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beware-of-you-98 · 4 years ago

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OTP Prompts for Jemily

🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

Who kills the bugs?

JJ (she grew up in the middle of nowhere Pennsylvania, she’s not scared of any sort of bug)

Emily doesn’t deal with creatures with more than four legs, so if she sees an insect, or lord forbid, a spider, she’ll immediately climb off the floor and call for her girlfriend

JJ can never find it in herself to purposely kill the insects (she’s also not too keen on having to clean bug guts from her carpet), so she’ll grab a clear plastic cup with whatever book or piece of paper is laying around and use those to put the bug outside

(If it’s a wolf spider, she’ll literally pick it up with her bare hands, much to Emily’s horror)

If the spider is a brown recluse or black widow, she’ll bring the covered arachnid closer and take the time to show her boys and Emily what markings to look out for so that they know to be careful

The only insect she refuses to deal with are stink bugs

When they come around, she and Emily take an emergency trip to the nearby Target and buy enough of the raspberry gel air fresheners for every one of their windows

Yeah, their house smells like a Jolly Rancher for the entire month

But at least they don’t have to deal with the annoying beetles

Who always gets hot? Who always gets cold?

Neither of them gets hot, but Emily is perpetually cold

The rest of the team will be in the field in pants and short sleeves while Emily is bundled in her turtlenecks and jacket

Even in 90°+ weather, Emily can sit comfortably in long sleeve shirts and pants

At first, JJ is surprised by how cold Emily can get

She wakes up one day to find Emily bundled under the covers and shivering

Of course, she’s alarmed and asking what’s wrong, only getting confused when Emily says she’s fine, just cold

“Em, it’s 76° outside.” “That’s practically freezing!”

JJ starts giving Emily her sweaters and sweatshirts for her to wear

Emily loves them so much because they fit her just the way she likes and they smell like her girlfriend

Who’s the big spoon? Who’s the little spoon?

Everyone on the team hands down swears Emily’s the big spoon

It’s not only because she’s taller than JJ, but Penelope says she gives big spoon vibes

(Actually, she says Emily gives huge top vibes and that makes her the big spoon by default)

JJ lets the team think whatever they want because she’s the only one that really knows Emily Prentiss is the ultimate little spoon

She can’t help it!! She loves the feeling of being wrapped up in JJ’s arms

And loves getting her hair played with while she rests her head on JJ’s chest

She’s!! Soft!! When!! It!! Comes!! To!! Jennifer!! Jareau!!

When did they realize they loved each other?

For JJ, she realized in the aftermath of the Tobias Hankel case

She suffered from horrific nightmares for weeks and never got enough sleep

Emily comes over every night for three weeks and holds JJ in her arms and comforts her when she wakes up screaming from her nightmares

JJ realizes she’s in love with Emily one night after she’s calmed down from yet another nightmare

She’s laying there in Emily’s arms, emotionally drained and exhausted and she just peers up at Emily and... knows

No one had ever cared for her like this, no one had ever made her feel so calm, so safe in years.

Emily does.

Emily makes her feel like no one has before, like she’s the only person to ever exist and matter.

JJ feels as if Emily’s arms is where she’s meant to spend her life

She doesn’t know it then, but that was the moment she fell in love with Emily. And she fell hard.

Emily knew almost right away tbh

It’s only a few weeks after she joins the BAU and everyone else had gone home except for herself and JJ

She goes into JJ’s office to keep her company

They spend the next few hours organizing files (Emily insists on helping because JJ looks really stressed and overwhelmed)

They don’t get a lot of work done honestly, they sit and talk with each other over mugs of steaming chamomile tea

Emily looks across the desk at JJ as she finishes a story and is rendered speechless by how beautiful the blonde is and how perfect she is and how everything about her makes Emily feel as if nothing else matters

She’s overwhelmed with her own emtion and just knows, knows, at that moment she’s well and truly fucked because she’s in love

Who said “I love you” first?

Emily does but it’s spontaneous and out of the blue

The whole team is hanging out at Rossi’s house

Everyone is laughing and having a good time

Emily and JJ are attempting to dance to the music playing over the speakers but they’re both hilariously uncoordinated

(They’ve also both had a couple of glasses of wine at this point, making their efforts even more comical)

Spencer and Hotch are playing a game of blackjack

Derek is half paying attention to the game on tv, half swaying to the music and doing weird dances when Penelope looks at him to make her laugh

Penelope is recording different parts of the night for the memories

Rossi sits back and watches over his children with a content smile

JJ stumbles into Emily’s arms with a giggle

Emily laughs and wraps her arms around the her blonde and just goes “God, do I love you.”

You can hear a pin drop with how quiet everyone becomes

Emily opens her mouth to apologize, to weakly defend herself when JJ grins up at her “Do you mean it?”

Emily’s response is a small, shy smile

“Say it again.”

Emily then leans in and gives JJ a light kiss and says more genuinely “I love you.”

JJ beams up at her and repeats the words, wrapping her arms around Emily’s neck and pulls her down for a deep kiss

(The team all give out a celebratory whoop at the couple’s expense and Penelope cries because she’s so happy for her friends)

(She sends the video to the two later on for them to have)

(It’s their most treasured memory)

Who demands cuddles?

When sober? Emily

Emily Prentiss loves a good cuddle

And, hey, after a day of dealing with the horrors they experience daily, a cuddle is what they both need and deserve

Drunk JJ is clingy as hell and will literally pout up at Emily until the older woman cuddles her

It doesn’t matter where they are

If they are in the middle of Wendy’s, drunk JJ will pout to her heart’s desire until she gets her cuddles (and a vanilla frosty, but that’s besides the point)

Drunk JJ actually demands cuddles

Who is more prone to stealing the other’s clothes?

While JJ gives Emily her clothes to wear, she is 100% the one that steals Emily’s clothes

She steals Emily’s hoodies all the time

If she can’t find something to wear for work in her side of the closet, she’ll steal a shirt from Emily’s

She also loves to steal Emily’s pantsuits and wear those to work sometimes

They’re so much more comfortable than skirts

And Emily loves to see her in them, so that’s a bonus

(She also steals Emily’s flannels before they go out for dates)

She just loves wearing Emily’s clothes as much as Emily loves to wear her’s

When do they tell their team/their families about their relationship? What are their reactions?

They decide to tell the team after five months that they’ve been dating

They want them to know because the team is like their secondary family

(And they also want to be able to publically be with each other when the team get together at Rossi’s)

(JJ just wants to hold Emily’s hand and give her girlfriend a kiss whenever she wants god dammit!)

To both of their relief, the team’s response is overwhelmingly positive

No one is surprised when they confirm to the team they’re dating

Hotch and Rossi are just like “we knew it”

Penelope has to remind both of them that she already knew because JJ had given Emily a kiss a few weeks ago during girl’s night (Penelope can keep a secret if she really wants to)

Spencer is confused because “Wait, you mean you guys have only just recently become a thing? You haven’t been dating for the past year and a half?”

Derek is just like “Well it’s about fucking time”

JJ takes Emily with her when she takes a weekend trip to take her boys home to visit her mom

She really wants Emily to formally meet her mom (“I know you already met her, but I want her to meet you as my girlfriend!”)

Though initially slightly surprised by JJ introducing Emily as her girlfriend, the blonde’s mother welcomes Emily with open arms

She’s never seen JJ this happy in years and it warms her heart to see her daughter in good hands

(“And she’s really good with the kids,” JJ’s mother tells her daughter later on in the night as the two watch Emily and the boys out in the backyard)

JJ just smiles warmly in response, relieved by her mother’s response

Ambassador Prentiss comes over to Emily’s apartment unannounced while JJ and the boys are having a family movie night

It’s awkward as hell tbh

Emily’s too formal and on edge

JJ longs to go over and place a hand on Emily’s arm for comfort, but stays put under the Ambassador’s steely gaze

(Michael and Henry are blissfully unaware, sucked too far into the animated universe of Spider-Man)

Finally, the Ambassador turns to Emily and asks if she’s happy

Emily turns back to JJ and the boys with a soft gaze before turning back to her mother and giving a light nod “Yeah. I am.”

“Then that’s all that matters.”

All the tension falls from Emily’s shoulders and the biggest breath of relief leaves her lips at that

It’s the most approval she’s gotten from her mother in a long time but it means so much

What is their favorite way to show affection?

Emily likes to wrap her arms around JJ’s waist from behind

She loves to sneak up behind her when she’s cooking and gently grab her waist and press a light kiss against her neck before laying her chin on the blonde’s shoulder and watching her cook

She’ll slide behind JJ on the couch and kiss her temple before they cuddle and watch tv

She’ll randomly stop by and just wrap JJ in a soft, warm hug, gently swaying her from side to side before letting her go and going about her day like normal

JJ loves giving Emily sweet kisses on her forehead or her cheek

She wakes up before Emily and will sometimes be unable to help herself and just lean down and press a series of light kisses on the brunette’s nose or forehead

She’ll sometimes stop by Emily’s office during work and just plant a kiss on the crown of her head before heading back to her reports

When they go on long trips, who drives?

JJ!!

She loves to drive but hardly ever gets to

At work, Emily or one of the boys are the ones driving the SUVs

(And, yeah, maybe she got to drive the SUV when Kate was on the team, but still)

Even running errands like going to the store or picking up the boys, it’s Emily that drives

But Emily hates to drive long distances and often leaves that task to JJ

JJ loves it

Emily will lean her head on her shoulder or place her hand over the blonde’s on the gear shift

It’s so blissfully domestic and soft and makes the drive that much better

Who shows more affection to the other in public?

JJ easily

Emily is a firm believer that she has a hardass reputation to uphold

It takes all of JJ’s will power not to snort

Because, honestly, Emily is really just a big softie

But she’ll let Emily think what she wants

She’s the one that initiates hand holding on the jet when they’re going to a case and cuddles on the way home from one

She just wants to love her girlfriend anywhere and at anytime!

If she wants to give Emily a kiss in the middle of the bullpen (when it’s slow and the atmosphere isn’t as tense or serious as it normally is, of course), she will god dammit!!

(Emily’s light blush never does any good to help uphold her “hardass reputation” but oh well)

Who gives piggy back rides the most?

JJ gives the piggy back rides, Emily always gets them

JJ holds her as if she weighs nothing and it makes her swoon

JJ’s arms? A definite weakness for Emily

(Plus she never got to have piggy back rides as a child and JJ insists on making up for lost time so how can Emily refuse with an offer like that?)

Who proposes first? How and when?

Okay so I’m a firm believer that they’re both spontaneous as hell when it comes to this kind of thing

It’s literally just a matter of who lets their guard down first and let the question slip out first

If it’s JJ, it’s when she comes down one morning to see Emily and the boys making her breakfast

She just stops and leans in the doorway, smiling to herself as her girlfriend instructs her sons what do do

Emily is so patient with them

She helps Michael crack the eggs into a bowl and then kisses his nose, which makes him squeal in delight and her to grin

Henry stirs the batter for waffles and gets flour on his glasses and face

Emily leans over and gently cleans him off, grinning and laughing in surprise when the young boy gets batter on her nose

The three of them are just laughing and genuinely having a good time and, god, it makes JJ’s heart feel so full

When they finally notice JJ in the doorway, the boys run up and give her good morning kisses before going back to cooking breakfast

When JJ and Emily are alone and cleaning up the kitchen, Emily just wraps her arms around JJ’s waist and gives her the softest of kisses

The “marry me?” slips from JJ’s lips without much thought

And Emily, though initially surprised, just beams in response and gives her girlfriend (fiancé?) a deep, passionate kiss and just goes “just let me know the date to reserve, baby”

If it’s Emily, it happens in a very soft, very intimate moment between the two of them

They’ll be laying in bed at midnight, cuddled naked under the covers with no space between them

Emily leans over and brushes her fingers through JJ’s long hair, her heart fluttering wildly when the blonde looks up at her

Her eyes are full of so much love, her expression so soft and adoring, Emily can’t help but to whisper out “marry me?” into the room

She goes to maybe to start a speech about their relationship, how much it means to her and how much she wants to be a part of JJ’s and the boys’ lives but all that comes out is “I just... I really, really love you and want to be a part of your life permanently.”

Just like the first time they admitted they loved each other, JJ beams and leans in, pressing a chaste kiss to Emily’s lips before telling her to say it again

Emily presses a kiss to JJ’s chin and asks again so softly “marry me?”

JJ pulls her in for a long, deep kiss

“I’d marry you as soon as tomorrow if you wanted me to.”

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allthingsfern · 4 years ago

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In order, my responses to comments in Reply of my COVID19 era post that was my answer to my question “My answer to my questions: Has the era of COVID19 changed your photography? How? And perhaps also, why?“ I am so confused now...

adventuresofalgy

Algy thinks you are lucky and - certainly if compared with Europeans - perhaps quite unusual in not having experienced a more profound effect on your creative outlets and expression. Many of Algy's creative friends have experienced wide-ranging and often severe impacts on their creativity and associated motivation - and therefore on their mental health as well.

themazette

As @adventuresofalgy Jenny said.... you are lucky...

I am indeed very lucky, or as I think of it, blessed. However, it is no way a US thing, nor even a California thing. I add California, because I know many in the US and around the world think of the Golden State as a haven, a progressive, hippie filled state that is all about peace and love and marijuana. However, that is far from the truth. California is like Germany in the 1920s and 30s. There was Berlin, where there was a wildness in the city that was not shared, and was often looked-down on, by those in the majority of the country, who lived in more conservative areas and who, often, economically could not afford the grand life of partying Berliners. In California it is the same. Except for a few urban areas, the state is full of very conservative folks, and for them, like for those in the cities (and in the rest of the world) this COVID19 era has been devastating. Well, and the fires for Californians have been too.

Even in this cool college town where I live, which is lovely and quiet and inspiring, the painfully empty streets, movie theaters, restaurants, shops (think of all those unemployed people) is (still) staggering. In mid-March last year, right after lockdown, I took several phone videos of the deserted street in our town and the campus, but I could not bring myself to share them, since I knew that so many others here on Tumblr were experiencing the same desolation in many different ways. (I figured: “Why add to the sorrow we are living, almost globally?”) I was overwhelmed by the emptiness of the major (well, major for a small town of around 65,000 people) street where I live and the empty bicycle trails and street on campus. And by empty, I mean that even now, I see maybe 3 cyclists per hour, and very little car traffic. Remember, this is a bicycle town; I do not own a car, doing most all my errands on my bike with its 2 fordable baskets in the rear.

And now, over a year later, that same heavy, oppressive emptiness persists. And no, I am not used to it. And yes, I traveled over the last year, but I found the same suffocating blanket of emptiness in each city I visited, even in Las Vegas. It was unnerving. As a matter of fact, last year when I drove to San Francisco 2 months after lockdown for my birthday, I wound up getting depressed and disoriented, in a city where I lived for almost 7 years. Driving back home across the Golden Gate Bridge with tears of sadness in my eyes on my birthday was not what I expected. However, I did get some solid photos of the malaise that hung thick in the air, a malaise that physically took up the space that once was taken up by crowds of people.

Now, I am also very aware that my situation is unique. (Not a fan of the word exceptional, since it can mean both unique and special, and I do not see my situation as special.) My life situation is very unique in that I have a job I love and I work with a great team of characters. We get work done and we have fun, share about our lives. My job is often, especially since COVID19 first got noticed in early 2020, stressful and demands my colleagues and I learn (and sometimes then teach) lots of new technology and that we adapt to the vagaries of the technology gods, which are sometimes unfriendly and unresponsive. And a big part of my job is trying to figure out how to get the technology gods to like us again and grace us with their gifts. (I never realized, until now, with this discussion, that the troubleshooting that is a big part of my job is creative and probably fuels my photographic creativity. Who knew?) Yet, as a group, my colleagues and I support each other. And I am fortunate to count my closest colleague, Steve, as a friend. We have been a great emotional support to each other over the years and now through this COVID19 era. And I recently was reminded (as if I needed reminding) just how unique my work situation is because I participated in a committee that was going over responses to a UC Davis-wide survey exploring levels of employee satisfaction. My 2 colleagues who were also on that committee and I did not have the complaints that others from other departments shared. We work well together, have supportive management that share what is going on and include us (as mush as possible) in the decision making process. And as a department, we get stuff done.

Possibly the best example of how blessedly unique my situation is is what happened this morning when I was talking (yes, on ZOOM) with my immediate supervisor. We discussed the work related stuff, including how at around 10:30 pm the night before I figured something out about an online tool integration I had never done before that I knew was easy but I did not see as easy until I reread the overly complicated instructions a couple of times and just figured out how and where to cut and paste the lines of code (it was that easy, just fucking cut and paste some lines of JSON code) that got the fucking thing to work. Then we talked about his dealing with his young children returning to school and how “normal” now is not “normal” from before and how disruptive the whole thing has been, yet since we work in a supportive atmosphere (and are both salaried), he was able to deal and keep living.

Then, and you are gonna love this, I shared about my original COVID19 question post and the responses and pretty much said to him what I am sharing here.

We talked for a little over an hour. That kind of rapport is rare, for any job, anywhere.

And then there is another way my situation is unique. In some ways, previous “bad things” were actually a preparation for this era of physical distance and uncertainty. In mid-2019, from July to August, first because of my work related bowling concussion and then an antibiotic resistant infection, I was bedridden for about 5 weeks and then had several absences because of concussion issues, like sudden and extreme anger flare ups, nausea, headaches. But however bad I thought that concussion and infection were, the concussion induced forgetfulness and my desire to sharpen my mind and nurture and nourish it have lead me to become, in my old age, organized. I now often take notes of important stuff, add work and personal dates and notes to my Outlook calendar, and even know what day it is, which bugs my colleagues who often find they have no idea what day and/or date it is. Yep, unique, but the bad concussion shit got me to be organized in ways that I was never able to be before, no matter what I tried. This time, I just fucking get organized, without thinking about it too much. And if I fuck up with my being organized, like I did the other day for work, I admit it, fix it, and move on.

Preparation for isolation (and unexpected natural threats) came by way of the 2018 Northern California (the region where I live) fires that year, which caused the campus to shut down for about a week. (As my friend Steve called it, the smoking break.) And for work, my colleagues and I faced a couple of long term, emergency technical outages that impacted all of the UC Davis faculty, one of them for over a month. Pretty much on a professional and personal level, I was, if not ready, at least getting used to the WTF of whatever life decides to surprise me with. (And lets not forget the really bad fire last September, seen in this video I posted of ash “snow” falling. We did not have to shut down the campus because there was no one there anyway.)

Another aspect of this last year, and one that has been present in my life for a few years now, is the BLM movement and the brutal police violence against Black people in this country. As someone who was a teaching assistant and taught in African American Studies and worked closely with students of color on campus in a student run organization, I was and am still devastated, in part because I know, from hearing so many personal accounts, the pain many of my friends, former colleagues, and former students, are still facing and how overwhelmed they felt and still feel. I understand, if as an outsider, their emotional exhaustion. This has been going on for a while, plus add the years of anti-immigrant hate against the Latinx in the US and the rising tide of violent hate against Asians, and yes, it has been sorrowful. Heartbreaking. And I have, in several ways, including my photography, tried to capture the sorrow and resilience of US people of color. It hurts, almost physically, that many people of color are just tired of talking and dealing with the hate.

So, yes, my situation is unique, but with its own emotionally draining weight. And yes, I am extremely grateful. This leads to the other 2 comments in Reply:

kkomppa

Thank you for sharing, Fern. Very interesting. Like you, I would say my output hasn’t changed much. However, I have sought locations deeper in the wilderness. This has been fulfilling.

schwarzkaeppchen

Really interesting thoughts. We live in strange times, but creativity and motivation comes and goes for so many different reasons. My photography has changed a lot. I used to work as a photographer at events and took portraits for fun... Now I'm officially a portrait photographer.

Both of these comments point to another unique aspect of my life situation: For some of us, our photography and how we do it, has not changed much, and if it has, that has been a part of our overall experience with this art form we love so much.

For me, because of my depressive tendencies, the Zen of photography, at least the way I do it, is therapeutic. And I do not use the term “Zen” lightly here, because my spiritual life has helped me come to terms with the WTF surprises that are pretty much life, if at times the WTF of it is more impactful, as it is during this COVID19 era. And that is part of what I was trying to share with my original post: Before this period of isolation and disorientation, I was already coming to grips with the gospel truth that “creativity and motivation comes and goes for so many different reasons.” as @schwarzkaeppchen said. In no way do I diminish the anguish flared up by these bleak times that impact so many around the world. And really, when you think about it, bleak times have been a norm, at least here in the US, since late 2016, though, of course, lockdowns and physical distance make it all worse. But, at least for me, I try to learn from the bleak times, even if I abhor going through them. And when dealing with the highs and lows of creative energy, at least for me, I have a calm certainty that photography is part of my life and I do not have to worry, since I only love it more each day. And the other side to my certainty is that if someday my love of photography fades, some other treasure of creativity will replace it.

Let’s be real, because of photography. I think about stuff like this and get to have discussions with so many great Tumblr original photographers.

And I am grateful for it, and no, this is not unique to my life situation. I know many of us love being here and sharing the good, the bad, the confounding.

Please think about joining @tvoom and me for InConverversation this month. It has been a long time since we talked, and this COVID19 era will be our topic.

I am grateful for all y’all.

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donteattheappleshook · 5 years ago

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Of Cars and Bars Chapter 14/14

Here it is, after three years, the epilogue to Of Cars and Bars. Thank you to everyone who has reviewed and commented and sent kudos/liked or reblogged here or on Ao3 or Fanfiction.net. Every single one brought me so much joy and made me keep writing even when I didn't think I could. I hope you like the ending I gave these two idiots.

Also, as always, thank you to @kmomof4 for all your amazing help and support writing this story <3 Dedicating it to you for the last time :’(

Also thanks to @artistic-writer for helping me start this freaking epilogue when I was tearing my hair out!

Summary:

Rated E

When Emma Swan is offered the chance to go on tour as an opener for one of the most popular up and coming bands of the decade, the last thing she expects is to find that the lead guitarist is the stranger she had a one night stand with five years ago.

This started out as a smutty two shot about Emma Ruby and Mary Margaret going on a road trip and has evolved into a slow-burn mutual pining angst-fest.

Read it from the beginning on Ao3 and Ffn because tumblr eats all my italics.

Epilogue - Heal Me

I wasn't looking for you / But I think maybe I was and didn't know / Oh this is love like wildness / Coursing through you like a drug

The trial had dragged on for another month. Another month of long nights and exhausting days at the end of which Killian came home to the tiny apartment he shared with his brother and his sister-in-law drained and worn out both emotionally and physically. But it was different now than it had been. Because Emma was there. She’d stayed. She’d joined them in their cramped little two bedroom until all of the drama was over and they were finally able to go back to New York.

