#it will worsen and ruin something in your body but for this person specifically

[barneysbigstompers]

stupid people make my blood boil

[qwertyfingers]

this one is a vague complaint and not something I want to like append to anything specific but the whole claim about 'real chronic pain' vs 'the tumblr kind' is so fucking bizarre to me. for followers who don't know, I'm 29 and I've been out of education since before graduating high school bc I got incredibly sick (glandular fever induced M.E. immediately followed by worsening of lifelong migraines that left me bedbound for 2 years + almost completey housebound for 10 years) that have only responded to treatment within the last three years, specifically because they invented a new class of drugs.

right now I'm in the middle of completing my HS education and applying to study neuroscience or biomed at university. my main motivation for doing this is that I've been reading (bio)medical papers for self-study (and just for fun if I'm being honest, I really like this kind of science) for years but I've pretty much hit the wall of what it's possible to learn without Going To School For It. my secondary motivation is that I'd really like to do biomedical research, ideally into migraines because that's the shit that ruined my life, but I have a whole load of other areas of interest, one of which is chronic pain and the things that make it so complicated to understand and treat.

the idea that "chronic pain" is some monolithic condition with like one cause and one solution is insane and the idea of standing up and saying it with full-throated confidence doesn't make any sense to me for any person with even a shred of knowledge about how pain signalling works in the human body.

one of the core symptoms of autism — which a really high percentage of tumblr users have — is that your body responds to completely harmless sensory inputs as if they were painful, and there's enough research been published to say fairly definitively this happens largely because your body physiologically processes that sensation as a noxious stimulus.* autistic people are also among the most likely members of the population to develop myriad chronic pain conditions. these things are probably fucking related even if we don't have the exact biological mechanism by which it happens pinned down yet!

the whole reason I responded to those post is that i really fucking care about this shit, and being presented as some wanker who makes shit up to seem cool and interesting on tumblr does actually really upset me. i specifically spent quite a long time editing those responses to be, like, affable and not critical of the posters or possible to read as mean or snotty in any way. I know this wasn't my fault and it's clear from the tone of those posts that they have no intention of engaging in a way that isn't obnoxious and argumentative, but it feels pretty shitty anyway.

whatever man. i just want people to look after themselves. if you'll allow me one shoebox moment: if you find yourself having to take OTC pain medication on a daily or near-daily basis, something is wrong with your body or your lifestyle or both and you should seek help for that whenever you are able. it may seem obvious to say, but sometimes people need reminding that being in pain every single day is not normal. love you all.

*[not relevant, but the same thing happens in migraines with blue light (photophobia) and allodynia (where touch becomes painful)]

[kaidenya]

Yandere Types ✧ MHA

Description: A breakdown of the types of yandere I think the MHA characters would be like. I will be using the Yandere Chart that I created in order assign each characters type and danger level. Part One :: Hanta Sero, Shoto Todoroki, & Tamaki Amajiki,

WARNING: yandere content, toxic relationships, v light smut NOTE: kidnapping, non-con, violence, in order of danger level, not proof-read, a shit post really

“If I can’t have you, no one can...”

HANTA SERO — 16

Motive :: Isolating (3)

Behavior :: Possessive (6)

Executions :: Wrong Idea Type (2) | Monopoly Type (5) 

Hanta Sero is extremely charismatic and many find it very easy to relax around him. Most people wouldn’t think the ability to fit in with any crowd was a disadvantage, but it had left Hanta with a shaking fear that he couldn't stand out among his peers. That was the last thing an aspiring pro-hero needed while trying to climb to the top. It’s because of this lack of control in his social life that his yandere motive would be isolating you. He would wish to keep you away from all things that could potentially draw your attention away. 

It wouldn’t take much to catch Sero’s interest. He’s a wrong idea type which means the shortest interaction can spark his interest- whether it's lending him a pen in a moment of need or smiling at him in passing. He would very much like to keep you safe, more so if you’ve been open to his advances. It wouldn’t be a surprise if he offered you substances such as cannabis or alcohol to speed up the process of you growing comfortable in his presence. He would get physical faster than most as he is naturally a touchy person, most likely going down on you multiple times before attempting to get pleasure from you. Hanta is very intelligent, it would be relatively easy for him to earn your favor, and making sure you are constantly satisfied would be a major factor. Besides, he has a wicked mouth that would murmur sweet nothings as he sucked and licked at your arousal making it nearly impossible for you to think about anything else.

You would not doubt that Hanta had your best interest in mind. Even when he would express his concerns about the intentions of others. He would appeal to your logic and be sure you knew how much you meant to him— how he couldn’t lose you. Of course, he was always right about the ones you decided to keep around despite his warnings. Whether they made you uncomfortable, turned their backs on you, or vanished completely- you always lost contact with them. By the time you've started to run low on outside connections, you wouldn't mind pushing people away. Hanta Sero would be your constant. Besides, his peace of mind meant more to you than certain relationships and you were sure he'd do the same for you.

SHOTO TODOROKI — 17

Motive :: Submissive (1)

Behavior :: Overprotective (5)

Executions :: Obsession Type (3) | Self-Sacrifice Type (8)

Shoto Todoroki is motivated by his family trauma. There is no doubt that he is touch-starved and desperate for affection, beneath his hard protective exterior, of course. He looks at life through a calm and calculating gaze. On the off chance that he came in contact with someone who caught his interest, he would keep his distance, which is for the best considering his social cues are severely lacking. He would most likely be the one to watch you for the longest before making a move. Shoto would be sure to look out for you without making it on your radar. There would be times he would even go as far as to turn away your potential suitor or lead you away from an upperclassman prank. His infatuation would only grow with time, but there would be a breaking moment where his yandere behavior worsens. It would be a particularly heartfelt moment between you, whether it's sharing a traumatic moment or assisting with an injury, that would push him past the point of no return. He would be obsessed. 

Todoroki's overprotective nature would take an aggressive turn when he would catch others interacting with you. It didn't matter if they had glanced your way for a beat too long or went as far as to seek out your attention. By the time he began courting you, rather than just watching from afar, you would begin noticing the changes in his behavior. Specifically when others were around. There would be a point when he told you not to interact with certain classmates. His social understandings would be his downfall as he wouldn’t note your negative reaction. Not until you stand up to him. After that, you could expect plenty of gifts and apologies. He would so clearly feel guilty and stop at nothing to make sure you knew that, to the extent that you almost feel wrong for being so upset. He was just worried that he would lose you.

The turn in your relationship would be when you grew intimate. Oddly enough you would have to be the one to take this next step in your relationship. However, once he's given free rein to touch you, he won't stop. Shoto isn’t the type to plan for one romantic relationship, let alone anything after his first love, so the moment he slid his cock into your tight, wet concave he would own you. 

TAMAKI AMAJIKI — 24

Motive :: Isolating (4)

Behavior :: Obsessive (3)

Executions :: Stalker Type (6) | Worship Type (10)

Tamaki Amajiki is rarely sure of himself or his actions despite his undeniable intelligence and talent. He had taken to hiding in the shadow of his peers, though that was difficult with best friends who pushed him into the spotlight. Being a member of the Big Three only drew the attention of more. It was safe to say that his anxious personality could be a setback. However, it also made him very observant. Through that observance, he can decypher environments and body language much faster than most. He liked to stand back and watch- to feel the tension around him. That tension would be suffocating when he officially met you. It could be a number of instances. After Nejire had knocked his books from his hands in a fit of excitement, arms swinging and sending the stack right to your feet. Or perhaps Mirio would be bursting into laughter, cheerfully slapping his arm and sending him tumbling into your around a sharp turn. Either way, he would be a stuttering mess. If you met his apologies with soft smiles or reassurance it would surely set his gears turning. 

It would be his lack of confidence that encouraged his yandere-like behavior, specifically stalking. Within a week he would be able to put together your schedule and your locker location. How he hadn’t noticed you before would remain a mystery as he would begin seeing you everywhere. Some days he would fall into step with you, keeping a safe distance as he marveled at your routine behavior. As time went on he would feel more confident in closing that distance. It would remain that way for a few months until something pushed his interest into a fixation. Every good quality that you possessed would become far more impressive to him and spur him to get closer— to learn more. He would begin breaking into your personal items be that your locker or bedroom, it didn't matter as long as he got closer to you. It wouldn't be surprising if Mirio and Neijire had started to notice the way his gaze would linger. They would take it upon themselves to reach out to you without realizing the severity of the situation. 

The tipping point for his yandere behavior would a moment of absolute panic. You would have already grown close, fully integrated with the Big Three, when you would begin spending time with another student. Tamaki would be able to contain his jealousy when it came to his friends, but someone outside of that close-knit group? He would see them as a direct threat and he would deal with it accordingly. In the beginning, he would explain how he feels comfortable with you, making sure you knew how different you compared to others. That would most likely lead to the two of you spending more time alone. If that didn't keep the threat at bay then he would waste no more time, prompting threatening or attacking them. In the long run, the only thing that would ruin his hold over you would be pushing too many people away and getting caught, but he would deal with that the best way he knew how.

[littlemisspascal]

Death and an Angel part 5

Helmetless + Death!Din and Cupid F!Reader

Summary: A call with one of your bosses threatens to split you and Din apart.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2,075

Warnings: Reader experiences a panic attack, use of a swear word, angst, reference to most recent Mandalorian episode so I guess it’s kind of spoiler-ish, hurt/comfort and more angst

Author Note: All the love to everyone who follows along with this series! I joined AO3 recently so all these parts will be on there as well at LittleMissPascal. I’m actually really nervous about the response to this particular segment so...be gentle, please ❤

Links to Part 1 and Part 4 and Part 6

Photo Inspiration: 

“Cupid 1-1-7, am I hearing you correctly? You said there was an explosion?”

You scrub a hand over your face, biting back a sigh lest the comlink picks it up. “Not a literal one, sir. I’m still not sure what happened, just that when my client touched a potential match’s hand there was this...invisible blast of energy or something.”

The silence on the other end is enough to make you want to slam your head against the wall of the Razor Crest. You’d called headquarters as soon as you and Din had returned to his ship, figuring if anyone had a clue as to what the hell had happened it’d be one of your superiors. 

After twenty minutes of explaining your predicament not once, but three times, you’re beginning to realize you were evidently mistaken.

“Remind me again, Cupid 1-1-7, what name was it you referred to this immortal client of yours as?” Over the comlink, your boss’ voice sounds as if he’s gargling jagged rocks, deep and throaty. You can imagine the narrowed-eyed look he’d be giving you in person and you’re grateful you’re not currently having this conversation over a holoprojector. 

“I didn’t.” 

Your eyes drift to the ladder leading up to the cockpit where Din is located. Something inside of you is insistent you keep Din’s identity hidden from your superiors. It’s a feeling you’ve never experienced before, certainly not with any of your former clients. Part of you thinks of the sensation as possessiveness, but what have you to be possessive of? You have no claim to him, nothing tying you to one another. 

“Interesting,” your boss says, dry as the Dune Sea.

“My client is high-profile, sir. He asked me to remain discreet and I intend to uphold his request.” You clutch the comlink against your chest, taking deep breaths to keep yourself calm as you wait to hear if he believed your lie or not.

“This...incident you’ve described, it does bring to mind an event in history with similar details.” There is a shuffling sound that echoes over the device, resembling papers being picked up and flipped through. He hums, a long drawn out note that makes your skin crawl. “Yep, here’s the report right here, referencing an outburst erupting as a result of the physical contact between a potential pair.”

You wait for more information, drumming your fingers against a nearby crate.

“Unfortunately, you are not of rank to hear the specifics.”

“But—”

“I must say though, the Moff will be most interested in this development,” he continues, ignoring your protest as if you hadn’t opened your mouth at all. 

Heart lodging in your throat at the mention of the head seraph, you manage to choke out, “I really don’t think that’s necessary, Mr. Hess.”

“That’s sir to you, Cupid 1-1-7.”

“Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. Forgive me, sir.” You’re two seconds from babbling yourself off a cliff and you can’t find the off switch for your mouth. “It’s just. Moff Gideon is so busy, as I’m sure you know, and I would hate to bother him with this case when I have everything under control—”

“Except that you clearly don’t. Otherwise you wouldn’t have made this call.”

His words hit you like a punch, silencing you.

“The Moff will hear about this, as well as your breaking protocol by concealing information from your superior when directly asked. No doubt he will be as displeased about your behavior as I am.” 

Your eyes fall shut as you listen, slumping against the ship’s wall and sliding down onto the cold floor. You feel disconnected from the situation, as if he’s discussing someone else’s fate instead of your own. 

“In the meantime,” his voice drones on, adding more weight to the pressure on your chest. “I will permit you forty-eight hours to complete your assignment before I officially relegate it to another Cupid. You will also be ordered to take a reassessment test of your basic understanding of standard Cupid regulations.”

You squeeze your eyes together tighter, feeling like you’re about to throw up. Each breath you take feels pointless, as if there is no longer any oxygen in the air, but you have enough pride left to keep you from having a breakdown with your boss still on the line. 

“Do you understand the terms in which I’ve stated to you, Cupid 1-1-7?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Amor vincit omnia.” The parting mantra sounds almost sinister coming from his mouth.

“Amor vincit omnia,” you echo, forcing your voice to remain steady.

The comlink clicks off. The floodgates open not a second later.

You press your palms against your mouth, desperately trying to hold back the sobs that wrack your body so they don’t disrupt the silence of the cargo hold. The tears streaming down your face refuse to be stifled though, burning your eyes as they fall. Your head pounds in rhythm with your heartbeat, a frantic drumming counting down the seconds until you either scream or pass out. Or both.

It’s an ugly, hysterical kind of crying that can’t be stopped once started, not even when you hear movement from the ladder right before Din slides down it, boots thudding loudly against the floor. 

And then it seems like Din is right there in front of you without ever having moved, unnaturally fast and stealthy, gloved fingers resting on your shoulders. He’s taken off his helmet, brown eyes full of such concern it only makes you cry harder seeing them, further increasing his worry.

“Are you hurt? Tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he murmurs, a note of franticness in his voice as he looks you over for injuries, finding none except for the few scratches along your arms you’d received earlier when you landed in the dirt.

You shake your head when he tries to move your hands away from your face, emitting a choked hiccup that threatens to crack your already-bruised rib cage with its intensity. 

“Angel, you’ve got to breathe, okay?” Din says, soft and soothing. You blink through your watery vision, finding his gaze again, and he offers you a small, reassuring smile. “In and out. Just like this.” He inhales a purposefully deep breath, then slowly releases it without once breaking eye contact.

You try to copy him, but your nose is stuffed with snot and your lungs hitch with another round of sobs, ruining your attempt.

“Can I…?” Din again reaches for one of your hands, this time hovering without attempting direct contact, waiting for your consent. 

Trembling, it feels like a monumental task to remove your hand from where it’s glued to the top of your other one still covering your mouth. Din grabs onto your wrist and brings your hand to his chest plate, pressing it against the cool beskar.

“Together, okay? In and out.”

He continues his litany of encouragement, patient and calm, and gradually your heaving sobs begin to lose their power, enabling you to reclaim control of your lungs. Catching your breath, you begin to wipe away the lingering tears with the hand not still held gently in Din’s grip. 

“Sorry,” you sniff, embarrassed. The beginning ache of a migraine starts to form in the back of your head, worsening when you try to move too quickly, and you bite back a wince.

His grip on your wrist tightens in admonishment. “There’s no need to be,” he says, but your ears detect his thinly restrained anger. “Who were you speaking to?”

“He’s one of my superiors. Valin Hess,” you answer, biting your lip.

“I should have him wiped clean from the galaxy for making you cry,” Din hisses, a snarl on his face and eyes darkening with rage.

Face to face with anyone else, you would have felt terrified being so close to such open hostility. But this is how Din expresses his overprotective nature, making himself a more dangerous threat than the enemy, and for that reason, you could never be scared of him. 

“Din, listen to me,” you say, curling your hand in his grasp until he yields to your movements and allows you to intertwine your fingers with his gloved ones. “What happened on Sorgan when you touched Omera’s hand, Hess said it wasn’t the first time something like that has happened. He wouldn’t give me the details though because I’m not high enough rank.”

He raises an eyebrow. “I wasn’t aware Cupids had any kind of ranking system.”

“It’s based on how long you’ve existed. I’ve only been a Cupid for fifty years now, barely made any kind of lasting imprint on the galaxy.”

“Don’t say that,” he mutters, shooting you a stern look. “You’ve made a bigger impact than you could ever know.”

Struck momentarily speechless, you can only watch as he moves to sit on the floor beside you, clasped hands settling between his thigh and yours. The pauldron on his shoulder presses against the upper half of your arm and you tilt your head until your temple rests against it.

“That’s not what made you upset,” Din says.

You don’t need to shake your head, confirming the truth he already knows, but you do anyway, comforted by the cold metal rubbing across your forehead.

“What did he tell you, angel?”

You know by how he squeezes your hand that he genuinely wants to hear what happened. You know he must hear it from you because no one else can break the news. And you know you cannot lie to him because Hess’ intervening affects him even more than it does yourself. Still, in spite of knowing all of this, the words don’t come out any easier.

“I have only two days to figure out who your soulmate is before he reassigns you another Cupid.”

Din goes abruptly stiff. “What.”

“Because of the explosion and then also because I broke protocol by refusing to say you were my client, Hess believes I’m not handling things well and should be replaced by someone better.”

If you hadn’t known Din was immortal, you would think he died with how still he remains at your side. Leaning back with increasing worry, you see him staring forward across the cargo hold, granting you only a glimpse of the side of his face.

He...Oh, Maker. 

He looks kriffing pissed.

“Din—”

“How...” he cuts himself off, nostrils flaring as he clenches his jaw. “How could they ever think there is anyone better than you?”

For the job, you tell yourself, not allowing your hopes to rise. He means there isn’t anyone better for the job.

“I’m just a Cupid,” you tell him weakly, shrugging a shoulder. “I—”

“Stop talking poorly about yourself,” he snaps, the closest he’s ever come to yelling at you, turning to meet your gaze with fire burning in his eyes. You swallow thickly, his intensity making you feel like cornered prey. 

When he speaks again, his baritone voice has become a low murmur, each word carefully chosen and bleeding sincerity. “Everything you said about knowing who your soulmate is—I want to experience all of it with you. Only you. You’re it for me, angel.”

You freeze, unable to believe what you’re hearing, train of thought coming to a screeching halt. For the second time during this conversation, you’ve lost your voice, mouth opening and closing but no sound coming out.

“You’re it for me,” he repeats, sounding as if he’s pleading for you to believe him. “So tell your bosses to go fuck themselves. You’re the only Cupid I could ever want by my side.”

The reference of your designation is like dumping a bucket of ice water over your head, shocking your entire system. You wrench yourself away from him, stumbling onto your feet.

“You don’t know what you’re saying,” you say as you start to pace around the room, hearing the hysterical edge in your own voice.

He stands up, expression warring between confusion and irritation. “I know you feel something too. Why do you keep pulling away from me?”

“Because we can’t be together, Din,” you answer, blinking back the unbidden tears starting to form again. “I’m not your soulmate. It isn’t possible!” 

“Angel.” He catches your elbow when you pass by him, forcing you to face him. His voice is brittle when he speaks, already expecting your answer to shatter his wounded heart. “Why can’t you be with me?”

“Because I’ve already met my soulmate. And he wasn’t you.”

Tag List:  @leilei-draws​, @theocatkov​, @becauseican2, @vintagesaph​, @stardust-and-starlight​, @kay2304, @odelia-d32, @adrieunor​, @remmyswritings​, @gallowsjoker​, @rhiannon-russo​, @randomness501​, @eleine-t1d​, @nicotinebirds, @sylphene​, @softly-sad​, @maytheglitter​, @melobee, @rogertaylorsfalsettogivesmehives, @eleinemk

[mymoonagedaydream]

stark! daughter reader and Bucky get into a motorcycle accident. Bucky runs over to the reader who’s laying on her back on the side of the road, injured.

Bubble Wrapped

Summary: Breaking free from your overprotective father felt really good, at least for the first few minutes

Pairing: Bucky x Stark daughter!y/n

Word Count: 1.4k

Warnings: Language

---

For the daughter of a fucking avenger, you really didn’t get to have much fun.

The world knew Tony Stark as the self-proclaimed genius, billionaire, playboy philanthropist, but the side of him they never saw was the unreasonably strict and overprotective father, the one who barely let you set foot outside the compound without surveillance from a full secret service of bodyguards and a personal apache attack helicopter.

He made sure you stayed close to home job-wise too, arranging for you to begin work as an assistant to your mother as soon as you turned eighteen.

He even kept all the other residents of the compound under strict orders, that no circumstances warranted you getting mixed up in the dangerous side of their work, and that he’d completely ruin anyone who dared challenge him on that.

You lived in bubble wrap. 

You knew that your dad was doing what he thought was best for you, and he did everything he could to make up for your lack of freedom, but all you really wanted was a proper life.

Then Steve brought the newest avenger back to the compound.

You’d seen him in passing a few times, when you ate with Nat in the communal dining area or walked past one of your father’s many meetings, but you only properly met him after he’d been living in the compound for a few weeks.

While Tony was away on business, Pepper gave you a few days off work to relax and have free reign of the compound, during which time you bumped into the newest avenger fixing his motorbike in the parking lot and decided it’d be nice to properly introduce yourself .

‘Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m y/n.’

‘We haven’t, but I’ve heard lots about you.’ He flashed you a smile before standing up and sticking his hand out towards you. ‘Bucky.’

‘Nice to meet you.’

You shook his hand and gave him a polite nod, then taking a few steps past his bike, but stopping when he spoke again.

‘So what's the deal with your dad?’

‘Good question. Could you be more specific?’

He chuckled, pulling a dirty rag from his pocket and wiping the sweat off his forehead. ‘When I arrived, he sat me down and said you need to stay away from all the exciting stuff. You got brittle bones or something?’

‘Not as far as I know, unless they’ve deteriorated from lack of use.’

‘I’ve heard of that happening.’ You huffed slightly at his amused smile, giving him a face of complete resignation in return. ‘You should probably try having some fun.’

‘It’s on my to-do list.’

You headed back towards the door, smiling to yourself and finding that you were extremely intrigued by your father’s new team member. Just as you yanked it open, Bucky shouted after you.

‘I could take you for a ride?’ You spun round, looking back at him in slight shock. ‘On the bike, I mean.’

Your heart started thumping. You definitely wanted to, more than anything, but Christ if your dad ever found out he’d probably lock you in your bedroom until you were forty.

‘That’s a really, really bad idea.’

‘So is that a no?’

You felt a warm smile spread across your face and your legs started moving on their own, instinctively carrying you towards him as you battled the choice out in your mind.

‘Alright, but you can’t tell anyone. For both our sakes.’

‘Deal.’

He only had one helmet, which he gave to you, insisting that it’d take much more than a road accident to cause him any damage. Throwing his leg over the bike, he positioned himself right and gestured for you to hop on.

Your whole body was tingling with excitement as you settled yourself behind him, nervously running your hands over your thighs. As soon as he revved the engine your heart leapt out of your chest.

‘You’re gonna want to hold on, Stark.’ He called over his shoulder. ‘First time can be nerve wracking.’

The bike roared fully into life and he pulled away from the building, the sudden momentum prompting you to throw your arms around his waist and hold on as tight as you possibly could. 

You swivelled your head round, watching the compound disappear into the distance, ecstatic to finally be away from that place for a while.

Bucky sped down country lanes and back roads, laughing heartily at every squeal you let slip, purposefully gunning the bike a little harder after each one. 

You could feel each burst of fear and excitement and adrenaline coursing through your veins, you’d never felt more alive.

But it all changed in an instant.

A car pulled out from a hidden turning without checking the road, speeding right into your path.

Bucky quickly swerved and the motorcycle crashed down onto its side. 

He was thrown over the handlebars, landing with an almighty thud on the tarmac and rolling away a few metres. Your leg got trapped underneath the bike, both you and it sliding across the road so fast that the material of your trousers got ripped away and you felt the rough road surface scraping against your bare leg.

The car immediately sped off, leaving you and Bucky sprawled out in the middle of nowhere, both lucky to be alive.

Even with the unholy amount of adrenaline your brain was producing, you still felt an intense, stabbing pain grow from your trapped leg. It worsened with every deep breath you gulped in, until it became almost unbearable.

Battling through shock and confusion, you lifted your head slightly to try and figure out where Bucky was, spotting him lumbering back onto his feet a few metres away. He sprinted over to you and yanked the bike away like it weighed nothing, relieving some of the pain in your leg, before dropping to his knees.

‘Fuck, are you hurt?’

You shifted slightly and groaned in pain. ‘I think my leg is broken.’

‘Alright, don’t move. I’ll call an ambulance.’

You tried to keep control of your breathing as he spoke down the phone, but you weren’t able to stop intense panic and fear rising in your chest. 

Bucky must’ve seen how scared you were, because while the two of you were waiting for help to arrive, he lay down himself on the road next to you. He held your hand and reassured you that everything was going to be alright. 

He made what would otherwise have been the most terrifying ten minutes of your life completely bearable.

Once you arrived at the hospital, you were taken for x-rays, which showed that you’d only sustained a stable fracture. Your doctor kept passive-aggressively reiterating how lucky you’d been, stating that she rarely saw such minor injuries from severe motorcycle accidents, especially ones that happened at such speed.  

You noticed she didn’t bother lecturing Bucky, even though he was the one not wearing a helmet. Then again, he’d somehow come out of it with no injuries whatsoever and had taken to shooting intense daggers at anyone who even tried to approach him, so she was probably just too intimidated to attempt it.

Fully casted and drugged up, you made your way back to the compound with Bucky, where you explained everything to your mother. Thankfully, she’d always been much less strict, and she agreed that Tony could never know what’d happened. She even helped you devise a very detailed story about how you’d fallen down the stairs while tipsy. Genius.

The evening came around and you found yourself alone in the living room, disappointed at how quickly the morphine they’d given you at the hospital was wearing off. 

Just as you were about to hoist yourself up and raid your father’s liquor cabinet, Bucky shuffled into the room, looking extremely sheepish.

The rest of the avengers weren’t usually allowed into your parents’ private quarters, but with Tony still away and Pepper working all night, he probably figured he was safe for a quick visit.

‘I just came to make sure you’re alright.’

‘Yeah I’m all good, thanks Bucky.’ You glanced over to your monstrosity of a cast and chucked. ‘Well, apart from that thing.’

‘I’m really sorry. Should’ve just stayed away, like your dad said.’

‘No, it wasn’t your fault. That driver was an asshole.’ He nodded, a slight smile spreading across his face. ‘I’m still really glad I said yes. Up until things went sideways, I was having the best time of my life.’

