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disgruntledspacedad · 4 years ago

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in defense of Din’s subdued reaction to losing the kid...

gif by @quantam-widow

I know we were all thinking it. We got a 2 second reaction shot to the destruction of the Razor Crest (may she forever rest in peace), but then, Grogu gets taken, and... nothing?

What the fuck, Din? we all protest. That’s your baby on that ship! Don’t you care? Scream, curse, kick a rock, cry, make a fist, something!!

I will acknowledge that so far, the show has been excellent with giving us emotional payoff, am I right? I mean, just today we got Din laughing, twice. Twice in a row. I honestly never thought we’d see that. There have been so many excellent, precious soft!Din moments this season, and they all feel deliciously earned.

So, from a meta POV, I guess I’m saying that I have faith in the writers to get it right, and in Pedro to deliver. Duh.

In universe, though, I think it’s fair to point out the obvious - that Din is a pretty reserved guy. He’s much more of a thinker than a feeler. He’s used to keeping things bottled up, and I would even argue that his life often depends on his ability to dissociate from his emotions. Din’s entire journey so far has been about how one little baby yodito shakes his worldview to its very foundations. He’s getting there, but it’s a slow process.

And also, consider this - we haven’t seen Din alone yet, not since Grogu was taken. For a guy who lives a guarded life literally encased in fucking armor, any display of emotion is going to be carefully protected until he’s in private.

But anyway, Din is detached, rational, a little emotionally constipated, and definitely comfortable in a stressful situation. A true ISTP if you ask me (yeah, I know you didn’t, but whatever). Often, it seems that these cool headed, logical types who have never ruffled a feather over anything in their lives are the least adept at handling genuine fear. In other words, when panic does strike, it strikes them hard.

And guys, Din was definitely panicking during this episode.

He’s clearly unsettled from the jump - that outburst of “dank farrik!” in the cockpit sells it, and his distress only becomes more obvious from there. Talking out loud, trying to convince himself that the best thing for Grogu is for him to be trained as a Jedi. Reminding himself of the creed. His overt caution as they approach the seeing stone. His impatience, “Are you seeing anything??”

Then there’s the effects of long term stress. Sure, a bounty hunter in the outer rim doesn’t exactly live an easy life, but Din is definitely used to the drama being on his terms. Compare Din’s body language in the opening scene of season one to when Boba confronts him in chapter fourteen. You can just feel the anxiety, the weariness, the frustration. Din has been on the run for months now, constantly looking over his shoulder, sleeping with one eye open. Notice how he even startles at Fennec’s voice? Season one Din would never have given that much away, regardless of the situation. Long term stress has clearly taken a toll on him.

So we have unsettled, stressed out Din in an emotionally charged situation. He’s exhausted, he’s scared, he’s desperate. This scenario is a recipe for even the most level-headed of adrenaline junkies to loose their cool, and that’s exactly what happens to Din. He panics, and he makes some pretty big fuckups because of it. Leaving Grogu unprotected, twice. Trying three different times to break through that “force field,” even when he knew he couldn’t. Dropping that jetpack and then just forgetting about it (I know we were all screaming about that one, or at least, I was).

So, fear is a positive feedback loop. Those neurotransmitters that do us good in a bad situation - raising heart rate, narrowing focus, shunting blood to the muscles - can also be detrimental if we get too high of a dose - tachypnea and tachycardia, inability to think critically and see the big picture, lack of blood and oxygen to the brain. Epinephrine, in particular, even inhibits the laying down of new memory pathways. In other words, stress leads to poor performance, and poor performance leads to more stress, which leads to... you get the idea.

Then, in the middle of all this chaos, they fucking blast the Razor Crest.

More epinephrine, more cortisol, more stress.

By the end of it all, Din is a fucking shitstorm of stress hormones and pent up emotions. Notice how he seems to be on autopilot in the immediate aftermath, robotically scanning the ashes of the Crest for anything that might be left intact. Notice how empty his voice is when he says, “the child is gone.” This is a dead man walking. Din has nothing left. His whole life has just gone up in smoke, and he can do nothing about it.

Guys, Din is holding onto his sanity by a fucking thread in this scene. “The child is gone,” he says, like he’s reminding himself, grounding himself in his shitty reality. He’s stunned.

And helpless. There’s literally nothing he can do for Grogu. He has no ship, no credits, no resources, nothing to bargain with, nothing to offer. Din literally cannot allow himself the luxury of feelings right now. He’s just got to focus on surviving this very shitty day.

Then, Boba Fett upholds his end of the deal, and suddenly, Din has something to hold onto. An ally, a badass friend, some hope. I don’t think Boba shows Din that chain code in order to verify his claim on the armor - he’s already wearing it, for godssake. I think Boba shows him the code in order to catch Din’s attention - hey friend, I know you’re hurting, but I’m a man of my word. When I make a vow, I keep it. Let’s regroup and go find your kid.

And Din would totally latch onto that. A fighting chance? Din fucking leaps at it. There’s a job to do. A kid to save. All of those stress hormones are going to keep on stewing, because Din has never really come down from his adrenaline high.

It’s like this in real life, too. There isn’t time to be afraid. There isn’t time to be sad, or second-guess, or say, oh how terrible, or wonder what if it doesn’t work? There’s just you and the job, and if you are the only thing standing between life and death, you will put everything else aside and do what you have to do, for as long as you have to do it.

And that’s where Din is at this moment. He’s running on the fumes of his adrenaline, all tempered focus, all strategy and no bullshit.

Emotional shock, my therapist buddy calls it. Apparently, it’s normal. Expected, even.

But guys, the fallout of this kind of crazy ass adrenaline high is insanely intense. I’m talking collapse to the floor, legs won't hold you, trembling, crying so hard you sling snot, shuddering breaths, stare dead-eyed and spent at the ceiling because you’re just too wiped out to even sleep kind of intense.

And then, after the breakdown comes the angst. The detailed thinking. The oh god, what if this had happened, or, should I have done that instead? It seems like every emotion that gets put on the back burner in the moment comes back to bite you with twofold intensity when all is said and done.

In other words, Din is definitely going to feels some things .A lot of very intense things. A reckoning is coming, my dudes. Trust me. It’s just not quite here yet.

That being said, here’s what I can expect from Din going forward:

Just like he’s is slow to acknowledge his growing parental feelings for Grogu, I think Din’s going to be slow at processing his grief at Grogu’s loss. In the next episode, he’s got plenty to distract him - getting together his hit team to take back the kid and coordinating an attack on the empire.

However, I do think we’ll get a slow moment with Din, probably sometime at the beginning of next week’s episode if the pattern holds. I doubt it’s the full-blown breakdown that we’re all needing, but I’m willing to bet money that we’ll see Din grappling with the fact that his kid is gone. I also think that badass beskar murder machine Din from chapter three will resurface. Stress and desperation make us do irrational things, and anger is one of the stages of grief that Din will inevitably have to work through (I think he’s flickering between denial and bargaining for now).

But then, after Din gets Grogu back? I think that’s we’ll have our big, dearly earned emotional payoff.

For one thing, Din won’t be able to deny his feelings anymore. He wants to keep this kid, it’s so very obvious. Losing him just forces it all to the forefront.

And then the relief/joy/regret/guilt that Din is going to feel once he’s got Grogu back? Not to mention the physical exhaustion? All of the fear/terror/angst/grief that he ignored in favor of just going pedal to the metal, guns blazing, get the kid or die trying? That shit’s going to crash into him with all the subtly of a fucking tsunami. I guarantee you, we’re going to get some sort of confession, or adoption vow, or face revel, or other sort of profound softness from Dad!Din in the falling action of this season (At least, I hope we get it at the end this season but I wouldn’t put it past them to kick it into the premier of season three, just for pacing reasons, but then again, I obviously have trust issues).

Personally, I would love to see Din grappling with the long-term fallout of losing Grogu - night terrors, guilt, paranoia, etc. That’s probably the stuff of fanfiction - mandalorians don't have nightmares on screen, surely - but still, some lingering effects Grogu’s kidnapping would be realistic, and I would absolutely live for it.

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luci-in-trenchcoats · 4 years ago

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A Nightmare In A Dream (Part 2)

Summary: Six months after reuniting with the Winchesters and her brother, things are going good for the reader. She and Dean are happily together and occasionally stay with her brother, Matty, and Sam, who has been getting him used to normal life. Life appears to be heading in a good direction when the past has a way of creeping up again and dropping a bombshell on them all...

Pairing: Serial Killer!Dean x reader

Masterlist

Square: AU!Dean

Word Count: 5,000ish

Warnings: mature (language, angst, death/murder, drugging/kidnapping, family drama)

A/N #1: This is a spin off of A Dream In A Nightmare and takes place ~6 months later. It’s recommended that fic is read prior to this one...

_____

Four Hours Later

“What exactly are you doing here?” asked Dean when you walked in the front door at your house in town. He barely lifted his head up from the dining room table where he had his computer out.

“Helping find Smith and potentially Lewis.”

You left your one bag by the door, the other going on top of the table across from him.

“I think a better idea would be for you to go stay with Matty where it’s safe,” he said.

“Do you not trust me?” you asked. He closed his eyes and ran his hands over his face. “I asked if-”

“I love you,” he said, pulling his hands away and looking over at you. “I love you, you fucking dumbass. The past six months have been the best damn six months of my life. I feel happy. I am happy. I don’t feel like a monster or a psycho anymore. Some days I feel like maybe I’m not even the bad guy. But I am the bad guy, sweetheart. You killed to keep your brother alive. I did it because it was the only control I could have in my life. It seemed like the only way I could stop the bad guys out there. Now I’m one of them. You deserve better than life with a monster.”

“Dean,” you said, sighing and taking a deep breath. You walked into the kitchen and sat up on the countertop, gripping the edge as he walked over and leaned back against the island across from you. “I killed eight innocent people. I did that for my brother. You kill bad people. Not counting Lewis, I apparently have only killed eight innocent people. I’m the monster, not you. I have zero justification for what I did and I don’t want it. Don’t try and push me away saying all that crap. I’m the bad guy, Dean. I am exactly the kind of person that belongs on your list.”

“He forced you,” said Dean.

“I had a choice. I picked Matty every time. Even when I wasn’t sure if he was alive, I kept...just in case. It was always a choice, Dean.”

“You were a twelve year old girl. You had no choice. Even as an adult, you had no choice.”

“Yes, I did. I grew up. I got bigger. I could have said no a long time ago but I didn’t.”

“You were alone and terrified and Lewis had you right where he wanted you. I was that kid too,” said Dean. A beat went by before he took a step in front of you and grabbed your hand. “I want you to go because I love you. I don’t want him to hurt you anymore.”

“I don’t want him to hurt you,” you said. He cocked his head and rested his forehead on your own. “I threw a knife at his neck and he didn’t go down. I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“We’re not going to get far if we keep hating ourselves,” he said.

“You gotta promise me if he ever got a hold of me, you forget about me. You take care of my brother and you just forget about me,” you said.

“I’m never forgetting the woman who saved me, saved my family,” he said. “Matty’s somewhere safe?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod. “Can we do this together?”

“Normally works out better when we do,” he said, smiling for a brief moment. “Two weeks ago we were talking about the rest of our lives and what that meant for us. I want to make those things happen. I never want our family to be afraid of something like this happening again.”

“Then let’s get this guy and get Lewis if he’s out there and do those things. I want to go back to having backyard barbecues and turning our bedroom into a pillow fort and being us. I want us to move on for once and for all,” you said.

“Say we do get James Smith and Lewis. After that...what I do...do you want me to stop?” he asked. “Stop killing.”

“I want you to do it if you want to. If you want to stop, you stop. I’m not telling you what to do one way or the other, De. When it’s all over, I only want you to be happy, Dean. That’s all I want for you.”

“If I said I liked it...liked helping people...would you be angry?” he asked. You wrapped your arms around him, Dean shifting closer.

“Do you remember my cousin? I introduced you to her last month at your company party,” you said.

“Yeah. She came with Brix. He’s in construction sector. He just made manager for second shift electrical I think,” he said.

“You own a billion dollar corporation with 300 employees and you know the facilities manager,” you said with a smile.

“Memorizing 300 names and faces is a lot easier than plotting a murder,” he said. “I remember her. Why?”

“Because you saved her life if you can remember. You saved mine,” you said. “He was a horrible person and my Uncle hurt her. She was a shell before. Now, now she goes to nursing school. She has a good and nice boyfriend. She smiles. She’s living again. You might kill. But you save just as much, if not more. If you want to keep saving people, I’ll be okay with that. Always,” you said. “Maybe you can take some breaks in there but I’ll never make you stop being you.”

“You’re not supposed to fall in love with the monster,” he said.

“I didn’t. I fell in love with you,” you said. “You saved my brother just as much as I did. You’ll never convince me you’re not the good guy so stop trying, babe.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” he said, resting his head on your shoulder, giving you a big hug in return.

“Probably still be eating out seven nights a week,” you said. He chuckled, a tiny shake escaping him. You ran your hand through his hair, the other tracing up and down his spine. “Go relax and take a bath. I know you haven’t been sleeping well the past week. Go on. I’ll keep you safe. We’ll order some food for a late dinner when you’re all done.”

“Okay, sweetheart,” he said. “I’ll be back in an hour.”

“Okay,” you said. You gave him a kiss and he went upstairs, the bedroom door shutting quietly in the distance. After a beat, you hopped off the counter and went to the fridge, pouring a drink and turning your attention to Dean’s computer. “Alright. What have you come up with so far…”

You took a seat and started poking around, Dean not finding anything new out on James Smith it seemed. All the data you had pointed to him living in a home on the north side of town in a quiet suburb. Houses far apart. Lots of land. Gated driveways.

If he lived there, he certainly had enough money to get Lewis the medical attention he would have needed without anyone ever knowing.

“What are you-” you said to yourself before you heard a bang upstairs, Dean shooting down the landing in nothing more than a towel.

“Move. Now,” he said as he headed for the front door. You grabbed the computer and your bag, Dean picking his up from earlier and rushing outside with you. “I see this time, I don’t get yelled at for leaving my crap by the door.”

“Who is there?” you asked, grabbing your keys and running around to the other side of your car, tossing your clothes in the back. You got behind the wheel and Dean slid inside, taking a deep breath. You took off and he looked back out the window at the house. “Dean.”

“House isn’t safe,” he said, holding up a small white card. “It was taped to the bathroom mirror. It was not there when I got in that tub. I shut my eyes for a minute max and when I opened them, there it is. It says welcome home.”

“Fuck,” you said, squeezing the wheel. You drove out of your neighborhood and into where you normally did your errands.

“Pull into a parking lot,” he said. You found a nearly empty one, the sun down by that time of night. You rested your head on the wheel but felt him staring at you. You lifted it and looked down to see a knife in his other hand. “You leave it under the seat in case of emergencies.”

“If you have something to say, then say it,” you said, narrowing your eyes at him. He grabbed your wrist and held up the knife.

And put it in your palm, shrugging you off.

“If you think I suspect you, come right out and say it,” he said.

“Yeah, for a second it crossed my mind,” you said. “What the hell are you doing looking at me like that for? Or was everything we just said in the kitchen bullshit?”

“Oh come on. I-Gas, gas, gas!” he said, his eyes getting bigger. You hit the pedal and the car lurched forward, Dean grabbing the wheel as you cut out through the lot. In your rearview you saw a pickup speed right through where you’d been parked.

“You were watching that truck, not me,” you said, getting a hold of the wheel and getting back on the road.

“Yeah. I was trying not to make it obvious,” he said. You handed the knife back to him, Dean wiping his hand over his face. “That was a fully loaded vehicle. Expensive.”

“James Smith?” you asked.

“The Wilson’s,” said Dean to himself. “The Wilson’s are on vacation and that truck has been parked in their driveway next door all week. Shit.”

“Dean. I think Smith knows we’re on to him,” you said, catching headlights far back in the distance.

“He did it on purpose,” said Dean, looking in the rearview mirror. “He wanted us to find him. He wanted it, Y/N.”

“Why?”

“Because,” said Dean, reaching into the back and grabbing his bag. “Because...oh thank you, thank you my spare running sneakers are back here.”

“The only reason they’re back there is cause you didn’t bother to get them after that make out session,” you said.

“You know I’m learning from all this that my lazy side is coming really in handy,” he said. “Don’t crash us.”

“Don’t what...and you’re climbing in the back as I drive away from someone who very likely wants to kill us,” you said, Dean managing to fling himself back there with only one swerve. Three minutes later he was back in the front seat and in clothes and his sneakers, rifling through your bags for anything to use as a weapon. “You were saying about Smith before, him wanting us to find him.”

“Yeah,” he said, setting the knife in the cupholder for the moment. “Dammit, it’s all we got. If it gets dicey, you take it.”

“Alright,” you said, plowing through a red light, the truck still following after. “What’s he want?”

“You know how when you want to kill someone, you lead them into a trap but they don’t even know until it’s too late? They thought all the decisions they made were there own so they didn’t suspect a thing?” he asked.

“Yeah?”

“I have a bad feeling we fell for the trap,” he said.

“It’s one against two,” you said as you sped out of town.

“I guarantee he has a gun,” said Dean.

“I could drive to the police station?” you said.

“We’re on the wrong side of town and he knows it,” said Dean, looking back again. “How much gas you got?”

“About half a tank,” you said. “Maybe five, six gallons.”

“Okay. We have some time to figure this out,” he said.

“Dean, I gotta cut back in towards town. If we can make it to your office building, you have security guards there. Guys with guns. We drive up, run inside, say it’s a guy with road rage after us,” you said.

“Okay. I like that plan,” he said. “I mean, I don’t. We’re gonna lose every lead we got on the guy the second we do that but it’s preferable to being dead. You gotta make this left up here.”

“There isn’t a left,” you said. “We’re on a boulevard. With a median.”

“There’s a gap right up there,” he said as he pointed.

“Dean, that’s not a turn! It’s broken guardrail.”

“Today, it’s a turn.”

“Cars are driving the opposite way, Dean. I’m not driving head on into traffic,” you said.

“Y/N. It’s coming up. Don’t worry about the cars. Just go,” he said.

“Oh fuck,” you said. You waited as long as you could before you turned left through the gap. “Uh. Dean.”

He threw it in reverse and suddenly the traffic right in front of you was backing off, Dean holding onto the wheel too. He turned it slightly before he threw it back into drive to get you going the right way, the pickup on the other side going past.

“Now let’s lose him before he catches up again,” said Dean. You took off down a side street and made your way in through a neighborhood back there. “I think we finally lost him.”

“What if he put a tracker on the car?” you asked. You got your answer when you saw the truck in the rearview again. “I fucking hate this guy.”

“At least we can go in the right direction now,” said Dean. You drove straight for awhile when suddenly another pickup truck pulled up and blocked the way forward. You took a right down a street and found yourself on a cul de sac with a lone house settled back. “Y/N. What neighborhood are we in?”

“Maple Grove,” you breathed out, looking in the rearview, spotting the two pickups park and block off the exit. “We’re in Smith’s neighborhood.”

“That’s his house,” said Dean, nodding to the home outside the car. “He knew exactly what we would do.”

“To be fair, the car is bugged so not entirely your own fault,” said Lewis over what sounded like a radio. Dean threw his head back and slammed his hand against the dash. “You guys sound like you missed me. Y/N. You did so good for me, kiddo. I know it’s been a long six months but you did such a good job.”

“Dean…” you said, watching him shake his head at you.

“No,” he said. “No. Not you.”

“Dean, he’s lying,” you said.

“If she stabbed me in the neck, I’d be dead,” said Lewis. “The body double was difficult but we figured it out, didn’t we?”

“No,” said Dean. You reached over but he grabbed the knife and pointed it at you. “Don’t...why? You already had me. Why let me escape?”

“You never escaped kid,” said Lewis. “You just thought you did. I never wanted your brother. I wanted you. Now you understand. You will never escape. You haven’t been free since the day I told you I’d break you.”

“You didn’t…” said Dean, staring at you, looking all kinds of panicked. “You said you wanted to have a family! We were gonna get married and have kids and I was gonna get Matty a job and he could…”

“Dean, Lewis is lying. I love you, honey, I love you. I would never betray you,” you said.

“Or would she? She’s done it before. She still playing her game? She likes playing games with her toys. You’ve always been a fun one of hers,” said Lewis.

Dean took a deep breath, his face wet as he glared at you.

“Get out of the car, Dean. I won’t throw you in a cellar this time. You do as I say and we can all get along peacefully,” said Lewis.

“Why?” said Dean, sniffling but not bothering to wipe off his face. “Why her?”

“To prove a point. No one could ever love you apart from me. Now get out of the car,” he said.

“Dean, don’t,” you said. He stared at the knife and then at you, some blankness to his eyes. He put the knife down and got out of the car. He got a shove to the ground and you got out, Dean not even putting up a fight. “Hey! Stay-”

“That’s enough,” said Lewis right behind you, the sharp tip of a blade resting against your lower back. “Look at him. You broke him real good.”

The other man in the mask hoisted Dean up after he secured his hands and threw a hood on him, leading him blindly over to the house. Lewis didn’t move with you and you weren’t sure if he was deciding to kill you there or inside.

“Aren’t you going to ask how I’m alive?” he said.

“Obviously you have a partner I never knew about,” you said. “He’s going to wise up. He’s going to realize you’re lying about me and he will escape.”

“Why do you think you’re here? What’s a better incentive to behave than a little brother? The love of his life,” chuckled Lewis. “Congratulations. You’ve gone from star pupil to permanent resident.”

“How exactly do you expect to keep me in line?” you said, Lewis grabbing your arm and walking the two of you over to the driveway.

“I had no problem hurting him as a boy. What do you think I’ll do when he’s a man?” said Lewis.

“You won’t kill him. It’s everything you’ve worked for,” you said.

“You’re correct there. But I can still do irreversible damage. I don’t want to break him completely but if I have to in order to get you to behave, I will,” he said.

“You don’t hurt people you love,” you said, walking down the incline. He shoved you down and gave your ribs a kick, your arms wrapping around yourself.

