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subbing-for-clones · 4 years ago

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The Alpha and The Omega Part 4

Alpha Maul x Omega Reader

Word Count: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Cursing, Mentions of death (bounty hunting), mentions of drinking to be done in the next chapter, reluctant pining

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Maul had stayed in the cockpit much longer than it was necessary, allowing autopilot to guide the Wolf through hyperspace. He was silently obsessing why you had felt the need to call another hunter; another Alpha. He couldn’t explain to himself or anyone else who would be stupid enough to ask why this upset him so much. He remembered what Zeni and Coth had said; Bane got you into the guild and the both of you had traveled around together for a bit over a year, long after your membership had been established with the house. He had been told that you were unmated but he couldn’t stop his mind from wondering if a close comradery was all you had shared with the Duro. The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

He eventually left the cockpit when he smelled something in your pheromones change, not being able to place it exactly, he ventured out. When he found you, he almost smirked at the sight before him. One he hadn’t ever seen before. The mighty lone Omega had buried herself completely in his sofa bed under the blanket she had lent him. Every few seconds her hand would dart out to snatch a piece of jerky from a plate on the nearby table and pull it under the blanket.

He slowly approached; mind set on taking some of the food for himself but he stopped in his tracks when a low growl rumbled out from the mess of fabric. He took a step back until it subsided. Warily he took another step forward and outstretched his hand earning a second growl that he was sure humans wouldn’t normally be able to make.

He had become familiar with some of the cultural dynamics of the cross subspecies but as for the specific habits and instincts, he was uneducated to say the least. Equally confused as he was humored, he took another step back, gauging the perimeter around you that you suddenly required. He finally decided what the smell you were giving off was; aggression. But not outwardly so, a defensive aggression. One that said back the fuck up, so he did; not without poking the proverbial bear though.

“I understand that this is your ship, and everything in it belongs to you. However,” he watched as you peered out from your wrap, “we have six hours before we reach Hoth and I would like to rest.” He didn’t really need to. He had and could again go, days without sleep. However, he was not one to avoid getting under someone’s skin when the opportunity presented itself.

You eyed him carefully with your eyes narrowed. Finally, ‘the bitch’ gave up for a moment so that you could understand his reasoning. With a huff, you stood with his blanket still wrapped around you and grumbled nonsense under your breath until you reached the door to your room. You glanced over your shoulder just long enough to catch his confused gaze before you turned and entered your sanctuary. Ignoring how he sniffed the air in the path you had just walked. You locked your door and turned on the incredibly dim colorful lights and pressed a remote that played soft music. You continued to grumble about stupid inconsistent cycles. It wasn’t a full-on heat like you normally experienced, more like a nagging annoyance in the back of your mind, dulled needles underneath your skin.

After trying several different placements for the blanket saturated in his scent you finally found one that ‘the bitch’ was satisfied with. Clamoring into your vast array of blankets, pillows and other various soft things you settled in its center and closed your eyes; preparing for the tremors that you were convinced would come. Just as you got comfortable, your vambrace started beeping and an obscenely offensive red light blinked in time with the wretched noise. Growling audibly, you reached for your table and strapped it on to your wrist, violently pressing the answer button.

“Fucking. What?” your teeth clenched so hard they could crack.

“Last I recall you’re the one who wanted to talk. Had a question or something,” the Duro’s head lit up in that blue only holo-comms could emanate. You pinched the bridge of your nose and scrunched your eyes shut apologetically.

“Sorry. Yeah, yeah I do,” you opened your eyes slowly and looked at him, almost hoping he could just pry the information out of your head so you wouldn’t have to say it out loud.

“Well, you gonna ask or what ‘Meg?” he folded his arms across his chest already tired.

“So, I’m sponsoring an Alpha who didn’t know what he was until a few months ago…” you started, hoping that either Zeni or Coth had filled him in in the few days that you’d been gone.

“Heard something about that. I know the guy, did a job with him back before I picked you up. Something about a captured Jedi he wanted to hunt. Didn’t talk much.” Your eyes widened at the new information. “You haven’t told anyone about that bit, have you?”

“The fuck do I look like kid?” he was almost offended at the implication that his lips even held the ability to flap. Even if they could they wouldn’t. The sigh that escaped you was exasperated in your relief.

“So, what about him. Is he fucking with you?” his eyes narrowed further and the last word came out as a protective growl.

“No, no he’s fine but I’m not.”

“’Meg if you don’t start speaking plainly, I swear to Maker I’ll find and kill you both.”

“He smells…. Different. Intense. More so than any other Alpha I’ve ever come into contact with,” you chuckled, “even more than Fett.” His eyes widened and he thought for a moment before responding.

“When was your last cycle? Has he triggered another one?”

“I mean maybe a week or so ago? I wouldn’t call it a new one, feels different. Lighter? ‘The Bitch’ is talking more in my ear and I’m starving. Like, fucking famished.” He nodded with his fingers on his chin looking off to the side.

“Where are you right now and where is he?”

“On the way to Hoth.”

“No, I mean on the ship. Where are the both of you?”

“Oh, I’m in my room; doors locked. He’s in the common,” you glanced at the door like it was possible he could’ve manifested on your side of the durasteel door. The force could do some crazy shit but teleportation wasn’t on the list as far as you knew. Even for a Sith.

“Good. You’re not gonna like the answer ‘Meg. Don’t shoot the messenger,” your eyes snapped back to his projection, waiting for him to continue.

“Someone always smells best, stronger. Mine did, Coth and Zeni got that. Not everyone gets it or waits long enough to find it but I’d put five quarries’ credits worth on the fact that that guys’ your Alpha.”

“W-what? No, that story’s bullshit. That’s not real, is it?” He growled slightly angrily in his response.

“I said.. I fucking had it. It’s why I can’t ever have another. Don’t doubt anything cause you’ve never known it before. Like me saying your Jedi force shits fake. Ignorance I can handle ‘Meg; arrogance I won’t put up with.”

You couldn’t respond. This is not what was supposed to happen. You were going to live your life as the lone Omega, ‘Meg the hunter. Live your life in solitude only occasionally coming to the surface to socialize with your pack members to stave off the inevitable loneliness.

“Sorry, no you’re right. I just, don’t want that? I guess, you just shocked me was all. I didn’t mean to offend you or your Omega.”

He visibly relaxed and sighed as he rubbed his head under his hat.

“Do what you gotta do. Whether that means scenting him, mating, kicking him out now, or waiting till you finish what you started with him. You don’t need to explain yourself. But that’s my best guess to your question kid.” You nodded and stared off for a moment away from the door. You thanked your old friend for his time and his insight before hanging up and rolling over and failing to find rest as the tremors started.

Maul truly had no clue what had crawled into your skin and possessed you. He wondered for a moment if some cousin to Dathomirian magick had made its way into the ship before shaking his head. That would be ridiculous. He had grabbed another of the no less than what guessed were a thousand blankets from the shelf and laid back. He didn’t really try to eavesdrop but when he recognized the voice that was speaking to you, he bristled. He only caught a few words while he passed, faking a trip to the fresher should you be able to feel him through the force. On his way there he realized that you were in fact as affected by his scent as he was yours and that it wasn’t necessarily normal. On his way back he couldn’t hear your words but it sounded like you had received some information that you really didn’t want to hear.

The pheromones that you gave off were those of fear mixed with frustration and anger. He wondered how long you would’ve lasted as a Jedi if they hadn’t thrown you out. Despite his bitterness the overwhelming urge to comfort you assaulted his every sense. He pushed it down with a snarl at himself before stalking back to the cockpit trying to put some distance between the heady smells.

He must have watched you eat at least three pounds of the dried meat hastily while gearing up to venture out onto the frozen wasteland. A small part of him wanted to ask what all this was about with you but the larger part of him knew it wasn’t his business unless you made it his business. He settled for simply asking if you were alright. You threw a sarcastic ‘perfect’ over your shoulder before throwing yourself out into the blizzard.

You had yet again, not permitted him to bring his saber. Jabba usually wanted a head over a warm body but bodies couldn’t pay their debts, and this particular Talz owed him big. He had thought it worth the expense to make an example himself out of this smuggler. Maul was just as frustrated as he had been last time but was silent about it, much to your personal relief. You were in no mood for argument and he no doubt could sense it.

He had landed the ship just outside a large cavern, the tracking fob blinked rapidly, signaling that the one you sought was close by. As you entered the cave you had expected to run into a Wampa or two. Bones of different creatures varying in size had alluded to it being home to one of the creatures. What you had not expected was to walk right into an onslaught of blaster fire.

Maul had force pushed you roughly to the ground a couple meters away from your position; landing you behind a large enough boulder for you to take cover behind. Cautiously, you looked to the side through the bolts to find him taking refuge along the wall behind stone that jut out from the wall with his blaster pointing to the circling, looking to you for approval.

You took a flash grenade out of your utility belt, hit the countdown button and tossed it; taking cover before the blinding light filled the cavern. It must have been cheaper to hire guns than pay Jabba, six humans doubled over covering their faces allowing you to take a few shots. After putting down three yourself fairly quickly you looked over at your companion again. He was firing alright but not hitting a damn thing.

“I thought you said you were ‘quite familiar with other forms of weaponry!’” you shouted over the returned fire in a slightly mocking tone.

His response was only to look at you with wild, angry eyes that made you double over laughing in the thick of the standoff. You rolled your eyes and shook your head. You raised your blaster and took out two more, leaving one man and your quarry. You turned to face Maul and crossed your arms in your seated position behind the boulder smiling toothily at him, nodding your head to the last man.

It took him a few shots but he managed to hit the hired gun square in his chest. You missed the glint in his eye but felt his pride through the force before he covered it again and chuckled to yourself once more. You could see the Talz shaking as he raised his blaster in his trembling hand as he slowly backed up. You pulled out your blow gun and loaded one of your tranquilizer darts. The long needle glinted ominously in the low light of the cavern, Maul watched as you took a deep breath and bring the long tube up to your mouth and wrap your lips around it. The dart flew with a short huff of breath as the Talz turned to run; striking him directly in his spine.

The toxin took hold before the quarry could take another step, dropping to the floor with a thud and a grunt. You stood from your position and made your way over to the first of the dead body guards. Maul went to bind and secure the smuggler while you scoffed at the small number of credits you pulled from the dead’s pockets. They really didn’t get paid shit, and they died for it. You almost felt bad for them; now wasn’t the time to get soft though. They took the job and they paid the price for it, just like you risked each and every job you took. No different from the rest of the pack.

You handed Maul half of the measly amount and one of the better blasters that one of the men carried. He hoisted the Talz onto his back and raised his brow at you before taking what you had offered.

“I told you half of what we make is yours. This falls under that category despite the fact that it’s not technically a bounty prize, I don’t go back on my word once I give it.”

He nodded his head in thanks and followed you back to the ship. Once the smuggler was frozen in the carbonate, you led him back to the cave. He watched as you dragged the bodies of the fallen gunmen to various positions and distances. You made your way back to him and when he opened his mouth to speak you raised your hand to cut him off.

“That was a fucking atrocious display if I’m being honest. Mildly disappointing if I’m being kind,” he snapped his mouth shut with a quiet clink of his teeth. “You can’t bring your saber to the higher paying jobs, as I’ve said, too many witnesses. Do you want to pick off the bottom of the barrel, cheap thieves for your career?” he crossed his arms and glowered at you.

“No, but what would it matter if I only go after those who are wanted dead?” you jut out your hip and rested your hand on it while rolling your eyes.

“You allow yourself to wield a crutch. What if you’re attacked in public? The longer you play the game the more likely it is to happen. You going to flash your pretty red blade and take out an entire town to maintain secrecy or are you going to be smart about it?”

He growled at your logic and took out the blaster you had plucked off of the corpse. You watched him take a few rushed shots before snarling to himself at all of his misses. You silently walked over to him and kicked the insides of his ankles lightly to widen his stance and kicked one of his heels to push it forward a few inches. He allowed you to but not without a glare. You pulled out your own blaster and demonstrated how with your dominant hand you gripped it tightly, pointer finger lined up with the barrel. With your other hand you held your palm to the bottom of the grip and wrapped your fingers around both it, and your other hand to stabilize it; bending your elbows slightly and raising the sights to your eyes.

He followed your movements with the accuracy of a mirror. You didn’t speak until you saw him close one eye to aim, “both eyes open, its more accurate,” you demonstrated again and fired your blaster a single time, hitting the furthest target square between his eyes.

In only three shots, Maul had hit two targets square in the chest, knocking them over. You backed up and watched him practice. It was slow going but after resituating the corpses he knocked over multiple times he had started to get consistent hits on them. When you were satisfied with his progress you lifted a head sized rock with the force and moved it side to side a decent distance in front of him. Moving targets were always a different game compared to stationary ones and the victorious glint in his eyes when he landed a single shot took you back a few years to when Bane was teaching you to shoot.

The twin suns were beating down on you harshly in the desert that stretched out as far as you could see in any direction. The sand here was what water is to the ocean, swallowing up everything in its path. The durasteel of the ship was growing hotter and hotter by the minute under your belly and you could hear Bane curse under his breath. You didn’t have to see him on the ground below you to know his eyes were pointed in the same direction as yours, the massive skeleton of a creature you couldn’t name even if you tried. Hopefully they were extinct or at least, nowhere in the area. It lay against the horizon three hundred meters away, unscathed by your attempted blasts.

“Bane, it’s really hot up here. Can’t I come down and try again tonight?”

“Hell no, next job ‘m gonna need you to cover me from ‘nother building ‘Meg. Either you’ll hit the target or melt onto my ship tryin. Focus, the scope is doin all the hard work for you. Breath like those Jedi taught you over so many years. Take the shot when you let your breath out. Closest thing I ever come to meditation is behind the scope and you’ll do the same now until you make your mark.”

You had taken his suggestion to heart and waited before your next shot, breathing deeply and slowly. Sweat pooled on your forehead before gathering enough to drip down your face and streaming between your breasts as the minutes ticked by. Bane was silent as you focused your shot. With one last deep breath you slowly let the air out of your lungs and squeezed the trigger. You looked through the scope again and saw that you had indeed scorched the beast just below its eye socket like you had been instructed to do. You leapt to your feet and whooped unceremoniously in your gleeful victory. You cast a prideful look down at Bane who never turned to look at you.

“You can come down after you do it five more times.”

Your shoulders sagged and you audibly groaned, the skin on your belly getting ready to blister from the hot hull of the ship. You could have sworn at the time you had heard your literal and figurative cold blooded companion chuckle.

You smiled at the memory as you now spoke the words of your mentor to an all too full of himself Zabrak after he hit the floating rock a single time. “We can warm up in the ship after you hit it five more times handsome.” Just as yours had, his shoulders visibly dropped but he said nothing and carried on his target practice.

When he had accomplished the goal you laid out for him you had reached your limit in the frigid environment. When you left the cavern, the air whipped around you violently while a vicious flurry burned the exposed skin of your face. Snow had piled up even deeper around you and a thick white blanket shielded your view. You hit a button on your vambrace to open the hatch that both you and the Zabrak scurried inside. You shivered wildly as you stripped out of your already soaked outer layers. Blizzards always caught you off guard on Hoth, you hated the planet for a plethora of reasons and would take a planet like Tatooine over this frozen wasteland any day if you had the choice.

By Maul’s body language you assessed that he would as well. His jaw was clenched yet his body still shook of its own accord from the cold. You set a pot on your stove, readying it to brew life-saving hot caf. While the water boiled you had taken first dibs in the sanistream. Under the hot water you thanked whatever gods were responsible for staving off whatever kind of ‘light heat’ you had experienced. Maul barley waited for you to fully exit the fresher before he was stripping off his tunic an indulging himself in the shower just as you had. You bit back a chuckle while you made your way to the cock pit with steaming caf in hand. You watched the blizzard from the safety and heat provided by the combination of durasteel and trans-durasteel walls of the Wolf, allowing your mind to wander.

You had never really been a caf drinker when you were a Jedi. Your master couldn’t drink it and most of the others you surrounded yourself with looked down on the drink despite filling themselves with various teas like your old friend. You had always teased Obi Wan for loving the sugary flowery varieties over any else. Like with many other things it was Bane who introduced you to the dark ‘life sustainer’ as he called it. He laughed at how you scrunched your face up the first few times you drank it but after thirty-three hours awake steaking out a quarry you needed the boost to function.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when you downed the last of your cup and you sighed at the chore of walking the six meters to the kitchen to pour yourself another cup. Like he could read your mind, and he probably could, Maul’s hand extended from behind you and took your mug. He returned a few minutes later, two steaming cups in hand, and took his seat in the co-pilot’s chair. The two of you continued to watch the snow storm in a comfortable silence.

The quiet was broken by an incoming holo-comm. You always found the beeping to be unnecessarily jarring when the air was still. Maul simply leaned back in his seat while you answered it, the top half of your favorite Mandalorian appearing in the familiar blue hue, you grinned cheekily at the man who had half-heartedly tried to court you on multiple occasions.

“Mando Fett,” you teased, “What’s up?” His helmeted head lowered slightly in a silent sigh but your companion quickly caught his attention and he straightened his back again.

“Heard you were rolling around with another Alpha.”

“Mmm, yeah, some of what Zeni spills is the truth. Or at least half true. Heard you were the one who gave him the card.”

Maul nodded his head once in greeting to Jango who returned the gesture.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So what’s going on? Need a hand getting out of a sticky spot or do you come with holo-roses this time?” you leaned back and put your feet up on the dash, taking another gulp of caf while waggling your eyebrows at your fellow bounty hunter.

“Neither actually,” he chuckled, “I know how you love a good hunt and I’ve caught word that the Jawas on some back water planet are offering an unusually high price for Mud Horn eggs. Plus their horns always fetch a nice price, someone’s always ready to buy the hides. I figured I’d extend the invitation to you and your cold-blooded outlaw friend. New guy can come along too of course. What do you say, wanna go have some from away from the office?”

“Hmm,” you animatedly tapped a finger to your chin, “the promise of a good hunt, decent credits and you bring the beer, what’s the catch?” you smiled coyly.

“First off, bring your own booze. Secondly,” he unsheathed a large viroblade, “I say we make it interesting.”

“No blasters?”

“No blasters.”

“You’ll have to pry Bane’s from his cold dead hands.” Jango laughed loudly, “please, he’s not just a gunman, he’s an alpha. All I have to do is poke at his pride a bit and he’d take a few down with his bare hands and his teeth just to put all us younglings in our place.”

You laughed this time and turned to your tattooed companion, “what do you say? Wanna take a break from chasing quarries and go on a hunt for a day or two? It’ll still get you credits.”

Maul took a second to glance around the cock-pit and looked at all the pictures that had been taken from various hunting parties and for the first time in his life he actually had the want to experience something like that. Yes, he had battled and defeated an array of fearsome monsters but it had always been a solo operation and for only the benefits of getting stronger and proving his worth to his master. It seemed like his new peers viewed such acts as a time to be enjoyed and remembered, the promise of credits was an added bonus as well.

“Alright, a day or two wouldn’t put us behind schedule, would it?” his velvety yet raspy voice that you hadn’t heard in hours cut through you like a lightsaber and you caught your whimper in your throat but not without creasing your brows in annoyance.

“No it wouldn’t. you’ll just be stuck with me a little longer.” He shrugged his shoulders in response so you turned your attention back to the image of the other hunter.

“Alright, we’ll be there. Send me the coordinates. We’re on Hoth at the moment so we’ll be there in however long it takes to meet you leaving from here.”

“I’ll wait just for the sake of missing your complaints of taking a head start.” You couldn’t see his face but you could hear the smile in his voice. You pointed a finger gun in his direction, “head start or not I’ll still bag more eggs and more horns than you.”

The both of you laughed as you hung up the call right before the transmitted coordinates synced in your nav computer. Three Alphas, one Omega, and a promising hunt. This is going to be really fun or go horribly wrong. Either way, you’d get some good pictures out of it.

Taglist:

@thundersheild

@gotham-city-uber-driver

@scorpioxsith

#maul x reader #tpm #tpm au #darth maul #bounty hunter #maul #hothunks #a/b/o dynamics #a/b/o #star wars au #star wars #maul fanfiction #darth maul fanfiction

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wistfulcynic · 4 years ago

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The Thief of Time

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @optomisticgirl!! You are one of the loveliest and most supportive people in the fandom, a loving cat mom and brutal murderer who would die for a fictional plant and has the t-shirt to prove it. I am so, so honoured to have you as a friend ❤️❤️.

This fic came about because B sent me this post and I immediately said "Yep, Killian would be a wizard or an artificer." And B, unrepentant evildoer and witch!Emma's foremost fan, planted seeds in my head that would not stop growing. This is the result.

SUMMARY: Killian Jones, pirate-turned-artificer, has suffered blow after blow from life and all he wants is to go back to the past and make things right. If only he could get his bloody time machine to work.

Emma Swan, witch, has the ability to See through time and space and the responsibility to stand down any threats to either of them. When an artificer from 300 years ago in another realm devises a machine that could blow a hole straight through the multiverse, it’s her job to stop him.

What they find when they meet is an improbable connection, an understanding that bridges the distance between them. A distance that is in all practical ways insurmountable—by everything but love.

(And one very determined pirate-turned-artificer.)

Words: <9k Rating: T Tags: magic au, witch!Emma, artificer!Killian, angst, Killian Jones is a sad boi, a dash of hurt/comfort, time travel, realm travel, HEA

AO3

The Thief of Time:

Once upon a time there was an artificer.

He wasn’t much of an artificer, it must be said. Artificing, as everyone knows, requires patience, perseverance, and attention to detail, and while Killian Jones possessed a rock-solid stubbornness that stood in well for perseverance as well as a fine eye for detail, patience—at least when it came to tedious, laborious tasks—was not among his strengths.

This is perhaps why, on the particular bright morning when his life changed forever, Killian could be found in his workshop surrounded by shards of glass and a puddle of pale brown liquid oozing through his floorboards that until a moment before had been a bottle of rum. Until Killian, in a surge of frustration at yet another failure, had flung it furiously at the wall.

