#was he forced to endure everyone singing happy birthday to him

[litwitlady]

When You Go, Take Me With You

On a warm July morning, Thomas Mann – not his real name, mind you – finds himself hauling ass down 285, praying that the airstream doesn’t come unhitched. Tommy has spent the last 11 months in Santa Fe grifting seniors in assisted living facilities out of their hard-earned nest eggs. But someone’s greedy little grandson finally noticed his grandmother’s savings dwindling away and called the authorities. He’s been riding hard all night and can’t remember the last time he ate. But he’s got a rap sheet three pages long and knows if he gets caught, he’ll never see the light of day again.

Eventually, his stomach wears him down, though, and he stops in Roswell at a kitschy little diner he hopes he can disappear into long enough to satisfy his basic needs. Halfway through his cheese fries, three sheriff’s deputies walk in and as they are chatting with the waitress at the counter, Tommy sneaks out and takes the scenic route back towards his pickup. He can’t really say he’s much surprised to find the actual Sheriff knocking on the airstream’s door. Knowing he’s lost this battle, he decides to cut his losses and run. The old Ford pickup is eventually auctioned off, but the airstream ends up in the impound lot collecting dust for the next year.

And then one day Michael Guerin accidentally illegally parks his truck on the Long farm where he promptly passes out drunk across the bench seat. Daddy Long calls the Sheriff and Michael’s arrested. Again. Max bails him out and drives him over to the Chavez County impound lot to collect his truck. And that’s where Michael Guerin falls in love for the second time in his life. The shiny, silver airstream gleams in the morning sunlight and he’s never seen anything more beautiful. Not in a long while, anyway. He convinces Max to bargain with the county in order to buy the airstream for him. Michael knows they will laugh him out of the precinct, but Max is one of their own. He parts ways with every single penny he’s ever made, but he’s rewarded with the first permanent roof he’s ever had.

Not that Michael expects the trailer to be a permanent thing. After all, no home has ever been forever. Most haven’t lasted longer than a year or so. Besides his truck, of course. The mere idea that the airstream is mobile proves the impermanence of the situation. He can flit from place to ungodly place without settling down with any actual intent. There’s beauty in the nomadic nature of it all. Mostly, he doesn’t have to worry about being rained on any longer or crashing on Isobel’s sofa or cuddling up with Sanders’ dog. So, he’s happy. Content. Proud, even.

The trailer is cramped. The engine is shit. And the toilet is literally two feet from where he lays his head at night. How he convinces any of his hookups to climb into that tiny bed with him is anyone’s guess. There’s been more than one conquest sent home with multiple bruises. Once he burns a piece of toast so badly that he can’t sleep inside for a week. There’s no storage, the floor is lopsided, and Isobel refuses to step inside for two whole years. But hey, nothing’s perfect.

After a year together, Michael and the airstream find a balance that works for them. He covers the windows with old newspaper, adapts to being very, very tidy, and sleeps outside when the claustrophobia sets in. He even fashions a front patio out of some old oak pallets he finds in the junkyard. In return, the trailer gives him privacy, a sense of autonomy, and a place to bring Alex Manes when he returns from his first tour overseas. And every tour after that.

Not that he was looking to bring Alex back to his place, of course. He hadn’t even known Alex was back. And then suddenly, there he is. Laughing with Arturo in the Crashdown. Michael hardly recognizes him with the regulation haircut and newly lean body. He tells himself to walk away, but the universe has other ideas. Alex spots him and his whole face lights up. No one has ever looked at Michael like that and he’s lost all over again.

Over the next decade, the airstream begins to collect memories. Isobel blowing the door open and taking her first steps inside to shout at him that she’s engaged. Max showing up at 3 am like clockwork every year on Liz Ortecho’s birthday because he’s smashed and doesn’t want to hear Iz’s lectures. The Sheriff’s random visits for one reason or another; he suspects she’s spying on him. The brief time he lets an old, senior dog share his space. There’s still dog hair in the many nooks and crannies.

And then there’s Alex.

He’s everywhere - in every corner, every empty inch of space – filling up the entire trailer. Sprawled naked across the narrow bed, one long, gorgeous leg hanging off the side. Standing over the small stove laughing as Michael teaches him how to make the perfect omelet. Two old Air Force t-shirts stashed deep in his closet that Michael will swear up and down he doesn’t know exist. The silly little cartoon of a cowboy he’s scribbled on every single yellowed newspaper taped to the windows. And the one solitary heart drawn in permanent ink right above Michael’s pillow. He’ll never admit how many times he’s traced that doodle and prayed that Alex’s heart is still beating.

Not every memory is happy, however. He and Alex have always fought as hard as they’ve loved. How many times Alex has stormed out, slamming the door behind him. The sound echoing off the trailer’s tinny walls, door hinges growing whinier as the years go by. Tears shed in anger and in desperate sadness every time the Air Force calls him back to some violent conflict a world away. Damn near feral sex fucked out through those same tears. The sun rising over two beaten, broken hearts the next morning. Another goodbye. Another lonely year stretching out into the desert wasteland. And suddenly the airstream feels suffocating and enduring. Set in stone and unmovable as Alex walks away one more time.

In the in-between times, Michael nurses his bruised heart out on Foster’s Ranch, punishing his body with grueling manual labor. He settles the trailer into an anonymous patch of dust and scrub brush. He begins to collect various trailer accoutrement. First, a rusted, used patio set he grabs off someone’s teetering trash pile. Next, a ‘free parking’ sign he finds abandoned on the side of Route 60. On Alex’s next leave, he’ll mark out the ‘free’ and write ‘no’ in its place. Michael will try hard not to overthink the implication. Isobel says he’s nesting, jokes that he should hang up a cross-stitched ‘Home Sweet Home’. Michael begins to panic.

At the end of ten years, he gives up. The airstream is home. There’s no point in denying the most basic fact of his existence any longer. The impermanent is now permanent. He flicks off the tin bucket and then lovingly wipes away some mud caked on the tire well. Love/hate, defined.

He returns to the trailer after another stint in the drunk tank (a home away from home, if you will) to find a uniformed Alex Manes knocking on his door. He knows he shouldn’t be surprised to find him there – Isobel, after all, had been the one to organize his hero’s parade down Main Street. But it’s been two years with no contact – the longest they’ve ever gone – and so when Alex turns to meet his eyes, the breath is knocked right out of him. So begins another cycle of fight or flight. The airstream will play centerstage. He can almost hear the aging trailer sigh.

But this time the cycle ends differently. Michael moves the airstream into the Wild Pony’s parking lot, shocking everyone. Ostensibly to keep Maria DeLuca safe. But really just to be near her energy, her spirit, her laughter. He hopes to love her. He wants to be good for someone, goddammit. But deep down he’s worried he never will be. That he’s about as solid and steady as his home on wheels. Good enough for a little while, but never long enough to last. Always ready to roll off a cliff with the slightest push.  

He hates when he’s right.

Maria breaks up with him in a hospital room. The next night he meticulously searches the airstream for anything she might have left behind. A shoe, a bra, some lipstick. But there’s nothing and he feels like the trailer is out to get him, shoving those two old Air Force t-shirts in his face. The tiny, scribbled cowboys serenading him with derisive laughter. The black heart mocking him. And Michael can’t take it anymore. He slams the airstream’s door shut, nearly knocking it off its stupid creaky hinges and calls Isobel, all but demanding she meet him at the Pony. He needs a drink. Maybe several. And a shoulder to brood on. Perhaps he should call Max instead.

Michael doesn’t expect open mic night. He doesn’t expect Alex Manes and his dumb angel voice. He doesn’t expect to be confronted with the one answer he’s always wanted. But home is a tricky business. Especially for an alien stranded in the foster care system on the wrong planet. As Alex sings his song – asking Michael to come home – everything becomes crystal clear. And Michael tries to telepathically tell the airstream to go fuck itself. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t work.

Because here’s the thing. Home can be a person.

The answer has always been that easy and that impossible. And the airstream has always known. Watching all these years as the two of them danced around each other. The ultimate grift. The longest con job this side of the Milky Way. Michael Guerin has been played, marked, and left wanting. His genius brain duped and cheated. The airstream has never been more than a shit engine and lopsided floors.

After Michael leaves the Pony that night, he moves in with Isobel. And he goes to work. On himself – AA meetings, college classes, mending all his relationships with Max, with Maria. With Alex. And on the airstream – gutting the inside and converting the space into an admittedly revolutionary eco-friendly garden greenhouse.

Once the project is finished, he attaches the toe hitch to his Chevy and heads east until he pulls into the Chavez County Children’s Home. The director meets him outside and shakes his hand with tears in her eyes. Michael walks her and several of the children through the garden, excitedly explaining all the vegetables and flowers he’s planted. Isobel arrives to take pictures for the local paper and secretly shed several of her own tears. She watches Michael happily playing with all the kids and teaching them the wonders of composting. Soon, he gives her a kiss on the cheek and climbs back into his truck. He’s got one final stop to make.

As he drives through the center of Roswell, something swells in Michael’s chest. He knows this place so well – has been arrested on nearly every corner. The Crashdown has always welcomed him with a warm meal and silly antennae. New Roswell High – with all its memories, good and bad. The UFO Emporium – or what was the UFO Emporium – with its fake alien displays and empty corners perfect for kissing sweet emo boys with the biggest of hearts. Of all the places to crash land, Roswell hasn’t turned out so bad. It’s truly a stunning conclusion.

When he arrives at his destination, he pulls into the driveway next to Alex’s green Explorer, grabs his two duffel bags, and heads to the front door. He opens the lock with his key and shouts to Alex that he’s home.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Fifty Three

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

July 27th, 2001 “This is homophobia, pure and simple,” Emile huffed, staring at the queue on the screen of who was allowed to go on a free computer.

Remy turned to Emile in confusion. “What?” he asked. “Waiting for a computer isn’t homophobic, it’s just a pain.”

“It’s a pain that I, a bisexual man, am having to endure, and as such I’m deeming it homophobia,” Emile said with conviction.

“So wait,” Remy said. “You’re saying that anything that’s a mild inconvenience to you is homophobic?”

“That’s the joke, Rem, yeah,” Emile said with a nod.

“Oh! Oh, that’s actually kinda funny,” Remy said, smiling as he finally realized it was a joke. “I thought you were serious there for a second.”

“Nah,” Emile said with a grin. “I’m just a goofball.”

“You’re my goofball,” Remy corrected.

  December 31st, 2001

Remy wasn’t crying. Nope, he wasn’t crying at all. There was no way he was shedding even a single tear as Emile had managed to rope his entire family into singing “Happy Birthday” to Remy while they waited for the New Year’s ball to drop. Especially considering the fact that Emile had given him a tight hug in front of everyone and no one protested. Nope, he was not crying at all.

...Okay, maybe he was crying a little. But who could blame him? Emile was the sweetest man alive, and his family was pretty cool, too.

When the whole family had finished singing, Remy wiped at the totally-not-there tears and gave everyone a smile. “Thanks, guys!” he exclaimed. “No one’s made that big of a deal out of my birthday in a hot minute!”

“Well, then I’ll make sure every year from this point forward we celebrate with my family,” Emile said. “Because we always make sure that birthdays are celebrated.”

“It’s not that it wasn’t celebrated,” Remy said. “It just...wasn’t made this big of a deal. We had cake on New Year’s Eve as we waited for midnight, and I got a few gifts, but that was it.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” Emile said, perking up and heading to where the Christmas tree was still set up in the corner. He grabbed a lone present beneath it and brought it back over to Remy. “I know that this might not be a huge help to you, but I figured it’s a springboard for when we get back home.”

“O...kay...?” Remy said. He tore the paper off and laughed when he saw what was inside. “Oh, nice! I haven’t had a good cookbook in a while! A lot of the spice ratios are off in them, in my experience, but I can figure those out on my own soon enough.”

Emile grinned. “I was hoping you’d like it!” he chirped. “I know that you often make your own recipes, but hopefully this gives you new ideas.”

“Oh yeah, for sure!” Remy said. “I can’t wait to experiment on you with my cooking!”

Emile laughed in good-natured way. “I’m sure you’ll create near perfect recipes outside of that book in no time.”

“I don’t know about perfect,” Remy said with a laugh. “But I can make some good ones, for sure.”

Emile grinned and the two of them sat back down in the chairs they had pushed next to each other to watch the ball drop. Remy idly flipped through the pages of his new cookbook, already planning out what new recipes he might be able to try. Emile’s hand brushed against Remy’s and Remy smiled. Maybe they couldn’t be openly affectionate around Emile’s grandfather, but no one was paying attention to them, so the little gestures didn’t matter that much. Remy sniffed a laugh as he flipped to the end. “There’s no dessert section.”

“Hm?” Emile asked.

“There’s no dessert section in the book,” Remy snickered. “Granted, it is a cookbook, so I wasn’t expecting many baking recipes, but there’s not even a single cookie recipe! This is homophobia in its purest form!”

Emile snickered before a confused voice made them both freeze. “What about that is homophobia?” Emile’s grandfather asked.

Remy looked between Emile and Emile’s grandfather with increasing panic. “Uh...it’s just...uh...”

“It’s a joke, Grandpa,” Emile said. “It’s a joke some of our friends at college would make.”

“What’s homophobia?” one of Emile’s cousins asked.

The one that Remy remembered was Bailey, said, “It’s when someone doesn’t like gay people.”

“But why would no cookies be homophobia?” the first cousin asked. “Cookies don’t have anything to do with gay people.”

A few people in Emile’s family were sending Remy looks, some of them rather dirty ones, while a few others were confused. But the scariest ones, were the ones from people who knew what Remy had meant. They knew that he was gay. And it wouldn’t take them long to figure out that Emile was dating Remy, and that’s why Remy came over.

“Emile, you know that being gay is a sin,” Emile’s grandfather said. “You can’t make those sorts of jokes.”

Remy flinched and Emile actually growled. “I disagree,” Emile said.

The whole room went silent. “...What?” Emile’s grandfather asked.

“I disagree,” Emile repeated. “I disagree that being gay is a sin. And I disagree that making those sorts of jokes are sinful. I don’t care if anyone who I hang out with is gay, straight, bi, whatever. It’s none of my business to ask them, and it’s unfair to say we couldn’t be friends just because of their orientation.”

Emile’s grandfather was actually glaring at Emile, and Emile just stared neutrally back. The hair on the back of Remy’s neck stood on end. “Let’s just forget about this,” Remy said. “I won’t say it again, cross my heart and hope to die.”

“Is he gay?” Emile’s grandfather asked, pointing at Remy.

“Grandpa! You can’t ask that!” Emile exclaimed. “Whether he is or not is nobody’s business but his, and it should be his choice as to whether or not he tells anyone whether he is or not!”

“Tell me,” Emile’s grandfather demanded.

“No!” Emile snapped.

Emile’s grandfather gave him a warning glare. “Emile—”

“—Do you want to know where he picked that joke up?!” Emile asked, standing up. “Do you want to know why I feel the way I do about gay people?!”

The whole room was silent, still, and Remy’s gaze briefly flicked over to Emile’s parents, who were watching this unfold with morbid fascination. One of Emile’s cousins, Remy thought it might have been Grace, asked the question. “...Why?”

“Because I. Am. Bisexual,” Emile ground out. “And no, before you ask, Remy and I do not do anything intimate like that behind closed doors. But even if we did, it would be none. Of. Your. Business! Remy is my roommate! He picked up a few of my jokes because that’s just what friends do!”

“Emile,” Remy said.

“No! I’m not done!” Emile exclaimed.

“Emile!” Remy said, with more force. “Stop throwing yourself under buses for my sake. You did that with my mother, I won’t let you do that here.”

The final countdown to the new year started on the TV, and Remy stood, leaving the cookbook on the chair he had just vacated. “Your grandson is bisexual, he wasn’t lying about that. And we are friends,” Remy said. The countdown was the only sound filling the room. Three...two...one...And as they rang in the New Year, Remy kissed Emile, before turning to Emile’s grandfather with a scowl. “But we’re also dating. And if you have a problem with that, fine, I’m leaving tomorrow morning and you’re free to not invite me back. I had my doubts about this whole thing anyway, just knowing that we’d have to hide this around you. Emile assured me that it wouldn’t get out, and maybe that went out the window, but Emile kept up his end of the agreement for me coming here: he kept his mouth shut. I outed myself. And yes, I love him! And yes, I’m not religious! And I know both of those things might be problems in your eyes! But I don’t care! I’m not letting Emile go down as the bad guy in your books without me being there with him! I’m willing to go to the end of the line with him, which is a lot more than most straight marriages have going for them. I love your grandson, and he loves me, and if you have a problem with that? Well, then that’s your problem! Because you can’t exactly stop us from loving each other!” He picked up his cookbook and swiped at the tears that were starting to fall. “Do you still want me in our guest room?” he asked Emile. “I’m kinda furious right now.”

“Rem, I don’t care. You have every right to feel that way,” Emile said, looking over at his grandfather with a scowl. “I'll be right up. I have to talk to Mom and Dad first.”

Remy nodded, and gave one last look to Emile’s relatives, specifically the ones that were giving him looks of disgust. “And no, everyone, there will not be any extracurricular activities going on in the room next to you! You will not have to hear us be gay!”

He turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, down the hall, up the stairs, and into the guest room he and Emile were sharing before. He flopped down on the bed they had shared to cuddle and stared at the sleeping bag on the floor that Emile had insisted on using last night. When Emile walked in ten minutes later, Remy said, “You’re not using the sleeping bag tonight.”

“What?” Emile asked.

“I want you to sleep with me,” Remy said.

Emile laughed incredulously. “You what?”

Remy rolled his eyes. “Get your mind out of the gutter. I want to share a bed with you. Not have sex.”

Emile blinked. “What brought this on?”

“I don’t want to be alone,” Remy said, reaching out for Emile. “Come on. We’re two grown men, but this is a full bed. It might be a tighter squeeze, but we’ll fit.”

“And it’s no worse than either of our beds back home,” Emile said, coming over and taking off his glasses, laying down next to Remy.

Remy shifted and put the cookbook next to Emile’s glasses on the nightstand. “I really wish that we didn’t have to always progress our relationship and let people know about it through conflict.”

Emile laughed. “Agreed,” he said softly. “But I like to think that at some point we’ll have it together enough and enough people will know that it won’t be an issue anymore.”

Remy sighed and Emile mirrored the action, somewhat shakily. “Your parents okay?” Remy asked.

“Yeah,” Emile said, but his voice was thick. “They...uh...they said they would support whatever decisions I made after tonight, and Dad said he’d try to talk to Grandpa. Mom offered to talk to her siblings who were giving you dirty looks. All my cousins understand we’re together, the most confusion I got from them was a couple of them asking why dating boys wouldn’t be okay as a boy, or why people thought that. Because I think the ones from my more open aunts and uncles will be teaching the ones who were raised by more conservative parents that it’s okay to be gay.” He made a choked sound. “But my grandfather refused to even look at me after you left. It was like all of a sudden I didn’t exist.”

Remy’s heart ached. “I know the feeling,” he said softly. “I got that almost every single time I ‘acted out’ in my parents’ or grandparents’ eyes.”

“I don’t like it,” Emile whimpered. “I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“No you didn’t, honey,” Remy said, pulling Emile close and hugging him fiercely as he cried. “You didn’t do anything that you weren’t supposed to. I’m the one who made the joke that caused this whole scene in the first place. Your grandfather is the one who’s acting like a bigot. All you did was try to defend me. Nowhere in this is anything your fault.”

Emile buried his head in the crook of Remy’s neck. “Then why am I the one in trouble?”

Remy sighed. “Because, just like with my parents, your grandfather is lashing out at what he doesn’t agree with, and doesn’t understand. It’s not even remotely okay, and he ought to be ashamed of himself. But you can get through this. You have your parents, and your friends, and me, and some of your extended family behind you. If I could make it through with only Toby, then I don’t doubt that you can make it through with the support you have.”

Emile shook his head, breathing out, “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know you didn’t,” Remy said, shushing him.

And with that, the two held each other close until they both fell asleep.

[fortitudina]

                DETAILED CHARACTER BIO QUESTIONS.

Name: Cillian Diarmuid Brockhurst ( Kye-Lan )

Nickname(s): Ci ( Kye ), Brocky, Snipes.

Name significance/meaning: Cillian ~ This name has several known meanings, including “war,” “strife,” and “bright-headed.” The word cille also means “associated with the church,” so the name is often associated with the word “church” or “monastery.”

Gender: Male

Age: 32

Birthday: 11th November

Deathday: ~

Star Sign/Astrology Sign/Zodiac Sign: Scorpio

Location: Los Angeles

Birthplace: Los Angeles

Ethnicity: Irish-American

Nationality: American

Race: Caucasian

Physical Appearance: Clean cut and well presented average height male with brunette hair and blue eyes.

Skin Tone: Sandy-Tan ( https://www.schemecolor.com/skin-pastels.php )

Complexion: fair, smooth & soft.

Eye Color: Old World Blue ( x )

Natural Hair Color: Brunette

Height: 5’10” / 1.78m

Weight: 77kg / 169 lbs / 12st 12lbs

Body Type: Mesomorph

Build: Muscular / Athletic

Posture: Healthy [ x ]

Birthmarks: Strawberry mark on his right hip.

Scars: Gunshot scar on the right side of his chest & left side of the hip region of his abdomen. Stabbing scar to his abdomen and one on the back on the right hip area. One on the back of his neck.

Left Handed/Right Handed/Ambidextrous: Right handed

Age Character Appears to Others: 32

Dyed Hair Color: undyed

Usual Hairstyle: Short

Tattoos: Army tattoo on right bicep

Piercings: none

Makeup Style: ~

Clothing Style: Smart-casual

Clothing Size:  Chest ~ 32inches / Waist ~ 26inches / Hips ~ 32inches

Shoe Style:  Steel-toed boots, sneakers, oxfords.

Shoe Size: 10

Nail Appearance: short, well kept.

Eyebrow Shape: Straight ( x )

Features: Soft features overall; perfectly symmetrical 

Face Shape: Oval

Facial Hair: Light stubble

Voice: Deep

Distinguishing Feature: Smile

Extrovert or Introvert: Ambivert

Personality Traits: Cheeky, Compassionate, Loyal

MBTI Personality: ESFJ-A

Optimist or Pessimist: Optimist

Temperament: Cheeky disposition

Mood: Cheerful

Attitude: Positive

Strengths: Caring, Kind, Giving

Flaws: Blunt, Hero Complex, Brash

Mannerisms: Smirking, quirking of eyebrow, cheeky grins

Habits: fiddling with pens or small objects

Morning Person or Night Owl: Morning person

Pet Peeves: idiots, bad lying, loud eaters, slow people ( walking etc )

Favorite Sin: Gluttony

Favorite Virtue: Patience

Weakness: Loved ones or friends & colleagues getting hurt / involved.

Strengths: Sharp-shooter, Skilled hand-to-hand combat.

Expressiveness: strong use of both facial expressions and hand movements.

Ruled by Heart or Mind: A little bit of both; more heart though.

Mindset: Positive

Philosophy:  “We are what we repeatedly do. Excellence, then, is not an act, but a habit”

Motivated by: Food, Justice, Happiness.