“Get used to it,” he said. He grabbed your arm and hoisted you up, dragging you into the house. “I hope you enjoyed the fresh air. It’s the last you’re getting.”

He pushed you into a very nice foyer and a stronger grip grabbed you this time, the other man in the mask taking you away down a hall. You went through a pair of doors into a home library, the man holding you pinning your arms behind your back. There was an open space behind what looked like where a bookcase belonged. You caught sight of panel on the wall before you stepped into windowless room.

“Get off of me!” you shouted, trying to get away even if your ribs were killing you. The man led you over to a plain bed on the ground, a little hook in the wall with a metal cable running around the edge of the room. A pair of soft padded cuffs went around your wrists, the guy kneeling right on your newly forming bruise punching the air out of your lungs. When he got up, your arms were behind you but you had enough of a tether to move and get on the bed.

He pulled out a strip of cloth from his back pocket and you groaned.

“Dean has money. We have so much money. We can pay you whatever you want. Just let us-”

“You can shut up now,” said the man, tying the gag over your mouth. Something sounded familiar about it though. He sat back on his heels and pulled off his mask, your eyes wide. “You did what you had to in order to survive. I get that. I did what I had to too. You live with that guy that long...you can’t help going a little coocoo for cocoa puffs. You know what I mean?”

You stared at him and he pulled down your gag before tightening it uncomfortably around your neck.

“That too snug, little sis?” he asked with a dark smile.

“Dylan,” you whispered, the fabric making your throat already hurt. “He said...we heard the gun...”

“Lewis gave us options. You didn’t like the options. So while you got to live out and about in the real world, I got broken.”

“He said you were dead,” you said.

“Dylan Y/L/N died a long time ago so yeah, I guess he was right. I’m not your brother anymore. I’m his,” he said.

“No, you’re not. He manipulated you. He hurt you to get what he wanted. He doesn’t care about you. He wants Dean and now he’s got him. He doesn’t-”

You stopped talking when he grabbed your neck, giving it a squeeze.

“You abandoned me. You picked Matty over me. Don’t worry, I’ll find him too and then I’ll bring him back here and then you’re gonna learn what it feels like to be broken,” he said.

“I didn’t-” you coughed out, Lewis grunting in the doorway. Dylan let go of you as you heaved, getting some air back in your body.

“I told you, she has value right now,” said Lewis.

“I ain’t gonna kill her,” he said as he stood. “Not until she asks me to.”

“Never happening,” you said, leaning your head back against the wall.

“Your brother is very persuasive,” said Lewis. “Clean up the cars, Dylan, and then we can have our first dinner with Dean.”

You glared at him, Lewis raising an eyebrow.

“You weren’t hungry, were you?” he said with a smirk. They both left and the metal back of a bookcase slide over the entrance, sending you into darkness. A bright light turned on overhead and you winced, taking in your surroundings. There wasn’t much aside from the mattress and a toilet sink looking thing in the corner and a showerhead and drain in the one nearby.

“Sammy, come find your brother before it’s too late,” you said to yourself. “Please come find him.”

Four Hours Later

It had to have been around two in the morning when Dylan came inside the room. You wearily lifted your head as he undid the tie around your neck.

“Is this where you tell me you were pretending?” you asked. He sat back on his heels and narrowed his eyes. “Yeah. I knew that was too much to hope for.”

“Lewis said I can train you,” he said.

“Train me to do what?” you sighed.

“Be part of the family,” he said. He took a knife out of his back pocket and flicked it open. “Sort of intense. I don’t guarantee you won’t be a whimpering shell when you come out on the other side of it.”

“You were my big brother you know,” you said as he put the knife against your back.

“So?”

“So why did a twelve year old girl have to save her big strong eighteen year old brother? You should have saved me. You should have saved me and Matty,” you said. He stared at you and you scowled. “We were children. You weren’t.”

“Lewis is my father. He-”

“No, Dylan, he’s not. Our real dad and our real mom were killed, in front of us. All I wanted, all I was counting on, was you getting out and saving us. He took you out to the back of that barn and shot and we thought you...you owe me an explanation of how the fuck you’re alive,” you said.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he spat back, slicing into your back.

“Yes you do!” you shouted. He did it again and you grunted. “Did he say he’d let you go if you pretended? Say you could go back home if he got us? What’d he say, Dylan? What did-”

“He said he’d let you two go!” he shouted, getting right in your face. He was panting, his brow scrunched up. “So I shut my mouth and listened to you two cry and then I heard him take you both away. But he came back too soon before I could get out and then he had me. He told me the truth, told me Matty was someplace with him, you were free but you were going to start learning real soon. You were kids. You were afraid. He could manipulate you two. I was too old. I was too big. I was the one that got hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt and everytime one of you two did something right, I got hurt for it. You’re the reason I broke bones and-”

“You know he manipulated you,” you said, Dylan leaning back. “But you don’t even care. You’re still on his side. Why?”

“Because he is very good at breaking people once there’s a crack. Dean has cracks, Y/N. He’s not fought back once. He’s not talked back once. He’s going to fall apart and then Lewis will put him back together exactly how he wants him and Dean won’t even know what hit him.”

“You know what hit you,” you said.

“Don’t be cute,” he said. He dug the tip of the knife into your shoulder blade for a split second, just long enough before he pulled back and moved away. He went over to the entrance and you turned towards him.

“If you want to hate us, that’s your choice. But you remember what mom said? The last thing she ever said? Take care of them. She said that to you.”

“I did. But now I’m just angry,” he said. “If I have opportunity to kill you, I will. Matty too.”

“Then I guess that settles that,” you said, leaning over onto the mattress. “Dylan.”

“What,” he said.

“Hurt my little brother and I’ll stab you in the neck too,” you said. He blinked a few times before shaking his head. “I’m not joking.”

“I know. Which is why if you think you hate me now, wait until you see once he’s here.”

He left after that and you rolled onto your stomach, trying to stretch out your arms and alleviate the pain your back.

If you could just get to Dean, you knew you could get through to him.

Getting there was going to be a problem though.

The Next Evening

“I heard you asked to speak to me,” said Lewis. You sat with your hands in your lap, glancing up at him. “You were good today so you can have a rest on those shoulders. Out with whatever you want, I have dinner soon.”

“Dylan wants to hurt my brother Matty. I also know that he’s so fucked up that if you told him to stay away from our little brother, he would. So I propose a compromise,” you said.

“You’re up to something,” he said, crossing his arms. “Continue.”

“You want Dean to break. I bet the shock is wearing off and he’s starting to have doubts about me turning on him,” you said.

“Always were intelligent,” said Lewis with a quick smile. “It was always going to happen. I’m prepared for that.”

“But it’d make your life easier if he thought it was true.”

“That’s correct,” he said. You took a deep breath and threw your head back, closing your eyes. “You want me to tell Dylan that Matty’s off limits and if I do, you’ll say whatever I want to Dean, won’t you.”

“I became a killer for him. I think I can pull off a little acting,” you said.

“Would you hurt, Dean? Do it with a smile?”

“Lewis. Think of all the shit I’ve already done with a smile for you. This would be a breeze compared to some of that,” you said.

“But you love him.”

“Yes, I do. But I love my brother more. I’ve sacrificed everything for him. I will sacrifice this too,” you said.

“I’m not letting you go,” he said.

“I didn’t ask for that. You know what I want. Matty is out of this, for good. If you can agree to that and call off, Dylan, I will do and say whatever you want to Dean.”

“Are you starting to understand why I said you’d be useful?” he smirked. “I always knew this would come up. I always knew where your loyalties would fall.”

“Do we have a deal?” you asked, holding up a hand as far as it would go.

“Yes,” he said, shaking it briefly. “You will get some fresh clothes to change into. Try to look nice for when you see him, hm?”

“Whatever you say, Lewis.”

_______

A/N: Read Part 3 here!

#supernatural #spn #dean x reader #dean winchester #spn reader insert #supernatural reader insert #serial killer!dean x reader #dean winchester x reader #dean reader insert #dean x #dean winchester x you #au

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agapaic · 4 years ago

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tianshan drabble. 💞 created for Fay @nightfayre following her matched donation to Communities United Against Police Brutality. see here for more information. thank you so much to @fantasiapegasus for proofreading! 🌸 synopsis: guan shan receives an unexpected birthday present.

‘We’ll be late,’ He Tian says, the reminder only a little impatient.

Guan Shan’s lip curls. ‘I’m not rushin’ anywhere,’ he says. ‘Not today.’

He Tian holds his hands up, like catching his fingers on a burner, and says nothing. He’d bought them both bubble tea from the café in the apartment’s lobby that morning, and now he watches Guan Shan finishing his, which is cold and sweet. Guan Shan gives it a shake. Small tapioca balls drift around at the bottom, the colour and shape of pomegranate seeds, strangely tacky on He Tian’s tongue when he accepts the proffered remnants of the cup and tips his head back. He Tian puts the empty cup on the side of the kitchen counter.

‘Now can we go?’

Guan Shan narrows his eyes. ‘You know I fuckin’ hate birthdays.’

‘I know.’

‘You know I fuckin’ hate bein’ told what to do.’

A wry smile. ‘I’m very intimate with the concept.’

‘Bein’ told what to do or me hatin’ it?’

He Tian says, ‘Yes.’ He hands Guan Shan a light jacket; the day will be warm, but the mornings are still cool, and He Tian had bought the jacket for Guan Shan’s twentieth birthday a few years ago and still admires its fit.

The café they’re going to for brunch doesn’t take bookings, but they’ve made an exception for He Tian, and Guan Shan’s mother will be meeting them there. Ordinarily, they would spend the morning fucking and He Tian would fetch a box of hot sweet bread and fresh baozi from a breakfast stall down the street. They would watch Li Ziqi on Weibo for half the day, pretending they were somewhere beautiful in Sichuan, and Guan Shan wouldn’t mind if He Tian got crumbs on the sheets.

‘We can go there,’ He Tian would say. ‘Right now—I’ll take you.’

And Guan Shan would explain, in his own way, that there was no real desire in him for it; the want was brief and insubstantial. He wanted to live Li Ziqi’s life like he wanted mushroom jiaozi instead of shrimp, a bland preference. He wouldn’t mind either way which he got.

Today, He Tian hasn’t allowed for the simple pleasure of sex and food. Today, after a year, he can offer something more. He checks his messages on his phone as they ride the elevator down to the lobby, and Qiu has sent him a thumbs-up emoji. They’re good to go. He Tian feels a little sick, and his smile feels warped on his lips when Guan Shan catches his eye in the ceiling mirror.

‘What?’ Guan Shan murmurs. They’re alone in the elevator, but the need to lower their voices is instinctive. ‘You look funny.’

‘I’m just happy,’ He Tian says. ‘It’s your birthday.’

Guan Shan looks away. ‘Fuckin’ weirdo,’ he mutters, but the corner of his mouth is tight, like he’s holding in a smile.

‘You’re not excited to see your mother?’

‘We see her every week for dinner.’

He Tian shrugs. The elevator dings; the doors slide open. They walk out into the complex’s underground car park, and He Tian’s black sports car bleeps as he raises the keys. It doesn’t fit his emaciated salary of being a nightclub bartender, but the car is an element of He Tian’s family wealth to which Guan Shan doesn’t object.

Guan Shan argued once that it defeated the point of the underprivileged image He Tian has been working on cultivating since his father struck him off—which is true, in a fashion—but money still leaks from somewhere, and He Tian wears the marks of it like an oil stain.

They get in the car, and He Tian pulls out from the car park and into the bright mid-morning air, busy with gnats and birds and the muted twang of far-off city construction work. A blackbird flits across the windshield, and He Tian is careful as he eases onto the street.

‘So,’ he says, ‘if you could have anything—’

‘Have we gotta do this every fuckin’ year?’

‘—anything, Mo Guan Shan, what would it be?’

Guan Shan sighs. ‘A pony. Buy me a fuckin’ pony.’

‘Where would we keep it?’ He Tian asks, laughing.

‘I dunno. Where do the rich fuckers in this city keep them?’

‘In stables out of the city.’ Grimacing, He Tian adds: ‘They go riding on weekends, but hire an ostler for most of the year.’

Guan Shan’s expression is comical. ‘Tell me you haven’t.’

He Tian laughs again. ‘I haven’t, I swear. I only know ‘cause friends of the family used to have horses. Still do, I suppose. It’s the kind of thing you never leave, right?’

‘Like working for the mob?’

There’s a collective pause, and then He Tian says, ‘Wow, you really do hate birthdays.’

He catches Guan Shan wince, a token of regret. He hasn’t lashed out in a while, and they don’t talk about He Tian’s family—or its business—unless they can help it. Usually, it’s He Tian remarking on some old pastime he had to endure on his father’s orders. On even rarer occasions, Guan Shan mentions it when he's indulging in a particularly foul mood and their disparate upbringings become a tool only to set them further apart.

They drive for ten minutes in silence, and Guan Shan chews on a hangnail and flicks through radio channels before switching the system off entirely.

‘You know why I hate them,’ Guan Shan says. And then: ‘Sorry.’

He Tian knows. It was only revealed to him on a night out for Guan Shan’s eighteenth birthday. Guan Shan had been drunk, and cried in the taxi on the way back to his mother’s apartment, then threw up onto the pavement with his head hanging out the doorway after the driver stopped the car.

The story went like this: it had been his birthday when his father was arrested for fraud and associated gang activity; his parents had planned to close up early and make him a cake together in the kitchens, which they’d eat slice after slice until they felt sick. Instead, police had swarmed into the restaurant in riot gear, and Guan Shan had hidden under a table in a cleaning cupboard, memorising the labels on bottles of bleach until he had a headache from the chemical fumes and a uniformed woman with a face visor pulled him out by the wrist. He’d been five, and didn’t see his mother for four days. After everything, she’d known nothing.

‘Seriously,’ He Tian says. ‘Tell me what you want.’

‘Brunch with you and my ma.’ He Tian doesn’t look at him; he sounds frustrated. ‘I’m not gonna say I want him there ‘cause he’s not gonna be there.’

He Tian checks his mirrors. ‘Guan Shan—’

‘Yeah, yeah. Don’t wish for things you’re never gonna get. I’ve learnt my lesson, whatever.’

‘Actually, sweetheart, I was going to say we’re here.’

Guan Shan blinks. Gravel crunches beneath the tyres as He Tian eases the car into a parking space in the city hall’s car park. He pushes the pedal for the parking brake, and the engine turns off automatically. Obviously, they’re not at the café.

‘I don’t understand,’ says Guan Shan, and then he looks at He Tian. ‘I swear to fuckin’ god, if there are marriage papers waitin’ in there…’

He Tian laughs loudly, startled. The thought hadn’t occurred to him, but now he wishes it had. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Not today.’

Guan Shan glowers at him, and He Tian opens his car door. ‘Come on,’ he says, nodding his head. ‘Quick detour.’

He can hear Guan Shan muttering in furious debate with himself as he unbuckles his seatbelt and gets out the car, slamming the door a little too hard. His grip is white-knuckled in He Tian’s hand when he reaches his side, and He Tian smooths his thumb across Guan Shan’s knuckles.

‘You’re sweating,’ He Tian says.

‘I don’t like surprises,’ Guan Shan grinds out, then swipes at the sheen on his forehead with the sleeve of his jacket. ‘What the fuck are we here for?’

‘I told you—’

‘That was bullshit.’ Guan Shan only looks ahead, approaching the steps with a vague grimace of contempt. A woman and man stand at the entrance in bullet proof vests, cradling guns in their arms. ‘Sorry, but it’s bullshit.’

He Tian shrugs. He flashes a badge to the officials standing at the main entrance, and says, ‘Magistrates’ hearing.’

They’re allowed in.

‘What the fuck,’ he hears Guan Shan whisper, and then pulls him through when the officials step aside, wearing sunglasses and looks that are equal in severity. Inside, the glossy hallways are cool, and He Tian becomes aware of the swiftness of his own pulse, a staccato metronome. Guan Shan looks sharply at him as they head towards a part of the building that is marked out by signs on polished chrome stands that read ‘Magistrates’ Court & Legal Offices’. Everyone they pass wears a suit; the click of women’s heels on the marble tiled flooring is loud.

Eventually, they walk through a final hallway and out into a brightly lit atrium. Mid-morning sun filters down like they’re in a church, and it makes Qiu’s hair look bright and see-through.

‘The hell is he doin’ here?’ Guan Shan asks, voice wavering with nerves. ‘He Tian—’

‘It’s alright,’ He Tian soothes. ‘Trust me.’

He Tian nods at Qiu, who is standing before a huge set of closed wooden doors with metal rivets studded down each side. Briefly, He Tian entertains the possibility that Qiu is the gatekeeper to some celestial doorway, and he squeezes Guan Shan’s hand tighter.

‘They’ve just made the ruling,’ says Qiu. ‘It’ll only take a minute.’

He Tian nods.

As a three, they stand in silence. It is the silence of men who know that something is about to happen, but don’t know exactly what. Beside He Tian, Guan Shan is shaking. He Tian has lost some of the sensation in his hand, and his pulse aches at his wrist. When he glances at Guan Shan, he can see a bead of sweat run from the crop of red hair at his temple, and down the soft slope of his ear.

Please don’t throw up, He Tian wants to say, jokingly, but then he thinks that might trigger it.

Eventually, there’s sound behind the doors, like the scraping of chairs, and a man’s voice. The three of them stand to one side as they eventually open, and a strange breath of air flows from the room, cool and hot all at once. Inside, the courtroom is disappointingly small, and there are only a handful of people: a jury, the judge, the necessary legal representatives, and a man in a suit that might once have fitted him.

He can take the jacket off, He Tian thinks, and roll up the sleeves. It’ll do for brunch.

‘Oh, you fuck,’ Guan Shan says, the words an exhale. He’s not looking at He Tian. Really, the words could be directed at anyone. There’s a bubble of hysteria welling in He Tian’s throat, and he’s not sure if he wants to laugh or cry. He does nothing, and lets Guan Shan’s hand fall from his.

‘We got him a lawyer,’ he tells Guan Shan, standing at his shoulder, speaking quietly. ‘A better one. They won the appeal.’

Guan Shan nods, but He Tian knows he’s only half listening. His mouth has fallen open. There’s a taut line between his brows where they’ve drawn together and made a ridge. He looks like he’s in pain, and He Tian supposes he probably is. How many years has he looked at his father behind a grate, or smeared glass? Fifteen? Sixteen? He Tian knows it’s more.

He watches the moment Mr Mo’s gaze meets his son’s. There’s fear there—shame, too. Mr Mo’s lawyer whispers something in his client’s ear, pats a hand to his shoulder, then walks from the hall with his briefcase and a courteous nod in He Tian’s direction. His job is done; in an hour, he’ll send an invoice. Alone, the space between them some unchartered territory, Guan Shan takes an uncertain step forward.

Like a child, He Tian thinks.

After a moment, Guan Shan takes another, and another. He’s started crying. When they’re only a foot apart, he and his father stare at each other. It lasts a few seconds, until they both smile at the startled realisation: they’re the same height. Staying where he is, He Tian watches the embrace; he can’t hear the words that follow. Their mouths move the same; their eyes are deceivingly soft. He Tian presses down his envy. He catches the words birthday and red. Mr Mo’s hands gesture to Guan Shan’s hair, appraise his clothes with pride and something like fear.

He Tian waits a few minutes before he begins to move forward. He expects Qiu to hold him back, but Qiu doesn’t. Up close, the similarities between them are unnerving.

‘Dad, this is He Tian,’ Guan Shan says when He Tian reaches his side. He Tian doesn’t touch him, but he wants to.

‘I know,’ says Mr Mo, his voice gravelly with disuse and too many cigarettes. ‘We’ve already met.’

🌸 in the footsteps of @nightfayre ‘s wonderful initiative, i’ll be filling any drabble requests following a donation to help the fund for george floyd, the black lives matter movement, or any similar cause. please read here if you would like more information! ✨

#19 days #tianshan #he tian #mo guan shan #please REBLOG #old xian #george floyd drabble

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saxxxology · 5 years ago

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What Lurks Beneath the Surface - 3

After Sam’s ultimate sacrifice, you struggle to cope. When he shows up after months of being gone, you’re happier than ever to see him. That is, until you realize that the love of your life is much different than you remember.

PAIRING: Soulless!Sam x Reader WARNINGS: canon divergence (season 6), angst, suspense, violence, smut, minor dub-con, and more. NOTE: Some elements of this series are a little darker than what I usually write. Warnings are sporadic to avoid spoilers - if you feel uncomfortable it is up to you to stop reading or message me with any questions.

Read the entire series on Patreon for just $3

Series Masterlist

Things don’t get far with Sam that night. The stress of nearly being caught by Dean is overwhelming, and you’re glad when Sam finally gets the message that you’re not as into it as you were before and lets you go to sleep. You’re not sure if he sticks around or leaves, but when you wake up, he’s sitting at the table reading the newspaper and snacking on a protein bar. The money you’d won the night before is stacked neatly next to him, and you assume he’d counted it after you’d fallen asleep.

You text Dean asking where he wants to meet, and a few minutes later he messages you telling you to meet him at the diner down the street an hour later.

Enough time to shower.

You stand under the warm spray for ten minutes, using the motel bar of soap to rinse off the grime from the night before. There’s one unused towel hanging on the rack, and you wrap yourself in it before pacing back into the main room. Sam barely looks up when you go to your suitcase to grab your clothes.

“You going to meet Dean?” He asks, his eyes scanning down the newspaper.

“Yeah.” You quickly step into your underwear and clip your bra behind your back.

Sam turns around right when the hem of your tee shirt is safely covering your hips. “How long will you be gone?”

You shrug and slip your jeans on. “I don’t know, maybe a couple hours. Think you can wait a bit longer?”

Sam watches you sit on the bed to tie your shoes. “I might have found us a case. Sooner you get back the better.”

You sign and grab your bag. “All right, I’ll update you, just stick around.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Sam stands and peeks out the window. “You called the car a piece of crap last night.”

“Yeah…” You grab your wallet and shove it into your bag. “Sorry about that.”