It had been fun if he was honest. Sure, the four of them had been practically living on top of each other, but he felt supported, surrounded by love. He and Emma spent that month sneaking around like teenagers, occasionally waking up to disapproving looks from Liam and Belle, but they didn’t hold any real venom. He could tell that they were happy he had Emma.

Emma had been worried that Liam wouldn’t forgive her. She’d told him the whole story, about how she’d promised Liam back when they were on tour that she wouldn’t break his heart and when she had, Liam had called her out on it. While he was annoyed with his brother for meddling in his life, it was also another reminder that he had a family who would always look out for him.

Liam had forgiven her. Easily, to everyone’s surprise. He’d said that he understood that sometimes it took time for people to realise their mistakes and do the right thing. Killian was shocked to hear those words come from his brother’s mouth. He was always so black and white. Perhaps Belle was rubbing off on him. But maybe it was because she had come back and Liam realized that the present and future were what mattered, not the past. Whatever the reason was, he was glad that the two most important people in his life had made peace.

Gold had been denied probation, had been denied a mistrial and he was sent back to prison. He would likely have another chance at parole, another chance to appeal the decision, but they would deal with that when they came to it. For now, justice had been served and Killian could finally rest, feeling that Milah had been avenged in some way.

When the dust had settled, they’d headed back to the States. Originally, they had wanted to start their tour right away but had decided that it was better to wait until the next summer. Besides, the Ugly Ducklings were in the middle of recording an album and Robin wanted them to finish it - wanted to have it drop while there was still some summer left. He also suggested that it would be better for them to tour after the record had been released so that people would know their songs and buy more tickets.

There had been negotiations about that. About whether or not it was a good idea to have double headlining acts or if the Ugly Ducklings should still open for Abandon Ship! since they were still lesser known. That decision had been made for them however, when the girls’ album went platinum two weeks after it was released.

Emma had been shocked. She didn’t understand what the hell had happened but somehow, overnight, they were famous. They couldn’t go out on the streets without being recognized, without constant demands for photos and autographs. Suddenly she was overwhelmed with requests for interviews and appearances on talk shows and morning shows.

That had been another reason the tour was delayed. Between the success of the two groups, there was barely time left to schedule one, hardly any time that they were both available. Belle, as both of their managers now, had wanted them to ride the success of the album, to go on tour right away. But it hadn’t been possible. So it had been delayed until the new year.

A sort of competition had started between the two bands as both their albums continued to have songs rivaling for the number one song in the country over the months that followed. Killian particularly enjoyed it because whenever Emma would brag that her song had beat his, he could brag that he still won because the song was about him. In fairness, she could claim the same.

Emma was convinced that their sudden popularity had more to do with the very public display of affection between her and Killian that day in London. She was sure that people had looked her up and found the album that way. Killian was convinced that it was the video of their last encore that had gone viral. She’d created a one-time, exclusive song that had no other recording apart from one enthusiastic cameraman who had leaked it online and the throngs of cellphone videos.

She’d given them that one taste of what she could do and then had finally released it a few months later with a whole album of equally fantastic songs. Besides, Killian had said, Why did it matter? People were listening to her music. They heard it and they liked it and she touched people with her lyrics and her melodies. Did it matter how they had gotten there?

Despite how busy they were, Emma and Killian still managed to find time to write together. They’d started in London whenever Killian had a particularly rough time with the case and needed to vent, needed an outlet for his pain. They’d continued when they moved back to New York - Emma with Ruby and Mary Margaret, and Killian with Graham and David. It was all of three months before their friends demanded that they move out of their apartments and in with each other, sick of the constant displays of affection.

Emma felt bad - kind of. She kept expecting it to stop. Kept expecting to want him less, for the pull between them to relax, to slow. She thought she’d eventually stop wanting to touch him all the time, to make love to him all the time. But she didn’t. She couldn’t get enough of him, couldn’t keep her hands to herself, nor could he keep his to himself.

She couldn't help it. She loved being around him, loved the way he made her feel and laugh and think and the way he brought out the music in her. She liked talking to him, listening to him talk, liked being vulnerable with him and seeing him open up to her. Maybe this was just love, she thought. Maybe she really hadn’t felt it before him.

One of their songs, however, had blown up in a way she never expected. Most times, when they wrote, it was one helping the other work through a bit they were stuck on, helping them fix the chord or the lyric that sounded wrong. But this one they'd written together. The lyrics, the melody, and the feelings that inspired it were equally his and hers.

They hadn’t even meant for it to be released. Ruby had overheard it when she’d come over when they were in the middle of a writing session. Her exact words had been ‘holy fuck’. She’d had them play it for Belle and the guys and Mary Margaret, all of whom insisted that the song needed to be recorded, not by either group but by the two of them, released as a stand alone single.

Belle had insisted they release it on social media first. On twitter and instagram and others Emma hadn’t heard of. They’d released it under Killian Jones from Abandon Ship! and Emma Swan from the Ugly Ducklings, and they’d recorded it in their apartment, both of them sitting on a pair of kitchen chairs in their living room with a few mics set up. Just them and their guitars playing together and to each other, two of the biggest new faces in music, one of the most talked about and gossiped about couples in the industry (and drooled over as Killian liked to remind everyone), singing a love song to and about each other.

They went viral in an hour. The song was constantly talked about online and on talk shows and in press interviews - as was their relationship. They were asked dozens and dozens of times to confirm that they were in fact a couple. Killian was thrilled that he could say yes, that he could tell the whole world that he loved Emma Swan and that she loved him too. He was even more thrilled when she was the one to say it.

It didn’t scare her anymore. She was still a private person, still didn’t like anyone knowing anything about her personal life really, but he knew that she didn’t care that the whole world knew she was in love with him. And that thought made his heart soar every time.

And then the really crazy thing happened. They were nominated. For a Grammy. They hadn’t believed it at first when they’d gotten the call, had thought it was a prank orchestrated by Graham and David. But when it turned out to be true, and it really sunk in, he’d pulled her into his arms, laughing into her neck, unable to stop smiling. He’d known that they wrote good music together, knew that she made him better and that he made her better. But he’d never imagined this.

Arrangements had been made quickly, Belle determined to ride the wave of their Grammy win - nomination, Belle, Emma kept reminding her only to receive a dismissive wave. They managed to find a way to book a tour, to move enough things around so that they could start the day after the awards from Los Angeles and then make their way across the country. And then the UK. And then the rest of Europe.

That was where they were now, in a hotel room in L.A. the day of the Grammys. Emma was supposed to be getting ready for the awards tonight. She should have left a little while ago really. But while she was excited to go back on tour, was honoured and humbled that they’d been nominated for best song, the idea of leaving the hotel room, leaving the hotel room bed where she was currently tangled up with a very attractive and very naked rockstar made spending hours being gussied up sound like a far less appealing option.

“We need to get going, Swan,” Killian said detangling himself from her arms despite her best efforts and stepping off the side of the bed. Emma pouted.

“No, we don’t,” she whined, reaching for him again but he danced out of her reach. He laughed. He always laughed when she was this frustrated, and a little needy for him too, honestly. It wasn’t her fault. He was standing there next to the bed in all his God-given glory, miles of bare arms and legs and chest and ass on display. It was really just cruel of him.

“You’re right,” he said. “I don’t have to get going. You do.”

She groaned and rolled her eyes, not happy with the reminder of what the rest of her day and night was going to look like. “Do we have to go? Why don’t we just stay here?” she asked, reaching for his hand and trying to coax him back into bed with her. He was really doing his best to resist, she could tell, but his resolve was weakening. She saw the smirk pulling at his lips, saw the way his eyebrow ticked up. He didn’t pull his hand away.

“Emma, it’s the Grammys. We’re nominated. We can’t just not go.” She couldn’t tell if he was trying to convince her or himself.

She dropped his hand, rolled over onto her back and let out another, long-suffering groan. She knew she had to go but there were so many other fun things she’d rather do instead. The fact that they’d just done them was irrelevant. He sat on the bed next to her, laughing again.

“I know that,” she said. “But you get to just throw on a suit and head out the door. I have to go let myself be poked and prodded by a bunch of strangers trying to fit me into some ridiculous dress that Mary Margaret picked out.”

“Don’t you want to go and be pampered by people whose only job is to dote on you?”

“I’d rather you pamper and dote on me,” she said, running her arm up his forearm.

“Oh, really?” he asked, eyebrows raised, leaning in just a little.

“Mhm. Poked and prodded sounds good too.”

He grinned. “And how exactly would you like to be pampered, Swan?” he asked, his own hand finding her wrist, trailing up the inside of her arm to her elbow, up to her shoulder and across her collarbone.

“You know exactly how I like it,” she told him, trying to keep her breathing steady as his hand ghosted down between her breasts, over her stomach and across her hips.

He hummed. “But I want you to tell me.” Fucking hell.

“Kiss me,” she said, still shy when it came to this sort of thing but the way he reacted whenever she told him what she wanted, when she talked when they were together like this spurred her on.

“Where?” he asked with a wicked grin. She rolled her eyes, grabbed hold of the back of his neck and pulled him down to her lips. He went willingly, his mouth sliding over hers, lips parting when she licked at them, stroking her tongue with his. She really really thought she’d get over the way he kissed some day, that she’d get used to it, that it wouldn’t turn her on as much as if his mouth was moving between her legs. But god the man could kiss. She was already squirming under him, caged between his arms that were braced on either side of her, decidedly not on her body.

“Touch me,” she whined against his lips. She felt him smile against her.

“Where?” he asked before kissing her again. She took hold of his hand, lowered it to the ache between her thighs.

“Here,” she breathed.

She felt his breath catch, puffed against her lips as his fingers met her wet heat. “Always so wet for me, Swan,” he mumbled.

“Always,” she said. “Please, Killian,” she asked and he obliged, slipping one finger inside of her, sliding in easily and pumping slowly. She arched her back, pushing up against his hand. “More,” she begged and he slid in a second finger.

“Like that?” he asked, increasing the speed of his thrusts. It felt amazing but not enough. She looked up at him, saw him watching her with that same hint of the wicked smile from before, but his eyes were darker now, hooded as she writhed beneath him. But he waited. She knew she would have to tell him what she wanted. Fine. If he was going to make her beg for it then she was going to make sure he paid for it.

She grabbed his hair, pulled his head down. “Kiss my neck,” she told him, frowning when he began pressing soft, slow brushes of his lips down the column of her throat. “No,” she told him, tightening her hold, his fingers were still moving inside of her and she canted her hips, trying to increase his rhythm. “Properly. Bite me. Lick me,” she demanded.

She gasped as his mouth opened against her skin, his tongue dragging and flicking as his lips sucked at her flesh, finding the spots he knew drove her crazy. She canted her hips again and he took pity on her, flattening his palm against her so she could grind her clit against the heel. His teeth found the spot where her shoulder met her neck, biting down, just the right side of painful. She moaned and his lips curled against her shoulder.

“Lower,” she insisted, voice cracking as she dragged his face down to her breast. He waited. “Fuck, Killian, are you gonna make me ask you to suck my tits?” she growled, getting really annoyed at this game he seemed to be having so much fun with.

“That will do, Love,” he said before shifting on the bed so that he was laying next to her, hovering over her, steadying himself on an elbow. He put a knee between her legs, kept up the slow, torturous movement of his fingers as he took her breast into his mouth, rolling his tongue over her nipple before sucking at the sensitive bud.

“Yes,” she moaned. “Use your tongue again,” she demanded and he groaned against her before dragging his tongue over her nipple, flicking at it. “More,” she demanded, not even really sure what she was asking for but when he bit down on the tip she practically screamed in pleasure. Thank God he knew what she was asking for.

“Both of them,” she begged, not realising until his fingers slipped out of her heat that she’d made a mistake. “Wait, no,” she started but he only chuckled against her breast, his hand coming to the other, cupping it, wet fingers drawing lazy circles around her nipple before he dragged his thumb over it.

Her head fell back against the pillows, a small cry drawn from her lips as she arched her back into his touch. She needed more though, missed the friction between her legs and she grabbed at his hips, trying to nudge him over so she could press his thigh against her core. He didn’t move easily though and she cried out in frustration.

“Fuck, Killian! Give me something to ride!” She felt him stiffen, felt the way his fingers pinched at her nipple in a way that didn’t seem intentional. Good. She was getting to him too. She really only had the chance to feel smug for a second before he lowered himself into the cradle of her thighs, the rough hair below his navel pressing down on her clit as he let her grind her hips against him.

Emma was reeling, unable to think of anything besides the feel of his mouth and his fingers on her nipples and the pressure between her legs that was growing with every grind of her hips against him. She was lightheaded, lost to the sensations, pretty sure she was going to come from this alone. She let out a desperate moan and felt his answering growl against her skin, felt him press his hips further into her. She wanted more. She wanted -

“I want your mouth,” she gasped. “I want your tongue inside me and your fingers. I want you to lick me, suck my clit.” She grabbed at his hair again, pulled sharply. “Eat me out,” she demanded. The words felt crass coming out of her mouth but she couldn't think of another way to say it. That was exactly what she wanted. She wanted him to lick and suck at her like a starving man. She wanted him to devour her.

He growled again, giving her nipple a harsh flick before sliding down her body, pressing fast, hot kisses across her belly on his way down. She cried out, doubling over when he began his assault, his tongue dragging through her folds once, twice, before pushing inside of her, curling and licking at the wetness there. She felt his groan vibrating through her core, sending shivers down her spine.

She moaned, called out his name, and he did it again. And then again before pulling back and sliding his fingers back in, reaching deeper, stretching her wider. He curled them the same way he had his tongue, dragging against that spot that made her see stars. She could feel his breath on her but not his mouth and she writhed in frustration.

“What's wrong, Swan?” he asked, a teasing lilt to his voice but it was obscured by the rough tenor that betrayed his desire. “Is that not what you want?”

“I already told you what I want!” she snapped, lifting her hips towards his face but he pulled back.

“Tell me again,” he rasped. Asshole, she thought, she glanced down at him and saw the darkness in his eyes, the blue almost completely swallowed by black, his lips swollen and damp. He was pleading, looking nearly as on edge as she was.

“I want your mouth on me, Killian. I want you to make me come on your tongue. And then again on your cock.”

“Because I’m the only one who can make you fall apart every time, aren’t I? The only one who's ever been able to.” She never should have told him that.

“Then prove it!”

She saw the challenge in his eyes as they narrowed. His free hand grabbed hold of her thigh, wrapping around it and pulling her roughly against his mouth as he dove in, finding her clit with his tongue, flicking and circling and toying with it before pulling it into his mouth. He added a finger, thrusting faster, stretching her, filling her so perfectly as he continued to lick at her most sensitive spot.

“Yes!” she cried. “Oh, fuck, Killian, yes! Don’t stop.” She was grinding against his face, against his fingers, riding him faster and faster to her climax. He was relentless, pressing down on her hips to hold her steady as he pulled harder at her clit, curled his fingers, dragging them against her walls on every pass. The coil tightened in her belly, in her spine, every nerve in her body burning hotter until she was sure she would burst into flames.

“Make me come,” she gasped between moans and he rolled his tongue, pulling her clit harder into his mouth, sucking deeper and she broke, her back arching off the bed, toes curling into the mattress as her fingers gripped the pillow under her head.

It felt like ages before she had enough control of her limbs, enough of her senses back to look up at him - to even open her eyes. When she did, he was kneeling at the end of the bed, eyes hooded and hand stroking lightly at his cock, smearing her wetness over it as he watched her.

“I love watching you come,” he said, voice low and strained. He moved to fall over her but she stopped him, putting her foot on his chest. He raised an eyebrow and she smirked.

“You’re not the only one who likes to watch,” she told him and felt the heat of his desire wash over her as he gripped himself tighter, his hand pumping over his generous length.

Emma cocked her head as she took him in, the clenching of his jaw, the tauntness of his neck and shoulders, and the way the muscles flexed in his forearm as he brought himself closer to the edge. His head fell back for a moment as his hand sped up and she bit her lip. Fuck, he looked hot like this, lost in his own pleasure, mouth hanging open as small, desperate sounds escaped him.

His eyes found her again, raking over her from head to toe as he increased his pace, biting his lip. She rubbed her legs together, trying to soothe the ache that was already building between them. She saw his eyes flare and zero in on her center.

“Bloody hell, Emma,” he groaned. “Please.”

“Please what?” she asked and she smirked as his eyes darkened. “Tell me what you want,” she taunted, turning his own game against him.

He growled before crawling up the bed, pulling her legs apart and pushing himself between them. She gasped when she felt the tip of him brush through her folds. He leaned over her, caging her in with his arms as he brought his face within breathing distance of her own, speaking his next words against her lips.

“I want to bury myself inside you. Push my cock deep into your cunt until you cry out like you always do when I fill you up just the way you like.” She gasped into his mouth, back arching with every teasing, shallow thrust of his hips, his cock nudging at her clit and sending shockwaves coursing through her. He brought his hand to her breast, palming it, rolling her nipple under it until it was hard, craving more. Fuck. Why did she think she could beat him at this game? “Is that what you want to hear?” he asked, catching her bottom lip between his teeth and dragging them slowly over it before moving to her jaw.

“Yes,” she moaned, grabbing hold of his hip, pulling him closer. “Fucking do it already,” she demanded and he didn’t even laugh, didn’t revel in his victory which told her that he was just as desperate as she was. He took himself in hand, finding her entrance and slid in with one firm stroke.

“So wet,” he gasped, head falling to her chest. “So tight.”

She pushed her hips up against him, letting him slip even deeper and he took the hint, pulling back only to thrust back in hard and fast and so fucking deep. She held on to his shoulders as he rutted against her, a series of grunts and gasps leaving him as he moved inside of her, his pace fast, rough, almost sloppy. She revelled in it, in his desperation and naked want for her.

She could tell he was close, the cries falling from his lips coming faster, his thrusts matching them. She felt the sweat on his back, the strain of his muscles as he raced towards that edge. She was close too. The deep, powerful thrusts hitting a spot inside of her that always sent her careening towards her peak. She brought her hand down between them, circling at her clit in time with the pounding of his hips.

“Fuck,” he breathed against her and she didn’t know if it was because of his own pleasure or the thought of her touching herself. She didn’t care though as he increased his pace, arm sliding around her back, hand gripping her shoulder so hard she was sure he’d leave bruises - wouldn’t that be fun to explain on the red carpet - and she could tell he was nearly there.

He pushed her hand away, his own fingers taking over, his thumb pressing and circling so hard it was almost painful. She let out a shocked cry as she felt herself racing towards her orgasm, no longer in control, the sensation overwhelming. She gasped into his ear, her words choking on her cries. “I want you to come.”

He groaned, hand snapping to the mattress beside her, fisting in the sheets as he drove into her at a breakneck pace before crying out against her neck. He pressed down on her clit, scraping at it as he spilled himself inside of her and she jerked, scream catching in her throat as her body convulsed, her orgasm crashing over her hard and fast and sudden. He kept his hand there and the pressure, the sting of it kept the waves coursing through her, aftershocks pulsing through her endlessly until he finally released her, stroking her gently, soothingly as he eased her down.

His arms shook with the strain of holding his weight off of her and he slowly rolled over, collapsing on his side. Still trembling, she turned her head so she could look at him, always loving the way his face looked after he came, eyes closed, brow pulled up, mouth open - an expression of blissful anguish. She reached out, stroking his cheek with the back of her hand and then brushing her thumb over his bottom lip.

He caught her hand, kissed her palm though panting breaths. His eyes fluttered open, smiling at her sweetly at first and then with increasing smugness.

“What?”

He reached out, traced her jaw with his thumb. “Darling you are going to look thoroughly fucked walking down that red carpet.”

Right on cue, there was a banging at their door. “Emma! You’re late! You have two seconds to get your ass dressed and out this door before I come in and drag you out,” Mary Margaret warned. Emma groaned and Killian laughed.

“Well, at least she’s started asking before using her key,” he shrugged. Yes, she’d only made that mistake once and she’d gotten more of an eyeful of Killian than she’d ever wanted. Emma rolled out of bed, Killian’s laughter still following her as she pulled on a bra and underwear before throwing her sweats on. She went to open the door, Killian throwing the sheet over his hips.

Mary Margaret stood on the other side, eyes raised to the ceiling before she looked down, making sure she wouldn’t be seeing a naked Killian again. She looked Emma over from head to toe and then glanced back at where Killian was laying in the bed behind her.

“Oh, for God's sake,” she groaned. “You do realise we need to be at the Staples Center in three hours and we were supposed to be at hair and makeup twenty minutes ago.”

“Can’t I just do that on my own?” she whined. “Just throw on some mascara and some lipstick and maybe a dress I can actually move in?”

Mary Margaret took a deep, centering yoga breath. “Emma. You are going to walk on stage in front of thousands of people. This will be broadcast world wide. You are not going to slap some makeup on your face and wear your damn jeans.”

“I didn’t say my jeans.”

“This is serious,” she said, taking her hands, her tone softer now. “Emma, your music has reached so many people, touched so many lives. And now people want to thank you for it, want to congratulate you for it with the biggest honour you can recieve in this business.”

Emma looked down, a bit abashed. “Okay.”

“Good. So show some goddamn respect and let’s go doll you up!” Emma’s mouth fell open, eyes snapping to her friend. Had she been tricked? She’d been tricked. Damn Mary Margaret.

After hours of being poked and prodded in a much less pleasant way than earlier, Emma was released from the studio. She had to admit, she looked pretty damn good. Her dress was a dark, midnight blue that brought out her skin tone and hugged her shape (probably enhanced it if she was being honest). Her makeup was flawless but thankfully not heavy and overdone like she’d feared. Her hair, however, had refused to lose that slight madness, that slight wildness that screamed that she had been completely and thoroughly fucked. She smiled a little secret smile at the idea.

“I told you,” Mary Margaret said as she, Ruby and Belle all took a moment to complete a few finishing touches before heading out the door. There were limos waiting outside, the guys already dressed and ready to go. They probably even had time for a nap, Emma begrudged them. And a snack, she thought as her stomach growled.

Belle had planned out the limos strategically. Graham, David, Liam and herself were in one, Ruby and Mary Margaret in another. Emma and Killian had been specifically instructed to show up in a third limo, last of the three to arrive. Belle said they needed to play up their relationship for the tour and the publicity. And they were nominated together.