Everyday Speech: “The past is behind, learn from it. The future is ahead, prepare for it. The present is here, live it.”

Life Motto: “Don't count the days, make the days count.”

Energy Level: High

Memory Level: Eidetic (Photographic) Memory

Disabilities: none

Phobias: Incredibly small spaces. 

Addictions: Does pizza and poptarts count?

General aptitude: Fluid Intelligence

Mental Strengths: Problem-Solving, Psychoanalysis, 

Mental Weakness: Not a Genius 

Physical Strengths: Physically fit, keen hand-eye coordination, 

Physical Weakness: weakened cervical vertebrae from an old injury during a tour in Afghanistan

Past Illnesses: Chicken pox twice as a kid

Major Surgeries: Surgery to pin his cervical spine. Surgery to remove various bullets.

Accidents: Had several bumps and scrapes whilst at work.

Stability: Very Stable

Allergies: Pollen, Shellfish

Job Title: Detective

Company: LAPD

Career Type: Police

Education: High School, Military, Police Academy

College: ~

Work Ethic: Hard-working

Job History: Sniper in the Army, Beat Cop, Detective.

Income: $74,000 per anum

Political Party/Organizations: Doesn’t do politics

Volunteer Work: Helps at the Veteran’s housing association.

Dream job: Got it

What job would s/he do poorly at: Doctor

Career satisfaction: Love the job

Diet: Coffee and any food easy to grab on the go

Favorite Foods: Poptarts, Barbecue-based, Chicago stuffed crust pizza.

Favorite Drinks: Coffee, Beer, Cranberry juice.

Favorite Movie: Top Gun

Favorite Music: doesn’t really have a favourite

Favorite Book: doesn’t have time to read

Favorite Place: Does bed count?

Favorite activities: Running, Shooting, Cooking

Favorite time of day: Morning

What makes them happy? Catching the bad guys, seeing friends & family happy.

What makes them sad? Losing someone close to them.

Hobbies: Shooting, Running, Cooking, Singing

Interests: Films, Artwork

Favorite animal: Hyena

Loves to do: Wind people up and be cheeky

Hates to do: Paperwork

Inspired by: Former Army Colleagues

Raised by: (family) Mother and Father

Parent Status: Married ~ alive

Mother’s Name: Siobhan Marie Brockhurst

Mother’s Age: 63

Mother’s Background: Irish

Father’s Name: Patrick James Brockhurst

Father’s Age: 68

Father’s Background: American

Relationship with Mother: Close

Relationship with Father: Okay..

Parenting Type: Strict

Only Child? One of Three

First Born, Middle Child, or Youngest? Middle

# of Siblings: Second of three siblings

Relationship with Siblings: Close to brother; Distant with sister

Extended Family: ~

Family Relations: ~

How has family life shaped the character? Helped to both break him and make him who he is today

What they like most about their family: They will all get together for holidays and birthdays

What they dislike most about their family: The religious side

Children: Nil

Pets: Two Dogs

Best Friend(s): Doesn’t have one.

Worst Enemy: ~

Many acquaintances or few close friends? Few close friends

Sexual Preference: Any

Orientation: Pansexual

Relationship Status: Verse Dependent 

Marital Status: Verse Dependent

First Love: Carlie Anne Vaugn 

Current Love or Aspiring Love: Verse Dependent.

Notable Ex-Lovers: Azrael Mortem

Top 3 Loved Ones: ~

Top 3 Disliked Ones: ~ 

Who knows the character best? Eoghan, his brother or Lupita, his work partner.

Childhood: Cillian had a fairly stable upbringing; his parents in a strong marriage and with an older brother to help teach him the ropes, Cillian did well during his early school years and thrived in all of his subjects.

Adolescence: As he got to high school, he joined the football and soccer teams; being rather sporty as a child meant his fitness was impeccable. When he finished High school, instead of going to college, Cillian got in with the wrong crowd and ended up being arrested for Breaking and Entering and several counts of theft.

Young Adult: Went through Military training then, Cillian’s Regiment was sent to Afghanistan where they served three tours before he was shot in the Line of Duty after going through Hell being tortured with one of his comrades.

Adult: After being medically discharged from the army, Cillian took a year out for convalescence before joining LAPD. Given his history with the army, he soon shot up through the ranks until he became a Detective. He will also play the role of Police Sniper/marksman if they have to go into particularly tough situations that require an overwatch. 

Moments/Experiences that shaped them: Getting into the wrong crowd after High school. Being sent into the Army. Being captured and tortured during his final tour in Afghanistan. 

How have they changed as a person throughout their life? He has matured a considerable amount and become regimented and organised as an adult, with a respect for the law and bringing justice.

Major regrets: Getting involved with who he did as a teenager and ending up getting arrested.

Biggest life lessons learned: Don’t get arrested.

Religious Beliefs: Catholic

Upbringing: Strict & Religious

Core Values: Dependability, Consistency, Loyalty, Reliability, Integrity.

Morals: Always tell the truth, Treat others as you want to be treated, Be dependable, Be forgiving, Have integrity, Take responsibility for your actions, Have patience, Be loyal, Have respect for yourself and others

What does s/he believe is evil? The force in nature that governs and gives rise to wickedness and sin.

What does s/he believe is good? Morally excellent; virtuous; righteous; pious

Risks Worth Taking: Those that keep both the city and loved ones safe.

Important milestones: Making Lieutenant in the army. Reaching Detective in LAPD. NOT DYING whilst in both the Army or LAPD.

Achievements: The Purple Heart as a result of his capture & suffering endured during that time.

Failures: Getting Arrested as a teenager

Lifestyle: Busy

Character Traits: Hard-working, Brave, Compassionate, Honest, Successful, Fighter, Mischievous, Thoughtful, Sassy, Humorous, Helpful, Independent, Loyal, Courageous, Responsible.

Culture: 

Main Goal: Have a long and happy life, full of hard work, fun and family.

Minor Goal: Drive the damn car at work.

Desire: There are several.

Biggest mistakes: Getting in with the wrong crowd.

Life lessons: Not everyone is going to like you.

Dream Life: The one I have now

Worst Nightmare: The Hell I endured whilst on my final tour.

Favorite Memories: Winding my brother up. Making Detective. 

Least favorite memories: Getting Tortured

Things they want in life: Family. Love. Fun.

Things they don’t want in life: Suffering. Pain. Heartache.

What obstacles are currently in their way? Work.

Any secrets: Yes, but if you think he’s going to tell anyone, you’re idiotic.

Worldview: It’s just a little bit fucked.

Personal Hero:  Former Sergeant Major. 

Internal Conflict: Questioning if he’s good enough for his job at times.

External Conflict: Seeing the scars upon his body and being reminded of each event; wishing he could get rid of them all.

What others think of them: Fun and loveable; a genuine and caring guy. 

What they think of themselves: an idiot; not good enough. 

What they wish they could change: What they did in the past.

What they wish they could have: less strict father.

What gets them fired up: Liars. Suspects who think they’re clever. 

Their definition of a good life: A steady job with a family and friends surrounding them.

Risks worth taking: Anything that keeps both family and friends safe.

Things they take for granted: Coffee. Beer. Time at times.

What inspires them: Seeing justice get served. 

What they have doubts about: being good enough.

What makes them feel alive: The thrill of the chase.

What makes them want to do better: Any case they do not solve / Criminal that doesn’t get a guilty charge.

What do they want to be remembered for? Being a good and loyal man.

How will the character change? He might become a husband or a father? Perhaps even Lieutenant or Captain of LAPD some day.

[somekidinacoma]

The Prince and the Raven

Big thank you to @imyasart for drawing the picture that inspired this story!!

-Four Years Ago, within the Western Kingdom of Sloan-

The misty air of the Raven Kingdom seemed more ominous than normal as Virgil Sloan applied his usual make-up, having decided to at least look like he belonged in this kingdom (even if he didnt feel like he did) a long time ago.

The prince’s raven-like wings shook as a chill ran through the room. The Dark Prince took the opportunity to stretch them out and shake them to get rid of loose feathers and dust.

He sighed as he finished his dark look, exiting his bathroom to enter his extremely edgy bedroom. The grey walls mixed with the black and purple furniture always seemed to make the room look smaller and smaller every time Virgil entered. A large, black, canopy bed with purple pillows and blankets sat between the two covered windows, some of the very few in the castle.

Virgil hated this room. As much as he loved the color black, this room was simply another reminder of the memories he shared with his mother before she passed.

Virgil would honestly rather spend the entire day sat next to his heartless father. And that’s saying something.

The purple-haired prince quickly grabbed his cloak, the black one with purple plaid patches, wrapped it around himself, and headed towards the coldness of his kingdom. Well, not his yet.

“Ah, Master Virgil!” Patton, an elf that Virgil had been friends with as a child, now a servant to Virgil and his father, called just as the prince finished tying his cloak closed. “You’re father has requested your presence in the throne room as soon as possible.”

“Yes, I assumed as much. It isn’t every day that a prince turns 16, is it?” Virgil and Patton both do the closest thing to a laugh they possibly can. It was a rare occurrence, laughter. Times of war between fae and humans typically weren’t times of jokes and laughs. “Thank you, Patton. I’ll see you in my quarters later, for celebration, yes?”

“But of course, your majesty!” Pattons giggles lightened the mood of the gloomy castle. But the giggles soon faded and Virgil soon found himself back into his usual routine. Sitting next to his father in a throne half of the size of his father’s, listening to whatever his father says. His father, his father, his father.

“Son.” The cold tone was something Virgil had gotten used to a long time ago.

“Yes, Father?” Virgil always attempted to insert the same icy-ness into his own voice.

“Now that you are of 16 years, I would like you to choose a bride,” the king spoke maliciously.

Virgil stayed quite. His father knew that he was gay. But his father was also a cold-hearted bastard that decided to make his son’s life a living hell.

Virgil knew that he had to say something, and decided to go with the usual “yes, father.” But before the prince could say a single word-

Craaaack. BANG!

The doors to the throne room flew open, three guards soar out of the dust towards the king and his son.

A hostile, bitter laugh resonated throughout the castle, and the sound of heels clack-clack-clacking into the throne room embeds itself into Virgil’s mind. A shivering chill ran through the royals, and Virgil had previously thought that he knew what cold was. Apparently, he had not. 

“Shit…” This is the first time, and the last, that Virgil hears his father curse.

The purple-haired boy looks to see his father disappear before his very eyes. Slowly, the silhouette of his father turns grainy, then falls to the floor.

Ash.

His father has turned to ash.

A Dragon-witch.

Virgil had no time to mourn his father, not that he would after the years of sorrow that he was forced to endure at his fathers hand. 

“Oh?” The woman came into view as she began to talk. Virgil, at first, thought himself mistaken. This woman looked normal. Until Virgil noticed the scales lining her body from top to bottom. “A child?”

“Yes, what of it?” Virgil’s voice is shaky, he knows that, and he’s sure she does, too. But he stays as calm as possible.

“I don’t harm children.” She was wearing bright red lipstick, and Virgil, to avoid her eyes, stared at the stain it left on her teeth. “Oh? What’s this?”

Virgil’s cloak is gone just as quick as his father had been, and his wings, given more room, extend to their own comfort.

“This gives me an idea!” The woman laughs again, fire coming out of her nose as she snorts with laughter. “Instead of killing you”-Virgil can’t help.but notice the way her tongue is forked as she licks her lips- “I’ll make you normal! Instead of the… half-raven? You are.”

Virgil is almost happy about his curse. Finally being normal was a birthday wish come true. For once in his life he had the opportunity to shed the tortuous life given to him by his monstrous ���gift.”

But when the woman snaps her fingers, the feathers don’t go away. The wings don’t disappear. Instead, Virgil screams in pain as his body seems to shrink. His nose and mouth morph outward and harden in their place. His purple hair falls out in front of his eyes, and he feels something else growing in its place. Poet’s and bards could not write, nor sing, of the pain Virgil felt in this moment. 

Steadily, his screams become more and more bird like, less and less human, until nothing but a raven’s “Caw caw” comes from his mouth -no, beak.

“Hey, look at it this way. Now you can go to the eastern kingdoms.”

-Two years ago, in the Eastern Kingdom of Sanders-

“Caw.”

From his desk, Roman Sanders could hear the call of a raven. Thinking nothing of it, he simply pushes the noise to the back of his mind, instead focusing on the parchment in front of him. Mere seconds later, a raven is sat at his window sill, a large scroll grasped in the birds dark talons.

The brightly dressed prince stood from his seat, a look of confusion crossing his face as he leisurely walked toward the bird.

Upon arrival at the window, Roman held a finger towards the bird, as if to offer a handshake. A black talon grabbed it, as if accepting the handshake.

The bird then stepped away from the scroll, his dark eyes giving Roman a look the prince didn’t know birds were capable of. It seemed almost as if the bird were pleading, begging for him to read the scroll.

So that’s exactly what Roman did.

‘To whomever V gives this scroll to,

This raven is a bit of trouble in the place he comes from, so I have sent him away so that he does not get hurt. He has been blessed with the power to track those with pure hearts, and that is what has lead him to you. I beg you to stay with him, as he is incredibly important to me and everyone else in his home.

He is capable of finding his own food, all he needs is companionship. You will find that he will live a long life, and that he is more than fairly intelligent. He goes by the name of V.

Thank you,

P. Laith’

After reading, Roman turns back to the bird -V, if he is to call him by his name- and smiles.

“It’s nice to meet you, V! I am Prince Roman Sanders.”

Tags:

@tinkslittlebelle

[thegizka]

Her Gift (fic.)

He knew what she was thinking without her saying it. He knew every nuance of her expressions, every movement of her body. He knew Sakura more deeply than he had ever known anyone. How had he never learned when her birthday was?

Written for Sakura Haruno's birthday (March 28).

Read it on Ao3.

Sasuke momentarily panicked when he awoke and couldn’t sense Sakura nearby.  His eyes flew open, sharingan already spinning into hyper-focus, only to notice how neatly her bedding had been rolled beside her pack.  She hadn’t been abducted; she had just risen before him.  Just to be sure, he stretched his senses.  There she was, chakra tickling the edge of his awareness from the direction of the river.  It wasn’t agitated.  She was safe.

He lay his head back for a moment and closed his eyes, urging his beating heart to let go of the momentary panic.  It was amazing she had managed to leave camp without him noticing.  Usually he slept lightly, ever on alert, always subconsciously aware of the minutest changes around him.  But since Sakura had joined him on his travels, everything had become confused.  She put him at his ease somehow, even though he felt so much more tense with her around.  In their genin days, he was almost always the first to wake up.  These days, it was a toss up.

Sasuke wasn’t used to such deep sleep.  It made him uneasy.  He felt less in control when he woke up second, realizing he had been at her mercy for an unknown period of time.  It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Sakura.  Perhaps it was that he trusted her too much.  She was one of the people who knew him best and who didn’t want anything from him--revenge, proof of his change of heart, his power…  It was refreshing to be with someone who demanded none of those things.  She brought him relief in that way.  He was so used to being on constant alert that this new ease made him a little uncomfortable.

And yet it felt natural.  He had found himself wanting more and more to spend time with her during his brief returns to the village.  Even if he was only stopping over for the night to make a brief report to the Hokage, his path always drifted by her apartment.  It became harder and harder to say goodbye to her.  So when she met him at the village gate early one morning with her pack and a determined look on her face, he couldn’t say no.  It felt fitting, the natural progression of their time spent together.

He sighed and forced himself to rise.  He had already spent hours trying to work out the nature of their relationship.  Even before she joined him on his wanderings, he found her drifting through his mind.  He had reconciled himself to his destiny being entangled with Naruto’s, but it had taken longer to realize it was united with hers, too.  As he contemplated who he was and who he wanted to be--not what everyone tried to make him, not what they expected him to be--he found her in his mind and memories.  She had believed in him despite every twist and turn he took.  But he couldn’t work out why, or how, or what exactly that meant to him.  It was important.  It was confusing.  It made him feel conflicted, just like Naruto’s unbending friendship.  But she was different from Naruto, and her trust meant something else.

She had given him her heart, and no matter how many times he had kicked it back to her or tried throwing it in the dirt, she still gave it to him.  It was a burden, but it was also a gift.  He had ignored it for years, had hoped she would forget her schoolgirl crush and let him be, let him pursue his vengeance in peace.  But like Naruto, he just couldn’t shake her.  It both saved him and nearly drove him away again.

He began rolling up his bedding.  He used to simply sleep in his cloak propped against a tree or the entrance of a cave, but Sakura joining him somehow required a more formal style of camping.  He was glad he currently had the campsite to himself so she wouldn’t watch him fumbling to roll up his bedding with one arm.  He was less self-conscious about his lack of limb than he used to be, having adapted to its absence, but there was still awkwardness at times.  He always felt more awkward with Sakura around.  He sometimes caught the look on her face when she thought he couldn’t see (though there were few things that could hide from his eyes), the lingering gaze on where his arm used to be, the twist of pity and the pain of love and something else--guilt? Though she had nothing to be guilty of.  Yet she refrained from offering him help, respecting his pride, hiding her feelings behind a glowing smile when he looked at her fully.

Travelling together was a study of each other and themselves.  They had gotten re-acquainted the few years after the war when he drifted into her orbit between his wanderings.  She had surprised him with her maturity, her emotional perceptiveness, her intuitive understanding and respect for his boundaries.  She was so different from the annoying fangirl she used to be.  But she was definitely the same Sakura, with the same determination and temper and strength and beauty.

He could forget how beautiful she was when all he had was his memory, but it would pounce on him in the strangest moments.  He would notice how smooth the skin on the back of her hands looked as she tied her pack.  He would wonder at the color of her eyes--the green of spring grass in the sunlight, the teal of sea waves in the rain, the dapple of deep forest leaves reflecting the moon…  Her hair tangled his thoughts, the way it brushed her cheek as she rested her chin on her knees, how it darkened to a terra cotta color when wet, the inexplicable urge it brewed in him to run it between his fingers.  He had never felt this before, the strange desire to touch another human, to feel the warmth beneath her soft skin and smell the scent of life in her neck.  These strange impulses alarmed him.  It was another way she challenged his control.

He satisfied himself with memorizing her chakra.  It was comforting to feel it swirling strongly beside him as they walked.  She had always had better control than him.  Even when she was angry, it only spiked a little.  She was a steadiness he had never found in himself.  There were times when she would use her medical ninjutsu to help in the villages they passed through, to bring comfort and to repair the broken in ways Sasuke couldn’t for all his desire to atone.  He caught glimpses of her power then as she healed one after another tirelessly, endlessly, never turning away until everyone who sought care received it, no matter how tired she became or how low her chakra must be.  She endured and sustained, just as her love had endured.

He had finished with his pack and was contemplating breakfast when he felt her chakra coming nearer.  She was humming to herself.  It made him smile.  He was used to silence, but her absent-minded singing was welcome.  It was a reminder that she was here with him, and that was a comfort.

“Good morning Sasuke-kun,” she greeted, towelling her hair dry.  She must have bathed this morning.  He wanted to help her comb through her tangles, but she was fully capable of doing it herself.

“Good morning,” he greeted instead.  “You seem in a good mood.”

“I am,” she hummed, searching for her comb in her bag.  He knew it was in the outside right pocket.  She had a habit of putting it away somewhere new each time, so it always took her a moment to find it.  It was a strange quirk for someone normally so organized.

“The water in the river is beautiful,” she continued.  “It’s clear and not unbearably cold.  I found it very refreshing.”  She stood and stretched appreciatively before beginning to comb out the snarls.  “You can bathe if you want.  I don’t mind taking it slow this morning.  Unless, of course, there’s some place you need to be today.”

“I’m not expected in the next stop for another two days.  We have time.”

“Great.”  She smiled, and it was so genuine and happy that it tickled his heart.  “I’ll prepare breakfast while you bathe.  Any requests?”

“Whatever you think best.”  He hadn’t actually confirmed that he wanted to bathe, but she was already poking through their food supplies, humming to herself again. A bath in the river would be refreshing.  He gathered a clean change of clothes and a towel before heading down to the water.

He was more self-conscious bathing when he knew Sakura was in the area.  He knew she would never try and sneak a peek at him, just as he would never violate her trust that way.  That was more Naruto’s and Kakashi’s vice.  But just knowing she was near made him hyper-aware of himself and his surroundings.  And he was finding more and more that being away from her made him miss...something.

She was right; the river was refreshing and clean.  It felt good to scrub away the days of travel in the waves and morning sunlight.  But he did not allow himself to take the time to soak in the freshness of the day.  Sakura was making breakfast.  He did not like the idea of her waiting for him.

When he returned, damp hair cascading across his face in tendrils, she had prepared a pair of buns, some cheese, thin slices of cured meat, and tomatoes.  It was simple travel food.  Sasuke had noticed their meals included tomatoes a lot lately.  He wasn’t complaining.

But Sakura wasn’t alone.  She was gently stroking the head of a large messenger hawk as it picked at some of the meat she offered it.  The scrolls--there were two--were still attached to its back, so it must have just arrived.  He could see the Konoha emblem on the seal, and his heart sank.  He hadn’t realized he was looking forward to a relaxing morning with Sakura, but news from the village almost always meant an urgent mission.

“It’s Jinsoku, one of Naruto’s hawks,” she explained.  This allayed some of his worry.  If that idiot was using his personal hawk, the news was less likely to be life-or-death urgent.  Still, neither he nor Sakura had replied to their teammate’s most recent letter yet.  He must have something important to share if he couldn’t wait for their normal correspondence.

Sakura, however, seemed completely unperturbed.

“You’ve got a leaf in your hair,” she giggled, reaching for it.  Normally Sasuke would instinctively flinch away, but he held still as she casually dragged it from his hair.  “Your bangs are getting long.”

He shrugged.  He didn’t mind his hair long.  It hid his rinnegan better.  People were less scared--and less confrontational--when they couldn’t see his left eye.

She took the scrolls from the bird and whispered something to it.  It flew to a branch in a nearby tree and perched there, watching them with intelligent, dark eyes.

“Here.”  Sakura tossed him one of the scrolls.  Teme was scrawled in Naruto’s messy hand on the outside.  He rolled his eyes.  His friend was probably never going to grow up.

He sat down beside Sakura, who was digging into her breakfast.  Her hair was already dry, the ends flipping outward slightly.  Hers was getting long, too.  He decided he liked it.  She looked good in any hairstyle she wore.

“So if we’re not needed at the next destination for another two days, what are we going to do today?” she asked.

“Well, it’ll probably depend on whatever’s in these scrolls.”

“Oh, I don’t think it’s anything important, Sasuke-kun,” she hummed.  He shot her a questioning look, but she was too busy choosing another slice of cheese to notice.  She seemed to have an idea of the scrolls’ contents already.

“There’s supposed to be a willow grove around here somewhere,” she continued.  “I could use some more willow bark for my medical supplies, if you wouldn’t mind helping me find it.”

“Sure, that sounds fine.”

She shot him a bright smile in thanks.  It was brief, but Sasuke felt the corner of his own mouth curve upward in response.  He liked seeing her happy.  This would also be a great opportunity to watch her work.  He was fascinated by her medical ninjutsu and endless knowledge of remedies.  She was so sure of herself when she explained how certain plants affected human bodies.  Her confidence was beautiful.