“Why?” Sam furrows his brow at you as you open the door.

Again, you shrug. “Because it kinda is.”

The door is shut behind you before Sam can retort.

***

You meet Dean at a small diner down the street. It’s close enough to walk, and it only takes you about ten minutes to get there. The Impala is parked out front, and when you make your way inside you spot Dean sitting in a booth near the back of the diner. He waves at you, and you quickly slide into the booth across from him, in perfect view of the parking lot.

“So,” Dean smirks at you, a grin spreading across his face, “how’d it go last night?”

It takes you a few seconds to realize what he’s talking about. “Oh… uneventful.”

Dean blows a whistle though his lips. “That bad?”

“Eh, I’ve dealt with worse.” You pick up a menu as Dean waves down a curly-haired waitress, who pours you both coffee and takes your orders in between cracks of bubblegum.

“So… are you trying to find another place to live or are you just on the move now?” Dean sips at his coffee, watching you meticulously add cream and sugar.

“Um… just moving around now, visiting old friends, traveling, that sort of thing.” You smile and lean back in your seat. “Why’d you leave Lisa and Ben?”

“Because I was keeping an eye on you and then you started going all over the place.” Dean replies. “I mean, you even sold your car, I thought you loved that thing.”

“Too small.” You say. “And it does this weird thing when the engine gets too hot and road trips were a bitch.”

“And yet now you have a freakin’ Dodge.” Dean chuckles. “Are you with someone?”

You shake your head a little too fast and sip your coffee to try and cover up. “No, no, I’m not with anyone… just needed a change.”

Dean nods. “Yeah… but to answer your question, Lisa and I had a, uh… a disagreement a couple weeks ago, it got bad enough that she kicked me out, I’ve been on the road ever since, thought I’d try and catch up with you.” He leans forward, spinning his mug with his fingers. “I was thinking, maybe we should…”

You take another long swallow of coffee. “Should what?”

“I know Sam asked us not to hunt, and we have to respect that, but maybe… maybe us being on the road together won’t be such a bad idea. I mean if you’re alone and I’m alone, maybe we could team up again, you know, like old times.”

You swallow. You should say yes, by all accounts you should say yes. But you made a promise to stick by Sam… and if you leave him alone, there’s no telling where he’ll go or what he’ll do.

“I’ll think about it,” you say quietly, “I miss riding with you and I miss the Impala, but…”

“You like being alone.” Dean licks his lower lip. “Well, it was worth a try.”

The waitress sets down your food, and you dig in, only stopping to talk when both your plates are clean. You split the bill and leave a five-dollar tip on the table before walking outside.

“Want me to drive you back?” Dean digs the keys to the Impala out of his pocket. “Come on, you can’t say no to Baby.”

You smile, watching the sunlight glint off the roof of the Impala. “Yeah, I guess one ride wouldn’t hurt.”

The door handle feels vaguely familiar under your palms, and as you climb into the cab you can smell the faint, sweet scent of the pine-scented spray that Dean uses to clean the vinyl seats. You trace your fingers over the material, feeling creases in the leather from years of use.

Dean turns the key in the ignition, and you close your eyes as the classic roars to life. You don’t realize just how bad you’ve missed the Impala until Dean turns onto the main road and pushes the gas pedal, and you actually let out a laugh of pure joy.

When he pulls into the parking lot of the motel, you don’t want to get out of the car. You feel truly at home for the first time in a long time, and when you think about it, going back to the motel, going back to Sam, you’re not entirely sure what to expect. Sure, hunting with him has been somewhat of a blast; you’ve missed the rush and danger, but going with Dean will mean that you’re closer to home than you’ve been in months.

“Sure you don’t wanna come with me?” Dean turns the car off and looks at you. “It’s been a long time since I had someone to talk to on the road and it doesn’t look like I’m goin’ back to Lisa anytime soon.”

You sigh and run your hands over the seat. “I don’t… I don’t know, can we meet again tonight?”

“If you want to, yeah.” Dean gets out of the car at the same time you do and walks around the hood to pull you into one of his classic bear hugs. “Let me know when and where.”

You give Dean a gentle hug before waving goodbye and slipping back into the motel room. Dropping your bag on the dresser, you hear the Impala pull out of the parking lot and turn to see Sam standing by the window, his arms folded.

“How was breakfast?”

“Good, I’m going to meet him at the bar tonight.” You reply.

Sam walks closer to you. “Did you tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“About me.” Sam looks down at you, his dark eyes almost piercing right through you.

You shake your head, anger boiling in your gut. “No, Sam. I didn’t tell him anything. I lied to him. Again.”

“Good.” Sam turns away from you and walks towards his duffel bag, which is lying open and half-packed on the bed.

“Good?” You stay where you are, watching him shove clothes back into the dark green bag. “Are you kidding me? Good? Do you know what it does to me whenever I have to lie for you? I never lied to you, ever! You and Dean could bullshit each other any time you wanted, God knows you even got a couple lies past me, but I never, ever, lied to you!” You watch Sam look up at you when you raise your voice, and the look he’s giving you should scare the daylights out of you, but you don’t care. Right now, all the rage in the world is making its way up your throat, spewing out in words and brimming in your eyes.

“I helped you through everything! I always stuck with you, I stuck with you leaving Dean and I with your dad, I stuck with you through you and Dean bitching and moaning at each other, I stuck with you through Ruby!” You spit the demon’s name like it tastes bad in your mouth. “I can’t keep lying for you. It’s making me sick!”

Sam watches you as tears start to flow freely from your eyes. “You done?”

You step back. “Am I done?”

“Yeah.” Sam zips his bag up and turns to face you. “I don’t know why you care so much about it.”

“Because you’re different!” you holler, “you’re not the Sam I remember, not at all! You’re aggressive, you’re overconfident, you’re bossy! It’s like running around with a—!”

Sam clenches his jaw and cuts you off. “I know something’s wrong with me, Y/N.”

“Then when the hell were you thinking about addressing it?”

“I wasn’t.” Sam walks closer to you again. “I’m better now.”

“Yeah?” You choke on your words. “At what?”

Sam’s eyes glitter maliciously as he stares down at you, and you fight to keep yourself from slapping his hand away as he runs his thumbs under your eyes, wiping away your tears. “Everything.”

***

That night, Dean picks you up in front of the motel and drives to the same bar you and Sam had visited a couple nights ago. Once inside, you immediately make your way to the bar and order a whiskey. Dean orders the same and taps his glass against yours.

“For Sammy.” He says, and then tosses back his drink in one go.

“Yeah…” your voice trails off as you tip your head back, feeling the chilled liquid glide down your throat. Without thinking, you swallow the rest in two gulps. You never drink this fast; Dean used to on an almost-regular basis, but you usually take your time. The argument from earlier still has your nerves buzzing, and maybe, just this one time, you can let alcohol come to your rescue.

Dean watches you set the empty glass on the bar, his brow furrowed slightly. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, Dean, I’m fine.”

“You’re sounding like Sam.” He watches you stare at the surface of your drink. “What’s going on?”

You look at him, your vision blurring slightly. “Men are dicks.” You pout.

“Whoa,” Dean raises his eyebrows, “where’d that come from?”

“Well…” you shrug, “not all of them, just one.”

“Yeah? Which one?” Dean looks a little more interested when you tip your glass back, swallowing the rest of it.

“My friend.” You spin the empty glass on the mahogany wood counter in front of you.

“Oh.” Dean waves down the bartender, who sets a second glass of whiskey in front of him. “Your friend from last night? The uneventful one?”

You nod, biting your lower lip. “We got in a fight.”

“Yeesh.” Dean frowns. “How bad?”

“Bad enough that I wanna drink.”

Dean puts a hand on your shoulder and gently rubs back and forth. “We should at least order something to eat.” He looks around before getting up and walking over to a dining area. “I’ll get us something to split.”

You feel the buzz of the alcohol getting stronger, and you watch Dean leave, turning your head on the countertop in order to see him properly. After a few minutes of watching him stand behind a group of women who look over their shoulders at him, blushing furiously, you straighten up and swirl the last few drops of your whiskey in the glass before tipping it back.

“Hey, cutie.” A loud, rough voice echoes in your ear, and you jump, nearly dropping your glass. A large ape of a man is towering over your chair his eyes not on your face, but staring right down the slight cleavage that’s visible at the top of your flannel. You ignore him and turn back to your now empty glass.

“Hey.” The man sounds slightly ticked off now, and you raise your eyebrows. The man doesn’t scare you, regardless of whether or not he’s even trying to.

“Can I help you?”

“You’re cute. I noticed.” The man holds out a large, thick-fingered hand. “I’m Angelo. And you…?”

“Spoken for, nice to meet you.” You don’t make a move to touch him as Dean comes back to the table, evidently worried that you could be in trouble. “Oh, hey, babe.”

Without warning, you grab him by the lapels of his jacket and pull him close, your lips landing softly on his. Dean’s surprised, but goes along with it, moving to stand between your legs as you swivel on the barstool.

“Heya, sweetheart.” He glances at Angelo, who clearly doesn’t have an ounce of the confidence that Dean carries. “Who’s this?”

“Just a new friend.” You turn back to Angelo and offer him a smile that says you tried, douchebag. “Come on, babe, let’s go.” You take Dean’s few hand in your own and walk out the door with him.

Once you’re safely outside, Dean pulls his hand out of yours, instead wrapping it around your shoulders. You’re surprisingly steady on your feet, but you’re not wearing a jacket and the night is colder than ever.

“What the hell was that?” Dean walks around to his side of the Impala, you close behind. Before he can open the door, you’re pulling him around to face you and pinning him to the side of the car. You catch a flash of his green eyes in the streetlight before your lips are on his again, and he groans in surprise, his mouth going slack as you pull back, breaking the kiss. “Y/N…”

“What?” You lean back, getting a better view of his face. His pupils are wide and the green irises are darkening with every second.

Dean bites his lower lip before reaching behind him to open the door. “Get in. Now.”

Comments and reblogs are appreciated :)

The rest of this series is available on Patreon for $3.

FOREVER TAGS: @atc74 @crashdevlin @daisymoder72 @daughterofthenight117 @emoryhemsworth @ellen-reincarnated1967 @fangirl-and-medstudent-help @fandom-princess-forevermore @foxyjwls007 @heartsaved @kittenofdoomage @karouwinchester @kickingitwithkirk @kyjey @lovelyrocker @lunarsaturn88 @mariekoukie6661 @meganwinchester1999 @misalovesherdog @marvelfansworld @mrswhozeewhatsis @neii3n @polyamorous-winchester @percussiongirl2017 @plaidalecking @squirrel-moose-winchester @sea040561 @sister-winchesters99 @sammys-dimpless @sammysnaughtygirl @spnwoman @swinchester27 @serpentbaby @thecleverdame @tumbler-tidbits @thelittleredwhocould @viinchester @winecatsandpizza @zombiewerewolfqueen @85natalie @4won

#what lurks beneath the surface #soulless!sam fanfiction #soulless!sam x reader #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester x reader

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freewheelshippin · 5 years ago

Photo

Ranmaru is a musician down on his luck and out of inspiration who got taken in by a sweet old couple running a gardening/flower shop, so while he pulls himself together, he’s grouchily helping out and making bouquets and doling out plant care advice. M is a tattoo artist with not enough clients, confidence in her art, or skills in keeping succulents alive, but maybe the toughie at the store across the street can help her with all three!

and because I’m Like That I got tied up and uh....wrote a little (a lot) of something, focusing on the artistic funk part of the equation. But if you’ll let me have one more indulgence, the headcanon I have is that it eventually Happy Endings into becoming roommates and business partners, starting an indie label to support other artists!!!

anyways here’s this excessively indulgent/serious fic that came outta this LOL

He was here, folded among big green leaves for much longer than he’d intended. The owners heard he was down on hard times and didn’t have a safe place to call home, so he holed up in their guest room. Before he knew it he was stepping in for them at every heavy mulch bag, every wheelbarrow piled high, every crouch that was too much for their aging bodies.

It wasn’t a bad life. It was an improvement, sure. He was alive and fed every day, and he’d never known a home so warm. But it still wasn’t his. He felt like a houseplant, tended to and placed in warm sun, but just as easily fading into the stillness of quiet moments and the background of everyday. He’d never wanted a life like a plant. He hungered deeply even though he was eating regularly again, and he felt more like a bored tiger, pacing in its cage but nowhere to go.

******

He’d been there long enough to start noticing the regulars. The first was that friendly guy who always got idioms wrong and bought the store out of all their cat grass. The second someone was even friendlier, and he’d bug him for what kind of flowers to get a florist. He kept asking even if Ranmaru never gave him an answer past ‘I don’t fucking know’ as he arranged bouquets that used as many herbs and broad, bold leaves as traditional flowers.

The third was someone who looked like she walked in from his past life (or the one he wanted back, anyway). The shaved head, the denim and patches, the ink peeking out from under her sleeves. She was friendly enough but nowhere near as ready to ask for things or will information about herself as the other two regulars, so he only knew her from her purchases and the name on her card.

It wouldn’t have been remarkable in itself if he weren’t so hungry. He’d burned bridges he shouldn’t have while he was ablaze, and now the only people who thought of him kindly were through this stupidly quaint little shop. He was too ashamed of his bullshit to be ready to show his face in those places right now, but he also craved chasing the stage and the dream he’d stayed alive for.

It was just a made-up story he was attaching to someone, he knew this. Maybe she went home and did everything she could to fade into pleasant background like a houseplant. But he’d rather pretend she went to the shows he wished he were going to, that her fingertips were callused in the places his were going soft, and pretend like he still could smell that stuffy, stale sweat from a venue. Maybe he hadn’t burned it away completely from his life and future.

Occasionally, he still wished he was starving, but he’d bury his hands in mulch and dig space for a new plant before he gave in to dumb thoughts like that.

*****

The first time they had a conversation, it was because she forgot something. A big something, big enough that Ranmaru wondered how someone could have a head on their shoulders but forget this.

It was a long, flat portfolio bag. He flipped through it to figure out what it was and tried to not look past that. It was tempting, though, because the contents made him feel the tiniest bit sated for the first time since he’d started working here.

They were flash sheets for tattoos. It had to be hers, right? There was energy to them that he’d ached for but turned his back from. So when she came back, he brought it up very plainly.

“You forgot something here,” he said when she came up to the counter. He produced the portfolio bag.

“.......Oh.”

“What, is it not yours?”

“No, no, it is! I just didn’t realize I’d even lost it!”

“How the hell did you manage that?!”

“A swiss cheese brain full of holes,” she laughed. “...Also, I’ve been really busy.”

“What would make you so busy you forget a giant stack of art like that?”

“Uh…”

“....Whatever. It’s none of my business.” He started to properly ring her up before something occurred to him. “You bought the same succulent last week,” he commented, furrowing his brow. “And a few other times before. What’s so great about it, anyways?”

She made a face of discomfort and surprise, and he felt the same distant shame that he messed this last (even if imagined) connection to that life, too.

“...maybe you can help me, because I keep killing it.”

“You killed a succulent in a week?!”

“No! I mean. I don’t know, is that even possible?”

“First time for anything,” Ranmaru snorted.

“Okay,” she said, putting hands on the counter challengingly. “Don’t get the wrong idea. I’m not one of those serial plant killers.”

Ranmaru just looked back at her incredulously. “You sure about that?”

“If it’s not a succulent, I know what I’m doing! I got a whole brood of chili plants and herbs and spiderplants…”

“You’re overwatering it.”

“You haven’t even seen the plant.”

“Yeah, I don’t have to. Everything else you mentioned doesn’t shit the bed if you water them too much, and succulents are stupidly sensitive to that kind of stuff. Are the leaves falling off if you barely even poke them?”

“......Yeah…” She looked apprehensive, almost resentful for a moment.

Ranmaru knew he shouldn’t, but he just kept talking. “I can’t tell you what you wanna do with your plants, but it sounds overwatered. Don’t water it at all for a couple weeks. Make sure the drainage is good, repot it if it isn’t. Bring it in if you’re still fucking it up.”

“You sure are rude as shit when a plant buddy’s life is on the line, huh?”

“What’s the point of buying a plant if you’re just going to kill it?! You’re just throwing away your money that way,” he grumbled, embarrassed. Him, caring about plants passionately. That didn’t feel right for his image, but it felt more wrong to just let people uselessly throw away their time and money just to give a living thing no future.

“I mean, I’m also buying dupes right now to spruce up my workspace, it’s not like I just have a graveyard for my cash and failed succulents.”

Ranmaru grunted. “Just bring ‘em in if they’re still giving you trouble. I can give you some cartons to make carrying ‘em easier.”

“Ahhhh, nah, don’t worry about it. I work across the street. It’s no problem.”

“Where?” He had a feeling he knew already.

“Oh, the tattoo parlor. I’m actually headed back there right now.”

“....Guess I could just as easily go over there.”

“Hey, and you could get a tattoo from me while you’re at it!” she laughed. “Here, hold on.” She fumbled a little before handing over her business card. Ranmaru studied it briefly before pocketing it gratefully.

When she tried to hand him money, he held a hand up.

“...Pay when you stop killing ‘em. I should’ve checked in sooner, and you get so much from here already, anyways.”

“...You’re sure.”

“If you feel guilty, then take my advice seriously.”

“....Weird business model, but I like it. I can’t give you a discount on ink, if that’s what you’re after.”

“Hell no. Go back to work. Come back when you stop watering them so much.”

“Alright, fine, fine. You drive a hard bargain,” she said with a laugh, scooping the plant into her hand. “I’ll see you next time I fuck ‘em up some other way.”

She left, and Ranmaru realized she forgot her portfolio bag again.

******

He didn’t do much of anything except sleep, eat, take care of the neighborhood strays, and work anymore, but he thought about practicing bass again. He didn’t have amps, pedals, or much of anything anymore, either sold in desperation or lifted by former bandmembers in spite, but his actual basses he couldn’t let go of. Sentimentality or some promise to himself this arrangement was temporary, he guessed.

He studied the business card a lot. Something about the style of the art on it felt right, beyond it being the dose of the studs, sweat, and tears he missed. He didn’t bother trying to describe it to himself further than that; it just felt right, and that’s all he needed to know, but it didn’t stop him from lying awake in bed, staring at it as he struggled to sleep or get out.

Eventually that led to the temptation of looking through the portfolio more thoroughly. He gave in after washing his hands so thoroughly he wouldn’t get the dirt of potting soil or the grease of human hands on it. Not out of secrecy, more out of respect.

Not all of them were things he’d say he was interested in -- science fiction, cartoons, dinosaurs, other stuff he didn’t recognize -- but so much was riffing on images, bands, lyrics, album covers that built his tastes in rock. Even models of bass guitars he’d tried to save up for, once upon a time. It didn’t match the tattoowork he was used to seeing, the lines and compositions feeling more like they belonged in a comic book or a gig poster.

It felt good. It was a small vision of the kind of future he’d wanted. Art and energy like that, paired with his music. He’d forgotten how the excitement of chasing a good future felt, much less feeling like it was even vaguely within grasping distance.

His eyes fell on an image that wouldn’t leave him. A severed, snarling wolf head, out of which winding leaves and vines and stems grew, blooming into orchids.

*****

She didn’t come back for weeks. He went about this life as usual, but some days he’d find his fingers sliding over the smooth neck of one of his basses, missing their calluses as the strings dug into them. But the motions never left him, at least, and they hit notes like barely any time had passed.

He should give that portfolio back to her already. But he’d found himself looking at its contents more and more when he missed the stage so much he physically ached. He couldn’t be imagining this feeling this art made him have, not after this long.

At one point he made a copy of the wolf with orchids growing out of it. He cut it out, unbuttoned his shirt, taped it over his heart, and looked at himself in the mirror, and for the first time since the old couple took him in, he didn’t feel like a houseplant.

*****

He came to the parlor with the portfolio in hand on a lunch break soon after that. She looked uncomfortably unoccupied, her area empty of clients while the other tattoo beds were occupied. He didn’t bother with the receptionist before calling her name. She practically jumped out of her skin from surprise.

He just presented the portfolio bag.

“...Whoops.”

“Do you just not want your art back?”

“...It just slipped my mind.”

Because you’ve been busy, Ranmaru thought to himself as he looked at the empty tattoo bed.

“Did you kill your new plants yet?”

She straightened up and her whole demeanor changed, from the moon to the sun. “Now that I can rub in your face. Look, look, come see.”

She had a small planter of succulents, nestled among spideplants and a red prayer he remembered selling her. The spiderplant and red prayer looked healthy. The succulents didn’t look amazing, but they certainly weren’t on their way to meet their maker.

“Not bad. I’ll rec you some better succulent soil next time you come in. Whenever that is.”

“I figured I’d wait more than one watering cycle before I came in parading like a pageant queen.”

“Too many and I bet you’d be holding another plant funeral,” he said with a wry smile. “But take your shit back already. I’m tired of all your art being at my place where I’m the only one looking at it.”

“...Wait, hold on. Did you look through it?”

“....Sorry. It’s been weeks. I liked your business card and curiosity got the better of me.”

“Oh…” She looked not disappointed, just surprised. “So...you mean, like. Thumbing through the pages looking at it, not just staring at the bag look at it.”

“Is it a secret project or something?”

“No, no. Just…” She hesitated. “Some flash sheets that didn’t do well is all.”

“Really?” Ranmaru was surprised. “These?”

“...Yes? Did I forget something else in there?”

“No. Just. Surprised they didn’t do well. I like ‘em. There’s a good energy to them.”

“Well, that makes you the first,” she said with a hollow laugh.

Ranmaru barely considered with his head what he was about to ask. He’d already chewed it over so much and knew in his heart his answer that he didn’t need to hesitate.

“If nobody else claimed it, I want one of them,” he said resolutely. “The wolf with the orchids.”

“...What, like, now?”

“I’m on lunch, I can’t do now. But….when’s the earliest you got?”

She laughed grimly. “When do you get off work?”

“Six.”

“Then I’m available at six.”

“Then I’ll be here.”

She looked at him in disbelief.

“...You really want it that bad?”