Emma wasn’t thrilled about using her relationship for fame but she did like that she’d have Killian beside her all night, there holding her hand and making sure she didn’t panic and freeze up in front of everyone. Or trip in the stupid heels Belle had picked out.

Graham and David popped out of the car to say hello to Mary Margaret and Ruby. David took Mary Margaret’s hand, twirling her around like a princess as he showered her with compliments and she giggled like a schoolgirl. Graham, a man of few words, took one look at Ruby and his jaw dropped, a breathless ‘wow’ escaping him. Ruby smirked, grabbing him by his tie and pressing her lips to his. The dazed look on his face when she pulled away and wiped the lipstick off his face was priceless.

Killian stepped out, dressed in a dark blue suit that made his eyes look even brighter, as though that were even possible. His hair was combed neatly and his beard was trimmed. Emma’s jaw practically dropped when she saw him. In all the months they’d been together now, she’d never seen him dressed up like this. He looked good. She smirked as she watched his eyes rake over her, his tongue coming out to wet his bottom lip.

“Swan,” he said, reaching his hand out for her. She took it, letting him help her into the car. She slid over and he followed her in. Before the door could be shut though, Belle stopped it, one hand on the frame. She shot Killian a death glare.

“If she shows up with even one hair out of place, one smudge of lipstick on either of you, I will murder you myself. Do you hear me?” It should have been funny, but both of them swallowed, nodding, worried she might follow through on her threat. “Good,” she said, her stare still hard. “See you there.”

The door shut and Killian turned to her as the car pulled away. He smiled at her, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I got you something,” he said. Emma cocked her head to see what it might be. He pulled out a little paper bag, the waxy kind. It had been folded at the end to keep it sealed. He handed it to her and Emma opened it, the smell hitting her first before she saw what was inside and her mouth watered.

“I love you,” she said and he laughed. He’d brought her a freaking bear claw. She took a bite, making sure not to spill any on her dress and chewed gratefully. She loved that he knew she’d be starving, that he’d thought to stop at a bakery somewhere to pick this up. She loved when he did this kind of thing, the little gestures to show he cared.

She slid across the seat, tucking herself under his arm and leaning against him as she munched on her snack, even offering him a bite at one point - that was how thankful she was. She liked these moments, the quiet ones. Sure, they were on their way to a huge, worldwide event, but for right now it was just the two of them.

It was rare now that they had the chance to just sit and cuddle and feel normal. Their lives had become so hectic, but through it all, Killian had been there, had kept her feeling safe, had kept her feeling human even when she thought the world would overwhelm her. She was happy. Despite the madness of her new life, she was happier than she’d ever been. Her family had grown, she had a man she loved and who loved her in a way she hadn’t believed she’d ever deserve. She lay her head back on his shoulder, looking at him and wondering how she’d gotten so lucky.

“What, Love?” he asked, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. Emma only smiled, reaching up with her non-bearclaw-occupied hand and cupping the back of his neck, pulling his lips down over her own. She didn’t know why it had taken her so long to let him in, but as he slanted his lips over hers, bearclaw forgotten, she was damn happy that he’d waited, happy that she’d seen the light before she let him slip through her fingers. She pulled him closer, holding on tighter. She didn’t plan on ever letting go.

Belle took one look at them when they stepped out of the limo and joined their friends on the carpet. Her eyes panned over the two of them before rolling skyward, a heavy sigh leaving her.

“Seriously?”

#of cars and bars #captain swan #cs fanfic #captain swan fanfic #cs fanfiction #cs smut #captain swan smut #cs au #captain swan au #cs angst #captain swan angst #thank you everyone!

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taenys · 5 years ago

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“does it bother you that i’m still friends with *insert ex’s name here*”

oof. wasn’t ready for that one. my brain shut down the moment he said it. the way it shuts down whenever he mentions talking to her. yes, it does bother me that he’s still friends with his ex, but not for the reasons he probably thinks and not for any reasons i felt i could share during the car ride home (honestly probably a better discussion to have in writing, i might cry in person lmao). it’s not because i’m stupid and jealous and feel "threatened.”

it’s because a few weeks ago i made the grave error of snooping deeper into her facebook, and seeing a link to her personal writing blog. i too am a writer, a poor one yes, but still. and so i wanted to see her own work, torture myself and see what kind of romantic sonnets she may have written while she was with tom. i figured they’d be beautiful. and what can i say, i love to suffer.

anyways, i went back to 2010 on her blogspot, to when they first started dating and i saw?? nothing about him? nothing about her feelings for him? which freaked me out because why wouldn’t she document her journey falling in love with tom. i mean, i certainly have on my own blog. all she wrote about was about her ex. romantic stuff about missing said ex. did i have my dates mixed up maybe? no, no. because then there was a post where she literally says she’s still in love with her ex while she’s with tom and how she knows that makes her a shitty girlfriend. um yeah. very fucking shitty. did tom know this going in? i know tom dropped everything and moved across the country for her (he told me that before), but did he do that knowing she felt this way? did he sacrifice so much of himself knowing she loved someone else? if so, why? i have to assume she was tom’s “great love,” you know? that one “epic” love of your life that presumably only happens once. which is why he was willing to do seemingly ANYTHING for her.

when i think about it now, i can’t picture tom being that way. he’s too mature and sensible now. i have to assume he learned a lot from that relationship, and a lot of his outlook on dating has shifted over the years as a result. his dating profile had something like “i’m not looking for someone to ‘complete’ me” and emphasized that he’s perfectly happy on his own. that’s definitely not the same person who dropped his whole life, school, work, family, friends, and moved across the country to be with the girl he loved...that’s the kinda shit you read in cheesy teen romance novels and corny movies (that i love, btw). but still, it was a lot. and he did that for her without hesitation. and just purely based on her personal blog ramblings, she didn’t show a lot of gratitude for it. maybe that’s just because she only chose to document the negative, i don’t know.

there was one post that she wrote like a year into their relationship where she writes about feeling like she made a mistake by being with him. because of how affectionate he was with their cat, it made her jealous and that those affections should be for her only because they were promised to be. really? SHE made a mistake being with him? HE’S the one left it all behind to move out here and be with her. my god. it made me angry. and then months later she wrote another post saying that she doesn’t deserve tom, because of all that he did for her, and how little she’s done in return. he did his best to support her, financially (since she didn’t work) and emotionally. and she, in her own words, admits to being an “ungrateful bitch.” well, at least she was self aware because HOLY FUCK.

and then in the next few posts, just months after admitting that tom deserves better (can’t disagree there!), she’s writing about how she’s “through” with him. she insults his body/weight (which made me so fucking angry and disgusted) and then she openly admits that she’s no longer in love with him. and i look at the date on that post: 2012. they didn’t break up until 2015. i mean, fuck. there were like no posts in there about how much she loved him. little to no posts about how hard he was working, how deeply she loved him, it was like she was never actually in love with him? or if she was it wasn’t long lasting. i mean, she definitely didn’t express it in her writing. she wrote plenty of deep romantic shit about her ex before tom. but nothing for thomas, who she was with for 5 years and who he devoted so much to. and it just...killed me to see that. to think that he wasn’t loved the way he deserved to be. why did they stay together so long. how did he survive. giving so much of himself...and perhaps getting nothing much in return? it just...made me hurt. but that’s my own fault. those words were never meant for my eyes. who’s eyes were they fucking meant for, i don’t know.

she was very clearly going through a lot emotionally, she was very depressed, which i understand. fuck, do i understand. depression is the worst fucking illness. i still struggle with it every day. but it became very clear to me reading her old posts that tom’s purpose in her life was....to fix her. she wanted him to fix her. she demanded him to fix her. and him moving out here for her with the purpose of “taking care of her,” must have meant that he went in thinking he could? god, that just made me sad. using someone else to...make you better...fix your mental health...make you “whole,” relying on them completely and becoming so overly dependent on them that if they aren’t EXACTLY PERFECT ALL THE TIME, you grow to resent them and blame THEM for your mental health issues...it just...my god it was so wrong and it was so unfair to tom.

but it’s all in the past. this is all shit from 2010-2015. it’s been 4 years. they’re still good friends! cool! but not really because i guess after reading all of that, i just came to really...dislike her, to put it mildly. yeah, i’m okay with him being friends with his ex, as long as he’s okay with me not really being her biggest fan. i’ll probably make the :/ face when he mentions her, just as a reflex. but i’m okay with that. i’m sure she’s a better person now. she’s stable, happy, married, mature, etc. but i’ve been tainted. and it sucks. ‘cause what if someday he wants me to meet her or something? i’m going to be screaming internally the entire time. when i hear her name i just think about all that stuff. i think about how much work tom put into their relationship, how much he sacrificed, how much emotional energy he poured into it, physical energy working non-stop to support her, and she was in the meantime writing about being in love with her ex, writing shit about his “belly,” and getting pissy because of much he adores his cat.

i think to myself, my god...i would never want to be friends with a former partner after going through that. if i read my ex’s blog and they had stuff like that written about me i’d never want to speak to them again (though knowing me, i would’ve been reading their blog from day one and would’ve ended it as soon as i read “yes i’m still in love with my ex”). but maybe tom never read that stuff. if so, GOOD. it’s vile and depressing and he doesn’t deserve those words. but if he had read them and he’s okay with it? then, WOW. he’s a much stronger person than i ever could be. maybe he wasn’t okay with it at first, but they’re both better now in their own separate lives and it’s been years so he’s over it? i don’t know. maybe it doesn’t matter.

i’m caring too much about things that don’t matter anymore. i just. fuck. i love tom. so much. and reading about that part of his past made me sad. i can’t help it. i love him, i want to take care of him. i’m feeling the hurt that i (assume) he felt. the weight of all of that. i’m feeling that pain on his behalf. it’s the “empath” coming out lmao. curse my empath superpower!!!11!!1 my main thought after reading all that shit though was...tom...i’m going to love you so good. i promise. the last thing i want to do is drain you emotionally or make you feel unappreciated. because i know what it’s like. to pour your heart and soul into something, someone, for a long time, and have them take and take and take from you and give you scraps, if not nothing, in return. it’s takes the life out of you. and i never want to do that to you.

i know sometimes i get quiet. cold. distant. i’m too in my head. i’m dealing with my own depression and trauma. but it’s me, it’s not you. it’s never anything you said or did. it’s me overthinking. assuming the worst and then feeling the worst. but it doesn’t last (it might seem like it lasts longer than it does just because i am too afraid to come back to your arms for fear that you’re annoyed with me. exhausted by me. i’ve pushed you and now you won’t want me back). the quiet space i use is me talking myself down. coming back to reality. coming back to where you are. because that’s where i want to be. i’m trying. so hard. because you deserve that. i won’t ever ask you to fix me because that’s not your job. i will work hard, okay. it won’t be easy because i’m a mess too, riddled with flaws, but i love you. that i know. you won’t have to doubt that. but we’re a team. you can trust in that. we’re in this together. i promise that i’ll always support you as much as you support me.

#personal #maybe i should just have him read this lmao #fuck. i mean if i'm jealous of anything it's that she got to have your love first. and for longer.#but if i'm lucky i'll get to beat out that last record at least. can't change the past. can only focus on the future.#god that turned really mushy and reflective in the end. oops #to tom #i literally might link this post to him tomorrow because i want him to know these things. and i don't want him to think i AM-#just being petty and weird and 'no don't talk to ur ex >:( grr' when it's not really about that #but it's too nerve wrecking to say all of this in person :/ it won't come out right. my brain will implode on itself

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taesbetch · 7 years ago

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To Own A Hybrid P12

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut (eventually) Hybrid!au

Summary: The hybrid world was one y/n never really involved herself in; however, after certain events, she is tossed into a world of uncertainty in the company of a particularly rude hybrid.

Word Count: 1.8k +

A/N: this is just a small grieving chapter for Jimin because like how could I not if I did id be a straight up bitch. BUT NEXT WEEK THE CHAPTERS WILL CONTINUE BEING THEIR NORMAL LENGTH AND SHIT WILL CONTINUE TO GO DOWN.

P1 P2 P3 P4 - P10 P11 P13

“y/n?” someone whispered softly.

Streaks on your face were stinging from the hot tears you had been crying before.

Jungkook’s had continued to stroke your head soothingly as the bright orange light shone through the car window. The sun was coming up, but your feelings were still down.

“here, you guys will be safe here until I come and get you” Namjoon spoke, he’s eyes dark but the rings under his eyes.

The cottage was small and cosy, only filled with necessary furniture and items needed for survival. Jungkook looked around with suspicious eyes as you sat yourself down on the black leather couch.

“here, use this to contact me if it’s an emergency” Namjoon whispered as he passed you a sleek silver phone. Nodding your head, you kept your eyes glued to the ground as Namjoon placed himself down next to you.

Jungkook said nothing but set of to inspect the entire area.

“I…I wanted to thank you” Namjoon croaked out as his hands sat in loose fists on his knees.

You furrowed your brows in confusion getting your message across without having to utter a single word.

“I wouldn’t have been this close to Jimin if it wasn’t for you…I-I wouldn’t have met my best friend” Namjoon croaked before bursting out into tears.

Your heart clenched as you remembered Namjoon didn’t have many friends outside of his anti-hybrid fighting organisation. When you and Jimin stepped into his world the both of you made it brighter.

“I didn’t know him as well as you did but…the both of you…you’ve changed my life and I’m forever grateful” he whispered as streams of tears rushed down his cheeks. You whimpered as you tried to hold back your own tears, the two of you refusing to move any muscle in the fear that you would break down entirely.

“he’s gone” you breathed out.

In an instant, the two of you were breaking buildings. Single stones descending from you until the whole building was falling.

“I guess it was foolish to believe we could all get out of this alive huh...” Namjoon stated as he played with his thumbs.

You were hurting. you were hurting a lot.

“I knew it was dangerous…but Jimin? I never thought it’d be Jimin” you whimpered as your arms wrapped around yourself not knowing how to handle the situation.

Namjoon let out a pained noise of agreement before shuffling himself closer to you.

Resting your head on his shoulder Namjoon let out a shaky sigh.

“I don’t know what to do…I don’t think I’ve fully processed it yet” he cried as you bite your lip, feeling the crash of new tears spring on you.

“it’s okay, I don’t think we will fully process for a long time coming” you whispered as he hummed in agreement.

The two of you sat in silence, letting the ringing of silent air be your conversation as dehydration ran you. not knowing the S.T.M was over or not stung as your head pounded.

“I send you letter updates and swing by to drop off food. But…I probably won’t see you a lot” Namjoon stated as he rose from his seat.

You nodded your head as you rose slowly, making sure not to be too quick.

“ill see you then” you said as your body tried to lurch forward and hug him tightly, but you waited for him to give you a signal.

His arms flung out wide, ready for you to hug him.

With a struggled smile you jumped into his arms, giving the lanky figure the warmest hug you could muster.

“bye Namjoon” you said as the two of you separated.

Watching Namjoon drive away from the cottage was like watching the sunset. Warmth and light left you by yourself. But unlike Namjoon, you knew the sun was coming back.

Letting out a breath of frustration you prayed to the heavens above for his safe return.

As you walked back into the house you noticed how on edge Jungkook seemed to be.

“hey” you spoke as you slowly approached him.

“hey” he repeated, his eyes softening as soon as they landed on you.

“how are you?” you asked as you approached him, his face falling at the question.

“I…Jimin” was all he could say as his face hung low and his shoulders slumped down. “I just can’t help but feel guilty…I know it was a stupid move but…it was my move. No one else was supposed to get hurt because of it”

Sliding his way to the couch you couldn’t help but notice how much this was eating at him.

“hey, Jimin knew the risks. He knew it was going to be dangerous. You can’t control what we as individuals do” you explained as you followed him. seating yourself next to him you clasped his hand in yours.

“I just want it all to end” he admitted, exhaustion clear in his eyes.

“do you want to do something? Maybe go for a walk or watch a movie?” he asked attempting to lighten the mood.

You shook your head, knowing that a movie or a walk would immediately help Jungkook. But you just couldn’t do anything but mourn right now.

Jungkook turned his body towards you, already knowing what you were thinking

He held your face in his hand and started placing small kisses on your face that left small patches of warmth on your skin, temporarily lingering before disappearing and leaving you with the coldness you started with.

“I’m sorry kookie” you whispered as your hands hovered on his shoulders.

“no, don’t be. I get it, he was your friend” he said as he tucked pieces of hair behind your ear letting if gracefully fall down your face once he was done.

“ugh, I just…I feel like absolute shit. No, I- I don’t know what I feel! I just feel everything! It’s like I had a tight lid shut on extreme emotions and suddenly it's been popped open and I don’t know how to control it…everything I’ve ever known has changed in a blink of an eye” you confessed as more tears demanded to be sent free.

“I’m sorry” Jungkook claimed as his hand rested on your thigh.

“no- don’t be. It's not your fault. You’ve changed my life for the better and honestly, I’m glad I met you.” you said as pure sincerity dripped from every word you spoke.

“tell me how to make you feel better” Jungkook whispered, his eyes full of pain as he watched you attentively. His only thought to care for you.

You gave him a slight smile as he caressed your hand.

“I wish I could tell you” you croaked before falling into his embrace. Laying down Jungkook wrapped arms around you as you nuzzled your head into his neck.

“well when you figure it out, ill be here” he stated as his hand rubbed up and down your back.

“I know…Jungkook, I love you” you stated, needing to hear the words fall from his lips for brief pain relief.

“I love you too” he replied before placing a chaste kiss on top of your head.

The next morning you felt a little better. Void still nagging at you, but the feeling of your heartbreaking had eased.

Walking outside you let the feeling of sun soak into your skin as your eyes skimmed over the mountain tops. Your mind was at ease as you thought about nothing but your surroundings. No hybrid fights. No death of best friends. Just peace and beauty.

Walking up to the mailbox your heart raced at the thought of any updates from Namjoon. Strolling towards the mailbox you took a deep breath in relishing in this rare moment of nothingness.

One letter sat face down at the bottom of the rusty mailbox. Its pristine white cover slight crippled at the edges. Unprepared you picked up the letter noticing how sloppy your name had been written. Noticing how familiar it was, panic overruled your new sense of calmness.

Rushing inside the house your mind raced at the possibilities. Was he still alive? Did he sent this before he died? How did he know you’d end up here?

Your fingers shook as you held the letter tightly in your hand not fully believing what was happening was real. Not being able to wait you stood in the kitchen as anticipation coursed through your veins.

Taking a brief breath as you broke open the paper seal, you waited for whatever Jimin had sent you in his last moments.

y/n…

I’m probably going to be dead by the time you see this- if you ever see this at all –

I’m hoping this gets sent to the safety house Namjoon prepared for emergencies. I would send this to him, but I don’t want him to think badly of me after I’m gone. Anyway, back to the point of this letter. I was able to sneak past the firewalls of the entire S.T.M system. There are multiple bases around the world committed to bringing them down. We may have taken down the main base but until all bases are destroyed and all participants are contained, this will never end. There’s a bunch of locked files but I know as soon as I crack through them an alarm signal will be sent straight to the them. y/n I’ve done a lot of bad things in my life. A lot of things good people would never even think of doing. Before I sign my death sentence I just want to tell you that I’m proud of you, of both of you. I remember when you would stress about homework that you hadn’t completed and now you’ve taken a hybrid from the streets and are fighting for change on the behalf of hybrids everywhere. Never forget that you are good, and never forget what good or what it means to be good. I messed up. But the best the decision of my life was becoming your friend. Thank you.

I’ll send all the information to my second email. [email protected], the password is Busan1. All the information will be there. Good luck.

Jimin.

Your body had had enough of crying. You were exhausted and emotionally drained but you’re the small feeling of pain came rushing back to you as you traced your fingers over his handwriting.

You would never forget Jimin. And you would never let his sacrifice go to waste.

“so, what’s the plan?” Jungkook asked as he wrapped his arms around your waist, providing more support than he would ever know he was giving you.

Your eyes narrowed as a single tear rolled down your face. The last tear you would let your self-shed as determination rushed through you.

“we have to finish this”

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crimethinc · 6 years ago

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Update from the Nicaraguan Insurrection: Horizontal Organizing vs. Left Neoliberalism and the Pitfalls of Nationalism

Two weeks ago, we published a report from the uprising in Nicaragua that began in April. Since then, the situation has only intensified. Here is an update from our comrades in Nicaragua, describing the most recent developments and the stakes of the struggle. In Nicaragua, we see an uprising against the neoliberal policies of a “left” government in which a movement is attempting to resist right-wing cooptation in the absence of an established anarchist or autonomous movement. We are concerned about the prevalence of nationalist and rhetoric and imagery, but we believe that it is important to support revolts against authoritarian governments in order to generate dialogue that could open up a revolutionary horizon. Just as it will not benefit leftists to support unpopular and oppressive “left” governments, it does not benefit anarchists to refuse to engage with insurgents whose goals are still evolving.

For the past month, Nicaragua has seen daily protests against the government of Daniel Ortega. This is being called La Insurreccion de Abril (“the April Insurrection”). Over the last two weeks, these protests have escalated to countrywide blockades and urban barricades. Organized students are occupying three public universities (UNA, UPOLI, UNAN). Nicaraguans in every major city have taken to the streets to demand complete systemic change, including the resignation of Daniel Ortega. Riot police and Sandinista Youth continue to carry out pro-government repression, although this has died down in Managua, Masaya, Matagalpa, and Jinotega.

“It’s been amazing to protest in the streets of Managua without government or Young Sandinista repression. We’ve been able to do this for ten days now. It’s the first time since Ortegas came to power that we’ve been able to take the streets in this way. I truly feel as if the city is ours. We’re witnessing amazing street art, art projects, and interventions. We don’t know what’s going to come out of the dialogue. Government reform, police reform, new elections, autonomous regions?

I feel good, but it has been exhausting. We have good days and bad days. I feel emotionally drained, just working and working and working. Not really taking time to think. It’s been exhausting to live on a day by day space and time. So many doors have been opened!

Classes began at UNAN, the largest public university in the country, on Monday, May 7. Students organized a protest inside the university campus, staging a sit-in and then spending the night. This continued until the university shut down. UNAN is now occupied with an estimated 500 students inside. The students are organized as a commune with rotating personnel guarding the barricades, receiving aid, maintaining communications, re-painting old murals, and staffing a medical center. All the major roads towards the UNAN are barricaded and defended by students, causing major traffic congestion. Nevertheless, drivers cheer the students on as they pass the barricades.

The demands of the UNAN student groups are comparable to those announced by other student organizations: justice, peace, the completely restructuring of student unions, an immediate end to the repression carried out by police and Sandinista Youth, and university autonomy. Other universities, like UNA (the agrarian university), have already created their own student governments outside the state’s framework of legitimacy.