That seemed to cheer him up. His expression evolved into a wide grin and he took a few steps towards you, scanning his eyes over your face.

‘Maybe next time, we should go smaller. Whack-a-mole or something.’

‘Next time?’

‘Yeah. Unless Tony finds out what happened and murders me.’

You bit your lip, trying your best to suppress a giddy grin. 

‘Sounds like a plan.’

---

[luzarya]

Of Pink Roses and Yellow Daffodils

Yuu x Vil

Summary: Yuu came from a world where the name of their soulmate is written on their chest and where one sided love led to flowers growing in your lungs.

Yuu had thought they wouldn't have to deal with such things, now being in Twisted Wonderland, yet it appears like their old world lingers into them.

(This focuses more on Yuu's feelings towards Vil. Vil makes only a brief appearance.)

ao3 link: here

warnings: Hanahaki Disease, blood, angst

parts: 1/2

-> second

word count: 2,683

--

When Yuu was brought into the world of Twisted Wonderland, their hope was immeasurable. No longer were they bound by the laws that dictated their homeland, no longer restricted by the death stricken rules.

Yet the moment they looked at the mirror, undressed from the waist up, their hope diminished. There laid the name of their soulmate- Vil Schoenheit, in clear black cursive, just above where their heart should have been. Upon seeing the mark, the dreadful, horrendous tattoo that has been there since birth, they fell to their knees, tears trailing down their cheeks as they wailed for hours.

Grim didn’t know what to make of the despairing human in front of them, but they remained silent, smart enough to realize that this was a moment that Yuu needed by themselves.

As the days went by, and Yuu’s adventures with Deuce and Ace continued, as the overblot incidents continued and ended by their hands, they were happy. No mark would dissuade them from the happiness they felt, nothing could stop them forming the friendships they had made.

Until they met their soulmate.

Yuu was flabbergasted at first, not knowing how to feel. Happy? Sad? Hopeful? Despair? Truly, knowing the fact that their soulmate was never in their world but instead in this one was something they needed to contemplate on. Surely, this meant that there was no going back to where they originated, or if they do, would this mean in heartbreak?

Yet, as their friends prepared for the competition, as Vil instructed them in the confines of their dorm, Yuu could feel the loss of breath with every step they took, petals coughed out every once and while, Yuu knew they were in trouble. Despair overwhelmed them as they sat in their bed, coughing as quietly as they could in their hand.

The yellow petals and specks of blood laid in their hand, no more coming out. Yuu let out a coarse fit of laughter. Oh how the universe hated them. In the short amount of time they had known Vil, Yuu had grown to love them.

Vil’s beauty was something to behold, their intellect and knowledge seeming to heighten their beauty. Oh how they were unafraid and uncaring of gender norms, oh how they walked the halls with great confidence. Each passing day that Yuu had seen Vil, their love for him grew as well. The fact that they were to be their soulmate didn’t help; in fact, it worsened it.

Yuu picked themselves up from their bed, careful with their hands to not leave a trace of their blood, making their way to the bathroom.

Another fit of coughs shook their body as another set of petals, this time pink, erupted from them. The sink was now a beautifully and chaotically decorated with pink and yellow petals, the blood seemingly in place with it all.

Yuu looked in the mirror, their eyes red and puffy from the pain, small bags underneath from the exhaustion. Their frame was slightly different as well, Skinnier than it was a week ago, though it wasn’t obvious as the rest of their symptoms. The petals in their throat had made it painful to consume anything edible, so the past few days have been wrought with a hungry stomach and chest pains.

Overall, their disheveled state was ugly and horrendous, perhaps this was their worst point of their life, besting their previous phases of life that have been riddled with pain and despair.

Knocking interrupted their wallowing of self-pity, the voice ringing out loudly in the bathroom, asking if they were okay.

With a coarse and high voice, Yuu replied, “All is well.”

Another violent fit of coughing, more painful than the last, shook their entire body. It was loud, no doubt their cries had awoken everyone in the dorm by now.

The knocking became louder, more frantic and Yuu gripped onto the sink with every fiber of their being. The fit ended, the sink now halfway filled with various petals and small flowers.

The last thing they saw was the door busting open as they fell onto the cold wooden floor.

Yuu woke up the next day in the infirmary, their throat sore and dry and their limbs too weak to move. Carefully they moved their head to the side and the other, noticing a lack of human presence all around.

They were awake for what felt like an eternity in silence, staring at the white ceiling as they processed last night’s events.

They heard the door open, yet they didn’t move their head. It wasn’t until they heard the person whisper out their name did they shift their eyes.

“You’re awake!”

The loud voice strained their ears but they dealt with the pain, as the figure, Crowley they now realized, continued to talk. Apparently everyone that had witnessed their body being taken from the bathroom were concerned, causing Vil to cancel practice as everyone was too worried to do anything.

“What… happened?” Yuu asked hoarsely. They regretted asking, the pain seeming to only intensify when they bothered to talk. Yuu didn’t want to know how much pain they would be if they ate anything.

“Well, according to Vil, they had found you unconscious on the ground,” Crowley started off, “and that the sink was filled with flower petals and blood. Pray tell, whatever had happened, Perfect?”

“Can I…. get something…. To write with? My…. throat is in…. Pain…”

“Yes, of course. Please do give me a moment.” Crowley scurried off to who knows where, as Yuu tried to sit up. The end result was another fit of coughs, the sound of hacking resonating throughout the room.

Crowley returned quickly, seeing the perfect coughing up petals and blood that stained the perfectly white bed sheets.

“Perfect! Drink this, it should aid with the pain.” Crowley handed Yuu a vial that was filled with a blue liquid. Knowing what it was, Yuu drank it as quickly as they could, knowing that there was another fit of coughs that would come. And come it did, ruining the bed sheets even further with the pink and yellow petals, the blood making the room smell like iron. Although, as Crowley had said, the potion did ease the pain, even if by the little.

“I brought you something to write with.” Crowley handed Yuu a small notepad and a nice black pen.

Yuu began to write.

This illness is from my universe. It’s not contagious, so no need to worry if it passes on. This illness is dependent on certain emotions. The most efficient way to cure it completely is surgery, as it originates in the chest, however that leads to a void of emotions afterwards.

Crowley looked confused at the note, “What do you mean it is dependent on emotions? Are you able to elaborate on this specific illness?”

Yuu nodded solemnly, and then began to write even more.

It’s called the Hanahaki disease. It only takes hold if the person believes that their love is unrequited. It goes away once the love is returned or if the person gets surgery to remove the flowers from their lungs.

“What a tragic disease!” Crowley’s voice was laced with concern, although Yuu could guess that losing them as a beast tamer would be something he was more concerned about than their actual wellbeing.

I’ll go through the surgery.

Crowley started at them, “Are you sure? You did say it was caused if they believed the love to be unrequited. How do you know for certain that it applies in your case?”

Yuu laughed at the thought of Vil loving them. There would be no reason why Vil would love them. Yuu had fallen in love too fast and too hard. Vil had been focused on the dance practice and making sure everyone was in tip top shape for the performance.

I know for certain. The person in question is too busy to think about love, there is no doubt that they are far too concerned with current events. Please Headmaster, let me go through the surgery before it’s too late.

Crowley hummed in thought, perhaps thinking about how expensive it would be to cover a surgery to remove branches from the lungs. Yuu couldn’t think of another way to get rid of them. No matter how much they wanted Vil to love them back, they knew that it wouldn’t happen.

If you could, remove their name. My world has it that those destined to you have their names inscribed on your chest, above the heart. I don’t want to be reminded, otherwise the disease will take hold again.

“What an odd world you once lived in. Well, do not fret! I will do as you asked. I will do everything in my ability to aid you with this disease, aren’t I so kind?”

Yuu rolled their eyes, but they were glad to know that Crowley was the same as ever.

Thank you, Headmaster. A million thanks.

Days had passed, and no one had come to visit. Vil had everyone practice once they knew about their wellbeing. It pained Yuu, as they felt lonely as ever.

It did ease the disease, if only a little bit. They still continue to cough out flowers in full bloom, pink roses and yellow daffodils being what came from them. How fitting, their meaning. They certainly felt no joy in this, nor was there any gratitude, yet grace was ironic, in a sense. Was it because that Vil was the epitome of beauty and grace that they coughed out pink roses?

And what of the yellow daffodils? They represented rebirth and new beginnings. Was it them coming to this new world that the disease had sprouted such flowers? Or is it what is to come afterwards of surgery, that they were to feel like new?

Yuu didn’t know for certain, but they wanted the pain to end. It was already painful enough that they knew Vil was never going to love them, but the fact that the disease had taken place in their lungs only served to make Yuu feel worse. They didn’t need a constant reminder of their one-sided love.

Crowley had stayed true to his word, as he managed to get an appointment for Yuu. Unfortunately it meant that Yuu had to leave off campus to go to an actual hospital, but it was fine. It made Yuu wonder why there wasn’t a hospital on campus, although they supposed perhaps having an infirmary was enough in most cases.

Getting to the hospital was all a blur, going from coughing out roses and daffodils to sleeping from the exhaustion from making the flowers to begin with. It didn’t help that they began to eat less, the pain in their throat making it difficult to eat anything.

Yuu only had hope they would be able to survive the surgery. The rates for the surgery were high in their world, after all, many people fell in love and got stricken with the disease all the time.

Their love and emotions may disappear with the surgery, yet Yuu never regret falling in love. Their only regret in all of this was letting themselves fall too hard in love.

The surgery had been a success, from what Yuu had been told. Yuu asked the surgeons to preserve the flowers, despite the pain they had caused. As weird as it was, Yuu wanted a reminder of love, a reminder of a feeling that they once felt.

And preserve them, they did. Yuu held the vase of pink roses and daffodils in their arms. The flowers were no longer bloody, as it was a sort of a hazard to keep blood on there. Nonetheless, the flowers were pretty and lovely, as once their love was for Vil. Yuu felt normal as usual, save for the slight discomfort in their throat and overall being.

Though, upon their return to the college, they were quickly ushered to their room, Grim bouncing around in joy the moment they saw them.

“You had the Great Grim concerned! A servant like you shouldn’t make me concerned!”

Despite the comment, Grim stayed with Yuu as they were forcibly bed ridden.

Deuce and Ace, of course, had made their way to the Perfect’s room, making sure everything was fine and asking questions. Yuu made sure not to delve too much about what had happened, only mentioning that it was a disease from their world that caused flora to sprout under certain conditions. Never did they mention what kind of conditions, nor did ever why they hadn’t stopped it earlier when they noticed when they did.

Right before they left, of which greatly saddened Yuu to be left alone again, they had mentioned they were making great strides of practicing, despite the obvious tension between Vil and Epel. Yuu was happy about the progress, perhaps their friends would be able to win the competition that they all have been working hard towards. Although, when Vil’s name had been said by their beloved friend, they had felt nothing, only a void where their love should have been once.

The surgery was clearly a success, but Yuu was unsure if the empty void was worth it.

Late that evening, surprisingly, Vil and Rook came to visit. It was nothing out of the ordinary, or at least, that is what Yuu had thought. The emptiness was still there when they looked at Vil, no longer feeling the same about their beauty nor their grace as they once did. Yuu could tell that the two had noticed something was off about them, but they didn’t ask.

When they left, Yuu could feel themselves becoming overwhelmed. They never anticipated feeling sadness after the whole ordeal, nor did they anticipate the cries that came out from them. Yet no matter how much they wanted to cry out and shout their despair away, no matter how much they wanted to wail as loudly as they could, their friends were still in the dorm, sleeping to prepare for the big day.

Yuu wondered, would it have been better if they confessed their feelings to Vil? Yet as soon as that question came, it quickly became answered, that no, it would not have been best to confess to Vil. Had they confessed, they were certain that Vil would have rejected them, and only progressed the illness even further, and perhaps even strain their relationship until the moment of Yuu’s certain death. And Yuu’s death would be a terrible loss for the college as a whole, as no matter how insignificant Yuu thinks they are, they are still the reason why the overblot incidents never ended in any casualties, since they were always the ones to end it. As much as Yuu would have liked to die with their love intact, it would have never benefited any party except for Yuu themselves.

So Yuu laid in their bed, quietly crying. Crying over the love they once held in their heart, because no matter what had happened in the end, their love had brought them hope. Pulling themselves out from bed, Yuu unbuttoned their shirt and pulled it down, and anything else in the way to get a clear view of their chest. Sure enough, where the name had once clearly been, there was nothing. What had remained was the scars from the surgery. Yuu didn’t know if they regretted having Vil’s name removed, but the deed had been done and there was nothing they could do about it.

Nothing at all.

Yet as they continued to wallow in their self-pity, Yuu knew that the surgery was the best option they had taken so far. What else could they have done that would have prevented their death? Nothing, that’s what.

There was nothing they could have done.

So all Yuu could do now was finish their session of tears, and focus on the future.

But for now they’ll give themselves this moment of mourning for the emotions that they once had possessed.

For that was all they could do.

[be11atrixthestrange]

Waking Up In Vegas: Chapter 3

After a night of debauchery, Ron and Hermione wake up in Vegas... married.

Muggle!AU. Romcom!Romione. Slow burning, smutty, angst-fest.

Rated M for reasons.

Ao3 | FFN 

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

More Chapters

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

Chapter 3

[Ron]

The door slams behind Hermione just as Ron calls her name, and he's left gaping after her and clutching his marriage certificate. Their marriage certificate.

He should have told her. It would have been easy just to hand it over, but he couldn't. She was horrified to wake up next to him and angry when he tried to apologize. If that was her reaction to sleeping together, how would she have reacted if she knew they had gotten married?

With a groan, Ron stumbles to the kitchen counter, collapses onto a barstool, and drops his head into his hands. He thought that getting to know each other better might repair the damage of their first impression. It would have been nice to become friends during this trip, but unfortunately, the morning's events have made that unlikely. Even if they can get back on track after a one-night stand, the moment she finds out they're married, it'll all be ruined.

Ron's head is throbbing — a pain that only worsens when he glances around at his hotel suite. The color scheme reminds him of an orange creamsicle, and the harsh contrasting lines of neon orange and white wall paint don't do much to calm his hangover. Neither do the jagged edges of the kitchenette's quartz countertops, the lingering smell of champagne in the air, or the rock-hard barstool that might leave a bruise on his backside if he sits here too long. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see his king-sized bed — it has far too many pillows, and its blankets are all ruffled up. He knows he should straighten it out and hide the evidence of a hook-up, but his heart sinks when he thinks about doing it. Unlike Hermione, he doesn't want to forget it happened. He wants to remember it, but he can't, and what a waste it is.

Although not intentionally, he's pictured her in his bed before. His mind conjures up the image with any appropriately aged, attractive, single woman, but for some reason, throughout this trip, it's been an image of Hermione more than anyone else. Something about their dynamic intrigues him. They really haven't spent much time alone since their first meeting back in London, but their brief conversations are always riddled with tension. Not sexual tension, just tension. Awkwardness. They affect each other, and Ron is simply curious what that would translate to in the bedroom. As anyone would be.

Now he's experienced it, but he doesn't remember, and fixing the bed would make it feel like it wasn't real.

Overcome with frustration, he nearly gives in to the temptation to tear the marriage certificate in two, as if that would change anything, but he's interrupted by a knock on the door. His stomach lurches — could it be Hermione again? If so, this could be a chance to tell her and make it right. Ron folds up the certificate and shoves it into his pocket before opening the door.

"Morning!"

It's just Harry. "What are you doing here?"

Harry looks offended. "I'm checking on you. Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?"

Ron opens the door wider in invitation. "You could say that. Why are you checking on me?"

Harry laughs. "Well, for one, I was worried. You disappeared last night."

"Did I?" says Ron sarcastically. "Can't remember."

"Too much to drink?"

Ron's grunt seems to be a sufficient answer for Harry.

"So there's no point in asking what you got up to, then?"

"Nope," says Ron, as the door slams closed behind them. "Can't recall a thing."

Harry pauses when he catches sight of the still-disheveled bed. "Ron, why does your bed look like someone else slept here?"

When Ron doesn't immediately answer, Harry whips around to face him, eyebrows raised. "Did you bring a woman back here last night?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Ron says, shifting uncomfortably as he eyes the bottle of whipped cream and empty champagne flutes that he didn't think to hide. Unfortunately, he's not subtle at all. Harry follows his gaze and smirks.

"Sounds like a lie. It looks like one too."

Taking a precarious seat on the kitchenette's barstool, Ron dumps his head back in his hands to rub his temples. His headache is getting worse every second as the adrenaline of the morning wears off, and he barely manages a muffled apology to Harry. "Sorry for disappearing."

"Ah, it's fine. I'd be more annoyed if I didn't also have a good shag last night."

"Oi, mate. That's my sister you're talking about." Even though they're best friends, Ron still hasn't gotten used to the idea of Harry and Ginny together, and he definitely doesn't want to think about them in bed.

"Sorry, forgot we can't talk about that kind of thing."

"Definitely not," says Ron. "If you were marrying anyone else, then we could."

"Still worth it,' says Harry shrugging, and begrudgingly, Ron has to admit that there really is no better person for his sister. "You can still tell me, though. Who was she?"

As tempted as he is to change the subject, his compulsion to confide in Harry is stronger. "Apparently not a stranger." He can't tell him about the marriage, not until Hermione knows.

"What do you mean?"

"There was a girl last night, and it was someone I already knew."

"That's impossible...the only people we know are in the wedding party." Ron gives Harry a significant look, and his jaw drops. "It was one of Ginny's bridesmaids, wasn't it?"

Ron nods, and Harry's face slowly melts into a grin. "What?"

"If it were Lavender, you wouldn't be skirting around it."

He's right. Even though they've broken up, Ron and Lavender still enjoy the occasional shag, and Ron has never been secretive about it. "True. It wasn't Lavender," he confirms.

"So," asks Harry. "Who was it?"

Ron rubs at his temples again, his head still pounding.

"It was Hermione, wasn't it?"

When Ron doesn't answer right away, Harry beams, and his smugness compounds his headache. "How did you guess that?"

"I don't know," shrugs Harry. "Demelza has a boyfriend. Luna's Luna. It was a lucky guess."

"Bollocks, isn't it?"

Harry shrugs.

"What?" Ron scowls.

"Well, it's not exactly surprising."

"It's not?"

"Well… some things are surprising. Like that," Harry nods towards the whipped cream. "But not you and Hermione shagging."

"Sure it is," says Ron incredulously. "We don't exactly get on particularly well."

"So?"

"We hate each other."

Harry laughs. "No, you don't."

"What are you talking about? We fight constantly."

"You flirt constantly."

Ron shakes his head. He can't imagine any of his interactions with Hermione being misinterpreted for flirting. Their limited conversations usually involve pointless arguments about itineraries, travel arrangements, or plastic straws.

"She was horrified when she woke up here this morning."

"She was probably just embarrassed."

"To be seen with me?"

"That's not what I meant," says Harry exasperatedly. "She's… proper. Casual shagging is likely new for her, and she might have needed a moment to process it all."

"Proper?"

Harry nodded.

"You talk like you know her."

"Well, I do," he says. "I've gotten to know her quite well through Gin. She's a good one." There's a familiar tone in Harry's voice, similar to Ron's when he defends Ginny.

"Can I ask you a favor?" asks Ron suddenly.

"Of course."

"Don't mention this to Ginny."

"I won't." Harry smiles smugly. "But she'll probably ask Hermione at brunch."

"Brunch?"

"Yep. The girls have brunch reservations today."

Ron groans, shuddering at the thought of Hermione and Lavender sitting together over bottomless mimosas, talking about whatever it is women talk about. For her sake, he hopes the girls aren't as curious about her whereabouts last night as Harry was about Ron's.

"Anyway, the rest of us are going to the pool," continues Harry. "Care to join us?"

"Yeah," says Ron. "I'll be down in a bit."

"Great," says Harry, making his way toward the door. "See you soon."

Ron waits for Harry to leave before reaching into his pocket and pulling out the marriage certificate. Even though he didn't tell Harry the entire truth, their conversation did help to clear his head, and he no longer has the urge to rip the certificate in two.

He studies the piece of paper and then spots it — scribbled on the certificate, under his and Hermione's signatures, is the officiant's name and the venue's address. Ron types the address into his phone, and his search result turns up a website.

Erised Elopements Follow your heart's desire!

Maybe he can make it all disappear, and he wouldn't have to tell Hermione anything. He saves the address and pockets his phone.

"There he is! The man of the hour!" Seamus calls as soon as Ron arrives on the pool deck — which he now realizes isn't an appropriate descriptor at all. Seamus' body is draped in a hammock hanging between two palm trees, growing from the landscaped beach that meets the pool's edge. The natural yet dusty odor of the sand mixes with the stronger smell of chlorine into an aromatic blend that Ron's brain can't process at the moment. Ron squints when he approaches Seamus, the sunlight reflecting off the glittery white sand and blinding him.

"I think Harry's the man of the hour," he says, reaching for his sunglasses.

"Yeah, well. We were talking about you. Specifically about where you ran off to last night."

Ron shoots a quick glare at Harry, who shrugs innocently. "Last night?"

"Yeah, you disappeared. We thought you might have brought a bird back to your room, but Harry says no one was with you when he checked this morning."

"Well, no birds last night," says Ron, eyeing Harry thankfully. "Just went to bed early, that's all."

"Then why do you look so rough?" asks Dean. "Looks like the sun is melting you."

That's because it is. "Blessed to be a ginge, I guess."

"Really?" presses Dean..

"Fine, I went to bed early last night because I was drunk as hell, okay? Didn't want to make any bad decisions. Now the hangover is killing me."

"Yeah, that checks out," says Seamus, and the boys all laugh. Ron doesn't even mind them laughing at his expense; he's just relieved they don't seem to need more details.

"Since you're the last to arrive, the next round of drinks is on you," says Neville.

"Alright, fine," says Ron, feigning grumpiness, although he's more than okay with the subject changing. He rises to his feet and mucks off to the bar.

The manufactured beach turns abruptly to a boardwalk, then to a loud and ostentatious eatery where brunch is in full swing. Every corner of the room is packed with tropical trees, and he can smell the moisture in the air — probably false humidity in a feeble attempt to keep the flora alive. The humidity pools on his skin like sweat, and he wonders if his shower was even worth the waste of water. He's never been very into green living, but he's suddenly curious what the sea turtles would think if they were to see how flippantly humans use clean water. And plastic straws, of course.

He scans the room for the source of his sudden environmental distress — Hermione Granger. He scours the bamboo tables, the forest-green walls adorned by portraits of safari animals playing blackjack, and the giant decorative goblet standing in the middle of the restaurant, advertising its signature cocktail, the Goblet of Fire. Eventually, amidst the chaos of the hotel's theme-indecision, he spots Ginny's flaming red hair at a round table, along with Luna, Demelza, and Lavender. Notably, Hermione is absent, a realization that elicits a sigh from Ron. Whether it's from relief or disappointment, he doesn't know.

He can't help but imagine her back in her hotel room, unable to face his sister in case she serves as a reminder of last night. Is she really that regretful?

Ron dejectedly turns toward the bar but freezes when he spots a bushy brown head of hair at the counter. It's undeniably Hermione, and she's talking animatedly to a blonde-haired woman who, for some reason, looks vaguely familiar.

Where have I seen her? In her dark green jumpsuit, long neon-pink fingernails, and gold spectacles, the woman appears as eclectic in her fashion choices as the hotel does in its decor. He probably met her when he was smashed last night — he would have remembered had he been sober.

Instead of bothering himself with the mystery woman, he takes in Hermione's appearance. She's wearing a sky-colored dress, the same one she wore the day they arrived in Vegas. It's just short enough to make Ron wonder what's hiding under the hem, and the fabric in the front crumples together in a way that draws Ron's gaze right to her chest. Thanks to that damn dress, it took a lot of effort to keep his eyes away from her breasts that day, so he chose not to look at her at all. Especially because he could feel Lavender watching him, scanning for any sign of his wandering eye as if she had any claim to his attention.

Ron backs away from the bar and slips into a doorway, obscuring himself behind a cascade of glass beads that hang from the ceiling like a waterfall. He feels utterly ridiculous hiding from women in a bar, but he brought it upon himself. He watches Hermione and the stranger pass a phone between one another, and his curiosity piques again. Who is she, and what are they talking about?

They soon part ways with a hug, and Hermione's left alone at the bar. She spends a few moments intently staring at her phone before the bartender places five mimosas in front of her. She pockets her phone, pays, and grabs the tray of drinks to carry it back to the table, expertly swerving between ferns and palms like she's on a mission.

Ron waits for a few moments, just to assure that the girls are distracted by conversation before he approaches the bar, wishing his hair was a little less conspicuous.

x

"Hey, handsome."

Lavender's crooning voice shudders Ron awake; he didn't realize he fell asleep. If only he hadn't jolted awake, or he might have been able to pretend to still be sleeping.

"Hey," he reluctantly greets her. "What time is it?"

"Two."

Okay, so he has only been sleeping for an hour. He's hanging in a hammock by the pool, luckily hidden from the sun by a cabana, and Lavender is stretched out on a towel below, staring at him through oversized, ridiculous-looking sunglasses. "How was brunch?"

"It was fine. Still happening, actually."

What does she want? "Then why are you here?"

"I have questions about what you did last night," she asks, running her fingers through a mound of sand.

Ron lifts his sunglasses from his face to look her in the eye. "I went to bed early."

Lavender eyes him suspiciously. "That's not what Hermione Granger said."

His heart rate stutters at her accusation. There's no way Hermione told the girls about last night. She wouldn't. "What… what did Hermione Granger say?" he asks tentatively.

"Oh, not much. She just said she spotted you with a girl," shrugs Lavender. "And that she was quite pretty."

Ron tries to resist the urge to laugh but can't and instead lets out a soft chuckle. "She did?"

"I know she's probably just saying that to piss me off. She doesn't like me."

Ron puts his sunglasses back on, mostly so Lavender doesn't see him rolling his eyes. "Don't take it personally; she doesn't like anyone."

Lavender scoffs, and Ron can't resist smirking. Sometimes, he enjoys dodging her attempts to fish compliments from him. "Well, were you?"

"Was I what?"

"With a girl?"

"Honestly, Lav? I don't remember much of last night. There was no girl in my bed this morning if that's what you're getting at." She looks relieved at his lie. "Did Hermione say anything else?"

"No, she just changed the subject. A little too quickly, if you ask me."

"Oh, well. I guess it's a mystery, then," he says, settling back into his hammock.

But Lavender isn't finished. "She kind of sounded jealous at the thought of you with a girl."

Ron chuckles again. "Doubt that."

"Oh, come on, Ron. She has a thing for you. That's why she doesn't like me."

"Nah."

