie must be really tired if she's sleeping right now." You said, looking at the sleeping doll fondly, a small smile on your face.

Donna let out a small laugh. "She, um, didn't get much sleep last night. And when Angie is restless then so am I." Donna replied. Looking her over, you did notice that she looked a bit tired. "It's no bother to me, I enjoy keeping her company." She quickly added upon seeing the concerned look on your face.

"I don't doubt that one bit." You said. "How have you been?" You asked.

"Same old, same old. Mother Miranda called a meeting for the Lords and warned us of some outsider coming to the village soon, to make sure we're prepared for his arrival." Donna explained. "I have no doubt that Alcina or Heisenberg will get their hands on him before me and Moreau get a chance at him and I wouldn't mind it one bit, to be honest."

"Speaking of Lady Dimitrescu, she tried to pursue me once, but I turned her down. Quite frightening that I lived through it." You said as you sighed into your cup of tea. Donna arched her eyebrow. "She said something about how I reminded her of someone she once knew a long time ago. It was very flattering, I guess, but I had no idea what she was going on about." You explained.

Donna looked at her cup, tapping her fingers on it. "A past lover, I assume." She said softly. You couldn't help the laugh you let out in disbelief. "I'm serious. Alcina has had some lovers come back to her, reincarnated and all that, it never slips past her when a past lover returns to the village." Donna said. "But never have I heard of one passing her up."

You shrugged a bit. "She's a beautiful woman, of course, but nothing compared to you, Donna." You replied and you could see her blush at the compliment as she waved it off. You put your cup down to take her hand in yours as you had done the last time she was here. "I, um, I mean it. You're a Goddess, Donna, you're picture perfect." You said as you leaned closer to her, staring into her eyes, your lips only a few inches from her.

Donna let out a shaky breath. "Speaking of picture perfect, the portrait?" She said before clearing her throat, breaking you out of the trance the two of you seemed to be in.

You jumped up, scratching the back of your head. "Yes, the portrait." You smiled as you went over to get it. You spoke to her as you walked back over to where she was sitting. "A little angel, not naming any names, told me that today was a very special day so I tried to make it extra special for you, Donna." You took the sheet you had over the painting off and waited for her reaction.

You stared at the lady in black sitting in one of your chairs with curious eyes as she stared at the portrait, observing it before she looked up at you with tears in her eyes. Donna stood up from her chair and pulled you into a hug. "It's perfect. So, so perfect. Thank you." Donna said into your ear softly sending a small shiver down your spine as she pulled away. You expected her to sit back down, but instead she studied your face before she leaned in to kiss you. It took you a second to register what was happening before you reciprocated the kiss, pushing your lips into hers a bit before she pulled away. "Was that, did I overstep?" She asked.

You shook your head. "No. Not at all." You said before you kissed her again, a small smile on your face. You reluctantly pulled away. "I'm glad you liked the portrait. Happy Birthday, Donna."

Donna gave you a small smile in return as she returned to her seat, stealing a glance over at the still sleeping doll. "Angie's not going to be pleased that I saw it without her. Or about the fact that we..." Her voice trailed off as she touched her lips before looking up at you. "Put the sheet back on it?" She asked.

"Of course. Wouldn't want the little angel to miss out on such a special moment, would we?" Donna let out a laugh as she shook her head at your question. In all honesty, you hadn't expected to fall for Donna Beneviento, but you were glad you turned down Lady Dimitrescu if it meant you got to make this Goddess of a woman smile and laugh any chance you could.

#donna beneviento x reader #donna beneviento #angie beneviento #resident evil #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #yes #tall vampire lady #is mentioned #here's her tag #lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu

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sunsetcurvecuddles · 3 years ago

Note

10. Is something wrong?" And 11. “Is there anything I can do to help?” For boggie or rebuke

hey you know how i just sent you the mystery rebuke fic? yeah it turns out it was your ask that prompted it. anyway here you go apparently all i can write is rebuke cuddles on the studio couch.

you're the swimmer with pockets of stones | rebuke | G | 2.3k

ao3 link in reblogs!

Bobby doesn't mean to let it show during practice. Usually, he's pretty good at keeping all this stuff under the surface, smoothed and hidden, layered over with a mixture of standoffishness and charm that tends to turn people in the other direction than whatever's going on for him internally.

Concerningly, he might be getting close enough to the boys that they can start to tell. This wasn't his intention, initially — the music thing has always been about gaining a reputation, some sort of following, maybe getting famous one day, and he really does believe in the music Luke Patterson writes, thinks it could really get them somewhere. But he didn't necessarily intend to get to know the members of the band like he has. Didn't expect for one of them to move into his studio, for sure,

It's not like he wasn't intending on getting to know them at all . It's just that he didn't anticipate how quickly Reggie would tilt his head, narrow his eyes, and ask, "Is something wrong?" when Bobby misses his entry spot for the fourth time in a row.

"No," Bobby barks, and it's a little sharp. Alex and Luke both give him equally sharp glares back. They all know they don't talk to Reggie like that. Immediately, Bobby amends, "Sorry, Reg. Just scattered today. Not your fault."

Not your fault . The mantra of apologising to Reggie. Swallowing and trying to take it on board (Bobby can see it, can see Reggie telling himself that it's okay, that Bobby didn't mean it, that not everything is his fault, that's why they always remind him, that everything's okay, over and over, because all these things show very easily on Reggie's face when you know where to look for them and how to read them) Reggie says lightly, "Yeah, no worries."

"We can try something else?" Alex suggests carefully, tone still crystal in a way that lets Bobby know he’s fucked up but Alex is choosing to let it slide. "Luke said he wanted to go over Long Weekend again before the gig on Friday."

"That's a good idea," Luke agrees. "We're more familiar with that one and besides, I just sorta wanted to see how this new song sounds out loud. We won't have it ready for Friday."

They totally could have it ready for Friday. Bobby knows he's being the weak link here.

So he tries extra hard for Long Weekend . Really does his best to nail all the timing, all the pitch, throws in a few improvisational notes just to make Luke grin over at him, delighted and surprised, because Luke might seem like a control freak but he actually loves to collaborate more than anything else in the world.

It just sucks that the rest of the rehearsal can't go as well as that does. Bobby fades in and out, his eyes scramble the music on the page, and before he knows it, Luke is calling things off, saying they can catch up tomorrow, that this isn't going to work itself out tonight, clearly .

It stings a little, but Luke's not wrong. Bobby, master of keeping his face neutral, can barely keep his eyes open even though he knows they're lying to him, even though he knows that he's going to be stuck wide awake the moment he lays his head back against anything and tries to sleep, because that's how it's been for weeks now.

The Mercers never let Alex stay over any more, not since he came out (and it sucks, and Bobby kinda hates them even though he and Alex aren’t all that close), so he packs up his sticks and the homework books he'd left scattered in the corner ready to head home. Alex says his goodbyes mostly like normal, though his eyes linger on Bobby, narrow and a little too insightful for Bobby’s liking.

Bobby replies, and to his own ears he sounds pretty normal, which is why he doesn't understand when Reggie and Luke exchange glances over the top of Bobby's head as soon as Alex is gone.

“What’s gotten into you, man?” Luke asks, ditching his guitar in favour of sitting cross-legged on top of the table in the centre of the room, across from where Bobby sits on the couch. “You’ve been acting kinda weird for a while, but this is a new level of weird.”

“I’m fine,” Bobby grits out. He feels cornered, the way that Luke is sitting there, and Reggie’s hovering awkwardly between Bobby and the door, hands behind his head, probably stretching out his fingers if Bobby knows him well enough, which he does.

How did he end up knowing them so well? And why are they pushing so hard to find out what’s going on with him? He hates this conversation. He wants it to be over.

He wants to sleep.

“Dude,” says Reggie quietly, “you weren’t acting like yourself at all today. Like, yourself is always a little weird,” he says, like a joke, but he looks a little scared, like he might be stepping over the line. But it’s Reggie, so Bobby allows it.

“There’s nothing wrong with talking to us about it,” adds Luke hopefully. “We’re your friends.”

“Right,” Bobby says, rubbing his eyes, “because you’re so honest with us about everything, is that it?”

“Well – hey, that doesn’t seem fair,” Reggie interrupts, tone a little protective. “We’re not talking about Luke right now. If we want to stage a Luke-tervention later, we can, but—”

“A what?” Luke says, baffled.

“Like an intervention,” Reggie explains, in an exasperated tone, like this really should be obvious, “but for you.”

“Oh,” says Luke, nodding like that actually did clear it up.

They’re idiots. Bobby wishes they weren’t making him smile. Maybe he’s just delirious. He listens to them banter for a few more minutes and feels himself slipping, feels the way the room is spinning a bit around him. Knows he won’t be able to sleep, feels it in the ache in his body, but it hurts anyway, how bad he wants it. How much he wants to be able to reach behind the veil and pull the sleep to him, pull it over him like a blanket.

His bandmates are suddenly on either side of him, like they’re ready to catch him if he falls, Reggie’s voice cautious as he says, “Bobby? You good, man? You looked woozy for a sec.”

"Tired," is all Bobby manages. His voice comes out a little strangled.

"Yeah," says Luke, in a sort of punched-out voice that makes Bobby think Luke understood more than Bobby meant him to. “We know.”

How do they know? Bobby hasn’t told them. He hasn’t told anyone. It’s just been him and his empty room and the ceiling staring back down at him for hours, until he gives up, gets up and switches the lights on and tries to read, tries to write music, tries to do anything. Though honestly, lately he’s been too tired even for that. Too exhausted and frantic to do anything but stare at the roof and wish it would fall on him and knock him out, send him down into the black lake of sleep where he so desperately wants to drown. But he hasn’t told Luke or Reggie about any of that.

"We want to help, man," Reggie continues, almost painfully earnest and sweet, "Is there anything we can do?"

Bobby shakes his head no before he's even let himself process Reggie's words, because help and Bobby are only things that go together when Bobby's doing the helping, not the other way around.

Without even opening his eyes, Bobby feels Luke push Bobby's arm up so Luke can snuggle up against his side, resting his cheek on Bobby's shoulder, stubborn and warm and soft. Seemingly following his initiative, Reggie loops himself around Bobby's other side, a little gangly but just as safe, tucking Bobby's head under his chin instead.

"Does this make it better?" Luke asks, in a small voice. Bobby feels his throat move, the vibrations of his voice. "Or, uh, or worse?"

Bobby goes to say neither, to say, it doesn't matter, to say, you guys will sleep better without me here taking up all this space . To say, I should go to my own room . But he doesn't say any of those things, because having them so close and warm around him is sorta making him want to cry, in a really weird, horrible, overflowing way, like he's a bathtub filling up with tears and they're reaching his throat, not too far from reaching his eyes.

"Better," Reggie decides for him. Takes the weight off his shoulders. "C'mon, Luke, let's go to bed. Bobby can just lie here until he feels better."

Luke makes an affirmative sound, pulls the blanket back up over the three of them, and Bobby feels like he's sinking deep in his own achy, exhausted body, like he's finally letting it overcome him, like suddenly instead of being the bathtub, he's just in one, and he's letting his head slip under the water, letting it engulf him. Reggie runs a hand through Bobby's hair, light and gentle, and Bobby sinks deeper. Luke wraps an arm around Bobby's stomach, fingers squeezing at Bobby's waist, and Bobby sinks deeper.

Instead of lying awake for hours until his eyes burn and his teeth ache, he's asleep without being sure when it happens.

—

When he wakes, Reggie and Luke pushed in on either side of him still, wrapped even more tightly than he remembers them being the night before, he feels unbelievably light, even with their weight pressing in all over him. He feels like his eyelids weigh ten pounds less than they did the day before, even as his body succumbs to being part of the couch cushions, even as a yawn pulls at the edge of his mouth and suggests to him that maybe, they try to sleep for just a few more minutes.

—

Bobby wakes again when the sun starts to spill in properly through the garage window at the back, illuminating the studio and casting their instruments into bright colours and dark shadowy relief across the floor. This time, he's only being restrained by all four of Luke's limbs, somehow, like their genius songwriter has decided to abandon his pursuit of music for the better pursuit of fully transforming into a koala bear. For a few moments, blinking and looking around, Bobby can't see Reggie anywhere.

It doesn't really alarm him, though. It's not like there's anyone else around, and Reggie's always been an earlier riser than him or Luke, more spritely than the rest of them. Luke’s still snoring, has drooled a tiny bit on Bobby’s t-shirt. Bobby should probably be more grossed-out by it than he is.

Before he can start to theorise about where, exactly, Reggie might have gone, he’s already returning, nudging the door open with his hip because his arms are full. He gives Bobby a big grin, as usual far too awake for the hour (Bobby doesn’t think he’s been that awake at any hour, recently).

“Aw, man. I was hoping you’d sleep a little longer, but… I brought us breakfast?”

Reggie must have gone up to the house, which means he probably would have had to talk to Bobby’s parents, at least his mom. Bobby’s stomach twists in embarrassment at the thought, not of Reggie, but of his mom, her scattered workaholic brain probably so far from being able to handle a conversation with a sweet kid like Reggie first thing in the morning. But still, Reggie’s carrying plates that have toast and jam, and he’s got a big bottle of orange juice, and he looks so proud of himself, like a little kid with a picture they want you to put on the fridge.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Bobby says, his voice still hoarse from sleep, but sounding better than it did at any point yesterday. He must have gotten more sleep just last night than he did in the five nights beforehand.

“I know,” says Reggie brightly, setting the plates and bottle down on the table across from the pullout, “but that’s what friends are for, right?”

Huh. Friends. That’s one way to put it, Bobby guesses. In his head they’ve just been – bandmates, always, but – he guesses if Luke and Reggie are snuggling up to him overnight, hanging out at his place on days when they’re not doing music, if Reggie’s casually chatting to his mom –

Maybe they are friends.

He looks down at the toast. Reggie’s spread the jam almost neurotically evenly, but on one piece he’s drawn a wonky smiley face, with two circle eyes and a big stripe of jam in a curve that mirrors their band logo for the smile. It looks vaguely demented, but Reggie grins and points and says, “That one’s for you. So you’ll be in a better mood today.”

Luke yawns, stretches and wriggles, squishing Bobby a little bit in the process with his warm limbs. Bobby looks from one to the other, from Reggie’s face to Luke’s body curled up against him, and suddenly his stomach is full of something that’s a little more concerning than just the sense of being friends unexpectedly. Something different.

Bobby sighs a breath out quietly to try and shake off the feeling, and Reggie grins, like he gets something, which is nerve wracking until he says, “You don’t wanna move, right? I can feed you so you don’t have to get up!”

Honestly, Bobby would really rather Reggie didn’t, after the possibly concerning revelation he had moments ago, so he shoves Luke maybe a little harder than he needed to, ignores Luke’s startled yelp, even though it makes him want to laugh and the want to laugh makes the fluttery feeling come back to his stomach. Rather than laughing, or showing any of his feelings, Bobby just mutters, getoffme , and sits up to grab a piece of toast. He'll deal with everything else after breakfast.

(He takes the smiley face piece. He’s not a monster).

#jatp #julie and the phantoms #rebuke #reggie peters #luke patterson #bobby wilson #sunset curve #ask

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seokmingiggles · 4 years ago

Text

peonies.

Prompt: "Going somewhere?"

Pairing: Kim Taehyung x gender neutral reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship, quarantine!au (if that’s what you’d call it?), non-idol!au (this isn’t a typical tag of mine, but I want to make it clear!).

2.36k words

No warnings.

Being cooped up inside for the protection of others can become a redundant routine. Today, your boyfriend breaks that cycle and goes on an unexpected outing—safely, of course.

Alternatively, Taehyung decides that he wants to remind you of his love with the surprise of little gifts. Not that he needs to, but he wants to.

A/N: Here’s a little something I wrote in the span of a couple of hours tonight to separate my Seventeen teacup drabbles. By ‘quarantine!au,’ I mean this one-shot takes place in our current situation with Covid-19 :/ I truly hope all of you are able to stay safe and healthy. Please wear a mask when you go out! We will fight this pandemic!! ♡

•• The distinct metal clinking of keys jingling by the front door catches your attention.

"Going somewhere?"

Taehyung looks up from his feet after slipping on a pair of brown boots. He's got his keys in one hand, along with a slightly crumpled list of something illegible to you from your spot on the couch. A black medical mask is hung haphazardly to the side off of one of his ears.

He stands up tall, "Just got a couple of errands to run. I'll be right back." Your boyfriend flashes you a smile, rounding his cheeks into rolls of puffy dough.

You hum out, "Okay," and return his small wave as he leaves your shared apartment.

There's a slight crisp to the air outside today. It nips on the tips of Taehyung's cheeks exposed from his mask. The boy considers if he should have put on a scarf, too, overtop his jacket. Overtop his mask? It's too late now, he muses. At least his hands are warm inside his fleece-lined pockets, and his round nose is sheltered from the late-winter air. He clutches the piece of paper tightly in his right hand. Writing lists may be obsolete now in the digital age, but Taehyung can't deny how he likes the feel of pen on paper, even if he can recite each written line from memory; crossing off his to-do lists makes him feel accomplished.

His shoes gently click on the sidewalk. The streets are emptier than he's used to seeing. The light snowfall from a few days ago has already melted. Instead, some dead leaves rustle across the dry ground. Someone is walking on the same sidewalk, heading in Taehyung's direction. She's wearing a similar medical-grade mask with hands stuffed deeply into her pockets too. Her hair blows violently in the head-on wind. She looks up from her footsteps, and Taehyung swears he can see what might be a polite smile beneath her mask. The boy's eyes crinkle slightly at the corners in response, continuing on his way.

His first stop is the used bookstore. The smell of old paper and the slight dryness from the dust make their way through Taehyung's mask, into his nose. He doesn't have anything specific in mind. He does, however, know the types of books you like to read. Shelf after shelf, he scans the spines one by one, in search of a title that stands out to him. Stardust, he ruminates, eyes inspecting the plain royal blue cover. It seems simple enough, and if you don't like it, he may consider reading it.

Taehyung weaves through the maze of piled books laid out on the floor; there are far too many for the small shop to accommodate. The owner of the store is sat behind the desk at the side, likewise surrounded by stacks upon stacks of books. Some are dustier than others; some look newer than others.

"Just this one today?" the bookkeeper ponders, face half-masked.

"Yes, please."

The blue-bound book finds a place in the crook of the boy's elbow, pressed to his chest as he returns on his walk. This time, someone is on a run with their dog, jogging on the opposite side of the street. Taehyung never sees his face, only the back of his head as he moves ahead. But he does notice the little elastics of his mask tucked around his ears once he passes by. Muscular, yet lean calves push him to run further; the brown spotted dog seems to skip happily along the sidewalk next to its owner.

The aroma of the bakery is mildly evident before he crosses the street. Located as the first shop on the corner of a new avenue, the little store contains your favourite treats, Taehyung's too. A family-owned business, the boy wants to support their shop during this time of limited sales. Frankly, the boy wishes he could do the same for all of the little stores lining the streets here downtown.

The bell above the door chimes when Taehyung enters the store; the sound resonates in the single room. A rush of hot air smacks his face.

With the sound of footsteps coming down from the upstairs attachment, the shop owner appears in a blue mask. "Welcome!" her voice is jolly, eyes in crescents. "Is it the usual for today, Taehyung?"

The boy in question nods with a smile, fluffy bangs bouncing with the movement, "Please."

The patissier moves to the windowed counter displaying significantly fewer treats than what would have been a year ago.

"Is it a special occasion?"

"No," Taehyung admits. "Just because."

There's a twinkle in the baker's eye. "They're a lucky one."

Taehyung doesn't say anything, and instead, he thinks how he's the lucky one out of the two of you.

He pays with cash, rounding up as an extra tip. The two exchange thanks and other pleasantries, and Taehyung sets back out in the cool air on his way. The paper gift bag holds the two cardboard containers with mouth-watering snacks inside. He slips the novel carefully into the bag, making sure it doesn't rip.

The florist is his final stop on today's little journey.

Blooming buds of each and every colour of the rainbow and then some invade Taehyung's vision. He's sure the fragrant floral scent would be more potent without wearing his mask. He tries to sniff one of the bunches of tulips near the entryway. No, it's mostly neutral with a hint of dust leftover from the bookstore.

"For any reason in particular? Birthday? Anniversary?"

Taehyung is brought from his flower-sniffing, seeing the florist behind the counter bearing what might be an amused grin. The boy hides his frustration at being unable to read people's expressions properly when concealed by the masks.

"Ah, no," his face flushes slightly, "not today. Could I still get some flowers, though?"

"Of course," she beams. "Anything specific?"

The boy ponders, examining each prearranged bouquet laying about. They all look beautiful to him, but Taehyung also doesn't know much about flowers. What's more important to him is how much you like them; that's all he needs to know.

"Surprise me," is his answer, confident in the florist's abilities.

Taehyung ends up leaving the store with a combination of delicate daffodils, carnations, roses, and two large peonies in the center. The bright yellows of the daffodils compliment the ivory carnations and ruby-red roses. The pastel pink peonies, Taehyung thinks, might be his favourite from the bunch. Maybe the two of you are peonies? You're certainly pretty like a flower, yes, so why not a peony?

Taehyung heads in the opposite direction from his travels, starting the walk back to the apartment. The paper bag containing the pastries and the book is still clutched tightly in one hand, while the colourful, decorative flowers are held with significantly more care in his other hand.

The sky is grey today, filled with an abundance of dense clouds. Taehyung swears it had been blue when he had left the house earlier, although now, it looks like there may be another snowfall. More leaves scatter with the wind, blowing in Taehyung's direction. They dance in the breeze, scraping the cemented road and landing in the crook of an alleyway between two shops, both with their lights off and variations of 'Closed' signs decorating the doors.

Sure enough, what can barely be classified as snow begins to fall from the heavens. Tiny flakes of white flutter down, instantly melting as they hit the sidewalk. The only evidence of their existence is when they land on Taehyung's black woollen jacket, but even then, they don't last for very long.

The distinct metal clinking of keys signals your boyfriend's return home. Taehyung takes in your appearance, now off the couch and facing the stove with your back to him. You've changed out of your trusty pair of sweatpants you've been housed in for the past months, opting for something slightly more form-fitting, but comfortable still, nonetheless. Your hair looks washed. Maybe you took a shower in the time Taehyung had been out. You're boiling some water in a pot, from what the boy can tell. Yes, upon moving closer, some pasta swirls around in the churning bubbles, steam escaping only to be swept up in the oven range above.

"You're done with your errands?" you call out over your shoulder, returning your gaze to the cooking pasta as you listen to your boyfriend removing his outerwear by the front door. "How was it out there?"

Taehyung moves his sock-clad feet to where you stand. After washing his hands, a pair of warm arms tenderly wraps around your torso from behind, followed by a brisk peck to your cheek.

"It was quiet out there, as you'd expect," the boy mulls over as he traces some unknown shape onto your hipbone. "Do you want to see what I got?"

You comply with his request, turning the stove's burner down before moving in his embrace as he shifts the two of you to the kitchen island. There, the array of treats are splayed out.

Your eyes immediately land on the flowers: the colours nearly take your breath away. It's been so long since you've seen something so alive. You don't fail to notice the brown paper bag with your favourite bakery's emblem stamped on the side. Something else is peeking out of the bag, something blue that you can't distinguish.

"Why?" you can't help but ask Taehyung. "What's the reason for all of this?" Still held in his arms, you slightly twist so you can glance upwards at your boyfriend.

He's already looking at you with his big brown eyes. Little droplets of melted snow rest daintily in his hair. You reach upwards to brush some aside, also smoothing down some of the astray strands displaced from the wind.

"The reason is that I love you."

"You're too good, Tae," you whisper, hugging the boy properly and burying your face into him. "I love you too."

Another kiss finds your head before you pull away, but only to move closer once again to place your lips on Taehyung's. His nose is cold, but his mouth is hot as you move together with years of practice. You're the first one to part, but staying close enough for noses to brush. Taehyung has a hand cupping the side of your face, thumbing over the roundest part of your cheek from your smile: a shape comparable to a soft bread bun.

Being stuck inside has its downfalls; you and Taehyung are no exception. You've had more arguments in the span of the past ten months than all of the years in your relationship combined. Considering them as arguments may be putting it harshly, disagreements or miscommunication are more accurate depictions of your quarrels. Perhaps the fatigue of being confined indoors is to blame. The worst dispute was a couple of months ago, where you and Taehyung grimly doubted the status of your relationship—if any of it was worth it anymore.

Clearly, you managed to work things out as here you sit on the sofa now, biting into one of the flaky, buttery croissants—one of the few treats adorning the inside of the paper bag. The raspberry preserves on the inside burst across your tongue in a pleasant tartness, complementing the sweet pastry. The pasta on the stove now forgotten, moved to the side and off the burner for another time. You offer Taehyung a bit of the croissant to which he complies, taking a large bite from it. Little flecks of gold decorate the corners of his mouth; one finds a spot on his upper lip beside the dimple of his cupid's bow.

"You're cute," you mumble, gently removing the crumbs from his mouth.

Taehyung disagrees, a voice so soft you'd nearly miss it if he weren't in such proximity, "Not as cute as you, my love." He takes your hand in his, pressing a string of little pecks onto your fingers. Your hand stays in his even after the kisses placed, digits now laced comfortably.