The rum bottle had been a more or less innocent bystander, a casualty of proximity, a stand-in for the machine that sat on a rickety table in the centre of the hut that served as Killian’s workshop—a machine that continued nonchalantly failing to function even after the rum bottle had met its tragic fate.

It was almost, thought Killian, as though the device didn’t care how many bottles came to an untimely end, it still had no intention of ever working.

He held out his hand with fingers curled like talons and let it hover menacingly over the machine before tightening it into a fist and shaking it. “I should bloody well smash you to bits,” he growled. “I should—”

He had no real idea of what he should do, beyond demolishing the bloody thing, heaving its carcass into the sea, and abandoning this foolhardy plan for good and all. It hardly mattered, though, as the machine made no reply—not so much as a tick of motion to indicate that it cared in the slightest about its own fate. Killian gritted his teeth and with effort reined in his temper. He reached for another rum bottle—there were always plenty standing by—and groped for a moment before he remembered he had the awl attachment connected to his brace and grabbed the bottle with his hand instead.

The bottle was stoppered with a tenuous scrap of cork; this Killian gripped between his teeth and dislodged with an expert twist of his neck, then spat it at the machine and watched as it struck the hammered copper facing with a satisfying thunk. He took the bottle to the porch of his hut—‘porch’ being the word with which he flattered the platform of weatherbeaten boards raised on hunks of driftwood—collapsed into the hammock strung across the corner of it and stared out to sea with the rum bottle cradled in his lap.

Tropical sun beat down on the shack and on the swaying palms that shaded it, and on the stretch of white beach that curved beyond it, and on the azure water glistening beneath the blazing sky. A tumbledown shack on a lonely atoll was not, so Killian had been given to understand, generally the sort of place in which most artificers chose to set up shop. They preferred tiny rooms atop winding staircases in tall university towers, so he was told, or for the more eccentric among them perhaps an derelict castle or even a dark forest hut. Somewhere close and damp and chill, where they could work by artful firelight draped in hooded cloaks and tuck the secrets of their craft safely away amongst the shadows.

Killian cared very little for such things, however, as he was not most artificers. He wasn’t, as has already been remarked, much of an artificer at all. A sailor by blood, a naval man by training, and a pirate by circumstance, this was Killian Jones. And now an artificer, by desperate last resort.

He took a long swig from his bottle and glared at the sea, at the ship that bobbed gently on the waves, anchored just to the left in the atoll’s curving bay. If he had any sense he’d end this foolishness, he thought with a bitter twist of his lip. He’d take his ship and find himself a crew, sail off and vent his frustrations on royal cargo vessels and navy frigates rather than haphazardly assembled collections of wood and scrap metal that would certainly never do more than than sit there smugly not working, taunting him, and—

Click.

Killian froze, with every muscle in his body. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

Again. Killian exhaled slowly, cursing the faint vibrations of his breath in the air. He waited. And waited. And—

Click.

It was working.

—

A week later and Killian’s temper once again was hanging by the barest thread; the click of the device that had at first spurred him on now plucked at the frayed edges of his nerves and rattled inside his head each time he tried to focus. It was clicking, the mechanism was turning over, he had everything he’d thought he needed but still an element was missing, something vital that he couldn’t put his finger on, that hovered just at the edge of his perception like some fey spirit sent to taunt him.

Maybe you should just give up.

Killian spun around at the sound of the voice, a woman’s voice, with a wry tone and an unfamiliar accent. His eyes scanned the empty room. “Who’s there?” he called out, though it was plain to see no one was there. He was alone.

Quite alone.

He knew he was alone, of course, though the tingle between his shoulder blades did not concur, and remained even when he turned his attention back to his work. The sensation of being watched by unseen eyes is frequently a distracting one, but Killian stubbornly disregarded it and focused on his task. The sensation persisted.

He worked doggedly for several minutes, then set down his tools. “Lass,” he said to the room at large, “it’s bad form to stare.”

He swore he heard a chuckle.

“I do understand how it can be difficult for women to take their eyes off a devilishly handsome rapscallion such as myself,” Killian continued, “but I’m trying to work here so if you wouldn’t mind…”

He turned back to his workbench and as he did his elbow struck the edge of it, knocking over his latest rum bottle and sending a shooting pain up his arm. He squeezed his eyes shut and spat a stream of vicious curses and very nearly stabbed himself with the awl before recalling that he had no hand with which to cradle the afflicted elbow and rub away the pain. When it finally subsided and he opened his eyes once more, the sight that met them had him swearing a new and even bluer streak.

His device now sat bathed in a pool of rum, with sparks shooting from behind its copper face and very ominously not clicking. With a snarl Killian slammed his fist down on the table and ground it into the wood. He’d have to mop up the rum and wait at least a day or two to be certain whatever had seeped into the mechanism was completely dried before attempting to open it again to determine whether he could repair the damage. If he couldn’t he’d have to start over.

Or you could just give up.

“Are you responsible for this?” he demanded of the voice. “At long bloody last I was on the right track, and now—now—” He slammed his fist into his workbench again, sending rum droplets flying.

Look, don’t get cranky, mister. I’m just trying to stop you doing something stupid.

“Oh?” Killian snarled. “Is that what you’re doing? You’re a bit bloody late.”

What?

“I’ve done many a stupider thing than this, unhindered by any disembodied voices. You couldn’t have stopped me doing any of them?”

I—

“Where were you, for example, when I lost my brother in a cursed land, travelled back from that land, and then in a fit of rage burned the only method I had of returning there?” he demanded. “Where were you when I threw away my naval career, stole my brother’s ship, and led her crew into piracy? Where were you when I ravaged the land of my birth? Where were you when I fell in love with—” he broke off with a choking sound, then sat with his forearms resting on his knees, staring at his hand and at the leather brace where its twin should be. “I don’t know why I’m even saying this aloud,” he murmured, “you’re not truly here.” He ran his hand over his face then through his hair. “Perhaps I’m finally going mad. It’s an occupational hazard, or so I’ve been told.”

A breeze rustled through the shack, gentle and soothing. It whispered across his skin in what could only be called a caress. Despite himself, Killian felt comforted.

I’m sorry for what you’ve suffered. The voice’s compassion was undoubtedly genuine. But I couldn’t have prevented those things. They were not my business to See.

“And this is?” Killian demanded.

Yes.

He shook his head. “Who are you?”

There was no reply. The soothing breeze was gone, leaving the late afternoon air heavier and more still in its absence. His neck no longer tingled. He was alone. Again.

Always.

Killian pressed his fingers to his eyes and sighed, then grabbed a fresh bottle of rum—plus a second, upon further consideration—and headed out of the shack. Headed to the rowboat and the Jolly Roger, and, with any luck, a drunken stupor that would last until he could work on the device again.

“Hear this, lass,” he murmured as he paused in the doorway. “I will be back. I’m not giving up.”

We’ll see about that, whispered the voice, once he was gone.

—

Three days later and Killian’s hangover throbbed between his eyes, but his device was dry and in a less disastrous state than he’d feared. He tapped the magical stone that powered the mechanism until it sparked sharply in response, reconnected a few fine filaments of copper, snapped the gears back into place and held his breath.

Click.

Killian exhaled. It was still working.

Sort of.

He sat at his workbench and glared at the device, as though intensity alone could help him see what was missing in it. When it did not, he reached into his satchel with a long-suffering sigh, and withdrew a book.

He really should have gone to the books first. That’s what the other artificers had advised. Research before experimentation, a solid foundation of scholarship on which to build. In another life another Killian would have listened too, would have loved the prospect of hours, days, weeks spent in a library, absorbing the wondrous knowledge that it held. But that eager boy had long been lost, and the man who remained had spent too many years in wasted endeavours, hunting elusive magic beans and fairy wands, anything he heard of that he thought might aid his quest. When every lead he could scrounge all came to nothing he’d had no choice but to alter his course, and no bloody time to start from the beginning and do the thing properly. He’d already wasted so much time.

But perhaps, he conceded now, that had been a mistake.

The book had a weighty heft that testified its age, as did the brilliance of the jewelled ink on its vellum pages. Modern books with their rag-paper and plant inks were lighter, more fragile, less vibrant. Cheaper to produce of course, and more accessible, but the earnest, bespectacled scholar that still lived in Killian’s heart found them far more difficult to love. This book had been scribed centuries ago, by the hand of a monk whose name had long since vanished into time but whose skill was evident in the carefully crafted words and illustrations, the diagrams of fantastical devices that he had seen only with the eyes of his mind, never in reality.

Killian traced his finger over the lines of an engraving, squinting through his headache and the glaring sunshine to make out the tiny words that labelled it. With painstaking strokes he massaged his temples and let himself fall into the book, lost in study for the first time in many a year.

The hours sifted away like sand through his fingers, until a soft breeze ruffled through his hair and he became aware of that telltale tingle at the nape of his neck.

“Lass,” he said wryly, “has no one ever told you it’s rude to read over a person’s shoulder?”

It’s the only way I can find out what you’re up to.

“And just what prescisely makes that any of your concern?”

It just is. I can See it.

Though he could not have said how, Killian was certain she didn’t mean the sort of seeing one did with one’s eyes.

“So tell me then, what do you make of my choice of reading material?” he inquired.

Seems a bit dry.

He chuckled. “It is at that. But useful.”

You’re still planning to go ahead with it, then?

“I am. As I told you before, I don’t intend to give up.” A sharp smile flashed through his memory, the smell of sea salt on skin and in wind-whipped chestnut curls. His fist clenched. “I can’t.”

The breeze swirled up around him, wrapped itself about his shoulders in the gentlest embrace, and for a moment—just a moment—Killian let go. Let himself be comforted. Let himself relax. Tears prickled behind his eyes and his tired heart sighed. He swallowed hard.

You won’t find what you seek in this book, said the voice. Not what you really seek.

“Perhaps not. But it’s all I have left.”

Without warning the soft breeze stiffened, whipping up with force behind it and sending a half-full rum bottle teetering dangerously—but if Killian was prepared for anything these days it was betrayal. He caught the bottle before it could fall and set it safely aside, away from his device and his book and anything else that had the potential to be harmed by it.

“Nice try,” he sneered. The wind huffed a frustrated sigh.

This isn’t over.

“Why are you so determined to see me fail?” he demanded, but the words fell flat in the still and empty air—the absent prickle on the back of Killian’s neck informed him that she was gone again. “It’s not like I need any extra assistance in that area,” he grumbled. “I can fail perfectly well on my own, thank you very much.”

He bent to pick up the rum—a drink to soothe the ache in his heart—when his gaze caught on a diagram he hadn’t spotted before. He frowned and leaned closer, the rum forgotten, and began to read again. Soon he was absorbed once more, his eyes voracious as they scanned the pages. He made notes in the margins as he read, and tiny drawings and equations, and muttered half-formed thoughts to accompany the scratching of his pen. The clicks from his device soothed him now with their regular beat, and the tingle between his shoulder blades, when it returned, did not so much as register in his mind... though it lingered there as he worked, as the afternoon waned, until the sun began to sink below the horizon and Killian packed up his notes and his book and not his rum, and made his way back to his ship.

—

The next day found him in his workshop early, his mood uncharacteristically bright. He’d awoken that morning without a hangover for the first time in far longer than he cared to remember; the resulting clear head and sharp senses made the bright sunlight less oppressive in his perception, less like its exuberance was a judgement on his choices. Even his shack appeared cheerier than he recalled it, quaint rather than run-down, its slight slump to the left charming and not at all ominous. Killian was dangerously close to whistling a merry tune as he approached it, with his satchel slung over his shoulder and heavy with books.

He had brand new ideas to test.

His workshop itself consisted of the shack’s lone room and a single, long table that sat at the centre of it. On the table was his device, looking right at home there in the sense that it too was rickety, haphazardly constructed, and pitched to the left. Killian had told himself that the appearance of the thing didn’t matter so long as it functioned, but after it failed for so long to do even that he had begun to treat its exterior as a sort of whipping boy for his frustrations. The wooden casing bore deep gouges from his hook and other implements he’d attached to his brace; the copper facing was tarnished and dented. Hairline fractures criss-crossed the glass that covered the three small dials on the front and the long copper pole that was meant to be attached to the rear casing sat forlornly in a corner, looking as though it would dearly love the ability to rust, just as a way to express its feelings on the situation.

Looking at his device for the first time with clear eyes, Killian found that he felt rather bad. He really had made a dreadful hash of it. And although Killian Jones was frequently reckless, sometimes rash, and from time to time even a bit unhinged, he had never before been incompetent. Making a firm mental note to pick up some new materials the next time he made a supply run, he hefted the satchel onto his worktable, seated himself on the bench before it, and removed a book from the bag.

If he’d had two hands, he would have rubbed them together in glee.

Whatcha reading?

She appeared so suddenly that the prickle on his neck didn’t even have time to warn him. “I’m certain you can see the title for yourself, from wherever you are,” he replied.

Arithmetical Principles of the Mechanics of Time? Not very snappy.

“Never judge a book by its title, love.”

I thought that was by its cover.

“Title’s on the cover, isn’t it?”

So it is.

The voice sounded amused, and Killian chuckled to himself as he settled in to read. The tingle on the back of his neck remained as the unseen woman read along with him. He could feel her presence there, her eyes on him and on the book as he made his customary notes in the margins: quick diagrams and calculations and questions he would need to answer before he could proceed.

He was astonished to discover how engrossing the book was and how easy it was to lose himself in its pages, just as he had done the day before. How long had it been before then, since he’d allowed himself the luxury of a full day spent reading? Years, certainly. Time and tides, as the saying goes, wait for no man, and nor do rival pirate captains or deep-sea hellbeasts—they certainly do not wait for a man to finish his chapter before launching their attacks. Lazy days like this one took him back to his time in the naval academy, the long afternoons in the library there, the wonder he’d felt at all the knowledge contained in the books that surrounded him. An entire realm at his fingertips, just waiting for him to explore.

He had explored it in actuality years later on his ship, sailing her to the edge of the maps and beyond, but that first exposure to all the wonders the world held still shone as a jewel in his memory. For a young boy who until that moment had known only abandonment, drudgery, and abuse, the discovery that the world was far, far larger than he could ever have dreamt had been an invaluable treasure.

You love books.

Killian started; the voice sounded different now. It no longer echoed in his head, instead it seemed to come from somewhere to his right. He turned, and as he did perceived a shimmering in the hazy air, one that disappeared the moment he looked directly at it.

“I did,” he replied. “Once.” His mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Are you in my head, then, lass? Reading my thoughts?”

Of course not. It’s just obvious from your face.

“You’re familiar with the expression I’m wearing then, I take it? Perhaps because you’re inclined to wear it yourself?”

It was a shot in the dark, but it seemed to hit its mark. The shimmer grew more solid.

I—I’ve always loved to read. When I was a child it was all I had.

Something in the tone, a wistfulness perhaps, struck a chord in Killian. “You were alone, as child,” he said. “The books were your refuge.”

Yes.

Silence stretched for a moment, then he spoke again. “When I first arrived at the naval academy I could barely read,” he said slowly. “I was twelve years old. Where I come from literacy is a privilege of the wealthy, which my family was certainly not, but my mother’s father had been educated and he taught her to read and write. He was the younger son of a nobleman, disowned when he fell in love with a village girl. My mother in turn taught my father and also my elder brother. She had started to teach me as well but she grew ill and I was still so young, and then…” He trailed off, choked by the decades-old memory that still had the power to wound.

Then she died.

The voice was soft, so soft, and it settled around his shoulders like a blanket. He nodded. “Aye. She did.” He pressed his fingers to his eyes, just briefly, then continued. “After she passed, Liam, my brother, took over with my lessons, but there was never much time for such things. We were cabin boys on a large merchant ship by then, worked most days from dawn to dusk—but in what moments we had, we did try.” He shook his head. “Liam did the best he could, though our resources were so scarce his efforts produced little result. I was years behind the other lads my age at the academy at first, something they found highly entertaining.”

But you didn’t let that stop you.

“I did not,” he agreed. “Instead it spurred me on. In less than a year I had matched them, and in a year surpassed them. It was satisfying to make them eat their words, but in truth that was not my motivation.”

You wanted to know a world beyond the one you lived in.

“I wanted to know a world beyond the one I lived in.” He smiled at her, at the shimmering air in the corner of his eye that he almost fancied formed the shape of a woman. “As, I imagine, did you.”

Mmm.

Killian quirked an eyebrow at the shimmer. “Another orphan, I gather?” he pressed. “Alone in the world, unable to see a way out? Escaping into books for adventure, for a sense of the potential that lay beyond the narrow parameters of your life?”

You read me pretty well for someone who can’t even see me.

“You’re something of an open book, darling. If that metaphor isn’t too on the nose.” And perhaps, he thought, it wasn’t necessary to see someone to know them.

Faint laughter rang through the room. Open books read both ways, Killian Jones, her voice whispered, and then she was gone.

“Touché,” he muttered, as the tingle in his neck faded and a wave of magic pulsed in the air. A sharp snapping noise sounded from the device, followed by an echoing boingggg. Killian’s lips twitched. Softness followed by sabotage was becoming rather a thing with her.

He opened the casing and after a moment’s poking around in the mechanism identified the target of her attack—a small coupling in the box responsible for managing temporal currents. Killian felt himself grin. He was certain his unseen nemesis wouldn’t trouble herself to destroy anything that wasn’t crucial to the functioning of the device. He turned back to his book and flipped to the section on temporal flow.

“Thanks for the tip, love,” he murmured to the empty air.

—

Over the next month Killian worked doggedly on his research, leaving the device untouched and himself unhindered by tingles or voices or shimmery thickenings of the air. He read every book in his rather considerable collection, all the texts he’d… liberated from the universities and private collections of the realm’s best artificers then barely glanced into before he began constructing his device. He took a week off for a supply run, to collect the materials and bric-a-brac he’d need to construct the thing properly along with even more books, which he read eagerly at night on his ship, greedily absorbing the knowledge they contained as he lounged in his bunk.

Every day he thought about the voice, and about the very real woman he now felt certain was behind it. She wasn’t just a voice in his head, a symptom of madness or loneliness, or both. She existed, he had felt her, though he had never seen her face. He’d felt her presence and the connection between them—a peculiar sort of connection to be sure, but no less genuine for it.

The thought of speaking to her again helped spur him on.

Once he was back his workshop armed with resources in the form of both knowledge and supplies, he threw himself into a flurry of activity. He constructed shelves for his books, so he would not have to lug them to and from his ship every day. He built a sturdier workbench, with drawers to hold his tools, and a new, robust and polished casing and face for his device.

This was close work, requiring dexterity and concentration and the careful application of several magical items that had previously seemed to go out of their way to thwart him. As it turned out, Killian reflected wryly, he had simply been using them wrong. He still made mistakes, of course, and his lack of hand still proved a challenge. But gradually he found that he lost his temper less and less, that as he grew more knowledgeable and skilled he did not give in so easily or so frequently to despair.

He had almost entirely stopped drinking.

He spent a full week tweaking and refining the temporal current regulator in his device, until he was satisfied that not only near impervious to any further sabotage but also featured a clever adjustment of his own devising. Take that, Other Artificers.

He had done it. He knew he had. He had built his device and built it well. It would work now, and not because he threatened it or stumbled by happenstance upon the proper configuration. It would work because he knew what he was doing, and this time he’d done it right.

Killian Jones, artificer.

—

The stage was set.

The device was ready. More than ready. Its polished wood casing gleamed in the playful caress of the afternoon sunlight, which shimmered also off its copper facing and the smooth glass of its dials. The copper tube came up from where it was attached to the rear of the device and curved over the top of it, ending in a wide opening directly over Killian’s head. The rhythmic click of the mechanism was smooth and sonorous, each coupling attached and every gear well-oiled.

Click, went the device, tremulous and eager.

Click.

Every last thing was in readiness. Killian had only to flip the switch.

“You don’t want to do that.”

He paused with his finger poised above the small brass switch and smiled. “Back again, lass?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

The floorboards creaked, under boots that were not his. Leather rustled. Killian froze, then spun around. His jaw dropped.

“Bloody hell,” he gasped.

The woman stood in the centre of his workshop with her hands on her hips and lips curved in a wry smirk. Loose golden waves tumbled over her shoulders to frame an exquisite, fine-boned face and eyes that glinted green. She was dressed... well, she was dressed as no woman he’d ever seen before, in tall boots and tight-fitting trousers with no overskirt to cover them, and a leather jacket in the most outrageous shade of red. Killian blinked.

“You’re—I’m—what?” he choked.

“I said, you don’t want to do that,” she repeated. “If you do, you’ll blow a hole in the universe or—or something, I don’t exactly know. But it’s bad, and I can’t allow it to happen.”

Killian shook his head. He blinked again, harder this time, then rubbed his eyes. The woman was still there.

“What?” he shouted.

“Seriously?” snapped the woman. “You heard my voice in your head and didn’t even blink and I know you felt my presence. But now I’ve actually manifested and suddenly you’re at a loss for words? I thought at least I’d get some kind of smartass quip out of you. ‘At last a face to match the voice, lass’ or something.” She shrugged a single shoulder. “I don’t know. Something.”

“That’s—” Killian’s voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “That’s your idea of a clever quip?”

She scowled. “Look, I said I don’t know. You’re the smartass.”

“Well you might at least give a man a minute to adjust his premises before you start demanding cleverness from him, when you appear from out of nowhere in his workshop,” retorted Killian. “There is in fact a world of difference between voices in the head and full fledged hallucinations, you know.”

“I’m not a hallucination,” she huffed.

Killian knew that of course, but he still felt on rather shaky ground, metaphysically speaking. “Well what are you then?” he demanded.

“I’m a manifestation,” she replied, as though it were obvious.

“Oh yes of course,” he shot back. “A manifestation, how foolish of me not to have known that.”

She rolled her eyes. He smirked.

“A manifestation of whom, precisely, if I might enquire?” he drawled.

“Emma Swan,” she proclaimed, in a tone one might use to announce the arrival of a queen. “Witch.”

Killian regarded her with his smirk firmly in place, to which he now added a raised eyebrow. “A witch, you say?”

“Yep.”

“Indeed.”