The student representatives of the Coalition of Students have announced that the students of each university should organize as best fits their local conditions, whether that means through the UNEN [the government-sponsored student union] or outside of it—whatever path will lead towards educational autonomy.

During the second week of May, police and Sandinista Youth carried out periodic attacks on UNAN each night, but people protected the entrances to the universities with cultural activities like music and singing; people spent the night at the gates of the university to secure the safety of the students inside. It’s now been about two weeks since the last major confrontations at UNAN involving police and Sandinista Youth.

In discussions with comrades who work and operate inside of UNAN, they report that they’ve never experienced this kind of togetherness and collectivity. They describe a union that transcends class, gender, and race, people united around the cause of justice and autonomy.

“Several contacts inside of UNAN advised me not to enter to conduct interviews, since it is likely that there are infiltrators from the Sandinista Youth inside the campus who would recognize me and might harass me outside.”

A map of the blockades around Nicaragua.

Managua experiences about fours marches every day, organized in different parts of the city. Each march has a different theme and a corresponding location. Marches have been connecting new historic places, like Camino de Oriente (where the revolt started) and Rotonda Jean Paul Genie (the new roundabout, which is not a memorial site) to places like UCA and Rotonda Ruben Dario that are in the center of the city.

We have witnessed marches organized by diverse sectors of the population: various colleges and high schools, alumni marches, marches of teachers and professors, marches organized by the private sector. Mothers and family members of the victims murdered by the police have also led their own marches.

At the same time, taxi drivers have created their own protests, mobilizing around the spike in the price of gasoline. You can see the phrase No + Alza (“stop the rise”) painted on windows of taxis, buses, and cars.

Nicaragua pays the most for gasoline despite having the strongest relationship to Venezuela. There is no transparency in this transaction. A general boycott of PETRONIC, the State-owned petroleum company, is also taking place.

Revolt in the streets.

The confrontations are now predominantly occurring outside Managua in smaller cities like Masaya, Sebaco, Matagalpa, Estelí, and Granada. These confrontations have led to looting and chaos in the streets as families try to protect their homes and businesses. Since the police and state officials are doing the absolute minimum, in some places there has been a push towards self-government and local assemblies. We have seen several small business sectors organize themselves to prevent looting and crime; at the same time, we have seen groups making deals with the local police to protect neighborhoods.

Most of these confrontations occur when the police disrupt protests, creating a state of emergency in a given locale. This gives looters an incentive to attack gas stations and supermarkets. Pro-government news sources then report the looting, blaming the protestors for everything. It is well-documented that the police have used live ammunition on protesters.

We can see the response to these confrontations on the walls of the city streets. Sin Justicia no hay Paz! “There is no peace without justice!” No eran delincuentes, eran estudiantes. “They were not thugs, they were students.” Se busca asesino with an image of Daniel Ortega: “Wanted Murderer!”

Fue el Estado (“it was the state”) is one of the most popular slogans we see spray-painted in every corner of the city. This slogan conveys the popular idea that the Orteguista government has corrupted the state, and the state is responsible for all the violence, destruction, and death. In this narrative, the solutions that are implied are oriented toward restructuring the state so that it will cease to be affiliated with a political party and more “neutral,” catering to the needs of the whole population, not just the Orteguistas. Obviously, this is not an anarchist analysis.

Solutions outside of the state are slowly emerging, but the process is not complete. Neighborhood assemblies, community patrols, student unions, trash collection schedules, and pirate transportation have emerged as necessities in practice: short-term solutions. As anarchists, it’s our task now to demonstrate that these can offer long-term possibilities for autonomous community-run participatory structures.

Live ammunition.

On Monday, May 14, it was announced that the “dialogue” between the state and the student movement plus the private sector and “civil society” [various NGOs and other groups] would occur on Wednesday, May 16. The student movements originally stated that they were willing to engage in dialogue, but that the ongoing police repression made it impossible. Nevertheless, a day later, a part of the student movement agreed that they would be at the dialogue table.

So far, two sessions of this dialogue have taken place; the next session is scheduled for Monday, May 21. Everyone expected the first session to turn out to be a trap against the students, but it turned out that it was a trap for the state. The church (the mediators of the dialogue), “civil society,” the private sector, and the campesino movement all supported the students in their demands that the government put a stop to the repression and recall all police personnel. For the first time in Nicaraguan history, a student interrupted the dialogue, stood up to face Daniel Ortega, and attacked him on account of his authoritarian and violent government. Daniel Ortega and Rosario Murillo never give interviews to the press, so it was amazing to see them so vulnerable.

The second session of the dialogue concluded with an agreement that the government would have their police and paramilitary forces stop attacking protestors in return for the students calling for the road blockades to be lifted. The road blockades have completely paralyzed the economy. Despite this agreement, the Agrarian University was attacked on the night of Saturday, May 19 and four students were injured. Consequently, the deal is off and the blockades are back up.

A key player in all of this is the CIDH (Commision Interamericana de Derechos Humanos, “Inter-American Commission for Human Rights”). They are currently compiling evidence and testimony to present a report on whether there have been human rights violations in Nicaragua. They will present this report later this week. This report could trigger international repercussions against the Ortegas. The CIDH, of course, is essentially a neoliberal organization answering to the Organization of American States.

The immediate demands presented to the government include justice for the 63 people who have been murdered in the course of the repression. This would involve a trial of the government and police officials responsible for their deaths. Through such a trial, there would also be a push towards separating the police from the Orteguista party, as originally stipulated by the constitution. A more far-reaching reform of the police could also happen. Through this reform, people will also push for a complete change in the system of government, including educational autonomy and separation between the Orteguista Party and public institutions.

The Autoconvocados (“Self-Assembled”) movement controls the streets with the power to mobilize hundreds of thousands in Managua, enjoying the freedom to protest for the first time in over ten years. Any negative response or suspicious activity of the government will be received with public demonstrations.

No justice, no peace.

Improvised munitions.

On Horizontal Organizing

The Autoconvocados movement is an umbrella term that can be used by everyone, but only some events are approved and legitimized by the Autoconvocado committee, a group of about 10 organizers that run the official Autoconvocados Twitter account, among other things, to which they post official events. This group operates through consensus and has no leaders.

The Student Coalition is the group representing the students in the dialogue with the rest of the State. This coalition includes representatives of major universities all over the country. It is a coalition of five different student groups, operating horizontally and through consensus. According to the media, two leaders have emerged; this is how the media attempts to create leadership. In fact, the organizing is very much horizontal. This student coalition has the capacity to rally hundreds of thousands of people, setting the tone for the discussion and reaction. One part of the coalition is the Coordinadora Universitaria Por la Justicia y la Paz; out of those with delegates in the dialogue, they have been the closest to a feminist perspective.

All the other public affinity groups that have emerged, like the Artistas Autoconvocados and Arquitectos Autoconvocados (artists and architects), are basically different sectors that are organizing themselves non-hierarchically to set up actions and promote events. There are no public leaders in these movements, only delegates and representatives.

Overall, the most obvious aesthetic of the opposition is nationalism. It is under this banner that all the solidarity and direct action has happened.

All the same, there is a lot that is horizontal about this movement. Small affinity groups organize through social media to deliver medical supplies, food, and resources to communities that have suffered from rioting and looting. Basically, these horizontal organizations are promoting a culture of participation and consensus. A culture of listening and suggesting. A culture of face-to-face politics. A culture of solidarity and inclusivity. A culture of direct action. All things we would have never learn through “party system” politics.

In terms of the future, it is this practice that is creating the theory for the short-term goals. Practices come first. First, we need people in the streets to react to the immediate actions of the government. But in this situation practice cannot create long-term goals. For that, we will need theory.

Text Messages from the Uprising

“Today was the happiest day of life.”

“I’m at the safehouse making bulletproof shields out of garbage cans.”

“They are killing us with snipers, send help send help”

“I’m on my way to Costa Rica. There were people outside my house telling me that they were going to burn down the house and kill me.”

“A tree of life fell on top of E——!”

“There are barricades surrounding your neighborhood, you can’t get in.”

“I have a group of 70 gang members ready to fight, just let us know where to go.”

“We need to occupy the Central American University.”

“Your meme made the national newspaper!”

“Friends, just got out of a meeting, our TV show has been canceled, it was too radical.”

“They’ve burned two trucks in front of my house. And the house behind mine is on fire. I need to get out of here.”

“I’m outing pro-government supporters on Tinder.”

“Don’t, worry V—– sent a drone to check out the situation.”

“Friends, I made this new group because I think there were infiltrators in the other group.”

“VICE wants an interview, what should we tell them?”

“To go fuck themselves.”

A roadblock.

Further Reading

Nicaragua, Ortega, and the Student Movement

Capitalist Development in Nicaragua and the Mirage of the Left

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littleoldrachel · 6 years ago

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Seventh chapter is (finally) up! Read it here on ao3, or here on ff.net, or under the cut. 100 Ways to Say I Love You Summary: In which actions speak louder than words, Sirius and Remus sort of fall in to a relationship, and even though neither of them have said those three all-important words, they both know it anyway.Or: 100 Ways to Say I Love You by Sirius Black and Remus Lupin.

Previous | chapter 7/100 - “I dreamed about you last night.” | Next

Based on this post by p0ck3tf0x

Tw for anxiety, depression, panic attacks, suicidal thoughts and ideation, the vaguest references to past suicide attempt, generally appalling mental health, references to eating disorders, self-hate and negative comments about weight.

“I dreamed about you last night”

Remus wakes with his mouth stretched in a silent scream, limbs taut, stomach churning, to find –

Nothing.

Obviously, nothing; it was a dream, and that was all – or maybe, judging by his state of being, a nightmare – the details of which are fast slipping through his fingers. His heart thuds painfully in his chest, and it’s an effort to untangle his fists from where they’re clenched around his sheets. The flashing images are already losing their vividness – if only his lungs could get the memo that it wasn’t fucking real, get over it. He forces in deeper breaths, counting them slowly out, and in, like he’s been taught, and then chugs the glass of water on his bedside table, as soon as he thinks he can down it without choking. A little dribbles down his chin and neck, but the cool liquid settles like a weight in his stomach, grounding him a little more – enough to glance across at the clock and see 02:37am glowing back at him.

For fuck’s sake – twice in one night? He drags a tired hand down his face, wondering just how much of this he’s supposed to take. How much more can he take, before he gives in and tries something else, because this is frankly ridiculous. The doctor had warned him that upping his medications would affect his sleeping patterns, but he can’t remember the last night of unbroken sleep.

(When does this end? When does he get to resign from this mental health shitstorm – when is he allowed to drop out?)

He does his best to halt that line of thought right there, knows that he’s only thinking it because he’s exhausted and running on the fumes of sleepless nights, knows where those thoughts lead.

(It’s too late. The dark, empty ache in his chest is back, heavier than ever – how can such an empty feeling press down on him enough to make him feel like he’s suffocating?)

The uneasiness that lingers from the nightmare sinks its claws in to Remus’ brain, and he’s spiralling; the black murkiness that drags him down so often these days clings to his vision, and out of it, crawls the all-too-familiar worthlessness despair hopelessness hate hate hate –

His lungs are tight again, only this time it’s like something’s sitting on his heart, restricting the air in his chest to frantic gasps, and he knows what he wants to do – what he needs to do. The urge to hurt himself is a fierce, burning, boiling need beneath his skin – to mark himself up in some way, so that there’s some kind of visible proof that the turmoil in his head is real and happening and valid – something that will make people not just listen, but hear him when he reaches out for help, something that will stop the doctors from brushing him off as “distressed, but not a pressing concern” –

He digs his nails in to his palms, willing himself not to scream. Instead, tears prickle in his eyes, and he is stretched too thin emotionally to even attempt to stop them from falling.

(You need to call someone, his mind supplies, as his coping mechanisms finally kick in, and he bites back the panic that swells in his chest, fills his mouth, squeezes his tongue, at the thought of someone seeing him like this, because he is past that, damn it). He fumbles for his phone, drops it twice, because his hands are sweating and shaking. There’s an awful moment where he does actually scream, because his fingers are trembling so much that he gets his passcode wrong three times in a row. The thirty seconds he’s locked out tick by so slowly, that Remus convinces himself that time itself has stopped, but then finally – finally – he hits the right combination, and is scrolling through his contacts in desperate, sweeping motions.

He slams the call button, and shakily presses the screen to his forehead as he waits. The ringing lasts four lifetimes, and the panic of what-if-he-picks-up-what-if-he-doesn’t-pick-up-I’m-awful-awful-awful rises so fast that it’s almost vomit-inducing. But then –

“Hello?” croaks a familiar voice, and Remus sobs quietly before he can help himself, as a bizarre relief-but-still-panic washes over him. He wades through the self-loathing that he’s woken a friend up at two in the fucking morning (selfish, selfish, selfish) –

“Prongs,” he manages, and hears James’ intake of breath.

Give me one second, Moony,” he whispers, and there’s movement at his end – a murmuring sound (presumably Lily) – and when he speaks again, his voice is still hushed, but Remus can tell from the acoustics that he’s moved rooms. “I’m here, love, talk to me.”

“It’s – bad – “ Remus gets out, digging ragged nails in to his forearms now, silently pleading for James to make it better.

“Breathe for me, love,” James keeps his voice gentle, and Remus obediently inhales, the rush of air dizzying. “Did something happen?”

“Bad dream,” Remus’ voice cracks, and he hates himself, hates that he can’t handle a stupid nightmare, hates how scared he is of what his life is becoming, but most of all, he hates how he’s nauseous with embarrassment, because objectively, he knows that this isn’t something to be ashamed of.

James doesn’t say ‘it’s okay, it wasn’t real, it’s over now, there’s nothing to be afraid of,’ doesn’t say any of the well-intentioned things that people tend to blurt. He doesn’t laugh, doesn’t make light of any of it, because James, of all people, knows that sometimes nothing is more real – nothing is scarier – than the inside of your head.

Instead, he says, “hey, did I tell you about what Lionel did at school last week?” When Remus pauses, he launches in to an embellished tale about a brilliant, but mischievous, pupil who had managed to put the school’s science block up for sale. Remus doesn’t pay full attention as to the details of how Lionel had pulled it off, but he allows the rise and fall of James’ expressive narration to wash over him, dragging him back to the shore and anchoring him there. When James finally finishes his story, he pauses for a few seconds, and says gently, “how are we doing?”

Remus inhales, relishing in how easy it is now, and leans back against the headboard. “Better.”

“Good.”

James lets the silence stretch out for another few minutes, and Remus closes his eyes, tipping his head until it connects with the wall with a thunk. His whole body is aching with exhaustion, but it’s not the kind that will allow him to rest, because whilst the panic attack is gone, the anxiety lingers in his chest and mind.

“What’s going on, love?” James says, and Remus curls his fingers in to his palms.

“I… I haven’t been doing well,” he says finally, and in spite of the blatancy of that statement, James doesn’t scoff. He makes a soft humming sound, a kind of ‘go on’ encouragement. “I can’t sleep. I can’t – everything hurts all the time. I – I – I –“ His chest is constricting once more, and this time he’s too fatigued and drained to even fight it. He makes a choked sort of gagging sound. “I don’t know what’s changed,” his voice cracks, and James takes a breath.

“Okay. Okay, love, keep breathing. Do you want me to come over?” His voice is carefully measured, and Remus knows that James would be here in a heartbeat if he asked. There’s a large part of him that is longing for James’ understanding silences, his warm hugs, and his gentle questions. But he can’t do that to him. Not when James has to be up in – he glances at the clock – two hours for work. Guilt slithers in to his chest to join the anxiety, and he truly does not understand what he did to deserve a friend like James.

Despite everything in his heart demanding the opposite, he says, “no. No, it’s okay.”

“Are you sure? I can be at yours in ten minutes. It’s not a problem.”

Remus squeezes his eyes tightly shut. “No. Honestly, it’s fine.”

James makes a humming sound, “okay. Fine. But I’m coming over tomorrow after school, and we’re gonna talk.” He says it with the same kind firmness that makes him such a popular teacher, and Remus – despite all the darkness inside him whispering that he’s not worth it – mumbles an agreement.

“Thank you.”

Remus can’t speak – if he does, he thinks he’ll start crying those huge, uncontrollable, wet sobs, and then there will be no stopping James.

“I love you, Moony. See you tomorrow.” James hesitates. “Please take care. I’ll have my phone on all day.”

Remus swallows hard, and the lump in the back of his mouth temporarily retreats to his throat. His voice is more than a little wobbly as he says, “I love you too. Thank you,” but he hangs up before James can say anything more.

He drops his phone on the mattress next to him without locking it. For thirty seconds, the room is semi-lit with a pale glow that casts horrendously elongated shadows against the walls, before everything goes dark. Remus’ chest feels simultaneously hollow and heavy, his head is swirling with anxiety and misery and self-hatred, his limbs are aching and leaden. He forces his palms flat against the mattress, ignoring the blood oozing from them that smears across the sheets. The thought of tomorrow’s – or rather today’s – arduous conversation further drains his energy.

And yet sleep is tantalisingly out of reach.

Sunlight is peeking through the blinds and shooting shafts of light across the room before he drags himself of the dark depths of his depression. It’s stale and stifling in here, but it’s far enough to the window that he can’t help but cringe at the thought of leaving the bed to open it. Throughout the night, he’s slid a little down the wall, and the awkwardness of the position has transformed the ache in his shoulders and back in to a full-blown burning pain. It takes an excruciating amount of time to summon the energy to move, but finally, he unsticks his palms from where they’re gummed to the mattress with blood, and shuffles in to a horizontal position. His phone is dead, but thankfully the charging cord is within arm’s reach, and he uses the last of his strength to plug the phone in.

When sleep does come, it’s the restless kind – the kind where you toss and turn with uneasiness, where you wake up feeling even more groggy and spent than before, where panic and fear jerk you awake every few minutes. It’s a throbbing pain in his lower stomach that finally wakes him for good, and it’s severe enough that he has to bully himself in to leaving his bed. Winky winds around his legs as he staggers to the bathroom. Doubled over, he retches over the toilet, but there’s nothing to bring up, and he dumps half a box of food in to Winky’s bowl before he crawls back in to bed with a hot water bottle, tears stinging at his eyes, because he hates this. He can’t keep doing this – he cannot.

Later that day, when he’s curled up in bed with a now-lukewarm hot water bottle clutched against his stomach, and surrounded by copious amounts of lemon and ginger tea, his alarm goes off to remind him to take his medication. It’s only as he’s popping the little blue tablets and swallowing them dry that he actually checks his screen, and he feels his tummy swoop pleasantly when he reads ‘Pads <3 (5 messages)’.

Pads <3 (11:13): hey, prongs told me things were rough last night [sad face emoji] i’m here for you [sparkling heart emoji]

Pads <3 (12:15): do you want company?? or snacks? cuddles? anything tbh

Pads <3 (14:56): moonbeam. i dreamed about you last night. and i don’t remember what it was about. i just know that you were there, and i woke up feeling so warm and safe and cared for. this is the way i feel about you all the time. you make me warm and safe and cared for

Pads <3 (14:57): you make so many people feel so much better, especially me. please don’t deny yourself the same love you show everybody else. we are here. we want to help.

Pads <3 (16:34): i’m sorry to do this bc you shouldn’t reply unless you want to, but if you could just let me know you’re ok/not alone it would rly help my gremlin brain i’m sorry

Remus feels the guilt curling around his gut as he realises that his silence is making Sirius anxious – the feeling contrasts sharply against the soft, tug-of-heartstrings that Sirius’ messages give him. Thankfully, his last message is less than an hour old, and he quickly taps out a reply:

You (17:19): hey, sorry to worry you. I’m okay, I’ve been sleeping a lot, sorry for the late reply

The reply comes almost immediately, and Remus feels another squirm of guilt at the thought of Sirius obsessively checking his phone for a response.

Pads <3 (17:21): moony! no no don’t apologise. how are you feeling? is there anything i can do??

You (17:24): no it’s okay. Mostly just fibro pain, it’s fine [smiling face emoji]

Pads <3 (17:25): i mean. that’s not fine.

Pads <3 (17:26): prongs said he’s coming to yours tonight… would it be okay if i tagged along?? it’s completely okay if not, i understand [sparkling heart emoji]

Remus hesitates, fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Whilst Sirius has seen him at some of his lowest points, both physically and mentally, James had been the one he’d called for a reason. There are some things that only James knows, that only James gets – James is one of the only people he can tell when he wants to be dead, when he wants to hurt himself, when everything is just Too Much. Remus likes to convince himself that it’s because Sirius already has so much on his plate, but that’s doing both he and James a disservice, because Sirius is stronger than anyone gives him credit for, and because James has a multitude of his own issues. Remus owes it to Sirius to try, he knows that – after how open and brave Sirius has been with him lately, it’s time for Remus to pluck up the courage to do the same.

But not tonight.

His heart is heavy with self-reproach as he taps out a response, and even though he knows Sirius will understand, it doesn’t stop the shame from mounting.

You (17:35): I’m really sorry but I kind of need it to just be me and Prongs tonight? I’m so sorry

Padfoot <3 (17:36): no no no! no need to be sorry, i understand. i love you and i’m here if there’s anything i can do [sparkling heart emoji] xoxo

The weight in his chest doesn’t shift, but Remus stares at the ‘i love you’ for the longest time; no matter how loudly his mind screams that he doesn’t deserve anything good, the words don’t change. Eventually, he dumps the phone back on the mattress, and then takes stock of his bedroom wearily. The blinds are still closed, it smells vile, and there are dirty clothes and empty crisp packets littering the floor, twisted around clumps of cat hair. The rest of the flat isn’t much better, he knows, because he just doesn’t have the energy for washing up or cleaning or even cooking any more. He is well aware that it’s not doing his mental health, nor his waistline, any favours, but if he cared about that enough, then he wouldn’t be in this predicament in the first place.

James is due in fifteen minutes, which regrettably isn’t long enough to turn his dank hellhole in to a socially acceptable abode, but James won’t care. James will understand. But that doesn’t mean he can’t make it even a little bit more pleasant, and so he drags himself from his bed, drapes himself in a blanket, and cranks the windows open in the apartment.

Winky comes running at the sound of movement, and he lets the guilt consume him for a moment at how shit of a cat-dad he is being right now. But the kitten is more forgiving than he deserves, purring as she rubs against his feet, and he reaches down to scratch at her ears. He half-heartedly picks up a few takeout boxes and empty cans from the floor, and changes Winky’s litter tray, before there’s a knock at the door.