You take another bite of the raspberry croissant until there's one mouthful left. You wordlessly offer it to your boyfriend.

The floral bouquet occupies the center of the kitchen table. It's a fluorescent sight between the dulled walls of the apartment. Like a little piece of sunshine, the flowers provide you with a sense of warmth or energy that you no longer experience trapped in your confined space day after day.

The snow has picked up outside. The clouds have only gotten denser since Taehyung's return home. The sky is gradually growing darker with the hour; streetlamps flicker on one-by-one, lining the streets in glowing amber and putting spotlights on the colourless, falling flakes. Rooftops and tree branches gradually become covered in a dusting of white.

"I love you," Taehyung repeats out of the blue, causing you to remove your gaze from the winter landscape forming outside.

You examine his face as his eyes flutter between yours. A pretty shade of pink blossoms on his cheeks while his mouth lifts into the smallest of smiles.

"I love you too," you say with all earnest. "Thank you for everything today."

"Of course," he nuzzles into the top of your head, pulling you close against him. "I'm sorry we have to stay indoors most of the time."

"It's not your fault, Tae."

The boy hums in acknowledgement. "Sometimes I wish I could solve it all, you know? Like if I wish or pray, or maybe if I believe hard enough, everything will be fixed. Everything will be normal again."

"Things will be normal again," you return. Your thumb strokes over Taehyung's on the hand you're still holding. Your head finds his shoulder.

Taehyung is warm and familiar and possibly the only constant in your life right now. Your eyes reach the flowers in the vase on the dining table once more—vibrant and attractive yellows, reds, and pastel pinks.

You squeeze your boyfriend's hand: a silent thank you; an unsaid I love you.

Taehyung squeezes your hand back.

To do:

live for today

and cherish (Y/N)

••

#kim taehyung #kim taehyung x reader #kim taehyung fluff #kim taehyung imagines #kim taehyung scenario #taehyung #taehyung x reader #taehyung fluff #taehyung imagines #taehyung scenario #bts #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts taehyung #bts v #bts taehyung x reader #bts v x reader

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labellerose-acheron · 3 years ago

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The Acheron Cottage -- aka Swynlake’s Burrow

This is a REBOOT of the first in a series that one day may be complete but also may never be complete. As most of you know I’m like a huge #spatial person in my writing, so all my character’s houses/apartments/living spaces are really well mapped out in my brain? And I thought it’d be fun for people to see. (And a good reference for those who may RP in those spaces at some point.)

And since we just did a whole plot where Hades and Belle renovated their house, I thought I would update their floorplan! (Also, because I’m super obsessed with this magical house.)

@trip-downtheriverstyx, @lou-bonfightme

Overview:

The Acheron cottage is now a 3 ½ (from 1 ½) bath, 6 bedroom cottage that was built in the 1700s sometime most likely and finished renovations in late June of 2021. Due to the fact the house is now four floors, taller than most of the trees in the area, and most of the surrounding houses are only 2 floor simple farmhouses and cottages, it sticks out a bit in the landscape, not to mention its haphazard leaning-tower of Piza style architecture. The new floors look like they were just kind of slapped onto the original house. (Think the Burrow.)

It is on 5 acres of land and backs up against the woods. There is a small stable and pasture on the land, as well as a large garden. It’s located in Southwest Swynlake, a few minutes walk from the local stable. There are neighboring farms, but they’re far enough away to not really count as proper neighbors.

Assume that all walls that are not covered by windows or other things (like closets) are full of books. The walls alternate between painted wood paneling and stone. Floors are wood except for the mud room, which are stone. The garden is shown in every photo, in order to orient yourself with which way the rooms are facing.

Residents:

Belle Acheron, Hades Acheron, Toulouse Bonfamille, Opal Acheron, Aidan Acheron, Bellamy Acheron, Arthur the ghost, other ghosts, chickens!, Philippe, Angus, the Black Shuck, Victoire, Vincent, Honoré, and Lord Voltaire Scalington, Destroyer of Universes.

**note: pictures in the aesthetic are to give an overall #feel of the house, but don’t necessarily indicate the exact furniture/decorations/floorplan. the floorplan, on the other hand is not quite to scale but i did the best i could.

1. Entryway

When you first walk into the house on your left is a row of hooks (made out of various odds and ends), on which to hang jackets. To your right is a little table and a mirror, probably plants added (thanks, Toulouse.) The hallway is wide but short and opens up into the living room area. The stairs are directly across from the front door. You can also see all the way through into the kitchen from the entryway.

2. Living Room

The living room is the most spacious room in the house and has remained so, even though other parts of the house were expanded. There is a large window seat beneath the front window. Two chairs and a couch are situated near the fireplace, which is dressed in the original brick, these are new pieces of furniture. It was painted a very pale, fading yellow, but now is painted a pale blue. Furniture is cozy and neutral colors (couch is a coffee colour and leather to prevent staining, chairs are a nice maroon colour, picked out by Lou with Hades’ influence). Lots of blankets (because Belle gets cold easily) and books along all the walls. A carpet is laid down beneath the couch/chairs.

These days, there are a few family portraits in spaces on bookshelves and above the mantel: one from Belle and Hades’ wedding, of the just the two of them and one of the whole wedding party; pictures of the children and with Toulouse, of course. Also, a picture of Belle’s mother has a place of importance among one of the shelves. There is also a picture of Persephone reading with Vincent in her old room. There is also evidence of children: toys and such littered about. It is rarely ever fully clean, no matter how fuitally Hades tries. The living room–as well as the rest of the house–is home to several clocks–on walls, on shelves, etc. Belle’s father was a clockmaker and Belle and him used to fiddle with the broken ones–made them tell time backwards or too fast or only every other hour. Belle and Hades’ chess table moved from the mudroom into the living room, near the fireplace. There is almost always a game in progress.

If one has a keen eye, they will notice there are no logs by the fire, nor soot in the fireplace. Yet, often, an eerie blue fire will be burning in it during the colder months.

3. Kitchen

The kitchen was the room that increased in size the most. The wall where the stove is was knocked out and pushed backwards to shift everything to the left. It now boasts copious counterspace, as well as a large island that is usually cluttered with mail and children’s things. Refrigerator, stove, oven, no dishwasher (which is probably the bane of Hades’ existence since Belle hates doing dishes and Lou doesn’t know how.) Cabinets are cherry wood; some are refurbished, and the new ones were made to match the originals.

Window over the sink looks out over the horse pasture in the distance (a few meters from the house.) Big, gorgeous window overlooking the garden in the “breakfast nook” area. Dining table is a cherry wood to match the cabinets and has eight matching chairs. Usually, the chairs are pushed to the walls, except for ones that are needed. This room is home to the only clock that is not digital that works in the entire house. It’s on the window ledge above the sink and was the first clock that Belle ever fixed by herself.

4. Mudroom

Where Belle always comes in from her horse rides, the door of which leads out into the garden and beyond. This is where winter clothes are stored and muddy shoes are piled by the door. It has a stone floor and is generally the coldest room in the house. The laundry machine and dryer are in this room. It used to be where Belle and Hades played chess. Now, their chess table can be found in the living room.

5. Guest Restroom

There is a new bathroom in the mudroom, for guests and the family to use conveniently. (And for Belle to clean up when coming from outside, Hades loves it.) It is just a sink and toilet but it is much better than making everyone go upstairs when they come over.

6. The Garden

The garden was neglected for a long while, since it was Belle’s mother’s. Originally it was full of just rose bushes, but many of them had died due to neglect (whoops). Persephone managed to save a few but the ones that couldn’t be, she and Belle (with the help of Haku) ripped them out and replaced them with different vegetables and flowers. It has a low brick wall around it. It backs up almost right to the woods. It is now Toulouse’s space and he will make it beautiful, with roses and other flowers and different fruits and vegetables. The opening at the top of it leads down to the pastures and off to the right of the garden is where the woods are.

7. Hallway

There is really nothing special about the hallway. It’s actually quite blank. There are more bookshelves though, which used to make the hallway a bit of a tight squeeze but they had to expand the wall in order to include stairs going up to the third floor, so it is more spacious now (though, not by a lot.)

8. Toulouse’s Room

This room used to be Persephone’s. It is currently Opal’s. However, it will, one day, be Toulouse’s, so I am going to describe that set up.

As you can see from the floor plan, there are copious amounts of plants in his room. He probably has very nice silky sheets--a dark green, maybe, with green walls. He has a long bookshelf among the far wall. On top of this is Voltaire’s tank. Probably a few paintings hung up and a dresser. The door that looks like it goes to nowhere? Oh, yeah. That’s his ever-expanding magical closet. It is a walk-in and is spelled to expand the more he needs it to. It exists now, but it has a child-proof magic lock on it so that Opal cannot get into it, lol. There is a cat tower for Honoré, though both of the cats hang out in Lou’s room, because Vincent is used to it too bc it used to be Persephone’s room.

There is a dog bed in the corner for Victoire, though she usually just sleeps with Lou, if Hades isn’t staying the night with him.

9. Belle’s Room

This room used to be Belle’s, it’s the room she grew up in. However, right now it is currently the twins’ room. However, one day it will go back to being Belle’s, so I am going to describe that set up.

A bit more spacious than the other room (but not by too much) Belle’s room is equipped with a closet, though it isn’t that big, as well as bookshelves all along the walls. There is also a reading nook in one corner with a window seat in it that Maurice built for her (which is why it’s in such a kooky spot) and it is probably Belle’s favourite spot in the whole house (after her secret office). The walls were repainted in a splendid sky blue. Her bedsheets are blue with little flower designs on them. Belle actually doesn’t spend a whole lot of time in her room, except for when she’s getting ready for bed. And I’d say she sleeps in Hades’ room probably 2 nights a week tops, but usually less than that, tbh.

10. Bathroom

Just your standard bathroom, nothing fancy about it. I assume Belle’s house runs on well water and it takes forever to get warm, which is the bane of everyone’s existence, especially Toulouse. This will mostly be his bathroom in the future, as Belle will take baths and such in the master bathroom.

11. Master Bedroom (Hades’ Room)

Biggest room in the house. It used to be Belle’s parents, and then Belle’s father’s. It has been Hades’ ever since he moved in. It is the neatest in the house because Hades is a tyrant about that and so even Belle’s things must be cleaned up. There’s a bedside drawer on either side of the bed, each has their own matching lamp. I imagine the bedsheets are like, extremely boring actually, like legitimately just white or a pale gray. There is also a space in this room, probably by the window, with arm chairs and a little table, where there is a chess board set up so Belle and Hades can play here too.

On the main dresser at the top, there is a jewelry stand for Hades’ various necklaces and bracelets. There is also a watch stand.

The walk-in closet is also extremely neat; Hades has an entire shelf for shoes which is neat of him.

The door that looks like it goes to nowhere? Oh, yeah. That’s Belle and Hades’ secret office. More on that in the section below. ~~

12. Master Bathroom

This only gets its own shout out because a) it is where Opal was born, b) I wanted the secret office to be #13, lol, c) I have a few headcanons about it. Mostly that Belle still uses it to do most of her nighttime routine stuff, because I feel like her and Hades probably have a groove going at this point and I think it’s cute. Also, she takes a lot of baths, so she’s in there all the time. She gets ready in the hallway bathroom in the morning though, since she gets up before Hades.

It is ALSO very neat, very clean counters lol and there are lots of skin products neatly arranged in drawers. He probably cleans up every morning after Belle from the night before, lmao. (Though, she DOES respect the bathroom as His Space and cleans up after herself, just...not to his standards.)

13. Belle and Hades’ Secret Office

It has a special rune on it that locks it unless you know the way in and can disappear if you want to hide it. Inside, Belle and Hades have hidden some of their more precious artifacts and books, things that they don’t want to get into the wrong hands.

The tan couch from the living room has been brought up to it, since it was getting far too small for the space downstairs and Belle didn’t want to get rid of it since it held so much sentimental value to them. The window looks out over the garden below, though it doesn’t actually exist to be looking out into the garden. From the outside, you cannot see it at all. It simply doesn’t exist.

Most everything in it is new. There is a lovely circular oak table in the middle, with matching chairs, and bookshelves surrounding all available walls. The desk labeled A is Hades and the desk labeled B is Belle’s, and they are both oak to match the table and custom fitted to the room. There is also a cabinet next to the couch that has a vault-like magic’ed drawer where they can hide things.

14. Bellamy’s Room

Eventually, this room will be Bellamy’s when the twins stop sharing a room by the time they’re about 13/14. Until then, it will be used The smallest of the three upstairs rooms. Some people might assume that Bellamy got it by default because he is technically the youngest, but he’s actually quite fine with it. He is the most like his mother when it comes to his living spaces. AKA -- he is a squirrel and likes his cozy little nest that is much messier than either of his siblings. He’s that person that puts clothes in drawers with one hand while reading with the other.

15. Opal’s Room

Eventually, this room will be Opal’s. She’ll probably move up there when she’s like five or six, idk whatever the appropriate age would be for a kid to be more or less self-sufficient in the regard of going to sleep/getting up. In the meantime, it will probably be Lou’s because it looks out over the garden. Which means she will probably get a lot of leftover plants from him because he won’t want to disturb them.

It is probably like a nice soft purple color or something right now. Opal constantly changes it. She repaints the room at least once a year and gets yelled at by her parents for rearranging her furniture at 2am sometimes. Also, the armchair in her room is the rocking chair that was in her nursery.

16. Aidan’s Room

At first, this room will be both Bellamy and Aidan’s because it is the biggest of the three upstairs rooms. The bed with the book on it is Bellamy’s and the one that is empty is Aidan’s. They don’t mind sharing really and I imagine won’t get in lots of arguments about things.

Because they are mediums, they both stay up late though they know not to disturb their parents or they’ll earn their wrath so they learn early on how to solve their own problems if they are getting on each other’s nerves. Their room is probably painted a nice pale yellow. Their biggest argument is probably closet space, because I could see Aidan being a fashionista and encroaching on Bellamy’s space and him getting annoyed about it.

17. Children’s Bathroom

It’s a bathroom? I don’t know. There are probably lots of fights about who gets to use it first in the mornings and people taking too long. Though, there are other bathrooms that people can use. I imagine there are mornings where one of the kids just marches into Hades’ room like ALL THE BATHROOMS ARE TAKEN, I’M USING YOURS!

What I’m saying is that privacy is an issue in this house, lmao. Yes, they expanded, but everyone is still living on top of each other.

18. Library

What? I thought there were books all over the house? Why do they need a library?

Because there will always be more books in the house! Also, they needed another room to escape for anyone in the family who might need it. Feel like Bellamy will haunt it most often as he grows older, but Belle will go there too rather frequently. She likes to be surrounded by books. There is another chess table here (yes, that makes three.) Sometimes, Hades and Belle will sneak off to the library just to play a game of chess without being disturbed, because they don’t keep one in the office. (The office is for working, the library is for relaxation.)

It is probably quite small actually and with a low, gabled ceiling. Floor to ceiling bookshelves all the way around the walls.

19. Toulouse’s Studio

Unattached to the rest of the house and above Hades’ garage, is Toulouse’s art studio. To get in you have to climb a spiral iron staircase. On the west side of the studio are floor to ceiling windows that look out over the forest. On the south side of the studio is another large window (though, not floor to ceiling), that looks towards the house/the garden/the horse pastures beyond. Beneath this window is his desk. To the left of his desk is a long workbench with several stools where his woodworking and other projects will be.

His favorite spot to paint is the place with the stool and empty easel, near the large floor-to-ceiling windows. There are also multiple plants in the room, scattered throughout. The couch actually pulls out into a bed, though it is rarely used. Sometimes, if Lou is in one of his moods, or if he just gets stuck on a project, he will stay the night in his studio.

This is Lou’s space and Belle/Hades rarely go in it, except to fetch him for dinner or whatnot. Sometimes, though, Opal will join him in it. She is the only one brave enough to put up with Lou when he’s in a bad mood and doesn’t want to be disturbed. It is also where she goes when she gets in fights with Belle and Hades, lol. Lou is the indulgent parent and everyone would rather she ran away to Lou’s art studio than to like...the wilds.

#the acheron cottage #swynlake's burrow #:)))#y'all i cannot tell you #how much i love this magical house #i love it SO much #inspiration #floorplan

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missramu · 4 years ago

Text

Johnny Joestar Headcanons

So, I was really bored and decided to write about my favorite Jojo, 𝓙𝓸𝓱𝓷𝓷𝔂! This is a mix of headcanons with some canon stuff.

So, here we go!

✰ Johnny was that typical doll-like perfect baby: curly blond hair, pale skin, pink cheeks, little freckles and big blue eyes that followed everything with curiosity. The clothes he used to wear also helped to mantain that look: in the Victorian era, babies from wealthy families used to wear dresses with plenty of ruffles, laces, ribbons, buttons and frills -no matter their sex- and bonnets. Nowadays he still has freckles; although not that many. They’re mostly on his cheeks and arms.

✰As we know, Johnny is the youngest of two brothers (being Nicholas 5 years older tan him). This, plus the fact that he also looked really fragile, made his mother really over-protective of him. This was usually seen as Johnny’s being Anne’s favorite, but she only wanted to protect his youngest son. The way his mom treated him made Johnny a shy, yet kind, child. That kindness made him adopt Danny, as well as taking care of Slow Dancer even if he knew that she was old and almost ruthless.

✰ His hair gets wavy in humid weather. When he was a child his hair was a curly mess after taking baths, but now it simply curls in soft waves, which he tries to straighten as much as possible.

✰He was born in Danville, Kentucky; so he has a heavy Southern accent. But since the Joestar family used to constantly travel to Britain -and actually lived there for some years-, Johnny added some British idioms to his vocabulary, thus resulting in a funny combo of British slang said in heavy Southern accent.

✰He grew up in a wealthy family -his father was tied to aristocracy, and also was a famous racer and breeder, having won the Triple Crown seven times and owning farms to breed racing horses-, so he’s a little bit of a spoiled brat sometimes. This status also made him picky over certain things, like food or baths.

✰Johnny was educated to be a “British gentleman” and, even if his own personality sometimes makes him fail at it, he still tries to behave as polite as possible. One habit that stayed with him was the one to note everything down, showing off his fine calligraphy and his accountant skills. The Joestar kid also knows Latin and Greek, as he was schooled. He even went to Oxford for a short period of time.

✰Johnny has never been fond of dark colours; he has always preferred to dress up in light ones. Luckily, they suit him.

✰Since he was a child, he has proved to be very perceptive of his surroundings, as well as being able to read the mood quite easily. Johnny is also good at focusing, what makes him a really good shooter -probably hunting would have been one of his hobbies, if he wasn’t kind and compassionate-. He has proved to being able to shoot at little and/or moving targets, even if firing from odd angles and perspectives.

✰Johnny loved his mother, and would try to follow her everywhere like a duckling would follow its mother. It wasn't surprising that his first words were "mama". His next word was "horsie", and would enthusiastically say it as he pointed to the horses in the fields when the family decided to take a walk around the farm.

✰In the Victorian era, it was common for toddlers to rarely be in contact with their parents; as they were mostly raised by a nanny. He did have a nanny -whom he loved deeply-, but his mother was still around at all times; she was always there for him. Despite breaking this usual thing, he was indeed raised to be like the stereotypical Victorian child: proper, polite and quiet.

✰The youngest Joestar loved to visit the horses in the family farms, enjoying their company. His fondness for these animals evolved into his skills as a jockey; as he also is well-versed in equine science.

✰Johnny was five when he first rode a horse, and his father quickly considered him a genius. The young boy quickly started to believe this as an irrefutable truth, his ego beginning to grow. Although he indeed is a genius with plenty of skills that allow him to ride across many types of terrain, or even challenge fellow genius jockey -ahem, Diego Brando-; having such a big ego ended up wounding him.

✰Even if George did praise his early horse-riding skills, the rest of Johnny’s childhood was marked by a strained relationship with him. His father was unnecessarily severe, to the point of physically punishing Johnny. He also favored Nicholas immensely, belittling the younger one with constant comparisons. After Nicholas’ death, George was convinced that “God had taken the wrong son” and took out his sadness and rage on Johnny. This cruel behaviour caused Johnny great pain, and an enormous feeling of inferiority.

✰Anne's death was a big shock for the youngest Joestar. He felt like he had lost the only support he had in the family; his mother would comfort him after his father scolds and punishments. She also happened to die a short time before Nick's accident. Johnny was 9 when his brother died; and around 7-8 when Anne died. His father cruel behaviour towards Johnny hurt him, and the little boy was upset because he didn't entirely comprehend why his mom wasn't coming back.

✰The only one who calls him by his full name -Jonathan- is his father, and he despises it. Nowadays, hearing his full name triggers something on him, reacting with some kind of fear. He was used to listen to his father call him only to point out his mistakes and scold him; so hearing “Jonathan” makes him have that kind of reaction.

✰He is a magnificent horse tamer, as seen with Slow Dancer: the horse was introduced as wild and ruthless, but she warmed up to Johnny, to the point of helping him get on her by hoisting him and rolling him down his neck and into the saddle.

✰After his father disowned him and threw him out of the Joestar household, Johnny, in shock, decided to shut himself off. With this, he also created a vain and narcissistic facade in order to hide the sadness this rejection caused him.

✰He tried to take Black Rose -Nicholas’ horse- with him when he was disowned.

✰After he was disowned, when Father’s Day arrived, Johnny used to spend the day in a sour mood, secluded and probably drinking, trying to forget his lame childhood.

✰With his pride harmed, he decided to prepare for the Kentucky Derby, winning it at the age of 16. He made it out of spite, trying to prove his father wrong and growing his own ego; maybe he couldn’t defeat Diego back in the UK, but he won the Derby. He still believes that winning the Derby was his greatest accomplisment.

✰When he was shot and paralyzed, Johnny felt his own pride crushing him: everything he showed off suddeny vanished. Unable to ride again, the horse-riding promise fell into oblivion; he lost all the friends and respect he had earned as a jockey. No one came to visit, leaving him behind; even his own father disappeared from his life, not even visiting him in the hospital. For that, Johnny is used to being abandoned: he forces himself to not get attached to anyone, since he believes that they’ll probably leave him.

✰During his stay in the hospital, the nurses used to dose him with morphine. They did it in order to shut him up –the poor boy was in terrible pain-, but for that, he got addicted to morphine. Luckily, it was only for a short time, since he managed to get clean several months after leaving the hospital.

✰Due to having such a big ego, now his past glory crushes him. He hates how he lost everything in such a pathetic way; but also believes he deserves it.

✰Surprisingly, his arms and chest are really strong; because he is always using them to crawl around and to lift himself.

✰Due to his light complex and weight, he is terribly ticklish.

✰He is a Christian, and believes in Fate and karma, but in a kind of wretched way. Johnny believes that, throughout the years, Fate itself was taking revenge on him for his misdeeds; and that he deserved every misfortune he received. His obsession with the Corpse showed his obsession with karma too, and how he wanted to reset it to a neutral state, paying off his negative debt. His beliefs in Fate explains his lack of confidence and constant panic of losing everything, since he firmly believes that Fate could at any moment take away his hopes.

✰Johnny has depression and, for this, a lack of confidence. He considers himself a useless person, a burden, and unworthy of love. This gloomy perspective of life came from his youth, making him a pessimistic man.

✰TW//suicide. He has considered -and tried- to commit suicide; but he couldn’t. He claims that it’s because he’s a “coward that hates pain, and doesn’t have the balls to finish everything”; but, deep down, it’s because he holds on to even the smallest hope.

✰TW//self harm. He has several scars: the ones on his arms are smaller, and were self-inflicted -self-harm and suicide attempts-. He also has some scars on his legs, caused by wounds he got by trying to stand up, walk and ride; but the biggest scar is the one covering half his back, as a memento from the accident. The bullet left a mark, surgery made it ugly, and the abuse he endured during his stay in the hospital made it worse. Therefore, he now is ashamed and self-concious of his back.

✰Seeing his legs makes him feel weak, and he hates that. He also despises feeling as defenceless as when someone picks him up to carry him without his consent. He truly hates feeling powerless, and it also makes him incredibly angry -and lowkey sad-. He can only tolerate this if it’s someone who he deeply trusts and knows, and only if he has asked for it.

✰At first, he wouldn’t let anyone touch neither his legs nor his back; but after warming up a little, he would tolerate caresses and gentle pats.

✰He also hates when people look at him with sorrow or as if they were pitying him. He may be disabled, but he’s still perfectly capable of plenty of things. Usually, he will reject any kind of help as politely as possible, but his anger will show.

✰Meeting Gyro made him throw away his harsh facade. At first, he was uncaring of everyone else save himself, only maintaining a polite but cold demeanour towards people he met; but Gyro’s influence made Johnny slightly more friendly.

✰ Gyro also made a great impact in Johnny’s perspective of life; not all of a sudden, but in gradual steps. The Italian man gave him hope, helped him to knock out his lack of confidence, gave him some assurance and optimism and also was genuinely nice to him, making Johnny grateful for meeting him. He treasures their relationship deeply.

