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underground-secret · 10 months ago

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The Hunter and the Witch~ Dean

Winchester x f!reader

Description: Sam is haunted by a vision of a woman trapped in his childhood house

Warning: cannon violence, tension/ minor flirting, slight angst and comfort, mentions of death, mentions of a dead parent, the use of witchcraft that isn't exactly apart of Supernatural lore but does have ties to many folklore's interpretations of a witches capability from European Folklore to Appalachian Folk Magic and many more (i used a mix of different lore to create my own interpretation) this took so long to research, l also was testing things out in my apartment so i'd be able to write it properly- literally rearranging furniture for it

Tag list: @jesllianaquilesrolonsworld ,

@okayiamkassandra, @fablerose , @ada--44

Word Count: 12,947

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(Master list, Previous Ch., Next Ch.)

I stumble into the boys motel room, stifling a yawn from passing through my lips. Did I wake up two hours ago and refuse to get out of the stiff motel bed instead of coming to meet my lovely friends in their room?

Yes!

“Good morning my little stabby hunters” I greet cheerfully, closing and locking the door behind me. Sam mumbles some incoherent version of a greeting from where he sat on his bed while Dean looks up from Sam’s laptop, “Mornin’ sweetheart”

I walk up to each boy individually giving their hair a nice ruffle before shuffling my way to sit criss-cross applesauce on the unoccupied bed. “You had perfect timing ‘cause I think I found a few candidates for our next gig.”

“Oooh how fun” I half sarcastically say, “read ‘em out!”

“Alright we got a fishing trawler found off the coast of Cali” I nod pretending to know what a ‘trawler’ is, “ –-its crew vanished. And, uh, we got some cattle mutilations in West Texas.” Dean lists out looking up every now and then for a reaction, “Hey. Sammy.” He calls out to his brother who’s sat drawing something on a little notepad.

Sam looks up, giving Dean an annoyed look waiting for what he has to say. Dean leans back in his chair, “Am I boring you with this hunting evil stuff?”

“No. I’m listening. Keep going.” Sam declares, going right back to his drawing. He was in fact not paying attention.

“And, here, a Sacramento man shot himself in the head. Three times.” He stops speaking again, waving his hand in the air intended to get his brother's attention, “Any of these things blowin’ up your skirt, pal?”

Sam suddenly sits up fully, “Wait. I’ve seen this.”

“Seen what?” I ask, Dean and I sharing a confused look. But Sam doesn't answer, he just crosses the room towards his duffel bag, searching for something. “What are you doing?” Dean asks. Again Sam doesn't answer, finally finding whatever he was looking for he pauses studying the two things in his hands, he swiftly turns around “I know where we have to go next.”

“Where?” Dean muses, asking the question were both thinking.

“Back home –- back to Kansas” Sam breathes, a hint of panic in his eyes.

“Okay, random. Where’d that come from?”

Sam shows the thing he took out of his bag, a photo, to his brother, I get up to view it too. “All right, um, this photo was taken in front of our old house, right? The house where Mom died?” Sam asks, looking between the sort of family photo taken in front of their house and his brother.

“Yeah.” Dean answers plainly.

“And it didn’t burn down, right? I mean, not completely, they rebuilt it, right?” Sam asks further.

“Yeah it took ‘em a while to, I think it was mostly out of respect because no one ever moved in after you either, as far as I know.” I answer only knowing because I lived in town even after they moved away.

“Okay, well, someone lives there now…and, I, uh, look, this is gonna sound crazy but….the people who live in our old house –- I think they might be in danger.” Sam stammers

“Why would you think that?” Dean asks the obvious question. “Uh…it’s just, um….look, just trust me on this, okay?” He starts to walk away to the other side of the room, Dean following suit, “Wait, whoa, whoa, trust you?”

The fighting begins, I think to myself as I chew on the inside of my cheek. I knew Dean would probably act harsher then he meant to, his mom—his old house being a very rough topic for him.

Now it’s Sam’s turn to answer simply, “Yeah.”

“Come on, man, that’s weak. You gotta give me a little bit more than that.” Dean raises his voice slightly.

“I can’t really explain it is all” Sam says looking around the room instead of making eye contact.

“Well, tough. I’m not goin’ anywhere until you do” Dean crosses his arms waiting expectantly.

Sam sighs, “I have these nightmares.”

“I’ve noticed” Dean says while nodding and I want to step in and lecture him for coming off so mean, but I bite my tongue.

“And sometimes…” Sam pauses for a while before continuing, “…they come true.” This time I don’t bite my tongue, the word slipping out of my lips out of pure shock, “Sam” I gasp. “Come again?” Dean says almost at the same time as my gasp.

“Look….I dreamt about Jessica’s death –- for days before it happened.” Sam tries to explain further, nearly getting cut off by his brother, “Sam, people have weird dreams, man. I’m sure it’s just a coincidence.” I know Dean doesn't want to believe it, I know he’s scared of what this could mean. But I can’t help but feel this is like the argument Dean had started on my twelfth birthday, all those years ago. It felt especially silly to feel this way now, not when I never held a grudge against him because of it. Maybe I should have but I could never find it within myself to do so.

Dean sits down on one of the beds and it’s clear he doesn't know what to do with himself. Sam begins to explain himself more, which I hate the fact he has to, “No, I dreamt about the blood dripping, her on the ceiling, the fire, everything, and I didn’t do anything about it ‘cause I didn’t believe it. And now I’m dreaming about that tree, about our house, and about some woman inside screaming for help. I mean, that’s where it all started, man, this has to mean something, right?”

“I don’t know.” Dean huffs out. It’s clear he’s overwhelmed, which is a significantly better reaction than what I got to his whole realization of what I really was—a witch—despite the fact he already knew that. I want to respect their relationship and not speak when it’s not my right to, and yet if it comes down to it I know I will. I won’t let their relationship fall apart because of this, I won’t let a hatred form between them. Let alone like how Dean had hated me for months and I had hated myself too.

“I-it can mean something. There's a lot of cultures that believe that dreams are capable of showing the future as a guidance or even as a warning. Egyptians, Romans, and Greeks, they all believed in this; it's,um, called oneiromancy.” I pipe in quietly as if scared that saying it too loud would shatter the delicate atmosphere. Sam was looking at me with big eyes like he was hanging on to each word I spoke, nodding along.

“All right, just slow down, would ya?” Dean stands abruptly beginning to pace the carpeted floor, “I mean, first you tell me that you’ve got the Shining? And then you tell me that I’ve gotta go back home? Especially when….”

“When what?” Sam asks carefully.

Dean sounds on the verge of tears, probably the most vulnerable he’s been in a long time, “When I swore to myself that I would never go back there?” The air, the atmosphere itself, felt fragile then too as if something so palpable had to be careful of where it stood

Sam begins softly, his eyes scrunched in a mix of worry and sympathy, “Look, Dean, we have to check this out. Just to make sure.”

“I know we do.” Dean nods, his head hung low.

The Impala pulls up in front of the old Winchester house, the cute little two story green house standing there simply. I can’t help but wonder if in a hundred years these people who lived in Lawrence would know what happened here? The family that was lost here? Maybe not physically but you can trace everything back to this simple house, where these boys lost a piece of themselves no matter how young they were. You can still feel it in the air now, in this car with Dean's head hung low as he peers up at his old house, the only and last house he’s ever had.

“You gonna be all right, man?” Sam asks, trying to catch his brother's eyes. Dean swallow’s thickly, “Let me get back to you on that.” We exit the safety of the car and with each step forward the weight of this settles on our shoulders, the realness of this all. I know this isn’t about me, but if I let my mind stop focusing on the task at hand I know that it will wisp away to my old house. Just on the other side of town, to every moment I spent wandering the streets with no where particular in mind-

A sharp knocking on the front door snaps me out of my mind. A pretty blonde opens the door, her eyebrows scrunched in what seems like stress, “Yes?” she answers.

“Sorry to bother you, ma’am, but we’re with the Federal—“ Dean begins his lie getting cut off by his brother, “I’m Sam Winchester, this is my brother, Dean, and our friend Y/N. My brother and I, uh, we used to live here. You know, we were just drivin’ by, and we were wondering if we could come see the old place.”

“Winchester. Yeah, that’s so funny. You know, I think I found some of your photos the other night.” She laughs lightly. Dean's face drops a little, a mix of curiosity and longing on his face that if I hadn’t seen it before, hadn’t known him so well I wouldn’t have recognized it. “You did?” he asks, and I'd have to think it was a look of longing for his life back then, before he lost his mom, to a life that was so simple and child-like because that might have been the only time he really was a child.

She nods and steps aside, “Come on in.” The inside of the house wasn’t so much different from what I’ve been told about it, she shuts and locks the door behind us and we wait for her to lead us further in before moving. “I’m Jenny by the way” she says moving past us. She leads us into the big kitchen, a young girl doing homework at the table while an adorable jumpy toddler bounces in his little playpen, I can’t help the smile that creeps up on my face at the sight.

“Juice! Juice! Juice! Juice!” The toddler chants, bouncing as he speaks.

“That’s Ritchie. He’s kind of a juice junkie.” She introduces going over to the fridge, taking out a sippy cup and handing it to the bouncy baby. “He has good taste” I laugh, the kid being just so freaking adorable.

Jenny walks over to her daughter, “Sari, this is Sam and Dean, they used to live here. And that’s their friend Y/n.” I smile at the girl who greets us with a small “Hi.” Dean for some reason waved awkwardly at the child, as if he doesn't know how to act around kids when that’s so far from the truth.

“Hey, Sari.” Sam smiles before allowing her to get back to her homework.

“So, you just moved in?” Dean asks, jumping right to it. “Yeah, from Wichita.” Jenny answers, referring to a different part of Kansas.

“You got family here, or….?” Dean continues to ask, and honestly it’s kind of a creepy question. She answers a little hesitantly, “No. I just, uh….needed a fresh start, that’s all. So, new town, new job –- I mean, as soon as I find one. New house.”

“Do you like it here?” I ask genuinely. “Well, uh, all due respect to your childhood home” She starts looking at the boys as she speaks, “…I mean, I’m sure you had lots of happy memories here…but this place has its issues.”

“What do you mean?” Sam asks almost a little too quickly.

Jenny sighs, “Well, it’s just getting old. Like the wiring, you know? We’ve got flickering lights almost hourly.”

“I think that’s an easy fix” I try to remain hopeful, it’s not like we can just tell her ‘oh yeah that’s ‘cause your house is probably haunted by a demon or something.’ And under the assumption that it was just faulty wiring, I really wasn’t sure if it was an easy fix. I mean I am no electrician.

“Anything else?” Dean adds in.

“Um…sink’s backed up, there’s rats in the basement.” She lists off before pausing for a beat, looking between us nervously, “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to complain.” Dean looks a little taken back by this concern, because what was written on his face was far from offense, “No. Have you seen the rats or have you just heard scratching?”

“It’s just the scratching, actually.” She answers.

“Mom?” Sari calls out lightly, Jenny kneels down to her daughter waiting for her to continue, “Ask them if it was here when they lived here.”

“What, Sari?” Sam asks, confused.

“The thing in my closet.” She answers weakly, and I swear my heart broke a little at the way in which she said it.

“Oh, no, baby, there was nothing in their closets.” Jenny answers softly, reminding me of my mothers soft tone when she spoke to us. Jenny looks up at the boys, “Right?”

Sam stumbles over his words as he answers, “Right. No, no, of course not.”

“She had a nightmare the other night.” Jenny explains, a hand on her daughter's shoulder.

Sari shakes her head, “I wasn’t dreaming. It came into my bedroom –- and it was on fire.”

