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theraspberryler · 3 years ago

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Bandanna (I know, these titles are truly groundbreaking)

here’s the fic for this request right here, I was able to finish it much earlier than I thought

lee!tommy, ler!tubbo

summary: tommy had somehow managed to lose the bandanna tubbo had gifted to him, and felt absolutely awful. he tried to stay strong, but ended up breaking in front of tubbo. but it’s alright, because tubbo was able to help tommy through it! (hurt/comfort)

~this is a tickle fic! If that’s not your thing, then please move on!~

TW- self-depricating thoughts, let me know if I need to add anything

Tommy growled under his breath as he reached the bottom of the last drawer, still no bandana in sight. He roughly dragged his fingers through his messy hair, slouching down into his desk chair with a frustrated huff. He examined the state of his room, and grimaced at what he saw; drawers were left open, their contents strewn about the room, his closet door was left open, the objects messily thrown about from when he sifted through them in his panicked craze. Tommy tried to think of anywhere else it could have possibly been, but he’s already triple checked every nook and cranny of his entire room, and practically tore the place apart in the process; he couldn’t find it.

He sighed heavily, and rested his head in his hands, and tried his best to think back to the last time he had it, but his frustration and anxiety made it hard to think about anything. A loud groan rose from the back of his throat, and he let his head fall to his desk with a thump, then he let out a pathetic sounding whine. He wasn’t even sure why he was so worked up about the stupid bandana, it was just a small piece of fabric.

But, Tommy knew that it was so much more than that. Tubbo had gifted it to him the first time they met up, with a sheepish look on his face and a light blush, he refused to make eye contact with Tommy, thrusting the square piece of cloth into his chest. He had run his fingers over the soft, silky fabric, taking in its muted green color and the rather poorly stitched bee located on the corner of it. After some pushing, Tubbo had admitted that he indeed did stitch it himself, only making it that much more special to him.

Tommy had light-heartedly teased Tubbo when he gave it to him, before thanking him, but he never let on just how much it meant to him. Tommy had tied it around his wrist when he got it, brandishing it with pride. However, once he arrived home, he decided to leave it in his room, in order to avoid damaging or losing it. That had certainly worked out well.

He would find himself picking it up and fiddling with it as he sat at his desk, he’d run his thumbs over the hem of the bandana as well as the stitched-on bee when he got anxious, and though he would never admit it, being way too embarrassed, he would sometimes bury his face into the soft fabric on particularly difficult nights, the small cloth somehow bringing him a sense of peace.

Just thinking about it, Tommy found himself searching around on his desk subconsciously, only to stop once he remembered it wasn’t there. He felt his frustration build, and along with it, felt the familiar prickling behind his eyes.

“Tommy! Come on bud, we’re gonna be late if you don’t hurry!” Tommy startled, his fathers shout shaking out of his daze. He hastily wiped his eyes with his sleeve and grabbed his phone, hurrying to the front door where his dad was waiting for him.

In his panic, he’d almost forgotten that today he was going to see Tubbo; they had been wanting to just hang out the two of them for a while, without the stress of streaming or keeping up with social media for the day. The thought of Tubbo made dread pool in his gut, he knew, logically, Tubbo wouldn’t be upset, he probably forgot about the bandana, but he still felt awful for losing something Tubbo had put so much time into.

Tommy had zoned out the majority of the ride there, staring blankly out of the window. He startled when the car pulled to a stop, and looked up to see that they’d arrived at Tubbo’s house. He took a deep breath and pushed himself out of the car, managing a small wave and forced smile to his dad before he walked up to Tubbo’s front door.

Tommy stood in front of the door for a moment, mentally preparing himself, all while feeling extemely stupid for being so worked up over this, before he forced himself to just knock on the door. Just seconds after, an excited, grinning Tubbo flung the door open, enthusiastically greeting Tommy before leading him back to his room. Once they arrived, Tubbo sat down at his desk chair, Tommy on his bed, like they would usually do when the two of them hung out.

Tommy was being unusually quiet, Tubbo noticed, finding it a little odd that he was the one having to initiate the conversation, but didn’t pay it too much mind.

“So what have you been up to Tommy? It feels like it's been forever since we’ve been able to just chat.” Tommy jumped a bit, having spaced out, before quickly trying to come up with a response that wouldn’t raise any suspicion.

“U-um, not much, it’s just kinda been the usual. You?” Well, so much for not raising suspicion. Tommy had to admit, that was a pretty lousy attempt. In his defence, he was never very good at hiding when he was upset, tending to wear his heart on his sleeve.

As expected, Tubbo didn’t buy it for a moment.

“You good Toms? That was a pretty lackluster response, especially for you.” And, Tommy just decided, fuck it. He was tired and upset, why bother trying to hide it from Tubbo, especially when the other could read him like an open book?

“I-I… Its stupid. But I lost that dumb bandana that you gave me a while back, and I tore my whole room apart looking for it and I can’t find it anywhere! And I know it’s stupid and pathetic but it meant a lot to me! I was careful to make sure nothing happened to it, and I have no clue what could have possibly happened! I spent pretty much all last night and this morning looking for it.” Tommy huffed again, his frustration at both the situation and at himself only growing stronger as he spoke.

Tubbo, shocked that he actually got the usually so stubborn boy to talk to him, was silent for a moment.

“O-oh, I- didn’t realize that it meant so much to you.” Wow, great job, Tubbo. 10/10 way to make him feel better. He had such a way with his words.

“Shut up, man. You don’t need to rub it in.” Tommy’s voice was small and pitchy, and, oh god. Tubbo panicked as he heard his breath hitch as he quickly turned away, hastily bringing his hands up to hide his face. Tubbo rushed over to the side of his bed where Tommy was sat, placing a gentle hand on Tommy’s arm, only for the younger to quickly pull it away.

“Fuck- shit- Tommy I’m so sorry I didn’t mean it like that, I was just being stupid and couldn’t think of a response, and that’s what my brain managed to come up with. I’m sorry.” Tommy still didn’t budge, curling in on himself.

“Be-because you thought i-it was stupid.” Tommy mumbled, causing Tubbo to panic further.

“No! No, Tommy, that’s not it, I promise. I just- didn’t expect it, which isn’t your fault, it’s just because I was being dumb and don’t know how to talk to people. It’s okay, and it’s definitely not stupid to be upset over. I’m so sorry that happened, and that I made you think that I thought otherwise.” Tommy still didn’t respond, and Tubbo was growing desperate. He really wasn’t a huge fan of physical affection, and certainly not initiating it himself, but it was the only thing he could think of, and Tommy definitely deserved a hug after all this. So, Tubbo scooped the taller boyup into his arms, holding him close and gently swaying the two of them. Tommy tried to hold out, but didn’t even last five seconds before he turned towards Tubbo and slammed himself into the younger, burying his face into his shoulder and sobbing.

“I don’t understand why I’m so worked up about this, I feel so stupid! I-I’m sorry, Tubs, for blaming you like that, I know you wouldn’t judge me for something like that. I-I- I just don’t understand why I’m feeling like this.” Tubbo tightened his embrace around the other, carefully maneuvering them until they were both laying down on the bed, Tommy smushed on top of him, still clinging onto him with a trembling grib.

“I’m so sorry, Toms, I know how upsetting it is to not understand what you’re feeling. It’s alright, you lost something that was important to you, and it’s okay that the bandana was important to you, and it’s okay to be upset over it. I know you said you looked everywhere, and I believe you, but there’s still a chance that it’ll turn up somewhere. And, I know it wouldn’t be the same, but I could easily make you another one; and I could do a much better job stitching the bee on this time.” Tubbo tried to make his tone more lighthearted towards the end, desperately trying to bring Tommy’s mood up, even just slightly. He hated seeing how upset his friend was.

After a few minutes, Tommy had largely calmed down, just the occasional sniffles and hitches in breath coming through. Tubbo tilted his head up to face him, and offered him a lopsided smile.

“Alright, Toms, you made it all the way out here, what do you wanna do? We can just chill and watch a movie or play some games if you’d like.” Tommy groaned, pushing Tubbo’s hand away from his face and smushing it back against his chest.

“I don’ know, tired.” Tommy mumbled, and Tubbo giggled at his friend's antics. Tubbo found himself mindlessly playing with the hem of Tommy’s shirt, not missing the surprised squeak his friend let out when he accidentally grazed his fingers over his side. A smirk grew on Tubbo’s face, and Tommy could feel the mischievous energy radiating from his friend without even looking at him.

“T-Tubbo, waiHAIT-” Tommy cut himself off with a squeal as Tubbo pinched up and down his sides, before bursting into bubbly, childlike giggles. On any other day, Tommy would have put up much more of a fight to get away and hold in his laughter, but he’s already exhausted himself with the rollercoaster of emotions he went on that day. Instead, he clenched the fabric of Tubbo’s shirt sleeves in his fists and weakly squirmed around in his grip.

Awe, Toms! You have such a sweet laugh! And you’re hardly even trying to get away, could you possibly get any cuter?!” Tubbo giddily exclaimed, moving his hands up towards his ribs.

Tommy hiccuped between his laughter, shaking his head in protest at Tubbo’s cooing.

“Nohohoho-*hic*-ohoh! N-Nahahat cuhuhute!”

“No, I think you are! Such a cute giggly little thing!” Tommy would never admit to the whine that came out of him at the teasy praise, practically keening from the combination of the tickly affection and kind words. He was overwhelmed in the best possible way, and, unable to form proper words, just wrapped his arms around Tubbo and clung to him.

Tubbo could feel his heart melting at his friend’s adorable display, unable to keep from audibly ‘awe’ing at him, only causing Tommy to whine more, and burrow even closer into his chest.

Deciding to try his luck at a different spot, Tubbo moved his hands down to Tommy’s hips, giving them an experimental squeeze.

And to Tubbo’s absolute delight, a loud squeal tore itself from Tommy’s throat, and he flailed his legs out wildly for a moment before going limp, seeping bonelessly into Tubbo’s embrace, loud belly laughter shaking his entire frame. Tommy babbled for a moment before giving up again on speaking, desperately holding onto Tubbo as a way to ground himself.

Tubbo only kept it up for no more than ten seconds, and while Tommy was in absolute bliss for those ten seconds, Tubbo stopped at just the right time, Tommy gasping for air. Tubbo giggled along with his friend, ruffling his hair.

“You good Toms?” Tubbo questioned after a bit, when Tommy still hadn’t managed to stop giggling. He just nodded in response, his eyelids suddenly feeling extremely heavy. If he was tired before, he was completely exhausted now, and Tubbo caught on to how quickly the taller seemed to be nodding off. He adjusted their position, reaching to grab his phone, before settling back down on the bed. He smiled, as he felt more than saw Tommy yawning into his chest, snuggling closer.

“Go ahead and take a nap Toms, you deserve it.” Tommy certainly didn’t have to be told twice, feeling the lull of sleep pulling at his conscious, and was out not even a minute later. Tubbo felt a warm feeling build in his chest, as he held his friend close and turned his phone on to scroll through shitposts shared with him on Discord.

And, yeah, maybe Tommy did lose the bandana, and that sucked. But it would be alright, with Tubbo there to provide him with more comfort than the small piece of cloth ever could.

#tickle fic #mcyt tickle fic #mcyt tickle #lee!tommyinnit #lee!tommy #ler!tubbo

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amyisherenowitsokay · 3 years ago

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Zagr for the ship ask 😤😤😤 every single one bitch

I cannot believe you have bombarded me like this. Appalled. Insulted. Astounded.

Please enjoy my entire analysis of my fictional totally canonical ship.

PRE-RELATIONSHIP

1. How did they first meet?

Dib, but also school.

2. What was their first impression of each other?

I think they're both initially incredibly dismissive of one another. Zim thinks the entire fate of the Armada's reputation lying on his shoulders, and Gaz really has too many personal problems even as a kid to deal with; neglectful Dad, overprotective, stupid brother, etc.

3. Did any of their friends or family want them to get together?

Okay so hear me out; I think Skoodge and Professor Membrane would be so obnoxious in the best way. And Gir, whenever his attention span lets him remember long enough to scream about it. But I think Membrane would be chipper about Gaz finding someone, even long before she admits she's even interested, and Skoodge would want Zim to be happy and is unconditionally supportive, especially when Zim is mopey whenever his advances are rebuffed.

4. Who felt romantic feelings first?

Honestly, I love a Zim simp, but I genuinely think it'd be Gaz. Zim is obviously a Defect capable of feeling a larger range of emotions than other Irkens, but he still didn't receive socialization that makes 'romantic rituals' in any way natural to him. So I think Gaz and him would buddy up platonically and casually, initially, until she realizes she likes his company a little too much and freaks out about it.

5. Did either of them try to resist their feelings?

Gaz does, 100%, and she's way more stubborn about it then Zim. I think Zim's denial is just that he doesn't "get" romance (see above) and what's going on with him, but once he understands he's fully down to bombard Gaz with affection, flirtations, and other over-the-top simp behavior until she stops pretending she's not gritting her teeth while fighting a blush.

6. If you had told one of them that the other would be their soulmate, what would they think?

Zim doesn't know what a soul is, but he does begin to understand the concept that they can be taken from human's in bargains. He becomes distracted by the topic. Bringing it up again later would have him largely dismissive.

Gaz would roll her eyes, and be extremely bitter about the idea that there is anyone 'made' for her. She's very independent, and I think someone with the sort of familial issues she does with no role model for a 'happy' family would be really resistant to being bound to someone in a way that would entitle them to her vulnerabilities. She'd be extremely resentful, dismissive, and irritable.

7. What would their lives be like if they had never met?

Really unfulfilled, listless. Without that companionship, they would never develop into people capable of meaningful relationships. I think both of them are very independent. Zim may claim he likes an audience, but there's an undeniable anxiety that he gets when faced with judgement. If it's anything but unwaveringly positive, he becomes delusional and creates a fantasy world in which everyone loves him, and the situation was just an initial misinterpretation. Gaz would have good friends, I think, but accepting Zim and his oddities and realizing she genuinely relates to someone who knows everything about her (via her brother + proximity + time) and is still here would mean a lot to her development.

GENERAL

1. Who initiated the relationship, and how did it go?

Zim, without a doubt. Gaz may like Zim first, but she's completely in denial about it and completely stubborn. Zim is oblivious, and also a big ass simp, so his persistence and patience eventually gets Gaz to let her guard down and accept that she has hormones, she has romantic inclinations, and apparently they've both decided Zim is it. Time to be a big girl and accept it.

2. Did they have an official first date? If so, what was it like?

Honestly, I don't think they're the 'date' type of couple. I am probably 100% projecting since my boyfriend and I did not have an official 'date' until like 6 months into our first relationship, where we paused, turned to each other and were like 'wait is this our first date?' because we're homebodies whose idea of fun is projects. I think Zim and Gaz would hang out regularly, but it wouldn't ever be like a formal 'we are going to Bloaty's/the movies/etc as a date,' but rather 'I am going here and you are coming with me so I guess we are going together' thing. Zim doesn't get the point of a date, because if a date is by definition doing an activity together, then aren't they perpetually on a date? And Gaz isn't really a 'let's go to dinner formally' kind of person. They hang out, they go places, but it's never really a 'thing.'

3. What was their first kiss like?

I firmly believes Gaz would have to walk Zim through every aspect of physical affectionate. Zim is really wary about it, but I do think there's an instinct towards good ol' copulation, as well as a longing for positive touch after so long getting his ass whooped in the Academy, that would make him frustrated trying to figure out what this desire is. I think their first kiss is Gaz explaining to Zim, after he asks her outright what else there is after tame stuff like cuddling and hand holding, and Gaz walks him through the concept, implications, and so on until he feels ready to bravely and firmly try it.

While that does sound pretty clinical, I think actually it'd be really emotional for both of them. Zim would be really overwhelmed by how much passion is in a kiss, and Gaz would be similarly overwhelmed since, going into the relationship, she probably never anticipated Zim being interested in anything sexual, so any physical affection he expresses interest in is a surprise to her.

4. Were they each other’s first anything (kiss, relationship, etc.)?

I think Gaz probably would try out a few brief relationships, but never anything substantial or dramatic. Zim's never been in a relationship, so Gaz is his first everything. I do think they'd be each other's first sexual relationship, but I think Gaz would have most of her more minimal firsts with other people prior to Zim.

5. What’s their height difference? Age difference?

Zim older. I normally write Zim as the same height as Gaz, or only a little taller. Neither of them are tall. I do respect you 'short king' stans though.

6. What’s their relationship with each other’s families?

Dib hates Zim, firmly and completely, at the beginning of their relationship. It takes a lot of self-reflection, meaningful sibling discussions, and probably a few screaming matches that eventually get to the real root of the issue (Dib's ingrained fear that something would happen to Gaz, and that it'd his fault) before he came around. Zim is a big petty bitch and would gleefully antagonize him. They would never stop sniping at each other, but they'd begrudgingly (sort of) behave for Gaz. They would eventually become frenemies and bros, but they'd die and also kill each other before admitting any sort of cordiality.

Professor Membrane adores Zim, and treats him like the son he never had/always wanted, the one who wants to have long discussions about science and can keep up with the theoreticals. Gaz hates it.

The Base and Gaz are cool. They have an understanding borne from two sentient creatures who have found themselves in the position of trying to keep Zim from killing himself, killing other people, or from coming to (too much) harm. Gaz initially hates Gir, but eventually she figures out how to get him to chill out when it's important. Minimoose and her are also cool, but he creeps Gaz out a little.

7. Who takes the lead in social situations?

Zim thinks he does, but it's really just Gaz slapping her hand over his mouth before he can say something stupid, or translating whatever nonsense just came out of his mouth when he's done talking.

8. Who gets jealous easier?

Zim. Not even a question.

9. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear?

Zim. Also not even a question.

LOVE

1. Who said “I love you” first?

Gaz. Zim doesn't know what it means until she explains it. It takes him awhile to internalize it and reciprocate verbally, but Gaz is okay with that. He shows her how much he cares in other ways.

2. What are their primary love languages?

Without a doubt, Zim's is touch. Once he gets used to it, he's really greedy and possessive about proximity. Just having Gaz bump his arm is sometimes enough to set the worst of his nerves at ease.

Gaz's is acts of service. She's fine with Zim being physically clingy, but it means a lot to her how unflinching he is about protecting her, anticipating her needs, and remembering things.

3. Who uses cheesy pick-up lines?

Zim. Gaz hates them, but she tolerates it. Sometimes.

4. How often do they cuddle/engage in PDA?

Cuddling is very frequent. Zim will just sort of shift in behind Gaz if she's playing a game and cling, and she'll just keep doing what she's doing until she's eventually done and reciprocates. Explicit PDA never happens, but Zim is very clingy and physically will plant himself between Gaz and people who he's distrustful towards.

5. Who initiates kisses?

Gaz. I think Zim would cling to her like a barnacle at every opportunity, but Zim would likely usually defer to Gaz for escalating intimacy.

6. Who’s the big and little spoon?

Zim big spoon. PAK too uncomfortable to let him be the little spoon.

7. What are their favorite things to do together?

I think just being around each other while they do projects, game, etc. would be their favorite thing to do. Sharing in hobbies without feeling pressured to be entertaining, but still feeling like their presence is valued and wanted by the other.

8. Who’s better at comforting the other?

Being a people, and having more emotional competency, Gaz is better. Zim does his best though.

9. Who’s more protective?

Zim, if we're talking about quantity. Gaz, however, if we're talking about quality. Zim screams at chihuahuas for looking at Gaz, and also does protect her from genuine threats, but he overreacts frequently. Gaz, however, would know when Zim's out of his depth and would break the spine of anything that's a threat to him.

10. Do they prefer verbal or physical affection?

Physical, for both. Neither of them is really used to verbal affection, whether it be giving or receiving. It's a lot more natural to be demonstrative.

11. What are some songs that apply to their relationship, in-universe or otherwise?

Me, cackling as I copy and paste this link that I imagine is from their mutual perspectives:

https://open.spotify.com/track/4nlT0Ch4qpqoS8O1RsdzjH?si=d6d8e1e19a7d4dc7

12. What kind of nicknames do they call each other?

There's lots, and I'm sure most of them are inside jokes, but the tops are Zimmothy + Little Gaz.

13. Who remembers the little things?

It's hard to say. Zim would retain an encyclopedic knowledge of all things Gaz, and tries to spoil her and accommodate her at every opportunity, but Gaz never forgets to pack an extra umbrella and a raincoat.

DOMESTIC LIFE

1. If they get married, who proposes?

Zim.

2. What’s the wedding like? Who attends?

No one but their mutual 'families.' A very small, intimate ceremony. The reception though is massive, courtesy of Professor Membrane who has no idea how to separate his personal life with his public one.

3. How many kids do they have, if any? What are they like?

0 kiddos. Cannot product viable, compatible DNA to produce a spawn.

4. Do they have any pets?

Does Gir count?

5. Who’s the stricter parent?

If Gir is the child, Zim. Gaz will let him get away with murder, both because she can't be bothered to control him, and also because she thinks it's funny how mad Zim gets when she lets him go wild.

6. Who worries the most?

Between Gaz "apathetic is my middle name" Membrane and Invader "I have perpetual anxiety" Zim? No idea.

7. Who kills the bugs in the house?

Gir. He eats them long before anyone can find them. But both Gaz and Zim will point out any he misses.

8. How do they celebrate holidays?

Zim fucking hates Christmas, so him and Membrane get down in a bunker for it while Dib and Gaz spend some sibling time somewhere, drinking cocoa and video chatting with the respective morons. Other holidays, they basically go wherever Professor Membrane is in the world with Dib to have a 'family' holiday.

9. Who’s more likely to convince the other to come back to sleep in the morning?

Zim doesn't sleep, but he likes the resting and the peacefulness of getting to curl around Gaz in her sleep without her leaving. So him by default.

10. Who’s the better cook?

Zim has a 'kiss the chef' apron and everything.

11. Who likes to dance?

Neither of them, but Zim does 'victory dances' compulsively.