“Don’t tell me what I want,” he growled. “I saw it and it felt right, thinking about it on me. Orchids are a part of my name, anyway.”

“....Okay, you know what? Let’s do this properly. We’ll do a consult at six. I’ll edit the design so it’s more personalized to you, then we’ll schedule an actual appointment you’re actually prepped for so you don’t pass out on the table. And don’t -- “ She caught him about to insist before the words could come out of his mouth. “-- I’m sure you think you’re real tough, but you can’t just tough guy your nervous system into taking more pain unprepared.”

“Fine. See you at six.”

Ranmaru wanted to tell her the hurry was less because he thought he could take it, and more because he was so ready to have it on him. He didn’t, though, and just left, head buzzing with hazy, overwhelming excitement he didn’t know how to express.

*************

Consulting with her on the drawing was more fun than Ranmaru had had in weeks, maybe months. She stayed past her coworkers to do the consult, so they had the parlor to themselves to discuss edits. She played doom metal in the background, sludgy and slow enough that they could properly have a conversation, but the energy as she discussed the drawing with him, drew in edits, and made conversation was exhilarating like a concert.

It was so easy to talk. Even if he was short or blunt, it didn’t seem to stop her from continuing the conversation, and every development they pushed it in just felt good. He didn’t feel invaded, but he didn’t feel insignificant, either, and the way the drawing was going, he felt a kind of known he had lacked.

“I still can’t believe you want your first ink on your pec like that,” she remarked as she refined linework. Ranmaru enjoyed watching how her pen moved.

“It’s over my heart. Not just my chest.”

“That’s, uh.” She hesitated before capping the pen. “.......Are you really sure about this?”

“...” Ranmaru felt himself recoil at the thought of telling her the depth of what this drawing made him feel, but he wanted to communicate, somehow, that he couldn’t imagine regretting this. “I’m absolutely sure.”

“.......” She hesitated again. “This isn’t….a pity thing, right?”

The thought to hold his tongue actually managed to occur to him in time. The doubt she expressed pissed him off in so many different ways. That she was unsure enough to tell him, and that it was there to begin with. The thought of throwing away this connection just to be pissed made his stomach twist, and he thought of the person he saw in the mirror with the drawing taped to his chest that first time.

“This isn’t a pity thing,” he said stiffly as he forced his voice down. “....I saw that drawing and imagined myself with it. And I liked that vision of myself more than the current me.”

“Oh god,” she said, her face bright red. “That’s so goddamn deep. My dumb fuckin’ wolf really made you feel that?”

“It’s not dumb!” he barked. “Why’re you calling it dumb to me? I’m about to get it tattooed on me, aren’t I? Be prouder of your work!”

She took a deep breath after a moment of being totally taken aback. “....You’re right. Thanks. I should be more professional about this. So….my absolutely majestic, heaven-sent fuckin’ wolf really made you feel all that?”

Ranmaru felt his mouth crook into a smile. “Yeah. I want it to be mine, and I want that better me to be mine, too.”

She smiled back widely. “I’ll do your tit justice, then.”

***************

The appointment was that weekend. When she pressed the stencil against his bare chest, he felt the hunger in him sated for just a moment. Not in a carnal urge sort of way, but more like the path forward felt brighter. Possible. Changes and connection and a future was possible again. He wanted more ink from her already, but he also wanted it to not just be that. He wanted a friendship.

“Okay,” she said as he laid on the table in front of her. “Ready?”

The whir of the machine and needles started and stirred a nervousness in his gut that he hadn’t expected, and he hesitated and gasped for a sec.

“...You OK?”

“Yeah,” he grunted. “Just…nervous.”

“Take a deep breath. It’s not too late to rethink or reschedule if you need more time.”

“No.” He was resolute. “I want this.”

She paused. “....I can’t do this the whole time. But just to get you comfortable.”

She offered her left hand to him to squeeze. He hesitated for a moment before taking it, folding each finger over hers. He can’t remember the last time he touched someone like this.

“...Okay. Deep breath. Let out out slowly…there we go. Ready?”

“Ready.”

The needle plunged into him, and while it hurt, he felt excitement and renewal spreading through to his fingertips.

#iron maiden & rocka rolla #florist and tattoo artist au #thank you so much for the ask!!! this was definitely one of the ones i was hoping to get :)#askbox games #scribblings #iron maiden & rocka rolla art

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ddaengyoonmin · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 5

—

Genre: DystopianFuture!au; Prison!au; historical and mythological characters; based on the Fate/ anime series. Fluff, Angst, Smut (it’s gonna be real smutty in some chapters 😳) Action and fighting will be a definite theme.

Pairing: poly!Ot7 X Reader -there will be some three(maybe even more)some smut in future chapters

Warnings: Fingering, Unprotected sex, voyeur and exhibitionism?

Word count: 4.8k

Taglist: @bellexwriter @3rachascompass

@im-emo-motherfuckers @i-like-puppy-mg

@mynameisstruggling @kaekae-h @skytime092

@seesawsmin-flower @oddkpopgirl @caibaby23

@spider-thot0115 @sunshine-or-some-shit

@em1joon @aclp-jb1d @monvieesdaebak @mother-forker @karissassirak

@littlebluebird-al @namjoonsslutakakoreanmanswhore @d-noona

(if i forgot you let me know lol i suck at taglists but i try my best!! <3 )

As the car continued to speed down the road, Yoongi's foot was shaking on the pedal. He’d had his fair share of experiences racing away from a terrifying situation, but nothing compared to this. His palms sweat, slipping slightly on the steering wheel as he made a sharp turn. The brutal sight from mere minutes ago playing in his mind on a loop.

About twenty feet up in the air a silver camera drone hovered. Almost as if it had eyes, Yoongi felt its stare intruding into the windows of the car. Yoongi rolled down his driver’s side window.

“Did you like that you sick fucks? Did we put on a good show for you?” He screamed out, putting his arm out the window and sticking his middle finger up at the drone, At the world, at the viewers who were probably all comfortable on their couches with popcorn and other snacks while they watched that gruesome event play out. Some had probably even cheered when the team was taken out. If they had a bet going on they may have just won some money off the deaths that took place.

Yoongi was growing nauseous at that thought, and put his foot to the gas even more, wanting to be home and indoors where the cameras wouldn’t follow.

————————————————————

When the car pulled into the garage, the rest of the group assumed the same roles they had done the last time. You slid off the back of the trunk shakily as Jimin held out a hand to steady you on your way down.

“Thanks” you mumbled.

“Of course, you okay?”

“Been better” you shrugged. You had thought that nothing could ever terrify you more than Vulcan did. Yet, today had proved you wrong. When you were faced with your possible demise, you had a thought. You didn’t want to leave this world, not yet, you still needed more time with these men.

Master, his cold way of dealing with you still hadn’t turned you off from the idea that he was still someone you wanted to be close with.

Jin, his caring nature, the way he carried you to the couch, and constantly checked in on you.

Hoseok, you hadn’t gotten extremely close with him, but you really like him and his ready to go attitude that really encouraged the rest of the team, and kept them positive despite what you were all going through.

Namjoon, the way he cared about his teammates, taking on a lot of the hard decisions and playing mediator even when he had his own shit going on, you knew that took a toll on him, but he didn’t show it.

Jimin, the beautiful man who made you feel so good nights ago. You had grown fond of his smile, and his warm heart. He was moody and a bit rash at times, but he was good, and kind to you.

Taehyung, the man you had felt comfortable talking to about your past. He listened well, and he didn’t seem to judge you for anything. If he did, he’d never said a word. He felt like safety in this world that was currently anything but.

And lastly Jungkook, the awkward shy man, who you noticed was scared and probably wanted to run away from this whole thing and never look back. Yet, he stayed with his teammates, not wanting to let anyone down and still trying his best.

These men, your team mates. You weren’t ready to leave that behind.

So, for the first time in your life, or second life, whatever it may be...you were truly afraid of death. You felt that ticking clock of mortality telling you that there wasn’t enough time, that there might never be enough time with them.

You were torn away from your thoughts when two strong arms were pulling you into a hug. Which surprised you, the men had tried their best to keep skinship with you to a minimum so as not to risk getting carried away with the lustful feelings.

It was Jin, he had pulled you in tightly, and you accepted it, wrapping your arms around his waist and locking them behind his back.

He didn’t say a word, just holding you there for a minute in the garage. You realize everyone had left and you’d been standing there in a daze, which must’ve worried Jin.

When he pulled back he gave you a small smile and patted you on the head.

“I needed that” you spoke softly.

“Yeah me too actually” he chuckled, then looked down at the small tent in his pants that had formed and sighed “Yeah that’s not my fault.” He winked

You giggled “yeah, my bad”

“Mmm, not sure if I’d call it bad” Jin brought his hand to your face and brushed your cheek lightly with his thumb.

You felt a shiver run up your spine, and a small tingle of pleasure at his gentle and loving touch.

“You know I really wish we could. But I won’t force myself on you like Yoongi did” he frowned

“Yoongi didn’t force himself on me” you looked down and shuffled your feet

“Bullshit. You’re telling me you let him treat you that way?” He shook his head, not believing you.

“I did. And he could do it again. He can do whatever he likes to me. He’s my master” you snapped, taking a step back from Jin.

“Hey hey hey, I’m sorry okay...I just find it hard to believe that you’re okay with that. I’m just worried about you.” He sighed again “just don’t think you have to let him treat you that way. You don’t deserve it” Jin stepped forward, kissing you on your forehead and letting his lips linger there for a while.

“Thanks for your opinion” you said in a monotone voice. Not wanting to discuss this further.

“So you really want him…” he grumbled.

“I want all of you...but I want him most” you whispered.

Jin nodded, “well, I’ll try not to be too hurt by that. At least I’m a contender huh?”

“I really do like you too Jin, please just don’t worry about how I deal with Yoongi and our... relationship….”

Jin grinned “okay, I’ll do my best to stay out of it. But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to worry okay?”

You nodded.

“Do you think…” he paused. Debating on if he should finish. “Do you think the others would be mad if you slept with me tonight?”

You raised your eyebrows “I mean, Namjoon set rules right?”

“Oh! No no, I meant like, just sleeping, literal sleeping, like...you share my blankets and pillows with me, maybe...we cuddle or something. Nothing more” he ran his fingers through his hair, suddenly getting nervous like a schoolboy asking out his first crush.

“I’m not sure what they’d think” you chuckled “but if they don’t mind. I’d love to”

Jin nodded his head up and down quickly “I-I’m gonna ask about that.” He sped over to the door into the house, holding it open for you to go in first. You felt his eyes locked on you as you walked into the house and to the kitchen for something to drink.

Jin didn’t know how much longer he could take this. He needed you, and he wished that you loved him most. It seemed that your affections leaned towards Yoongi more than anyone else, maybe all you really wanted from the others was sex and nothing more. But, Jin was convinced he could show you how a good man would treat his woman, and maybe then…

———————————————-

Everyone had grabbed something from the kitchen to either drink or eat before settling down to sit on their beds. It wasn’t quite evening yet, but each of them had exhausted expressions. Taehyung was trying to comfort Jungkook who still was slightly in shock.

They were rightfully shaken up.

Namjoon finally spoke up.

“So, I know it's hard to think of what happened today as a good thing. But, it wasn’t us that got taken out. So we have reason to feel some relief.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, “Yeah I’ll feel relieved when it’s over”

“Well I think we have reason to feel grateful. Goddess saved us back there. You saw what happened to the others, that could’ve easily been us.” Taehyung spoke, casting a smile your way, “That was good thinking distracting Archer.”

You didn’t want to admit that distracting her wasn’t quite your plan, but yes, things did all work out.

Yoongi scoffed and rolled his eyes for a second time.

Jimin jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “If you don’t start being nice to her I swear I’m not talking to you anymore. She’s been nothing but kind and helpful since the moment she got here. Hell, she’s even put up with your sour attitude better than your own friends here have. So I think it’s time to put whatever shit you have going on behind you and start appreciating YOUR servent”

Yoongi suddenly frowned and looked down to the floor.

“I’m sorry….” he muttered.

“To us? Or to her?” Jin asked, “because I don’t think you should apologize to any of us before you’ve made things right with her.”

Yoongi didn’t quite know what to say. How could he possibly put what he’d been feeling into words, who could possibly understand? If he said what was honestly on his mind would that make things better? Or should he just tell them what they want to hear, then everything can go on like sunshine and rainbows even when he knows it’s not.

Jimin spoke before Yoongi had made a decision on that.

“I think Yoongi's issue here is...that he hates the Escape war. He hates everything it stands for and he holds a grudge against society for making it acceptable. And unfortunately goddess here is a part of that system that you hate right?” Jimin turned to Yoongi meeting his eyes.

Yoongi nodded shamefully “I don’t want any of this. I don’t want to be a master, I just want to serve my time and live my life here in red brick like anyone else. And every time I see her, or hear her speak. I’m reminded that I’m a part of a sick game that rich fucks created to fill their wallets.”

The room fell silent for a long while. No one quite knew what to say to make Yoongi feel better.

“Did you ever think that I didn’t ask for any of this either?” You spoke, breaking the quiet. “That I’m no less of a victim in all of this than you are? I don’t represent thing sick game any more than you do Master. But you know what? I was happy that I was summoned here the moment I saw you, when I asked who my master was, and you spoke, I couldn’t have been more excited to get to know you and be on your team. Not because I was excited to win, or kill, but because of you and the goodness I saw in your eyes. I love you Master, why won’t you accept me?” Tears started to form in your eyes as you spoke. All eyes in the room were shifting back and forth between you and Yoongi, wondering how he’d respond.

His mouth hung open, like words were trying to come out but being held back.

What he did next wasn’t unexpected, but it didn’t stop you from letting out a loud sob while he stormed silently out of the room and into his bedroom.

Jin shook his head angrily. The rest of the group were motionless and still deep in thought about your confession.

“You love him?” Jimin spoke quietly.

“I don’t know what else to call it…” you muttered. “It’s like I told Jin earlier...I care for all of you, but Master...what I feel for him is more”

“So do you love me?” Jin spoke. It caught you off guard, you didn’t quite know if you could call your feelings for the rest of them love. Lust? Yes. Protectiveness? Also yes. Love? What even is love? You just confessed that you loved Yoongi, but did you even know that it was what you felt?

The next series of events happened far too quickly for you to stop.

“If anything she’d love me. She kissed me, and touched me. And we understand eachother” Taehyung's chest puffed out with pride as he confessed.

“Well she might love me too since I went down on her, and we understand each other as well” Jimin shrugged.

The rest of the group sat wide eyed and in shock at their admission of breaking Namjoons rules.

“W-what?” Jungkook stuttered staring at Taehyung with a look of betrayal.

Jin stiffened and fell quiet and still. Hoseok chuckled and patted Jimin on the back as if to say ‘nice one’. Namjoon on the other hand looked furious.

“Did I not say…” He started. Then he looked to you, his face growing red and angry “Did you make them do this?”

You couldn’t find the right words to say, you were embarrassed and ashamed. The last thing you wanted was to cause tension in the group. You felt that Namjoon now saw you how most men had always seen you, a temptress and a witch who lured men into her spell of lust.

Jimin stepped in before you came up with something to say.

“Namjoon stop. If anything it was my fault, she honestly tried to talk me out of it at first. I’m sorry I broke the rules. But I think it was a ridiculous rule in the first place. You know we all want her, and it’s not that easy to hold back.”

Namjoon’s eyes narrowed “Fine then.” he said coldly “Fine. No more rules. Everyone just do whatever you’d like with her then.”

The room was in shock at the lift on Namjoons ban.

“Obviously if she wants to, which I don’t see being an issue. I mean that's your whole thing right?” Namjoon looked your way a hint of disgust in his tone that made you feel ashamed.

You frowned slightly

“Y-yeah. That’s my thing I guess” You stammered with an almost sarcastic tone, feeling slightly annoyed at the way he had just spoken to you. Like a toy, like all you were good for was sex and putting out when someone wanted it from you. You’d like to think that you were more than that, but your past experiences didn’t really give you much of a defense.

Namjoon sighed and stood up from his chair, “I’m gonna go get Yoongi” he grumbled as he left.

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

The rest of the night was awkward. All of your team seemed to not know how to handle Namjoon’s rule being ended. Should they give it a try? Your reaction definitely didn’t seem like you were happy about it, and as irresistible you were to them, they weren’t going to force you into anything.

When it came time to sleep you settled down on the couch, everyone including Yoongi and Namjoon were settling into their places in the living room and quickly falling asleep.

Just as you were about to shut your eyes and do the same, a soft voice hit your ears from the side of the couch.

“I suppose that means my proposition earlier is fine...if you still want to?” Jin whispered.

You looked down to where he laid right below you along the length of the couch. He smiled up at you, with a hopeful expression.

You were happy that you hadn’t crushed his spirits earlier with everything that had gone down. You really did like him too, he meant a lot to you. When he asked you if you loved him, you wanted so badly to tell him that you did, even if you didn’t. Just to see the way his face would light up at your words. You wanted him happy, and loved.

“Of course.” You whispered back with a smile. Quietly you lower yourself down onto the floor, he held his blanket up for you to get under, he was shirtless and wearing only a pair of light pink sweatpants. Almost instantly he pulled you tightly into himself, your back pressed against his hard and muscular chest, an arm clutching you around your waist holding you tightly to him.

You could feel his erection start to grow against your backside. You knew he couldn’t help it, it was just the spell, you told yourself.

But, feeling wanted by this kind and caring man had you feeling better about the day’s events, and you found yourself wiggling slightly against the hardness in the front of his pants, rubbing your ass against him.

He reacted instantly to the feeling, shutting his eyes tightly and bringing his head to rest on your shoulder and his cheek against your own. He let out a small moan as you continued.

“Fuck baby. Don’t stop doing that” he whispered into your ear.

You started to press your hips harder back into him, rolling them in small circles and rubbing against him. His hand now moved from your waist and clutched your hip, holding you tightly to himself as you moved. He moaned lightly again and you could feel his chest start to rise and fall quickly as his breathing increased. You felt your own arousal growing as you continued, the hot sticky wetness that was now underneath your dress proving how turned on you were from this.

“You’re making me want to fuck you right here.” He murmured.

As much as you felt like you were only proving Namjoon right at this point, you couldn’t deny how badly you wanted to do exactly that.

Fuck it, maybe sex was something that you just couldn’t resist, but that didn’t mean you weren’t more than that. And you weren’t going to pass up this opportunity just because of what Namjoon said.

You grabbed Jins hand that was on your waist, moving it down and underneath your dress to your dripping center, holding tightly onto his wrist as his fingers started to find their way between your folds. You shivered at the feeling and your hips pressed back into him making him groan.

“Shh” you quietly giggled.

You felt Jin smile against the skin on your neck where he was now leaving light kisses.

Jin's fingers started to circle your clit, making you gasp out.

“Hey, shh” he chuckled, laughing at the hypocrisy of you being noisy right after shushing him.

After circling around your clit for a few moments, his fingers trailed their way down and to your entrance. He nipped your ear lightly as one of his fingers entered into you. You tried your best to be quiet, biting your lip at the feeling. Then another finger entered, and he started to slowly move them in and out, curling them and brushing against your sensitive walls.

You wanted to moan and scream with pleasure but continued to bite your lip holding back your noises, not wanting to wake your teammates. You don’t quite know why, but you’d feel slightly embarrassed if anyone woke up and caught you like this with Jin.

Jin continued a steady pace of in and out, soft kisses trailing up and down your neck as he did, loving the way you’d move your hips against him when he’d brush against a spot or touch you in a way that seemed to feel exceptionally good.

Your breathing was quickened and shallow, trying your best to not let out a scream that was building in your stomach next to the orgasm that was building under Jin’s fingers.

“Cum for me Goddess” he whispered into your ear.

And that was your undoing. You let out a long exhale as your walls convulsed and tightened around his fingers. Your orgasm flooding over you, pure bliss hitting every inch of your body. You shook and wiggled against him as you came.

“Fuck baby, you’re so hot” Jin brought his fingers out of you and to his lips. You turned your head just in time to see him take the two fingers that were covered in your juices and bring them past his soft plush lips, sucking on them and releasing them with a quiet pop.

“And delicious” he added

You lean your head forward to him, your eyes locked on those tempting lips.

He met you halfway and his lips touched yours passionately and heavily. His kisses were sloppy but somehow precise at the same time. You could easily get lost in them for hours if he’d let you.

You felt him reach a hand down, adjusting his pants to be able to pull out his cock. You could now feel him against your ass as your dress was pulled up past your waist. You repeated your previous motions, rubbing against him and rolling your hips in circles against him.

“Goddess. You are so perfect.” he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear now.

“Can I?” he whispered, now moving to position his cock at your entrance that was still soaked from your orgasm.

“Yes. Please” you moaned.

Jin then slowly started to lift his hips, pushing himself into you every so slightly, and groaning softly with every small movement.

Once he was completely inside of you, his hand gripped your hip tightly and he held you still as he somehow pushed up even further. You let out a small gasp at how deep inside of you he was, which caused him to chuckle and bring his other arm under your head. He brought two fingers to your lips, and you instantly parted your mouth. He pushed his fingers inside, his way of trying to keep you quiet most likely. You started to suck on his fingers, flicking your tongue along them as he pushed them deeper into your mouth. Jin now started to slowly move his hips, moving himself in and out of you.

You hadn’t seen his cock, only felt it, but the way that it filled you up you could only assume he was huge. Much longer than Yoongi had been.

Jin growly softly as he started to pick up his pace, rolling his hips quickly and gripping your hips tightly, his fingertips digging into your side as his hips smacked against your ass.

“Shit” he gasped a bit too loud. Suddenly you felt his whole body still, and his hand grip tighter onto you. He was hissing softly, and you could now feel a warmness hitting your walls, and his body starting to shiver against you as he breathed heavily.

“Fuck.” he winced. Pulling his fingers from your mouth, turning to look at you with an embarrassed expression.

“I’m so sorry, that came out of nowhere” he spoke shyly. “No pun intended…” he added starting to laugh at his own joke.