She sauntered over to his workbench, hips swaying in a manner that Killian told himself firmly he did not find enticing, and leaned over, peering at the device. “This looks a lot better than the last time I saw it,” she remarked.

“Yes, well, I’ve been working hard since then.”

“I can tell.” She flashed him a look that had his muscles tensing. “Too bad it’s all for nothing.”

“What the bloody hell is that supposed—”

“Why do you want to travel in time anyway?” she interrupted, turning to face him and crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s a risky business, you know. Loads of people have tried and it never ends well for any of them.”

“That’s rather a bold statement from you, love, considering you are clearly not from this time,” he retorted.

“What makes you say that?”

Killian let his gaze sweep over her. “Red leather jackets aren’t exactly in vogue here,” he said loftily. “I’d be very surprised if they even exist. How did you get it to be that colour?”

“How the hell should I know, I didn’t make it!”

“Fair enough. Still stands out like a sore thumb, though.”

“Well it’s a good thing I’m not staying then.”

“Aren’t you?” Killian felt a twist in his gut at that; he was so enjoying sparring with her. “Shame. I suppose you ought to run along then, and let me get back to my work.”

“Ah, no. That I can’t do.”

“And might I enquire why not?”

Her expression, which had been sparking with the same joy of snarky battle that Killian felt himself, grew solemn. “If you’re successful then the repercussions of your work will echo all the way into my realm, in my time,” she said. “And I can’t allow that to happen.”

“Indeed?” he taunted, before he could prevent himself. “And just how do you propose to stop it?”

Her eyes flashed. “Oh you are so going to regret asking that.”

She raised her hand and twisted it, the merest flick of her wrist that sent a powerful pulse of energy through the room. He felt it throb through his body and he was rocked by its wave. What followed was silence.

Silence. No clicks. Not a one.

Killian spun round in fury and glowered down at Emma Swan, witch, who did not so much as flinch away from him. On the contrary, she appeared quite pleased with herself, and thoroughly unfazed by his very finest pirate snarl.

“I’ve never managed that so successfully cross-realms before,” she remarked.

Killian’s temper snapped. “What the bloody buggering fuck do you think you’re doing?” he roared. Her nonchalance was infuriating.

“I told you,” she reminded him coolly. “I can’t allow you to succeed.”

“I wasn’t succeeding, though, was I?” he hissed. “I’ve been not succeeding for the best part of a year now.”

“I know.” Her smug expression softened into an empathy that set his teeth on edge. “But that was about to change.”

“Oh was it?”

“Yep.”

He knew it was. But she... “And how the bloody hell could you possibly know that?”

“I told you, I’m a witch.”

He scoffed. “Is that supposed to impress me?”

“Well... yeah, I guess it kind of is.” She frowned. “You know what a witch is, right?”

“Of course I do. A witch is a person, most commonly a female, who is possessed of magical or supernatural powers, typically focused on medicine, the body, nature, and the spirit,” Killian recited.

Emma blinked. “That’s… very precise.”

“I’m well versed in defining the various types and levels of magical practitioner,” he informed her. His surge of anger was draining away and he found he lacked both the energy and will to hold on to it. “The Guild is most insistent that registration be precise.”

“Guild?” Her frown deepened. “Registration?”

“Aye. To both.”

“You had to register? With a guild?”

“I did.”

“Register as what?”

“As an artificer, of course. Despite my lack of skill in the discipline, the Guild insisted. Firmly. Fists were involved.”

“I—see.” Her lips twitched. “That seems unethical.”

He barked a laugh. “Welcome to the Enchanted Forest, love.”

Emma’s eyes went wide and her mouth fell open. “Is that where this is?”

“Aye. Though strictly speaking this”—he gestured at the space around them—“is on an atoll in the Far Southern Sea. But the Artificers’ Guild is in the Enchanted Forest, and they care very little for such things as venue or jurisdiction.” He looked at her curiously. “Didn’t you know?”

“Nope.” She shook her head. “I’m not really here, you see.”

Killian had been so caught up first in wonder then in fury that he hadn’t truly looked at her, at least not beyond what was required to note her striking beauty and odd attire. A manifestation, she had called herself, and once he knew what to look for it was plain to see—the faint translucence and hazy outline of her form. Cautiously, he reached out his hand. It went right through her shoulder, with no more resistance than water in a bathtub.

“Huh,” he said. “Curious. So where exactly are you then, Emma Swan, witch, if you’re not here?”

“I’m…” Emma’s brow furrowed and her nose wrinkled. Killian told himself sternly that it was unwise to find a nose adorable when it sat on the face of the corporeal manifestation of a witch from an unspecified realm. “Well, I don’t really know how to describe it,” she said. “I’m on Earth. About three hundred years in your future. Though I suppose this must be Earth too, really.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah. I think so? What do you call it? This… place. Bigger than the Enchanted Forest. You… you know there’s a place bigger, right? Beyond the, um, the forest?”

His lip quirked. Her stumbling attempts to explain were also not adorable. “That I do, lass,” he replied. “I spent years sailing the seas of this realm and have travelled to many a land.”

“You’ve travelled the Earth, then,” said Emma. “Or your equivalent of it. What would you call it?”

“Terra, I believe is what you mean.”

“Yes!” She snapped her fingers then pointed the index one at him. “That’s got to be it!”

“So if I understand you, you’re saying you come from Terra as well, but a different version of it, which you call Earth?”

She gave an eager nod. “Yeah, basically. My Earth was called Terra once too, by people who lived in my past, in a different country. But in my language and my time and my country we say Earth.”

“I... see,” said Killian.

“Yeah.” Emma looked a bit sheepish and waved her hand in a vague arc. “It’s a whole thing with multiverses I don’t really understand, if I’m honest. I’m not a wizard, you see.”

“No indeed. Nor I.”

“Well, I mean, you’re not even much of an artificer. Or at least not until recently.”

She was attempting to tease, he could tell. To keep the mood light between them. But all he could hear was the death knell of his last resort, the only hope he had left of honouring his vow. Without warning, the weight of everything he’d been through, a lifetime of struggle and defeat culminating in his attempt to build a time machine that would apparently destroy multiple realms were it allowed to succeed, settled on his shoulders. It was all he could do not to collapse beneath it. He sank down onto the bench and ran his hand down his face.

“No. That I certainly am not.”

He sensed rather than felt Emma sit down beside him—there was barely more than a shift in the air to mark her movement.

“I’m not an artificer, not even now,” he told her, staring at his hand and brace. “All I am is a desperate man looking to right a terrible wrong.”

“A wrong you need to go back in time to fix?” she asked gently.

“Aye.”

“What happened?”

Killian clenched his jaw. He did not wish to discuss Milah. He never actually had, though others besides Emma had tried to make him, insisting he would feel better if he spoke of it. If he gave vent to his anger and his grief. But he could not—the words caught in his throat each time he tried, stopped by the anger that sat hard and curdled in his chest.

“There was… a woman,” he ground out, faintly astonished to hear the words fall from his lips. “I loved her and she me, but she was married to another. A cringing coward of a man who valued his own comfort and meagre security above her happiness and her health.” He breathed slowly through the anger that still rose up at the thought of it. “She tried her best with him, for years she tried, but ultimately she came to realise that he would never change. She saw the remainder of her life stretched out before her, a grim slog through a grey world of misery, and she knew she had to do something, whatever was necessary to change it. For the sake of her own survival.” He risked a glance at Emma. “But she was a woman, thus her options were limited.”

“So she ran away with you,” said Emma. He searched her face for judgment, but there was none.

He nodded. “She ran away with me.”

“You saved her life,” she said harshly. “But you shouldn’t have had to.”

He blinked, startled at her tone, and watched as her face grew tight with anger. “In my land and my time, women have choices,” she hissed. “We have to fight for them every day, but we have them. We can leave marriages and we can have jobs and we can own our own houses and have our own lives. We don’t rely on men unless we choose to.” She looked up to meet his eyes. “I’m guessing that’s not the case here?”

“You guess correctly.” Killian’s voice was choked, his chest drawn tight by the depth of her compassion. Compassion for a woman she’d never met, who had died long before her time. He cleared his throat. “Milah had nowhere to go and no means to go there. I offered her an escape. It was all I could do.”

A moment passed before Emma spoke again.

“What went wrong?” she asked.

His lip curled. “I expect you can guess.”

He could sense the catch in her breath, though it made no sound in the quiet room. “Her husband found you?”

“Aye. Rather a predictable storyline, isn’t it? But there's an unpleasant twist to this tale, I fear.”

“What twist?” she demanded.

Killian swallowed. “Have you heard of the Dark One?”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Well, yes. I’ve read the lore of course, but… are you saying the Dark One is real?”

“Very much so.”

He watched as comprehension dawned in her eyes. “And he—your—Milah’s husband—”

“Had become the Dark One, aye. At the cost of his soul, of course, but for some men that's a small price to pay to punish an errant wife.”

“Wow. I mean—wow.”

“I’m not familiar with that particular expression but it certainly seems to suit the case,” said Killian drily. “Wow indeed.”

“He murdered her, didn’t he?” Emma said, in a voice like the lash of a whip. It was not a question.

“On the deck of my ship,” Killian replied, “as I watched, helpless to prevent it. He tore her heart from her chest and he crushed it to dust.” He held up his brace, catching the sunlight on the curve of his hook. “And then he took my hand.”

Emma exhaled, long and slow. “So that’s why you want to go back. To stop her murder.”

This was also not a question, but he answered it nonetheless. “Aye. I promised to protect her and I failed. I have to make it right.”

“You know you can’t do that, Killian.”

The empathy in her voice, the understanding, the way she said his name… Killian’s anger rose again and he snapped at her. “Well not now that you’ve destroyed my bloody time machine!”

“You couldn’t have anyway.”

“And just how the devil—”

“Look, I told you, I’m not a wizard,” said Emma insistently. She shifted on the bench until she was facing him fully, one leg tucked beneath the other. “I don’t know all the ins and outs of how the universe works, or like, the multiverse or whatever. All I know is that if you turn on that machine it will blow a hole in all of it. Every realm and at every time would be destroyed. It would end the world.”

Killian scowled as his mind sought frantically for a loophole, a counterpoint, a way. His fist was tightly clenched and pressed hard against his thigh, his breathing shallow. “The books said—”

“The books don’t know,” she interrupted in that same insistent tone. “No one’s ever done this before. No one’s ever even come close.”

“And here I thought I wasn’t much of an artificer,” he sneered.

“Like I said before. You weren’t.”

Killian thought of all the reading he’d done, the careful cross-referencing of books that likely had never before been seen by the same pair of eyes. He thought of his temporal current regulator, the refinements he’d made to it. How certain he was that it would work.

He looked over at Emma to find her watching him, with gentle sympathy and not a hint of pity. “You can’t go back, Killian,” she said softly. “The past has already happened. All you can do is go forward.”

“So what you’re telling me is I need to move on,” he snarled. How he loathed that expression.

She nodded. “In more ways than one.”

Cautiously she reached out and placed her hand over his clenched fist, and though he could not feel her touch he felt it, the warmth of her compassion and her strength and her magic, drawn from another realm in another time. He let his hand relax and held it, palm up, beneath hers. He drew a deep, unsteady breath and then released it. Then he drew another.

They sat in silence for some time.

“I can’t recall the last time I considered what Milah would think if she could see what I was doing,” said Killian, finally, in a low voice. “I thought about her all the time, at first. But then… it got to the point where every time thoughts of her came into my head I would drink them straight out of it.”

“Because you knew that if she could see you she wouldn’t like what she saw.”

“Because I knew that if she could see me she wouldn’t like what she saw,” he echoed. “She wouldn’t have wanted me to lose myself in this—obsession. But then I have always been prone to obsession and she knew that better than anyone.”

“Obsession is just another word for intense dedication,” declared Emma, “once you add a bit of healthy perspective to it. It’s sincere devotion to what you value. Maybe all you need is just to shift your focus a bit. Find something new to work on, and another motivation to drive you.”

“Something new,” he repeated, then gave a hoarse, choking laugh. “I confess I’ve no idea what that could be.”

“You’ll find something.” The look in her eyes as she watched him was amused, wry, soft, and sad all at once. An odd sensation twisted in his chest. “I wish—” she began, then broke off with a shake of her head.

Killian realised their hands were still clasped. He wished he could close his fingers around hers, truly feel the touch of them against his skin. “What do you wish, love?” he pressed.

She shook her head again. “It’s just—after today I won’t be able to See you anymore. Once you’re no longer a threat you’ll stop appearing in my visions. I just wish I could watch what you do next, that’s all." She flashed him a grin. "I have a feeling it’ll be something epic.”

He laughed and after a moment she joined him, with a tinkling, joyous sound that made his heart feel lighter than perhaps it ever had. Maybe she was right, he thought. Maybe he could do something different. Something not driven by loss or anger or greed. “I don’t know if I can promise epic,” he told her. “But I do promise I'll do something. Something important to me. I promise you, Emma Swan.”

She smiled, gorgeous and heartbreaking. “Good.”

Killian could swear he felt her hand tightening on his, felt it in the echoing squeeze in his chest. He heard her next words before she spoke them.

“I have to go.”

He forced himself to nod. “I know.”

She reached up with her free hand and traced her fingertips across his cheek. “Goodbye, Killian Jones,” she whispered… and then she was gone.

Killian sat alone in his workshop with an empty hand and a silent machine, and a brand new ache in his heart. And for the very first time in a life full of loss, he allowed himself to grieve.

—

Killian didn’t drink.

He wanted to. The rum called to him, a siren’s song of numb oblivion, but that was a pit into which he no longer wished to fall. He had things to do now, crucial things, and they required a clear head.

He took the Jolly Roger and he sailed away, far across the seas to a place he'd sworn he’d never go again. The small port village where Milah had lived, and where she’d died. Whose harbour he’d put at his bow for less than an hour before he’d tipped her body into the depths of the sea.

It was the nearest thing he had to a gravestone.

He stood on the deck with his hand on the railing, staring down into the choppy waves below. His throat ached and his chest felt tight.

“I’m so sorry, Milah,” he whispered. “Sorry that I failed in my promise to protect you. Sorry that when I lost you I lost myself as well. I let myself fall so deeply into despair that I lost sight of who I was—and in doing so I sacrificed the man you loved. I’m sorry I became something you’d have hated me to be.” His throat closed up and he swallowed through it, forced the next words out. “When you died I swore to avenge you, but my love, I think—” he exhaled slowly “—I think I have to let you go.”

A brisk wind swept in off the water and ruffled through his hair as Milah’s fingers used to do. It stroked his cheek with the touch of her lips and whispered with her voice in his ear.

I love you, it said. Go.

Killian let his eyes fall shut as he breathed in the scent of her skin, closed his fist in her curls one final time. When he opened them again he was alone.

Alone, but for the first time in many a year, hopeful.

The past is done, he thought, and can’t be changed. All you can do is move forward.

Somewhere, some time, there was a green-eyed witch with golden curls and a sharp tongue and the softest heart he’d ever known. One who could read him like a book and understand the story it told. And he was an artificer who knew how to build a bloody time machine.

It was time to move on.

—

The afternoon was warm and hazy as it often is in August on the coast of Maine. The air was heavy and humid and buzzing with the hum of bees and midges as they swarmed and bumbled their way through late-summer flowers. Flowers that bloomed in full riotous colour in the remarkable garden of a thoroughly unremarkable grey clapboard house.

A figure approached the garden gate, tall and oddly dressed for this realm. He wore a long and sweeping leather coat over an ornately embroidered waistcoat, tall leather boots and a matching heavy satchel slung across his back. He paused, and regarded the gate with a raised eyebrow and all the deference he could muster.

Killian Jones knew magic when he sensed it.

“May I come in, lass?” he inquired of the air and the gate and the bumblebees, and whomever else might happen to be listening.

The gate swung open.

Killian favoured it with a small bow then sauntered through it, through the bright and fragrant garden and up to the porch steps and the door atop them. It opened as he approached to reveal a woman with long curling hair, a tight white tank top and very short shorts. She placed a hand on her hip and smirked.

“Took you long enough,” she said.

Killian climbed the porch steps and dropped his satchel, hooked a thumb beneath his belt buckle and treated her to his flirtiest grin. “Time is relative, I think you’ll find,” he replied. “Also an illusion. And there are some philosophers who claim that—”

His words were cut off by Emma’s lips, her fingers tight on the lapels of his coat as she pulled him in close. She was solid and real against his chest, her mouth hot and her skin so soft. Killian groaned as he sank his fingers into her hair, as he kissed her back with everything he’d held in his heart since he saw her last.

The kiss was short but rich with feeling, with potential, with hope. When it ended they paused for a moment, foreheads pressed together, breathing each other’s breath.

Emma spoke first. “You came forward,” she said. “You actually did it.” She laughed, and thumped her fist lightly against his chest. “I can’t believe you actually did it.”

“Aye, well, as it turns out, I’m a hell of an artificer,” he replied, and she laughed again. He pulled her against him, wrapped his arms tight around her and sighed as she tucked her head beneath his chin.

“And the rest of it?” she inquired softly. “Milah, and the Dark One—”

He took a moment to consider how to answer. There were many things he could say, so much he wanted to tell her. But it would wait. They had time. In the end he said simply, “I’ve made my peace. It’s done.”

“Good.” She looked up at him with that glorious smile and his heart sang with happiness. “That’s good.”

—

@ohmightydevviepuu @thisonesatellite @katie-dub @kmomof4 @mariakov81 @stahlop @spartanguard @killianjones-twopointoh @captain-emmajones

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mhafiction · 4 years ago

Text

Out & About (Pt. 2)

Read Pt. 1 Pt 3 Pt. 4

Pairing: Bakugo x Reader

Fluff/ Friends to Lovers (?), lots of pining and !!some swearing!!

Synopsis: Reader is very close friends with the Bakusquad, except for the aloof and mysterious Bakugo. He still intrigues them however, and a night out with the group might actually be the the push they need to really get the ball rolling on transitioning their awkward comradery into something a little- more.

Note:Whhhhewww. Let’s get into it, I’m sorry that the dialogues’ very stilted -K (and again, I apologize for formatting)

XSero had scouted out a charming little restaurant in the heart of the city. Small, cozy, and family owned, the ambiance was perfect and the food was even better. You kept your eyes down for the most part, trying not to glance at Bakugo, but you couldn’t help but notice his order. An extra spicy dish that didn’t seem to affect him in the slightest. You wished you had that sort of tolerance and picked at your food, trying to calm your nerves. The interaction on the train still lingered in your mind. He was so, so close. Absentmindedly, you went to shovel a large helping of noodles into your mouth, instead feeling a caulloused hand brush against your cheek. You look up, eyes meeting Bakugo, looking just as surprised as you. Tugging his hand away, he glared back down at his food, pouting in his aloof manner. A thick silence hung between the two of you. Bakugo finally broke it, refusing to look up at all. “Tie back your hair or something. You looked like you were gonna swallow some strands with your food, idiot,” he mumbled, begrudgingly. You thanked the gods above that the others were occupied with their own dishes, because if they saw that interaction and they way you reacted, you’d never hear the end of it.

Wait. Could Bakugo like you back? You gave him a subtle side eye. No. Not possible with how he’s acting. Even if he did have some feelings for you, and this was all some tsundere situation, he clearly didn’t want to like you. And maybe that was for the best. Bakugo wanted to focus on being the number one hero, and so did you. A relationship would get in the way.

A relationship?!? Why were you thinking about that? You blushed deeply, sinking into yourself at the thought of dating Bakugo. Holding his hand, cuddling with him, kissing hi- “Hey Y/N, you alright?” You peered up at Kiri, who was sitting across from you. His voracious appetite was almost impressive, but even more so was the fact that he had managed to tear himself away from his fifth bowl of katsudon. “H-huh?? I’m fine, yep. 100% a-okay!!” You cringed. That came off as WAY too emphatic. Kirishima pushed aside his stack of empty bowls to see you. “Are you sure? You’re really red. Are you feeling okay?”

“I-“

“Wow, Y/N, you’re burning up!” Mina had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and had placed her hand on your forehead. She wiped a bit of rice away from her cheek and let loose a ferocious burp. You smacked away her hand, mostly out of suprise. “Mina!”

“What? I’m just worried about you. You’re the color of Kiri’s hair.”

Sero laughed. “Y/N, if you’re not feeling well, we should head back.” For once, you wished your friends were less doting.

“I’m fine! Just a little warm, haha.” None of them seemed very convinced. Even Denki gave you a skeptical glance. He smirked. “We’re you imagining something hot? I mean that waiter was pretty attr-” Sero flicked him, scolding. “Y/N’s not gross like you, Denki.” He turned to you, concerned. “But seriously Y/N, you’re up for tonight?”

“Yep! I’m okay.” You tried to grin, but it felt forced and false. The others were still skeptical, but decided to shrug it off. No point in wasting a perfectly good evening, and they were pretty sure you were responsible enough to know your limits. Mina wrapped an arm around you. “Alright!!! Let’s get shitfaced-“

“No Mina, we’re minors.”

Your group opted to walk around the city to see if they’d discover anything new. The moon hung high in the night sky and it was colder than usual- late fall was leading into winter. The neon signs filled you with contentment as you chatted with your friends, cocoas in hand. You lagged behind them for a bit when crossing a bridge, trying to take everything in. Everything but the...well, the Bakugo issue. Everything was fine then he had to smile at you and fuck everything up. “Y/N?” You snapped out of your stupor, looking at Kiri. “Yeah?” Kiri looked ahead at the group, oddly wary. You knew Kiri to be a trusting and kindhearted sort of guy- the embodiment of a paragon hero. Cheerful and humorous, and always willing to have some fun. But he could be serious when he needed to be. “Is something wrong, Eij?” Kiri laughed softly. “No, no it’s nothing serious!” He looked at you, cocking his head to the side. “I just want to make sure they’re not listening,” he pointed at the cacophonous trio dashing ahead, and you giggle as the three idiots directed their attention towards annoying Bakugo.

“Why’s that?”

Kiri rubbed the back of his neck. “I have a bit of a personal question and I don’t want you to be embarrassed.”