#ZAGR #Invader Zim #asks #anaylsis #ship post #hella long #RavenFollower13 #fanfiction #Gaz #Zim #amyisherenowansweringyou

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littlemixnet · 4 years ago

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Little Mix on what it takes to survive being the most bullied band in pop

Still teenagers when they were catapulted to fame, superstardom came at a price for Little Mix. They open up to Francesca Babb about the soaring highs and crashing lows of the past nine years. It is the end of our YOU cover shoot, and I am facing the lesser-spotted sight of a barefaced Little Mix. Wet wipes swipe back and forth across their faces and, as the foundation departs in a deluge of coffee-coloured tissues, Jesy Nelson and Leigh-Anne Pinnock, both 29, and Jade Thirlwall and Perrie Edwards, both 27, visibly relax into their tracksuits and boyfriend jeans, shoulders dropping as they settle into themselves. I’m so used to seeing them contoured and camera ready that I assumed full glamour was their happy place. But perhaps the real Little Mix are not the war-paint-and-leotard-clad pop stars we’ve spent almost ten years watching grow up, but rather the four women they have become behind the glare of the spotlight. It’s those four women that I’m intrigued to meet. Since winning The X Factor nine years ago, there have been highs – selling over 50 million records globally, a significant percentage of which were self-penned, and creating enough accompanying make-up lines and merchandise to keep them and their families comfortable for the foreseeable future (recent reports suggest they have earned a combined £28.5 million to date). But there have also been lows – perpetual picking apart by both the public and the press, bullying and vitriol from online trolls. The most extreme cases of which led Jesy to attempt suicide during Little Mix’s early days in 2013 (she regards a tweet from the controversial Katie Hopkins – ‘Packet Mix have still got a chubber in their ranks. Less Little Mix. More Pick n Mix’ – as the ‘pinnacle point’ for her depression) and pushed Perrie into an ongoing struggle with anxiety. Fame has changed them. In some ways they are still youthful and silly – dropping phrases into conversation that wouldn’t be out of place in a playground – yet, in others, they are wise beyond their years, diving headfirst into battles on feminism, race and mental health. They’re fun enough to be light relief, smart enough to inspire a generation struggling with the pressures of youth and social media even before a pandemic was thrown at them, and ballsy enough to leave Simon Cowell’s record label because they didn’t feel he had their best interests at heart. ‘It’s never really been a cruise, has it?’ Jade ponders, a copy of social activist Bell Hooks’ 2002 feminist theory Communion: The Female Search For Love in her hand (not for show, I might add; when I ask her about it, she is well versed in its content). ‘It’s either been a really big high, or a really big low.’ Jesy, who has found herself the target of some of the cruelest contempt from the world outside Little Mix, agrees: ‘Some of the best times, some of the worst times.’ Comments on her weight, her looks, her place in the band, comments that she should take her own life, all led her into a deep depression and the aforementioned suicide attempt. Her documentary last year, Jesy Nelson: Odd One Out, revealed her journey through it all and, while harrowing, it is essential viewing on the realities of growing up in a world dominated by social media. ‘Before we got in the group, I never looked at myself and thought, “I don’t like that” – I don’t think any of us did. I never thought, “Oh god, I’m fat”, and then we got in the industry, and we all started wanting to change things about ourselves. It’s so sad. There are things [in the past] I definitely wish I hadn’t done,’ she says, referring to the suicide attempt, in which she took an overdose after a two-year battle with depression and an eating disorder. ‘But would I be the person I am today if I hadn’t gone through all of that?’ ‘There was a time when it was worse than it is now,’ adds Leigh-Anne, who has increasingly used her own Instagram channel to vocalise her experience of racism, both overt and underlying, throughout her time in the band. ‘I guess we’re taking steps forward, but I fear for my [future] daughters…’ ‘It makes me not want to have a kid,’ agrees Jesy. ‘Those insecurities that we all have now because of social media, imagine having that embedded in you as a child?’ Before you write them off as four very lucky girls ungratefully complaining about a lifestyle so many dream of, I should point out that they are fully aware of the paradox of their privilege. I suppose the point is, it’s not too much to ask to not be bullied to the point of hospitalisation as a by-product, is it? ‘Little Mix has changed our lives for the better, and our families’ lives, and we have achieved so much,’ says Perrie. ‘Don’t get me wrong,’ agrees Jesy (a warning I will hear repeatedly throughout our hour together, perhaps thanks to almost a decade of their quotes being blasted out of context for click-bait). ‘I’m not going to sit here and say we’ve got a terrible life, because we haven’t, but I do think our innocence was taken from us.’ It’s a while since the girls last did any press. Lockdown saw a halt to any activity they had planned, including the launch of their new talent show, BBC1’s Little Mix: The Search (in which they, well, search for a new band to mentor and join them on tour). But the time apart has not diminished their ability to finish each other’s sentences and jump to each other’s aid. It has, it seems, been really rather good for them and allowed them to come back fired up for the release of their sixth album, Confetti, which came out this week. ‘It was needed,’ agrees Jesy. ‘We’re never not with each other and we’re always busy. Our mornings start early, we finish really late.’ Being at home has meant more time spent with their families, with Jade even starting her own show on MTV with her mum Norma. Called Served!, the self-filmed series saw the pair interview celebrity drag queens and challenge each other to cooking competitions. ‘I love drag culture,’ she says, ‘and me mam was by herself in lockdown, so I thought it’d be something nice to keep her entertained.’ ‘Your mum could be on Loose Women,’ Leigh-Anne muses. ‘Imagine our mams on a show!’ shrieks Jade. ‘Nobody else would get a word in edgeways with my mam,’ laughs Perrie. ‘Ooh, when Debbie goes off on Twitter,’ says Jade, of Perrie’s mum’s habit of weighing in on comments from haters. ‘My mam will text me, have you seen Debbie’s been going off on someone!’ It is interesting that all four talk frequently about their mums throughout our chat, and yet there is no mention of fathers. While their mums often appear on Instagram, a sighting of Perrie’s dad on her 23rd birthday was extremely rare. Perhaps the Little Mix dads’ absence in the narrative is because the four girls were predominantly raised by their mothers (all of their parents separated when they were younger), and another reason the group’s bond is so tight. Little Mix are each other’s wall of arms, their own personal bodyguards. Jesy, they unanimously agree, is Scary Mix (although I find her a delight), which is interesting given her own inability to bat off other people’s words. ‘When it’s you on your own dealing with something personally,’ Jesy says, ‘It’s completely different. You feel so vulnerable alone, but we are a force when we’re together.’ It’s not hard to see, in today’s social-media obsessed society where there is little retribution for cruelty, why four attractive, successful young women, with attractive, successful young boyfriends (two footballers – Perrie dates Liverpool’s Alex Oxlade-Chamberlain, Leigh-Anne is engaged to Watford’s Andre Gray – while Jade is with Rizzle Kicks singer Jordan Stephens and Jesy is going out with Our Girl actor Sean Sagar), who seem to be living a dream life have found themselves at the heart of a whirlwind of vitriol. There was the infamous spat with Piers Morgan, in which he mocked them for posing naked but for the insults that have been hurled at them painted on their bodies. He accused them of using sex to sell records and called them ‘foul-mouthed, talentless, clothes-allergic little dimwits’, which is not how I find them to be. ‘I take Piers with a pinch of salt,’ Jesy says, rolling her eyes. ‘He does it to cause drama, so I take no notice. When we won The X Factor, we didn’t look like a generic girl band: we’re all different shapes and sizes, we didn’t dress sexy, so immediately everyone was, “What’s this?”’ ‘Usually, when you see a girl band, they’re perfection, they have six-packs – and we didn’t,’ continues Jesy. ‘People saw us as kids, so even though we’re now women, people still think of us that way, so when we come out on stage in leotards, they think, “That’s disgusting!”’ ‘One Direction didn’t get the s**t we get, because they’re men,’ states Leigh-Anne. ‘It’s like, “They’re four girls, let’s come at them”. As soon as it’s girls, they think, “Oh you slag.”’ ‘When it’s men, it’s celebrated, but the minute women sexualise themselves and feel powerful doing it, we’re told to rein it in,’ adds Jade. ‘We’re conditioned to think that women are there to be these innocent and pure beings and the minute you step out of that, it’s carnage.’ Little Mix, however, are not scared of embracing that carnage and of sparking a debate. For their show The Search, Jade describes how it was important for them to set the tone on respect when each new person auditioned. ‘Because we are small women, it’s important to show people that they need to respect us, that we know what we’re talking about and we need to be listened to,’ she says. ‘There’s no nastiness,’ continues Jesy about the show, which has been praised for modernising and freshening up the age-old TV format. ‘There’s no making anyone feel uncomfortable for entertainment.’ They also insisted a large part of their budget be dedicated to looking after the contestants’ mental health, understanding, first hand, the pitfalls of talent shows. The Search is not their first attempt at diversifying their talent. As a group, they have LMX make-up line and also a perfume, Style By Little Mix. Subsequently, they have become expert businesswomen, refusing to make the mistakes of pop groups past, so often left completely penniless at the end of their careers. ‘I remember walking into an early label meeting and saying, “This is who we want to be, this is the campaign we want, this is the imagery we want,”’ says Jade. ‘We knew our brand from the get go and we very much steered that ship.’ It’s a long way from their (as Jesy puts it) ‘working-class backgrounds’. Since joining the band, each one has bought their mum a house and, while their tale is not entirely rags to riches, the jump from Primark to Prada in recent years has certainly been significant. When it comes to business, Perrie describes herself and Leigh-Anne as the ones who will often seek a compromise in difficult situations, while they send Jesy and Jade in when deals need to be made. ‘Jesy’s the badass,’ Perrie laughs. ‘Whenever I’m scared, I’ll stand behind her. She’s the one who puts her foot down in a boardroom full of men and says, “It’s going to be this way.” But we pick our battles. We don’t just argue about every decision – it’s when we feel we have to.’ ‘Nobody could say that we are difficult, and if they do, they’re lying,’ says Leigh-Anne adamantly. Adds Jesy: ‘We know what we want, and we know what kids want.’ Little Mix have lived over a third of their lives in the spotlight. They’ve seen how things work, how things don’t, and they’ve learnt how to cope with it all. The lows may have been spectacularly low, but the highs have surpassed any of their expectations. Their story is not your classic fairytale, but it’s one they have learnt they can write their own ending for. If the Little Mix I meet today is anything to go by, I wouldn’t expect that ending to come any time soon. Little Mix’s new album Confetti is out now. Their movie LM5: The Tour Film will be in cinemas nationwide on 21 and 22 November.

#little mix #you magazine 2020 #article #2020 #confetti promo

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everywhereallofthetime · 3 years ago

Text

Some Girl ... Part 3

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: None.

// * // * //

Mason smoothed Sebastian’s thick, silky hair and then offered his hand to Shawn. Shawn reached out to shake it, completely caught off guard by what Charlotte had said, although trying not to show it.

“It’s nice to meet you,” Mason said with a cautious smile.

Shawn only nodded his head in response.

“He’s a little nervous about meeting everyone, so why don’t you give us a few minutes.”

“Of course. I’ll bring Bash in,” he said, taking the stroller from her hands. “Take your time.”

Shawn reddened more and more with every step Mason took toward the house. The moment he shut the door behind them, Shawn turned on Charlotte, understandably upset.

Before he could even open his mouth, Charlotte held up her hands in a placating manner. “I swear, I had no idea I was going to say that, and I’m sorry. I wouldn’t blame you for storming off right here, right now, but please, just hear me out.”

He didn’t respond, but he also didn’t walk away, so she continued. “You’re going through some shit right now, right?” she said, rhetorically. “Just come in and forget about everything for a few hours. You can snuggle Bash, have a few drinks, eat some fantastic food, - better than you can find in any restaurant, I swear, - play some cards, watch the game, or swim.”

She could see him defuse right before her as she talked.

“We have a pool table, air hockey, and darts, too.”

There was still a tinge of panic in his voice, when he said, “What if they know who I am?!” Wait. Was he honestly considering this? He had wanted more time with Charlotte and Sebastian.

“I would be surprised if they did. Valerie and the twins definitely would have, but they’re not going to be here tonight. Try to avoid playing the guitar or singing, just in case,” she smirked, trying to lighten the mood.

“I haven’t picked up my guitar or have had any reason to sing for a while.”

Her heart plummeted. “Shit. I’m sorry, Shawn,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to be insensitive.” All she wanted to do was hug him.

So, she did.

He didn’t pull away. Instead, he returned the embrace. She felt and heard him sigh deeply in her arms.

When she ultimately eased away from him, he met her eyes and asked quietly, “What was that for?”

“It looked like you needed it.”

He had. He really had. He didn’t know just how much he had needed it before it happened. He was again surprised at how well she seemed to read him.

“I really should have thought before putting you in this situation. I’d still like you to consider it, as off the wall an idea as it is. I could introduce you with a different name. And if anyone grows suspicious and says to me, ‘he looks like Shawn Mendes’, I’ll just say, ‘I know, eh? Why do you think I let him into my bed?’”

He laughed then. It was a beautiful sound.

“You don’t really look like the Shawn the public is used to anyway.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” she reassured him. “You’re usually a little more...polished. Clean-shaven, perfectly coifed hair, except for maybe that one stray curl that drives all the girls wild,” she teased. “Personally, I find the darker, slightly longer hair and the stubble terribly sexy.” That earned her a little smirk.

Charlotte’s eyes met Shawn’s with as much warmth and hope as possible. “Things will get better, Shawn. It may not feel like it right now, but it will. I promise.”

She reached out to tenderly cup his cheek. “Having your heart completely destroyed fucking sucks, but it will heal, and things will get better.”

Shawn had gone through a myriad of emotions and feelings in the past hour. From apprehension to delight. An unburdening and acceptance. A spark of anger. Surprise, sadness, comfort. A moment of joy, a moment of indignation. And altogether more compassion than he’d gotten from anyone outside of his family and friends.

He hadn’t felt much of anything except devastation and anxiety since he and Camila had split. To feel so much more, so many positive emotions, within such a short amount of time, was invigorating. He stood straighter; his heart felt lighter.

“So, what do you say?”

He licked his lips and bit softly on the bottom one.

“Nobody is going to expect anything of you. They’ll just want to get to know you. I never talk about Booker, - I don’t believe I’ve ever even said his name to them, - so you can say whatever or be whoever you want.”

“They’re going to hate me for not being around for Bash.”

“If it even comes up, tell them you didn’t know until recently, right now even. We ran into each other at the liquor store and, ‘hey, remember me? Surprise, you’re a dad’.

“My family is amazing, I promise. And they’re all starting to gather in the doorway and at the windows,” she laughed. “We should probably head in, if we’re going to.”

He looked toward the house and took a deep breath.

“This might help to get you out of your head.” Before he even comprehended what was happening, her hand was at the nape of his neck and her mouth was against his; a quick, startling press of her lips. Just as his shock melted into response she was pulling away.

“I kinda wanna do that again,” he whispered. It was Charlotte’s turn to be surprised when suddenly he was kissing her back, open-mouthed, and soft-lipped.

Shawn hadn’t felt any sort of spark with anyone since his heart had broken. It felt good, exceptionally good, to kiss and be kissed again.

Their eyes met and they both smiled.

“Come on,” she said. She slipped her hand into his and led him up the front walk.

// * // * //

Stepping through the front door Charlotte called out, “Everyone, this is Peter.” She already expected that Mason would have told them all that he was Sebastian’s dad. “Peter, meet...everyone.”

She met the eyes of her family members, one by one. All eleven of them had gathered in a relatively small area. “I told him you were amazing; don’t prove me wrong. Be nice. He’s actually a really great guy. Now go. We’ll make the rounds. Don’t overwhelm him.”

Most everyone scattered throughout the house, a few spilled into the backyard. Elisa, with Sebastian, Jack, and Mason were the only ones who still stood before them.

“You met Mason outside. He’s my cousin, but he's more like an annoying little brother,” she smirked. He gave her upper arm a gentle shove.

Charlotte introduced Jack next. “This is my uncle Jack.”

“There won’t be a test, don’t worry,” Jack smirked, shaking Shawn’s hand.

“He’s the closest thing I have to a dad, so he may grill you a little.” She looked pointedly at her uncle. “Go easy on him, Jack...

“And holding Bash, of course, - she has trouble sharing him, - is Elisa, my aunt, my second mother.” Elisa smiled and her eyes sparkled. “Yes, he is insanely attractive, but your husband is standing right beside you, so behave.”

They all laughed at that. Shawn blushed, which only made him more appealing, and his heart had flipped a little when Charlotte had said he was ‘insanely attractive’. Okay, so there was a spark on her end too, apparently.

But he wasn’t ready for a new relationship, he reminded himself.

Surprising everyone, Sebastian reached for Shawn. He almost fell out of Elisa’s arms doing so. Shawn caught him easily. “I’m sorry,” he automatically apologized to Elisa, pulling him close and holding him secure. He instinctively dropped a kiss on top of his little head. Sebastian grasped Shawn’s necklace and started babbling happily.

“No honey, you don’t have to apologize,” she said rather dazed and amazed.

Charlotte looked in awe at her son in Shawn’s arms. She missed the look that passed between Elisa and Jack.

To break the hush that had fallen, Jack asked, “So Peter, how do you like your steak?”

“Medium, medium rare.”

Jack clapped Shawn on the shoulder. “Good man.” He then disappeared into the kitchen, Mason following.

“Charlie will show you around. Make yourself at home,” Elisa smiled softly before heading off to the living room.

Charlotte linked her arm through Shawn’s. “Why don’t I get you a drink before you meet everyone else.”

“That sounds like a great idea,” he chuckled and allowed her to lead him further into the house.

// * // * //

By the time the steaks were ready, Shawn had also met Beth and Lyle, Annie, Will and Diana, Josh, Doug, and Rob.

Annie and Beth were Elisa’s best friends. They had also been the best friends of Charlotte’s mother, Emily. The four of them had been practically inseparable their whole lives. Lyle was Beth’s husband. Will was Charlotte’s uncle, - Elisa and her mother’s older brother, - and Diana was Will’s wife. Josh and Doug were Will and Diana’s sons, and Rob was Doug’s best friend.

“I’ll help you remember,” Charlotte whispered to Shawn.

Shawn had thus far had a beer and a shot of tequila. The drinks had helped him relax, but he was taking it easy. He might let himself get pleasantly buzzed later that night, but he didn’t want to get wrecked in the presence of Charlotte’s family.

He may not have been Sebastian’s dad, but he wanted to make a good impression on the people who thought he was, and who had welcomed him into their home.

// * // * //

Dinner was unbelievable, as Charlotte had promised him it would be, and he was satisfyingly full.

The questions that had been asked of him throughout the evening were unobtrusive and considerably basic in nature. Again, as Charlotte had said, they just wanted the chance to get to know him. And like Charlotte, they were easy to talk to. Conversation was fun; he found himself smiling and laughing more than he had in a while.

He noticed Charlotte watching him, and when he smiled or laughed there was a look of pure happiness in her eyes. It made his heart flutter.

// * // * //

Part 4

#shawn mendes #shawn peter raul mendes #shawn mendes fanfic #shawn mendes fic #shawn mendes fiction

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dancing-the-hellfire-rumba · 4 years ago

Text

Seen ✓ - 3

Pairing: Sam x Reader Warnings: cursing, a bit of self depreciation Word Count: 2.2k Series Summary: On her way home, Y/n finds an abandoned, cracked phone on the sidewalk. Anxious about the well-being of its owner, she picks it up and texts the first contact she finds; Sam. Beta: None

Part 1 - Part 2 Masterlist

Chapter 3: for the love of god, explain this

Sam Winchester lies awake at three in the morning, under foreign, scratchy sheets, stubbornly not tearing his eyes from the cracked, ugly wallpaper on the ceiling. A lot of things are happening and his brain is going about a million miles an hour, spinning endlessly, Castiel, Dean returning from hell, the stress of the hunting life, the current case and… Y/n. Wonderful, smart, talented, funny Y/n.

It’s been a while since someone has made him excited. He keeps bumping into her in his mind, keeps finding thoughts of her lying around, eager to distract him. He catches himself wanting to text her about every stupid thing that happens in his day, much like she sometimes does. She’s been the only thing that makes his heart a little lighter, and it’s such a strange feeling, someone’s presence being this uplifting.

He was suspicious of her at first. A strange woman (at least she claims to be one, he forgets he’s never actually… seen her) asking about him, his profession, and then about… ghosts? A bit random, too specific, Sam recognizes he got defensive. But the way she spoke afterwards… he doesn’t know. His instinct tells him to trust her.

Amidst his thoughts, he doesn’t remember picking up his phone, but it’s just one of those nights, he needs someone to talk to- or rather, wants Y/n specifically. A thought he chooses not to dwell on.

are you awake? I can’t sleep.

I actually am. Lucky you.

Sam smiles. Lucky me, he thinks.

isn’t it like 4 am for you?

Tell me about it. No luck sleeping either.

happen to you a lot?

Yeah.

I happen to have anxiety induced insomnia.

Working at a bar also helps fuck up your sleeping schedule as well.

You?

i’m sorry :/

i don’t get much sleep either. something always keeps me up.

Yeah, I get that.

Where in the Great Unites States of America are you today?

hahah it’s Oregon today.

it’s the ugliest motel room i’ve ever been in.

Ooh

Do I ask about your case or is it confidential?

it’s confidential but i’ll tell you that i am investigating a bunch of strange murders.

You’re investigating serial killers?? That’s so fucking dope.

something like that yeah.

how was your day?

Oh, you know. The usual.

College assignments, a shift at the bar. I went out with a friend I hadn’t seen in a while.

I need to clean my house desperately.

I also nearly burned my kitchen down trying to cook lunch. Emmy and I ended up eating some lazy-ass spaghetti, because pasta is the only thing I can cook, apparently.

hahahah what were you making?

You’re gonna laugh if I tell you.

well now you must.

Ugh, do I?

come onnn

It was eggs, okay? I was just trying to make eggs.

AHAHAHAHAHAHAH

I TOLD YOU YOU’D LAUGH AT ME

HOW DID YOU BURN EGGS?!

LISTEN, OKAY

I NEVER SAID I WAS A GOOD COOK

HAHAHAHAH

Sam laughs over his phone, as silently as he can, so as to not wake Dean up. He turns on his other side and realizes his cheeks hurt from smiling, and it’s a feeling he’s missed.

Yeah, yeah, laugh, culinary genius. Not all of us can be perfect.

i never said i was a culinary genius

but at least i don’t go near stoves if i don’t have to.

Well, it’s not like I can afford every-day takeout (or like that shit is healthy, even if I could) and someone has to cook for my sister while she’s in school

you have siblings?

and yeah you’re right i didn’t think like that sorry.

It’s okay.

And yeah, my sister, Emily.” Emmy”

oooh i thought emmy was your friend.

Nono, it’s my sister. She’s 17.

can i ask you a personal question?

Shoot

why do you have to take care of her? are your guys’ parents not around?

you don’t have to answer if you’re not comfortable with that.

Well, it’s a bit complicated.

My parents’ marriage kind of fell apart when I was around 10. They tried to fix things by adopting a kid- Emily. For a while that worked.

When I was 16 my mom took off and dad took care of us for 2 years almost. He really dedicated himself to us.

He worked his antique shop and supported us. For two years, I didn’t see him spend a penny on himself.

But I ended up having to take care of Em when he passed. I was freshly 18, so I could take care of her as a guardian.

shit i’m so sorry.

It’s okay, honestly.

I mean, it didn’t use to be, and it was hell for a while.

But we made it.

i admire your positivity.

I try :)

i also love that you put smiley faces in your text messages.

Shouldn’t have said that, now I’ll always think about it before I do it

hahah

Sam bites his lip. What the hell is happening? They’re… flirting. Sorta. And it’s nice- better than nice. Fuck.