“It’s fine” you smiled and brought your lips to his shaking mouth, planting a soft kiss. “You are amazing.”

“Yeah?” Jin grinned widely “You’re more amazing. That felt too good”

“Yeah. It sounded like it.” A voice grumbled from the other side of Jin. You jumped with surprise, Your hand shot up to your mouth and your eyes widened.

Jin was equally as taken back by the voice, and he mouthed an ‘oh my god’ at you.

“Maybe let me join in next time if you’re going to be so obvious about it. I probably would have lasted more than a minute” the voice belonging to Hoseok whispered again, he lifted his head looking at Jin, then to you and winking.

“Yeah right, maybe next time buddy.” Jin chuckled and rolled his eyes, putting himself back into his pants now and pulling you into him for some cuddles.

“I’ll hold you to it.” Hoseok teased. Though part of you knew he probably wasn’t kidding. For the first time your mind imagined a scenario of all of these men at once and you, all of them standing naked worshipping your body and touching every inch of you. You smiled and felt a warmness grow in your cheeks while you pictured it. It was a selfish thought, but now it was stuck in your mind all the way until you drifted to sleep in Jin’s arms

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

The next morning your group decided to do another patrol of the city, Hoseok had suggested venturing out a little further than your own neighborhood. He felt the best strategy was just to get in the middle of things and hope for the best. Jungkook seemed terrified of that idea, but being the youngest he tended to try and hold back from arguing too much decisions that the others made.

Namjoon agreed as long as Yoongi was alright with it. Which he was.

As the eight of you filed into the garage and to the car, Yoongi pulled you aside from the group for a moment.

He had grabbed your arm to pull you away and your heart fluttered wildly at his touch.

“So I was caught up to speed on everything that happened after I left yesterday.”

You felt slightly embarrassed that he now knew you’d been with Taehyung and Jimin, and possibly he now knew about Jin, considering that you two weren’t as quiet as you’d thought.

“Oh?” you stared at him wide eyed.

“ Yeah. So. Just…” Yoongi stuttered, then paused a moment

“Just, try not to break their hearts while you make rounds fucking the entire group. That’s the last thing we need here trying to win this war” he grumbled.

It seemed like that wasn’t what he had planned to say when he first pulled you aside, maybe he had meant to use kinder words, or even talk to you about the fact that you had said you loved him. Yet, instead, staying true to all his previous interactions with you, he was simply cold and mean.

You frowned and nodded as he stomped away to the drivers side of the car and got inside, slamming the door behind himself. You could see him mouth something to himself as he ran his hands through his hair nervously and quickly.

Jimin now approached, offering you a helping hand as the two of you got up on the trunk beside Jungkook.

“So you and Jin now too huh?” He smirked.

“Ahhh shit, did everyone hear?” you groaned

“Yeah…” Jungkook said on the other side of you. You sighed and shook your head.

“Do you really want all of us like that?” Jungkook spoke almost inaudibly, not meeting your eyes as he talked. You thought for a moment, and figured it’d be best to be honest.

“Yes…” you answered “Yeah. I do.”

“Even me?” Jungkook squeaked. The innocence in his voice made you smile. And you could hear Jimin chuckle on the other side of you.

“Yes even you Kook”

He instantly became extremely shy and embarrassed, which was honestly incredibly adorable to you.

“Maybe some time we can, huh?” you told him. Now you were picturing it. Sweet Jungkook moaning underneath you, eyes wide as he came from the pleasure that you’d give him...

He nodded, still avoiding your eyes. How cute.

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

Things were eerily quiet as your team drove around the buildings of Red Brick. The other prisoners still kept in their houses, trying to avoid any crossfire.

The car was now reaching the church, and you felt yourself tense up. You knew he’d be there, right at the top like he was before.

“Can we go down this street?” you yelled out, pointing to a street with a lot of tall shops and buildings and looking like a ghost town with no one working or shopping.

You saw Yoongi shrug and do as you suggested. You let out a sigh of relief at not having to drive past the tower where you knew Vulcan sat.

As your team's car drove down the abandoned streets a loud revving sound rang out from above. You looked up to the buildings to see an older man on top of a building, sitting tall and confidently on a motorcycle looking down at you. His team also stood there, all older men, each of them looking at least 60 or older, with long gray hair and grey beards. The servant grinned and let out a loud belly laugh upon seeing you. His hands clutched the handlebars of his sparkling motorcycle, red and white with blue stars decorating it.

His voice boomed out loud, echoing down the whole street. Almost as if he was speaking for the cameras and for the audience. His showmanship was definitely apparent. He seemed to be from a much later time in the world than you had lived.

“Gather round ladies and gentleman. For my next trick, I will jump from this building, taking out the legendary Aphrodite. One step closer to winning the escape war.”

His long red white and blue cape flew in the wind.

The rider servant.

#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts fluff #bts angst #bts smut #jimin x reader #jin x reader #jungkook x reader #namjoon x reader #taehyung x reader #hoseok x reader #yoongi x reader #bts au #fate/bangtan #jin smut #btssmutclub #btswriterscollective

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inkskinned · 6 years ago

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literally just a dumb unorganized list of school tips

source: im a grad student. i’ve had a lot of school. also i’m adhd & mentally ill and require +8 organization. this is mostly directed @ college students, but maybe high school students can use it too, fuck, idk, it’s been forever since i was stuck in that hell hole

just say “professor” either ur using the correct title for a person (will make them feel good) or you’re giving them a bigger title on the assumption they deserve it (which will make them feel good) and also prevents having to ever i mean ever use their names

talk at least 1 time a week in each class, aim for 1 time a day. even lecture classes. i fucking hate talking in front of more than 5 people, so what i would do is prepare a question about the hw/etc (even if i didn’t need it answered) to ask the professor after class so they saw me and got used to me and saw i was invested in their class. about 89% of teachers - if they see you try, they will pass you. i mean it’s literally that easy. i know people who went from like a c- but because they legit tried, their grade got bumped up to a b-.

if u have to bring a laptop, pre-download the required material/screenshot it, and then turn off your wifi. it’s too easy to not listen.

physical writing will always give you more information recall over typing.

nobody cares about stupid shit anymore trust me they don’t remember that you were accidentally locked in a towel out of your room bc they have their own dumb shit that happened.... in college all the “cringe culture” turns into “god i wish that were me” culture ... wear ur onesie to a party trust me you make +800 friends and 799 of them will be girls telling you you’re adorable and they’d die for you

about locking urself out.... if ur like me and can breeze past post-it notes placed in obvious areas, don’t be a dumb bitch and rely on post-it-notes. while most schools offer 1 free lockout, dont rely on it - it once took 2 hours before someone could get to me. i was in a towel, which meant no phone. so like. anyway, what i do now is i put something on the handle of the door i have to open/unlock. i can’t just open the door w/out the thing falling down and making a loud “you dumb bitch unlock the door before u shower” sound.

this works for all important don’t-forget it things. other obstacles i’ve used to remind myself to do something include: putting a chair with my wholeass posterboard in front of the door, an entire printer with a single piece of paper that just read “for the love of god check to be sure you have that essay”, and a recycling bin i kept forgetting to empty. guess what bitch finally emptied the bin once it was between me and a swift exit!

no offense and like the whole “it’s the best years of your life!” thing is great but in reality everything goes better scholastically when you treat it as “i came here to win, not to make friends.” i still did make friends, went to parties every weekend, was popular enough i’d be invited to several on one night - but i came there to win. when i put my scholastic life and my mental health first, i went from a 2.0 to a 3.98. yes you can, bitch.

you’re spending the money. don’t squander it. trust me when i say i know plenty of people who breeze through, bc you often can. but like. don’t. challenge yourself bc like. talk about an investment.

if you hate your major, change it. don’t make your life something you can’t stand. on that note, do NOT agree 100% to a track until you have at least some experience in the field. i cannot tell u how many ppl i know who got their whole masters/phd program done, walked into their new profession, and were like, Oh Fuck, I Can’t Live Like This.

college literally offers so many free things and if you’re not taking advantage of them whenever possible i get it but like. try to take advantage of them. this is everything from your gym (which probably has free classes dude) to clubs to like. sober events. these sober events are so ... fuckin good dude i’ve made mason jars with little plants in em... bee aviaries... candles.... go to the free stuff

oh ps on free stuff i wanna say about 4 of 5 days there’s free food on campus just look for things like job fairs, presentations, or discussion groups. also while you’re there at the job fair like. u know, go to the job fair in earnest

i took off 2 years to work and also to just. recover from my bullshit. and it took me 6 years and 3 schools to get my bachelor’s. it wasn’t easy but bitch i lived. there’s no such thing as “too long” to graduate if that’s truly what you want to do.

if on the meal plan, eat as clean as you can the first week. then introduce each part of the cafeteria’s possibly-food-poisoning-creating foods one at a time. give @ least 2 days between each experiment so you know for sure if you get sick what caused it. i literally never eat meat at school but you can still get sick off of unwashed lettuce/salad dressing that hasn’t been refrigerated properly/weirdass things you won’t even think of. this prevents like. dying in a public bathroom.

white loaf bread can be gross & boring. discount bakery section for your slightly chewy artisianal bread needs. if overstale, either toast it or dunk it into water and microwave it (unless u got an oven. use the oven if u can)

steal as many apples from the dining hall/events/etc as physically possible just do it they keep FOREVER and @ some point you’ll be like. fUCK i need a nutrition. ps if you’re keeping them in ur backpack (i wouldn’t keep more than 2) make sure to wrap w/a few paper towels so if you drop your bag you don’t get apple mush

write it all down bitch. “i’ll remember it” no you won’t. unless you are capable of remembering every idea on this list and in order, you won’t remember it. in general, if you write something 3 times, you will recall it correctly at least 80% of the time. i also read it out loud to myself, bc, you know, auditory recall

DO NOT just put your assignment at the top of your notes, unless you’re 100% sure that will work for you. in most cases, it’s much better to have a planner/agenda/place you expect to look for assignments. +7 points if you lie to yourself about deadlines and move them all up.

like not to sound too much like a DARE ad but like. if you don’t like it/don’t want it, don’t fuckin do it. the idea that “there’s nothing to do if you don’t party” is such bullshit. like i promise if you’re like “i am a grouch and want to stay in and binge netflix” about 45 ppl will show up in pjs like “bitch fullscreen it, im a grouch too.” there’s also like. the chance to just.... not overindulge. on wednesdays i have “wine wednesdays” where we sit around and drink a glass of wine while we do our hw. it’s chill and friendly instead of like. drink until u vomit. don’t feel like you either gotta slam the breaks or the gas pedal, is what i mean.

PLEASE know the signs of alcohol poisoning/overdose. most schools have a “Safety Always Matters Most” policy, which means that you can call for help w/out getting into trouble. if you think someone is in danger, act. this also goes for making sure ppl get home safe even if they’re just incapacitated, not poisoned. step in, dudes.

also just. notice when ur starting to rely on stuff too much. i’m super easily addicted to things, so i keep a healthy distance from liquor. i don’t let myself “drink to feel better” bc that’s a scary, scary thing to link to feeling better. if you or somebody u know starts drinking all the time/gets anxious if they don’t drink/drinks in the daytime .... get help. schools have counselling services for a reason.

you’re gonna get a cold/flu of some sort in the first 2 months just brace for it. in the meantime, drink vitamin c, try not to touch too many handles, and when people say “there’s something going around” believe them.

watch kaplan nike just do it

if you can teach it, you know the material. a super good way of knowing if you studied the right way is to try and teach the material to a stuffed animal/imaginary class.

“i don’t know how to study” bitch me too the fuck. this is usually bc we’ve been taught that studying is just sitting down and staring @ ur notes. it’s not. it’s different for everyone, and you need to understand it’s 99% preventative care. if you don’t go to the class or do the homework, studying is going to fucking suck, bc you’re learning the material all at once for the first time. the place you should consider “studying” is “i’m confident in 70-90% of the material, but need to review.” do not let yourself fall behind .... just go to office hours and ask questions if ur not getting something. studying should feel like you’re remembering what you already knew but kinda forgot, not like you’ve been blindsided.

the whole “writing it down in ur own words” while u have been told this 700 times it really helps bc it means u gotta translate it through your own understanding. if you can’t, and it’s not bc the material seems too obvious to you to state in another way - ask yourself if you don’t understand the material. chances are u are missing a bit of info.

i know it’s like A Thing that Some People do but i never had the mental health points for it but i know some people just take 15 minutes after every class to review their notes. since i’m 100% early to every class ever, obnoxiously so, i try to do it before class. having the last class’s notes up in my head super helps. like. put down the phone i know you’re socially anxious me too but review those notes. chances are if u start flipping through pages other ppl will too. this is also fun bc as soon as you start this whole thing, at least one person will be like “is there a test?” no bitch there’s no test but im gonna be ready when there is!

literally so much of success is fucking posturing i could link about 800 peer-edited studies that show that when a student is expected to do well (and knows they are), they do well. like i literally didn’t change my appearance at all, never bothered to look nice (once winter hits i wear 67 layers all the time), but when i showed up after my 2 years off from school, i presented myself with the whole “i came here to win” vibe and people... really respected me? i mean in hs i remember ppl saying shit like “yeah, well, you aren’t gonna have the homework”. by the time i was in college i had an honest-to-god conversation which included someone being like “so tell me what you’re overachieving at right now” like they just expected it from me. wild.

i live by “bite off more than you can chew, and then CHEW IT” but it’s probably unhealthy. the truth is that i have a lot of energy all the time (lmao adhd!!!) and i used to get told i was “trying too hard” and for a long time (still???) i didn’t (i don’t?) know what that was, you know, bc i had a D average, clearly i wasn’t trying. it turns out i was just. putting all my energy into stuff that wasn’t making me happy like toxic friendships etc. when i decided “nope, all this energy is for me and my schoolwork”..... uhhhhh suddenly i was a golden child and everyone praised my try-hardness ... it’s a fuckt up system tbh

take at least 1 class just for fun. i try to do that every semester. it helps break up all the requirements. if you’re like an engineer and got no time or credits left to spend, try to audit your fun course.

make ur advisor love you i don’t care what it takes make them cupcakes show up to thank them i dONT CARE just do it

the library isn’t always the best place. if i start getting anxious bc i pavlovian train myself that library=work, i find a new place to go to do hw. try to go outside if you can!!! not like where i live bc like it’s snow all the time but try. a little green really really really helps depression.

if you’ve been in the same “Studying” place for 1 hour and haven’t done anything the chances are Something Isn’t Right. first, look @ ur body. are you not focusing bc of some pressing physical need? sometimes just taking a shower and coming back helps. are you uncomfy? are you too comfy and going to sleep? if body okay, look @ the material. do you not understand it? do you just need to switch to a new topic for a little bit? can you find a youtube video that will help you better understand it? make notes on what you don’t get so you can ask in the next class. if it’s not the material, it’s not ur bod, check the Actual Space. sometimes just getting up, going for a short walk to a new place, and trying it there actually? really works? if none of this is working.... try ur brain next. hardest to reset bc like, what, turn it on and off again? i use things like caffeine, a short workout, a nap, or a podcast all to just... give me a little boost.

don’t be afraid to leave. i mean this about class, friend groups, and the college ur at. just get up on outta there if ur not feelin it. i cannot recommend “drop the class” enough. even if it’s a required course see if u can switch the times if u hate the professor day 3 it’s not gonna get better just get the fuCK out

don’t nap in the same position u go to sleep in, nap upside down w/ur head away from ur pillow. don’t ask me why but it works to 1. fall asleep faster 2. make sure u sleep okay at night and 3. wake up less annoyed

on that note don’t ever do anything in ur bed in a sleeping position unless it’s genuinely sleeping in it. body will get confused. just sit up, lazybones.

when/if the library has those therapy dogs during finals week.... just go pet them make the time for it

ask before hugging people, but don’t expect a “yes”

get a backpack that fits and doesn’t hurt ur back u fuckin hippie idc how cool it is to wear ur backpack super low just don’t do it it’s not worth it

the tutoring center is a fucking goldmine.... free essay edits my dudes

bring a fan dorms are always hotter than u expect

switch dorms if u can if u realize ur in the wrong room/wrong roomate like just don’t bother with nonsense

when in doubt, follow preschool rules. tell ppl when they did something cool, just ask when u need help, and be confident even in your mistakes, because at least u tried

#anyway

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hollerpresents · 5 years ago

Text

Lottery

Lottery by Matt MacNeil

We hit traffic some minutes away from the pizza place and were stopped at a red light. A firetruck came barrelling down the road and Nicole told George to pull over. “I know,” he said, and angled the car into the curb. The firetruck flew by and went yeeeeowww. I thought, The Doppler Effect, to myself but I didn’t say it out loud.

“I wonder if they ever just put the siren on to get through traffic or something,” I said. “I know for a fact that they do,” George said, getting the car back on the road. “My uncle Charlie was a firefighter, or I mean he is a firefighter, and he told me that he does it.” Reilly shook his head. “Maybe your uncle Charlie is a piece of shit.”

George swung his head around and looked back at him. “Don’t you dare talk about my uncle Charlie like that you fucking bitch,” he said and smiled. He turned back and looked at the road, but he continued to watch us through the rear-view mirror.

“Anyone says shit about my uncle Charlie and I’ll kick the fucking shit out of you,” he said and started laughing, and Nicole turned up the radio. “One time he had to rescue a cat from a tree, just like in cartoons or whatever,” George continued, glancing at us through the mirror. “He was up in a cherry picker and when he went to grab the cat, the cat sprung away and fell and splattered on the ground.” “No way,” I said.

“No I’m serious, the whole family was there watching and everything. Like, little kids,” he said, smiling again, through the rear view mirror.

“That didn’t actually happen did it?” Reilly said. “George. You’re joking.”

George shrugged his shoulders. “That didn’t fucking happen,” Reilly said.

When we pulled up, Reilly took out a piece of paper from his bag and said, “Oh I can check my lottery ticket,” and waved it at me.

I had never bought a lottery ticket in my life, never had the balls, frankly.

I was too embarrassed to buy lottery tickets because I thought only poor people bought lottery tickets, and even though I was poor, I didn’t like to flaunt my poorness around like most poor people did.

“Wow,” I said at the lottery ticket. “I didn’t know you bought lottery tickets.”

“I don’t,” he said, and put it in his pocket. “My parents put one in my stocking every year. My sister got one too.”

Of course. That explained it.

“Didn’t your mom win the lottery?” Nicole said to him passively, which sounded like she was trying to insult him, but she was being serious.

“Yeah, she won a million dollars,” Reilly said, all nonchalantly.

And it was true, he wasn’t lying about it.

His mom had actually won a million dollars in the lottery sometime last year.

“Whoa, what the fuck,” I said, trying to keep my cool.

I found myself laughing at his jokes more.

Reilly and I went into the corner store while George and Nicole went into the pizza house. He went to the cashier to check his lottery ticket while I chose what kind of chips to buy for the group.

It was a toss up between corn and potato.

When I got to the register I asked him if his ticket had won the big jackpot, and he said that the numbers hadn’t been drawn yet.

“Nain terty, nain terty,” the cashier said, frantically pointing at the clock.

“Ah, there’s still time!” I said mischievously, and I started rubbing my hands together like a rat, and the cashier smiled at me.

I walked out of the store a new man. In one hand was the lottery ticket and in the other were the chips I had picked, good ones too, the best ones they had. Your favourite kind!

Let’s just say I felt like I had already won the million.

On the drive home, George was singing a song and just ripping shit down the road where the speed limit was like 40. “Slow down for Christ’s sake,” Reilly said. “We’re gonna hit a deer and we’re all going to die.”

Nicole was telling me some bullshit about how you’re more likely to be struck by lightning five times in a row than win the lottery.

But I wasn’t listening.

I was thinking about all of the things I would do with the money.

I was thinking about quitting work, about going into the break-room when my boss and co-workers were there and telling them all to suck it and just walking out in slow motion.

I thought about giving Grandma maybe a thousand.

I thought about giving it to my parents and saying you don’t have to worry anymore, your son has taken care of it, your son has saved your lives, and he didn’t have to, but he chose to do it, because he is good.

Later that night back at George’s house, his younger brother and his friends came over and all of us got high and sat around his dad’s giant table and played poker.

I thought about that painting (or was it a photograph?) of the dogs playing poker. Which dog would I be? I would not be the cheating one, the one secretly giving the other one a card from between his toes.

I would have that dog put to sleep in real life.

One of George’s brother’s friends was so high, he kept saying the dumbest stuff, like, “We are all here right now,” and no one would say anything, which made me feel embarrassed for him, so I would usually say something like, “Yeah man, haha.”

“We’re all here right now, right now!” he said and burst out laughing.

“Yeah,” I said. Everyone else was just looking at their cards or phones.

“We are SO here. We are all extremely here right now, do you know what I mean?”

And I laughed and said, “Yeah man I think so.”

And he said, “Yeahhh, we are some fuckin’ here-ass dudes,” and everyone was getting so tired of his shit. Then another friend of George’s brother said, “What if one time you get so high that you just never go back to normal?” and the super high guy started to lose it. He really started to lose his grip.

He started breathing like a bird and we all had to lie to him and tell him everything was okay.

I was losing bad at poker, but my luck was about to change, I hoped.

I suddenly remembered the lottery ticket. “Wait is it 9:30 yet?” I asked, and someone was like, “It’s 2:45.”

I took the crumpled ticket from my coat pocket and went to the lottery website to check the numbers.

Not a single match, it seemed.

Not one!

In that moment I felt like a crashing airplane, and I hope that I never have to feel that feeling as long as I live.

I drank twelve beers to celebrate the loss.

I walked home from George’s place in the freezing cold, and on my walk I saw this old lady riding a bicycle loaded up with so many bags. She was pedalling the old thing so slowly, her head wrapped in a blanket to keep it from freezing to ice.

It was very late and she was the only person around, and I watched her struggling on the bicycle, so slow, going a snail’s pace against the unforgiving wind. This merciless season.

It seemed clear to me at that moment that if I did not intervene, nature would take its course and turn this lady into a solid block of ice, like a big cube of ice just there, frozen on the road.