Anxiety, which has been dormant for a few hours in the place of an awful apathetic depression, surges over him at the thought of the conversation he has to have now. His chest is painfully tight as he moves towards the door, and his heart picks up pace with his breathing.

James looks tired as he opens the door, but he perks up the second he sees Remus, flinging his arms wide. “Moony!”

Remus steps in to his embrace, leaning his head against James’ shoulder with a sigh. James smells like jelly babies and birthday cake and fresh-cut grass, and it’s overwhelmingly familiar and comforting. It eases the frantic speed of his heart and loosens the bands around his body a little. James sighs too, resting a cheek against Remus’ head, and says, “fuck, I’ve missed you.” Remus suddenly realises that he hasn’t showered in five days (disgusting, useless, lazy fuck), and steps back quickly, drawing James in to his apartment and closing the door.

“It’s been literally a week,” Remus points out, though he adds quietly “I’ve missed you too.”

James stoops down to pet Winky, even though it means he’ll be sneezing all night, and smiles up at Remus. “Exactly. A week without my moonshine.” He stands again, rubs his already-reddening eyes, and puts his hands on his hips as he surveys the room. Remus starts to apologise, because now that another person is here, he can see just how bad it looks, but James shakes his head. “Nuh-uh. No apologies necessary. You know I’ve been worse. Let’s clean up a bit though, yeah? It’ll help in the long run.”

Remus nods, ducking his head in embarrassment, and James presses a hand against Remus’ cheek, “stop spiralling. This is not your fault. D’you want to talk as we tidy, or d’you want to wait?”

Remus’ chest tightens in anxious anticipation. “Tell me about your day?” he says quietly, and James immediately obliges – of course he does, because this is James Potter, aka the best person he is blessed to know.

(He can’t help but feel awful at the fact that James has come from a long day at school, is obviously worn-out from a lack of sleep, and yet is now having to deal with his dysfunctional best friend. But he also knows that James would tackle him to the floor with a hug if he expressed any of that, and refuse to let him up until he relented).

(He knows this from experience).

Whipping a binbag from the cupboard under the sink, James begins to zip around the room, scooping up rubbish, with Remus trailing behind like a useless dead weight. Between the two of them (mostly James), they clear the room of trash, and James moves towards Remus’ bedroom to tackle that danger zone. Despite his best efforts, Remus’ movements are awkward and slow, because every time he twists, it sends shooting pains through his stiff limbs.

James catches him wincing as he exits the room with a grin, and his smile fades immediately. “Sit down,” he says sharply, and within seconds, Remus is cocooned in a blanket on the sofa with a heat pad pressed against his stomach. Winky bounds on to his lap moments later, preventing him from getting up again, and James looks irritatingly smug. Remus tries to protest as James goes back to cleaning, because he is truly Too Good for Remus, and James tells him to fuck off fondly.

When James finally declares his satisfaction, the flat is almost unrecognisable, and not just because the floor is visible. He flops down next to Remus, and tucks himself in to Remus’ side. (It’s different to how it is when Sirius does it; with Sirius, Remus thinks his heart might implode with bittersweet adoration, with James, it’s something equally warm, but without the unrequited romantic feelings).

Right on cue, there’s a tapping at the door, and Winky raises her head curiously as James hops up with far too much energy for a man who has just worked a ten-hour day. He returns with two pizza boxes, dropping one to the other side of Remus with an “it’s my treat.” Remus pops the lid to see a thick layer of cheese bubbling over golden mushrooms and roasted peppers, and his heart threatens to turn to the same consistency as the cheese.

“It’s kosher, don’t worry,” James says, already munching on his first slice.

“It’s not – you didn’t have to do this, Prongs.” His voice has gone embarrassingly croaky, and James fixes him with a stern look, only slightly ruined by the string of cheese dangling from the corner of his mouth.

(Remus swallows, and shoves down the voice that hisses that the last thing he should be eating is more takeout, that he’s already done enough damage with his depression binges, and that he doesn’t fucking deserve any of this. It’s easier to ignore with James pressed against his side than it was when he was alone and empty in his bed).

James keeps up a steady stream of chatter, chuckling at his own jokes as usual, and Remus soaks in his laughter, allowing it to sink in to his bones and gnaw away at his emptiness. Winky burrows further in to his lap, nosing the now-cold heat pad out of the way and replacing it with her own body heat. Her thrumming purrs as she naps go some way in settling his nerves. Eventually, their appetites sated, James turns to Remus with a more serious expression, and Remus’ heart sinks, even as his anxiety skyrockets.

“How do you want to do this?” James says gently, and Remus clenches his fists involuntarily. James’ eyes track the movement, and he says, “okay, maybe let’s start there?”

Remus forces himself to nod minutely, and the action is like a huge fuck you to the voices in his head – he physically feels, rather than hears, their clamouring and abuse falter for a moment, and it’s an oddly triumphant surge of satisfaction for such a small motion.

“Can I see your hands?” James says carefully. He waits for Remus’ assent, before gently turning Remus’ hands palm-upwards. Both of his hands cup one of Remus’, and the tenderness with which he’s being handled is enough to tug at his heart, because he is not worth such kindness. James’ expression remains carefully neutral as he takes in the harsh red marks, though Remus knows him well enough to catch the slight tightening of his mouth. Eventually, he places them back in to Remus’ lap, and folds the blanket over them, and says neutrally, “it’s been a while since you last did that.”

Remus nods, rubbing a hand over his face. “I – I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even register it until it was too late.”

“What made you do it?”

Remus blows out a long breath, and adjusts Winky’s position. “I was just – I was just so low and angry at myself. I just – I – I –“

“Breathe, Moony,” James says, tapping at Remus’ chest, and he nods distractedly.

“- I just wanted to hurt,” blurts Remus. “I wanted some kind of proof – that – that all this-“ he waves a hand around his head, “was real.”

“It is real,” James says immediately. “This shit is the realest thing you can feel.”

Remus unfurls his fingers, and stares down at the angry red marks. “I – I do – I know that. It just – I haven’t felt like this in a while. And it scared me.”

James is silent for a moment, and then says, “what else is going on in that brilliant brain of yours?”

“I’ve not been sleeping well,” Remus says finally, not meeting James’ unjudgmental gaze, because the compassion there will be too much. “My fibro’s been… fucking awful lately. Pain all the fucking time. I can’t get out of bed and everything is just so much and I’m gaining weight like crazy and I feel like fucking shit all the fucking time.”

“That was a lot of ‘fucking’s” says James lightly. “Keep going.”

Remus takes a shallow breath. “I’m just – unhappy –“ he gets out, and even those words leave a bitter taste in his mouth. Because what does he have to be unhappy about, really? He has the best, most supportive friends imaginable, and sure, he’s in love with a man who is the actual definition of ‘deserves the world,’ but at least he gets to spend time with such a kind, funny and brilliant person. He has two jobs that aren’t completely awful and bosses who are understanding when he needs time off, and sure, both are dead-end jobs that leach the soul out of him the longer he stays there, but it’s an income.

(He knows – he does know this – that this isn’t how depression works, that mental illness doesn’t just take a holiday when life is treating you well, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with when it does happen).

“I don’t understand why this is happening. Nothing’s changed. I’m not doing anything differently. It’s not supposed to be – I’m so tired.” His voice shakes and then cracks, and he swipes furiously at his eyes because he has no reason to cry about this, he’s not even sad, he’s just at the end of his fucking tether and he wants out.

James makes a slightly pained noise, and Remus realises with a jolt that his mouth is running a commentary of every self-deprecating and self-loathing thought in his mind. James’ arms have tightened around him, and Remus’ cheeks are wet, and it’s too much, it’s all – too much, he can’t, he can’t he can’t hecan’t –

The panic attack hits hard and fast – the only warning is the slight prickling in his fingertips, and then it’s like someone has sucked the very air from his lungs – he wants it to stop, he wants it all to stop. He’s vaguely aware of someone touching his shoulder, calling his name, holding his face, and he screams, wasting the last mouthful of precious air, because why won’t it stop. His head spins from the lack of oxygen and he can’t breathe, but he welcomes the black dots in his vision, because perhaps that will make everything stop.

(Please G-d, let everything stop).

It takes James a full hour to calm him down, he’s told later. As it is, Remus finds himself facing a tense-looking James, whose usually tousled hair is in a state of utter disarray. It’s hard to focus on any single detail – it all feels like too much; even the feeling of James’ fingers on his bare skin sends prickles of anxiety down his spine, and he shakes the contact off roughly.

James retracts a little further from Remus, too slow to hide the hurt in his eyes, and Remus could not feel guiltier if he tried. “Sorry,” he manages, the words are too big and too clumsy but it’s all he can cope with right now – even that small effort feels Herculean.

“It’s okay,” James says immediately, “how are you feeling?”

“Tired,” Remus mumbles, his eyes sliding shut.

There’s a pause, and then James sighs, and it’s an exhausted, sad sound that makes Remus’ heart pang, because defeat is not a word in the James Potter handbook, but that noise sounded a hell of a lot like it. “Can I ask some difficult and kind of shitty questions?” James says softly, and even though Remus knows what’s coming – despite everything in him shouting the opposite – he nods.

James blows out a long breath. “Okay. Are you depressed?”

It’s easier to be honest with his eyes closed, because at least then he doesn’t have to meet James’ concerned and caring eyes. He shuts off the reminders that he has nothing to be depressed about, and nods again.

“Do you want to hurt yourself?”

Another nod.

Another pause.

“Do you want to die?”

And isn’t that the question? Because Remus knows what it’s like to actively want to die – to feel ready to make that happen – to make that happen. He also knows what it’s like to want to not exist – because the two aren’t the same thing at all. There’s a difference between the passivity of not caring what happens to you when you step in to the road, and stepping out in to busy traffic deliberately. Using past experiences as a measure of ‘wellness’ isn’t perhaps the best option, given his track record, but he thinks he’s more the former of the two. Things aren’t all bad all the time; there are pockets of happiness, when he can laugh and smile without feeling like he’s just used up all his energy to do so. Messages from his friends still make his heart warm, and spending time with them – provided he’s not in the mood where all he does is leech the good from the room – is a sure-fire way to make him feel loved. But at the same time –

He thinks back to the nights where he’s been to empty to even cry about how utterly shit he feels. The mornings where he can’t get out of bed for wanting to just not exist. The afternoons where he should be cleaning and working and living, but instead is just praying to G-d that He will make it stop. He doesn’t pray often, he isn’t even sure if he believes in G-d, but he does know that the interludes of contentment are not enough to outweigh the awful sinking feeling in his chest that everything would be better if he were just – dead.

(And doesn’t that feel like the most selfish admission in the world?)

As much as James does understand what it’s like to be so low that ending everything feels like the only way out, James is the one who came to them, trembling with nerves and wringing his hands. James is the bravest person he knows – often to the point of reckless gallantry, but that means he does not – cannot – understand what it’s like to be too afraid to admit what’s happening to you.

He’s been silent for too long – a mentally well person doesn’t have to stop and think about that answer at all, which says everything that he’s not able to.

“Can I hug you?” asks James, in a too-fragile, too-sad voice, and Remus aches to not be the one who caused it. Instead, all he can do his nod again, and a pair of arms wrap around him gently, tugging him against a warm, solid chest. James’ lips press against his unwashed curls, and Remus feels his chest hitch at the tenderness in the motion. “It’s going to be okay,” James says just as gently. “You’re not doing this alone. I’ve got you.”

Remus remembers saying the same words when their roles were reversed, and a sob rises in his throat at the memories of nights with James curled over a toilet seat and tears dripping in to the bowl, the unexplained absences after mealtimes and the permanent stench of cleaning product that hovered in the bathroom, the stockpiling of Jammy Dodgers that would disappear overnight every couple of weeks. James was never – could never be – a burden to them, but something in him won’t let him apply that same logic to himself, because the last thing he ever wants to be to his friends, is a burden.

Just as Remus had let James cry for as long as he had needed all those years ago, so too does James, and it’s only when Remus is all-cried-out (tears drying blotchily on his flushed cheeks, snot smeared under his nose and glistening on his arms) that James speaks again, his tone resolute.

“You and I are going to the doctor’s tomorrow morning first thing. This can’t go on.”

Whilst these are the words Remus has half been longing to hear, half been afraid of, he is nothing if not self-sabotaging, which makes him protest: “No – you have work, I have work-“

“This is a thousand times more important than work, Moony. I would choose you over any commitment every fucking time. When are you going to understand that?” He doesn’t give Remus time to answer, probably because he knows that Remus will give him some bullshit response about not deserving that kind of friendship, and instead ploughs on, “I can’t make you go. I just – I want you to care about yourself as much as you care about everyone else-“

“I’ll go, I think – I want to go,” Remus says, surprising even himself. James gapes at him for a second, and then swallows down the rest of his arguments.

“I – you – seriously?”

“I don’t think I can do this by myself,” Remus says, and the honesty hurts like pulling teeth with a string and a door knob, but it’s the truth.

“You’re not going to be by yourself. I’ll be with you the whole way, if you’ll let me.”

Remus swallows, and blinks back fresh tears, before nodding. James makes a pleased humming sound that Remus feels in James’ chest as he pulls him in for another hug. “I’m so, so proud of you, Moonbeam,” he whispers seriously.

(There’s nothing to be proud of yet, he wants to say. I haven’t done the hard part yet, don’t be proud of me for finally admitting I need help, again) –

“The hardest part was telling someone,” James continues, and Remus almost flinches at how well James knows him. “And you told me. You reached out for help – you would never have done that five years ago, and you know it. Cut yourself some slack, there is no shame in this.”

Remus nods – objectively, he knows this, it’s something he’s told his friends repeatedly after all, but in his current state it’s not something he can process. “What now?” he asks instead.

James takes the change of subject in his stride. “I vote that first you shower, because I love you, but you smell, and then we order more food and watch some happy shit until one or both of us falls asleep.”

Remus smiles in spite of himself. There are no words strong enough to describe how grateful he is to have a friend like James: unfathomably kind and strong, passionately protective of his loved ones, but also bluntly straightforward.

“Do you want me to invite the others over?” James suggests tentatively, once Remus emerges from the shower, feeling marginally less shit and a whole lot cleaner, and wearing something that isn’t pyjamas for the first time in several days.

Remus shrugs, “maybe just Padfoot and Wormtail? If you think they’ll want to.”

“On it,” says James, already tapping out a message to them both. “Don’t be stupid, of course they’ll want to.” Before Remus has time to argue, James grins up at him. “What am I ordering?”

“Oh. I shouldn’t,” Remus says automatically, shoving a threadbare cushion in front of his stomach, as if he’s only just become aware of it.

“Bull. Shit.”

“Prongs-“

“Is this your fucking doctor again?”

Remus looks down awkwardly, hating the view that this gives him. “Don’t you think it’s better to listen to the ‘fucking doctor’ who actually knows what he’s talking about?”

“Not if he’s trying to fat-shame you, then no.”

“He’s not – it’s not like that.”

James looks both indignant and frustrated, but he lets it go (for now), apparently deciding that he should pick his battles tonight. “Well, I’m ordering Chinese, and there will be enough for four, should you change your mind.”

Sirius and Peter arrive together minutes before the food. Peter is gentle as usual, pecking his cheek and folding him in to a warm hug, before pulling back and signing I love you without breaking eye contact. Remus responds in kind, and Peter beams the sunniest of smiles, before stepping aside to allow Sirius entry. Sirius holds his shoulders briefly and scans him in concern – Remus deliberately doesn’t curl his hands to hide the mess he’s made of his palms, and he sees the moment when Sirius catches it, but Sirius says nothing about it. Instead he hugs him fiercely, and murmurs, “I love you so much, Moony. You’re so fucking important to me.”

Remus nods, the emotion in his throat too much to use actual words, and allows himself to be pulled in to a cuddle pile on the sofa, tucked in to Sirius’ chest, his feet on James’ lap, and Peter massaging his aching muscles one at a time. There’s a brief but heated discussion about the movie choice, because some movies are frankly, shit, when you’re Hard of Hearing, Peter tells them, and James vetoes anything Disney, because he is already inundated with it at school, but eventually they settle on Matilda. They’re barely a third of the way through before the day’s emotional rollercoaster catches up to Remus, and he feels his eyelids drooping shut. Sirius leans down and whispers, “sleep. We’re here, I’ve got you,” and it’s like it was the permission he needed.

(He is still depressed, and self-loathing, and passively suicidal. But he has a support system that he could never have dreamed of years ago. He has the best friends in the world, who would bend over backwards to make him smile, he is warm and safe and fed, tomorrow he will start afresh with recovery, and most importantly: he doesn’t have to do it alone).

#littleoldrachel writes #writing #fic #wolfstar #remus lupin #sirius black #james potter #100 ways to say i love you #depression #anxiety #panic attacks #tws galore!#self harm #mental health

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redrobin-detective · 7 years ago

Text

The Long Way Around 25

We ended last time with Izuku being offered a choice: to stay quirkless and continue the path he's been working at for over a year or accept All Might's offer and become his successor. 25 chapters have led us to this point: the big decision y'all have been asking me about since the start.

AO3

Chapter Twenty Five: Listen Up! An Offer!

As soon as Midoriya walks into the classroom and lays down on his desk, Shouto knows that something is wrong. It's unsurprising given what's happened the last few days but that doesn't mean he's forgotten the last conversation he'd had with Midoriya in the hospital. Shouto stands up and tries to walk over to his friend but finds his path is immediately blocked.

"Holy shit dude," Kaminari says, hovering over Midoriya's desk the second he sits down. The blond is wide-eyed and jittery, letting loose small sparks. "That was insane. You are a stone cold badass, Midoriya. I cannot believe you did all that shit and got away with it. Aizawa-sensei is totally gonna murder you; you should probably think about leaving the school, maybe even the country."

"You broke the internet, dude," Sero comments, holding up his phone. "You've been here, like, a week and you're already the most famous person in the class. Bakugou's super pissed about it, no surprise there."

"I thought it was inspiring," Aoyama says as he poses. "It was daring, it was bold, it made a statement. Of course, he learned from the best," he concludes with a wink.

"Deku! You scared me half to death!" Uraraka whines. "You guys weren't answering your phones and then Todoroki and Iida said you were sad and then the news was talking about you. You gotta stop doing this to me! You're gonna give me wrinkles!"

"I agree with Aoyama, I am so pumped. You've set such a high standard, Midoriya," Kirishima adds, throwing some mock punches into the air. "You gotta give me the play by play of what happened with the Hero Killer, I need to up my game! Next time we go, you can't hold back on me, ya here?"

"That was really reckless of you, Midoriya. You could have easily died; I'm surprised you weren't expelled." Asui says evenly. The class continues to gather around Midoriya's desk, talking louder and louder until it was hard to distinguish one voice from another. Midoriya continues lying on his desk, holding his hands over his head, looking like he wants to be anywhere but there.

It could be Midoriya's shyness which manifests at odd times or it could be a continuation of the situation in Hosu. Or it could be something else entirely.

"Deku, are you alright?" Uraraka asks gently during a lull in the shouting.

"Oh shoot that's right! Midoriya was upset!" Kirishima shouts, "I forgot about it with everything that happened this weekend. You okay man? You're not still thinking of leaving us are, you? You can always talk to us if you need to. As rad as your fight was, it was probably really scary too." He says in a softer voice, squating down to Midoriya's level.

"No, I'm fine. I wasn't expelled and I decided to stay in the hero course. Sorry for worrying you guys," Midoriya mutters from his desk before sitting up with an exhausted expression. "It's just been... a lot to take in."

"You shook the tenements of our society down to it's very core, it must be quite draining to be at the center of that swirling spiral of scrutiny. Fame is a fickle and unforgiving mistress." Tokoyami adds with a nod of his head.

"Yeah man, what he said," Kaminari says, jumping back in. "But for real, all that stuff about quirkless people got me thinking. I never really noticed we were treating you differently, I'm gonna do better on that. You are totally hero material, with or without a quirk." Midoriya winces before pasting on an awkward smile.

"Thanks I, uh, appreciate it," he inclines his head until he spots Shouto. "Todoroki, how are you doing? Where's Iida?"

"So you and Iida were the other ones invol-" Ashido shouts above the din before Asui covers gently her mouth.

"We don't want to get them in trouble, Mina-chan, unlike Midoriya, they're held accountable by quirk law." Asui continues.

"We appreciate your support and I am fine, Midoriya, thank you," Shouto nods, stepping closer. "Iida is still in the hospital, he should be out soon, they're going ahead with the surgery on his arm before scar tissue forms." He pauses, "are you sure you're alright?"

"I," Midoriya pauses, just for a second or two, "I'm conflicted. A lot's happened and I need to sort it all out but I'll get there eventually." There are a lot of things Shouto wants to say to that comment, though maybe not in front of the entire class when the door slides open. Aizawa-sensei stalks in and glares at them with such venom they all immediately race back to their seats.

"I'm sure you all heard what happened this weekend. Don't follow Midoriya's example. If any of you so much as thinks of doing something similar, I won't just expel you, I will break you." He lets the words sink in, "right, for homeroom we're going to go over the effects of Midoriya's reckless and unnecessary interference. I've already spoken to you about the need for silence so here's what you should say if you are cornered by a reporter."

Sensei drones on for the rest of homeroom but Shouto can't help but look at Midoriya who spends that period, and the following periods, staring blankly out the window as if the whole world is weighing him down.

XxX

"You know, when I encouraged you to fiix society I didn't mean you should go out and set it on fire," Taketsu says with a droll look as she sets her tray down at the lunch table.

Their table is actually pretty sparse considering that he's sort of famous now or something. Izuku is pretty sure the fierce glares from Uraraka, Taketsu and Shinsou are scaring away anyone who is thinking about coming over to talk to him. He's also certain those random ice pillars that have sprung up every now and again have not been "a mistake" as Todoroki claims. Still, he's thankful for the peace.

"Go big or go home," Izuku mouths off out of habit as he plays absentmindedly with his noodles. He's got too much to think about, too big a choice to make, to emotionally invest in a real conversation right now.

"You're insane, you know that," Korudo scolds lightly. "Quirkless or not, you shouldn't have gone up against the Hero Killer and you definitely shouldn't have leaked your involvement to the media. It doesn't feel very heroic, dragging out secrets out into the open like that from behind closed doors."

"Korudo, come on, give him a break," Taketsu warns lightly but Korudo continues on anyway.

"I understand you've had it harder than most but that doesn't give you an excuse to ruin lives, good people doing their job like Endeavor and the police. Change should be enacted peacefully, not like this."

