#my last living childhood dog just died and i'm upset

[zincbot]

uhoh! girl!

[deblklesb]

[Happy Christmas Eve! — Abby × Reader]

[fem!reader, christmas theme, fluff/soft with some sexual content (not enough to be a smut), established relationship]

Summary: Reader makes Abby a stocking and gives her a gift

a/n: don't mind me, I'm just making something to feed my soul with Abby fluff and fulfill Abby's wish of someone making her a stocking

cw: little sexual content by the end

! Reblogs are extremely appreciated !

"Can I open it now?" Abby asked from the living room, her voice reaching you through the apartment.

"No! Just one second!"

"Come on!" Her voice had a grumble tone, you almost could see her pouting. "That's not good girl behavior"

"You'd know", you snorted, finally finishing the adjustment on your garments. You hid the things behind your back, walking back in the living room patiently. "If you were Santa, where in this house you'd find good to see a stocking?"

"What?"

"We don't have a fireplace", standing in front of the blonde woman, you saw her frowning her eyebrows, absolutely lost on the subject. "You can open now"

Abby did it, and took her some seconds to absorb the view. You had a Christmas cap and a green big shirt covering your body until the middle of your thighs, underneath just a red lacey panties that she couldn't see yet. A grin on your lips denounced how you're up to no good, but she decided to focus on how cuddly that day was slowly becoming with you.

Christmas were always a weird holiday after her father's death. As much as the people on WFL away made get-togethers on that period too, it wasn't the same. She would usually hang out with her friends and sometimes even play with the dogs on the snow, but apart from that there wasn't some type of Christmas spirit.

You too didn't had the habit of celebrating that holiday, simply because it never seemed attractive. The world was chaotic and a bunch of people died, and during the most part of your childhood you and your parents spent too much time running and surviving. It wasn't exactly fun. Then you found the WFL quarter and decided to settle. That was somewhere four years ago, and after two Christmas you started to anticipate de holiday with excitement. On the third year you were already planning you own traditions. This year you had Abby, and as much as she didn't had the same anticipation she also didn't said otherwise.

So there you were all smiles, a bubble of happiness coming from the single thought of watching the movies and eating the Christmas food the cafeteria had that time of the year.

"This is cute", her grin got bigger as she pulled you from your legs to stand between hers, and then you finally revealed what was hidden. "What..."

Abby analyzed the two stockings in front of her now, red and white fabric, her initial letter in one and yours on the other, in yellow. Small stars, mistletoe and snow flakes around. "What is this?"

"Stockings!" She grabbed hers, fingers tracing the details while she sit in silence. The difference on her demeanor made you stand still, waiting. What if she didn't like it? "I... I didn't knew where to hang them, so I decided to wait to surprise you..." Still not a word from her. That sunk a weird feeling in your chest, the doubt of making something that could upset her creeping you mind. "Is there something wrong? I mean, I know the sewing isn't perfect, but my mom taught me me just last week in a rush, and I also had a run, so it can be a little bit hurried..."

Abby finally looked up at you and her blue eyes were watering a little. She sniffed briefly, looking away and then to you again. "Yeah, the sewing is pretty shitty to be honest"

You stopped deadpaned, watching as a small grin came on her beautiful lips and she pushed away the tears. Then she startled as you punched her arm. "You idiot!"

Abby laughed pulling you on her lap and hugging your waist, feeling your arms wrapping around her broad shoulders as she kissed your neck over and over.

"I thought you hated it"

"I love it, baby", the few honey-blonde hair strands falling around her face made her even prettier, cute freckles and small scars adorning her features too. "Thank you", she bumped her lips on yours, accepting your pecks.

"I have other present for you."

"I'm starting to feel really bad because i just got one thing for you", the woman countered.

"You got me something?!"

"Of course! What kind of girlfriend do you think I am?!"

"The type to sexually torture me in bed", you said, leaning over the arm of the couch to grab a package hidden behind the corner table. The shirt went up a little with your movement added to Abby's hold, and that made her see the tip of your lacey panties covering the upper thigh.

"Dressing up all cute for me I might as well do it again", she smirked while pulling the green fabric up to better see the piece of clothing underneath.

"I thought good girls were well rewarded", you pouted, giving her the package even tho that meant having her warm hands away from your skin. "Maybe this can help you decide what to do."

Abby looked at you all suspicious, tearing up the wrappings just to see a box with the product image in the front. That immediately made her blush, glancing your grin. "How did you find this?"

"That last minute run I went last week with Nora... We kinda found a sex shop some weeks ago and decided to keep it to ourselves to explore and get some things before reporting"

"You call that good girl behavior?", you caressed her shoulders while she opened the box, seeing the dildo and the small textured gadget next to it. "What's this?"

"You put it on the inside part of the strap", she gulped, imagining what would happen. You lean on her to whisper in her ear "It's for you to use while fucking me senseless"

The woman threw the box away before grabbing you by the waist again, crashing her lips on yours in a heated kiss. You smiled between it, heart fluttering as the thought of a destabilized Abby on top of you flooded your mind. She would look so fucking hot moaning and trembling while railing you; your pussy throbbed just with the anticipation.

"Wanna try it before the party tonight?" She muttered as kissing your neck, hands gripping your thighs and ass and getting another smile from you, her voice was so fucking sexy.

"Please be gentle, I don't wanna look like I just had sex when seeing my parents tonight", you both chuckled.

"So why did you dress this, uh?"

"Y'know... Christmas tradition?"

"Oh, yeah, right", she grabbed the box again and handed it to you, getting up from the couch carrying your weight like it was nothing as you wrapped your legs around her torso.

"Showing off like that it'll be hard not to beg you to fuck me untill I can't stand." Abby making use of her muscles were always an arousing thing and on top of that you were the biggest simp.

"Well, you discovered my trick", she smirked, walking towards the bedroom. "Now let's get this to a test drive and after the party you can show me how much a good girl you are."

[dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more]

[one-abuse-survivor]

hey there ! anon with the abusive sister here. hope you're doing okay ! (if i've already sent in an ask pls ignore the last one—my memory is super bad rn and i cant really remember if i did or not-)

thank you so much for your kind words !! september went really well and she didn't show up ! i was a bit stressed, and did spend the first two days feeling incredibly sick from stomach cramps. on the bright side, i invited my friend down and spoke to her and her mum about the trauma and they both said that it sounds like i have ptsd (i trust them both on their opinions because my friend has ptsd from something in her childhood that affected her really badly, so she has first-hand experience about living with ptsd). they both suggested that i go to therapy, which i think my parents are warming up to, but we're all concerned about social services getting involved. we've had negative experiences with social services before, and we dont want them making a fuss of things. we're also worried that i might not be believed or that it will get downplayed as 'sibling rivalry.' although, sometimes my parents backtrack and downplay it themselves and say that it 'wasnt that bad' which really, really hurts. i've given up trying to explain how her abuse affected me and i dont really talk about it with my parents anymore, since my mum always brings up something from her childhood which was worse. sometimes i start to wonder if im making it all up for attention, and that my hatred towards her is distorting things...then i remember my lack of memories, a particular event when i was around 12/13 that terrified me, and a mental breakdown i had in the school locker room, in the middle of the day, because of the gaslighting text messages she sent me.

my sister's been causing trouble recently because it was my birthday in early december (the only birthday i can remember was last year's and the year before—i cut her off three months before that first birthday i can remember) and then it was christmas, so she wanted presents. she also changed her name to her birth father's name (we have separate dads, thank god) which upset my mum quite a lot. it didnt help that my mum's side of the family spent christmas together and never invited us down, which sucked and made us realise that, to them, my parents and i aren't very important to my toxic family members. i got over that pretty quickly, though.

i do have a question: how do i comfort myself when im triggered/feeling sad or overwhelmed from the abuse? my dog and rabbit died within three months of each other, and they were my main sources of comfort whenever things got too much or mental illness was too bad. now that they're gone, though, im finding myself feeling quite disconnected from reality—especially now that my rabbit is gone. everything seems more overwhelming then it did before. im not sleeping well, or im sleeping too much (either way im still exhausted when i get up) and i seem to be getting triggered more and more by physical touch and sounds.

thank you so much in advance !! have a nice day :D

Hi again! ❤️

I'm really glad your sister didn't show up during September after all, and really glad you had people around you who were understanding about your trauma.