They wrapped up what they didn’t eat of the cheese and meat, but Sasuke finished the last slices of tomato while Sakura unfurled the first portion of her scroll.  He could see it was covered in dense writing even without his sharingan.

“Is that a jutsu formula?” he asked, noticing the careful diagram at the forefront of the writing.  She nodded.

“Tenten’s work, by the look of it.  It’s too neat for Naruto and not stylistic enough for Sai.”

“Supplies?”

She shrugged and lay the paper on the ground in front of her, smoothing its surface.  Making the required hand signs and channeling her chakra, she summoned whatever had been locked behind the brushstrokes.  It was a strange assortment of items, some supplies--fresh fruit and tea, a few vials of medicine, a knife that was something between a kunai and a scalpel--and some random things--a bouquet of pink and white flowers, a bar of soap, a painted clay bird, and a paper fan.  There were a few small boxes, too, some wrapped in ribbons, most with Sakura’s name written in different hands.

“Sasuke-kun, look!  Aw, they didn’t have to…”  She smiled delightedly, face diffused with joy and love as she looked at the odd pile of things.  He was still a bit confused as to the purpose of the scroll and its contents, but she looked so pleased as she inspected the goods that he didn’t want to ask and change her expression.  Instead he read his own scroll.

It’s Sakura-chan’s birthday today so you’d better not make her upset.  We both know she’s endured enough of that.  But you don’t need to worry too much about making her happy, either.  She’s been happier since travelling with you than she has been in a while.  Just..don’t be too careful.  You’ve both done enough waiting, and I’m getting tired of waiting for both of you!  Don’t mess it up, teme.

He usually read through Naruto’s correspondences twice, once to acclimate to his friend’s ill-formed handwriting, and another to confirm the contents of the message.  He read this scroll through a third time for good measure, but the brief bit of clarity was still followed by unsurety.  It was her birthday, which helped to explain her cheerfulness and the assortment of what must be gifts from her friends and family in Konoha.  But what was Naruto trying to say in his note?  And why did it make him feel so nervous?

He studied her as she investigate the little boxes, smiling and giggling and gasping at each surprise.  It was her birthday.  How had he not known it was her birthday?  He was normally hyper-observant of every nuance in her expression and body language.  He could chart the miniscule changes in her eyes as her thoughts transitioned.  He knew who she was and how she would move every moment they were together, but it seemed there was a lot of the truth of Sakura Haruno that he did not know.  He felt at once ashamed--he should have known when her birthday was, surely--and intrigued--how much more was there to learn?

He cleaned up their campsite while she arranged her new belongings in her pack.  Her loved ones in Konoha had been conscious of the circumstances of their travels, only giving her small trinkets or practical items.  But the number of gifts was evidence of the love she had left behind.  So many people had sent her something, had wanted to make her day special even though they were separated by miles.  She could have been home in Konoha with them, yet she had chosen to be in the middle of nowhere with him.  And he hadn’t known about her birthday at all.  He felt guilty for being the cause of the distance between her and the others, but he remembered that she had chosen to be here with him, and that was humbling.

“Sasuke-kun,” she said, and he felt strange and warm when she said his name, “I don’t think I’ll be able to fit everything in my pack.  Would you mind carrying a few things for me?”

She looked at him sheepishly, embarrassed.  She did not understand how this was a gift, to have her trust and be entrusted with something of hers.  It was a light burden compared to the weight of her love.  He would carry both willingly.

They set out to look for the willow grove, following close to the river.  She read her scroll as they walked and shared news from their friends and the village with him.

“Hinata’s making sure Naruto eats more vegetables, but they still go out for ramen at least twice a week.”

“That’s an improvement for him.”

She laughed.  He felt good when she laughed, especially when it was in reaction to him.

“Kakashi-sensei wants me to remind you to relax once in a while.  Shikamaru says Sensei’s relaxing too much and wishes he would take his paperwork more seriously, which is rich coming from such a lazy guy.”

“Kakashi’s always been late with things.”

“Yes, but one would think becoming Hokage would’ve helped his task management.  I guess some things just never change.’

“Hn.”

“Tenten sent some new smoke bombs she’s been developing and wants feedback when we use them.  And Lee has a girlfriend!  Aw, she sounds really sweet.  And he sounds serious about her.  I bet they’re really cute together.”

Sasuke thought of the gangly shinobi with his thick eyebrows and green body suit.  The word “cute” did not come to mind.

“Lady Tsunade is pouting about me not being around to help at the hospital, but Shizune says everything is running smoothly.  And look, Tonton even signed the scroll,” she giggled.  To him, it looked like the pig had merely walked across the paper before the ink had dried, smudging some of the characters and leaving ill-formed hoofprints in her wake.

“Captain Yamato says hi.  He’s been working with some of the neighboring lands to figure out a plan to help regrow some of the forests and habitats that were destroyed during the war, but it’s slow going.”

“Trees do take years to grow.”

“I think it’s more the diplomacy that’s tying things up.”

She read the next bit in silence, eyebrows drawing low over her eyes.  From the slant of the writing, he guessed this portion was from her mother.  He had caught glimpses of her previous letters when Sakura pulled them out in camp to write her replies.  He had gotten the impression that she didn’t altogether approve of her daughter’s decision to roam the country with an ex-rogue shinobi, but for the most part she trusted Sakura to make her own decisions.  Sasuke wondered what it was like to shoulder a mother’s disapproval.  His own had died before she could witness his wrong decisions.  He often wondered what she would think of him now.

Suddenly Sakura shrieked, breaking the relative peace of the morning.  Without thinking, Sasuke’s body moved, hand reaching for the sword concealed beneath his cloak, pivoting so he could watch Sakura’s back while his shoulder shielded her front.  His sharingan and rinnegan scanned their surroundings for the threat, whole body tense and on alert.

“Ino’s pregnant!” she shrieked, not yet aware of his reaction.  When she looked up to share her excitement, her breath brushed against his cheek.  “Oh,” she said softly, and the joy on her face changed to surprise.  Her enthusiasm softened.  “Sasuke-kun,” she breathed, and suddenly they were much too close and his senses were much too heightened.  Without a word, he turned away so he could not see her, yet he knew her so well that he could picture what she looked like standing behind him, eyes wide, totally still.  He could feel her understanding, her shame at having worried him, her desire to reach out and know that he was okay.  Even when he wanted her to, she did not, always respecting his boundaries, always waiting.  Waiting.  Was this what Naruto had meant?  They were always stopping before they broke any boundaries, before they moved out of the well-worn circles of friendship into...what?

“I’m sorry, Sasuke-kun.”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder.  She was standing where she had been, but she was relaxed.  She looked at him with a softness that scared him.  It wasn’t pity--never pity--but something deeper and more dangerous.  Understanding.  She could read his very soul, and regardless of the dark there that shadowed him, she loved it.

“It’s fine,” he said, turning away, unable to bear that gaze.  He wanted to tell her not to feel bad, that he was the broken one, always quick to believe in danger, and it was not her responsibility to fix him.  But she already knew, and she wanted to help if she could.  It was another gift she gave him.

“So Ino is pregnant?” he repeated, taking a step forward, ready to move on.  He was reassured when she moved forward with him, walking by his side again and inspecting her scroll.

“Yes!”  The excitement was back in her voice.  “It’s pretty early still, but she’s sure, and Shizune says everything looks right.  She and Sai have only been married a couple of months.  I would’ve thought they’d take more time to settle into marriage, but I probably shouldn’t be surprised.  When Ino wants something, she gets it.  Except you, of course.”

He raised an eyebrow at her.  She was teasing him for his hordes of fangirls in his youth.  He was kind enough not to remind her that she had been one of those fangirls.  He was curious to know who she thought had won in the race to claim him, but she was already talking again.

“I would’ve expected Naruto and Hinata to have a baby on the way by now, since they can’t seem to keep away from each other.  Hinata isn’t one to rush things, though, and Naruto is totally at her mercy.  Oh!  I just realized, that’s all of Team Ten who are expecting.  I bet Ino’s happy about that.”

Sakura continued musing about their friends while Sasuke tried to process the fact that they were starting their own families.  His classmates and comrades were going to be parents.  The idea of his own family, the next generation of Uchiha, worried him.  He was always at war with himself whether to be ashamed or proud of his name.  There were times when he felt the responsibility of defining it and the legacy he wanted to build for the future.  There were days when he thought it might be better to let the name die, but his love for his brother and the love of his friends wouldn’t let him.  Still, he pitied the children he would bring into this world who would bear the burden of his name.

He glanced at Sakura beside him.  She had gone back to reading the scroll to herself, humming absentmindedly.  He wondered how often she thought about her future family and whether she recognized what a burden his name might be for her.  He found himself with a monopoly on her love, but did she understand what a life with him would mean for their children?

Did he dare think of sharing his future family with Sakura?

“Sasuke-kun look!”  Her happy voice broke into his thoughts.  “I bet that’s the willow grove we’re looking for.”

It was a large cluster of trees around a small cove.  The tendrils of leaves brushed along the ground like the hair of giants buried to their shoulders in the earth.  The water swirled quietly in the cove, kissing the roots of a few trees exposed in the riverbank.  It was a peaceful place.

“Come on,” Sakura invited, rolling up her scroll and jogging towards the trees.  He allowed himself to be caught in her wake, following as she disappeared into the curtains of leaves, eager to keep her pink hair in his sight.

There were seven large willows whose branches and trunks were bent and thick with age.  A scattering of younger trees filled in the rest of the grove, though patches of lush grass carpeted the areas where sufficient sunlight managed to dodge their trailing branches.  He watched as Sakura inspected some of the younger trees, ducking between light and shadow to run her fingertips along their trunks and press her nose to the bark.

“Sometimes the bark on the older trees is too tough,” she explained, “but you also have to be careful that the tree you’re harvesting from isn’t underdeveloped.  It has to be able to recover from the shock of losing some of its protective skin.”

He listened attentively, studying her movement as though he were one of her students.  He noted the way she delicately sliced off strips of bark, learning what to look for as she explained how to gauge its medicinal worth.  He studied her technique for applying a type of organic glue and protective mesh to the tree afterwards so it could heal and be protected from infection.  Then he tried his own hand at it, following her instructions with care, attempting to channel her desire to heal and help through his own fingers.  He wanted to do a good job because it would help her.  It would be a tiny way to repay her for all she did to help him.

“Thank you Sasuke-kun, these will be great.”  She smiled warmly as he handed her the bark, carefully rolled and tied into small packets for easy storage and use.  He felt pleased that she approved of his work and slightly relieved that he had managed to not disappoint her.

They had lunch in the willow grove.  They shared some of the fruit Hinata had sent and some dumplings from her parents.  They were quiet as they ate.  Distant birdsong drifted on the breeze, nearly drowned by the quiet whispers of the willow leaves and the hum of the river.

“It’s so peaceful here,” she sighed, weaving together strands of her pink hair so it formed a sort of crown.  He watched her dexterous fingers, amazed at how deftly they worked through her hair, gathering and tucking it neatly.  Then she began pulling apart he bouquet and incorporating the flowers into her crown.  They had been a gift from Ino.  He thought a gift that would fade and die in a few days was in poor taste, but Sakura seemed quite happy with the blooms.  He knew kunoichi often communicated with flowers, but he had never bothered to learn their meanings.

She wasn’t as adept at weaving the flowers through her hair.  He suspected that not being able to see what she was doing posed a challenge for her.  Her eyebrows knit in concentration as she tried to visualize her hair and her hands and the flowers.

“May I?” he asked before he could think it all the way through.  He reached timidly for the flower in her hand, and though she looked surprised, she let him take it.  He wasn’t sure what he thought he could accomplish with only one hand and next to no knowledge of hairstyling.  He was glad she had to sit with her back to him so she wouldn’t see the perplexity shaping his face.

He set to work, trying to be careful not to bruise the delicate petals or undo her hair.  It was tricky to work with his calloused fingers, thicker than her own, but he was committed.  He didn’t want to disappoint her in this, either.  When he finished with one flower, he moved on to the next, incorporating pink orchids, white daisies, and huge pink peonies into the crown.  Her hair was smooth under his fingertips, soft and sleek and beautiful.  He wondered if it was her hair that smelled so sweet or merely the bouquet tangling with his senses.

“I think that’s all I can do,” he admitted after several minutes of diligent work.  She reached her hands up to gently pat at her head, trying to visualize the halo of flowers now framing her face.

“Thank you Sasuke-kun,” she said, turning to him with a bright smile.  Her cheeks were a little pink, probably from excitement.  They matched the flowers.  He wasn’t sure why, but he was struck again by her beauty--sparkling green eyes, sunset pink hair, and soft skin.  She was a flower among flowers, a treasured bloom.

“There are a few left over,” he observed, incapable of holding her gaze, eyes unable to handle the sight of something so special.

“Hm.”  She picked up the two orchids and large white chrysanthemum, twirling the stems thoughtfully in her hands.  Then she reached towards him, and her hands were in his hair.  Sasuke froze, watching her face as she focused on what she was doing, the seriousness of her expression.  It was strange, having someone else messing with her hair.  Strange, but not uncomfortable, because it was Sakura.

“There.”  She sat back on her heels, hands now free of both his hair and the flowers.  He raised his hand to feel the blooms now tucked into his hair.  He couldn’t picture it, but Sakura looked pleased.

“Thanks.”

She hummed happily in reply.

“Now that you’ve got more willow bark, what do you want to do?”

“Can we stay here for the rest of the day?  It’s just so nice here.”

He smiled a little to himself.

“That would be fine.”

It would mean an early day tomorrow to get to their destination on time, but they could afford to relax today.  It was her birthday, after all.

“Thank you, Sasuke-kun,” she said softly.  She leaned back on her arms, closing her eyes and leaning her head back to drink in the early afternoon atmosphere.  There was a wisp of pink hair loose, tickling her cheekbone.  He wondered if he had knocked it loose lacing her updo with flowers, or if it was one of those stubborn bits that didn’t like to cooperate.  He had a cowlick near the back of his head that didn’t like to lay flat.  It was one of the reasons he wore his hair as he did.

He touched the flowers in his hair again.  For the longest time no one had dared touch him without his permission.  And now he was wearing flowers in his hair.  He didn’t even mind.  She had a strange sort of magic over him.  Sakura tended to take his world and dismantle all of its boundaries, and she did it so innocently that it didn’t matter.

“Would you like fish for dinner?”

“Hm?”  She cracked open an eye to look at him.  He gestured to the river.

“I could catch some for dinner tonight.”

“Sure, that’d be nice.  But before you go fishing, I’ll race you to the top of that tree.”

In a blink, she was up and racing to the tallest willow.  Sasuke was a step behind her, grinning.  They had raced to climb trees before, many years ago when they had been younger and more carefree.  She had been way ahead of him and Naruto in chakra control, and he had been much too proud to tell her how impressed he was.  But he had improved a lot since then.

The race soon became a game of tag instead.  They wove between the tree branches, trusting their agility and balance to keep from falling.  Laughter followed them between the trees, along with shrieks and shouts as they dodged some close calls.  They easily could have caught one another if they used some of their jutsus, but they kept it strictly to chakra control and flexibility.  It was like that time when they were genin all over again.  For one afternoon, they had nothing to worry about.  It was merely the sun and the trees and their breaths and each other.  It was marvelous.

And it came to an end with Sakura laughing and gasping for breath, sitting down on the highest safe branch of the tree.

“Truce,” she gasped, straddling the branch and leaning against the trunk.  He nodded and sat near her on the branch, panting and chuckling.  This had been fun, exerting his energy for something other than retribution and missions.  It was refreshing.

They sat there in the treetop, catching their breaths and looking at each other.  A few more tendrils of pink hair had escaped Sakura’s updo, but it had weathered the excitement well.  He wondered if his own flowers had survived.  They simply looked at each other in this moment where the world was stripped away and their worries cast aside.  It was an honest moment between them, no pretences, just the joy of life and each other’s company.

They spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing together.  Sasuke fished, and Sakura wrote letters to their friends back home.  He snuck glances at her lying in the grass on her stomach beside him.  He noted the contours of her back, the curve of her lips, the way she held the brush, the unique way she wrote the characters…  These were the myriad details of Sakura Haruno, and he wanted to know them all intimately.  It was a wonder he had enough focus after studying her to catch fish.

Dinner was pleasant.  He managed to snag a few fish which they grilled over their fire.  They also had some rice leftover from their travel supply, and Sakura gathered a few wild vegetables in the area to round out their meal.  They finished with some sake that Tsunade had sent for her pupil’s birthday.

“Anything else you want to tell Naruto before I send this off?” she asked, completing the final character on her letter to their friend.  He took the brush from her and scrawled a note.  His handwriting looked so much less refined next to hers.  At least it was legible.

“Sasuke,” she groaned when she read what he’d put down.  “‘Stop worrying about me and get your own love life together.’  What do you mean?  He’s already happily married.”

“But they don’t have any kids yet.  You even said how unexpected that was.”

She rolled her eyes and wrapped up the scroll, signaling to Jinsoku.  The hawk had followed them all day and been relaxing in the trees while they went about their business.  She strapped the scrolls she had written into the carrier on its back, stroking its neck and whispering instructions in its ear.   With a mighty flap of its wings, it rose again and flew off into the evening.

Sasuke took another sip of sake.  The grove was as peaceful now as it had been earlier, the crackling of the fire in front of them the only addition to the soft sounds of the leaves and the river.  It really was a lovely place.  He had started noticing and appreciating the landscapes he travelled through when Sakura joined him.  She was always eager to point out some interesting flowers or an awe-inspiring rock formation.  He wondered how much of his new appreciation for their surroundings was due to the new company he was keeping.

He looked at her, skin glowing from the fire, flowers starting to wilt in her hair.  She had made everything better when she decided to join him.  Some things were more challenging, of course, and there were times he was afraid of the love and understanding she held for him.  But everything, everything was better with her around.  And he suddenly, desperately needed her to know that.

“Sakura,” he said softly, and when she turned, he was there, nose mere inches from hers, his hand on her cheek.  It was warm from the fire and the blush creeping onto her face.  He wanted to freeze time here, to take in every detail of her wide eyes and lips parted in surprise, to count every hair that had fallen out of place.  Part of him was also panicking, telling him to pull back, overwhelmed by their proximity.  He could feel her breath on his lips.  He could smell the flowers in her hair.

But Naruto was right.  She had waited long enough.  And Sasuke didn’t want to wait anymore, either.

The kiss was simple and chaste.  It was the press of warm lips, her quick intake of surprised breath through her nose, and the tingle of his fingertips on her skin.  But it was also fire and flood, something new and long-anticipated, the mingling of their worlds and feelings and the intertwining of their souls.  It was natural and frightening.  It was right.

They broke apart after a moment that felt simultaneously like eternity and a mere second.  And suddenly Sasuke felt too close to her again, consumed by the rising panic of having walked to the edge of their usual dynamic and suddenly realizing he had left the habitual boundary far behind.  He had overstepped.  He had ruined what they had.  He turned away.

But he couldn’t, because her hand was on his cheek now, too.

“Sasuke-kun,” she whispered, and he saw her very soul in her eyes.  All of the love she had held in for years, the depth of her understanding, everything that he was to her looked back at him.  She demanded nothing but the truth, and he felt the truth in the contact of their skin and the memory of her lips.  She had broken the boundaries of his world again, and it was okay because she was walking with him towards the new horizon, moving forward at his side.

And Sasuke knew that they would walk together for the rest of their lives.

“Happy birthday, Sakura.”

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON MAYDAY’S LEAD VOCAL ONG JIMIN...

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: Angel CURRENT AGE: 20 DEBUT AGE: 19 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 15 COMPANY: MSG SECONDARY SKILL: n/a

IDOL PROFILE

NICKNAME(S):  princess jiminie, dumpling, wingless angel INSPIRATION: she fell in love with the idea of being an idol after watching jinx’s comeback stage for hush, she was already a trainee at that point but it made her realize that it was her dream to be on the stage.

SPECIAL TALENTS:

flexibility

good at imitating emoticon facial expressions

can hold a single note for 30 seconds

NOTABLE FACTS:

graduated from SOPA in 2017

her favorite flavor combination is mint and chocolate.

before debut, other trainees would call her auntie or eomma because she had a habit of making sure that everyone had eaten and washed up before bed.

she loves cats but has only ever had dogs growing up.

angel participated in and won her first local singing competition when she was eleven years old.

IDOL GOALS

SHORT-TERM GOALS:

primarily, jimin has a  desire to break into the public eye by putting herself out there and getting herself seen. as it stands, her goal for the short term is to try her hand at variety and book a few CFs to see if it’s something she’d be interested in pursuing as her career develops as a rookie in the industry. if all works out, she’d like to try her hand at hosting on music shows to familiarize the idol audience with her face and her personality as she grows her image and works toward her ultimate goal of putting out solo work. it’s all about appearances.

LONG-TERM GOALS:

long-term, her goal is to make a living off of her natural born talents - enough that she can live comfortably and provide for her mother and brother back home. in some ways, her drive for success is driven by an underlying spite towards her father’s lack of faith in his children amounting to much of anything, so if things go according to plan, he won’t be able to turn on the television without seeing his daughter’s face. she plans on honing her skills as a singer, as a performer, and becoming someone that lasts beyond the fleeting longevity of an idol group. as happy as she is being a member of mayday, she plans on making a name for herself, wants ong jimin - angel, to be someone that’s instantly recognizable in terms of face, ability, and charms. she admires the likes of lee hyori and her ability to thrive as the #1 korean entertainer, but would ultimately be happy being a household name through the likes of a solo career and intends on using her foot in the door in other avenues as a way to build a reputation strong enough to get her there.

IDOL IMAGE

when jimin was a little girl, her mother developed the habit of calling her her little angel because she was generous and kindhearted in a way that was rare for this world. the older she got, the more that affect declined and by the time she’d hit puberty, jimin was a more reserved and collected version of her younger self. she’d had to grow up quickly, miss out on the freedom of childhood and the luxury of living without stress or responsibility. back then, she’d called it doing what she had to do to keep food on the table, but looking back on it now, jimin wishes she’d had the opportunity to live a little more before she signed her life away. nothing about growing up had been fair but she considers that aspect of her childhood a part of what’s made her so strong today. jimin is a fighter in every aspect of the word: resilient and capable, strong and unaffected when the situation calls for it. strong, above all else.

she’s an easy image to construct - poised and lovely, with an air of impossibility, of mystery that could bring the strongest man to his knees. they frame her as the girly type, the kind of girl you’d want to marry - the ideal. she’s sweet and demure but fun and sexy when it matters, in a classy way - never trashy like the girls that get slighted in the media for being too much of a good thing. within the group, she’s the caring and maternal type, the one that cutely checks in on her members’ health and makes sure that dinner’s made in the dorms. she’s intelligent but vague, something airy and house-wifey about her that makes her desirable but not intimidating, easy to swallow for someone who can’t handle a girl who knows too much. they want her to play the role of the flirty and unattainable, a heart attack in heels and cute clothing. small and cute and beautiful, almost fairy-like in affect without falling into the trap of blending in.

an angel.