“Ha! Like I could be embarrassed in front of them. Shoot.”

Kiri hesitated. “Well, I’m hoping this doesn’t make you uncomfortable or weird or anything, I don’t to be rude or assum-“

“Eij just spit it out!”

“Do you like Bakugo?” He asked it earnestly, eyes shining with a quiet anticipation. You choked on air.

“Wh-what makes you think that?”

Kiri leaned back, crossing his arms against his chest and looking up to think. “Well, at dinner, your eyes kept darting back to Bakugo, and I thought that maybe that’s why you were so red! And when we went to get cocoa, when he went to grab the drink tray from you, you flinched at his touch. And also that one time in class when you guys were sparring and you looked super flustered when he pinned you even though you weren’t really going all in! Or when he taught you how to cut produce at camp and you got so nervous that you cut yourself! And-“

“Okay, I get it Kiri!” You covered your mouth, trying to hide your blushing face. You felt like you were about to hurl. “Am I really that transparent?” Kiri let out an quiet squee of excitement. “Oh my god I was right?? Really? Oh my god, my best friend is in love with my other best friend!! Ahhhhh!”

You sighed. “Well, you were half right, Eij. I only started liking Bakugo today.” Kirishima paused. “Wait really? Huh.”

“Wha- What do you mean by ‘Huh’??”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It just seems like you’ve always been this way around him.”

You’re quiet, trying to chew on that. Always? Looking back, you thought that the nervousness was fueled by the intimidation factor Bakugo had.

But the truth was, you weren’t afraid of Bakugo. You never were.

You were in love with him.

You tried to shake that thought from your head: No! Back then, Bakugo was just someone you respected! Not a crush, just a colleague you thought was intelligent, brave, talented, fiery, attractive-

“Oh shit.” Kiri nodded.

“But why are you acting like this is a bad thing, Y/N? Love is great! And the fact you like Bakugo is even better! I mean-“

“He doesn’t like me back, Kiri.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t like me back.” You clenched your fists. “It’s that, or he doesn’t want to like me.”

“Why would you think that, Y/N?” Kiri said softly.

“He’s Bakugo, Kiri! Even if he did like me, it’s not as if he’d want a relationship. His ambition wouldn’t allow it, and you know that, you’re his best friend!” You hissed through your teeth with bitterness. Kirishima only looked sad.

“YO! Eij!!! C’mere, win this crane game for meeeee,” Denki whined. His pockets were turned inside out, and he clung pathetically to the machine. Kirishima turned to you. “I think he likes you, Y/N. Bakugo is the type of guy who stubborn and would never admit it, but I think he does.” He pats your shoulder. “And don’t give up on him.” Kiri winks, then goes to join Denki at the game. Sero and Mina dispersed on their own arcade escapade, but you decided to stay outside in the brisk autumn air. You didn’t have the appetite for games after that conversation. You sighed, rubbing your shoulders. It was cold. If only you brought a coat with you. You watched the night crowd going about their evening, looking at bright storefronts and multicolored signs, all with a serenity you couldn’t quite place. But it was lonely, to be sitting there on the curb with nobody to enjoy this with. Lonely and cold. You try to shrink yourself, burying your head into your knees. Were you lonely? Yes. But this was still a nice little scene , and you’d hate to squander it on self pity. As you’re about to lift yourself up, something soft and warm comes down on your head. An article of clothing that smells faintly of caramel.

You find a way out from under the expanse of cloth, and look up at Bakugo’s face. He quickly whipped his head away, watching the moon instead. In his hand was some hot beverage from a vending machine. He must have gone off on his own, just to escape Mina, Denki, and Sero. You lazily drape his jacket over your shoulders fixing your eyes on him. Just what is he thinking right now? If only you knew. You felt a quiet distaste for him in the pit of your stomach when recalling the train ride. It sickened you how attractive he was there and even now, when the moonlight hit him at a truly beautiful angle. “You shouldn’t have forgotten your coat. Did you even check the weather? You could have gotten a cold or something.” Bakugo only said things when it was too late, huh? You were reminded of the 5 o’clock rush hour crowd that you had been tormented by. Would have been real handy if he spoke up about that, escpecially since he seemed to be fully aware of it. You looked down at your feet. “Sorry,” you whispered in a half-there voice laced with a hint of resentment. It came off crueler than you intended.

Bakugo, a little taken aback , cast you an odd glance. “What?” You were always so cheerful. Always so peppy and excitable, especially with your friends. On a night like this, you should be celebrating and laughing with everyone else. Not apologizing. Not to him. What could have brought this on?

“I’m sorry, okay Bakugo?! I know-“ you choked back tears. Why were you crying?! Why did you have to care so much?! “I know I’m not as smart as you, or as talented.” You looked him in they eyes, anger clouding your face. Why did it have to be him, of all people. Why couldn’t it have been a nice boy like Midoriya or Kirishima? Why did it have to be the boy who demeaned you or refused to help you until after the fact. Why did it have to be a boy you’d never be good enough for, even if he liked you back? A boy you’d never be an equal to, in talent or looks or intelligence.

“But couldn’t you stand to be a little more considerate?!” You rise, throwing his jacket back at him. You’re screaming now, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “You could have bothered to tell me about the fact that we left too close to rush hour. Or that I should have worn a coat before we went out.” Bakugo was silent. His jaw hung slightly open, uncertainty in his eyes. “But of course, you’re not going to say anything.” You cross your arms, turning to leave.

“Wait.”

He grabs your shoulder, turning you towards him. You expect a scathing comeback or some sort of equally rude outburst.

But instead, he envelops you in a hug.

He rubs your head, whispering to you in a low, pained voice. “You shouldn’t be the one apologizing. It’s me.” He releases you, hands still on your shoulders and eyes scanning you like he’s afraid you’ll disappear into thin air. “I-“ he grits his teeth, as if holding back words. “I think you’re okay, all right? And I don’t have the heart to tell you anything when you seem so happy. But, I guess that backfired. ” He seems to retreat within his shell again, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So. I’m sorry. I don’t really have an excuse other than that.” He attempts to avert his gaze, but it’s hard when you’re staring him down like that. It starts to snow.

“Well?! Are you gonna say something?!” He finally yells. It’s a little bit weaker than usual. His voice shakes and his hands tremble and he feels scared thinking about all the things you could possibly say. But he tries and tries not to show it. He’s Bakugo Katsuki; he’s not supposed to worry about anyone else. So why was he so hung up on you?

You’re heart skips a beat. He’s still attractive, even yelling like mad and frothing at the mouth. You debated whether or not to tell him the truth.

You began. Tentatively, cautiously proceeding with your words. “Bakugo, I-“ you froze. What if you were misreading him and he didn’t have feelings like that? What would happen to being friends? And furthermore, your friend group? What if you held him back from his dreams? What if...

You weren’t good enough, you weren’t good enough, you weren’t good enough-

You smile, all with a trace of melancholy. “I forgive you Bakugo. But next time, please tell me when I’m being ridiculous.”

Bakugo sneered, but you caught a glimpse of relief in his eye. You might have a long way to go to see that same soft-hearted boy on the train car, but it was nice to know he was still in there. You give him another grin, and he turns to hide his face behind the back of his hand. Odd behavior. You laugh. And after a bit of suprise, he does, too. It died quickly though, dissolving into an awkward silence.

Bakugo hesitated, fiddling with his spiky hair. His words come out in barks. “You too, Y/N. Let me know when I’m being dumb. Not telling you stuff.” He turned away, but not before tossing you his jacket. “Wear it.”

And you obliged.

Little did you know, seeing you in his jacket almost made him explode. It was too much for him, and as you two scanned the arcade for your friends he screamed at himself internally every time he inadvertently sneaked a glimpse at you. Before you spotted Denki crying over some rhythm game you offhandedly commented to him with one of your bright beams:

“It smells like caramel!”

And he died on the spot. Full catatonic shock, and it took him around 15 full minutes to fully recover.

Once Kirishima had been found, he watched Bakugo usher you away from some creep that’d been eyeing you. He smiled. Something had changed between the two of you, and he couldn’t quite place it, but he knew it was a change for the better. But still, he sighed with exasperation.

“Those two really are clueless, aren’t they??”

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imaginedcreaderinsert · 5 years ago

Note

Reader and her boyfriend get into an argument at the tower and he hits her? Dick is furious because he’s in love with her but the reader is just embarrassed?

Thanks for the request and I’m so sorry it took so long! But alas, here it is. I really wanted to write this one, as well as some other I have pending, but I just couldn’t find the words. I’m not 100% satisfied with this one (there’s no lemoney or anything unu), but I think I made my point across towards the important thing of this relationship. Don’t stay in one where physical abuse is condoned!

SUMMARY: As stated by ask, thought I think I took some liberties, Reader has been a Vigilante for some time in California, all on her own. The Titans arrive, and both join forces: Dick and Reader click specially well together, but to his demise, she is already in a relationship. A happy one? He cannot really say, specially when the red flags start to arise and a surprising discovery comes up.

WORD COUNT: 4780

TW: Swearing and past mentions of physical abuse in a relationship. It’s not hardcore, as always I try to make it somewhat vague, but I thought I should let my readers know. Oh, and warning, I THINK, Dick in this one is somewhat OOC. I think it might be due to my lack of sleep, but just beware.

Please don’t give it up — Dick Grayson x Reader

They all dealt with their own human affairs in the best fashion that they knew. The secret identities were given; it was something that no one was supposed to share unless absolutely necessary (which hadn’t been the case yet), and thus the exertion of powers was forbidden (unless, again, of absolute necessity). No one got into no one’s business, and as hard as it was becoming, Dick himself made that rule after having Kori meddled into his own private relationships. So now he couldn’t come between (Y/N) and his stupid human boyfriend, as much as he wanted to. It was stupid anyways – as much people liked him in, he was definitively not supposed to be there.

But he should start from the beginning. (Y/N) had joined the group a little after the Titans had settled themselves down on the Tower. She had already been a Vigilante in San Francisco; thus “they” were the ones entering her territory. She worked the city alone, and as such received the help without resentment or suspicions. After all, all she wanted to do was keep safe as much as anyone else. It was her home after all. As a lonely vigilante (Y/N) tended to go on her own, and maybe that’s why she had such a crazy magnetism to Dick. She never spoke too much of anything unless questioned, she was intelligent and clearly knew everything she talked about. In that sense she was a bit like Tim: definitely not the star or talker of the room, but the most intelligent by far. She had started to join forces with the Titans before her official joining months before their first crisis on the city: massive bombings, attacks on civilian areas. It was pure terror, specially in the famous Golden Gate Bridge (who would have said they would be JUST like those superheroes in movies?). That was, if Dick remembers correctly, the first time he saved (Y/N)’s boyfriend. Now he wishes he would have just let his car sunk in the bottom of the ocean.

The crisis had made them both coordinate; she had taken care of a certain area of the city all by herself (she had been backed up after with the help of the Titans, reluctantly he must said), while his group and some more had taken care of the other. They had been a good team, good leaders. (Y/N) accepted her place within them, as one more but always above everyone else. Dick and everyone else thought something would flourish between them that same night, when they got tipsy and drunk celebrating the latest addition: they had been a bit touchy, jabbing each other with witty jokes and comebacks, until… She had just excused herself, saying she had to go back to her own apartment. He perfectly remembers the conversation and the silence following it:

“You know the Tower is just your home as much as-“

“Yeah, no, absolutely. You’re the sweetest. Seriously, I just have to go check on somebody after the crazy day. And I should definitively feed my dog.”

“Oh yeah? I had one too back in Gotham. Well, half. Ace was never really mine.”

“Really? I’m sure he misses you. I would.” And yes, she must have been flirting; the rest of the Titans had given them space, moving towards the windows while they appeared to be exiting. Her small and hot hand had paused on his chest, maybe just trying to keep stable. “Byron is always like crazy when I get home. I really hope Daryl has taken him today to the vet, though. Ugh, who knows, he told me-“

“I’m assuming Byron is your dog and Daryl your br-?”

“Boyfriend, yeah. We’ve been now some time.”

At that point they had been at the elevator, she almost in and him in a “suave” manner leaning into the iron of the doors so that the conversation could go in a little bit more. But he almost stumbled into it as soon as she said that: and everyone else could, seeing as there was a bit of a silence and after some not-so-glamorous half-laughing half-choking sounds from Wally.

And that had been one of their last nights alone. At least for some time, seeing as Dick thought it would be just a momentary infatuation, a bit of a crush. Something temporary based solely on lust, seeing as he knew little to nothing on her. She was secretive still, quiet, as commandeering as she could be at times. She was an enigma that Dick liked to detangle and know more than he would admit to himself. It had taken months for him to finally acknowledge that what he felt was definitively something more meaningful that a simple crush or shallow sexual desire.

That’s when he knew he was fucked.

…

“Oh, no, no, he is currently working at the San Francisco Chronicle. Yeah, he’s a photographer. Would you mind if maybe we… Posed sometime for him? Or gave him something exclusive? I mean, I would do it myself but he knows me too well. He would know it’s me.” Dick, Wally and her had been sparring for a bit. More concretely, she and Wally had been. He was correcting both of them from aside, seeing as it had become increasingly difficult to talk without actually falling for her. Wally honestly felt bad for him.

“What do you mean? Haven’t you-? Does he know?”. Wally was probably the only one with a stable healthy relationship. Linda knew. They were perfect. Everyone knew they would get married, and that’s why Dick had backed off, thinking that was the case for (Y/N) and the nameless perfect boyfriend he had pictures in his own mind.

“No! No, fuck, no. Daryl is… Difficult, to say the least. He thinks I’m working at some crappy editorial. He’s a bit protective. And a bit of an asshole.” It sounds slightly bitter, added in the last second, improvised. Like she didn’t mean to say it. Her eyes cross his, and she quickly averts it, going back to Wally’s. “We’ve been together for years, but it’s not the type of thing I would tell him”

“Yes, I know. It’s the type of thing you tell to a stupid bunch of teenage kids with delirious dreams of sweet greatness and-OUCH. That hurts!”

“Keep your head on the game, West.”

He gains hope. That small breach he has caught you on, after some months half-ignoring you half putting distance between you both, he thinks he may be able to fill. He can be the glue. He will try, as douchey as it can sound.

…

“You are insufferable, Dick Grayson!”. She shouts, as they enter the kitchen. She is using a small towel to take off the sweat from her forehead. Wally had been more of a tutorial in comparison with Dick’s force. He had full on challenged her. “So smug, fuck… And now I have to go back home like this. I hate you.”

“Can’t help it. You like to be riled up”. He is bold. Wally chokes on his water, and quickly excuses himself, probably knowing which way he was trying to take things to. And he definitively was not good at hiding emotions.

“Oh, come on, like you don’t like to be defied and challenged. You have a huge masochistic streak, Grayson”.

YOU DON’T EVEN KNOW, he screams inside his own head, smiling just a bit, in that way that makes her roll her eyes off. Even if she claims some kind of rush when saying she has to go, he can see she doesn’t want to. Her arms rest on the kitchen counter, cool marble that has her face in pure bliss, and her legs, he imagines, are jelly. She should just-

“Why don’t you take a shower at the Tower stay? Or… At the very least I can call you a taxi.”

“I don’t have clothes here, and it’s fine. I’m not spending much time at home anyways; I think it will be good…” There’s a small silence, where he thinks he might have fucked it up. Did it sound too forward? Could he ask how things were with the famous boyfriend? No, that was probably too petty, too jealous-“… But I won’t say no to the taxi. Just today, though.”

“Sure. Let me call it up.”

…

That brings the problems.

“I’m sorry, I will be back in a second. It’s urgent.” They were in the middle of a debriefing. Patrols for the week, which she takes more seriously than anyone – but the mobile had started vibrating like crazy, even she had it on silence. Apparently, that one contact was special and overruled every control and silent tone. Dick could only imagine who it was. “Just continue.”

She takes it up, and her voice changes immediately: sweet, cheerful, giggly. Even as he continues talking, Dick can hear her feet on their way to the lounge, as far as possible. Is it that private? He can’t get distracted as he is giving out missions, but her tone makes all of them stop, stare at the door where (Y/N) is elevating her voice. Dick shushes the Titans up like a bunch of kids with the latest gossip and orders them to stay, as he gets out of the room towards her.

“No! What the fuck is your problem, D.?”. Ouch. She had been using the same name with him in their latest sparring session. That fucking hurts. “No! Of course I’m not, how-! No, oh my God, if I have to repeat myself one more time, Daryl! I’m not cheating on you!”

There’s a deafening silence, a small dance of victory in his own head. He knows he should be taking it more seriously (they might break up and he knows she loves him), but he can’t help but take this small point from Daryl’s ghostly presence whenever they talk and he gets brought up.

“A friend, Daryl. He got me the taxi because I was tired, I had been at the gym, I told you! Fuck, you never listen to me. And after that I even had to take Byron out, even when you promised-“. She gets cut off, again. It’s annoying really, and she sighs, loudly and exasperatedly. “Listen, if you are just going to shout like a fucking caveman be my guest, but I’m not listening to anymore of this bullshit”.

“(Y/N)!”. He shouts so loud from the phone he can even hear it. Then she hangs up and lets herself drop on the sofas. She looks tired; his smug and hopeful detective abilities tell him, shout him, it’s because this is not the first time you’ve had that conversation, at that level of heat or shouts. Has his name been brought up at any point? He feels really like a small kid, wishing for little and petty things like that towards her.

“Eavesdropping is not very nice, Grayson. Care to come in or are you going to make me stand up?”. She asks, sarcastic as ever and inviting him to sit in the place next to her, patting the velvet slowly of the furniture. “Just come in. And don’t say anything. Just hug me.”

He complies.

…

They have been flirting a bit more this time. (Y/N) is not sleeping there anymore, and from what Dick knows, they talk everyday for a couple of minutes, in an almost muttering tone, sometimes with too many silences and too many breaks on both behalves He wishes he could feel bad for her, she is suffering a bit after all, but every time they laugh together and she punches his arm, jokingly, he thinks he makes her forget about it.

Until that happens.

It’s a shooting in one of the top-rated working areas of San Francisco, where a lot of offices are conglomerated together. It is a panic. The fact that they have to deal with human weapons, rather than with some random and new alien race, makes it easier to control, but nonetheless it’s hard to see the blood, get in the midst of the terrorists. Especially when they get into the Chronicle’s tower where (Y/N)’s boyfriend is working at that same morning. None of them had truly made bonds with the city or its inhabitants, but she has been raised there. It’s her home. Without thinking, not too much, she gets midst of the flames, with all the smoke and possibility of collapse when Daryl tells her that he is still inside, trapped with some colleagues. There’s no time to do anything other than follow her; Wally helps, but he is the only one save (Y/N) and Dick to enter the building, save the civilians left inside and… Fuck, her boyfriend who immediately recognizes her. It was not too difficult, to be honest, especially when they know each other so well and with half a mask broken (bullets, fire, desperate attempts to get there as fast as possible).

It’s a week after that and no one knows a thing about them. (Y/N) has completely disappeared from the tower, and save the occasional “I’m okay” texts he sends to Dick, just so that he can sleep, no one knows what’s going on… Until she appears in front of the doors of the Tower with him by her side. It sickens Dick to the pit of his stomach.

…

They are mostly staying there. He goes back for Byron, for work, for meeting some friends, but he waltzes around the Tower like he is one of them, when he isn’t. When he voices his concerns, he is met with protests and mumbles of him being too grumpy, too attached to the rules. He is not! But it is supposed to be top secrecy, and there they have a civilian who is… Too touchy for his own like. For anyone’s, really. Dick is not comfortable at his own home and that (Y/N) starts to notice. They still spar, talk until late, but it weird to have Daryl always gazing directly at him: he is sure, he knows. But he never says a thing, and thus it is… Okay. Until it stops being and the red flags appear. The incredible rage within Dick Grayson wakens.

“You are just so controlling! All the time!”. She shouts. There’s no one else at that hour in the tower. It’s way too early, and his early-birds are already on patrol outside. “You don’t-can’t control me! Okay?! This was MY thing even before you knew about it! Nothing has ever happened to me, fuck, and if it were to happen-“

“You are a woman, (Y/N). Biology-“

“Oh my God. If you are going there Daryl Lane-“

“But it is true! It’s just-!”

“No, shut up or I’m going to punch you, I swear on everything!”

Things are silent after that, but there’s an obvious tension on the room until he decides to leave, in a rush. Dick hides in the shadows, at a corner, hoping he won’t see in time, but he is too blinded by rage. He turns around, hoping maybe she will come to him. But he doesn’t know (Y/N) at all. She won’t come, specially not on a subject like that. And as he expects, he gets alone on the elevator before disappearing from their sight. He is tempted to go by her side, but she needs space. And more than anything, he doesn’t want to get accused of being a stalker.

…

Daryl stops coming. Fall passes, and winter comes in: thus the appropriate parties, alcohol, and inevitable encounters are to happen. Their final one is the night before Christmas Eve. They are celebrating, as usual, some white Christmas with a wave crime that has almost disappeared from California. They can actually take time for themselves, and (Y/N) and him are closer than ever; they talk until very late, then sometimes take it to one of their bedrooms, a midnight improvised snack, or sometimes marathons of stupid black and white movies (which she loves, adores. She is going to love her gift, he knows). Everyone knows they are crushing on each other hard; one would think that her boyfriend would be still an obstacle, but they are not talking anymore. She went to see him once, and that has been it since; after, she has just perfectly fitted into the Titans, like a second family. And of course, she has brought Byron with her… Who is the first that knows someone has entered the Tower.

“B.?” She asks, confused as the dog runs from the table where they are all clinking their glasses. Dick doesn’t notice, hasn’t been paying attention to security these days, and that might have been his fault. It wasn’t supposed to happen. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

The tone makes everyone turn around – and there he is, Daryl in the flesh, slightly drunk and freezing, it appears. He looks embarrassed, but confident at the same time. It’s strange. She gets up, in all her elegance, and grips Dick’s shoulder before going to him. She mutters, almost only to him: “Don’t come”. The rest will understand, but he knows she considers him the closest one. The only one who could actually come and intervene, if he wanted to. They are close friends, after all.