I'm sorry your parents haven't been as supportive as they should be, though. It's awful that they try to downplay your abuse and tell you they went through worse. If your mum had experiences she considers "worse" than yours, then she should go to therapy herself so she can talk about them, and not use them to downplay your own experiences. Trauma isn't a competition, and what matters isn't who had it "worse". What matters is what each individual person needs so they can be safe and eventually heal and/or learn to live with their trauma. I'm glad you have proof of your sister's abuse that you can resort to when doubt starts creeping in. But just in case you need to hear it: no, you are not making anything up for attention. Your sister abused you.

Ugh, it sucks that she caused trouble again during Christmas and your birthday. It's great that you got over all of it quickly, but you shouldn't have to put up with her or any toxic family member's crap.

Also, I'm really sorry for your loss :( It's always hard to lose a pet, but I can't imagine how devastating it must be when they were your main source of comfort when triggered.

Here is a list of healthy coping skills you can check out. Since your pets used to help you, maybe you can try soothing yourself through touch, like using stuffed toys, blankets or soft clothes. They might have the same effect as holding your pets close did. Smells can also be very helpful; have you got any blankets that smell like them? Are there any other smells in general that you like and that you can carry around with you?

Something that can also help is to make an easily accessible list of things that soothe you as you find them. You can make it (and update it) when you're feeling fine, and that way, you'll be able to look at it when you get triggered and you won't have to come up with ways to soothe yourself when you're already in that state of emotional distress.

Alongside the list, you can even have an emergency box filled with things that bring you comfort, like soft toys, fidget toys, things that smell nice, or anything else you can think of that might distract you or make you feel better. When I made mine, I filled it with sticker sheets because stickers soothe me, and also with lists of all my comfort shows, movies and videogames.

Other than that, have you considered adopting another pet? It' might not be a possibility, but if it is, I think it could really help, since you already know that being near animals when you're triggered helps you calm down.

Hope some of this helps, and hope you're doing well. Sending a big virtual hug ❤

[alottanothing]

Kismet

Summary: Evie prepares a meal for the stranger who helped her and finds herself more than a little smitten.

Previous Part: Hope

Word Count: 5707

Warnings: Language

Tag List: @ramilicious, @txmel, @edteche2, @gloriousdarkangelsworld, @diasimar, @xmxisxforxmaybe (Let me know if I missed you, or if you would like to be added to the tag list)

A/N: Okay, I almost didn't get this up today because I was up most of the night sewing kilts for Highland Weekend at the Ohio Renfiare. BUT I stayed awake and did my final read-through, so this should be mostly okay. I skipped a couple steps in my editing to get this up on time but I think, for the most part, it's okay. If you see a grammatical booboo, just ignore it, I'll get in here sometime this week with my other two editing steps and find it, then repost this. Capisce? Okay, cool...now. I hope you enjoy it, I also hope my trying to phonetically write Mer's accent doesn't get too annoying. I know you really shouldn't write accents, but I think it helps add to the characters. And I do try to keep it to a minimum so it doesn't get annoying. Thanks for the love the first part received last month! I know waiting so long between updates is a bit sad after weekly updates with LtR. But life is busy right now and once a month is all can guarantee.

Jonny did not know how to keep a house.

In fact, Jonny did not know how to do much more than drink, argue, and get into fights. He was nothing but a thorn in Evie's side—never mind how much she needed him for a place to lay her head. A necessary thorn was still a thorn. Given the opportunity, she would rip it out as soon as she could and dress the wound promptly so she was finally able to heal better. She stayed only because she had no other choice. And every time Jonny raised his voice or stumbled in reeking of alcohol and red-faced, Evie could hear her best friend's warning in her head. Cynthia had begged her not to go with him, but she hadn't listened.

Oh, how she wished she had.

Luckily, Jonny wasn't the kind of man who liked to stay home which eased the ache of the ever-present thorn in her side. Whatever money he did have, he spent out on the town—the town being New Orleans. Like Evie, Jonny had been born and raised in the Big Apple, the noise and the chaos was part of him. As such, he hadn't taken to the quiet suburban life Bridge City offered as well as Evie. She liked the quiet, easy flow of the sleepy town. Her housemate loathed his new home. He thrived in disarray, thus, he found a group of like-minded young men to run amok with in the neighboring metropolis every chance he got.

If Jonny had been any sort of amicable company, the notion of him leaving most every night to wreak havoc several miles away would have been upsetting. Thankfully, his penchant for city life meant a good portion of Evie's days were spent out from under Jonny's tyranny. The hours he was gone were blissful and calm, and she relished in them. Whether she was creating art or tending to chores around the old house, Evie didn't care as long as Jonny wasn't there—never mind how lonely the routine often was.

Evie had never gotten the chance to meet Jonny's maternal grandmother, though she suspected she would have liked to. Unlike her grandson, she seemed like any other sweet elderly woman judging by the furnishings she'd left behind. There were dozens of lace doilies, and table cloths with soft patterns, decretive china even, but it was the plethora of photos the old woman kept that told Evie she'd carried a kindly heart. All of them were kept in pristine albums or intricate frames; they were the only barbles that seemed to have been cleaned or dusted with any regularity which spoke of how much she must have treasured them. Evie loved those tiny trinkets and black and white memories. It didn't matter that they were not her legacy of family heirlooms to keep, she adored them anyway.

She couldn't count the number of times she'd replaced a broken frame that had fallen victim to Jonny's drunken belligerence or scrubbed tirelessly at a stain he'd left on the patterned tablecloths. It proved to be a hefty undertaking, but dwelling in the fantasies of someone else's history let her forget the grief of her own. She was willing to sacrifice a little elbow grease if it allowed her mind to roam away from the shadow that never really seemed to vanish.

For all the effort Evie put in on the interior, the cottage held little in the way of curb appeal. The porch was sunken in the middle, the paint was peeling off in chunks, and the yard was mostly weeds. Worst, however, was the screen door which squeaked so loudly, every dog in the neighborhood howled in protest every time someone crossed the threshold. The outside needed love that Evie simply didn't have the energy to lend. Despite the grit, however, the foundations were sturdy enough that she didn't worry. The cottage proved to be stronger than she looked—a feat Evie felt she had in common with the old house. And while it was a swell enough place to rest her head, it never truly felt like home. Home was somewhere safe, and as long as Jonny lived under that roof she wasn't safe. Not really.

Fortunately, Jonny wasn't home when Evie returned after her run-in with Mr. Shelton—Mer, she corrected herself with a hint of a giddy smile. Without her housemate there, her evening promised to be hopeful instead of lonely, and she wasted no time in figuring out what to make for dinner.

With her red pumps replaced by her worn-in slippers and her blue checkered apron secured around her waist, she set a pot of water to boil and dialed the phone conveniently located in the kitchen. Every evening she called her sister-in-law to pass the time and keep up on unimportant gossip back home; this time, however, Evie was excited to finally have some good news to share.