✰Johnny doesn’t belittles Slow Dancer for being old, as he knows that she has plenty of experience as a Racing horse, and plenty of stamina. He truly knows his mare, possessing great knowledge of her: he knows and perceives her abilities and limits, and is able to predict what Slow Dancer will be capable of. They have grown quite close to each other, and she ocasionally nudges and licks him gently. Johnny loves this.

✰Sometimes, to kill some time, he and Gyro will exchange curses and slang in their respective languages. Gyro finds American sayings strange.

✰Gyro and Johnny had a hard time understanding each other in the beginning of their relationship: the older man had a thick Italian accent, and Johnny had to decipher what the hell was he trying to say. After a while, they grew used to each other's accents, but Gyro still made fun of Johnny's.

✰ His determination doesn’t waver, despite having failed several times. Johnny focuses on his goals, and puts them above anything else. He is also willing to endure severe wounds in order to reach them. And if you also add his stuborness…

✰The man is REALLY stubborn. If he wants to get something, he WILL, no matter what. If he has to, he will be violent or kill his opponents. This is called as “dark determination flickering in his eyes”, indicating a ruthlessness which would make Johnny able to kill in cold-blood. For this, he may seem amoral and selfish, even extending this to the interest of his loved ones. Yet he isn’t truly amoral, protecting defenceless people and taking damage to protect the ones he cares about.

✰He’s rather impulsive and hot-headed, which makes him take action as soon as possible. Sometimes, he might end up regretting not thinking BEFORE acting.

✰ Johnny would do anything for his loved ones:

Even if he’s afraid of his father, he has always tried his hardest to live up to his expectations.

He loved Nicholas deeply and looked up to him as an idol, and blames himself for his death. After he died, he became guilt-ridden, believing that his brother’s death was his own fault and that he should have died instead.

He was willing to abandon the Corpse Parts he had to save Gyro.

(JOJOLION SPOILERS!) When Rina was struck with the Rock Disease, Johnny stole the Corpse to make it transfer the disease away from her, not caring who would receive it and suffer in her place. But when the disease transfered to his son, he healed him by transfering it to himself, dying in order to save his wife and son.

✰He’s the CEO of being done with everyone’s bullshit. He’s angry 85% of the time, and usually cries out of anger.

✰ He’s also a sarcastic little shit. Any stupid questions you make him will be answered with his fine sarcasm.

✰He’s HORNY! This is shown with his bug bite fetish and the fact that he has been involved in at least one threesome. He doesn’t mind empty sex either -as he slept with several girls who came to him only for his fame-. He’s also bisexual.

✰When it comes to affection, he prefers to show his emotions through actions. For him, they speak louder.

✰Regarding to affection, Johnny will deny it; but he is touch-starved. The man really loves hugs and physical contact. He likes to hold on tight and get as close as posible. Since he doesn’t usually speak out loud his emotions, he will show them physically. However, he would rather be held, feeling loved and protected.

✰He feels guilty when someone falls in love with him, since he believes he’s not worthy of happiness nor love. He tends to think that he’s making them waste their time on him, when they could be with someone who could provide them with what they deserve. He can’t help but compare himself to others, belittling himself.

✰When he has a crush, he will do anything to deny it. He doesn’t want to admit how someone began to be so important to him, and is afraid that “Fate” might take them away from him. If he has to avoid them, he will; just to get away and not face his feelings.

✰George does reconcile with Johnny, and feels ashamed of how he treated his own son. He claims to be proud of him now, and even gives Johnny Nicholas’ boots. At first Johnny was resentful and wasn’t planning on forgiving him, since he believed that his father was only coming back for his recovered fame. After a couple weeks he decided against that, forgiving George and honouring him by naming his only son after him.

✰Nicholas’ boots were one of his most beloved possessions, and were passed down as a family relic.

✰If Rina had allowed him to name their daughter, he would have called her Anne, in honour to his mother.

✰In Japan, the Joestar-Higashikata family lived in a farm. Although the place is designed in the Japanese traditional way, Johnny couldn't help but give it some Western touches, specifically to the barns. These ones were designed to be as similar as the ones his father had in Britain and Danville. It made Johnny nostalgic, but in a gentle and warm way; he purposefully made them like that, so he could remember his roots.

✰They were quite wealthy: not only for the Higashikata's fruit business, but also for Johnny's connection with the Japanese government.

✰As a horse-riding teacher, his pupils loved and respected him deeply. Johnny liked discipline -as he took his profession seriously-, but was also very kind to them, treating them with the respect he never received.

✰Obviously, he taught his children to ride as early as possible.

#jojo's bizarre adventure #johnny joestar #steel ball run

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kyutown · 3 years ago

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hii i was wondering if you could do a bts, seventeen, ateez and txt ship for me please!

im an ‘01 liner, my mbti is INFJ-T. Im pretty short, im around 5’2. I usually quiet and pretty reserved around new people but can quickly warm up to others.

My friends say i can be a bit sarcastic but also very funny. I really enjoy watching movies, taking photos and listening to music. I’ve tried several hobbies to keep my hands busy, like legos, painting, puzzling, playing the guitar and a little bit of piano. I really enjoy just staying at home watching netflix hanging out with my friends. My style is pretty much just black and whites, some nude colours, i barely go for bright pieces.

for my type i really think i would love someone whos like a best friend, someone who i can be comfortable with. Someone who would be fun to be with and enjoy doing the things i like to do aswell. Maybe cute dates to eat at random restaurants but also lazy days inside just doing nothing ❤️

hi! thank you for responding!

for bts, i think jungkook would match well with you! jungkook would be the type who would love to paint with you he would enjoy going out and painting with you while listening to music! i also think his style would match yours as his style is mostly neutral colors like black and white as well!

for seventeen, i think jeonghan would be nice with you! jeonghan loves legos! he would love to build legos with you and would definitely buy lego sets for the both of you so that you guys can build it together! he would love to stay at home and make new lego sets as it brings you guys joy!

for ateez, i think seonghwa would be a great pair! some of seonghwa's hobbies is building action figures and watching movies! i think he would enjoy watching netflix with you and staying in! he would be the type to be a mom figure because he would comfort you, support you and would never judge anything about you!

for txt, i think you would match well with beomgyu! i think beomgyu would be the type to match your ideal type! he would be like your best friend and would love to have fun with you! he would enjoy playing guitars with you and would be willing to do things you like as he would like to try new things!

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whatisthiscontentyouspeakof · 4 years ago

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A Cold Days Night that Changes Everything

A03 | Previous | Next

Chapter 1: The Hogwarts Express

Harry ran his hands through Vulpa’s hair, detangling it and spreading the curls out into a bigger poof of hair then it normally was. Professor McGonagall had taken them to the train that would take them to Hogwarts early in the day, before any of the other students arrived as a way not to overwhelm them. Neither he nor his sisters mentioned that they were prepared their whole lives for when they would leave Azkaban and end up in a whole new world falloff stimuli and thus weren’t as easily overwhelmed as the adults thought they'd be.

Harry had to admit, even if it was just himself, that he was enamoured by the bright bright red that the Hogwarts Express was mainly coloured and a part of him debated using his limited Metamorphmagus abilities to colour his hair the same red colour but ultimately decided against it, knowing it would bring him too much unwanted attention. The inside of the train was mainly neutral colours that Harry was most familiar with, with pops of colour representing the four house even spread throughout the compartments, mainly in the hallway between the different cabins. The seats were plush and soft and comfortable, covered in a faded medium pale blue fabric that was similar to the colour of the sky on some of the less stormy days in Azkaban, bringing Harry a sense of comfort he hadn’t expected.

Vulpa and Delphi had settled down across from each other, pulling down the table attached to the wall and quickly set up a chess game, a favourite of Vulpa’s and started trying to out maneuver each other. Harry had a few books he wanted to read, mainly about different gaps he had in his education that had happened in the magical world in the last ten years, but for now was content to play with his sisters hair.

Draco and Narcissa Malfoy had been helping them catch up, educating them on law changes that their parents and uncles hadn’t been free to know about and teach them, and who they’d be going to school with that was of importance. Lucius Malfoy had mainly just interacted with them to make sure they were presentable, buying them clothing and bringing in a tailor to make sure their clothing fit and had room to grow since they were still growing. He had tried to get Harry to replace his glasses with ones that were more fashionable but Harry had refused, liking the idea that his glasses were the same circular shape that his birth fathers had been, even if they were oversized, and he also hadn’t wanted to give up his first piece of successful transfiguration that he had down when he was seven.

The first students started trickling in around 9:30, mostly older students with badges on their clothing, some of whom where in robes and some in Muggle clothing. Harry realized that they were probably different house prefects and had arrived early so they could help out other student, probably focusing on first years and making sure everyone made it on the train fine.

By 10:30 the platform was starting to fill up with students all trying to get around each other, putting their baggage on the train and say good-bye to their family. There were also a number of students, all of whom Harry considered to be quiet inconsiderate, forming groups with their friends, catching up on what they had done over the summer. They were acting as if they wouldn’t be sitting together on the train, or about to spend the next several months living together before going home for winter break. He had noticed several smaller kids, likely first years, getting trapped behind some of these groups or trying to squeeze by to get on the train and not being able to.

Ten minutes before the train as set to leave the station, most the students started to board the train, saying their final goodbyes and making sure they had all their belongings. Harry was grateful that any of his and his sisters stuff were already at Hogwarts in the private chamber they were going to share, though of course Harry would have a place in whatever house he was sorted in. It seemed like such a hassle to move around with a large chest and any other personal belongings. Why didn’t people shrink their luggage down to a more manageable size? A majority fo the students would have at least one magical parent if they weren’t old enough to do magic outside of school. It didn’t make sense to him.

Minutes before the train was set to leave, a large group of red heads made their way through the platform from the Muggle entrance. There was only one adult in the group of red heads, a plump woman who was herding what appeared to be her four sons towards the train, her hand grasping her daughter, which judging by the grumpy sad look on her face, she wasn’t yet old enough to be attending Hogwarts. The eldest of the children had a badge on his outfit, another prefect and likely the last to arrive, how irresponsible. He instantly moved away from his family, dragging his chest behind him. The next boys in age, a set of twins judging by appearance, left not long after, abandoning their youngest brother and sister to their mothers attention.

The mother was interesting, fusing over her two youngest children in a way that Bellatrix never did. Curios to see how else she different, after all Harry knew people out in the world didn’t consider Bellatrix to be a good mom even if he and his sisters thought differently, Harry lowered the compartments window just enough to hear what was happening on the platform.

“Ron, you’ve got something on your nose.” The mother reached out and grabbed the boy who had tried to jerk out of the way, and began rubbing the end of his nose. The entire motion was strange to Harry who grew up surrounded by dirt and filth and general lack of cleanliness that no one bother trying to clean off any weird marks or dirt spots, it was pointless after all.

“Mum- geroff,” The boy said, his voice whiny as he wiggled free from his mothers tight grasp.

“Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nosie? said one fo the twins, whom had rejoined his family.

“Shut up,” Ron hissed. At least that was familiar to Harry. Some days ‘shut up’ was a favourite saying of his family members.

“Where’s Percy?” The mother demanded.

“He’s coming now.” The same twin said.

The oldest became striding into sight, walking with a confidence and a grace that his other family members lacked. He had changed into his school robes at some point, transferring his prefect badge over, the red and gold badge, identifying him as a Gryffindor, standing out more on the black fabric of the robes then his ratty warm toned clothing that he’d been wearing before.

“Can’t stay long, Mother,” he said. “I’m up front, the pRefects have got two compartments to themselves-“

“Oh, are you a Prefect, Percy?” said the other twin, with mock surprise. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”

“Hang on,” the other twin added on, “I think I remember him saying something about it. Once-“

“Or twice-“

“A minutes-“

‘All summer-“

“Oh, shut up,” said Prefect Percy of Gryffindor. Harry couldn’t help but agree with him. These red headed twins came off as people who spoke like this often, which Harry found annoying. Then again, his sisters only ever did it when they were trying to be annoying which may be why he found it so annoying.

“how come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” said one of the twins.

“Because he’s a Prefect,” said their mother fondly. Harry thought nothing of the show of favouritism, his dad being the only person he knew who treated he and the girls equally all the time instead of treating them depending on how they were acting that day and if they did anything exceptionally well. “All right, dear, well, have a good term-send me an owl when you get there.”

She kissed Percy on the cheek and he left. Then she turned her attention to the twins, looking reading to start scolding them. Harry and the girls had had enough of those in their lives, mainly about visiting prisoners in other wings or getting too close to where guards were stationed, to know the look.

“Now, you two-this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve-you’ve blown up a toilet or-“

“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet.”

“Great idea though, thanks, Mum.”

Harry felt like his dad may enjoy hearing a few stories about what these kids got up to at school. He had a feeling it was a lot like what his dad, this birth father and their friends got up to.

“It’s not funny. And look after Ron.”

“Don’t worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.”

“Shut up,” Ron said again, glaring at his twin brothers, almost tall enough to look them right in the eye.

A loud noise sounded. If Harry had been raised by anyone else or raised anywhere else, he might have been startled, as it was, he realized the sound was that of the trains horn and memorized the sound for future reference. The girls chess pieces startled before complaining about the sound, causing Vulpa to laugh and Dephi and him to smile.

“Hurry up!” the mother outside yelled, causing all three boys to clamber on to the train, turning to lean out for her to kiss them goodbye and their younger sister began to cry.

“Don’t, Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls.” One of the twins commented.

“We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat.” The other twin said.

“George!”

“Only joking, Mum.”

The train started to move and Harry found himself distracted from the red haired family at he looked at his own. So far since leaving Azkaban the three them had travelled by boat, though they’d been unconscious, by carriage and by floo. They had never travelled by train before and Harry found himself enjoying all the new experiences, though he couldn’t help but make sure that his sisters were both fine. They were just as prepared mentally for the outside world as he had been, but there was only so much their imagination and the descriptions their family had given them could provide and there was the chance that all the new experiences became too much. If they were to be overwhelmed, it would be best for it to happen in privacy then around those who could one day turn into enemies.

Both the girls looked up from their chess game to look out the window and the landscape passing them by. At first it was clusters of houses that flashed past the window, before they started to flicker out, appearing less and less as they headed towards the Scottish countryside.

It was an hour into the ride before a student tried to interrupt them. The door to their compartment rattled as someone tried to open the door. Harry glanced at his sisters, who both instantly laid down to pretend to sleep as a tactic to prevent anyone from guessing at how young them were. Pleased that they were convincing enough, Harry went to the door, reaching out with his magic, before opening the door as if it was never locked to begin with.

“Malfoy,” he said pleasantly as he saw Draco Malfoy standing before him with a group of other students behind him.

“Black,” Malfoy greeted back at him, one fo the few people who didn’t stumble over his preferred last name. “May I introduce you to some of our year mates?”

Harry studied him and his friends before stepping aside with a hum, letting Malfoy and his friends in and letting his sisters know they could sit back up and stop pretending to be asleep. Vulpa moved from her side of the compartment to sit beside Delphi as Harry took her spot, allowing the other students to sit down.

Harry studied the other children as they made themselves comfortable, knowing his sisters were doing the same. Two of Malfoy’s friends were male like him, while the other was female.

The girl was tiny, almost as tall as Harry himself, who was aware that he was short for his age, Azkaban not having provided him with enough nutrition to grow as big and tall as his peers. She had deep brown pin straight hair that was cut straight across at chin level and across her forehead, not a single hair out of place or messy. Her cheeks still held some baby fat, rounding it out a bit, but the general shape seemed to be more oval then round. She had dark browns eyes that verged on black at stared back at him almost defiantly, her thin pink lips pressed together in a scowl, obviously not pleased to no longer being in her carriage and in Harry’s.

The two boys that had joined Malfoy, sitting on either side of the boy in question, were large, larger then any other child Harry had met, their build making it questionable whether they were overweight or muscular. Out of the corner of his eyes, Harry could see Delphi eyeing the one closet to her with interest, as if debating different ways to experiment on the other child and see how the kids build altered how his body reacted compared to her and the rest of her siblings tiny frames.

“Blacks,” Malfoy said, leading the introduction once everyone was settled. “these are my companions,” he gestured towards the girl, “Pansy Parkinson of the Most Ancient and Noble house of Parkinson. Her brother, Heir Parkinson, graduated last year.” Harry nodded politely at the girl who nodded back, her scowl softening to something not quiet a scowl. His sisters didn’t bother doing or saying anything knowing that the second they did, attention would undeniably be put on them and it would be best to get introduction over with first so they knew who they were dealing with.

Malfoy guested towards the boy to his left, the one closest to the girls. “This is heir Vincent Crabbe, of the ancient house of Crabbe. He and his family have been assets to the Malfoy house for generations.” Harry realized that that meant that Crabbe was under the Malfoy’s family protection and as Harry and his sisters would be staying with the Malfoy’s int eh summer, it would be best if they looked out for him as well.

Crabbe, as Harry had already noticed, was quiet large, slighter shorter then the other large boy and defiantly rounder. His dark brown hair was cut close to his head, leaving it looking like a giant sphere then anything else. He had brown eyes that had a mean looking squint to them, though that was mostly the fat in his cheeks pushing up agains his eyes then him actually trying to look threatening at the moment. Tiny scars littered across his knuckles, barely noticeable but suggesting that the boy was already used to the odd fist fight.

Malfoy gestured to the last boy. “This is heir Gregory Goyle of the ancient house of Goyle. like the Crabbe family, he and his family have been assets to the Malfoy house for generations.” Much like with the other two, Harry nodded politely as he studied the last boy.

Goyle was the largest boy in the compartment, taller then Crabbe, though just as thick and large otherwise. His face was more rectangular then round and his hair was a lighter brown, one that one could even refer to as a dark blond in the right lighting. His eyes were a lighter brown with specs of green in them and his hair, while short, had a curl to it. While he didn’t look overly angry or intimidating the way Crabbe naturally looked, Harry knew that they boy was likely a lot meaner then Crabbe when push came to shove.

Malfoy turned towards his companions. “Crabbe, Goyle and Parkinson, may I introduce you to my new companions and foster siblings, Hardwin, Vulpecula and Cassiopeia Black. Hardwin Black will be joining us as first years while the Black twins will be staying at Hogwarts until as family to Hardwin, but won’t be joining us as students for another two years.”

“Merry meet,” they all muttered as introductions were done and conversation could start.

Delphi spoke up first. “As there are three of us Blacks, I am fine with being refereed to as Cassiopeia to try and avoid confusion.” she said politely but firmly. “Do not mistake it as me being overly familiar or allowing you to do so, I prefer my middle name over my first.”

The other children nodded at what his sister said, understanding that she was still to be treated in a formal respect and wasn’t inviting any of them in for friendship.

Vulpa, not one to go far without her sister, even in conversations, decided to add her two knuts. “As I do prefer to go by first name, I can’t say the same to help alleviate confusion, but I am will to go by Little Black if it makes things easier when all of us are together or I am just with my brother, otherwise just Black will be fine.”

Again the other children agreed easily enough. Before any of them could give out any name preference a toad jumped through the tiny opening that Malfoy’s friends left in the compartments door.

There was silence as everyone stared at the toad before Vulpa spoke. “Trevor!” she said happily, getting up and picking the toad up.

The second the name left his sisters lips, Harry realized she was right. The toad was the one Neville Longbottom’s great uncle got him for getting acceptance into Hogwarts. Neville hadn’t been able to bring the toad to St. Mugo’s to show them but he did bring a photo of him receiving the toad that his grandmother had taken so that he could show them what a toad looked like.

“Trevor?” Malfoy asked, looking at the toad with a slight look of disgust on his face.

Harry hummed in confirmation but it was Vulpa who spoke up, generally being the most talkative out of the three of them. “We met heir Longbottom during out short stay at St. Mugo’s. His great uncle Algie Longbottom bought him for him as a gift for Hogwarts.”

“Why? It’s useless. It’s not like it’s a magical breed.” Malfoy commented, the look of disgust still on his face.

He wasn’t wrong. Toads had no used in the magical world in this day and age. Normal toads like Trevor were really only good to experiment on or as a potion ingredient. Magical breeds like the dragon toad could light tiny fires but so could a simple spell. The most useful breed of toad was the Giant Purple toad but even then most people passed on raising them unless they are a potioneer. Harry and the twins had to listen to Neville go on about different toads when he announced that he got one, going on about how everyone was going to make fun of him for it, but Harry had a feeling that Neville was still happy about having received Trevor.

As if summed by his thoughts there was a timid knock on the door. Harry flicked his hand to the side connecting to his magic and forcing the door open without anyone having to get up. Neville Longbottom stood at the compartments doorway looking nervous and unsure as what to do now.

“Are you looking for Trevor?” Vulpa asked, holding said toad up for the other boy to see.

The boy nodded smiling with relief as Vulpa passed the toad off to him.

Harry made a little hum noise as to get everyone’s attention. “Everyone, this is heir Neville Longbottom of the Most Ancient and Most Noble house of Longbottom.” he said. “Neville, this is heir Draco Malfoy, of Most Ancient and Most Noble, heir Vincent Crabbe of ancient, heir Gregory Goyle of ancient and Pansy Parkinson of Most Ancient and Noble houses.”

“Merry Meet,” Neville said awkwardly as the others repeated it back to him just as unsure. Seemed like dark families and light families didn’t know how to interact with each other.

“Are you going to sit?” Delphi asked softly, speaking for the first time since the others had joined besides her polite ‘Merry Meet’ earlier.

Neville looked unsure but eventually he sat down nervously. There was a moment of silence before Vulpa, sweet, smart, awkward silence breaking Vulpa spoke up. “So who here plays chess?”

#Harry Potter #Harry Potter Fanfiction #First Chapter #Fanfiction #story #fanfic #Harry Potter fanfic #hogwarts express

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jungleboyfriend · 4 years ago

Text

Beloved (Billie Kay blurb)

For @superkickparty because they (I'm not 100% sure on ur pronouns) want Billie Kay fics and I want to write (also I'm gay)

Friends to lovers, idk if it counts as angst but I tried, mostly yearning and fluff.

Billie Kay x gender neutral reader (masculine clothing described)

Also partially takes place at a party of sorts, so au where there wasnt a pandemic. Or takes place before of a while after. Take your pick. Dont party during a pandemic or I'm stealing your spine.

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

Two years, six months, and eight days. It had been two years, six months, and eight days since you realized you were in love with your best friend, and god only knows how long before that you actually fell for her.

It was your other best friend, Peyton, that made you see. All it took was her showing you one single picture for the realization to hit you like a freight train. The longing eyes, the easy smile, the way you looked like you would float away at any second, all because Billie was laughing at something stupid you had said.

Looking at the picture, there was no denying it anymore. You were in love with Billie Kay, your best friend. Your beloved best friend. Peyton promised not to show Billie the photo, but she did keep it. "For your wedding one day," she had joked.

For two years, six months, and eight days, that sentence and that photo clouded your mind, and you still didnt know if it brought peace or pain.

The thought made you giddy, picturing a wedding for the two of you, imagining her dress, the flowing white fabric draped over her form, swirling around her like clouds around an angel, sent from heaven just for you. But these thoughts never lasted long. The clouds always turned grey as you remembered that she didn't know how you felt, and what would be at stake if you told her. You could lose her, maybe forever. Truly a fate worse than death.

A knock at your apartment door pulled you from your thoughts. Peyton was on the other side, but not for long. You had just barely gotten up to answer it when she came bursting through the door, a wide and happy smile across her mouth and cheeks, but a mischievous glint in her eyes. She had a plan.

"Get dressed, get fancy, we've got a birthday party to go to, black tie. Chop chop, darling," Peyton announced.

"Well hello to you too, Pey," you said through a laugh. You didn't argue with her, though, you learned to not do that long ago. You made your way to your closet, making a beeline for your wardrobe. Peyton followed suit, no doubt to make sure you were actually going to dress up, and not crawl out the window to escape. Again.

"So is this actually black tie or are you trying to set me up again?" you questioned, flicking through your fancier clothes.

"Both," she answered simply. "Billie wanted to get her hair done first, so she's meeting us there." You looked back at your friend to see her wiggling her eyebrows. You shook your head, deciding against throwing a slipper at her.

Nearly an hour later, both you and Peyton were dressed up, her in a simple blue dress that hugged her curves, and a white blazer overtop and white heels, and you in a pair of black dress pants, a red button-up, and a black tie. Together you headed out to the front of your appartment building to wait for Billie.

It didn't take long for her to arrive, pulling up and immediately yelling out the window about how good you and Peyton looked. You both got in the car, laughing at Billie's wolf whistles and compliments.

You couldn't help but notice, however, that the shirt that Peyton had specifically picked out for you, matched almost perfectly with the red dress that Billie had on. The colour suited her skin so well, and the shape and length did wonders to accentuate her beauty, even though she didn't really need it. She was damn near perfect on her own. But the knee-length fitted dress with the slit at the thigh definitely didnt hurt.

"You look beautiful, by the way, Billie. That colour suits you," you managed to get out.

"Thank you, love! You look dashing as well. And look!" she began, "We match!" She pointed between your shirt and her dress with a big smile. You couldn't help but smile back, nodding along with her laughter.