Uh oh.

~~~~~~~~

“You hear that? A figure on fire.” Sam whisper-shouts, mainly to his brother who was walking a little too quickly then necessary to his car. The man in question turns around swiftly, “And that woman, Jenny, that was the woman in your dreams?”

“Yeah. And you hear what she was talking about? Scratching, flickering lights, both signs of a malevolent spirit.” Sam bites back.

“Yeah, well, I’m just freaked out that your weirdo visions are comin’ true.” Dean snaps.

Sam’s eyes were wide with panic, “Well, forget about that for a minute. The thing in the house, do you think it’s the thing that killed Mom and Jessica?”

“I don’t know!” Dean snaps.

Back and forth they fight like two dogs having a barking match from just over the fence. “Well, I mean, has it come back or has it been here the whole time?” Sam starts again.

“Or maybe it’s something else entirely, Sam, we don’t know yet.”

“Well, those people are in danger, Dean. We have to get ‘em out of that house.”

“And we will.”

“No, I mean now.”

“And how you gonna do that, huh? You got a story that she’s gonna believe?”

“Then what are we supposed to do?”

“Both of you, stop!” I nearly shout, both boys going quiet, “Look” I sigh. “I get this is scary and all but you two bickering isn’t going to get us anywhere! And if we want to help that nice family we have to think logically. We don’t know what we’re dealing with, maybe it’s something else or maybe we have to prepare ourselves for the fact that it is that monster.

Either way we can’t just run into this with assumptions or lead on feeling alone, okay? ‘Cause that’s how we mess up and wind up dead and I don’t know ‘bout you boys but i’m not quite craving the taste of death just yet.” I take a deep breath before continuing, “So, let’s pretend this is any ol’ case, any other hunt. What do we do first?”

“Research” Dean mumbles as if he was a kid who got caught doing something wrong, which arguably isn’t so far from the truth.

“Check our bases, dig into the history” Sam adds.

“Exactly” I smile, “Good job”

Dean opens the driver seat door, getting in as he speaks, “Except this time, we already know what happened.”

Sam and I followed suit, “Yeah, but how much do we know? I mean, how much do you actually remember?” he asks. Dean looks around a little uncomfortable, “About that night, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

“Not much. I remember the fire…the heat.” He pauses, “And then I carried you out the front door.”

“You did?” Sam asks surprised.

Dean scuffs, starting the car and pulling out of the spot, “Yeah, what, you never knew that?”

Sam shakes his head, “No.”

Dean continues, “And, well, you know Dad’s story as well as I do. Mom was….was on the ceiling. And whatever put her there was long gone by the time Dad found her.”

“And he never had a theory about what did it?” Sam questions further, and up until now I didn’t realize how much he was kept in the dark about such a significant moment in his life.

Dean shrugs, “If he did, he kept it to himself. God knows we asked him enough times.” Sam starts again, “Okay. So, if we’re gonna figure out what’s goin’ on now…we have to figure out what happened back then. And see if it’s the same thing.”

Dean again looks around uncomfortably, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel, “Yeah. We’ll talk to Dad’s friends, neighbors, people who were there at the time.”

Sam notices this obvious movement like I did and pauses for a moment, you could see the gears turning in his head, “Does this feel like just another job to you?” Dean clears his throat, suddenly jerking the car off to the left side of the road right up to the curb, the car poorly parked, “I’ll be right back. I gotta go to the bathroom.” The second he finishes his sentence he’s out of the car and walking away into some local business that I couldn’t quite see the name of.

“I- I don’t understand him” Sam suddenly says as he watches his brother leave, turning in the passenger seat to talk to me properly, “It would be so much easier if he just…” He sighs, “talked to me.”

“I… don’t want to excuse his actions because you are right, but at the same time you know he was never taught how to be vulnerable.” I try to explain, carefully choosing my words knowing there were eggshells surrounding our feet. He then mumbles something incoherently about their childhood, he looks back up at me, “you know, you don’t really talk about your childhood either.”

“Maybe it’s just something about Kansas” I joke, he laughs lowly, “But I ,uh, I would like to tell you about it…someday…” I offer shyly, trying to offer him something in a moment where he has nothing

“I’d like that, at least I could get closer to one of you” Sam smiles, sadly.

“Hey and maybe it will open the door to encourage Dean to speak up” I say.

“Yeah you know that’s not gonna happen” He scuffs.

“Well, I was trying to be a little optimistic.”

When Dean came back to the car he was dead quiet, his eyes were glossy but he refused to talk. It wasn’t uncommon for him, not one bit.

Sitting in the back of the Impala, I watched the buildings and trees pass by. All blocks I was familiar with even if it was far from where I had actually lived, but when you're lonely you tend to find walking for an eternity isn’t so bad. Funnily enough, sitting in the back of this car felt eerily similar to when I was a child, my dad as quiet as an owl, a then changed man having lost his world. Only, he had forgotten my brother and I had lost her too, and that we were still around to begin with.

Dean stared at the road like my dad had all those years ago, so deeply as if they were to look away it would disappear right beneath them. Then Sam sat in the passenger seat looking between his brother and out the window not knowing what to say, like my brother always did. And I of course still played the same role because some things never change, some feelings never do fully leave.

Dean suddenly clears his throat, “Alright, up ahead is an old pal of dads.” Just as suddenly as he said it, he also hadn’t given us time to say anything before pulling over once more, this time in front of a mechanic's place. A sign reading “Guenther’s Auto Repair” in big red letters hung above a large garage unit. The smell of metal and grease breeze by my nose as I exit the car, following after the two taller men with what I thought was a forgotten sadness now back. I can’t imagine how they must feel, how Dean must feel.

They effortlessly found and began a discussion with the owner, easily lying about being cops which felt especially wrong today. It felt wrong to lie to anyone from the town I pretty much grew up in, even if I never knew any of them.

“So you and John Winchester, you used to own this garage together?” Dean asks the older man. I knew their father was a mechanic but hadn’t known he had his own garage and partner.

“Yeah, we used to, a long time ago. Matter of fact, it must be, uh…twenty years since John disappeared. So why the cops interested all of a sudden?” He says, whipping his dirty hands on a rag stained with car grease.

“Oh, we’re re-opening some of our unsolved cases, and the Winchester disappearance is one of ‘em.” Dean answers smoothly, and I guess it isn’t technically a lie either. He accepts the answer with no further, visible, speculation, “Oh, well, what do you wanna know about John?”

“Well, whatever you remember, you know, whatever sticks out in your mind.” Dean suggests.

“Well…he was a stubborn bastard, I remember that.” He laughs. “And, uh, whatever the game, he hated to lose, you know? It’s that whole Marine thing. But, oh, he sure loved Mary. And he doted on those kids.” To that I have to stop myself from reacting, for some reason I can’t picture John being anything less of what he is now, in terms of strictness and toughness.

“But that was before the fire?” Sam points out.

He nods, “That’s right.”

“He ever talk about that night?” Sam adds. He seems to think for a moment, “No, not at first. I think he was in shock.”

“Right. But eventually? What did he say about it?” Sam clarifies.

“Oh, he wasn’t thinkin’ straight. He said somethin’ caused that fire and killed Mary.”

“He ever say what did it?” Dean asks this time.

“Nothin’ did it. It was an accident –- an electrical short in the ceiling or walls or somethin’. I begged him to get some help, but….” He explains.

“But what?”

“Oh, he just got worse and worse.” He answered, sympathy written all over his face.

“How?” Dean asks carefully.

“He started readin’ these strange ol’ books. He started goin’ to see this palm reader in town.” He says, suddenly catching my attention, an air of familiarity surrounding it.

“Palm reader? Uh, do you have a name?” Dean questions. I scrunch my eyebrows together trying to remember why this was familiar.

He responds at the same time it suddenly hits me, “No” he scuffs.

The name leaves my mouth in quiet thought, “Missouri Moseley.”

All three of them look at me strangely, before Dean grabs hold of my upper arm, throwing the man a smile and a “Excuse us.” He begins pulling me away from the garage and back to the car, his brother following after us after he had thanked the man.

“Where’d you get that name from?” Dean asks me sternly, looking down at me with sharp curious eyes, his grip on my arm never faulting.

I look up at him, his green eyes piercing mine, expectantly, but I find myself at a loss for words. Each syllable ready to be spoken but dying on my tongue, all in the fault of once more feeling like my younger self. Sam reaches for his brother's shoulder, almost pulling him away from me, “Ease up, Dean.” He shakes his brother off, but listens, releasing my arm and swallowing thickly, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to-“

“It’s okay” I cut him off quickly. I wasn’t scared of him at that moment, but of the past and I knew he was too. We all were.

“I remember your dad came over and mentioned that name, along with her being the real deal. I just don’t remember what the conversation was about, I mean it had to be years ago…” I feel my eyebrows scrunch together again as I try to recall more, glimpses of the memory popping up. Our dads sitting on the long vintage couches my mom had bought for the house while me and my brother ran outside to play, “It was at the original house, m-maybe a year before we moved to Kansas.”

“So three years after mom died” Sam nods.

“Yeah that seems about right, but I’m not sure if that encounter was like right after your dad met this Missouri or some time after.” I add

“It sounds familiar. '' Dean breathed out before rounding the car to the trunk, digging through it before pulling out the journal. “In Dad’s journal…here, look at this.” He flips it open, handing it off to his brother, “First page, first sentence, read that.”

Sam takes the book, reading the sentence out loud, “I went to Missouri and I learned the truth.”

“I always thought he meant the state.” Deans shrugs.

Missouri’s house was a cute little two story place. I admire the light brown wood paneling and stained glass windows, something I knew my mom would have loved. Dean and Sam sat squished together on a small couch, all of us waiting for her to be finished with her client. I choose to stand, not only to see them both quietly fight to sit on the couch but also to slightly look around the place without wandering around.

A round faced, warm brown skinned lady with big curly hair tied back in a ponytail escorts a man out of her house, “All right, there. Don’t you worry ‘bout a thing. Your wife is crazy about you.” She tells him, her voice a natural soft and sweet tone, accompanied with a southern accent.

She closes the front door behind him, turning to face us, “Whew. Poor bastard. His woman is cold-bangin’ the gardener.” Her sweet voice does nothing to soften her blunt statement, my eyes go wide with the comment.

“Why didn’t you tell him?” Dean asks her,

“People don’t come here for the truth. They come for good news.” She answers simply, causing the room to fall quiet for a beat, “Well? Y/n, Sam and Dean, come on already, I ain’t got all day.” She leaves the room, I follow after her only pausing when I realize the boys weren’t following. I turn back towards them waving them over, they share a look before getting up and following.

“Well, lemme look at ya.” She laughs, “Oh, you boys grew up handsome.” She points a finger at Dean, “And you were one goofy-lookin’ kid, too.” A burst of laughter slips through my lips before I can control myself, his face falls and he glares at her.

Her gaze turns to me, my laughter dying out but a permanent smile left on my face, “Oh, you never lost your beauty” She smiles.

“You knew me when I was younger?” I ask, confused.

“Well of course, I knew your mother. Bless her soul” She answers, only leaving me more confused ‘cause my mom never mentioned her and I would sure remember such a sweet and funny woman.

“We helped each other out back then”, she explains, “She would always show me pictures of you and your brother. You were always a smiley girl, it’s good to see you didn’t lose that. Your mother would be glad too.” A warmth blossoms in my heart at that, my smile softens with me and it was like something I didn’t even know was within was fulfilled. It was hard to find new memories of my mom when I really didn’t know anyone who had known her, other than our family, to ask. Missouri hadn’t given me a full in depth memory and yet, it was enough. Enough to know someone else clearly adored my mom and had seen her in the same light I did. I don’t know why my mom never told us about her, but for some reason I didn’t feel the need to ask.

She gives me one last smile before giving her attention to Sam, she grabs his hand, her face falling, “Oh, honey…I’m sorry about your girlfriend.” A wave of shock clearly passes over the boys face, “And your father –- he’s missin’?” she continued.

“How’d you know all that?” Sam asks, clearly forgetting she is a psychic.

“Well, you were just thinkin’ it just now.” She explains.

“Well, where is he? Is he okay?” Dean rapidly spews out.

She half shrugs, “I don’t know.”

“Don’t know? Well, you’re supposed to be a psychic, right?” He snaps back, far too hostile.

She gives him a weird look, “Boy, you see me sawin’ some bony tramp in half? You think I’m a magician? I may be able to read thoughts and sense energies in a room, but I can’t just pull facts out of thin air.” A laugh passes through my lips before I could stop myself, I nudge Dean's shoulder who glares sharply at me before turning that look to Missouri, only furthering my spits of giggles that I try to bite back.

Her demeanor changes back to gentle, “Sit, please.” We listen to her, I took a seat beside Sam so that I wasn’t squished between both boys. Missouri suddenly snaps at Dean, “Boy, you put your foot on my coffee table, I’m ‘a whack you with a spoon!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Dean argues, his voice seemingly an octave higher- like a child.

“But you were thinkin’ about it.” She answers.

“Oh, I like you” I say through my laughter, it was quite the breath of fresh air to see someone put gruff ‘macho man’ Dean in his place.

Sam gets back on topic, whipping the smile that formed on his face, “Okay. So, our dad –- when did you first meet him?”

“He came for a reading. A few days after the fire. I just told him what was really out there in the dark. I guess you could say…I drew back the curtains for him.” She responds.

“What about the fire? Do you know about what killed our mom?” Dean asks.

“A little. Your daddy took me to your house. He was hopin’ I could sense the echoes, the fingerprints of this thing” She explains.

“And could you?” Sam asks

She shakes her head, “I…”

“What was it?”

She answers softly, “I don’t know. Oh, but it was evil.”, She pauses for a beat, “So…you think somethin’ is back in that house?”

“Definitely” Sam breathes.

She shakes her head again, “I don’t understand.”

“What?” Sam asks.

“I haven’t been back inside, but I’ve been keepin’ an eye on the place, and it’s been quiet. No sudden deaths, no freak accidents. Why is it actin’ up now?” She explains.

“I don’t know. But Dad going missing and Jessica dying and now this house all happening at once –- it just feels like something’s starting.” Sam says, eyebrows scrunched in worry.

“That’s a comforting thought.” Dean mumbles.