"You got the job, didn't you?" Cynthia Clarke asked on the other end, sounding hopeful. "I knew you would."

Evie grinned, still amazed how the sound of Cyn's voice always seemed to settle some of the ever-present anxieties buzzing in her head. She missed her friend so much.

"I didn't even say yes."

"Did you or did you not get the job?" Cynthia pressed.

"I did," Evie confirmed and her smile grew hearing her friend cheer on the other end of the phone.

"See! I knew it." Cynthia said. "My gut feeling is always right."

Evie rolled her eyes and shook her head fondly.

"I think I'm gonna like working there too, so that's good." she mused as she stood at the stove, eyeing the pot of water she’d set to boil.

"That's so great, Ev. I'm so proud of you." Cynthia paused before continuing. "So, what are you up to tonight? Avoiding Jonny?"

"Sorta," Evie nodded even though she knew her friend wouldn't see.

As she continued to watch her cooking pot of water she told Cynthia all about her trouble with Jonny's car and the man who'd been so kind to help her.

"Wait. You invited the stranger over who fixed the car?" Concern was heavy in Cyn's voice, and Evie half expected a lecture to follow.

Despite knowing each other since childhood, Cynthia had taken on the role of her protector since Evie's family was no longer in the picture. The war had claimed Evie's father, and brother—although they'd never found her brother, Jimmy after he disappeared behind enemy lines. Evie never lost hope that Jimmy would one day be found, Cynthia though, was certain her husband was never coming home. After Cyn’s brother, Charlie, died at Normandy Cynthia had difficulty believing anyone was going to make it home. As for Evie's mother, losing a child and her husband to the war was too much for her tender heart and she passed not long after. Ever since, Cynthia was overcome with the need to act as Evie's guardian.

"He wouldn't let me pay him," Evie explained. "So I'm making him dinner—it seemed like the least I could do."

"I suppose…." Cynthia didn't sound convinced, if anything she sounded slightly irritated there was no quick way for her to argue the logic. "Just be careful, Evie. You don't know this guy—he could be another Jonny Doyle. Or worse."

"He's not," Evie said quickly. She wanted nothing more than to tell her friend all about how benevolent Mer was, but she decided against it. Cynthia would only argue that point somehow.

A long pause followed, and Evie wedged the receiver between her ear and shoulder so her hands were free to work on the meal.

"So, what are you cooking?" This time, there was a hint of jest in her friend's tone when she spoke.

The art of cooking was one creative outlet that Evie struggled with, second only to music. In her youth, her mother did all the cooking—it was a passion of her mother's—thus Evie had done little more than watch in wonder as her mother whipped up meal after meal effortlessly. Breakfast she the meal she was probably best at, apple pies too, but anything beyond that Evie required a step by step guide to prepare. And even then she lacked confidence. Thankfully, when she'd fled south, she remembered to grab her mother's cookbook. It was a cumbersome tome with yellowed pages and notes scribbled into the margins: a piece of art itself cultivated over years of collecting recipe after recipe starting the moment her mother stepped off the boat that brought her from Ireland. And like a witch and her spellbook, Evie depended on it.

"Spaghetti with garlic bread," Evie admitted feeling as though the meal lacked a certain something.

Pasta was something she knew held a low degree of difficulty when it came to preparing. Surely she couldn't mess up pasta.

“Mmm, I can almost smell it,” Cynthia said.

“Shut up.”

“No, seriously,” Cyn replied. “You’re mom’s spaghetti recipe was always my favorite.”

A doleful smile pulled at the corners of her lips, thinking back to her mother happily cooking in the kitchen as she sang a Celtic tune. It seemed strange that those moments would never again play out, instead they’d become bittersweet memories Evie could only relive in her mind.

“Mine too,” she murmured, suddenly missing her family.

Neither of them said anything for a moment, and Evie’s mind roamed the dregs of her grief before blinking back into reality and the hope of something happy to come.

“I need to go, Cyn,” Evie told her friend with a sigh. “I don’t want to burn the garlic bread.”

Cynthia chuckled and said her goodbye, only after making Evie promise to call her in the morning to let her know how everything went.

With her second hand restored after hanging up, Evelyn reached for her mother’s cookbook to give the steps another look over to ensure she had done everything and added every herb and ingredient she was supposed to. She’d followed everything perfectly, even factoring in the little notes scribbled into the margins left there by her mother—those she smiled at fondly and traced the fading ink with her fingers. Everything was as it should be. Even so, without a taste, Evie knew the sauce she had prepared would never be as savory as what her mother made so effortlessly.

“You were the artist in the kitchen, Ma,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stick to paper and canvas.”

For the smallest of a moment Evie thought she would hear the warmth of her mother’s laugh, and when it never came she sighed again, trying not to dwell on the shadows behind her. What mattered was the light ahead.

Despite her lack of confidence, the meal came together without any severe hiccups. The noodles were not overcooked, the sauce was a complementing mix of savory and sweet (though, as she had guessed after a tiny taste, was not nearly as good as her mother's) and the garlic bread was nicely golden. A small tingle of pride manifested in the form of a surprised, but satisfied, smile as she surveyed the dinner before her.

“Not bad, Ev,” she told herself, knowing her mother would have been delighted.

With the cooking done, Evie threw a glance over her shoulder to the clock mounted on the wall, triggering a surge of anxiety to bubble in her gut. Stranger, perhaps, was the amount of excitement coursing through her veins. It was as though all of her happiness was riding on whether or not she would see Merriell again. None of it made sense; the man was little more than a stranger. The coupling of nerves and delight was not a feeling that put her ill at ease, however. She trusted it. And it was that peculiar sensation that seemed to fuel her movements.

With a few minutes to spare, Evie wandered into the small bathroom to freshen up. She made sure her hair was still pinned the way she liked—up and pretty. Her make-up was holding up nicely despite the heat; all she needed was a fresh layer of lipstick to complete the illusion of a put-together young lady. It wasn't often she wore a dress with heels and a face of cosmetics—she liked to when the opportunity arose, but she was just as comfortable in a pair of old overalls and smudges of charcoal on her face.

Just as she wiggled back into her red pumps—discarding her worn-in house slippers with a couple of calculated kicks—a knock on the door signaled Merriells arrival. Immediately a grin curled onto Evie's lips and her heart began to pound an anxious-excited rhythm. A blush threatened to color her cheeks to give away the torrid muscle beating in her chest—her ever yearning heart already making leaps and bounds for a man she had known for mere hours.

Don't be ridiculous—she warned herself taking in a deep breath to curb the eagerness coursing in her veins. Untying her apron, she tossed it along with her discarded slippers and went to answer the door, taking one last deep breath to steady the fervor in her heart.

Merriell had changed and showered. The sweet bouquet of his shampoo coupled invitingly with the musk of the aftershave he'd chosen, making it difficult for Evie to keep from soaking in the scent he carried. His curls were still somewhat damp—too much moisture in the air to keep the heat from drying them on his way over—though they fought to spring back into their previous fluff. The grease-covered, jeans he'd been wearing had been replaced by a nice pair of tan slacks, and the buttoned shirt he wore was a soft shade of green that made his eyes glitter a deeper emerald as he stood under the glow of the porch light. All Evie could do was stare—utterly beguiled—every rational thought in her head lost to her.

Mer smirked, amused by her ogling. "Hiya."

Evie blinked, coming back to reality, suddenly feeling foolish, and uttered a nervous "hi" before swinging her arm to invite him inside.

"Come in."

Merriell's smile grew as he crossed the threshold, inhaling deeply. "Mm, smells tasty in here."