Your arrival at the party and the following hour or so went by without incident, but people inevitably came up to Billie to talk, to catch up, to flirt. You tried to stay calm about it, but it was hard. Watching other people flirt with her, making her laugh, making eye contact, it started to hurt.

Muttering something about fresh air to the girls, you made your way to the back patio. It had started raining, so there wasnt anyone else out there, meaning you got to sit and sulk in peace. At least you thought you could. Peyton came out moments after you, sitting next to you in one of the patio chairs.

"Talk to me," she said softly.

"Am I selfish? All I want is her attention, and every time someone else has her attention, it just hurts. It hurts a lot, Pey. They're all in there making her smile, making her laugh, keeping her attention. I want that to be me, but I can't. Not right to her face, it's not fair," you mumbled.

"No, no, you're not selfish. You're in love," she replied.

"Then why do I feel like garbage? I feel greedy, and sad, and tired, and all I wanna do is run up to her and hold her, and tell her I love her, that I'm in love with her, but I can't! I can't lose her, Peyton. I'm scared," you vented. By the end, there were tears running down your face, and your hands were shaking.

You looked at Peyton to see her looking past you at the door, a look of shock on her face. Against your anxiety, you turned around, and sure enough, there was Billie. She was staring at you, eyes wide and mouth hung open. She heard you, and she knew you her talking about her. You could feel it.

"Should I, um, should I go back inside and let the two of you talk?" Peyton asked.

"If you dont mind," Billie said, moving forward, her eyes not leaving you. Her gaze was soft, yet piercing at the same time.

Peyton hurried inside, making sure to close the sliding glass door behind her, shutting the blinds on it for good measure to give the two of you privacy.

"Billie, I can explain," you said, though you didn't really know how to. You had no words, not that you could form at least.

"Were you talking about me?" she asked - no, demanded. She was too in shock about what she had just heard to be properly polite.

"I'm sorry, Billie, I, I never meant for you to hear it like that, you deserve better than that, I'm so sorry," you choked out, holding back tears. You stood up to leave, thinking that's what she wanted from you. Before you could go, however, Billie grabbed your arm, not hard, but firm, and tugged you towards her. She wrapped her arms around you, burying her face in your hair.

"Were you talking about me?" she repeated. You nodded, not trusting your voice. Billie pulled back, grabbing your fa e between her hands. A joyous grin was spread across her face, tears welling in her eyes.

"You love me? You're in love with me?" she beamed. Shocked, you simply nodded your head again. She pulled you back, gripping your head and pressing her face into your neck. "I love you too," she whispered.

"You do?" you asked, awestruck. She lifted her head, but made sure to keep your bodies close.

"God, with all my heart! I've loved you for so long," she replied. You looked into her eyes, and saw nothing but absolute truth, love, and adoration.

A smile broke out across your face, matching hers, and you leaned your head to rest your forehead against hers.

"Can I kiss you?" she asked softly, running her thumb over your cheek, catching a stray tear. You nodded again, trying to save time this time.

Quickly but softly, she connected her lips to yours, a smile still playing at both of your lips. So caught up in the bliss of your dreams coming true, you barely heard Peyton on the other side of the window cheering, knowing she wouldn't have to try and play matchmaker for her two oblivious best friends anymore, after two years, six months, and eight days.

#txt #billie kay #billie kay x reader #wwe #wwe imagine #the iiconics #writing #my writing #fluff #long post #ive never been one for angst but i did try to dip my toes in #also its 2am pls dont judge too hard if its not great hskbzidhdo

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mirrorhaunted · 4 years ago

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CHARACTER SHEET

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 001 : THE OUTSIDE .

NAME : Maryam Adah Bennett

EYE COLOUR : Pale blue that most humans find to be unnerving. When in largely populated areas, Mary will sometimes sport contact lenses. When alive, blueish green.

HAIR STYLE / COLOUR : Her hair is a chestnut brown colour. It sits about mid shoulder in loose, natural waves. It is usually worn down, tucked behind her ears or tightened into a low bun.

HEIGHT : 5′3

CLOTHING STYLE : Loose. Flowy fabrics. She enjoys pastel colours but usually stays away from them due to her skin tone. She wears a lot of neutrals and some blacks. She’ll almost always be seen in a loose silk blouse and a pair of jeans.

PHYSICAL FEATURE : Mary has scars on her wrists from her mortal death.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 002 : THE INSIDE .

FEARS : Herself. Her father.

GUILTY PLEASURE : She finds people watching fascinating. She’d sit in a mall for hours and just watch humans do their thing. Gorging on human blood.

AMBITIONS FOR THE FUTURE : Reuniting with her maker Elisabet. Finding her purpose.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 003 : THOUGHTS .

FIRST THOUGHTS WAKING UP : As a vampire, Maryam needs very little sleep. When her body is depleted of energy, she does quite literally “sleep like the dead.” Her first thought is usually always about feeding.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT MOST : Blood, probably. It’s a very difficult urge to fight off. Her mother. Henry.

WHAT THEY THINK ABOUT BEFORE BED : Mary doesn’t really have a “bedtime” but I suppose she would think about the few friends she has, or about the past. She dwells on the past a lot.

WHAT THEY THINK THEIR BEST QUALITY IS : Maryam would say that it is her determination or her survival skills. It is really her kindness, but that would be something she tries her very best to hide from others.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 004 : WHAT’S BETTER ?

SINGLE OR GROUP DATES : Single.

TO BE LOVED OR RESPECTED : To be loved.

BEAUTY OR BRAINS : Brains.

DOGS OR CATS : If animals weren’t so scared of her, both.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 005 : DO THEY …

LIE : Often. Mostly to herself.

BELIEVE IN THEMSELVES : Yes. No.

BELIEVE IN LOVE : Yes, although tragically.

WANT SOMEONE : All the time.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 006 : HAVE THEY EVER …

BEEN ON STAGE : No.

DONE DRUGS : She’s tried it but it never took any affect.

CHANGED WHO THEY WERE TO FIT IN : Literally yes, Mary has to take constant steps to avoid human attention. She does it to survive.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 007 : FAVOURITES .

FAVOURITE COLOUR : Lavender.

FAVOURITE ANIMAL : Sparrow.

FAVOURITE BOOK : The Tempest, William Shakespeare

FAVOURITE GAME : Chess. She also finds Jenga very amusing.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 008 : AGE .

DAY THEIR NEXT BIRTHDAY WILL BE : August 18th. She is a Libra.

HOW OLD WILL THEY BE : She will be 208 years old.

𝙇𝘼𝙔𝙀𝙍 009 : FINISH THE SENTENCE .

I LOVE : Passionately.

I FEEL : Alone.

I HIDE : My feelings.

I MISS : No one. My humanity.

WISH : For family.

TAGGED BY: @elygor (tysm)

TAGGING: @sixthofficer @lunelios @frcznreign @evermxre AND YOU

#META ✞ ❝ a giggle at a funeral ❞#elygor #QUEUE ✥ ❝ at other hauntings ❞

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cinaja · 4 years ago

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Before the Wall part 11

An acotar fanfic on the time of the War. For summary and the entire fic, click here

Disclaimer: The world and the characters of acotar belong to sarah j maas

----

Miryam tugs at the sleeve of her dress, frowning. I's not quite long enough. At least it covers the brand on her left forearm, but the scars on her wrists are painfully visible.

The opening of her tent flaps and Miryam looks up, expecting to see Jurian. Instead, Helion enters.

"Oh, don't look so disappointed", the male drawls, "I might get the feeling you don't like me."

"You'll find that few people take kindly to being called a witch."

Helion has been hounding her these past days, ever since the incident with the wards. Trying to get answers out of her. So far, Miryam has managed to avoid him.

Helion just huffs a laugh and points towards Kiel. The falcon's wing is almost healed, it puffs his feathers and clicks its beak at Helion. "It's not like you're trying hard to hide it."

Miryam glares at him. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She tries to shove past him, but, quick as lightning, Helion grabs her arm. "I'm not your enemy", he says softly. Miryam can see his magic moving through the air. Her sleeves begin to grow, covering her wrist. "I don't know why you think I am."

Before Miryam can reply, Helion lets go of her arm and takes a step back. A second later, Jurian and Mor enter the tent. Jurian frowns at Helion, Mor winks at her.

Both of them are dressed in their finery for the meeting, Jurian in light leather armour and Mor in a red silk dress that is far more revealing than anything Miryam could ever wear without breaking down.

"Everyone ready?", Helion asks, "Then let's go."

Hesitantly, Miryam takes his arm. This time, she pays close attention to the way the strings move around him, trying to figure out what they mean. But he winnows far too quickly for her to make sense of the glowing lines. They land in the garden once again. Miryam steps away from Helion and closer to Jurian.

"Everything fine?", he whispers into her ear.

Miryam nods and gratefully takes the arm he offers her. She tries to pretend she doesn't notice the encouraging look Mor shoots her.

Then, Andromache rushes down the palace steps towards them. She pauses for a moment to smile at Mor. "How's training going?"

"Oh, fine", Mor replies. Miryam wonders if she imagines the colour staining her cheeks.

Andromache smiles. "Maybe one day, we can train together." Then, she turns to Miryam. "Come on, the meeting starts in an hour and there's so much to discuss."

The queen falls into step next to her. "I missed you during the meetings, it's so much harder without you here. You're the only one who can really deal with the Fae."

Miryam wrinkles her nose. When did she become the expert for Fae? Oh, right. When she thought it was a smart move to announce that she was the one who knew them best.

"What's going on?", she asks.

"Is Nakia still being a pain?", Jurian cuts in

"She isn't a bad person, you know? Just hard." Andromache sighs. "And yes, a real pain sometimes. Most times. Anyways, most days, this council argues three quarters of the time. We can't seem to agree on anything."

Miryam stifles a groan. "Any good news?"

"You're the only one both us and the Fae seem to respect, so that's good." Andromache grins. "And we now control the Callian Pass."

"What?", Jurian asks, "You're serious?"

"What's the Callian Pass?", Miryam asks.

Jurian says, "It's one of the only ways through the mountains. An incredibly important strategic location. Who got it?"

"Erithia", Andromache says and Miryam freezes, "It's funny, really. We kept sending out messages to them and they kept refusing. And then, they take the Callian Pass from Rask and send a message the same night, telling us they'd like to join." She shakes her head. "Did you know that their Prince was engaged to-"

"So Prince Drakon will be at the meeting today?", Miryam asks, before Andromache can say that cursed name.

She wonders if the Prince will recognise her. Probably not. Chances are he already forgot about the slave girl she helped escape. Maybe it would be for the best. But somehow, Miryam knows she'll still try to thank him, no matter what.

"No", Andromache says, "He sent an emissary. I heard politics isn't his strong suit."

"Oh, that certainly is true", a new voice says from behind and the Grand Duke of Sangravah steps next to Miryam. He bows to the waist. "Lady Miryam. A pleasure to meet you again."

"The pleasure is mine", Miryam replies and returns the gesture, "How do you know the Prince?"

"Knowing is too big a word", the Grand Duke replies, "We met a few times, but I mostly just heard of him and read his texts. I'm quite fond of some of his ideas."

Miryam wants to ask another question, but the Grand Duke already turns to Mor. "So you're the one from the Night Court?", he asks.

"Yes, Your Grace." Mor inclines her head (not deep enough by far).

"Prythian, hm?", he says, "I always felt you guys take yourself quite seriously for such a little spot on the map."

Helion and Mor exchange a look.

"Let's go to the meeting room", Miryam says before one of them can start an argument and walks ahead.c

The meeting room is different from the one Miryam remembers. Mostly, the table is bigger and there are more people sitting around.

"You ruined my fun", Jurian whispers into her ear, "I would have loved to see that fight."

"Sorry. But I would have hated to pick up the pieces afterwards."

Jurian rolls his eyes and kicks a Fae soldier out of his usual chair. The male lets out a growl and Miryam offers him an apologizing smile, making him calm down a little.

She leans on the back of Jurian's chair. "Can you manage the hour until the meeting starts without getting into a fight?", she teases.

"Sure." Jurian smiles up at her. "Since I have no interest of meddling with the Fae, I'm staying right where I am."

Miryam doesn't have the same luxury. But fortunately, she likes several of the Fae in this room. During her time as an emissary, she met most of these royals and some of them were alright (cutthroat, with words like knives, but not bad people)

Still, it's weird to have these conversations. One moment, Miryam's perfectly at ease, sometimes she even enjoys herself - the next second, it takes all of her self control to keep smiling and not break down.

She manages to get a grip of Mor for a moment and make sure she's doing fine. It's the female's first time in foreign politics, but the High Lord excused himself, so Mor had to step in. As far as Miryam can tell, she is doing well (messing up the rules of Continental politics so badly that Miryam has to suppress a wince whenever she says something, but since she's from Prythian, no one minds). Either way, Miryam has only exchanged a few words with her when another Fae royal wants to talk to her.

Eventually, she ends up in her seat next to Jurian and the meeting begins.

The first one to speak is a white-winged Fae male who serves as emissary to their newest member. He gives a brief summary about what happened in the Callian Pass and officially informs them that Erithia would like to join the Alliance.

"And your Prince couldn't be bothered to come himself?", one of the present royals asks.

Another one laughs. "He was probably scared to mess up again after that incident with Queen Ravenia."

A few people chuckle. Miryam honestly wonders why Prince Drakon sent an emissary. He may be bad at Continental politics, but surely he must see that staying away only makes things worse.

The Seraphim emissary bristles. "Prince Drakon is understandably busy with his army. He sends his regards."

A Fae female smirks. "Or he thinks he won't be able to resist all these pretty mortals on the council. After all, I heard a rumour that he broke his engagement with Ravenia over one of her slaves."

"And I heard", Miryam says lightly, "that spreading rumours about your allies is frowned upon in polite society. At least it's not a very nice way to thank them for winning us an important strategic location."

"Thank you, My Lady", the emissary says and inclines his head

Miryam smiles at the male. "I apologize for the incident. Do tell your Prince that we are grateful for the assistance."

To her surprise, there are no more teasing comments after that. Does she truly have such power over these centuries-old royals?

The vote on accepting Erithia's wish to join the alliance is pure formality. For all their cruel jokes, no one is about to reject an ally this powerful.

After that, the floor is given to a female from one of the countries south of the Black Land. "I'm afraid I don't have good news", she says, "We lost 1500 soldiers yesterday."

Jurian frowns. "What happened?", he asks.

"The Black Land tried to invade, we sent an army to meet theirs. At first, we were holding our own, but then, something changed. I still don't know what exactly happened, but suddenly, our magic stopped working." She shakes her head. "Our soldiers were slaughtered. Less than two hundred made it out alive."

"What do you mean", the Grand Duke of Sangravah asks, "your magic stopped working?"

The female shrugs, looking a bit helpless. There are shadows under her eyes. "It just vanished. High Witcher Artax was at the battle, I assume that he cast a spell."

It's all Miryam can do not to flinch at the male's mention. She takes a deep breath and slips on a mask of neutral interest. She keeps a tight grip on her emotions, refusing to let the sheer terror that's flooding her at the memories appear in her scent.

Helion is watching her closely from the other side of the table. She wonders if he thinks she could have stopped it, if he truly believes she could have gone up against Artax and saved these soldiers.

Queen Nakia shakes her head. "You mean to tell me that one witcher could do this to an entire army?"

Helion snorts without taking his eyes off Miryam. "They could do worse. Artax, especially."

Andromache asks, "Can't we get some of them on our side?"

"The witcher's Guild isn't exactly known to care for mortals", Helion says, "And joining our side would mean giving up on the Sacrifices, which isn't likely. Especially with Artax as the High Witcher."

Miryam wishes she could vanish. Her power is whispering inside her and the fact that this room is full of powerful Fae, all of whom make no effort to dampen their power, isn't helpul at all.

"So", Jurian says (and Miryam doesn't want to hear what he has to say, but she can't stop him), "Nothing we can do about this. Unless someone knows a way to kill all these witches."

A few people laugh. Miryam doesn't.

Fortunately, the conversation turns away from the Guild after that. Instead, they argue endlessly about everything from chains of command to strategies. Miryam doesn't feel like she's entirely there. Even as she navigates the conversation, wielding words like knives, working together with Andromache and the Grand Duke, her thoughts keep drifting back to those dead soldiers.

And finally, the meeting is over. She is so very tired.

Helion winnows all of them back to the camp. Miryam brushes off Jurian's worried question if she's fine and hurries off to her tent.

----

Rhys is having a horrible week.

The flight from Prythian to the Continent with his soldiers was already difficult. It took two days to get to where they were supposed to be and during that time, he had to get through a total of fifteen dominance battles with the Illyrians.

By the time they reach their designated camp, Rhys is done. He's about one insult away from snapping.

This straw is an Illyrian male who somehow thinks it's a good idea to insult a bunch of mortal soldiers and then get into a fight with them. Fortunately, Rhys arrives before someone ends up dead. His power slams through the male's shield and Rhys grabs him by the wing. The male whimpers as he drags him off.

The mortals, however, don't look scared, even though they quite obviously lost the fight. If anything, they seem angry.

"Sorry about that", Rhys calls out to them as he drags the male towards their camp, "That one isn't trained yet."

He doesn't let go of the male's wing until they have reached the Illyrian camp that's still being constructed next to the main one. A part of him wants to shrink back from the cruelty, but these Illyrians understand nothing but brutality.

All around them, Illyrian soldiers stop their work to watch. Rhys drags the male to the centre of the camp.

"Stay away from the mortals", he snaps, loudly enough that everyone can hear him.

He releases the hold on his power enough to let the Illyrians around him feel it in the air. Turns around slowly to hold all of their gazes.

Then, he lets go of the male's wing and stalks off.

Even after his declaration, he spends the day breaking up fights and dealing out punishments (ordering the beatings makes a part of him shrink back each time, but it's all the Illyrians know. Anything less and they won't take him seriously). To make matters worse, after a few hours, the mortals are fed up with the Illyrians' attitude and are tired of being pushed around and start fighting back.

By the time everything is finally settled, Rhys is done. Done with acting so cold and cruel, done with the Illyrians sneering at him. He just wants to go home, back to his family. Or at least, he wants a moment of peace in his tent.

But when he enters the commander's tent, he hears voices. Inside, he finds the Ironcrest Lord, Marek, and a male he never met, though his dark skin makes it seem likely that he's from the Continent.

"What's going on?", Rhys asks sharply.

The male arches an eyebrow at him. "I'm having a meeting with the commander."

"I'm the commander", Rhys says, a growl escaping his throat. He jerks his chin at Marek. "Out. I'll deal with you later."

The male looks inclined to object and Rhys lets his power rumble through the air. Malek bares his teeth, but is smart enough to do as Rhys says.

"As I was just telling that other one: Your soldiers", the strange male hisses, "are a menace. Since you arrived, there were 36 fights. More than in the last two months in total."

Rhys winces. "I apologize for their behaviour. I gave them orders to stay away from the mortals."

"Well, you're not a very good commander, are you?", the male (likely the general in charge of the camp) asks, "Letting your soldiers walk all over you. How did you even get the position, a green boy like you?"

Rhys bristles. "My father, the High Lord, appointed me."

"Oh, wonderful", the General drawls, "A prince. Grown up rich and thinks he deserves everything he got. You probably never even saw battle. You know, I just love kids like you."

Rhys glares at him. "I trained for years to earn that position."

The male laughs. "Then I have news for you, little prince. Your father, apparently, doesn't recognise you as a son. Meaning, no protection for you. So you'll see your fair share of battle." The male brushes past Rhys. "You know", he says as he exits the tent, "I've always wanted to make a privileged little prick like you learn what life is like for normal people."

----

"You're dead", Jurian drawls, "Again."

"I'm sorry", Mor snaps from where she's lying on the ground.

"Don't be sorry, do better."

"I'm trying!"

Jurian glares at her. "No, you aren't. Because your mind is elsewhere." He sheathes his sword. "Either focus on what's going on, or stop entirely."

Mor glares right back. "I just heard that my uncle sent my cousin and one of my best friends to the Continent to fight. And I'm not allowed to contact them, so I have no way of knowing if they are alright." She shakes her head. "They could die and I wouldn't even know."

Jurian doesn't really know what to say. He hasn't had any kind of family beyond his soldiers since he was a child. If Mor wants sympathy, she should go to Miryam. However, Jurian may be able to offer some advice.

"They send out casualty lists", he says, "You can check there."

Mor bites her lip, then nods. "Good idea. Thank you." She hesitates. "You want some advice?"

"What kind of advice?"

Mor looks torn for a moment. Then, she says, "You know, the entire camp noticed what's going on with you and Miryam by now."

"This isn't the kind of thing I'm discussing with you."

Mor shakes her head. "Just make a move, Jurian. Because she isn't about to."

"What did she tell you?"

"Talk to her." With that, Mor turns around and walks off.

For a moment, Jurian considers running after her and making her answer. But somehow, he doubts that would be win him any favour with Miryam.

He straightens. Truth is, he should have talked to her long ago. It's been months since he realised what he feels for her. But better now than never.

He only remembers that his timing is off when he enters Miryam's tent. She's been in a bad mood ever since the meeting. (At least that's what Jurian thinks. But with Miryam, even he sometimes has a hard time telling.)

At the moment, Miryam is standing at her work table, sorting through herbs. Which means she's upset over something. At least she turns around when Jurian enters.

"Did anything happen?", she asks, "You look a bit pale."

Honestly, he considers running off. But that's what cowards do.

"Everything's fine", he says, "Let's go for a walk." Miryam doesn't move and Jurian adds, "Come on. You can't hide in here the entire evening."

It isn't the first time this happens. Miryam thinks no one notices when she has a bad day, but Jurian sees. He can't usually tell why (and asking, he learned early on, is not helpful) but he usually finds some small way to help.

Miryam puts down her herbs. She follows Jurian out of the tent and through the camp.

The sun already set, but the camp is still full of soldiers sitting around campfires. Miryam, once again, is all smiles and kind words, addressing most soldiers by the name. Jurian, too, calls out greetings left and right, but he leads Miryam towards the edge of the camp.

"Where are we going?", she asks once they reach the trees at the edge of the camp.

"It's a surprise."

Jurian thought long and hard on where to tell her, until he finally decided. He prays she'll like the place he chose.

It's a walk of fifteen minutes from the camp. They spend the time talking about this and that - how Kiel's wing is healing, the newest rumours going around the camp, why Queen Nakia has a stick up her ass.

Finally, they reach their destination. Jurian goes first, pulling the branches of a tree apart for Miryam to go through. She pushes past him and goes entirely still, staring at the waterfall before them.

The moon is standing high in the sky and its light reflects on the water, transforming each drop into tiny diamonds.

"It's beautiful", Miryam whispers, awe on her face. Jurian loves that about her, how she treats everything like a precious gift.

Carefully, he reaches out and tugs a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "You are beautiful", he says softly, "And kind, and smart. And so very brave."

"Jur..." Miryam turns to him, a thousand feelings reflecting on her face. "I'm not sure if I can do this."

Jurian doesn't know what to reply to that, so he just waits in silence, holding his breath. The waterfall is loud enough to drown out the sound of his racing heart.

Finally, Miryam says, "There's just so much..." She takes a deep breath. "There's so much I never told you. And I'm not sure if I'll ever be able to. But I'm a mess, Jur, I don't think you know how much of a mess I am."

It breaks his heart, to hear her say this. To see her so unhappy. He reaches out for her hand.

"I know that things will be hard", he says, “and that you can't tell me everything, but that doesn't change anything. Because even if I could have every girl in the world, I'd always choose you. You're all I want, all I ever wanted and there's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

There are tears shining in Miryam's eyes. "I-", she says, but then she freezes, her eyes fixed on something behind Jurian.

He's about to turn when he feels the sting at his back. A sword point pressed against his back, hard enough to draw blood.

"Don't move", a voice hisses from behind him.

Jurian is an idiot. Such a Cauldron-damned idiot. He just berated Mor for not paying attention, and what does he do? Run right into an ambush because he can't take his eyes off Miryam.

"Run!", Jurian snaps at her.

Then, he darts aside, narrowly avoiding being pierced by the sword (those Fae are always surprised when a human fights back). He draws a dagger, but before he can swing at his attacker, ropes of fire wrap around his wrists, climb up his body.

Jurian gasps in pain, the dagger falls out of his hand as he is forced to his knees. The fire isn't hot enough to truly burn his skin, but it hurts. Then, there is cold metal at his throat.

"Don't!", Miryam screams. She is being held by two red-skinned faeries with horns, one male, one female. She's fighting in their grasp, kicking and thrashing.

"Stop it or he dies", a female voice says from behind Jurian and the knife presses harder against his throat.

Miryam freezes. A moment later, the knife vanishes from Jurian's throat. The ropes of fire remain, though, singing his skin. A High Fae female, her skin the same light brown as Miryam's, steps between them.

She laughs softly and points her bloody dagger at Miryam. "You're a wild one, aren't you?" She nods towards her companions.

"Stay away from her!", Jurian shouts. (A nightmare. This is a nightmare.)

No one listens to him. One of the faeries grabs Miryam by the arm and pulls back her sleeve, revealing the brand on her forearm.

"Look at that", the female drawls, "Isn't that just lovely?" She steps closer and runs a hand through Miryam's hair. "You're going to make us very rich, dear."