What about you?

you mean what’s my relationship with my parents?

Well, when you put it like that it sounds stupid. It wasn’t what I was asking either.

What I meant was, how’s your life right now. How’s the family business. You can pick which you wanna answer.

i don’t mind either honestly.

as for my parents my mom died when I was 6 months old. my dad passed away about a year and a half ago.

Jesus, I’m so sorry Sam

I don’t know what to say. It can’t have been easy. Losing a parent never is.

it wasn’t but as you said we’re trying to sort of find our footing with Dean. we’ve had our ups and downs.

Yeah I understand that.

Do you wanna talk about it?

right now not really. I mean there’s not much to say about it.

i kinda wanna forget about it. thanks though.

Alright.

So how’s the family business?

Does it feel good to be paid to be Sherlock Holmes?

crap. but we’re doing our best.

for the record i don’t get paid nearly enough for the shit i have to do.

Hahaha, hang in there.

Dean still refuses to come get his phone?

yeah. he says you can keep it.

Tell him to take care of his devices from now on, this one was battered beyond recognition.

duly noted.

The conversation continued until well after the sun rose. Sam had officially accepted this night to be sleepless, and Y/n was good company. Somehow she took his mind off of everything that was bugging him, made him, if momentarily, forget about it, and he truly loved that about her. The back and forth tended to flow easily between them, and he couldn’t get enough of the chemistry he had with this practical stranger.

Sleepless or not, this night was a good one, after she entered the picture.

The glow on her skin is blue-ish and soft, combatting the one from the fairy lights above them. Laptop absolutely not low in volume, couch dipping under two bodies, slumped together, legs leaning against one another, soft flannel pants and droopy eyes. Emily’s hair is out of its usual half-up hairstyle, exploding with volume and bright, firey color, flowing onto the back of the couch.

Jon Snow is yelling on the screen, and Y/n is completely ignoring him, constantly checking her inactive phone and the way the screen doesn’t light up with Sam’s name. Every time she feels disappointed, she tries to quell the relentless thoughts of the possibility of him being completely over her.

Damn it.

“Do you have a boyfriend or a girlfriend I’m not aware of or something?” Emily mutters dryly, half-hearted but gentle teasing. Y/n sputters.

“Huh?”

“’Cause you keep checking your phone, and as far as I know you don’t have any friends.”

“HEY,” deeply offended, Y/n places her hand over her heart, glaring at her sister. “Excuse you!” she exclaims, “Connor? Ashley? Lydia?”

“Yeah, a neighbor and two college students that you haven’t talked to in like, what, two weeks? What a social butterfly.”

“Okay first off,” Y/n ignores the screaming and fighting on the screen and shifts to look at her sister. “Stop tracking my socializing.” Em scoffs.

“C’mon, bear, spill.” Bottom lip pouted. She pauses the episode, turning to face her older sister. “Who are they and when can I meet them?” A devilish smile, teasing like only a younger sister can, curling the right corner of her lip.

“He’s not my boyf-“

“AHA! So there is someone! I knew it!”

“I’ve known him for like- what, three weeks? Nothing is going on! I barely know the guy!” Y/n fiddles with her hair and huffs, holding back a smile.

“Where’d you meet him? Is he hot? What’s he like?!” Poking her sister’s thigh continuously, she grins wide, excited. “C’mon, you’re like, no fun.”

“The thing is… I didn’t. Meet him, I mean.” Eyebrows furrow.

“Uh…” Emily purses her lips. “I’m … not following.”

It takes all of five minutes for Y/n to explain to her sister all about her crazy adventure, the lost phone, the brother, Sam. The girls munch on leftover garlic spaghetti, talking about the stranger on the other side of Y/n’s screen.

“He’s just… different? I don’t know- I just, I’m intrigued I guess. He’s mysterious and hilarious. The type of guy we’d hang out with. Why pass it up?”

“Just hang out?” Emily wiggles her eyebrows. Y/n shoves her.

“It’s really not like that.”

“I don’t know, Y/n, he doesn’t necessarily sound just friendly to me.” Y/n won’t lie and say she hasn’t thought about it. She’s a romantic after all, and what a wonderful, movie-like love story would it be for them to fall in love and march into the sunset?

But she recognizes this is the romantic side of her picking up speed on a subject that definitely isn’t for her to decide alone. There’s a second participant in all of this, and he needs to do more than half the work by liking her. She knows it’s no easy feat. A bitter dab of paint dissolves in her chest, because why would he like her? She’s nothing quite special. She’s just a bartender, a college student, a boring, normal girl, painfully mundane, painfully boring. He’s brilliant, kind and sweet, a private investigator, he travels all the time, he’s the most interesting guy she’s ever met for crying out loud. Why would he ever give her a chance?

“I doubt it, Em,” is what Y/n decides to say, because there’s no way she can explain exactly what she’s thinking.

“No, no, you’re doing that thing again.” A hum in question falls from the older Andrews’ lips. “The thing where you put yourself down for bullshit reasons. He’d be lucky to have you.” Y/n wants to roll her eyes. “Hey,” a snap of Emily’s fingers in front of Y/n’s face to catch her attention. “I will literally slap you. You’re smart, funny, kind. He’d be fucking lucky to have you, and if you don’t believe it, I’m gonna beat some sense into you. Stop putting my sister down.” Y/n doesn’t have anything good to say to that, so instead she lets out a huffed breath of a laugh and sits back on the couch.

“Now,” Emily leans over her own crossed legs and grabs her phone from the rickety coffee table. “Did you Google him?”

“Why the heck would I Google him?”

“It’s the 21st century, Y/n, gosh. Are you at all familiar with internet stalking?” Y/n watched pebbled coffee brown eyes get illuminated by the phone screen, freckles nowhere near as bright as they can be, because she hasn’t gone out into the sunlight today. Emily is gorgeous. Y/n is sometimes jealous, but also genuinely admires her younger sister. “What’s his name?”

“Sam Winchester.”

There’s typing, and then silence.

“Y/n…” And the warning tone on the younger one’s voice completely throws her off.

“What? What is it?” A phone screen is thrust in her face.

Mail fraud, credit card fraud, grave desecration, armed robbery, kidnapping, three counts of first-degree murder, and breaking and entering, she reads. Winchester brothers Sam and Dean, disappeared, considered dead.

“What the fuck,” she mutters under her breath, completely horrified at the chance that this is real and the universe isn’t playing some comic joke on her, creating another pair of Winchester brothers called Sam and Dean who, instead of chasing murderers, are the murderers.

She scrolls lower and sure enough, there they are. Mug shots, but more specifically, the guy from the dating app, smouldering cheekily into the camera –a real blue steel-, holding a police station name on a black plaque, sitting at close to six feet and two. Then the younger one, less joyful and sassy, more serious and puppy-eyed. Sam. Close to what was described to her, it’s all there. Pointy nose, sharp jawline, curly brown hair with a growing, swoopy fringe, pulled behind his ears. It’s him. There’s no way, the coincidences are too many.

“Bear…” Emily stares at Y/n’s shocked face, gaze empty and out of it. “What the hell have you gotten yourself into?”

Immediately, Y/n grabs her phone.

Sam

His reply is instantaneous.

hey y/n

i was just thinking about you

what’s up?

Please for the love of God.

Explain this.

She sends him the mugshot, photographed from the screen of her sister’s phone.

shit.

Part 4

A/N: Tell me what you thought? How the hell does he even explain this?

I realized I haven’t been tagging my forever taglist like a MORON, so just, sorry, I’ll start now.

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the-hopeless-haze · 4 years ago

Text

Someone to Need You Too Much (Being Alive Chapter 4)

(not my gif)

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Read on Archive

CONTENT WARNING: This chapter mentions past sexual abuse. It is par for the course in what you’d expect in an SVU episode but I am mentioning it here because it concerns the reader.

This is when Rafael usually starts checking out.

But you weren't how women normally acted at this stage, hell, the two of you hadn't even made it official yet or told the squad.

You needed him, though, in ways he wasn't used to being needed, having been single for so long. You'd call him if you hadn’t seen him over at the precinct, ask him how his day went and talk about yours, and you'd get him out of the office to go to dinner at least once a week.

But you never said this, you never verbalized that you needed him there, you never nagged, never made him feel bad if his work got in the way and he had to reschedule. Maybe it's because you were busy too, or maybe you were just that understanding. Either way, he’s surprised the two of you haven’t gotten into a fight more serious than work-related spats.

Rafael had been right, as this was fun at least for now, and maybe if all you needed him for was weekend dinners and the occasional Broadway show, that’d be fine. Your sense of humor matches his, you drink scotch, you smell lovely... but you had been pulling away recently; in fact, you hadn’t called him since you went out to dinner last weekend. He tries to chalk it up to you being busy with work, but he can’t fight the anxiety that the end is already here. Why the hell did he even give this a half-assed shot? Of course you weren’t genuinely interested. Of course you’d be another tally mark, another notch in his belt- and it’s not like he was truly upset, because he had figured it would end at some point the second he agreed to take you to dinner, and thankfully, the squad didn’t know yet. Still, though, this soon? It’d barely been two months.

Or maybe your withdrawal was due to that time you were making out with him on the couch - and you’d suddenly pushed him off, went to the bathroom, and didn’t kiss him the rest of the night. He broke out an expensive bottle of wine, then, and tried his best to genuinely apologize, because he did feel awful - but you’d told him he’d done nothing wrong, and that you just needed time. But maybe you’d lied to make him feel better; maybe he had pushed you too far, which truly wasn’t his intention. Rafael may be a dick, but working sex crimes gave him a much better respect for the responsibility of a man to make sure his partner was comfortable with what was happening in the bedroom (or on the couch, or wherever). But Jesus, he’d barely touched you, and he made a point to be more careful with you than anyone he’d ever been with, not just because of your age, but because he figured that your irreparable damage had been of a sexual nature, whether it was a bad boyfriend who didn’t take your needs into consideration or something more serious due to your conversation with Olivia months prior.

With that in mind, Rafael decides it’s more probable that it is work that was causing you to distance yourself rather than anything he may have done. The cases with children were always difficult, for anyone, really, but especially you. And this man? He targeted disabled children specifically, and you weren't doing well. He wonders how he could go about asking to take you off it without you finding out and without Olivia interrogating him as to why he cared so much. It's not like you're not putting in the work; in fact, it's the opposite, if anything, you're drowning yourself in it. Every time he stops by the precinct, you barely say a hello to him, and you're buried in a case file or researching something on your laptop, biting your nails down to the quick. You were always invested in your work, but not like this, and Rafael was a workaholic if there ever was one, but even you were stressing him out right now. He has half a mind to search your purse for a new pack of cigarettes, but he doesn't think you'd take too kindly to that.

When he gets to the precinct later this morning, you’re not there, though, and he asks Carisi why reluctantly. He frowns, looking genuinely upset. “She’s not taking this too well, Barba. I know she wants to be here, but it hits home for whatever reason, and Searge made her take the rest of the day off and probably tomorrow. She was crying when she left, but she wouldn’t talk to me. I mean, whatever it is, I don’t think she should be questioning the suspect, but she’s good with the kids, you know?”

Rafael would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little worried, but he figured you’d turn up of your own accord if you needed to talk.

And later on, early in the afternoon, you do.

"Are you busy?" you ask, standing in his office doorway awkwardly.

"Always,” he says, but he takes his feet off the desk and puts down his legal pad. “What brings you out here? Carisi told me Liv sent you home.”

"I...I need to talk. I don’t want to be alone right now,” you say anxiously.

"Okay. Sit down," he says.

You oblige, sitting in the seat across from his desk, but you’re still trembling. "My brother is disabled."

It all makes sense now, why this case, in particular, was hurting you so much. God, if this case turned his stomach, what did it do to you?

“He... he was raped, too. It was my dad’s best friend... basically his brother. We used to call him uncle. He was a teacher, and he’d pick us up after school a lot and bring us back home to watch us. I...I’m older than my brother by two years, and I joined the soccer team in middle school and that man would be alone with him. I just... I... my brother couldn’t voice it, not the way you and I can. Most nine-year-olds can’t anyway, you know, but because of the disability... he had no idea. He didn’t know the words to explain what happened to him, but he would start saying he didn’t want to go home with this man. My parents both worked long hours, and they were on the outs anyway, so they just thought he missed them and didn’t look into it. They trusted that man... and I did too. Until... one day a game was canceled because of rain, and I walked in, and...”

You stop talking, silent tears falling from your eyes. Rafael gets up, coming round to the edge of the desk to stand closer to you.

“Hey. Take your time,” he whispers, leaning over and putting a hand on your shoulder. “I know this is hard.”

You nod, looking up at him. “I barely knew what sex was at that time. I didn’t really know what to call it, but I knew my brother was getting hurt, that the man was taking advantage of him, and maybe I should’ve called my mother or my father or the police, but I didn’t. I froze for a few moments and then I did the only thing that came to me and I tried to pull him off my brother. It worked, I scared him enough to make him stop but he grabbed me and...he did the same to me. I just remember it hurt so bad... like he was tearing me in half.”

Rafael shudders, but even still he’s in awe of your brazenness even at 11 years old. Just going right in and apprehending the perpetrator. You were born a detective, in a way.

You’re sobbing, now, and really, he can’t blame you. Suddenly, you get up, throwing your arms around him, and if you were ever in need of a hug, he supposes after recounting this story would be the prime time.

“Hey, hey, shhh. No one’s gonna hurt you now, (y/n),” he murmurs, running his hand over your hair. “Lo siento. Shhh. Shh.”

He calms you down a little bit, whispering condolences in Spanish and kissing the top of your head. Rafael doesn’t know exactly what to do as he’s never been good at comforting anyone. It’s something his exes would yell at him for time and time again, assuming his awkwardness meant that he didn’t care they were upset. It’s just something he wishes he could avoid, that everyone could sort out their issues alone as he did. But that was a joke, wasn’t it? Like he’d sorted anything out in these four decades of being alive. He repressed them, sure, but healed from them? No. And maybe it wasn’t fair to expect everyone to live that way.

And again, he can’t really blame you for needing someone right now, even though he sort of wished it wasn’t him (and he does feel guilty for thinking that, but it’s still true). What you’d gone through, well, it was unthinkable, and he imagines you relive it through the eyes of your brother every time you talk to one of these victims. What solace could Rafael give you right now besides, “Oh, honey, it gets better”?

Fuck that. Maybe it did get better, or you got better yourself, but none of that was going to come from Rafael trying to manifest it with his meaningless words. Rafael presumes another reason you came here besides your (ongoing?) fling was because he wasn’t an SVU detective and wasn’t going to revictimize you. So, instead, he asks what a lawyer would ask. “Did he get convicted?”

“Yeah. He did get put away,” you continue, as you pull away from him a little, still holding onto his arms. “It took me a while to come to terms with it, but I couldn’t let him continue to do that to my brother. I told my parents within the week.”

“Did your father believe you?” he asks, unsure if that was insensitive to ask.

“My father definitely didn’t want to believe it at first, but he always believed me for everything. We were always close, still are. My mother... I think she felt she failed as a mom for not noticing it, so she was in denial for a while. The detectives that dealt with it... they didn’t even look into the school, they just tried him for our case. And I always hated them for that, when I was old enough to realize.”

“Is this why you became a detective?” he asks quietly.

“Well, sort of. I wouldn’t have if I didn’t know about SVU; that’s why I have all those psychology credits too. I wasn’t entirely sure what I wanted to do. I always wanted to come to New York, though, and you know, I thought I’d be able to help children who went through the same thing my brother and I did. I just didn’t think it’d be this hard,” you say, looking up at him.

“Of course it’s hard. SVU is hard for me, too, and I haven’t experienced anything like that,” he says, swallowing thickly. But that was a lie, in a sense, as he'd been beaten before by the hands of his own father and watched his mother suffer as well. There was a reason he was distant during domestic violence cases. He hopes you don't notice this omission, and he looks at you sympathetically instead.

“I thought I could handle it, though, and not act like a basket case,” you say, turning away from his gaze. “How am I supposed to help anyone if I get sent home?”

“Why did Liv send you home?” he asks, again wondering if he was asking the questions you needed to answer. A good part of his job was figuring out the right questions to ask, but this was overwhelming. “Not that I don’t agree, but I’m just wondering what she said."

You roll your eyes, sniffle a little. “She said it wasn’t good for my mental health to be around the suspect and that I was going to stress out the parents. No one on that squad knows what it’s like to live with and love someone with a disability, Rafael, and I just... I want to be there. I could help, if she’d let me.”

“Now isn’t the time to beat yourself up. I think the time off will be helpful to you," he says, squeezing your shoulder again. Wasn't that the catch-22? You join these professions to help people like yourself, but you hurt yourself in the process and become of no use. He thinks back to the first domestic violence case he was put on, a family not unlike his own, and it nearly broke him down, nearly made him quit and throw away those seven years of education. But he didn't. And you wouldn't walk away either.

“How is your brother doing now?”

“Ben - his name is Ben - he’s doing better. He's very shy, and he can get anxious and have panic attacks. He has fragile X syndrome, and that’s what caused his autism... I used to try and take him out everywhere with me once I got a car, to help him get used to talking to people. It doesn’t help, you know, the way people are when they see someone disabled, and sometimes it’d be hard, but... I just want him to live as normal a life as possible. He still lives with my mom, now. I just think the assault made him so much worse. I mean, I don’t know if he’ll ever get a job, now, or... it’s just hard to think about sometimes.”

“I can only imagine,” he says softly, because he really has no idea.

“Well, I’m just gonna...I’m just gonna go home,” you say. “Thank you for listening. I needed someone to. I know it’s a lot. But I don’t want to take you away from this case either. We’re already one person down since Liv kicked me out, and if I needed you to win the last case... I absolutely need you to win this one, Rafael. I didn’t get to question that man but I was on this case before and I know he raped them, that fucking bastard—“

“Hey, hey, calm down,” he says gently. “Okay. I know. I watched Liv interrogate him earlier. I believe you, and you know I’m going to do everything I can. I'm going to charge him, and we're going to get him.” Jesus, he needs to stop promising you guilty verdicts. But how the hell could he say no when this clearly meant the world to you? This was all too much. What the hell did you need?

“Okay. I know I’m asking for a lot but I need... I need this. And I can help you however you need. Liv can’t stop me from helping you prep witnesses or—“

“Slow down, (y/n). You still need the time off. You know that, right? You’re going to keep getting kicked off cases if you keep trying to push it. I know how Olivia is when it comes to this.”

“But, Rafael—“

“No. We’re done talking about the case, now, okay? You need to think about something else and get your mind off it for a while. Did you want to go get coffee?”

Fucking coffee. Why did Rafael think that equaled comfort? Maybe because the harsh acidity of stale coffee was his only friend some days, and he’d learned that a good cup could be a great mood improvement. Fuck, that was sad, wasn’t it?

“No, it’s fine,” you say, your face falling. “You need to work. I’m just going to go back home, then.”

You turn to leave, grabbing your purse with shaky hands, but he stops you.

“Are you sure you should be alone right now?”

“You’re working, Rafael—“

“Yes, I know, but you’re welcome to stay here.”

You force a smile, shaking your head. “No. It’s okay. I appreciate it. Are you free later though? I know we haven’t gone out in a while, and I could use the company.”

So you didn’t want to end things. Rafael is simultaneously relieved that you wanted to stick around and terrified for the very same reason.

“You know what?” he says, feeling a brazenness he’s unsure of the origin of. “Do you want just a night in? I can give you my apartment key. If you want to go there now, you can. I’ll meet you there later. I’ll try to get out around 7.”

“You want me to just hang out in your apartment?

“Yes,” he says, kissing the top of your head and giving you the key. “I have good scotch, and I guarantee I have a better shower head installed than your apartment. Just go. Make yourself comfortable.”

“Yeah, just say my apartment's a piece of shit, Rafael," you scoff.

He smirks. "That's not what I said. It's not bad for a single woman on a detective's salary. I can tell you saved for it. But it's nowhere near the lap of luxury."

"Oh, but your place is?" you counter, hands on your hips. You're still stressed, he can tell, but maybe you needed the banter. He hopes he's not pushing it too far.

"No, I wouldn't go that far. But tell me, where would you rather spend the night?"

You roll your eyes at him, and he knows you've conceded.

"Do you have anything in your fridge?" you ask. "I could at least cook."

“Probably not. But don’t worry about it. I can pick something up on my way home.”

“No, you don’t get it, I like to cook. Sonny gave me new recipes. You have a bigger kitchen than I do..."

“Is that what would make you happy?”

“Yeah. I need to put my mind on something else right now; like you said.”

“Then... have at it. Don’t burn my place down, though.”

You roll your eyes, kiss his cheek, and leave.

He’s not used to having to take care of anyone. It's been so long since he let anyone get this close, that they felt he would take care of them. Maybe that wasn’t what you were looking for. He wasn’t your father; maybe you just wanted support from an equal. Maybe he wanted to give it. It’s foreign, the feeling of walls he’d spent so long trying to build cracking at the foundations. But hell, if anyone could... couldn’t it be you?

It’s not like Rafael was opposed to long-term, except, well, he was. He’d say there was never an opportunity, he’d tell his mother there was just no one out there. But it’s not like he tried, either.

With you, it’s not much like trying. It all just happened effortlessly, on his part, at least. You made the first move, and most of the successive ones after that. And you’d said you didn’t know what you wanted - yet it’s becoming clearer to Rafael that what you were the kind of person who needed a partner, a lover, possibly a husband. That makes him beyond uneasy. He’d grown to care about you more than he would have liked these past couple of months, but that didn’t mean he was ready for that kind of commitment, if he ever would be.

And this, now, this requires more effort on his part; it requires more of himself to be used to try and help you feel better.

When he comes home that night, the kitchen is a complete mess, with flour in every crevice, dirty pans in the sink, and grocery bags left on the table. It damn near gives him a heart attack, and maybe he would’ve yelled at you, but he swallows his anger down bitterly. You need gentleness, kindness, softness right now, and that’s a tall order for Rafael, especially when you destroy his apartment... but he couldn’t forgive himself if he hurt you when you were already down. Kitchens could be cleaned. Trust couldn’t be repaired.

It might all be worth it, though. And, as it turns out, maybe Carisi was good for something, or you were an amazing chef (perhaps both) because it might have been the best pasta he’d ever had in his life.

“So you made this? These little things?” He stabs into a couple more pillows of pasta, enjoying the fresh, springy taste.

You laugh, clear and bright. You’re a little tipsy; you’d taken full advantage of his scotch collection, but you needed to take the edge off. “They’re called gnocchi, Rafael. And yes. I made them from scratch.”

“I just might have to keep you around,” he says, smiling at you, and you giggle, kissing his open mouth.

“You better,” you say, moving to sit on his lap. He wraps his arms around your waist. “Anyone else I’ve tried to get close to... it scares them. Or they don’t comprehend how big of a deal it was. It broke me, Rafael. It broke my whole family. You might be the only man I’ve been with who’s understood the consequences that has on a person and still not look at me like it’s all that I am.”