"Why else wouldn't she like me?"

So many reasons. "I don't know, but she definitely doesn't have a thing for me." He knows that by the way she nearly cried then stormed out of his room this morning.

"I think she does."

Lavender's insistence reminds him of Harry earlier that day, insisting that he and Hermione are always flirting. Maybe they're onto something. There may be a little bit of flirting, but if so, it's clearly one-sided. "You're just paranoid that everyone has a thing for me."

Lavender shrugs. "I can just sense it."

"Lavender, if you really need to know if Hermione fancies me, just ask her."

"I wanted to, but she disappeared. She said she wasn't feeling well and went back to her room."

Ron leans back on his pool chair, his heart suddenly beating faster. If Hermione's tucked away in her room, it's a good opportunity for Ron to escape to the venue location and figure out how to undo the damage of last night. If he leaves now, he won't draw suspicion from her. "Well, sorry that I can't answer your questions," he says, hoping the finality of his tone will end the conversation.

She continues to look expectantly at him, but he has nothing else to say. "I guess I'll just go back to the brunch table, then,' she grumbles, after a few moments of awkward silence.

She rises to her feet and gathers her towel, leaving behind two sandy motes as she drags herself from the beach to the boardwalk. He hears the snapping of her sandals once she reaches solid ground, and waits until it grows quiet in the distance, muffled by the bustle of the restaurant. Ron then opens his eyes to see that the boys are either napping in hammocks or floating aimlessly in the pool, never too far from the swim-up bar. He flings his legs over the edge of the hammock and slips his feet back into his shoes. Shoving his hand into his pocket to assure he still has the folded-up wedding certificate, he figures the best time to try and fix this mess is either now, or never.

[girlmeetsliv3]

Killing Me Softly: II

Sugardaddy!BTS x reader

They were beloved. The very ground they walked on worshiped. It had been that way since before you were born and it would remain that way even after your choice. Decisions decisions, it would decide your future. But why choose one when you could choose them all? If you chose none, well… that wasn’t a decision you could make.

AN: This is for the person who requested an ot7 sugar daddy story where bts are yandere. Sorry, it took so long, but this ended up being a three-part story. Hope everyone enjoys it!

Trigger Warning: The following story contains mentions of manipulation, abuse, and vivid descriptions of abusive acts. The behavior and mindset of the characters in this will be incredibly yandere and toxic. This is a work of fiction and doesn’t represent the character of bangtan sonyeondan. Enjoy ~~~

Word Count: 4,915

Tag List: @perrryyysblog​ @purpuravm​ @doodlesandthings​ @catsandstrawberries​

    killingmesoftlywithhislove    

_Eight Months Ago_

           A fit of giggles erupted from your chest as you desperately tried to hide your face from the camera pointed directly at it. “Stop it, it isn’t funny.” You attempted to sound serious but the grin on your face made it rather difficult. “Don’t be so shy,” Jungkook grumbled, but his eyes were filled to the brim with joy. The two of you had been laying around all day when Jungkook suddenly asked you to be his muse. He had been low on inspiration and wanted some pictures, you didn’t think much of it. Until he had pulled out a lingerie set and suddenly his suggestion didn’t seem so innocent anymore. It took a while, but he had managed to convince you to at least try it on before pulling out his camera and taking candid shots of you. “I don’t want weird pictures of me in your next display. Just so some weird old guy can buy them.” You pouted. Jungkook sighed before letting the large Sony A9 fall to his side. Thinking you had won, a smug look crept up your face, which was quickly wiped when you were tackled to the ground. To his credit, Jungkook had made sure you didn’t hit your head, by placing his hand on it, but when your butt hit the hardwood floor it still hurt.

           “Fuck Kook. Seriously.” It couldn’t be helped that a moan of pain escaped your lips. The effect it had on Jungkook noticeable as his pupils quickly dilated and eyes became hooded. He leaned forward leaving wet kisses all along your jaw and neck. “Let me fuck you…please?” His hips began to grind against yours and god knows you would’ve given in if, “I told you I’m on my period.” A loud groan left him and now it was his turn to pout. He stared into your eyes, cupping m\your cheek gently. “Well can I please take pictures of you? They’re just for me. I can even crop out your face later if you want.” His tone was whiny, his hips also slowly rolled into yours causing the horniness you felt to worsen much more. Without thinking of the potential consequences, you nodded. A shit-eating grin spread across his face, as he lifted his camera once more.

_Present_

Jungkook’s house was an architectural marvel with it being angled towards the top and the top two floors being made entirely out of glass. It had freaked you out a bit when you first saw it, but you quickly realized the windows were tinted so that if you were to peer inside one would see nothing. You had always spent to most time inside his house, Jungkook was a homebody and preferred having slow sex on the couch or aggressively bending you over the kitchen countertop than going out. Yoongi was the same but being a photographer and not a CEO meant the man had much more leeway. A café would have been a better choice, but after your encounter with Jin and Yoongi, you learned they had little care for etiquette. The doorbell was one of those that had a camera that transmitted to your phone, so he knew you were there without you having to notify him. Sure enough, in less than a minute the door opened, Jeon Jungkook glaring down at you. Now all of them were intimidating to a certain extent but considering Jungkook was nearly a head taller and the images he possessed; he was the most threatening out of all of them.

Jungkook opened the door wider beckoning you to come in and hesitantly you did. Nothing had changed much from the ground floor, the part he always used as his studio. The door closed behind you and when you heard the beeping from the lock goosebumps rose in the back of your neck. He still hadn’t spoken, he simply walked past you are heading straight for the stairs. You followed suit even when you would rather have stayed on the ground floor – close to the door. When you reached the top floor the first thing you noticed was his bed; more specifically the pictures that laid strewn about. Quickly you rushed towards them, trying to grapple with how many there were. Some you recognized but others seemed to have been taken when you were asleep or in hotel rooms. It dawned on you when you recognized the blue bedsheets strewn about your naked torso in one of them that Jungkook hadn’t taken all of these. They had all taken pictures of you. A sob broke out as you whipped around to face the man, still standing by the stairs. “Why?” He shrugged as if you had asked him a meaningless question. As if nothing mattered to him anymore. “Hyung said we needed a failsafe. One just in case you refused to come back to us.”

Your blood began to boil. Jungkook had always been so gentle but once he didn’t get his way, he behaved like a child and threw a tantrum. This was the biggest one yet. “Do you even realize what you’re doing?! You’re ruining my life and for what? I’m sorry I don’t feel the way you want me to but blackmailing me isn’t going to make me run back into your arms. It’s only going to make me hate you more.” You were spiraling, all the pent emotions finally unraveling, and Jungkook was going to feel your rage. “I can’t get a job. Can’t move out. For fuck’s sake, I can’t even blink without feeling like one of you is waiting - watching. Don’t you understand?!” It was meant to be a strong statement, but it quickly turned into a whimper. All you wanted was a normal life and they refused to allow it. Once he saw your rant had ended, Jungkook stalked towards you pushing you onto the bed. His hands gripping your wrist tightly, caging you in with his body above you. In the midst of the tirade, you missed the way Jungkook’s face had darkened at the suggestion of you hating him. Missed the way his jaw clenched, tongue poking his cheek. Now you were truly in for it.

“You don’t need any of that shit. When will you understand? Why don’t you understand?!” He was centimeters away from your face, his nose brushing against yours but not in an intimate way. “We’re all you need. You said so yourself, so why do you want so badly to leave us? To live without love, care, trust, or money. Think about it. Why is it so difficult for you to accept it?!” The words he spoke cut through you like a blade. It was true that the seven men had cared and provided for you in a way no one had for the entirety of your life. However, if it was simple as that then you would have stayed. Would’ve given in. You would have succumbed to your darkest desires and their twisted needs. But it wasn’t that simple, it never was. “I don’t love you, Jungkook. I’m sorry but I can’t be with someone who would…do what you did. I’m sorry.” The sight of you was pathetic, you were sure of it, eyes brimming with tears and your body shaking. You wanted him to realize how pathetic you were, maybe then his obsession would stop. With a sigh, Jungkook let his face fall beside you his long hair tickling your nape. The heavy silence that hung around the two of you didn’t last for long, when Jungkook broke it he also broke your heart. “You love Hoseok though, despite what he did. You still love him. You would do anything for him, so how is it any different than what I did.”

Hoseok’s face flashed in your head: his contagious laugh, beautiful smile, his sun-kissed skin, the murderous look in his eye, the clothes tainted by blood. You shook your head to get rid of the image, causing Jungkook to chuckle. “You’re so willing to love him, but Hoseok wants us too. We want you too. I bet deep inside, you want us as well.” His voice deepened, the effect it had on your body involuntary. Your thighs clenched together, heart sped up, and panties became slick. Jungkook’s fingers worked to get your sweater off you, as he sloppily peppered kisses down your neck. Once it was off, his hands slowly rubbed up and down your arms but stopped when you flinched. The marks on your arms still incredibly sensitive, Jungkook stared at them before bringing up your arms to his lips and kissing them gently. Why did he have to be this way? Why did he have to be so cruel? Why did he need to be so kind? Jungkook crawled off you and faced the floor, instead of your face. Slowly you got off the bed, the pictures on it crumbled under you and Jungkook’s weight. It was a stupid thing to hope for, but you hoped that somehow your words had gotten through to him.

“Jimin-hyung and Taehyung are waiting for you at St.Pierre’s. If you don’t show up, I’ll leak the photos.”

             Your tactic needed to change in order for this to work. Being kind, polite, and truthful had gotten you nowhere with the previous four members so something had to change. It was dangerous to be meeting both Jimin and Taehyung, the two could be brats and their antics only amplified when they were together. You had gone back home and changed into the most expensive dress you owned, a pair of red-bottomed heels, and style your hair into a nice updo. Makeup was also a must. The point was to look as if you were doing fine without them as if you didn’t need them. Showing up looking like a nervous wreck would only further prove their theory, you couldn’t have that. For the first time in a while, you felt attractive and lethal. You were going to march in their and have them surrender to you one way or another. You still had one card left to play and it was important they never find out about it, or else you would truly be ruined. Before stepping out the house, you shot a quick text to Sihyeon to make sure she was alright. Her response somewhat unnerved you.

Sihyeon: Can’t talk right now or for a while.

Y/l/n Y/n: Is everything alright?

Y/l/n Y/n: Are you okay?

Sihyeon: ttyl

           You tried to call her, but it immediately went to voicemail. Fearing the worst you decided that once you met left St.Pierre’s you would go visit her, just to be safe. You grabbed your purse heading for the door, you unlocked it only to be met with the sight of the men you were supposed to meet at your doorstep. “We weren’t sure if you were coming so we wanted to stop by.” Jimin spoke a smirk on his face as he glanced at your appearance. Taehyung stood to the right of him a stoic expression on him. “I was getting ready. Wouldn’t want to look out of place next to the two of you.” It didn’t really matter what you wore, you would always be out of place next to them. The two men looked like Greek gods or sculptures that Rafael would’ve crafted. Taehyung stepped forward, peering over your shoulder. “Mind if we come in? Just for a bit?” It was a question per se, but you moved aside to let them wander in anyhow. The two analyzed your apartment with indifferent looks on their faces, Jimin went so far as to sit on the couch. “Nice place. It’s a pretty expensive location though, how did you manage to rent it?” His question threw you off guard as did the gleam in his eyes. Taehyung was admiring a framed picture of you and Sihyeon hanging on the wall. His back was towards you, so you couldn’t really tell what he was thinking. “Sihyeon knows the manager so we got it on a discount.” The less they knew the better. “Do you still have that necklace I gave you?” Taehyung questioned, still turned away from you. Taehyung had gifted you a small pendant when your birthday had rolled around, it was a beautiful amethyst attached to a gold chain. Without waiting for your response, he spoke once again. “I want it back.”

           Your frowned a bit and glanced over at Jimin who was playfully smiling at Taehyung. The other had turned to look at him, and from what you could see smiled back. “Sure, let me go get it.” You walked to your room and headed straight for the jewelry box you kept hidden in your nightstand. You had never thrown away any of the gifts you’d received, deeming that a bit immature. You bent down to open the drawer, only to hear the sound of the door clicking shut. Quickly you straightened up only to see that both men were in your room now, blocking the exit. “Get out.” You chided, but the two didn’t listen. Jimin walking around and laying on your bed. “I always liked softer beds. It’s easier to sink into them as your being pounded from behind.” The vulgarity of his words shocked you. Taehyung smirking at your reaction. “The necklace babe?” You scowled and bent back down, ripping the drawer open and grabbing the necklace from the jewelry box. “Here now leave.” You threw it with all your might at his chest, but Taehyung caught it with ease. “Come on, you promised to have dinner with us,” Jimin whined, rolling on your bed until he was right in front of you.

           “Fine then, let’s go have dinner. I don’t see why we’re still here.” Taehyung sauntered to where you stood, he stood so close you could see all the flaws he didn’t possess. At least not physically. “Jimin and I want dessert first.” It was when you felt the slight sting in your hand and Taehyung’s face was turned to the side, that you registered what had happened. It wasn’t his reaction that terrified you, instead, it was Jimin’s. The other man had harshly tugged you onto the bed, positioning you were strewn across his lap, ass in the air. You struggled against him, but when his hand landed harshly against your bottom you stilled. “What happens to bad girls, [Y/n]?” His voice rough, when you didn’t reply he landed another strike against you. “What happens to them?” You bit your lips to stop the words from coming out but at the threat of another hit they slipped. “They get punished.” Your dress was lifted up to your waist and you became aware of the sound of a belt being undone. Fearing the worse, you looked back only to see Taehyung with his belt in his hands the rest of outfit untouched. His hooded eyes met yours and he glowered, “You hit me [Y/n] isn’t it only fair that I hit you?” If you said no, the punishment that would ensue would be far worse. So, you nodded your head as you cried.

           Taehyung had confessed to you after passionate lovemaking one night, that he had been bullied growing up. That he came to fear anyone touching him, for fear they would strike him. It had gotten better with time but the only people he really trusted were the other men and after that moment you. You had sworn to never hit him, to never hurt him, so when you slapped him it hurt much more than your abandonment had. Jimin too knew of his past which is why took it personally. Taehyung was his soulmate. You had broken him. The leather of your belt stung, however, it couldn’t compare to the pain you felt in your soul. Your mind was blank and too numb to focus on anything, too numb to play the game any longer. Too weak. Jimin was quick to pick up on it, “I’m going to ask you some questions [Y/n]. Answer them honestly.” You mindlessly nodded along to whatever he said, too lost in your own head to perceive you were about to lose it all. “How do you pay for the apartment, [Y/n]?” He probed, an eyebrow raised. “With my money.” The belt strikes once again, you lost count of already. “How? You don’t have a job? Are you sugaring again?” His hold on you tightened at the latter question. “No with the money I sa-” You had stopped midsentence when you realized what you had admitted. It didn’t matter as the belt had stopped and both Taehyung and Jimin remained still. Taking the opportunity, you crawled away from them and quickly moved off the bed. The dress falling into place rubbing against your sore behind.

           A maniacal laugh tore from Taehyung’s chest, he had to lean over and clutch his knees in order to support himself. Jimin had quieted down, refusing to look up from his lap, a small smile on his face. After what felt like forever both gazed up at you, “That’s against the rules.” Just like that they stood up, dusted themselves off, and crossed over to you. Tenderly kissing your lips before walking out of the room, Taehyung poked his head back inside smiling. “Don’t worry babe, you’ll hear from us soon.” Before letting his right eye fall into a wink. At the sound of the front door being shut, you fell to your knees in prayer. Head falling onto the cold tile underneath, “Please. Please, I’m begging you.” You didn’t know who you were begging god, a guardian angel, fate, the men who had just left your apartment, or the one who was surely going to visit. It seems your body had reached its limit for you fell asleep right there and then, the dark world fading around you.

_Ten Months Ago_

           The television screen in front of you had been forgotten, as Hoseok and you lay wrapped up in each other on the couch. You weren’t sure if this is what you were supposed to do. If this was okay. Being a sugar baby didn’t really come with manual instruction, the videos online didn’t really seem to fit your relationship with Hoseok either. It seemed logical to allow him to take the reins never questioning what he wanted or why he wanted it, so long as you were comfortable. Hoseok seemed to like this as well since it meant you never really objected to anything, unlike his past arrangements. There was also your uncanny ability to read him, just like now. Hoseok had been on edge as of late, it could’ve been work but you noticed he was beginning to spend more time with his friends and less with you. It would’ve been fine if his friends hadn’t begun to try to be with you whenever Hoseok stood you up. The dynamic was strange, and you were sure he had noticed it. Hoseok reached over for the control, pausing the tv show. His face was unusually stern, it worried you. “Hobi is everything okay?” The man sighing. Before he turned to look at you with a melancholic smile.

           “Do you remember when you asked me why I didn’t have a normal relationship?” You nodded hesitantly. It was something you had questioned when the two of you had gone out for Thai food on your second meeting. Hoseok had said he didn’t really have time for courtship and that it didn’t really interest him. “I lied.” Noticing the concern in your eyes, he pulled you closer against him. As if he had a secret to confess that he wanted no one else to hear. “I can’t have a relationship because I already am in one…an unconventional one.” You were admittedly, shocked but not surprised. Of course, Hoseok would have a girlfriend, the man was the complete package. The longer you thought about it though, the more you picked up on his words. “What do you mean unconventional?” The relationship between the two of you was unconventional for sure, but that wasn’t what he was hinting at. “My friends and I are…” His mouth began to quiver and immediately you pulled him in for a hug. “It’s okay Hoseok. You don’t have to worry about that, I mean it’s the twenty-first century. People are more accepting nowadays.” Somethings were beginning to make sense: the tension between the seven men. The way they all seemed to communicate effortlessly. You weren’t even upset because if it means Hoseok was happy then you would gladly pretend for the sake of appearances.

           “I’m not gay [Y/n] not entirely. That’s not what I’m worried about either.” He chuckled humorlessly into your chest. “What?” Hoseok pulled his head up and stared at you lovingly. His thumb trying to smooth away the frown in between your brows. The man simply sighed and smiled a bit before responding, “I’m worried because I want you too. I want you to be a part of my life, [Y/n] and so do they.” It took a while for the words to sink in, but you weren’t sure what to say or how to respond properly. “Uh. I…” The discomfort you felt was indescribable, as was Hoseok’s fallen expression. “It’s okay [Y/n]. I get it. I’m sorry for bringing it up.” You shook your head, “No. If that’s what you want. If it will make you happy then I’ll-” Hoseok interrupted you, by pressing his lips against yours. Tears of joy streaming down his face. The kiss broke when the two of you no longer had any air left in your lungs. Hoseok pulled you into his chest, running his fingers through your hair. He spoke so softly you struggled to hear it. “… love you.”

_Present_

           The obnoxious blaring of your ringtone had woken you up. You could barely move, and your muscles ached from sleeping on the hard floor last night. All you had dreamt of was methods of escape, maybe if you left the country for a while everything would smooth over. You would apologize repeatedly to Sihyeon for leaving on such short notice, but it was also for her own safety. If you left the boys would no longer feel the need to target her. Some time away from them might also help your ever-increasing paranoia and your weakening mental state. Settled on your decision you located your laptop and searched for cheap flights out of Korea. Maybe you could go to Japan for a bit? Or even Hong Kong? The longer you thought about it, the more the latter seemed like a safe bet. Japan was simply too close, they could reach you in less than two hours, and they had connections there. You purchased the round-trip tickets and inputted your card information waiting for the confirmation page to pop up. Instead, you got the notification that your payment was declined. You tried again but it still didn’t work. Wanting not to stress, you searched for your credit card and tried that one. Still no luck. No this can’t be happening…

           Opening another tab, you quickly typed in your bank website and tried logging in only for it to say that account didn’t exist. Your phone rang once again and this time, you acknowledged it. Pressing answer without even bothering to see who it was. “Hello?” The voice of a friendly man spoke back to you, “Good Morning Miss Y/l/n. This is Yuri from Woori bank calling to update you on the state of your account.” You sighed in relief, “Yes I was just about to call. I can’t access my account or funds.” Yuri made a noise of acknowledgment, “The thing is ma’am your account is being investigated, so you won’t be able to access it until the investigation is being completed.” You frowned, “Investigation? Why is my account being investigated? I haven’t done anything.” The line was silent for a while before Yuri replied, “The bank received an anonymous tip that the money in your account may have been acquired through fraudulent means. Whenever that occurs, we close the account and investigate it along with the police, its bank protocol.” You scoffed, “I haven’t committed any type of fraud. The person who reported it was lying or mistaking me for someone else.” Yuri didn’t seem fazed at all by your accusation, he simply hummed and waited until you finished. “Unfortunately, it comes from a highly respectable source. If the investigation proves inconclusive, the account along with the funds will be returned to you anywhere from two to three weeks from now.” His tone was too polite. Too professional. As if he was talking about the weather when in reality he was accusing you of committing a crime.

           How would you survive two to three weeks without money? You couldn’t very well leech off of Sihyeon. You needed to pay rent, you needed to survive. Why – That’s exactly why they had done it. You could feel the wrath completely consume you. It was better than letting the sorrow win. It was better than giving up and succumbing. Anger was always better. You were so unbelievably angry until you saw the text from Sihyeon.

Sihyeon: I need you to pack your things and move out.

Y/l/n Y/n: Why?

Sihyeon: Jeonhan says you’re a bad influence. Yoongi told him everything that happened between the two of you. Why didn’t you tell me?

Y/l/n Y/n: You don’t understand. He’s lying.

Sihyeon: I don’t, and I can’t. I’m sorry but I need you gone within the week.

Sihyeon: Jeonhan threatened to leave me if you didn’t… I can’t lose him.

Sihyeon: Please understand.

           You understood. How couldn’t you? Now that you had lost everything there was only one choice. You clicked on contacts and scrolled down to find the name of the man who you loved the most. Tears welled in your eyes, snot came out your nose, your lips trembled uncontrollably until you heard the familiar sound of the phone being picked up. You wish you could’ve remained silent but instead, you broke down. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry Hoseok. Please…” He didn’t reply simply hung up the phone. That was all it took for your last string of hope to break. You willed yourself up, beginning to place your belongings into a bag. You could come back for the other items later if you would come back. Dressing into some comfortable clothing you searched up the nearest women’s shelter intending to walk there. It was a forty-five-minute walk but escaping the four walls that surrounded you sounded like a good idea. Maybe you could have sold some of the presents they had given you, or resell some of your more expensive clothes, but some part of you knew nothing good would come from that. Instead, you walked out of your bedroom, into the hall, you were about to turn towards the door when something caught your eye. The frame of Sihyeon and you had been taken off the wall, hanging on the nail was the necklace Taehyung had given you. You debated on whether to take it before grabbing it off the wall and clasping it around your neck.

           When you reached the outside of the apartment complex there was a black Bentley Bentayga parked alongside the curve. Your heart sped up thinking it could be him, only to be disappointed when someone else stepped out of the driver’s seat. Only to then be confused when he strolled over to you, “Excuse me Miss Y/l/n. My name is Bo I’ve been sent by Mr. Jung to escort you to him.” It was a bad decision but all the previous times you had made ‘good rational’ ones had led you to where you were now. So it couldn’t be helped that you got into the car and allowed Bo to drive you to God knows where. You also couldn’t help the way your heart jumped with glee at the possibility of seeing him again. Though it broke your heart, you couldn’t ask Hoseok to choose between you and them. You also understood that what Hoseok felt towards you was not love, no matter how much you wished that it was. It was an unhealthy, controlling, possessive obsession; just like the rest of them. Hoseok didn’t see you as an equal but something to own. To consume. The ride had lasted an hour and a half, your phone slowly losing reception the further away you got from the city and the denser the forests became. It was when you passed by a small sign that opened into a clearing that you recognized where you were. The North Jeolla Province distinguishable from all the others as was the mountain area where the driver had turned into the place you had visited nearly two months ago with the seven men, the place where you had celebrated your birthday, the place where you witnessed exactly what the men were capable of doing in the name of love.

           As the car pulled into the area where the Hanoks were, you wondered whether or not you would soon join the rotting bodies buried underneath the ground. When you laid eyes upon the man standing outside the main Hanok, his eyes peering into the car window and the heart-shaped smile on his face, you were almost certain you would.

[1zashreena1]

Princess and the Migraine -7

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary: When Princess needs his help Murder Panther undergoes a trial by fire and comes out soft and gooey. Like a marshmallow. A really sexy, highly dangerous marshmallow.

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and 'the code is more like guidelines' outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

NO SMUT, usage of names, mild groping (he’s still Diego), illness and medical establishments, plus size woman+fit man, secretly competent Diego!, helpless Princess, bad boys with too much money and not enough impulse control, secondary OCs, excessive swearing (???), illegal business dealings... I mean, its DIEGO

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I'm not a fan of "plot" so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​ @symbiont13​​ @nicke0115​​ @bunnykjm​​ @rosee-sensuelle​​ @girlpornparadise​​ @mandoplease​​ @heresathreebee​​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​ @jetiikad​​ @joalsglasses​​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​ @demoncatstone​​ @squidlywiddly87​​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​ @poeedamerons​

gif by @nicke0115​

Diego had received the normal text from his Princess, a simple and efficient 'here' attached to a selfie. This Friday the selfie was in his bed, that mane of ringlets tossed up over the pillow and those deep blue eyes half closed in relaxation. There was nothing sexual about it, hell, he couldn't even see her lips, and it still made him half hard. What if I could see that every day? In person, right next to her? I must convince her to quit that stupid little job.

Groaning softly, he flips the phone to be held horizontally in his left hand while the right presses the heel of his palm into his burgeoning erection. He cannot wait to bury himself into that soft little body; fingers, tongue, dick, anything. She is the softest woman he has ever touched, even her tiny little feet are soft, it is maddening. He slouches down into the backseat to relieve some of the pressure from his pants.

"You want me to stop anywhere, boss?" Bastian asks from the driver's seat. Bastian is a good kid, he follows orders, he is efficient, he even anticipates needs like this, offering to get food on the way home. He looks nothing like his uncle. Julio always did say that his little sister liked blondes and Bastian was living proof.

"No, I will see what she wants to do first." Diego wants to get his hands on Princess more than he wants food.

Julio chuckles from the front seat, "His dinner is already at home, eh?" He's been with Diego for twenty years, he knows how this goes down.

"One can only hope." Diego mutters as he flips through the 'Pretty Princess' photo album in the phone's gallery. Sure, there are the expected compromising pictures (much to his delight, she enjoys posing seductively at any level of undress), but many are shots of her laughing, being excited at a new restaurant, snuggled into his side at some scenic location perfect for a couples' pic.