Jurian is shaking with rage, but also confused. If this is an ambush, why are they only focused on Miryam? They don't even seem to know who he is.

"What are you talking about?", Miryam asks. Her voice is shaking.

"What if she isn't the one we're looking for?", one of the faeries asks, almost worried, "You know what happened the last time a bounty hunter brought the wrong girl."

The High Fae turns to Miryam. "Who was your owner, mortal?"

Miryam just shakes her head wildly. "Please, please, I never did anything, I'm no one, just-"

One of the faeries hits her in the face. "Answer the question, scum."

Jurian strains against the ropes binding him, but that just makes the fire burn more.

Miryam is crying and her voice shakes when she replies, "The crown. I worked in the kitchen, I'm no one. Please, I don't know what you want from me."

Jurian is going to kill these Fae. Slowly. (He knows it's far more likely they'll kill him, but he still imagines the end he'll give them if he gets free.)

The female steps closer to Miryam, who shrinks back. Runs a finger over her cheek. "You're very convincing, dearie. But my guts tell me you're the one."

"No, no, I just worked in the kitchen. Under the cook, Dalior. He always hit me with his spoon, I don't know why-"

One grabs her by the neck, hard enough to make her whimper. Jurian growls softly. But the Fae lifts a hand.

"This is useless", she says.

She turns to Jurian. He has a moment to brace himself before the ropes begin to burn. Pain shoots through him. He grits his teeth, trying to keep from screaming.

"Stop!" Miryam shouts, "Don't hurt him, please!"

"Oh, I don't want to hurt him. Just tell me the truth, then I'll let him go", the female says, "Because you are the girl who stole Queen's lover, right?"

"No", Miryam whispers, "I never even met the Queen, I-"

The pain intensifies and now, Jurian does scream. He can barely hear Miryam begging, the Fae refusing.

"Alright!", Miryam finally shouts.

The pain stops. Jurian falls to the ground, panting. Groaning in pain, he manages to rise to his knees.

Like someone turned a switch, Miryam stops crying. She holds her head high and stares at the Fae. Jurian could have sworn her eyes are burning from within. But maybe, that is just the moonlight playing tricks on him.

"You are right", she says, voice cold as ice, "I was one of Queen Ravenias' personal slaves for three years. I am the one you're looking for. But I didn't steal Prince Drakon - he left because no one in their right mind could stomach being with that monster you call queen for an hour, let alone eternity."

Jurian stares at her, not quite able to hide his shock. Cauldron. He knew she belonged to Ravenia, but he always thought she was one of the thousands of slaves owned by the crown. Not...

"Thank you", the female drawls, "Like I said, you'll make us very rich."

She takes a step towards Jurian. He tries and fails to get up. So this is it. The end. He always wanted to die in battle. Not like this.

"No!", Miryam screams, "You promised to let him go!"

"Oh, hush", the female says, "Once we deliver you to Ravenia, you'll envy his quick death." Then, she draws her dagger.

----

This is mean, I know. I'm sorry. To be fair, I went 10 chapters without a cliffhanger. I'll try to get the next part up as fast as possible.

#miryam #jurian #drakon #morrigan #mor #helion #before the wall #the war

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latestageyouth · 5 years ago

Text

When you walk away (Nothing more to say)

chapter 6 - literally just a bleaching hair tutorial

trigger warnings: sympathetic Remus and Deceit, a spider, hair bleaching, swearing, implied bad childhood? (let me know if I missed something)

summary: Virgil helps Remus finally do something with that bird's nest he calls hair and oops angst happens

A few sharp knocks sounded the window. Virgil looked up from his laptop, widening his eyes at the figure behind the glass, which waved him. Virgil rolled his eyes and took off his headphone, walking over to the window and opening it, letting Remus in.

'Why didn't you just walk through the front door?', Virgil questioned.

"Eh, this is more fun," Remus shrugged, looking around the room. He stopped and squealed when he saw the terrarium where Susan was, making a web. He went closer to the terrarium, cooing at the tarantula. Virgil raised an eyebrow, smiling softly. Remus turned his head to look at him, "Sorry not sorry, Susie is just too cute to resist."

Virgil opened his mouth to question the nickname but found himself unable to speak. Oh, of course, how could he forget. He looked away from a second before shaking it off, signing to Remus, 'True'. He crossed his arms and walked closer to Remus.

Remus straightened himself, "So, why am I here again? You wanna hook up or somethin'?"

The taller rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile. He walked over to a table where his computer was, along with other things such as empty glasses or crumbled paper. Virgil picked up a box of powdered hair bleach and waved it at Remus.

Remus widened his eyes a little, but the expression soon changed into an intrigued one, "Oh? What are you gonna do? Bleach my pubes?"

Virgil tried so hard to not throw the box at him, he really did. But he didn't entirely trust himself so instead, he put it down, he needed those hands to sign anyways, 'You always complain about wanting to dye your hair'.

"And you know how to do it?"

Virgil gestured to his black hair with purple in it.

"Touché. So are we gonna do it now, or?" Remus smirked slightly as Virgil nodded, picking up the box and walking out of his room. Remus waited for him for a few seconds, before Virgil stuck his head back into the room and gestured for him to follow. Virgil led him into a bathroom with a big mirror above the sink. There was a chair placed in front of it, which Virgil led him to sit on. He watched as Virgil placed the bleach on the edge of the sink and went to grab some other things from the cabinet next to the door. On the sink, he placed a "developer" from what Remus read on the label, whatever-the-hell that was, a mixing bowl and a mixing brush. He gestured for Remus to stay as he went out of the bathroom, presumingly to find other things he needed, and who was Remus to argue, he never bleached his hair before.

It wasn't long before Virgil returned, this time with rubber gloves on and carrying a measuring spoon and tin foil, setting the foil down. He opened the bleach and scooped a spoonful of it, pouring it into the mixing bowl. He set the spoon down and poured the developer into the bowl, mixing it together with a mixing brush. Remus watched all of it in the mirror, "You, uh, you sure you know what you're doing?" Virgil made eye contact with him through the mirror. He smiled at Remus, nodding. Remus nodded back, feeling more sure, "Okay."

Virgil put the mixing bowl down to sign, 'Where do you want to bleach it?

"Uh, I dunno..." he touched the tips of his hair softly, thinking, "Maybe my tips?"

'Are you sure?'

Remus nodded, "Yes I'm fucking sure. Aren't you the one who came up with this in the first place?"

Virgil rolled his eyes and walked in front of Remus, taking the brush and dipping it in the bowl. He took the tin foil and ripped a piece off. He took Remus' hand, at which the man in question flinched, and guided it to hold a chunk of his hair mashed into a bun on top of his head. Remus felt strangely sad when Virgil took his hand off of his, taking a chunk of the hair on his back and laying it against a piece of tin foil. He began adding the bleach onto the tips, bleaching roughly four or five inches but focusing mainly on the bottom. Remus soon found the strange feeling replaced with the thrill of doing something new. The process was repeated around eight more times before the bottom layer of the hair was covered in tin foil. Of course, Remus' arm began to hurt, "Are you done yet?" he whined.

Virgil shook his head absent-mindedly, finishing the last piece of hair that remained. Finally, Virgil wrapped the last of the bottom hair and gave Remus a thumbs up in the mirror. Remus let his hair fall down with a relief filled sigh, shaking his hand, "Shit, you have no idea how fucking hurt can you get by not doing anything."

Virgil let out a breathy laugh, though making almost no sound. Remus found it weird at first, like someone put a tv on mute, but eventually got used to it. At least now he didn't stare at Virgil when he laughed, Remus didn't even stare because he found him weird he just liked looking at Virgil laughing, as it didn't happen very often.

Remus took one of the foils into his hand, "So, how long 'til I get these off?"

Virgil looked up in thought, 'About forty minutes,' at that, Remus groaned. Virgil raised an eyebrow, 'What did you expect? 2 minutes?'

Remus looked away, "I mean yeah, kinda."

Virgil facepalmed. Remus laughed at the action, standing up, "So, is Picani here? I haven't seen him. What did you do? Did you kill him?"

Virgil shook his head as if it was a serious question, 'It's parent-teacher conference today, remember?'

Remus snorted, "Oh, yeah, shit. Mom's gonna be pissed as fuck. I mean, she's always pissed after parent-teachers, so..." he trailed off, looking up at Virgil.

'What do you wanna do now?', Virgil signed awkwardly.

The shorter shrugged, "I dunno, man, it's your house, you choose...or should I?"

'Please don't,'Virgil seemed to think for a minute, ignoring Remus' chuckling, 'Have you watched Zombieland?'

"No, what's that?"

Virgil widened his eyes, 'Are you serious?'

Remus pouted, "Yeah, what is it? Is it some kind of porn?"

The taller rolled his eyes, taking Remus by the hand and leading him to the living room. The strange feeling Remus had before had returned, somewhere in the back of his mind the word he was searching for to describe it, but Remus couldn't reach it. His chest felt tighter than usual, almost like Virgil was squeezing it. What was this feeling, Remus didn't know, but guesses it had something to do with the fact that he didn't eat anything all day. Yeah, now that he thought about it, he was really hungry. Dee would probably lecture him about his eating habits if he was here.

Virgil seated Remus on the couch in the living room, going to look through the stack of DVDs next to the tv. He finally settled on one, which Remus assumed was the one he and Virgil talked about a moment ago. He placed in on the DVD player under the tv, then got up and walked into the kitchen. Remus used that time to look around the room. It was...very neutral, if Remus had to be nice about it. But he didn't have to, so it was pretty fucking boring. The wallpaper was light beige. The couch was beige. The carpet was beige. Remus started to hate beige. At least the floor was dark brown. He noticed a few photographs on the wall next to the big wooden bookshelf. It had mostly Picani and Virgil in it, but one photograph stood out. It was of what Remus assumed was a young Picani, maybe around 15? He's poking his tongue out, along with some brown-haired woman. Remus walked closer to the photograph to take a good look at her. She was pale, very much like Virgil. Her curly hair was going past her shoulders, stopping shortly below. Her icy blue eyes were the same colour as one of Virgil's eyes. Behind the hair, Remus noticed a patch of skin darker than the rest, going up to her jaw.

Slam.

Virgil yanked the photo off the wall, walking over to the trash can and dropping it in harshly. He turned to go back to the kitchen, a kitchen pass-through making it possible for Remus to still see him.

"I uh, I- I'm sorry."

Virgil didn't reach, his expression shifting from irritated to neutral. He drank the water he poured himself.

Remus looked at the empty spot in the middle of the wall, "Look, dude, I didn't know...whatever the hell the business with that chick you have. Like, I guess it's Picani's wife or some-"

"Stop."

Remus widened his eyes at the quiet brittle voice, just on the edge of his hearing, obviously sore from not speaking for a long time. Virgil seemed to be the second to realize, widening his eyes before shaking it off.

He reached into the freezer and pulled out two tubs of strawberry and mint ice cream. Remus didn't bring up the obvious elephant in the room, instead forcing on a smile and walking over to grab two spoons from the dishware drawer. It wasn't long before the two were settled on the couch under a blanket, leaning against each other while eating ice cream. Virgil was silent, as always. Remus made comments through the whole movie, well, not whole obviously, he didn't want his precious hair to fry off.

He shoved the spoon full of ice cream into his mouth, "Shit, bro, Wichita and Little Rock really did that. We stan illegal queens," Virgil tapped his shoulder, "What'cha want, emo?" the man in question pointed to his foil-wrapped hair, "Oh, right, I forgot."

He set the tub down and went to the bathroom, waiting for Virgil to follow, but instead was met with signing, 'You can wash it yourself,' at which Remus raised his eyebrows.

"Yeah, sure, okay," he hesitantly walked to the bathroom, glancing at Virgil before shutting the door.

Virgil sighed heavily, leaning against the sofa. He put hands on his face. At least he avoided more awkwardness. Emile is gonna be back soon, just a...what's the time again? Virgil checked his phone, good, just a few minutes now. Just a few minutes of awkwardly sitting through the movie until Emile comes home. Just a few minutes. Virgil didn't notice the water stopped running.

"Well, how do I look?"

Virgil glanced at Remus leaning against the door frame, hair still wet even though Remus had a damp towel in his hand. The tips of his hair bleached, blending together nicely with his naturally dark brown hair. Maybe Virgil was biased because he did that, but it looked beautiful on him, even with the wet hair. Virgil gave Remus thumbs up, smiling tensely.

"Damn right, I look so fuckable!" Remus looked in the mirror in the hallway proudly and Virgil couldn't help but let out a soundless laugh.

#when you walk away (nothing more to say)#sympathetic remus #remus sanders #virgil sanders #analodemus #dukexiety #vimus #slow burn

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lostincalum · 5 years ago

Text

Nothing Flashed Before My Eyes- Michael Clifford AU

AN: It’s here, without being queer (I’m sorry I had to) after months i have finally finished this monstrosity, idk what to say tbh. But if you do read I hope you enjoy and leave a coment if you enjoyed.

TW: schizofrenia, attempted suicide, self harm, alcoholism (i promise i have tried to describe them as neutral as I could)

Word count: 8k (issa long boi from me)

“Nothing flashed before my eyes.”

I spoke softly as I stared up at the sterile white of the roof.

“What do you mean?”

He asked carefully, as though I would shatter and the world would collapse if he spoke any louder.

“When I took the pills…”

Suddenly the words were harder to speak, my throat clogging up. I looked at him, straight into his eyes. His cold, emerald- eyes. It seems like he has lost all hope for me.

“… everything kind of just stopped for a minute. And then I went to bed, hoping to never wake up. But there was no pretty angels, and no bright light, just nothing”

He looked at me, as if I had just told him God and heaven didn’t exist. I suppose I had. Then he walked out the door. Not looking back once.

----

Walking through the doors to the psych ward is scary. I’ve been to a couple before, but this place feels different, and I don’t get why I’m here. It looks too stupid expensive. With the soft white walls and view over the city. With the stupid billowing curtains and stupid leather couches. It looks like a normal house, except really big and spacious. I hate it already.

When my mum puts her hand on my shoulder, it feels like the weight of the world is dropped there. And while I know it is meant to be a comforting gesture, I can’t help but think that I don’t want anyone else to touch me today. I feel suffocated in the openness of the building, that I know my step-dad paid his way into.

“Hi and welcome to Hollywood Heights treatment centre.”-

I turn at the sound of a female voice that is way too happy for this place, and I’m met with the blue eyes of a petite lady. The only way for me to spot that she is in fact not a patient is her ID card that is fastened at her belt hoop. Her brown hair is short and spiky.

Mum rushes forward, taking her hand off of my shoulder, but leaving the weight, to shake the hand of the lady.

“Hey, I’m Mary, thank you so much for taking in my daughter. We appreciate it so much.”

I give her a tight lipped smile.

“Oh, there are no worries Mary! and you must be Riley?”

She directs the question at me, and I nod quietly, letting my eyes flicker over the flowers that are spread across the different surfaces in the entrance and reception area.

“Well, let’s just get you officially admitted, and we can begin the little tour.”

I have a sinking feeling this is gonna be anything but a “little” tour.

----

After thirty minutes of walking around the house and being shown every possible nook and cranny as well as its function, I have some time in my room.

Mum left a couple of minutes ago after she got a call from work, that she was needed. Immediately of course.

I start unpacking my bag, it isn’t a lot, mostly sweatpants and long sleeves. But I also brought my laptop and a few different chargers. I sit down on the not too hard mattress of the bed and stare at the annoyingly soft, white colour of the wall, until it isn’t white anymore.

The wall isn’t white, it’s red. Trails of red teardrops slither down the wall in front of me. I watch as it reaches the floor and starts sliding towards my bed, the bed where I’m sitting, as if the floor is tilted.

This isn’t gonna end well for you, dear.

Slowly I find the pattern and as my heart skips a beat, my converse clad feet jump around the floor as I try to reach the door. When I finally do, and twist the door handle, I slam it shut behind me. Leaning against the door, it feels like my knees are about to give out underneath me and my eyes are way to warm and stingy.

“You alright?”

I whip my head around and suddenly my eyes are met with a pair of green ones. I can’t quite make them out ‘cause of the fringe covering one of his eyes, and the dark pupil of his other eye. But I’m positive that his eyes are green. I quickly look behind me as I turn around, pulling the sleeves of my loose henley down my arms, and start walking away.

“I’m fine,” my voice comes out somewhat smothered, but I don’t hear any footsteps following me. I just hear the thud of something dropping to the ground. I don’t turn around. I don’t want to turn around. But I do. And I find his head cocked ever so slightly to the side, but still attached to his neck.

Got you, hahaha

“Fuck you,” I mumble to myself, turning around for the second time and continuing to walk god knows where.

-------

I find myself in the music room. Out of all the things I hate here, I really hate this place the most. I love music so much, but they’ve managed to make this even this room feel strange. It’s not that they’ve not put any effort into it. They’ve overdone it. A lot of the places I’ve been to before have had instruments and music rooms, but this is too over the top. Brand new drum kits, never used guitars, both acoustic and electric, and a selection of basses that have never been touched. The ivory keys of the grand piano have barely been played. That’s the moment I know that’s where I’ll be spending most of my time. Wearing in all the instruments.

Coincidentally that is also where I am disturbed first. I jump a little when I hear crackling coming from the corner of the room. The voice belongs to Linda, the lady who showed me around when I arrived.

“If all patients would come to the kitchen, dinner is about to be served.”

I sigh and walk out of the room, headed for the kitchen area. When I’m in the stairs I pass by a tall blonde with curly hair and a bright smile. However, it is bright in a different way than what Linda had. More like friendly, which I find hard to believe in, considering where I’m at.

“Hey, you must be Riley, right?”

She puts forward a hand, expecting me to shake it. I just nod, but it doesn’t seem to affect her, as she puts her hand back into the pocket of her jeans, but continues to talk.

“I’m Lucy, I’ll be your psychiatrist while you stay here, I have to go right now, but enjoy your dinner, and I’ll see that you get a message tomorrow for our first official session.”

I nod again, and as I start to walk down the stairs, she doesn’t call after me, doesn’t stop me, she just lets me go. And I appreciate that.

When I get to the kitchen, it is bustling with something that looks like life. I find it a little bit funny, that something that is so depressing in the media, is so lively in real life. A couple of girls are chatting beside each other and a boy and a girl look like they are sitting a little too close to each other, because not a second later Linda is pulling the girl away from the boy.

I stand in the entrance and watch as a man puts two pots containing some sort of stew in it on the table, it doesn’t smell bad.

The only spot left by the table is in front of a guy in a black hoodie, that he has pulled over his head, but I swear I can see his blonde fringe from here. I step further into the room and a round, tall man introduces himself to me as Johnny.

Maybe we should cut his head open and put a mixer in his brain.

“Or maybe not,” all I do is hope that no one hears me whispering as I walk to the open spot.

Carefully I sit down in front of the boy in the black hoodie, and start fiddling with the fork. He looks up from his phone when he hears me picking up the fork. To be honest I expect him to look at me with sort of an insulted look, but he doesn’t. His eyes, albeit a bit sad, are filled with curiosity.

“Hey, I’m Michael,” he smiles as he reaches out his right hand.

“Riley’s the name,” I look at him, shaking his hand briefly but firmly and go back to playing with the fork.

“You want a little tip for staying here?” Michael says as his eyes dance over my appearance. He continues to do so, until he notices my eyes, and pulls the hood of his sweater down.

“Sure,” the fact that I’m constantly avoiding his eyes; must be annoying for him. I must seem like the most arrogant person he has ever met. Yet he continues to talk to me.

“Keep something to yourself, not something big or scary. But something, a dream, a hope, a fantasy, just for yourself. That way you can keep a part of you.”

He looks at me with these deep green eyes, and for the first time in a while, green doesn’t make me feel sick and empty. It doesn’t make me feel as excited as before, more on the safe side.

You still don’t get it? nowhere is safe for you, I will ruin anything and everything for you.

I roll my eyes as he whispers in you ear, his hands on my shoulders pressing down harder. To get rid of the feeling I roll my shoulders and try to focus on the conversation as well as my surroundings.

“Why? aren’t we supposed to do as they say and answer every question?”

It feels like a stupid question, because what he is saying makes sense, to me at least. A small, but tired smile makes it way onto his lips.

“Common misconception, but no. If you do that, they have the knowledge to persuade, control, almost own you. Not everyone knows all of themselves, but you seem like you do.”

The cheeky wink he sends me doesn’t go unnoticed, but as a bowl of pasta is set down in front of us, he engages in a conversation on his left side.

“How you doing Sandra, everything go well in your session today?”

To be honest, Michael seemed like the person that took care amongst the patients. Like he wanted to make sure that everyone was alright. As he talked to Sandra, I could tell that he genuinely cared about what she had to say.

“Okay, everyone, get ready for grace.”

Johnny announces as he sits down at the head of the table, opposite to the side where me and Michael are sitting. Everyone reaches their hands out and as the girl to my right reaches out a hand I hold it carefully, not really wanting to be touched more than necessary. Michael reaches out a hand, and I think he gets it, cause he holds me gingerly, but without fear. Like he isn’t scared that I’ll break any second.

After we finish grace, Johnny stands up and looks at me, with a kind smile.

“So everyone, we have a new patient here today, her name is Riley. Give her a warm welcome, and take care of eachother.”

I pull my hands into my sweater sleeves and give them all a nod as they all look at me. Some of them nodding back. The girl Michael was talking to even let out a little “hi”.

---------

Being social has always been difficult for me, and as I sit here in my bedroom, I have no idea of what to do with myself. I’m sat in the only chair in the room. It’s hard plastic and I can tell it is going to annoy me for a while. I don’t wanna look at the wall anymore so I pick up my phone and start scrolling through different media.

On all of them, he is there, looking so fucking innocent, too fucking innocent. Like he has moved on from what I did to myself, what I did to us. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he is ignoring it like this, so easy.

There are two sharp raps on the door, and it opens, invading my space and making me jump slightly. Linda is standing in the doorway, with her bright fake smile on her lips.

“Hi, Riley group therapy starts in three minutes, you should come-” she smiles at me.

“It is mandatory, but if you don’t feel like going your first day that’s alright too.” It feels like she is trying to force me to go with her eyes.

“Nah, I think I’ll go next time.”

At last you get something right

“Okay, please let us know if there is something we can do for you.” Linda says before she closes the door behind her, leaving me alone with my own head.

----

I go to sleep shortly after getting my medicine handed to me from Johnny. Here, like all other institutions we aren’t allowed to have our own medicine at our own disposal. And I think that might be a good thing.

------

I wake up still rattled from a nightmare. My alarm is still blaring beside me and I turn to shut it off, just as there is a knock on my door. Linda walks in not a second later.

“Breakfast is in five minutes, you’ve slept in for long enough now.”

The fake smile, everything about her ticks me off, especially her condescending tone of voice. I just nod and start getting out of bed, she stares at my thighs and I know she has seen the scars that litter the top of them. I’m just glad I still have my long sleeve covering my arms.

“I’ll be there in a couple of minutes.”

Linda walks out of my room, but still throws a last glance at my thighs. Looking as if they suddenly might attack her or come alive. As the door shuts behind her I look down at my legs, feeling ashamed.

You deserve these, after all you did it to yourself.

“No, you made me do this, you said-”

And you listened. Honestly, one would think you to be stronger.

“Yeah? Fuck you”.

I go about my routine, which is basically changing my top and putting on deodorant. I also put on a pair of sweatpants and socks before going out the door and to the kitchen on the first floor.

When I exit I also see another person closing her door. I recognize her as Sandra. The girl Michael was talking to at dinner yesterday. She looks at me and smiles, and starts heading for me.

“Hi, are you ready for breakfast?”

She smiles at me. Her body is covered in a big knit sweater and baggy jeans, like she is trying to hide herself from the world.

You could just grab a kitchen knife and stab her between her ribs.

I close my eyes for less than a second and look at her, seeing her tired eyes and messy hair. In that second I can’t help but think that her and I will be good friends.

“Yeah, I think so. You?”

We start walking towards the kitchen and I feel the weight on my shoulders pressing me down.

“Not really, but I can’t give up now.”

Sandra looks down at her feet, which causes me to ask her a question out of curiosity.

“What do you mean?”

She looks at me nervously, before she starts talking again.

“Well, I’m not that good at eating? I suppose.”

I nod trying to come across as understanding, as she looks at me like she expects me to come up with some big ol’ scream, instead I decide to “become even”.

“It’s quite alright, I’m not that good at living.”

And I think this was one of the best things I could have said, cause she smiles at me and lets out a little giggle, as we enter the kitchen. Everyone else seems to be there, at least the people from yesterday, I still haven’t talked to anyone else though.

Sandra and I sit down at the same places as we sat yesterday at dinner. She is immediately engaged in a conversation with the same guy from yesterday, the one she was pulled away from. He leans in for a hug and her frame is engulfed by his rather muscular one. With red tinted cheeks she turns to look at me.

“Chris, this is Riley.”

Chris leans back in his seat, with an arm thrown around the back of Sandra’s chair. He looks at me kind of judgey before giving me a nod of approval, at least that’s what it looks like. I give him a nod back, but before he can say anything our attention is pulled towards two girls entering the kitchen. One of them looks like she has been crying and the other holds a comforting hand on her back as they sit down beside me.