“I know. It’s not who you are. It’s something that happened to you,” he murmurs in your ear, kissing your cheek chastely. “I would never change my opinion on you based on that.”

If anything, all your story does is cause him to have greater respect for you, not because you survived, because what other option did you have? No, it’s how selfless you are, putting your brother before yourself, choosing this career path over a million others that would have been much easier on you. Judging people based on what they had gone through is ridiculous. That tells you nothing about a person. It’s what they do in the aftermath of the things that happen to them that shows you who they are.

What was Rafael then, in the aftermath of the pain he had been caused?

He doesn’t want to think about that. Ugly things like that were better left unsaid. But eventually, he knows, you’d go there. You’d unravel the real reason why he was single, why he never asked anyone to marry him, why he was so scared to get close... but not yet. Tonight was about you.

“I need to get back out there, Rafael. I need to help those kids,” you say, your voice shaking.

“You will. You’re going to. But you need to know when to step back, (y/n). You’re going to burn out if you don’t,” he says softly.

Rafael still doesn’t feel like he’s doing enough; he feels like you need more than he’ll ever be able to give. And you’ve had to have been hurt in relationships in the past, Rafael knows how teenage boys are having been one himself. God, if he could smack his younger self in the face, he would, one thousand times over.

“I...I do agree that it wouldn’t be good for me to talk with the suspect. I’ll gladly leave that to the rest of the squad. But those kids? The parents? You know that no one is better suited for prepping them for court than me. Let me help you, then.”

“Okay,” he concedes. “But... I have conditions.”

“Naturally.”

He smirks a little, pecking your lips softly. “You’re right. No contact with the defendant. And you need to talk to Olivia first.”

“Rafael—“

“Don’t you want to get paid for this?” he says, smiling wryly. “It is work, you know.”

“You just want to make sure I’m cleared so it doesn’t come to bite you in the ass somehow.”

“Well, yes, of course. Olivia would find out that you helped. Also... you need to back away if it gets too much. I’ll send you home, too, if necessary.”

You sigh, nodding. “Fine. Agreed.”

“Okay. Now we’re done talking about it for the rest of the night.”

“Thank you, Rafael,” you say, looping your arms around his neck. “You’re a hard ass most of the time, but you really helped me today. You just see things so clearly.”

He helped you? He hoped so, that something he did got through, but he didn’t really believe anything could. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t emotionally drained, though, as he definitely wasn’t used his emotional support being needed this much.

“Listen...I’m not trying to rush anything either, but I just want you to know I’m glad I have you around,” you say softly.

“Me too,” he says, honestly, and it all feels so strange, letting someone use him to feel better. It felt good, though, to see you in a better mood, even though he doesn’t feel like he’s entirely the cause of that. Scotch certainly helps. Good food does, too. Solitary comforts, which Rafael knows too well. “Thank you for cooking.”

“You’re welcome. I should cook more often, really. Your blood pressure must be through the roof with all the takeout you eat.”

He squeezes your waist tighter, ignoring your comment, ignoring the fact that he might possibly need you too. You run your fingers through his hair, your nails scratching his scalp lightly, and you kiss him gently.

“Well, I got to clean the kitchen I destroyed,” you say.

“I’ll help,” he says, and you kiss him again. It’s gentle, too soft yet too much, and there’s something in your eyes when you pull away, something real, there, something he doesn’t quite recognize or understand at first. It aches, it pulls at heartstrings that maybe have never been touched before. It scares him, a little. What happened to you saying you didn't want to rush things?

For once, words fail him. All he can do is lean up, place his hand on the back of your neck, and kiss you again. He’s careful not to push too far, not to scare you off. You need someone willing to take his time; someone willing to give you his all. Was Rafael really that man? Was he really up for the job?

Maybe, he concedes, that was for you to decide, not himself.

You get off his lap and smile at him before starting to work on the floury mess caking his counter island.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad being needed, even if he hated the aching feeling in his chest he got when he saw you cry, hated how you still seemed like you were too much, too good for him. Part of him still hates you, what with your constantly flickering emotions and your snippy remarks that remind all too much of...himself.

But you needed him there. Who was he to refuse to oblige, even if it scared the shit out of him?

———

Rafael wins the case again. Maybe he should keep promising you guilty verdicts if every time he does it turns out that way. Or, more likely, promising you causes him to work ten times harder just so he doesn’t disappoint you. You did help him a lot this time, per Olivia’s gracious acceptance of your proposal to work more closely with Rafael on this case. She’d said it would be good for you, and it was. You’re not as elated as he hoped you’d be, but you’re probably sick to your stomach thinking about how those kids were going to live their lives now or if they’d get the support your own brother got. But it's certainly better than the alternative. At least that man won't see the light of day for a long while, if ever.

It’s just all very bittersweet.

The squad goes out for drinks, but they’re not rowdy like they can be. Instead, the atmosphere is sullen. This case hurt everyone differently, and everyone is wearing their pain to the bar in an attempt to drink it away. Everyone is especially generous to you - Nick and Sonny fight over covering your drinks and Olivia buys you dinner. Normally, he thinks, you would protest, but you need this right now, and you don't argue with them.

Eventually, though, being around them seems too much, and you head to sit at the bar by yourself. Amanda looks at Rafael pointedly after fifteen minutes of your absence passes. "Are you going to check on her, Barba? "

"What?"

"You heard me. Can you, please?"

The atmosphere is too tense to banter, so he just nods and makes his way over to you. "How are you doing?"

"Amanda's still trying to play matchmaker?" you say, smiling, but it doesn't quite meet your eyes.

"Evidently. But, I really do want to know how you're feeling."

You shrug your shoulders, turning to face him better. "I've been better. I'm just glad it's over. I’m actually going home for a bit,” you tell him. “I have a couple of vacation days to use, so I won’t be around.”

“Okay,” he says. “I hope your brother is doing well.”

“Yeah. Me too. And you know... I’ll make it up to you. I’m sorry for the distance I put between us, you know, earlier this week? I didn’t mean to, but this case—“

“You don’t need to apologize, (y/n),” he says, giving you a tight-lipped smile.

“Oh. I mean, I did feel bad, leaving you hanging like that. I just know when I get stressed like that I’m not good company.”

“You’re always good company, cariño,” he says quietly, and you reach under the table to squeeze his hand. Rafael doesn’t quite know what you need, and this may be too much, it may draw the attention of the squad - but they aren’t paying attention. Or, fuck it, if they were. He intertwines his fingers wtih yours, squeezing back gingerly.

“Charmer,” you tease, smiling sweetly, sneaking a glance at your hands. “But... Rafi, we are dating, right?”

“Is that what you need from me?”

“I mean, I’d like that. It’s been a couple of months, and we don’t hate each other... why not? We don’t have to tell the squad yet, but I think I might mention to my parents I’m seeing someone when I go up there. Is that okay?”

“That’s...fine, (y/n),” he says cautiously, feeling slightly guilty he never broached the subject with his mother. And god, he wasn’t ready to. Wasn’t this all too much too soon? What was he going to tell you, though? No?

“You might not think so, and I know you try to hide it by being an asshole sometimes, but you are a good man, Rafael.”

“I’m just doing my job.”

“Yeah, you say that, but I saw you up there, saw you fight for these kids... there’s a way to be a lawyer and not care about the people you represent. But you do care. And it's admirable."

"I wouldn't be able to do my job as well if I didn't care, (y/n). I'm not a saint. Don't make me out that way. This is how I make a living. I want to succeed at it."

"Oh, honey, won't you let me just give you a compliment?" you say, and you loosen your grip on his hand to rub his shoulder gently. "Nothing good ever comes from trying to deny your humanity. And there are far easier career paths you could've chosen if that's what you wanted to do. But you're not like that."

"How would you know?" Rafael says, harsher than he meant to.

"Okay," you murmur, wincing a little. "Why are you so intent on proving me wrong? You know what? Either...stop talking or leave."

"I'm sorry," he says, and he genuinely is. The last thing he wanted to do this week was kick you when you were already down - and here he is, doing exactly that. You deserve so much better.

You smile humorlessly, shaking your head. "I thought I made myself clear. Be quiet, Rafael."

Rafael nods awkwardly and takes a long sip from his scotch. And you surprise him after a few moments, by leaning against his shoulder. "I thought you were mad--"

"Shh, Rafi. Can you please just hold me?"

"Okay," he murmurs, and he presses a chaste kiss to your temple before putting his arm around your shoulders. Under normal circumstances, he never would have agreed, but he did just snap at you and the rest of the squad was stewing in their own feelings, hopefully too busy to notice what was happening between the two of you. And even if it did draw attention - it was easily explained away as nothing more than a friend leaning on a friend. He knows eventually you'll need to tell the squad, but for now, this was already too much.

But it was what you needed. So even though Rafael is beyond unsure - he's willing to oblige for now and see where this leads.

NEXT CHAPTER

Want to be tagged in future chapters? Let me know!

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jjkpls · 4 years ago

Text

crayons ‘dul’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.7k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

It doesn't take Mr Kim too long to find a way to meet you.

A week or so later, Adrianne is handing you a little post-it where her curvy cursive spells his name, with his phone number and a time. He says he'll bring Jimmy early to school in two days, to contact him if it doesn't work for you and that he cannot wait to talk to you again. This last part you wouldn't bet on the accuracy. Adrianne says he stuttered his way through a mumbo jumbo of English and another language she didn't recognize, apologizing because he didn't know how to express what he meant but from what she could gather, he was excited to have this meeting about Jimmy.

He arrives two days later, right on time. Not a minute early nor late, perfectly on time and if you don't point it out loud, you still notice it with a discreet smile.

They both look perfectly relaxed, smiling for the man and rather calm for the boy. It's funny to see him now. Mr Kim looks pretty much nothing like the first time you saw him, with the worry, the low-key panicked, agitated state he came bursting in your classroom. He looks a few years younger, with an easy grin stretching full rosy lips, dimples digging deep in his roundish honey cheeks -almost the same as his son's, you notice with delight- wearing a straight maroon coat, this time well adjusted, that's making him even taller and more elongated if possible and of which the shade compliments his complexion endearingly so.

"Hi. It's really nice to see you." You end up greeting him first, as warmly as you can.

You've been pondering over this meeting for so long, time feeling like it never ceased to stretch out and felt dreading, dreading, dreading. It was never coming soon enough and you were terrified, even if you had no reason to doubt Mr Kim's honesty, that he'd bail on you for whatever reason.

But here he is, seemingly so open to discuss and after installing Jimmy at his desk with the same tools as last time (a pile of white sheets waiting to be filled and your set of crayons) you join him a few tables away (far enough for Jimmy not to be exposed to the conversation but close enough to keep an eye on him, or more accurately, for him to keep an eye on his guardian), pressing your hands together and against your bosom to try to contain my excitement.

"As I told you last time, Jimmy is a very sweet boy. He's not doing bad with the exercises and activities, it's quite surprising -in a great way!- since from my understanding English is not his first language, right?"

"Yeah, no, it's uh- it's Korean. We just moved from Korea a few months ago, well, right before he started school. But we- my- her mother and I would try to talk to him a bit of English at home to have him pick up on the basis..."

"Oh, that's nice! Children that young do learn languages particularly easily, it's definitely beneficial for him. I can already tell."

Namjoon sends a glance his way, a fond, dad's proud one lingering on his tiny figure hunched over the desk. You can't quite tell from where you sit but it does look like he's started drawing.

"Had you planned moving here for a long time? I mean, was it the plan from the start, that's why you wanted to teach him English?"

"No, not really." The mood feels different. It switches from rather tranquil and cheerful into a very heavy, uneasy silence his deep voice hardly disturbs. There's a glint in his eyes. It's not an easy one to look at and your heart stings as the glint takes over his whole gaze hovering over his son. You understand it's something sad. Probably painful and hard to carry even for such a strong-looking, shoulder-broad grown man.

You don't want to push it. You're curious, as one gets, but too decent and you know yourself to be too soft-hearted and sensitive, for you to be snooping through sad people's luggage. But you think back about Jimmy, whose curious eyes, beautiful but wide with something reflecting like a perfect mirror what you can now find in his dad's, and you're certain that his odd behaviour must come from that.

"Mr Kim, the reason I wanted to see you," You start, voice quieter. He's startled for a second, redirecting his attention back on you, and he looks a bit guilty. As if he highly suspects, if not already know full well, where this is going. "I do meet all the parents of my students, as I told you. But in the case of Jimmy, if I was so insistent, it's that I'm really concerned about him."

His eyes draw downwards, staring at his hands. Long slender fingers fidgeting with one another, pinching and twisting a bit. I wonder if like his son, he might start crying.

"He's lovely but he cannot- he has had a really hard time uh- how could I put it?" You don't want to sound too alarmist. You know parents have the tendency to freak the fuck out for the misinterpretation of one single word. Sometimes an onomatopoeia, misplaced, send them into a raging spiral of anxiety over what terrible condition their kid might be dealing with. Not all parents are insane or simply too quick to jump to conclusions -or plain stupid. Some understand, whatever words you use. The father sitting in front of you seems worried and pained enough you wish you could protect him but you need him to understand that his situation is serious, and how important it is for Jimmy to have the tools to change now, while he still can, before he gets too old and start to take all those unfortunate coping mechanisms as lifelong terrible habits. "He's had a hard time simply being a kid." Namjoon sighs deeply. "He doesn't speak to anyone, not even me. Hardly looks at his classmates, never approaches them. I've noticed also that talking is not the only issue, any form of expression, if not made to do because it's in the course and all the other children are doing it too, he simply won't do." Mr Kim has raised his head enough for you to see him. He's troubled, upset, worried. But he seems to want to show himself more involved and you can tell he is, you can tell he cares as he listens so carefully as you explain in great details the odd incident with the papers and the crayons he refused to play with, even without a soul to watch over his shoulder.

"I feel it's a bit more than simple timidity. Or that at least, there's something significant behind this timidity. I can understand that it might be sensitive to you," You do, his eyes are screaming at you and you can't ignore them. Sort of begging for something, you're not quite sure what, you're not quite sure they, themselves, know either. It's a terrible case of a grown adult, an apparent composed grown man with a mighty balanced life, not a child anymore, actually, a dad, appearing so vulnerable and broken. It's a horrid vision. You've never been able to handle those.

"But it's in Jimmy's interest that I know a bit more. It's quite concerning. He's at an age where he's supposed to develop those skills. If we just let him be, leave him in this... unease, whatever it is, he might adopt it for a very long time until the time comes when it's become an exhausting challenge, almost impossible, to overcome.”

"I understand what you're saying." Mr Kim starts, voice low and tiny I can hardly pick up on the words. "I noticed- I mean, he's not changed that much with me. He's never been a very loud, boisterous boy, you know? But lately, he's been a bit quieter. I can see it at home, he's a bit stoic, less... expressive." You lose the man for a second. He's staring at his son longly and you don't want to abruptly bring him back to the conversation. Eventually, he does come back on his own, clearing his throat and scratching his neck. "That's- ridiculous but I even told myself the other day that I miss his tantrums. He didn't use to throw a lot of fits but sometimes he would, for more candies or something stupid like that. But he hasn't in a while."

You can't count how many times you heard overwhelmed parents jokingly wish that their kid would just turn off, stop causing scenes, stop demanding, screaming and crying out ridiculous tantrums. You remember Adrienne, saying more than once, to chastise the behaviour of one too agitated child to take a look at Jimmy, learn to be more like him, and why can't they be like him.

The thing is, a child is not supposed to be quiet.

A child should be problematic, testing, challenging. Loud and cheerful and agitated because children are like that. They are little humans just starting this whole insane experience that is Life, trying to figure themselves out, trying to figure out the people around them and the whole world along with it. They're meant to be a mess.

They're not meant to be quiet and tranquil, and bathing in a sort of slow, stoic haze. They're certainly not meant to have this expression on their face. The one Jimmy is wearing. Of deep, deep sadness. Like he's been somewhere, he's felt something, he's lost something that has left him misplaced forever. As if he's not really part of this world, this Life, or doesn't care or know why he's in it. Just letting himself float about. Embarrassed and denying all impulse that could potentially shape him and his existence.

He's only five.

"Do you have any inclination as to why his behaviour has turned into this?"

You see the gears going into labour in his head. He looks pensive, lost in a pit of thoughts he doesn't know if he can nor should share. There's a tremble to his lips, to his fingers, a telling frown to his eyebrows as his eyes very obviously decide to avoid you. The question seems to seize him like an earthquake but somehow, it's a good one. A disturbing but potentially lucky one. One that would invite him to experience something hard but liberating, something that he really needs.

Not long after you've asked the question to which you already know half of the answer, he pauses to think it over and then decides to talk. You notice the way his body slump over himself instantly, along with an abyssal years-old sigh and he starts to talk.

"5 months ago, my- his mom passed away." You hate yourself for the way you gasp, eyes wide and already blurry as if it's appropriate, as if you're allowed when you can't even imagine the beginning of their pain. It all starts making sense and you're heartbroken. You wish you didn't show yourself so reckless, sensitive but somehow naive and unhelpful.

You mouth a silent apology and condolence you notice he accepts from the way he nods, not wanting to cut him off. He's already breathless and you wonder how many more words he has in stock before the resources shut down, right before he loses it and breaks the strong persona he has to keep straight and steady for his son. How exhausting it must be. "It was hard already in Korea but I thought -naively- that if we moved here, close to her family, maybe, being around them would ease- everything out a bit. I don't know. It was stupid." He shakes his head from left to right, scoffing to himself, a hand raised to his forehead, hiding his eyes.

"It wasn't, Mr Kim. It's very honorable of you to quit everything for your son." Your words have no effect whatsoever. Unfortunately, it's blatantly obvious, he's made up his mind already. He's guilty, he messed up, and he holds a grudge against himself for this decision and nothing a dumb teacher, sensitive and half-weeping, would say could change that opinion, as destructive and inaccurate as it may be.

"It really was. It's so different here, I thought after some time it would be worth it but I think he hates it. I think he's very confused and I don't know if he's too young to feel like that, I'm not sure, but he looks like he's embarrassed about being a foreigner. Like not speaking properly. I can't even tell if he understands well or if he doesn't get it at all when people speak to him in English since he just- he can't really communicate. Even with his cousins, it's-"

Oh.

"Oh." Now that you hear him say that, it lights a small bulb hidden at the back of your head. It shines upon a whole roof-tall shelf holding all of those awkward, disagreeable memories you tend to forget actively because even reflecting on them decades later still sends a thrill of disgust the length of your spin.

It's those moments of pure embarrassment, of horrid dreading feelings that you used to be overwhelmed with as a child and this until you were not much more of a child anymore, and those memories paired with their emotions simply faded into shadows of scenes that you can only wonder if they ever were real.

You used to be filled with stupid insecurities based on very confused, distant, impossible to decipher pretend truths, sometimes, you would just feel stupid. Completely idiotic, ignorant, and unlovable. In those moments, you just couldn't dare open your mouth to pronounce a word that would give you away. Because if you did, somehow, you would end up messing up and people would laugh and make fun of you and hate you because there are so many reasons to and of course you deserved it.

Images of the little boy, hiding obviously in a corner but longingly observing his peers. Obviously terrified but curious, and most definitely desiring.

Because of course, he'd want to. Talk to them, be with them but how could he when he's not even sure he could speak the way they do.

"Mr Kim, I can tell he wants to. Even if he can't let anyone approach him, I can tell he'd like to be part of the group. That being said his fears or as you said, maybe his insecurities, don't allow him to."

"Should I- Should I seek for a therapist? He had one in Korea but I don't think he was ready for it. He just reacts very badly to strangers, especially when they try to, you know, sink into your brain and- now that we're here, I can hardly picture how that would go."

"Well, therapy is never a bad idea. It can only be beneficial for him... for anyone." You're not sure how appropriate it is for you to add this but you owe to say it. Sometimes, parents don't realize, but a child's deepest wounds are born from seeing and feeling their guardians'.

"I'd seen someone already." He explains without needing you to insist further. Seems like you're not as subtle as you thought yourself to be. "I did because- I had to. His mom and I had been separated for a while before her passing, it'd always been complicated between us and I can't lie, I did feel terribly guilty... I thought it might hurt him somehow. Maybe he could feel it and experience it too. I had to for the both of us. It fixed me but not him, so I suppose, it didn't come from that."

"Grief is... It's very complex. It comes along with a plethora of confusing, untamed emotions as an adult but for a child... It must manifest in a way we can't even imagine. I'm sorry, you don't need me to tell you that." You're a mess of stutters. Words are running away from you, the smart ones are even flying, making sure there's no way you'd catch them by the tip of the tail. You just want to ease this father's struggles, somehow. You don't know him much but you know his son, a little, and you, for reasons you don't care much to look into, deeper than simply you having a saviour complex, need to help it all resolve. They don't deserve any of it all. No one does.

It might be silly. But the thought of Jimmy, that sweet, lovely child, sensitive and precious as he is, must have a father quite special himself to have been brought up this way.

"No, it's fine. You're right." A heavy silence settles in between you. In the background, faintly, you can hear the soft rustling of the tip of a crayon against paper. You open your mouth, the fantastic memory of the other day, when he arrived late to pick Jimmy up and something you still, a week later, recalling itself back to you. He opens his at the exact same time and before you're able to utter any word, he's the one starting, "Actually, I really appreciate it. Being able to talk about it like that with someone. Since my therapist, I don't think I was able to. People only have enough tolerance for other's pain. Which I understand, it's just- hard and well, I'm thankful for you."

He stammers saying that, seemingly scrambling with his own words. The compliment is so heartfelt, like a shot from his heart directly into yours. Most of the emotions it rises probably coming from his choice of wording, maybe an error of translation, a lack of exactitude that doesn’t come smoothly. You've never heard anyone said those words to you and somehow, so unprepared for it, you can hardly handle the overwhelming burst of gratitude.

With the greatest pleasure, you jump on the occasion to bring something good to him, what you meant to say when he started first, the story about last time and how confident you are that better days are yet to come.

It brings an evident brush of light to his expression. The youthful sense he gave off when he just walked in, made of warm colours and smiles, is back. As if a weight has been lifted. As if he trusts you with his son, now wearing his hopefulness and trust and appreciation on this soft face of his, and you feel yourself blush in delight.

It’s precisely why you do what you do. Most of the times, those moments come in more subtle, almost dubious manifestations. It’s a drawing made ‘only for you, Miss’ or a kid you haven’t seen in a few years recognising you from across a hallway and beaming all his teeth your way; or maybe a present too nicely picked out and wrapped up too well to be the product of a kid’s, handed to you at the end of the year.

It's a wonderful feeling you're experiencing.

Until it turns sort of awkward. You mean, from a third party, maybe from Jimmy's eyes, it’s definitely awkward. It doesn’t exactly feel this way for you though. You're just kind of staring at each other, grinning obnoxiously. Delighted by the turns of events -even more so with the start of the conversation, which brought difficult painful shocks to an already sensitive soul, the benevolence and mutual understanding feel all the more pleasant.