IDOL HISTORY

TW: ableism, child exploitation

from the day jimin is born things are different for her. she’s the youngest of two, the baby sister to an older brother who her mother adores. jinsung, five years her senior, is disabled - “defective” in the words of her father - due to a genetic disorder that had rendered him dependent and nonverbal, so from the moment she’s able, jimin plays a role in taking care of both her brother and herself. she helps him tie his shoes in the morning, brushes his hair and his teeth and makes sure he’s fed before she does the same for herself. it isn’t something she resents - at least not in the beginning, it’s all that she knows. she’s okay with it, happy to help the brother she loves so much live an easier life. to this day, some of her fondest memories are of her singing lullabies to her brother by his bedside and the two of them fumbling through the words of children’s books together before it’s time for bed.

the only person who seemed to have a problem with the arrangement was her father and, in some ways, jimin could hardly blame him. he’s a metalworker, a working class man in a society that thrives on the making and movement of money, and it’s hardly cheap to pay for the medication and machinery that jinsung needs to survive. it doesn’t help that jimin’s mother’s job is only part time due to the hours she needs to invest in taking care of their son and now their young daughter. there are too many mouths to feed and, truthfully, not enough to go around. so, one day he leaves- in the middle of the night, without so much as a goodbye, but he’s gracious enough to leave behind enough for them to buy groceries for the week, the keys to his rusted pick-up truck that he’d spent the better part of a year trying to restore.

jimin had been nine at the time and her mother, well, she’d been desperate.

it doesn’t take long for her mother to start taking jimin to open casting calls for child performers, signing her up for local competitions with cash prizes with hopes that she’ll walk away with enough to float them through to the next month. it’s not too bad, she reasons, because jimin likes to sing, she enjoysbeing in the spotlight, but above all her helpful nature won’t let her complain about it, because she hates the idea of letting anyone down more than anything. it’s a bitter truth, the knowledge that this is the way things have to be because her mom can’t take on any extra hours without having to pay someone to help care for jinsung as well. it’d be a money sink. she’s too young for this, but. she persists.

she’s lucky when she lands a small commercial role at the bright age of ten and even luckier when she wins a local singing competition at age eleven. before long it seems like jimin has taken on the role of breadwinner, as young as she is, keeping her family fed and healthy while juggling school and childhood friendships as best as she can. there’s little time for play when there’s singing to be done, when she could learn a little dancing for free from the older girls in the neighborhood who practice choreography from groups like STAT1C and Jubilee - irony’s her favorite to memorize. the next four years of her life are spent improving until she’s a force to be reckoned with.

at age fourteen, she goes into msg’s singing competition with the hopes that there’s an immediate cash payout for runner up that would help with the bills back home, but when she wins, the stakes are upped into changing her family’s way of living altogether. she’s part surprised and half completely expecting it. she could cry. god, she deserves this.

 she doesn’t even have to beg when it comes time for her mother to sign the contract.

training to become an idol really starts out as a means to an end and it really feels that way for a long time, her daily schedule of taking the bus and the train to get to the msg company building, spending her every waking moment that wasn’t being spent doing school work or other side jobs to endure evaluations and diet suggestions (read: demands) so that she could be what they were looking for, and then trudging home in the dead of night hoping that she’d be picked. eventually she is, she watches CHERRYBOMB! thrive, watches the debut of girl groups in other companies and nearly loses her drive but then - she’s chosen. they call them something stupid that she’s since forgotten but she vividly remembers the feeling of this longshot becoming a reality.

they become mayday.

fast forward to debut and she still can’t believe it, floats on cloud nine and shakes hands with all the stars she can hardly believe are real. it’s not like she thought it would be, becoming a somebody, even if she’s only one somebody in a group of five. she doesn’t linger in it, though, because this is when the work truly begins. the first few months feel like a blur of music show performances and introductions, of vlive specials and instagram lives, but she quickly gets the hang of it. she likes this, having eyes on her, she gets good at selling the fantasy to those who’ll watch. she feels it the most when her birthday comes and goes and there’s a hashtag in her honor.

on camera, she’s angel. she lets jimin worry about the other stuff, the money and the rehearsals and the soundchecks and the recordings and the practice and the aches in the balls of her feet and the demanding schedules. she lets jimin think about home. angel’s got plans.

her time as an idol so far has given her a taste of what could be but she knows better than to get too greedy - not yet, anyway. even with msg’s restrictions, she feels freer, younger than she ever has, learns to harden her exterior into something impenetrable because it’s what the people want. the people want perfect and unattainable and angel wants to be a star, hopes the pull of success will quiet the phantom puffs of hot air on the back of her neck when she remembers what this is for, hopes it quiets the pinch of guilt she feels when she swallows it down and ignores her mother’s calls when life gets to be too much.

it feels good to be selfish.

[bts-write]

Draco Malfoy Headcanon- Draco and Dobby

A/N: So this is a detailed headcanon about how Dobby basically raised Draco and they meant a lot to each other before Draco grew up and got caught up in the whole Death Eater mess.It’s mostly a drabble based on this headcanon.

Dobby had lived with the Malfoys for years, enduring insults and compulsory punishments and hard work simply because there was no other choice. He knew there was a chance of a better life out there, somewhere, so he endured patiently.

One day, however, Dobby encounters this little blond creature, all smiles and giggles, no scowls or kicks or disdain. Little Draco accepts Dobby’s presence like it’s the most normal thing in the world, and Dobby grows to adore this pure, happy soul, this child who doesn’t know hate, but only love and happiness.He becomes the only good thing in Doby’s life.

Ever since Draco’s birth, Dobby undertook this sort of nanny role, shuffling to Draco’s room when everyone went to bed, climbing into the crib and talking to him. Not that Narcissa and Lucius didn’t love their baby boy-he was spoiled rotten. But Dobby wanted to spoil him too.

Whenever baby Draco woke up, nervous and alone in his bed, Dobby would sing him back to sleep. Oblivious, Lucius and Narcissa would assume Draco was a quiet baby who didn’t really wake up at night, not knowing it was all Dobby, being so grateful for having this little friend. Narcissa and Lucius made sure to keep Dobby away from Draco. What they didn’t know, was that Dobby always found a way back to his little friend, especially if he needed him, especially if he was crying or scared, waiting for Dobby to sing him to sleep

When Draco grows up, they play together like it’s the most natural thing, like friends would; running around, playing hide and seek around the mansion. In these small moments, Dobby forgets about the insults and kicks he gets from everyone else, because all of that doesn’t matter when he plays with Draco, who treats him like an equal, like a friend.

Until of course, Lucius decides it’s enough; his son had been socialising with that puny pile of dirt for long enough. He tells Draco that he’s a pureblood and he should act accordingly, not play around like a fool with a house elf, with a servant. But Draco starts crying, saying Dobby is his only friend, he’s the nicest he’s ever had, and he wants his father to stop hurting Dobby. Whenever Dobby is hurt, Draco cries as well.

So Lucius and Narcissa decide that Draco needs to be around children his age. Family friends and their children start to visit, and like most children would, Draco makes friends, delighted by the new company. Dobby is forced to hide in corner, keep out of their way. He must simply watch as his little friend finds other friends.

Of course, however frequent these visits, the guests can’t stay forever. Whenever his new friends leave, Draco turns back to his old one because why shouldn’t he? However, now he’s learnt his lesson, so his and Dobby’s friendship must be kept secret, guarded with nonchalance from Draco’s side whenever his parents are around. And so, from a young age, Draco learns to put on a mask, to act as he should when he has to, and ignore his friend if he must.

But Draco is also afraid of wasps. One day, an angry wasp flies through his open window and Draco screams, calling his father for help. Lucius tells him he’s grown up, he should just kill it himself. Narcissa finds wasps disgusting, she can’t go near them, so she doesn’t help either. But Dobby rushes in, getting rid of the wasp with a snap of his fingers.

Afterwards, he makes this scented, magic candle that doesn’t go out, keeping the wasps away. It smells of fresh air and grass and it’s like Dobby is always there to protect him, and Draco keeps it even in winter when there are no wasps. Although the candle is magical, it does go out after a few months, so Dobby has to make a new one once in a while but he doesn’t mind, because it’s to protect Draco.

As Draco’s first day of school draws near, his father begins lecturing him, on what blood and family mean, on the importance of his future, his place in the wizarding world. Soon enough, after a few words about Hogwarts, Slytherin and bringing honour to one’s family, Draco starts to dream about that future in the wizarding world. His new friends start to visit more often and they all make plans together.

Draco’s last days at home fly by in a haze of daydreams and nervous excitement. He would have shared it with Dobby, every bit of it, only his father is watching closely and Draco knows better than to give himself away in front of his father. He doesn’t want to disappoint him either, not before he goes away for so long. He has a chance to make his parents proud at Hogwarts. He wants to.

Hogwarts changes Draco. He leaves with his mind set on making his parents proud, and he tries to be who his father taught him to be. Soon enough, it becomes easier. He’s around people who think like his father. He’s in Slytherin, like he should be.

Dobby however, can’t help but hurt at how they’ve changed his little friend. When he goes back for Christmas, for summer, things aren’t the same. Draco pushes Dobby away, there are other things on his mind. He’s been away for a long time now, he’s used to not having Dobby around. The holidays pass, and Dobby doesn’t spend time with Draco like he thought he would.

In second year, when Dobby comes to Hogwarts, he also sneaks around the castle looking for Draco, whatever chance he gets. He wants to catch a glimpse of him, make sure his little friend is okay and isn’t homesick. Yes, his new friends have changed him, he’s not how he used to be, but Dobby still loves him.

When Dobby gets the sock from thanks to Harry, the freedom he’s longed for all this time, he can’t help the tears escaping his eyes, because he might never see or talk to Draco again. How can he just abandon little Draco? How can he leave him with those people, now when they’re all putting thoughts into his head and words in his mouth, when Draco needs Dobby the most.

Once back home for the summer, Draco feels...empty for some reason. He wanders around the mansion, around the different rooms, pale and forlorn enough to pass for a ghost. His parents ask him what’s wrong, but Draco doesn’t know either. Not until a wasp zooms into his room one day. And his candle isn’t burning anymore.

He draws a breath, ready to call for Dobby, before he remembers everything, and with a little squeal, runs to his closet. Once the doors are closed, and darkness pools around him, he can finally cry for something he hasn’t been able to in a long time. And because there’s a loose wasp in his room, no Dobby to come rescue him, no Dobby at all, and he misses him, and feels a sharp sting in his heart, as thought the wasp might have gotten in with him. But it hasn’t, it’s only because he’d been mean to Dobby for so long, because he’d pushed him away before he lost him.

Huddled in the darkness of his wardrobe, Draco imagines how Dobby must have felt, all the times his father made Dobby punish himself, all the times he kicked and disrespected him, as if he was something as verminous and disgusting as a wasp.

Throughout the years, whenever something scares him, whenever he feels like crying, Draco remembers Dobby, and how much more Dobby suffered in comparison to him. When attacked by the Hippogriff, or turned into a ferret, or when faced with anything that might make him want to run away and turn into a ball, Draco remembers Dobby’s strength, and he tries to be braver, for Dobby.

As the years pass, as he starts growing up, he thinks about Dobby less. Life does that sometimes, it makes you prioritize, it pushes some thoughts away, it distracts you, forces you to move on.

But in his sixth year, Draco is asked to bear too big a burden.With the dark mark scorched on his forearm, and Death Eaters surrounding his family, seeping into his life, growing in power, Draco gets caught in a storm too dangerous to escape from. Instead, he knows he must face it head on, for his parents, for the only people left to him. Yet even with the chance to honour his family, loneliness had never felt so real to Draco.

Unknown to him, Dobby is closer than he’d been in years, bossing every other elf around in the Hogwarts kitchens and making sure the food is as good as it can be. Because all of those kids up there need good food, Harry Potter and his friends need good food and most of all, little Draco needs to be well fed and happy. So Dobby always double checks the food before it goes to the Slytherin table, just in case, because he doesn’t want Draco to get food poisoning. Somehow, he still has to protect his little friend.

On the day when Draco kills Dumbledore, at the meal before the Astronomy Tower, Draco feels more anxious than usual, his whole body shaking with apprehension. Down in the kitchen, Dobby senses something. Perhaps he just knows. He feels like Draco needs cheering up, he needs his help. So he rushes to make this strawberry pie for dessert, just for the Slytherin table, a pie he used to make for little Draco during birthdays and Christmas. They’d eat together, hidden somewhere in the mansion. It was their own little secret.

Dobby makes sure there are enough pies so that Draco will get one. When they appear on the table, the smell confuses Draco at first, familiar and sweet, something from the past. When he sees them, his mouth hangs open and soon, tears pool in his eyes, the neglected feeling coming back after so long, the memories of Dobby. In that moment, his terrifying task forgotten, with tears threatening to slip down his cheeks, he takes the pie to his room, where he can miss his old friend in peace.

Later on, when face to face with Dumbledore, Draco thinks of Dobby again, the goodness in him, the way he would have said that this isn’t the right thing to do, none of this is, starting with the mark on his arm. He knows what Dobby would have thought of this, but he also knows that his parents are in danger, and he has to do this, he has to be strong. But how can he be strong when what he has to do, will only enforce all the cruelty and hate he’s gotten tangled in? How can he simply take part in this destruction of things that he had once loved? Things that sometimes, he had needed Dobby to show him were good.

In his seventh year, when Dobby appears back at the mansion, Draco can’t believe his eyes. Dobby, his Dobby, is there. He hadn’t seen him for years, not in the way Dobby was able to see Draco.

Seeing Dobby again, for the first time in so long, Draco chokes at the tumult of emotion, the thoughts whirling around in his head. He had missed out so much time with Dobby, but he finally gets to see him, he could even try make it up to him, but something is wrong, what could he do?

After Bellatrix’s knife finds Dobby’s chest, despite the chaos around him, Draco knows, he knows something is wrong. There is a sharp pain in his chest, doubling him over as he sneaks away in the panic, to his room, where he hides in his wardrobe again, letting his heart shed all the tears it had kept for years. He knows it’s the end, that he can never get Dobby back, or apologise for what he’s done, and he knows he will probably die himself soon. The flood of childhood memories comes back, guiding Draco through his grief, through what might be the end of the world.

Afterwards, when Draco gets caught in the fire started by Crabbe, thoughts of Dobby find him again, only this time it’s in the crude form of this vivid image, of the little body broken and lifeless, of his pure soul gone from this world. Draco drowns in this regret, the loneliness more stifling than the fire, until Potter saves him, and Draco thinks he finally understands why Dobby loved Potter so much. Because Potter could be kind, he could give him the love that Draco should have, instead of pushing him away. So Draco just clutches at Harry, flames drying his tears as he cries them, tears of fear and pain and regret, and because he had hated Potter for so long and for nothing.

Maybe for taking Dobby away from him. It had been his fault that Dobby had been freed, his fault for being better than Draco, his fault for making Dobby love him. Draco had hated him for it, for years, never really knowing why. Now, he was tired of hating. He could never get Dobby back, apologise to him, make up for the lost time. But he could live like Dobby had taught him. He could live with a little more consideration for everyone else.

[hopeishappinessff]

Chapter 35

Rolling over onto my side, I squinted at the beaming neon numbers on my alarm clock and after yawning and stretching wide, I smiled broadly and pushed myself into an upright position… today, was my birthday. I woke up nearly twenty minutes earlier than usual, so I spoiled myself by snuggling in my bed and flipping on the television to pass time. Around seven am., I finally climbed out of bed and moseyed over to my bathroom to complete my morning tasks. Within twenty minutes, I was out of the shower and making my way back into my room with a towel wrapped snuggly around my frame. Before I could reach my closet, a large white bag perched beside a shoe box near the closet entrance caught my eye. A slight rush of panic surged through me as I peeked around my room then slowly approached the randomly placed objects. Hesitantly, I reached down into the bag and I could feel soft material against the tips of my fingers.

Minutes later I’d pulled an entire mystery outfit from the bag and a matching pair of shoes from the shoebox. I grinned at the sight of the adorable getup, though I had no clue where it came from. Rushing back to the bathroom, I quickly released my golden tresses from the holder then fluffed it to make each necessary piece fall perfectly around my face. I only slowed down long enough to paint my face with a thin layer of foundation, followed by a natural contour, a pop of bronzer for a nice glow, 3D fiber mascara, and a neutral pink gloss to accentuate my lips. Moving back into my room, I rid myself of the plush towel and swiftly dressed in the entire outfit from the bag that consisted of khaki skinnies, a black hoodie that read ‘Beauty’ in bold white letters, and a fresh pair of red, black and white Nike Air Jordan IV’s. I completed the look by tying a red bandana neatly in my hair just behind my curly bangs, allowing the ends to remain open at the top to form bunny ears. I faced myself in the mirror and fluffed my loose curly tresses once more and without wasting anymore time, I scooped up my black studded back pack and exited my room.

The moment my foot crossed the threshold into the kitchen, my aunt instantly bombarded me with a spoon she’d been using to stir grits in one hand. “Awww, look at my baby… Happy Birthday sweetheart!” She squealed as she bobbed up and down in front of me to a Charlie Wilson song that played from her iPod dock. I giggled at her overabundance of energy and marched toward the table to claim a seat. “Thanks Auntie.” I muttered bashfully. “You’re welcome baby… oh you just look so adorable!” She gushed, making her way to the kitchen entrance where she stuck her head out into the hall. She swung back around to face me with a beaming grin and soon, a towering frame entered the space just feet behind her.

“Happy Birthday Sy.” Chris greeted as he eased closer to me and pulled me up into a warm bear hug. I shut my eyes as we embraced and inhaled his addictive scent, wishing that he could hold me that close forever. My fantasy was over the moment he stepped back and it was then that I took the opportunity to take in his ensemble. He was dressed in a sagging pair of fitted khaki’s, a black hoodie that looked remarkably similar to my own only his read ‘Beast’ in bold white letters, and his red, black and white Nike Air Jordan IV’s were an exact replica of mine. He complimented the entire look with a red snapback that he wore angled forward and straight in its usual manner.

“I like your outfit.” I smirked. He smiled as he bit into his bottom lip and allowed his eyes to roam freely over my frame “I like yours too.” “I bet you do,” My aunt blurted as she eyed us through curious eyes with a brow raised and a hand jammed against her hip, “He put both of your outfits together. Coming over here begging me to tell him what size clothes and shoes you wear. I swear you two are something else.” Glancing down at my outfit, I quickly realized that we were indeed matching to a T. From his red hat that was obviously meant to be a male’s interpretation of my red bandana, to the identical hoodies that made me the ‘Beauty’ to his ‘Beast’. I could only giggle at the concept… I had no idea he’d be thoughtful enough to put this together.

“Thank you Chris. This is absolutely adorable.” I beamed. “I was hoping you would like it.” He smirked. “Oh you two are just the cutest,” My aunt gushed, clapping her hands together as she bounced in place, “Let Auntie go get her camera and get a few shots before ya’ll go stuntin on them lil haters at your school.” With now matching blank expressions, Chris and I both stared at one another before bursting into a fit of laughter as she darted of the kitchen. She soon rushed back in with her camera on and ready to go, and nearly an entire photoshoot later she finally allowed us to make our way out the door.

“Alright my gorgeous young lady and handsome young man, you two have a good day at school. And Happy Birthday to you again baby… we’ll give you all your gifts and everything as soon as you get home.” My aunt called out behind us as we ventured down the few steps from the porch toward Chris’s truck. “Alright Auntie. You have a good day.” “Ya’ll be careful out here on these roads. Chris…” The hazardous tone in her voice prompted him to turn to face her. “Yes ma’am.” “Drive slow in that big rig boy.” She said with a stern finger pointed out at him. “Yes ma’am… I will.” He chuckled.

--

“Happy Birthday to you… Happy Birthday to you… Happy Birthday dear Sy’Diyah… Happy Birthday to you!” With cheeks as red a rose and a smile a mile wide, I sat with my hands clamped over my mouth as nearly the entire cafeteria joined in to croon Happy Birthday to me. I shook my head as I watched each of my friends dance about wildly, diving immediately into a lovely ethnic rendition of the tune. “Happy Birthday to ya… Happy Birthday to ya… Happy Birthdaaaaaay…” The boys all twirled around behind me and I cackled aloud as Chris reached over my shoulders and grabbed my hands, throwing them up in the air and waving them from side to side as he continued to sing the song. After enduring the embarrassment for what felt like eternity, the song finally ended with him hitting a high note right in my ear and the cafeteria erupted into applause. Once everyone at the table finally reclaimed their seats, the chatter quickly began.

“This just in, Sy’Diyah Hope Donsen is finally a legally grown ass woman… how does it feel to be a legally grown ass woman Sy?” Rashad asked in a forged reporter’s voice as he playfully stuck his fist out in my face as though he were clutching a microphone. “Well,” I stared, going along with his goofiness, “It feels pretty great sir… it’s like, I feel like I’m finally progressing in life.” He chuckled and pulled his fist back away from me “Well, you heard it here first folks… now back to you at the studio Bob.” The table roared with laughter and Destani playfully punched him in the shoulder “You stupid Shad.”

“Real spill though Sy, your outfit is lit girl,” Tameka said from her seat beside Destani, “Chris yours too… damn, wait… ya’ll niggas match. Ya’ll know that?” Glancing over at Chris, I noticed that he’d already begun to shake his head and he glared at her through squinted eyes as the rest of the table laughed. “No Meka, I personally had no idea.” He said with a hand pressed against his chest. “Well just so you know,” She leaned forward and pointed from me to him, “Your outfits look exactly alike.” He nodded his head and continued to maintain a straight face “Thanks Meeks. I swear, we honestly didn’t know.” “Damn Meka, there you go with that slow shit again.” Destani muttered. “What?” She asked, completely oblivious.

“Anyway… what time does the game start tonight?” Nalay asked. “Seven… and we got that senior recognition thing at half time.” Chris replied. “Aw damn nigga, I forgot all about that. My mama showed me some paper about that shit and I smooth ain’t listen when she tried to explain to me what it was.” Dontay said. “Yeah, well… coach said we all have to attend that shit, so you better call ma dukes and tell her.” Chris stated as he popped a fry in his mouth. Lunch was soon over and as I got up to dispose of my trash, I couldn’t help but laugh as I listened to Dontay, Chris, and Rashad argue over who would walk me to my next class. I could only shake my head as Mike and BJ both slipped into place on either side of me.

“So since dumb, dumber, and dumb ass nigga can’t get it together over there, would you mind if two real gentlemen escort you to class Madam?” BJ asked, hooking his right arm with my left before I could even reply. Mike followed suit on my right and soon they both did indeed begin to walk me toward the main doors of the cafeteria. “Aye, hold the fuck up… where ya’ll going?” Chris yelled from behind us. I glanced back at him, blew him a quick kiss, and continued to walk out of the cafeteria with my newfound escorts.

--

The final bell of the day rang and I couldn’t have been more ecstatic. I was forced to endure the remainder of the day with sneers and stares from nearly every girl I encountered in the halls and my classes. It didn’t take long for news of my birthday to spread and once the idea of Chris and I sporting matching outfits got around, people quickly began to speculate. I was well on my way out into the student parking lot with Destani, but we were stopped midway by a very demanding Chris.