They’re here to kill you

Yeah right, and I’m here to listen to you….

-----

After breakfast, as I’m headed up the stairs, I hear soft chords coming from the music room. Someone is strumming a guitar and it’s like I’m hearing music for the first time. Not only music but one of the prettiest voices I have ever heard is singing along to the song.

I have a vague feeling in the pit of my stomach that I know who is playing. I walk closer to the open doors, and as I see Michael sitting on the floor playing the guitar that previously hung on the wall, I kind of melt a little. His fringe and the little crease between his brows, it’s all very enamoring.

“I’m alright, I’m Okay, I’m alright I’m okay, I’m not a monster just a human and I’ve made a few mistakes.”

Not gonna happen for you though.

We’ll see about that, I think to myself.

He sings the words so carefully like he doesn’t quite believe them. He finishes the song and looks up, seeing me in the doorway. Immediately the frown is back, but not as enamouring, more suspicious. It almost hides the blush that is lightly covering his cheeks.

“Sorry, I can come back later.”

I say as he puts the guitar down and gets up.

“No no, do you play?” he inquires, seemingly having gathered himself.

“Ehh, a little bit of everything.” I answer as he looks at me.

Not as well as you like to think.

I roll my eyes as I look down on the floor, hoping he doesn’t see.

“A little bit of everything eh?” Michael says.

“Yeah, I was taught the piano from a young age, and a bit of bass and guitar. Drums aren’t the worst, but anything that makes me use my mouth to make it work isn't for me to play, how about you though?” I say as he stares at me quizzically.

“Well I’m self taught at guitar so I can’t really write or read music, but I still like to think I know how to.”

He stares down at his feet a little bashfully.

“Well, you have a good voice, it’s strong and vulnerable at the same time. I really like the song you were playing as well.”

“You do? I haven’t actually written it myself it’s called ‘It’s alright’ by-”

“Mother Mother, I know. I really like it.”

We stare at each other for a second before we both burst out in giggles. It’s been a while since I have smiled like this.

You know this won’t last.

---------

Group therapy is the first thing that happens that week. It’s always between breakfast and lunch. And I walk from the music room with Michael right after the call comes on the radio thing that crackles in the corner of the room. We walk side by side until we come to the hallway with all the bedrooms in it. He stops by the door that is closest to the stairs, three doors down from me.

“You aren’t going to group therapy?”

I ask, and hope the disappointment isn’t as obvious in my voice as it feels.

“Nah, I don’t do group.”

Michael says with a secretive, yet tired smile, and I decide not to press the matter, even though it felt like a weird thing to come from him, considering how caring of the others he seems to be.

“Well, I’ll see you at dinner then.”

He nods as he opens the door and I take that as my cue to leave.

-----

“Hello and welcome back to group therapy. For some of us, this is the first time we’re here, others have been here before.”

Lucy starts off the session with everyone I’ve seen sitting in a circle and it looks more like an AA meeting than anything else.

“Since we have a new patient here today I think we should all take turns and say what’s on our minds.”

She smiles at us, and it doesn’t seem as fake as it could have been.

“Why don’t you start Riley?”

With the friendly smile she gives me, I should have been able to meet her gaze, but a big, looming, black figure is standing behind her, so I opt to look at my feet instead.

“Well, hi, my name is Riley and today I don’t feel much like living, like most days.”

My voice comes out tired and drawn out, and I can see Lucy crossing her legs and readying her notepad in anticipation.

------

The days go like this, we do group therapy as well as one on one, and I discover that Lucy isn’t like most other psychiatrists. She listens when I talk, and helps me figure out different kinds of things. It is probably in my journal, but she hasn’t asked about the voices yet. And I prefer it like that.

I have also started to connect more with Michael. We both sit in the music room and wear in all the instruments, although the most frequently used ones are the piano and guitars. He has the sweetest voice when he sings: vulnerable, but still confident.

A few days ago he let me follow his instagram, and ever since I have been staring, wondering how to read him. He seems so different from the person he is here. Always surrounded by friends and always laughing it seems. Yet there is something that still bothers me. He always seems to be at a party. The glassed over look in his eyes, and the red cup in his hand. The photos seem to be posted in a small time frame, almost like he’s partying every other day. And suddenly I get what has been right in front of me since I first saw his instagram. At least I think I do.

One day we are sitting in the music room and it’s right before dinner. That’s when I decide to address my own thoughts.

“Michael, can I ask you something?”

He looks at me, like he always does, with these understanding, green eyes of his. So patient and calm. Like the green water that comes from glacier ice. We’re sat beside each other on the piano stool after playing around on the grand piano.

“You know you can ask me anything, right Riles?”

Michael bumps my knee with his, as he gives me one of his most reassuring smiles. And I feel the lump in my chest grow.

“Well, I was just wondering-”

I hate this, I should back down, but I can’t stop now and before I can really think it through the words tumble out of my mouth.

“Do you have an alcohol problem?”

And the shift is immediate. His body goes rigid, he stops fiddling with the keys on the piano and his brows furrow.

“Not that question though, that is none of your business.”

I can see him shutting me out. He gets up just as Linda’s voice crackles through the room, calling us to dinner. Before I know it he has slammed the door to the music room shut, making me jump.

How did you really think this would go? That he would open up to you and cry on your shoulder? You really are more stupid than we thought.

The weight that had been lightening on my shoulder immediately goes back to crushing me, and regret is all I feel. What if I have ruined our friendship?

Probably.

When I enter the kitchen everyone is already seated and saying grace. I decide not to intrude as they complete. Opting to watch everyone else holding hands and in varying degrees keeping up with Linda who is leading grace.

They finish and once I get to the table and sit down on my usual spot, Linda scowls at me. I don’t really care for it. Just the fact that Michael doesn’t even look up when my chair scrapes across the floor, I hate it. I hate it so much.

Sandra looks at me quizzically. Usually me and Michael come down together from the music room, or we talk about music or books or anything that crosses our minds. The fact that he won’t even look at me is unusual to say the least. Which causes the entire dinner to be awkward. It’s like we have thrown the entire house off. Or I. I guess I did this.

Of course you did, who else?

----

Michael is the first to leave dinner, and I follow shortly after. I go straight to my room to get dressed. There is a little swing in the garden which overlooks the entire city, and I feel like the walls are closing in on me. I need some fresh air.

I just throw on a hoodie and grab my ear buds, putting them in my ears as I walk down the stairs and out the door.

I sit down on the porch swing in the garden and find a good loud song to shut out all my thoughts. I must have been sitting here for a few minutes when Sandra sits down beside me, making me jump a little.

“How are you?”

She asks this so softly, and I pull out my ear buds.

“Not too good to be honest.”

Her hands fiddle with the ends of her scarf as she looks at me.

“I figured, wanna talk about it?”

I can feel myself wanting to let it all out. I feel lonely already without the tiny touches from Michael. Fuck.

“I just, I don’t know, I think I might have made a big mistake.”

Sandra looks at me, gives me one of those looks, that says she already knows what this is about, but she has the decency to ask me anyway.

“What’s going on?”

Sighing feels like the only thing I can do.

“I, well it isn’t my place to tell, but I asked Michael something that I shouldn’t have asked about, and now he is mad at me. And I mean, he has every right to be angry, but it hurts.”

This time it is Sandra’s turn to sigh.

“You asked him why he’s here?”

“Something along those lines.”

“You should know Riley, that he has been here longer than most of us, and the walls he has built are so tall. When Chris first came here, he didn’t really understand why Michael was here. So he lashed out, and kept yelling about how Michael didn’t deserve to be here, and how he was more of an employee here than a patient. It definitely took a toll on him, even though Chris has apologized.”

“Do you know why he is here?”

I can’t stop myself from asking. I know I shouldn’t, but the words already slipped out of my mouth.

“No, I figured we all have our reasons and he doesn’t have to share them if he doesn’t feel like it, we owe him at least that.”

The sun is setting now, and the light reflects on us making warm hues glimmer across the city beneath us, as well as Sandra’s cheeks. Her hair looks like a black halo with golden edges.

“Yeah, maybe I should go apologize?”

“No-” she turns to look at me.

“You shouldn’t apologize, he needs to be asked this sort of questions if he ever wants to learn to live with whatever he is dealing with.”

I can’t help but agree with what she is saying.

-----

Lucy has one of the few nice rooms in the building, her office is more welcoming than I ever thought a psychiatric office could be. There is a good, comfortable two seat sofa in one corner of the room. Her desk is neat, but looks lived in for some reason. It’s like she has been here for a good part of her life. With a pair of running shoes, a couple of jackets hanging on the hooks by the door. But my most favourite thing about her office is the window though, which has a good look over the wild side behind the house.

That is where I’m looking when Lucy says my name, probably for the second time.

“Riley, how are you? You seem very distracted today.”

I look down at my hands, wondering how I’m gonna phrase this.

“I am.”

She cocks her head to the side, indicating for me to continue. I can’t though, it always has been easier for me to answer questions than to just tell someone what’s wrong.

“I noticed you and Michael haven’t been hanging out? it seemed like the two of you got a really good connection, what’s happened?”

“We can talk about anything else, just not that, not right now.”

And in this moment I swear I think she really cares.

But why would she care about you?

“Your suicide attempt then? The nurses wrote that you had a visitor when you woke up?”

Of course, it had to come eventually, I’m just surprised it took her this long.

“Yeah, there was.”

“Who was he?”

“Well since you know it’s a boy, you probably also know who he was to me.”

She looks at me with these really sad eyes. It’s pity, I know it’s pity, and I feel nauseous.

“I do, he’s mentioned in your papers a lot.”

“God, I know, I was so stupid back then.”

I sigh, trying to avoid the lump in the back of my throat.

“You weren’t stupid.”

“No, I was in love, and I hated it and it’s not gonna- it can’t happen again.”

I can hear myself, how pathetic I sound, and I can’t stop the tears from streaming out of my eyes, and down my cheeks.

��Riley, you are never stupid for having feelings.”

She sounds so stupid, so naive when she says that. She probably married her first love. I can see the ring on her finger, just taunting me by showing me what I can’t ever have.

Now you’re starting to get it.

“I am though, ‘cause it’s always the wrong feeling, or too much of it, too little, whatever it is, it’s never right.”

Lucy crosses and uncrosses her legs before speaking up again.

“So you’ve decided to not feel?”

Her saying this, it feels a bit like an insult, cause here I am, crying trying to bare my soul to her. And she accuses me of trying to not feel?

“Oh I feel, I’m heartbroken, and sad and scared, I’m frustrated and desperate.”

---

After my session with Lucy I’m tired, so when the screaming from my room increases I’m not really surprised. What surprises me is that they are screaming for mercy now. I don’t know what to do, but I can hear the most graphic noises coming from behind my door. The cries for help increase, as does the laughter. And just like that, I’m in tears for the second time today.

This time however, it’s different. I’m alone and the voices I know are just in my head, sound too real to be fantasy. I slide down the wall, not wanting to go inside my room, in fear of what I’ll meet. A mantra begins to escape my lips and I close my eyes while patting all my pockets for my earbuds.

“Please just stop, please just stop, please just stop,” escapes me over and over.

Suddenly, like lightning from clear sky I feel a presence sitting down beside me. His voice is calm as he says, “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Michael is sitting beside me, I know him by his rough voice and the scent of him, laundry detergent, encompasses me entirely. My room goes quieter, and I start to get my bearings again. Wiping my eyes, I stand up and look at Michael. His eyes are red rimmed and he looks tired, but there is something familiar about it. His drooping, squinty eyes, for some reason he looks hungover. He can’t possibly be.

“I should probably, I mean, I’ll see you around.”

I stutter out, before I say something I shouldn’t. And before he has the time to respond I open the door and slip in. Not without missing the soft “fuck” he lets out, which makes me wonder if i have made a mistake.

When don’t you make mistakes?

I lean my back against the door, and sigh looking towards the bathroom, feeling the need for release really fast.

---

I get a snap from Sandra, whilst I’m sitting on the bathroom floor. It’s a picture of the living room, and if I squint I can see Johnny in the background of the screen. I put the camera of the phone down on my jeans and take a black picture. With shaking hands I type:

“Can you ask Johnny to come to my room?”

A few seconds later I get back a picture of Johnny exiting the living room with the text: “On his way, you alright?”

Before I have the time to respond there is a nock on my door, before it opens.

“Where are you Riley?”

His calm and steady voice made me feel worse. How the fuck am I supposed to explain this.

“Bathroom, you can come in.”

I feel the tears burning behind my eyes again, and the short relief I felt is gone, replaced with regret. Johnny stands in the doorway looking at me before taking another step closer and turning my wrist up to assess the damage I have done to myself.

“Okay, I’ll get you stitched up and then we can talk about what has happened?”

All I can do is nod my head as he helps me stand up. He folds a towel over my arms, tells me to cross them and then we head for the medical room. It is just down the hall, and I suspect that it’s no coincidence that it’s placed so close to the patient rooms.

Luckily we don’t pass anyone in the hallway, and I think I’m in the clear.

I lay on the medical chair as Johnny administrates the local anesthesia. It feels like something is stinging underneath my skin, until it all goes numb.

“I didn’t know you were allowed to stitch people up here?”

Conversation is a desperate attempt at distraction for me, but I’m grateful that he goes along with it anyway.

“Yeah, it’s just me and a few others who have the training though.”

He says as he methodically works his way through the routine I have witnessed too many times.

“How did you get the training, was it hard?”

Johnny is one of the very few who don’t use the rolling chair as he preps everything, but he has left it by the side of my reclined seat.

“Well, the military is pretty hard most would say, but as I learned things got easier, and when it’s all about saving a brother in arms, I suddenly just knew how to apply the things we had learned as recruits.”

This I kind of saw coming, but not the medic part. His burly build and calm exterior always reminded me of my father, who was a tank driver.

“My dad was in the armed forces, he died there too.”

Johnny turns around and rolls the tray with the needle and thread over. He then sits down on the chair and threads the needle as he talks.

“I’m sorry to hear, when did this happen?”

The weird thing is that this conversation doesn’t feel forced, even though this is something I hate talking about.

“I was like ten I think? So about ten years ago.”

Johnny nods, and it feels like he knows what he knows what I’m talking about. I realise that he has probably read it in my file, but it doesn’t bother me as much as it should, after all he knows how it is.

We continue to talk about all of this while he stitches me up. When he finishes up he suggests to me to take a nap to which I agree. Johnny puts on some huge medical bandages and follows me back to my room, which has been cleaned. I suspect Johnny sent a message to someone.

———

I’m woken up by aching in my arm and a cursed knocking on my door. Linda walks in before i can even say “come in”. I couldn’t have even if I wanted to. My throat feels dry as Linda sits down beside me.

“Come on, get up! it’s time for breakfast.”

And it’s so typical her, to not ask me how I’m doing, no sympathy. And for the first time in a while I don’t feel so choked. Perhaps for the wrong reasons, but the feeling of being treated like a normal person, no matter what I did yesterday.. it sort of feels good actually.

However, I’m not gonna let her know that so I just silently nod while sitting up in the bed.

When I come down to the kitchen everybody is already there, except for one person. Judging by the chair that pushed back from the table, Michael has already left.

As people sit and chat I go over to the counter and start making myself a cup of tea. Tea making and drinking is a part of being inpatient no one told me about, although I suppose it’s different for everyone. It has just become a thing I do everyday several times.

With my sweater pawed hands holding the tea cup, I’m sitting here listening to the other patients talk, smiling at the appropriate moments and sometimes laughing a bit. And in contrast to the last couple of weeks, it doesn’t feel entirely forced.

———

It’s late in the evening, I have walked past the porch and over to the edge of the garden, behind a tree. It shields from the view of the windows of the house and I’ve never actually been here. But it looks peaceful so I sit down at the base of the tree and overlook the city. I still can’t believe I agreed to this. Being so far away from all that I knew physically hasn’t changed me mentally, no matter how much mum wishes it did. She calls sometimes, but I feel like I would have to lie to her every time so i don’t answer at all. I know she still gets weekly reports when she calls the office lady, even though I never quite figured out where she has her office.

“Hey there.”

I look up and I’m met with emerald green eyes, hidden behind a pair of glasses I’ve never seen Michael wear. He doesn’t ask permission or anything before he sits down. I suppose he doesn’t have too either.

“Hey, I can leave if you want some time alone or something.”

The words fall out of my mouth before I have the time or sense to think them through, and sooner than I expected I’m standing up. Until I’m not anymore. My hands are firmly planted in the ground behind my back, upper body bent and ready to get up, when I feel his calloused palm holding onto my wrist. It’s too close, I know it is. And again, I act too quickly. This time by pulling my hand towards myself, thereby sitting back down.

“Please stay. Unless you don’t want to of course.”

And it hurts. God it hurts to just hear the hurt and resignation in his voice.

“No no, I’ll stay.”

For the first time that evening I really, really take a good look at him. He looks tired, more so that usual. With a beanie covering his messy hair, dark circles under his eyes, and a beard that hasn’t been shaved in a couple of days.

“I have a feeling we have a lot to talk about.”

Michael sighs, and I know he dreads the conversation by the way his fingers immediately go to the strings of his hoodie, fiddling with them incessantly, when I tell him.

“Yeah, I suppose I owe you an explanation.”

He is still looking at his hands, as if searching for answers.

“You don’t owe me anything Michael, but I will take an explanation if you want to tell me?”

Again he sighs, probably debating how much he should tell me.

“Well, this is gonna be messy, but I just want to try to explain this so you can better understand why I act the way I do.”

Michael pulls his legs up to his chest and puts his hand on his knee. For the first time in a long long while I seek contact first. I put my hand on his and give it what I hope is an encouraging squeeze. Before I wrap my arms around myself again.

“You know as well as I do that treatment at this place isn’t for the poor, or even the middle class, it is kind of stupid really, how they leave treatment for those well off, fucking ridiculous.”

Carefully I speak his name and he looks at me.

“Right, sorry. My dad is a really successful businessman, and we were always well off, but I think it came with its consequences. As I grew up, I was surrounded by all these rich bastards who were always looking for a deal, and I was a part of the picture perfect family. Except we weren’t.”

He looks away from his hands and up at the sky, I follow his gaze and see a few tiny little stars. A shadow flickers in the corner of my eyes, and I know it’s not real, and it gives me a little sting of fear anyways.

“I mean, sure we had everything we could ever ask for, except maye love. My mum and dad were constantly fighting behind closed doors and I grew up listening to them. She started doing more business meetings further away from me and my father, and I was so angry with my father for driving her away. So I started distancing myself, I can’t have been older than eighteen.”

I shuffle a little closer to Michael, feeling his warmth through his hoodie. Hoping it comforts him, but also that the shadow won’t see me.

“When you started…”

I’m not sure how much I can say to Michael without him getting angry, so I let the ending of the sentence hang in the air for a while.

“When I started drinking. It didn’t really start as an issue where I consciously went looking for solace in alcohol, but as I partied more and more, and found some sort of relief in it, i actively sought it out. I don’t remember a lot of the last couple of years, except for headaches and bottles. I also had shitty friends who kept pushing me to drink more.”

My heart truly aches for him. But at the same time, I know I couldn’t have helped him anyway. Maybe I can’t help him now either, but I can be here for him. And I intend to do so.

“It ended when I came home one night and my dad was home for once. A magazine was spread out on the kitchen table with me on the front page. It wasn’t pretty. He was so ashamed of me, said some pretty ugly stuff. As did I, cause what he said really hurt. I came here to be a forced inpatient. But after a few weeks, after horrible abstinences, and a solid few rounds around my own head, I accepted where I was and decided to be better, by doing better.”

Just as I’m about to say something the grip on my shoulder tightens, and I flinch a little. He doesn’t seem to notice though.

“That’s why, when you so easily saw through me, I was scared you too would be angry and ashamed, so I found it better to just shut you out. I made a really big mistake, some of my old friends stopped by with a bottle of something awful. I mean after shutting you out, nothing felt right and for a second I thought drinking would help, it didn’t. And the day after, when I found you in the hallway. I regretted it so badly, and I just want you to know, that nothing of this is your fault. I hope you can see that. ”

Finally he looks at me, and I can see his eyes, searching mine for an answer.

“I’m not angry or ashamed, I’m proud actually. For as much as it counts for, I’m proud of you for being able to push through this and for having the guts to talk to me about it.”

He takes a hold of my hand and intertwine our fingers. I don’t notice at first, and when I do it is too late. My sleeve has slid down on my arm and exposed the bandage covering it.

“Riley, you didn’t have this a couple of days ago..”

Michael lets the sentence hang in the air as I try to find the right words. He looks so sad.

“You do not owe me an explanation. Just so we’re clear on that, but know that I’m here for you.”

I nod and squeeze his hand, before pulling to me to study the bandage. It should be changed soon.

“You know, you reminded me of my ex-”

His expression says it all, he really doesn’t like where this is going.

“when i first came here. You have the same eyes, almost at least. Yours are a lot warmer, kinder. And you easily read people, respect their limits. David didn’t. He was always pushing for me to be perfect and well, it sounds a lot like your parents. In the end, when my schizofrenia got too much and I attempted suicide, I didn’t fit into his world anymore, and he left me alone in the hospital. Mum came by after a couple of days later, after her trip to wherever with her new husband. He works as a contractor or some shit, so he is paying for this.”

The frustration I feel as I explain this, I don’t know how to put it into words. However, Michael seems to understand.

“I harm myself because the voices tell me to. And it gives me some sort of twisted peace. I don’t know how to explain it.”

Michael shuffles closer to me, so we sit arm to arm, and I lean my head on his shoulder. For the first time in a long while I really like the world is a little safer.

“Wanna make a deal?”

I ask as I sit there. Hoping he will agree.

“Depends on the deal.”

“Well, I was just thinking, maybe if we promise to each other that we won’t hurt ourselves if the other person promises to do the same, that we can come to each other when we need to be distracted. This doesn’t mean like it’s our responsibility bu-”

Before I can finish my sentence Michael cuts me off.

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

As cheesy as it sounds, I swear, I can hear a smile in his voice.

“Also, another thing. Wanna join group tomorrow? It’s a great way to be there for others, and maybe let them get to know you a little differently.”

TAGLIST: @burncrashbromance @moonchildsblack @5-secondsofcolor @harry-hallows-eve @min-amani

(i have probably spelt some of these wrong, so shoot me an ask and I will correct it:))

#michael clifford #michael imagine #michael au #michael blurb #michael fic #michael x oc #5sos imagine #5sos au #5sos blurb #5sos fic #5 seconds of summer #michael gordon clifford #badboy!michael #psych ward story

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illyrianwingspans · 5 years ago

Text

Do Not Go Gentle: Don’t Know Who I Am

Link to song

Synopsis: An intro to Feyre’s life in the city of Prythian. Check it out on Ao3 here.

Chapter One: Don’t Know Who I Am

One Year Later

I wiped my hands against my apron as the orders kept tumbling through. Though it was still early in the morning, the coffee shop was packed, and would stay packed until morning rush hour subsided and everyone got their caffeine fix. Then the lunch rush would come right back around and I’ll want to curl into a ball behind the counter and yell at people to leave. This is how most shifts went, usually. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love my job.

Nobody wants to make coffee for a living. It’s not some life-long dream that a kid would aspire to. At least, I haven’t encountered anybody in a kindergarten class vehemently wishing to master the art of barista-ism when they grow up. Because making coffee for people is a shitty, shitty job. In some ways, I’m just a glorified drug dealer dispensing everyone’s morning fix.

But it makes the time go by. And it keeps me near Tamlin.

Not long after we moved in together, I wanted to get a job. Though Tamlin had profusely refused anytime I mentioned working, I kept pushing because I couldn’t stay in the house all day. Though I may have given up on schooling, I refused to become a stay at home trophy wife making crockpot dinners and resorting to ‘wine nights with the girls’ as a weekly ritual (because really, that’s just a fancy term for alcoholism to drown out the mind numbing loneliness that would indefinitely plague me). I couldn’t. I needed to stay busy and I needed to stay working, not only to make money, but to feel like I’d earned my place here.

Defining ‘here’ was always the issue. I didn’t know what ‘here’ was.

Here was in our spacious three bedroom apartment in downtown Prythian. Here was designer clothes and weekend galas and two hundred dollar steak dinners. Here was dating Spring Corporation’s newly adorned CEO, Tamlin Ivy, and living the upper 10% life.

Here was…comfortable. Easy. But also completely, awfully wrong.

I’d made no effort to be here, and everyone knew it. Hell, I knew, and nearly saw it written in the mirror’s condensation every morning after my shower. What I’d done, what’d happened… that shouldn’t have lead me to where I was today. No, that should have lead me down, down to the place I really deserved.

Nonetheless, I liked it here. I loved Tamlin and I wanted a future with him, ‘here’ being good or not.

“That’ll be six fifty,” I said hours later as the pale skin man pulled out his credit card in the empty shop. He’d said his order so quietly I had him repeat it twice, and tried to keep my face as neutral as I could when he’d said only a few decibels louder, “Large caramel frappucino, extra pump of hazelnut and double whip.”