I even pictured it in my mind and the image made me shudder.

I wanted to help this lady, give her a boost, since her old bicycle was crawling like a little baby. I thought about speed-walking up beside her and grabbing onto her and saying, “Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” and both of us going faster, faster, picking up speed, me on foot and her on the bicycle, and she would be smiling and nodding and saying “Thank you, thank you,” and I would say, “It’s okay, just hold on tight!” and we would go faster and eventually we’d be zooming down the empty streets together like a rocket. Both of us blazing down the lonely streets together, no one to stop us, faster than the speed of light, hotter than hell.

In my drunken haste, I silently lunged at her and she looked at me quickly and I grabbed onto her and for some reason I yelled, “Oh you’re so cold,” and she let out a scream and we both toppled over onto the ice and she was screaming and screaming and I freaked out and got up and just took off down the street and I had tears in my eyes.

So I kept running, running, blazing down the road alone, gathering speed, like a rocket, and the lady, well, that lady turned to ice.

Fin

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purrincesscatitude · 6 years ago

Note

angst 14

Why did I write this in present tense?? Good question.

This probably turned too sweet for angst but whatever it happened I’m not overthinking it.

Prompt from this list. Yes, if you like this, you can still send me things!

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Adam comes to the Barns after school, because he doesn’t have work for once in his life but does have a ton of calculus homework and a whole act of Hamlet to read & summarize scene-by-scene and college app deadlines looming like a swollen thunderhead. The Barns isn’t normally his most productive workspace, but it is warm and has more space for him to stretch out all his papers and textbooks, which feels like a thing he needs to do with the way everything is tangled in his head right now.

He’s been in a mood all day, can feel it festering just beneath his skin. He’s evolved over the months, now able to identify and acknowledge his bad days before they surprise him and his victim by shooting barbs from his tongue and condemnations he can’t take back. But knowing that he’s in a shit mood isn’t the same as controlling it. Growth is, as always, a slow and arduous process.

This evening, he sits at the dining room table under the kitchen’s yellow fluorescents. It’s only 6, but it’s already dark outside. Autumn winds rush over the mountains and rip through the valley, a harsh reminder that winter is only a month away.

Adam has a headache. Not a bad one, but enough that it bugs him, makes it that much harder to focus on equations and soliloquies and why he’s worthy of an Ivy-League education. Spreading the papers out hasn’t helped organized his brain like he wanted it to. Instead it just makes him more stressed, seeing all the work he has to do, all the expectations, all the time and money and thinking he needed in order to get through it all.

And then Ronan comes in.

Ronan understands why Adam does work here, encourages it, even. But that doesn’t mean Ronan finds it fair that Adam comes into his home only to completely ignore him. Some days he’s fine with it. Other days he goes and sulks elsewhere until Adam comes to him.

Today, however, Ronan wants Adam to be here and present. Wants to talk to him. Wants to sit with him, be with him, wants Adam’s undivided attention.

Currently, Adam’s cheating on him with a calculus textbook. And really? Calculus? He’d rather Adam shove his tongue down Skov’s throat.

He sits down at the table with him. Adam ignores him. Not unusual; they do this all the time. Homework-Mode Adam is a one-track mind, set to finishing whatever worksheet or essay or chapter he was working through and loath to be pushed off-course.

Sometimes, though, Ronan likes to toe the line. Because Adam’s line, in his opinion, needs to be more fucking flexible.

Ronan starts small. Just to see where Adam’s line is today. He picks up a page of notes. Adam, scribbling through an equation, doesn’t react. Ronan scoff, drops it back on the table. Still nothing. He picks up more papers, reads them through with feigned interest and then lets them flutter back down to the table.

Adam is intentionally ignoring him now. Ronan can tell the difference.

He starts trying to build a card tower out of looseleaf papers. It’s going about as well as expected, and making plenty of noise. Opal, ever drawn to the sound of rustling, edible paper, clambers into the kitchen.

“Don’t, brat,” Ronan warns. Opal hisses at him. He rips a blank page from a notebook, crumples it into a ball, and throws it back out the door. Opal chases after it with a screech.

Adam winces. “Cut it out, Lynch.”

But he still hasn’t taken his eyes off his book, and Ronan still feels like a third wheel in his own home.

He starts drumming. Not any particular song, just a series of beats using a discarded pencil and his index finger. Adam tightens his grip on his pencil, glares at the problem sets.

“Lynch,” he grumbles. It’s a warning.

“Parrish,” Ronan replies. It’s a challenge.

Adam grinds his teeth, presses his pencil hard enough into the paper to leave imprints on the pages below it.

Ronan adds his foot to the rhythm.

“Stop,” Adam demands, finally rips his eyes away from the page to shoot him a signature Adam Parrish witheringly frigid glare.

Ronan raises his hands in mock surrender. Adam returns to his work.

Ronan drums harder.

“Ronan.”

“Sorry, sorry. Just feeling the beat, you know?”

“There are ten other rooms in this house where you could go right now.”

“It’s my fucking house, so I’m going to stay in whatever fucking room I want.”

Adam rolls his eyes. Ronan is pretty sure he’s walking the line like a tightrope right now, and it’s dangerously close to snapping.

He lets Adam go back to work. Manages his energy quietly. Tries to not get jealous of a goddamn textbook.

He resolve lasts maybe five minutes.

He starts drumming again. On his leg. And then his leg starts jittering, and then his foot starts tapping.

And then he hits a beat too hard, slams his knee into the table, which makes Adam’s hand jolt, and the pencil catches in the paper and rips a hole in his problem sets.

“Ronan what the fuck,” he shouts, throwing his pencil on the table.

“Whoops,” Ronan says.

Adam rips the page from his notebook.

“Dude, chill. Just tape it, they won’t give a fuck.”

“That’s not the point. You’re being an asshole.”

“I’m not the one eye-fucking a damn textbook in someone else’s house.”

“Are you shitting me right now?”

“Just keep doing your damn homework, whatever,” Ronan says.

“Are you going to stop being an asshole?” Adam spits back.

“Does keeping you company mean I’m asshole? Then yes, I’ll gladly fuck the fuck off and let you keep nerding alone.”

“Bullshit, you’re not keeping me company. You’re being selfish and immature and it’s fucking obnoxious.”

“Fine. I’ll fucking stop. Jesus,” Ronan growls.

“You say you’ll stop but then you keep doing it! Making noise and hitting the table and, just, being a fucking brat.”

“What do you want me to say, Parrish?” Ronan snarls, throwing himself out of his chair and storming towards the door.

“Nothing! You don’t need to say a goddamn thing!” Adam snaps. “Just stop.”

They stand apart: Ronan curling and uncurling his fists by the door, Adam digging his nails into the peeling cover of his calculus textbook. A war of wills.

Adam breaks the glare first. It isn’t a surrender. He shoves his schoolwork into his bag.

“I’m going home,” he announces.

Ronan scoffs. “Do whatever the fuck you want.”

Adam clenches his jaw. He leaves.

He bikes back to St. Agnes in the dark, pedaling hard as the frigid November air cuts his cheeks and turns his fingers white as bone. Running his trembling hands under hot water doesn’t do much, only heightens the pins & needles pricking under his skin. He flexes his fingers over and over as he settles at his desk. He starts rewriting his calc problems. It takes him an hour to finish, when it should have been thirty minutes. Valuable time sucked down the drain. He resists the urge to throw something.

The wind rattles the window, howls through the gaps in its ill-fitted frame. Someone is practicing the organ. They’re not very good. The low notes send vibrations through the floor. It’s almost as annoying as Ronan. Almost.

But it’s a different kind of annoying. It’s cold, and distant. Turns him inward, makes him glare and grumble and bite his nails. The sort that can’t be remedied, that can only gnaw and curdle until he accepts the inevitability of constant suffering.

Ronan’s sort of annoying is infuriating, makes his blood boil, fills him with a sort of fire that can only go outward, that demands he confront it head on, in an almost cathartic kind of way. It makes them bicker and argue and shout at each other.

But it’s familiar. And sort of warm, in a weird way. In that it’s almost comforting in how he can expect it, how Ronan always seems to know the exact right buttons to press to set him off even if he doesn’t mean to.

A Ronan Lynch who isn’t annoying as hell isn’t the Ronan Lynch Adam learned to tolerate, and then like, and then like like; isn’t the Ronan Lynch Adam will probably decide he loves; isn’t the Ronan Lynch who can piss Adam off one second and have him laughing with side stitches the next; isn’t the Ronan Lynch who’s impulsiveness and brashness and pigheadedness can be as frustrating as it is liberating and joyful and wild and adventurous.

It isn’t the Ronan Lynch that Adam wants.

The apartment vibrates with a horrifically discordant note. Adam digs his nails into his scalp. Scrubs his hair into a ferocious mess.

The old walls creak. The organ resumes, quieter and in a higher register.

It’s been a long time since he was at St. Agnes alone. Truly alone. He’d sequestered himself here before, told Ronan he needed time to study, needed to finish a paper, needed to focus without distraction. But there was always a hope that Ronan would stop by for half an hour– perfectly timed when Adam was at his most exhausted or frustrated, a study break calculated, Adam guessed, by the months he had spent with him in the latest and earliest hours watching him study–with food in hand and a smirk on his face that Adam would spent 20 minutes kissing off and replacing with a very different sort of grin.

There isn’t that hope tonight, which…fucking sucks, if he’s being honest. Just one more load to weigh on his shoulders.

Adam’s stressed about school, about all the essays he needs to write and the tests he has coming up, and the fact that grades are due soon and he’s sure he’s doing fine but there’s always a chance that someone’s parents are going to buy their slacker son a 4.0 and kick Adam down to Salutatorian. He’s stressed about the SAT Subject Tests he needs in order to apply for the schools he wants, not just the studying and the psychological prep work necessary to outsmart the test in the way it wants you to, but the money it’ll cost him and the weekends he’ll lose taking them means he has to stack hours at Boyd’s and the warehouse and the factory now, and even then he doesn’t know if he’ll have enough money for food after he pays for the tests. He’s stressed about having to take all these shifts to pay for the tests and the college applications, because even though he got a waiver for a few of them (it was Gansey’s idea, one that made Adam absolutely furious. The way he coincidentally mentioned it at lunch the day following Adam venting to Ronan about their discriminating pricing and Ronan ranting about how “it’s the fucking system, man. Rigged bullshit, is all it is.” And don’t even get him started on the humiliating conversation with the Aglionby college counselor that followed) he still has to pay for the supplements for a few of them because Ivies are nothing if not completely ignorant to the concerns of people making below a yearly income of 200k.

Oh, and he’s not sleeping well. None of them are, he guesses, from the bags under their eyes when they gather around the table at Nino’s. It’s only been 55 days since…all that. And when Adam can find a few spare hours untouched by work and admission essays and calculus problems and Hamlet reading notes, he shuts his eyes and finds himself choking the life out of Ronan again, or seeing Aurora’s mangled corpse in a field of rotting trees, or watching Gansey fall lifeless into Blue’s arms again and again and again…

Shit.

This is his fault, isn’t it?

He wasn’t pissed at Ronan. He was pissed about everything else and Ronan just happened to be the target in front of him when he burst. And then he’d upped and stormed off like the biggest asshole in the world.

Adam was the problem right now. Adam was the shitty one.

If that didn’t make him feel so damn guilty, he’d relish this personal growth and newfound introspection.

Instead, he was lonely and annoyed. And regretful. And cold. And these calc problems were damn near impossible. And that stupid amatuer organist was so bad did they really think this hobby was worth continuing? And…

Oh, fuck it.

Adam grabs his sweater and barely remembers to lock the door. He bikes, fast and hard, ignoring the bitter wind as it makes his eyes water and nose burn. He almost eats dirt on the side of the road when he rounds a corner too fast, but he keeps going.

The wind is still howling when he drops his bike in the gravel driveway of the Barns and bangs on the door. It take him a minute, but Ronan eventually answers.

“Parrish?” he says, pushing open the screen door.

“I’m stressed about my SAT scores,” Adam blurts out, shoulders hunched and hands squeezed in the armpits of his sweater against the whipping winds. “And about needing to take these stupid subject tests. And about picking up all these extra shifts just to pay for them, and I need to get all these college apps in soon, but I have no idea what to write about for any of these stupid essays without making myself sound pathetic or pitiful and melodramatic. And I can’t sleep anymore, after what happened with…everything. I feel like I’m running on empty all the time, which, by the way, my car is since I’m spending all of my money to take these dumb tests and buy transcripts, and did you know that teachers who write you recommendations expect a gift? Like what bullshit is that? So now I have to get these, too. And it’s just so much, Ronan. All the fucking time. And, shit, your mother fucking died in front of you. Like, my shit is so…stupid compared to what you’re dealing with and yet I’m the one being an asshole and taking my shit out on you and I’m just…” Adam breathes. And freezes.

Ronan had led him inside. Sat him on the couch. Draped a blanket around his shoulders. And Adam hadn’t realized.

Ronan sits on the coffee table, chewing his leather bands and avoiding Adam’s gaze. Their legs fit together like puzzle pieces.

“Ditto,” Ronan says around the leather. “‘Cept not the school shit. Obviously.”

He drops his wrist, leans his elbows on his knees and runs his fingers in circles along the faded denim stretched across Adam’s knee. “I just. Today was rough. I wanted…I needed someone else. Something to focus on, other than…”

He can’t finish. Adam doesn’t need him to.

Adam sighs with relief. “I’m sorry,” he says. It feels weird to say. Weird but good. Another step forward.

“Me too,” Ronan echoes.

They sit close, legs fitting together like puzzle pieces.

“Okay, seriously though,” Ronan says suddenly. “Don’t bike at night again. You never know what sort of assholes are going to take those corners too sharp and flatten your ass into a pancake.”

“If the asshole in question is waiting for me at his house, then it shouldn’t be an issue,” Adam replies with a smirk.

Ronan rolls his eyes. “Just fucking call next time, loser.”

“Good to know you’ll still chauffeur even if we’re fighting.”

Ronan snorts. “That was barely a fight. You want to fight, I’ll show you a fucking fight.”

“Oh yeah?”

Ronan tackles him into the couch. Adam cries out with laughter.

This wasn’t their last fight. There would be more disagreements, more spats, more storming off and misunderstandings and cursing and regretted words. But they’d be okay. They would always be okay.

#trc #te raven cycle #fic #fan fiction #fanfic #trc fanfic #pynch #ronan lynch #adam parrish #my writing

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rizzizzsins-blog · 5 years ago

Text

From the Ashes, Ch. 3

Wanna read the fic on Archive? Click here.

Finally. 9 PM. Asher grabbed his things, pulled his regular clothes on, and signed the discharge papers. It was time to go…

Go where?

He really didn’t want to go home, even though Theo had demanded it. He was a grown-ass man, and he didn’t need Theo leering at him until he went to work. Nonetheless, he needed to change clothes and shower, so home it was.

Gabriel had told him not to drive today, and Theo had the car anyway. He opened his rideshare app. Was Scamp around? He could use a couple of jokes and uncomfortable advances right now.

Thank fuck. He was. He presses his profile picture and waits for a reply.

Ping! Scamp was on his way. His phone went off again. Theo’s live picture feed. He was already out on the town, posing with some nightmarish, inebriated frizzhead of a woman. Of course. All that bitching that Asher wouldn’t come home, and Theo had started his night before 9:30.

Fuck that. Fuck Theo. He changed his destination to go straight to work.

BEEP BEEP. Scamp pulled up right in front of him.

“Hop in. Daylight’s a wastin’, nyeh heh.”

“Fuck daylight,” Asher mumbled, before getting in.

The drive was quiet for a while. Asher’s work was on the other side of Ebott.

“Cigarette?” Scamp asked. He seemed as content with the silence as Asher was. It was nice. They didn’t need to fill the quiet with bullshit.

“Can’t. It’ll kill me even faster than you.”

“Hey, these are nicotine free.”

“Smoke is smoke when you’re a walking tree,” Asher got the last word.

Was Scamp pulling over?

Asher got a notification. The driver had canceled the ride and he’d gotten his money back. Was Scamp going to kick him out of the car?

“What’s wrong?”

“Why do you care?” Asher grumbled.

“Who said I cared? Satisfy my curiosity and you get a free ride,” Scamp smirked.

“I don’t wanna share. There’s no point.”

“What’s that mean?” Scamp pressed on, amused.

“Look, if you can see that I’m feeling like shit, why are you harassing me about it? Just let me out. I’ll walk.”

“Nope. Spit it out.” Scamp rolled down the window and blew out a puff of smoke. “UEbott’s janitorial night shifts don’t start for another hour or so. Your head’s busted open and you want me to take you straight to work when I don’t even know if you’ve eaten dinner. If you die, the rideshare service will find some way to dump the responsibility on me, so tell me what’s going on so I can cover my ass in court.”

Okay, that was funny, if a little cold. Asher snickers a bit.

“My partner said I needed to be home by ten. Turns out he went clubbing at 8. I don’t even know what clubs are open and full at 8 pm, but Theo finds a goddamn way. I got the bump on my head from Sparkby Embers himself.”

“Sparkby punched you? Be thankful you’re not dust, kiddo. What did you do? He usually just throws people out of the bar and kicks them around a bit. If he punched someone, it meant they really fucked up.”

Asher hesitated.

He didn’t want to seem like some kind of white knight.

“You don’t seem like the type to get into fights easy, especially if you let your boyfriend walk all over you. So what did you do? I’ll throw in some fert if that makes you feel any better.”

Fertilizing capsules? How was he affording those by being a discount chauffeur and smoking half his paycheck?

“... he was talking shit.”

“About you?” Scamp shrugged.

“.... About you.”

“That’s it?”

“Yep. Happy?”

Scamp burst into wheezing, uncontrollable laughter. It was half cough, half laugh, and for some reason, Asher didn’t mind the sound.

“What’s so goddamn funny? Stop laughing or I’ll start laughing, and my laugh sounds like nails on a chalkboard,” Asher snorted a little.

“You took a punch. From Sparkby. To the face. Because he was saying filthy shit… about a hooker! I don’t wheeeeeeze think I’ve ever heard a more stupid way to bust your skull open! Asgore on a cracker, you’re hilarious, rugrat!”

Oh.

So the rumors had been true.

“Even so! He’s the one who hired you, so… I said it said more about him if he had to hire someone to blow him.”

Scamp was still mid-conniption, when, on a particularly strong inhale, he sucked his entire cigarette right into his gullet.

“Oh my gods, are you okay?!” Asher panicked.

“Hey. Ashy. Check this out.”

Scamp turned around, and blew rings of smoke at Asher through his eyesocket. Normally Asher would have been pissed, but the amount of smoke was negligible, and the stunt had impressed him.

“Can you do it out the other one?”

Shit. Asher immediately regretted asking, having temporarily forgotten the patch over Scamp’s other eye. “I’m s--”

“Yep. Look.”

He blew smoke up until the eyepatch lifted a bit, then timed it with the whistles of a steam train.

“Choo choo, motherfucker. One Eye Express, coming in hot,” Scamp managed, before wheezing and laughing again. Asher had to wipe his eyes; his stomach was hurting from laughing so hard.

“Aw, man. Still can’t believe you almost dusted yourself to defend a whore’s honor. That’s one I’ve never heard.”

Asher shook his head. “It wasn’t about honor. People shouldn’t talk that way about anyone they’ve slept with, even once. It’s just not okay.”

Scamp sighed, kicking his feet up.

“Lots of shit in the world isn’t okay. There isn’t a damn thing you can do but smoke and work till you die, so try to make it last. Don’t do that shit again. You’re a fun passenger who puts up with my shenanigans, and I wanna drive you around some more, okay?”

Asher grinned. It was nice to have someone care, or even pretend to like Scamp was.

“Got it. Get me to work. You promised me a free ride.”

“Right on it, Cap’n.”

Scamp gently eases the pedal into ridiculous speeds, maneuvering through alleys and potholes to get Asher there as soon as possible. His eyelight seemed to brighten when they were cruising down the lanes. His cigarette went out, and he didn’t even light a new one; he was enthralled with the drive, and Asher kind of was too. He was a little sad when the car came to a stop.

“Nice. Didn’t lose the left windshield this time,” Scamp grins. There’s a bit of a spark to that smile.

“Not gonna lie, that was awesome. Stay out of trouble, though. You’re a meter maid’s wet dream,” Asher gently warned him.

“Heh. As if they could catch me. Only Edge and my big bro can keep pace with my Nadine.”

Of course he named the damn Lada.

“I’ll see you later, Scamp.”

“See ya.”

And he was off, just as fast as he’d come to get him. Asher felt a little empty. Why was that?

He pushed it aside, scanned his card, and hopped in the elevator. He liked to start from the third floor; by the time he reached floor one, it was time to clock out, and he got to walk right out the door. It was already nice and dark, the glow of his soul the only light in the building. It was all he really needed to see anyway. He opened his closet, pulled out his cart, and took a deep breath.

Time to do the only thing he could ever fucking do right.

The Biology wing was first. There were ten lab/classroom combo rooms and a large lecture hall for the building. It was best to get that out of the way first, because cleaning the lecture hall carpet sucked.

The repetitive work put Asher’s mind at ease. The sound of the carpet foam, the whir of the vacuum wheels. The clink of quarters as he bought himself some canned coffee; in the quiet of the night shift, it was all music to his ears. He was half asleep, half dead, half angry, but none of that mattered. All he had to do was go up, row by row, spraying the foam, till he reached the top, then he vacuumed on the way down when the foam dried. Any trash he found, he could pick up with a vine and toss in the can; any pencils or pens, he could keep.

There was one more thing Asher did that wasn’t in his job description; when he’d first entered his new job, he’d noticed how barren the halls and classrooms felt. Throughout his first year, he’d been sneaking large potted plants into places throughout the building. It had been four or five years since then and everyone had assumed the plants were supposed to be there. Of course, Asher didn’t put them in labs or places where they might contaminate something important. He gave them water when they needed it, and just a touch of his own magic, to keep them nice and vibrant.

Seeing wilting leaves perk up to his touch made him feel like he wasn’t a complete failure.