“I’ll be back in a sec. Stay here”. He says, after a couple of seconds, getting up and coming onto them, the closest room where they have entered to talk in private. The door is slightly opened.

What he sees shocks him. From his position, she is giving Dick her back, thus letting him see the tense and anxious lines of her shoulders and neck: almost scared, fearing the encounter. Her legs are in a battling position, even when he is not doing anything, just talking-

“I’m sorry, you have to believe it. I didn’t mean to-I would never-you know I’m not the type. I didn’t mean to shut you. Slap you.”

Out of everything, he did not expect that. If anything, he sounds honest, but his own blood is boiling and there’s nothing that can stop that for the moment. It is her business to deal with… But still, they had grown closer, she could have told him.

“I don’t know what the fuck you are doing here, but you should go. You have no right over me, over anyone, woman or man, to put your hand on them like that. You are a piece of trash, Daryl.”

“I know, I-“

“No, you are scum, I-I don’t really know what you expected. That you would come here, sit with us for dinner and after-what? Go home, have sex and everything okay?”

“(Y/N), I-“

“No, fuck off! I have been hiding so much for your sake, so that you wouldn’t feel like less! I feared your reaction about my other life a lot, Daryl. I felt s bad because I know how much you hated lies, how you felt about it, and I loved you. I loved you so much, but you are just a piece of shit, trying to put me in your small traditional box! I am not going to do your dishes, clothes or work! I am not your sweet little girl for you to care and patronize-“

“What, so you are his?! You are such a hypocrite, (Y/N).And the worst kind, a bitch. You are for his use alone or what? You never let yourself be pampered like that, treat like his own little princess-“

“Who are you talking about?!”

“Your friend Nightwing! Fuck you, you have been having these little chats, secret meetings… Have you fucked him? Have you sucked his cock while I was here, waiting for you on bed and cheering you on?”

“You are piece of scum, Daryl! I have not been rejecting you these last months because of him. Yes, I do like him, but I would not go behind your back like you did! Fuck you!”

“You are such a-“. His arm moves. His hand gets higher. He knows he has to act quick, and thus opens quickly the door, shoving her behind him, directly going against him to push him brutally into the wall against his back. It cracks behind them, pictures hanging on that same wall falling to the floor. The commotion makes everyone move, to their room, worried to what might be happening. “Fuck!”

She gets in the middle, Dick already up and prepared to get into a fight at any moment, while the other is still confused on the ground. He can feel his own raged breaths: fury, instinct taking over rationality. He is destroyed on the floor but he still wants to annihilate him. How dare he, how would he-?

“Dick, Dick. Hey, look at me. Richard!”. He looks at her, smaller in frame, tugging at his chest in the opposite direction of the room. She is trying to separate them. “Just go, please, don’t do anything else. Shut up, please, go and-“

She seems to be close to crying, desperate in her voice and trying to get him out, as she is making him go through the door. Her eyes won’t even reach his, and he is now desperately trying to make contact, even as she shoves him out the door, with a whimper and finally closing the studio off. He is just as confused as the rest of them, but he won’t talk.

…

“Can I come in?”. Dick looks surprised. Did he not hear her? She had been looming around her own room for some hours now, everyone in their respective rooms after the night had been fucked up like that. No one felt like partying or drinking anymore. Still, his door had been opened, explicitly for her. He nods, and she finally comes in, closing the door behind them. “Okay, I’m going to talk, and I really don’t expect you to understand but… Okay.”

>> Daryl and I had a very complicated relationships for some years. His family is fucked up and he had substance abuse problems in the past. I’m not excusing him, Dick, don’t roll your eyes. I just want you to understand where he comes from, why he is the way he is. He is not a bad person. No one is… But he thinks like that. He has to be the very best man, the most masculine out of everyone and always the best. It is his problem, but I tried to make it mine and help him. It did not work and it only put me in a difficult position, you know: always trying to be less so that he could be more. That’s partly why I never shared my secret identity with him. And why Cali’s own Vigilante was born. I needed something like this for myself. I was drowning, otherwise… And then you appeared.

She laughs in pure incredulity; her hands gets buried in her own hair, as she brushes it off and goes to his bed, where he has been laying waiting for her. She sits down, her hand resting on his leg.

“Okay, “you” as in “The Titans” appeared. That saved my ass because… Well, California is enormous. I could definitively NOT cover it all, so you all appearing was a miracle, honestly… But you appeared, Dick. You, as in Nightwing, as in Richard Grayson and the rawest “you” possible.” She looks at the door, almost embarrassingly, laughing a bit to herself. “I had such a big crush a couple of years ago I almost didn’t believe that you were right in front of me. Or that we got on so well, apparently… I kinda wished I didn’t have to go back home a lot of times, and… That’s because I felt something for you. And that was dangerous, because I had a boyfriend but-but things didn’t click with Daryl the way they dd with you, D. Really, truly. It is such a big cliché, but you made me feel seen, heard. You made me feel special, and I got hooked onto the feeling but-but I’m not like that. And I still had a boyfriend. Fuck, hell, I thought I was only lusting for you, but then-then months came by and it was still the same. And then we talked night after night, we cuddled under blankets, we took care of each other and… And things started going bad at home. He knew I was not in love with him anymore, and who could blame him? And while I didn’t want to act on my feelings with you, he did. Physically.”

She sighs, like it’s taking a bit out of her. She frowns, looking at her own thigs as she gets both legs on the bed. Dick has the urge to embrace her.

“The second time you offered me a bed here I wanted to take it in so badly, Dick. I swear to God I didn’t want to back there. No one had ever hit me, and-“. She chokes. She is… Strangely embarrassed, panicked. She won’t look at him, making herself small in the bed, vulnerable. “I didn’t know what to do. I still loved him; not like before, but wanted to stay true to him, be loyal, and he hit me. He said sorry after, he had been too drunk, but I knew he wanted to. And I just didn’t know how I could stay there after that, but still I-he promised things would get better, and I believed him, Dick. And then they didn’t.”

She confesses she trusted things to get better because they normally did. She had been hit before, but she couldn’t tell anyone; she was alone, isolated from her family. And the Titans, they would mock her! Obviously not to her own face, but someone like her being slapped by her very normal and human boyfriend?! The laughing stock. She felt embarrassed by it, not being able to stop him, the red mark on her cheek, shameful and making her weak, less.

He felt enraged. Not at her, of course not: at Daryl for making her feel powerless like that, stupid and less of the incredible woman she was because she was being hit. No one should feel embarrassed by it, much less be silenced for it. Dick embraces her, piecing the rest together all by himself. Things had started to go well, but the taxi had made him feel insecure, and thus they had exploited at each other not much later, resulting in a second slap in a short period of time which made her put distance between them. Intelligent. But then he had come and-

“I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have felt like that all by yourself… But I understand. It was your own struggle to deal with, and you didn’t want anyone else to know, but… There’s people here that love you, (Y/N). I love you, for starters.” He blurts it out naturally, taking both by surprise. He gets red, closing his eyes and trying to keep his cool. “I meant-What I mean is that I feel something strong, or rather strong for you. Since the start. Or something like that, fuck-I’m sorry, I didn’t want to come off so strong, but… But fuck yes, I-I do love you.”

She climbs him. Slowly, almost torturing him in the silence of the room, sheets rustling as he moves his back up to straighten it. He is nervous, maybe as much as she is.

They kiss. Lips trembling, fear still in he system, an intense desire to care for the other in his. It’s a long but caring kiss as he opens slightly his mouth and she enters his cavity, her tongue conquering space and his hands going for her hips, stabilizing them. He has been dreaming with that for at least three months.

“Be my girlfriend.” And she can’t help but nod, as she kisses him up again. And again. And again, until they both are a mess of juvenile panting and squirming under the sheets.

“Get properly into bed, I want to cuddle you.” She says, turning off the lights and getting closer to his face, climbing him up until her face can be buried in his neck. He kisses her forehead, heart beating fast but tranquil, at the same time. They have time, she loves him, and the only thing he wants now is to protect her between his arms.

And she couldn’t feel any more secure, as she gets into bed and closes her eyes near his neck, protected and cuddled up by his strong arms on her waist.

#nightwing #nightwing x reader #reader insert #dcu x reader #dcu #titans x reader #titans #dick grayson x reader #dick grayson #request #answered ask

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ajokeformur-ray · 5 years ago

Text

Cold hands, gentle soul // Joker x Reader // angst + fluff.

This is a twin piece to Coming Home To You. I wanted to explore a similar scenario with Joker in which his fear of losing you is never too far from the surface and tonight, for reasons you have to figure out, everything bubbles over and you’re left with the realisation that the man you first fell in love with is still right here.

I believe that Joker is just as tortured as Arthur is; his entire performance on the Murray show was an explosion of pain and anger and rage, and therefore I feel no shame in writing for him romantically. I fought it at first but now this is the hill I was die on, I don’t care. I love all of Arthur Fleck.

I hope that you enjoy this fic as much as you liked the first! <3 Let me know what you think; as always, there’s little pieces of my soul scattered everywhere, and my love for Arthur Fleck is laced throughout too. Where else can it go but in these works I share?

TW; swearing, smoking, miscommunication in a relationship and definite unhealthy elements which reader is aware of. Angst and fluff; no smut but there is nudity. Reader has flexible morality. Implied mentions of being sick and nausea; no actual occurrence of this though.

Word count: 4, 869.

Something was wrong.

Something was really, really wrong.

Joker had barely spoken to you all day. He had smoked almost double his usual twenty a day while he sat on the sofa in his eccentric three piece suit and his face dressed in full make up. All day was he staring at the television with one leg crossed over the other. He paid little attention to what was on the television and even when the news reported another riot outbreak did his lips barely twitch upwards in the self satisfaction that he usually felt. Not knowing how to read his painted face, you had stayed away from him. If Joker had known how to speak through the shouting in his mind, he would have asked you to stay beside him. He would have told you that he was so, so scared of losing you that he was stuck on the sofa, unable to stop the tirade of negative thoughts which had smashed through his facade like someone had taken a hammer to a mirror. So reluctant was he to open up to you, however, because he never wanted to go back to the weak days when he had been Arthur Fleck, that he did his best to keep himself quiet... His restraint manifested itself in anger towards his own reluctance, which was projected thus onto you. Today was a mess, everything was going wrong and he didn’t understand why he couldn’t just tell you and that made everything so much worse. Combining this with the fact that he had no control over his mood and actions meant that there was a very unpleasant atmosphere in the cramped apartment.

When you tried to speak to him throughout the day, Joker would take a deep drag on a cigarette - by noon you had stopped counting how many he was smoking each hour - and either stare at you until your temporary bravery faltered and you stuttered out a, “Never mind” or he would ignore you all together. It dawned on you by three in the afternoon that Joker was angry. It was in the way his nostrils occasionally flared. In the way he would randomly clench his fists or in the way he would audibly groan and tip his head over the back of the sofa, like he couldn’t handle whatever was bothering him anymore. It was in how restless he was; often did he rearrange his legs, only to huff and rearrange himself some more. He didn’t stay in the same position for longer than a few minutes at a time. You would do your best to not worry about him until his knees started to bounce, though. That was a danger sign that was left over from before his Joker transformation and it always spelled trouble. It meant that Joker was feeling too much all at once and his nerves, his neuroses and his tensions were getting the best of him. Woe betide you if ever you didn’t take this warning sign seriously.

All day had one thought been in your mind, swirling like a tornado and disturbing the peaceful waters of your mind: if the shoe had been on the other foot, Joker would have literally cornered you into telling him what was wrong by now. He would have backed you into a corner and made you tell him what was causing your bad attitude. He would have barricaded the front door and used his body in all the best ways to make you speak to him. Joker wouldn’t have taken no for an answer. He always preferred to get everything all out into the open as soon as possible so that whatever it was could be resolved; he knew well what it did when one held in their emotions and didn’t act on or even release them. It poisoned one’s heart, made them bitter. Over time did this twist their soul until they no longer remembered who they had been before the emotions had taken hold with a tight and relentless grip.

The way that Joker point blank refused to even look at you for any period of time longer than it took for him to glare at you before he inhaled deeply, closed his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose and counted to ten under his breath; his lips miming as he did so was starting to piss you off. It was starting to really piss you off. What made him so special that he could act as he liked, whereas if you tried to do it, you would be confronted and held accountable for your actions? It was just rude and you had had enough. You had the feeling that he was trying to protect you from himself. He was trying as hard as he could to not tell you what was wrong for some reason, but the irony was that, in doing this, Joker was doing what he was trying so desperately to avoid. It was nonsensical but the modicum of logic within his suspected thought process was so Arthur that it made your heart ache. He was still the man you had fallen in love with all that time ago. You could feel it and it gave you hope; a dangerous thing for one to possess in a city like Gotham which took everything that you had and more, giving nothing back but desperation and shreds of the person you had been before it all.

You made dinner quietly, spending as much time in the kitchen as you could. You made Joker’s favourite meal, complete with another pack of cigarettes which you had stashed in the bedroom for emergencies, and you had set both down on the living room coffee table with an expectant look towards Joker. You would have taken a sarcastic comment over the passive aggressive way he said “thank you”, like he actually meant the opposite. When you had taken the liberty of lighting a cigarette for him and holding it inches from his mouth and Joker had pulled his head back and snatched the cigarette from you, that had been the last straw for you and you had moodily stabbed at your own food, no longer restraining the urge to glare at him. Underneath your growing anger, however, was worry. It had a hold of your stomach and was making you increasingly nauseous with every mouthful. What the fuck was going on with Joker? You couldn’t help him until he came to you for help, but the way that the grey sky outside had slowly bled into a blacker, more ominous setting made you feel like this would continue into tomorrow; you didn’t think your temper could handle another trying day like this one. You didn’t think you could handle this again in the morning. You had never been great with tense or confrontational situations; most especially when you were being forced to walk on eggshells because you didn’t know why things were strained.

After dinner time, you were just as pissed off as Joker seemed to be. You no longer tried to speak to him. Instead, you holed yourself up in the bedroom after dinner had been cleared away, making your own displeasure known by slamming the door hard, hard enough that the paper thin walls shook and you felt a contrasting sensation of guilt towards your own childishness and satisfaction. You hoped it pissed him off even more; if he was going to treat you the way he had all day then the very least you could do was give him a reason to do so. He had been fine when you had woken up this morning, but by the time you had come out of the bathroom from getting ready for the day had his mood soured. Something had happened while you had tended to your physical and bodily needs and he wasn’t telling you what it was. You had tried many a time to ask if he was all right, but each time did he snap, “Yes, doll. I’m fine.” Any questions you further asked were greeted with the silent treatment and his mood - and yours, subsequently - had deteriorated throughout the day.

You lay curled up on the bed with your back to the door. You were seething and left there to stew in it. It was here, on the bed that you had always shared with the man that you loved, that you could admit to yourself that you weren’t angry. Well, you were, but you were only truly angry about how Joker was hiding something from you. His attempts to protect you from whatever was bothering him were admirable but unnecessary; hadn’t he learned by now that nothing he could ever do or say would take you away from him? You had been with him long enough to know that he was it for you. Never again would you love another. You never wanted to love another again. When you considered his overall mood and the way he very obviously just wasn’t okay but he also wasn’t telling you anything, you were more worried than anything else. It was making you sick to your stomach and you hoped that your dinner wouldn’t come back up; nothing ever tasted good the second time around.

You shut your eyes, curled up even tighter into yourself. You were beginning to feel the consequences of the day’s tension now. You felt sick, you were scared and you were angry at how you had been treated and you were feeling lonely. Joker was just beyond the insubstantial bedroom wall, he was less than thirty seconds away from you in reality, and you felt lonely. Unneeded. You felt inadequate and just wrong, like nothing made sense without Joker by your side. You knew it was dangerous, unhealthy, to place so much of your worth and value as a person into someone else, but you couldn’t help it. You loved Joker too much, you had been there for him, with him, for so long and through so much that without him by your side, your life became cheap. Meaningless. Empty. Your arms felt empty. Just as you realised this, the bed became too big, too cold, too empty and void of everything that had happened here: love, passion, desire and lust and adoration and trust. Trust... Did Joker trust you with what he was experiencing? Did he trust that he could tell you anything and you would listen to him, you would comfort him, hold him and love him and make sure that he knew that he wasn’t alone, that he was seen? Did he know that you loved him?

How had things spiralled so far out of control in just one day?

You let out a soft noise of pain, just wanting to alleviate the ache in your heart, that palpable sensation of love and loss, loneliness and grief. It seemed as though your entire being was bleeding from the inside out for Joker, for the man that he was once, that sweet, pure man of sunshine and light and goodness despite all that happened to him on a daily basis. Your heart bled for the man that he was now; how he obviously felt that he couldn’t be honest with you about what was going through his mind. You had only ever wanted to help him. What good were you to him if you were incapable of doing so at the most crucial moments? You knew you loved each other, and you clung to that knowledge just as surely as you were gripping the duvet beneath your body, your fingers wrinkling the material which still had lines from where it had been folded. You had only changed it this morning and you allowed the scent of fresh laundry to wash over you, soothe you and still the chaos inside you that had been put there by the man who usually brought you nothing but peace and solace.

All thoughts left your mind when your ringing ears picked up the sound of the bedroom door cracking open. You stayed completely still. Your eyes were open now as you stared at the wall, hardly daring to breathe. You were suddenly conscious of your heart pounding in your head, of the way you could feel Joker’s presence in the room. You knew not where he was, only that he was in the room with you, and it seemed to set your entire body alight with love and affection, worry and fear. It was so conflicting to be in love with a man such as Joker, but you wouldn’t trade it for the entire world. You had tasted total liberation in his soul and you would be damned if you ever went back to the way you had lived before you knew that such a man existed. You had always craved, in the deepest parts of yourself, someone who made you feel like you could create chaos, that you could do anything and everything you wanted to without fear of the repercussions, without fear of judgement. In Arthur Fleck, in all that he was, had you found complete and utter acceptance and understanding. That had never been any different, even now. You had always been able to be your naked self around Joker and he had been the same with you - you were each other’s home, each other’s safety. No matter what either of you did, you were safe with each other. You were whole and happy and alive. Joker made you feel alive and that was more valuable to you than anything else.

The silence stretched impossibly far. It mirrored the way that the skin on your hands was pulled taut across your knuckles; so tightly were you gripping the duvet upon which you rested.

The bed dipped behind you and instantly did you tense up. Slowly did curly green strands of hair descend over you, marring your limited vision of the darkened room. You bit your lip as Joker leaned down further still to press a kiss to your cheek. You shut your eyes, feeling a sad smile spread across the corners of your mouth. Unconsciously did you sigh and lean into the touch.

“I know you’re awake.” Joker’s voice was deep, raspy from the way it hadn’t been used for a long time. He hadn’t spoken for hours and if your eyes hadn’t already been shut, they would have slid closed blissfully at the sound of his voice. Oh, help you, it was your favourite sound next to his heartbeat. Just knowing that he was alive, that he was beneath you in those moments, meant more to you than the knowledge of your own continued existence. During those nights that he couldn’t be with you did you suffer the most with sleeplessness, and when he came back in the mornings to find you wide awake and too worried to sleep was he reminded of the depth of your love for him. Sometimes he stayed out all night on purpose, aimlessly wandering around Gotham, just so that he could come home to you in that state. He dearly loved tugging you over to the sofa so that you could fall asleep on him, your head roaming his chest until you found that spot. Oh, how he adored you. You were his entire world and he was yours. Together, your worlds did collide into a universe full of love and light, challenges and triumphs.

You didn’t move. Joker’s breath washed warmly over your cheek and you just enjoyed the closeness. You hadn’t been this physically close to him all day and like he was a drug had you experienced withdrawal. With a huff that carried the weight of unshed tears did Joker put a strong hand on your shoulder, tugging you so that you were lying on your back, your legs still bent. As his face came into view, you saw the tears in his eyes, the way his makeup was smudged; the blue triangles had become physical markers of the tears he had already shed. You lifted both hands slowly, so slowly, and Joker watched you with some hidden depths of pain in his eyes. But you knew. You knew him even better than you knew yourself, and as your fingertips just gently grazed his face did he finally shut his eyes and allow his tears to fall. You didn’t bother to wipe them away. Instead, you tugged him down to you by sliding a hand around to cup the back of his neck, pressing kisses all over his painted face. Joker was beginning to tremble, and you took the initiative to pull him down on top of you fully.

Again and again did you kiss his face, his neck, his jaw... anywhere and everywhere you could reach with his face in your hands did you rain kisses. You had always kind of liked the taste and smell of the face paint that he used, so it was of little consequence to you when it started to smudge on your own face in a strange combination of red, white and blue blurs. You looked like a work of art to Joker.

You opened your mouth to speak and the resounding inhale you took to announce this had Joker’s eyes snapping open as you lured him back to reality. His face was hot under your hands, his body the most welcomed weight. He was like a security blanket in that moment, giving you the strength and the courage you needed to face the very issue which was also giving you comfort. “You’re still the man I fell in love with. Nothing has changed.”

A broken sob. His hands gripped your hips tightly. He would probably leave bruises but you didn’t, wouldn’t care. Anything was better than the sense of emptiness he had begun to instil in you.

Again were you forced to wonder just what was going on in Joker’s mind. Unless... unless that was the issue: Joker was scared that you didn’t love him anymore and in an effort to keep you safe from what was hurting him, he withdrew to the point that you wondered if he still loved you. He thought that, because he had changed, because he had succumbed and dropped any and all sense of responsibility and shed the shackles that were holding him down, because he had transformed from Arthur to Joker, that you didn’t love him anymore. And because you didn’t love him anymore, that meant that he couldn’t tell you what was bothering him even though he desperately wanted to.

In a twisted way did it make sense. You silly man.