Conquered by each other in a way you probably won’t be able to express very well with words if any of you tried. You see in him an ally -which is always such a wonderful feeling because as curious as it is, all parents are not always reliable allies to you, teachers- and you think he does too.

It’s just that it lasts for quite a bit. Probably too long. Until finally, the rummage going on outside brings you back to earth and school that is about to start in a few reminds itself to you.

Quickly he thanks me again, in between the bursting in of a loud, chatty-feeling Riley Donovan, and a Charlotte dragging her feet in discontent. He says something about meeting again before he’s rushing to Jimmy, whose calm demeanour has wavered when his classmates starting walking in.

It’s as heartwarming as last time. The way Mr Kim just has to lean forward to wrap his arms around Jimmy to have him melt onto his chest, face burying in his neck and tiny hands squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until the chubby fingers turn white against his dad’s neck. There’s an exchange of secret words and of gazes, special ones that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, you believe on the moment, until Mr Kim needs to depart and does so.

The gaze Jimmy had for his dad doesn’t disappear right as the later leaves. It remains and is directed solely on you in a very peculiar way, so notable that your heart starts racing when you notice.

Jimmy who usually avoids eye contact, sometimes would look at you, if you're addressing directly to him for example and those looks are systematically made of bewilderment, maybe fear, definite insecurity. Like a prey caught in a predator's radar.

But now those eyes, the round, dark wonders are lingering with something utterly different. A stillness that hits so differently. You're not sure if you are seeing things, if it’s wishful thinking. If it’s you now watching through the lens of someone beyond enchanted, purely content from the newfound trust and confidence and inspiration.

When you free your class for recess, you have confirmation that something has changed. You have no idea how he did it without you noticing but as you turn your back to the door to face your desk -and your chair, which your legs are dreading to have you throw yourself on- you see the perfect tidy pile of your crayons laid carefully on top of it. A few papers are sitting next to it, less than you gave him.

It’s ridiculous, embarrassing to an extent you would never tell that moment out loud but you end up jumping on the balls of your feet, clapping your hands together like a stupid seal, squealing before grabbing the stack of crayons and pressing it to your heart.

A/N : thanks so much for having waited for me so patiently; as always, lots of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #thekimlinenet #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts drabble #bts scenario #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon scenario #namjoon drabble #my writing

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 4 years ago

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It would be cool if they did another 400 days type mini series with some characters. like showing us the beginning/middle/different parts of the apocalypse from the perspectives of: Marlon, Louis, Violet, Sophie, James, and Lilly. I think it would do well

I think something like this would do well, too. We talk about this a lot and I keep hoping that if we continue to talk about it, they’ll somehow hear us and actually do it haha.

Just think of the possibilities- a game with each episode dedicated to following a different protagonist during a different time in the apocalypse, telling a previously unheard story. They could even do more character-driven stories that focus more on that aspect rather than the walkers and outside dangers, y’know?

Really the only downside I could see if they actually did this is that people outside the fandom would be whiney about it? I mean, people who casually played Telltale games would look at Skybound like “Rehashing old characters who aren’t muh Clementine? Pass.” Y’know? And to be fair, I could see people within the fandom being disappointed, too.

But a majority? I think we’d all be happy to just have another twdg installment if Skybound wanted to make one... as long as they leave Clementine alone. That’s my one condition haha.

Leave her alone, Robert.

I’ll even throw out a bunch of possibilities for episodes-

Carley and Doug - I would love an episode that starts with Carley working as a reporter just as the walkers come. We could meet her crew, go through when they were attacked and explore the trauma she experiences after watching her producer get eaten alive in front of her.

Then, in comes our hero: Doug. Doug saves her life, and the two of them manage to escape and hideout. This is the perfect time to explore Doug’s character, too, as well as the relationship he and Carley had before they met up with the drugstore crew.

We can learn more about how Carley came to be so good with firearms and more about Doug’s technical background. Not only that, but it would be interesting to see these two actually interact since, y’know... they canonically have romantic feelings for one another.

Then the episode could end with them meeting Glenn outside, who brings them back to the group at the drugstore.

The St Johns - Here me out, but I would totally be on board for an episode about these people and how they starting picking off their farmhands for food. We don’t even have to play as any of the St Johns, we could play as a farmhand that actually escaped that fate after discovering what these people were doing.

It could definitely be more horror based, too. Like a cat and mouse sort of chase scene with the protagonist and Andy or Danny with them escaping with their life at the end and journeying off.

We could also see more of the bandits and how that agreement came to be with them. We could see more of Jolene, too.

Lilly - Okay, I want to know what the hell happened to Lilly between s1 and s4. From what I’ve gathered and inferred, Lilly wandered alone for years before finding the delta, the first place she ever considered home since... well, the motor-inn. Which... is nuts.

Then there’s all the trauma of losing Larry on top of what a piece of shit he was. I know I laugh at her for being all “No more ice cream, no more hair dryer” when she was telling Clementine about Larry cutting their power but we don’t know much about just how abusive Larry was.

Plus, we don’t know what happened to her mom. Larry still carried her wedding ring even into the apocalypse and died with it in his pocket. There’s just... a lot of things.

So I think an episode about Lilly by herself could be an interesting exploration of her being her own enemy, y’know? When I say character-driven, I mean solely character-driven with Lilly having flashbacks or nightmares or talking to herself or even hallucinations. Think Michonne, but even better executed. And with no ghost children. Maybe a ghost Larry, though. Which is arguably worse.

And it could end with someone from the delta finding her.

Christa and Omid - I feel like this is an obvious one since everyone loves these two and we’re still salty that they never brought Christa back. So it’d be cool to see these two either before meeting Lee’s group, or their time with Clementine between s1 and s2.

This is the only time I’ll allow Clementine to be here. If they feel they have to plop Clementine into this, then do it this way. We could explore Clementine’s guilt of what happened to Lee and the trauma she suffered while with the stranger, we could explore Christa’s pregnancy and learn more about her and Omid’s relationship.

We could see some dad moments with Omid as he and Clementine bond, perhaps dive into the fear and anxiety of a baby that’s coming, too.

Kenny and Sarita - So... while Kenny’s not my favorite person, I can’t deny that I’d be interested in seeing him after he apparently escapes the walker horde after killing Ben and what he went through before he met Sarita.

Hell, have an episode where we play as Sarita as she stumbles upon Kenny and how she saved him from the restaurant he was hiding in. We could get a glimpse into Kenny from Sarita’s point of view and what they went through during their time together. We could learn about Walter and Matthew, too.

Honestly, I just want to know more about Sarita as a character rather than a plot device to die in order to further Kenny’s development, y’know?

Bonnie - Yeah, yeah, I know. No one likes Bonnie and “who wants to play as Bonnie again?? she sucks??”, but damn it... I want them to redeem how badly they fucked up with her story in 400 Days.

I want an episode about her struggling with her drug addiction and how it affected her when the dead started walking. What she was willing to do to get her fix, y’know? Bring back Leland and Dee and how they helped with her road to recovery.

Leland himself even said that when they found her, she was still so stuck on those drugs. I think exploring that could be a fascinating experience.

Jane - An episode about Jane and Jamie? An exploration of Jane’s struggle with keeping her sister alive while having that internal survival instinct trying to take over all leading to her finally giving Jamie what she wanted- to leave her. Then how that guilt and loss took a toll on Jane and hardened her.

And like, I know Jane is kind of in the same boat as Bonnie where a lot of people [specifically Kenny followers] absolutely hate her and would whine about an episode dedicated to exploring her character, but I don’t care. I’d play it, I’d love to understand Jane more, even if I don’t particularly like her.

David - This one is here for selfish reasons. I want an episode all about David. I don’t care what you do, but I want to see David’s struggle of literally losing his entire family in a single night, as well as losing the world to the apocalypse and having to move forward.

Like... seriously, remember what Kate was all “I bet David was happy when the world ended” or some shit? I actually disagree, Kate, since the day the world ended, he lost his father, mother, brother, uncle, his fucking children, and you, his wife within a night. He spent years thinking you all were dead while traveling with Ava and his unit, fighting the dead and trying to survive.... but no, the day the walkers came was probably super great for him. Ugh.

The bonus is we get more Ava, too. Also, I don’t think anyone would oppose if you threw in the whole “David and Lingard might’ve had a thing”... just sayin’. We stan bisexual David.

Javier - Throwing this one in there because I think an episode about Javi, Kate, Gabe, and Mari would do incredibly well. Everyone misses the Garcia’s, everyone was bummed that we ever got a follow up to what Javi was up to after ANF.

Y’know... since ANF was a mess, they probably didn’t feel they could do a follow up because people wouldn’t play... but I’m telling you, we’d play another adventure as Javier Garcia. I don’t know what kind of story you’d tell, but it doesn’t matter. Well, it does... but ya get me.

Plus, more Gabe and Mariana content. C’mon.

James - *slams fists on table* I want my James and the whisperers episode damn it!! And I’m gonna keep saying it until someone either makes it or pays me to shut up.

I don’t care if you like James or not, you can’t deny how fascinating it would be to have an entire episode dedicated to the whisperers. On top of that, we’d get to see James and Charlie and how their relationship suffered during their time with the whisperers, as well as James realizing what a monster he became.

Maybe we could have a scene where James actually makes his famous mask, or a scene of James escaping them and leaving Charlie behind. It could end with James in his camp until he hears gunshots one night. When he goes to investigate, he finds Clementine and AJ trying to escape Lilly and Abel and we get him intervening from his perspective.

There ya go, there’s a second Clementine cameo that doesn’t fuck everything up. Ta-dah.

Sophie and Minerva - A popular one that most of us would want. Them after they were taken away and how they suffered within the delta. It’d be cool to play as Sophie, and tragic since we know how that would end. But we could be the one who acts out and tries to escape all while doing our best to keep Minerva from giving into them... which again, imagine the heartbreak.

The Ericson crew - Like with the twins, this would be a popular one that most people would want to play. While I’d rather they kept their fingers off Louis and Violet since they’re bound to fuck them up, I can’t deny that I want to know what happened at the school during the first days.

We could even play as Ms. Martin as she chooses to stay and take care of all these kids, how she bonds with them before inevitably meeting her fate in the greenhouse.

And c’mon, you know you want to see baby child versions of our Ericson kiddos. Imagine Louis and Violet at these young ages? Seeing other kids we never got to meet? We’d eat it up! ...Well, assuming they did a good job with their characterizations. Y’know.

---

Those are all the major ones I’d like to see, but hey, if any of you had other ideas for episodes following characters I didn’t mention, feel free to share!

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chimchimsauce · 5 years ago

Text

Maniac: Stalker

Over the course of one week, Min Yoongi transitioned from YN’s sweet, lovable boyfriend into a complete nightmare - a maniac determined to make her life hell.

Rain patters down on the roof as YN taps the edge of her pencil against her five subject notebook, trying to think of what she should write next. This essay she’s working on isn’t due for another month, but if here’s something she hates, it’s the possibility of turning anything in late. She’d much rather stay up all night weeks early and be finished than to stress and cram last minute.

But for now, she’s sufficiently stuck, mind blanking on what she could possibly add to her essay about historical English literature. With a sigh, YN pushes away from her desk to massage her temples. As an art major, YN wishes she could just focus on her paintings instead of having to take general education classes, but sadly that is not the case.

She rolls her head around to loosen her stiff muscles and trots downstairs for a midnight snack. Thankfully, the college YN attends isn’t far from her childhood home, allowing her to save thousands by not living in the dorm. It also means that YN can work on her art projects without having to worry about creeping into her roommate’s personal space. YN downs a glass of water and looks at the clock, realizing that it’s already a little past one in the morning.

“That’s a good enough excuse to pick up that essay again this weekend,” she says to herself, drying her glass and placing it back into the cupboard.

Someone (most likely her Dad) left the TV on, so YN grabs the remote to turn it off, hesitating when she realizes the door to her art studio is slightly open. Frowning, YN leaves the TV on and goes to investigate. She knows that she hasn’t been in the studio today - hasn’t even been in there this week. Her parents know not to go in there because YN is very particular about not letting anyone see her work until it’s finished. So why . . .

The overhead lights buzz when she turns them on, humming lowly in a sound that is usually comforting to her. Her workspace is illuminated, a large drawing table taking up most of the space inside. Shelves full of paint, brushes, and other art supplies line the walls, as well as a gigantic mural her parents let her paint when it became apparent that art was her passion back in middle school. In the furthest corner, right next to the only and slightly opened window (did she do that?) is an easel holding a covered painting, one she hasn’t been able to work on for months.

With her throat suddenly feeling dry, YN places the TV remote on the table and makes her way to the window, being sure to close it tightly and lock it. For a moment, she stalls in front of the covered painting, almost wanting to reach out and reveal what’s hidden underneath. Just as her fingers brush across the cloth, lightning strikes, startling her so thoroughly that she trips over her own feet and grasps the cloth as a lifeline, ultimately landing firmly on her butt and revealing the half-finished painting in all of its glory. YN freezes as she is forced to come face to face with her creation, face to face with the portrait of the only man she’s ever loved - the only man she’s ever hated.

The memories come rushing in even though she tries not to think about it, tries not to let the past affect her. And yet . . .

The day is warm. It’s the middle of May and classes have just ended for the year. YN can barely believe that she’s successfully made it through her first year of college. All she wants to do now is head home and take a three-day-long nap. Before she can head to her car to begin making that dream a reality, something cold touches her forearm, causing her to jump slightly. When she turns, she is greeted by her happily smiling boyfriend.

“Yoongi!” she shouts, hitting his arm playfully, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to congratulate you on surviving her for a whole year,” he says, placing the beverage into her hand, “Oh, and to give you think. I know you probably haven’t had anything to drink all day.”

YN smiles sheepishly, looking bashful.

“You got me there,” she says, taking his gift and cracking it open.

The bubbles feel nice on her throat.

“But I know you’re up to something else,” she says, eyeing him somewhat warily.

The two of them have been dating since her junior year of high school. She knows Yoongi like the back of her hand by now.

“Just . . . stuff with my Dad again. He’s pissing me off.”

“Oh no,” YN says, reaching out with her free hand to touch his shoulder, “Is everything alright?”

Yoongi has always had a bit of a rocky relationship with his father. His mother passed away when he was just twelve years old, and his dad has taken up some toxic ways of handling stress. From gambling to drugs and alcohol, his dad has done and tried it all. It put Yoongi in a really rough place, so by the time he met YN, he was just about to go down that path his won self. But YN and her family reminded him of the good days, the days when his father made him feel safe and loved. She made him oh so desperately want to be a better person than his father had the ability to be, encouraging him to follow his dreams of becoming a producer and landing them both at the prestigious college they attend today.

Yoongi shrugs.

“Alright enough. He wants me to head home for a bit to talk about something important. I’m not sure what it is, but I wanted to let you know that I won’t be home for family dinner tonight.”

Yoongi is practically part of YN’s family at this point. Her parents adore him and her mother has been dropping some not so subtle hints about a wedding some time in the future.

“Okay. I’ll be sure to tell my mom,” she says.

Yoongi pulls her into a tight hug, one which betrays his true anxieties about his upcoming trip. YN isn’t sure what his dad told him, so all she can do is melt into his embrace and rub his back, being there for him.

“Thanks for the drink,” she says once he pulls away, “And I’ll see you soon, okay? I love you.”

“I love you more,” Yoomgi replies, kissing the top of her head and heading off, disappearing into the fray.

If only YN had known how much her life would change, she would have stopped him from going, screamed and kicked until he agreed to stay with her, to not go visit his despicable, scummy excuse for a dad. But hindsight is 20/20.

Yoongi didn’t call her when he returned from visiting his father. In fact, he was blatantly ignoring all of her calls. Paranoia began to build up inside of her, the young woman worrying that something had happened to her beloved boyfriend.

It wasn’t until she tried to visit him at his shared apartment to demand answers that she even began to understand what happened.

“He what?” YN asks, blinking at one of Yoongi’s roommates in confusion.

“Yoongi moved out a few days ago. Didn’t tell us why, just handed us a stack of hundreds, grabbed his stuff and left. He didn’t tell you?”

“I - no . . .” YN says, perplexed beyond belief.

What on Earth is happening?

“Sorry . . .” the other man (YN thinks his name is Jungkook) says, smiling apologetically at her.

“No, thank you for telling me,” she says, readjusting her purse on her shoulder and turning around, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.

She tries to call Yoongi again but is once more sent to voicemail. Determined to find him, YN embarks on a trip across town, checking all of Yoongi’s usual hang out spots. He isn’t in the coffee shop or the comic book store. She can’t find him at the independent recording studio or at the park where he likes to write songs.

Thoroughly exhausted and so nervous she’s almost shaking, YN steps into a small restaurant - the most expensive one in the area. She’d never be able to afford to eat there, but her friend Taehyung works as a waiter here and he usually takes his break around this time. She just really needs some comfort right now.

The waitstaff doesn’t look too disgusted by her casual attire and somewhat messy appearance - they’re used to her showing up to see Taehyung.

Thankfully he’s on his break, just like she predicted.

“Oh my gosh, Tae,” YN says as the two of them slide into a booth near the corner of the restaurant, “I think I’m losing my mind.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” her best friend asks, concerned.

YN doesn’t usually get this frazzled

“Yoongi’s basically shut me out and disappeared off the face of the planet,” YN says, clenching her fists together as if that will help anything at all.

“Did you guys have a fight or something?” Taehyung asks, frowning.

Yoongi and YN have always been a power couple. The two rarely got into a fight at all, and when they did they soon blew over completely.

“No. Last weekend he went to visit his dad and then radio silence. He was perfectly fine beforehand. I don’t know what’s wrong. And Tae . . .” YN says, leaning forward and widening her eyes, “He left his apartment! Pulled out of the lease and everything!”

“What?!” Taehyung says, this tone catching the attention of some of the other patrons who send him a dirty look, “Is he okay?! Did his dad do something?!”

“I don’t know!” YN says, glad not to be the only one freaking out, “Should I call the police?”

Before Taehyung can reply, the door opens and a small crowd of men enters. At first, YN doesn’t pay them any attention at all. They’re dressed just like everyone else - wearing outfits that probably cost a whole semester of tuition. They settle into the booth in the corner, one table between them and YN. Their chattering is obnoxious in a way that only rich brats can pull off. It’s as if they don’t even notice the other people in the restaurant.

The college town they’re in has a strange mix of really rich and not so rich people. It’s definitely a higher-end area with a great school that recently began to give out a ton of scholarships, pulling in a lot of different people from different backgrounds. You can definitely still tell who is who, though.

The group of men all take their seats and YN’s breath catches in her throat as she catches sight of her boyfriend. He’s almost unrecognizable. His dark hair has been bleached blonde, the color of white corn. He’s dressed to the nines too, wearing outfits YN knows for a fact he didn’t own last week.

“What the fuck,” she whispers, causing Taehyugn to turn around.

The other man’s eyebrows knit in confusion.

“What about that broad we see you hanging out with, Min Suga?” one of the boys asks loudly, leaning against the booth with a confidence that falls straight into the arrogant category.

“Hm?” Yoongi asks.

It’s clear that he hasn’t caught sight of YN yet. She’s just about to stand up and rush over to him, but Taehyung stops her.

“Maybe we should just watch for a bit,” he whispers, sinking low into the booth and peeping as conspicuously as possible.

“What? But . . .”

“Shh!” Taehyung hisses.

“Yeah, Suga, that arty girl. She your girlfriend? I see you hanging out all the time,” a different guy says.

“Oh please!” The third person says, “No way in hell. Everyone knows that art hoes are crazy.”

YN’s shoulders tense up and she has to fight the words springing up in her throat. Surely her Yoongi will -

“Nah, she’s just some weirdo who likes hanging around me. We went to the same high school and she’s used that as an excuse to cling onto me.

“Ah. So she’s a watcher,” Guy one says.

“A stalker!”

“A psychopath!”

All four of them cackle like a pack of hyenas. It’s then that Yoongi finally looks up and catches YN’s eye.

“She’s a fucking maniac,” he says, looking YN dead in the eye.

Her world comes to a screeching halt as Yoongi dismisses her so cruelly and completely without explanation.

“I’m leaving,” she tells Taehyung, standing up to leave as tears gather in her eyes.

“Isn’t that her now?” One of the others says, “Did she follow you here as well?”

“What a fucking creep!”

“Hey!” One of them shouts loudly, catching the attention of everyone in the venue, “Stop being such a psycho! Don’t you know that people like you aren’t anything to people like us? Stop bothering Suga and fuck off!”

Before YN can even move, something cold covers her skin and glass shatters on the floor, causing a few people to scream.

One of them had snatched a pitcher of water from one of the waiters and thrown it at her.

“The fuck is your problem, man!” Taehyung demands, no longer able to stand idly by.

“Don’t,” YN whispers to him, skin stinging from the glass that sliced her. Tears are falling down her face now, “You have to worry about your job,”

“Fuck this job!” Taehyung says, getting ready to snatch one of those arrogant assholes by the collar and wring his neck.

“Kim Taehyung!” A voice shouts.

It’s his manager.

“Hand over your badge right now! That is no way to treat a guest!”

“But!”

“Now!”

The two of them are then shoved out of the restaurant, Taehyung comforting a sobbing and trembling YN as best he can. It was the first day of her new life - the first day of hell.

YN rises to her feet and recovers the painting, shaking. Lightning flashes once more and she swears she sees a figure outside in her yard.

Hey there! I hope you guys enjoy this little miniseries I have planned for this month! If you want to be tagged, add yourself here.

Tag List:

@bartiertae @helperofthenight @knjkitten @coffeeismylife28@childofmoonbeams @lizardthewizzard @jalexa83 @crackhead1-800 @kawaiimusiccollection @bibbykins @btsenchanting

#network bangtan #yandere bts #yandere x reader #yoongi x reader #yandere yoongi #college au #bts angst

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enby-hawke · 4 years ago

Photo

Chapter 6 Summary: Malcolm and Leandra finally have the night to themselves or do they.

Warnings: Racism, Mageism, Gamlen’s an asshole, and songs

Word Count:10,037

A03:

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Malcolm was nervous, gut-nervous, like he’d just come from a Fade jump and his stomach was still doing all the roller coaster flips, threatening to empty out his hard-earned dinner. It didn’t help that the mountains of half-eaten food piled in the dumpsters were starting to turn along with the pungent aroma of the fish stew that gave the alley a rather wet smell. He couldn’t help but feel that this was a terrible place to meet Leandra. This held none of the grandeur of the Palace, the walls defaced with graffiti that had yet to be painted over. And since no one important usually came back here, they wouldn’t bother to for a while. The dumpsters were leaking what Malcolm hoped was just leftover soup, still dripping and draining down the gutter into the sewers below. Hardly romantic.