“Chris how you gonna drive her home when you have practice like, right now?” Destani argued, but with the dominant attitude that Chris possessed, I knew the argument was as good as done the moment he parted his lips to speak. “Dez, why don’t you walk to your car, I’ll walk to mine… and Sy’Diyah will walk with me.” His statement was simple and to the point and he never even turned to face her as he walked ahead of us. “Oooohhhh, this nigga get on my last damn nerve. Your yellow ass don’t run no damn body, come on Sy let’s go.” She said, stomping off toward her car. “Dez, wait,” I shouted as I caught up to her, “You know if you take me home, neither one of us will ever hear the end of it from him. You may as well just let him take me.”

She rolled her eyes and scoffed, throwing her hand down against her hip “Fine, if you wanna ride with him, whatever… I was just tryna do something nice for your ass.” I stared at her for only a few seconds before bursting into a fit of laughter. Her jaw instantly dropped and she glared at me “You would laugh.” “I’m sorry… I really do appreciate that Dez.” I said with a grin. With a smirk and a roll of her eyes, she stepped forward and swooped me into a hug “Well, I guess you should get on over there with your boo before he loses his damn mind.” “I’ll see you later okay.” I giggled. I turned and ambled away, finally reaching Chris and his truck and quickly climbing inside.

“You know you’re gonna be late for practice, right?” I asked as he whipped out of the parking lot. He nodded, never uttering a word as he continued to bob his head to his music. “And you’re okay with that?” I asked. “I’m good with that babe. What can Coach Wes really do to me? I’m the captain of the damn team… he can’t do shit but tell me not to be late again.” Deciding not to argue against him, I remained silent until we arrived at my house a short while later and I nearly choked on air as he parked along the curb outside the house.

Standing there in the driveway, leaning against the back of his truck, was Trey peering through Chris's windshield… directly at me. Panic instantly hit me like a ton of bricks and through the most horrified eyes, I slowly glanced at Chris. With an expression as hard as stone and as cold as ice, he glared at Trey. “Thanks for the ride Chris,” I nearly whispered with a hand situated on the handle of the door, more prepared than ever to bolt, “I’ll see you later okay.”

“Hold up,” He mumbled. I swore I could hear my heart thumping away in my ears and my breath quickly became jagged as I watched him lean across his seat, resting his right elbow on my arm rest, “You told this nigga to come over here?” I shook my head as I twiddled my fingers and attempted to look everywhere but at him. I knew Trey would pop up at some point in the day, I just wasn’t expecting him to be here… now. “I didn’t tell him to come over here. I had no idea…” He raised a finger to silence me and continued to stare out the window almost curiously at Trey. Motioning for me to lean forward, I did so hesitantly and awaited his next move. Diverting his gaze down to my lips, he abruptly meshed his lips against mine and thrust his arm rest up to give himself more leverage to lean in closer.

With my lips now parted to make way for his tongue, I was immediately caught off guard by the sensation of the metal ball in the center of his tongue as he slithered it along the edges of my own. Instinctively, I moaned and clutched onto the front of his matching hoodie as he snaked a hand around to the back of my neck. The sound of our lips smacking was enough to give me the urge to climb over into his lap, but I refrained from doing so as he gripped my neck gently and pulled me deeper into the kiss. Only seconds later did he pull away, tugging at my bottom lip as he slowly leaned back into his seat.

“You gone make me miss practice.” He mumbled, staring avidly at my lips. I could feel my cheeks blushing as I tucked my bottom lip between my teeth and shied away from him. He swiped his tongue over his lips and glanced out of the window behind me with that same stone expression. “Well I’ll um,” I started, pausing only to clear my throat and gather my rambled thoughts, “I guess I’ll see you later today.” He nodded and twisted his lips to one side with furrowed brows and eyed me carefully as I climbed down out of the truck. I moseyed slowly up the driveway toward Trey, refusing to look back as I listened to Chris speed off down the street.

“Hi Trey.” I mumbled once I was within earshot. He nodded only once, yet remained eerily silent. I prayed he wouldn’t speak within the following seconds… my blood pressure had risen so swiftly I was sure the steady thumping in my ears would prevent me from hearing a word he said. “Do you want to come in for a little while?” I asked. “Nah,” He replied quietly, “I actually have to be somewhere. I just wanted to come by and drop off your birthday present.” “Oh… okay.” I stared down at the ground as he walked around to the passenger side of his truck. He reemerged before me with a large bouquet of red, white, and pinks roses and a small, red gift bag.

Not a single word was spoken as he handed me the bag and flowers then slowly began to retreat backwards to the driver’s side of his truck “Happy Birthday Sy’Diyah and um… I’ll try to call you tomorrow to wish you a Happy Valentine’s Day alright.” Before I knew it, he’d climbed into his truck and reversed out of my driveway, leaving me standing and staring like a fool. I released a remorseful sigh and glanced down at the flowers and gift bag he left me. I couldn’t believe what’d just panned out in the span of a few minutes. I felt utterly ashamed at what I’d just done and I wanted nothing more than to race up to my room and curl up in a ball and cry.

Suddenly feeling the weight of the world on my shoulders, I turned and headed up the porch and into the house. I marched directly to my room and situated the roses on my dresser then sat at the edge of the bed with the gift bag still dangling in my hand. As much as I tried, I couldn’t bring myself to wipe the image of Trey’s humiliated and disappointed face from my mind. I gulped nervously as I pulled the bag open and reached in, retrieving a small jewelry box. The moment I cracked the box open, I gasped and slapped a hand over my mouth as I stared through watery eyes at the diamond encrusted heart shaped ring resting in a small velvet indention.

I plucked it from the confines of the box and twirled it between my fingers, becoming so enthralled by it that I nearly overlooked the card in the bottom of the bag. I reached a trembling hand inside and pulled the card out then popped the seal of the envelope open and slid the card out, instantly admiring Trey’s beautifully printed scripture...

A few months ago, God placed a very special girl in my life. She came into my world and flipped the entire classic fairytale of a prince sweeping the princess off her feet into her very own tale. It was she who swept the prince off his feet, so much so that he became permanently stuck not on cloud nine, but a cloud of infinity. This girl, wasn’t in any way equivalent to any girl that the prince had ever come across… she was much, much more. If you haven’t figured it out by now, this girl, the beautiful princess that blew the prince’s mind into complete oblivion, just happens to be you… Sy’Diyah Hope Donsen. I know that what I feel with you isn’t like anything I’ve ever felt with anyone in my life Sy. I know that if any man was as lucky as me to have you in his life, he wouldn’t dare let you go. Let me be that lucky man to hold onto you… let me make you mine. The ring that you’ve probably already seen by now is meant to show you how much I care for you. No, I’m not proposing to you or trying to bribe you with jewelry… it’s merely a promise ring. It’s my depiction of a promise to you that if you allow me to sweep you off your feet, I’ll never put you down again. I hope that you have a wonderful birthday, even though I won’t be there to share it with you.

With much love, From your, hopefully soon to be, man… Trey xoxoxo

The tears streamed freely down my cheeks and I had not a single desire to stop them. What had I done? This wasn't right at all. It was completely wrong. He wasn’t supposed to possess such strong feelings for me. I wasn’t supposed to be torn between him and Chris. What was I supposed to do? I closed the card and slid it back into the confines of the envelope then stuffed it along with the ring box back into the bag. I’d become numb to any feelings of happiness and pleasure and after placing the bag on the floor beside my bed, I moved further up near the headboard and grabbed a pillow to stuff my face into and eventually cried myself to sleep.

[flowerconcept-blog]

Hi! Can I request a hakyeon Prince AU? Thank you 💓💓💓

here u go!!!! i hope u like it sweetheart!!! i had so much fun writing this prince hakyeon is such a concept

prince!hakyeon

prince hakyeon aka the nation’s angel

his citizens love him so much and for good reason!!!!! he’s extremely charismatic and handsome and is excellent at posing for the paparazzi, but he’s also very down to earth and cares a huge amount about making sure his people are being taken care of

he wears perfectly tailored silk suits but also barges into council meetings when they’re trying to screw over the hard workers of the country and convinces them to increase the education budget instead ……. get u a man that can do both

he does a lot of charity work in the capitol and around the country, but his favorite events are hosting dance lessons for children and sometimes open it up to the public!!

he’s danced for most of his life and he loves to share his joy of the art with his people

multiple videos of him dancing have gone viral and you bet almost every teenager in the country has dreamed of being able to dance with cha hakyeon ……….

is ALWAYS being asked by interviewers and also just random old ladies on the street what his skincare routine is ,,, ,, , ,, ,, ,,, because no human should have such perfect skin? how does he do it?

you knew hakyeon when you were young, because your mother was a visiting diplomat in his country for the first 7 years of your life and was very close to the queen

none of the other politicians had children the same age as you and hakyeon, so the two of you were thick as thieves and pretty much grew up together

as kids you were always the more adventurous of the two whereas hakyeon was better at listening, so you were the one to convince him to go wading in the koi pond even though the gardener told you not to or hide from your nannies

at age 5 you accidentally started a giant crisis because hakyeon hid so well and the palace was so big that you couldn’t find him and when you went crying to the queen the guards freaked out and essentially went on a man hunt

turned out he just fell asleep in the dark corner of the royal library

at fancy events the two of you would always sneak away to the gardens and run around playing make believe, or when you were being watched more carefully you would hide under the table cloth and tell scary stories to try and freak the other out

your mothers tried to get the royal tutor to tutor the two of you together but he threatened to quit within a week because you just “would not stop making the prince laugh” so you had to leave hakyeon and go to a different private tutor

you loved the rain so whenever it started to rain you would bang on hakyeon’s door and the two of you would go play outside, even though your nannies protested and said that hakyeon’s leather shoes would get ruined

it was honestly the perfect childhood, but a little before hakyeon’s eighth birthday …. just as you had started noticing a strange fluttering in your heart when he smiled at you ….. your mother told you that you would be moving back to her home country, the neighboring nation

needless to say you did not take it very well, and neither did hakyeon, but there was nothing to be done about it

you promised to visit every year and for the first three years you managed to keep that promise, but then you started school and he got busier and busier and suddenly it’s been almost a decade and you haven’t seen each other, and you’ve long since forgotten about that fluttering

but you never ever forget his birthday, every year since you moved you send him a gift with a long letter attached, and he does the same on your birthday

the first birthday present you sent to him, on his 8th birthday, was a pair of ballet shoes because the two of you had gone to a ballet with your mothers and you had seen how fascinated he was with the dancers

he never outright told you this, but you were the one to inspire him to start dancing ;(

and of course you couldn’t help but know what he was up to, pictures of him were always showing up online and while you were going through your horrible puberty phase in high school hakyeon was somehow becoming ….. incredibly beautiful

even though he had a really really bad haircut for a while

you don’t really think about hakyeon much anymore, asides from when his birthday is coming up or you see something that reminds you of him, but when you graduate from university you get a job offer to teach at a primary school in the capital of his country

and being a relatively broke college student, you take it

being back where you grew up is strange, but what is even stranger is witnessing the nation’s adoration for prince hakyeon when 2 y/o prince hakyeon threw up on you after eating too much

the school you’re teaching at is relatively close to the palace, and every day you walk past the gardens and can’t help but remember all those summer days making the palace guards play tag with you

but despite being so close to where hakyeon is …… part of you knows that the two of you have grown …. and have become different people than those silly 7 year olds …. and that same part of you is scared that if you saw him you wouldn’t know what to say ….. and that it would somehow ruin that perfect childhood that you loved

so you don’t reach out to hakyeon or tell him you’re in the city, and you figure you’ll just avoid that until one day you go to pick up your students from their regular music class, and standing there is prince hakyeon himself, singing merrily as he dances with the kids, and why had none of your coworkers bothered to say that the prince was stopping by today???

for a moment, when he makes eye contact with you, you think he’s remembered you, but he doesn’t say anything and you realize that there’s no reason he would know what you look like now, it’s been a decade

as you shuffle your students down the hall you feel a pang of sadness in your heart, because he’s more handsome in person than any photo could show, and it hurts to know he didn’t recognize you

except when your students leave for the day, hakyeon steps in and says your name quietly, like he isn’t entirely sure it’s really you ,,,,,,, because when you walked into that room he was sure he was dreaming ,,,,,

nervously you go “hello, hakyeon” but all those worries fall away when he comes over to you and swoops you into a hug …… and he smells so clean and fresh and his warmth envelops you and you can’t believe it’s been ten years when it feels like it’s only been ten days

that afternoon you invite him over to your apartment and he laughs when he sees the clutter, and you glower at him like “sorry i don’t have an entire cleaning staff your highness”

and the two of you spend the hours catching up, talking about your mothers and how hakyeon’s favorite horse is still going strong and you tell him how you’ve watched videos of him dancing, and the way he smiles at you reignites a special sort of happiness that you haven’t felt in years

you don’t even realize it’s almost midnight when hakyeon gets a text asking where he is and has to leave, but not before he tells you about an event the palace is hosting that weekend and telling you you have to come

“i had to endure so many royal parties full of snobs without you, you have to make it up to me”

the morning of the event a box arrives on your doorstep with a beautiful outfit and a note from hakyeon, saying you had to look amazing for your big return to the palace

at the event he finds you almost immediately and you realize his tie matches your outfit but you can’t ask him about it before his mother sees you and you are forced to socialize

plus you’re forced to watch bachelorette after bachelorette (and some bachelors) flirt with hakyeon, which makes you …… jealous ……. even though it feels weird to admit it

it’s maybe 30 minutes before you start to fidget, and when hakyeon is finally left alone you grab his hand and gesture in the directions of the gardens, and immediately a giant grin breaks out on his face and you stealthily leave the ballroom

the two of you laughing as you shed your shoes and run through the back corridors of the palace, till you’re standing breathless in front of the koi pond, looking just as the same as you remembered it

the moon is full and reflecting across the water, and as you wade into the pool, hakyeon watches as it lights up your face and makes you look like a beautiful water nymph, sparkles in your eyes ….

and it’s been ten years since he’s felt the glow that warms his chest as he looks at you

he’s tried to find it, he really has, but no one makes him feel the way you do. even though he was a kid when you left, there was always something special….. because you make him feel human ….. no one else can make him feel human the way you do, because you don’t think of him as a prince the way everyone in the country does

to you, he’s just hakyeon, and that’s enough for you. you never ask for more than that

slowly he walks into the water, and carefully he reaches out to cup your face, feeling your breath hitch when he asks “is it okay if i kiss you?”

when he finally closes the gap, it feels like a fairytale, even though his designer slacks are probably ruined and your feet are muddy ….. because it feels like you’ve been waiting for this your entire life, and honestly you sort of have

his mother is your number one fan ,,,,,,, when hakyeon tells her that the two of you are dating she is sooooooo happy ,,,,, but the country is also very happy, because in interviews when hakyeon talks about you or vice versa it’s so obvious you love each other

a lot of your dates are just exploring like you did when you were kids, and hakyeon is so grateful that you allow him to be young with you the way he can’t be anywhere else

he likes to have his arm around you in public, and you always complain because he’s just asking for paparazzi to take pictures but he’s like “i want to be seen with you so everyone knows i have the loveliest s/o in the country”

he dances for you sometimes and you get embarrassed about it because he’s so handsome and talented, but he pries your hands from your face and peppers your face with kisses so it’s ok

your students adore hakyeon and he spoils them rotten, always bringing them special flowers from the palace, you swear half of them are more in love with him than you are

he usually doesn’t like to flaunt his wealth or do anything extravagant, but when you have time off he does the most and organizes these incredible vacations

if you mention that you want to visit greece, he’ll fly you to an island off the coast for a week. if you say you’d like to see the eiffel tower, he’ll reserve a 5 star penthouse suite with a view of all of paris. if you say you want to go to the zoo, he’ll buy the entire zoo and rename it after you

small kisses are his favorite, but so are intense, passionate kisses that leave you breathless

you joke that the one downside to dating hakyeon is that you don’t get to discover his embarrassing past, because you were there for most of it. but he makes up for that with everything else!!!!!

[sowk-fic-archive]

SOWK ch.4/35

Summary:

Dominic and his family meet the absolute delight that is Lysander...

Chapter 4 : gueux

It was almost two weeks since the infamous incident, and those two weeks had not passed smoothly. Dom and his parents had seen the interior of almost every solicitor’s office in their sector, and no matter how many different desks they sat at, no matter how many times they mentioned the name Bellamy, the answer had always been a resounding no. Though the solicitors often sugar-coated their predicament, it was clear that they all thought the same. You won’t get out of that hole alive. So, what greeted Fleck and his son when they walked in the door of their shack almost two weeks after the infamous incident was quite a treat, at least for the younger man. The scent of carrots, potatoes, onions and, if he wasn’t mistaken, chicken assaulted Dom’s senses, the glouglou’s eyes wide in surprise and confusion. Dom turned to his father, brows furrowed as he attempted to puzzle through the situation, but Fleck was avoiding his gaze. “Dad...” Dom said slowly, but Fleck pushed a persistent hand against his back and gently steered him towards the kitchen table. “Hurry up, before it gets cold,” his father said with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. Nevertheless, Dom pulled out the chair and sat down, staring at the steaming bowl of chicken and vegetable soup with suspicion clear on his face. His mother was busying herself with glasses of orange juice; Nancy had flopped down beside him a few seconds ago and was already ladling soup into her bowl. Dom glanced again at the table, at the corporeal vegetables and chunks of juicy chicken and the unbelievably real loaf of crusty bread on the chopping board. “What’s going on...?” he asked, his voice trailing off though he had nothing more to ask. His question was simple enough. They were scraping by; there was a leak in the bathroom ceiling that hadn’t been fixed for months, they were behind on the rent and they were in a huge amount of debt thanks to a certain self-obsessed Voix. How they were able to afford vegetables that weren’t onions - never mind chicken - was a mystery to him. Fleck sat down at the head of the table, as usual, and gave Dom a pointed look. “Just eat,” he said firmly, his tone a clear indication that the conversation was at an end before it had begun. “Guess what?” Nancy suddenly burst out, her spoon dropping to the table with a clatter. Everyone turned to look at her, and, swallowing down what was apparently excitement, Nancy continued in a wavering voice, “You know the party this Saturday?” Dom’s eyes dropped back to his soup. He shifted in his seat, a familiar wave of painful hatred shooting through his body. It was Matthew Bellamy’s ‘birthday party’ on Saturday, and as a result, virtually the entire population of the planet had been press ganged into celebrating it. Street parties were being organised all over town and Dom had been forced to attend the one on his local main street; the last thing he wanted to do was spend a day where everyone was singing Bellamy’s praises, but he couldn’t sulk at home. Reluctantly, he glanced up again, to where Nancy was excitedly murmuring that Ben 4876034 from two doors down had asked to go with her. Dom assumed it was of some kind of importance to her, but he couldn’t exactly work out what. Then again, he wasn’t well-versed in the literature of women, much less his sister’s particular novels. “Who’s he again, the one with the reddish hair?” his mother was asking, almost as excitedly as Nancy herself. His sister nodded, giggling and placing a hand to her mouth. Dom swivelled his eyes to his father and pulled a face; Fleck shrugged in reply, a light smile at his lips. “He’s gorgeous though,” Nancy was gushing, eyelashes fluttering as she spoke. As Dom ripped off a chunk of bread and dipped it into his soup, an oddly satisfied mood stole over him. His mother was laughing, the corners of her eyes crinkled once more; it didn’t matter that on Saturday he would have to endure a full day of Matthew, because his family was happy. He could forget about debts and leaks and rents for that evening and simply imagine what it would be like to live a normal life. And then someone knocked on the door. They all turned to it simultaneously, frozen where they sat. Nancy’s voice trailed off mid-sentence; Dom found himself staring at the door with the bread stuffing his mouth. He swallowed hard, turning to his father, who stood up and inched his way to the door. They never had visitors. The last time someone had knocked on the door, it had been to take the census, and that was almost ten years ago now. Before Fleck had the chance to reach the door, however, an overly chirpy voice sounded through the cheap wood. “‘Ello? Anybody ’ome?” the voice sung quite happily, lilting and fluent in its tones. “Mum, who--?” “Keep your mouth shut, Dominic,” Annie said, iron in her voice. Dom’s mouth obediently closed; he glanced at Nancy, who seemed just as clueless as he was. He turned back to the door, watching as his father hesitantly pulled it open. A man with a head of slick white-blond hair, a proud, jutting chin and glinting blue eyes stood grinning in the doorway. “Evenin’, Fleck, me old chum!” the man said, raising a hand to his forehead in a loose salute. Without waiting for an invitation, he stepped over the threshold, gently sliding past Fleck and walking with confident, long strides over to the kitchen table. “Nice place. Very ’omely.” He said, walking in a slow circle around the table and stopping directly behind Nancy. He crouched low, pressed his lips close to her ear and whispered, “‘Ello, darlin’.” Dom’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “Get your hands off my sister,” he snarled. The Voix looked over at him, an amused smile on his face. “Calm your passions, pretty boy,” he said smoothly. He stood up again, though his hand lingered against Nancy’s neck. Dom gritted his teeth but said nothing more; after glancing at Nancy, who shook her head with a barely perceptible movement at his questing looks, he decided that it was best to keep his voice down. “Lysander,” Fleck said coldly, braving a look into the Voix’s stunning blue eyes. Although he didn’t act or sound like one, Lysander was still a Voix and, technically, should be respected like one. His work, however, wasn’t really that respectable in the first place. “You said just yesterday that we wouldn’t meet for two weeks.” “Ah, that I did say, but what’s stoppin’ me from poppin’ ‘round for a cuppa every now and then, ey? Plus, I’ve got payment to collect,” Lysander suavely said, giving an easy smile to the confused, stunned and frightened faces around the table. “But I don’t owe you any money at the moment!” Fleck protested, the muscles bunching in his arm. Dom knew it was a telltale sign that he was restraining from banging his fist against the wood of the table. “I never said I wanted money, did I?” Lysander shot back, his voice deep and deadly serious. “Maybe I’ll be taking my payment in other forms...” As his sentence trailed off, the Voix brushed his knuckles against the nape of Nancy’s neck, the glouglou pressing her lips hard against each other and blinking rapidly. “Don’t you dare touch my daughter!” “Fine! But I’m needin’ twice last week’s payment by tomorrow.” “You know I can’t do that,” Fleck pleaded, begging with his eyes. “Then I take the girl,” Lysander said quietly, hand slipping around to stroke the front of Nancy’s neck. To Dom, it looked more like a chokehold than a caress. Suddenly, he found his voice. “Just what is going on here?!” Lysander removed his hand from Nancy’s skin completely, a sigh of relief audible in the tense room. Quirking his head, the Voix stepped away from Dom’s twin before approaching him. “Ah, Dom. The ringleader in this debauchery.” “What are you even--” “Dominic, do not make this difficult,” Annie warned. “Ah, he’s not makin’ anythin’ difficult, love,” Lysander said, Annie barely suppressing a shiver under his gaze. Turning his attention back to Dom, Lysander tipped the younger man’s chin up with two fingers. “Poor little Dom. Too young to know anythin’, ain’t ya?” He gave Dom’s cheek a light slap before straightening up, beginning to walk around the kitchen table once more. “I recall that you got into a spot of trouble coupla weeks ago, am I right? I’m right,” Lysander said, not allowing anyone to even breathe a response. “I, Lysander Fletcher, financial aide to the gods - and to the Bellamys,” he added in a stage whisper to no one in particular, “jumped to your rescue, where no sane or legal solicitor woulda jumped.” “I still--” “See all this nice food here, lad? Yup, that’s my work. Bloke coming to fix that leak in that bathroom of yours next Tuesday? Yup, that’s my work. The fact that you’re all still alive is my bloody work. All I ask for in return is my money... and my interest, set at my rates.” “Is that even legal?!” a different, shrill voice cried. “Annie...” Fleck warned, Dom noticing that his father’s head was now held in his hands, fingers pulling at strands of hair. “Darlin’, let’s remember who I am. I’m a Voix, you’re a glouglou. Doesn’t matter what you think, sweetheart, ‘cause I am the judge, jury and executioner.” With that, Lysander’s hand returned to Nancy’s neck. A chill silence fell across the room. Annie was biting her nails, gaze fixed on her daughter, who was sitting bolt upright and completely still as Lysander traced her collarbone with two long fingers, her eyes glazed over and evidently trying to detach herself from the situation. If there was any sort of telepathic link between twins, Dom certainly didn’t need it now. He could feel Nancy’s fear in the air, hear her hammering heartbeat, he could see her predicting her father’s next words correctly. Fleck inhaled deeply, raising his head only to rub at his temples with his fingers. “What sort of interest is this, Lysander?” he breathed, voice cracking. “I’ve got a few mates,” Lysander began, a sob breaking free from Annie’s chest as he paused. She knew what was coming; they all knew what was coming, yet they accepted it just as you’d accept the end of the world - wide eyed and watching. “And boy, do they love a good girl. A pretty girl, nice pair of eyes, nice pair of...” Lysander had the decency to cough before continuing. “Well, you see, they get bored of the Voix girls. They’re all too prissy, them. All too needy and clingy. We like a girl who can think for herself... a girl who has a bit of fight in her.” One fat tear rolled down Nancy’s cheek, and as she jerkily wiped it away, Lysander’s hand fell from her body and back to his side. “Do I even get a say in this?” Nancy whispered, more to herself than anybody else. Everybody heard her, yet no one had the heart to respond. Well, no one with a heart had the heart to respond. “If you had a say, princess, you wouldn’t be a cassé,” Lysander sneered, giving the rest of the room a carefree lopsided smile before promptly turning and leaving the room, slamming the door shut behind him.