~~~~~~~~~

The ride back to the Winchesters house was the light in this complex time. The entire ride Missouri lectured Dean on his driving saying he was just a little too reckless and was gonna get us all killed despite it being a generally short one. They bickered back and forth a while until Dean gave up grumbling something below his breath, causing another snap response from the woman herself.

When we finally arrived Dean quickly got out of the car before anyone else could even register being parked, I genuinely don’t think I've ever seen him happy to be out of Baby. He had very obviously, and purposefully, positioned himself so that he was standing next to me away from Missouri, in fact two people away as she stood on the other side of Sammy. I searched for Dean's hand, my fingers brushed against his larger rougher hand. I clasped it gently, giving it a reassuring squeeze to hopefully ease his tension, caused by the beef he had with the nice lady that was helping us to begin with, even though I most definitely found the whole thing hilarious. Just as Sam knocked on the door I released Dean's hand, bringing both my hands to clasp in front of me. A peak of nervousness rests in my gut as I feel his gaze on me, I ignore it, focusing my eyes forward while I rock on the balls of my feet.

Jenny answers the door, her blond hair messy and clear stress present in the crinkled corner of her eyes and worry etched into her pupils. She holds her baby, Ritchie, close to her chest, “Sam, Dean, Y/N. What are you doing here?”

Sam smiles at the blond, “Hey, Jenny. This is our friend, Missouri.”

“If it’s not too much trouble, we were hoping to show her the old house. You know, for old time’s sake” Dean chimes in.

She scrunches her nose, “You know, this isn’t a good time. I’m kind of busy.”

“Listen, Jenny, it’s important.” Dean tries to explain before Missouri smacks him hard on the back of the head, far harder than I ever do, “Ow!” He yelps, turning around swiftly towards the shorter woman, “How did you-!” He nearly yells holding the back of his head. He looks at her with big wild eyes, his yelling coming from the fact she was able to quietly get behind Sam and I to hit him.

Missouri cuts him off, “Give the poor girl a break, can’t you see she’s upset?” She then turns to Jenny, “Forgive this boy, he means well, he’s just not the sharpest tool in the shed, but hear me out.” Dean looks further stunned.

“About what?” Jenny asks, adjusting her hold on her kid.

“About this house.” Missouri answers.

“What are you talking about?” Jenny looks between us all, nervously.

“I think you know what I’m talking about. You think there’s something in this house, something that wants to hurt your family. Am I mistaken?” Missouri says.

“Who are you?” Jenny asks just above a whisper.

“We’re people who can help, who can stop this thing. But you’re gonna have to trust us, just a little.” Missouri smiles comfortingly but even so Jenny looks unsure.

She seems to go over it in her head before finally sighing, “Alright.”

The four of us stand in Sari’s bedroom, Jenny having given us room to do what we need to while she waits downstairs with her kids. Sari’s room was a dark blue, a contrast to her pink and white furniture and toys.

“If there’s a dark energy around here, this room should be the center of it.” Missouri states, looking around the room carefully from where she stood.

“Why?” Sam asks.

“This used to be your nursery, Sam. This is where it all happened.” She answers, looking around the room. Dean pulls out his DIY EMF from the inside of his coat pocket, “That an EMF?” Missouri asks.

“Yeah.” Dean smiles smugly.

“Amateur.” Missouri says lowly, I don’t know why she was targeting Dean specifically but his reaction to her was too amusing to really ponder it.

The EMF beeps frantically, “I don’t know if you boys should be disappointed or relieved, but this ain’t the thing that took your mom.” Missouri announces.

“Wait, are you sure?” Sam asks frantically, getting a confident nod, “How do you know?”

“It isn’t the same energy I felt the last time I was here. It’s somethin’ different.” She answers, pausing for a beat before adding, “Can you feel it Y/N?”

My eyes widened in shock, “I’m sorry what?”

“You still got a lot to learn ‘bout your abilities'' She responds waving me over, “c’mere, you might be able to sense the energy.”

I hesitantly place my bag down before slowly walking over to her, she either senses my nervousness or reads my mind because she explains what she means, “Witches tend to have the best intuition and connection to the natural world, you should be able to sense energies especially spiritual ones with a second sight.”

She situates me in front of her with my back towards her, her hands clasp my arms tightly as they rest at my side. “Close your eyes, and just like meditation let everythin’ else fall away.”

I follow her instructions, my eyes fluttering shut reluctantly. I feel incredibly silly as I take a deep breath, the sage-y perfume of the woman behind me filling my nose. I breathe out slowly, forcing my mind to shut out the real world, which isn’t as hard as it should be with the quiet room and my nearly regular meditating. Complete darkness surrounds me as if the room itself had fallen away with all the people in it too, just me floating in an abyss.

I focused more closely on the house itself, extending my awareness far out to the block and then as if a dark fog hugged it I zeroed in on the house. Using my conscious self I pictured what it was like to walk through the house this time with a deep focus and new eyes.

With each step I ventured further into the house cautiously, a buzzing feeling rang through the house like when two strong magnets fight for equilibrium with a clatter. But despite the buzzing a physical warm glow emitted from the home's edges and like a hand reaching out it tried to conquer more of the house, yet it couldn’t. A force I couldn't quite tell held it back. The hair on the back of my neck stood tall, a cold chill running down my spine, I shrugged it off as I walked back up the stairs and down the hall to my physical self.

My foot only breached the doorway when a dreadful feeling filled the halls as if rooted beneath the wallpaper, a twinge of fear made its home in my stomach. I had never done this before, never went into my mind to feel the very things I hunt. I have no experience here, this is not my domain. They must know that as hushed murmurs fluttered around me with voices I couldn’t detect but knew they didn’t belong to anyone in the room. They wouldn’t be able to talk to me here so normally, maybe Missouri but certainly not Sam or Dean.

The murmurs became louder, each whisper jumbled over the next, talking over each other to the point of no recognition. My back hits the hard archway of the door's entrance, the sheer loudness of combined voices knocking me off balance. I braced myself against the door, nails biting into wood, my eyes shut tightly in effort to focus even further.

An unfamiliar cold hand brushes my forearm dragging its fingers up to my elbow as if standing beside me, I swiftly turn around backing up a few feet to see nothing near me. Another brush touches me, this time the back of my neck accompanied by a hot breath fanning by my ear. I don’t move away. this is not my domain, but it will be, and I will not show fear now. Latin spews from its mouth flowing right into my ear, a simple teasing statement, “Another toy.”

My eyes shoot open, pupils blown wide as my eyes adjust to the lighting as well as my mind being back in focus of the physical realm. My heart beats harshly against my chest, my lungs heaving with adrenaline.

A large hand clasps around my upper arm tightly, I nearly stumble back a step before my mind finally catches up with the present. “What is it?” Dean spews out quickly, his green eyes nearly crazed with worry.

I open my mouth to answer only to have Missouri answer for me instead, “You saw them.”

“F-felt more like” I stammer the feeling of its touch still lingering.

“What are they doing here?” Dean asks, looking between Missouri and I for answers, his hand still on my arm. Thing is I don’t have an answer, all that creepy spirit touching and I still don’t know everything.

But of course Missouri does, “They’re here because of what happened to your family. You see, all those years ago, real evil came to you. It walked this house. That kind of evil leaves wounds. And sometimes, wounds get infected.”

“This house buzzes with energy, literally you can feel it attracting paranormal energy. There’s two here right now…ones in the room. My head turns towards the closet, “A poltergeist. I’m not sure if it sees it as a game or what but I think it wants Jenny and her kids dead.” I know I’m right when Missouri nods her head.

“You both said there was more than one spirit.”

“There is. I just can’t quite make out the second one.” Missouri answers before adding, “You pick up anythin’”

“Only that it felt…good, if that makes sense. It was very different from the other. It was like this warmth trying to consume the house or really rid the house of its evil.” I answer by trying to make sense of everything that I have experienced.

“You’re sure of this?” Dean asks me, gaining my attention again by squeezing my arm before finally letting go.

“Yes.” I breathe simply, failing to explain that my only other hunch was the fact that it hadn’t been bothering me or I suppose terrorizing me like the poltergeist had with its touching.

A hard determined look sharpens on Dean's face, “Well, one thing’s for damn sure –- nobody’s dyin’ in this house ever again. So whatever is here, how do we stop it?”

“We’re gonna cleanse the house” Missouri answers simply, “Y/N, what you have in that bag of yours?”

A devilish smirk stretches itself on my face, “You wanna do purifying bags?” I ask back instead of answering. I walk back over to my discarded bag picking it up and swinging it over my shoulder, “Let’s do this downstairs, don’t want to make a mess in the kids room” Missouri says, answering my question without really answering it.

“Copy” I smile, taking the lead as we exit the room. With a sudden need for my specialty I found a new pep in my step as I quickly descended the stairs beelining for the nearest table. I carefully placed my bag down on the dining room table, pulling out my spell book marked and written in along with small corked glass bottles of different roots and herbs I carry. “When did you put all of this in your bag?” Sam asks, picking up a vial of crossroad dirt.

“Before I left with Dean to come get you, ‘cause you never know when you're gonna have to put together a spell or a potion of sorts” I answer, pulling out a couple empty small brown pouches.

“So you’ve been carrying this ‘round with you this whole time?” Dean asks this time.

“Mhm” I hum as I sit getting right to work.

With a little bag in front of me I put in each ‘ingredient’, for lack of a better word, not needing to look at my book for the right amount in each.

“Well don’t be lazy, help the girl!” Missouri lectures hitting Dean on the back of the head again. He grumbles no longer snapping back with something, he sits down next to me looking for direction.

With the feeling of his gaze on the side of my face I swirl my finger towards my spell book, a purple haze floating through the air turning the pages of my book to the right section for him to follow without me having to stop my work. He doesn't say anything as he takes off his jacket and rolls up the sleeves of his flannel, putting his forearms on display as he picks up bits of root, unfortunately catching my attention enough to pause my work and stare at him.

His eyes move from my book to the bag he was working on, his eyes sharp and focus as it passes across the words on the page. He moves his hand to the book using a finger to drag across the page underneath each word, the veins in his hand bulging as he does so. His eyebrows scrunch and his jaw ticks as he asks, “What is this stuff anyway?”

“That’s angelica root your holding” I mentioned first, referring to the fuzzy green plant in his hand. “And that’s van van oil, crossroad dirt, sage” I point to each bottle, naming off each ingredient we’re using.

He nods as I speak, his eyes still holding the same level of focus. From his listening to the gentle touch he used as he handled each bottle, all I could feel was pure endearment. The sudden quietness in the room made me painfully aware of the fact that we were the only ones left in said room and that Missouri along with Sam had left at some point, most likely to talk to Jenny.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Dean questioned, knocking his knee into mine to get my attention once more. A bashful smile breaks its way onto my face at his touch, “We put them inside the walls of each corner of each floor of the house, north, south, east, west.”

“We’ll be punchin’ holes in the dry wall. Jenny’s gonna love that.” Dean points out.

My lips formed a tight line, cringing, “Yeah…this is just how this goes but to be fair some holes in the walls are better than evil spirits.”

He huffed a laugh, “And this will destroy the spirits?”

“It should, it's supposed to purify the house completely, we’ll probably each take a floor but we do have to work quickly because when they catch on to what we’re doing, they get seriously pissed.” I answered

“Won’t they catch on with us doing it here?”

“You would think that but spirits don’t always know until it’s actually happening like when we make the holes then it’s a big deal.” I inform, tying off another bag.

“Huh” He replies as he continues to work.

Soon silence falls upon us while we work, our arms brushing against each other every now and then.

“Are holes in drywall a hard fix?” I ask, breaking the comfortable silence, worried that the spirits won’t be the only pissed ones.