He even brought his own cup to hide the monstrosity of an order from his colleagues. I never minded the complicated orders, though. They spiced up the routine.

As the blender sounded off in the shop, and pale frappucino dude moved off to the pickup side of the counter, I turned towards the order station armed with my usual garb. “Good morning, what can I get you today?”

Only instead of blearily listening to another business exec’s daily dose, I paused where I stood as my eyes settled upon the customer behind the counter.

I blinked, as before me stood the most beautiful man I’d ever seen.

I hated saying that—mostly due to my current relationship status—but it was undeniable that the man before me was science’s only known example of perfect genetic combination. With his jet black hair, terra-cotta colouring, strong jawline and eyes so blue they hovered on—on amethyst—I was trying to hide the creeping blush crawling up my neck. Every ounce of him oozed grace and swagger and confidence, from his immaculately fitting suit to his subtle but enticing cologne, and though those things were incredibly sexy—they could also be vile.

And he must’ve seen it, too, because he shot me an easy smirk that’s definitely gotten him laid before. “Good morning, darling. How are you?”

The endearment, the smirk and the swagger, though, are what made me stop short. There were two kinds of beautiful people in this world: the ones who knew they were beautiful, and the ones who didn’t. This guy so obviously fell in the former category, and lucky for him, it was the type of person I tended to not get along with.

Instead of pushing it, though, I merely asked again, “What can I get you?”

Again, that feline smirk. He knew I was avoiding him. “You can get me an answer to my question.”

“I’m fine,” I ground out. “Would you like a coffee or would you like to piss me off?”

The words came out before I could stop them, and for a second I held my breath. I never, ever was rude to customers. Well, at least, I tried not to be, because there was one thing about the placement of Hum’s Coffee: it was on the ground floor of Spring Corp and nearby all of Prythian’s other biggest industries. This meant that the clientele was nearly exclusively office people, high ranking business execs and other prestigious titles—people I really shouldn’t piss off. But there was something about this guy that seemed to set me off today.

Thankfully, the only other person in the shop was frappucino dude, and he was far enough away that the blender faded out the conversation between us.

Except the man before me did not balk. He did not scowl. No, he wasn’t offended at all by my rather aggressive comment. In fact, he… he smiled. A fuller, genuine smile that showed off his white, straight teeth.

“Why not both?” Was what he said, and I fought against the grin that crept to my lips. Instead of answering him, I turned away to get frappucino dude’s frappucino, who was seeming more impatient by the second. Not forgetting his double whip, I handed over the man’s metal mug and he quickly screwed the top on, mumbled a thank you and sped away. Which left me turn begrudgingly to Mc Dreamy who waited patiently behind the counter, a look of feigned innocence on his face.

For the third, and what I decided was my last time, I asked, “What can I get you?”

“Large Americano with almond milk,” he said without thought, as though it rolled off his tongue every day. “And a smile, darling. Dazzling eyes and all.”

My fist clenched at my side while the other punched the order into the computer. Though I didn’t usually asked, my curiosity bit at me and urged the question from my lips. “Name?”

This guy must’ve been a Brad or Chad or Brent. He had that Frat-Boy-Daddy’s-Money look to him.

His perfectly tweezed brow arched in surprise. “Rhysand.”

My head angled to the side, mirroring his shock. Though I guess I shouldn’t really be, because Prythian was full of odd, unique names. Including my own.

“Four ten,” I growled, and he handed over a ten dollar bill. I quickly handed his change back to him and he merely put it in the tip bucket. Though I would’ve normally said thank you and showed my genuine appreciation—nobody tipped baristas anymore—I only turned and dispensed the espresso beans into the group head, thankful that my back was to him and he couldn’t read the seething hateful expression on my face.

Once I put the almond milk away and secured the lid, I grabbed the sharpie out of my apron and scribbled across the top. I usually didn’t take names because of this step, but I figured my shaky block letters didn’t look too embarrassing. And, with the fakest, widest smile I could muster, I slid the coffee across the counter to Rhysand, who merely grinned at me.

Until he looked down to his coffee and read the name I’d spelled out with a shaky hand: PRICK.

Rhysand’s eyes met mine and they blazed with a challenge, shock and… something else I couldn’t quite put my finger on. Lust? Attraction?

“Have a wonderful day, darling,” he said, and began to walk away, until he stop mid-stride and turned on his heel. “I didn’t quite catch your name, though. No tag.”

I crossed my arms. I didn’t wear my name tag because I didn’t want people knowing who I was or searching me up online when they had no business to, like Tamlin mentioned. And it served me well today, because I replied, “Be more polite, next time, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

“Next time? Is that a date?”

That blush came back once more. How could he? “What? No—”

“I just wanted coffee, but I’m open to anything you suggest, darling,” he smirked once more as he pushed the door open.

I glared at him and said, “In your dreams, prick.”

“Yes, you will be there tonight, darling.” With one last wink, he was gone.

I released a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Then, I laughed.

A chest-opening, heart-lightening laugh, something I hadn’t done in a long, long while. Thank God the shop was closed, because people definitely would’ve thought I was hysterical as I clutched the counter and laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

“Medium hot chocolate please, extra whip and chocolate sprinkles.”

“Sir, we’re closed—” I said over my shoulder, but turned when I saw the blonde hair and easy smile. My face, ready to be stern and scowling at whoever saw our closing hours and decided to walk in anyway, melted into a smile as Tamlin leaned onto the counter with a lazy grin on his face.

“Hi,” I said, and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “I’m almost done. Just have to lock up.”

“Take your time,” he said “I ordered us Chinese for supper.”

I resisted the urge to wrinkle my nose. American Chinese food was his favourite, and I tolerated it because I knew he liked it. I didn’t say anything though as I fished the key from the back room and locked the cash box and the front door, the bell sounding out its final ring as night swept across the city leaving streetlights and headlights to illuminate the dark. Tamlin’s elbow hooked into mine as we made our way down the sidewalk to the parking garage where his Beemer stood in the reserved parking spot.

The echo of the doors closing bounced off the wall of the parking garage and I settled back into the leather seat, sighing as the muscles in my neck finally unclenched after standing all day.

“Long day?” Tamlin murmured. He reached over the console and grabbed my hand. I hummed when his thumb brushed along the skin of my palm.

“Yeah,” I said, “asshole customers.” It was my usual excuse, but today it was pointed at one person in particular. Someone whose smirk was burned onto the inside of my eyelids by sheer arrogance.

“Mh,” he grunted in agreement. “Had a few assholes today as well. Seems as though I’ll be dealing with some miscreants for the next little while until the deal finally blows over.”

The thing about Tamlin’s business is that he kept things very vague. I knew he managed real estate and invested in other startup companies, but he always seemed to keep what he did private. Not that I wanted to hear about all the legal jargon and property wars, but it would’ve been nice to be involved in some of it. Only when I’d initially asked him about it, he’d just smiled and said, “Feyre, it bores me to tears most of the time. I don’t want to put you through that.”

True, I’d never had a knack for business, but it did interest me. I was in the arts program and wanted to get a minor in business, but my college days did not last long enough for me to actually learn anything of value.

Our routine was nearly clockwork. Park the car in the garage, go to the entrance to the private elevator and ride up to the fifty ninth floor where our penthouse waited. It was weird to call it ours, because I’d never paid a cent towards it, but it was our home. Either he’d cook or Alis made something before she left for the night or we’d both give up and just order in, which happened most nights. As it did tonight with the Uber-Eats person waiting at the entrance to the elevator. The smell of chicken fried rice wafted through the small space as we rode up floor by floor, curdling my stomach with each increment of elevation.

The elevator opened up to the apartment, and the grandeur of it never failed to make me feel like I’d gotten off on the wrong floor. With the floor to ceiling windows, ambient cool lights and modern decor, I felt like I was walking into an overpriced hotel. Like the furniture was for show, not for living.

Tamlin didn’t echo the feelings, even when I’d voice them to him. He only laughed at how ‘quirky’ I was. I reminded myself that he’d grown up in spaces like this his entire life. This wasn’t the South Side anymore where we’d shared a two bedroom with four people.

No, I’d escaped that life. I’d burned away the moment I left that hospital, and I’d never looked back.

We settled in front of the TV and I curled into Tamlin’s warmth, savouring the feel of his arm around me and the smell of his skin, like rosemary and fresh rain. The food tasted ashen in my mouth but I downed it with a glass of water. Tamlin looked into the container and back up at me. “You not hungry?”

I didn’t have the heart to tell him I hated Chinese food, so I opted for a half truth. “Not really. I’ll take it to work tomorrow.”

He nodded and his eyes waded back to the TV. “Don’t forget, we’ve got that gala tomorrow night.”

I sighed. “Do we really have to go?”

“Yes,” he chuckled into my hair and set his empty container onto the coffee table before us, “I’m kind of hosting it, so it would be appropriate if I made an appearance.”

“You mean Ianthe and Lucien are hosting it.” I deadpanned.

“Well, yes but—” Tamlin stumbled over his words until he saw the smirk on my face, then smiled. “Look, I don’t like these things either but they’re part of the job description. Plus, with everything happening with Night Industries, it’ll be a chance to get them off our scent.”

“You have a scent?” My brows furrowed. “Who are the Night Industries?”

He waved me off. “Doesn’t matter. But,” he hedged, his eyes dimming, “I talked to Ianthe. About what you’re wearing.”

The breath squeezed from my lungs. We didn’t talk about this. Not in the open; not in casual conversation.

“She made sure to get something longer this time. It should be—”

“As long as it covers them, I’m fine,” I muttered—more like bit out. I couldn’t meet his eyes. He shifted next to me, like the proximity between us was no longer a comfortable, familiar thing.

“I didn’t mean to upset you,” he murmured, and he pulled me closer to him. Despite the reluctance blossoming in me, I settled into him again and we found bliss in the mindless activity of staring at an information box.

After a while, though, my thoughts reverted back to the conversation and got caught on the words. Covers it, covers it, something longer to cover it—

Cover up the fact that I was crazy. Cover up the fact that I was off the deep end and everyone knew it, cover up the fact that I evidently did not belong amongst them, cover up the fact that I was a fraud and a liar and a murderer and that I didn’t deserve any of this, that I should be gone like the rest of them—

“You okay?” Tamlin asked from the kitchen. I hadn’t even realized he’d left the couch. I hadn’t noticed the absence of his warmth.

The entire space was open and I could see him standing behind the marble counter that could probably pay for many years’ worth of food for my family and I in the past.

I swallowed hard. “I’m gonna go take a shower.”

He didn’t answer as I pushed myself off the couch and padded away down to the narrow hall branching to the rooms and our offices. As I passed Tamlin’s office, I sighed, knowing he’d probably be holed in there for the rest of the night. Then I passed my office.

Office was a loose term. There was a desk somewhere in there beneath the newsprint and old bedsheets and paint cans. Art studio was the better fitting name, but seeing as though I no longer used it, maybe museum was the best way to describe it. Museum of the life I’d left behind.

I left my things in our bedroom and pulled my robe from the back of the door as I settled into the washroom and began to strip.

Looking at myself in the mirror was a draining thing.

Which was why I ignored it and slumped my clothes in the corner before stepping into the boiling stream of water. It burnt my skin red and splotchy but I didn’t care as I rubbed a day’s worth of sweat and grime off of me.

And when I got to my scar covered thighs, I paused. Then scrubbed them furiously anyways.

Like that could ever make it go away. Soap and exfoliation didn’t erase fuck up.

Nonetheless I scrubbed and scrubbed until my thighs were raw, and when the water turned cold I slumped onto the shower floor and closed my eyes as the stream fell onto my shoulders. It was the only time where I felt like I had some sort of hold on myself; when the world wasn’t just a blur, and the silence could reign.

“Feyre?” A voice called. “Is everything alright?”

My eyes opened and I sighed, staring at the water collecting on the tiles. The silence never reigned long before interruption. “Be out in a minute.” I called.

The water still dripped from my body when I stepped out into the dim hall and Tamlin stood there, arms crossed, eyes snaking up my body like he owned every inch of it. There was that familiar hunger in his gaze. The one I let devour me. The one I wore when I wanted to devour him.

His lips found my skin before either of us could say anything, and before I knew it the towel was off of me and we were stumbling towards the bed.

Chills trembled across my skin as his mouth came down on me, and I let out undignified sounds when he plunged his full length within me. Thrust by thrust, the aches went away, the pain fled, the silence was broken—the void took a step back and waited patiently as I got my fill. As my thoughts left my mind, and as my mind left this body, if only for a few passionate, glorious minutes of pleasure.

Tamlin rolled off of me after I’d screamed out my climax. I stared up at the ceiling, catching my breath, counting the flickers of light protruding in from the window’s diluted city glow. His weight shifted next to me, and I felt his lips press a kiss to my shoulder before he got off the bed, pulled his pants on and left the room, presumably to resume work in his study.

I didn’t even have the energy to get up and dry my hair. I only curled further into the sheets and made sure my alarm was on before letting my eyes fall closed, and sit back as the void, along with the thoughts, creeped back in.

“I’ve got to head straight to the gallery after work so I’ll get somebody to pick you up, alright?”

My fingers fumbled as I neared the ends of my hair I was trying to braid. I lost them and shook out the rest of my hair before starting again. “I can just catch a ride with someone. Or walk, it’s honestly not that far.”

Tamlin waved the thought away. “Don’t worry about it, besides I wouldn’t want you to scuff up your dress. I’ll text you the information.”

I licked my lips and nodded once. He pressed a kiss to my cheek and I gave him a grin before we parted ways at our usual location of divide on the ground level of Spring Corporation. He headed for the executive elevator while I headed to Hum’s. The world still slept at five thirty in the morning, but they’d be awake soon and demanding their morning prescription before I knew it.

The day passed in a blur of whirring machines, bills and change and grounds. Sweat beaded on my brow and my feet ached, but I carried on despite the exhaustion wearing on my bones. The fog in my mind seemed to thin out when the rush came in and consumed my focus and attention. But when the lulls came, and I was sweeping around the few tables, my mind wandered. Far. My hands were rope-burnt from trying to reel it back in.

But I did. Because tonight was important for Tamlin, and I couldn’t break down. There was no room for error when your life was centred on appearances. Everything was always good and perfect and lovely, even if it wasn’t.

A familiar face appeared at the door, and I smiled as Lucien’s golden red hair gleaned in the sunlight. He reciprocated the smile as he revealed what he’d been holding behind his back: a hanger supporting what must’ve been a lush gown concealed by black material.

“Is it hideous?” Were the first words out of my mouth. Lucien laughed as I took the hanger from his hands across the counter and set it in the back with the rest of my things. We had a running joke between us about the dresses Ianthe had put me in before that made me look no less than an exotic bird. Some were gorgeous, though, and I loved putting on the lavish materials—but most of the time, they felt like a waste.

“You look gorgeous in anything,” was all he replied with his usual dripping sarcasm. I rolled my eyes and began whipping up his usual: chai latte with oat milk and extra cinnamon on top.

“So what’s this one for tonight?” I wondered aloud. “New partner? Company morale? Charity dinner?”

At the mention of this, Lucien’s face turned neutral, his stance uneasy. One thing about Lucien that I picked up quickly was that you could always read how he felt by his stance. And now, I could tell he was lying, or hiding something, as he did often when discussing company business.

“Something like that,” was all he vaguely answered. In the past, I may have interrogated him until his ears bled, as he put it, but I let it go. Another charity ball wasn’t going to kill me. My feet and knees, maybe, from wearing the heels Tamlin loved, but not the entirety of me.

Over the whirring of the milk steamer, I called, “I don’t get why we have these anyways. He sneaks off half of the time to discuss with people and leaves me with the rest of the sharks.”

“Firstly, we’re under a lot of pressure right now with our competitors. People are trying to snoop where they don’t belong. And before you ask, you know I can’t tell you anything.” I sighed. The one golden rule Tamlin and I kept in our relationship: work stays at work. “And secondly, they are not sharks, Feyre.”

“They damn well might be,” I countered. I removed both tea bags from the piping water and poured the warm milk into it, the spicy scent caressing my senses. “They’re all numbers and business and exponential growth. What am I supposed to say to that?”

“Ianthe will be there,” Lucien supplied, licking his lips as I sprinkled copious amounts of cinnamon atop the foam of his drink. “And Bron and Hart.”

“They have eleven brain cells combined, if that.”

Lucien shot me a pointed look as I slid the drink across the counter to him. “That’s six more than you’ve got, Fey.”

I bit back a grin as I shoved his shoulder from across the counter. “Get out of here.”

“I’ll see you tonight. Clean yourself up a little.”

I didn’t have time to bite back a retort before the door closed behind him. Clean yourself up, I scoffed. I had my makeup kit in my bag. And I showered last night. I looked fine.

Probably not as dashing or pristine as Ianthe will, but my hair’s clean. And I smelled good. That right there was the height of my presentability.

The clock ticked closer and closer to five, the end of my shift. There usually wasn’t many people past five, seeing as though Hum’s wasn’t much of a student-oriented establishment. The last hour was always the longest, watching as every second brought me closer to the gala. My stomach felt like it was crawling. I hated these events.

The door opened along with the chiming bell, and my head snapped up from my phone to see an all-too familiar face already set in a smirk. Only this time, his suit was immaculate, even more so than yesterday’s, and his hair was parted differently, gelled back with little dangling strands around his face that brought out he midnight blue of his eyes.

I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to face this prick again, but damn was he so good to look at.

“I should put your picture up on the board with the rest of the banned customers.” I said as I turned to the espresso machine. I hated that I remembered his order. His eyes even showed surprised as I pulled out the almond milk and boiling water for his Americano.

“Wouldn’t you love to stare at me all day long?” He mused. “They better keep that board near the front so you don’t hide back there all day looking at me. Maybe tape it right here to the cash register.”

“Prick,” I murmured under my breath. I didn’t want to meet his eyes, and I didn’t want to seem like I had any interest in what he did whatsoever, but I couldn’t help myself. “Why the expensive suit today? Hot date?”

“All of my suits are expensive. And unless there was a date and time written on the bottom of my cup yesterday, I don’t recall you asking me out.”

My cheeks heated. “Oh, screw you.”

“You wish.”

My cheeks were probably the colour of traffic lights as I poured the almond milk into his coffee. “Four ten.” I ground out.

“Where’s that dazzling smile today, darling? Really, you must give me your manager’s contact information. I demand better service than this.”

“I’ll read it out to you: 514-829-suck my dick.”

Rhysand stood before me, a startled look on his face, like he couldn’t believe the words I’d just said.

I couldn’t believe the words I’d just said. This man was rich. Probably high, high up in the corporate rank. A phone call from him to anybody’s boss would definitely get them fired.

But he let out a startled laugh. A full, rich laugh that only made me swallow hard.

And bite back a smile.

“Four ten,” I said once again, and he only handed over yet another ten dollar bill. He didn’t even acknowledge my hand when I gave him his change and I begrudgingly put it in the jar.

But he didn’t leave. No, he stood there in front of me sipping his coffee like this was a normal, casual thing we did.

“You make a killer coffee, darling. Really.”

“It’s just an americano,” I scoffed. I turned and began wiping down the espresso machine and milk steamer. But really I was hiding the blush on my cheeks. God, look at me. Gawking over a stranger because they complemented me. An annoying stranger at that. One that knew exactly how to get under my skin.

“Don’t you have better things to do with your time than flirt with baristas?” I threw over my shoulder. He still wouldn’t leave, despite the silence between us.

“Yes of course I do, but flirting with you is by far the most enjoyable.”

My eyes narrowed. “You don’t even know my name.”

“You could easily fix that by just telling me.”

“Not going to happen.”

“Darling, I just don’t think it’s fair. You know my name. All the mystery is demystified. You’ve got the upper hand. Help me out a bit, here.” He shot me a pout and those brooding eyes, but I couldn’t be bothered. Instead, I pointed to the clock.

“We’re officially closed, and I don’t have to put up with you anymore.”

He only smirked and began walking away from the counter with that same graceful swagger. “I’ll be back tomorrow morning bright and early, darling.”

“There’ll be a restraining order by then!” I called back.

The door swung shut with the chiming of the bell, and I sighed.

I told myself the smile on my face wasn’t because of him. But I was never really a good liar.

The gown wasn’t hideous. Hideous was too strong a word.

I was just grateful, though, that my scars stayed out of view. Last time, things got…ugly.

Nonetheless, it sure as hell wasn’t my style. I sighed as I walked up the avenue, chiffon balled tightly in my fists, and tried to calm my nerves as I saw the pillars to the Prythian art gallery crawl into view. The lights they’d set up made the entire white-marble building seem like a dream. The gala tonight was for company morale, a sort of way for all of them to clap themselves on the back for the hard work they’d done. I’d lost count of how many I’d attended since I’d known Tamlin.

Usually I could nose my way out of them. When I was in school, before the accident, it was easier to use that out and have a night to myself in the apartment. Now that I was only working at Hum’s, I didn’t have any excuse anymore.

Every step ached in the heels. This was going to be a long night.

The bouncers didn’t even need to ask for name as I walked in the main front doors. The lobby was teeming with people I didn’t know, most likely all of them employees or people from business circles. Faces swam in and out of view, and I felt like I’d seen many of them before, but without Tamlin at my side I had no reason or courage to approach them.

He could’ve been anywhere. I had no idea where to even start looking.

The dinner was at seven, so I supposed I had a few hours to kill. I glanced over my shoulder for a moment then weaved my way to the back of the room where the museum branched off into different wings. Tamlin did pick the best venues, I had to concede. Always something for me to distract myself with.

This month’s exhibition was Paris’s post-impressionism era in the 1900s. Arguably my favourite period in art, the museum was lucky enough to snag some lesser-known Van Gogh and Monet. There was one piece, an early morning sunrise flecked with pinks and oranges that caught my eye. I stood before it, staring at the brushstrokes and blending of colours and hues, amazed. My fingers itched. I wanted to memorize the colours to memory in hopes that I could ever possibly recreate such a piece.

Before I realized it, I looked down at my fingertips and took a step back from the piece. I wanted to paint. It was a sensation I hadn’t felt in so long.

It’d been months since I’d painted. Tamlin wanted me to keep painting, said it would be good for me, but that studio haunted me. I couldn’t go back. There was nothing left for me in there.

One thought of trying to mix the red and white had me exiting the the showroom. Tears burned behind my eyes, and the last thing I needed right now was to make a scene at Tamlin’s party.

After a while of meandering, drinking alone and making several trips to the washroom to check my half-assed hair and makeup, Tam’s blonde hair came into view and it was seven o’clock.

His arm slid around me, too tight, and the easy grin on his face didn’t reach his eyes. “Where’ve you been? You’re late.”

“I’m late? Where have you been?” I retorted lowly. “I’ve been here looking for you for hours.”

“Have you been talking to people?”

I remained silent. The round tables were amply decorated with flush, exotic flowers that probably cost my yearly salary. Everything was gold-trimmed, pastel and proper, the usual colours of Tamlin’s personal assistant’s palette.

Tamlin ground out, “You can at least try, Feyre. For me.”

“I have been for the past year.” I snapped.

It was all we had time to say to each other before somebody came to shake Tamlin’s hand and bellow some inside stock-trading joke I didn’t understand before bursting into laughter. They followed us until we reached our table, right near the front of the room before the stage. Lucien and Ianthe were already seated, the former looking pale and tense.

He shook his head when I shot him a questioning look. When it came to Ianthe, Lucien was always tense.

The night passed by dreadfully. Making conversation was painful. Ianthe and Tamlin had plenty to talk about, though, with the drama in their elite circles that I didn’t care enough to be a part of. I’m sure most of the people here tonight were kind and interesting and wonderful people, but there was still that innate part of me that clung to the belief that most businesspeople were sucked dry of their souls.

I looked to my boyfriend. Most being the operative term. Not all.

Tamlin, though, began to grow tense. His head kept bouncing to the back of the room to a set of doors. His leg was bouncing beside me. It was so bad I had to put my hand on his thigh to calm him down. He put his hand on top of mine and shot me a grateful look, and I kissed him on the cheek. I knew he hated these things too.

Lucien looked to Tamlin. “Have your friends showed up yet?”

Tamlin shook his head. “Any minute.”

“What friends?” I wondered. I knew most of Tamlin’s friends and business partners. They were all neatly classified under the rich white guy identification part of my memory.

He shook his head, though. “You haven’t met them. You don’t want to meet them. They’re not necessarily good friends.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Are you in trouble? Is something wrong?” Nervousness bloomed in my stomach. We couldn’t repeat last time. We really, really couldn’t repeat everything that happened last time.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” he murmured in my ear. I sighed but leaned into his warmth anyways. Then suddenly he was up, and I scrambled to stay seated without falling out of my chair from the abrupt loss of contact.

“I’ll be right back.” He declared before storming off to the set of doors off to the east wing of the gallery. There were three sets of feet. My stomach grumbled. Everything about this was off.

I looked down to my plate and couldn’t finish it. Too rich. Too buttery. Everything, it was all closing in: the people, the finery, the utter lack decency…it was like being completely and truly alone in a room full of people. At a table filled with friends.

Lucien laid a hand on my shoulder. “Fey? Are you okay?”