A couple. Is that what they are? Does he want that? (Yes) Can I have that? (I will).  He hasn't wanted any of what used to be his regular girls in… six months. Sure, Franchesca and, and whatever-her-face-is accompanied him to some club events, he even let Franchesca blow him in the car. But it wasn't until he closed his eyes and saw another gaze, drowning blue and dark as ink, that he came. Vocally. Franchesca at least knew better than to comment. That was the last time.

He wants this. He wants Princess. His Princess. How, he has no idea, but he assumes he'll figure it out. He has figured out how to survive his sister and his profession all the way to age 42. He has figured it out so far and he has no plans to stop now. 

That book about relationships and autism spectrum really helped, maybe there are other similar books that he can get. Is there a book on how to get women to admit feelings? There has to be a book on something so… unusual, yes?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The elevator dings and he steps out before the doors are fully open. The common area is dark and quiet. "Princess?" He calls. Nothing.

Maybe she is still in the bed waiting for me. The image throws him into rapid motion; the jacket is tossed over the back of the sofa and he pulls the gun out of his belt to place it on the breakfast bar as he passes by. With huge strides, he hurdles up the stairs and into the bedroom. 

The small lamp on the nightstand is at the lowest setting, turned to a faint aqua color. She does love fiddling with the ridiculous color options. Her bag is on the floor in front of the closet along with her purse, shoes, and a trail of clothing to the bed.. Odd, she always places everything just so. Never just, just dropped… anywhere.

 Princess is in the bed… but she is asleep. 

Diego pushes his shoes off and pads over to her side of the bed. Her glasses are on the nightstand and next to them the gemstone ring he gave her is threaded onto one of the diamond tennis bracelet for safekeeping. It makes him smile, how thoughtfully she cares for his gifts.

"Princess?" She winces at his soft rumble and cracks one eye open. "What's wrong?" He reaches out to touch her hair and she flinches away. Ouch, what the hell?

She holds out a hand, he takes that instead. "Baby?" Her voice is so quiet he can barely hear her. Something is very wrong. 

Kneeling to the floor, Diego rests his chin on the bed directly in front of her face and waits. He has learned that if it's something physical that is bothering her he can simply wait her out. Each time that he has tried this it resulted in a shorter wait period the next time and a less agitated Princess. He's not sure if he is training her or if maybe it's the other way around.

Her fingers curl around his thumb, small but strong. Finally, she opens her mouth, "I have a migraine. Was fine earlier, but police lights. On whatever bridge. We sat for like ten minutes, Bastian couldn't get out of the traffic. I took medicine, but I need to sleep." She pauses, her eyes closed tightly and brow furrowed. Her breathing is shallow, like she is trying very hard not to cry. "I'm sorry, baby." She whimpers, and then a real tear does escape.

"No no no, Princess. No crying. Please do not." The absolute last thing Diego can deal with today is that pretty little face all red and messy with tears. She sniffles but doesn't move away when he wipes the tears with his thumbs. Those blue eyes are watching him very closely.

"Are--" she licks her lips and tries again, "Are you mad at me?" Her high voice cracks at the end and she blinks back more tears. Apprehension is coming off of her in waves.

Diego cocks his head, trying to understand where this question comes from. "You… think I will be mad at you for being ill?" Slowly, he leans closer to her while she nods tightly with a tiny 'mm hmm' of affirmation. When she huddles into herself, almost hiding under the covers, understanding begins to bloom. "Have other people gotten mad at you for becoming ill?"

Princess swallows hard, her eyes slide away from his. She is embarrassed. Someone has managed to shame her into feeling guilty about a hereditary illness she has no control over. He can feel rage climbing up inside his chest.

"Y-y-yeah. It's really inconvenient. I ruin p-plans like this. I'm sorry." Her voice is muffled by the covers. She picks at the stitching on the sheet, snapping her nail back and forth over the threads in a nervous tic.

Right now, I am doing the training because this needs to be broken. Immediately. He takes a deep breath, "No, Princess. No one can be mad at you for suffering from a condition you cannot control. That is ridiculous. I could never be angry at you for getting sick." He tries very hard to sound soothing and not like he's about to reprimand a ludicrous child. Slowly, he pulls the sheet down until her entire face is visible. Her eyes flick back to him, then away again. "Aqui." She obeys the command thoughtlessly, locking on his gaze. Diego raises a brow in question.

Princess huffs a soft sigh, then whispers, "Okay." Her face smooths out, eyebrows straightening and lips relaxing back to their normal fullness. Her little nose even unwrinkles as she eases. She must decide she buys it, because next she timidly asks, "Will you bring me a Coke?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Diego gets her settled with her phone (which he silences) and the small bottle of Coke (opened downstairs so the noise doesn't hurt her). When she pulled herself upright to drink he realized she was still dressed so he got her into pajamas, it was odd putting clothing onto her instead of taking it off. She kept her eyes closed and allowed him to move her around like a ragdoll, relaxed and trusting.

The tightness in his chest only worsened when she crawled into his lap and nuzzled into him with a plaintive, "Hold me." Princess wasn't really a cuddly type of girl, so he knew this was bad. After ten minutes she was done with the 'mushy stuff' as she referred to it. He let her get situated then went downstairs with instructions to check on her in two hours.

Diego spent the time researching migraines, her medication, and other possible treatments. Julio came and went with dinner, cheesesteaks that Princess had mentioned long before the police strobe lights. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The required two hours have passed, Diego swears it was two days long, so he heads upstairs to check on her. Princess is on her stomach, head turned to the left, and her mouth hanging open. His hand lands softly on her shoulder while he calls her, "Princess?" 

Nothing happens.

He tries again, just a little louder, "Princess? Hey, mirame."  Still no response. She is a light sleeper, this is highly unusual. And he is beginning to be concerned. 

Diego nudges her shoulder, then, when he gets nothing, pushes until she rolls over. She doesn't even make a sound. Shit. Shit shit shit. 

"Hey! Bicki! Wake up, come on." Her lashes flutter and she makes a whiny noise. Sitting on the bed, he hauls her into his lap so she leans back against his left arm. Tapping her cheek with his right hand gets a semi-verbal response.

"Dieg.. Where. I'm. Can't." She slurs and burrows into his chest. "Too brigh. Is brigh." Her voice is so quiet he can barely understand her. Her tiny hands are fisted in his shirt, hanging on for dear life. 

He grips her jaw in his right hand and turns her head to face him. "Princess? Can you tell me?" She's struggling through his name, like her tongue is too big for her mouth. "Yes, it's me. It's your Diego. We're home, in bed. You're safe." Her brow furrows as she processes this information. It takes three times longer than it should, he hasn't seen anyone this fucked up in a long time. Its terrifying. 

Finally, her hands in his shirt ease their grip and she looks around the room. "Diego?" She is squinting hard, blinking slowly.

"Right here, Princess." Turning her to face him, he can see that her eyes are completely unfocused, pupils so small they're barely visible in a sea of grayish blue. Her hands come up to touch his face and she makes a tiny noise of distress.

"Baby. Can't see. I can't." Her whisper fades as she goes limp, eyes rolling up. Her breathing stays even, if shallow, so he doesn't panic. Yet. She said she does this, that she will black out. Her whole family does it. Her sisters, her niece, her mom… HER MOM. 

Hit by sudden inspiration, Diego whips around to her phone on the nightstand and snatches it up. Her mom. Her mom would know what to do, right? Easing her deadweight back to the bed, he makes sure she is breathing easily, then turns back to her phone. He unlocks her cell with his left hand while digging his out of his right pocket. There, at the top of her contacts labeled 'Emergency', Mom. Dad. Diego. He ignores the sharp flutter in his chest at seeing himself as her emergency contact, and opens up the Mom item. Before he can second guess himself, he taps in the number in on his own phone and hits the green button. She better know who I am or this is going to be a disaster. 

It rings twice before a remarkably similar voice answers, "Hello?"

Shit, now what?

"Hello, is, is this Kat?" Fuck. Shit. Damnit Diego.

"Yes…?" It really is startling how similar their voices are.

"I do not know if you know who I am, my name is Diego and I--"

"Diego! Ohhh, I know who you are." She laughs lowly, just like Princess. He notes the fact that she recognizes him instantly for later discussion.

"I apologize for calling like this, but I need your help." He tries not to sound scared. He does not get scared.

"What's wrong? Is she okay? Are you okay?" Apparently he failed. Her mom, Kat, knows instantly that something is amiss.

"She said she had a migraine and took her medicine. Now, I cannot get her to wake up fully and she keeps repeating that she can't see. I don't know what to do, I've never seen her like this. Please." It all comes out in a rush, he hopes she can understand his rapidly thickening accent.

"Okay, first of all, take a deep breath." Do I sound that panicked? Should I be panicked?!? "This isn't that unusual for her more severe migraines. As long as she keeps breathing. Is her breathing fairly normal?"

He watches her chest rise and fall at regular intervals. "I, err, yes? It's a bit fast, but even." 

"Good. That's good, Diego. She is not going to like this, but you have to take her to the ER."

"Okay. I can do that. Yes."  Wait, what do you do when you take someone to the ER?

"Okay, listen. You have to tell them that she's had these since she was a kid. She takes the highest tablet dosage of imitrex, tell them what time she took it. She needs the shots, yes she has had them before, no drug allergies. Under no circumstances do you tell them that she blacked out or they will admit her. Also, no chance of pregnancy, they'll ask that. If they think she might be pregnant then they won't treat her."

THEY WHAT.

"What do you mean? Won't give her the shots? If she might be pregnant? What shots?" Diego is very confused. This is a lot of information in a very short time and all of it is very important. Why would that matter?

"Hospitals will not give medications to pregnant women. Only tylenol, generally. And that isn't going to help." Her mom sounds like this topic has been thoroughly debated in their household. 

"Okay. No pregnancy. No black out. Have been having these her whole life, need shots, have had those before. I have the bottle of ...imitrex? I should take it along?" He ticks each item off on a mental list. "Actually, could you text all of... that?" He most definitely does not want them to admit her.

"Of course. And taking the bottle is perfect, that's quick thinking. What time did she take it?"

What time did she take that?? She had already taken it when he got home. "Sometime before seven…? Yes. Between six and seven."

"One last thing, I want you to be prepared. Its two shots, a sedative and a pain medication, but they'll put it in her butt."

That's… interesting. "In her butt?? She won't even let me put something in her butt." He mutters petulantly.

Her mom is sputtering with laughter. "Oh, I see why this relationship works. Wow. This is perfect."

"Err, is there anything else? I've never been to an ER, so. Um." Something about the way she sounds just like Princess puts him at ease, like he doesn't need to worry about impressing her.

"No. I'll text you the list after we hang up. Just let me know how she is tomorrow, okay? I know you'll take care of her, Diego."

"Yes, I will. Thank you." He ends the call and texts Julio to get up here now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The ER is pandemonium and Princess is extremely unhappy to be there. She is curled into his side, trying to hide from the noise and the light, while Bastian fills out forms for her. Julio thought to bring her purse, it was a very good idea since her entire identity is in there. When Bastian hands over the forms to the desk the nurse sees Princess's hospital work badge in his hand with her ID and she magically shoots to the top of the waitlist. 

The nurses come to take her into the back, they bring her a wheelchair which she grumbles about but goes willingly when Diego pushes her into the seat. He wants to go with her, but he isn't family. If this were anyone else he would do whatever he wants, but this is his Princess. The thought of breaking her trust by violating her privacy is unbearable, anything like this has never been discussed. 

They barely disappear around the corner before a nurse comes right back.

"Alright. Which one is Diego? She will not shut up and she will not calm down. Come with me." The nurse grabs his arm and practically drags him for a few steps until his longer legs catch up. 

They go into a curtained room where one nurse is trying to manhandle yoga pants down well-rounded hips and another is opening prefilled syringes. Princess is swiping at the unfamiliar hands on her body, unbalanced and jumpy. Little noises of fear escape from her lips in high pitches, her head is down and her eyes are closed tightly against the florescent lighting. Diego suddenly remembers that she can't see. She is terrified.

"Princess?" The second he touches her with one hand she dives into him. Her own little hands claw into his shirt and she tries to mold her body to his. "I'm here. You're safe." Wrapping arms around her, he holds her still tightly. She nods against his chest and relaxes a tiny bit. 

The nurse with the syringes looks pointedly at Princess's butt, then back up at him. Oh. Right. Sliding one hand down her back, he inserts fingers into the back of her pants and eases the elastic waistband down. "Its just me," he whispers into her hair as she trembles in his hold. The strong muscles of her butt twitch, but she doesn't fight him. She trusts me. 

Its over in under five seconds, both shots and both bandaids, one set on each side. She jumps with each injection but can't seem to process what happened fast enough to respond appropriately. 

The nurse doesn't even bother to look up from cleaning the table. "Okay, take her home and put her to bed. She'll sleep for the next eight hours." 

His eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "That's it?"

"Yep, thanks for your help." 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Princess succumbs to the sedative halfway home and Diego has to carry her to bed. She really does sleep for most of Saturday. He keeps going in to check on her, she is completely limp and doesn't change position once. Its a bit disturbing how helpless she is like this. Has she had to do this alone before? Or, worse yet, with the awful ex?

He stays right beside her after that.

When she finally wakes her eyes are normal again and she immediately reaches out for him. "Diego?"

Her little question makes him smile warmly. 

"Right here, Princess. Welcome back."  He rumbles softly, unsure if sound still hurts her. Stroking one hand down her back makes her arch up into his caress. So beautiful. 

She squints up at him through the curtain of her hair. Slowly, Princess rises to all fours, then eases back to sit. "I…" she blinks at him. "I have to pee." 

Okay, so awake but not totally coherent yet. She requires a little assistance in the bathroom, mostly a steady arm to lean on, but they manage it with only mild to moderate giggles and one bruise-inducing bump to the corner of the counter. 

She stumbles back to bed, collapses face down, sticks her left arm out in his general direction, and wiggles fingers at him then back at herself.

"Take the stupid bandaids off. Shit itches."

Oh yes, finally time to touch the butt.

Diego sits on the bed beside her, one hip pressed up against her own. He firmly strokes both hands down her back just to hear her deep moan of pleasure. She arches up when he reaches the curve of her ass. Oh good, she is feeling better. Fuck that, she feels amazing, he chuckles at his own joke but doesn't pause in gently groping her. The silky panties slide easily over her cheeks, the sight makes his mouth water. The pale skin is only marred by the bandaids, so he pulls them both off in rapid succession then smooths fingers over the red marks. 

"Mmmmm," she moans with the gentle treatment, "Thank you for taking care of me. That's the first time someone other than my parents did that for me. How did you know to take me to the ER, anyway?" Her voice is muffled in the pillow, soft and sleepy and content.

Diego absent-mindedly runs a finger down the crack of her ass, feather light. "Your mom told me what to do when I called her."

"YOU CALLED MY MOM?!?!"

Judging by her volume, apparently no, sound does not hurt her anymore.

[madamhatter]

act 0. observer’s notes your name is….. finding place in exile, the ramifications of war, and the scars it makes (Posttraumatic Stress Disorder)

Discussion on PTSD and its play in writing Sophie in the Topaxi verse. A general (mental) profile of the Sorceress in this setting would be included.  Includes connecting recurring imagery and rifts spotted in-character writing in the Topaxi verse. (Kind of spoilers!)

READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION.

The story of displacement is a common tale for many of the Roles in Topaxi. Be it if you’re of those surviving past the war, having escaped the clutches of social prejudice of your home country, or even in rift from self-persecution, the belongingness that was once felt is adrift and lost to the ever-revolving and never-stopping world we live in.  As of the latest conquest conducted by the Topaxi Advancement Forces (TAF), the continent of Gaea has had several of its countries turned territories or effaced within the past seven to eight years. It has been over two years since the invasion and TAF is on standby as the last emperor had suddenly and mysteriously passed away. 

One of the last countries to be taken by the Empire was a smaller region towards the north of the continent with one coast belonging to the open sea. Such a place, which was incredibly small and considered nameless by then, was the home of the Sorceress.

In the wake of post-war life, most have found their living in making a living, while a rare few live to make a change. So ends up Sophie Hatter, the confirmed one of eight survivors from her hometown, to Topaxi with no remnants of family with her as they are located elsewhere in the Topaxi empire. (A complicated situation. It is connected to Sophie’s mother and it is the reason why Sophie is the last Hatter to leave her home country). She is holding herself together with only the clothes on her body and whatever items survived the destruction in a small messenger bag she found in the debris of her late childhood home.  So, where does Sophie find herself...? What is she like now? 

Similar to discussed cases in Topaxi with certain roles being exposed to and/or participating in the war, Sophie Hatter is one of those cases. She developed Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD) that is comorbid with general anxiety disorder, panic disorder, and major depressive disorder. NOTE: Major depressive disorder would be a differential diagnosis. However, the symptoms exhibited by Sophie by the time she is 19, and after the course for acute stress disorder to be diagnosed (~3 days to a month), does reflects does include symptoms for “PTSD Criterion B or C symptoms” and  “PTSD Criterion D or E” (p 279, DSM-5). Meaning that comorbidity is possible diagnosis or this disorder soon developed because of the traumatic event in place. 

Sophie struggles with creating herself as she was before; there is an intrusion that exists within her and she is acutely aware of it and believes that she must do something about it. This nuisance she classifies, however, cannot be as easily undone as she realizes and her understanding of it is very limited, given the fact that the world of Topaxi has limited resources and research committed to psychology.

While the city-state of Topaxi can be considered modern and ahead of its time with the presence of UCAT, their progression and developments are not concurrent (yet) with the going-ons of today. While its history may not have been dedicated to vulnerable populations and certain experiences they might have faced, changes are being made with new projects, but there is still a way’s to go. 

Sophie Hatter, externally, is a persistently active figure, working with the newly made community in her apartment and living day-to-day with newly found relationships. However, she remains within arms’ distance with others while providing help, working to her best to keep stability around her as much as she can. Her schedule, during the day, is extremely limited and refined by her to avoid as many external variables that may affect her and she does not want to even imagine or experience how she’ll respond. 

Internally, however, Sophie Hatter is still a young woman who is grasping with the reality of what has happened to her during the invasion. Preceding the conquest, she already exhibited behaviors of a childhood that left her perception of the world altered and her self-perception low (to the point of being uncaring to her own safety). However, the inclusion of adversity from events during the war and the continuous exposure from her curse to her escape has heightened and created characteristics, responses, and coping mechanisms to handle what the mind is still attempting to fully comprehend/accept has happened.

Be note, that there are two events in the war that affected her: (1) discovering her decimated town/facing the its destruction and (2) her time before her “escape.” 

Following DSM-5 and the Diagnostic Criteria for Posttraumatic Stress Disorder (figure 43.10), Sophie has the following symptoms and tendencies underneath these particular categories:  (Numbers denote which event is tied to what.)

A  “Exposure to actual or threatened death, serious injury, or sexual violation in one (or more) of the following ways” [EVENT] 

Directly experiencing the traumatic event - (1) The travel through the desolated country and seeing first-hand accounts of dead bodies, murder, and other atrocities ; (2) Detainment and what happened during then.

Witnessing, in person, the event(s) as it occurred to others - (1) The final bombings and scourge that swept over the valley ; (2) Was forced to watch mutilation and unethical experiments

B  “Presence of one (or more) of the following intrusion symptoms associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning after the traumatic event(s) occurred” [INTRUSION]

Recurrent, involuntary, and intrusive distressing memories of the traumatic event(s) - (1) & (2) happens a lot but does not come out through direct and perfect images of what has happened. Usually plays out that she sees the dead bodies and imagines fire around her if moving too quickly or in areas that she avoids because of stimuli that can trigger her.  

Intense or prolonged psychological distress at exposure to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event(s) - Will enter a state of intrusive thoughts that will repeatedly tell her to leave and push her to go away. Would end up apologizing repeatedly and would begin her move as soon as possible. 

Marked physiological reactions to internal or external cues that symbolize or resemble an aspect of the traumatic event(s) - Turns blank in the face and stares out whenever stimuli (or a combination) is in contact with her ; memories will begin resurfacing mainly through smell, but she has routinely removed herself ASAP. Flight or fight response will be immensely present and it DOES depend on her hypervigilance and whether she is moonlighting as Simeon as not. if moonlighting, the “fight” reaction WILL be used and will devolve into violence. If not, Sophie’s immediate response will be to leave and leave as soon as possible, no matter what it is she is doing. Would end up shallowly breathing like there’s smoke in the air, holding herself, and bowing her head as if avoiding seeing something before her. 

C “Persistent avoidance of stimuli associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by one or both of the following” [AVOIDANCE]

Avoidance of or efforts to avoid distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic event(s) - (1) Continued rejection and avoidance of topics relating to latest conquests and usually avoids districts that are heavy with TAF occupation (bases, ports, air fields, etc.) ; 

Avoidance of or efforts to avoid external reminders (people, places, conversations, activities, objects, situations) that arouse distressing memories, thoughts, or feelings about or closely associated with the traumatic event(s) - (2) Adamant refusal to enter or get close to medical facilities and certain smells like ammonia will make her hostile and intense (first mentioned in Headcanon Dump #1)

D “Negative alterations in cognitions and mood associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning or worsening after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by two (or more) of the following” [NEGATIVE ALTERNATIONS IN COGNITIONS AND MOOD ASSOCIATED WITH THE EVENT]

Inability to remember an important aspect of the traumatic event(s) (typically due to dissociative amnesia and not to other factors such as head injury, alcohol, or drugs) - Confirmed for dissociative amnesia where the events of (1) and (2) meld together and the timeline is mixed together ; there are very specific images that do not reflect the real scene or are reduced from the original signifier (I.E., the specific image of draping/pouring red)  

Persistent and exaggerated negative beliefs or expectations about oneself, others, or the world (e.g., “I am bad,” “No one can be trusted,” “The world is completely dangerous,” “My whole nervous system is permanently ruined”) - Consistent and returning thoughts of worthlessness for self (’Why am I still here versus....?” ; others are seen to be temporary in her life and cannot be held onto for long ( “they need something from me, that’s why they’re here..”)

Persistent, distorted cognitions about the cause or consequences of the traumatic event(s) that lead the individual to blame himself/herself or others - Consistent blame on herself for (2) but (1) is vehemently targeted towards both herself when it comes to the deaths of her community -AND- people she distinguishes as responsible for the outcome (Topaxi officials and, at times, associates of TAF ) and authority figures from her country 

Persistent negative emotional state (e.g., fear, horror, anger, guilt, or shame) - Amplified when Simeon and the persona is seen as an outlet to let out these emotions she believe she needs to keep in line ; usually guilt, anger, and shame meshed together, which leads to fueling reckless behavior and decisions that may hurt herself (which she dubs as necessary)

E “Marked alterations in arousal and reactivity associated with the traumatic event(s), beginning or worsening after the traumatic event(s) occurred, as evidenced by two (or more) of the following”  [MARKED ALTERNATION IN AROUSAL AND REACTIVITY] 

Irritable behavior (with little to no provocation) towards objects and people - Most visible when moonlighting as Simeon. 

Reckless or self-destructive behavior - Refer to purpose of Simeon persona and her views on her livelihood and how she actively ��punishes” herself. 

Hypervigilance. - Already present in Sophie, worsened from war. Contributing to this would be her consistency to keep her and her night persona separated; add on need to keep herself on a low-profile and not recognizable in certain locations with medical personnel and researchers. 

Sleep disturbance (e.g., difficulty falling or staying asleep or restless sleep) - Already present in Sophie, worsened from war. 

F “Duration of the disturbance (Criteria B, C, D, and E) is more than 1 month.”

Has been persistent throughout the ~2 years she has been living in Topaxi.

G “The disturbance causes clinically significant distress or impairment in social, occupational, or other important areas of functioning.”

Confirmed. 

H “The disturbance is not attributable to the physiological effects of a substance (e.g., medication, alcohol) or another medical condition.”

Not able to be found in context of the comorbidity exhibited by Sophie. Many new symptoms took form after the experiences she had in war. To note, she has been showing signs of a new comorbidity (substance reliance, alcohol). 

SPECIFICATION: Depersonalization with delayed expression (taken a year for these symptoms to begin). 

 - - - 

Sophie Hatter, as previously described, is someone who is coping with trauma through the best way she knows and has done before with her other trauma: ignoring it and shunning herself. However, she has particular outlets that may come of casual consumption of alcohol which happens concerningly frequent throughout certain days if stimuli are present. 

Additionally, while Simeon is throughout the criteria, they were not originally made as a result of what occurred. The original creation of Simeon was meant to be a persona she could use to live a “double life” as she needed to make more money and dangerous work paid well.  Having them as separate lives, in her eyes, keeps her safe from anyone targeting or her family (but, it is clear that her sisters and stepmother are not on the island).

Instead, they have became a violent outlet for her internalized dread, anguish, and anger. Having the “informant” as an extension of herself, excusing bad decisions and feeling out of her body while the world around her happens, has proven detrimental to the process of the awareness, acknowledgement, assistance, and acceptance of her condition. 

Here are several examples of Sophie’s PTSD appearing:

Self-harm/demanding herself to be hurt/trying to mark herself and punish herself

Haggardly, Simeon grimaces while their vest was shed off and resting on the tower hanger, alongside their binder beside it. Their dress shirt was half-way unbuttoned. Over their exposed shoulders and underneath their breasts were imprints.

Scarred fingertip digs into their collarbone. A sharp jab into their clavicle, feeling a minor ache as they push further.  Bruise, damn it. Make some mark. Make color, be red.

-- EXCERPT FROM THIS DRABBLE (SOPHIE’S DISPOSITION).

Association with red and the bleeding of traumatic events (1) and (2) joining together, causing her to respond blankly to the situation before being distracted by Yunuen speaking

Red skies, red sparks, red flow, red blossoms in the sky, red stained on metal, red dyeing gowns, red fringes framing a scratched off face that hovers over your pinned body, red hot pain searing into your body, red, red, red red-

-- EXCEPT FROM THIS THREAD (FIRST ENCOUNTER WITH YUNUEN). 

Survivor’s guilt and persistent negativity directed at herself because of her survival (The marks are related to (2) and the thought is related to (1)): 

On her right hip, roughly the same size as the other, but longer as it had dragged along said hip, the scar was horizontal and deeper than its neighbor, visible from its crinkled appearance. Reminders of life’s misplaced luck, she concludes, not used wisely by Fate this time around. How silly of them to pick me.

-- EXCERPT FROM SILVER STIGMATA (PHYSICAL SURVEY)

Hypervigilance and abundance of stimuli that make her extremely uncomfortable/distrusting of situation: 

A heaviness swells in their chest, an unshakable pressure tightening their rib cage, and yet, this was only normal symptoms of living a life like this. Industrial foulness mixed with fresh market fragrances from the decadent and wealthy market by the mouth of the alley; all the more gag-inducing for the young informant.