You cooed quietly and tugged him down into a proper cuddle; his face resting in the crook of your neck. You rubbed his back, played with his hair, stared up at the ceiling and allowed yourself to cry. You decided to take a wild stab in the dark and just talk. All of those things that you thought of late at night that you dared not tell Joker did you tell the ceiling, needing the man in your arms to understand just how critical this entire situation was. A change in your relationship would occur this night, but it would be for the better. From rock bottom could you only go up; you would drag each other up in the sunlight if you had to, hand in hand and triumphant. “Don’t you know that I’m not afraid of you, of what you do. I’m afraid for you.” Joker stiffened in your arms and you felt him holding his breath, his heart beating a wild tattoo against his rib cage. “If something ever happens and you get taken from me - death or prison or hospital or something - I don’t know what I’d do. If I ever lost you, I couldn’t... mm.” You cleared your throat, raised a hand from Joker’s back to swipe your hand across your face before putting it back where it had been.

“Let them try,” Joker snarled and you smiled. You just smiled. He was talking again. He wasn’t snapping at you, he wasn’t glaring at you. Finally had he accepted the help that you had been trying to give to him all day. “I would rip this world apart to get you back.”

I know you would, Arthur. Only in the safety of your own mind did you dare to call him by his real name. You were unsure of how he would react and so you didn’t risk anything. It was better to keep quiet than to raise questions which he himself had no answer for.

“Will you tell me now?”

“No,” Joker sighed. He sounded so much like his old self that your tears fell hotter, faster, and you couldn’t stifle the sob that left your lips for the life of you. He raised himself then to look at you, supporting his weight on his elbows as he gazed down at you in consternation. It seemed in that moment that he realised what he had been doing to you all day, and the most sincere apologetic look flashed across his face and settled into one of love as he bent his head to kiss your tears away. You leaned into the touch, wanting more of everything that he was giving you. He pulled back just to say “I don’t need to. You love me.”

You grinned. You couldn’t stop yourself. Help you, you did. You would follow him into Hell just to stay by his side. It was with an unspoken mutual decision that you decided to put today behind you. Bottling his emotions up hadn’t worked and you had only fed off of each other’s discomfort. You had somehow managed to figure out what it was that was bothering him and without his even needing to tell you had you soothed his fear in the end. He wasn’t going to lose you because he was Joker now. You still loved him. You weren’t going to leave. You were going to stay by his side and that was all he had ever needed; to be needed.

You hesitated on your next words. Could you say it and get away with it? Would he allow you to bring up his past, to bring up his most vulnerable and weakest part of him? Would he take it at face value and understand that you said it with only the best of intentions? Would he run? Would he get angry? Woulds, coulds and shoulds threatened to choke you but just at the point Joker was going to ask you if you were okay did you say,

“I love you, Arthur. I love you so much.” You allowed all of your love, all of your affection and devotion, trust, respect and need to show on your face and it was with some kind of released tension that Joker smashed his painted lips against yours, kissing you again and again and again.

“Show me. Please, show me,” Joker suddenly seemed almost frantic in his movements to get the both of you undressed, and you grabbed his hands in yours tightly, tugging lightly so he knew to look at you.

“Relax.” You murmured, holding his face in your hands. “Let me take care of you, Arthur.” You rubbed your thumbs across his face in soothing motions, willing him to understand that there was time. Nothing had to happen right now, nothing had to be done before a certain time limit. There was no getting up for work in the morning, nothing that urgently had to be done. You had time.

Carefully did you roll so that he was under you. Softly, gently, did you undress him, making sure to keep your eyes on his body language. The way he inhaled shakily when your hand brushed over his crotch, the way his eyes focused on the way you easily unbuttoned his shirt with deft fingers, the way he arched into your touch. You put so much care into everything you were doing, trying to use your actions to convey just how much you still loved him, even after everything. Truthfully did you know that there was nothing Joker could say or do that would turn you away from him. You were just in too deep to be able to pull yourself out of the life that you had built together.

When at last you were both naked, your clothes scattered carelessly about the room, did Joker begin to take initiative again as he rolled so that you were under him.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I - “

Gently did you shush him. “It’s okay. I understand.” You reached up and kissed him tenderly, keeping only love at the forefront of your mind. Desperate were you to soothe his pain with your love, your patience and your understanding. Your anger had melted away now as though it had never been there in the first place. You could never stay angry at him for too long; it hurt you too much and often did you just let it go, accepting each moment as it came. “I know you.”

Joker seemed to lose all trace of lust and want as all the fight left his body. He tucked his head back into the crook of your neck, pressing dry and warm kisses to the skin there as he snuggled into you. He just wanted to be loved. Clumsily did you attempt to pull the duvet out from underneath your bodies. Joker huffed the first genuine laugh of the day against your skin and it made you laugh too. Joker pulled back to gaze at you, galaxies in his eyes as a slow smile spread across his face. His makeup was now smudged all over your face, your chest, your clothes, and he looked more like his bare faced self, now. He was ethereal no matter what state he was in.

“Look at you.” His voice was quiet, his eyes shining with that same spark that Arthur’s eyes had always had, and you heard his words for what they were; an apology and a promise. A promise to try to be better in the future. A promise to try to be more open, to allow you to see his vulnerability without leaving you on eggshells and uncertainty. It was a promise to try, just try, and that was enough. You both knew that you would be fine together if you continued to try every day, as it came. Sometimes one of you had to try more than the other, and sometimes it was more of a balance. But no matter what, you couldn’t give in, you couldn’t give up. Each day did you choose each other and each day did you fall more in love. You completed each other and offered balance to the other’s personality traits. It was written in the stars, you liked to think.

You blushed. “Speak for yourself.” You booped his nose with a delicate finger and he smiled at the old, familiar gesture as he caught your hand in his, held on tightly and pressed a reverent kiss to the palm. The gesture had made him think of the day he had come home shattered by the truth, and you had showered with him and gently put him back together; you had always been there for him, always, and nothing he did would ever be enough to repay that kindness, that goodness in you. He would spend the rest of his life being the best version of himself, if only to make everything you did for him, everything you had sacrificed for him, worthwhile. Even now, even after all of this did he feel most unworthy of you. If you knew, you would tell him that in feeling unworthy did he become worthy, but he wouldn’t understand or be able to accept that he was already more than enough. All he had to do was to be himself and in that would you love him.

“I love you.”

A soft murmur against the skin of his neck. “I love you too.” Again and again did you kiss him, as if you were trying to kiss his tormented soul better. As if you could reach the deepest parts of him and soothe them. Love them. Heal them. Heal him. If love was enough to heal someone’s hurts and torments, then the strength and depth of yours would mean that Arthur Fleck would never feel an ounce of pain or hurt ever again.

In the end, it would never matter who or what Arthur became, what he did or even what mischief he caused in the city. He was yours and you loved him, cherished and treasured him. You were still just as fiercely protective of him as you had always been, and though there were more challenges now than there had ever been in your relationship, you were still able to reach the rawest parts of him. You were still able to bring his vulnerability into light and you could still quiet his rage. So long as you could reach his core self, his goodness, you knew that you were still needed. No matter what happened, you would never leave. Not for all the money in Gotham.

The Arthur Fleck/Joker Defense Squad @writings-of-a-gen-z @x-avantgarde-x @mapreza1 @insomniabird @mavalenovaninagavi @itwasrealenough @morrisonmercurymalek @rand0ms-fand0ms @rafaelina-casillas @aclownthing @rebs-doom @vivft @help-i-am-obssessed @autumnaffection @taintednihilist @vladtoly @mg-woolf99 @misstgrey92 @that-s-life @dopey-girl-blogs @seeking-dreamland @sweetheart-syndrome @heartxfdesire @xmusichealsthesoulx @0callmejude0 @the-one-that-likes-riddles @hannibalsslut @folliaght @freeeshavacadoo @bingewatchingmylifegoby @unlovedbyeveryoneandeverything @okamiredfoxx @sp0okysp0oky @the-pandorabox @mardema @jibanyyan @honeyflvredcoughdrop @emissarydecksetter @jokerfleckk @epidendroideae @chuuntas @stillmabel @pumpkinpeyes @onehystericalqueenposts @the-jokers-wolf @nalsswa @justahyena @arianatheangelworld @soullessblondbitch @gothamslittlejester @twentyonestarrynights @sirianfromsixties @kissmeclownman @joker-is-my-hero @lazyloosah @lovesickkloxx @ladylovelyluna @live-love-loki @clownerybbxx @tragicarthur @anmach123

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heslikeaboyiveneverseen · 4 years ago

Text

No one is you and that is your power

Autumn killed summer with the softest kiss

We haven’t spoke since you went away | Comfortable silence is so overrated

Sounds like something that I used to feel

Lover what’s your next move?

Give me your number, pick any colour, I can tell your fortune tonight

Be my mirror, my sword and shield

Is it chill that you’re in my head?

I’m your wreck

Ain’t no shame in some hand me downs

Just a comma in a decimal town anyway

The Black clouds hanging above you will follow me tonight

If it’s good it never goes away

Comparison is the thief of joy

It’s just a super cut of us

This sunflowers waiting for you

Baby you were my picket fence

Just need you and some sunsets

Fine as wine

I like my coffee how I like myself; strong, sweet and too hot for you

Don’t be bitter, just be better

They say you lose time asleep but I’m just tryna dream

Enjoy the best things in your life

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matthew 6:34

“Find someone who loves you well. Someone who never belittles you. Even in the heat of an argument. Someone who is gentle with you, but does not treat you like you are fragile. Someone who knows what you are capable of, and celebrates those pieces of you. Not someone who is intimidated by your strength. Someone who doesn’t make you feel guilty for being flawed. It is not love’s job to punish you. And remember the person you love is just as broken as you are when they fall short. No one is perfect – do not hold them to this standard. Find someone who is patient, forgiving, and apologetic. Someone who practices forgiveness freely and often. Love someone who is humble, kind, and empathetic. Not only with you, but with a beggar on the street, or a stranger in the supermarket. Common courtesy is important. Compassion is important. Kindness is important.”

My bones are too brittle to survive your love

Times are tough but I’m tougher

I’ll be fine

Study the painful patterns in your life then don’t repeat them

Never apologize for how you feel. No one can control how they feel. The sun doesn’t apologize for shining. The rain doesn’t say sorry for falling. Feelings just are

“Songs to listen to while you reflect on every awful decision you have ever made throughout your horrible life”

“Life is too short to waste any amount of time on wondering what other people think about you. In the first place, if they had better things going on in their lives, they wouldn’t have the time to sit around and talk about you. What’s important to me is not others’ opinions of me, but what’s important to me is my opinion of myself.”

C.JoyBell C

Definitely ≠ defiantly

Take chances take risks prosper

Visions of you maroon 5

Remember I told you I need you nick Jonas

The past is a place of reference not residence

Like I do David guetta

Best friend sofi tukker

So some days are just filler episodes. On Sunday, you feel a lot, but you don’t go anywhere. From the bed, to the fridge, to the couch, to toilet, to the sink, to the bed. Strips of light turn to strips of black between the blinds, and that’s the only way you know that the world is moving. You might even have a string of days like this one, where you can’t find meaning between the rise and fall of your breathing. It’s really nobody’s fault. All that I can tell you is: don’t close your heart to what comes next. In what other world do you get thousands of chances to discover yourself? Maybe on Monday, you’ll find some answers. Maybe on Tuesday, the pain will subside. Some days are just for getting through and getting by.

The egg don’t swim to the sperm bitch, never chase a man

I was an atheist until I reaLized I was god

What I want: money

What I got: a personality disorder

At least I have multiple disorders so they never get lonely

I have the same taste in wine as I do people, cheap and pretty tucking shitty

Get you a straw, you know this pussy is juicy

It would not be much of a universe if it wasn’t home to the people you love

And then some

To sink into myself courageously, electrically

Standing trial for your sins

Call me a safe bet, I’m betting I’m not

There is nothing more intimate in life than simply being understood

Just because you are soft does not mean you are not a force to be reckoned with, both honey and wildfire are the color of gold

When I look at the universe I feel large, because I remind myself that not only are we living in this universe, the universe is living within us

Don’t hate your body because it’s too fat or too thin. Hate it because it’s a prison of flesh and it’s existence is meaningless

“Many of us have been running all our lives. We have the feeling that we need to run—into the future, away from the past, out from wherever we are. In truth, we don’t need to go anywhere. We just need to sit down and look deeply to discover that the whole cosmos is right here within us.”a

We are products of our pass but we don’t have to be prisoners of it

Illenium drawl outta love

If nothing lasts forever can I be your nothing?

When you’re in a dark place, you sometimes tend to think you’ve been buried. Perhaps you’ve been planted.

Unique

Baby I’m howling for you

I think us bad bitches is a gift from god

Pussy so good I said my own name during sex

Now now / half noise

“I hate cats” Yo dude i trusted you wtf the fuck? What the fuck?? What the fuck what the

I love the way you stay away from me, you make me melt

Only got each other we can turn to

Lying here, I know they’ll never break you free

Sometimes you have to burn some bridges to create some distance

Be your main girl

Now you’re seeing black and white, so I’ll paint you a clear blue sky 🎨

What’s the deal with young chickens?

My little girl Tim McGraw

Aka the independent variable

Let it pass; April is over, April is over. There are all kinds of love in the world, but never the same love twice.

I’m a creature of a culture I create

You don’t know my brain the way you know my name, you don’t know my heart the way you know my face

We live for the nights decor

I’m never what I like, I’m double sided

A car, a torch, a death

Friend, please

So good

Britney Spears g eazy

We were going and wild and decided not to have a child

Teach me how to be like you so I can not give a fuck

I’m a sucker for the way that you move babe

Don’t dismiss the elements. Water soothes and heals. Air refreshes and revives. Earth grounds and holds. Fire is a burning reminder of our own will and creative power. Swallow their spells. There’s a certain sweet comfort in knowing that you belong to them all.

Can’t promise that things won’t be broken but I swear that I will never leave

No one can tell what goes on in between the person you were and the person you become. No one can chart that blue and lonely section of hell. There are no maps of the change. You just come out the other side. Or you don’t.

I would love to say that you make me weak in the knees but to be quite upfront and completely truthful you make my body forget it has knees at all.

ur purpose on this earth isn’t to be liked by everyone why would u waste ur time trying to live such a restrictive existence trying to impress everyone like who really gives a fuck

What you seek lies far beyond this comfortable place

Close some doors today. Not because of pride, incapacity, or arrogance, but simply because they lead you nowhere.

No mighty oak grew tall all on her own, she called on the winds to carry her seed, the rich earth to settle her roots and the sun and rains to make her strong. Do not be ashamed to reach out for help, this is how all great things are grown.

Shits all fucked up: a memoir

So sad, so strange. The days that are no more

Close some doors today. Not because of pride, incapacity, or arrogance, but simply because they lead you nowhere.

You are too full of everything that makes you whole to ever be loved in halves

#pen

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whatevenismyaestheticidk · 5 years ago

Text

Things I’ve heard high schoolers say pt 2

Person 1: But air doesn’t splash Person 2: How do we know that, Im splashing the air right now.

Person: Prove me wrong. Prove fish can’t see air.

Person: I think you underestimate just how poor I am.

Person: I just invented a new thing. No Romo. Like no homo but with romance cause I’m lonely. Get it?

Person: So yah I burned my hair cooking ramen.

Person: Well I figured he wasn’t an adopted iguana.

Person: Say it. You know god is watching.

Person 1 upon heading the news of George Bush’s death: Wait he’s still alive? Person 2: No he’s dead that’s the point.

Person: I got it. *five second pause* no I don’t got it.

Person 1: My name is (name), but you can call me yours. Person 2: Okay nice to meet you yours.

Person: Don’t drink it all fool.

Person: Bruh you could literally turn in a gay fanfic and he’d give it an A.

Person: Bruh, what is this triangular accusation?

Person 1:It’s call physics. Person 2: Yah but I don’t take Physics hence they should not apply to me.

Person 1: Discreet. Person 2: No discr-yeet *dabs*

Person 1: Be impressed with my ability to bull shit. Person 2: I mean, it’s gotten you this far.

Person: Why do I feel like finals are lowkey Russian roulette? Like okay I made it through most of them but I still have a few pulls of the trigger to go and one of them might get me.

Person 1: Murder. Just do it. Person 2: I didn’t know that nike was sponsoring murder.

Person: How do mermaids reproduce if they’re just like conjoined legs?

Person 1: Frozen Yogurt Person 2: Fro yo Person 1: Frozen YOgUrt Person 2: Fro Yo Person 1: FROZEN YOGURT

Person: All I have to do to commit suicide is jump from my parents expectations to my grades.

Person 1: I mean yah I cheated on that test. Person 2: Man your love life it DOOMED!

Person: I was seeing if I was tripophobic by repeatedly stabbing my finger with my pen.

Person: You do know that crickets exist during the day right?

Person 1: Hey (person 2), we’re friends right? Person 2: ….. What do you want. Person 1: You know, that sandwich looks real good. *person 2 hand them the sandwich* OMIGOD THANK YOU SO MUCH I LOVE YOU!

Person: Omigod (person’s name) is going through puberty!

Person: If you pulled my ear I would have ripped out your nostril.”

Person 1: She’s attacking me! Person 2: No, he’s beating a woman, that’s not polite.

Person 1: I know many things! Person 2: like what? Person 1: ..... Person 2: my point.

Person: My shoes will be sparkly red stilettos. Fight me Dorothy.

Person: umm hello Christmas miracle even though I’m not Christian. Come at me 15 years from now!

Person 1: you’d make a really good baldie Person 2: yah you have a really rest head shape

Person: you know teletubbies? Yah that but compressed.

Person 1: I mean how will you become American? Person 2: paint me white, I’ll get a passport.

Person 1: I’m so funny. Person 3: it’s hard not to be when your life is a joke.

Person 1: So I’ve decided that my new career choice is to make school specific memes Person 2: That's Plan A? Yeash... at least Plan B lands you some cash

Person: I’m so small and bitter I’m like a human expresso

Person: You know what I’d name a baby kangaroo if I had one? David Jowie.

Person: I’m just saying that the orange red glitter crayon is you.

Person: I feel like a 1940’s schoolgirl who goes to an all girl finishing school where embroidery is a required class.

Person: I started high school with straight A’s, now I’m not even straight.

Person: Yeah, I’d swear by comic sans.

Person: (Persons name)stop being depressy and you’ll be more sucessy

Person: You can totally be insecure and self absorbed at the same time.

Person 1: Are you kids okay? Person 2: Besides crippling depression yeah.

Person: I don’t know it’s just giving me pig vibes.

Person: What drugs where the animators for “Pink Elephants on Parade” on?

Person: long story short I make like a semi hot guy.

Person: If I where pregnant id just be like 'you put this thing inside of me, you're helping me until it's out.'

Person: These girls asked me what type of guys I like and being the simple gay I am, I completely blanked

Person 1: why do you read on your phone if you get carsick at 20 minutes? Person 2:Because it works for the first 19 minutes.

Person: Three Indians, a Thai, a Colombian, and an American walk into a bar. Just kidding they aren't old enough to drink. Three Indians, a Thai, a Colombian, and an American walk into a school cafeteria...

Person: I can't do alcohol cause I'm not of age but I can do drugs because they're illegal for everyone.

Person 1: you can't have a breakdown, it's the third day of school. Person 2:... so?

*Group of kids singing Bohemian Rhapsody in twelve different keys* Person: For gods sake choose a key!

Person: For gods sake that was complicated. You didn't need to send out a survey to see which episode of which season of which show to watch.

Person: Honestly I'd chose stab over dab any day.

Person 1: She said she'd throw me out of the window. Person 2: She never did. Person 1: She never did.

Person: What language is this? *pause* Oh wait it's English.

Person 1: I mean it's pretty hit or miss. Person 2 from across the courtyard: I guess they never miss, huh?

Person: Chu-chu bitch. I’m a train.

Person after loosing game of kahoots: I’m going to ka-shoot myself.

Person: So basically I need to learn Hungarian for a song.

Person: No one screams their sneeze, its not human

Person: If I where a mosquito I would bite you and you’d get malaria and die.

Person: That tide pod aesthetic.

Person: No I loved Barney, Barney was my bo.

Person: If I where my own boyfriend I’d dump me.

Person: It's already a really good song but then it's dubstep so it's extra good.

Person: No one is EVER to old for coolmathgames.com

Person 1: Why are you using a poon? Person 2:….. Person 1: WHY ARE YOU USING A POON?!

Person 1: I’ve been blonde for 16 years. Person 2: So what? I’ve been brown for 16 years and you don’t see me coloring myself white!

Person: Yes. Scrape the sweat off my hand.

Person: No one cares about a square cube of water.

Person: We’re melanin intoxicated.

Person: Well my life may be a mess, but at least I’m not doing drugs. Yet.

Person: Negative 13 out of 10, do not recommend.

Person: Yah that’s gunna have to be a no from me.

Person: Fool me once......fool me twice.......fool me as many times as you want, my first name is dumbass.

Person 1: Ya know, I think the Americans have the order of dates right JUST BECAUSE you can do 4/20/2019. Person 2: Okay but they’re still wrong though.

Person with AirPods: And where are YOUR AirPods? Thats what I thought you broke bitches.

Person: Salem witch trials bitches.

Person: La Croix, the AirPods of the soda world.

Person: Who needs a thermometer when you have… your hands!?

Person 1: It’s time to bring back SEXY MASQUERADE BALLS Person 2: It really is. I need an excuse to wear an incredibly uncomfortable dress that's so big I can't even walk through doorways. Person 1: And to wear a swan inspired mask that doesn’t cover enough of my face to deem myself totally anonymous enough to be half as bold and daring as i plan on acting that night but everyone else is on board we’ll all just forget about it the next day. Person 2: That's to specific for you to have made up on the spot, you've thought about this.

Person: It was lady Macbeth that drugged and made the guards drunk, without her Macbeth would just be like “I guess I’ll stab him???” Person: It’s like playing where’s Waldo but the page is India and I’m Waldo.3Person: Why are there so many frowny faces everywhere?

Person: This group chat is weird. It's either homework, deep philosophical conversations, or memes, there's no in between.

Person 1: Honestly, where DID it come from Person 2: The endless abyss that is the internet.

Person: Are you really blaming our generational depression on Jake Paul?

Person 1: Oh. My. God. Guys. Keep your carbon dioxide away from my computer. Person 2: But sharing is caring. Person 1: But my computer doesn’t need this kinda of negativity in its life right now.