[totaldrama-ask-trash-blog]

Falling Petals Ch.1

Notes:

A story about Josee’s life. 

Chapter 1:

It is May 16th or better known as my birthday. I am turning twelve today, and I am patiently waiting for my papa to come home with open arms or with a big gift, I wouldn’t mind. The maid was tying my dress shoes then took a step back as we both examined me in the mirror. I had my hair in nice long curls with a big pink bow atop of my head. My dress was not flat but not too poofy. All variations of pink! My favorite color. I smiled brightly, but once I caught sight of my mother in the mirror, it quickly fell.

“Mama!” I called out turning around to see her properly. Her narrowed eyes scanned my attired, yet she was always displeased in my appearances. I stayed where I was, too nervous to move. The maid grabbed my small hand that I took happily as we moved towards my mom.

“Josee is ready for her big day, Mrs. Lemieux,” The maid announced letting go of my hand. My mother ignored me and continued to look at Lillianne. “I made sure all the decorations were set up, and I had sent out all the invitations,” she looked down at me and winked. A small smiled spread along my lips. That had meant that she sent out an invitation to my best friend, Jacques! I don’t have any other friends besides him. I am homeschooled, and my mother wants to keep it that way. She doesn’t like Jacques, but if I were to ask my father if I could hang out with Jacques, he would absolutely let me.

“Thank you, Lillianne. Keep Josee settled in the ballroom, so she won’t get filthy. I’ll be getting primped up in my room.” My mother began to walk away in a slow hip sway walk. “This has to be perfect for our guest or someone’s getting fired.” Lillianne nodded even though my mother couldn’t see so. I held Lillianne’s hand quickly when my mother was out of earshot.

“Don’t worry, Lily! I will make sure nothing happens to you!” I promised worried. She smiled down at me and lead me down the grand stairs. “How is Jacques gonna get through when you know my mom will be on the watch?” I asked nervously. We continued walking through the household and towards the Ballroom. I could feel her squeeze my hand in reassurance.

“Oh Josee! Trust in me. It’s your birthday, so I will do everything I can to allow you at least one person you know to be there.” We walked into the Ballroom taking in the glistening, breathtaking scenery. “After all, your mother can be quite harsh. I will gladly go against her wishes for the sake of your happiness.” I turned around to face her with a big smile on my face. I was overjoyed with happiness.

“It’s beautiful, Lillianne!” I exclaimed. I skipped around glancing at the pink and white drapes hung along the wall. I ran up to the beautiful flower centerpieces on the tables. I wished Jacques was here to roam around with me. “I feel like this will be a great birthday after all!” I ran back towards Lillianne wrapping my arms around her waist in a big hug. “Thank you, Lillianne! You’re the best decor there ever is!” I could feel her give me a hug in return.

“Anything for you, Josee…” she murmured. I let her go and began to hop around once again. I stopped at the side of the wall and took off my shoes. I began to dance delicately and gracefully in the big wide open area of the Ballroom. I smile as I heard Lillianne’s small approving claps. I closed my eyes and let the dancing consume me. I was the star of the show. I danced for my own happiness. I danced for me. I opened my eyes once I heard more clapping and turned my head in the direction the sound was coming from. There stood a man and a woman alongside my Mother.

“Josee, my dear. Come here and introduce yourself!” she smiled in her fake motherly smile. I walked with my head high and my own fake smile towards my Mom. She gently rested her arm around my shoulder like I was her precious jewel. Little did these guests know that I was just for show. “This is Mr. and Mrs. Jackson! Your fathers manager and his wife,” she informed me. The man held out his hand for me to take.

“You have talent, kid. Just like your father!” he commented as I shook his big hand. I nodded and whispered a shy ‘Thank you’ as my mother sent them away towards the tables. As they walked away my mother pulled me aside and glared at me.

“Go put on your shoes, now! More guest are arriving!” she whispered in a harsh tone. I watched as she stood up fixing her shirt then glaring at Lillianne who only smiled. I rushed towards my shoes and quickly slipped them on. I glance around at all the older adults who were walking in. These people weren’t for me. My mom only invited them to get more social attention and to show us off like we were flawless. I had to walk around and smile. I’d endure some shy awkward conversations with faces I’m sure to forget in just seconds.

A voice I recognized in particular caused me to turn around in my tracks. “Papa!” I yelled happily as I ran towards him.

“Baby girl!” he yelled afterwards as I ran into his arms, and he raised me in the air. “How is my favorite girl enjoying her big day?” he asked as I giggled happily. He placed me down smiling joyously.

“It’s nice!” I commented. “Lillianne did a great job! I love her so much,” I added. My Papa nodded laughing aloud.

“She did do a marvelous job, and guess who also came?” he asked me. I looked at him confused. I didn’t know any of his worker buddies, and our family was out of the question, unknown. “Your little friend!” He announced. Just then Jacques jumped out from behind him dressed nicely.

“Jacques!” I yelled happily.

“Josee! You look pretty!” he commented. “Is that Satin?” He asked examining my dress. I nodded enthusiastically.

“And Chiffon!” I patted my dress for emphasis. We broke away from the adults and began walking around. “I’m so glad you came! I would’ve been bored,” I droned as we went towards the snack table. Jacques laughed.

“It’s not all that bad! You have Lillianne and your Dad here!” he added. I rolled my eyes and we made our way towards a table we picked with our snacks. “And besides, we can take joy in the anger your Mom is feeling just by me being here.” We giggled amongst ourselves.

“There’s just no way she can keep us apart! Plus, when she’s angry she looks like a fat angry baby,” I whisper as we cackle together at the mere thought. We continue our conversation as we watch as people come and go. We play a game where we pretend what that person would sound like, or we make up what the conversation they are having. It usually is very silly. I check the time and look towards the doors. Everyone has ate their dinner, and it was now time for cake. I nudge Jacques’s arm to let him know, and he nodded determinedly. “In about ten minutes, okay?”

We get up from our table, and I make my way towards my dad as he begins to announce. “It’s time for my precious girl to do her cake!” He yells as our chefs roll in the huge cake. It had the candle ‘one’ and ‘two’ on it, so I forced a smile. I always wanted a cake with many candles depending on the age I was turning, but my mother says that it makes the cake ugly. “Go on, Josee. Get in front of your cake,” My dad smiled. I nodded and got behind the cake.

On the count of three they all began singing me ‘Happy Birthday’ all except for my mother who was behind the guests with a huge scowl. I forced a smile even though I was upset. There was nothing I could do to satisfy her. Once they finished singing, I closed my eyes to make a wish. ‘I wish that things will go better for me.’ I then opened my eyes and blew out my two candles. As the crowed cheered I began to smile brightly again. I caught sight of Lillianne who walked towards my father to whisper something in his ear. He looked surprised, but impressed.

“It appears that my little girl has prepared us a little something!” My dad announced. As the guests began to sit down and chatter a bit I quickly put on my pointe shoes. Lillianne rolled away the cake, and I ran to my position. Suddenly the lights flashed off causing the guests to gasp.

One spot light flashed onto me as I was already in my Croise pose. I began my series of movement throughout the Ballroom floor ending with an Efface derriere towards the direction Jacques as another spot light flashed onto him. A series of ‘oo’s’ came from the audience as Jacques maneuvered himself towards me in swift delicate movements. Soon we were dancing together and in sync. I felt like we were the only ones in the room. I let the dancing portray my emotions. We finished out with Jacques lifting me in the air and slowly setting me down. We stood next to each other as the music began to fade and bowed.

As the lights flashed back on, the guests began to stand up and cheer like crazy. I smiled widely trying to catch my breath. I turned towards Jacques and gave him a big hug. “They loved us!” I cheered.

“Of course they would! We’re amazing!” he agreed. I looked over at my dad who seemed overjoyed then he had to talk to a guest who got in his way. My eyes scanned for my mother, and I spotted her with her fake mom smiles. She wasn’t blown away. She was never impressed. “Come on, Josee!” Jacques nudge my arm. “Let’s go get some cake!” I smiled once again and followed him towards the tables.

* * *

I bounced around on my bed in my pajamas. “Do you think my Papa liked it?” I asked excitedly as Lillianne waited for me to settle in bed. She grabbed me my pink stuffed unicorn and handed it towards me. I grabbed it and hugged it tightly.

“Liked it?” She questioned incredulously. “I’m sure he loved it!” she exclaimed with a soft smile. “Now, come on. I need to tuck you in bed!” she giggled. I smiled back and wiggled underneath the covers. Lillianne began to tuck me in. “Nightlight?” she asked.

“And the door cracked, please,” I added. She nodded then gave me a kiss on the forehead.

“Goodnight and Sweet dreams, Josee,” she murmured genially.

       “Goodnight, Lillianne,” I yawned back. She turned out the light then let the door be opened slightly. I was about to fall into a slumber when I hear my mother’s voice in the hallway.

“That performance was not in the schedule…” she growled.

“I know, Mrs. Lemieux. Josee wanted to surprise you-”

“It put us behind schedule, and I can’t believe you went against my orders and let that awful evil boy in!”

“Mrs. Lemieux-”

“No excuses! I’ve had it with your misbehavior. I’d like you to go pack your things and leave,” my mother snapped. My breath got caught in my throat.

“What- What are you saying, Mrs. Lemieux?” Lillianne asked

“Oh, don’t play stupid with me you @&#$@!” I flinched at the harsh words. “You’re fired. Gone. Done. I will hire another dog to take your place! Now, get the hell out of my sight!” my mother yelled. My eyes began to water as silent tears ran along my cheeks.

“As you wish.”

I began to sob into my pillow until I held my breath once I heard the door open. “Josee?” My dad’s voice called out. I quickly sat up and stared at him like he was the help I needed. “Josee! What’s wrong?” he asked quickly pulling me into his chest. I clung on and cried like I was too afraid to let go.

“Mom- Mom,” I sobbed harder. “She fired Lily,” I cried. My dad began to shush me and pat my head.  

“Oh, it’ll be alright. I’ll get her back for you. It’ll be okay,” he reassured. He continued to sooth me until I had fallen asleep.

A/N:

I’ve been wanting to start this for a long time. I am going to pour my headcannons into this to. This is my headcannon of Josee’s life. I will hopefully update a chapter once a week. This chapter took me like 2, almost 3 hours to write and read over. Im tired, I have work lmao kill me. Goodnight.

[hollyjjangu]

Okay, holy shit wow. I’m so sorry. This is not only late but depressing. I didn’t mean it to be either. I sorta wanna do two more parts for this (like a three shot) since I had lots of ideas writing it! Idk, ma deud, tell me what you think. 

On another note... it’s admin artemis’ bday tomorrow and i wanna gift her with 100 followers so please follow if you already aren’t! 

- admin bellona *:･ﾟ✧  ♡

Living forever is a long lived human dream. Who would wish to die in a world where there are riches like these? Time; aren’t humans always wanting more of it? Isn’t that a good thing? Despite not knowing what death or dying feels like, everyone in this world fears it. Isn’t it a perfect solution if nobody can die?

But when you’ve lived a long, painful existence like Park Jimin has, you simply wish for what everyone fears. Nothing makes Jimin want to die more than the curse of not dying.

321 years in a place, no matter how large, is hell itself. This is especially painful since Jimin has wanted to die since he was 18. Death seems so much more pleasant than living.

That’s not to say his past 321 years has been all horrible things. There were short, satisfying bursts of beautiful clarity.

When Jimin was nearly 100 years old, he met a boy named Min Yoongi.

He was a gruesome, tired looking boy and he was Jimin’s first love. Yoongi was 353 years old when they met but looked like he was 25 or so. No wonder he was so tired. His hair was a darkening and pleasant gray tone, a little dry and fading but it still felt impossibly soft in between Jimin’s fingers. His body was littered with scars he obtained from his reckless and hot tempered tendencies, but Jimin still was attracted to Yoongi the way the earth is to the sun. Still gorgeous and beautiful and everything Jimin had been waiting for in his long, miserable life, no matter how terribly broken Yoongi was.

Yoongi loved Jimin like nobody ever did. Yoongi didn’t mind Jimin’s chubby cheeks, he thought they were cute and enduring; he eased Jimin into being comfortable with his body. Yoongi didn’t mind Jimin’s scars, he wanted to help the younger love himself than be disgusted that Jimin wore the evidence that he didn’t on his skin. Yoongi didn’t even mind Jimin himself, as a whole. He loved all of Jimin, Yoongi did. And Jimin has never been able to say that about anyone else before.

And of course, Jimin loved Yoongi; how could he not? Yoongi made the most alluring and beautiful of music, he had nearly 400 years of time to travel the world, to study all sorts of noises and melodies– of course Min Yoongi’s was completely unique. He knew everything that had already been done.

Even better, Yoongi gifted Jimin with a song every year on his birthday for the 37 years they were together. Those were the best 37 years of Jimin’s life. He suddenly didn’t hate living so much, he suddenly loved himself as well as Yoongi. He found himself discovering more and more about himself as he melted and drowned under Yoongi’s pretty piano fingers and low, raspy voice. Jimin told Yoongi he’d do anything for him and he meant it.

Those 37 years were also the last of Yoongi’s life.

When you’ve lived as long as Yoongi, you’re bound to make some enemies, deadly and dangerous ones if one lived like Yoongi did. He burned brightly but that just meant he was quicker to go out.

It was people Yoongi had known in Japan, decades ago. They kidnapped the both of them.

Yoongi had been the subject of affection of a young girl, who had fallen in love with him. But Yoongi only stayed in Japan for several months and studied piano music with the girl. Little did he know, the girl’s brother was a leader of a powerful gang.

How could he have known?

It’s ridiculously rare, but sometimes, nearly never, when one falls in love with another and they disappear, not die but disappear, one falls to insanity. It’s a harsh loss, rejection. In a world of living forever, the only thing worse than life was being crazy and alive.

And that’s what happened to the girl and her brother was out for revenge.

“Leave us alone.” Yoongi had said, holding a gun (that Jimin didn’t know they had) in his hand. “Get out of our fucking apartment.”

The man grinned. “No.”

Jimin lost track of the conversation when Yoongi and the boy began rapid firing Japanese. He could pick up small words he learned from watching animes like “baka”.

And then everything went black.

When Jimin woke up, there was a gun placed nicely in his hands.

Everything was fuzzy, like static screens and dark, like night. Jimin’s hair felt wet and he realized it was from his own blood. Jimin’s immediate thought wasn’t the fact that he couldn’t seem to move his legs or that the gun was bitterly cold against his skin, it was Yoongi.

“Jiminie.” A familiar voice said.

No, it wasn’t just a familiar voice, for Jimin didn’t need to hear it to recognize it. Jimin would know that noise anywhere. Underneath the sounds of screaming waves, over the highest mountain on earth; it didn’t matter. Jimin would swim to the bottom of the ocean, would climb every mountain on earth to find it. He had all the time in the world, after all. It was the love of his life. It was Yoongi. It was always Yoongi.

“Jiminie.” Yoongi said again. “You’re awake.”

“Yes.” Jimin whimpered. He did not hurt from his head or his legs, he hurt from the shakiness and choking in Yoongi’s words. “Are you alright?”

“Fine.” Yoongi said. Lies. “Shoot me.”

“W–what?” Jimin stuttered. “What? No!”

The thing with soulmates and immortality is this: the person you love holds more than just your heart, they hold your life in their hands. If one wishes for the nothingness known as dying, only their true love can gift them with it.

“Jimin, please.” Yoongi’s voice was shaking. “Please do it. For me.”

“For you?” Jimin stuttered. He felt his heart slow down, nearly to nothing. There was nothing before Min Yoongi and there certainly would be nothing after. “How could that possibly be for you? I’m not hurting you, Yoongi-hyung! I love you– I owe you everything! I can’t just–”

“Turn the lights on, you bastards. Let me see him.” Yoongi was–

The lights turned on.

Yoongi was crying.

The room was filled with men, beady eyes and cruel grins. All Jimin wanted was Yoongi.

“Yoongi, please, whatever they want–”

“They want one of us to die, Jiminie.” Yoongi whispered.

Tears were streaming down his face shamelessly. That was the most beautiful thing about Yoongi: his shamelessness. He loved things shamelessly, even if he loved few things. He loved photography shamelessly, he took a picture everywhere they went. He loved their dog, Holly, shamelessly and would cuddle with him often. He loved music shamelessly, not afraid to admit it’s one of the few things he’ll always have.

And Jimin. He loves Jimin shamelessly, pridefully, like it was an honor to have Jimin with him. Jimin was suppose to be like music, Yoongi was suppose to have Jimin forever.

“We have guns! We can–”

“There’s only one bullet in there kid.” Someone said. “You’re outnumbered.”

“Please.” Yoongi whimpered. “I–if you don’t, they–they’ll force you anyways. A–and if I’m gonna die, I want you to kill me.”

“I’m the only one who can kill you, idiot!” Jimin found his voice raising as tears began to roll down his face. “They can’t make me do anything!”

“Jiminie, they’ll force your hand. Please.”

“Why can’t I die then?”

Yoongi shook his head. “Because I can’t.”

“What? Kill me? And you think I can do that to you?”

“I can’t.” Yoongi repeated.

“I fucking can’t either!”

“Look kid–” A man started moving toward Jimin, a gun in hand.

“Step the fuck away from him!” Yoongi screeched, the first time he’s raised his voice. “Get the fuck away! I said let me do it!”

The man backed away.

“I said I can’t okay?” Yoongi repeated, glaring but Jimin saw through it. Underneath his cold, malicious eyes, Jimin knew Yoongi loved Jimin.

“What do you even–”

“I can’t!” Yoongi screamed again. “I can’t live without you, alright?”

“Yoongi–” Jimin choked his screaming back. He was still dizzy from the blood loss and fuck he still couldn’t feel his legs.

“No! I can’t okay? You say I’m the stronger one, but I’m not. You are! I won’t last without you! I can’t spend another four hundred years fucking miserable out of my mind! I can’t spend the rest of eternity without you! Get that through your idiotic, thick, brain!”

“I–” Jimin gasped for air, unable to breathe. “I can’t live without you either, Yoongi. Don’t do this to me, I can’t–”

“You’re beautiful.” Yoongi whispered. “And you’ll fall for someone else soon. There’s going to be someone without me.”

“There’s nothing without you, Yoongi!”

“As much as I hate it.” Yoongi shivered, stepping closer to Jimin. There seemed to be an unknown electricity surrounding them and the closer Yoongi came, the more Jimin seemed to die himself. “I want you to find someone after me. Make sure he’ll hold you like I did, make sure he’ll sing you songs and have a dog as nice as Holly with you and let you cook him shitty eggs. Make sure he’ll love you as good as I did. Please.”

“Yoongi–”

“I don’t care. You aren’t dying. You once told me you’d do anything for me. Do this. Kill me and keep living. And then move on.”

“I– please Yoonie…” Jimin whimpered helplessly, calling him a name that Yoongi despised. “D–don’t make me.”

“Kill me.” Yoongi says. “If I die in your arms I’ll die happy.”

Yoongi was all of a sudden in front of Jimin without the younger noticing. He was smiling a gentle smile, the one he reserved just for Jimin, the one that made Jimin feel like the most beautiful boy in the world, the one that made Jimin want to live.

Shameless. Yoongi was so shamelessly in love with Jimin.

Jimin crumpled to the floor, sobbing and sobbing and sobbing. He was so fucking angry. Angry at the Japanese girl and her brother. Angry at Yoongi. Angry at the world. Angry at himself.

Jimin loves Yoongi so much, so much that he’d do anything for the boy.

Even this.

He would bare the burden of loneliness for all of eternity, because it’s what Yoongi wanted. 

“Shh.” Yoongi said, petting Jimin’s hair back the way he liked and Jimin savored his touches because hell, when will anyone ever touch him again like this? With Yoongi’s piano fingers? “Baby, please don’t cry.”

“I love you.” Jimin said into Yoongi’s chest. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“I know.”

“Let me see you one more time, Yoonie.” Jimin requested.

Yoongi tugged Jimin away.

And he was so beautiful it hurt to look at him.

His hair was no longer a fading gray but a deep black, slightly curly just the way Jimin liked it. His skin was still pale but softer. He was still as glorious and gorgeous and perfect as the first day Jimin saw him. He was still everything Jimin ever wanted, everything Jimin could ever want.

“I love you.” Yoongi smiled, pressing his forehead against Jimin’s. “I love you and these past 37 years has been the best of my life and I’m so incredibly happy. Thank you, you’ve made me so happy. The fact that– that you’ll do this for me. The fact that you’re willing to suffer for an unknown amount of time for me makes me so incredibly happy. Thank you so much for loving me Park Jimin. I’m so sorry.”