However, they clutch onto the empty box in their hands, making out the plastic ridges against the faintest callouses on the tip of their fingers They weren’t ignorant to the truth; how these sounds that place them on edge, instead soothed others. After all, this was home for many. But, for Simeon – rather, the one beneath the mask, it was not. And it never would be.

-- EXCERPT FROM THREAD (discontinued as person is inactive in verse)

One of the first instances of Sophie’s PTSD affecting her and being active in a thread would be her firstt, but short-lived, interaction with Tatyana. The avoidance nature and immediate removal from the situation happens in this case when Tatyana revs up the engine on her motorcycle, shouting from a stranger from the apartments joins in, and the heavy and direct smell and vision of smog. 

Here’s the break down: 

Physiological numbness in the moment; mind is still active, but taking a backseat and removing herself from situation (recognizing self as powerless in moment):

The shouting began as Sophie turns her face away, feeling her skin crawl to a coldness. The words that left his mouth were no less understandable but the ferocity and indignation in his tone was far too recognizable. If she considered it, she could’ve spoken back and defused the situation. The gift of tongues came with the ability to grant passage for others who can’t be brought together by difference of languages.

Physiological response and addition of stimuli that directly relate back to the image of hometown [INTRUSION]: 

Sophie Hatter’s eyes are now but a distant gaze over towards the taller blonde, only wishing like she did when she was younger. To disappear, to toil and fade away, to crawl back to whence she came from. Roaring engines, the smell of smoke, it was sickening. It was inespacable in the floating island, but it smelled too much like what remained of home. Add onto the shouting and it was already enough to make her head ache.

(Unknowingly) reenacting particular body language used during trauma; feeling of helplessness in situation that is out of her control: 

Some of her body was already numbing at the fingertips and she was pulling the black collar of her turtleneck over her mouth and nose. It wouldn’t work to cushion and black the sounds, their volume growing louder and louder like the pain in her head.

Active avoidance, mind begins flight-or-fight situation with altered perceptive of reality: 

“I need somewhere quiet.” She feebly comments, glancing back to the apartment buildings, and believing that there were more people creeping by the windows. The silver-haired woman promptly steps aside. Now, she was ready to shuffle away and avoid the incoming shouts on the block if it continued.

She wasn’t a fan of the memories it brought.

Sudden and abrupt removal from situation, signal of struggling to keep body language together as she wants to avoid an episode: 

“Good luck,” she waves a hand, glancing back to the stranger, before balling her hands into  the pockets of her sweater. She began her quiet leave.

- - - 

More is to be written about Sophie in how she is greatly affected by this. Some drabbles have been scrapped and were planned to express how deep the trauma works. Though, it can be already seen in how Sophie views death, treats her body, a persistently negative view on certain parties and the outcome of life, etc. 

Drabbles that were scrapped but would be considered “canon” that relay back to Sophie’s trauma would include:

As Simeon at Lunazul, she ends up getting to a brawl with someone after the table next to hers is repeatedly mentioning the conquests and graphic detail of what has happened to unnamed people (unnamed nationalistic person). Ends up intensely cold, getting up from her seat, and nearly beating the man unconscious with far too much wrath in her body; she rushes out of the bar and has a sobbing breakdown several blocks away.

A confrontation of “Red” that she remembers time and time again; a consistent night terror that follows her nd makes her unable to sleep some nights; actively ‘speaks’ to it while in sleep paralysis and it acknowledges her well. Scene usually ends up with “Red” above her, face reveals to be face heavily mutilated and gouged, screaming loudly and repeatedly at Sophie.

A shutdown in public when there are large amounts of traffic near her because a detour led her to the highway; leading her to hide somewhere and refusing to come out until “they drive away,” which makes her miss the day she’s meant to be working at Miya’s detective office. 

A short meeting with one of her neighbor’s children, a young 26-year-old working at a hospital in Central and professor at UCAT, still wearing their scrubs and the heavy smell of ammonia on them. The image itself leaves Sophie cutting conversation short and retreating to her apartment. 

- - -

Sophie Hatter is a 20-year-old facing the aftermath of exile from her own country and self and the trauma coming with displacement and surviving the horrors of the world. She is by no means a hopeless case or a lost cause. 

But, she is someone who is going to go through development as someone who struggles constantly: as someone who is unsure of what to do with her life, as much as she wants to live normally, her stability and infrastructure has been destroyed her very eyes. She attempts to reconstruct herself but fails to realize how that’d harm her because she is actively avoiding what has happened to her and denies herself that all of this happened. 

She believes she can “make up” for something she calls an inadequacy and blames herself for. She “makes up” for it by being a community figure in a place that she would never feel right in or safe in; she "makes up” for it by being a reputable person who would never turn down anyone and offers help whenever she can; she “makes up” by continuously lying to herself and hurting herself. 

Part of her screams, another part weeps; one part wants to take vengeance, tear apart everything, and the other wants to curl up and lose herself to the numbness. But, she persists in her hurt with a solution that even worsens these parts that want comfort and healing. 

It is a difficult reality she must navigate, which is difficult because she is alone.

No matter how anyone looks at it, the path of exile is a lonesome one when you do not recognize there are someone else’s footprints on the dirt road. Her feet are long tired, dirtied, and bloodied by how far she dragged herself across this time to figure herself out.... But, with each passing day, it seems she’s getting further and further out from anyone’s reach, and before she knows it, she’ll be going down a path of destruction that’d engulf those around her in ash, fire, and death. 

[ardenttheories]

I found this post in my drafts, and I decided to finish it up. It’s fairly old, based on some old posts I saw, but I still think it’s important - on the off chance that this is still something that’s going around, and because I’m still a little bitter about it. 

There is something inherently wrong about the idea that Hope is an Aspect of sexuality (as in “being sexual”, not of figuring out who you’re sexually attracted to) and sensuality. About the concept that all Hope Players are heavily inbued with this concept of sex, sex appeal, and sexual awakening, because some of the interactions we’ve seen with Hope Players were centred around these things. 

If we were to focus on that as a defining factor of Hope, then we'd have to say Time is heavily influenced by Relationships (Dave is the first character in Homestuck to say he loves anyone; Aradia is the only Beta troll in a redrom relationship prior to the game; Damara has been in several ongoing relationships during her introduction, and is actively persuing someone as her main character motivation).

This has no baring on their Classpect. These events, while interesting, are not any part of their abilities as Time players - especially not in the same way that Heart is intrinsically connected with relationships.

Another issue is that Hope's connections to sexuality... are hardly positive. Cronus frequently attempts to insert himself forcefully into people's quadrants. Eridan is hardly connected to sexuality at all; his main focus is the romance of redrom, not the bucket filling. Jake faces frequent unwanted sexual attention/advances, and has a very ambiguous sexual (and romantic) stance - which is only worsened in the Epilogues and Homestuck^2, now knowing that he is likely a victim of sexual abuse/assault.

To say that a crude or sexually open nature means a character must be a Hope player is also flawed; Porrim, a Space player, is one of the most open of all characters, followed quickly by Damara. Even Caliborn has a note of sexuality - in his weird kink art he requests from Dirk - but that does not make him a Hope player, either.

All of these situations can be easily explained away, also. For instance, Caliborn’s oddly sexual components are to show his immaturity; that he’s putting someone else in an uncomfortable position because he thinks it’s his right, that he’s pointing out these sexual things about other people (usually woman, and most often Jane) to try and knock them down. Damara and Porrim are just slightly older women who have had time to figure out who they are, and have made the decision that their presentations are what make them comfortable. They can be sensual and sexual because... that’s just what they decided they liked. It doesn’t go much deeper than that. 

There is no reason to include sexuality as a specifically Hope thing - especially since it completey deprives other Aspected players of this trait. So, we just assume that Hope players are nymphomaniacs or Sex Icons? And that all other players are boring, straight, and uninterested?

It doesn't have an accurate dichotomy. We can’t completely erase the potential for other Players to be associated with these things. 

To suggest that sexuality or sensuality has a baring on the Hope aspect also makes it a very uncomfortable one to be classpected as. Imagine knowing that your aspect is the Sex Aspect. That forces an unwanted mentality on everything you do, particularly when combined with the knowledge that most of the Hope Players we see are victims of or enact unwanted sexual advances. It just isn't healthy.

I could compare this to Heart as the Romance Aspect, but at least some of that is about other people. It’s about understanding who you are, who they are, and figuring out who best complements them. If you, specifically, aren’t invested in Relationships, at least Heart isn’t seen as “the Aspect where people fling themselves into relationships and mack on people a lot”. If anything, it’s... the complete opposite. We know a lot of Heart Players suck at their own Romance, and that they just tend to have a very good grasp on what people want.

It’s also not quite comparable, since it’s not the concept of Heart being the only Aspect that has Romance at its core - that to be in a Relationship, to be a Romantically available person, is a wholly Heart thing. Nobody could look at Heart and say “these are the only Players we could ever associate with Romance, Romantic attraction, and Romantic promiscuity”. As Classpectors, we actively shy away from this definition, because it just isn’t viable. It would mean every other Aspect is inacapble of Love, would completely deny that possibility to anyone else. 

It would mean we’d have to Classpect anyone with any inkling towards Romance and Romantic Endeavours as Heart - and wouldn’t that just completely ruin our understanding of Karkat, a Blood Player, who is so fervently in the know of Quadrants? Or of Jade, a Space Player, who has opened up about who she is and what she likes, and is persuing multiple quick relationships in the Epilogues, and who questionably has the most trolls interested in her throughout Homestuck?  

I think, furthermore, that it ignores a very important fact of Homestuck. Literally every Player, as we first see them, is a minor. They start at 13, and we see them on their journey to adulthood, with the session ending when they are 18. 

Of course the Players are going to have some focus on sex? It’s the same reason why there’s such a focus on relationships. They’re kids figuring out who they are and what they like. They’re going through puberty. Nobody turns 18 and then suddenly decides what they like and what they don’t like. It’s an ongoing process, a growth, that everyone goes through. It’s something that not a lot of us even have defined by the time we are 18. 

The way people look at Jake’s body - the focus on his butt, for instance - isn’t an indication that Jake, as a Hope Player, is inherently associated with sexuality and sensuality. It’s just evidence that a bunch of 16 year olds pumped full of hormones saw the best goddamn but they’ve ever seen. It’s an ongoing joke of “people who seem dumb but are actually hot as hell”. 

I think, too, there’s this issue with... what are you supposed to learn from it? Why is being sexual or sensual important to a person’s growth - in the same way that having Freedom or having Bonds, or having Desires and Restrictions is? How are you going to be an inherently better person through sexuality and sensuality? How are these things going to make you the best you? And why is this associated with Hope - how do these things intertwine with your Belief, your go-getter personality, your Positivity?

To associate sexuality and sensuality solely with Hope does not work. Even with evidence in the comic, and in the Homestuck extended universe, it brings up too many complications with other Players, with canonical events, and ignores too much about the general race to adulthood that Homestuck’s actually about. There’s too negative a mentality about it, and when we place that on real people, people who are trying to figure out their Aspects, it can get so unhealthy so quickly.

As I said before, I don’t know if this is something we still see in the Classpect community - it’s been a while since I’ve seen posts about this, thank god - but just in case, it’s probably good to say. 

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Dragon Dancer III: Dragon God

Chisei stood in front of the awe-inspiring wreckage of the motorcycles. The headless body of the man had already been removed. It was the final victim of the three students from Cassell in their desperate bid to escape capture.

As soon as he woke up, he demanded to know their whereabouts. He found out that Tachibana had ordered Kaguya to close off the entire Internet of Japan from Cassell College. There had been no communication between the Japan Branch and the Main Cassell headquarters. While he slept, a war had begun.

If there was a silver lining to this mushroom cloud, it was the fact that Kaguya was able to confirm the location of Meixiu and the others. “Chizuru, in Mambo Internet Cafe.”

Crow consulted his map. “About a 20 minute drive.” He’d said.

“Kaguya, the situation regarding the Cassell team should be placed in the highest classifications. Only I will have access to it. Understood?”

“Classification placed!”

Master List

There was a war between a gang called the Red Gears and the Devil Clan going on in Chizuru.   As they drove, the situation worsened. Meixiu’s team were cornered at the Cafe, there was a power outage. Evidently, the Devil Clan withdrew from that area and it was being over run.

No one objected to helping them, save Sakura. She insisted she let the Cassell team deal with the Red Gears. But this motorcycle gang was one of the most violent in the area. And last time he remembered Meixiu in a violent situation, she was cowering behind a tree instead of fighting.

Oh, how things had changed. Not only had she and her friends created one of the highest body counts out of recent Cassell memory, judging from the strange nature of their wounds, she’d used her dragon gift on ordinary people. He would have never thought she would be capable of something so horrific.

Sakura walked up to him, eyeing him warily. “The Red Gear command to attack did not come from their headquarters. Examining their boss's mobile phone. It's seems like there's someone manipulating them behind the scenes. The assassin who attempted to kill the Cassell trio is also not from Red Gears. I suspect the Devil Clan put him up to it.”

Chisei didn’t look at her. “Have you located the Cassell team?”

“They can't have gotten far. We've sent out a search party. However, now  they're unlikely to return to a well-behaved disposition.“

“Hey BOSS!” Yasha’s annoying voice irritated him now even more. “Gotta call from Miyamoto!”

Shio Miyamoto was one of the top Hydra scientists, energetic, intense and immensely curious, there was no mystery he didn’t pursue to a logical conclusion. “I received your undersea photos of the suspected location of Takamagahara, specifically, the Lenin ship.”

“I did some digging... and it was a lot of digging. Turns out there’s not a lot of inform...”

Chisei interrupted. “Cut to the chase please. Just tell me your results.”

“Ah... yes high patriarch. What matters here isn’t the embryo itself, but the embryo’s blood! According to my sources -- legends -- the blood of a fetus is capable if resurrecting the dead. I believe its a reference to stem cells.”

“In the Nibelungenlied, a hero named Siegfried is said to have bathed in the blood of a dragon and thus become invisible, likely referenced to a high ranked hybrid.”

Chisei sighed. “Is this your version of cutting to the chase?!”

“My point is the embryo was being used to wake up the dragon gods in the Takamagahara!”

Chisei massaged his forehead. “Are you sure?”

“Everyone knows that dragons don’t truly die. The dragon gods in the trench are merely incomplete and require high purity blood to fully complete their reawakening.”

“However, something happened. It didn’t wake up immediately after the ship sunk. The real trigger was something else entirely. The embryo just loaded the gun.”

Chisei’s heart sunk. He had a feeling he knew what the trigger was... or better said, who the trigger was. His eyes narrowed. 

Carli.

“But why?” He turned to the ruined motorcycles.

“Tachibana has always suspected the Devil Clan to be involved in a scheme like this. Their goal is to ascend to be pureblood members of the Dragon Clan. To be pureblood dragons!”

“And the only way to do that is to have access to pure dragon blood of the highest quality. That of a god, a first generation. It’s likely that the Devil Clan sunk that ship with the embryo inside.”

Chisei stared at his phone. He was still thinking about how many body bags the police were carting out of the Mambo internet Cafe. It reminded him of the marks he had to destroy as a member of the execution bureau of Hydra, tasked with eliminating berserker Devils because of how they killed indiscriminately.

“Sir?”

Carli openly admitted to knowing Ruri Kazama... and what was worse...

“Sir? Are you there?”

His grip on the phone tightened.

“Where is it? Where’s the dragon god?” He hissed. Whether she knew, or was being used as a pawn, it didn’t matter. She was effective. She’d completed her true mission.

“We’re... not sure. It’s clear that the seabed was completely emptied out by our readings. If I were a recently awakened god I would return home. So it can’t be far from Japan.”

“Do we know if the Devil Clan has access to it?”

“That we don’t know.”

“We need to find out. Thank you, Shio Miyamoto.”

“It is my pleasure to serve you, High Patriarch!”

Chisei hung up. “Sakura!” He barked.

“Hai!” She appeared next to him. 

“Send a message from me to all the Clans of Hydra. I just spoke with Shio Miyamoto. The Devil Clan is responsible for the Dragon God’s awakening in Takamagahara. I declare open war on them! We need to find the God and we need to kill it!”

Caught off guard by this turn of events as well as his sudden fury, Sakura asked. “What about the Cassell trio?”

“I’ll handle that situation...” His eyes grew cold. “Personally.”

[trying-write-fanfics]

OverhaulXreader part 17

The next few days were dull. An article was printed called “Pay back: Hero gets a free meal” which seemed like something only Y/n’s boss would read, and they did. The days were dull, but not the anxiety. Customers would want to talk to Y/n more, every shift in their arms were torture to her. She couldn’t tell if they were about to attack or just scratch their head. Someone from work would walk her to the subway to try and lessen the fear. She never felt safe. When she gets home she would lock every door and close the blinds. She knew she couldn’t keep living like this.

Another customer came in, the waiting staff was short staffed so she took his order. The man instantly frightened her with just his body. It resembled her attacker’s, same built, same huge arms.

“You were in the news recently weren’t ya? They kept you anonymous but said you worked here?” The man was stating.

Was she going to attack her? Was he his brother? Why does he care? Making sure he’s gonna kill the woman that ruined his brother’s life?

“It would be anonymous then wouldn’t.” She winked and joked.

“Ha- you’re funny. Can I have the fillet mignon?”

“Of course.”

She handed the chef the order. Her heart was racing and was on the brink of tears. Her mask was crumpling. How much longer till she does get killed?

“Y/n, you’re looking pale-“ her boss said.

“I need a minute, I’m going outside-“

“Why not the bathroom?”

“I don’t want a customer seeing me cry.” She said.

“Good point, you're the smart one!”

The back of the building was not the best place to cry, but she figured it would motivate herself to stop crying, to stop being afraid, to stop this. It was cold, the snow was on the ground.

“Fuck!” She hit the brick wall. “Ow! Fuck!”

What the hell was Kai thinking, moving in together…that’s a big step in a nice direction, but she wasn’t ready for yet. They’re both virgins for crying out loud, why move in just yet! He’s sweet, he’s really sweet, but it’s just too stupid to move in together. The thought was in the right place, he just wants her to be safe and protected. She just wishes he would get the cue to hug her when she cries. It’s a lot more simpler than moving in together, but a hug wouldn’t solve the whole attackers on the street issue. She’s lonely, or maybe she’s looking for specific comfort. She cradled her hand and let the tears fall. A warmth met her shoulders. She turned around to see Kai putting his jacket on her shoulders. Though it was sweet she couldn’t help but flinch.

“Oh my god!” She cursed under her breath.

“Sorry. Your staff told me you were here having a moment. I thought this would be the best time to check on you.” He told her.

“I’m still a mess, so you haven’t missed anything”. She sighed, holding the jacket.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“It’s not your fault any of that happened. I still want you in my life still. I just suck right now. I don’t want to burden you with this stuff right now.” She explained. “I just hate being scared all the time.”

There was a short silence between the two, but in that time Y/n regretted every word and wish she just told him she was fine.

“...you’re not a burden.” He told her.

She let out a breath and smiled. This comforting thing wasn’t Kai’s strong suit, but he is a strong guy.

“I’m glad you think so.” She told him.

“Does it still hurt?”

“It hurts to swallow. I’m not fainting, which is a good sign.” She told him. “When I woke up in the hospital, I was really mad. I woke up without any familiar faces...but it’s my fault, I haven’t set up any emergency contact stuff up since I’ve been here. My parents were until...that fight. But I can’t use you Kai.”

“Why not?”

“When I was interviewed your name came up. I pretended not to know who you are just to keep you safe.” Y/n explained. “What did you do?”

“I’m not convicted of anything right.”

“What are you doing.”

“Y/n-“

“Someone choked me because they knew I’m connected to you. He called me your whore Kai, can’t you tell me what you’re doing.”

Kai sighed.

“I’ve been selling experimental drugs, I’m guessing that man got a bad one.”

“How did they know it was you, did you give out your actual name? Are you a drug dealer now, you know Pops-“

“I know. I know, Y/n. I’m trying to work on bigger picture stuff. He doesn’t know, so don’t tell him.” Kai explained.

This was not helping his case. Sure it wasn’t his fault she got attacked, but he provided a motive, and now that motive is clear. Kai’s giving out drug addictions or ruining people with, she didn’t know what the experimental drugs meant. Were they new, or defective? It didn’t matter Kai was worsening the opioid addiction.

“Maybe I am still mad at you.” She said.

“Y/n, you know I’ve never intended for you to get hurt.”

“You’re hurting people Kai, vulnerable people.”

“But don’t you see the bigger-“

Surprising him, she hugged him. She did miss him after all, mad yeah, she is mad, but she didn’t understand the way of the yakuza. He could explain it to her all he wanted, but this was his own doing.

“Thank you for checking up on me.” She said tabling the discussion.

“Y/n…”

“It’s cold, and I’ve cried enough.” She told him.

“Okay.” He hugged her back, not knowing what to say.

He knew she was mad, didn’t approve of what he was doing, but her action to show him love was the most confusing part.

“Go home, relax, we can do something this weekend.” She told him.

“You don’t want to leave, take the rest of the day off?”

“No, I gotta work.” She rubbed his arm. “Get some sleep, I know you don’t”.

Y/n called her mother later that night. They didn’t get deep, her mother asked if Y/n was alright. She told her mom she was fine because that was the right answer. Though the contents of the conversation didn’t mean much, it was a mile stone. The call made her heart beat a little better. The best person to call was Kai. It was late, but she knew he’d pick up.

“Hey…” she said when he heard her pick up.

“You should be in bed.”

“Are you working?”

“...yeah...do you need something?”

“I just wanted to hear your voice, is it dire there?”

“No, I can spare some time for you.”

“I called my mom, I think we made progress.” She told him. “I know I haven’t told you everything, but this was big for me and I wanted you to be the first to know.”

“Yeah? Who called first?”

“I did. You know she’s stubborn.” She told him. “Do you and Pops ever get into fights?”

“We’re not seeing eye to eye right now to be quite honest.”

“Is it about the drugs?”

“Yes it’s about the drugs.”

“Just being clear.” She said, “You think we’ll still know each other in ten years?”

“Yeah, I figured we will.” He told her.

“Really? You think we’ll both be alive?”

“You’ve survived every day so far.” He told her. “I don’t see why we won’t live ten more years worth.”

“You wanna know something, just in case I don’t get those ten years worth of days?” She asked. “When I was in school I sometimes felt really lonely despite having friends here and there. I was waiting for the day to come back and just hang with you again. I’m happy you let me do that. You’re letting a school girl Y/n love her dreams.”

“I’m glad I can do that for you.” He told her. “Did you ever learn shogi while you were there?”

“No, I guess you’ll have to teach me.” She told him. “Thank you for always sticking around, it all seems like rotten work.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I’ve got such medicore drama, and then it’s something awful like getting choked by a stranger.”

“You stick around for my drug dealing.”

“I hate it and think you shouldn’t do it, but I know I won’t be able to stop you.”

“You’re not even going to try?”

“We got our separate lives Kai, I wanna be part of your life, I’m sure you’ll make sure I don’t get attacked again.”

“I’ll try my best. You deserve that at least. I heard you were saved by a guy named Fat Gum.”

“Yeah, the man is big. I think he’s forty kilometers tall.” She told him. “He’s nice enough, I gave him a free meal.”

“You know you don’t have to pay him.”

“He was the only one in the hospital room when I woke up.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there-“

“Don’t, the world is already suspicious of you.” She told him.

“Do you wish I was less busy?”

“No, I know you have a dream.”

“Do you wish I had a different dream?”

“No, you wouldn’t be the Kai that I know then. I know this drug thing won’t be forever, you’re just reaching for ground right now.”

“You think so?”

“Yeah. I’m going to let you go, you may not sleep, but I like to try.”

“Good night, angel.”

“Oh...my...good night Kai.” She was flustered still at the new nickname.

[sadlyafanofotomegames]

A Road Paved with Bad Endings - Nameless ~The One Thing You Must Recall~

Lance - Bought New, Popular and Mass-Produced

Lance is a straight-laced silver-haired young man, who likes to keep everything neat and tidy and hates messes.  He can act very cold, and can act harsh even toward Eri, but he is protective of her, and does not put up with other dolls bothering her, especially Red and Yuri.  Anytime Yuri tries to flirt with Eri in a way that upsets her, Lance has a slipper in hand ready to strike.  In his route its clear that even though he acts cold he, like all of her dolls, cares for Eri.  It’s just that as a doll, who’s personality was meant to be malleable for their owner to shape, Lance feels he doesn’t have enough of an identity to be interesting. 

Lance was Eri’s First Doll, and he’s expected to be your first route.  His route and the ending involved foreshadow story beats later, but its mainly a way to dip your toes into what routes will be like and how even the most composed doll gots some issuuuuuuuues.

I will say that when Eri and Lance get together in the end I am...the least concerned about their relationship.  It does get a little cliche and then it gets more intimate than I expected, but overall its a good start.  Now lets ruin it with bad endings.

Bad Ending 1 - Broken Heart - TFW You Can’t Imagine Being Anything More Than A Dull Blank Slate Destined to be Thrown Away So You Just Stop Having a Soul

How to Get It

This one happens about halfway through Lance’s route.  One rainy day Lance stayed outside after seeing a barbie doll in the trash, reminding him of the fact that he’s mass produced like the barbie doll, and like it he might be thrown away when Eri gets bored of him.  Because he stayed out in the rain he got sick, so Eri worried over him sitting next to his bed.  After falling asleep she wakes up to find him patting her hair, asking her to Stay Still.

So what do you do?  You Stand Up and Look At Him.  Sounds like a pretty innocent decision to make right?  Weeeeeeeeell...

What Happens

So Lance is on the verge of an existential crisis.  Its not so much that she was wrong somehow, but its easy to forget how bad a state he’s still in.  Eri looking him in the eyes when he wasn’t ready triggered a full on panic attack.  At one point Lance grabs Eri’s hand and presses it to his chest, asking her to remove his soul.  If he’s destined to be empty and thrown away, why should he have emotions to comprehend that emptiness?

After Eri screams, Tei runs into the room and pushes him away from her (I’ll get to get him later.)  Quickly the other dolls assure Eri they’ll watch over him and asks her to stay in her room.

The next morning...Lance stopped moving.  He doesn’t breath.  His body no longer felt human.  It was like his human body turned into a doll’s.  Tei assures Eri they’ll do whatever it takes to turn him back, but Eri is heartbroken.  She’ll never get to hear Lance again.

Meanwhile a mysterious voice comments that Lance lost his feather.  Game failed.  The voice asks to turn back time, but the man he’s talking to says that requires memories.  The voice suggests...why not that person looking at us from across the screen?  The man laughs.  They can’t touch them, but who knows, maybe the person across the screen will be a future client?  Anyway should they continue the game?  End.