He gently forced a bottle into her hands as he passed on his way to investigate the savory smells in the kitchen.

"I wasn' sho what ya was makin', but I figured wine usually goes with anythin'."

"Oh, thank you." Evie glanced at the label, unable to read the French words printed there. "You didn't have to bring anything."

"I know," Mer shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "I just wanted to make a good impression."

There was something almost boyish when he smiled then—cheeks coloring pink ever-so-slightly—that made him even more of a mystery. One Evie was eager to solve.

"Well," she said placing the bottle on the kitchen table. "It should go perfectly with dinner."

His expression lost a hint of its boyish charm as it grew into a look of delight.

"Make yourself at home," Evie gestured vaguely between the table and the sofa in the living room as she ventured to the cabinet where the stemware was kept.

She placed two crystal glasses on the table along with the wine and retraced her steps to fetch some of the nicer china Jonny's grandmother had kept. Mer watched her, his gaze, gentle and attentive, and a little bit yearning as she methodically sat the table.

"Need help with anythin'?" he asked finally.

"Nope," She replied with a smile. "Everything is almost ready."

The hearty red sauce on the stove was beginning to boil again which told her it was hot enough to serve, and Evie eyed the pot with scrutiny, praying silently her attempt at cooking would go over well.

"I'll pour us a glass then," Mer announced.

"Great, lemme…" Evie spun to fish for the corkscrew in the drawer of misfit utensils, finding it, only to turn to see Merriell holding his lighter against the neck of the dark bottle just below the cork.

Before she could ask, a loud pop sounded, causing her to jump as the cork went flying.

"Oh my goodness!" she laughed, a little surprised, a little impressed. "Where did you learn to do that?"

Mer shrugged, a sly expression on his features, and left her question unanswered.

"How much ya want?" He held the open bottle over the top of her glass, waiting patiently.

"Enough," she said, tossing him a coy smirk without really meaning to.

He bit his lower lip as he smiled, chuckling under his breath when he poured a generous glass of red wine for each of them. She thanked him as he took his seat and grabbed his plate to dish out their dinner.

"How much pasta would you like?"

Mer's face lit with charm and mischief as he turned to face her.

"Enough," he grinned.

The expression on his face was playful, his smirk devious and amused by his own response and his cheekiness settled warmly in Evie's stomach. Not only did she revel in it, but she also played into his whimsy and scooped as much spaghetti into his plate as she could before coupling it with the savory sauce and a slice of bread.

Despite being only strangers, the atmosphere that bloomed that evening was not marked by any hint of bashfulness, instead, it was relaxed and amiable. Warmth that Evie had longed to dwell in again—that unrefutable kindness she'd lost with the passing of her family—flowed uninhibited from the man sitting adjacent to her. His conversation was cautious but still jovial and genuine. It was the first time since running south Evie could recall what life felt like without grief and fear weighing upon her. Merriell was a stranger, but she felt safe with him. Jonny had never made her feel that way.

"So," Evie spoke as she twirled the last bit of pasta with her fork. "What is it you do, Mr. Shelton?"

Mer cast her a look of disapproval—no doubt in retaliation to being addressed so formally—before his features softened back into a neutral, yet somehow still amused side smirk.

"Nothin' too excitin'," he stated vaguely. "The odd jobs are what I like ta do the most—like fixin' ya car this aftah noon."

Without really meaning to, Evie leaned forward, resting her elbow and chin on the table, utterly enchanted by the beautiful stranger at her table.

"You like to get your hands dirty, huh? Fixing things?" she was entirely too intrigued with the thought of what he could do with his hands.

He shrugged, suddenly modest after a foray of playfully arrogant smirks and glances. It made him abruptly twice as charming.

"I've always had a knack for it, I guess." Merriell finished the food on his plate with the help of his remaining garlic bread to mop up the sauce still left on his dish.

"What about you?" he asked after chewing. "Ya workin' anywhere?"

All at once, a proud smile lit up Evie's face. After all the excitement of seeing Merriell again, she'd almost forgotten about her good news.

"Actually, I just got a job today—the general store downtown, Southern Comfort."

Mer's face lit up too, "Birdie's place?"

"Yeah, you know it?" Of course, he knows it! She thought, Bridge City's population was slightly less than the number of people who lived in a single district back home in New York. Everyone knew everyone else.

"Sho do—I was practically raised there…ole Birdie's like a second mothah to me."

"Really?" Evie found a great deal of comfort in that notion. In fact the more she thought on it, the more she realized how similar the old woman and Mer were; they radiated the same magnetism and sincerity.

"Mmhm," he nodded, his eyes focusing elsewhere as the veil of memories danced across the contours of his features. "My mama used ta work there…once upon a time…"

"Does she still work there?"

Merriell's face lost a hit of its levity and he swallowed as though to fight off the onslaught of sudden emotion threatening to cast a shadow onto his expression.

"No…" he said softly. "She—uh—she died, about a year ago."

Shit!

Abruptly, sick knots twisted into Evie's stomach, feeling callous, but understanding of the quiet misery he hid under layers of charm and arrogance.

"Merriell, I'm…I'm sorry—I didn't mean…"

He met her eyes and cast her a quick smile—doleful, but enough to ease the awful feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"It's okay," he reassured her, reaching for his glass of wine and taking a good gulp before changing the subject. "Birdie's great—you'll enjoy workin' for her."

"I hope so…" Evie said softly, still too embarrassed to meet Mer's glance longer than a second or two.

For the first time all night the atmosphere they shared felt cumbersome—perhaps more melancholy—than she'd wanted it to get. Evie sat, worrying her bottom lip, her fingers toying with a loose thread in the table cloth as she stole quick glances through her lashes in Mer's direction.

He was nursing the alcohol in his glass with the same sadness she'd caught plaguing him as he sat at the bar hours ago. And while Evie was eager to know if his grief stemmed only from the loss of his mother, or perhaps more, Merriell was still too much of a stranger to warrant such questions. It didn't matter how easy it was to be near him, she had not earned the right to know his narrative.

A soft sigh broke past her lips as she fought to find a way to properly allay the gloom that was quickly ruining an otherwise wonderful evening. It wasn't until her eyes found their desert sitting on the counter, waiting to save the day, that she perked up.

"Got any room for apple pie?" Evie asked with a hesitant smile. She hoped he wanted to stay long enough to have a slice, though she would not have blamed him for wanting to leave.

Immediately Mer perked up too, the shadows on his features retreating with the promise of something sweet.

"I was countin' on it—seems as how you promised a slice earlier," he said with a boyish grin.

When she stood, he did too, helping clear away their dinner plates, and letting them soak in the sink to be washed later. Evie cut them each a slice of apple pie and the delight on Mer’s face made her smile too seeing him lick his lips as his grin continued to grow. Catching that flash of his tongue was like a bolt of hot lightning striking her without warning; a blush rose so quickly on her cheeks Evie had to look away to keep the blunder a secret. Thankfully, the pie was more than enough to hold Merriell’s attention away from her.

“Mmmm… Almost looks too good to eat,” he said ogling the desert in front of him.

When Evie chanced a look his way, the expression on his face caused her to chuckle, “‘oughta be, I made one for my pa every year for his birthday since I was nine. It’s probably the only thing I have any confidence in making in the kitchen.”

“Coulda fooled me,” Mer quipped as he loaded his fork with as much pie as he could.

The moment he took a bite, his brows creased, and eyes closed as he chewed painfully slow. Those few seconds were like agony. Evie’s heart was pounding in her chest with so much anticipation she feared she might faint as she watched him sample the only thing she could actually make that was worth a damn.