"It's easy to demand slow progress when you aren't the one being affected by the way things are run," Shinsou defends sharply.

"I agree," Todoroki nods. "Your methods were unconventional and I don't agree with the way you handled it, but I acknowledge that it was your choice to use that information as you did." Izuku turns away and rubs at his face. Why does it always come down to choices for him? To be meek or be bold? To take One For All or stay quirkless? Why couldn't things just stay the same? Why couldn't he?

"Really? I thought you'd be mad for sure considering your dad got kind of caught up in it all," Uraraka comments, suddenly looking uncomfortable. "They've been accusing him of all sorts of things... they're not true, are they?

"It's fine, don't worry about it," Todoroki redirects quickly but Izuku knows what Endeavor is like, what Todoroki has to deal with at home. He probably hasn't taken this negative publicity well and there's a good chance he's taking out his frustration on his son. Izuku's fault, again, because he'd been stupid and angry and didn't think things through.

"Well, anyway, I think what Deku did was brave," Uraraka announces. "The whole reason this became an issue is because the laws don't affect him like they do people with quirks. Deku deserves to be a hero and he deserves to be treated like everyone else. I think it's great that he's trying to fix things. Heroes should have causes like this, I guess I still need to find mine. "

"The hero system is messed up and needs to be broken down and built back up again," Shinsou adds with a slight sneer. "If you ask me, you didn't go far enough, Midoriya."

"There's good and bad parts to change," Patrick says, uncharacteristically subdued. "I know you have only the best intentions at heart and these issues are long overdue to be addressed... but this has become something ugly." He purses his lips, "I watched the video the Hero Killer put out; given Midoriya's actions, people might think to connect the two."

"You take that back," Todoroki glares, "You don't know what you're saying. Midoriya is nothing like that murderer."

"Todoroki, it's fine, Patrick has a point," Izuku says dully, trying to reign in this situation before it gets more out of control than it already is. He's just so tired, he can't deal with this right now. "I hate him and what he did but I can understand his frustration. We both saw the flaws in the way things were done but he thought it could be solved with murder. I took a different approach but that doesn't mean there still aren't consequences." He mutters, wringing his hands.

He's proud of what he'd done, of what he'd started, but the more time passes the more he sees all the bad that came with the good. Korudo opens his mouth to say something but Taketsu overrides him.

"Just because they have similar ideals does not mean their actions are comparable," Taketsu says. "We all can agree society needs to be reformed but actions and intent have a lot of weight." She gives him a look, "but could you maybe slow down a bit? I know you want things to get better but you can't rush this sort of thing. The way people have been talking about you, I'm just worried is all."

"I know, I'm not trying to rush, I'm-" What was he trying to do? Be a hero, obviously, that's always been his goal, the thing pushing him forward. But he never wanted to be this, the quirkless hero, the boy who has to be vicious and spit vitriol just to be heard. He'd never had a choice before and he'd accepted it, accepted that he'd never be the smiling hero like All Might, but now...

"Hey, you're doing fine," Patrick says soothingly. "I didn't mean to get you riled up, we just want you to be careful and to put that big brain of yours to some use. We all know you're strong as hell but you stirred the pot big time; people might not like it and try to take it out on you."

"I'll be careful," Izuku mutters.

"You decided that beating a bunch of crazy powerful quirks in the Sports Festival wasn't enough so you decided to tackle the whole hero system. I don't think you know the meaning of careful," Shinsou says with a raised eyebrow. "You're gonna need a classroom full of hero students just to keep you in line." He points his chopsticks at Izuku, "speaking of which, when are you going to help me train. I've got a lot to catch up on if I'm going to get into Heroics; you owe me since Eraserhead is too busy dealing with your bullshit to work with me."

"Soon?" Izuku shrugs, rubbing at his eyes. "I'm sorry Shinsou, it's just been crazy. Also I fought a serial killer last week and I technically just got out of the hospital and... I just don't think I'm up for it now."

"Take your time, Shinsou can work through some things on his own," Taketsu says, glaring heartily their friend. Izuku tunes out the resulting discussion completely. Time. All Might gave him time to think about his decision but he feels like he'll never have enough time. He hates this situation, he almost hates All Might for putting him in it but he can't quite bring himself to.

Izuku is proud of how far he's come, of the things he's accomplished since he first decided to pursue his dreams. Taking a quirk now... that would make everything he's suffered up until now completely pointless, right? But it also would make him a better hero, he'd been too slow in Hosu, too slow and too weak.

One For All would change that, it would change everything.

His friends continue to chat and debate around him, bouncing from serious to neutral topics but Izuku is too tense and exhausted to really engage. He feels like the weight of the choice he has to make is wearing him down, sapping his strength.

What should he choose? Is One For All the easy way or the right way? Can he really turn his back on someone, on All Might, when he essentially reached out to Izuku for help? Would he change with a quirk? Would he want to be that person? Would he want to be the person who refused? Izuku buries his hands in his hair, he just wants to be good enough for once.

These questions swirl endlessly in his head all through lunch and the rest of the day. He walks home and goes straight to bed but sleep doesn't come. Instead he lies awake, staring at the insane amount of All Might merchandise in his room. Izuku knows he has to make a decision, he just doesn't know if it's going to be the right one. Sleep doesn't come to him that night. Or the next.

XxX

Katsuki bounces a basketball outside his house, angrily looking down the street every few minutes. Where the fuck was the little creep? Ever since the Hosu thing exploded, Deku has been acting like even more of a loser than usual. He's been quiet and mopey and barely talking to any of the stupid extras he hangs out with. The morons who insist on sitting with Katsuki at lunch are worried too and it's impossible to avoid all the whispers going around the classroom.

It could be worse, he thinks darkly, someone could have remembered that he lived just a few doors down from Deku and asked him to talk to the little shit or something. Which he most certainly isn't trying to do. He growls. The sun has almost set; where the fuck did Deku go when he's got half the country ready to tear him apart?

Katsuki bounces the ball roughly as he stews over the situation. His whole internship had been a waste of time; Best Jeanist did nothing but humiliate him. All he wanted to do Friday night was to scream and get away from it all. And then the news hit that Deku of all people fought off the Hero Killer, beat the asshole into a coma and then blew the whole ordeal up through the media.

Deku's only been in his stupid class a week and he's already more famous than most heroes these days. Meanwhile, Katsuki has faded to the background and become just the useless kid who got caught by the sludge monster last year. He growls with frustration and throws the ball against the side of his house before it bounces into the street.

It's not fair, nothing is fucking fair anymore.

"Kacchan, you dropped your ball," Katsuki looks up at the annoyingly familiar voice and there's Deku, holding out the basketball with a dull expression on his face. Idiot looks like he hasn't slept in a week, his bandages are off revealing a cut to the side of his throat and some scars on his wrist but he's still limping. "You okay? I don't think your mom would appreciate you damaging the siding."

"No, I'm not okay!" Katsuki shouts as he stomps forward and smacks the ball out of the nerd's hand. In the past, Katsuki could have expected Deku to stumble and cower. But this new Deku falls back into a solid defensive stance and looks ready to throw down right there. It's tempting but his mom would murder him if she found out he was fighting Deku so soon after he was released from the hospital. "I'm pissed as hell at you!"

"What? For stealing your spotlight? You can have it, I don't want it!" Deku snaps back, still not relaxing his stance.

"It's not that!" Katsuki yells, taking a step into Deku's space but the nerd holds his ground. "It pisses me off that you're in my goddamn class pretending to be a hero. I'm mad that a piece of shit like you was able to stand up to me in the Sports Festival." He grabs a fistful of Deku's shirt and pulls him close. "But I can handle all that, what really gets me is that you finally fucking do something heroic and all you can do is mope about it!"

"I-I'm not," Deku stutters, looking away for a second before meeting his eyes again. "A lot has happened, I'm just trying to make sense of it all."

"You're so full of it, everyone in the goddamn class can see you whining over how hard your stupid little life is. I'm fucking sick of it." Katsuki hisses, pushing the idiot away.

"I," Deku begins before looking down at the ground. "Why do you even care? I'm a nobody, remember? A Deku. You haven't cared about me since your quirk came and mine didn't."

"I don't give a fuck about you!" Katsuki shouts, "I can't stand to see your fucking face everyday but at least that's better than you being a goddamn coward." Now that gets Deku's attention. "So you caught the Hero Killer? You should be owning that shit instead of acting like a fucking wimp."

"People died, Kacchan," Deku says sternly. "I may have given someone permanent brain damage, that isn't... that's not something I want to be proud of. This isn't a game."

"Of course not, that's real life. What do you think heroes do? Hold villains' hands? That's what always fucking annoys me about you Deku. You talk big but when it comes down to it, all you do is run away. You didn't stand up for yourself as a kid and you sure as hell aren't doing it now."

"Well you never gave me the chance back then!" Deku shouts, pushing Katsuki back a few steps. "You've been telling me ever since I was diagnosed that I was trash. What if I maybe started to believe you? There's a lot on my shoulders and what if I'm not enough? What if stupid, quirkless Deku just doesn't have what it takes to be a hero?"

"Because that's not what a hero does!" Katsuki roars, so frustrated that he has to lay this out. "When the going gets tough, you don't fucking just give up! You get stronger, you fight back, you push and you push and you push until you fucking win! That's what All Might does and he's Number One!" Deku looks at him with a stunned expression.

"Maybe you aren't fucking cut out for this business because they don't let fucking whiners be heroes. You need to give this every fucking bit of your strength. If you're not going to do everything you can to win, then just leave. Go fuck off back to Gen Ed, I don't give a shit." Katsuki says, shoving his hands into his pockets and glares at the ground.

"You held your own against me at the Sports Festival and you showed those fuckers in Hosu. You proved me wrong, okay Deku? So don't you be wimping out on me now before I get the chance to beat you down and climb all the way to the top. I'm not gonna let a loser like you show me up for long." He leans down and snatches up his ball before stalking back to his house.

"Kacchan," Katsuki turns back and Deku is looking at him with a dumb smile, "I think I understand now, thanks." The smile shifts until it's sharp and challenging. "I accept your challenge but I'm going to be the next Number One Hero, try to keep up."

"Like hell you are, I'm going to wipe the floor with your stupid ass." Katsuki says as he kicks open the door, "You better get your shit together, Deku. Won't be fucking much of a victory if I beat your ass when you're being such a crybaby."

"You can try and don't worry, I'll be ready," he hears Deku shout back before Katsuki slams the door shut. He fights down the grin that tugs on his face, finally, a proper challenge. There's no way Deku will ever beat him but Katsuki will enjoy watching him try. He ain't half bad, for a quirkless piece of shit, it will be a pleasure beating him.

Maybe he can convince that annoying teacher of his to let him spar with Deku sometime soon now that he's been cleared for fighting. He's still got a score to settle and a challenge to win.

XxX

Thursday morning arrives just like any other day but it feels like the week has dragged by with painful slowness. Toshinori walks into Yuuei full of nerves over seeing Young Midoriya again; the boy has clearly been avoiding him this past week and it's putting him on edge. Gran Torino and Nedzu are convinced that the young man will accept his offer but the more time passes, the more Toshinori disagrees.

What had he been thinking offering Young Midoriya One For All? There's no doubt that the boy would be an excellent successor who would use the quirk honorably but that's beside the point.

Midoriya Izuku is not him; the boy didn't let his quirklessness define him and had grasped heroism with his own two hands regardless of what people said. Trying to give the boy a quirk now, after everything he's been through, might seem insulting. He hadn't meant it that way, of course, but he has a way of bungling up everything he does.

He walks into the school quietly, not drawing any attention since he's in his true form. In his briefcase, he has his normal supplies but also the various files Nighteye has been giving him. As much as he's become stuck on Young Midoriya, he needs to be prepared for the very real possibility of being rejected. The best thing he can do right now is respect the young man's desire for space and prepare himself for whatever choice the boy makes.

But fate has a way of defying him when he turns around a corner and nearly smacks right into the young man currently on his mind. He's got on a large All Might sweatshirt and matching hat over his uniform, presumably to avoid being swarmed by reporters and students alike.

"Ah! Alllllllllll-" Young Midoriya's eyes go comically wide, "Right! All right! Hi uh how are you doing?" The boy babbles, looking around to make sure no one noticed his near slip.

"I'm doing quite well, Young Midoriya," Toshinori chuckles fondly. "I trust you're feeling better? I er hope those reporters haven't been giving you too much trouble. I like the sweatshirt, it's a nice touch," he adds on with a cheeky smile. Young Midoriya looks down at his sweatshirt suddenly as he remembers who he's talking to.

"It's comfy," he says quietly as an excuse. "And I am doing better thanks. Everyone's just been a little clingy but it's nothing I didn't bring upon myself," the boy sighs. With the normal pleasantries out of the way, the atmosphere becomes heavy and awkward with the unresolved business between them.

"Well, I uh guess I'll be on my way then. Have a good day, my boy, I um hope to hear from you soon. Whenever you're ready is fine," Toshinori says in an uncomfortable jumble. Good grief, what sort of mentor does he expect to be if he can't even talk normally to his potential student? Had Nana ever felt this nervous around him? He starts to slink away, before he can make an even bigger fool of himself.

"Oh uh, I was actually trying to find you. I've uh made my decision," Young Midoriya mutters, biting his lip with an unsure expression.

"Really?" Toshinori questions gently. "If you need more time, my boy..." Toshinori says even as his body is telling him that he really can't wait much longer.

"No, I think I've dragged this out long enough. Is there somewhere more private we can go?" The boy asks at the same time the warning bell goes off. They stare dumbfounded at each other for a moment.

"I should get to class." "You should head to class."

Toshinori coughs into his fist while Young Midoriya chuckles awkwardly and, miraculously, the tense atmosphere lightens up a little bit.

"You go to class, we can talk after school when there's more time. Come to the room we met in earlier this week for our discussion," Toshinori says, almost going for a shoulder pat but deciding against it halfway through, leaving his arm hanging awkwardly in the air.

"Alright, I'll see you then," Young Midoriya says with a tired smile before racing in the direction of his classroom before he's late.

Toshinori smiles as he watches the boy sprint out of sight, feeling in better spirits than when he'd arrived. Things would work out regardless of whether or not the Young Midoriya took One For All, he'd go on to be a marvelous hero either way. And Toshinori hopes that he and the young man will continue their relationship even if the boy chooses to remain quirkless. No matter what, he considers himself lucky to have met Midoriya Izuku.

Despite his buoyed spirits, the day seems to pass by agonizingly slow since he's had to cut down on the number of classes he teaches. Toshinori flips lazily through some of Nighteye's files but he knows that he can't seriously consider any of them so long as there's still a slight chance that Young Midoriya will accept his offer.

Toshinori clenches and unclenches his fists as he glances at the clock; he hasn't felt this nervous since he was a boy trying to live up to an impossible legacy. He wonders if Young Midoriya feels the same way. Unable to wait any longer, he makes his way down to the unmarked room 20 minutes before classes let out and forces himself to relax. He's brewed some tea and is finishing his second cup when there's a rapid knock at the door.

"Come in," Toshinori calls and Young Midoriya quickly enters before shutting the door behind him, leaning up against it.

"I'm sorry I'm late," the boy says with a sigh. "It's been almost a week and I still have a hard time maneuvering through the halls, don't people have better things to do than gawk at me?"

"Hmm not every student is plastered on every newspaper and television screen. If you want to be a pro you'll have to learn to deal with that kind of attention." Toshinori smiles as the young man deposits his bag and settles himself in the chair adjacent to him. "Would you like some tea? There's enough here for two."

"Um not right now," Young Midoriya says nervously. "I need to get this out of me before I explode." He takes a long, deep breath and looks him square in the eye. "I will accept your power, All Might." Some of his bravado leaves him as he ducks his eyes.

"I've given this a lot of thought and your quirk will give me opportunities I wouldn't have otherwise. I wasn't strong enough to Hosu and people suffered because of it. I... wasn't sure this is what I wanted but someone told me that being a hero means never stopping, never giving up a chance to be better. I can do that now, with uh your help."

"Are you sure? This is a big decision and I don't want you to regret it." Toshinori asks, fighting down the hope building in his mangled chest. He thought he'd be turned down for sure, never could he have expected-

"I am. I've wanted to be a hero since I was little, because I wanted to be the kind of person who helped people, who made them feel safe. That's not the type of hero I'm starting to become and it's scaring me. I know I can be a hero as I am but-but with One For All, I can afford to be a better hero and a better person." He sighs, "no matter my misgivings, if I say no I'll regret it for the rest of my life."

"My boy," Toshinori beams with delight, setting down his cup as he finally allowed himself to bask in the joy and relief he's feeling. His search was over and he couldn't have found a better student. "You're going to make an excellent successor. It would be my honor to teach you."

"So what do I need to do?" The boy asks resolutely, unaware of the trials he was about to endure. But he's strong, he'll be able to handle the strain.

"Now we need to prepare your mind and body to accept the quirk." Toshinori grins, "here's what you can expect."

#boku no hero academia #fic: the long way around #bnha fics

8 notes · View notes

honeykngdom · 7 years ago

Note

What's happened? What post has a bunch of notes and why are people sending you nasty messages? 😞

Tbh, I wasn’t gonna reply to this, and I’m still contemplating whether this is a good idea, but I had way too much on my mind and I needed to say this.

I’m putting this under a read more because I don’t need this opinion of mine taking off like that last one, but I hope that my followers take a moment to read this because it’s really important to me and several others within our fandom.

This is another shitpost, this is very long, and this is strictly my opinion.

IT WAS A SHITPOST WITH VERY MINIMAL THOUGHT PUT INTO IT, BUT RAISED A GOOD POINT NONETHLESS.

Pretty much someone’s like vs reblog ratio made me snap one afternoon; I had previously been talking to a few other content creators (writers, photographers, artists, etc) within the Riverdale Fandom specifically about how they’re struggling to get noticed/get their work out there because of the lack of exposure (in Tumblr’s case, this would be reblogs). I hadn’t meant for the post to go past my circle of followers tbh, and this past weekend its almost tripled in note size (started at just over 2400 saturday morning - we’re at over 6000 today, and still growing). Suddenly, I’m the worst person in the world for having this opinion and saying something (which, by the way, is the opinion of the majority).

Regardless of how many people wasted their time harassing my blog/inbox/IM, the majority is still 80/20 in favour of people reblogging posted works because common courtesy trumps everything always.

I’m completely done with this site and these people. “We don’t owe you anything.” You’re absolutely right, you don’t owe me - or anyone else - anything. You’re not obligated to reblog peoples work, you’re more than welcome to continue to like it (or not, whatever works for you), I never said you couldn’t do that. But likewise, as a content creator writing/releasing for YOUR viewing/reading pleasure, regardless of whether or not I enjoy writing for myself (which, I obviously do), I’m not obligated to post my creations or share. ** Bad Omen can sit in Docs for the next 20 years, and I’ll keep writing it, but that doesn’t mean I have to post chapters anymore, and that would suck for everyone. ** No one has to draw you cute things about/involving your OTP, or make gifs for your fandom for your enjoyment/viewing pleasure, no one is entitled to give anyone anything on either side of this argument.

Content creators post because we wanna share what we did. We did a thing, and we are damn proud of that thing, so we decided to share. That in of itself takes a lot of guts for some people. Sharing what I write still gives me anxiety, as I’m sure it does for a lot of people, so please don’t kid yourself into thinking that those in favour of this argument are all here being entitled and demanding. People are literally asking for a reblog and some exposure. I took the time - out of my free time - to make something I thought others would enjoy. Insinuating that if we don’t have enough traffic on our posts/if we feel the need to complain for more activity on our blog, then our content must not be good, is an incredibly arrogant and ignorant statement to make. Period. I’m sorry if my post offended you, I’m sorry if you think people are too ‘bitchy’ or ‘whiny’, as some people have put it. Tumblr would be a pretty lame place without creators sharing their work for the remainder of the fandom to enjoy, and that’s a fact.

Imagine this: waking up tomorrow and no one posted anything original for a whole week. No new gifs, no new stories, no new original content for you to enjoy. Idk about you, but as someone that thoroughly believes in supporting others work, my dash would be pretty boring and bone dry.

In terms of sfw/nsfw posts, aesthetic blogs, rp blogs, underage bloggers, etc:

I understand what it’s like to run a blog (I am currently doing so, so I am up to date and aware of what that means, ya feel?). I have run several over the years, of all variables. Much like I understand that I have an audience to cater to, I understand that all of you do as well. There are some blogs run by people (like myself) with the intent of releasing/reblogging content for viewers to enjoy. There are blogs run by people that reblog for themselves, bc it’s their blog and it’s just for them. Both are completely okay. I have had someone (incredibly close to me) come forward and agree with that I had said, but remind me that they lean towards OCD tendencies and that their blog/colour scheme is presented in a specific way, and that is why they had only liked that OP, and not reblogged it. There are people unwilling to put NSFW content on their blog bc it’s a safe space, etc etc. I’m not disagreeing with anyone’s reasons as to why they don’t reblog everything they like.

I said if you liked something, and you thought others might like it to, then it wouldn’t hurt to reblog - and I never said it had to be everything that you liked. I still stand by that that statement. It benefits everyone. People make connections this way, people make friends this way, people find something to help bring them out of dark places in their head, either by reading/admiring art, or taking the time to create something that distracts them. Getting into a different head space is necessary for some people, and this is really important to consider and understand.

I’m not entitled for speaking out for those who can’t and won’t because people (like the anons in my inbox) would likely drive some people off of this site. One of the first comments in response to the post had been that there were people struggling to get 100 notes on their work, and that I wasn’t in any position to speak out on the topic. Here is my counter: my blog is a high traffic blog, and my follower platform is fairly large so I know I’m talking to a lot of people right now. But I also have pretty thick skin so I don’t mind being the voice every once in a while, and I thought about deleting the OP but why should I? Nothing I said was false. Nothing I said was inaccurate. Nothing I said targeted any one specific person, so I don’t know why some people are taking it so personally. I didn’t say the example used in the OP was mine, I wasn’t ‘bitching’ about 500 notes, I was speaking out on behalf of my author and artist mutuals/friends. I’m not being ‘ungrateful’; I’m constantly blown away by how supportive my platform is, I don’t think there’s anything I could say or do to show you guy how much I appreciate each and every single one of you. I just don’t understand why it’s so difficult for people to just consider this topic as a common courtesy thing. Ex. don’t make people wait on you (ever, this is my biggest pet peeve, I have an entire video rant I did a year ago on this), don’t cancel last minute, don’t be a no show, use your manners (please and thank you still go a long way in today’s day and age), support content creators. (And if you’re gonna come into my inbox upset about my common courtesy examples, then gtfo. Everyone should have manners, like y’all weren’t raised as barbarians, I’m almost positive about that.)