How I Feel About This One

Listen I said this one was tame compared to the other endings.  I didn’t say it wouldn’t be horrifying.  

While I think the single seemingly innocuous choice leading to this end is jarring, the ending itself fits perfectly with both Lance and Eri’s fears.

Throughout this route in particular, Eri is absolutely terrified that the happiness she gained when the dolls turned to life will end, that eventually they’ll all turn back to dolls and she’ll once again have to get used to living alone with only memories.  Lance is scared of this as well, but mainly he’s scared of Eri leaving him behind for the other colorful dolls, who with the ability to communicate with her now can show their unique personalities.

Lance turns back into a doll in the end because he couldn’t imagine being anything more.  He gave up trying to be more than what he was made to be: plastic.  And Eri’s worst nightmare came true.  It’s a haunting, fitting bad end for Lance’s route.

Now the person our mystery buddies were talking about might be us in the meta sense, but at least in the localization they referred to them in he/him pronouns, making me think that they’re referring to someone specific.  Who it is, we might never know.

Bad Ending 2 - Accident - TFW You Really Wanted The Heroine To Bang A Doll But She’s Not Showing Enough Interest In It So You Just Have A Truck Run Over Her

How To Get It

This is the only route where you have to continuously make the wrong choice, from the beginning right until the last choice.

In most routes, choosing the wrong choice doesn’t automatically get you into bad route mode.  Rather, if you pick the wrong choice, you’ll miss things from cute moments between Eri and her Doll of the Week, to CGs.  It might also remove a chance to pick another choice later down the line.  So even when you’re not going for a bad end it’s a good idea to Q.Save and try out both choices and let it play out for a little while.  

This one, however, requires you to constantly show disinterest in Lance’s opinion, avoid interactions with him, and basically not listen to Lance’s worries and concerns.  The only choice that you have to do right is to Stay Still during the emotional scene after the rain.

What Happens

Basically while a lot of emotional beats still remain intact, Lance can’t initiate that penultimate moment where everything clicks together.  Because Eri acts uninterested and dismissive of his opinion, Lance doesn’t want to initiate anything.  It’s not like he suddenly hates her, its just he’s not going to try...what he did in the good route...in this timeline.

Which is awkward, because our mysterious voice really needs Eri to get cozy with Lance, but it looks like that’s not gonna happen.  Hmmm...what to do...

...Oh well lets just have a truck run over her.  Eri is sleepwalked right into the line of traffic and dies.  Rude.

How I Feel About This One

While Lance fearing his presence can’t sway anything comes to fruition, I think this ending could happen in Yuri and Yeonho’s route just as well...give and take.  The way their routes shake up shifts drastically after finishing the common route, and their bad endings are in drastically different places in the story.

Honestly I feel like they just couldn’t think up other bad endings for Lance, because his issues are not as harmful to him and to Eri as the other dolls.  But the other routes have 3 to 5 endings so they need to do something so...guess she’ll die?

Anyway I suppose this one is different in that its the only one where she dies.  The things that happen to her and her Doll Band later...woof.  Maybe her dying is one of the better scenarios.  Stay tuned for Yeonho’s Bad Endings, who’s mental state actually worsens in his own route because Eri gives him more attention and thus encourages his behavior.  YAAAAAAAAY.

[xtcpanda]

Seriously, is playing Video Games as BAD as mom says?

If you grew up playing video games like I did … you’ve probably heard lots of conflicting information about games from your parents and people. Some say too much gaming will ruin your vision or rot your brain … While others claim it improves your hand-eye coordination, response time and can even make you smarter so what exactly does gaming do to our brain and body?

When I was a kid, I was obsessed with video games.

  I would stay awake for more than 48h till I wake up with keyboard marks on my face, red eyes and my body is so tired to even get up and drink some water... trust me I am not exaggerating. After all that I would go to sleep only to dream about the perfect headshot with that “AWM”.

  But there were physical effects, too. My thumbs turned into machines, quick and precise. During especially difficult levels of play, my palms would sweat. My heart would race. I’d have knots in my stomach from anxiety. It was the same feeling I’d sometimes get from watching scary movies or suspenseful TV shows.

These days the gaming industry is booming and becoming more like sports with fans, medals and everything! and thanks to smartphones and free games like fortnight and League of Legends … Gamers are increasing more than ever before. So, given that we can play virtually anywhere at any time How is all this gaming changing us physically?

Scientists are discovering that playing video games can change the way we act, think, and feel. Whether these changes are good or bad has become a subject of intense debate.

  Action games like counter-strike, overwatch and PUBG are some of the most popular with gamers these days and probably you’ve heard once or twice your grandmother says “these games will make you more violent from all the blood you see!”

Whenever a wave of teenage violence strikes, movies, TV, or video games often take the heat. Some adults assume that movies, TV, and video games are a bad influence on kids, and they blame these media for causing various problems.

  But media don’t necessarily cause violence, says James Gee. Gee is an education professor at the University of Wisconsin, Madison.

“You get a group of teenage boys who shoot up a school—of course they’ve played video games,” Gee says. “Everyone does. It’s like blaming food because we have obese people.”

  Video games are innocent of most of the charges against them, Gee says…

  Well, based on 15 years’ worth of study researchers have found that action games biggest positive effects were on perception: how our senses interpret external stimuli like sights and sounds, spatial cognition: which helps you orient yourself in navigating 3d environments and top-down attention: the ability to focus on one object while ignoring distractions.

  A good video game is challenging, entertaining, and complicated. It usually takes 50 to 60 hours of intense concentration to finish one. Even kids who can’t sit still in school can spend hours trying to solve a video or computer game.

“Kids diagnosed with ADHD because they can’t pay attention will play games for 9 straight hours on the computer”, Gee says. “The game focuses attention in a way that school doesn’t.”

The captivating power of video games might lie in their interactive nature. Players don’t just sit and watch. They get to participate in the action and solve problems. Some games even allow players to make changes in the game, allowing new possibilities.

  Different games have different impacts on the brain and that has to do with what you’re asked to do … just like food it doesn’t have the same vitamins after all, does it?

   “Failure is key to success”.

Ask anyone who has ever had any success in anything if they have ever failed. You will get a big clear “Yes!” because everyone has failed at something. Most people probably know about Thomas Edison and his spectacular failure rate but here are a few other examples:

J.K. Rowling -known for writing the Harry Potter fantasy series- was rejected by 12 publishers

Einstein didn’t speak until he was 4 and didn’t read until he was 7

Van Gogh only sold 1 painting in his lifetime

Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team.

In games you get 1000 lives and more! We don’t stop playing till the game says “Game Over” but then we click on “New Game” or new try.

  “Gaming could be good for pain relief”.

a 2012 literature review published in the American Journal of Preventive Medicine found that in the 38 studies examined, video games improved the health outcomes of 195 patients on every front, including psychological and physical therapy.

Plus, in 2010, scientists presented research at the American Pain Society's conference, which found evidence that playing video games, especially virtual reality games, are effective at reducing anxiety or pain caused by chronic illness or medical procedures.

"The focus is drawn to the game not the pain or the medical procedure, while the virtual reality experience engages visual and other senses," said Jeffrey Gold from the University of Southern California.

  “Better Decision Making”.

Shawn Green from the University of Rochester wanted to see how games affect our ability to make decisions.

The study had a group of young adults with no gaming experience play an action game for 50 hours.

A second group of the same age played a slow-paced strategy game instead.

  After the study, Green had nothing but good things to say:

“Action video games are fast-paced, and there are peripheral images and events popping up, and disappearing. These video games are teaching people to become better at taking sensory data in, and translating it into correct decisions.”

A colleague of his even went on to say that shooters can change the brain by dramatically enhancing many of our low-level perceptual functions. Definitely good news for all the Halo and Call of Duty fans out there.

  “Games Can Help (Not Hurt!) Your Eyesight”.

Who grew up without ever hearing their parents say “you’re going to go blind watching that screen all day”.

  For a while, it did seem like they had a point since we tend to blink much less frequently while playing a game.

This can cause serious problems like eyestrain and dry eye syndrome.

  Another team of researchers from the University of Rochester sought to prove if games really worsen our vision.

The 2009 study involved having a group of experienced first-person shooter gamers plays Call of Duty and Unreal Tournament 2004 while more casual gamers played slow games like The Sims 2.

  After testing, those who played the first-person shooters showed signs of having a better vision than the others.

Daphne Bavelier, the leader of the study, discovered that playing action games improves an ability called contrast sensitivity function.

This ability helps us discern between changes in shades of gray against a colored backdrop, which is very beneficial while driving at night.

“Video Games May Help Treat Depression”.

A few years back researchers in New Zealand sought to find out if video games can be used to treat mental disorders like depression.

This was done with SPARX, a game specifically designed to provide therapy to teenagers in a way that’s more active and enjoyable than regular counseling.

Over 168 teens with an average age of 15 participated, with all of them having shown previous signs of depression.

  While half of the group received traditional counseling, the other group got to play SPARX.

The game involves creating avatars to rid the virtual world of enemies representing gloomy, negative thoughts.

Every stage also introduced general facts about depression, including ways to relax and deal with negative emotions.

Here’s their conclusion after discovering that SPARX players did better at recovering from depression than the other group:

  “SPARX is a potential alternative to usual care for adolescents presenting with depressive symptoms in primary care settings and could be used to address some of the unmet demand for treatment.”

  “Games has a purpose, meaning and can actually help!”.

Darfur is Dying is a video game made in 2006 by Students at the University of Southern California that provides a window into the experience of the 2.5 million refugees in the Darfur region of Sudan. It is designed to raise awareness of the genocide taking place in Darfur and empower college students to help stop the crisis. The game was developed in cooperation with humanitarian aid workers with extensive experience in Darfur.

First, you choose a Darfurian character to represent your camp. Next, you are instructed to go out and get water, which is the goal of the game. You are warned about the implications of some of the game's rules,

In the game, the user chooses a Darfurian character out of 7: a guy at the age of 30, a 26 years old woman, 5 kids from 10 to 14 years old from both genders to find some water... but watch out hide yourself from the Janjaweed militia! Upon success or failure, they learn that their chances of succeeding were predetermined by their gender and age if they are still young the militia takes them, if they are adults they get killed or raped. The navigation system in the game enables the player to learn about the situation in Darfur, get involved with stopping the crisis.

  As we saw no one plays a game and doesn’t gain something ... either you get a positive impact or a null impact. We haven’t seen any area that has been damaged where there is worse performance.

  Playing video games can be very high speed, can create a lot of chaos, create a lot of multiple environments where you have to make decisions, and all of these are forming skills in brain so … No, I think games really help improve our cognition and awareness training our brains making us better Human beings.

But of course, too much of anything is going to be bad after all.

You will get more learning gained from smaller sessions spread out over time than one BIG block.

  When it comes to my own experience, I’ve played games for more than 13 years never suffered any gaming related injuries. While may I never know if gaming helped my brain, I do know it didn’t destroy it … so take that mom!

  —   Moaaz Akram

[aviationfiction]

XXXI

Autumn Dupont

“Okay, thank you so much. I’m so pleased that our services were suited to your taste. It’s a pleasure to have you and we’ll see you soon.” Like a young child, who found a brand new shiny toy, I carelessly twisted, turned, and halfway glided to and from Isaac’s desk in his ridiculously comfortable ergonomic leather executive chair. It’s high back and soft head rest had been my source of comfort more than half of the day as he busily moved in and out of meetings throughout the morning. He summoned me from my position at the service desk with a polite plea for help that I hadn’t been expecting and yet couldn’t turn down. The rare occurrence of him properly and humbly asking me for something took me for a loop; hell, Rachel too. His mood change may possibly be attributed to he and Lauren’s budding embryo or maybe he’s finally respecting the work ethic that I’ve brought forth since he threw me a bone by giving me this job. Either way, I have no complains because I’ve become exhausted with the back and forth tension between he and I. Despite our lack of proper conversations to get to the root of his issues with me, I don’t see why he and I shouldn’t find a way to bring about peace within our relationship as siblings. I’ve already lost one brother and though Isaac may not realize it, he is and has always been dear to my heart. No matter what, I’ll have his back and if necessary, will go to war for him. We’ve always been taught to protect one another in this world and that’s a rule that I haven’t and will never give up on.

“Get out.” The bass in Isaac’s tone startled me as I placed the receiver to his desk phone back on it’s base. Okay maybe I’m jumping the gun about the shift in his personality.

“I just finalized an account. I did all seven and I reorganized the files in that cabinet over there. No offense, but whoever organized them before did a shitty job. Oh, and stop being rude.” I never thought I’d be able to have an actual conversation with a billionaire, but today I spoke with two. Usually, it’s a personal assistant or a chosen representative who calls in to request whatever services they prefer, so it was quite a shock for me to have Amancio Ortega himself speaking with me about servicing for his forty five million dollar Bombardier designed jet. Hell, it was quite a shock that the company is even on his radar, but he proved me wrong with his unpresuming compliments about Isaac’s charm and ambition. They happened to have met at a business conference and have been cordial with one another ever since. While it took every bit of might I had not to burst into a fangirl moment with my love for Zara, my brother could coolly mingle amongst the world’s wealthiest men and not break a single sweat. Impressive. They second one? Jami Gertz, wife of Antony Ressler. He’s the co-founder of a forty billion dollar private equity firm. Though she may not technically count because his assets aren’t hers, in my opinion, she does. She’s quite pleasant as well. She complimented the tone of my voice and called it soothing.

“I’m not being rude. Get out. Oh and I mean of the building by the way, not just my office.” His chuckle was light and he carelessly tossed a file on the desk that I’d just neatened up an hour ago. He will have made it a mess by the time he leaves here this evening. “Glen’s waiting for you outside.”

“For what? I’m supposed to get off at three today.” Glen and I had already spoken about it when he dropped me off to work this morning. If he is outside, he must have misheard what I said.

“You’re getting off now. Go head and go. You were getting ready to go on lunch anyway, right? Take lunch and keep going.” The sly expression on his face unnerved me as I lifted myself up and out of his chair. With my phone in my hand, I stepped around the desk and glared at him as he coolly took the position I was once in. I planned to be in here with my feet disrespectfully resting on his desk while I occupied the phone for the rest of the afternoon.

“What’s going on?” Because something has to be happening.

“I’m not sure why you wanted to become a doctor. You should have had goals to become a detective or a lawyer. All you do is ask questions. If I went out there and told anyone else what I just told you, they would have zipped out of here without giving me a chance to have a second thought and here you are questioning me about why I’m telling you to take the rest of the afternoon off. What a nerd.”

“Shut up. I’m going.” After retrieving my jacket from his office closet, I bid him a playful middle finger as a departing announcement and closed the door behind myself on my way out. My trek down the hallway wasn’t a long one.

“You’re off?” Rachel threw an arm around my neck to draw me in for a hug and I nodded in the midst of it. We were supposed to grab lunch and get off together. Isaac ruined our little lazy girl’s afternoon.

“Yeah. Boss man’s kicking me out.”

“Good. I still can’t believe you came in on the day before your birthday.”

“What else am I supposed to be doing? It’s the day before, not the day of.”

“Anything but being here. Go and prepare for it. Go get pampered. Shit, go to the spa or something. You work hard enough. Get out of here and enjoy yourself. I’ll call you in the morning and use my beautiful vocals to sing you an unforgettable birthday song. Okay?”

“Beautiful vocals? Oh, dear. You don’t really believe that, but I’ll be looking forward to it.”

“That is unless you’re having some incredible birthday morning sex. If so, don’t answer me. I won’t be mad at all.” The gasp that spilled past my lips was loud enough to draw laughter out of the both of us and I quickly nudged her with my elbow. I absolutely wouldn’t mind it. Actually, I’m hoping to be woken up just like that. I can barely contain the faint throbbing between my thighs at just the thought of it. I’m not sure if I should be ashamed of how much I anticipate being unclothed with my limbs tightly wrapped around every aspect of him. It worsens when I have alcohol in my system. It’s everything about his aura; it not only draws me in but it entices my body unlike any other. It’s the way he steadily peels my layers away, physically and mentally, and focuses on pleasuring me until I am on the cusp of life and death. It’s the way he fills me. My God.

“Cut it out. There won’t be any of that.” My modesty instantly came to my defense.

“Yeah, okay. The way he looks at you says it all.” Keeping my relationship out of the workplace has always been my intention ever since we began seeing one another. I’ve been around here and Meridian long enough to know how rumors swiftly spread and the truth is swept under the rug and hidden for the sake of keeping the conversations sensationalized. Whether it’s the side relationships with married men, the sugar daddy situations amongst the younger women, or the plotting on whichever wealthy male walks through the doors of both companies, I’ve heard it all. When I’m around, I can’t go a day without hearing whispers about my man or receiving sly questions about what he’s like so they can figure out exactly what type of pass to make at him. I’ve already told him he’s a hot commodity around this place and though he couldn’t care less, in some capacity I cannot help but to do so. There’s this part of me that doesn’t want yet another aspect of my love life being a source of entertainment for whoever is childishly concerned with it, and there is also this part of me that wants to set the record straight so that I no longer have to hear about women ready and willing to drop their panties for the man I’m in love with. It’s a tough position to be in. If it were up to him, we’d breeze through here hand in hand, confidently, with no worries about who knows.

“Call me the morning.” I retrieved my bag from the bottom drawer behind the desk and placed a peck on her cheek.

“Will do. Have fun today.”

Have fun? My feet moved as swiftly as my thoughts while I pondered on what I could possibly be having fun doing. As far as I know, I have no plans today. Tomorrow? Most likely a birthday lunch with my mother and dinner with Dante since he insisted. If it were up to me, we’d order takeout at his place and lay around with food bellies while watching chick flicks.

“Marvin?” Dante’s driver and his wide grin warmed me. Certainly the hundred roses being cradled in the nape of his arm helped.

“From the boss.” I didn’t hesitate to grab the beautiful display out of his grasp and give them a smell like any other admirer would have done. This is the third time this week I’ve gotten flowers from him and yet it still feels like the first time. Goosebumps, butterflies, chills, you name it.

“He sent me here with specific instructions for you. I placed the envelope in the backseat. We’re going to have a nice day together.”

“Oh really? Will the boss be joining me?” While helping me into the backseat of the blackened SUV, he shook his head with a smirk. “No?”

“He says that he’ll see you later on.” Once the flowers were carefully resting along side me, the envelop was my focus. The contents inside were his American Express Centurion Card, hundred dollar bills that I’d actually have to take my time counting, and a little note that said nothing more than he loved me. Any other woman would have been squealing in this backseat and bursting with excitement at the opportunity to spend money that isn’t theirs and yet I couldn’t mask the indifference and reluctance looming within my mind. I can admit that though I try my hardest to not compare my life with Andreas to the one I now share with Dante, I do have a tendency to worry about there being parallels that align. The days of swiping his credit card to cure the boredom were plentiful. The shopping also served as a temporary pain killer for the hole in my heart that he continued to worsen. Imagine standing in a closet full of clothes that mostly went unworn because you had nowhere to wear them to until your brother or best friend happened to come to town. How foolish would I have looked to waste couture pieces from Chanel and the fabulous intricacies of Dior in an arena watching the Miami Heat battle their latest opponent on the court? I’m not interested in being in that kept space once again because it comes with preconceived notions about my character and it puts me amongst an exclusive circle of women who are nothing more than the image behind the large shadow of their men. Though I adore Dante’s image, my everyday struggle is to create my own identity since I failed to do so during the time when it truly should have been happening. I don’t want any of this if it puts me back in that space again. I just want him and in no capacity does he have to come out of his pocket to give me that.

“You promised me.” He answered after two rings and didn’t even bother giving me a standard greeting. He didn’t start with an endearing one either. Instead, he chose to began with those three words because he already knew what my call would be about. He’s learned so much about my complexities that he tends to jump ahead of them these days.

“What?”

“You promised me.” He repeated himself and the sigh that followed was one of exhaustion. I couldn’t tell if I was the source behind it or if his early afternoon at work isn’t flowing as well as he’d like it to.

“You haven’t even let me tell you why I called. You haven’t even said hi.”

“You promised me before we left L.A. that I had the freedom to do whatever I pleased when planning your birthday celebrations and that you would not shut me down about it. Once again, I made you repeat that promise a week ago and you agreed with me. Remember?” How could I forget? I was half naked, not feeling so great, and his hands were soothing my body while I rested in his bed. A person would have agreed to anything during a massage like that. I wasn’t of sound, mind, or body. I was blissfully drunk off of him, per usual these days.

“Yes, I remember. I just…is this my gift? If this is my gift then, okay.”

“No. That’s not your gift.” Of course it isn’t. I asked a dumb question to lighten the mood and the exact opposite happened as silence followed his answer.

“Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you.” And I do. I’ve trusted him since I met him, though my fears often resisted it. It’s the manner in which he handled our growing bond and my fragile heart that made me do so. I learned that his intentions were pure very early on.

“And you do believe and feel that I love and am in love with you, right?”

“Yes, Dante.”

“Then why are you about to argue with me about this? I should be able to give you whatever I want, if you genuinely believe both of those things. It’s what I want to do for you. I never protest what you want to do for me.”

“Fine. Fine. I’m going to go then.” There’s nothing more than needs to be said and if I go any further in what may come off as a complaint, I’d officially be treading into a territory of insulting him though it wouldn’t be my intention. Although the wounds are still healing, I don’t want to be the person who gives but has an issue with receiving love anymore. That mentality held me captive for two years and if I’m ever going to experience the freedom and liberation with breaking the chains of the past, I have to allow some spontaneity and risks to be taken.

“I have a meeting that I’m walking to as we speak. I’ll see you later on, okay? Enjoy yourself. Get whatever you want.”

“Wait. Wait. Before you go, what’s my budget?” His snicker was loud but lacked anything snide. He was genuinely amused.

“Talk to you later baby.” I didn’t get a chance to say another word. A double beep filled my ear and my connection with him was no more. Embarrassment flushed through me as Marvin looked on through the rearview mirror as I picked up my jaw and flushed out the shock in him hanging up on me.

“The boss gave me instructions to specifically take you to Saks Fifth Avenue and then to Bergdof Goodman. From there, any other store is of your choosing. Okay?”

“Okay.” At this point, who am I to argue?

“One more thing from the boss.” Marvin reached over into the passenger seat and revealed a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts and passed it back to me. Of course, he didn’t forget to include the frozen Mocha that I enjoy so much. I couldn’t be less than impressed with the choices: two original glazed, one glazed sour cream, and one cinnamon twist. It’s exactly the way I order them whenever I feel like indulging on the oh so good treat that goes straight to my thighs. God, I love him.

“Thank you.”

“Of course.”

I wasted no time and immediately took a bite out of a doughnut. My eyes then panned towards to window to admire the scenery as we took the journey from Teterboro to New York City. Though I’ve been to a decent number of places in the world, I’ll never tire of the tri-state area. It’s vibrancy stimulates me and has yet to lose it’s hopefulness. I may be biased, there’s nothing like a new beginning here. I know that now more than ever. There was a time when I’d criticize the tourists who clogged the major areas of the city with their cameras and sightseeing or the newcomers who couldn’t figure out how to get from point A to B without asking a billion different questions and still getting lost in the process. Now? I get it. I understand why Shane marveled in the lights. With him, I understood why it was our playground and without him I understand why he introduced me to what would become a focal point of his world. It was his saving grace and now, it acts as mine.

“More champagne Autumn?” I’d only sipped the glass of Dom Pèrignon the eager woman placed in my hand upon my arrival and yet here she was offering to refill the glass.

Money talks. I’ve always known that, but it’s far more noticeable when you’re the centerpiece of it and there are hankering individuals catering to every step they most likely would have discriminated against had I not walked beyond the department store’s doors with the black card of one of the most prominent business men in New York City. Instead of following me around this store and pointing out items with prices tags containing four and five digits, they would have wondered why would I ever subject myself to stepping into such a store and ran my card more than twice to make sure I wasn’t committing one of those infamous credit card scams that have become the popular thing to do within the other boroughs. Instead, they were awaiting my arrival. A brunet by the name of April introduced herself as a consultant who works with Stacey in picking up pieces for Dante when he isn’t available. Her elation in catering to my every fashion need certainly ousted mine. Some would call her an enthusiast but her movements were like that of a vulture.

“No thanks. I’m okay.”

“What do you think of this?” Though the intricacies were quite interesting, I couldn’t connect with the fringe pealing out from the bodice and sleeves of the turquoise leather jacket. It’s color would have been ridiculously loud amongst the fall wear that is now filling the streets. I may be a risk taker and occasional rule breaker, but going that bright is a fashion felony.

“How much is that?” My curiosity arose.

“With tax? It’s about four thousand fifty dollars.” That number would have meant absolutely nothing to me had it been Andreas’ card in my wallet. In that situation, the cost of a “painkiller” had no limitations. She could have told me the price was a million dollars and I probably would have purchased it with the intent to spark an argument since we’d gotten to a point where arguments were the only time we’d speak to one another. Now? Lord knows I’m hesitant about blowing through any of this man’s money for trivial desires. I don’t have to force him to speak with me. I don’t need any painkillers. I’m assured in having him. I suppose that’s what should make this more comforting. Maybe that’s his point.

“I do like fringe, but not that particularly. It’s too loud.”

“There are quite a number of special order pieces that I have in the back for you. Mr. St. James’ assistant called about this a month ago so we were able to call up a couple of houses to get some pieces that we believed were birthday and everyday wear friendly. There’s a fringe number from Versace that’s to die for. It’s from this year’s Spring collection.” If it’s the golden metal mini dress and it’s glorious plunging neckline, I might be on board. I seen it months ago and loved it. Actually, I enjoyed the entire collection as I tend to do with most of what Donatella serves. Though she’s had more misses than her brother, she’s upheld the brand quite well over the years and I haven’t hesitated to splurge on pieces that have caught my eye. The jumpsuit I wore to Dante’s opening in L.A. is still one of my all time favorites.

“A month ago?”

“Yes. Stacey. I’m sure you know her. She stated that this was for the love of his life, so we needed to make sure you’re well taken care of.” Stacey served the dramatics while threatening these people. I’d expect no less from the woman who claims and honestly shows that she is the dominant side of Dante’s brain. Though she believes I’m beginning to edge her out in that department because I have a connection to him unlike anyone else, the credit is still due to her.

“Well, thank you. I appreciate it.”

“Oh no, thank you for coming in. You’re already stunning, so we’re just going to make sure we do everything within our power to further compliment that.”