“Fuck me, if that ain’t the best apple pie I’ve evah had the pleasure of tasting.”

A somewhat nervous, but relieved chuckle sounded in the back of Evelyn’s throat as she watched Merriell shovel a larger bite of pie into his mouth.

“Mmm… Yep. God damn delightful.”

“Stop,” Evie said sheepishly, suddenly afraid he was overselling his reaction to keep from hurting her feelings.

“No,” he wiped his mouth and leaned across the table to meet her gaze with a sincere expression that stole away all the doubt writhing in her stomach.

“I mean it. If I wasn’t so full of pasta, I’d eat that whole damn pie right now.”

“Well,” Evie grinned softly, trying not to let her blush color her cheeks too obviously. “Thank you. And you’re welcome to take the rest of it when you go.”

Excitement took form on his face with a smirk that was sweet but roguish all at once—a sort of debonair charm that amplified his magnetism—as if his bright eyes dark curls and razor-sharp jaw did not make him alluring enough already. Again she had to look away knowing the pink in her cheeks would be too strong to combat.

“Imma have ta take ya up on that offah. An’ I’ll be thinkin’ ‘bout you every time I cut me a slice.”

That blush was unstoppable; her heart was suddenly so smitten, it felt as though butterflies were fluttering merrily in her stomach. She felt weightless with warmth and hope swelling in her bosom, fearing any slight breeze would carry her off. It was ridiculous how at ease Evie felt sitting there eating pie with a complete stranger. The conversation had been easy all night; even when it had delved into less savory topics he still made her feel comfortable. Evelyn had forgotten what it was like to be in the company of a man who wasn’t easy to anger, who was genuine and kind and wanted only to live in the moment.

For a time the whimsy of the atmosphere faded as the warmth in her heart ached, suddenly missing her brother James and Cynthia's brother Charlie. Both of them were good men, kind and genuine—like Merriell—but they had been swallowed by the rages of war. Brave young men were lost forever, while a man like Jonny Doyle was still alive How was that fair?

No matter how pleasant her thoughts could be, they always fell back to the grief that plagued her. She sighed, deeply, pushing those intrusive memories back into the depths of her mind so she could find joy once more in the moment with a kind stranger.

When Merrill finished his plate he made a beeline for the sink full of soaking dishes.

“Oh, no,” she said jumping to her feet. “I can do those.”

Merriell, however, shook his head. “Uh-uh, you did the cookin’, I can do the cleanin’.”

When Evie tried to argue, Mer simply shook his head, his grin amused but determined as he kept scrubbing the dirty dishes.

“Let me help at least,” she suggested. “I’ll dry and put them away.”

Before he could protest, she snatched the freshly rinsed dish from his hand and began wiping away the droplets of water clinging to the porcelain surface, throwing him a smug smirk that made him chuckle.

“Alright,“ he smirked.

She watched him for a moment not really paying attention to her task as he scrubbed the old plates clean, overcome with a blissful vision of peaceful domesticity. It made her stomach fill to the brim with whimsy and her heart was fluttering again; had this stranger bewitched her already? Or did what she feel bubbling lightly in her gut like a seltzer stem from an end to her loneliness—even if it was only for a few hours? Evelyn didn’t know. Nevertheless, she was intrigued with a profound feeling and she wanted to dwell in it for as long as she could.

Occasionally as he would hand a freshly washed dish her way, his calloused fingertips would brush against her skin, igniting a spark she didn’t know how to react to. It was more than an amicable tingle racing from the tips of her fingers right to her heart. And each time they touched, Merriell would cast her a gentle smile that held nothing more than his inherent charm and magnetism. She wondered if he felt it too, or if her need for companionship was playing a dirty trick on her.

When the dishes were all back in their usual places—the night drawing to a close—Evelyn realized she was not ready to say farewell to her Beautiful Stranger. She longed to stay up all night just chatting with him, she did not care about what, Evelyn only wanted to stay encompassed a while longer in the blissful warmth he brought into her life. Once he was gone, all she would be able to do was stay up and ponder the significance of those little touches and the sparks they brought.

Thankfully, Merriell lingered on the old rickety porch, one hand in his pocket, the other holding onto his plate of leftover pie, seeming to stall their inevitable departure.

“Well,” he said with a grin. “Thank you for invitin’ a stranger ovah for dinna.” He paused, glancing at the leftover pie in his hand. “Can’t recall ever having a better plate of pasta, an’ nothin’ evah gonna beat this pie.”

Evie quickly looked at her feet to hide another blush.

“It was the least I could do,” she told him before looking back to meet his eyes. “You have no idea how much of a savior you were this afternoon…”

A glint of concern flashed in his eye, his brows beginning to crease as his unspoken question lingered between them.

She thought about telling him—telling him how Jonny was nothing more than a throne in her side, and how much she cherished Merriells company—but Mer was still a stranger. It wasn’t right to unload so much onto someone she’d only known for a few hours.

Before Mer could offer any reply, the sound of screeching tires stole all their focus as an old wagon pulled along the curb—narrowly missing a collision with the mailbox. The rowdy passengers were laughing and shouting loud enough even before the door opened to let Jonny stumble out. He staggered on drunk feet and screamed a handful of profanities to his buddies in the car which made them all roar with laughter.

It was only after the wagon full of hooligans pulled away that Jonny began to stagger towards the house, and it was exactly then that Evie’s fluttering heart became consumed with panic.

She and Mer watched him cross the yard, unseen, both frozen: Evie in fear and Merriell in confusion. Jonny’s intoxication level inhibited him from taking notice of them until he was at the base of the steps leading onto the porch. Immediately, his eyes narrowed and he frowned.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Jonny, this is Mr. Merriell Shelton,” Evie said quickly, willing her voice not to shake.

The Doyle’s were not known for their hospitality, nor were they known to trust most people. Especially strangers.

“He helped me this afternoon with a bit of trouble I was having,” she explained vaguely, hoping to thwart any more suspicion. “I made him dinner to say thank you—he’s just about to leave.”

Jonny eyed Merriell, seizing him up as best he could through drunken lenses. Mer stood his ground, eyeing him back with a subtle intensity that never so much as cracked under Jonny’s scrutiny.

Finally, being the better man, Mer held out his hand in a friendly manner, “nice ta meet ya.”

Jonny cast a prolonged glare at Merriell's open hand, his brows furrowed and part of his lip hiked up in a sort of snarl. Instead of returning the kind gesture, Jonny made a show of spitting at his feet before tossing his heavy leer at Evelyn.

"Evie, do not invite any more strangers into my house. I don't care if they are dying." He shoved past them both, purposely bumping Mer's shoulder (most likely in hopes to start something) muttering as he went: "I don't trust any of these filthy southerners."

Shock sent Evie's jaw slack; this time the redness in her cheeks was a symptom of embarrassment instead of infatuation. She should have known Jonny would say something rude and uncouth. Without another thought, she grabbed Mer by his sleeve and pulled him across the lawn until they stood next to his truck parked along the curb.

"I am so sorry about him," she said, crossing her arms and glaring at Jonny's house, ashamed and angry.

Mer shrugged as he placed his partially eaten pie in the passenger seat through the open window before fixing his hands in his front pockets.

"Ya boyfriend's a bit of an asshole."

"He is not my boyfriend," Evie corrected vehemently. "I don't think he knows that though. I'm just staying here until I can figure some things out."

Merriell was quiet a moment, nodding silently. It seemed as though he was taking his time processing the whole situation. There was compassion on his face and behind his eyes, but it was guarded somehow. Evie caught it though and she was grateful when he didn't ask the questions plainly forming in his mind.