Person: Sweetie, if you think I’m going to stop wearing my favorite dress just because you kissed me in it, you are dead wrong.

Person with a metal straw: I don't drink broke.

Person: My whole life has become that sock on the floor. It's just there. When did life screw us over and then just ex? I’m just gonna write a book, and the last sentence will be life screwed them over and then exed. A story of the main character who gets screwed over, so I can get that 'it be like that sometimes' reaction.

Person in group chat: Positivity- I will make you feel better about being an idiot. Self Doubt- I will highlight all of your mistakes and set low standards for you so you'll never be disappointed. Me to Self Doubt- I'm listening...

Person 1: Sadly the disappointment never goes away... Person 2: Man we're a sad lot this time of year.

Person 1:It’s almost my favorite time of the year Person 2:Ahh yes. Singles awareness day, also known as chocolate sales at Walgreens eve, also known as... Valentine's Day. Person 1:... Oh... I meant rainy season.

Person: Being antivax is like swimming in shark infested waters because you're afraid the bridge could break lmao.

Person: I learned how eat a kumquat this weekend.

Person: It’s so sticky. It’s like clear cheese.

Person: Hamburger helper? More like hamburger help me pass this class.

Person 1: So I slipped on a grape… Person 2: You got K.O.’ed by a grape (person’s name), how does it feel.

Person 1: Look at me, I’m fine. Person 2: Well how many drugs did you take. Person 1: Several.

Person 1: Did you just say it’s ALMOST FEBRUARY? Person 2: Yes, it’s January 72nd.

Person: I knew your comedic standards where low, but poop jokes? Really?

Person: What? So are you insinuating the fact that reliablest isn't a word?

Person 1: [bitter old man voice] back in my day, tik tok was a kesha song. Person 2: Back in my day we had wires attached to our AirPods.

Person: There's a reason rainbows aren't straight. Just saying.

Person reading sheet music and seeing mf crescendo: I forgot that mezzo forte was a thing for a second so I thought it said mother fucker as a crescendo but mood

Person: He looks like a fine piece of toasted white bread.

Person: If life hasn't given me a fist bump by now, why should I give life one?

Person: we all died in 2012 this is hell.

Person 1: Who wants a pamphlet on condoms? Person 2: Why do you have this? Do you collect them? Person 1: Yah it’s my hobby. I have this one, one on HIV and one on teenage pregnancy.

Person: We live a society where reading about assassins and gory details is a hobby.

Person: Stop breathing so loudly on my thumb!

Person 1: I’m the comic relief. Person 2: For what? Person 1: Myself.

Person1: Who’s your valentine this year? Person 2: Me, myself and I. Person 1: Wow three valentines, you really can’t keep them away can you?

Person: Why do women gotta get their period, why not men. I wish I was born a seahorse.

Person 1: No we can’t all fit, her car is smol. Like you. Person 2: Says you miss 5 foot nothing lmao. Person 1: Hey we’re the same hight so says you miss 5 foot nothing.

Person: No, that’s cheating no emotionally disabling people.

Person 1: Why is it that we’re talking about someone burning eggs on two different group chats. Person 2: Hey I didn’t burn them. Person 3: Cause why not?

Person 1: That’s not how an Australian accent works. Person 2: This is why I’m not Australian, I don’t have the koala-fications.

Person 1: I’m Indian, numbers run through my blood. Person 2: That’s like saying I’m going to marry my cousin just because I’m white.

Person: So I ate veggies and hummus for lunch but then I counterbalanced it by eating a spoon full of straight Nutella.

Person: Seagulls, California Pigeons, what’s the difference?

Person 1: I humbly apologize and request your forgiveness. Person 2: I humbly decline your request for forgiveness.

Person: I think I’m permanently stuck somewhere between “If you mess with me I’ll fight” and “If you mess with me I’ll cry.”

Person 1: It was implied! Person 2: What’s implied is your inability to accept that fact that I’m right!

Person 1: I got lazy because I was eating Pringles. Person 2: She values Pringles more than me.

Person: Yo, you be the crazy ex girls they be talking about in memes.

Person: I swear (persons name) if I hooked up with squidward in your dream your subconscious and I need to have a little talk.

Person: You get to die, and you get to die! Everybody gets to die!

Person: How do you just add a child?

Person 1: Look at this ink based pencil. Person 2: A pen?  Person 1: This egg is all broken. Person 2: It’s like you then, you both broke under the pressure.

Lakshmi: Don’t force your opinion, voice it.

Person 1: If I where a fruit, which one would I be? Person 2: Sushi. Person 1:… Sushi isn’t a fruit.

Person: I mean it’s not straight up “Yo come here I’m gunna kill you.”

Person: Bye gays, bye (other girls name).

Person 1: No (person B) stop. Just shut up. You’re making me loose brain cells. Person 2: But… Person 1: No. Just no.

Person: Stop. That is non-consensual pizza eating.

Person 1: Cheese is not a vegetable! Person 2: Well it’s not a meat either! Person 3: Guys… It’s dairy.

Person: Idiots have priority over just regular dumb people

Person: God melted the polar ice caps just to make it rain for Noah then refroze them. I don’t know (kids name) I’m not god!

Person: You and I will go out, and leave them to their raw fish rolled in sea salad.

Person: Does anyone else get really energized when they change their room? Just me? Okay.

Person: I hope you know I will diss you guys to the end of the earth.

Person: Bruh talk to (person’s name) I don’t know sh… *notices teacher looking at her*…niahhh.

Person 1: The thing is, I don’t want to be 80 that’s rough. Person 2: Then just die at 50.

Person: You’d be scrambled eggs with hair.

Person: Seeing you two fighting, it’s like seeing a piece of light fighting a black hole.

Teacher: What can you tell me about probability? Student 1: I hate it. Student 2: Dont you mean you? Student 1: Yes both.

Person: My brain has the dumb I’m sorry

Person 1: If my first word was no, I’m assuming that’s foreshadowing for them my family disowns me after I renounce religion and systemic abuse. Person 2: Or…. You just need to make sure your last word is yes. Person 1: Yes to what though? Person 2: ‘Are you dying?’ Yes.’ Pessimism, just your style. Person 1: That’s true.

Person: My parents don’t message me, they’re the type of people who CALL. Where did I get my social anxiety from??

Person: Well guys it's been great knowing you I’m just going to drown now.

Person: I figured out a new diet regime, it’s called sleeping until noon and just not eating breakfast.

Person: The f on my birth certificate was the doctor paying their respects.

Person: Chocolates with raspberry filling are the sole reason I’m still alive.

Person 1: Isn’t Latin a dead language? Person 2: You’re a dead language!

Person: Hydrate before you diedrate.

Person 1: you have a son named Spider-Man? Person 2: what noooo! Person 3: well don’t expose her!

Person: That awkward moment when you just really don’t care about people.

Person 1: (Person 2) and I will be over here with my virgin margarita and her water. Person 2: Hey! I want apple juice! Person 3: Why are you not drinking (Person 1)? Person 2: Because she’s to single, and also she’d strip. Person 1: Woahh! How dare you assume that I’m not drinking because I’m to single?

Person 1: Ya know, I think I’m going to have to jazz hands my way through hell. Person 2: All of us will.

Person: Brown town children, y’all find someone in India?

Person 1: Wow you have the best backup singers. Person 2: I only hire the best, at least 5 stars in yelp. Person 1: Well good because that’s the sound they’re making.

Person: The cold kills everything, it’s like my heart.

Person 1: Remember the rolls I brought to school last year that I used to give you? The ones with paneer and the really good spices? Person 2: Yah? Person 1: This is not at all the same thing.

Person 1: What’s stevia? Person 2: It’s like sugar but no.

Person 1: Yeetus Skelettus. Person 2: Fetus Deletes? Honey, that’s called abortion.

Person: Anything for you. That’s what you said. Anything for you. But when I ask for just one bite of your pasta? No!

Person 1: I've written 1,300 words and don’t have a thesis statement or topic question Person 2: Yeah, you need to figure that out.

Person 1: you know I had a dream that you where in a romantic relationship with a toaster. Person 2: wasn’t that your relationship with (ex’s name)? Person 1: you’d have more chemistry with a toaster.

Person: Can people read colors? Cause I am ooo.

Person: It’s like hands but medusa

Person: You look like a cardboard jellyfish that’s brown

Person 1: Two of us like boys. Person 2: We all like boys. Person 1: Two of us like ONLY boys.

Person: you’re like a reverse plant. You convert oxygen into carbon dioxide.

Person: Shhhhh. I’m not in physics, let me be dumb in peace.

Person: Why are you laying down like some greek god, get up you brown child.

Person 1: Do all of you just think you’re going to be single? Person 2: I already am why not keep the streak going to get a high score?

Person: and now cracks of light are coming out from around the sides like some sort of computer Jesus!

People 1 and 2: Rock Paper Scissors Person 3: shoot me please.

Person 1: not since 9/11 you can’t. Person 2: dang. You just tossed your whole country just to prove a point. I’ve never been so proud.

Person 1: what is an angle of depression? Person 2: it’s my life. Person 1: no it’s you because it’s not straight.

Person: Boom. Lesbians.

Person 1: Well what if two rocks just washed up at the same time and humans. Person 2: Evolution.

Person: Watermelon isn’t good anymore, I swear its just water with food coloring.

Person: You being dumb makes me want to correct you, sos too being dumb cause I’m on vocal rest.

Person: well (persons name) who have you a mouth?

Person: Teachers that grade late work deserve all the love and cookies and cake in the world.

Person 1: honestly I just want to die right now. Person 2: same. Literally same.

Person: I just feel like a single molecule lost in space.

Person: who’s gunna stop me? God? Damn him to hell.

Person: the line is not actually straight it’s like (students name)

Person 1: It’s your favorite sleep deprived gay. Person 2: But I’m my favorite sleep deprived gay. Self love. Person 1: We Stan.

Person 1: Why do you have a tool? Person 2: Because my hair is moist.

Person: eating lead was an otherworldly experience

Person 1: I have everything stolen from me 2: at least you have the tiniest bit of dignity left 3: what dignity? 1: exactly

Person 1:( holding up katsup) does this go on salad?

Person:I’m turning red! Me! A brown girl!

Person: I’m not trying argue that we should date, I’m just saying.

Person 1: what’s your biggest turn on? Person2 : a light switch Person 2: or then leaving.

Person 1: what is the most attractive retire on someone Person 2: my own face

Person: you’d be that one bar do white chocolate that just sits in the feidge because no one wants it

Person: that’s like saying I’d rather see your shirt than your face.

Person: why would I shut up when I can shut (kids name) down

Person: Subtle. Gay. Vibes. I’m telling you.

Person: just watch me write my ee on all the reasons why nick caraway is gay. Just watch me.

Person: Why are you stereotyping. What if the body doesn’t want trucks, what if he wants to be a fairy.

Person: being ace is basically just eww no but like forever.

Person: Stop trying to science your way out of being wrong.

Person: even if you did ask me out I’d still say no so then you’d even be rejected by a trash can

Person 1: you can’t read cheese color. Person 2: yellow?

Person 1: Think about it like you’re brown Person 2: She is brown Person 1: Then act like it

Person: You’re not an ugly frog, you’re a beautiful human being. Person: I am. Very very dumb. And also. Bisexual.

Person: I was thinking of something smart but then I forgot what it was.

Person: I want to skip the crush phase and just make out with someone.

Person 1: The only way to get into the Holland family is to marry in through Paddy. Person 2: (Person 1’s name) this isn’t the royal family.

Person: Omigod you looked like the human version of squid ward.

Person: I want to be smart. Where can I learn smart stuff?

Person: But plant the seed and smoke the weed and chop the cane.

Peeeson 1: that is the definition of meter? Person 2: about 3 feet. Person 1: okay thanks America

Person 1: who’s Tom Holland? Person 2: Spider-Man you uncultured swine!!

Person: I am not a children

Person: Ohh dang yeah forgot chickens existed for a while

Person: Hey! Don’t narrate my water!

Person: I don’t read water.

Person: Think of it as a relationship. If you and your ex break up they are salty but you profit because you wanted to end it but if you end it weak, then y’all will argue back and forth and get nowhere with ending it while still exchanging insults.

Person: You know those really sexual mattress adverts?

Person: Oh please, you have the sexual appeal of an easy bake oven.

Person 1: weed is a gate way drug Person 2: YOURE A GATEWAY DRUG!

Person: (first, middle, last name), I love you to the end of the earth. But you are a daft child.

Person 1: She’s like that type of girl. She’s the long paragraph white girl. Person 2: Well that’s a niche if I’ve even seen one.

Person 1: swing you two fight is like watching two ants fight. Person 2: you friking piece of bacteria!

Person: I’m just an intellectual.

Person: I will murder your face off.

Person: that’s like a kilometer tall.

Person: It’s weird when I pet you horizontally.

Person: to be honest I thought those were rocks in a jar for the longest time. Turns out they weren’t.

Person: does she have a brother or gay tendencies

Person: I’m going to slap your hand like it’s a fricking spider.

Person: I like your face better blurry.

Person: every night at about midnight someone starts googling astrology

Person: I will kick you. I will murder your soul.

Person 1: I’m just going to marry a millionaire. Person 2: Where are you gunna finds a millionaire in this economy?

Person: Welcome to my tea party, there isn’t any tea to drink, but we have a lot of it to spill.

Person: Yah, it was something about sex or something.

Person: You’re all uncultured swines.

Person: I’m about as straight as a sine curve.

Person 1: They’re not Oreo’s you dumb head Person 2: I know that dumber head. Person 3 :Shut up dumbest heads

Person: As an ex foetus i can say with authority that if my mother had aborted me i wouldn't have known nor would i have given a fuck

Person: I’ve just accepted I’m going to fail this test. I’ve gone through the 5 stages of grief already.

Person: Yes I’m blind that’s why I need glasses fool.

Person: what the fork do you want you little son of a biscuit.

Person: Anyway now I’m taking Tylenol PM and I’m going to actually sleep tonight that’ll be fun.

Person: I need all the hoodies. ALL OF THEM.

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strawberryjmilk · 6 years ago

Text

a type of stardust | kim namjoon

word count: 1490

warning: this entire thing is angst. self-confidence issues and self-doubt are the entire basis. there is an ending that can be interpreted as s*icide, so please be aware if that’s harmful for you. this doesn’t read as an actual reader x namjoon imagine. the “oc” goes by aphrodite, but you can ignore that if you’d like! as always, i do not view namjoon in this way!

namjoon’s point of view

MAYBE HAPPINESS WAS NEVER MEANT TO BE MINE, JUST AS YOU WEREN’T.

we went to a museum, the one near my house. it was weird — all of us being together. we smiled and joked and acted like we were happy. maybe they were actually happy, and i was the one pretending. i was with her, my sister. she was pretty — she sparkled in any way she could. we were looking at the dresses; ones we could never imagine having to wear every day. we were reading the plaque — really, i just wanted to keep my mind busy. and then he appeared. he was taking pictures of the things he found interesting — pictures were allowed as long as there was no flash. and he turned towards us. and he looked like he'd seen an angel. in the corner of my eye, i could see him raise his camera up slowly. that's when my sister and i laughed — i made sure my smile was pretty because he was watching. but then i noticed — his camera was only pointed at her. — i saw him again, at the café, he was humming, dimples peeking out of his cheeks as he sipped on his hot chocolate. that was cute — i thought he was cute. and then i remembered the aching truth — he'd never looked at me in the first place. it was her — it was always her. the tea that settled on my tongue turned cold and bitter and i could feel the muffin i had climbing up my throat. i had to leave, but i noticed his eyes had widened as i passed him. i know, i don't like looking at me, either. — i hated being jealous of her. i hated being jealous of both of them. because they were my sisters — they held me through bad days and brushed my hair and made sure i was healthy. but this pain — this pain was their fault. and i hated that i blamed them. because i adored them — truly, i do. but, it hurts so much. because this has happened before. i meet a cute boy, and he seems interested. until his eyes shift and he glances at one of them. and it's like i never existed in the first place. do i want to exist? — "ro," her voice is soft. soft and quiet and alluring and soothing. we always joke that the others can't hear us because we're both soft spoken. except she sounds like a pretty, twinkling fairy and i sound like a goblin who's been living under a bridge. "are you sure you're alright? you seem quieter. you're eating well, aren't you?" she's concerned and it makes the guilt flare up again. i'm jealous because you're everything i've ever wanted to be. and everyone listens to you so easily. and they help you — they make sure you're okay. but i'm not okay. and they never ask. "yeah, i'm fine. just a small headache." she believed me. they always believe me. — "hey," his voice was smooth. it was almost raspy, a musical cello that swam through my ears and into my brainwave. how could he say one word and i'm already so helpless? "hello," i spoke quietly. i hope i mimicked my sister's voice well — i hope i sounded pretty to him. "i think i saw you at the museum," he smiled. he had a very nice smile — the type of smile that could warm you up on cold days. "unless that was someone else?" "i think i remember," of course i remember. i'm very familiar with my heart splitting in two. "i'm namjoon," he introduced. i liked his name and how sweetly he smiled after he said it. "aphrodite," i hummed. "you can call me ro, though." that's what i always said. because i hated my name. i was cursed — how could i be named after the goddess of love when that emotion was entirely absent from me? "how pretty," he smiled again. i thought maybe he'd been looking at his reflection. — "ro," his voice crackled through the phone. why did i think it was a good idea to give him my number? now, he wouldn't stop calling. and that made it a lot harder to forget him. i swear i was trying to forget him. "who was that girl? the one from the museum? and the cafe — she was there, too." dread filled me up, icy hands curling around my throat. i already felt sick. "that's my sister," i hoped i sounded cheerful. because i adore her, truly i do. but i already knew what he was going to say next. "...she's really pretty." i wanted to cry. "she has a boyfriend," i said quickly. it wasn't a lie — i was sure they were even thinking of marriage. but, i still felt guilty that i'd potentially hurt his feelings. even though he always hurts mine. "sorry, joon." "that's okay." it didn't seem okay. — i found myself comparing us again. she had long, dark hair that flowed like a waterfall. mine was dyed and chunky and uneven. her eyes were glittering jades and she never had to make an effort to wear makeup. mine were dark and i hated to go out without it. she was better — she was always better. i looked to my left, at my eldest sister as she smiled. she was loud but her laugh was pretty. i was quiet and i always squeaked. her hair was a curly lions main. i was always jealous of it. she, too had sparkling eyes but they were like small sapphires. mine were almost black and i'd never thought a color could make you feel so isolated. i had to look down, away from them both. if i'd seen them, i wouldn't choose me, either. — "you seem sad," he said. we were at the park, feet brushing against the dirt as we sat on the swings. it was the first time he'd talked to me in a month. i almost had his grin burned from my memory, but then he called. and i don't think i could ever forget it now. "why do people always say that?" i frowned. maybe i should've smiled instead — i might've seemed prettier then. "because you never look happy," he shrugged. "i smile and laugh all the time," i argued. he just shrugged again. he wouldn't look up to meet my eyes and it made the crack in my heart grow a little. it was shocking — i didn't think i had a heart left. "that doesn't mean you're happy." i hated that he was right. — "i didn't know you had two sisters." i didn't like this conversation. i didn't like that he'd been introduced to them both. the fear settled in my stomach, partnering with the guilt and jealousy that i always tried to hide. "yeah," i spoke plainly, like there wasn't a flood begging to be unleashed. "they seem happy," he hummed. he seemed nonchalant but i knew he was still thinking of them. "i'm sure they are." "and they both have boyfriends?" i didn't like that he asked that. "yeah," i laughed. i knew it sounded bitter because it tasted salty as it escaped my lips. "too bad." too bad, indeed. — "oh, hello namjoon!" she sounded so elegant when she spoke. she was in a black dress that amplified how intoxicating she looked. maybe my sisters were sirens. or succubi. or maybe i was just the ugly duckling of the family. "ro is in the living room." "oh, um. alright." he never faltered when i spoke to him. "are you going somewhere?" he never had to ask what i was doing. because i was always available. i never had plans to make. no one wanted to make them with me. "just a double date. have fun, you two!" i didn't think we would. — we were out again, as a family. my sisters were laughing with their boyfriends. and i felt isolated but i stayed quiet and twirled my pasta around my fork. i didn't have much of an appetite anymore. "i can't wait until ro gets a boyfriend," my sister cheered. she was laughing — not at me, but in excitement. "i hope it happens soon," the eldest agreed. "she seems lonely." she seemed concerned when she looked at me. i just smiled and shrugged. "don't get your hopes up." — "aphrodite." i hated my name. but, i hated it even more when he said it. breathless, like he couldn't believe i was standing in front of him. but, really, i could see the girl who was sitting on his couch. she was breathless, too. it ached — to know he was all i thought about when i never stayed on his mind. maybe i came off as creepy and obsessed. maybe he just didn't care. "hi, namjoon," my tone was soft. not because i was trying to make it pretty — i was just tired. he seemed shocked. "are you alright?" his eyebrows were furrowed in concern. how nice of him to act like he cared. and to act like he didn't hear the other girl scoff. i just smiled at him. "i'm leaving," it was hard to keep the tears in. it was hard to do this. but i didn't want to do anything else. i was so tired. "so, i just came to say goodbye." "are you coming back?" he was pouting now. "i'm not." he frowned even more at how confident i sounded. like i knew i wasn't going to see him again. because i wasn't. he sighed. he nodded. i turned and walked away. i hope he didn't understand what i meant.

that was really heavy and dark im so sorry but i hope this was enjoyable? maybe? hhhhhhh im here if you guys need to talk - please remember that. thank you for reading, ♡

#kim namjoon imagines #kim namjoon angst #kim namjoon au #kim namjoon scenrios #kim namjoon oneshot #namjoon x oc #bts imagines #BTS au #bts scenarios #bts angst #bts oneshot #kpop au #kpop angst #kpop scenarios #kpop oneshots #My Imagines

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unplacedpodcast · 7 years ago

Text

Chapter Six: Moratorium (Transcript)

Apologies for the delay in posting! I was at PodCon all weekend and it’s been a bit wackadoodle since I got back. As usual, spoilers below.