FYI: If you’re struggling to get recognition/notes/support with your work (art, writing, edits, etc) then my post is about you because reblogging helps you. I’m not picking a side, I’m not talking about me, I’m simply a (loud) voice.

You do not get to go into someone’s inbox, or comment on someone’s shitpost, and tell them what kind of a person they are based on an assumption. And you most certainly do not get to do that to me. I know what kind of person I am. I know I have my flaws, and I know that I can be really blunt and straight-forward, and I know that scares a lot of people. But I’m also really kind, and empathetic, and believe in karma. Do to others whatever you would like them to do to you. I get a lot of support and kind words and feedback on my writing, and I like reciprocating and giving that back. I’m a very big believer in supporting content creators, because at the end of the day, what we do? Is hard.

Working media programs for image and video manipulation? Hard. Working with crappy colouring and low quality content to create an edit? Hard. Stringing together words that both create mental visual images and piece together to tell a story? Hard. Drawing accurate depictions of characters? Hard.

I was in an Arts program for high school. I graduated from that program with a double major and a minor (red seal certified), honors in English, and with a business certificate of endorsement. I have friends from every place on the arts spectrum. Believe me when I say that what we do is not easy; it is time consuming, it is exhausting, and I can guarantee there is no one more excited about our work than ourselves, and we are our hardest critiques - but we love sharing what we do with everyone else.

So no, I don’t believe it’s a far-fetched idea that people LIKE receiving recognition for something they created. What a concept.

As for the other content creators on my post talking about how they hate people like me for ‘whining’ - okay, just because you enjoy creating and releasing for the heck of it, doesn’t mean there isn’t someone working off commission and working hard to get themselves out there. As someone who’s interested in pursuing an actual career in this field, I have a very strong opinion about this topic. We all start somewhere. Being in this field of work (the arts specifically), whether you’re looking to make money or otherwise, is exhausting, time consuming and emotionally/mentally draining. It’s not a far-fetched or improbable idea that someone starts their career for their passion here, by creating a foundation and platform for their work, and putting themselves out there. Again, if you wanna post for the sake of posting, congrats, you do you, I don’t have anything at all against you; I’m still gonna support you bc that’s who I am and what I think is right. Personally, as a content creator, I feel pretty good when I attract new readers/followers bc the content I reblog/post interests them.

I don’t need validation. I don’t need encouragement. I don’t need any of the above; I’m very good at what I do, I’m very confident in that, but I understand that not everyone is, and sometimes a little goes a long way, y’know?

And then ofc I have the odd person/reply that’s talking about advertising and comparing the example I used in the OP to statistics and how 485 likes to 34 reblogs is normal in terms of exposure - homie, this is Tumblr. This isn’t Marketing 101. My work is not ADVERTISEMENT, it’s original RELEASED CONTENT. There is a big difference between the two.

Basically, I said sharing is caring and y’all are offended and mad at me. Drink a Kool-Aid Jammer and simmer down, sisters.

#answered: ooc #long post #shitpost #rant #i swear to god if this gives me heat too #im gonna turn off my inbox for the rest of the week #at least the anon option #watch how many people stop bothering me then #smh #this is a waste of time.#Anonymous #save #im seriously gonna hate myself for this #like really gonna hate myself for this #I already know #but here it goes.

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prettyxlittlexwriter · 7 years ago

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Meet My Wife: Ch 22

A/N: Thank you all so much for the feedback! It makes me ridiculously happy to have you on this journey with me. Sorry for the break in updates, I’ve been SO sick, in addition to working on the podcast and getting ready to go away on vacation next week! I hope you enjoy this update <3 - Sarah

As always, read it all on AO3: Meet My Wife

Your eyes are gritty from crying and you roll over in the uncomfortable motel room bed. Everything you own is piled on a chair in the corner and your brand new passport is resting on top of the small nightstand, beside a one way plane ticket. A few phone calls to your mother’s attorney Mr. Deering had resulted in a very speedy liquidation of all your bank accounts as well as your expedited passport application. It all happened so much faster than you ever imagined and now that it was real, you were having second thoughts.

Your forced your exhausted body up and swung your legs over the edge of the bed. Everyday since you’d left, you’d gotten on your bike with the intention of returning home and groveling on your knees until Sherlock forgave you for everything. And everyday, you’d stopped short, blocks from the flat, chest heaving as you remembered one important fact:

You did not deserve that forgiveness.

Tomorrow you would board a plane and begin your self imposed exile, taking with you only a scant few belongings in addition to the weighty baggage of your shame and sorrow.

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

Back at home, you feel empty and alone. Ethan is out of town, Sherlock’s gone and even if he wasn’t that’s done now. The date for your divorce is less than a week away. You bring your hand up to touch the wedding rings around your neck, but remember it’s gone. There is just a blank space there now and you know that you’ve done the right thing. It’s time to leave the past behind you. Sherlock’s forgiven you and after your talk, you feel a sense of closure about the events leading up to your departure.

Something Sherlock said keeps tickling the back of your brain and you revisit his comments over and over during the course of your day. Out of sheer frustration and the desire to prove him wrong, you pull out the drawer of Ethan’s desk where he keeps his receipts for work and shuffle through them until you find the most recent dry cleaning bills. You reconcile the drop off dates with the corresponding trips aboard, taking into consideration how long he was gone and how many meetings he likely had. The corners of your mouth turn further and further downward with each receipt you review. If he was in six days of business meetings he’d need at least three to four suits and no less than six dress shirts. These receipts had only one or two suits and one or two dress shirts.

With an angry grunt, you shove the papers back where you found them and curse Sherlock for making you question Ethan. He didn’t want to be away from you, traveling all over, sleeping in hotels, boarding plane after plane. He did it as a means to an end, to get himself positioned for the domestic division desk job. He was just paying his dues and you knew this was the plan since the beginning.

When Ethan arrives home, you are waiting for him. He scoops you up and carries you to your bedroom. He sets you on the bed and you watch as he empties his pockets, setting his wallet, change and phone down on the night stand. You do a double take as you realize has put his phone screen side down. You give yourself a mental shake, thinking angrily that Sherlock has worked his way into your head and you just want him to leave you alone. Ethan collapses on the bed next to you and you reach for his belt, but he stops you.

“Babe, I am jet lagged to hell and I need a shower,” he says, his eyes glancing up at you apologetically.

“Of course,” you say, nodding sympathetically. “Of course.” He pushes himself off of the bed and heads for the bathroom. As soon as you hear the water running, you grab his cell phone and look through. You aren’t sure what you are checking for, so you look at his texts, his pictures, his emails, his recent calls, his contacts and you find nothing. You quickly move to his suitcase and unzip it. Four suits, four shirts, four ties, and nothing out of the ordinary.

Taking a deep breath, you try to replay everything you know but, as Sherlock instructed, objectively. Yes, your love making had dipped a little, but Ethan was traveling so much and you … well you were with Sherlock. There were a few times he’d left the room to take a call, but that could have been for any number of reasons. Maybe there was a bad connection and he needed to be near a window? Maybe he needed to focus because the caller had a thick Japanese accent? Maybe it was just private work stuff? It didn’t mean it was another woman. And maybe he had fewer formal meetings with his new role. The dry cleaning bills could just mean nothing. It all could just mean something, but it could also just be you jealous lover trying to convince you there was more going on.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, you rub your hands over your face a few times and wish you could quiet that nagging voice in your head, which happen to sound a lot like Sherlock Holmes.

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

A sharp knock at the door makes Sherlock leap from the couch, crossing the room in two quick, long strides. He pulls the door open and his shoulders fall as he realizes it’s just Mycroft.

“Well?” he demands as his brother pushes past him, not waiting for a formal invitaioton in.

“She’s fine,” Mycroft says, laying a folder down in front of his brother. “She’s emptied her bank accounts and purchased a ticket to Tortola in the British Virgin Islands. She has made reservations there at this hotel, for one week,” he says removing one of the papers.

“I need to be on the next flight there,” Sherlock said, pushing himself away from the table. He staggered a bit and steadied himself on the back of a chair. He had been worried sick for days, wondering where you’d gone to. He’d called Mycroft in a panic and he’d used the resources at his disposal to locate you.

“First the list, brother mine,” Mycroft requested, holding out his hand. Sherlock dug a small piece of paper out of his pocket and handed it over. “Is this it?”

“Just enough to take the edge off,” Sherlock replies, rubbing his bleary eyes. “I need you to drive me. To the airport.”

“Of course, but think about this perhaps,” Mycroft starts, “She left, didn’t bother to take any of her belongings, didn’t have the courtesy to tell you where she was, that she is alive, drained your accounts and purchased ONE, that’s one, plane ticket to a remote island in the Caribbean. I would say that she is pretty much done with this life and moving onto another.”

“She’s hurting and I’ve got to get to her,” Sherlock insists.

“You don’t need a plane ticket,” Mycroft explains. “She is holed up in a little no-tell motel near Heathrow. Has been for days. That’s less than a twenty minute drive from here.”

“Take me,” Sherlock says, grabbing his coat and stumbling out the door. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror on the wall and pauses. It has been days since he’s shaved, his eyes are bloodshot, his hair matted and unwashed. “No wonder she left,” he scoffs at his reflection. Mycroft places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Caring is not an advantage,” he says quietly. “Maybe Y/N has gotten it right. Leaving all this sentiment behind…” Sherlock sags against the wall and closes his eyes.

He remembered the last words you’d’ spoken to him. you’d called out after him, saying you loved him. Why didn’t he just say it back to you? Four words. Four words you needed to hear. I. Love. You. Too. He was angry, he was heartbroken, but none of that meant he’d stopped loving you. At the time, he wanted to hurt you; retribution for making him hurt. Now, it all seemed so childish. Mycroft was right and had been right all along. He was emotionally unfit to be a husband or a father. He knew what he had to do.

“Let her go,” he croaked, more to himself than to Mycroft. “She deserves better.” Sherlock says, pushing himself off the wall. He opens the door and gestures for his brother to leave. Mycroft nods once then allows himself to be shown out. He places his left hand on the door, pushing it shut and has he does, his wedding band catches his eye. You are still his wife, you two are still married. You will have to return, eventually, and when she does, Sherlock vows then and there to be better.

TAGS:

@thebookisbtr @cutie1365 @undiscoveries @shimmerybutt @fangirl-who-dreams @cele715 @theofficialbritish @tongueofareadywriter @hanzas01 @lazilysaltysweets @nerd-gal-4-ever @thefaultinourstudying @hpfan0324 @arrowswithwifi

#Sherlock Holmes #Sherlock #sherlock BBC #BBC Sherlock #sherlock x reader

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artificialqueens · 7 years ago

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The Ghost of Room 203 (Trixya) Chapter 9 - Bramble

A/N: Sorry for the wait in between chapters. Enjoy!

Before Trixie knew it Friday came and that meant treatment. Over the rest of the week she had spent her time divided between the group, class, therapy sessions and in Katya’s room. The two had initially not gotten off the best start, Katya seemed to pretend nothing had occurred between the two, even going as far as insulting Trixie indirectly. Trixie had then gone marching to room 203 demanding questions, to which Katya’s logic was that she couldn’t just act nice around her.

It was flawed logic in Trixie’s mind, surely she could just not acknowledge Trixie instead of insulting her.

Aaron was slowly improving, he still had dark circles but his skin was returning to its natural colour. It was Thursday that he scared everyone when he banged his side into the door to the rec room. An intense bruise appearing quickly. He later explained to Trixie that a symptom of his cirrhosis was bruising more easily. It sucked but he was used to it.

It didn’t take a genius to tell something was off with Willam. He had distanced himself more from Courtney, and the whole group. He was overall, quieter. But no one pointed it out to anyone else.

Trixie’s mother even surprised her with a visit, making up for the fact she would not be there on Friday. It hadn’t gone well. She insisted Trixie talk about herself, treated her differently and overall make Trixie feel worse off. Luckily, Kim walked into the room interrupting the conversation. After that Trixie’s mother excused herself, something about work, but Trixie knew her work schedule. She didn’t work that day and wasn’t on call in case she was needed. She just wasn’t comfortable around more ill people.

She had been here a week and she could already find herself falling into a routine.

Except today was foreign waters. She didn’t have therapy later, she had treatment. She was sat crossed legged on Katya’s bed. She had told the group she had other plans today and not to worry when she didn’t show up to therapy. Aaron had given her a knowing look when she walked off with her lunch in hand.

As if they weren’t close enough over the past few days their bond had grown stronger. Trixie had confided in Aaron about her relationship with the Ghost and how they were getting closer. He didn’t seem as repulsed as Trixie imagined Willam would if he found out.

“Where are you at?” Katya waved a hand in front of Trixie’s face.

“What?”

“Where’d you go, you spaced out on me there,” Katya looked concerned as she stared into Trixie’s eyes.

“Oh sorry,” Trixie looked down at her food. Her appetite not with her today.

“You need to eat, chemo on an empty stomach won’t be fun,” Katya acknowledged Trixie’s full tray. “It is chemo you’re getting right?”

Trixie nodded as she picked up half of her sandwich and took a bite. She couldn’t deny it tasted nice but she still didn’t want to eat it. The thought of her treatment scared her.

“Do you want me to try and arrange it so I can be there so you aren’t alone?” Katya inquired.

Trixie shook her head as she took another small bite. “You need the physiotherapy.”

“Damn you for caring more about me than for yourself.” Katya chuckled. “So how is the pig?”

“I told you to call him by his name.”

“I personally believe pig suits him better,” Katya shrugged.

“Willam, is still being funny. I don’t know what it is and it’s infuriating.” Trixie sighed.

“Maybe he’s being released.” Katya shrugged as she went back to eating her own lunch.

Trixie thought for a minute before deciding it was best if she just focused on finishing her lunch. Finishing half of her sandwich Trixie pushed the tray away from her. “You sure you don’t want someone there today?”

“I’m sure,” Trixie reassured but didn’t sound too convincing. “Besides I’ll have my nurse with me.”

“If you say so,” a knock at the door stopped the conversation before it carried on anymore. Trixie knew Katya wouldn’t stop until it was too late or she caved.

“Time to go I’m afraid.” It was Ben at the door, he wore a sad smile as he let Trixie say goodbye to Katya for the time being.

“Remember,” Katya said grabbing Trixie’s hand before she could walk away. “You’re only dying if you tell yourself you are.”

Trixie nodded as she walked past the door, she would be ok.

—

Treatment was as expected, hell. Trixie hated sitting unable to do anything besides watch the fluid drip down into her blood. They were killing her to keep her alive. Halfway through her nurse came and chatted with her before leaving. It was safe to say, Trixie would not go to a treatment alone ever again, not without something to occupy herself with at least.

She was lying in her room when the door was sent flying open. Behind stood Willam with a manic smile on his face, he was up to something. It was the first time all week that he had seemed his usual self.

“Get up loser you’re not being a hermit any more,” he said as she strolled into the room to force Trixie to get up. “I’m not allowing you to be The Ghost 2.0”

“You don’t even know her,” Trixie grumbled as she sat up, a dizzy spell washing over her slightly.

“What?” Willam asked surprised by Trixie.

“I’m just saying, you don’t know why she stays in her room or anything.”

“So we’re defending her now, that’s new.” Willam waved off as he dragged Trixie up. “I feel like I barely see you at meal times now, where do you go.”

“Leave her alone,” Aaron chimed in with a plain expression on his face.

“You know where she’s been?” Willam asked with a raised eyebrow. The rest of the group stood timidly behind the three of them and watched the altercation take place.

“So what if I do, she has a right to not tell you.” Aaron shrugged.

“Well I’m her friend don’t I get to know why she hasn’t been hanging out with me?” Willam challenged.

“Like you actually care,” Trixie snorted as she pushed past Willam. “Or have you forgot you have been cold to all of us, even* Courtney.”

Courtney looked down at her hands as she began to fidget. The rest of the group didn’t know what to say so they remained quiet. “That’s not the point, where have you been?”

“Willam,” it was Courtney that spoke in a quiet voice trying to get him to stop at the same time Aaron said, “Stop!”

“You really want to know where I’ve been?” Trixie pried. “Fine, room 203, you happy?” Trixie exclaimed pushing past everyone and storming down the corridor. She knew Therapy was soon but she didn’t want to deal with the group right now. She stormed down to the garden and pushed open the fire exit so she could get a breath of fresh air.

—

Trixie had to drag herself to therapy soon after. She doesn’t want to face Willam after the incident in her room not long ago, but she knows if she doesn’t attend it’ll raise questions. She feels exhausted, from treatment to the argument, she is emotionally and physically drained. When she gets to the room she sees the group in the middle of a conversation. Aaron is sat arms crossed across his chest with Alaska trying to reason with him. He seems visibly annoyed.

Trixie takes a seat at the back with Kim, she’d rather be a Debbie Downer than have another argument. Kim seems surprised to see Trixie hanging around with her but welcomes the change as the session starts.

It would be the only Art Therapy session Trixie willingly took an active part in. Splashing large strokes of reds, blacks, and blues across the canvas. Trixie’s piece by the end of the session looked a mess of colour but the meaning behind it stood clear.

She was leaving when Courtney pulled her aside. “I know he is unreasonable most of the time but hear him out, please,” were her only words before she left.

Trixie looked up to see Willam looking somewhat sad but also with a hint of annoyance. “The Ghost, really? We’re we not good enough for you?”

“If you’re going to be like that then forget it,” Trixie sighed.

“No wait, I’m sorry, please listen?” Willam said more concerned now. “I’ll forget about the Ghost.”

“That’s big of you,” Trixie retorted crossing her arms over her chest.

“Whatever,” Willam drifted off. “I’m being released, and that’s scary, ok?” He exclaimed.

“Distancing yourself so you don’t hurt us? I get it, trust me I tried when I found out I was terminal.” Trixie explained. “But you don’t have to be a dick when I find other people to hang out with.”

Willam sighed as she nodded. “The Ghost of all people though,” he whined.

Trixie gave him a look that read ‘watch it’ before speaking. “Get to know her before you say anything else. She’s a good person.”

“If you think she’s good she must be decent at least, so you getting in there?” He asked wriggling his eyebrows up and down.

Trixie laughed before shaking her head. “You are a vile, vile person.” She hugged him quickly. “Are you having a leaving party, you know, a last hurrah?”

“Depends, are you planning it?”

“That can be arranged.”

#the ghost of room 203 #trixya #bramble #lesbian au #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #willam belli #courtney act #alaska thunderfuck #sharon needles #bianca del rio #adore delano #hospital au #tw terminal illness #rpdr fanfiction

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butheresthething · 7 years ago

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Sometimes Life Chooses For Us

“Wyatt Earp wanted to be a farmer. 30 seconds in the OK Corral, and a gunslinger he was made. Sometimes, life chooses for us.” This line from the Wynonna Earp pilot, said by Doc to Wynonna, came roaring back to me this week because replace a few details about farming and the OK Corral and it might as well have been said about Wynonna. In those 24 words, Doc previewed one of the central themes of the series, the tension between fate and choice. Realizing that we don’t have as much choice as we thought and doing the best we can to navigate the decisions life forces on us. It’s a theme this entire season, really the entire series, has explored in different ways. We’ve seen Wynonna, much like her great great grandfather, thrust into a role she never asked for having to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders even if she can barely manage the weight of her own demons. But the other thing this show is about is what it actually means for her to be forced into the role of hero. Everything has consequences, this isn’t John Wayne riding off into the sunset unscathed at the end of the movie. Being the heir shapes who Wynonna is and she pays a price for every decision she is forced to make and every consequence of the curse that is beyond her control.

Episode 10, I See A Darkness, brought a lot of that back into focus. In quiet moments in between the rush to save Nicole, in subtle emotional beats played beautifully, as usual, by Melanie Scrofano, and ultimately in the crushing moment where Wynonna realizes that Waverly didn’t wait, we see the pressure that comes with being heir, whether it be the moral ambiguity she has to embrace to do what needs to be done or the weight of the endless onslaught of being the only one who can do it. Episode 10 reminds us that nothing about being the heir is fair or easy.

Wynonna has always had a darkness to her and an affinity for the violence that surrounds her. It’s a darkness that predates becoming the heir, but almost certainly has its origins in that fateful night when the seven took Willa and Wynonna shot Ward. But what’s relevant here less where it came from and more how she uses it. Throughout the series, we’ve seen Wynonna channel her rage and anger into a laser focused determination that can often be quite ruthless. In 2x10 this was on full display when she threatens Rosita and forces her to be the test subject for Jeremy’s anti-venom. Whether she actually had to threaten Rosita or not (she didn’t) is not really the point. There was no way for her to know that for sure. They needed a test subject strong enough withstand the cure and didn’t have a lot of time to find one. As disgusted as he was, even Jeremy acknowledged that there weren’t a whole lot of other options. And the thing is the people who surround Wynonna have the expectation that she will do what they can’t regardless of how difficult or emotionally taxing. No one is asking Jeremy to choose between possibly letting Nicole die or forcing Rosita to endure painful testing. Yes, he is the one who has to do the testing, and that’s not nothing, but he gets the luxury of not ultimately being the one responsible for the decision. Wynonna carries that burden. In another example from 2x10 Nicole asks Wynonna to end her life if things get bad. In truth, I loved seeing that moment of trust between Nicole and Wynonna, but it’s an incredibly difficult thing to ask Wynonna to do. Not only is Nicole asking Wynona to accept the emotional cost of ending the life of a friend, but she’s asking it as the only person Waverly loves as much as Wynonna. She’s asking Wynonna to bear the brunt of Waverly’s anger and grief because she’s the only one who can. That is what it means to be the special one, the one people depend on. Wynonna doesn't get to decide something is too hard, unfair or distasteful. With the fitting, but brief, exception of Doc in the season two premiere, there is no one who can take a turn shouldering the burdens of the heir. It’s practically written into the curse because she’s the only one who can even use Peacemaker. So Wynonna does the best she can with the hand she was dealt. She endures the cost of digging into her darker instincts to help her compartmentalize and push away emotional distractions until the crisis is averted.