"Well," he said finally, his tone light as one corner of his mouth quirked into a grin. "Since he ain't ya othah half, I feel more inclined ta leave ya with this…"

Gently, Merriell caressed her upper arm as he leaned forward to plant a tender kiss on her cheek. He let his lips linger slightly longer than was common for such an act, that all at once wove a new hopefulness into her heart.

"Dinna was swell," he added as he pulled away, his smile somehow more charming than it had been all night. "Hope I see ya again, Evie."

"Me too," she murmured.

Evie watched as he got in his truck to leave, her hand held to the cheek he'd graced with his kiss. And when he drove away, it took everything inside of her to keep from running after him.

[fawnydoe]

So far I haven't seen anyone talk about Vanya watching Pogo die. I'm curious to hear your thoughts on that scene

holy shit holy smokes I have SO many thoughts thank you so much Anon because there’s a lot of subtext and so many interesting dialogue choices, blocking choices, and musical choices that add so much to the scene. Major fucking props to Elliot Page for his stellar acting and major props to the CGI team for the subtle emotions on Pogo’s face, as well as Adam Godley for a heart-wrenching voice performance.

you know its a big deal when i actually rewatch the scene instead of going off my shitty memory

I’m gonna try and break it down so let’s actually start by establishing the vibe between these two before this scene. 

Episode 1 established that Vanya does love Pogo or at least to some degree she does, she is someone that she trusts. He’s the one who tells her that the mansion will always be her home, he’s the one who tries to assure her her father did love her (that’s fucked up Pogo, come on man), and he’s concerned about her safety (offering to call her a cab). Vanya’s defenses are still there but they aren’t as raised as they are with Diego or Allison, there is some level of trust in their relationship (she opens up about the sandwiches in an attempt to make small talk, she does not actively make an attempt with her other family members).  If she was stuck in the house while her siblings were out, no doubt she probably latched onto this old chimpanzee as a pseudo-father figure.

She trusts Pogo, she is not aware of his complacency in her abuse. Pogo holds affections to all of them but I do think there was a bond between Vanya and him that’s being alluded to here. 

Let’s fast forward to the scene now that we’ve established there is a bond, because we have set-up so let’s have some pay-off:

Vanya tearing down the mansion is a fucking treat to watch, there’s no denying that. However, the events leading up to it are sad, distressing, she should never have reached this point of destruction. She was betrayed by the people she loved (Allison with the rumor, Leonard with the journal, and her siblings by locking her in a cage and walking away and leaving her there). She’s breaking down mentally and she’s taking the house down with her - she is both tearing down her cage and herself.

Look at how calmly she’s walking, she’s done. 

So when she gets to the living room (is that what it’s called?) and she has the flashback of Reginald telling at her to be quiet, yeah she’s fucking pissed. He tore apart her life, he told her time and time again to be quiet, continuously muted her (physically with the cage, mentally with reinforcing the rumor). She is done with Reginald, she’s done with it all. Except-

(We’re going line by line now)

“Miss Vanya, that’s quite enough!” Pogo talks to her like a child throwing a tantrum and in some ways, she is. He talks to all of the Hargreeves if they were children and in many ways, they really all are. They’ve never grown up, Vanya never got the chance to grow up. When was the last time she was in touch with her emotions, before they were strangled by her pills? When she was four years old. Of course everything is overwhelming, she’s been sedated for years now. 

“Miss Vanya, I under how upset you are. But I can assure that none of your siblings bear any of the responsibility for what happened to you as a child.” Pogo is trying to defend the other Hargreeves and to some extent, what he’s saying is true. But the thing is...what happened to her as a child is continuing into her adulthood and destroying her life. She has lived sedated and under the influence of a poorly thought out rumor. She’s struggling physically and mentally. What happened to her as a child is still clearly fucking her life up and the other Hargreeve siblings contributed to it, unknowingly or not.

And when she turns to them, her eyes turn brown again. She is herself and she needs to be to hear his answer. This is someone she trusts, this is someone she has turned to for comfort time and again throughout her childhood and when she moves towards him, pretending to be lax and casual, you can tell there’s a storm brewing. She doesn’t want him to be a part of this, she doesn’t want to believe that another person she thought could trust is complicit in this fucked up conspiracy of her life.

She asks anyways: “Did you know?”

Listen to her, she’s on the verge of tears and she so desperately wants Pogo to say no, she wants to spare him but only if he admits that he still cares, that he wasn’t a betrayer. This is an opportunity for him to escape, to lie, and Pogo, who has been so wrapped up in keeping secrets throughout the season, now knows that lying will only make things worse. He tells the truth but he does it in a way that let’s us know what we’ve always known: Pogo’s loyalties have always lied with Reginald, never with the children.

“Your father discovered...that you were capable of great things. Much like your brothers and sister. But your powers were...too great. He only wanted to protect you from yourself as well as your siblings.” Vanya has been told she’s ordinary, that she is not worth much because of that. Now she’s being told she was too great? Pogo pretty much just said: You will never be good enough.

Then the last line...fuck he has shifted the blame onto her, that her father was only doing what was best, that she was too dangerous. Pogo, what the fuck.

Vanya asks again, she needs to hear him say it, and there is no triumph in this scene, this is another betrayal of someone she thought she was close to, someone she could trust. All he’s done is say you’re not enough and you’re too dangerous. 

Major fucking props to the CGI on this part where Pogo is silent, he is thinking this over. He has spent years fanning the flames of this lie and if he lied again, if he said, Vanya would not have killed him. But Pogo knows the time for lies is over, that Vanya, who is a little girl that is hurting from years worth of abuse and lies, deserves the truth: “Yes, Miss Vanya. I knew.”

There is no one left that has not betrayed her in some way or another, Pogo has just admitted it. Vanya hangs her head, her face grows shadowed and both the gears in the audience’s head and Pogo’s head are turning: what will she do? Then she looks up and her eyes are silver. Vanya is letting go of any sliver of hope she once had for her family, she’s done. She thought had a bond with Pogo, a level of trust from a bond forged in childhood to one quieter in adulthood but still there. It’s gone and he’s said as much.

She lifts him in the air and keeps him there, lets him writhe in agony in a similar way to Leonard. Both of them have betrayed her, both of them are going to pay for it.

Look at where she flings him! The symbolism is SO fucking blatant here: He is impaled on antlers underneath Reginald’s portrait. The show has shown us these taxidermied animals (she’s turned Pogo into one) and how Reginald’s portrait looms over them. She knows where his loyalties die now and in some ways, it reads to me as Vanya saying: “You will die like a dog by your master’s side.”

She’s watching someone she thought she could trust die, she did that to him. She’s not enjoying his suffering, she didn’t relish in the act of impaling him, but she did because that is what she believe needs to be done (the parallels between this and Leonard’s death...fuck man). She needs to be sure he dies, she’s not taking any chances While he dies, he is being forced to look into the eyes of his killer, the killer he helped create.

The music is sorrowful as Pogo gasps for air, blood dribbling down his mouth. As with any Vanya soundtracks, there is a heavy use of strings, strings are Vanya’s instrument. It’s grieving, Vanya is grieving for what she has lost and for what she never had to begin with.

Thank you so much for the question, it was a real treat to go through the scene again and just dig into how phenomenal it is. I hope this somewhat answered your question, even if I did go a bit overboard!

[behind-the-hood]

Hey babes, been a while, huh? So, I've been thinking about how I want to get back into the flow of things, and with that came my update on what all's been going on. And it's a lot. So I'm going to hit the big points and my pets, because they are my babies ❤

So, I got divorced, which was great. He's stolen my half of our last tax return he was required by our divorce agreement to give to me, and kept my stimulus checks, which is not great, and I will be taking him to court when my lawyer says the system isn't as slow as a snail on glue.