“I love you.” Jimin whispered. “I love you. Anything for you.”

“W–will you sing for me? As you do... it?”

“Yes.”

“Here.” Yoongi moved the gun over his chest, right at his heart. “It’s perfect. This beating box in my chest isn’t mine anyways. It’s your’s. My heart– it’s always been your’s Park Jimin. Take it. Please sing to me. Sing the first song I gave to you.”

“Ojik neo hanaman boyeo/na ojik neo bakken anboyeo.”

“Your voice has always been so beautiful.” Yoongi smiled against Jimin’s lips and breathed their song in.

“Bwa gongjeonghaji gongpyeonghaji neohante bbaegon da/ijen dan harudo neo eobsineun please.”

“Please sing more, when I’m gone.”

“Kkwak jabajwo nal anajwo/can you trust me, can you trust me, can you trust me/kkwak kkeureoanajwo”

“Take care of Holly, he always loved you more than me.”

“Kkwak jabajwo, nal anajwo/can you trust me, can you trust me/jebal jebal jebal kkeureoanajwo.”

“And don’t forget to eat every meal, Park Jimin. You don’t need to lose any weight. You’re perfect.”

“Yeojeonhi neoegeseon bichina/yeojeonhi hyanggi naneun kkot gata.”

“Or I’ll come back as a ghost to haunt you.”

“Ije nareul midojwo dasi nareul jabajwo/neoreul neuggil su ittge nareul kkeureoanajwo.”

“Don’t forget what I said.”

“Neo eobsin sumeul swil su eobseo nan/neo eobsin amugeotdo anya nan.”

“That there will be someone after me. Make sure they love you like I love you.”

“Dachil mameul yeoreojwo nae simjangeul jeoksyeojwo/neoreul neuggil su ittge nareul kkeureoanajwo.”

“I love you. Please do it.”

Jimin pressed his lips against Yoongi’s once more.

“I love you too.”

And with his hands in his first love’s, in his arms, Park Jimin pulled the trigger.

ha. haha. i cried writing this. i want to write a part 2 and 3 so badly, but only if you guys want me to! inbox us if you want a part 2! 

please follow us! we’re trying to get to 100 by tomorrow, for admin artemis’ birthday!

- admin bellona *:･ﾟ✧  ♡

[wrestlewriting]

Insolence, Pt. 2 [Adam Cole]

Title: Insolence, Part Two of ? (Part One)

Characters: Adam Cole/OC(Brenna, because it’s easier for me to write with names in stories)

Genre: Angst. (We can’t have nice things yet.)

Length: ~3,600 words

Warnings: Cursing

Summary: You aren’t looking for trouble, but yet, here it is, in the form of a former friend. And no matter what you say or do, it’s still confusion all the time.

Thank you for the positive feedback on Part One!!!! 

And here’s the next part for those of you that said you needed it :) @enzoshair @alexahood21 @thedeboniardevistation @danapotterwwe @covergirlcollarbones

“OK, but like, what if I don’t act nice?” Chuck Taylor asked, wiggling his eyebrows towards you. Your response was an unimpressed stare.

“Darling boy, you will,” you stated, holding open the door for him to walk through. Once through the doorway, he put an arm around your shoulders, tucking you to his side.

“I’m glad one of us is confident in me,” he declared, causing you to smile, as he steered you further in to the building, effectively ending your conversation about a potential date scenario for Chuck.

It was December in California, and you found yourself back at your favorite stomping grounds: PWG. It was the night of Mystery Vortex, the show that PWG held each year wherein they announced almost none of their matches. It was a surprise to the audience who would come out to face who as it happened in real time. The wrestlers themselves also didn’t know until arrival what their matches would be. It was one of your favorite shows to do honestly. There was something so fun about it, sometimes ending up in the ring with people you never did, and getting to create matches on the fly. The night fed to your creative and spontaneous side, the part of you that you were trying to reconnect to most.

So when you found out that you and Candice would be in a match against Trent and Chuck, you were beyond ecstatic. The four of you quickly found each other, animatedly going over possible spots and plans for the match. It was so nice to work with your best friends. It was even better to work with people who didn’t care what gender you were, and only that you were a good wrestler. It made life so much easier, so much happier.

When it came time for your match, you and Candice had the boys get introduced first. The crowd was excited when Chuck came out, but they practically lost their minds when Trent followed, declaring they were a team that night. The crowd settled down in anticipation of their opponents. And when the opening notes of Pat Benatar ‘Hit Me With Your Best Shot’ came through the speakers, you were sure you had never heard a crowd get so loud.

Candice and you waited for the song to kick in entirely, before bursting through the black curtain together. You couldn’t help the wide smile on your face as you slapped hands with the crowd as you made your way to the ring. You slid in under the bottom rope, Candice climbing through the middle. You stood tall in the middle of the ring together, you throwing up the ‘rock on’ sign, while Candice stood and looked adorable like always.

The crowd settled for the announcer to introduce the teams, Best Friends versus PowerTuff Girls. You watched everyone else’s introductions, and curtseyed at yours as The Queen.

The match started as the announcer had barely finished speaking, when you and Candice double clotheslined the boys right out of the ring. It was a heavy back and forth match, full of team work spots, as well as big moments, such as when Chuck threw you head first in to the crowds’ chairs, and Candice DDT’ed Trent on to the floor. There was plenty of funny spots too, such as you using your chest to distract Chuck for a takedown, and Trent trying to “hug Candice to death”. It went by all too quickly, with the boys scoring a victory over your team.

You retired to the locker rooms, cleaning yourself up and changing out of your ring gear, before taking a seat by the monitors in the back to watch the rest of the show. As your match had started the show, only two more had been completed since then. Currently there was another tag match, with the team of reDRagon getting the win over Death By Elbow. You found yourself getting teary-eyed as Chris Hero gave a speech in the ring, knowing in your heart he was going to be leaving for WWE even if he didn’t say so.

“What are you doing?” You asked, realizing Chuck was standing beside you now, leaning with one hand on the back of your folding chair, still in his ring gear.

“Oh, ya know, having another match,” he answered, causing your eyebrows to go up. “Yea, so thanks for that lovely pile-driver earlier. I feel fabulous.”

“Yo, what?! Who are you going against now?!”

“Me.” Your eyes moved from Chuck, to where Adam Cole had approached, standing beside Chuck. He looked over you, eyes ahead at the monitor. He was in his usual ring gear; black leather jacket, black trunks, and wet hair hanging down his back. His overconfidence was also well and present.

“I’ll kick his ass,” Chuck leaned down and whispered in your ear, causing you to giggle. You didn’t miss the scowl that came to Adam’s face at this.

Soon enough the boys were having their match, with Chuck in fact kicking Adam’s ass, and securing himself the #1 contender’s spot for the PWG title. It had been a shock to the crowd, and you found yourself beaming in excitement for your friend as well. The rest of the show went off without issue, as did the post-show fan mingling. Once all was said and done, you were gathering your bags from the back “locker room”, which was more a spare office than anything, so you could leave.

“Hey! C’mere,” Chuck called from the doorway, causing you to look over your shoulder at him.

“What?”

“Come here!” He said again, gesturing out of the room. You stopped gathering your stuff, setting your purse down on a chair, turning towards him.

“Again, what?”

“Come with me,” he declared, holding out his hand to you. With a begrudging sigh, you walked to him, where he promptly took your hand and tugged you out of the room. You allowed him to guide you down the narrow hallway, and back out into the main area of the venue, where the ring was still being torn down. However, you quickly noticed almost everyone from the roster was still standing around near the bar area.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Their voices all meshed together, loudly and on different levels, when they noticed you were there. Your eyes widened a bit, as you realized there was a lit cake resting on the bar. And that apparently it was now after midnight, and officially your birthday.

“Do not…” you started to say, but were promptly cut off as Chuck began to loudly sing ‘Happy Birthday’, others joining in. He kept his arm secured around you, forcing your body to sway back and forth along with his, as the group continued to sing to you. You rolled your eyes, attempting to press your ear against your shoulder, entirely uncomfortable in the situation. You hated being sung to, and had since you were little. There was photographic evidence of this. You noticed the shit-eating grin on Chris Hero’s face as he sang loudly, and the sheer joy on Zack Sabre’s face as he knew how much you hated this moment and were forced to endure it.

The song was over eventually, though it felt like a lifetime, and the group let out loud cheers and whoops once they had finished. Chuck pushed you gently towards the bar and the cake, indicating it was time for you to blow out your candles. As you reluctantly walked towards the bar, you gave a shy smile to the crowd of your friends watching you. The whole locker room was there, Candice and Trent, Excalibur and Kyle.

You were entirely surprised to find Adam Cole among the crowd, albeit in the very back, next to Nick Jackson. When your eyes caught his, he looked back indifferently.

You made it to the bar, looking down at the cake. It was two tiered, a dark grey color overall, with multicolored bright butterflies stuck on it. You knew Candice had made it, given her baking background.

Closing your eyes, you took a moment to enjoy the silence that surrounded you. You had no idea what to wish for. Your life was so different from a year ago, so confusing, so new. There was nothing you wanted necessarily in the material world, and you finally felt like mentally you were in a good place. You didn’t need calm, or peace, or love, anymore. You had found your way to those things, through your friends and your job.

I wish that this year I can stay on a positive path, you decided, taking in a deep breath and blowing out the candles. Another cheer resounded from your friends at your action. Opening your eyes, you looked to the crowd, smiling gently.

“I hate you all, but I love you all,” you declared, a laugh rumbling through your friends. Candice pulled you in to a hug, as the group relaxed around you.

“Thank you, it’s beautiful,” you told her quietly, causing her to giggle.

“Only the best for my best girl,” she responded, letting go of you. You were pulled immediately in to another hug by Trent, albeit awkwardly.

“I hope today sucks for you,” he stated, causing you to roll your eyes. “You’re what? 40? 50?” Standing on your toes, you pressed a kiss to his check, making sure to make a loud ‘muah’ as you did so.

“That just makes me a cougar for you,” you replied, leaning back from his embrace with a giggle, the blush obvious on his face. You accepted others’ birthday wishes gracefully, some with hugs, some with simple smiles.

Candice took it upon herself to cut up the cake, paper birthday plates complete with balloons acting as the serving wear. You stood back, accepting the plate handed to you, engaging in conversation with Marty Scurll. After having your cake, you took a beer, as many others had as well. You eventually found yourself sitting in one of the remaining folding chairs, laughing with Bobby Fish, as he animatedly told you a story from the England ROH tour you hadn’t been on last month. The group eventually thinned out, with the Bucks deciding they wanted to get home to their families, and others wanting to get back to the hotel for some sleep.

Chuck, of course, declared he had alcohol, and your “birthday party” would continue at the hotel. So you gathered your bags and got in a car with him and Trent, heading back to the hotel. You were sharing a room with Candice, and after throwing your stuff in there, the two of you headed to Chuck and Trent’s room. Upon entering, you found not only those two, but also Zack, ACH, Trevor Lee, Matt Sydal, Marty, Pete Dunne, Kyle O’Reilly, and Chris. And Adam.

Within a moment of entering the room, a beer was pressed in to your hand, and you found yourself pulled down on to a couch beside Kyle, who began to talk animatedly with you about his wife. You found yourself relaxed in the room, eventually floating over to other friends and conversations, continuing to have some beers. You were almost able to forget that Adam was in the room, especially considering he did not acknowledge you once.

After about two hours, when the clock showed it was past 4AM, you knew it was time to go to bed. By now only a handful of people remained; Zack, Chuck, Trent, Adam, and Kyle. Candice had retired back to your guys’ room some time ago, and others had trickled out after sharing a beer and a laugh.

The boys didn’t argue your decision to end your impromptu birthday party. From his spot on the floor, Chuck shouted out one last ‘Happy B-day, ho’, causing Trent to giggle. You rolled your eyes affectionately at their shenanigans, before throwing a small wave to the others. You tossed your last beer bottle into the trash, exiting the room into the empty hallway. You’d barely made it ten feet from the room, when you heard the door open behind you.

“Brenna.”

You froze in your steps. His voice was the last you had expected to hear. And the last you honestly felt like hearing right now.

“Adam, I’m tired. I want to go to bed. Just…let me go to bed,” you pleaded, continuing to face in the direction you had been going.

“Will you just…come here?” He implored, his voice soft, a gentle tone you hadn’t heard from him in a long time.

You didn’t go to him, but you did turn around to face him. You put your hands on your hips, your entire being looking exhausted and suspicious. Adam considered you for a moment, before his eyes diverted down to the floor. It was then you noticed, as he moved his left arm more away from his body, that he had been hiding a small bag behind himself. It was light purple, with white handles.

“Happy birthday,” he mumbled, holding it out to you. With hesitance, you stepped towards him and took the bag, bringing it towards your body, as his arm dropped again down to his side. Part of you wondered if it was a bomb meant to blow up on contact with your skin. And part of you was surprised when it didn’t.

Adam had always given you a small present around your birthday for years. There had been more shows than just this one that had fallen around your birthday, normally ROH Final Battle. The presents were usually silly and somewhat-sarcastic; a bunch of your favorite candy to “keep you happy and not murder-y”, an airplane pillow before your first overseas trip because you always complained about how uncomfortable it was to sleep against the window, or a handful of cheap headphones because you were always losing yours. You always had a feeling Evan had something to do with the gifts, especially given how loudly he’d laughed about the headphones.

You hadn’t expected anything from Adam this year though, not given the state of your guys’ relationship. Or really, lack of.

“Thanks,” you murmured, unsure if you should look in the bag now or not. He nodded ever so slightly to acknowledge your response, before turning away from you. Apparently he didn’t care if you looked now or not. You watched Adam return back in to the hotel room you both had exited moments ago.

Looking down at the bag, you decided to open it now, curiosity ruling you. Reaching in, you extracted a small black square jewelry box, Kay embroidered across it. Biting at your lip, you cracked open the box.

What lied inside was a silver crown pendant, attached to a silver chain on each end. The crown wasn’t overly intricate, the prongs of it smooth and almost antler-like. There were three blue jewels at the base of the crown itself, a row of sparkling clear jewels along the entire bottom.

You were amazed. It was beautiful.

And you were very, very shocked. This was nothing like the silly, but thoughtful, gifts that you had gotten before. This was expensive. Which confused you even more. Getting a gift was surprising enough, but getting such a striking gift was wholly puzzling.

Closing the box, you put it back in the bag, and walked to the hotel room that still contained your friends. You needed an explanation. Pushing open the door, a couple sets of eyes landed on you immediately.

“Come here,” you demanded as soon as your eyes met Adam’s. Everyone else in the room fell silent. He was sitting on the desk, having been talking with Kyle who was sitting in a chair in front of him. Without setting his beer down, he slid off the desk, and came towards you. You turned and left the room, trusting he was following behind you. The door shut completely after he exited, indicating he had moved the bar from keeping it propped open.

“What?” He inquired, leaning his shoulder against the wall beside the doorway, his beer dangling in his hand against his side, arrogance radiating from him. This was not the same reserved, almost shy Adam that had been in the hallway with you minutes ago.

“Why?” Was your comeback, moving the bag slightly to indicate what you were asking about. He said nothing for a moment, before shrugging one shoulder nonchalantly.

“You’re the queen, aren’t you?”

“I meant giving me something in general,” you clarified, choosing to ignore his smartass answer.

“It’s your birthday,” he replied, as though that explained everything

“And?” You challenged. “Typically you don’t give presents to people you don’t like.”

“…never said I didn’t like you.” You couldn’t help that your eyes narrowed a bit at his response, hating that you never knew anymore what you were getting when it came to him.

“Well, ya fooled me,” you stated. With a scoff, and a roll of your eyes, you turned away from him to leave. You were not playing this game with him. If he wanted to be vague and confusing, that was on him. But you weren’t going to waste your time, your emotion, on the situation, knowing that the payoff would eventually never come.

“Bren, wait,” his voice stopped you a handful of steps away. Closing your eyes, and gritting your teeth, you turned on your heels to face him again. He was no longer leaning on the wall, instead standing upright, looking…dejected? The mood changes he was showing you tonight were giving you whiplash. He was looking downward, and reached up with his free hand to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Look…I just…” he trailed off again. “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

“Which time?” Your retort came viciously, surprising even yourself. Adam lifted his head at your tone, his body going stiff, his mood shifting yet again. He clenched his jaw, his eyes glaring in to yours. Clearly your words had made him mad.

“Do not make me entirely the bad guy here,” he demanded.

“Aren’t you?”

“I didn’t do anything purposely to you,” Adam practically growled. “You have this horrible idea of what I am, and it’s not fair.”

“Your actions have made me have this idea of you,” you stated. “I haven’t just made up this story in my head, Adam. You have treated me like shit for months, and I, for the life of me, have no idea why! You used to be my friend, and then you went to wanting nothing to do with me! But then you decide that you do? When it’s what, convenient for you?”

“Because I didn’t think you needed me around!” He exclaimed, his arm without the beer flinging out at his side. “You came back, and I didn’t know what to say to you. Evan was my friend too, and it just…I didn’t know what to do. So I left you alone. I figured everyone else had a better idea what to do for you than I did. And then…you just…got better. You were happy again…and I wasn’t a part of that.

“So I thought you didn’t need me around…you were fine without me… If you’re fine without me, then I’m not going out of my way to be around you. I wanted you to be happy, and you were, and I figured coming around would ruin it. And it just…pissed me off, OK? It sucked that you could move on without me, and that you didn’t spare me a second thought. But that’s not all on me! You’re the one who punched me!”

You felt like the air had been sucked from your lungs the more he had spoken. He looked enraged and sounded…hurt. Like you had hurt him, more than just physically. Like it was wrong of you to have moved on with your life, and gotten emotionally better. Like you had purposely cut him out of your day to day. Like he hadn’t made the first move down this road of separation and hostility.

“You didn’t speak to me, not once, past the basic hi and bye, for weeks. Long before I was better, you ignored me. And then you got mean when I was around, purposely leaving when I came in a room, glaring at me, or just downright avoiding me,” your voice was tight, trying to keep yourself from shouting. “I did nothing to deserve that treatment, Adam, nothing. From the day I came back, to now, this is on you. You could have said something, and you didn’t.”

“You could have too,” he muttered.

“Yea? And what could I have done? Approached a man who clearly wanted nothing to do with me? Sorry if that didn’t seem like a very appealing option. Sorry if I was dealing with some other things, like ya know, not crying at every moment because my husband was dead.”

You found yourself at a standstill with him. He was staring, glaring, at you, the hand around his beer bottle tight. His back was tense as he stood still, the veins of his neck prominent as though he was holding in a scream. You didn’t know what else to say, or do, so you just stared back. You knew you didn’t cut an intimidating figure like he did, but you refused to back down, and maintained your own rigid posture.

“Forget it,” he finally declared, shaking his head slightly. “Just, fucking forget it.”

Before you could agree, or disagree, or give back the present, Adam had turned and walked away. He strode passed the hotel room where everyone was, and continued down the hallway, before going around the corner, out of your sight.

Stay on a positive path, you scoffed to yourself mentally. Here’s to fucking hoping.

Most likely more to come to this story. Maybe finally some happiness? Probably not. I don’t know. I just write and things happens….

UPDATE: here’s Part Three

[ghosteddie]

The stuff you've posted about abuse has really helped me, do you mind talking about what happened?

Yeah so hello readmore. As you seem to already know, my inbox is open if you need anything else. I use the IM thing too.

I’m glad that my stuff is helping you, I won’t share everything but I’ll explain some of the different stuff I’ve endured. I know I felt like I was somehow alone and living the same life as everyone else at the time, like it was normal and nobody would understand. So I understand why you’d ask this.

We’ll start with childhood. The basic building blocks of how I lived as a kid are:

My mom would spoil my brother while degrading me for existing. He was perfect but I could never do anything right. I always feel like maybe I made this up, like it wasn’t that bad, but I vividly remember instances like standing in the middle of the store and asking for a t-shirt, getting a no, then watching her say yes to my brother for the same t-shirt. She ponied up a shit ton of dough to get him into football and soccer, but she wouldn’t let me go to my choir concerts even though it was REQUIRED for a grade in my class and took me out of soccer the second I got scouted for an advanced league. I wasn’t allowed to be good at anything and I wasn’t allowed to have nice things.

If I tried to figure myself out and express my identity, I was punished. A friend painted my nails at lunch at school one day in middle school, it was a pale color, you could barely see it. Another parent had bought it for their child, so I can’t imagine it was like Harlet Brand. There was nothing wrong with it, but when I came home she emptied out a bottle of nail polish remover and made me sit still as a statue and hit me if I moved. I had to sit there for almost a full 24 hours without peeing or eating or drinking water, I wasn’t allowed to move until the nail polish ate itself in the remover. I wasn’t even allowed to rub my fingers over the polish. I was always put in adult size XXXXL, t-shirts were three quarter length sleeved and went to my knees. If I didn’t disappear in it and it didn’t look like I was just a pile of clothes, it was too small. My friends would buy me things for my birthday out of pity but my mom always took everything away immediately, their mothers felt so bad and I never knew what to do about it. She didn’t even throw this stuff that I wasn’t allowed to have away or donate it; she reveled in keeping it in her room like a trophy. She liked me being able to see that the stuff that I wanted was still there but I couldn’t have it.

She shaved my head at every opportunity.

She beat me for just about every reason I can imagine that she could think of. My brother pissed her off? Beat me. She had a bad day at work? Beat me. I didn’t do enough for her? Beat me. I literally broke bones. I have scars to this day.

She used me as a slave. Even back as far as I can remember in like elementary school, I was the one in charge of cooking for everyone, I was in charge of cleaning up after everyone, and I did all of the laundry. There was not a chore that was not my responsibility.

She liked to tell me that I was going to grow up to be as big as her. That I would be as ugly as her. That I would be her. She’d tell me my life was worthless, that she brought me into this world and she could take me out of it. She’d tell me that I couldn’t do anything. I’ve always loved to sing, but if she ever heard a peep she would always berate me for it. She’d tell me I was terrible and a bother for having an interest. That I shouldn’t even be seen, let alone heard. My brother would join in on this. They’d laugh.

Nothing was ever allowed to be wrong with me either, which really fucks me up. I fell down the stairs and twisted my knee so hard it was purple and she told me to walk it off, then laughed and called me a sissy lala when I cried because it hurt. I broke my funny bone on her work property and the only reason we even know that is because even though she was laughing at my bleeding nose, chipped tooth, and steadily growing arm that was changing green and blue and purple and calling me a pansy for saying it hurt, her boss INSISTED she take me to the hospital.

She ripped my cast off by force less than a week later. Said I’d only use it for pity and I didn’t need it anyway.

The next step from there was total neglect. There’s a big story for me going to the children’s shelter, but she basically was just like whatever I don’t want him and then proceeded to not give a shit about trying to see me. She basically just washed her hands of me.

In my later teen years, after I’d been in the foster care system and started taking care of myself, she ended up back in my life. Things are going fuzzy, I don’t remember how. But, at this time:

She no longer beat me. In fact, she acted like it never happened and just didn’t acknowledge it at all. I think that is the most terrifying thing she’s ever done.