A deep chuckle passes through his lips, “That depends, sweetheart, but it should be.” He went on to explain the logistics of it, and while it wasn’t something I really cared to know about I didn’t stop him from explaining.

By the time his explanation of spackles and walls was over our purifying bags were done too.

Missouri and Sam walk back into the room, the floor creaking slightly underneath them. “You guys almost done?” Sam asked

“Yup” I hummed, “The bags are all done just gotta finish cleaning up”

“Good. Jenny and her kids just left, they’ll be back in an hour or two” Sam explained, placing a bunch of heavy items on the table. “I brought these in from the car, take your pick.”

I look up at the heavy mass, a hammer, a small ax, and two crowbars lay on the table. Though it is an odd collection of weapons as long as it is capable of making a hole in the wall it doesn't really matter, Sam picks up the hammer testing the weight of it in his hand.

With every part of the plan settled I throw the rest of the vials and leftover bags in my bag worrying about organization later, gently tucking my thick spell book into my bag I turn swiftly around, “Let’s get it done.”

“I’ll take this floor” Dean says, picking up his four bags, “Sammy you take upstairs, and you two can take the basement.”

“And remember you need to put a bag in each corner, north, south, east, west.” I order as everyone has the right amount of bags and a weapon of choice.

A collective nod was all we needed to spring into action, with the cold heavy crowbar in my hand I took the lead down the basement Missouri following closely after me. Without any words needed, we split up her heading to the west side of the floor and me to the east.

A chill runs up my spine, an uncomfortable feeling floating in the air, I roll my shoulders trying to rid myself of the feeling. My knees hit the floor, the coldness seeping through my pants. I knock on the wall in an attempt to hear a hollow part, Dean having mentioned before that would be the easiest way to make a hole. My knuckles hit the wall in at least ten separate spots before it no longer sounds solid. I stand back up for better leverage before changing my hold on the crowbar to be horizontal, bashing the end of it into the wall repeatedly until it cracks.

A heavy sliding noise shuffles behind me, I snap my head to the sound of a large dark table moving across the floor right into Missouri. My mouth opens to scream her name in warning but just as the first syllable leaves my mouth a nail comes flying at my face. Out of reflex alone I send the nail flying to the left, the invisible force of my power altering its trajectory. My eyes follow where the nail came from, an open red tool box, more nails come flying my way and each time I knock them away. Knowing it wouldn’t stop I gripped the crowbar harder using only a glimpse back at the wall to know where I was aiming for. While I used one hand and half my focus on changing the direction of the nails I used my other to slam the crowbars end into the already cracked wall but only when it sounded like it broke through enough did I glimpse back again. With another look forward at the coming nails, only one more left, I waited until it got closer, the old nail zooming toward my eye. Just as it got but an inch away I dropped to the floor, turning my body as I went, throwing the purification bag in.

I got up quickly, dropping my crowbar, almost tripping over my other foot as I ran to Missouri, pushing the table away from her, throwing another bag into the hole she had already made before she got attacked. She breathes heavily, a hand on her chest. “You okay?” I ask, putting a hand on her shoulder and leading her away from the table. She nods her head, handing me her two bags, wordlessly telling me to finish the floor.

I grip the bags in one hand as I pick up my discarded crowbar, seeing the nails that flew at me sticking out of the walls. I head over to the undisturbed wall slamming the crowbar into the wall, not even attempting to do the knocking at this point. While I threw in the third bag, worry consumed me at the realization that the spirits must be attacking the boys too. Without wasting any more time I go to the last undisturbed wall, again slamming the crowbar into it. Call it paranoia or instinct that made me turn so that my shoulder was facing the wall instead of my face to see if another attack would be coming. Either way it was that alone that saved me from the poltergeist throwing a wooden chair at my head. I duck again just in time for the chair to smash into pieces above me, wood undoubtedly falling into my hair.

“Stop throwing stuff!” I yell at the air itself or really the incredibly annoying poltergeist. With a huff I throw in the last bag, all the activity silencing on this floor. I get up walking over to Missouri as I pick out chunks of wood from my hair, as soon as I get close enough she reaches up and takes a particularly large piece of chair out of my hair showing it to me with a laugh before tossing it somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N!” A voice yells with a strain, clearly coming from a distance away. Right away I recognize the voice, Deans, I go running climbing up the stairs two at a time. Forget about my hair, forget about leaving Missouri behind (no offense).

The ground floor is practically untouched other than the clear mess that is peeking out from the kitchen, I look around quickly and see no one, “Dean?!” I shout back evident fear in my voice, getting an immediate “Up here.” Slight relief hits me as I again sprint up the stairs, twirling around the banister the second I reach the second floor seeing the closest open door. Forgetting about precautions I immediately approach the door, my hand on the archway when I see Dean on the floor cradling a hurt-limp Sam.

“Wha-“ I begin saying only to lose my train of thought.

“Let’s get him up” Missouri suddenly says from behind me, very calmly. She nudges past me heading straight for the boys, but neither of them move. She leans down beside Sam pressing two fingers to the side of his neck, “He’s still alive, he’ll be just fine.”

He gives her a curt nod before leaning back on his feet and standing, dragging his brother up with him, just as he does so Sam comes to. His eyes fluttering open and close, “It’s okay Sammy, just gonna bring you downstairs” Dean tells him, putting his brother's arm around his shoulder.

Carefully he walks his brother downstairs, Sam grumbling something halfway through before going limp again. Finally they reach the living room, Dean carefully lays his brother on the couch then moves to sit on the coffee table right across from him.

“He’ll be alright” I say softly, placing a hand on Dean's shoulder.

“I know” he replies.

“Were you able to finish the floor?” I ask even though maybe it wasn’t the proper time to.

“No. I was hurled with knives the second I made the hole, then I heard something upstairs and ran to see if Sammy was okay…I don’t think he finished either” He explains, his eyebrows scrunched together.

“It’s okay, i’ll go finish it and you guys can stay here, watch over him” I say, giving his shoulder a little squeeze before moving my hand away.

“Are you crazy?! That’s dangerous. Did you not just see what happened to Sam?!” Dean shoots back, not quite yelling but his voice is definitely louder than needed.

I smiled at him sweetly knowing this was coming from a place of worry and not an incompetent sort of deal, “Don’t worry I can take care of myself just fine, I did so down stairs when we finished up. Got some nails thrown at me, a chair and a table, you know just the usual playing house with the ghost.”

“That’s not the point. I’m coming with you.” He stands up abruptly and I swear I saw his jaw tick.

“Okay. I’m not gonna argue with you” I respond with humor in my voice. “But. If you did want to stay behind to watch your brother I wouldn't fault you for it either.”

He looks at me strangely with those beautiful green eyes before diverting them just past me, “I’m coming with you.”

“Right.” I smile “‘You got the bags?”

He answers by shuffling through his jacket pockets and pulling out a bag from each, he holds them up in an almost teasing way. I take a half step forward, grabbing a bag right out of his hand, only then realizing how close my small step puts us, having to lean my head back far enough to look up at him comfortably. But I don’t move away as I ask him, “What about your axe?”

He tilts his head down slightly towards me, his breathe hot on my face, “Dropped it in the kitchen”

“Good.” I say, nearly and pathetically getting distracted by our closeness…and his eyes… and his lips. “ ‘Cause I have no idea where I left that crowbar”

He laughs and steps away, his shoulder brushing mine as he walks away to the kitchen. Before I can turn to follow him Missouri meets my eyes, giving me a pointed-knowing look about what just happened. ‘Shut up’ I playfully mouth.

Finally I turn around following after the man in question. He comes out of the kitchen holding the small axe but just behind him is a mess. The kitchen looks like a tornado went through it with draws and cabinets open, utensils on the floor, broken dishes scattered around, the table turned over with knives sticking out of it (a tornado could not do that but the point of the mess still stands.) I look back at Dean then behind him repeatedly, “Did you have fun?” I remark sarcastically.

“Oh, not as much fun as you had” He replies gruffly, reaching up to my hair, his fingers sinking in as he ruffles out small chips of wood. My cheeks feel warm at the small contact and even more so when he pulls away and gives me that smirk. Then he walks away towards the back of the house with a cocky look in his eye like he knew exactly what he had done. I take a short deep breath before following him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours later every purifying bag is put in place and Sammy is conscious and now we stand in the disaster that is the kitchen, broken cabinets and chair bits on the floor as well as a collection of utensils, all just to see the bunt of the fight.

“‘You sure this is over?” Sam questions, his voice a little rough.

“I’m sure. Why? Why do you ask?” Missouri answers.

“Never mind.” He sighs, “It’s nothin’, I guess.”

The front door opens followed by footsteps, “Hello? We’re home.” Jenny calls out before finding us in the kitchen pure shock written on her face, “What happened?”

“Hi, sorry. Um, we’ll pay for all of this.” Sam word vomits, the words spilling out quickly and anxiously. Both Dean and I’s heads snap towards him, I seriously want to ask him ‘with what money???’ But before anyone can fathom a word Missouri beat us to it, “Don’t you worry. Dean’s gonna clean up this mess.” Again with her (maybe) uncalled targeting I have to bite back a smirk, meanwhile Dean stands unmoving his eyebrows scrunched looking at the shorter woman with a total bewildered expression.

“Well, what are you waiting for, boy? Get the mop.” She adds, and I don’t know how she has this much power but he listens and begins to walk away or really shuffle away, “And don’t cuss at me!” She lectures.

Laughter slips through my lips as he mutters under his breath, Sam joining in on the hilarious nature that is his brother being bossed around.

Wiping a tear out of the corner of my eye I touch Sam’s shoulder, “I’m gonna go get him and fix this up…” I twirl my finger slightly to signal I mean magically, “Bring Jenny inside somewhere.” He nods, “Okay but you should really let him suffer”

I laugh again, rolling my eyes as I move away.

I find Dean standing in front of a broom closet trying to balance several cleaning objects in his hands at once. I admire his effort but there’s just no way anyone could clean that kitchen when it’s quite literally just destroyed. I grabbed a broom from him that was seconds away from falling, “Not to ruin your fun but I figured it would be easier to use magic on the kitchen than a mop.”

“Thank god” He sighs, shoving everything back in the closet including the broom I held.

Back in the kitchen I try not to get stressed at just how bad it is. Taking a calming breath I walk over to the kitchen counters, closing my eyes, I feel my hair move around me slightly from a small drift in the room, my body stands completely still as I let my hands feel the cool counter below me and the steadiness of it all. As my body relaxes and my shoulders drop, relieving its tension I become a conduit for magic, a dance of ethereal threads weaving through me. The energy flowed from my core to my fingertips, the flow gracefully extending to every nook and cranny. As if tracing an intricate pattern, it embraced the room, coaxing broken shards and scattered pieces back into harmony. The air felt electric with the essence of restoration, and the kitchen hummed with the soothing melody of enchantment.

When I open my eyes again, I feel a gaze on me. I turn my whole body, so that I was standing sideways, to it and of course it’s Dean, he meets my eyes, his mouth just slightly agape and I can only imagine what the swirling of purple energy around the room fixing items must have looked like. His green eyes are slightly glossy with what is maybe curiousity or amazement, either way it was a weird look. Before I could question him I saw, out of the corner of my eye, a tall familiar figure. Sam stands by the kitchen archway waving his hand, signaling it was time to go.

Hours later darkness consumes the Impala. After dropping Missouri back home Sam insisted we came back to the house for a stakeout. It was hard to argue with someone who had a bad feeling over something that is quite literally life or death, so we stayed. We’d been in here so long in fact that I’d taken to lying down flat in the backseat, my legs propped up on the seats (shoes off so Dean wouldn’t complain but at least I got to showcase my cute dragonfly socks).

I stare up at the beige-ish interior roof, my hands laying across my chest. I breathe in and out evenly, but with the prospect of being bored, memories of my life here swarm my head and suddenly I miss my mom more than I've had in a long time. If I focus hard enough on the roof I can still hear the remnants of her laughter and I could see her smile, the one I inherited, on her soft face. That old longing, that old sadness that I thought I was over fills my heart, its hands creep up on it clasping it tightly. It’s been years. So many years since she’s been gone and yet still this feeling—this rawness in my chest, this endless longing is home in my body just as it was the first time around.

I miss my mom.

I want to cry and I want her back, tears threaten my eyes and that stupid tightness in my throat prevails almost like it’s choking me, a tightness that’s so painful I want to rip my throat out. I swallow forcefully, I hate this feeling and I hate death and I hate that I'm feeling this in the back of the car with my best friends just right up front. It’s too vulnerable, it’s too open, too close to home…I want to go home.