I've got myself a new boyfriend. He's...the best thing ever ❤ I don't wanna get too mushy on you guys, but imma marry that man ❤ We've been together for over a year now, and in that time we actually lost his mom...and that one still hurts me. She...didn't die in a pleasant way, and I hate that she won't get to see us get married or see her first grandbaby or any of the things she was so excited to see and do...😞

On a less depressing note, I got a lot of new pets. I got a job at the vet, and day four into my job, a couple of big ol' king shepherds came in; they were strays. (I theorize they came from a puppy mill.) Anyway, I adopted the female, and the male was sent to a shelter for german shepherds. Korra, that's what I named her, started getting fat not too long into my owning her. Or so I thought. A couple months later, I went from owning one dog to owning eleven. She had been pregnant and we were in major denial, lol. Anyway, the birth went well, all the babies were healthy, even the runt was doing good at first. She didn't end up making it, she was half the size of the others and some time into the second day, she stopped eating. Korra was sad when her baby died, but after about ten minutes of leaning over the runt protectively, she let me take her. I don't know if her instincts said it was best for the other puppies or what, but she eventually let it happen. After the eight weeks were up, and with the help of my childhood friend, we got all the puppies new homes. I kept one, named him Mikey. She and her parents kept a couple. She named her puppy Fonzie, and her parents named theirs Butch. All three get to go to the park on Sundays and play together. Korra doesn't go too often because she's protective of Mikey and we're working on that, but for now, she's too aggressive and by no means a small dog, so baby steps.

Edit: Captain passed away in November. It was particularly upsetting to me because he was sick before I left for Arizona for a few weeks, and I wasn't going to go if I thought he wasn't going to make it, but everyone insisted he'd be okay and that I should go. He didn't make it, and I hate that I didn't get to say goodbye...but he passed in his sleep at the vet, and he was on medication that kept most of his pain at bay...and that's probably all I could ask for...because they had called the day before asking if we wanted to have him put down, and we never got to make that decision...I feel like it was better that way...it always hurts more to have to put them down...Edit over.

My boyfriend and I also got a kitten. It's cute; he's never really had a pet of his own before and he's super excited about it. I wish I could describe to you the wonder and amazement on his face when he saw Victor use his litter box for the first time 😂 He just picked right up on it, and my boyfriend was so proud 🥰How we came about getting Victor is a little bit more depressing. Or stressful. I don't know; I'll tell you what happened and you can decided. His mom had a few cats, and Big Girl was pregnant. She had four little babies, one of them being Victor. I kept making jokes about wanting to keep him, but my boyfriend and mom were both adamant that I had more than enough pets--which is fair because I do, lol--anyway, they were hitting about seven or eight weeks old when my boyfriend and I were leaving one morning. He was taking me home before he went to work. He turned on the car and we heard a blood curdling screech from in the hood. I panicked and got out just in time to see a kitten run out from under the car dragging its front paw and trying to get away. I caught him and started panicking and crying because his paw was bleeding and I could see bone and I was just in a frenzie. My boyfriend had to get to work though--sometimes his work ethics are cute, sometimes they are frustrating 🙃--so I called my mom on the way to my house and told her what all had transpired and to have a crate ready because we were going to the vet. She called the vet to let them know ahead of time and when we got there, Victor was immediately taken back and examined. Long story short, the belt in the car had cut through two of his finger bones but the rest of the cut was superficial. They decided he would need surgery and sutures. We agreed, we paid, we prayed he lived through the surgery, and then we waited. Good news is that Sweet Baby lived, he barely had a limp despite almost losing his paw, he hated his sutures, and now he runs around and plays with Theo like nothing ever happened, lol. And my boyfriend just adores Victor, and it's very cute 🥰

Anyway, I couldn't stay at the vet because I kept getting sick and breaking out in hives and, turns out, I'm allergic to nearly everything under the sun except for foods and lizards 🙃 I decided to go into real estate like my mom instead, and I just finished up all my classes and am ready to go into the thick of it!! Wish me luck in that endeavor 😁👍

So anyway, I can't think of anything else at the moment. That's my life update--Oh! I got covid from my mom. My quarantine ended literally two days ago, but I only had a cough. That being said, I've been suffering from a sinus infection for well over a month now, and got my period in the middle of it all, so that was awful 🙃 But! All of this is to tell you that I'm hoping to get back into my writing soon, and can present you guys with all the things I never got to finish or would totally love to start!! 😁

There's no set date on when I think I'll have anything ready, but I'm hoping over the next month or so, I can put out the third part of the Papa Makedon series out. I also hope over the course of the week I can start looking at all the asks I'm sure tumblr never told me I had 🙃

Love you, babes!! I hope you all have kept safe and healthy, and I hope to get back with you soon 😁🤙

---

Here's my sweet girl Korra with all her babies. I believe they were about a couple days old at that point.

And here's my Mikey, as a wee one and as a big boy ❤ He's turning one on August 3rd you guys~ 🥰

And here's little Victor (please excuse the food on his nose, I thought it was adorable, lol. I've just mostly got videos of him, and not too many pictures 😅)

[radioheadyaoi]

sometimes, i feel yellow

jjpope fanfiction. angst/fluff. second/first pov. pope centric, jj backstory. taglist: @dreamypope @pope-obx @drspock @playitaagain @bipopeheyward @ronnieweasley @pluto-the-planet1 @shipperssafehaven @jjbaymank (let me know if you want to be added!)

You are on a swing. The world is pushing against you. You are becoming one with the sky, your bones falling to the ground.

This is what what dying feels like. It feels good for a moment, all high and light, then, you swing back down and hit rocks. Everything shatters. Your feet crumple first, the your legs and suddenly your body folds into nothing.

You get back on the swing. You know nothing but infinity. It starts again.

For a moment, you can smell your mother's cooking and you forget you don't have a mother.

There is a hole in your body bandaids cannot fix. You are only a boy, so empty, so drained and filled with nothing. Everything echos inside you and you can't figure how you got so hollow.

Calloused hands, sleep deprived eyes, aching stomachs. This is not living.

It always feels like its about to rain but it never does.

Your lips are chewed raw and there is blood under your nails.

Sometimes you feel a little whole but mostly, it feels broken.

Snapped twigs abandoned on sandy shorelines and gravel paths with entrances marked with war aged trees.

A camera is smashed into the pavement, no more memories.

Everything is licked by fire. The flames don't go out.

You are on a swing. The world is forcing you into the blank sky. Your skin melts and your skeleton is left out to dry.

Everyone has a silhouette. Not you. You leave no mark. You are nothing, as they say.

You can see your childhood home in the distance, behind the garden, close enough to touch but leaning away from you. It does not want you no matter how much you want it.

Your fingers are sticky and for a moment you can't figure out why until you remember you are scratching your skin until your body is covered in blood. Small wounds let out waterfalls.

You can't get off the swing. Your teeth hurt from gum you don't remember chewing. Your mouth tastes like dry clementines and medicine and ash.

The swings stretch for miles but there is only you. (You are utterly alone.) For a second, you wonder whether you can move to another swing. (You stay put, don't bother trying. Maybe next time, when the sky is lighter.)

The air smells like round pasta and tear drenched line paper. Smiles across the skies and mountains that groan in the mornings.

You tumble off the swing, into the wet dirt. You get back up. You start again.

All you know is infinity.

---

JJ smiles when it’s just us.  All happy, too sweet to ignore.  

I feel so slow.  Everything feels so slow.  Neil is trying.  He is smiling, talking more than he always does, making sure I’m not hungry, not cold.