Had Heather not blown me off with previous plans that she hadn’t realized she made around the time of my birthday, she would have been here with me and squealing at the sight of every piece I tried on like a proud mom. Instead, I’m left to make all of the choices by myself and it’s been quite of a challenge between both Saks and Bergdof Goodman. I’d already decided the Versace dress was a go for tomorrow night before I could even get it’s heaviness over my head. The sight of it alone left my eyes bulging out of my head and my skin trickling with chills. Everything else is simply pieces to fill up what may be more than half of my boyfriend’s closet once it’s all inside of his apartment. He’ll regret ever offering me the space soon enough. The clothing aside, my favorite part of my shopping activity for the afternoon was choosing the accessories. My enthusiasm heightened as I paired bangles with rings, necklaces with earrings, and sunglasses with bags and shoes. For over an hour, my feet were donned with Jimmy Choo, Giuseppe Zanotti, Christian Louboutin, Gianvitto Rossi, Miu Miu, Saint Laurent, and Sergio Rossi. Then there were the Balanciaga sneakers that I couldn’t pass on. Though I’d contemplated back and forth on it, wondering if I should feed into my fantasy, I couldn’t help myself. After trips back and forth to fill the trunk of the SUV with bags, I jogged back in the store for the famous blue smooth satin and crystal encrusted Manolo Blahnik stiletto pumps worn by Carrie Bradshaw during her court house wedding with John James Preston, better known as Mr. Big. I’d always said that my something blue would be my shoes whenever I got married and they were. With Andreas, I wore a decent pair from Jimmy Choo, but I’d like a do over. If God is on my side, I’ll have a do over and it’ll be with the one who fills my days with endless joy and has uplifted me since our first conversation.

“Marvin, can we go to Zara?” The higher end brands are great, but Zara has been and probably will always be my favorite place to shop for simplistic and interchangeable pieces. I like to mix things up and toy around with textures and patterns. Often times, I’ll have on a really affordable top and bottom, with expensive shoes and bags. Style is never about the price tag. Confidence is first and then there’s the skill in being able to take anything and make it look like it cost me a million bucks.

“We can go wherever you like Autumn.”

What do you want for dinner?

Before returning to his apartment, I figured I’d stop by a grocery store and pick up a couple of things to make dinner with tonight. His tone during our brief phone conversation had a bit of exhaustion mixed in with the frustration, so if I make something, he’ll be able to eat and get some much needed rest.

You don’t have to cook. I can grab dinner on the way in or you can. Whichever way is best for you.

While I’m thinking about his filling his stomach, he’s thinking about inconveniencing me. This man never fails to amuse me. Any other man would have quickly listed off a couple of things to put me to work in his kitchen.

That’s not what I asked Mr. St. James.

Maybe I’ll make pasta. That’ll get me in and out of the kitchen in less than an hour.

Whatever you choose to make is fine with me, baby.

And here I thought women were the most indecisive people when it comes to eating.

Pasta?

I think I’ll do penne with a spicy arrabbiata sauce and grilled chicken on the side. Simple, yet great in taste.

Perfect. I love you.

His words of endearment were a sweet way of blowing me off and I’ll accept that, for now.

I love you too.  

I love him so much.

“Okay, so Zara and then somewhere for groceries Marvin.”

“Sure thing.”

I’d blown off my growing exhaustion in Bergdof Goodman but it got the best of me on the journey to Zara and during my time in the store. I walked in with the hope of picking up a couple of items and left with two shirts. My final stop at one of New York City’s crappy grocery stores took longer than I wanted it to, but I couldn’t leave without enough to at least halfway fill up his refrigerator and cabinets for myself more than anything. He couldn’t care less about the tumbleweeds blowing through them.

“Marvin, you are a lifesaver and the most generous man ever. If there’s anything that I can do for you, please don’t hesitate to let me know.” Not only had he been my driver the entire day, but he even went out of his way to help me bring the absolutely absurd number of bags upstairs in three trips. Three damn trips.

“Just keep making him happy. The man turns into a disco ball whenever he speaks of you and I’ve never heard him speak of anyone like that. That’s how I know you’re special and he deserves that. He’s such an upstanding man and he always compliments the union between my wife and I. I told him soon enough, he too will be blessed with a life partner, and I believe that’s you. So, take care of him, because I know that he’s going to do everything in his power to make sure you’re taken care of. Even when he called and gave me all of the directions for you, he told me, Marvin, make sure you take care of my lady.” The dramatics bubbling within me urged me to fall to the floor and squeal in a giddy school girl manner, but my pride stepped into the forefront and only allowed me to genuinely smile at his kind words with a nod of assurance that I’d do as he requested.

“I will. You don’t ever have to worry about that.”

“That’s all I want to hear. If I don’t see you tomorrow, you have a happy birthday okay? Enjoy yourself.” Instantly, I opened my arms for a hug and embraced the warm and knowledgeable older man. A handshake is for people you can’t quite figure out. Marvin’s a teddy bear in human form.

“Thank you so much. I will. Thank you again for all of your help today. I’m appreciative.”

“You’re very welcome. See you soon.”

“Yes. See you soon.”

I was left to a empty penthouse and a tedious task of finding the proper placement for everything I acquired during my gifted splurging day. Though I had my doubts about a potential argument that may have come from me taking up a ton of space in his closet, I still made sure to avoid the possibility by placing a portion of it in his closet and the rest of it in the guest room closet since no one other than myself uses it whenever I’m around. Putting away the groceries was easier and so was whipping up the pasta and grilled chicken I planned to make. I attempted to wait for him for at least two hours and gave up once my head began to ache with the looming hunger within my body. I lazily enjoyed the quick meal from the couch with a glass of red wine and repeat episodes of the trashy yet entertaining Black Ink Crew. The couch became my little haven as I awaited the man of the house. Though I could have, I had no plans on going to bed without him.

“I’m mad you.”

“Happy Birthday to you.” Heather’s cheery voice met my ear as soon as I answered her call. I didn’t give my phone a minute to ring before the I slid my finger across the illuminating green answer signal on the screen and voiced what I’d been wanting to say to her all day.

“I’m mad.”

“Happy Birthday to you.” She sang with no regard for my playful feelings about her absence.

“You do this singing shit every year. I’m not impressed. I’m mad.” I finished the last bit of wine left in what was my second glass and listened to her chipper giggle.

“Happy Birthday dear bestie.”

“Shut up. I’m mad.”

“Happy Birthday to you.”

“Yeah, yeah whatever. Thank you and all of that, but I’m mad. You’re supposed to be here.” She never misses my birthday. We don’t do that. It’s been our tradition since we were kids and this would be the second time we’re breaking it. The first was my doing. I wasn’t doing quite well two years ago and I couldn’t bare to celebrate anything for anyone. Now, it’s her turn. She’s ditching me for work and her push toy looking husband.

“Don’t be upset with me. I may not be with you tomorrow, but you know we’re going to link up and celebrate regardless. It just won’t be on the day. I’ll make it up to you with a great gift and the best seats in the house to any Broadway show of your choice.”

“Harry Potter and The Cursed Child, please and thank you. It’ll be in New York next year.” I know the tickets are going to be ridiculous in price and now I have an excuse to not have to pay for them, though I wouldn’t have mind at all. Also, it’s torture for Heather, because she hates Harry Potter.

“I forgot you love that wizard shit. It’s so damn boring. Why couldn’t they have put Twilight on Broadway?”

“Because glimmering and animal blood sucking vampires is the silliest shit ever. No wonder you like it so much. Silly ho.” Our laughter soon followed my comment on her love of the mostly senseless Stephanie Myers series and though I couldn’t see her, I know she stuck up her middle finger at me.

“Whatever bitch. What are you doing?”

“Laying on the couch watching TV. I just finished a great glass of wine. You?”

“Eating chocolate ice cream with sprinkles and almonds. I’m indulging at this time of night and I’ll pay for it in the morning, but who cares. Are you at your parents house or home?” My expression contorted into one of confusion at her question.

“Did you forget that I live with my parents?”

“Please. You live with your man. That’s home. You sleep next to him more than you sleep in their house these days, so home is wherever he is.” I had the urge to slickly shut down her commentary but her accuracy swept in and silenced me. Her statement contains a decent amount of truth. Whether we’re in New York or somewhere else in the world, I do spend more of my nights laying next to him rather than being home alone in my bed. I believe that plays a part in why my mother is so hesitant about me moving out. She’s already feeling the affects of my absence even with me still residing there. I’ve never taken the time to consider any of this until now and ultimately, it feels completely normal. The normalcy is why I’m waiting up for him right now. Well, it’s that and my raging hormones that thoughts of him and the wine triggered. I’m damn near antsy in anticipation of us going to bed together. I don’t have any plans for sleep tonight.

“Shut up.” It’s the only response I could muster up.

“Exactly. You got quiet because you know it’s the truth. Is he home?”

“No. I think he’s working late so I’m waiting for him. He’ll probably be in within a couple of minutes or so.”

“What are your plans for tomorrow?”

“I have to get my hair and nails done in the morning. That’s a must. After that, probably lunch with my mother and whatever Mr. St. James has planned for the evening. I told him I only wanted to go to dinner, so that may be what we’re doing. He hasn’t told me anything else other than we’re going out tomorrow night.” I’d be fine with eating at Baraya, honestly. Of course he’d never allow that to happen, but it’s just a of sign of how simple I wouldn’t mind the night being. Us spending it together is special enough.

“That sounds like a nice time. Dinner, some good birthday loving, and I’m sure a nice gift. What did you ask for?”

“Nothing.”

“Of course. I don’t even know why I asked.” I never ask for anything for my birthday. Christmas? I throw hints out there for sure. I typically leave the gift creativity up to whoever intends to get me one. I’m appreciative of anything. It could be a pack of socks and I’d love it. Just make sure they’re colorful and ridiculous looking.

“There is one thing that I really wanted. It’s crazy because I spoke about it in L.A. Remember when we were on the phone? I went to the website and the glasses were gone.”

“You talking about those Chanel sunglasses? The ones that were like thirty five hundred?” I found this incredible website that sells all things vintage and I’m typically a junkie for a throwback designer piece. A part of me wished I was born in the seventies, so I could have lived through the nineties as an adult and really experienced the good times and most of all, the fashion. Of course, Lil’ Kim was and still is one of my fashion icons and I’m always trying to find sunglasses similar to the ones she wore in her prime. I found a couple of pairs of early nineties Chanel sunglasses on the website and I instantly wanted an extremely rare white pair with the “Chanel Paris” logo printed on both sides. I loved the black ones as well but the six thousand five hundred dollar price tag on a pair of glasses is going overboard and the pearl ones that I could have cried over were even worse with their damn near ten thousand dollar price tag. Sadly for me, I won’t be getting any of them because they were purchased as of a couple of days ago. I wanted to throw my iPad Pro when I saw those “sold” signs. I’m slightly bitter. On the brighter side, there’s a Versace pair that I have my eye on.

“Yes. I’m so pissed. I had every intention to lay on a beach somewhere and post twenty selfies in those. I’m inconsistent with Instagram but I would have been consistent as fuck with those on.”

“You’ll find them again. I’m sure those weren’t the only pair in the world.”

“I hope so.” My eyes panned towards the television and I smirked at the traditional midnight birthday phone call. She has yet to forget to do it. I anticipate it every year and it’s just as special as it always has been. I hope we’re calling one another for our hundredth birthdays.

“I love you. You’re still the first person to tell me happy birthday, year after year.”

“And I better always be the first. I don’t care who tries to call you before me, don’t answer. If Dante had of been there, you should have clogged your ears until I called. It’s a ritual, like some chakra shit. Don’t shift our thing.”

“Our thing?” My laughter filled the room as her superstitions poured out. She’s always had them.

“Yes, our thing.”

“Okay. I won’t shift our thing.”

“Good. I have to get up super early, so I’ll call you tomorrow around noon and a couple of times after that. Enjoy all of your birthday festivities. I have a feeling that it’s going to be a great day.”

“I will. I’ll miss you.”

“You’ll see me in a couple of days. Don’t be a brat. I love you, okay?”

“I love you too. Tell your hubby I said hello.”

“Will do. You tell your hubby I said the same.”

“My boyfriend, you mean.”

“I meant what I said. Goodnight, Tum Tum.”

“Tum Tum?”

“Yeah. Autumn. So I just took the t, u, and m. Tum Tum.”

“Don’t ever call me a fucking antacid again.” It took a couple of seconds, but my laughter meshed with hers as I shook my head. Her random nicknames have been and will always be annoying. It’s payback for me calling her Skipper during our sophomore year of college. After one year in L.A. , she developed a weird valley girl accent and has yet to rid herself of it. Skipper’s probably the whitest name I could have thought of at the time.

“Talk to you later.”

“Yep. Later.”

As our call ended, I turned off the television and made sure to clean up after myself before heading to lay in the bed. His ridiculously sized plasma television watched me as I stared up at the ceiling for a while and eventually I turned it off and allowed my body to do what it had been calling for. I couldn’t predict when he’d be home and I had no intention to bother or interrupt whatever he has going on. He’d come in whenever he was done and I’d have to accept that, though my once high anticipation transitioned into disappointment.

My slumber was unexpectedly a short lived nap. Around two thirty in the morning, I could hear him trying but terribly failing to maneuver around his home without waking me. He came in and out of the bedroom twice and found whatever he was looking for without turning on the light. While waiting for him to finally join me in bed, I made sure to move out of his spot and properly place his pillows the way they usually are but he didn’t show up. My curiosity led me to finding him in the kitchen.

“Did I wake you?” I didn’t expect him to want to eat so late, so I put his portion of the food in the refrigerator. I was proven wrong at the sight of a now almost empty plate sitting in front of him. Off to the side was a stack of folders that are probably responsible for the scowl that he’s trying to hide from me.

“Sort of, but it’s not completely your fault. I was in and out of sleep anyway. Are you okay?” He gulped down a large swig of the lemon-line Gatorade I bought for him while grocery shopping. With a nod as an answer, he used his hand to summon me closer to his body. When I was within arms length, he pressed his lips into my own and endearingly brushed his large palm over my shoulder.

“I apologize for being late. I had two long and extensive meetings today and then I had a very important meeting this evening that ran over much longer than I expected.” I wasn’t awaiting an explanation. I’ve damn near developed a don’t ask what you don’t want to know mentality when it came to men or should I say one particular man. Though your gut is telling you everything that you need to know, the state of denial is a temporary comfort zone I did my best to bask in for the sake of my sanity and conscience when going to sleep at night. I can’t leave out his belief that he didn’t have to explain himself in the first place. I was to stay in my place and be grateful for the bills being paid and all of the luxuries I have. Funny enough, he didn’t tell me that part of it. It was advice from a fellow NBA wag. With Dante, I don’t want him to feel like he has to always explain himself to me, because I’ll trust him with hopes that he’ll never give me a reason not to. I give credence to his loyalty.

“No need to apologize. It’s okay.” My teeth lightly ran over the skin of my bottom lip as I gazed over his frame. It was something about the after effects of the wine and the manner in which his tie was loosely hanging around his neck that enticed me with the thought of him tying my hands behind my head with it and having his way with me.

“Did you enjoy yourself today?”

“I did. I split all of what I bought between your closet and the guest room so that I wouldn’t take up so much space.”

“You didn’t have to do that. I think I left enough space for you to fit plenty in there.”

“You did, but I still didn’t want to take over. Thank you for today though. You continue to spoil me despite my resistance and it’s always special.” It was my turn to kiss him. He deserved it and so much more.

“Anything for you.”

“So where are we having dinner?”

“It’s a surprise. You already know I’m not revealing anything.” My eyes rolled before he could complete his response and he chuckled while his towering frame stood up and headed towards the sink. “And you should be heading back to bed. You said you’re getting your hair done early, right?”

“Yes.”

“So go and get some rest.”

“Says the man who is struggling to keep his eyes open.”

“Oh, I’m right behind you. I’m fucking exhausted.” Right behind me? Sadly, that part of it childishly took my mind to the gutter and I nearly kicked myself for currently having the mentality of a horny dog. Would I be selfish if I asked him to muster up just a bit of energy for a quickie? “I’ll meet you in the room.”

“Okay.”

I’d been curled up on my side of the bed for about forty five minutes while awaiting him to finish his shower and whatever else he was doing in the bathroom. The alluring scent of his body wash filled the room and worsened my yearning for him. Though I can’t quite figure out all of the ingredients, the hints of sage, tonka bean, mango, and sandalwood are there and mesh beautifully.

“You smell so good. Is that the Ralph Lauren shower gel?” His navigation around the darkroom was seamless.

“Yes, the one you bought me.” I’d forgotten about that. Typically, when I resupply my own hygienic products, I do the same for his, so it makes sense that it was me.

“It’s sexy. The scent and you.” A light chuckle coolly flowed from his lips and I felt the bed finally dip, signifying his presence. He halted my body with a grip to my thigh so I’d stop moving further to the left of the bed and drew me to the usual place he likes me in, the middle, within a comfortable reach for his arm to rest around my waist. His warmth irradiated my soul and a sense of peace immediately washed over me. Ambien has never aided me like this. No potent pain killer has the capability to ease my mind and body night after night like he effortlessly does.

“You’re the sexy one.” While glancing over at him, my eyes rolled at the sight of his playful smirk and I physically did my best to brush him off. He always turns my compliments for him into ones for me. His modesty never takes a vacation, even just for a minute or two.

“We’re talking about you.”

“And I’m talking about you.”

“Well, thank you.” My lips meshed into his bottom lip and I purposefully ran my tongue over it in hopes that he’d get even a fraction of a hint of where my mind had been for hours. The sight of him immediately hovering over me and peeling away the satin nightgown I slipped into for comfort not long after I came home nearly filled my hazy eyes with tears. I’ll never know how he just knows or how we’ve become so synced to one another since day one, but I have to believe that all of my suffering had a purpose behind it. Something greater was coming and I needed to make room for it. I’m still doing so, with openness for endless possibilities and enough caution for my insecurities. In my willingness to try, I’m being rewarded in ways that I never seen coming.

In the number of mistakes, selfish decisions, and pipe dreaming I’ve had, there was still a plan for me all along.

While serenely glancing over the New York City skyline, I did so from behind the curtain so that I would refrain from awaking Dante with the luminous rays of sunlight peaking from behind the clouds and faintly cascading a morning light to awaken the soon to be busy streets. A year of my life has gone by. On my twenty sixth birthday, I bundled up well enough to be protected from the early morning autumn breeze and took a run that was longer than any other I’ve taken thus far. I reflected on the struggles of the prior year and the ones that were still lingering behind and tormenting every thought of progress. The “irreconcilable differences” choice marked in black ink on the divorce papers that sat in the top draw of my nightstand served as a trigger for thoughts of every reason why it was the absolute truth of our fate. I ran for every fight and tear I shed, for the depression I ignored and denied, for the loss of my brother and his love, and for the moment I collapsed onto the floor of my parents home with a dangerous sense of relief that my soul would finally leave the flesh and I’d no longer have to deal with my earthly troubles. I ran for my life and a renewed sense of ambition. Despite every pessimistic thought I mustered up when thinking about the future, a small flame burned within me for a year of progression, if not for myself then for Shane. If he were here right now, I believe he’d be proud of me.

“Happy Birthday beautiful.” The mesh of grogginess and the perfect rasp ignited a round of chills over my caramel skin and I drew the curtain back just a bit to allow the sunlight to reveal his striking appearance. I didn’t hear him move and yet there he was, resting against the blackened headboard, with his eyes penetrating my frame.

“Thank you my love.” The depth of his eyes never hinders on piercing my essence. Everything he wants to say to me often lies within them. I don’t believe I’ve ever had anyone look at me in the way that he does. It wrecks my nerves and yet covers me with a comfort in knowing that I am loved and shielded. There’s something about his eyes; those eyes. When I opened my tear stained set and stared into his during our first encounter, I’ll never forget what I felt and how I carried it with me from then on out. Are we supposed to feel fate? If it’s possible, was that it?

“Who usually tells you happy birthday first?”

“Heather. She always calls me at midnight or purposefully calls me five minutes before midnight so that no one can beat her. It’s our tradition. After her? Shane would be the first one to tell me in person. When we were kids he used to wake me up by jumping on the bed and startling the shit out of me. During out teen years, he’d stick a candle in a stack of buttermilk pancakes and bring it to me. The man could make some pancakes. He gave my mother some competition in that area. Her skill of being able to literally make them from scratch is the only reason why she edged him out in the end. He was an Aunt Jermima expert.” I could smell his pancakes in my sleep. Not only would he cook the batter in butter, but then he’d turn around and put extra butter on top to take it to a fattening and even tastier level. We’d share the stack while laying in my bed and planning out what we were going to conquer throughout the new year of my life and then an hour or two later, we’d ready ourselves to go out with our mother and eat some more.  Birthdays were treated like holidays before his death. No matter whose it was, we’d miss a day of school or work to celebrate.

“He said in his book, during your adulthood years, he’d always write the same quote in every birthday card he to gave you.” Laughter spilled from my lips at him knowing that and I nodded to verify it as truth. He did. I have every card he’s ever given me and that quote is certainly in most of them.

“Yeah, it was one of those Rumi quotes. He had one for every situation you could think of. You were born with potential.”

“You were born with goodness and trust. You were born with ideals and dreams. You were born with greatness. You were born with wings. You are not meant for crawling, so don’t. You have wings. Learn to use them and fly.” I was silenced as he finished the quote for me and my eyes tightly closed as the words flowed through me. He’d say it out loud just as Dante did while I read along with the card in my hand and then he’d plant a kiss on my forehead and warn me to never forget.

“That’s the one. So you’re a big Rumi fan too, huh?”

“That’s a great one and yeah, I’ve read a lot of his work.”

“Can I share something with you?” He’d been asking since we spoke on our hidden talents while on vacation together and though I agreed to share mine, I’ve been avoiding it ever then since because much like any other creator, I’m sensitive about my shit. My sketches started off as a whimsical outlet for me as a child due to films and plays, that turned into something I considered doing for a living at some point in my life. The thought of multitasking being a full time doctor and potential business owner certainly makes me sweat with rattled nerves at the stress of it, but I had high hopes that I could easily pull it off before I got involved with my ex-husband.

“Anything.” While he awaited my return, I jogged to the living room and retrieved my thick dark chocolate colored leather folder out of my personal bag in the living room and rejoined him in the bed.

“Don’t be mean about it.”

“Be mean about what? I haven’t seen anything yet.” He held his hand out with a snicker at my reluctance and I slowly eased it down into his palm. Though he gripped it, I still hadn’t let go.

“I may sound like a wimp, but I’m definitely sensitive about my shit.”

“I understand.” Our eyes remained locked on one another for a few seconds and I eventually let go of what I’ve kept between Shane and I, with my mother having an occasional glance, for damn near two decades.

I did all that I could to keep my attention off of him but his presence alone made it hard for me to do so. I don’t care where we are or how beautiful the sights are, he will always stand out and command my attention with very little to no words at all. His presence is formidable and I’ve found myself attempting to view him through the lenses of others as they turned to give him a glance and immediately looked again in awe or dreamily stare at him from a table a few feet away. I’ve seen men readjust their ties and jackets in hopes that they’re looking as dapper as he is and the most random people figure out ways to approach him for a handshake or quick conversation. If they cannot help themselves, how the hell am I supposed to?

“Holy shit. These are fucking incredible.” I nearly fell over to the side as he quickly hunched forward and focused all of his attention on five out of the hundreds of sketches I sloppily have tucked away in that old folder. The more he pulled out, the more I had the urge to began putting them back inside as he did so. If I don’t, he’s going to have them everywhere.

“Autumn.” I haven’t heard him use my first name in quite some time.

“What?” His head whipped around in my direction and he held up a specific piece that I’d drawn with Jacqueline Kennedy Onassis in mind. I drew that three years ago.

“This looks like something out of the sixties or maybe the seventies. Shit.”

“It’s inspired by Jackie Kennedy.”

“Why wedding gowns? I’m sure your skill can do far more. These are incredible. Also, why the hell haven’t you done anything with these? How long have you been doing this?” He didn’t even give me a chance to begin answering the others before he blurted out his follow up questions.

“I don’t know. I suppose it’s the hopeless romantic in me. There’s something extremely magical about a woman putting on a gown that signifies her finding her the man who swept her off her feet and promised to spend the rest of his life with her. It’s a moment that’s unlike any other. I don’t care what kind of events you attend after it happens, nothing will ever compare to that dress. It’ll be the dress for all of your days. It’s the dress that you’ll always reflect back on, the one you’ll want to pass down to your daughter in hopes that she’ll cherish it just much as you did, and the one that has it’s own special photo album for the family’s keepsake. You’ll look at that album every anniversary and smile whether it’s been one year or fifty years later. So, that inspired me along with gowns from royal weddings and films of course. Whether it’s Vera West’s stunning veil that was worn in Frankenstein, Scarlett O’ Hara’s Vivien Leigh design in Gone With The Wind, or every single gown Carrie Bradshaw tried on during the photo shoot she did in the first Sex And The City film, I’ve been inspired to keep sketching them.” I could list off nearly a hundred gowns that I’ve loved from films. Helen Rose is arguably my favorite designer of all. If only I could have had a chance to meet her.

“Why haven’t you done anything with these?”

“I don’t know baby.” And that’s the truth. Well, that and Shane not being here. We were going to open up two boutiques together; one here in New York and the second in Paris. Both would serve as our only locations. Though it sounds odd for my Pulitzer Prize winning journalist brother to be involved in my love of ball, A-Line, trumpet, and mermaid gowns, but he’d been onboard since he saw my early on crappy designs. It was him who damn near caused me to ruin my fingers by practicing sewing and beading from home. Though he was influencing me to go to Parsons School of Design or the Fashion Institute of Technology so I could further enhance my skills in sewing, I chose NYU as a safety net. The fashion world is fickle and I couldn’t chance attempting to make it a full time job and struggling because no one gave a damn in the long run. Now that I think about it, given the decisions that I did make after two years of undergrad, what did I have to lose?

“Are you going to now? You need to.”

“I want to. I need to go back to school and take more courses in business. I figure I can wrap up my undergrad degree in that and then go from there.”

“Or you can just come straight to a great source who just so happens to be your man and ask him for all of the information professors will give you and all the things that they won’t.” My head met the plush pillows as I erupted into laughter and I nudged him for the sarcasm. Of course I can go to him, but there’s a part of me that believes having that piece of paper hanging up in my mother’s house along side Isaac’s and Shane’s would mean the world to them. There needs to be at least one more college graduation they attend to make all of their handwork full circle. It’s a priceless gift that I’d love to give to them.

“It’ll be important to my family for me to finish up what I started and besides, education has never hurt anyone. I don’t mind going back for the two years that I need to wrap things up. Harvard has an extension school that I’m looking into. I can do most of it online with an accelerated seven weeks during two summers to get it done. So I can be anywhere in the world for most of the courses I have to take and for two summers I go to their Cambridge campus for seven weeks to take two four credit courses.”