Eventually, the Biology wing was finished, and the biology offices were next. These were kind of easy. All he had to do was unlock each office, wipe down the floors, and not knock anything over.

Most of the professors were human, and of little interest. Asher just cleaned their offices, tried to ignore their family pictures, and moved on. But the few monster offices were more interesting. It was cool to see where they came from, what they were up to. He at least understood their whiteboard notes a little better. All this talk of organs and systems made his head spin. There was a reason he chose Intro to Monster Bio to fulfill that particular prereq. It was easier to memorize a hundred species than to remember the difference between Squishy Lump #1 and Squishy Lump #2, much less what each one did.

Occasionally, he ran into other janitors on his shift, but it seemed like tonight wasn’t that night. Thank goodness. He knew the building wasn’t exactly his, but he treasured the solace and hated intrusions on it. Even professors working late made him a little uncomfortable.

He pulls a small speaker out of his cart. He’d kind of made a secret compartment for it, so that it’d always be there no matter who used his equipment. With one last look around, he turned the volume up.

The rhythm of the music moved his feet and gave him a second kick of energy during that “one-third through my shift” slump. He was through with the offices in no time. Time for the second floor- the Psychology and Chemistry floor. Asher was especially careful with the “don’t knock anything over” rule in the chem labs. There were things that would give a regular monster a nasty rash that would outright kill him. This floor wasn’t too hard, since psychology labs required little special treatment, and the chemistry professors and students were extremely thorough about keeping their spaces clean.

Normally, he didn’t pay tooo much attention to the names of the professors he cleaned for, but wasn’t that Clemm’s room at the end of the hall?

Now he had to go inside. Well, he technically had to go in either way, but he was very invested now. What kind of man was he? How did he decorate? Why didn’t he have his office in the Philosophy building?

As he approached, he could hear the faint sound of music, so he turned his own off. If Clemm was working late, Asher would rather avoid direct interaction. But all the lights were turned off. He reached for the doorknob; the office was locked.

Apparently Clemm had left music playing in his office by accident. Wow, his office was incredibly nice, a corner office to boot. Asher had seen it before, but he had context for who worked in it now. The walls were painted the shade of pumpkin soup, and a couple of Himalayan salt lamps sat unlit. One on his windowsill, and one on his desk. He had a fancy coffee machine and an expensive tin of rooibos and black tea, with a dash of cinnamon. Asher almost wanted to spend his breaks in this space. It was so relaxing, with the faint scent of some essential oil in the air.

He felt kind of bad for being such an abrasive little shit now. Maybe he could leave a note.

Professor Clemm,

This might be a little out of place, but I’m Asher from one of your PHIL 101 online classes. I do the night cleaning in the building. I wanted to say I was sorry for being so rude in my first assignment. I’m going to do my best to be a bit more open in future assignments.

That should do it. Certainly better than his cold as ice email before.

Now for the first floor- Physics. For some reason, this level took the longest to clean, even longer than the Biology lecture hall. Turned out physicists were messy people. There were several smaller lecture halls on the first floor that needed upkeep. The first floor bathrooms saw the most traffic, so they took longer to tidy than the others.

Finally. The physics offices were a goddamn nightmare to clean.

Especially the offices. Papers everywhere. No way of knowing what was trash and what was important. There was only one office that wasn’t a complete dumpster fire. Asher was always relieved to reach it; it meant his shift was almost over.

Wait…. Who did the office belong to? Asher squinted at the nametag. A “Dr. Crimm Gaster”. Was this the interdimensional travel physicist he’d been mixing up Clemm with? In his defense, Crimm and Clemm weren’t that far apart sounding. He’s about to open the door when…

“Can I help you.”

“JESUS FUCKING CHRIST!” Asher yelped, vines immediately wrapping around the object of surprise. If he was human he would have shat his pants.

Asher’s query easily teleports out of his grip.

“I would suggest that you refrain from suddenly attacking unknown monsters in the future. You do not know where some of us are from, or what we might do if startled.”

It was the professor from earlier in the library. He was still as frigid and stiff as before, but in those red eyes burned a cold, calculating fire that chilled Asher to the roots.

“Y--Speak for yourself! You just snuck up on me!”

The professor blinked. “Hm. Your alertness could use improving. I passed you several times this evening. I suppose you were too busy with your little song and dance to detect my presence.”

Oh, now that was embarrassing. Asher reminded himself to never have fun again.

“Well… would you like me to clean your office?”

“Is it not sufficiently ordered?” Cripes, was that a pointed question.

“N-no, it’s the most organized room in the department. I still like to mop the floor just in case, that’s all.”

“Then I would prefer that you refrain from entering. I expect my request to be respected.” With that, Dr. Crimm slipped into his office and closed the door, not even saying good night.

There was only one space left to clean, and it was the worst part of Asher’s night.

The VOID collider.

He despised everything about the room. It was too spacious, had too many warning signs on it, as if the university knew they shouldn’t have built the damn thing in the first place. The door had to be unlocked with an alphanumerical password. It as 198X, when the first accident with the VOID had been rumoured to happen, a sobering reminder to not fuck around with this machine.

The door opened silently and closed just as quietly. The familiar indiscriminate hum of noises emanated from the machine’s ventilators and cooling system.

The monitors and computers were on. Asher did his best to ignore it. It just meant he’d have to be even more careful, if such a thing was even possible. The scent of licorice, air dust, and ashes filled Asher’s nostrils. Tonight it was especially strong, to the point that he almost gagged on it. Regardless, such a thing happened sometimes. From what he could see, the machine itself was firmly in the OFF position.

The floor had to be cleaned first, with a special friction-increasing spray to help prevent slip-and-fall accidents. The keyboards usually needed to be cleaned, but Asher passed on it, since the computers were running. The last thing he needed was some professor ripping his branches out because he’d ruined a crucial calculation.

Ç̸̢̪̞̩̯͖͖̜̗̟͖̫͐̊ͅǫ̸̣̠̞̩̱͊͜m̶̯̞̹̺̪͉͙̘̥͔̟͑̄̇́͑̂̓̓̅̔̚͠͠ȅ̸̟̼̎̉̊͆̏̋̈̐̈́̃̈͒͝ ̴̡̘̖͂̾̈͐̄̈́̊̅̍̑̐̈́̈́̿̚j̶̨̼̤̼̖̯̣̰͎̲͖̫̤̮͛̌̉̒̈́̒̅͗͝͠͝ȯ̷̡̝̜̠͚̩̲̋͊̑̈́͑͛͐̓́͐͜i̵̢̨͍̞͍̥̬̬͎͐̈́́̿ṇ̵̢̛͚̰̩̠̗̖̜̊̌̎̍̿̅̄̓͗̂͐͜ͅ ̸̮͕̝̲͉͈̤̤̎̐̆͌͘͝ṯ̷̡̢͎̮̰͈̭͋̈́͐̽̅͂̓̾̅͒̓ͅh̸̛̰̖̫͒̓̇̈̽̀͛̓̋͐̂̅̕̚ę̸̹͉̝̗̲̹̲͈̭͎̐͐̀̐̀͊̈͠͝͝ͅ ̶̨̢̩̮̟̰̖̥̬̠͇̹͖̬̻͒̒͂͆̄̈́͘͠f̶̦̖̍û̷͖̖̼̦̝̘̞͙͎̙̩͖̣͂̇͊̃̃͜͝ͅn̵͈̝͋͗͌̽̅̓̾̾̑̾͌̅.̶̮͍͚͔̩̪͚̟̼̬̪̈́̎̈̇

What the fuck was that?

Asher’s soul pounded in his chest. From time to time, the humming of the machine sounded like voices or other noises. The same thing happened when Asher listened to white noise for too long; he would start picking out voices or even music that wasn’t really there.

It was fine. He just needed to breathe, to think about being safe and warm in bed…

And to clean the inside of the collider.

Fuck, this was the worst part.

First, Asher stripped down to nothing but his underwear, leaving his phone and clothes in his cart.

Next, he used the same passcode to open the protective gear vault. Several spacesuit-like objects waited for him. He found the one closest to his size and stepped into it, one piece at a time. First, the bodysuit. It zipped loudly, so that people would know it was secured shut.

Secured. Check.

Then, the helmet. He set it on his shoulders and twisted it until it locked into place. Check.

Lastly, the gloves and boots. He connected the fasteners tightly, so that they would stick to the rest of the suit properly. Perfect. He would be protected from the background contamination of the collider.

He opened a smaller cabinet with one of his keys and took out a large, cherry red, fire-hydrant looking sprayer with about a hundred labels on it. It was inspected daily.

WARNING: CAUSTIC TO MONSTERS.

WARNING: USING D.T. CLEAN FOR ANY PURPOSE OTHER THAN INTENDED USE WILL RESULT IN DISFIGUREMENT, LOSS OF SELF, AND MAY CAUSE OR PREVENT DEATH.

LAST INSPECTED __/__/__AT _:__ __

Y̶̼̝̲͖͇̣͐̿̾o̵̢̱̩͙̣͑ṷ̸̬̲̮͈̂'̴̧̯̳͙̥͛l̷̯͔̠̱͇͕͊̉̉l̵̝̏͐̒̎̃͠ ̷̲̤̱̳̭̞́͋̑͒̆b̷̧̻̙͚͚̤́͆̓̍͌̑e̶͉͈̙̭̬̎͐͐̕͠ ̸̜͉̱̺̠̼͂͠w̷̧̙̹͇̱̠̿̋͋i̷̛͚̰͖͊̇̌͘͘t̸̘͐̐͋̏ḥ̵̾ ̶̤͕͊̐͑͆͝u̶̫͇̼͐͂̿́̽͒s̴͕̍̃ ̷̖̪͖͊͊̈ş̵̜̰̤̼̜͒h̶̡̩͕͔͉͔̃̄o̶̞͉̲͍͇̊̾̍ř̶̢̤̝̤̫͗̆t̵̛̫͉̝͐̈̈̿l̸̦͕̈́̾͝y̸̞̞͍͈̾͐̔̽̑͝ͅ.̵̼͎͓̲͑͒̉͒͠

He really needed to stop letting himself get distracted.

Before entering, he checked all fifteen safety locks. All of them were active. Good.

He put in a much longer passcode, and the black glass doors of the collider slid open with a hiss of compressed air.

They shut behind him with the same sound. Asher pulled out his special, titanium wool scrubber, and put his hand on the D.T.C trigger.

R̶͉̍U̸͓̹̎N̵̩͔̣̔̃N̶̺̒I̶̧̥̔̆͝N̴̝̦G̵̨͖̫̏̈́͐ ̸̼̩̀͗P̸̠̰̫̓R̷̦͒͜O̴̦̠̓͋̈́Ć̷̭̘̱͂È̵̡̦D̷͔͚̮̆̏Ű̵͓͠R̶͎̓͠͝Ê̸͕̅ ̵͈̺͉̈̑̈́Ṉ̷̹̑A̸̗̼̺͋̎̕M̵͐͜É̴͇̭̔ ̸͙̇_̷̣̈_̶͚̹̩̔͌̅_̵̼́͂͠_̷̢͛̈̚_̸̗̌͌̎_̶̣͍̐

̵̩͐C̸͎͗Ö̴̠̘͍D̸̛͈̲̘͝E̴͙̱̋ ̴̻͈͐̐͝F̴̖̥̒̉͝Ơ̵̑͜R̷͉͎̙̃̌ ̶̮̅̇̔Ȧ̷̲͕P̸͓̈́P̵̺̳̈́̐̚Ṛ̴͋͒Ô̷̠̹̎V̴̰̈́͒A̵̼L̵̜̲̼̈́ ̷͕̾͊R̵̟Ẻ̸̙̜̦̏̑Q̸̙͖̄̋̈U̸̘̣̎́͊I̵͖̖̊R̸̨̺͇͂̈́͝Ḛ̶̦̣̾̌D̶̮̜̠̍

̶̡͈̂C̷̠͛Ŏ̷̹D̴͇͕E̸̞̥͔͊̏ ̵̤́͠O̸̥̦̎V̶͓͓͜͝͝͠Ę̷̰͠ͅŘ̴̘͓͓R̵̰̕I̸̡̤͂̌D̸̨̮͕͂Ę̷̳̖̏͒Ň̷̫͇̠

̶̨̦̪̀Ẽ̷͕͘R̸̹̍Ṟ̴͌̉O̷̫͉͊̎R̷̢̰̓͛̅

̸͖̐̔C̶̰̝͗͐ͅO̴̻̱͆M̵͕̆̽̑M̷̪̳̾̆͒E̷͚͆N̶̢̤͕͐̍Ć̴̫̖̠̂̕I̸̧̩̎͊N̸͕͋̈G̸̳̮̙̑̓.̸̺͐.̷̓̈͜.̶̫̿̊.̷̗͌.̸̻̮͝.̵̙͗ ̸̡͎̟͑̏P̸̹̈́L̵̼̂E̷̼̅Ȧ̸̦̪S̷̩͇̥̈E̴̠͐ ̴̢͇̳̐́͝B̸̧̩͍͠Ạ̷̤͕̾̾͠C̸̼̪͙̋͂͋K̸̩̈́̓̿ͅ ̵̛͉̓͜Ą̴̼͔̇̅W̶̲͚̽̔̎A̵̛̼̜Ȳ̸͎͖͚̚͘ ̷̺͎̔̆̊F̴̣͚̅Ȑ̶̳͓̩͐͠Ó̸͔M̶̜̝̿͐͝ ̷̡̺̎̂C̸̯̺̀̂̎͜Õ̸̤̪̟̑̎L̴̖͕̥̂̕L̷̻̙̋͑Į̸̧̈́D̸̡̢͋̚E̸̙̒Ȓ̵͎̅ ̶̲̤̃͐D̵̲̾ͅÒ̷̪͕̇O̵̺̘̕Ṟ̴͇͂̈̋S̶̟͈̣̒̉̅.̴̻͋̕

Wait what the FUCK

Ş̸͚̂C̴̫͉͖̏A̷̻̅̈N̴̰̓N̶͉̩̝͠Ȉ̴̟̘̄͌N̶̮̆Ģ̵͓͉̈́͂ ̸̦̉̃F̴̢̋̈́̇O̷̹͌̽͌ͅR̸͎̈́̍ ̵̢̟̫̈́͝Ĺ̵̜̉͘I̶̤̤̞̾̈͐V̸̢͚̿I̴̺̋̌Ň̸̡͇͙G̸̟͙̺̋ ̴̡̬̍̃Ỏ̴̰Ḅ̶͚̦̈̈́̌J̴̜̪͇͌͝E̸̘͚̓͠Ċ̵͚̺T̸̥̻̓̉͋S̶̨̲͙̅̚.̷̟̰̓̌ ̶̞͑̎̈

̶̞͖͋1̴̛͙̮̞͋͑ ̷̮̝̉̈O̸̭̬͊͐͝B̴̖̼̣J̴̹̈́E̵̥͎̝̒͌C̷̬̅T̶̯̉͗͐ ̷̤͈̱̋̈̏F̷̫͑̿Ō̶̭̫͋̀ͅU̴̢̥̔N̷̨̺̱̅Ḋ̷̤.̸̨̛̞̍

̵͓̂Ạ̷͚̊L̴̝̘̜̋̿L̷͎͗̿ ̸̳̒͗̕C̷̡̗̈L̸̈́̓ͅḘ̴͖̔͒Â̴̧̻R̵͙͛̓͒.̶̛̼̕

̴̰̗͋Ċ̴̢̺͂̽Õ̷̟̥̔Ḿ̶̫M̶̻͔̒͝E̵̩͇̟͊̃N̶̥͕̒͝C̵̛̯̠̀̂I̴͓̯̝͛͐͘N̴̳̠͑͠͠Ĝ̸̭͙̝̂ ̷̦̅I̷̧͂̽̾ͅN̸̤͎̻̿̍ ̸̺̑̈̓5̴͈̮͗͑̕

“HELP! PLEASE HELP ME! SHUT IT OFF, SHUT IT OFF!”

Asher hurled himself at the EMERGENCY STOP button, slammed it down once.

4̴̡̙̬͛͛

Twice, three times, four times, countless times. Nothing was working nothing was working

3̷͇̺

“HELP ME! DEAR GODS, FUCK, PLEASE! SOMEBODY! ANYBODY!”

2̴̱̬̍̓

Asher screamed until his throat was hoarse

1̴̨͖̇̈́͝ ̴̪̦̠̽͝:̵̡̦̅͠)̴͇̊

But nobody came.

#from the ashes #ssll inspired #ssll #undertail #undertale

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christopherwatsonbooks · 3 years ago

Text

Covenant Spring, Chapter Two

I graduated with my class. My yearbook photo shows me standing in front of a pine tree with my arms crossed, staring off into the distance.

Before he snapped the photo, the photographer said the same thing to me that he’d said to everyone else. Smile, and think of your future.

I am not smiling in my photo.

Marcel Marceau said in a speech once something to the effect that the reason lying isn't one of the seven deadly sins is because it's necessary. You can't tell someone you love that they're ugly.

It rocked me when I read that. I wished I had read it earlier. It would have been a great comfort to me. A man who made art out of silence. It would have been nice to think myself an artist, rather than a hypocrite.

You have to be careful when you tell the truth. The truth and honesty aren't the same thing. Honesty is not lying. The truth is an atom bomb that can blow the world apart.

I knew this back then, years before I could articulate it. Most kids do. You can tell when they learn it because like I did, they stop talking.

Adults always say they want kids to talk, but kids know that's a lie. Most adults want kids to agree. They only want talk like a sonar ping, to satisfy them of existence and proximity. They don’t want to listen, they only wish to avoid surprise. They want honesty like they want a pistol pulled from a pocket and laid on a table, where it can be seen.

There’s a moment in every life when something happens to inform you that the truth isn’t holy. It comes like a shotgun blast, and you’re left holding your guts in your hands, with what you thought was true red and slick and squirming between your fingers as you try to shove it back into where it will no longer fit. All you’re left with is the pain of the greater truth you’ve learned. That your faith can be so blithely betrayed, that nothing is so sacred, no trust so inviolate, that it can’t be profaned.

The pain of this learning becomes your new truth. The pain is the only proof that you're real, that you are not yet a part of the obscene conspiracy. It is precious. It is the only absolutely real and honest thing you have that’s truly and completely yours.

And so, you don’t talk. You will not contribute to the grand lie. You will tolerate the mocking, the beatings, the loneliness. You tolerate it because your pain bears you though it, the righteous mirror in which everyone and everything else is reflected and shown to be shit.

Except for you. You are a poet. You are a pure and noble warrior. You will be the last and only true, and you will not falter nor surrender. You will not relinquish your truth, even if it means your own death. If you must, you will sharpen it to keep you strong. Sitting at your desk, pale and proper and beautiful as your blood drips freckles on the dirty classroom floor.

. . .

Listen to me. You must not steal this and make it into nothing. You must respect it. If you don’t, the death poets will do something to make you understand.

Click-click boom! Are you listening now?

. . .

I wish I could take all those kids who blew their friends’ brains out in school and give them bicycles.

We would ride to the top of Washington's Rock together. All of your pain and your anger, put it into your pumping legs and hard breath. Spit the lies like grit from your mouth.

At the top we will stand together on trembling legs with the breeze cool on our sweaty faces. We don't have to talk. We will look out over the world now below us and take our yearbook photos and SAT scores and talks with the guidance counselor and all the adult bullshit, we will crumple it all in our plump young fists and throw it as far as we can into the dusk.

When you're ready, we will return. We will coast together down the hill like free sailors on the wind. When we reach the flat road we will pump the pedals again, we will watch the car headlights blink open to the dusk and breathe the cool exhaust-scented air, and be strong.

I’m so sorry for you if you can’t remember. How like a sin that we ever forget it.

. . .

The night I told Dad I wanted to go to college we were sitting in the dining room, sharing dinner. It was my mother's canasta night with her friends up the street so we were by ourselves. We had ordered pizza and fried calamari from our favorite Italian delivery place. Even their mild sauce is too hot for most people, but Dad and I loved it.

Dad was still in his white short-sleeved golf shirt from the department store where he works as the lawn and garden department manager. He's worked there for as long as I can remember, selling lawn mowers and string trimmers and tillers and mulch. All the people in the neighborhood go to Dad to buy their lawn things.

Dad had spilled some sauce on his shirt the very second I had asked him if he could help me go to college. He dipped his paper napkin in his water with lemon, which is what he almost always drinks, and he dabbed at the stain so that he wasn't even looking at me when he told me that he didn't have to money to send me to college, not a four-year college. But maybe if I wanted to go to a two-year college or tech school, maybe we could swing that, if I got a job to help pay.

I watched him dabbing at the stain on his shirt until he stopped. He lowered his hands into his lap. His head was still down, looking at the stain. All he had done was smear it.

I could tell it was killing him, having to tell me he couldn't afford to send me to college, and then having to look so ridiculous wiping that stain because if he'd just left it alone while he spoke it would have been like pretending he wasn't wearing a clown nose.

I'd wanted to strangle whatever god there might be for having done that to him. It makes me angry to remember it, even now as I’m writing this. But what I told Dad was that it sounded like a fair deal, I wasn’t even completely sure I wanted to go but I would get a job and save money and live at home and think about it, and when I had enough I'd maybe go to a two-year college, if I still wanted to, and if I did I would appreciate all the help he could give me with that.

He nodded then and looked up. I saw his eyes and said I was full and he said he was, too. He said he had to go change his shirt.

The boards in his bedroom creaked over my head as I folded the pizza box and put it with the rest of the cardboard for recycling. I heard him walk to the bed and I guess he sat down. The boards didn't creak for a long while.

. . .

That's when I knew I wouldn't be going to college. I really didn’t want to go, I don’t think. Dad gave me the excuse I needed. I was grateful.

It almost killed me, what I saw when Dad looked up. I was telling him I wanted to go away and leave him alone, alone with my mother and his evening back yard smokes and an empty bedroom down the hall with no music behind the door. I got a peek into the deep and murky water and saw a middle-aged guy in a white short-sleeved shirt who sold lawn mowers at a department store and lived with an alcoholic wife and couldn’t afford to send his only child to college.