Note: This episode has content that might be disturbing or upsetting for some listeners, specific content warnings are underneath the cut.

Content warnings: alcohol/binge drinking (at the beginning of the episode), suicide (towards the end of the episode)

(ding of audio recording starting - when Narrator starts speaking, she sounds very rough, has clearly been crying and possibly drinking)

NARRATOR: How…how am I supposed to know what’s real and what’s not? I’m so tired. I’m so tired of trying to figure it out. This is all scary, and confusing, and I’m so lonely…if this is purgatory, can I just go one way or the other now? I’m sorry for whatever I did that stuck me here. I JUST WANT TO GO HOME! (voice breaks) I’m sorry, okay? (whispers) I’m sorry. (sniffles) Why am I even doing this? It’s not like anyone is listening anyways.

(click, pause, then ding of audio recording starting again; Narrator sounds much more chipper now, though still not 100%, and sounds a little sheepish when she starts talking)

NARRATOR: Hey. So, uh, sorry about that. I’m leaving it in for…journalistic integrity or something…but also because I’m not entirely sure anyone is listening, so why waste time editing out embarrassing drunken episodes of depression? (bitter laugh)

I’m also only working with one hand at the moment, so I’m trying to keep unnecessary typing and clicking and audio editing to a minimum. As you may have gathered, my little experiment didn’t go over too well. I thought I was hurting it, at first - it recoiled and there was a big crater in it, along with some gross sizzling noises, but then it…attacked, around and through the hematite, and hit my hand, and…yeah.

(sharp intake of breath) It hurt like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. That was a week or two ago and my hand is still covered in something resembling chemical burns. But it’s…it’s not as bad as it was. I don’t think there will be any permanent damage, especially because I’ve been making sure to stretch and move it as it heals, even though that’s pretty much excruciating. But at least I shouldn’t lose any range of movement.

Let me tell you, fighting off the urge to faint on a public sidewalk, and then making it back to wherever home is for the night, and then having to peel off strands of stone that are practically fused to your skin, and figure out treatment, all while completely alone…not in my top ten favorite activities. If I can be frank with you, not in my top hundred activities.

I should make a t-shirt to commemorate this whole hellish experience. “I punched a brain leech with shitty homemade brass knuckles and all I got was this lousy t-shirt! (…and also these burn scars!)” (snort)

Anyways, after that whole experience, can you blame a girl for hitting the bottle a bit? If nothing else, I needed some painkillers, because the ibuprofen was not cutting it.

The whole experience taught me something, though: I don’t care any more. I don’t care how curious I am about what’s going on, or how much it annoys me that I have no idea what’s going on, or my growing uncertainty about whether I’m actually a complete basket-case or not. Not my monkeys, not my circus. (pause) Maybe partially my monkeys, but I can definitely ignore the circus.

I don’t even know if those things are evil. It could be a totally symbiotic relationship, right? For all I know, those things are the barnacles of the brain, and like, give these people ideas or something. I just assumed they were up to no good because they look like something out of a Ridley Scott movie.

So if you think about it, I’m probably the bad guy here, just assuming that something has bad intentions because it looks like a parasite from Geiger’s nightmares, and then following it around and harassing it. Well, my bad, I learned that lesson and I’m never messing with one of those fuckers again. I’m just going to keep my head down for a while, at least until my hand heals completely.

Given the lack of paranormal PI shenanigans planned for the foreseeable future, I’m not quite sure what’s on the agenda for our time together today. I guess we’ll find out as we go along.

(muffled noise, audio dings off then turns back on again in a coffee shop with all of the background noise)

One big downside to this whole invisibility thing is that I can’t order coffee any more. I even tried using a pre-order app and it just continually glitches. I used to just hover around until someone ordered a drink close enough to what I wanted and swipe it when it came up. But the last time I did that, the barista got yelled at by an angry soccer mom with the “can I speak to your manager” haircut. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to cost someone their job just because I want my espresso.

That means I either have to swipe a cup and fill it with hot coffee, or do the same thing with iced coffee, or buy the pre-made stuff from a grocery store. I swear. My kingdom for a hot mocha with coconut milk and no whipped cream.

First world problems, huh? (laughs)

It feels good to joke about it, though! I knew this whole keeping my head down thing would work out better in the long run. I feel better already.

(Narrator sips on coffee and leaves coffee shop, the background noise shifts to be that of a busy street - cars in addition to people, etc)

What now? Maybe I’ll go shopping. I’ve been neglecting my look, because it feels a little weird paying attention to what you’re wearing when nobody else can see it. If you put effort into your personal style but literally nobody is physically able to observe your personal style, do you actually have a style? File under, “more philosophical quandaries I’d never thought of before a few months ago.”

If I’m trying to get back to normal, then why not? I’ll just take only one or two things from each store, so that no one person is going to take all the blame.

In fact, maybe I’ll experiment a little bit! I was always afraid to try anything too far outside my comfort zone before, but if there was ever a time to try new things, it’s now. I don’t have to worry about whether it’s work appropriate or not. I can do whatever I want with my hair and my clothes. It’s another small upside of this whole ordeal.

I just have to - wait. There’s one of those symbols I told you about - I said I’d stay away from the monsters, but the symbols…I’m still curious about them. And I haven’t seen anything that indicates that the monsters - I mean, the totally non-malovolent worms - have been painting the symbols or even would be able to create them. I’m totally okay to check this out, then.

(footsteps as NARRATOR walks down an alleyway)

I think I’ve seen this one before - the same design was near the library, but that one was smaller. I - hello? Hi? Are you looking at me? You can see me?!

(muffled sounds of movement as NARRATOR starts running, is panting and bumping into people in the crowd)

NARRATOR: (panting) I lost her - there was someone standing by the symbol, maybe she just finished painting it? She was looking right at me - I don’t know, the loneliness could be playing tricks on me but I swear to god she looked straight into my eyes, nobody has done that in weeks… (pause for panting) When she realized I was looking back at her, she looked entirely freaked the fuck out - she started running and I couldn’t - I couldn’t catch her.

There’s a big crowd up ahead, she disappeared into it, I think. I have to find her!

(sound of running/moving faster, pushing through a crowd)

Holy shit. The woman who could see me isn’t here, but - there’s someone else, standing on the bridge - oh no. No no no. She’s on the bridge, she’s standing on the railing, and she looks like - oh god, she’s gonna jump. Maybe I can -

(more sounds of movement)

HEY! NO! Stop!

Wh - I think she can hear - shit. It’s the woman from the other day in the psychic’s shop - with the hematite necklace. I think she can hear me, she started when I yelled - hey, can you hear me?

(her voice is shaking but trying to stay calm and soothing, like she’s talking to a wild animal) C’mon, get down, you don’t have to do this. I can help - I’ll help you. C’mere, it’s okay. I promise it’ll be okay.

Yeah, yeah, just come over here, it’ll be fine. I promise, it’ll be -

Nononono! NO! Shit shit shit, no - no…

(someone in the crowd/background screams, Narrator is crying, obviously v upset by this)

Oh my god. She…(sniff) she was coming towards me, she looked super out of it - her eyes were all glazed over - but she had started to get off the railing, and then she - jerked? It was like the leech thing - it’s like it was moving her like…a puppet or something - I don’t (retches/coughs) I’ve never - people don’t move like that. She didn’t want to, she looked like she was trying to fight it - the look in her eyes - but she couldn’t - she - and the thing sort of, it disconnected itself and slithered down, and she looked back at me one more time and then she jumped. There’s no way she survived - she’s got to be floating in the river somewhere. I don’t - I can’t…

(audio recording cuts off)

#audio drama #transcripts

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blazinbeautywrites · 8 years ago

Text

Custody

Note: Due to recent events and the rampant uprising of plagiarism on this site and others I am stating once and once only that this is my ORIGINAL work. If I find out that you have stolen/taken any part of my work I will handle you and the situation the way I see fit.

I give full credit to the original owner of any gif or pic I use.

Length: 2,997 words

Genre: Angst

Trigger Warning: There is a racist undertone to this story and there will be a slight use of the N word.

Gray never imagined that his life would be this way. When he’d first met Amara everything was amazing. They’d gotten married and had a beautiful baby girl but somewhere along the line things fell apart. Now here he is on his way to court to fight for custody of his daughter Alaia. Gray found himself wondering how in the world things got so bad. He thought after he’d admitted his infidelities that as a man and wife Amara and he would be able to talk it out and move on but she took their kid and left. Twelve years and she just left and now he was fighting for his right to see his 8 year old. From afar he saw Amara and Alaia and as soon as he made eye contact with his baby girl he smiled the biggest smile.

“DADDY!!!!!” Alaia said as she took off running in his direction.

“Hey baby girl. Daddy missed his little princess,” Gray said holding his daughter tight.

“Alaia what did I tell you about running off like that?” Amara scolded.

“Hey Amara, you look good,” Gray said.

“Hey Gray and yeah you too. So where’s your little girlfriend? I thought she’d be here to support you,” Amara said.

“Please don’t start. I told her not to come. This has nothing to do with her,” Gray sighed.

“Hmm bummer. I wanted to finally meet the woman who was fucking my husband knowing he was married. Well another time I guess. See you in court sweetheart,” Amara said. She grabbed Alaia’s hand and walked up the remaining steps to courthouse.

10 minutes later in the courtroom everyone was getting settled as the judge took her seat.

“Now Ms. Jensen from what I understand, Mr. Lee was unfaithful in your marriage correct?” The judge asked.

“Yes your honor,” Amara answered.

“I see. Mr. Lee please tell me why your ex wife doesn’t want you to have custody of your daughter,” The judge said.

“Honestly your honor I have no idea. I was blindsided by the custody papers. I know I’m no saint and I did cheat on my wife but I don’t think that warrants a lawsuit to keep me from my daughter,” Gray said.

“Okay I’ve heard enough. I saw the deposition tapes. I know you two had a messy, highly publicised divorce but this back and forth you’ve two been doing in my courtroom the past few weeks is ending today. Ms. Jensen I can understand that you’re hurt by your ex husband’s actions but you have no right to deny him his parental rights. If he poses no physical or mental harm to your daughter then I see no reason not to award him joint custody and Mr. Lee, it is in incredibly poor taste to parade the woman you cheated on your wife with and dangle that betrayal in her face. Now if we’re done here I am awarding joint custody to you Mr. Lee. Alaia Lee will spend weekends with her father. Ms. Jensen if you interfere or violate any of these terms, I will hold you in full contempt of court, do i make myself clear?” The judge asked.

“Yes, your honor. Don’t worry I won’t interfere with your orders,” Amara said. She struggled to hold back tears as she glanced at Gray grinning from ear to ear. As the judge dismissed the court Gray walked out of the courtroom with his lawyer trailing right behind him. Amara walked out of court and saw Gray holding Alaia and almost broke down.

“Mommy!” Alaia ran to her mother, nearly locking her down.

“Hey sweetie,” Amara said hugging her tight. As she let go she saw Gray approach them.

“I’m sorry it had to come to this. Look may-”

“You won. You don’t have to make small talk with me. You can pick her up from school Friday and I’ll drop off her bags on my way home from work,” Amara said.

“Okay. Fair enough,” he said. He waved goodbye to Alaia and watched Amara drive off.

Back at Gray’s place his girlfriend, Hyejin was laying on the sofa watching tv when Gray walked in the door. She quickly shut the tv off and walked over to him.

“So? How did it go? Did you win?” Hyejin asked. Gray smiles and she jumps into his arms.

“Okay slow your roll. It’s only for the weekend for now,” Gray said.

“What? Why? That’s your kid too! God I knew that bitter bitch would pull some shit,” Hyejin said.

“First of all, don’t call her a bitch. I won’t tolerate you talking shit about the mother of my child in my house. Regardless of how she feels towards me she gave me the best gift in the world and you will respect that,” Gray said.

“Wow, so you rather defend her than me, your girlfriend? Okay I see how it is. Fuck you!” Hyejin said. She stormed off and slammed the door to their bedroom, leaving Gray in the living room by himself.

The rest of the week came and went and after Gray had picked Alaia up from school he took her out for some ice cream. He knew he wasn’t supposed to but he wanted to talk to her before taking her to his house.

“So, how was school?” Gray asked.

“Fine I guess. This boy in my glass asked me to be his girlfriend but I turned him down,” Alaia said, eating a spoon of her ice cream.

“Good. You’re too young for a boyfriend anyway,” Gray said. Alaia laughed at him and begin eating more of her ice cream.

“Daddy why did you and mommy break up?” Alaia asked. Gray choked on his ice cream. His daughter had never really asked him something so serious before. He didn’t know how to answer so he gave it his best shot.

“Ummmm I guess we just grew apart. I will always love her though. Especially since she gave me you,” Gray said. He pulled Alaia closer and kissed the top of her head.

“I’m glad you still love her. She’s having a tough time right now,” Alaia said.

“Why? Is she okay? What’s going on?” Gray asked.

“She just cries a lot. She’s always sad. I think she’s lonely,” Alaia said. It amazed Gray that at 8 years old Alaia could comprehend so much. A few more minutes later and they were done with their ice cream. Gray walked them out to the car and strapped her up in her seatbelt and drove to his house. Once he got inside he saw Hyejin in the kitchen cleaning up some dishes.

“Hey, Hyejin I’m so-”

“It’s fine. I should be the one apologizing. I overreacted and you were right. I should respect Amara, I mean I did steal her husband it’s the least I can do,” Gray cringed at her “apology” but chose to accept it. He didn’t want any drama while Alaia was there.

“Okay. Well this is Alaia,” Gray said. He stepped aside, allowing Alaia to get in front of him.

“Hi Alaia! It’s nice to finally meet you,” Hyejin said, sticking out her hand to shake. Alaia eyed her extended hand and looked at her face.

“Are you the woman that stole my daddy from my mom and me?” Alaia asked. Hyejin pulled her hand back in and shifted awkwardly on her feet. She immediately smiled and bent down to the point she was eye level with Alaia.

“Why yes I am. It’s very nice to meet you,” She said smugly. Gray glared at her and took Alaia to the kitchen to get cleaned up a bit. Hyejin noticed the lack of luggage and became suspicious.

“Okay what do you want for dinner later on princess?” Gray asked his daughter.

“Hmmmmm…..McDonald’s?” Alaia said. She gave her dad the puppy dog eyes expecting him to cave in.

“Nope, not this time. You aren’t gonna get me with them puppy dog eyes. You know your mom will kill me if she found out that I fed you junk food this whole weekend. How about tonight we have some chicken and tomorrow if you’re good I’ll get you whatever you want. Deal?” Gray negotiated.

“Deal!” Alaia said, giving her dad a pinky promise. After washing her up, Gray send Alaia to her room so he could talk to Hyejin.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?! Why the hell would you tell my daughter that shit? God I swear Hyejin,” Gray pinched the bridge of his nose, attempting to calm himself down.

“Oh chill out. I’m sure Amara has put enough negative thoughts about me in her head. What’s one more?” Hyejin said.

“You’re so fucking aggrivating!” Gray said.

“Oh whatever, so where are her bags?” Hyejin asked.

“Amara is bringing them later after she gets off from work,” Gray said.

“So she’s coming here? Ugh I can’t escape her,” Hyejin said.

“You do know that in this entire situation you and I are the bad guys right? So stop acting like she ruined your life or some shit. Now if you don’t mind I need to run to the store to get a few things. Keep an eye on Alaia for me okay?” Gray said. He pulled Hyejin to him and gave her a quick peck on the cheek.

A while later Hyejin was back on the sofa. She heard a noise and immediately looked up to see Alaia walking towards her.

“You okay?” Hyejin asked.

“Yeah, can you put my hair in a ponytail for me?” Alaia asked. She handed Hyejin a comb, brush, and some olive oil hair cream that gray kept in her room for her. Hyejin was flattered and went to work right away. After trying to tame Alaia’s curls Hyejin was ready to give up.

“This shit is ridiculous. Things would be easier if you just got your hair straightened. I mean do you really wanna go your entire life with this nappy nigger hair? It’s very unattractive,” Hyejin said. She began chuckling to herself. Alaia moved away and gave her the coldest stare ever.

“That’s racist. Nothing is wrong with my hair. I don’t know what my daddy sees in you,” Alaia said. She gathered up her things and went back to her room. She pulled out her emergency cell phone and called her mom. She told her everything, which had Amara furious. After the call she packed up her backpack and waited for Amara to come get her.

Half way across town Amara angrily packed up to leave early. She explained to her staff that she had a family emergency and had to leave early. She got her assistant to fill in and she quickly left the building. She called Gray but he didn’t pick up the phone. After a few more tries he finally answered.

“Oh fucking finally! How dare you?! HOW FUCKING DARE YOU!? I can’t believe you left our daughter alone in a house with that bitch! Who by the way referred to our daughter’s hair as nigger hair! Damn you really picked a winner there. I’m going to pick up our daughter and I’m taking your ass back to court you fucking piece of shit.” Amara said.

“Wait what?! I was only gone for like 30 minutes. I’m on my way back now,” Gray said. He was utterly confused and didn’t know what the hell to do.

“Well you better hope you get there before I do because I swear I’m gonna beat her ass for making my baby feel like shit,” Amara said, hanging up on him. She prayed that he was a minute late. She’d been dying to get her hands on Hyejin.

About 15 minutes later Amara and Gray both pulled up to his house. Gray had called Jay for reinforcement and they both got out of their cars just in time to see Amara bust into the house. They heard screaming and ran for their lives to see Hyejin in Amara’s face yelling out profanities.

You stupid, bitter bitch! GET THE FUCK OUT!” Hyejin yelled.

“I’m not the one sleeping with married men and breaking up happy homes, fucking psycho,” Amara said.

“I can’t help it if he got tired of slumming it with a ghetto bitch like you. He’s with his own kind now so get over it. He should have taken your gorilla ass back to the zoo when he had the chance,” Hyejin said, extremely please with herself. Jay and Gray watched in horror as Amara tackled Hyejin to the ground and began beating her ass. Hyejin didn’t stand a chance and both men rushed to them to break them apart. Once they got them separated they saw Hyejin’s face covered in blood.

“You bitch! I’m pressing charges!” Hyejin yelled.

“Ohh bite me cunt! Amara said.

“Mommy?” Alaia said. Tears were running down her face as she ran into her mother’s arms.

“Baby I’m so sorry you had to see this. How about you go grab your things and we head home,” Amara said.

“I don’t wanna come back here,” Alaia said as more tears rolled down her cheek.

“I promise you sweetie you won’t have to,” Amara looked at Gray one last time then walked out the door with Alaia in her arms.

“Look man, I gotta go. This shit is too intense for me. Plus you got some shit you need to work out. Take as much time as you need and come to work when you’re ready,” Jay said. He left, leaving Gray and Hyejin alone in the house.

“I honestly don’t know what to say to you right now. How fucking dare you say that racist, ignorant shit to my daughter? And that shit you said to Amara? Hell no!” Grad yelled.

“Oh so you just gonna choose that black bitch over me?” Hyejin asked.

“I’ve never wanted to hit a woman as much as I do now. You’re racist, ignorant, and honestly, you’re annoying as fuck. If it wasn’t clear after that ass whooping, let me make it clear. We are done! I want you packed and gone by the time I get back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go get my family back,” Gray said. He left Hyejin standing bloody and dumbfounded in the middle of his living room. She began packing immediately so she could get out of the house quicker.

Finally home, Amara unbuckled Alaia from her seat belt and carried her sleeping body up to their house. She quickly opened the door and headed straight for Alaia’s bedroom. After tucking her in her bed Amara left her daughter’s room. She sat on her sofa and began bawling her eyes out. She was in disbelief that this had become her life. Between running her own lifestyle magazine and dealing with Gray’s bullshit she was at her wit’s end. She was just about to go take a shower when she heard a knock at the door. She went over and peeped into the peephole to see Gray standing there. She became heated and opened the door so quick it gave him whiplash.

“You have some fucking nerve showing up here,” Amara said.

“Look, please just can we talk?” Gray asked. Without saying a word she opened the door wider, letting him in the house they once shared.

“What do you want?” She asked.

“I’m sorry for everything. I’m sorry I brought that woman in our lives in the first place, I’m sorry she hurt you, and most importantly I’m sorry I allowed her to hurt our daughter. I never meant for any of this shit to happen. I was just trying to make a shitty situation work. Please, please don’t take my daughter away from me,” Gray pleaded. He was on his knees, arms wrapped around Amara’s les and he cried. She nearly lost it at the sight of him breaking down like this.

“Gra-”

“I got rid of her! She’s packing as we speak. I told her I wanted her gone by the time I get back. I’m trying, please I just want my family back,” Gray cried.

“Seonghwa, I can’t do this right now. I am drained and I just need to be away from you right now,” Amara said.

“You called me Seonghwa! You still love me?!” Gray said.

“Of course I still love you. You’re the first guy I’ve ever truly loved and the father of my child. I’ll always have love for you,” Amara confessed.

“I love you too. I never stopped. All that shit I put you through wasn’t worth it. I never stopped loving you. I know I hurt you and I don’t deserve you at all, but please can I have one more chance?” Gray groveled. Amara thought long and hard and decided that she really didn’t want her daughter to miss out on being with her father. She decided to give him one last chance.

“Fine! I’ll give you one chance, and one chance only. If you fuck this up, I WILL NOT hesitate to do what’s best for Alaia and if that includes you not being in her life then so be it. As far as our relationship goes, we are co parents. We can work on building a friendship but that’s as far as it will ever go. We have a deal?” Amara laid everything out in front of him.

“Yes. I’d do anything to get you guys back,” Gray said.

“Okay, I’ll call the judge and request an emergency hearing to get the case thrown out. I better not regret this Seonghwa,” Amara said.

“I promise you won’t,” Gray said. He pulled her into a tight hug and kissed the top of her head. They stood there for god knows how long just embracing each other. Unbeknownst to them, Alaia was watching them from the dark hallway, smiling her ass off.

They were finally a family again.

#mine #text posts #gray #aomg #gray scenarios #aomg scenarios #khh scenarios

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