I want to go home.

I shut my eyes tightly trying to erase these feelings to move them back in the dusty box they had sat in. But it isn’t that easy and I know it isn’t so instead I breathe deeply and choose to listen to Dean and Sam talk, focusing on the up and down of their words and the softness of each syllable.

“All right, so, tell me again, what are we still doin’ here?” Dean asks, impatience clear on his tongue.

“I don’t know. I just…” Sam sighs, “…still have a bad feeling.”

“Why? Missouri did her whole Zelda Rubenstein thing, the house should be clean, it should be over.” Dean explains.

“Yeah, well, probably. But I just wanna make sure, that’s all.” Sam answers.

“Yeah, well, problem is I could be sleeping in a bed right now.” Dean responds and I hear him slide down his seat, probably closing his eyes in the process, “Like Y/N back there” he adds, softer, and even with my eyes closed a smile produces itself on my face. The small warmth that spreads in my chest fends off the grief, at least enough for it not to be at the forefront of my mind.

The quiet peace that falls over the Impala is short lived, Sam suddenly yelling, “Guys. Look” My eyes shoot open, “Dean!” He hits his brother's shoulder.

I sit up quickly catching a glimpse of Jenny yelling by her window, with nothing more to be said- we jump out of the car. I shuffled to the car door, leaving my shoes behind, the second I’m out and the door is slammed shut I run after the boys who were only two paces ahead. “You two grab the kids, I’ll get Jenny.” Dean commands as Sam tries the door which of course is locked. Dean pushes him slightly to the side, he takes a step back lifting his leg and kicking in the door. Broken pieces of wood stick out from the side of it.

The dark wooden floors are cold beneath my sock-covered feet, each step up the staircase seems far too long even as we reach the top. At the top Dean stops at a door close to the stairs but I don’t use any more focus to take anything else as Sam and I run down the hall, “Get Sari! I’ll get the baby!” I yell after him. Stopping at the closest door I swing it open only to reveal a bathroom, I curse underneath my breath before spinning around to the door right across the hall. Once more I swing it open, this time revealing a baby room with a white crib in the middle of it. I rush over only slowing to not scare Richie as I approach, somehow he’s still asleep wrapped up in his little blanket.

Carefully I reach in the crib scooping him up from underneath his upper back, my other arm going for his legs. Once in my arms I rearrange him so my dominant hand rests on his lower back while the crook of my other arm cradles his little head, just like holding a baby doll except this one is way cuter and also very alive. Standing back at my full height I fix his blanket around him before exiting the room. I know Sam can handle himself so I head towards the stairs, the baby had to be the priority right now. I quickly descend the stairs, only half way down when I feel Sam close behind, a relief hitting me.

My feet only just hit the ground level when Sam calls my name, swiftly I turn towards him Sari in his arms.

“Y/N, you need to take the kids and go outside.” He orders, placing Sari on the floor.

“Okay, what about you aren’t you coming?” I rushed out, cradling Richie in one arm so I could take hold of Sari’s hand.

Panic is written all over his face and something else lies in his eyes, “Take them. Don’t look back” And before I can argue any further he’s nudging me forward, reluctantly I go only because I know I can’t help with two kids in my arms. I run towards the door at this point, pulling Sari along with me, just behind me I hear a slam to the floor and I know it’s Sam- relief gone. But even so I rush forward.

The chill breeze of the night hits me hard. Jenny and Dean stand on the edge of the grass line. Only a few paces from them Sari lets go of my hand and runs to her mom, Jenny leaning down to catch her and hold her tightly. “Sam’s inside you have to go now” I speak quickly, my words jumbling over itself. Dean's eyes widen and pure fear fills them, on top of being scared guilt fills me now too. He runs to the front door and I hear it slam loudly. I hand Richie back over to his mom who is very obviously relieved to have him again.

Dean runs back to the Impala pulling out a shotgun and an ax, going right back to the door. I know I could open the door for him, it would be easy and I wouldn’t even break a sweat. Yet, my feet remain planted to the grown, the chaos of it all—the guilt. My purifying bags didn’t work, it nearly got a whole family killed and Sam’s now in trouble too. It’s my fault. It’s my fault.

My feet won’t move, my body won’t react, I can't even redeem myself. I don’t want to lose anyone else, I don’t want to. I can’t.

Move.

Move. Please move, I beg myself— my very being to do something anything but be helpless. I hate being helpless and yet I’m here doing nothing, anxiety and fear encasing me to this spot. I hear Dean hacking away at the door, faint grunts leaving his mouth as he does so but still I can’t move. Sari begins to cry latching on to her moms legs only waking up Ritchie in the process who then begins to cry too. The loud crying rings in my ears, only making my heart beat faster.

Jenny, visibly overwhelmed, wrestles with the challenge of consoling both kids, her distress mirrored in her eyes. Without conscious thought, my arms extend, offering to hold Ritchie. To my surprise, she entrusts the baby to me, planting a tender kiss on his forehead before gathering Sari into her embrace. Sari's legs encircle her mother's waist, a protective hand cradling the back of her head.

Richie moving in my arms breaks me out of my panic, if only because someone in need was right there, someone who surely couldn’t help themselves. I begin to rock him, moving my weight from one foot to another but my stress and worry is still there and he must feel it too because it does barely anything to help. I look back up, Dean is still hacking away at the door, not enough progress has been made. I rearrange the baby, using my free arm I lift up a hand my palm facing towards the direction of the door, with barely any thought needed the door slams open. Dean looks back at me for only a second before running in.

Richie's cries persist as I rock him, murmuring reassurances, "It's okay, everything will be okay." I desperately rack my mind for any calming measures, when I suddenly recall my mother singing me lullabies. But still I struggle to remember any of them, the memory too distant to be anything more than a hymn, instead I decide to softly sing "A Lullaby" by Dear Nora – even though it came out way after my mothers passing it always reminded me of her. And I had always kept a small hope that one day if I were to have kids that I would sing it to them too.

As I move a strand of hair from Richie's face, he begins to settle. My voice trembles with fear, but it seems to have a soothing effect anyways. Richie stops crying, and I meet Jenny's gaze. She offers a sad smile while holding her daughter close.

Both boys came out of that house. Relief had hit me like a ton of bricks, my knees felt wobbly with it. At first they could barely speak, shocked at what they saw but then the police and firefighters came and it was all the usual.

It was hours later until everything was resolved, and it wasn’t until Missouri came over that they actually spilt what happened. Their mom was there, she was the good spirit that I had felt, the one that was fighting off the evil and she did exactly that when it had attacked Sam. Somehow, she was still at the house after all these years protecting it. She had used the last of her abilities to say…sorry.

It’s morning now, Missouri cleared the house for real this time no spirit was left in there. The kids were sleeping still, Jenny was giving the photos she found to Dean and Sam sat with Missouri on the steps talking.

I had nothing to say to anyone in particular so I sat in the Impala, my legs outside the car, digging through my bag, when I finally pulled out my spell book I turned to the purifying page, I looked it over again trying to see if we did something wrong and messed up the amounts. But no. We did it right, but for some reason it didn’t work—it didn’t work and people could have died. Holding the book on my lap I reach up to the top of it, my hand holding the single page ready to tear it out when it’s suddenly taken from my grasp “Hey, what are you doing?!” Dean yells, holding it out of reach.

“It didn’t work. It needs to go, please give it back.” I answered, my jaw clenched.

“This was your moms, you’d hate yourself if you ripped it up.” Dean lectures.

“No I wouldn't, give it back. I need to make sure this never happens again.” I shoot up from my seat reaching up to grab it back but his arm shoots down behind his back.

“Yeah, you would. Sorry to break it to you sweetheart but I know you pretty damn well.”

I don’t care if he’s right. I don’t. That page needs to go, I can’t make this mistake again. I won’t. I reach for it again behind his back but again he moves it, “Dean. I’m not joking around give it back.” I don’t often get angry, but I am.

He looks down at me, his eyes scrunched in confusion and concern, “What’s going on with you?”

I huff, frustrated, “What’s going on is I messed up. Badly. They could have died and don’t try to say I don’t know that for sure because I do. And I know you do too, so I don’t need any comforting lies”

"We screw up, sweetheart. It's part of the gig. But we fixed it. They're alive and kickin', okay?" His words carried that gruff reassurance he always had, even when he was being a bit of a hypocrite. Book at his side, guard lowered just a bit, it was my chance to snag it back. "Not this," I jabbed a finger at the book. "I'm good at this. I don't mess up on this."

"I don't care that you're all emotional right now. You're not trashing your spell book." Arms crossed in front of his chest, he held his ground.

My chest heaved, my eyes scrunched in frustration as I looked up at him, my free hand in a tight fist my nails digging into my palm. “But, it needs to—“ I say back, weakly, already my fight was crumbling, being replaced with something else. Suddenly his arms were around me and my face was buried in his chest. His arms held my upper back tightly, his hands going up to cup my head, his fingers entangled into my hair a little while his chin rested on top of my head. With each breath I took, inhaling his smell of something woody and some sort of spice mixed into one, any resolve I had left was gone.

I wanted to keep fighting, I wanted to tell him he was wrong but he held me so close and so gentle that I couldn’t. If that in itself had made me weak then so be it. I wrap my arms around his center, even with my book in my hand. It had to be seconds later when he must have felt the tension leaving my shoulders when he pulled away, his hands dropped down to the crook of my arm holding me a short distance away. His green eyes locked with mine in a silent agreement.

I pull away fully when Sam and Missouri approach, quickly whipping my eyes just in case and tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. We each exchange hugs with her, even Dean who surprisingly gets no comment this time.

Missouri smiles, “Don’t you be strangers.”

“We won’t.” Dean nods as he rounds the car.

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rachaelswrites · 3 years ago

Note

Hey my sweetheart, can I request a blurb about Reid!reader getting (accidentally) drunk? 😬 I just imagine so much chaos