I'm sorry, Dad. If I'd known I swear I never would have said anything.

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fandomimaginesftw · 7 years ago

Text

An Old Flame (Part Eight)

Summary: Y/N is a hunter. She always has been, and she knows that she always will be. Headstrong, fierce, and takes no bullshit is the best way to describe her. A case in Ohio leads her to a nest of vampires, but that’s not all. As she’s investigating, she runs into a pain from her past, the one and only Dean Winchester. The man that ruined her, left her to trust no one ever again. When Dean sees her again, he feels like he’s alive again, and he’ll do anything to get her back. Will she fall back into old habits or will she stand her ground?

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven

Pairing: SLOW BURN! Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,123

Warnings: smut, a little angst

Forever Tags: @reigns420 @onemorefanblog @carryonmyswansong @thephenomenonalkingofthebrogues

SPN Tags: @tacklesackles @iam-a-cutiepie @mogaruke @akshi8278

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lolita-wolfson (I didn’t know how else to tell you there was an eighth part, I have to put the link on the parts. Hope you enjoy! Thank you for reading!)

It had been possibly the longest night of dean’s life, and he didn’t even pass Ohio’s state line but an hour ago. Sam had asked him to drive since he was exhausted, and he obliged. He needed a few minutes to himself anyway. He glanced over at his brother, making sure he was asleep before he let himself really feel everything that was brewing inside of his mind and his heart. He just kept going over the past few days and how he hadn’t felt that alive in a very long time. The way you kissed him before he left was on his mind too. The way you said your “I love you”, the way you looked when he let your hand go. He gripped the wheel so tightly that his knuckles had started to lose any color they had before. Memories flooded his mind, from both years ago and the past few days.

The laughs you two had shared, the late night talks, the conversations that lasted for hours that was only interrupted by you getting tired and passing out on his shoulder. He remembered holding you as you slept, listening to you breath calmly, the sound bringing him his own peace. He kept thinking about the times you were there for him, no matter what. Before you lived in the bunker with them, he would show up at your door at four in the morning, and you wouldn’t even ask questions. You would just pull him in, lie him down, and let him feel any emotion he had. Sometimes you would take care of him for days, feeding him, making sure he showered and drank enough water. You had always been there for him.

You were the only person that truly understood him. Sure, Sammy knew him like the back of his hand, but he didn’t know how he felt inside. His younger brother had no idea about the mental turmoil that clogged his brain. You were the only person he talked to about anything remotely emotional. You knew how to push his buttons, you knew every single little thing about him. And he knew everything about you. He knew everything about your past, what you had been through. He knew how to make you laugh and how to make you moan. You were truly his better half. He was sure you felt the same at one point, but he knew he messed that all up.

Tears started to sting his eyes as he thought of how he repaid you for putting up with all of his shit for so long. He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the road. Instead of settling down and giving you the life you deserved, he cheated on you. He had essentially used you for those years that you shared together. All over a stupid fight that he didn’t even remember now. And he had ruined everything with a woman that meant literally nothing to him, and he couldn’t think of her name either. He grit his teeth, then looked at the upcoming sign telling the drivers about the nearest motel. He took the next exit, pulling in to the parking lot. He woke Sam up, giving him all of the money he had and told him to get them a room. Sam nodded, and as soon as he closed the door, Dean sped off, heading back to Ohio.

You weren’t in a much better position in your head. You were currently lying down on the hard motel bed, trying to even out your breath. Dean’s shirt had dried and you really did scrub it like a champ, so you were currently wearing it and not much else. You just wanted to feel like he was still there with you, even though you knew he wouldn’t be. You had watched the Impala speed off, and you felt your heart go with it. You wondered if you should have asked him to stay. You wondered if he even would, but in the back of your mind, you knew he would.

You covered your face with your palms, closing your eyes. You had no idea what you were doing, if you were even doing the right thing. You didn’t regret kissing him, not in the slightest. In fact, you were pretty sure it helped you clear up a part the part of your mind that revolved around him. You thought about the kiss you two had shared, and one of your hands moved from covering your face, your fingers tracing over your lips. You could still feel the way he kissed you on his lips, like a part of him was still there with you. You sighed, deciding that you should get some sleep, since you were gonna hit the road later on that day. You needed at least an hour of sleep so you didn’t have an accident or anything. You reached over, turning the small lamp off, leaving you in the darkness with your thoughts and the feeling of Dean’s hands on your hips, and his lips on yours.

Little did you know, as you slept not so soundly, Dean was literally pedal to the metal to get back to you. He wasn’t gonna mess this up again. This was the second chance that he has asked for, that he had prayed for. This was it, and he would be damned if he was gonna let it go by. He needed you in his life, and he was going to make sure to make that very clear to you. Afte about an hour, he sped into the parking lot, very quickly braking. He apologized to Baby for treating her that way, he just needed to get to you, and nothing else really mattered in his mind at that moment. He got out the car, the door closing with a slam loud enough to wake you. The bright lights in the window didn’t really help either.

Frantic knocks at the door really woke you up, though. You jolted up, furrowing your brows. Whoever was knocking like that better be dying or ready to get their ass kicked. You walked over to the door, looking through the peephole. You figured it was useless since you were literally only in Dean’s shirt, but you always liked to check. When you saw him, though, you fumbled with the locks, opening the door with a confused and shocked look on your face. He didn’t even let his full name slip out of your mouth before he silenced you with his own. You stumbled back by the sheer force of his kiss, but you quickly regained your balance and returned his kiss. The way he moved his lips against yours told you he was here for more than just talking. Your hands found their way to his hair and you gently tugged at it, making him moan. God, you missed the way his moans sounded. He stepped further into the room, kicking the door closed. He then kicked his shoes off, and you immediately got to work on his jacket and shirt.

He continued walking backwards until the back of your knees hit the bed. He then ran his hands down your thighs, grabbing the back of them and lifting you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist, continuing to gently massage his scalp. Keeping you wrapped around him, he lied you down on the mattress. You moved up further on the mattress, and he crawled between your legs. He looked down, taking all of you in. His hand ran up your bare thigh, and you held back a whimper. He ducked his head down, kissing your lips gently now.

“Please let me hear you. I need to hear you, Y/N.” He kissed down to your jaw, then started leaving open mouthed kisses on your neck. You moved your head to the side, your eyes fluttering closed as he kissed all of the right places. Your hips instinctively rolled upwards, needing him to touch you. He already knew what you needed, though, and he obliged. Usually, he was all about teasing, about dragging it out as long as he could, making you beg. But he needed you so much in that moment that he couldn’t even find the words to describe it. One hand ran up the lining of your panties and the other went up his shirt you currently wore, his hand massaging one of your breasts. You moaned softly, and he needed more. He lifted the shirt that covered you from him, your curves illuminated by the moonlight that danced through the cheap curtain. He snaked one arm onto your back, pulling your upper body up, your chest now pressing against his. You opened your eyes, looking into his. He shared your gaze, his heart hammering against his ribs. You lifted your hips, and he took care of the rest, He skillfully took them off, tossing them somewhere in the room. He then slid his pants and underwear off, letting himself spring free.

You kissed him, and he slowly pushed into you. You tried to keep the kiss going, but his girth stretched you out too deliciously for you to be able to do anything other than moan his name. It truly was a beautiful sound for him. He moaned as well, your walls already so tight around him. He continued pushing until he was in completely, both of you exhaling. You whimpered at him when he stopped moving, so he lied you back down and looked down at you as he started moving again.

You had almost completely forgotten everything about this. How his moans sounded, how it felt when he moved his hips slowly against yours, and how with every drawn out thrust he filled you up and stretched you out. You were a mess under him, and he was in heaven already. Looking down at you, listening to your moans and whimpers made him sure that this was right. He held your face, resting either elbows on both sides of your face. You wrapped your legs around him, intensifying the feeling for both of you. He started rolling his hips in just the right way, grazing your spot every single time.

Your toes started to curl as he continued, and you knew you wouldn’t last much longer. You looked up at him, and you could tell he wouldn’t either. You squeezed your walls around him, and a deep groan escaped him. You told him between moans that were close, and he told you that he was too. His thrusts suddenly got fast, and he sat up on his knees. You watched as he grabbed your hips, lifting them before he sheathed himself inside of you again. Your mouth fell open as he did, your back arching as well. Curses fell from your lips like honey as you started to hit your high. He started twitching inside of you, and you both rode out your highs.

After it was all said and done, you both lied on your backs, looking up at the ceiling. He was the first to move at all, and he just looked over at you. His eyes wandered your naked body, and he felt so lucky. You looked over at him, smiling at him. He smiled back at you, holding up his hand to you. You lifted your hand as well, placing your palm against his. He put his fingers between yours, holding your hand. You pulled his hand to you, kissing the back of his hand.

You wanted to ask why he came back, but you didn’t want to say anything. You just wanted to be here, with him. You flipped over onto your side, facing him. He lifted his arm, placing it under your head so you could get even closer. You nuzzled into him, tangling your legs with his. He kissed your temple, humming softly. You looked up at him, and he looked back at you.

“I love you, Y/N,” he said softly, almost like he was scared to say it. You smiled, kissing him gently.

“I love you too, Dean.” You both laid there, letting the silence fill the air around you. The cold air started to chill your bones, though, and Dean could feel you start to shiver. He reached over, grabbing the thin blanket that the motel provided. He threw it over the two of you, then pulled you close. You nuzzled into him, sighing softly. So many questions ran through your head, but you didn't ask any of them. You knew Dean was happy, you didn't want to ruin it. But you couldn’t help but wonder if this was the right call.

#supernatural #Supernatural smut #supernatural imagine #supernatural x reader #spn smut #spn fanfic #spn #spn x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean x reader #Sam Winchester #smut #angst #fluff #reader insert #reader insert smut #an old flame #slight angst

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kootenaygoon · 5 years ago

Photo

So,

The early morning sun prickled my eyelids, the heat painting the inside of my skull a throbbing crimson. Swallowing a few times, I attempted to struggle back to consciousness as someone carefully dragged their fingers through my wet hair. I forced one eyelid open, revealing a sight-line of milky clavicle leading down to a goose-pimpled breast in a sheer black triangle. Everything smelled like satsuma body lotion, and happiness, like some beautiful orchard with a gently babbling brook. The woman above me glanced down, noticing the movement, and gave me a bemused smile. It was Blayne, and I was sprawled in her lap on the edge of Niles’ campsite. One of my flip flops was missing.

I sat up, blinking away the dizziness.

“And our intrepid journalist is with us once again!” Niles announced, as he manned a little tabletop burner ten feet away. All around him the girls were sleeping, some in sleeping bags and one in a hammock. “Blayne found you down by the river before you could take off swimming. She says you were talking to yourself.”

I looked back at her, from where I was laying between her open legs. “Really?”

She nodded. “When you took off from the dance floor I went looking for you, and you were down by the river pacing back and forth. You were really upset about something, and angry, so I brought you back here. You’ve been passed out for like four hours now.”

“Holy shit, what time is it?”

Niles stood up, walking his sizzling pan across the grass. “It’s just past 7 a.m. now. I’ve got scrambled eggs and avocado toast almost ready here. Just give me five minutes.”

My stomach immediately made its discomfort known the moment I stood up, and I staggered over to the picnic table half-doubled over. Blayne crossed to Niles’ trailer, ducking inside to grab something, while I tried to process my surroundings. How long had Blayne been holding me like that? Had I done anything stupid? It seemed more and more obvious that she was in love with me, which was a serious problem. Why couldn’t she have materialized during one of my university dry spells? Why did she have to show up when I already had a partner I was obsessed with, that I wanted to marry? Why would the universe play a cruel joke like that?

“Hey Blayne,” I said, palming her forearm as she passed. “Thanks for looking out for me, seriously.”

She smiled. “It was no big deal.”

“Well, I consider it a big deal. You’re a good friend,” I said, emphasizing the last word. “I mean that: I really value you.”

For a moment she looked startled, like she might cry. Then it passed. “I was just trying to do the right thing, especially after what you did for me. I knew you were a Shambhala virgin,” she said.

“And you were here to help me pop my cherry. I won’t forget it.”

She gave me a long hug, reaching up to wrap her arms around my neck, and I breathed in the satsuma again. We could hear Niles banging around with breakfast, and nearby campsites were beginning to blare their music. I felt really fucking tired, like the inside of my skull had been scraped clean with a spoon, and I longed to faceplant on a pillow. I wanted to find Paisley, spoon her, and retreat into unconsciousness. The longer I stood there with Blayne pressed against me, though, the more dangerous it became. I needed to get home quick. Once she released me, sinking down from her tippy toes, I went looking for my flip flop. Niles then reappeared, singing to himself.

“We’ll get a good meal in you, then send you back to your lady with a to-go coffee and everything,” said Niles. “We’re doing it right around here.”

After gorging myself and thanking Niles profusely, I hobbled off bare foot to find my RAV. Shambhala was a significantly different place during daylight, and at this time it was mostly deserted. I stopped at a row of Port-a-Potties, which had a sleepy line of campers waiting dejected for their turn. One guy was covered in body paint, splashes of green and orange and yellow, while another was wearing a Chewbacca costume he’d rolled down to the waist. When I reached the front of the line a woman came bounding out topless, intent on her next destination. Her chest was bathed in sparkles and she had two black hearts taped over her nipples. I held up my hand to stop her.

“Hey, sorry, I think you forgot your shirt in there,” I said, concerned.

She laughed. “Dude, I haven’t been wearing a shirt for days.”

As I hiked back to Paisley, I tried to take stock of my headspace. Most normal days I woke up in a black mood and had to chase away my thoughts with cannabis, but today felt different. My body trembled and vibrated, still processing the events of the night before, while my mind hurtled above me and took off flapping. There was something I’d learned here, something important, but I couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. I couldn’t believe that this was my job, that I’d been sent to this experience for free, that I was a real fucking journalist now. I was trying to teach myself to live with gratitude, and the fact was simple: I’d never felt more fulfilled by a job, more fortunate to play a certain role. If only I could get over my conflicts with the Carpenters, everything would be perfect. It was them, Cam and Sharon, who were ruining everything with their bush league bullshit. I wished they would get fired, or transferred, or somehow ejected from my life.

It made me feel terrible to hate them, but I did.

Then Snapper appeared, riding a tiny pink bicycle. He stood up to pump his legs, weaving dramatically, as he pulled up alongside me. His pony tail was loose, so his hair hung around his shoulders, and he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I could smell him from six feet away.

“Hey man, I heard you went for a widdle walk-about down by the river last night,” he said. “Partying with my Dad?”

I started to walk faster. “He’s good company, your father.”

“Speak for yourself,” he said, spitting and slurring. “You have no idea how fucking embarrassing he was growing up.”

“Where’re you heading?” I asked, trying to figure out if I could ditch him or not. “You got a campsite out here?”

“Nah, I gotta head over to the harm reduction tent cuz my buddy’s having a nice sleep on a comfy womfy bed like the fucking princess he is.”

The next thing happened fast. My mouth was open to say something when the first ATV screamed to a stop only six inches from me, and still open as three more revved into position from all sides. Snapper saw what was happening, but couldn’t pedal properly, and nearly toppled over. Before he could regain his balance they had him by the arms, these red-shirted security dudes, and they were bending him over the back of one of the ATVs. One of them already had the Zap-straps ready. They swarmed Snapper as he thrashed, throwing himself around like a hooked Marlin. With his arms pinned behind his back he lowered his head and rammed straight into one of the security guards, clobbering him in the sternum and knocking him off balance.

“Fucking pigs, get the fuck off me!” he yelled, slobber flinging from his mouth. “Fuck you!”

Around me all sound dropped away, the world coming into sharp focus, until I was watching Snapper struggle on mute. The security guards body-slammed him into the dirt face-first. Blood ran from the side of his mouth as he tried to crawl away like a snake, as he donkey-kicked one of his opponents in the chin. It was a desperate, stupid, violent spectacle and I felt a realization washing over me: I understand Cam Carpenter.

If Snapper represented the druggie subculture of Nelson, then I understand how someone like Cam could spend their whole life wanting to be the absolute opposite of that. Ever since I moved to the Kootenays I’d judged him for his business-centric attitude, for his archaic views on abortion, for his whole anti-hippy M.O. But what if I was wrong? What if that sub-culture was disgusting, and violent, and worthy of rejection? Maybe he wasn’t the real asshole; maybe it was me. I’d taken all my Christian baggage and right-wing prejudice and projected it all on to someone that was completely undeserving. Some small-town family man. Cam was just a father, like any other father, who wanted the best for his kids. If I could see him as human then maybe I wouldn’t have to hate him anymore.

I was still pondering all of this when the ATVs departed, taking Snapper with them. My heart was thrumming intensely, and for a moment I couldn’t move. It must’ve taken a minute, maybe less, for them to swoop in and grab him. What was that about, even?

“Hey dude,” I asked one of them. “Why did they arrest that guy? Did he do something wrong?”

He glanced at me, tired. “No wrist band. And I’d bet good money that’s not actually his bicycle.”

Shaking my head, I continued my journey back to Paisley. I didn’t know how much more Shambhala I could take. I’d been on the grounds for just over 12 hours, but it felt like I’d been away for weeks. I thought about the tidy stash of joints in the glove compartment, about her slumbering away peacefully in the back. Pretty soon we’d be home to Muppet and Buster. The sun was starting to bake my shoulders, I was covered in grime, and I desperately needed some water. I took another slug of Niles’ coffee, and laughed a little to myself.

Well, that was something.

The Kootenay Goon

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kayteebeee · 8 years ago

Text

So..I'm doing it.

One of my fears used to be, ‘not being able to ever produce my own child(ren) when the time came.

Well then along came a boy and we really hit it off. We hung out everyday, we would watch the stars and talk for hours. We eventually became inseparable. Sneaking over at each others houses, spending the night.

One day are current single lifes froze still. We found out we were having a baby. You immediately told me, it was my body and I had every right to do what I wanted because I was the one who would or would not be growing life inside of me. I instantly knew that I wanted that baby, and I told you if you didn’t I understood you could leave.To mine and everyone else’s surprise…you stayed.

So I could then check off that fear and add the frowned upon for having a child out of wedlock to my list.

No one would of suspected a thing. We were ‘oh god, gag me’ adorable. Are photos, are posts, just how happy we were….everything seemed *perfect* he was great. Really he was when I was pregnant. He could not tolerate the sound of someone else puking but he always made sure I had water and a face towel. I would always see his hand through the crack of the door real quick then vanish before he could hear more. He helped give me my shots, he helped me eat right, and he gained weight with me and took a lot of shit from his family and friends about it and that I was more grateful then he knows.

What I guess I dont get is how anywhere between all that…between the rawness, the realness, and the excitment of feeling our son move in my belly and all of that….what made him think it was okay to go ahead and cheat on me while I went away? Most people dont know and didnt know. I was ashamed… I had no idea..

He although had an even better idea. To mask the dark secret with a shiny engagement ring. (It could of been from a gum-ball machine for all I cared because I worshiped the mother fucking ground that he walked on I loved him that much.) So that,covered his dirty secret for what…a good week or so?

He just kept helping me cross off that list…

Getting cheated on by the love of your life while you were carrying his,child✔

And then of course I caved in when he CRIED saying how sorry he was, and he did not know why he did it..and how it would never happen again.(funny story…) So I did it I took him back. I wanted us to work because I loved our son, I loved him, and I loved us.

What felt like a year passed by with the casual bickering and fighting and he always wanted to work and play with his motor bikes and never spend any quality bonding time with our son. So I came up with a compromise. Our son and I sat ourside and played on a blanket and he worked on his bike,gave us a smile,or two..and then drove off to ride on his bike….every day. Or I would pedal on a pedal bike and pull our son in a baby trailer while he rode ahead on his motor bike. Sometimes he would even have the nerve to tell me to have dinner done by a certain time… He was,home the entire time..never came up to say anything like, “hello I’m home from work I’m gonna work on something real quick and ill be up looks great thanks,babe love you” NOTHING he wanted it done at a,specific time and it was (as usual).

He always said that I complained, and started fights all the time, but really it shouldnt have been so fucking hard to GROW THE FUCK UP the day he watched OUR son be brought into this world. (Which of course he almost passed out to anyway..-.-)

The only thing I would argue repeatedly would be to spend time with our son and me as a family..but its like telling others that we fought all the time made it easier for him to just brush off. He never had to realize its because if him. He never cared to fix it, and he never will for anyone. He does what he does best..lie,cheat,steal, and ignores all his issues.The more I write this the more I wonder why the FUCK I put up with all his bullshit for so fucking long.

Now I’m a single mom. ✔ He picks up and drops off our son. He just isnt always spending time with our son. I’m sorry but having others watch our son “Until I get off work” code for until he can finish what he has to do. (Because oh god his life is so hard seeing his son for,only a few hours,a few days a week. He doesnt have time for himself..even though he got to pick the hours he works and has a day job because I gave up my schedule so I could even make any money to support our son myself…because we all know he cant afford to help me help our son but he can afford eating out every day and parts for his truck and other junk.)

He came to pick up our son a few nights ago after I told him if he was going to have our son for the night if he could get him no later then 7-8 its bedtime he is sick he needs to get better. He gets here I get our son in the carseat. I give him our sons bag of stuff and I was like, “okay your taking him home to bed right?” And hes like, “no” I laughed and said, no really you are going home, right?“ And he said, “i’m going out” and then repeated it again.. So I livid was like, “Mkay you go out our son is gonna stay here and go to sleep then have fun.” And got pissed and drove off like an ass and then called me screaming at me. Threatned to break his phone (because of course all the important shits in my name,duh) then said how he will, just move out of state and get out of my life since that is what I want and I keep our son from him. I sent him respectful texts explaining my concern and the issue.. To which he replied, “sure” and my son and i have not heard from him since.

So today when I was driving. Windows down, sun setting… Music playing..smile on my face on my way to pick up my son. I finally got clarity I got this I’m free I will do what I need to for my son. I am not alone IM DOING IT!

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