“That’s not too bad. We can rent a place up there while you’re there.”

“You’d do that?” My lips parted at how easily he suggested it.

“Of course I would. That’s damn near two months. If you have to be in Massachusetts, then I’ll be there too.”

“Even if I’m not paying you any attention because I’m smothered with school work?”

“Even then. So when are you going to do something with these? You should start now.” Of course he’d switch the subject back to all that he scattered on his king sized bed. I didn’t think he’d be so fascinated.

“It’s not easy. I have to get a team of people involved. It’s a process but I do want to start working towards it. I’m not getting any younger; I’m twenty seven now. If I’m going to do it, now is the time.”

“Can I be an investor?” He threw up a hand like a know it all middle schooler who couldn’t wait until the teacher finished asking the question.

“When the time comes, I’ll consider it.” A year ago, I would have immediately told him no. Now? I know I can’t do it all on my own and most of all, I know that I don’t have to. So, I’ll take his offer into consideration. That’s fair enough.

“You’ll consider it? Whatever. I’m an investor. We’re about to put that store out of business. What’s the name of it? My mother loves that boring show. It’s the show that has the women trying on the wedding dresses and they come out and let their families aggravate them. What is it called?”

“Say Yes To The Dress?” My eyebrow rose as he snapped his finger and nodded.

“And the name of the store?”

“Kleinfeld.”

“That’s it. They’re out of here.” His assurance in the famous store going out of business tickled me. The arrogance about my hypothetical business is already through the roof. I don’t even hear him speak about A& M in that manner and he’s their prized possession.

“Babe, Kleinfeld is like a department store for wedding gowns. It’s like a Saks in a sense. They sell many different brands. For example, Pnina Tornai is an exclusive designer for them, so her gowns are sold there. So, you know how Gucci has their own stores but their products are also carried in luxury department stores? Same concept.”

“So putting them out of business is a bad thing huh?”

“Kind of. I may want to have my gowns sold there one day or maybe I won’t and I’ll keep all exclusivity in my own shops. We’ll see when the time comes. For now, let’s worry about today. I need to hurry and go get my hair done. I need to try and beat traffic to Brooklyn.”

“Take the car.”

“You’re going to let me drive that fancy ass car of yours?” He didn’t bother to look at me. Instead, he held yet another sketch in his hand and reached over to the nightstand for his keys. Instead of a response, he placed the keys on my lap and lazily dropped back against the headboard.

“Mike’s picking me up later on, so don’t worry about rushing back.”

“You want to take a shower together?” The question easily caught his attention. His head jerked back and the smile that graced his face was nothing less than priceless.

“What’s up with you? We barely slept and you’re ready to go at it again?”

“You coming or not?” My fingers tugged on the hem of his t-shirt as it grazed my thighs and he carefully placed the leather folder down on the opposite side of himself and drew the covers back.

“I see you’re trying to add one more holiday to the list of the ones you already celebrate.”

“What? Which one?” I didn’t expect him to lift me up into his arms, but he did so effortlessly and I tightly wrapped my legs around his waist for support.

“Mother’s Day.”

I wished I didn’t find his so called joke as funny as he did, but while he kicked the door close behind us, our laughter filled the spacious bathroom.

That was a good one.

When we’re dining outside of her home, my mother is more of a bougie eater if I must say so myself. If she’s choosing, we typically end up somewhere where we’re damn near flipping the menu’s upside down to find a meal suitable enough for our taste buds while she’s comfortably ordering foreign dishes that she’s enjoyed in her travels or has no fear of experimenting with for the first time. With it being my birthday, it was my choice, so we met one another over at Amy Ruth’s in Harlem so that I could overindulge with a Southern breakfast. I’m not sure where I intended to put chicken wings, a waffle, salmon croquettes, and home fries but I certainly attempted to eat most of it as we sat across from one another and enjoyed a conversation with an array of topics. She, much like my brother, picks my brain so that she’ll be able to update the database that is mind with even more information about me so she can keep up with her truth of knowing me better than anyone else does. I’ve always found that no matter what I do, she always takes an approach to understand my decisions and then accepts them despite her disagreement, if they’re not absurd. I don’t want to say that I’ve lived my life as an unrefined free spirit, but I certainly did have the freedom to express myself however I saw fit to do so and I suppose I took advantage of that in college. Even then, she still accepted me. I just didn’t understand it at the time. It’s still difficult to put her strength into words. I know she inherited that nature from my grandmother and is the polar opposite of my overly sensitive aunt, but how does a mother have the capability to hold it all together after having been faced with the death of one child and the potential deaths of two others. I’ve witnessed the moments when she looked like the life was sucked out of her body. I’ve treaded carefully in her eerie silences. In the midst of my own late night crying, I too, heard hers. I know the pain is still there and yet, here she is, standing tall and being resilient in every position she plays in the world. If I could live up to be half as much of the woman that she is, I’ll know I’ve done well for myself.

“You’re driving Dante’s car today huh? You look good in it. I was caught off guard when I saw you getting out of the driver’s side.”

“Yeah, he had some errands to run so he couldn’t bring me anywhere and I didn’t call Glen.”

“Mhm. Do you know that your face lights up whenever someone mentions his name?”

“You’re stretching it.” A huff followed as my head dropped to look down at the recipe she was placing her signature on. Her lighthearted laughter worsened my blushing.

“Oh, there it is. The blushing. It reminds me of your father and I. What’s amazing is when the person that you’ve been with for so long still makes you feel that way. I knew I was going to marry your father a week after knowing him.”

“A week.”

“Yes. One week. I just knew.”

“Would you have married him after knowing him for a week?” Though it sounds unrealistic, I needed her perspective.

“It would have seemed like one hell of a risk to take, but I would have. Sometimes you just know when you’ve come across a person who is worthy of being a life partner. These days, it seems like it takes three to five years for people to figure out if they want to marry one another. I’ve seen situations where people were together for decades, with kids, and waited until they were in their forties and fifties to actually get married. The younger generation feels compelled to be in a relationship and live together for years before getting engaged. The reluctance is often due to financial stability, the fear of a family withholding you from certain career aspirations, and most of all, change. Your grandmother and grandfather were together for sixty five years. Your great grandmother and great grandfather were together for seventy. Those two got married when they were teens. When you know, you know, and once you do, why wait? Ultimately, it’s up to you.”

“But what if it doesn’t work out?”

“You know, I wasn’t mad that you married Andreas. You thought I was, but I wasn’t. I was mad because my daughter married a stranger to me. I’d never conversed with the man or shook his hand. I didn’t know him any better than I know the strangers sitting around us in this restaurant. If anything, I worried for you because I knew he wasn’t going to be the one. The method that you took to be with him said it all; the sacrifice and the hostility. No honest man would have ever allowed you to do that. That marriage was doomed from the start. It just took one hell of a ride for you to realize that.” If it were two years ago, we would have embarrassed ourselves with an aggressive verbal sparring as I disagreed with her overview of our fate, but now? The accuracy is undoubted.

“And what about now?”

“What about Dante? You tell me.” Her long tresses flipped as she stood to her feet with that all too knowing smirk.

“Well, I love him very much.”

“I know that. You want to know if I think he’s the one?”

“Yeah, I guess so. I’m almost afraid of your answer.” I tossed the strap of my MCM bag over my shoulder as I eyed the vintage Chanel one loosely hanging by her side. I’m tempted to ask her for a trade off.

“Let me just put it this way. There’s this champagne colored dress that I bought from Roland Mouret the other day that is to die for. It’s asymmetrical with a one shoulder style of design and it’s sculpted in this goodness like silhouette that I fell for instantly. It’s fairly simple and yet very mother of the bride like. If you planned to get married in a week, I’d pull it out of the closet.” If I didn’t know she liked him already, I certainly know it now.

“Now who’s the one blushing? His charm got to you too huh?”

“Well, he is very charming. It’s undeniable.”

“Well, if you can, save the dress. If things keep going the way they are, you may get to wear it in a couple of years. You’ll be too preoccupied with your grandchildren to even notice the wait. Isaac and Lauren already conceived their one. I think the others are going to be one after the other from here on out.”

“Don’t make me wait too long.”

“You go to weddings all the time and besides, it’s not up to me.”

“Then I may not be waiting long.” As we stepped out onto the Harlem sidewalk, we shared an endearing embrace with pecks to our cheeks.

“Enjoy your birthday baby. Make sure you drop by home tomorrow to see your dad. We want to give you your gift together.”

“I will. I’ll be home in the morning.”

“And send me pictures of whatever you’re going to wear tonight. I want to put them on Facebook. Send some to your aunt as well.”

“Mom, no one uses Facebook anymore.”

“I do. So send them.” Her finger tapped my nose.

“I will. I’ll see you in the morning okay?”

“Okay. I can’t believe you’re twenty seven. I remember giving birth to you.”

“Mom.” I knew her sentimental moment would run over into some random conversation about my childhood and I’d rather she do that tomorrow when I’m not on a tight schedule set by Dante. For now? I need to rush and get my nails done and a pedicure. Thankfully it’s not cold, because I’d be suffering tonight in the open toe shoes I plan to wear.

“I know. I know. Go ahead. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

If I didn’t connect my phone and turn on some music during the hour commute back to Brooklyn, I probably would have engaged in road rage and gotten pulled over. I could have gone to a salon in Manhattan but there’s nothing like a good ol’ hood nail salon to do your nails. It sounds damn near stereotypical but I’ve been getting my nails done at the same spot in Brooklyn for years whenever I feel like going. I couldn’t pass up the opportunity to do so today, though the traffic is beyond ridiculous. I hit the same amount of traffic on the way back, lessening the leisure time I needed and whatever left over time I’d have to prepare myself for the plans Dante has for me this evening. I’m paying for our lack of sleep and the ice cream I stopped for on the way in did absolutely nothing to assist my fight. I needed a nap and though it’d only be for an hour and a half, it would have to do me enough justice to make it through however long our night out on the town would be.

Late or not, I took it.

“I can’t believe I’ve finally gotten to see Hamilton! The tickets cost a damn kidney and I considered getting them but I sort of fell off of the idea. That was one of the best shows I’ve ever seen.” As soon as I heard about Hip-Hop being infused into a play about Alexander Hamilton, I nearly combusted with excitement because if anyone can pull off such creativity it’s certainly Lin-Manuel Miranda. I’m baffled with awe of what I just witnessed. Genius. Brilliant. Electrifying. Addicting. It was all of those words and then a dictionary full of others.

“It was pretty good. That’s the first Broadway show I’ve enjoyed in a minute.”

“So you didn’t enjoy An American In Paris?”

“I enjoyed watching you enjoy it.” My hand tightened around his as I cut my eyes at him and he shrugged in amusement for what I now know to be true. He doesn’t care for my all time favorite musical.

“I can’t believe you didn’t like it.”

“It was okay. I didn’t hate it.”

“But you wouldn’t watch it again?”

“I would, with you. You watch it religiously, so I’m going to have to get used to it.”

“Okay, you get brownie points for that.” A kiss to his cheek was his reward as we trekked down the West 46th Street. I certainly didn’t say it to him, but with the heads that have turned, I know we’re overdressed for a Broadway show that we both witnessed people arrive to in jeans. I look like I’m on my way to the MTV Awards while Dante on the other hand is suited up, per his usual. The squints from strangers were their way of seeking some sort of familiarity from the both of us and I’m certain nothing rang a bell; at least I hope not. I specifically asked him if my attire for the evening was appropriate because if not, I had a nice pants and top look from Givenchy on standby. He eliminated my second guessing by assuring me that I looked absolutely perfect. Now, I want to smack him in the back of his head.

“Babe, where’s dinner?”

“Buddakan.”

“Buddakan?”

“You think you’ve never heard of it, but you have. You’ve seen it and I’m sure it’s more than once since you were mimicking the movie word for word a couple of weeks back when you were watching it on HBO.”

“What movie?”

“You’ll see.” I consider myself to be one hell of a walker in heels, but the city’s streets are brutal when you’ve parked the car quite a length away from where your destination is. He wanted to pay for a parking garage and my silly ass told him not to. If anyone needs a smack to the back of the head, I now realize it’s me.

“What kind of food do the serve?”

“Uh. East Asian, I believe.” Dear God, please don’t let this be a dinner with my mother type of situation.

“Have you eaten there before?”

“No. I guess we’ll be experimenting together.”

“That can be fun. We’ll pick two dishes a piece and share.”

“We can do more than two.”

“And then we can have dessert at home.”

“Why are you in such a rush to go back home?” As he turned to look at me, the flustered expression on my face was the cause of him roaring in laughter. We both held expressions of shock because I certainly meant it in the way that he took it, but I didn’t want him to notice. I simply wanted an agreement that we would.

“Wow, Peaches.” The Beyoncè reference worsened it.

“Shut up.”

“Is that the energy turning twenty seven brings? I’m liking the way things are going.”

“Dante.”

“Peaches.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“Stop being nasty. Actually, don’t stop. Keep that going.” I left him giggling behind me as I let go of him and walked ahead. His laughter tormented me the entire way to the car. Can you blame me? He’s a turn on at all times. It’s his fault, not mine.

A Miguel playlist served as the soundtrack for our twenty minute ride to the restaurant. He’s yet another artist we share a common love for. Shane introduced me to his underground sounds early on and I followed his career ever since. I’m thankful we were able to obsess over both “All I Want Is You” and “Kaleidoscope Dream” together.

“It doesn’t seem too busy out here. You made reservations right?”

“Of course.”

“And we’re parking right out front. Blessings.” My feet are so thankful.

“You ready?” I dropped my lipstick back inside of my chrome metallic bag as he took the key out of the ignition.

“I’m ready and hungry.”

“Alright.”

My anticipation heightened by the expression on his face when he opened up the passenger side door. The mischievous glow was alarming and yet all the more amusing as he held my hand and guided me towards the entrance. The lack of a hostess made it all the more awkward and the silence didn’t help.

“Is this place open?” The faint lightening should have answered the question for me yet I still asked for the sake of my impatient curiosity.

“Of course it is.” He tugged my reluctant frame along despite my whispered protest of a budding embarrassment if it actually is closed. It’s damn near eleven o’clock.

“Surprise!”

My soul swiftly pulled beyond the barrier of my skin and loomed somewhere around me as I shivered and took a step back at the sight of the awaiting crowd at the applewood table. Their eyes beamed at the sight of my reaction and hysterics filled the room as I turned to look at the man who is clearly responsible for it. I had not even the slightest hint that any of this was happening. The coy nature of my mother was flawless this afternoon. Isaac damn near dismissed my birthday with a nonchalant text message about my aging and a gift card for a couple of Botox sessions. Lauren called during my pedicure but, that too, was brief. Rachel texted me instead of making sure I received the call that she promised. And Heather? That jerk hadn’t called since we spoke at midnight. My aunt and uncle are here. Who the hell told them?

“You pranked me!” My face met his chest and I buried my head in it to keep the tears tucked away. Dinner had always been the plan but I never thought that it would be anything more than something between he and I. It’s all I wanted, honestly, but this? It’s far greater. I can’t remember the last time I’ve actually celebrated my birthday with more than just one additional person at my side. The last birthday party I had was a sweet sixteen planned and executed by my brother and mother. Since then, I’ve kept it simple. In Miami; even simpler.

“I said we were having dinner. I never said we were having dinner alone.”

The table at the center of the room was filled with familiar faces that I’ve loved all of my life and those who I have come to love as they came into my life. I had no desire to sit and had never been so thrilled to walk around a table to greet people with hugs, kisses, and appreciation for their presence. Both Stacey and Rachel brought their significant others along and I was more than glad to finally meet the men who are making them happy. Stacey being married to a retired football player is exactly like her. He’s just as adorable as she is. Fine too, if I must add. The surprise guest was Camille. It was an unexpected invitation and yet one that I’m so appreciative of because I’ve already taken a liking to her. There’s something so pure about her spirit and it aches me to know that it’s being wasted on such an unworthy man. The best part of all? The empty seat at the end of the table with an oversized golden ribbon tied around it in honor of my brother. Earlier I couldn’t figure out just how much more I could love Dante and yet here is another moment that takes that love to a place that not even I can comprehend.

“I was slightly afraid of the menu, but this lobster fried rice is on point.” I hadn’t ordered it for myself, but I was certainly enjoying it out of both Dante and Heather’s plates since they were on opposite sides of me. I chose the vegetable fried rice to be on the safe side.

“What’s on point is that dress. Is it heavy?” As her fingers explored the material I dug my fork into her plate again.

“Kind of. It’s not as bad as you think though. When did you get here?”

“When I was on the phone with you, I was laying on your mom’s couch trying not to laugh at how rude you were being as I sung to you. Rude ass. Mario sends his love. He couldn’t make it because of the season but he did send a gift.”

“I’m so happy you’re here. Really.” I learned over to plant a kiss on her cheek and she instantly shrugged me away.

“No, Rudeness. Apologize.”

“I apologize and I love you, Skipper.”

“And I’m the best friend you’ve ever had.”

“You’re my only best friend though.”

“Say it.” She wasn’t going to move on until I did.

“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Now you can kiss me.” My two kisses were finally welcomed and so was my fork as it invaded her plate again.

I’d been such a long time since I laughed and smiled until my face and body hurt, but it was all I could do as nearly everyone reminisced on an nostalgic memory and recent flashback about myself. Instead of wanting to crawl under the table until the moment is over, I basked in my childish stupidity, high school memories, and the moments that my love ones still hold near and dear to them. There were some I shared with Dante and others that I’m sure he mentally stored to tease me about at a later date.

“You have to bring Dante to Martha’s Vineyard for spring break, so that he can see where else you’ve grown up at.” I hadn’t realized that so many of the memories being reflected on were from out times on our family vacations. Initially, I disliked going up there because I thought it was the most lifeless place to to have a vacation home, but I eventually came to appreciate it as I aged. Besides that, President Obama gave it his seal of approval on his family’s many trips there, so who am I to knock it?

“I will Auntie, for as long as you’re there to make cheesecake.”

“Yes, I know. One for you and then one for the rest of the house.”

“And when she says one for Autumn, she means exactly that. You won’t hear the end of it if you try and sneak a piece of it.”

“Don’t put my greed on the spot Uncle Ray.”

“Please do, because I certainly got snapped at over it.” I knew Heather would butt in with her side of the story. It was the last piece and I told everyone not to touch it. The late night sneak eater that she is disregarded what I requested. She deserved it.

“Can I give a toast?” Isaac annoyingly tapped his sterling silver folk into the body of his glass of water and stood to his feet. I made a mental note to whisper how proud I am of his continued efforts to remain alcohol free. Every single person at this table is having a cocktail and he’s been sitting there with a glass of water sparkling water filled with cucumber, mint, and lemongrass the entire time. His resilience is admirable.

“Please don’t.” His snicker at my response opened up the floor for even more laughter as he continued to stand to his feet anyway.

“So, my little sister has hit the late twenties.”

“Is it really the late twenties? I’m thinking the seven keeps it at the midrange. Twenty eight is late.”

“I remember when mom told me that she was pregnant with you. I was annoyed. I only wanted a little brother and I had that, so I wasn’t so sure where she was going with things.” Instantly, my hand rose and it’s middle finger followed. While funny, I know his block head ass really did feel that way.

“When you were born, I instantly felt this sense of protection towards you. You were so innocent but there was this strength within you that mirrored moms and it manifested as you grew. You’re the cool sister. I know you may not believe it but I bragged about that often. We could sit around and argue about the NBA and you’d be just as knowledgeable about it as any guy. We would watch the Super Bowl together and we even attended the U.S. Open together. Remember?”

“Of course”. How could I forget? That was one of the coolest experiences ever.

“There was something about you that I knew was special and I knew you were going to shine in some kind of way. I still see that within you. You were always a source of support and encouragement for both Shane and I. Often times, we felt like you were were the oldest because you used to and still do talk like you’re someone’s grandmother. That forehead of yours holds all of the world’s wisdom.”

“Not my fault you have dad’s box head.” It felt like we were at the dining room table in New Jersey having a Sunday dinner when my dad balled up his napkin and threw it at me. Usually, he’d be scolded for it by his demure wife but this evening she found it just as funny as everyone else.

“It’s been a great year for you and having you working along side me has been not only been relieving but also incredible. Your work ethic is of no surprise to me because I know that you’re capable of greatness. So thank you for bringing your A-game to the companies and being an example for everyone else. I’m proud of you. I know I don’t say that enough, but I’m going to work on that. I’m proud of you and I’m happy to feel like my sister is reachable again. So, Happy Birthday, Autumn. May this birthday be as beautiful as your spirit and may the man upstairs grant you a hundred more for us to celebrate. I love you.” A moment so unexpected and yet probably the most important of the night goes to Isaac. It’s been quite some time since we’ve shown one another our appreciation by the way of words and we’ve treaded around doing it with actions. I’ve never doubted that he loves me, but I did began to believe that he’d never like me again. I’ve never been more relieved to know that isn’t the truth. I need my brother and now I understand he needs me just as much.

“Thank you brother.” Though improper, we leaned over the table for kisses to one another cheeks. I know there’s been a photograph taking photos, but God do I hope that this moment was recorded. I want it for keepsake.

“My turn?” Stacy giddily stood up and Mike followed.

“Our turn.”

“I want in.” Fredrick too joined them in standing and I clapped before anyone else could because I knew their moment was sure to be silly yet filled with genuine love.

“Autumn, I knew of you before Dante ever mentioned you. Why? Because his whole entire demeanor changed. There was something occupying his mind, but I didn’t know what until I questioned him about you and he damn near rushed me of the phone in nervousness. I asked him were you pretty and I literally heard his heartbeat over the phone.” I’d finally been taken out of the spotlight and it was now the humble man beside me who reddened in sheepishness and shook his head at his wordy executive secretary.

“When I had Kaylee, he came to visit me at the hospital and though I didn’t say it because he was already trying to figure out what he was feeling, I knew that he was falling in love with you. He may kill me for this later, but I asked him what is it about you that drew him to you and he told me two things, one being that you saw him beyond barriers that no one else has reached and two that you made him confront things about himself and his life that he had tucked away for quite some time. So many people here have spoken on your strength and you instilled so much of that within him. As I watched you two in his office the day you came by for the first time, I just knew. I felt the energy in the room as soon as I entered it and it thrilled me to know that someone who I consider to be my little brother has now found what I’ve wanted for him all along.”

“And it only took thirty years.” Mike butted in to draw giggles out of the entire table.

“Autumn, we not only like you, but we love you. You’re family now, so you’re stuck with us. I figured you would be once I saw you and Dante trying to make love in the club.” I’m not sure if I gasped or choked at his sensationalized version of what happened. I’m not even sure which night he’s referencing to.

“We were just talking, Mike.”

“That’s not the night I’m talking about!” In an instant my mother’s brow perked up as she amusingly awaited some sort of explanation. I’m never going to hear the end of this from she and Auntie Larissa.

“We were dancing.”

“If that’s what you call it.”

“Mike…” Though he did his best to conceal it, the smirk on Dante’s face was priceless. I don’t care how old I am and how many of my own bills I pay, I would rather not have my elders hearing anything about me making any type of love, especially in a damn club. Besides that, Mike is lying.

“And I knew it before then.” Fredrick added. “ But it was something about the night of the grand opening in L.A. that really sealed it for me. Though it was a special moment, your presence made it even more special for him. I felt like he stared at you in pride more than he did the establishments that we opened up. That’s when it really dawned on me that we have a new member to our little family. I think it’s time for that to be official.”

“Aw shit. We getting tattoos?” Though Dante would probably never do that, I asked for the sake of the laughter and to earn a deserved side eye from him. He’s not interested in ink though he doesn’t mind mine. One of these days I’ll convince him to get one with me.

“Not quite.”

The pace in my chest slowed to the point of an intense tightening as Dante stood to his feet. He wasn’t there long. With one leg extended, he slowly inched himself down until he was properly on one knee along side of my seat. My surroundings slowed as the sights I was once admiring blurred to an unsteady view. The trembling of my hands had absolutely nothing to do with the after effects of a stroke and everything to do with the moment that is snatching every bit of breath I have within me. The squeals of every estrogen filled body did nothing to tear my attention away from the vulnerable man who stared up at me with his soul completely exposed and his heart on the most unsteady line. What have I done to deserve this? How is this happening?

“Autumn. I spent days trying to figure out how to put into words how much you mean to me. Yesterday, I sat in my office for hours writing different things to say to you and even trying to rehearse, but nothing felt right. I just know it needed to be something from my heart. It’s so crazy that you’re here. I did a lot of hoping for you. I did some praying. I wondered what you’d be like and where you’d be from. My insecurities questioned whether I’d be enough and if you’d accept that I’m still growing. I even questioned if you’d ever come, but I knew if my faith was genuine then I had to realize that blessings come on God’s time. I’m not sure if I ever pictured the love of my life literally falling into my arms like something out of a movie, but I suppose he can be a clever God huh?” Every tear met my chest and rolled down into the napes of my bosom as his lighthearted moment earned a reaction from our boisterous audience.

“I know that you once had someone in your life who broke some of the most important vows there are, but I’d like to show you that you now have someone who intends to honor every single one of them until my very last breath as an old man. I want to share everything that I have with you and most of all, I want to share all of my days with you. There’s nothing more to look for. You’re right here. This is it. I spoke with every single family member of yours at this table yesterday for their approval and then I sat with your mom for a long time just to gain her perspective and she told me, when you know, you just know and I’ve never known anything in my life as quick as I’ve come to know this. I love you, Autumn Nicolette Dupont, unconditionally and irrevocably. So, would you do me the honors of being my wife? Will you marry me?”

There have been a number of dreams that contained variations of this moment; most have been while I’m awake. There was a particular one where I envisioned him asking me this life changing question in the backyard of a Malibu home that I hadn’t even seen yet. After each fantasy, I’d chuckle at myself and shrug it off as a farfetched possibility. I never doubted that he loved me, I only wondered if I’d be enough and if my baggage is too much for the both of us to carry. My doubts were foolishness. He’s been showing me how worthy I am all along. Every moment we’ve shared thus far had signs within them that this moment would come. His every word. It was the way his eyes looked into mine and studied me. It was the months of him welcoming me into his world and showing me just a bit of what he has to offer. It’s the way I become one with him when we’re making love. All of it. All of it leads to right here, right now.

“Yes. Yes. Of course. Yes.”

I could feel the ring being slid onto my finger, but my tears wouldn’t allow me to see it. All I could do was throw my arms around his neck while the moment continued to consume me.

What a way to welcome twenty seven. It’s one that I’ll never forget.