As the minutes dragged on he made wet tracks into haphazard circles as he found new anxieties that weren’t there before, seeds of doubt cracking into his confidence. What if he was not worthy of her? It wasn’t that he was an elf, though that difference did come to the forefront of his mind often, but what could he possibly offer her to sway her from the lover that already claimed her. He was a mage in the Circle, which meant he had no means to provide for her. He couldn’t compete with the wealth of a billionaire, couldn’t take her to the finest restaurants in Kirkwall to sample cuisines from far lands, couldn’t woo her with expensive gifts like bouquets or beautiful jewelry. He couldn’t even afford the suit the Circle loaned him. Would this night be all he had? Would she have her fun with him and go back to her wealthy fiance, and live her charmed life, and leave him with a broken heart?

And she would break him. He could feel it. He would spend the rest of his days aching for a taste of her lips. His hand clenched and unclenched, feeling so empty without her hand. He clenched it once more and punched the wall, the pain of the brick against his knuckles enough to shock him back to his senses. “You are not a coward!” he growled at himself.

But the seed of doubt rooted deeper. What if this is all she wants from him? A good time. A new experience. What if she didn’t see him as a man willing to love her but some plaything?

The door opened behind him and Malcolm wouldn’t say he jumped, but his feet definitely left the pavement. He straightened himself out to hear the alley suddenly echoing with a bounding argument broiling between Leandra and another man who looked similar to her in the way their scowls matched, but his eyes were not starry black but a shocking blue against his tawny beige skin.

“I’m telling you this is a bad idea. Now let’s go home before we’re caught.”

Leandra snarled, her face more akin to a warrior than a prim noblewoman. “Oh, please, you’re lecturing me?” she snapped her hand back from his muscled grip. “I thought you’d be more supportive considering all the times I’ve covered for you and Mara.”

Another woman in a red dress the same color as the man’s suit followed close behind, trying to keep the two of them apart, but it wasn’t working. Her cat eyes were pulled in a glare as she stayed close to Leandra’s heel. “Gamlen, for Maker’s sake give it a rest.”

Malcolm didn’t know who this man was to Leandra, but he didn’t like how handsy he was being, jerking her arm this way and that in forceful attempts to get her to follow, and Malcolm’s temper quickly snapped as he raced forward to defend Leandra.

“Hey, what’s your problem, asshole?” He balled his fists, rolling up his sleeves as he glowered up to the taller man, knowing he couldn’t use magic but he reckoned he could bet his Ferelden pride he could throw a better punch than a prissy Kirkwall nobleman.

The man looked down at the shorter elf’s stature and snorted, utterly unimpressed as if a kid had challenged him. “Run off, rabbit, this doesn’t concern you.”

Malcolm snarled ready to swing but Leandra instinctively put herself as a shield between the two men, “Malcolm, wait!”

Malcolm pulled himself back from the momentum, almost tripping over himself as he tried to veer direction. He was dazed in that moment, off-balance first by the sudden realization that this was the very first time she had ever said his name. He was so puzzled about how she even managed to remember it with dream fog he almost didn’t realize Carver had just walked through the door and had witnessed most of the exchange.

Carver walked up to Malcolm and pulled him back with force so Leandra, the man and he were now a good distance apart. “What are you doing starting fights?”

“Did I start a fight?” Malcolm shook himself back to reality, a new glare settling at the man who was holding Leandra’s wrist hostage. “Or did he?”

“Yeah, Gamlen, what’s your fucking problem?” the woman marched up beside Leandra as if to protect her.

Malcolm was about to say something else when Carver slapped the back of Malcolm’s head, not hard enough to hurt but the metal of his gauntlet still made a satisfying thwack. “Use your head. This is not some Circle brawl where you’ll get detention. Assaulting a nobleman has real consequences, Malcolm.”

The pushy man made a satisfied smirk at being defended, before it quickly dropped. “Wait, this is Malcolm?”

Malcolm’s ears twitched, not liking the accusatory way he used his name.

Leandra looked at the man as if she was pleading him not to say whatever was about to come out but still he just gawked at Leandra as he pointed at Malcolm with the force of a smack. “Are you kidding me? He’s an elf!? Are you trying to kill Mom and Dad?”

And there it was, the metaphorical elephant in the room that had plagued Malcolm’s thoughts had been spoken aloud and was staring him in the face. So this man was her brother. How unfortunate. He could see the resemblance now in the shape of their eyes and flat of their noses, and Malcolm suddenly felt self-conscious. Already her family disapproved of him, and he didn’t realize how badly he wanted their approval until now, but he knew how ridiculous it was to even have the expectation. He knew the raw ugly truth about how people would look at their relationship, but he wasn’t looking at her brother’s grimace, but at Leandra.

Her shoulders snapped back as her fury exploded like cannon. “When did you ever care what Mom and Dad think!?”

The other woman also didn’t look pleased with Gamlen’s confession. “Did you forget my grandfather is an elf?”

“Mara…” Gamlen sputtered. “It’s not the same. That’s your grandfather. You’re practically human.”

Mara’s smile turned chilly as she cocked her head at the statement, squinting her eyes. “Am I?”

The man sputtered again as Malcolm crossed his arms and rocked back on his heels thoroughly enjoying himself now. The man seemed to understand that this was the wrong answer but from the look of his face everyone could tell he was confused about why. “I mean…it’s not only that. He’s a mage, too.”

“And we have family that are mages,” Leandra countered.

His head was turtling into his shoulders as the two women stared him down with equally withering glares, but still Gamlen pleaded at them to listen. “Think this through, Leandra. You’re practically married. Do I have to remind you tonight was literally your Betrothal Ball. Think of how selfish you’re being.”

Leandra was tiny for a human woman but she had the ferocity of a warrior when she was angry, and it spilled out in a gushing tsunami at the accusation of being selfish. She shoved the other man off of her. “I supported you!” she cried and then shoved again, “had your back against mom and dad at every turn, and now I’m supposed to self-sacrifice and play good child so you can do whatever you want?” Gamlen balked at every shove, not expecting Leandra to fight back so fiercely, and he held her wrists as she attempted to hit him in the face but she was much too short to get a good swing so she started jabbing her heels into his legs. “When is it my turn? When do I get to be happy?”

Malcolm covered his mouth in amusement as the tiny woman beat back her brother with shorthanded swipes looking oddly like a housecat trying to beat back a confused crocodile. Her temper was beautiful, like the oncoming rage of a storm, leaving him in awe of her.

At the sound of Malcolm’s laughter she dropped her shoulders suddenly looking sheepish.

“Oh don’t stop on my account,” Malcolm grinned at her. “I’m enjoying the show.”

She looked at Malcolm with wide eyes suddenly uncertain and shy and she tucked a loose strand of hair that had come undone behind her ear, trying to look prim again.

Malcolm was disappointed. He would have liked to see at least one more kick.

“I like Malcolm,” she announced, not quite able to meet Malcolm’s gaze though her voice remained steady.

Malcolm blinked a couple of times unsure he had heard right, but then she marched up to Malcolm and picked up his freckled hand like it was the most precious thing in the world. “I want to explore what that this means,” then she glared back at her brother over her shoulder. “So can you kindly butt out?”

Malcolm didn’t mean for a laugh to escape. Maybe he was relieved to hear her say that. Maybe it was because that furious expression didn’t quite match her soft personality. And then her anger softened into a shy smile when he squeezed her hand in silent thanks, her whole demeanor suddenly demure again.

Malcolm could see the man confused, as if he didn’t expect her to take such a strong stand.

Leandra ignored her brother, her attention only on Malcolm. “I’m so sorry. I hope my idiot brother didn’t spoil our night.”

The smile that was already on his lips pulled wider. Our night.

She then glared at her brother. “He won’t join us.”

“Fine!” Gamlen barked. He snapped his fingers. “Mara, we’re leaving.”

Mara snorted. “You sure? Cause I think I’m going with Leandra, tonight.”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, his voice taking on an edge of possessiveness. “Mara, we’re publicly together now. I know we don’t always agree but you’re supposed to be on my side, not Leandra’s.”

Mara laughed which seemed to confuse Gamlen and she took Leandra’s other arm and wrapped herself around her. “You’re just my boyfriend. Leandra’s my best friend. Get the hierarchy?”

Leandra looked utterly disappointed in Gamlen. “Need a shovel for the hole you’re digging?”

This time Carver joined Malcolm’s laughter. He had been standing silent the whole time, making sure Malcolm’s temper didn’t get away with him again, and he didn’t bother to hide his amusement as he met Malcolm’s gaze. “She’s a keeper,” Carver nodded approvingly, earning a pleased but flustered blush from Leandra.

Gamlen turned his scrutiny on Carver. “Aren’t you a templar? What are you doing letting this mage off his leash?”

Malcolm bristled at that, but Carver just placed a hand on Malcolm’s shoulder, a squeeze reminding him to behave. Still, it was a friendly enough gesture that Gamlen seemed uneasy by it, as if he wasn’t sure what to make of this dynamic. “It may be a long leash, but believe me, there’s still a leash.”

Malcolm grunted at that, hating how true his words were, but Carver continued, “I know you have your doubts about mages, and I know fully the dangers that magic can bring, but Malcolm has opened my eyes many times to the wonders magic can bring.” He let his hand drop from Malcolm’s shoulder but didn’t lower his proud gaze. “He is a good man, a better man than many who serve under me and I’m proud to call him a friend.”

He had never heard Carver talk about him in such a way so to hear him come to his defense made him swallow a lump that suddenly crept up his throat like a frog, but it was apparent that Carver’s pretty words were not swaying Gamlen, though he looked like he was losing some of the fight out of him once he realized that he had no ally to turn to. So he resulted in sulking, hunching his shoulders and jutting out his lip which made him look like a mannish baby. “This is still a bad idea.”

Leandra nodded. “Noted. And ignored.”

“Then I’m coming with you,” Gamlen argued. “If only because someone needs to watch out for you tonight. He’s clearly got you under some sort of spell.”

Malcolm’s shoulders raised at the accusation. Gamlen was glaring at their intertwined hands with a sneer he couldn’t contain like she was touching a dirty animal. He was suddenly overcome with the overwhelming feeling like he would taint Leandra. Stories about how mages seduced their lovers by altering their minds with blood magic or how elven men tricked and stole the innocence of naive human women recounted in his head and though he thought he would have some sort of reply to that he found the words caught in his throat. Instead he held back a tremble as he struggled not to act on his temper and punch the man senseless, only to prove that he didn’t need a spell to rub that sneer off his face. But then even that was a trap, for it would only prove that he was uncivilized as the humans claimed elves to be even if humans never seemed to show much civilization.

There was no way he’d last the night.

Leandra glared. “As if! You’re being a real ass.”

“Well, how are you going to stop me?” the man’s voice took on a childish challenging tone as he dug in his heels.

Leandra groaned, knowing her stubborn brother wouldn’t take no for an answer. What brought on this bought of overbearing protectiveness she didn’t know, but she wanted to spend the night getting to know Malcolm, not bickering with her little brother.

“Fine, but if you say anymore idiotic things to Malcolm I won’t hesitate to knee you in the balls,” she huffed as she started dragging Malcolm and Mara around her annoying brother. “And you're taking your own cab!” she added with a snap.

They started marching out of the alleyway and out into the street where they found that the place was swarming with Guard and Templar cars in flashing red white and blue lights bathing the streets in headlights so that they all seemed exposed and Leandra froze at the thought of suddenly being caught and marched back to her parents.

“Follow me,” Carver spoke from behind them, and then marched past them as if there was nothing amiss about what they were doing.

Leandra dropped Malcolm’s hand and put some distance between them at the sight of the crowd that clearly saw them. Malcolm’s stomach dropped in disappointment. Though he knew an elf and a human holding hands would only invite more stares it didn’t keep his heart from aching, wishing just for a moment that he was human so that she wouldn’t let go.

The templars and guards glided around them without notice all seeming to have their own agendas and orders to carry out. There were news vans swarming the front of the Palace trying to make sense of what was happening and they took great care not to get in their line of sight.

Malcolm had a sinking feeling as he followed Carver, thinking that he’d return to his duties and let him have some peace with Leandra. Well, he and Leandra’s friend, who invited herself, but he knew the hierarchy. As they approached an armored vehicle with reinforced wheels and a red Chantry sun impaled a sword, the symbol of the templars, Malcolm realized another was joining the night. It seemed his leash was shorter than he thought, tonight.

Carver opened the door gesturing for the ladies to go in with a respectful bow.

Mara’s eyes gleamed in mischief as she inspected the back of the templar’s car, the armored barriers seeming more fit to housing dangerous apostates than escorting Kirkwall nobility. “Are we in trouble, Officer?”

Carver’s eyes crinkled in a smile but his face remained neutral. “Simply making sure you all get home safely.”

Mara bounced into the backseat. “This standard?”

“Perfectly,” Carver allowed a small smile.

Leandra, too jittery with all the people about quickly ducked behind Mara without a word, grateful to be out of sight.

Carver blocked Gamlen’s push forward so Malcolm could snag the seat next to Leandra and shut the door behind him.

Gamlen scowled, trying to look intimidating but Carver had a few inches in him and was in full armor and gear and didn’t bother to even look in Gamlen’s direction as he got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door.

Gamlen tried to get into the passenger’s seat but he found that it had been locked. Gamlen pounded on the tinted window demanding to be let in.

Carver rolled down the window only enough so Gamlen could hear him say, “I thought the lady told you to get your own cab.”

Gamlen’s face went slack with shock, his blue eyes glassy as he was not able to process what was happening. He could hear Mara and Gamlen’s laughter peeling out from the window, mocking him.

Even Leandra barked out a short laugh before she clapped a hand over her mouth, burning in shame. “That is not necessary, Lord Carver.”

But Carver was already pulling off from the sidewalk, a shellshocked Gamlen watching as they left him at the curb.

There was a satisfied smirk on his lips that no one else could see. “The silence might give him some time to reflect on what he said.”

But it seemed like silence wasn’t what Gamlen wanted. Mara’s phone started to ring, Gamlen’s ringtone, which was a high stringed addictive pop song that filled the cabin.

“With a taste of your lips I’m on a ride.”

Mara sighed raggedly knowing the tantrum that was sure to come. She clicked the button to answer, cutting the music and with a curt voice she said, “I’m not interested in anything but an apology.”

“Apology!?” his voice boomed loud enough from the speaker. “You should apologize. You ditched me and laughed!”

“That’s right,” Mara confirmed in a sing-song voice. “You’re being a hypocrite.”

“Mara-”

But she quickly cut him off with a snarl that was unlike her, “I’m turning off my phone. Maybe if I’m in a good mood I’ll text you where we’re at.”

Then she cut off the rest of his tirade by ending the call and did just that.

She then threw her head back in her seat, her face reddening as she muttered a string of curses under her breath.

Leandra looked at her friend feeling torn. On one hand she couldn’t excuse her brother but she felt her heart ache at what she thought might be the end of their relationship. She knew her brother was better than this and she hoped that somehow he’d find a way to fix this. Still she felt shame like somehow it was her fault the whole wonderful night had been left uncomfortable. “I’m sorry,” she said guiltily.

She found Malcolm touching her hand, unsure if the gesture was welcome, but just his hand being close made her fingers wrap around them to keep him there, hoping Malcolm didn’t think less of her.

“It’s not the worst thing I’ve heard. They get more creative in the Circle,” he said it like a joke, but there was tenseness in the admission.

Leandra didn’t like the thought of that. She knew what her brother said was ugly, and yet to know it was not the worst experience he’d had made her squeeze his hand, the words to comfort him failing her.

“So I’m curious,” Mara’s voice cut between them. She leaned forward so Carver could hear her better through the bars that separated them. “How does a templar and a mage get so chummy?” There was mischief in her curiosity and Malcolm couldn’t help but feel like Mara was scrutinizing him, judging his every move, but unlike Gamlen, she seemed to have not come to a conclusion yet.

“Carver’s not a prick,” Malcolm explained which brought delighted laughter from Carver, a soothing sound like water bubbling over a brook.

“It’s easy to be friends with Malcolm, as long as you can handle some honesty,” Carver echoed back.

“Have you been friends for a long time?” Leandra asked.

“I watched him grow up,” Carver answered as he wove through the streets of Hightown. “He’s always been a bit of a scamp.”

Mara’s eyes lit up. “Ooooh then you’re the one to ask for all the juicy details.”

Malcolm suddenly felt uneasy, not sure exactly what Carver would share.

“That’s true,” Carver admitted freely. “I do have a few stories, but I’ll let you get to know him yourself. I plan to mostly stay out of the way tonight and let you all enjoy yourselves.”

Malcolm found himself sighing in relief. Carver was a true friend.

Mara started leaning on Leandra as she gazed at Malcolm, and he felt strangely like she was a cat and he was her new toy. “So who are you Dream Guy?”

Malcolm found the nickname brought a smile to his lips, especially with the way Leandra was reddening.

“Just an elf from Ferelden,” Malcolm summarized. “Not anyone special.”

“Ferelden?” Leandra asked. “You’re far from home.”

Malcolm nodded grimly. The homesickness burrowed in his gut. The food at the ball was delicious, but he found he missed his mother’s cooking, lechon at Satinalia, pancet at celebrations, adobo, dinuguan, even lumpia. Being a lone elven Ferelden in a Marcher state that kissed Orlais ass with the rest of the world was terribly isolating. It almost seemed fitting that it was an Orlesian that claimed Leandra. They claimed everything Malcolm knew.

Leandra seemed keen to know more. “What about your mom and dad?”

“My mom’s might be somewhere in Ferelden. I haven’t seen her since I was taken by the templars when I was 8.” Admitting this so freely felt odd to Malcolm. They weren’t exactly secrets but he kept his memories close to his heart, but Leandra wanted to know. “I don’t even know if she’s alive.”

Leandra could sense there was more to the story. Malcolm’s eyes were far away, watching the lights of Hightown’s neon bathing his dark skin in a heavenly glow.

“You don’t know what happened to her?”

“I mean when I was in Ferelden’s Circle I got a letter or two, but…” Malcolm sucked in a breath not admitting how the templars took those, too. “Nothing since Kirkwall.”

Leandra stroked his thumb with hers. “What about your father?”

At the mention of his father Malcolm’s whole body went rigid and his breathing got shallow. “Better off forgotten,” he muttered as he stared dully at the window.

The high cityscapes of Hightown receded into the bridge that was thankfully not filled with the usual traffic at midnight. Malcolm’s eyes were far away as his eyes passed over the neon marketing sign and art and competing billboards that seemed to permeate every corner. Kirkwall was a loud city, even at night, but the city seemed to be holding its breath. The high-tech architecture that was just on the other side of the bridge seemed to just die off into the archaic city of Lowtown. There were still ads and graffiti and neon signs on every street, but Kirkwall elite had not seen a purpose of modernizing most of Lowtown, except for the subway system that most of the inhabitants used for travel, so that the sounds of trains running through tracks was a constant echo across the stone. The snaking networks wound through the city but stopped at the bridge that connected Hightown. Lowtown only had so many major streets, the main one connecting to the Lowtown market where shops were piled on top of each other like shoeboxes, mimicking the cityscapes of Hightown but with the grace of a graffiti-filled dumpster. The city cleaners didn’t extend to Lowtown so debris covered the street, the car dipping into the cracks of the concrete and swerving to avoid potholes.

Leandra wanted to know him, but it seemed that poking at him only brought up painful memories, and it was already a painful night. She had no idea how she could even fathom what he went through. He was always carefree and smiling, but now he looked brittle, like he would break if she pressed him too far.

So she tried to change gears. “I have family in the Circle.”

“Oh?” That made Malcolm perk up, curiosity in his golden eyes, and his shoulders relaxed as he realized the interrogation was over.

“A niece in Ostwick, a nephew in Markham, and another nephew in Kirkwall.”

Malcolm seemed much happier to continue this conversation. “What a small world,” he hummed in amusement. “Well tell me about the one in Kirkwall. I might have met him already.”

Leandra was pleased that he wanted to know her family. “His name’s Isaac. He only came to the Circle last year around spring.”

Malcolm placed his free hand on his chin as his eyes reached up into his skull as he tried to summon a face. “Isaac…Isaac…” The name sounded familiar. “Wait does he like to make a lot of truck noises?”

“Yes!” Leandra jumped in her seat in excitement and then blushed when Mara snickered.

Malcolm smiled as he recalled the little guy, suddenly seeing the family resemblance in their eyes. He had life just like Leandra did. “We call him Lil’ Garbage Man. He’s the funniest dude.”

Leandra shook her head though a smile was on her face thinking of how horrified her Mother would be at the nickname.

“You call my nephew Lil’ Garbage Man? Why?”

“Cause he makes garbage truck noises when he busses people’s trays. Dude seems to have a blast doing it.”

Leandra laughed imagining the look on her parent’s face if they had heard that. “My nephew is bussing people’s trays?”

“Isaac is helpful and compassionate. He might be a little odd to people but he has a very good heart,” Carver’s voice came from the bars. “In fact, if you would like to see him, I think I may be able to arrange that.”

Leandra’s eyes widened pouncing on the chance. “Can you? I haven’t seen him since he was taken.”

“I’ll add you to the allowed visitors list in Isaac’s file. It shouldn’t be a problem,” Carver’s voice was steady and comforting, like a sturdy oak giving shade. “You’ll still need to come after Mass. There’s no way around that.”

Leandra felt positively giddy. She had tried to get on the visitor’s list before but Chantry policy only allowed immediate family members. The bastard father who abandoned him had more rights to see Isaac than she did, and she had given up on that cause for the moment but to just be offered as a gift was more than she had words for. She found grateful tears prick her eyes. “Bless you, Lord Carver.”

Carver chuckled. “I think at this point you may just call me Carver. At least in private.”

Leandra wiped her eyes before the tears could fall. “Do you think I can smuggle in a gift?”

Carver hummed on his answer noncommittally. “Toys will be taken if he’s not careful to hide them.” But he didn’t say no.

Leandra considered this as she brainstormed what she could bring. Nothing too big. It had to fit in her purse.

Before they knew it Carver pulled up to what looked like a ratty old bar. It was originally called The Caged Canary, but half the light bulbs were burnt out so it spelled Cage Cry with the ‘The’ blinking in and out.

Malcolm chuckled. “Here?” he asked Carver.

“It’s private and she liked your singing,” Carver replied. Malcolm could hear the smirk in his voice.

Leandra looked at the bar that had so many flyers plastered on the wall it looked like a Chantry board. There was graffiti layered upon layer, sometimes over the flyers, some beautiful mosaics and art pieces of colors. Birds behind bars seemed to be a theme throughout the patterns. It was a chaotic sort of art, the kind that would make her parents sneer, but Leandra found it beautiful, the many hands working together to make something so utterly unique, like a thousand memories cased in time speaking at once. “What is this place?” she found herself asking Malcolm as Mara started shuffling out of the car.

“A karaoke bar,” Malcolm said nonchalantly as he watched Leandra’s face which quickly drained of color.