I sometimes wonder if Wynonna’s darkness doesn’t scare Waverly a little. Whatever Waverly’s darkness is that keeps getting alluded to, we haven’t really seen it yet (Gooverly doesn’t count) and it’s one of the most striking contrasts between the sisters. I remember first noticing it in episode six of season one when Waverly and Wynonna are in the diner looking at the picture of the seven. Waverly says she hates the picture and is repulsed by it. But Wynonna says that she loves it because it reminds her why she’s needed. She is feeding off of all the ugliness it makes her feel to give her purpose and drive her forward. We see the contrast again in season 2 when Wynonna and Waverly are talking about finding everything that got into the ghost river triangle and killing it at the end of episode one. Waverly’s response is a simple, “sounds messy,” while Wynonna, with a hint of determination and swagger, says “braving the winter while hunting demons in an endless cycle of violence? Sounds fun” (I am also aware that this is a nod to the audience about to join Wynonna on this ride). Again one leans into the darkness the other is repulsed by it. To be sure, Waverly does her own compartmentalizing, but instead of ruthlessness or anger, usually when she does it she redirects her focus to helping others or making them feel better (For example I think her “that’s what she said” joke after getting her hand chopped off was as much to make Wynonna feel better as it was anything else). Perhaps most relevant to episode 10, Wynonna also says in the premiere that her only job is to keep her baby sister safe. Not even to protect her, which could more reasonably be interpreted by Waverly to include prioritizing Nicole. As with the seven Wynonna is zeroing in on a simple and single minded purpose to propel her to action. It’s easy to believe that Waverly wouldn’t fully trust Wynonna to use the Seals at least at leverage if all other options failed or there was no time left. We’ll never know for sure what Wynonna would have actually done. I personally think since she gave Peacemaker to Willa in season one to save Nicole, she would have made a similar decision if she had to in this situation, but I can understand Waverly not being willing to bet Nicole’s life on that.

There is no right way for Wynonna to navigate being the heir or to handle the extraordinary circumstances she finds herself in. She’s making the most of the tools she has. If using her rage and anger keeps her from getting pulled under then that’s what she needs to do. There is no judgment there. But but that doesn’t mean there are no consequences either. In interviews about 2x05 Melanie said a few times that in a way Goononna was who Wynonna might have been if not for the curse (you know, minus the evil and the rat smoothies). If not for the curse she would have had that lightness and fun about her that Goononna did. The tragedy of Goononna was getting a glimpse of what an unburdened Wynonna could have looked like. We’ve also certainly seen Wynonna reach her breaking point before, sometimes in healthy ways like leaning on Waverly for support at the end of 2x06 and other times in unhealthy ways, like binge drinking at the beginning of 1x09. But inevitably, before she knows it, the curse will demand more of her and Wynonna will use her strength to push past her own needs and save those she cares about from whatever is threatening them this time.

Through most of 2x10 Wynonna stays solidly in her “do what it takes to fix it “ mode. She doesn’t have time to be sad about her friend or be indecisive about moral ambiguity. But Mel lets us see beyond that, she brings us into the tension between Wynonna’s resolve to do what she needs to do and the wear and tear of doing it. Our first glimpse comes early in the episode in Mercedes’s hospital room where Wynonna talks to Mercedes, but really herself, about all the ways the Widows are kicking their asses. The guilt over what happened to Mercedes that had been there throughout the scene is joined by a look of exhaustion and a little exasperation. We see the losses weighing on her and that the energy it takes just to keep up is physically & emotionally draining. But before she can even take a breath she hears Waverly’s screams for help in the other room and the moment is over. We see that weight again in the already discussed interactions with Rosita & Nicole. It’s most clear with Nicole when Wynonna, realizing what Nicole is about to ask her, says “Nicole, please don’t ask me to do this,” and then the note of resignation on Mel’s face as she makes the promise to honor Nicole’s wishes. It was heartbreaking to watch Nicole plead with Wynonna to end her life, but it was equally difficult seeing Wynnona make that promise and accept responsibility for yet another no win situation. Even with Rosita, while her words never give her away, Mel’s face and body language tell a story of someone who doesn’t like what she has to do, who knows exactly how cruel she’s being and takes no pleasure in it. She confirms as much later with Doc when he says “but she sure can feel the pain” and her response is “they all can.” Her line implies that even though most of the revenants are evil and deserve their fate, each act of violence she’s responsible leaves a mark on her as well. Whether it was her choice to be the heir or not, she is responsible for the consequences of her actions, including the toll a life of violence takes on her own spirit.

All of this makes that final blow with Waverly that much more tragic and heartbreaking. Perhaps the saddest moment in the whole episode is Wynonna practically skipping down the hospital hall with the cure for Nicole. She thinks she finally has an unequivocal win. She beat Faux-cedes without having to give up the seal, no one died in the process, and she was able to keep her promise to her baby sister. But we know what’s coming, we know it’s all about to snatched away from her. Worse than that is it’s Waverly, Wynonna’s tether to the light and the person that keeps her grounded, who snatches it away. That it’s Waverly, of all people, that not only robbed Wynonna of her win, but enabled the curse to once again choose for her is utterly devastating. Remember, Wynonna was trying to take control of the curse and break the seal on her own terms. She thought she could come up with a plan to free herself and her family from the curse forever and without having to play by its rules. But Waverly took that from her. Took her chance to beat fate. I don’t really blame Waverly for what she did and as much as I like to think I’d have kept the faith and trusted Wynonna, I’m pretty sure I would have made the same decision. Waverly chose the certainty of Beth-faced Widow’s cure over the hope that Wynonna would be successful. It may have been the wrong decision, but it’s one I understand. But whether Waverly’s decision was reasonable or not doesn’t make the betrayal Wynonna feels any less potent. It doesn’t change the impact it’s going to have or mitigate the consequences for Wynonna. Wynonna will most certainly find her way to forgiving Waverly despite what Waverly might think. Their bond and need for each other are too strong for her not to. But right now, or at least up until she disappears, Wynonna has been betrayed by another sister (calm down, I’m not trying to suggest there’s actually any equivalence between Waverly and Willa, plus any one who’s talked to me about the show before knows just how much I love Waverly, so don’t @ me on this) and left to deal with the repercussions of the choice life made for her.

#wynonna earp #waverly earp

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ironiedevivre · 5 years ago

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i worked so hard to learn how to separate my self worth from my ability to work and be “productive”

and it’s come crashing down again in a pile of anger and guilt that i feel like i can’t handle more -- and that i don’t want to try again, at least not in that way. i don’t want to hurt myself just because i need money.

“life is too short to tolerate things that don’t make you happy”

every job i’ve ever had working for someone else has been ok to great financially, but mentally, emotionally, and physically Way Too Much and genuinely traumatic, no matter how much i enjoyed the actual day to day work (until it became Too Much too).

last full time job, bosses were outright abusive in every imaginable way (and got away with some of it simply because it’s not illegal and/or the paycheck was needed too badly). i spent every single fucking day wanting to walk into traffic on the way to work -- and i wasn’t the only one. that was everyone. spending what’s left of your meagre pay on alcohol at night to get through the days is not a way to live.

job before that, was retail stockroom. loved it, even when put on the sales floor, but it was absolutely exhausting and physically demanding past my limits. i experienced an overuse injury so bad it’s permanent - i have permanent chronic back pain and mobility issues. i can’t stand for too long, can’t sit for too long, can’t do prolonged or repetitive lifting, stretching, or bending.

and that’s not even taking into account headaches/migraines and severe fatigue and other chronic pain.

dr put me on one (and then another entirely) anti-depressant/anti-anxiety med that also should’ve helped with the pain. it didn’t. and i have to be careful combining it with otc pain meds or it causes even more liver damage.

and then i got a contract gig that should’ve been the best thing ever - it could not possibly be more ideal. i got to work for/with a friend, from home, set my own hours, research fascinating things, every week was something different, and i rarely had to interact with anyone.

flamed out of that too. body went through a 2 week crash, extreme fatigue and pain. i literally slept for almost 2 weeks straight.

new dr put me on a second anti-depressant, sent me for x-rays to check my joints, and even my blood work came back weird af.

and with them all, i never had enough time for anything. there were never enough hours in the day. there were weeks where i almost never saw sunlight. i felt like i was being slowly tortured to death. it was completely draining in every single way... soul sucking but to the absolute extreme and physically draining.

and at the end of it all, i really can’t hold down long-term employment. i do better in short bursts. very short bursts.

and yeah, gig work absolutely sucks financially because it’ll never be enough, especially for someone with as much debt as i have.

and i can understand that feelings can be fixed, trauma reactions can be managed, adhd is (allegedly) treatable, and some doctors (not mine) help with chronic pain and fatigue

but i don’t want to fix those things with the intention of making me employable. happier, more stable, for the sake of my health and happiness now. (and no, being employable is never going to be better for my health whether from a marxist standpoint or my own history. having money, yeah. having something to do, yeah. but there’s more than one way to get those things.)

maybe i “don’t know what i want to do when i grow up” anymore necessarily, but i know what i don’t want....

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bangtan-babe · 7 years ago

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You’ll Be Okay (Part 4)

A/N: Sorry that it’s been so long since I updated, but school just got in the way :( But now I’m on vacation so I’m definitely gonna be writing more often. I hope you guys like this even though my writing is crap lol. Let me know what you think of the story so far! :D

Characters: Jungkook x Reader/ Yoongi x Reader

Summary: While on a flight to Korea, you meet Jungkook. But you somehow find yourself remembering your time with Yoongi. It brings back emotions and leads to unexpected events taking place.

Length: 3k

Genre: Angst/ Fluff

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4.

Something burned inside of me. It was a never-ending sensation that I couldn’t seem to get rid of.

A flash of light crossed through my closed eyes as I lay in my bed sweating profusely during the middle of the night. His smile shined across the room as the doors to the terminal closed. It wasn’t a warm feeling but rather a stab that penetrated my skin. I grunted. “Come back,” I murmured as I shifted sides on my bed, unaware of what was going on. “Come back,” I grunted again amplifying my voice while moving my blankets with my feet. “COME BACK.” I immediately rose up breathing heavily as I lay my chin on my knees.

\.\

Today marked the fourth week of my move to Korea. It was odd to think that I had been staying here for nearly a month. It felt like it was only yesterday when I decided to pack everything I had and leave my home. But to be honest, it wasn’t a smooth transition. Most of the time I was confused as I navigated this foreign country. The very process of buying a few groceries was difficult.

After last night’s nightmare, I couldn’t go back to sleep. Instead, I had made a bed for me on the sofa. Over the last couple of hours, I was positioned horizontally with my eyes glued to the television screen. As the commercials played in the background my eyes quickly shifted to the picture of my friends and me during college. I remembered that Jungkook had been staring at it intensely a week ago. His expression was odd, but I didn’t question him about it. I thought maybe it was me overthinking situations as usual. Still, I couldn’t seem to let go of what had occurred. I had so many questions that I wanted to ask him. Not only about the photo, but just about him in general. I told this stranger my heartbreak, yet I felt like I knew nothing about him. I pulled out my phone from under my pillow and quickly typed away. I shook my head and erased the message. For a few minutes, I was just staring at my screen, unsure of what to write.

“Hey Jungkook, just wanted to say hi and ask how things are going. :)” I hit send and shut my eyes abruptly. I felt like I was always bothering him. After we met last week, I thought that he would at least continue talking to me. But, from the beginning, I shouldn’t have had any expectations. He was technically a stranger. We never talked a lot. On the plane, we were stuck together, so of course, we talked. But once we landed, the conversation halted. Part of me was disappointed because I thought he seemed compassionate and understanding, someone who was willing to make an effort.

“Hey Y/N. Sorry I haven’t reached out. I’ve been really busy lately.” Busy? What was he busy with? Not to sound like an obsessive overprotective girlfriend, I was just curious. Then again, he did tell met me that he worked in music so I guess it must be demanding.

“Yeah I understand, work must be pretty tiring I bet.”

Jungkook replied instantly. “Honestly it can be hell sometimes lol but I love it so I’m not complaining too much.” A smile spread across my face. I admired how he was dedicated to his career. Also, I was kind of jealous because I wanted to be in his position. I wanted to be able to do something where I could say I’m exhausted but never actually give up.

“Damn must be nice...I mean not the hell part but the fact that you love what you do. That’s pretty dope.”

“It wasn’t always enjoyable, trust me. But if you love something you just don’t stop until you get it.” Okay now, this was getting pretty deep. I’m sure he was talking about his job but why did I suddenly feel he was directing it towards my situation. I paused on that thought for a while but then quickly dismissed it. I must definitely be overthinking things again. Quickly, I decided what I should say next. I didn’t want this conversation to be deep and thought-provoking, I was too drained emotionally for that. Especially since it was only 3 pm. If anything it would have been more appropriate at night.

Trying to hide the awkwardness I was feeling, I wrote “Haha yeah.” I saw that Jungkook had read my message. While it wasn’t anything he could obviously respond to, I wished he would say something. Ten minutes went by then twenty and then an hour. Jungkook still hadn’t replied. It hurt, almost has if I had been betrayed. I mean he must have known I messaged him for a reason, to do something, to hang out, to talk, anything honestly. I just didn’t want to be stuck in my own head space. Yet, I guess it didn’t matter. It was just a dumb conversation we had. I was beginning to think that the conversation on the plane was just like that. Just another way to make time go by more quickly. If anything I probably entertained the fuck out of him with my sad and depressing life story. “Whatever Jungkook. It was nice while it lasted,” I thought.

\.\

As much as I wanted to stay inside and wallow over my loneliness, I decided to go out. It wouldn’t help me if I stayed home all day long. Around 9 pm I headed to Hongdae. It was filled with people shopping and walking around. It reminded me of NYC and I felt a sudden ease as I moved from store to store. When it got fairly late, I decided to head over to a bar. A little alcohol always calms my nerves. As I approached the bouncer, I was nervous because while I was legal to drink in Korea, I had a petite frame and looked fairly young for my age. He asked to see my identification. When I showed him my card, he examined it for a while and then motioned me to head inside. I felt a sense of relief.

The bar was dark and smelled like a mix of sweat and hormones. It was packed with people. Somehow I forgot that it was a Friday and everyone would be out at this time. As I walked over to the bartender, I passed by a lot of people who were either drunk or on the verge of being drunk. To the left of the bar, there was a fairly decent space for dancing. People had already begun pasting their bodies next to each other as they moved to the music.

“Can I get a beer to start?” I asked the bartender in Korean. As she was making the drink, she suddenly spoke to me in English. “Where are you from?” she asked. My eyes widened in shock. “I’m from New York,” I chuckled in surprise. I spoke with the bartender for a while. I found out that her name was Hani. We talked about how she learned English and what was good to eat around Hongdae. When more people came to the bar, I ordered a few more beers and shots. I was beginning to feel loose and walked away from the bar to the dance floor. I swayed from side to side trying to feel the music. Also, I was praying I didn’t throw up since I wasn’t the best drinker.

Suddenly, two hands grabbed my hips from behind. They moved simultaneously as my body did. I quickly spun around and a massive guy with dark hair and eyes stood over me. He was not only tall but insanely buff. He grinned at me. I could tell that he was wasted out of his mind. His head suddenly came closer to my ear. “You’re very pretty,” he said in Korean. I understood just enough Korean to comprehend what he was saying. I smiled politely “Thank you, but I have to go,” I spoke back trying to make myself heard over the loud music. But the bodybuilder just didn’t get the hint. “No don’t leave. I want to talk to you,” he slurred. I got annoyed and tried to break free. Somehow he had gotten a hold of one of my wrists, which yanked me back slightly as I tried to walk away. I looked down at my wrist. “Can you let me go?” I motioned. He smiled slyly. “Only if you promise me you’re going to stay,” he begged moving closer. Now I was beginning to get creeped out. Out of all people, why was he the one who decided to hit on me? I mean I should have known nothing good would have come from going to a bar by myself, but I figured nothing too crazy would happen.

“Can you just let me go? My boyfriend is waiting for me.” I lied in desperation. I hoped he would get less interested and walk away. He didn’t. He became more assertive. “Boyfriend? Where is your boyfriend? Is he better than me?” He began yelling. I was still trying to get my wrist free as he yelled, but he was holding it even tighter now.

“He’s waiting for me outside. Now let me go,” I demanded as I shaked my arm up and down. I was also beginning to feel dizzy and wanted to lay down. But the bodybuilder didn’t say anything, he just looked at me. Who the hell was this dude? I thought. A sudden urge to throw up crept up slowly. “If you don’t let me go I’m either going to scream or throw up on you,” I spoke clearly in his ear. The guy looked at me, his eyes turned bloodshot. But at that moment, his friend walked up to him. They spoke quietly and I couldn’t make out what they were saying entirely because of the loud music. But I did make out a few words. His friend said something about someone being here and that they needed to leave now. I didn’t know who he was talking about, but before I knew it the bodybuilder let go of me and I saw panic fill his eyes. He and his friend ran out of the bar. What the hell just happened? I muttered to myself.

As I tried to gather my thoughts and leave, I was feeling very lightheaded. Now I was worried about getting home. I decided to leave quickly before my situation got worse. I decided to say bye to the bartender since she didn’t seem that busy. When I turned around toward the exit, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a blonde haired boy leaning against the frame of one of the poles. His head was faced down as others around him kept talking and drinking. I walked a few steps closer trying to make out the discrete face. I squinted my eyes as the dark room enveloped everything, making it impossible to see people from a distance. I began wobbling which signaled to me that if I didn’t lay down somewhere soon I would collapse from all the drinks I had. While I was intrigued by the boy, I turned around and walked toward the door.

Suddenly I bumped into a broad figure. I grabbed my head, my temples throbbing.

“Y/N?” the dark voice spoke. I looked up and backed away in surprise.

“Jungkook? What are you doing here?” I asked astonished that he was standing in front of me.

He laughed at my astonishment. “I could ask you the same question. You don’t look so good,” he said with a hint of concern in his voice. “Girls just love hearing that,” I scoffed, my temples booming now. I walked past him, making my way toward the sidewalk. I didn’t realize Jungkook was behind me until a hand grabbed my shoulder. “Come on, I’ll take you home. It’s not safe if you go by yourself at this time,” he mentioned.

I shook my shoulder. “I can go home by myself. I don’t need you Jungkook alright. I know you’re busy,” I blurted in my drunken state.

“Y/N you’re drunk. Let me help you. I can just drop-” I stopped him. “No, I don’t need your help,” I grumbled.

He let out a sigh. “I know you don’t need my help. Let me just make it up to you for what I’ve done,” he spoke quietly. I blinked my eyes. I heard the words come out his mouth but somehow my brain wasn’t processing them. I stood there for a while until my eyes suddenly closed and I felt arms grab me.

\.\

When I woke up I found myself in my bed, covered with blankets. My jacket and shoes were off but I was wearing my regular clothes. I slowly rose up, trying to remember what happened. My feet were on the floor when I felt a thick comforter on the bottom. I scanned my eyes over the comforter when an arm creeped out from underneath. I let out a scream and jumped on the bed. I grabbed a thick book from the shelf above my bed and stepped back. “Who the fuck are you!!?” I screamed. “WHY ARE YOU IN HERE?” I brought up the book close to my face. The body moved slowly until its legs came out. The person stretched his or her arms. “Get out!” I roared as I was still standing on my bed with a book as my weapon. When the figure removed the large comforter, I recognized the brown hair and warm face. I collapsed to my knees, holding my chest in relief.

“Jungkook... What the hell are you doing here? Why are you sleeping in my bedroom?” I questioned still trying to catch my breath. One of his eyes was still closed as he picked up his head to look at me. His hair was messy and all over the place. His face looked bloated but it somehow made him even more attractive. “And you think you can stop a killer with a book..we have to work on your defense Y/N,” he teased as he got up from the floor. I rolled my eyes at his comment.

“Seriously Jungkook, why are you here?” I asked confused. “You know you should be thanking me. I saved your butt last night,” he mentioned. I looked up at him puzzled. Suddenly, it hit me. I was out last night. I drank last night. I passed out..”Damn, I can’t believe I got shitfaced,” I groaned as I buried my face in my pillow. “Yeah, you did. You know you’re also a very mean drunk,” Jungkook stated.

I lifted my head up, remembering everything that happened. “Listen..about that. I didn’t really mean what I said. I was just flustered, and annoyed, and something happened previously that made me just pissed off.” I rambled. “So I was just taking my frustration out on you,” I added. Jungkook laughed at my babbling. “It’s fine, you just owe me one now.” I got up from my bed and walked to where he was standing. “Of course I’ll definitely rescue you, if you’re shit faced too,” I grinned patting his shoulder.

As I walked out of my bedroom door with Jungkook behind me, I stopped in my tracks. “Wait..how did you get into my apartment?” I questioned turning behind me. Jungkook didn’t answer for a while.

“See the thing is you threw up,” he began. I blinked. “And?” I motioned. He continued “And well it was on your landlord. So he opened the door for us when he saw you like that” My mouth fell to the floor. “JUNGKOOK! Why didn’t you stop me?” I pleaded in embarrassment. “I can never face that man ever again. Wow, I am never drinking again,” I remarked. Jungkook stood there quietly letting me let out my anger and humiliation. When I was done complaining I walked over the living room and sat on the couch trying to wrap my head around what happened last night. I couldn’t believe I acted so carelessly. I forgot Jungkook was in the room due to how quiet it had become. When I looked over behind me I saw him staring at the very same picture. I scanned him with my eyes trying to make sense of what he was doing.

“Jungkook?” I muttered quietly. He immediately turned his head. “Oh sorry, what were you saying?” he asked. I looked at Jungkook for a while. “Listen this may come off weird but why are you staring at that picture?” I blurted. His eyes rested on the floor for a while as he became surprised at my sudden remark. He didn’t say anything. I figured I had offended him somehow. “Sorry, that was strange. Forget I even asked. So what do you want for breakfast? I’ll repay you for your help with food,” I mentioned trying to change the subject.

But, Jungkook was still quiet. He seemed deep in thought. “I should go,” he said getting up from the couch. I was flustered at that sudden statement. “Um yeah sure let me just make you something before you go,” I said walking over quickly to the kitchen. “No, it’s okay. I’ll just eat when I go home. Don’t worry about it. You can repay me next time.” He smiled but I could see there was a distance to his words. There probably wouldn’t be a next time.

I let out a small sigh. “Jungkook are you okay? I’m sorry if I offended you somehow. I was only asking because I saw you looking at that picture last time and then now again. I was just wondering what was going-” Jungkook suddenly interrupted me. “Y/N. Just forget it okay. I have to go now.” I wanted to scream and yell at him. Tell him that he had no right to act like this. I was just asking a simple question. But I didn’t say any of that. Instead, I nodded. “Okay see you.”

Jungkook grabbed his jacket. As he opened the front door, his head turned toward me. I met his eyes and I saw that they were filled with desperation and anguish. Almost as if he was regretful. But he quickly turned away. “I’ll talk to you soon,” he addressed as the door behind him closed.

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