She would tell me a sob story about how her landlord was coming for x, y, or z and then ask me if I could come over to help her clean up. She’d tell me that her landlord would kick her out if they saw how much of a mess her house was and she’d say she had no idea what else to do. I would spend a whole week straight cleaning her house. She wouldn’t help at all.

But she would laugh at me in front of my friends. She’d offer to take us out to dinner and then tell stories about what a pathetic little sniveling child I was.

When a boyfriend cheated on me and tried to throw me down her stairs and started ripping the gutters off her home, she looked at me bleeding and sobbing on the floor and said I’d let go of the best thing that had ever happened to me. That nobody else would love me and whatever he had done couldn’t possibly be bad enough to warrant robbing HER of time with him.

Then there’s the monster ex:

I always want to say that things started out slow and escalated, but that’s a lie. The first thing he did that was abusive was manipulating me into thinking his ex was the devil. He had me thinking this girl was making him want to kill himself, and he constantly sent me after he like an attack dog. I know that she wasn’t doing anything wrong because I do eventually simmer down and try to talk things out and all it took was a few simple screencaps to show the monster ex was a damned liar. He admitted it too when called out and we eventually became friends? Like it was the weirdest mindfuck he’s ever pulled. He tried to make his ex kill herself, then sent me to make her want to kill herself, and then we were friends. I even woke up from a drunk night wearing HER pants once. I drew abs on the woman. I think this is why he has yet to actually send anyone my way to bitch me out. He always has people yell at people, but not me. Not once. Because he learned that sending people to yell at someone for something that never happened ALWAYS backfires.

The first err against me was after we’d moved in together. We were really happy, and I know he likes to play like he was never happy now that all is said and done, but that’s just more abuse. It’s his way of erasing his blame and making it look like he is some Super Pathetic Victim. He cheated. And he lied. To someone his ex knew too, more than once. It was a whole thing. Like he was laughing to my face and we were cuddling and I tied him to the heater and fucked him silly, but he still needed to have some pity to feed off of, so he made up some stuff. Which he admitted. But then kept doing. She kept falling for it. He would say stuff like he was going to steal my wallet in the middle of the night and run off to be Hummelberry in NY. I don’t even think he was really cheating because he liked the girl or because he wanted to cheat, he just wanted her to pity him to The Highest Extent.

Even just this far, there is obviously only one reason a person would stay with a person like that. And that reason is abuse. It’s fucking powerful.

He would ride my coattails whenever I’d do something online, and if people paid attention to me he had to push in too. He loved it when people loved us. Then he would start contolling the things I did. I cannot tell you how many times I admined a group and had to watch as he abused people in the group. He was so terrible. But I couldn’t say anything, I couldn’t stop him.

And he’d control who I could talk to, who I could write with in groups. He liked to ship wreck my ships. He’d already have like 5 ships with me and then he’d decide to make a 6th character and his FIRST move was always finding one of my character’s to ruin. He literally brought his abuse into character. He abused one of my rp characters in the same way he abuses me and the ENTIRE rp was SO uncomfortable.

It wasn’t until I started telling him to stop treating me like shit that things got really heated up. I never understood it and it drove me insane at the time, but he would abuse me and I would say he was abusing me and he would nod his head and tell me he understood. We’d have a heart to heart convo about how he was hurting me and how he could avoid doing that in the future. I’d ask him to remember to consider me as a human being all the time, he always forgot I wasn’t just a stepping stool. But we’d get to a good place and I’d think he understood. He would have expressed his heartfelt desire to do better and be a better person— but then he would go online and throw pity parties about how terrible I was.

He had a huge love of gaslighting or making shit up. He would post about me on his blog to get attention all the time, and talk to his friends about me. Just lie, right through his teeth. Nothing was too outrageous for him to go for. He had to villify me, and as far as I’m concerned that’s abuse too. It’s practically cyberbullying when it’s done in a tightknit community. He’s sent me anon hate, he’s sent my friends anon hate, and he’s sent anon hate to other blogs about me. He’s also signed hate to other blogs about me, even after I finally got him out of my life. He can’t breathe without using lies about me to host a pity party. That feels like abuse to me. His lies weren’t ever even all that good. He’d be as bad as to say “I want you all to give me money so I can spend it on me” and then say “I wanted to give HIM that money, not me! I’m a saint!” Like…. the original post is right there with the words “for myself” written right on it but okay?

My mind is really going fuzzy now, so I’ll leave a really short list that will cover like 1/1000th of his daily abuse. Some of the every day things included:

Making me out to be the bad guy if I ever asked for anything

Guilting me for telling him when he did things that hurt me

Telling me things like that I wasn’t worth being treated with common decency, right to my face, just because he was mad. 

He pushed and pulled with his attention and affection a lot. He was always very manipulative in the way that he would pay attention or talk to me and be super sweet and then flip it when he got what he wanted. 

He was also very manipulative in the way he would be sweet to me and then shit talk me behind my back. Kind of like how he we romantic with me while cheating behind my back. I’m poly. Bro. Literally all you had to do was respect me as the person you’re already dating and a s k.

Signing into my messengers, reading my private stuff, especially after we fought, so that he could see what I was saying to my friends. If I ever dared to ask for help from someone, or said a word about him that wasn’t sparkling, he would immediately start another fight. 

Calling me fat - I will never forget this. I literally said, “If I were this big, I would jump off the roof and kill myself, I 100% cannot handle that I am freaking out” and he replied, “Well, you’re that big.” I’ve had serious eating disorders since childhood, fucking asshole. I don’t care what excuse a person can come up with, there is none for that. Even if your worst enemy says, “I’ll kill myself if ___” you do NOT reply with, “well, ____” unless you’re ABSOLUTE garbage. He tries to claim that he was only with me because he thought I’d kill myself if he left, that making shit up is another abuse thing, but if he gave a shit about my mental health or if I killed myself…. why the fuck did he tell me I was fat right after I specifically said I would kill myself if I was fat??????? And he knows I’m not lying. It wasn’t a funny haha I’d kill myself lol xD xD like his are. He knows I only say that shit when it is  r e a l.

Admittedly taking his anger out on me, yelling at me just because someone else made him mad

He would constantly tell me that my style was wrong, or that the clothes I was wearing made me look too girly. He was always telling me that I needed to be different, downing on me until I felt bad and had to second guess everything. I never really cared how people saw me until he started making me feel like every time someone looks at me, all they see is a girl. He pushed that transphobic, sexist, YOU HAVE TO LOOK LIKE A MAN TO BE A MAN bullshit on me all of the time.

Telling me all of my interests were stupid

Acting out whenever he had to do something. Like we were moving out of Arizona and packing things up into the Uhaul, we were almost done, we just had the Christmas stuff. We were moving on and off too, really lazy, but we did also do everything at once. So he starts whipping me with words as fast as he can, trying to get me to just shut down because he’s attacking me. It doesn’t work, I ask him to get the xmas stuff in location a while I go to location b and get shit done and I shit you not, Miller-opher Kingle, Mr. I Listen To My Thousand Song Christmas Playlist All Year Round himself screams out, “I DON’T EVEN LIKE CHRISTMAS!!!!” in his attempt to get me to give into him.

Complaining whenever I wanted to talk about my interests or indulge in my interests

While also shoving every fart he made under my nose and demanding validation

Forcing me to watch stuff he was interested in and even picking fights if I said no but always acting like I wanted him to rip off an arm if I wanted to pick something. 

Invading my private space. He was fucking obsessed with climbing into my bed and it was the creepiest and most terrifying thing in the world. Nobody wants to share a bed with their abuser, and nobody should have to deal with their abuser clinging to their arm like a tumor. Nobody should be forced to allow themselves to be used to up their abuser’s state of being. 

LOUD ASS FUCK SKYPE CALLS WHILE I AM ASLEEP but oh, better yell at me because I wanted to listen to music while he was awake and he’s just too lazy to put the headphones from his neck to his ears so he can block me out

Refusing to clean, making me do it, yelling at me whenever I asked him to help out even a little

Refusing to cook, he would rather starve if I didn’t always cook for him

Refusing to work, especially when we were freelance writing. I’d give him like 500 words total and then take one 50,000 words myself and STILL have to do half of his when I finished mine

Using all of my shit, even when I told him not to, even when he said he wouldn’t. It feels like abuse because it’s like pissing all over my stuff, taking my stuff. A lot of my costume makeup he completely used.

The biggest thing though was that if I couldn’t give him something useful, I was useless. If I wasn’t blowing compliments up his ass 24/7, I was useless. If I wasn’t cooking and cleaning up after him, I was useless. If I wasn’t praising him and showering him in attention, I was useless. If I wasn’t being whored out to the internet to draw in more people to adore him, I was useless. If I was telling him he had to change, that he couldn’t keep abusing me, I was useless. What I wanted never mattered. If we got two bags of chips, he got one and three fourths and I got one fourth. If we got two things and promised to share 50/50, he’d still manipulate me into getting at LEAST half of my half. I could never just have an equal amount of anything. We’d go out and take 100 pics of him and 0 of me. Even when we went to Lady Gaga and I was DRESSED like Lady Gaga herself and I was stopped by fellow fans for pics with strangers, the one event that was quite literally The Me Event, and we got ZERO photos of me. that even after I spent six hours pouring myself into a skimpy ass costume that I made myself, and even after we drove hours and hours to get to the concert, even with it being my birthday present, zero photos of me. I’m the only person at that event that did not go home with a dozen and a half photos of me, I shit you not. What does it say that we BOTH valued me so little? If you feel what I just described in any way, you’re probably being abused.

[amyalicechristensen-blog]

The Pleasure Path

Two weeks before New Year’s Eve I was in the grocery store and I made sure to grab a package of black eyed peas while they were in stock. My son and I have an established tradition at our house.  I make Mice and Beans, we drink champagne, we state one resolution and then we stay up until midnight to greet the brand new year.  The champagne is sparkling grape juice.  The Mice and Beans is actually Hoppin’ John a dish made with black eyed peas because my mother and Martha Stewart say that they bring you luck for the New Year.  My son doesn’t remember why we call it Mice and Beans, but when he was little we read about Skippy John, a Siamese cat that had an adventure to Mexico in his magic closet. He met some Chihuahuas who asked him if he liked rice and beans.  Skippy John responded “Si! I love Mice and Beans!”  Because he’s a cat…not a Chihuahua.  Anyway, I held those black eyed peas in my hand for several minutes remembering Skippy John Jones.  I won’t ever forget that silly cat even though my son doesn’t remember that story anymore.  

I was laughing outright as I tossed those peas into my cart. Then it hit me – by the Gods I was laughing!  With reckless abandon in a grocery store filled with people who might be judging me! What the heck was going on?  I was actually happy.  

Sadly, that’s really not my default setting.  I really like to simmer in my sadness and delve into my despondency.  I live to mourn my life.  

Singing along to the Christmas Carols in that grocery store I started to ponder if maybe there was a different route to consider.  I went home and I began working on a project to reflect on 2016.  I wanted to know precisely what made me unhappy.  Although, I knew that if I really wanted to make a change – that is if I wanted to keep this mysterious mirthful mood – what might be even more important was to consider what made me happy.

Research in behavioral science has suggested that there seems to be an evolutionary factor for why it is easier to remember the worst things that happened rather than the good things.  It stands to reason that if something can kill you, you might want the memory of that permanently etched on the back of your eyelids.  But if I’ve learned anything over the years, it’s how easily mired I can become with all that negativity.  Really, most of the things I carry with me looming like a dark cloud over my head, while uncomfortable, are not really environmental threats to my survival.  Yes, I wanted to learn and grow from the mistakes I made in 2016, but really the burning question I had was, “What makes me happy?” I couldn’t necessarily find that by reliving my failures.

Then, I was sifting through blogs on Tumblr and came across a post by TheCrownedCrow.  It was a divination challenge to create a personal map for 2017 in order to help you realize your goals.  Although I knew I’d probably be the only geomancer in the challenge, I was hooked. Particularly when I read the seeking question for day 2:  The New Year also brings a moment of reflection.  What is something I learned in the previous year that will help me grow in this one?

That is the beauty of geomancy.  There’s very little about it that’s cryptic. Geomancy says, “Look right here for your answer.”  I already had the memory project well underway. All I had to do was roll my geomancy dice, and cast the house chart.  A repeat of the first symbol would tell me exactly what memory would be the most helpful to focus on!  Part of me thought that it would lead to a particularly painful lesson I endured in 2016, if I could master that it would be the key to lasting happiness in 2017! But my dice had a different tale to tell.

The first figure was Via or Way, I often interpret this as path or road.  I was very pleased to see this figure.  This was going to be an interesting reading.  I cast the chart, and Via reappeared in none other than the House of Children.  The Fifth Astrological House can represent actual growing children, but it also uses the concept of children as a metaphor. Children are strongly motivated by pleasure, so in a geomantic reading, the symbol in the fifth house also represents things that induce pleasure.

So, the key to my growth in 2017?  It was to look at what makes me happy.  I must look at everything that brought me a semblance of joy in 2016 and instead of collecting negativity to loom over me, I needed to draw my positive experiences with me into 2017.  I’m so obsessed with my work with Accidental Talismans and getting rid of things, I had never really taken the time to consider what things are important to keep.  The key to my growth was waiting for me in those treasures of memory rolling around in the back of mind.  I just needed to give them a place of prominence.  I needed them to tell me their stories.

January 2016

In January I was looking for something my son and I could do and I found a Dog Sledding event called Musher Mania.  It was fun and spontaneous.  We got out of the house and participated in an event that fed our connection.  Then, I did some pretty scrapbook pages because I gave myself the time to do this small hobby that brings me joy.

The lesson that I took from this was the celebration of the spontaneous.  There actually wasn’t a lick of snow, we mushed in the mud which probably made it that much more hilarious.  The event planners worked with the weather they were given and it was still a blast.  I learned that you don’t need perfection to have a perfect day.  Just live in the moment.

Capturing the moment was also significant.  The scrapbook pages I made were some of my favorites of the year.  I love scrapbooking.  I love it.  It makes me happy.  If I am to follow a new path, scrapbooking then is important.  It is a mile marker on the road to happiness.

February 2016

Every year in association with Valentine’s Day my son and I visit Medieval Times.  It is a tradition that we both look forward to every year. I love the show and I love the tradition.  I worry so much about being repetitive and boring but tradition is a touchstone so worth keeping.  

March 2016

I am a serious homebody, vacations are often not relaxing for me.  In 2016 I took a huge risk, for the first time I traveled to another country with my child!  We went to Grand Cayman.  My son took me snorkeling and in Devil’s Grotto, we looked down over the edge of the reef and saw two huge sharks enjoying the waters.  I have absolutely no photographic evidence of the event. My son and I were so stunned by these magnificent creatures that we just observed them in frozen awe.  

I learned that I was capable of risk!  I was also pretty proud that I paid for that risk in cold hard cash!  No banks were broken in the making of this moment.  Definitely my financial planning is a skill to be proud of!  

April 2016

I really loved doing the Council Oak Fundraiser as Ruby Ruse.  I loved telling fortunes and found that I was very good at it.  I often give people the option to consider that I might just be reading their body language and reactions more than I am looking into their future; because if what I say is helpful, then it doesn’t really matter where the information comes from.  But how I knew a former accountant was changing careers to be a librarian…that’s a bit difficult to explain away with body language.  You know what? Being a creepy fortune teller in pink sparkles really makes me deliriously happy.

May 2016

In May I finally got the opportunity to work with visual art in three dimensional way.  Joan Forest Mage teamed me up to create an Art Adventure for the Life Force Arts Center with Errol McLendon.  I created the second event, a Creative Drama program called Come Play With Me.  The participants really got into it and I was delighted to dust off my skills in improvisational performance.  I learned that I am indeed a creative individual.  More than anything else, it is my creativity that I feel defines me. And, when I am being creative, I am happy.  

June 2016

I really love fitness. That is a fact.  I was intensely involved in my training and doing research on fitness for a summer presentation.  I was perhaps in the best shape of my life in June of 2016 and that really made me happy.  Scientific research suggests that a fit body releases endorphins in the brain that perpetuates happiness.    

July 2016

Very few people know when my birthday is.  I don’t like to share the information partly because it is on the holiday weekend and my birthday gets swept away under the national fervor.  But the deeper (and darker) reason is my belief that my birth was an accident and that my parents really didn’t want me.  It’s a little difficult to celebrate your birthday if you wonder whether you really were meant to be born.  

However, hopped up on all those fitness endorphins I was hell bound and determined to have a happy birthday.  As I was polling my friends for trip suggestions, one clever soul offered up the City Museum in St. Louis and I was hooked from the mention of seven-story slide. The City Museum was completely awesome yet I loved pretty much everything about that trip!  

The most important thing I learned was that I didn’t always have to worry about what everyone else may or may not be thinking.  I spent my childhood and a great deal of my adult life trying to do what I thought my parents wanted me to do.  I did this hoping to prove to them that I was worth their love, even though I was an accident.  I carried that mentality into my most of my relationships.  I chose activities based on what I thought somebody else might want. This isn’t the fortune telling that makes me happy, this is just crazy making!

This time, in July of 2016, I went somewhere that I wanted to go without worrying about what someone else wanted.  And it not only turned out okay – it was better than okay – it was awesome!

August 2016

For reasons I may write about later (or perhaps never) I was in an exceptionally dark place in August. It was quite possibly the lowest I have ever been yet.  My child brings me joy, but my happiness is not his responsibility.  He knew I was depressed, but there was nothing he could have done and I sure wasn’t going to disclose to him just how bad I really felt.

It was my cat Bing who pulled me out of the dark.  When I picked her up from the groomer she was so darn happy to see me!  And she was just so cute with her hair all shaved off, rolling on her back and telling me to rub her belly.  She loves getting her hair cut.  She just would rather be naked – she’s a weird cat.  She made me laugh and then she licked away my tears with that sandpaper tongue.  She quietly listened to all of my darkness and took in all of it without so much as flick of her tail.

“Silly Amy Alice,” she said. “I love you.  See, you’re worthy of love.  Now rub this naked belly!”  

Bing, a half blind naked cat, taught me that there is unconditional love in this world, I just have to be willing to accept it in whatever package it may come in.

September 2016

September was about just surviving; it was just about putting one foot in front of the other.  As luck would have it, the Summer of 2016 was the summer Pokemon Go became all the rage.  As the season was coming to a close I put one foot in front of the other while capturing Pokemons with my son.    We would walk for hours and talk about all sorts of things.  I don’t think that I will ever forget that.  What a wonderful game.  Sometimes happiness comes in tiny packages – in this case, anime animals on an IPhone.

October 2016

I adore Halloween.  It was hard for me to choose just one highlight; it was a toss-up between the Trick-or-Treat in Oak Park or Fright Fest at Six Flags – both were Halloween themed fun.  I love making Halloween Costumes.  I just love it!  It’s not lost on me that this is another example of a hobby.  It was also the aspect of using a skill.  A part of the joy in those events was the oohs and ahhs my son and I received over our one-of-a-kind costumes.  I also love to see the obvious surge of pride on my son’s face when he informs his fans, “This costume is handmade.”  I love that my son gives me picture and trusts that I will bring it to life.  My sewing skill alone can bring me happiness, but to share that joy with my son makes me that much more deliriously joyful!

November 2016

This makes me feel a little sheepish to admit…but the best thing in November was discovering how much I like the television show Supernatural.  And not just the show, the character of Sam Winchester.  I finally felt like a normal human being because I had a legitimate crush!  Albeit it was on a fictional character who I would consider far too young for me in real life, but I hadn’t had a sweet and innocent crush since William Shatner ruled 1970’s syndication as Captain Kirk, so I’ll just take it for what it is.  

This little crush made me research the actor Jared Padalecki; and I learned that he too suffered from depression.  He had a crisis in the early seasons of the show, probably because he was enjoying so much success and a part of himself was screaming that there was no way that he could possibly deserve it.  I was able to make that assumption because I feel that way so much of the time.  I love too that he used his own creation of Sam Winchester to see himself through.  He reminded himself that Sam always kept fighting, and that became his mantra.  He founded a whole awareness campaign with that as the slogan. Jared Padalecki is a hero to me because he risked stigma and rejection to help others who share the battle with depression.  In him, I found someone to model.  

Isn’t that what the arts are supposed to do?  Give you something to model so that you can find and become the very best version of yourself?  Art shows us the possibilities.  And when it comes to possibilities you want the outlandish, the bigger the better! If we imagine ourselves fighting the very Darkness Herself then perhaps it is then easier to find a flashlight when the circuit in the kitchen blows.  

Watching Supernatural gave me the ability to see possibilities as I shrieked in gleeful terror watching the impossible adventures of the Winchester brothers.  It made me laugh when I needed a break from my sadness. It gave me adventure when I wanted to get away from the monotony of my job.  It made me realize that I had emotions…even the flirty one I wasn’t sure I had.  It gave me hope.  

It would seem that frivolity has its wisdom too.

December 2016

While sweet Sam Winchester was leading me down a new path of hope, the day everything suddenly changed was when I responded to Errol McLendon’s request to share my thoughts about death and what happens after that event.  I wrote to him about my son’s birth, and how it nearly killed me.  I had such a strong, spiritual, and life changing experience.  I found my Goddess and I found my purpose - I found that when I died.  

I sent him a long message detailing my experience and then I went to his show.  It was so very profound that the audience stayed for more than an hour afterwards to talk, and to be with one another.  After that, it was as if the dark cloud that I had carrying over my head burst.  I was free. I was happy again.  I felt more myself than I had for longer than I could remember.  Errol’s show stayed with me and I thought about it that whole week.  Then, I decided to write about the experience again. This time I posted it on my blog. It was one of the most well received posts I had ever written; probably because it was the very best article I had ever written.  It was the best, because it was so true.

I learn so much about myself when I write.  In my blog post about my death, it was during the process of writing that I discovered something so important:  when my body was dead and there was nothing left of me except my own instinct and my own feelings, what I wanted – what I needed more than anything – was to be a mother. I realized that it was really the first time I had expressed a deep desire that came not from someone else’s expectations of me, but truly from my own desire – my own instinct and feelings. Despite the mistakes I had made as a mother and despite the fact that I had been unable to control all the circumstances, ultimately being a mother had brought me the greatest joy I had ever known. It made me wonder what I could accomplish if I trusted my desire more often.  I wondered what I could accomplish if I listened to my own instinct and my feelings instead of giving that power away to someone else.  I wondered this because I wrote.  The dark cloud burst when I told my story.

There were things from 2015 that I stuffed into that dark cloud I carried all through 2016.  My geomancy reading suggests that there is a new path for 2017 through the House of Children.  I must make time for hobbies.  I must celebrate my traditions.  I must take pride in the financial freedom I worked so hard to earn. I must acknowledge my talents.  I must be creativity at every opportunity. I must pump my iron.  I must exercise my independence.  I must love my pets (particularly by rubbing my naked cat’s belly). I must play, just play.  I must utilize my skills.  I must give myself every opportunity to experience possibility, the more impossible the better.  And finally, I must tell my story.  It really doesn’t matter if it isn’t important to someone else, it’s important to me.  I matter – to my son, to my weird cat, to me.

Happy New Year!