The amount of times I have actually thought about this happening-I’m glad we’re on the same wavelength here (Sorry this is long)

~~~~~

Emily was hosting a team get together and as always, you were invited. You were the oldest bau kid and the most mature.

You and your dad got there early like always and Emily was running behind schedule.

“Do you need any help?” Your dad asked her.

“Yes!” Emily exclaimed. You could tell from the tone of her voice she was most likely a bit tipsy already, “Reid I would love your help to clean the living room and Y/n, can you make sure there’s enough food and drinks for everyone?”

Both you and your dad nodded. He followed her into the other room and you went into the kitchen. Your job was easy, seeing as there were enough cups for everyone and more than enough food.

You decided to grab a drink and take a sip. It tasted a bit funny but you shook it off. It was probably some fancy drink she had brought over from London.

You took a few more sips from your cup before you finished it. The drink was really good so you went to look for where there was more. You spotted the half open bottle and grabbed it. Your eyes scanned the label but it was in Russian. You weren’t as fluent as your dad or Emily.

You began pouring another cup for yourself but Emily came in and stopped you, “Wait don’t drink that!”

“Why?” You asked, turning to face her.

“It’s alcoholic,”she said, coming over to take the bottle from you. She spotted your now empty cup, “Did you drink some already?”

You nodded. Spencer then walked into the room, “What’s going on.”

“Y/n accidentally drank some of this,” Emily said, handing him the bottle.

“Oh,” Spencer said, reading the label and then looking at you, “You feeling okay?”

“I don’t know,” you said.

“How about you just sit down,” he said, gently grabbing your arm and siting you at the kitchen table, “Emily can you get her some water?”

Emily nodded and went off to get you the water. Spencer looked back to you and he could tell, the effects were already setting in.

“Dad?” You asked

“Yeah,” he answered.

You went on to then ramble about three different topics in less than five minutes. After that, you immediately got up from your seat and attempted to try and either clean Emily’s apartment or rearrange the furniture. Spencer couldn’t tell.

He tries to stop you so you could sit down again but it ended with you starting to cry and start pouring. Your dad decided to call it a night and he had to carry you out of the apartment and to the car.

#x daughter!reader #x teen!reader #spencer reid x teen!reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #spencer reid x daughter #spencer reid daughter #spencer reid #tw alochol

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dracoladon · 4 years ago

Note

oh my god I absolutely ADORED lucid and born slippy, so the chance to prompt you with something is so so exciting!! as always, no pressure, but how about something about undressing each other? i've always LOVED the unlacing/undressing tropes in capri, and I bet it would be incredible applied to some lovely drarry. do with this what you wish!!!

sidjdjfnndkff thank you, and thank u again for this ungodly prompt. if there’s three things i love, they’re captive prince, drarry, and soft smutty tropes such as the one u hath so kindly bestowed upon me.

i accidentally made a fair few lucid references in here (prizes for all who can spot them, the prize is a poem about u as composed by me) so i suppose, if you’ve read that one and so wish, u can consider this part of the same universe. or smth ://

maybe i’m just hideously unimaginative when it comes to topics for my banter. anywho

rated e, 1732 words.

The thing about Draco’s work robes, is that they’re buttoned all the way up to the throat. Which, hm, doesn’t sound like an issue in and of itself. But becomes one, of sorts, when Harry is overcome by the need to unbutton them every time he lays eyes on pale, elegant throat, the column of it under stiff black fabric.

The thing is, that Draco looks so austere, so tightly laced, and the thing. Is. That Harry just wants to unlace him.

Draco is, of course, not austere. He’s in fact very, erm, flexible. Pliant. He told Harry once, when they first starting fucking, that his body reformed around Harry’s, and he liked the way he went malleable in Harry’s hands.

“I can’t do that with anyone else,” Draco said. Then frowned. “That didn’t make much sense.”

But the buttons. The buttons. The high-necked buttons. They give Draco a look of frigidity, that he’s not to be spoken to, touched (all in a very sexy, aristocratic kind of way, of course), and it’s so bloody hot that Harry’s taken to banishing his glasses and burying his head under a pillow when Draco dresses in the mornings, just to stop himself getting so hard he goes properly blind with it.

Draco asked him, the third time he burrowed under the bedclothes like a “demented ferret” (glass houses, Harry said), what he was doing.

“The buttons,” Harry murmured. “Want to undo them.”

“The buttons?”

“The buttons.”

“You sick, kinky twist, Harry Potter.”

Harry unearthed himself, at that. “Shut up? It’s not about the buttons, you horror. It’s about what’s underneath the buttons.”

“How touching.”

And then more teasing, and Harry had it up to here and said, “I’ll burrow again.”

So Draco sat next to him on the bed, robes all secured, and said, softly, but still smiling like a git, “Tell me, love. Why the buttons?”

“You’re just—they’re, you know. So—God,” and then Harry had reached out and rent the sides of Draco’s robes apart, the little cloth covered studs clattering over his polished walnut floors, and pulled Draco down on top of him, and fucked him right there until Draco was late for work, and later still because they’d had to spend half an hour charming the wretched things back into place.

Now, Draco says, “the buttons are still wonky from that little stunt you pulled.”

Harry can see only Draco’s legs (crossed over each other on the couch, back flat on the ground, because Draco feels it centres him to drape upended from the furniture at the end of a long day) from where he’s decanting the wine in the kitchen. “I’ve always been pants at tailoring charms.”

“Was that a pun?” says Draco, sounding pained. “I’m leaving you, if that was a pun.”

“But then who will do your bidding? Aerate your wine, iron your silk pants—”

“I’ll get a house elf.”

“—not finished, suck your brains out your cock, make you pasta with butter and cheese when it’s cold and you’re in a mood—”

“I’ll get a gigolo, too.”

“I still wasn’t finished,” Harry says, and Levitates the wine into the living room in front of him.

Draco says, “did you get the right glasses, this time?”

“You’re very funny,” Harry says, because after months of trying to educate Harry, Draco has finally accepted that his one true love is cheap beer, and sorted all the wine glasses he keeps at Harry’s flat into labelled little boxes. (‘This is a coupe, Potter. If you bring me red wine in it again, I’ll throw it at you.’ ‘These are for dessert wine — after dinner, before a good hard boffing.’)

“Why don’t you just go snag one of those fucking — sommiliars.”

“Sommelier.”

“Yeah,” Harry says, happy because Draco’s wearing his work robes and speaking French and looking all twisty, and it’s Friday night, and there’s wine and music from the record Draco put on, and Harry gets to untwist him.

“Did you know,” Draco says, arching his back into a luxurious stretch before rearranging himself right side up and plucking a glass from the air, “that Amantea is starting her own firm.”

“God. Really?”

“Quite. It’s a pro bono thing, evidently. You know she’s been on the exec’s for months about how they direct all their mandatory hours towards corporations, not, you know, people who actually can’t afford legal counsel.”

“‘Course.” Harry distinctly remembers being cornered by Amantea when Draco brought him along to last year's Christmas drinks — he was a decent few in, and Draco kept palming at him through his formal robes when no one was looking, and he thinks he may have agreed to some kind of public crusade in the name of her cause that he doesn’t remember the details of to this day.

“Merlin, that’s incredible. She’s just quit, then? Starting it from the ground up?”

Draco nods, sips his wine. “She asked me to come with her. Ford, too.” And then, into his glass, “Said yes.”

Harry chokes, and Draco smirks at him behind the rim while he expires into his Pinot. “Bastard,” Harry coughs.

“Mm,” Draco hums.

“That’s—fuck, hang on—that’s great, love. Draco, it’s brilliant.”

“Really?” Draco says, tangling his fingers in Harry’s. He can see now that he’s doing that Very Draco Thing where his eyes go a bit too wide and his tongue keeps darting out to wet his bottom lip. “Cause I haven’t quit yet.”

“Of course. I think it’s really, really incredible.”

Draco rolls his eyes, but his cheeks flush pink. “Any more of that, and I won’t go near your cock for a week.”

“I’m proud of you,” Harry says, smiling.

“Two weeks.”

He leans on his haunches, hooks a blond tendril behind Draco’s ear. “I’m so proud of you, Draco. Everything you are.”

“A month. A year! Harry,” Draco complains.

Harry snorts. Sits back. “Fine. So would you still be doing all the same work?”

Draco nods. “I’d still be a defence counsel. I’d just be, you know. Not getting paid. At least, not for a while.”

“Good,” Harry says. “We’ve got a horrific amount of money, between the two of us.”

“I’m glad you think so, because we’ll be living off your salary alone. What’s the going rate for darling of the Wizarding world?”

Harry walks his fingers over Draco’s knee, daubed in the heavy black wool of his robes. “Several million a year darling. Are you excited, then?”

Draco shuffles around so he can rest his back against the couch, keeping Harry’s palm pressed to his knee with his own hand as he moves. “Yes. Very. I love my job, but the fees they charge our time at are outrageous. I was always thinking, Mother and I wouldn’t have been able to afford that right after the war. Had we even been allowed a solicitor, but don’t get me bloody started.”

Harry thinks that’s Draco down to his bones. He gives cold little glares to people he doesn’t want to talk to, and shrinks in on himself like a turtle whenever Molly tries to hug him at Sunday lunch, and he’s selfish about stupid things, like letting Ron have the last of his chips at pub night.

And then he does things like drop lunch by Hermione’s office when he has afternoon meetings with the Wizengamot, or quit the job he loves so much, where he’s finally respected and secure, to work for free with Scary Amantea because he actually cares about the abysmal state of the Wizarding justice system, or rent out an entire Muggle theme park for Harry’s birthday, because he’d said, off handed, one night in Draco’s arms, that he’d always been left behind when the Dursley’s took Dudley as a child.

“You’re so nice,” Harry says.

Draco frowns. “Take it back.”

Harry says, “Won’t,” and gives him a good, slow kiss that tastes like wine. Wine from a proper glass.

“I have bad news, too,” Draco says into Harry’s lips.

Harry can’t think of how anything could be bad, wrong, when Draco’s mouth is so soft and so close, but he murmurs, “What,” anyway.

“No dress code, at the new firm.”

Harry pulls back, stricken. “No more buttons?”

“Less regular buttons,” Draco amends, and Harry places a protective hand over Draco’s clavicles.

“This is completely tragic,” Harry says.

“Dare I say, Potter, you’ll just have to make the most of them. While you can.”

Harry nods, leans down again, a hand either side of Draco’s hips, and kisses him again.

When he pulls back, it’s so he can get his hands on the reeling column of buttons that runs from Draco’s navel to his Adam’s apple.

There was a certain carnal appeal in tearing them off him that first time, but now Harry likes this. His hands on Draco, his mouth following. Pushing the silken studs through the loops, undressing Draco inch by milk white inch.

“Yes,” Draco says, as Harry licks and nips his way down every bit of skin he exposes. When Draco swallows, Harry feels the movement of it roll beneath his palm. When Draco’s legs fall open, Harry mouths at his hip bone as it shifts under his tongue.

Harry disrobes himself with slightly less worshipping finesse. Pushes the tailored cloth off Draco’s shoulders, helps him arrange himself underneath Harry, ankles clasped lazily at his back. Fucks him slow, and sweet, and two more times.

Really, Harry doesn’t know why the robes do it for him so utterly and completely. They look kind of like the type of thing a vicar would wear, which is also what Harry remembers thinking when he saw Draco in his dress robes at the Yule Ball (although now it’s more a very rich, very sleek sort of vicar vibe, and less of the fusty, I-took-a-celibacy-oath-at-thirteen-and-am- now-seventy-two thing he had going back then. With all the velvet. Draco looks much better in silk. Anyway.)

On that, it’s probably because it’s a reminder that it’s Malfoy who he’s with. Malfoy, not Death Eater, tormentor, but pale limbs, plush, pink mouth and naked vulnerability before him. It’s how far they’ve both come, and how Draco presents himself to the world — so far away from what Harry gets to see. What’s Harry’s. What’s theirs.

“Also,” Draco says, when Harry tells him this in bed that night, “I look positively indecent in black.”

#my writing #answered #theestarryknight #prompts #drarry

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nishisun · 4 years ago

Text

suna rintaro is NOT a genius.

summary: you loved the idea of soulmates. suna rintaro didn’t. it isn’t that hard to put two and two together to realize that maybe people with different opinions on things don’t belong together.

part 2

a/n: this was literally supposed to be a series, i gave up on it because i just didn’t like the way it turned out. it used to be called ��out of my league” and this was the intro. i also renamed it. just emptying drafts!! please don’t get confused with the random timeskip, once again, this was a part of a series i never ended up posting😭

WARNING!!: suggestive themes, mentions of death, idk kinda angsty but tell me if i missed anything

Soulmates. Whatever the hell that means. The idea of soulmates is something I truly don’t understand. It’s bullshit, honestly. It’s all-pervasive.

My mother always told me I'd eventually find "the one.” I used to believe that when I was younger of course. But in my opinion? It’s all cliches. It's unhelpful, and it's certainly not true. Destiny is an excuse for the weak. Why do you think most marriages end in divorce? It's 'cause people who believe they are “destined to be" assume everything will fall into place without any effort. I don't appreciate people pontificating bullshit like that just to make me feel better, especially if they haven't found their "soulmate" themselves. My sister once told me, “People who believe in soulmates are more likely to break up and encounter more difficulty in their relationship, which will lead them to give up on one another eventually.”

I sure do believe that.

My mother is a prime example. Fumeiko Suna, my dear mother. Well, she clearly hasn’t found hers. I found out when I came home after a tedious day of school in 5th grade and found my dear mother on the floor crying, with bruises all over her face and a busted lip.

Initially, I thought a burglar had broken into our home once again, but if that were the case then there would’ve been missing furniture. But there wasn’t.

In fact, the place seemed cleaner than usual. When I ran up to her and asked her what had happened, there he was. The devil himself. My father. He reeked of alcohol, and I could detect his shadow towering over me. It’s funny how that I think of it. I used to fear that son of a bitch. Now, I’m way taller than him, and hate his guts. I turned around to see a faux-sympathetic smile plastered on his face.