No, I’m okay.  I’m fine. It’s alright.  Don’t worry about me.

He is trying too hard.  He is doing what he thinks I want.  I don’t want that. I want him.

He doesn’t understand.  I want to love all of him.  All the pieces he loves, all the pieces he hates so much he locks them away.  Those pieces deserve love too.

Sometimes I feel yellow.

I am standing in the kitchen, hands on the counter, staring out the window at the sky.

Thick soupy yellows and watery ones that spread far across every little thing.  Corns and suns and sand at the bottom of the ocean. Nail polish and wide skirt dresses and pens and cereal your mother buys.

The oven is beeping.  JJ shuts it off.

He comes in and stands behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, puts his head on my shoulder.  I can feel every breath he breathes out, every sigh. He fits perfectly into me.

I don’t know why I feel this way, nobody else does.  JJ doesn’t ask why.

He is making me see stars.

Him.  Him. Him.

I wanted him to be angry at me for feeling like this. His calm was angry. I wanted JJ to shout, hate me a little in his soul. This was JJ. Only angry sometimes, never at me.

He kissed the palms of my hands and held them tight.

"Its okay," he says. "To be upset."

I hate this feeling that's inside me. I hate his calm.

My body slumps and I fall into JJ. My cheeks are all hot. The room is too hot. He doesn't try and kiss me but I wish he would. He tells me to breath instead.

One two three. One in one out. Again again again.

JJ cares. Its strange to think how someone like JJ, drowned in loss and broken things, can try again just to love me. Hold me tighter tighter tighter, trying. (That's the wonder of it, isn't it? He tries.)

He is fixing my broken pieces.

---

There are three freckles on his hip bone. Three small boats in an ocean of skin. I kiss them all.

He traces over the crescent scar on my back. JJ is all fuzzy around the edges, cheeks flushed from the wine we shared. He gets like this, all soft and lazy, tired, eyes barely open, mouth slightly closed. I kiss all the giggles off his mouth.

"Where did you get this," he asks.

"My grandfather's stupid fucking dog," I say. He laughs.

Love is not all knowing. It tries to be. It is all naked, trying to understand all the mysteries under skin and veins.

There's a scar on his wrist. I don't want to know where it's from

(Before, when I couldn't sleep, I would stare up at the ceiling, out the window, go downstairs and listen to the kitchen shake. Now, I can turn into JJ and let him hold me. Love has made me soft.)

I cannot sleep.

"What's this," I ask JJ, pointing to the almost round scar on his cheek. Its impossibly small but I'm surprised I never noticed it. There's one by his ear too, that I didn't see before this.

JJ smells like sunken ships devoured by waves and clean bed sheets. (This is my favorite smell.) There's dirt under his nails. There's a lake in his eyes.

JJ smiles all sad, like rain, shrugs the best he can. That's all I get.

Everything feels like a secret.

"Can I show you something?" JJ asks. I nod. I wasn't sleeping anyways.

He pulls me out of bed. He's wearing my sweater.

---

Everything is covered in goosebumps.

In the clearing of trees behind the house, there is three gravestones, one brand new, the others crumbling with time. The crack in the forest opens up to new winds. I shiver. This feels like an unhealed wound, glowing red, on cold skin.

There's a tombstone for someone named Molly. Aged eleven.

JJ says nothing. I turn to the other grave. The leaves crack under my shoes.

"My father died after Molly did. He had been dying a long time but she finished him off." No sadness in his voice. I can taste the spice from dinner on my lips and wonder, only for a second, if JJ can too.

"My mother died just after I met you." I can't figure out why he's telling me this, especially now, when I am trying to find sleep. The urge to vomit bubbles in my throat, I fight it back down into my stomach. He grabs my hand and I grib it tight. I wish I had a coat.

We stand there. I turn, kiss him. I can taste the wind in his mouth.

---

I dream. I do not want to.

Are you drowning in the ocean or in his eyes?

There's a cake on the table, perfectly decorated. I sit down, take a bite. The icing cracks and the floor breaks.

I need to grab something. There is nothing. Something creaks, I don't know what. The sky is black, the dirt is orange. I vomit. Flowers sprout.

There is no JJ, only the jacket he likes. I put it on. I am warm. The ground steadies, just a little. My head stops spinning.

Running. I am running from something.

I stop. There is nothing behind me.

A girl is sitting by the pool. Long hair the color of the stars, her dress dipping into the ground. She smells like cherry ice pops and watermelon juice. She smiles. Her voice sounds like thunder.

"Are you drowning in the ocean or in his eyes?"

I can see the freckles in his hip, the three little boats.

In his eyes, I think.

---

I wake up.

I remember, when I first moved in, I did not love him because I did not know him.  I loved what he did for me, the risk he took by letting me in, letting me stay.  We fell into routine. He made dinner on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Sundays. I made dinner Monday, Wednesday and Friday.  We went out on Saturday and ordered in whenever we felt lazy. I did laundry at the end of the week and he did his smack dab in the middle.  His clothing mixed into mine and we did it all in one load. He let me pick whichever room I wanted and stay up as late as I wanted and drive the car, all I had to do was ask. 

Everything finally felt good.  

We mixed well together.

I remember when he took me out, finally, after waiting for so long.

Halfway through dinner, JJ had spoken up.

“Would you like to go on a date?”

There’s a bruise on his cheek, a brown flower, that wasn’t there last night.  

Dinner is soup.  My turn. I didn’t go out to get another and there wasn’t much in the kitchen.  We needed to go grocery shopping.  

“With you?”  He nodded. I stuttered.  “Sure, where?”

JJ had shrugged  “I can figure something out,” he said   “Unless you have an idea.” I shook my head.  I’ve only been on one or two dates. I don’t know what people like to do.  

I didn't say anything else.  He said: “Are you free tonight?”  I can only nod. This whole interaction is so odd.  It’s not the kind of thing I would ever expect from JJ, or anyone else.

I lied.  I’ve never been on any dates.

JJ smiled at me then, a real one.  A rare occurrence, but always a welcome one.  

I don’t want to spend the rest of dinner in silence so I say:  “We need groceries.” JJ nodded.

“Anything specific?”  He asked.

“Well, I had a few ideas for my days, and then whatever you want.”

Jesus Christ.  So domestic, like a married couple that still loves each other.  “Make sure to get two loaves of bread. We eat them too quickly.”  He smiled. I offered a half lipped smile back, not reaching my eyes, though I pray he doesn’t notice.  

He goes off, talking about a book, something that happened, I can’t tell.  He laughs and I join in, only half alert of the story he’s telling. He throws up his arms to gesture to something and I nod.  He feels so alive.

I had never wanted to be loved by anyone more.

We're disasters, him and I.

---

I go back to sleep. I dream. There is a corn maze.

---

I walk to the maze, take a deep breath and step inside.

Every outside sound disappears.  I can only hear the plants moving in the wind and the sound of my own breath.  The wind feels a little colder and something clicks in my head. It’s an ocean of calm, the fields grown high enough to frame the sky.  It’s just you and heaven. Alone.

(I don’t like alone.  But I like this.)

This is not fall.  This is winter in an orange coat.  Autumn is thick with family. Winter takes the long path home, all alone.  Everything smells like dirt.

Everything everything everything.  This is the only word I know.

Go home, the wind is saying.  What is home. Is it JJ or is it with Mom?  Is it the town? Does it not exist?

I go home.  Wherever that is.

---

It's morning. All I can think of is Molly. Why he never mentioned it, and why then.

JJ smiles. He is made of secrets.

He is homes and I am drowning in his eyes.