“I need some air,” I muttered, before stalking out to the gallery’s main lobby. I stared at the map before throwing myself into the twisting hallways, and cursing myself for wearing high heels as I climbed stair after stair. But finally, I found myself on the gallery’s rooftop, looking out over the water of the Sidra and wishing I was anywhere but here.

Only I wasn’t alone.

I nearly flinched when I saw who it was leaning across the building’s cement lipped edge. The city lights made his face seem older. Deep-set. Like life had dealt him yet another shit hand and he was wondering whether to go all in or just fold.

I mean, I was near the point of folding. I really, really was.

Especially since I thought I was going to finally get some damned peace, yet now I had to face this prick. For the second time today.

“Stalking me, darling?”

“Could say the same for you, creep,” I called across the landing. He smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Apparently in the mere hours we’d been apart, life had taken a wrong turn for him. Probably didn’t happen too often judging by the look on his face.

“All dressed up. Tell me, what are you doing here darling? You look like a minnow in a sea of sharks.”

I scoffed. “What are you doing here?”

“Are you going to keep answering my questions with questions?”

“Are you going to keep asking me questions I don’t want to answer?”

Rhysand’s gaze held mine. We were only feet apart, but it was like a current ran between us. My mouth, puckered in a frown, only ignited the ever-lasting amusement in his eyes. That same electric, tension-filled feeling I felt in the coffee shop, like I didn’t know whether to throttle him or run my hands across his chest.

I blinked. I couldn’t believe I’d just thought of that. I brushed it away, telling myself just because I wasn’t ordering didn’t mean I couldn’t look at the menu.

Admitting defeat, my stare broke from his. Instead, I took position leaned against the cement railing, and marvelled at the city, the sea of lights and beauty before us.

Before I knew it, Rhysand was beside me, the arm of his expensive suit nearly brushing mine. The warmth nearly leeched from his toned body. I wanted to press myself into him as the breeze flew over us, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

“I’m not gonna lie, darling, I’ve had a shit day.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know. But I’m going to talk anyway. Because I need someone completely objective to discuss with.”

The silence stretched on with my muteness. Half of me wanted to listen, half of me wanted to walk away before I was in too far over my head.

“You know when everything feels like it’s stacked up against you? Like nothing more could possibly go wrong, and then you turn around and it does?” He sighed. “I blink and days go by. I have no idea how I get here; half of the time I have no idea how I even get out of bed. It’s like I’ve made my way here to the top, I’ve got everything I could imagine.” The rush of the city cars filled in the quiet between us as he paused for a moment. “But I’m still fucking empty inside.”

I told myself it was the breeze that sent the shiver down my spine. Not the aching feeling I had as he said those words, as he described everything I’d been feeling over the past year of my life.

Then Rhysand chuckled. “By the Cauldron. I’m sorry. You must think I’m crazy.” His breath fogged as he laughed again. “Guess I’ve got to find myself a new coffee shop.”

“No,” I replied instantly. His eyes flicked to mine, the surprise only presenting itself with the gentle up-flick of his eyebrows. “No. I know how you feel. I get it.” I cleared my throat. “It’s either completely normal to feel this way, or we’re both anomalies.”

“Honestly, I hope it’s the latter. I promised myself I wouldn’t end up like those people milling around downstairs. But here I am, fraternizing among them like we’re old friends.”

I shrugged. “Whatever keeps the roof over your head and food on the table.” I knew too many days with food on the table to deny that the money we had was extremely comforting.

He grinned, but it was sad. Morose. “That’s one way to put it.”

More silence ensued, but it wasn’t awkward. It was…peaceful. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been out on Tamlin and I’s balcony at home just to watch the world spin and move and whirl around me. Most definitely because I couldn’t trust myself on a balcony anymore. My mind was a thing of its own; moving in toxic ways the rest of me balked at.

“How long have you been a barista?” Rhysand wondered softly.

“A year,” I supplied, “can’t go back to sugary drinks now, though. Not after all the shit I see going into them.”

He chuckled, and I asked, “How long have you been empty on the inside?”

This time, the smile was full and bright, and it did reach his eyes. Rhysand said, “My entire life, darling. My entire damned life.”

“Well—”

The sound of metal screeching interrupted me, and a breathless voice called, “Feyre?”

I whipped around to see Lucien there, hand on his knee hunched over, trying to catch his breath. My heels echoed across the rooftop as I jogged towards him without toppling over. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“What are you doing here?” He sneered. “Why are you speaking with him?”

I wrinkled my nose and turned back to Rhysand. “You know him?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Lucien said, but threw a look Rhysand’s way nonetheless. A look about as unfriendly as they go. “We need you downstairs, Fey. Let’s go.” And with that Lucien began pounding down the stairs.

But I looked back at Rhysand. He only waved lazily my way, and called, “Until next time, Feyre darling.”

I bit back my smile as I in turn began thundering down the stairs. Prick.

It appeared as though the banquet went smoothly considering the near empty glasses—being quickly refilled—and the laughter-filled, red-tinted faces that beamed as Tamlin took the stage. Under the lights, his golden hair looked smooth and gleaming where it fell naturally down to his ears, and his tuxedo highlighted his muscled body in all the perfect places. His face was flushed as well, and I knew we’d have to call an Uber tonight by the looks of it. I’d never learned how to drive—never needed to with public transportation and Tamlin—which meant me driving home was out of the question. Better to put Tamlin at the wheel despite the state he was in than to even attempt letting me near the driver’s seat.

“As you all know, tonight is a celebration of the success of this company, of which you’ve all contributed immensely to, thanks to your handwork and dedication to our mission.” Applause erupted, and Tamlin’s smile brought my own grin to my face. To see the pride in his face…I knew despite all the complaints and exhaustion, he still liked what he did.

“Spring Corporations has never seen better days, and for that, you all have my utmost gratitude and admiration.” More applause, to which Tamlin patiently waited to pass before adding, “but tonight is more than just our corporate success.”

My eyebrows raised in surprise. What else could Tamlin have to announce?

“Personally, things have been hectic. It’s been a good, prosperous year, but that doesn’t come without life’s ups and downs.” His eyes wandered through the crowd, until they finally befell me, and his eyes sparkled. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen my boyfriend so content. “Life has thrown a lot of ups and downs at me, and I wouldn’t have been able to handle them without my girlfriend.”

My heart was pounding in my chest. Oh Gods. I had no idea where he was going with this.

Scratch that, I knew exactly where he was going with this, and it made me nearly sick to my stomach.

“Feyre Archeron,” he said, “you are the true one and only love of my life. There’s nobody, no one else on this earth that brings me joy and understands me like you do.”

Tamlin took the microphone, and murmurs began spreading across the crowd as he wandered down the steps right before our table, right before me.

I wasn’t breathing.

Tamlin got down on one knee, and joyful gasps echoed through the room. With one hand, he fished a dark velvet box from his inner suit pocket, and cracked it open to present the largest emerald stone I’d ever seen, set onto a golden band. So typically Tamlin that I grinned.

“Feyre,” he murmured into the mic, his golden eyes brimming with silver as we stared at each other, “will you marry me?”

Fear paralyzed my body, yet I still choked out, “Yes. Yes, a thousand times yes.”

The microphone screeched but I didn’t care as I leaned down and pressed my mouth to his, sealing our lifetime together, with a little voice in my head echoing, There’s no going back now.

#dngg #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acotar fanfic #acotar fanfiction #sjm #feyre #rhys #feysand #feyrhys #feysand fanfic #feysand fanfiction

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demonsonthemoon · 5 years ago

Text

Despite The Odds (We Keep On Breathing)

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Pairings: Sam/Bucky (platonic, there’s kissing though) Word Count: 3793 Summary: Sam didn't really know why Bucky stayed with him, after. Turned out he was pretty okay when he wasn't brainwashed and hellbent on killing him. Turned out Sam trusted him. Turned out maybe they could help each other. Note: This was written for Aggressively Arospec Week 2019. Basically I wanted to explore what trauma can mean for your sense of self/how you identify. I'm not in any way a specialist on anything relating to mental health, so take this with a pinch of salt I guess. Also it's my first time writing from Sam's POV! Woop! Featuring caedromantic!Bucky

Also available on AO3.

Sam didn't really know why Bucky stayed with him, after.

Maybe he thought that making sarcastic remarks at each other for months on end because they might be on the run together but they didn't have to like it was a form of bonding.

Maybe he thought they could help each other through the shared trauma of being left behind by their best friend right after having been brought back to life.

Maybe he didn't have anywhere else to go.

Maybe he didn't have anyone else to be other than Captain America's shadow.

Whatever the reason, the fact of the matter was that Bucky Barnes was following him around a whole lot. And, at this point, Sam felt like it was probably too late to ask why.

The thing was, it wasn't bad. Taking up the mantle/shield of Captain America meant that his life was on the line even more often than it used to be, and having someone watching out for him was invaluable. And the fact that it was Bucky Barnes doing the watching... Well, it turned out that that wasn't so bad either. Turned out the guy was pretty okay when he wasn't brainwashed and hellbent on killing him.

Sam didn't know everything that had happened to him, but he knew enough. And he knew it was a lot. And despite all of that, Bucky had turned into a mostly quiet man, one who got too sarcastic when he was either in a great or a terrible mood. He had been used as a weapon and killed dozens of people, and know he had a small smile he reserved for flowers peeking through concrete and dogs who tried to sniff him. It seemed to Sam that something had settled into him during his time in Wakanda. It was a fragile equilibrium, he knew that. That's always what it was. But he also thought it was probably much more than Bucky had let himself hope for.

Maybe Sam was projecting onto Bucky a little bit. Or maybe a lot. Sam was an adult, he could admit it to himself. Inhale, exhale, there you go. He was glad that Bucky was there with him. Because his own equilibrium was not so much fragile as holding on through duct tape and prayers. It was just... superheroing was lonely work. It didn't come with an adjustment period, and it was definitely not the kind of job where you could call in sick on bad mental health days. Sam wasn't living the kind of life where he had time to mourn. He also wasn't living the kind of life that could help him forget.

So, yeah. He was glad Bucky was there with him. He was glad someone was there to remember. Even when the guy was being an asshole.

“For fuck's sake! I told you to stop doing that!” Sam groaned, pushing aside the man he had just punched in the face and stepping over the one who had been shot by a bullet which had flown exactly a handspan away from Sam's cheek.

“I told you not to move,” Bucky said over their comm system, sounding totally unrepentant.

“Yeah, while a guy was trying to kick my knee in. It's not like I had much of a choice.”

He kept moving as he talked, shield held up in front of him in case of gunfire. There was always gunfire. Except when it was magic. Sam much prefered the gunfire to magic.

He kept moving, knocking a few more people unconscious and shooting one in the leg. It wasn't because he had picked up Steve's shield that he had to pick up his stupid habit of never carrying a gun.

He had finally reached the room where hostages were being held, and from what he could hear, the people inside had noticed something was wrong. That wasn't good. It meant they would be prepared for him, which usually meant a lot of gunfire.

“Gonna need some help here,” Sam said into his comms, voice low.

“You always do,” came Bucky's reply. Sam rolled his eyes. He had no idea why Bucky was in such a good mood when they were fighting terrorists. The guy was weird.

He also hadn't given him any information on what form his backup would take, but the sound of a window breaking was as good a sign as any that Sam should kick in the door and punch anything that looked like it wanted to kill him.

By the time he went to untie the hostages, his hands were shaking from the adrenaline. He could feel a dozen bruises starting to form all over his body, but right now the pain was an easily ignored buzz. He did his best to smile in a non-threatening way and reassure everyone that they were safe.

As usual, Bucky hung back for this part. By now, most civilians recognized Sam's uniform immediately, although there had been a transition period where a lot of people had awkward questions about Captain America turning black and sprouting wings. But Bucky was much less of a public figure, and his dark-coloured tac gear didn't exactly made him inviting. That, and Bucky was always on high alert after a fight. There was a stillness to him that was all concentration and held-back power. Sam used to be afraid of it too, so he knew what those civilians were feeling. Although, nowadays, he had to admit it was one of the few things that made him feel safe.

Going on missions together all across the world meant staying in hotels with very thin walls, and Bucky had a supersoldier's hearing, so it really was no surprise to hear a knock on the door after Sam had woken up from a nightmare that had launched him right into a panic attack.

“You can come in,” Sam struggled to say over his ragged breathing. Fuck, he hated nightmares. He nearly never got panic attacks during the day anymore, knew a dozen tricks to force himself to relax before they fully developed. But his sleeping self never remembered any of them, not when he was faced with conflated images of Steve stepping back in time and Riley falling from the sky and himself always helpless and left behind.

Bucky stepped into the room. The cold efficiency of his fighting mode – Sam did his best not to call it the Winter Soldier mode, not even jokingly – had disappeared. Instead, Sam was faced by a man in a soft white shirt and sweatpants, mussed hair falling over his face. The first time this had happened he had held himself small, light on his feet. Ready to bolt, but still making the effort to offer his help. Sam had been more touched by that than he had ever been able to express.

That night he was less tense. He knew this was allowed now. He knew this was welcome. Needed, maybe, though Sam had yet to admit that.

“Do you want to talk?” Bucky asked softly. “Or should I just keep watch?”

Sam didn't like being alone after nightmares. It didn't help that the new ones had abandonment trauma spelled out all over them. Sometimes just having Bucky stay in the room was enough for him to fall back asleep, knowing he wasn't alone, knowing he was safe. Bucky didn't sleep a lot. Didn't need to.

“Have to calm down first,” Sam replied. His breathing was beginning to deepen, a little, but it still wasn't comfortable. He could feel a headache starting. Panic attacks were the worst, because they made him even more tired than he already was from lack of sleep. Fuck.

Bucky pulled the chair out from under the desk in a corner of the room and sat down. It should have been weird, Sam sitting in bed, knees drawn up, head resting on his crossed arms, struggling to breathe, and Bucky watching him. But there was no judgment in Bucky's gaze. No pity, no overbearing concern. Just a quiet acknowledgment of Sam's presence and of his struggle, and Sam didn't know how he had managed without it all this time.

Slowly, Sam got his breathing back under control. He could still feel his heart beating fast and his head pounding in the same rhythm. He looked up.

Bucky was still there, watching him with the same soft and neutral expression. Sam felt something twist in his chest.

“You'd figured it out, hadn't you?” he let out, too tired to filter his thoughts.

Bucky twitched slightly, which was his equivalent of jumping in surprise, Sam figured. He probably hadn't expected the accusatory tone in Sam's voice. The accusation wasn't directed at him though. Not at all.

Sam ran a hand across his face. He'd started this, and he needed to see it through. Seeing from his nightmares, this unresolved business wasn't going to let go of him any time soon if he kept ignoring it.

“When Steve...” he hated the way his voice still caught on the name. Like he had died a death too horrible to speak of. (Like Riley.) But he hadn't. He had made his choice. He had lived his life. A good one. (Maybe better for them not being in it.) “... left. When he left, you said... You said 'I'll miss you.'”

Bucky's face was still neutral, but it had lost some of its softness.

“He was supposed to be gone for seconds. Only seconds. And when he came back... You weren't surprised, were you?”

Bucky turned his head to the side. His hair partly hid him from Sam's view. Bucky didn't let himself show negative emotions.

“Fuck, Bucky, I'm sorry, I didn't...” Sam hesitated before pushing his duvet to the side and moving forward so he could sit on the edge of the bed, facing the other man.

Bucky always asked him what he needed, but Sam had never offered the same. Bucky always looked like he would refuse. Now Sam hesitated, wanting to reach out a hand and not daring to. Staying within arm's length was his best bet, giving Bucky the opportunity to cross the gap if he wanted to.

The other man took a deep breath and turned back towards him. “Nothing to apologize for,” he said, voice flat. “You didn't do anything.

“Yeah, but I shouldn't have...” Sam started. Shouldn't have what? Hadn't he admitted just a minute ago that he needed to stop repressing all this? “Shouldn't have said it like that.”

Bucky shrugged. “You weren't wrong.”

His shoulders were hunched forward, a habit Bucky had caught to make himself look smaller, less threatening. It made him lean slightly into Sam's space. Sam tried not to read anything into that, but he had hopes.

“I... suspected. I didn't want to be right, but well.” He looked up into Sam's eyes. His gaze was intense. Focused. Dangerous.

It was the gaze of a hurt animal waiting for its chance to run.

“He wasn't the same anymore.”

There's so much that's left unsaid behind those words. How they're not the same either. How Steve hadn't been the Brooklyn kid Bucky remembered in a long time. How much it hurt that despite all of their effort none of them could go back to the way things used to be.

Steve had gone back in time, sure, but it had just been to a different future. Sam wondered, a bit cruelly, if he'd ever missed the past that Sam and Bucky had become to him.

“You should sleep,” Sam said. He stood up and put a hand forward, waiting for Bucky to carefully take it before he pulled him to his feet. Bucky didn't hesitate when Sam tugged him towards his own bed.

Sam didn't let himself think about it long enough to hesitate either.

When he woke up, Sam found Bucky's arm flung across his waist and one of his legs tangled in between Sam's. When he turned his head, Bucky's eyes were still closed, although Sam felt him move just the tiniest bit, as if trying not to let it show that he was already awake.

Sam found he was okay with that. If it meant they could stay like this a while longer, he was fine with letting Bucky pretend as long as he wanted to.

It was human, after all. Most people needed physical contact, preferably some that didn't come from punches and chokeholds.

Sam was only human himself. He felt warmth spread through his body and tension fade away as he let himself melt back into a half-doze.

He knew he and Bucky trusted each other. They had to, to fight together like they did. They had to, if Bucky was going to stand watch over Sam on the days he got nightmares. But this felt like another sort of trust. This was skin on skin, but without the sweat and the blood. Vulnerability without open wounds.

This felt too damn good, and for once Sam could tell himself he wanted it enough not to listen to the voice saying it was something he didn't deserve.

So, after a minute, he opened his eyes and said “Good morning.”

Bucky opened his eyes as well, looking back at him. “Good morning.” He immediately started untangling his legs from Sam's. The movement had a controlled languor to it. It was trying too hard not to draw attention to itself.

Sam caught Bucky's right hand between his, and brought it to his lips. “Don't,” he whispered against the fingers.

Bucky froze at that. Sam had gotten pretty good at reacting quickly, what with all the getting shot at he was doing this day, so it only took that half second for panic to settle throughout his body and for him to let go of his grip.

But Bucky didn't move away. He didn't punch Sam in the face nor broke his wrist, which was a relief. Instead, he drew in a breath, and then carefully ran his thumb along the length of Sam's lower lip.

That was... a thing. A thing that... did things. To Sam.

In that moment, he realized how long it had been since he'd dated anyone or even had a casual hook-up. The constant traveling and self-endangerment that formed the core of superheroing weren't conclusive to long-term relationships, and the chance to be recognized in a club and either kidnapped or assaulted by fans was high enough to make him stay away from them.

But right then, someone was touching his lips, and that someone was safe. That someone knew who he was, knew a big part of what he'd gone through, had gone through worse, and was still here and touching him like he was a tiny bird about to fly away.

Sam opened his mouth. Bucky did the same thing, surprise on his face, his finger still resting against Sam's lip.

Sam's entire body was one tense line, thrumming with too many emotions at once. The one that ended up resonating the loudest was very simple.

He didn't want this moment to leave him behind.

Sam would have very dramatically smashed his mouth against Bucky's if he could have, but the fact that they were both still lying on their side made the manoeuvring a little more difficult than that. In the end, they met in a soft press of lips that seemed to surprise Bucky even has he leaned forward to welcome it. His hand settled carefully on the back of Sam's neck.

Sam closed his eyes.

If he'd been asked, Sam wouldn't have thought kissing Bucky Barnes would be this way. Not that he had ever considered it. … Or at least not seriously.

But this was nice, if unexpected. Slow and careful movements, warm with the edge of sleep, too soft for Sam to hold back a sigh.

Bucky pulled away first. Then Sam opened his eyes once more.

He didn't know what he had expected the look on Bucky's face to be, but this wasn't it. This was much too neutral to his taste.

“I'm sorry,” Bucky said.

Those words were enough to make cold run through Sam's body, extinguishing everything else he'd been feeling until then. How could Bucky have misunderstood the situation enough to be apologizing to Sam?

“You've got nothing to be sorry for,” he replied, imitating the other man and sitting up. There was now a gap between the two of them, some sort of security distance that Sam felt like a tear in his own chest. Fuck, he hadn't known how badly he had been craving this kind of contact.

Bucky pulled up his knees and wrapped his arms around it. His face wasn't as much neutral anymore as tired. The kind of exhaustion that went much beyond the physical. After all, he didn't need much sleep anymore.

“I can't do this,” Bucky said, looking away.

Sam concentrated on taking long and deep breaths. He couldn't panic now. He had maybe fucked things up with the only person he trusted, he couldn't afford to panic. This wasn't about him, and he was not going to make things worse.

“What? What can't you do?”

“I don't know. Relationships. Stuff. Flirting. Fucking. Anything. I can't do anything, I just...”

“Hey,” Sam started, trying to find that perfect balance between forceful and soft. He waited for Bucky to look up before he continued. “Don't say you can't do anything. You save my life on a weekly basis, that has to be worth something.”

He had hoped for a weak chuckle from that, would have settled for a sigh, but was only met with silence. Tough crowd. Sam had had some of those before.

“Why do you mean when you say you can't do those things? That you're not allowed or that you're not able to? Or something else?”

“I don't know. It doesn't feel the same way. I don't want it the same way. I don't want it.”

Another jolt of pure cold. Bucky hadn't wanted it.

Despite everything Sam told himself about needing not to panic, something must have shown in his eyes. Sam actually felt pretty good that his poker face wasn't yet good enough to hide the horror he felt at having been well on his way to raping someone.

“Fuck, no. I didn't mean it like that. I did want that. I liked it. You must have felt that I liked it, right?”

“It's not that easy, man. Sometimes you're put in a situation, and the way your body reacts doesn't have anything to do with how you actually feel about it.”

“It wasn't like that! Fuck, sweetheart, it wasn't like that, I swear...”

Sam was feeling very confused right then. Also, relieved. But mostly confused, because Bucky had called him sweetheart before but only through at least five layers of irony. Never so... earnestly. And that had felt a lot like flirting. Which Sam was not going to think about because it was very inappropriate even if he probably hadn't physically violated his superheroing partner.

“Okay, good,” Sam replied, holding up his hands to show he believed Bucky. They were still sitting side by side on a bed. For some reason this made the conversation seem even weirder than it was. “That's good. What did you mean by not wanting it then?”

Bucky ran a hand through his hair. “It's weird. It's just... it's messed up. I'm messed up. I used to... I used to flirt with people all the time. I liked that. You feel that spark of attraction and you fan it, or something. It felt good. But I don't feel that anymore.”

“That's no reason to feel like you're messed up, you know. Loads of people don't like flirting or don't want to date. And kissing...” There Sam floundered a little, embarrassed. “Kissing doesn't have to be about sex. Sometimes you just need to touch someone. Sometimes it just feels nice.”

Bucky shook his head. “But I used to like it,” he insisted. There was something almost childish to his voice. Or maybe not childish. Maybe it was just innocent.

“I'm supposed to be... I know that's not how it works, but I'm supposed to be... fixed. Why can't I just...”

Bucky closed the fist of his prosthetic arm tightly. With his other hand, he covered half of his face. That was Bucky for you. Always showing you calm and control, despite the blizzard that must constantly be raging inside him.

“Hey,” Sam said softly. “Can I touch you?” He waited until Bucky nodded before slowly unfolding his prosthetic hand and sliding their fingers together. “You're right. That's not how it works. You went through a shitload of trauma, man. And the mental programming T'Challa's people took out of you was only the tip of the iceberg, right? But that's nothing to be ashamed of. Being a different person now than you were in the past is not something that has to be fixed. It's how humans work.”

“It was... It was so much easier to get better when I knew what I was supposed to be aiming for. When I was just gathering memories, trying to be someone...”

To be someone Steve knew, was the sentence Sam guessed hung between them. But Steve didn't need Bucky to be his old self anymore. Steve had enough memories to fill twice what Bucky had ever lost.

Steve had never managed to forget Peggy. Would Sam and Bucky ever forget him?

“Your past self isn't necessarily better, you know? I didn't know him, but I know you now. And I would say you're a pretty okay guy.”

Sam actually earned his chuckle this time, and he squeezed Bucky's hand in response.

“What you want or don't want... It's a big deal to some people. I get that. But it doesn't have to be. And sometime it changes. And that's okay. Sometimes it changes because of stuff that happens to you. And sometimes the stuff isn't okay. But the change is. Sometimes things change back to the way they were and sometimes they don't. There's no telling whether one or the other is any kind of recovery. And all of this doesn't have to be anything you define yourself by. But it can.”

Bucky sighed, letting himself fall back against the bed's headboard. “I guess I'm lucky the new Captain America has a degree in psychology.”

Sam let out a quick laugh. “Nah. This isn't anything I learned in class. You're just lucky I care about you.”

“Yeah, actually. I am.”

Bucky squeezed his hand, ever so softly, with fingers that could tear a door off its hinges in a second, and Sam thought:

I am too.

#AggressivelyArospecWeek #Meeni writes fics #Winterfalcon #Bucky Barnes #Sam Wilson

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