He explained how my mother was being “clumsy” and had fell and busted her lip on one of the corners of the kitchen table and when I turned back around to face my mother, she smiled gently and nodded in agreement. She didn’t say anything after that.

It was then I realized my father had beat my mother to a pulp.

Long story short, when I found it was my father, sure, I was frightened. In fact, I remember going into my siblings’ rooms to inform them, they shrugged it off and told me that dad had been doing it for a while now.

Over time, when my dad had found out that I was aware, he didn't mind beating the absolute shit out of my mother in front of all three of us. This was when my burning hatred for that man started. Nobody in the house even attempted to stop him. I did a few times, though. He took all his anger out on me. At least my mom had a break for the day.

I almost pitied my mother. Almost. Maybe if she was strong enough to leave him, then yeah, I’d feel bad. But she still decides to stay with his sorry ass. It’s pathetic. It’s unrequited love or whatever you call it. How could she still love that asshole?

I mean, I’m not even going to lie, I’m an asshole too, but I’m definitely not my dad. I would never want to be him. He’s not someone I looked up to, he doesn’t do anything inspirational. He’s a businessman. He travels the majority of the time, and I’m pretty sure my mom invites men over when he’s gone. I don’t care enough to find out. But if I ever hear some guy rearranging my mom’s guts, I’ll kill him. I don’t even blame my mother. What she’s doing is wrong, she knows it and so do both of my older siblings. But they don't seem to care so why should I?

Who knows why she just won’t leave him. Maybe it’s cause they don’t want to ruin how people view our “picture perfect” family. I wonder what they’d say. “I thought the Suna’s were the ideal family? I guess not.”

My dad would probably lose it if he heard that.

Both my mother and my father are the cause of this broken family of mine. They never fed me or any of my siblings the love we always desired when we were younger. They never came to any of my volleyball games when I was younger. They never applauded me for the little recitals we’d have in class in primary school. They were never even here for most of my childhood. They always put money first and left us with the housekeepers. Hell, the housekeepers probably know me better than my own parents.They failed as parents. I despise them for it. They’re most likely the reason I am the way I am, but to be honest?

I don’t give a fuck.

In fact, I should thank them! Because of how they “raised” me, i’m extremely blunt, which is why people respect me. I use the hatred I have for my family and take it out on people and no, I’m not proud of that. I may be a heartless asshole, but I like that people fear me. The hell? Does that make me a sadist? Either way, people know to never fuck with me cause I’d fuck their shit up. I’ve overheard many people say it’s ‘cause of my privilege. It probably is. Money can’t buy happiness, but it sure can buy you many other things.

If my parents were broke, I’d probably be expelled from school by now. Abuse of alcohol and drugs are forbidden on school property. I don’t even take them at school, I somewhat care about my education and health, but sometimes I just need to blow some steam. Even if I did, nobody’s gonna say shit since my dad is the head of Japan’s board of education. How did his ass even get there?

Call me lonely or cynical. Maybe I am. But how is that a bad thing? Why do people need a significant other to rely on? What, a soulmate is just going to turn my life upside down then suddenly bring me happiness? Pfft, I’m gonna need actual proof that shit like that still happens. I’ve only seen shit like that in fairy tale movies. It’s whatever, though. I can live with being alone. I’ve basically been alone my whole life and it isn’t as bad as people make it.

You loved the idea of having a soulmate. The thought of meeting someone who just understood you, accepted you for who you were, and most importantly, loved you excited you. You couldn’t wait to meet your soulmate.

But recently, you weren’t sure soulmates existed.

When your older sister, Akira, came into your room and burst into tears, it frightened you. Your older sister, the one who’d always provide you advice on relationships and how to keep one was in your room sobbing hysterically because hers hadn’t worked out.

“I just can't believe it,” she sobbed.

You couldn’t believe it either. Your sister had recently gotten engaged to her boyfriend of 9 years. They started dating at the age of 15 and managed to make things work out even after high school, and out of all those years of dating, they never broke up. Not even once.

They’d go on romantic dates on Saturdays and they’d always write love letters to one another every day, just to remind one another of how grateful they were to have each other in their lives. On Halloween, they’d dress up as fictional characters from TV shows and books and take cute selfies and bake a bunch of sweets. They’d invite you to come bake with them, but you would politely deny. You knew they were only offering so you wouldn’t feel left out, which you appreciated.

Of course, they’d argue every now and then, but at the end of the day, they always managed to talk things out. Oh to have a relationship like theirs. They were everything you wanted to have in a relationship and more.

“I really thought he was the one for me, y’know?” No, you don’t know. But that doesn't matter. What mattered was cheering your sister up.

“Maybe he wasn’t ‘the one’ Akira, and that’s okay! People come and go all the time, soulmates come and go all the time as well-”

“You still believe soulmates are real, huh?” she let out a humorless laugh and sniffed her nose, “What If I missed my one shot at love, Y/N? What if I lost my soulmate?”

That’s some deep shit.

Now that you think about it, were soulmates real? Soulmates come and go, yes, you’re aware of that, but even though they leave, it’s always temporary. Soulmates always find a way back to their other half, the piece that completes them.

Your dad never made it back to your mother.

He died in a car crash 5 years ago. Your mother and father had been arguing because she claimed your father was cheating on her since he wouldn’t let her check his phone.

You were 13 at the time. Your sister Akira was accompanying you in your room, listening to them arguing back and forth with one another. There was furniture flying across the room, glass breaking, and both of them throwing curses at each other. You were scared. They never argued in front of you and your sister. They'd bicker sometimes, but it was never anything too deep.

Eventually, your father had enough of your mother’s false accusations, and out of anger, he packed his things and left home. For weeks. It wasn’t until one of your uncles called your mother and broke the news. She didn’t take it very well.

Late 2012-early 2013.

Not many people came to your father’s funeral, his family didn’t like the fact that he and your mother were together, they said your mother was trouble, but your dad still stayed with her, even if that meant it would completely destroy the bond he had with his family. Now that’s true love, you had thought. Only your mother, Akira, the Sunas, your uncle, and you, of course, attended the funeral.

It hurt a lot. It hurt when your mother informed both your grandparents on your mother and father’s side and all they could do is put the blame on her. It hurt how they had claimed you, Akira and your mother were a hindrance to your dear father’s well-being. How could they be so cruel at a time like this?

That was the first time you ever questioned if soulmates were real. Maybe they fell in love at the wrong time? Who knows.

After your father’s passing, Fumiko Suna, your mother’s best friend, was there to help your family out financially. Your mother couldn’t even find the motivating to go to work. Your mother and Fumiko have been best friends since junior high, they’ve literally been inseparable ever since. In fact, after they both got married, they decided to live right next to each other.

Your mom didn’t cope with your father’s death very well; none of you did. But your mom had it the worst.

She would cope with alcohol and clubbing which would always result in her bringing different men home almost every night. You didn’t say much about it, you thought it would be selfish to since that’s what seemed to make your mother feel better about herself, but your sister hated it. She was already 19 and in college at the time, but when she visited and found out that your mother had basically been neglecting you, she was furious.

“Seriously, mom? This is what you’re gonna do while your 13-year-old daughter is in her room having a literal mental breakdown because of your childish behavior?” Your sister had barged into your mother’s room when she thought you were asleep, she was screaming loud.

“You’re interrupting something important, Akira. You know better than to-”

“Oh, shut the hell up mom. You’re the last person on earth to be saying shit like that.”

“Well, if you’re done, you can leave my room now. You’re being disrespectful, and this behavior is not tolerated!” Your mother was screaming now. The man in the bed covering his body under the covers and looking back and forth between Akira and your mother.

“Sakiya, maybe you should hear your daughter out-”

“Not now.” your mother scarcely interrupted the man, eye contact never leaving Akira. “Y/N has never complained about this when you were in college. She knows this is my way of coping, why can’t you understand that too!”

Akira scoffed. “So what, getting fucked by random strangers you find on the filthy streets is your way of coping? Getting wasted every damn night to the point where Y/N has to drag you up to bed is okay with you? Do you even know how much this is affecting Y/N? Did you even bother asking her how she felt? I hate breaking it to you mom, but you need serious help.”

“You selfish child!” Your mother screamed, grabbing a towel and wrapping it around her body, getting up from the bed. “How dare you say that to your own mother?”

“I’m only telling the truth! If you’re the mother, then it’s your job to be taking care of Y/N, not neglecting her. When’s the last time you’ve engross in an actual conversation with her when you were fully sober?”

Your mother was silent. She quickly walked up to Akira and grabbed her by the hair and slammed her headfirst against the wall.

“You’ve got a big mouth! Maybe I should wash it with soap like I did back in the day, hm?” Akira was attempting to push her mother away, but she wouldn’t let go of her grip. The man that was still on your mother’s bed was in panic, yelling her name, which didn’t have any effect. He might as well stop.

"Look," Akira mumbled, struggling to get away from your mother's grip, "I know it's been hard ever since dad left-"

“Mom! Let go of her!” You cried from the door of her room.

All 3 adults froze and looked at your glassy eyes, mouths wide open.

“Hey, kiddo, I thought you were asleep?” Akira playfully said, your mother let go of Akira and crossed her arms then looked away from you.

“Well, I can't really go to sleep when there’s a bunch of adults yelling about my well-being,” you muttered incoherently. You quickly wiped the uncontrollable tears off your face and sighed.

“Honey,” your mom started, she walked slowly to you, carefully examined your face, and attempted to hug you, but you didn’t accept the offer which made your mother frown. She stopped walking until she was almost face to face with you and placed a hand on your shoulder gently. “Baby, your sister told me that you weren’t happy. Is this true?”

You looked away from her and stared dully at the floor, subtly shifting your feet, then you softly shook your head “no.”

“See Akira, Y/N is happy. So please stop stressing her out.” Your mother said through gritted teeth, then faced you once again. “Y/N honey, how about I go tuck you into bed, hm? I’m so sorry for the excessive noise that was caused.”

“Mom, how clueless can you be? Y/N looks miserable! It’s unhealthy for Y/N to be living-“

Slap.

Your mother just slapped Akira on the face.

“I know what’s best for my daughter! I am her mother! You are not the one who should be telling me how to take care of my own kid!”

“That’s enough, Sakiya.” a familiar voice said from the door.

“Fumeiko-“

“It’s fine. Sakiya, we need to talk.” It was Fumeiko Suna, your mother’s best friend, also known as your next door neighbor. She had been standing in the hallways the whole time, you didn’t even know she was there. Akira was the one who called her over.

That night your mother agreed to get help for her drinking problem. She was gone for 6 months. During those 6 months, the Suna’s took you in since Akira would be in college and you couldn’t have been more grateful.

You and Rintaro were the only kids in the house, being that you both were the same age and the others were in college. It was okay, they were all very polite, dinners were awkward, you could feel some sort of tension between the family but you didn’t pay any attention to it.

When your mom finally came back, it was awkward at first. She still seemed the same, loving and caring, just sober and free of alcohol. It was nice. You two spent the weekends bonding at the mall, watching a movie, or even getting your nails done. Eventually, she gained your trust back, and you couldn’t have been happier.

January 2017.

“Akira, don’t say that. You may not believe me now, but you are such an amazing person, don’t ever think you’ll never find love again. It’s all about having a positive mindset!” you said, thoughtfully stroking her hair as her head laid on your chest.

“I told you that.”

“You did,” you chuckled, “you should take your own advice.

“Oh, shut up!” you both laughed, and Akira let out a shaky sigh. “Thank you, Y/N.”

“Of course, you don't need to thank me. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

— so this is one of the writings that i wrote in January 😭 it’s been in my drafts and i re-read it once and instantly hated it right after. if there’s any typos please tell me!!

— also i wanna apologize again for putting gmds on hiatus,, i feel so bad 😭 i wanna make it up to you guys but idk how so if you have suggestions pls tell me

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amindofstone · 3 years ago

Text

in his arms

a/n: I AM IN LOVE WITH JUJUTSU KAISEN!!!! It´s so good and my bby Yuuji has my whole heart! He needs to be loved and protected at all cost. Megumi needs to be loved too and Nobara has to be praised. That girl is a BADASS!!! I love her! This trio is wholesome and their friendship!!! AHHH my heart. I love them! Hopefully they will stay together for a long, long time. (Preferably until they get old and grey.) Who´s yall favorite character and why? Any favorite moments/scenes? (I am in trouble because I wrote this during my linguistic class and only got half of the stuff taught. So please give this some love. Why do I only get good ideas during my studies?! Send help! Regret is really having the best of me right now. Like why did I let my mind convince me to write this down?! Now I have to study that sht on my own!)

Genre: anime imagine/oneshot? Jujutsu Kaisen imagine? Fluff!

Character(s): Itadori Yuuji x you (reader) x Ryomen Sukuna

Spoiler(s):NONE, (Please be aware that I just finished the first season and that I don´t read the manga. Please do not spoil anything if any comments are made. Thank you so much. I really appreciate that.

Warnings: Maybe grammar or spelling mistakes. (I genuinely apologize. English is not my mother tongue and I´m really trying to improve. So please be so kind and have mercy)

Words: 2529

Info: Keep in mind that the words in italic are your (the readers) train of thoughts.