She froze in the car as if she wasn’t sure she wanted to leave. “Oh, no, I’m better at playing the lute than singing,” Leandra blubbered, suddenly mortified at the thought of making a fool of herself in public.

Malcolm grinned. “Karaoke is not about sounding good, it’s about having fun.”

“Well, no one’s going to have fun once they hear me sing,” Leandra protested.

Mara peeked in the car from the other side, ganging up on her with Malcolm with a conspiratorial grin. “You should do more things you’re not good at, my lady. It will be good for you.”

Leandra pouted as Malcolm offered his hand to help her out of the car. She reluctantly took it, knowing once she did there was no going back.

Carver started pulling out his phone as he approached the group. “The address is 369 Copper Avenue if you would like to invite your brother,” he looked at Leandra as he said this and she was already pulling out her phone to text the details.

Then Carver’s eyes slid to Malcolm as he fished out his wallet and pulled out a sovereign bill and handed it to him.

Malcolm resented being handed money like a kid but it wasn’t like he was allowed to have money like a normal person. That didn’t stop him from finding his ways, but he hadn’t expected to go on a date tonight and didn’t bring anything with him. So he took the bill feeling like a teenager being chaperoned on his first date.

“I need to make a phone call. You can go ahead and order a round of drinks with the booth.”

Maker, at least he could drink. “You going to join us?” He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for.

But Carver said, “I have some reports to catch up on but you have fun.” Then Carver walked off into a corner to take his call in private.

Malcolm led Mara and Leandra into the bar which was smaller than anticipated. There was a TV with the news reporting on the incident on the Viscount’s Palace, speculating attacks and calling it the worst haunting of the new century. The bartender who was a pallid man with graying hair raised an eyebrow at Malcolm’s fine suit and the ladies’ gowns which were much richer than the sticky floors and peeling dull brown faded wallpaper that decorated the environment.

Malcolm marched up to the bartender with confidence as the ladies inspected the furniture that had looked like it hadn’t been changed out since the place was built. The grout of the floor was uneven and chalky.

Malcolm placed the bill on the cracking counter and said, “A room and all the drinks this can afford.”

Would this afford much? He didn’t exactly know the prices on things.

The bartender looked at the bill and took it without question, though he was curious about the party’s outfits he seemed more interested in their money. “Room 3,” He leaned his head to point to a dark cove where a line of rooms were waiting. “And for the drinks?”

He looked to Leandra, who looked to Mara who said, “Shots. Tequila. Vodka. I don’t care.”

“You got it,” the bartender chirped.

Malcolm led them down the corridor, jealous of the way Mara openly leaned on Leandra’s arm. He could tell the two women must be close and he felt in some ways there was a bubble between him and them.

“Charming place,” Mara cooed as she looked at the posters of different singers lining the walls, flowing locks and colorful makeup and costumes crooning into microphones. “You bring all your dates here?”

Malcolm chuckled. “The only time I’ve ever gone here is with Carver or Charlie,” he said.

He opened the door to the room for them which was a cozy little setup with a boxy couch that wrapped around the room, a table in the middle with a thick booklet, and a screen with a few microphones.

“Boyfriend?” Mara prodded as she passed Malcolm, cat eyes gleaming.

“Brother,” Malcolm countered.

Leandra perked up, trying to corral some of Mara’s teasing with a question of her own. “You have a brother in the Circle?” Her voice was hopeful and she gathered her skirts and took a seat on the square couch fully listening.

Mara plopping beside her to take a look through the booklet, the laminated pages cracking and yellowing.

“Not a blood brother,” Malcolm explained. “We just grew up together.”

Leandra tried to mask the disappointment in her eyes.

He took a seat, close but not too close. He glanced at her hand which was relaxed at her side, tempted to reach out and grab it, but with Gamlen in his head he just clenched his fist.

“So what would you sing?” Leandra leaned over as Mara flipped through the selection as she tried to find something that she recognized.

The bartender came in holding a large tray of liquid amber and set it on the table without a word.

“Well first we’d get drunk,” Malcolm said, suddenly needing the liquid courage and he grabbed one of the glasses and knocked it back, the burn welcome and warming him, soothing his frazzled nerves.

“Smart man,” Mara grinned as she grabbed two glasses and handed one to Leandra without thinking. “But you’re breaking the party rules. We’re supposed to cheer before we drink.”

Malcolm reached for another glass with a chuckle. “I can just grab another drink.”

Mara gleamed at Leandra holding up her glass as she said. “To Leandra. She’s the most badass woman I know.”

Malcolm grinned at Leandra’s fluster as he held up her glass to match Mara’s praise. “She definitely is.”

Leandra clinked glasses with them and knocked back the liquid before coughing which brought chuckles out of Mara and Malcolm. “That’s much stronger than wine.”

Suddenly Leandra’s phone rang and she looked at the cell phone to see that Senhel was calling. In confusion she answered it thinking it was an emergency.

“Leandra Gloriana Amell,” the voice of her mother shrieked on her phone. “Do you have your Father and me on ignore!?”

Leandra grumbled, she was just starting to have fun. “Mother,” she hicced. “I thought I told you I’m resting.”

“You are certainly not in your room!”

“I’m at Mara’s.”

“Don’t lie to me. I sent Sylvain to fetch you and you’re not there.”

Mara and Malcolm looked at each other as Leandra slunk into the couch, looking ragged and tired. “Fine,” she snapped, her voice sounding like a tight thread. “I’m out having a drink with Mara. Because it’s been a night. And I deserve it.”

“Leandra Amell-”

“Goodnight, Mother. I’m turning off my phone,” then she powered down her cell and threw it back in her purse with a huff.

“Another drink?” Malcolm offered.

Mara was beaming at Leandra. “After standing up to the wicked witch of Kirkwall let’s have three.”

So they did, clinking their glasses each time as they knocked it back in unison, the alcohol starting to make them feel giddy and loose.

Finally Mara picked up the microphone and waggled her eyebrows. “Alright we’re supposed to be singing, right?”

Leandra and Malcolm cheered, raising more glasses sharing a grin.

Mara plugged in the song and with an upbeat piano that was as spunky as she was. She wiggled her hips as she grooved with her microphone, getting into it, her face goofy and carefree for the first time that night.

“Why men great til’ they gotta be great,” she sang loudly and proudly off-key.

“I just took a DNA test

Turns out

I’m a hundred percent

That bitch

Even when I’m crying crazy

Yeah I got boy problems

That’s the human in me

Bling! Bling! Then I solve ‘em

That’s the Goddess in me

Malcolm and Leandra danced in their seats and Mara gave them a show, belting her frustrations into the mic and only slightly tripping over the words with her drunken tongue. The mistakes only made her laugh which made everyone laugh. Then she grabbed the mic with both hands, her face twisting in anger as she kicked off her red strappy heels so they bounced against the couch and wall, belting out with flourish,

“You could have had a bad bitch

Non committal

Help you with your career

Just a little

You’re supposed to hold me dooown

But you’re holding me back

And that’s the soooound

Of me not calling you back.”

Soon Malcolm and Leandra were trying to sing along to the chorus, though Malcolm didn’t know the words to this one. Still, Mara was fun and it was nice to see Leandra with that beautiful smile. He thought her laugh was the most gorgeous sound in the world and he’d never tire of it.

They were all thoroughly enjoying themselves so much that they didn’t notice that Gamlen had now perched himself at the door and listened to the man-hating song, a bouquet of what looked like store bought roses in one arm and a box of expensive fine truffles in the other, but Mara at one point noticed him, the song fading from her lips as the music continued and quickly wrapped up.

The silence was awkward and no one knew what to make of it. Everyone was staring at Gamlen but Gamlen was only staring at Mara.

“I’m sorry,” he said finally. “I was an idiot.”

Mara huffed putting down the microphone with a thud, feedback shrieking through the speakers.

“No denying that but do you even know what you’re sorry for?”

Gamlen rushed forward and placed the gifts in Mara’s arms which she reluctantly accepted. “I was an ass. You told me that enough.”

Mara blew out air, ruffling her bangs. “But the comments you said about Malcolm said a lot about what you think about me.”

“I don’t-I would never,” he sputtered. “I just…Being an elf never seemed to matter to you before.”

Mara glared. “Of course it matters to me. I might not have the pointed ears, but Lolo is all I have left after the car accident. You know that.”

“Of course,” Gamlen said. “Of course it’s important. I just…” he blew out a ragged breath, his eyes flicking to Malcolm. “This is all so fast. Leandra just met him tonight.”

“But you heard Leandra, she likes him. This is not your decision to make.”

Gamlen looked like all the air had been taken out of him as he struggled to find an argument but failed.

Mara looked at Malcolm who seemed to have gone quiet at Gamlen’s presence. “I’m not the only one who deserves your apology.”

Gamlen looked conflicted as his eyes snapped to Malcolm who was knocking back another drink. Gamlen clenched his fists, as he looked over Malcolm, the disgust still clear in his eyes but from the look on Mara’s face she wouldn’t let this go.

Through clenched teeth he said. “Sorry,” but he spat the word out like a curse.

Malcolm discarded his glass and picked up another, feeling slightly drunk and still very very pissed off. “I don’t know, did I hear an apology?”

Leandra crossed her arms, matching Malcolm’s glare. “No, I don’t know that I did.”

Mara dropped Gamlen’s gifts on the table like she was dropping trash in a bin. “Care to try again?”

Gamlen’s eyes widened in fear and he swallowed his anger as he tried to suppress his glare at Malcolm. “Fine, fine. I’m really really sorry.”

“For…” Malcolm drawled looking into his glass of amber liquid.

“For being an ass,” Gamlen chewed out.

“And…”

Gamlen narrowed his eyes, flicking to the other women for help but they simply waited expectantly for his answer. He wasn’t sure what else he was supposed to add. Apologizing wasn’t exactly something he did voluntarily.

He looked for Leandra to help but found her usual warm expression cold, but still she added, “And he won’t do it again.”

Gamlen bristled at that, seeming reluctant to actually say those words, but with Mara glaring at him, too, he repeated, “I won’t do it again.”

Malcolm grinned at that, all teeth. “Now that’s an apology.” Then he made a cheering motion at Gamlen and knocked back his drink.

Mara sniffed and sat down beside Leandra, satisfied but still seething. Gamlen followed her like a sad puppy and when he sat down next to her he tried to hold her hand but she snapped it back, still angry.

Malcolm sighed, feeling sloshed by now, but with Gamlen being so close he felt himself tensing like a stretched rubber band ready to snap. Still, getting the asshole to apologize was at least slightly satisfying even if Malcolm didn’t believe a word of it.

Leandra brushed his hand, bringing him out of his churning thoughts. Her eyes looked worried as she bit her lip, seeming unsure. “I’d love to hear you sing next.”

Malcolm did have a song in mind already, one that he heard long ago but didn’t have any meaning to him until meeting Leandra, but his eyes flickered to Gamlen who was sulking in the corner, unsure if singing it would bring more ire.

Leandra seemed to sense his hesitation and she was suddenly rambling as if she was nervous. “You don’t have to. I mean I can definitely try singing a song with Mara if you’re not feeling up to it.”

Mara leaned over to Leandra with a grin on her face. “What are we singing?”

Gamlen snorted. “You’re singing?”

Leandra glared. “Shut up! As if your voice is any better.”

“At least I know when to keep my mouth shut.”

“Not when it counts,” Malcolm’s unfiltered drunken thoughts blurted out which brought another laugh from Leandra and Mara and a scowl from Gamlen.

Malcolm smirk softened at Leandra’s laughter and he watched her with soft eyes.

She stopped when she noticed he was staring, his honey eyes drawing her in.

“I’d love to hear you sing.” Malcolm said in a voice so genuine she could only swallow.

Leandra dropped her eyes, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “I mean you’re going to have nightmares.”

“I don’t know,” Malcolm grinned. “Since meeting you it feels like I’ve been living a dream.”

She blushed deeply, her breath stuttering, a pleased smile forming on her lips as she choked on what she said. “I guess I’m drunk enough to sing.”

Mara cheered and Malcolm and her clinked glasses in a celebratory drink.

Leandra and Mara took the stage, their eyes on the screen as they huddled together.

A slow ballad filled the speakers, soft and sweet, just like Leandra was. Mara opened her mouth widely inhaling but as soon as the countdown signaled for them to start only Leandra’s voice sang out,

“Wise men say

Only fools rush in

But I can’t help

Falling in love with you”

Leandra’s eyes flew in panic as she realized that Mara was not singing along but looking at her with a smirk as she was forced to either stop or continue. Her eyes flew to Malcolm’s like a moth to a flame, her voice trembling in uncertainty.

She was not as terrible as she claimed, not a singer’s voice sure, but Malcolm found he could listen to her all night. He watched the rosy glow of her cheeks as her eyelashes fluttered, looking so uncertain and vulnerable.

“Like a river flows

Gently to the sea

Surely how it goes

Some things were meant to be.”

Malcolm hoped that was what she was telling him, and his gaze turned so intense she could not bear the scrutiny, her voice shaky and faltering but she finished the song to the end. Malcolm and Mara then burst into applause as Leandra shyly tucked hair behind her ear.

She glared at Mara but there was no anger in her voice. “Traitor.”

Mara shook her head in laughter as she took her seat beside Gamlen.

Leandra sauntered up to Malcolm, closer than ever. He could feel the warmth of her body and smell the alcohol on her breath. She playfully grabbed his arm and brought him to the stage and pushed a microphone in his hand. “Ok, now it’s your turn. Better make it good.”

Malcolm was nervous, but the way she was smiling at him he couldn’t help but smile back. “I aim to please, my lady.”

“Well, then do it,” she commanded cheekily. “Please me.”

Malcolm’s eyes darkened at this challenge. Her cheeks were so rosy he had to resist cupping them, her smile brilliant as she sat captively in attention. He felt shaky with nerves, his stomach doing that warm flutter. He plugged in the song, a soft drumbeat pulsed through the speakers as he gazed in her eyes, feeling like there was no one else in the room. His heart sped up, aching to have her. His honeyed voice crooned through the speakers, begging her to accept him.

“I wish we were both someone else

So you wouldn’t be somebody else’s

I don’t want to lie here by myself

Ain’t afraid to say I’m selfish.”

“Don’t wanna lie to you, Don’t wanna promise something

Knowin’ I can’t come through, toast over this discussion

More of ignoring the rules, too close and then we’re touching

Now we’re both confused.”

Leandra found herself rising to her feet, her heart feeling the same ache in the lyrics. His hand seemed to beckon her to him as he looked at her with a yearning that made her feel alive.

“Something in the way you smell

Something in the way touch me

Maybe it’s the way you wrap your arms around me

Makes me wanna lay you down, Tell you all the things we could be

Tell me that you need me now, even though it’s not allowed.”

Leandra couldn’t help herself if she wanted to. Malcolm’s honest words crooning at her had her grabbing his tie before he could reach the chorus again and she answered him with a hungry kiss. He tasted strawberries and alcohol and her taste coated his tongue until he was lapping it up greedy for every drop of her. Hungry. That was the only way that could be described when their lips met. His hands snaked up her back untangling her braid loose as she held him captive by his tie, pulling him closer by his curls as they devoured each other, the beat still pulsing in the background. They stumbled, trying to find steadiness as their mouths refused to part, tripping into the table and almost knocking each other over.

Mara hooted encouragingly at the kiss and she tried to get Gamlen to join her in a cheer but he looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at his sister. When Malcolm had backed her into a wall and it was clear that they wouldn’t stop, Gamlen finally snapped and said, “Leandra!”

Malcolm pulled away, surprised by Gamlen’s shout but she held onto his tie and stuck out her tongue like she was five. “Grow up, Gamlen. I’ve watched you and Mara dry hump since tenth grade.”

Malcolm barked out a laugh, lipstick smeared across his lips. Then Leandra pulled him in for another sweet kiss. “Sing me another,” she asked against his lips.

The night seemed to go much better, the laughs easier, and after Malcolm sang a few more songs they went back to rotating. Gamlen mostly sulked throughout the night, giving a tight-lipped glare as Malcolm and Leandra shared kiss after kiss, feeling bolder and handsier, but other than some huffs he didn’t do much more to ruin the night.

Before they knew it Carver crept through the door, his face amused at the state of Malcolm’s lipstick smeared face as he and Leandra were cuddling in the corner sharing a drunken snooze, Leandra cradled on Malcolm’s chest.

Gamlen sat in the corner, tight-lipped, the same scowl he carried all night plastered on his face.

“So you all had a good time,”

Leandra and Malcolm stirred, both yawning and blinking.

Mara saluted drunkenly from the couch, in a fit of giggles. “Yes, Officer. Mission succeeded.” He had interrupted her from eating Gamlen’s apology chocolates, a pile of used wrappers piled on the table among the many, many drained glasses.

“Very good,” Carver had a satisfied smile on his face. “I’ll need to take you back to Hightown now if Malcolm’s going to make it back by First Bell.”

“Nope,” Leandra shook her head with a yawn, her words a little slurred. “Nope. No, my parents will kill me if they see me like this. Take me to Mara’s.”

Mara yawned and covered her mouth. “Good idea. You have the day off so we can just sleep.”

Leandra jerked, suddenly realizing, “Oh, no! I have a Cleansing today!”

Mara cocked her head. “What time? Maybe we can grab a nap?”

Leandra chewed her lip picking herself up from Malcolm’s hold so she could look through her bag for her phone.

It was full of texts from her Mother and Father. She scrolled through the lectures and threats to find that her Cleansing was early and not only that but the Du Lancets would be participating and the Guillaume would be at her side tomorrow. And then the bubble popped.

“Oh, how am I going to presentable by 10 am?” Leandra’s voice was filled with panic.

“Don’t worry, I’m on the case,” Mara patted her chest confidently. “As long as I can pass out as soon as I’m done.”

“You’d have earned it and your raise,” Leandra pulled herself upright and wobbled in her heels.

“Easy there,” Malcolm automatically moved to steady her and she placed her hand on his chest as she willed the room to stop spinning. He sat her back down allowing her to lean on him.

“Something greasy will work wonders,” Carver said helpfully.

“I’ll whip up a bacon breakfast when we get home,” Mara yawned. “And lots of coffee.”

As Mara stretched she looked at the templar with renewed interest, the man seeming more like a statue to her than a person and she eyed him from head to toe. “Not going to sing at least one?” she said in a sing-song voice, her cat eyes gleaming with mischief. “Malcolm tells us you have quite the voice.”

Carver smiled, chuckling. “We don’t really have time.”

Malcolm was looking for any reason to make the night last just a little longer. “Oh, c’mon just one. For old time’s sake?”

Leandra blinked her doe eyes, batting them like a weapon. “Oh, please,” her words crashed together clumsily. “You’ve been alone all night, Ser Carver. I’d love to hear you sing.”

“I’m tired,” Gamlen snapped. “Let’s go.”

Maybe it was the fact that the other three were pleading, their drunken stupor making the consequences of the night still seem far away. Or maybe Carver wanted to have one more opportunity to get under Gamlen’s skin, but he smiled wider than he did all night, fully coming into the room and headed for the stage, crooking a motion to Malcolm to follow him. “I’m only singing if you join me, Hawke.”

Malcolm pushed himself off the couch eagerly. “Deal,” he said grabbing one of the extra mics from the stand as Mara and Leandra cheered, no more alcohol to toast with but they still raised their hands up in the motion.

Carver plugged in the song and a high energy guitar riff started streaming. Malcolm grinned as he recognized it. Carver’s energy seemed to change, his stiff shoulders relaxing as his warm coffee eyes gleamed at Malcolm, still remembering how Charlie was there the last time they sang this. He raised the mic, a raspy baritone ringing clear and beautiful like a deep bell, belting the lyrics with confidence.

“She’s got a smile that seems to me

Reminds me of childhood memories

Where everything was as fresh

As the clear blue sky.”

His eyes flicked to Mara, his hands cradling the mic as the beat rocked. Their eyes met in a strange crackling energy that Gamlen didn’t seem to notice cause he was too busy sulking. Carver watched as her slow gaze inspected him in curiosity, following the lines of his armor.

“Now and then when I see her face

It takes me to that special place

And if I stared too long,

I’d probably break down and cry.”

Malcolm joined him for the chorus, harmonizing with him so beautifully that it brought goosebumps to the ladies skin.

“Whooooa, Sweet child of mine,

Whooooa, Sweet love of mine.”

Then Malcolm’s honeyed voice took over, his eyes meeting Leandra as he sang with a smile, his face smeared with Leandra’s kisses, light and life in every bounce of his step.

“She’s got eyes like the starriest skies

As if they thought of rain

I’d hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain.”

Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I’d hide

And pray for the thunder and rain

To quietly pass me by.”

Carver joined him again for the chorus, his soothing deep voice weaving around his melody as they repeated, their gazes meeting in boyish mischief.

Then soon the guitar break came and both Carver and Malcolm went into ridiculous scatting, mimicking the riffs as they pretended to play invisible guitars. When the lyrics came back they echoed against each other, the melody getting more complicated as they each broke into their own renditions, bouncing and dancing on the stage as they pushed each other, a couple of boys roughhousing. Leandra and Mara couldn’t stop laughing at their silliness, the song stretching on and on never seemed to end until Carver and Malcolm kept singing back to the other.

“Where do we go?

Where do we go now?”

It was the question in Malcolm’s mind. His eyes stayed drawn to Leandra, asking her.

Then the song wrapped up with the same high energy and Leandra and Mara rose to their feet cheering drunkenly.

“Bravo!”

“Bellissimo!”

“Encore!”

Gamlen’s scowl looked like it had been carved into his face and would stay there forever. He glared at the two men as they made exaggerated bows at the ladies’ applause.

“Now can we go?” Gamlen snarled.

Carver’s proper demeanor was back in place as he put away the microphone with care. “Yes, I believe that is best.”

"Wait, wait, wait," Leandra reached through her bag for her phone and turned it back on. Ignoring the new messages, she then went to her camera. "We need to commemorate the night."

Malcolm and Carver looked at each other.

"I'm not sure we should be leaving more evidence," Carver's voice said nervously.

Leandra blinked her eyes pleading. "Please, it won't leave my phone. I just need something to remember the night was real."

That was all the convincing Malcolm needed. He grabbed Leandra's waist pulling her in for a pose. She blushed and snuggled in closer, holding out the phone, their faces framing the screen.

Carver looked like he wanted to protest more but Mara grabbed his arm. "C'mon Officer, loosen up." He seemed flustered as the small woman led him. "It's just a selfie." She then motioned Gamlen to join her. "You too, Grumpmeister."

Gamlen looked irritated to see Mara casually touching Carver's arm and so stormed up and claimed her with a possessive grab on her hip and yanked her to him.

Mara seemed annoyed, but said nothing as they all huddled in close for the camera so their faces could fit.

It flashed, and they all blinked, temporarily blind.

"Sorry," Leandra said as they all peered at the picture.

Carver was caught in the middle between Mara and Leandra looking out of place in his armor, his face grim like a statue. Mara leaned on Gamlen but her face was closer to Carver, smiling a model's smile as she posed expertly. Gamlen's face was cut off slightly, his ugly glare caught as he stared at Malcolm and Leandra pressing cheeks, her lipstick had left a clear trail of where she claimed him and they shared the same ecstatic smile.

Malcolm wanted something to remember the night, too. He grabbed Leandra's phone and texted himself the picture. He handed the phone back. "Now you have my number."

She gazed at her phone blushing as she realized he inserted himself as "Dream Guy."

They left the club, the sky still dark among the high buildings, but there were still signs of the bus moving for the early commute. Carver drove them to Mara’s place in Midtown which bordered the edge of Lowtown and Hightown, a cut of suburbs that were newer and had a cookie cutter like appearance. There was already a car in the driveway, a nice but older SUV that had been handled with care. The streets were dark except for the street lights that marked the houses in neat little rows, flowering shrubs and gardens filled with knick knacks differentiating them.

Malcolm got out of the car and helped Leandra out, their hands not unlinking as she stepped out.

Mara pushed out of the templar car still yawning, Gamlen following quickly behind. “You can go to my room, but don’t be loud and wake Lolo.”

Gamlen nodded, keeping close to Mara as she dug through her purse for her keys. He cast a glare in Malcolm’s direction when he noticed he was holding his sister’s hand but he kept to his apology and said nothing, following Mara into her house.

Leandra and Malcolm’s stroll was a languid shuffle as if they slowed down the moment it wouldn’t end. Still Mara’s porch approached and it did.

“When can I see you again?” she asked shyly as she squeezed his hand harder instead of letting go.

Malcolm’s heart fluttered, his voice eager. “I’ll break out as soon as I’m able.”

Leandra seemed conflicted about that. She placed her hand over his heart, lines of worry streaking her face. “Don’t get in trouble on my account.”

Malcolm grinned cheekily as he leaned into her face. “I am trouble.”

He captured her lips in a hungry kiss, not knowing when he’d be able to taste her next. Their lips moved unhurried and slow, their fingers exploring over their clothing under the arch of the porch. One minute passed, then two. It seemed there was not enough time in the world to memorize each other, and they were soon interrupted by Carver’s loud but abrupt honk.

Malcolm grinned against her mouth. “See you soon,” he promised and he dashed off and hopped into the front seat of Carver’s car.

Leandra didn’t go inside until the vehicle pulled away from the driveway and disappeared down the street.

#my writing #leandra x malcolm #hawke #da fanfic #da2 #wrote this instead of sleeping #did I post the reworked chapter 5?#idk

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miraithislife · 5 years ago

Text

Miraith Part 3 <3 (little long oop)

“Did you...ever have a family...?” She asked in a soft, curious voice. Wraith had been nestled warmly by the fireplace in Mirage’s private condo. It was filled with pictures, collectibles, and posters of him, of course, along with all of his trophies and medals from the Games, fan mail, fan art, comics, and practically anything else related to him.

“My family?” Mirage repeated in surprise, not really expecting her to ask that of him. He was in the kitchen, making them both some warm mugs of hot chocolate to treat the increasingly bitter cold from which they’d just sought refuge. “Well, yea. I have a family. I’m the youngest of four. Four boys. Had to screw around to get attention, you know.”

Wraith scoffed, “Bet that wasn’t hard for you to do.” She brought the blanket (with a full length Mirage printed onto it) more snugly around her shoulders, having replaced Mirage’s coat, which was hung neatly in the closet by the front door.

Mirage grinned, “Nope.” He laughed. “We were definitely a handful for our parents.”

Wraith bit her lip embarrassedly and looked to the crackling flames when realizing she had no idea what those were. She knew everyone had them, she’d heard the term before. Something about it was vaguely familiar. She wanted to ask, but the words stopped in her throat. Would she sound weird for asking such a ridiculous thing?

What would he think of her if she did?

What if he thought she was joking?

What would he think when realizing she was being serious?

A pit grew in Wraith’s stomach as her anxieties grew, and she began to get a headache from overthinking.

It’s Mirage. He’ll understand. She self-consoled.

Wraith took a breath and asked (after conjuring up the bravery) in a voice soft as silk, “What are parents?”

Mirage looked over at her. The look in her eyes told him she was being genuine and serious. “Uh,” he began, not wanting his surprise or delay in response to come off judgemental or make her feel bad. “Well...parents are the people who take care of you. Claim you as your own, cause, uh. They gave birth to you? Well no your mom does that part...the dad just--ahem.” He shrugged. “Yea they take care of and love you, basically. Raise ya. All that fun stuff.” He picked out two mugs from the cupboard.

Well, that wasn’t so bad. She thought.

Did she ever have parents...? She wondered.

“You have parents?” She asked.

“Well, yea.” Mirage replied, setting them on the countertop and closing the cupboard. “Everyone has parents, right?”

Wraith solemnly averted her gaze to her hands, saying quietly. “Right.”

Mirage winced. “I’m sorry...I didn’t mean--”

“It’s alright.” She said, rather shortly.

Mirage rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “I mean, not everyone has parents.” He said in an attempt to make it better. He shrugged and said in a tone to play it off, “Besides, it’s not like having parents make you cool or anything.” He removed the pitcher from the stove once the water’d heated to the perfect temperature.

“At least not mine, heh. I mean, what kind of parents tell you you were an accident baby and try to sell you online?” He began pouring the water into each of the mugs, “OnLINE.” He stressed. “And for FREE?” He passionately continued, still holding the steaming pitcher, waving it along with his animated hand gestures and story retelling. Wraith raised the blanket to her mouth, she couldn’t help but softly giggle at his increasing annoyance as he recalled the memory.

Mirage was too enraged to notice her adorable little laugh. “I mean, hell. Like okay, I was an accident and you wanna sell me, but for free?” He gestured to himself. “I mean, look at me, I’m amazing! I’m handsome, I’m smart, I’ve got fans--I’ve gotta be worth a nice rack of pork chops at the very least. And I was the cutest little thing, too.” Mirage set the pitcher down, crossing his arms and leaning against the refrigerator. He shook his head, confused as to why he was so unwanted, “I had chubby cheeks...I had curls…”

“What were your parents like?” Wraith asked. “Aside from wanting to sell you, of course.”

“My mom was the sweetest woman you’d ever meet. Beautiful. Smart. Funny. She was great.” Mirage began, the selling incident instantly leaving his mind. He stood and resumed finishing the hot chocolate, adding the cocoa powder. “She was crazy smart. My mother was an engineer. She’d make things, design things, build things, break a few things.” He laughed. “That was always funny.” He laughed again. “She makes me, well, me.” He said, raising his arms to bask in his glory. “Mirage.”

He plopped a couple marshmallows into each of the mugs. Carefully, he carried the mugs to the living room and set them on the glass coffee table. He moved the gold and red accent pillows on his sleek dark gray couch to allow himself a seat next to Wraith. “She introduced me to illusion-creating tech. And...well, long story short I got obsessed and addicted, went to school and learned about mechanisms and doohickeys and whatchamacallits, and, well, yea, here I am.” He handed her her mug first.

“Then we made some pretty cool stuff together. My favorites were all the holo tech, I mean come on look at this baby.” He said proudly with a smug look on his face, gesturing to his outfit. “Worked at the bar for who knows how long, heard about the Games and wanted to join, sounded pretty fun. But I didn’t want to leave my mother alone, you know, since everyone else was gone.” His face fell.

“Until one day she came up to me after a long day of work and gave me a set of customized holo devices and told me to follow my dream.” He looked at her and smiled. “So, I did. And I promised to give her some money to help her get out of some long overdue debts and out of the slums and dirt we’d always lived in. I can finally say I’ve helped make her happy, now. I make sure she’s taken care of before going off to compete, cause you know, never know if that’s my last time seeing her.”

Wraith failed to suppress the warmth that washed over heart. “She sounds amazing.” She took the mug graciously. “Thank you.”

Mirage smiled, “Yea, she really is. Everything I do now in the Games is for her.”

Wraith couldn’t help but feel her heart warm her chest. She’d always seen Mirage as silly and rather self-centered, but it turned out, to her pleasant surprise, that there were things that truly mattered to him more than just women, fans, or having the spotlight on him. “She’s lucky to have such a great son like you. I’m sure you two have always been really close.”

Mirage blushed at her compliment, “Thank you.” He wrinkled his nose and shrugged, “Nah, not always. We didn’t really get along that well at first (which was entirely my fault), and we kinda just bonded after my three older brothers died in the Frontier War, so all she had was me by default.” He laughed wryly. “But honestly with the engineering thing, it helped make it work. Now I can’t imagine life without her.” He took a sip from his hot chocolate, only then realizing Wraith hadn’t.

“Don’t like hot chocolate?” He asked.

“Oh, no, that’s not it.” she replied. “I’ve just never had it.” Her eyes didn’t move from the chocolate tainted white blobs floating in her mug. “What are those?”

Mirage scoffed, “What are those? Only the best things ever!”

Wraith smiled, “What are they?”

“Marshmallows. Soft, squishy, sweet thingamajigs...I don’t really know what they are, but they make everything a million times better. Especially in hot chocolate.” Mirage replied. “Try it.”

Wraith looked at him, then back to her mug. Slowly, she curled her full, rounded lips, silently blowing away the steam that arose from the mug, watching it dissipate into the air. She closed her eyes and inhaled the heavenly, chocolatey aroma, exhaling a soft hum of content. Mirage, adorably, watched her place the mug’s rim to her mouth, but couldn’t keep his eyes off her beautifully shaped lips. Keeping her eyes closed, she took a sip. She sighed through her nose in content as the soothing warmth made its way down her throat and through her body, reveling in the cocoa’s richness and the marshmallow’s delicately sweet touch.

“Mmm.” She opened her eyes and met his. Her heart skipped a beat. The look in his eyes scared her. But...in a good way. There was no doubt he was in total awe and completely enamored of her existence. Mirage couldn’t hide anything from her even if he wanted to, and the throbbing in his chest that burned so fiercely out of love, longing, and desire began to grow to a point at which he couldn’t control or suppress for much longer.

Her heart raced.

There was so much she wanted to tell him.

So much he needed to know.

So much she wished she had the strength to tell him.

So much she wanted to share with him...in every way possible.

A blush touching her cheeks, she smiled warmly. “It’s delicious.”

Mirage beamed. “I’m glad you think so. And that looks good on you, by the way.”

Wraith slightly furrowed her brow, “What does?”

Mirage replied dreamily, “That smile.”

Wraith quickly averted her gaze as her blush deepened, she cleared her throat in attempt to change the subject, “What about your fath--”

Mirage’s mood changed quickly. “My dad was an absolute scumbag. Was never there. Hit and cheated on my mom. Abused and overworked us boys. Cursed us out. Destroyed the house. Kept us poor and put us down. Drank his life away and took his problems out on us. List goes on and on.” He said with a wave of his hand.

“Disappeared one day and never came back. Left us dirt poor and starving and took everything my mom owned to sell for money but you know, it was prolla-prabob-parlabol--” He threw his hands up in frustration. “WORDS.” He hastily stood up and made his way to the wall, punching it vehemently. He grabbed his wrist and gasped sharply in pain. He kicked the wall in frustration and sat on the side of his bed, facing the wall. “His leaving was the best thing that ever happened to us.” He ended in spite, fiddling with the straps on his glove.

Wraith didn’t know what to think.

She had never seen him like this before.

The saddened and angry little boy inside of him was waking up, and she knew that feeling all too well. To feel trapped. To have emotions suppressed and not worked through. To feel resentment and revenge. To want answers. To want to just know why.

Without a sound, she arose from the cushions and to his side, the bed bouncing a little as she sat. Mirage’s body swayed a little from the movement, his head hung low. Wraith reassuringly laid a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mirage. I know that must’ve been very hard for you...to not have someone there when you needed them most, let alone cause so much pain...and to not understand why.”

Her hand gently turned his face to hers, and the look on his face nearly broke her heart. His face fell, his head hung low, and his eyes were full of sorrow and pain. Angry tears pricked his eyes, and several had begun to make their way down his cheeks.

Wraith continued, gently cupping his face with her hands and using her thumbs to wipe away his tears, “To have things happen out of your control and suffer from it. Whether it’s you or loved ones. Then you question what you did wrong and what you should’ve done right, as if it’s your fault...taking on that burden.” She lifted his face so their eyes met, and with a gentle motion, she brushed his hair from his face and behind his ear, then caressing his cheek in the same manner he had to her earlier. “But that doesn’t make you wrong in how you feel. Your emotions are valid. It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to be sad. It’s okay to feel hurt. It’s okay to be angry. Just don’t let them define or change who you are.” She smiled.

Mirage stared at her, speechless.

How did she know what to say? And how to say it? So elegantly and well put?

“That’s...exactly how I feel, Wraith.” Mirage said. He never doubted her past experiences, but the level to which they could relate was so touching it made his heart feel so much lighter. He now knew, finally, at 30 years old, that he wasn’t alone.

Wraith scoffed through a soft laugh. “Well, I know a thing or two about loss and pain.”

Mirage gently took her hands from his face and cherished them in his, pressing his lips to her knuckles several times, not breaking eye contact. “Well, you’re not alone anymore.”

#miraithislife #part3 #fanfic #mirageandwraith #miragexwraith #mirage #wraith #randomfluff #randomfluffs #love #cute #relationship #aww #miraith #fanfiction #apexlegends

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defeatedbyamerechild · 4 years ago

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Do you have an opinion on what kind of parents would the canonically childless villains be?

Ooooh yes!!! I have a few ideas! ^^

Archie: “Kid” Dad!

Archie would be that kind of dad that kids absolutely adore, but teenagers cringe at. He is the super friendly and funny dad who is always playing with the kids and making jokes and trying to be friends with their friends, which usually is very cool when the child is small but becomes a bit cringy later on. Archie is very childish in my headcanon, so he might face difficulties when watching his child grow up and become, well... more mature than him, most likely! XD He’d be a good dad, though. Very loving and understanding. Also, he’s pretty good at understanding people’s feelings, so after a few cringy moments with his kid, he’d understand what makes them embarrassed and what doesn’t, and he’d do his best to avoid it. At the same time he would be kinda cringy to his teenager, he would also be the first one to understand what the problem is as soon as something started bothering them. But he’s not the best dad at serious conversations, he’d rather leave those to Maxie, but give emotional support in every way he could.

Maxie: “Mom” Dad!

You know how there’s this “mother archetype” that the mom is more emotional, more responsible but also more soft. Gets angry a bit more easily, but also forgives more easily... Gets worried about their kids more often... You know the drill. We know not every mother is like that, of course, just like some dads are just like this. Maxie is one of them, My Maxie has many traits that might be described by old-fashioned people as “feminine” (not that it’s got anything to do with gender or biological sex, but you know how archetypes go). Also, Maxie loves cooking and does it very well, which also is present on the mother archetype. Maxie is overall more resposible than Archie, and a bit more strict, but not much. He is very understanding, but not that good at reading emotions, and sometimes lets his own fears and wrong impressions blur his understanding of how his child feels, making him over-think very often. He is also more desperate than Archie, because of his anxiety, so... He’ll be the first one to freak out once the teenager doesn’t show up before eleven like they said they would. Then it would be Archie who would assume the Responsible Role to calm him down and try to keep everything under control. Both would be good dads.

Cyrus: Righteous Dad!

Cyrus has had it rough as a child, and I definitely think he wouldn’t want to repeat his parents’ mistakes when raising his own kid. I feel like he would be rather strict, specially since he is very organized, literal and practical by nature, so he would have his rules and schedules that he would like his child to follow... But he would definitely be more understanding about them not following it than his parents were with him, and wouldn’t go for severe punishments, but for conversations instead. Also, I headcanon that the way children think is kinda fascinating to Cyrus, because he is such a literal person with such a practical mind... So I think his best quality as a dad would be that he LISTENS to children. Cyrus doesn’t see children as inferior or less complex, and he admires the way they interpret the world. He would listen and try to understand their logic. Explaining why something is a problem and coming up together with a solution would be his main strategy to deal with issues. If the problem persisted, he might resort to grounding, but grounding would always make sense, like “you didn’t clean your room, so you can’t go play now. You can go play after cleaning it, though.” instead of “You didn’t clean your room so you’re not getting that videogame you want” or another punishment that doesn’t have a logical connection between the problem and the consequence. However, Cyrus wouldn’t be the best with the emotional part, naturally. He has trouble expressing and reading feelings. That wouldn’t be a super huge problem because of how open for communication he would be, so his child could just go and say “you screwed up and I’m upset because of this” and he’d accept that argument and discuss it. Terrible at emotional advice, things might get complicated during teenagehood when emotional bursts showed up, because he’d go “I understand you are feeling like this because of hormones” and the teen would be like, crying his lungs off and yelling “SCREW HORMONES” and Cyrus would be like “what do I do”. Overall: one of the best dads for small kids, but would need help with teens.

Lysandre: Disaster Dad!

I just hope Lysandre never has a kid honestly.

I mean, seriously now. Lysandre in my comics would be a disaster, because he’s not... well... he is not psychologically and emotionally balanced. So I literally think he wouldn’t be able to raise a child, the kid would end up super spoiled and with zero boundaries regarding emotional expression. It would be that kid that thinks their feelings are more important than anyone elses, and every time they have a mild issue Lysandre would just go and say that “but my kid is right!” even if like... his kid had just punched another child out of the sudden. the kid would no know limits... At the same time, growing up with Lysandre would be confusing because on one second he is super happy and on the next one he’s crying, and the kid wouldn’t know what to expect from him... So yeah, teenagehood would get even harder than usual, they’d both spend half their lives crying and I honestly think there’s a huge chance the kid would run away from home eventually. Just a big nope. Horrible dad.

Outside of my comics, thinking about a more sane Lysandre... Hmm... I think he might be a decent dad. But I’m still pretty sure he would spoil the heck out of his kids. To be honest I don’t see Lysie being a father in my headcanons.

Guzma: Cool (disaster) Dad!

Guzma is the cool dad. The dad that acts very immature for his age, and that kids like, but teens LOVE. However, he’d be so irresponsible... I feel like Guzma would be that kind of dad who’s like “where the heck is that kid though?” like... his 5yo child just got out of their house and went away half an hour ago while he wasn’t looking and now he has no clue where the kid is. So yeah, that kid would grow up with a lot of friendly respect towards Guzma, but absolutely no sense of hierarchy. The kid would have lots of trouble in school and Guzma would barely care about that. He’d just go like “come on, kid, do your homework”, the kid wouldn’t do it and he’d be like “meh”. He would be more of a disaster with a small child, because the kid would definitely miss the sense of protection and guidance that having an adult around gives you at that age, and as I said, the kid might literally walk away and get lost... Also Guzma wouldn’t even cook for the kid, like... “dad I’m hungry” - “aw man, let’s see if we have some snacks”. If the kid survived his young years, then it would be better during teenagehood, I suppose. Guzma would give them lots of privacy, get along with their friends, be chill about their choices... But I can definitely see some emotional conflicts happening in the future because “you never even cared about me” or “I have always done everything on my own anyway!” or something similar, since the child might feel like Guzma did not give them the necessary amount of attention and protection when small. And man, if Guzma ever wanted that kid to do something, he would not be able to convince them at all. That kid would just straight up not obey him. Overall? Not the best dad, but might work with the right significant other to complement his flaws.

Rose: Confused Dad!

You know that dad who forgets what you told him yesterday? Who cannot remember your friends’ names? Who might literally pick the wrong stroller at the suppermarket and take the wrong baby home? That’s Rose. That aside, he is the standard dad, like... bad with cooking, tries his best with barbecues, but is not too great with it, wears tacky clothes, makes unfunny jokes, chills in the couch on sundays... Extreme dad energy, just a bit more chaotic because of his forgetful mind. He would be a good dad, I believe, but he would need someone to help him organize his thoughts. So like... “We’ll talk about this later” would easily become completely forgotten (like with Bede in my headcanon). Punishments are often confusing and disproportional (either too severe for what happened or too mild, because Rose does before he thinks), and he’d be the first one to forget about the grounding. So like “You didn’t clean your room? That’s it, you cannot go out with your friends for two months!”, but like... two days later his kid asks to go out and he’s like “Okay! come back before it gets dark!” because he already forgot. So he would need some other person like “Rose, two months just because of a room is too much...” and “Rose, you had grounded them, remember?” always helping him keep track of what’s going on. He would also be so easy to fool for a teen, like... “Don’t worry, he already forgot about that rule...” or “Relax, he won’t even notice his wallet is gone”. Still, for being a very nice guy to his kid all his life, I have a feeling that the child wouldn’t feel like fooling him so often, and would feel bad for disappointing him if they did. I feel like he would have many problems as a single dad, but would be OK with the right SO to help him. Still would be better than Guzma as a single dad, though. Kinda the same with kids or teens, an OK dad.

Piers: Overprotective Dad!

Piers would be the kind of dad that freaks out because their kid didn’t anwer their phone, but like... while their kid is in the front yeard, you know? Also the kind of dad that just wants to know what’s happening all the time, but at the same time doesn’t wanna be too annoying, like... He’d be like “I just... why didn’t they say anything when they arrived from school? Are they mad? Are they sick? Are they sad? Is someone hurting them? Why don’t they tell me? Do’t they trust me? Did I hurt them??” just because his kid didn’t say “hi” very loud today, but he would keep that to himself. He’d keep thinking about that, and talking about that to his friends, but not to the kid. He’d sometimes say something like “is there anything wrong?” but would try not to insist too much. If the kid ever did something wrong or if he found out they were hiding something, he would argue with them and show them that he’s disappointed, but as soon as they left to their room he would collapse like “I’m a horrible dad I’m a failure this is all my fault”. Not true, though, Piers is very responsible and loving, I’m pretty convinced he’d be an awesome dad, just a bit too overprotective. He would be constantly fighting between the urge to keep an eye on his child in order to protect them from any harm and the conscience that he needs to give their kid space and privacy. He’d probably be one of the best dads but think he’s the absolute worst. Still, Piers has some... issues with authority? So like, if his kid did something wrong and got in trouble, he’d be chill. He’d acknowledge the problem and talk to his kid... BUT if his kid got in trouble for what he sees as an unfair reason... Man, Piers would kill to defend them, so yeah. He might argue with the school, the teachers, the other kids, the other parents, cause trouble and so on... He’s the kind of dad that might go and punch bullies himself then get in trouble for that. And he would not teach his kid that “sometimes we have to accept injustice because of hierarchy”, so yeah. Depending on the child, that might become a problem. Still, I think he’d be a good dad.

Yeah, I think that’s about it. I always write more when it comes to Cyrus, because he’s my favorite, but in the end I think I wrote a decent amount about everyone! XD

I think they’d all be decent or good dads, except for Guzma (that would only be good with the right SO) and Lysandre (that would just not work no matter who his SO was).

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