!!! Please do not steal my idea or work. Credit me if this is shared or published in any other platform or any other way. This took me a lot of time. So please respect me as the writer and my work. Picture used is not mine. Credits to: @calclzz (Twitter)!!!

Dating Itadori Yuuji for six months now felt like six months spend in pure bliss, joy and heaven. You were the most happiest since you could remember. He took care of you and loved you. Everyday felt like the first time you went on a date. Every time you thought of him there would be a smile on your lips that would get Nobara to tease the hell out of you until you would hide your face behind your hands because of the growing pink shade of your cheeks. “Sweetie it´s fine. You´re in love with that brainless creature after all. I might not understand how such a sweet living being like you could love him but what I know is that he´s a lucky idiot.”

Yes, you were deeply in love but so was he. He fell for you in the first week he saw you. It started with a simple crush and him always trying to show his best and strongest side whenever you were around. Sometimes he managed to do so but some other times he would end up embarrassing himself. With time passing he slowly understood that you were more than just a simple crush. He was in love with you. He fell for you head over heels. He would always imagine hugging you whenever he saw you hug Panda. He tried his best to not show any traits of jealousy but always failed due to him looking at you with a sad pout. He wanted to make a move and tell you about his feelings but the curse inside of him worried him so he kept a distance. He tried. He tried so much to unlove you but he didn’t knew how, so it came that every time he made a step back regret and sadness would overcome him and he would come back and make two steps towards you. One day he found himself knocking on the door of your dorm asking if you wanted to watch a movie with him.

“For all the times that rain on my parade. And all the clubs you get in using my name. You think you broke my heart, oh girl for goodness sake. You think I´m crying on my own, well I ain´t.”, You were in your dorm cleaning and rearranging some of the furniture’s in your bedroom while singing some of your favorite songs like you always do whenever you were cleaning. You tried to look for a good place to put in your full length mirror you recently purchased while once in a while checking the cake that was put in the oven by you.

“And I didn´t wanna write a song, cause I didn´t want anyone thinking I still care I don´t but, you still hit my phone up. And baby I be movin' on. And I think you should be somethin' I don't wanna hold back, maybe you should know that. My mama…”

Although the song wasn´t really about a beautiful love story or a lovely couple you still loved the song a lot. It was a simple song accompanied by a guitar. You loved it. The first time you heard it you fell in love with it, although you weren´t that of a huge fan of the artist himself you sang the song daily and listened to it as much as you could. The song was played on your phone at least three times in a week and probably sang more than three times a day. When asked what exactly you liked about the song you would stop in your tracks and just reply with a shrug and a sweet smile.

And right now was one of those moments were you sang the song when a pouting pink haired boy started to whine. “Baaabyyyyy, why are you singing such a sad song? It´s basically about someone that got used by their partner for their name. Why would you sing that when your great boyfriend is around?”, you smiled at Yuuji who walked into your room with sad eyes. “Aren´t you happy with me?”, you shook your head and laughed at his question. “No bebe. It´s just that I really like this song. Should I sing something else?”, you asked and made sure the mirror you leaned at your wall next to your closet does not fall. “Yes please!”, when you were sure that the mirror stood properly you turned around and walked to your bed to take your phone. “What are you doing?”, Yuuji asked leaning onto your desk that was occupied by books and notebooks filled by your neat handwriting.

With a chuckle and your phone in your hand you reached for the curious looking boy in your room. Yuuji took your hand in his and let you drag him back on his feet. “Why do I need to stand when I can enjoy your singing sitting?”, the boy asked with eyes filled by endless love. You said nothing and just played the song you choose and made the boy smile.

“I found a love for me. Oh darling, just dive right in and follow my lead. Well, I found a boy, beautiful and sweet. Oh, I never knew you were the someone waiting from me…”, you softly started to sing again while you placed one of your hands around his neck and the other one at his cheek to lovingly caress it. Yuuji leaned on your hand and let out a soft sigh. You were in love. No matter what anyone said about your age and you two being just kids. You didn´t care what people said because you knew what you felt. You knew what he felt and that was enough. You didn´t care when people told you that it is just a phase that is lead by curiosity and the need of attention. You didn´t care and so didn’t he. Why should you two care when your friends were watching your backs and making sure no one talked bad about you. Why should you care when even Gojo Sensei was approving of your relationship and supported you although he still annoyed the hell out of the both of you. But that´s Gojo Sensai after all. You didn´t expect anything else from that man.

“I love you so much.”, you heared Yuuji say before he hid his face on your shoulder. You placed a soft kiss on his neck while you slowly danced around your bedroom. “… Baby, I´m dancing in the dark with you between my arms. Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song. When you said you looked a mess, I whispered underneath my breath. But you heard it, darling you look perfect tonight….”

The position you were right now made you remember the beginning of the time you started to date him. You remember him never wanting to hug you this long. You remember him saying that he fears he won´t be able to hold up his guard and Sukuna taking over his body and mind. He feared the thought of you seeing him and on top of that having him so close to you. He feared the thought of him hurting you. He was able to take care of the curse and make sure that he doesn´t take over his body and causes trouble. But he did not knew if he was able to do that in your arms since he turned weak whenever you were close to him. And he told you that. He told you his worries and him being scared that the curse will hurt you. But the curse never did.

You always hugged him and held Yuuji close to you. You would sit in between his legs at the river close to the academy and sleep in his arms without a bit of worry. You would drag him to bed with you and keep him over night next to you without a bit of fear towards Sukuna. Sensei Gojo might be supporting your relationship but he always made sure to tell you that you should never forget that there was a curse inside of the boy you called your boyfriend.

“…We are still kids, but we´re so in love. Fighting against all odds, I know we´ll be alright this time. Darling, just hold my hand. Be my man, I´ll ne your girl. I see my future in your eyes….”, you never cared for the curse being inside of him. It was a fact and couldn´t be changed. So you simply lived with it. But it would be a lie when you said that you didn´t saw him once in the cause of yor six months of relationship. In fact, he appeared quite some time out of nowhere when you had Yuuji in your dorm. But that only happened when the boy turned into the lovesick boyfriend he was or when he came seeing you after a mission all tired and sleepy. Every time he would pass out after a tiring mission the chances of Sukuna taking his body over was high. But you learned that when he showed up around you it never was to cause trouble or hurt you. He only did that to take a closer look at you while wondering why his stupid vessel liked you so much. He would come to understand why the stupid creature would always come for a hug or simply just holding hands. And right now, exactly that happened.

“….Baby, I´m dancing in the dark, with you between my arms. Barefoot on the grass, listening to our favorite song.”, you still had your arms around his neck while caressing it. Slow steps were made around the room accompanied by your voice that sang along to another of your favorite songs. Another soft kiss was placed on his neck by you when you loosened one of your arms to take your boyfriends hand in yours. His hand that held you close to him were tenderly placed around your body. The hand you loosened around him took one of his in yours to intertwine them when something made you stop in your tracks for a few seconds. You felt longs nails on your boyfriend’s soft hands that made you realize that he no longer was here but rather pushed aside. “…I have faith in what I see. Now I know I have met an angel in person and he looks perfect. I don´t deserve this, you look perfect tonight.”

“Aren´t we a bit cheeky, my dear dark knight.”, a deep sigh echoed in your ears. “Why did you stop singing human?”, a chuckle left you while the song by now ended but your body were still slowly swaying from side to side. “Cause the song ended, idiot.”, an annoying growl erupted from the throat of your boyfriend. “Who are you calling idiot, human?”, Sukuna didn´t sound mad. In fact it even sounded playful. Should I let go of him? But he´s not letting go himself so hugging him should be fine, right? “Why are you calling me human? Well, I am one but still. Do you know that I have a name? A name like you have it. Something we use to call each other to avoid calling every living being human, you know my dear?”, a soft but still deep chuckle could be heard before he let go of your intertwined hands and got back to hug you. “I´m not stupid you damn creature. I´m even smarter than any of you could ever get.”, he whispered while he nuzzled onto you. “Really? Are you that? Well it seems like you weren´t that smart when you ripped Yuujis heart out of his chest or attacked Sensei Gojo. Remember?”

The words you said made him loosen his grip on you and look you in the eyes. Any normal human being with a bit sense of sanity would have screamed or looked the curse with fear in their eyes but you didn´t. With one hand still around your body that held you close to his he took your face in his other and made you look in his eyes. “I dare you to get rude. Watch out what you say, human.”, he sounded angry and talked in his deep voice that would cause anyone to tear up instantly. But you? You were smiling at him while trying to hold back the need to laugh. It´s so easy to provoke him.“I need to take the cake out of the oven.”, the curse looked at you dumbfounded. Weren´t you scared? How aren´t you scared of him? “You need to what?”, he asked confused. “Let me go for a second and you´ll see.”, the man in front of you raised a brow but let go of you nevertheless to see what you meant. After a quick thanking him, you made your way out of the bedroom into your kitchen to turn the oven off and take the cake out. “You see that´s a cake and the thing it was in is called oven. It bakes there. Now I let it cool.”, you carefully put the cake on your counter and look back at your boyfriend whos body and mind was taken over by the curse. “Now would you mind changing back with Yuuji? I´d like to watch Netflix with him.”, you asked with a tilted head.

A slight smirk grew on Sukunas lips before he came closer. “You could also do that with me. , you shook your head and went to sit on the couch in front of the TV. “I could, but that´s not fun. We wanted to start the third season of Money heist you know. And I need someone to talk to. And that I can´t do with you. You´re not understanding the whole concept of the series and the minds, emotions and the actions of the characters. Therefore it´s a no for me, thank you. Now please change back, your majesty.”

Sukuna came to sit next to you. With an annoyed eye roll he closed his eyes and left to allow the actual owner of the body to take over again. “Hey there. You´re back, baby?”, you said with a tilted head. Yuuji looked around with confusion written all over his face. “Did he come again?”, he asked you with a pout and apologetic eyes. You nodded and took his hands in yours. “It´s fine. He didn´t do anything. He never does. He just comes to annoy us.”, Yuuji nodded and pulled you into his arms and made you sit on his lap. You were straddling him while he buried his face back on your neck. He was happy. He was happy and really appreciated the fact that Sukuna kept his word and never hurt you. He might cause him a lot of other problems and annoy the hell out of him and even drop him when he needed him but at least he didn´t hurt you. He sometimes even could feel how he took care of you when he couldn´t. Yuuji couldn´t say that he was on good terms with the curse but one thing’s for sure. He was damn thankful that he understood his feelings for you and didn´t disrespect that.

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coffeeandcalligraphy · 4 years ago

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Something Held | Feeding Habits Update #8

Hi all!

Not me not realizing it’s been 3 months since I posted a Feeding Habits update hahahahahaha. Today let’s chat chapter nine, SOMETHING HELD. This also marks the last chapter in Harrison’s POV so prepare to say goodbye to this icon! TW: body horror, mental illness, trauma

Just a reminder: This is my original work and plagiarism of any form will not be tolerated.

Scene outline, excerpts & a little reflection on making difficult decisions that my not particularly benefit the book but benefit you as the writer under the cut because this update is GIGANTIC.

General taglist (please ask to be added or removed):

@if-one-of-us-falls, @qatarcookie, @chloeswords, @alicewestwater, @laughtracksonata, @shylawrites, @ev–writes, @jaydewritesfiction, @jennawritesstories @eowynandfaramir, @august-iswriting, @aetherwrites

Scene Breakdown

Scene A:

It has been two weeks since Lonan found Harrison at his shared apartment with Suzanna and things are getting strange. Lonan and Suz are getting closer, Harrison is getting more distant and slowly losing it. One morning, Harrison wakes hearing Lonan and Suz’s laughter, and crawls to the kitchen to investigate. When he reaches them, Suz is evening out Lonan’s hacked haircut and they’re both sobbing.

Scene B:

Shortly after this bizarre encounter, Suzanna steps out of the apartment for a breather because her son is sort of terrifying her! So Lonan and Harrison double-team to clean up Lonan’s hair shavings. Harrison begins eating the hair while Lonan stares and they have a conversation about the state of their friendship.

Scene Ba:

This scene is gross and confusing! More hair is ingested. My god.

Scene Bb:

After the above ordeal, both boys rinse off because they’ve been rolling?? around?? in??? hair?? but also?? things don’t stop being a little gross

Scene C:

An air of calm finally settles over the apartment. Lonan brews earl grey tea for him and Harrison to share and Harrison asks if he abandoned Lonan in the final chapter of Moth Work. Lonan doesn’t really answer this question so Harrison continues on his confused, but finally lucid (one-sided) conversation, admitting he understands he burdens his mother, who still has not returned. They circle back to the question of abandonment and Lonan answers Harrison the way he wants to be answered (yes), and this is a moment of freeing, where he feels some sort of responsibility in this irresponsible new life he’s led in NYC. They sort of agree to be friends again.

Scene D:

The boys head into the city to find Suzanna, heading to a bakery near the Hudson River. Lonan drives in his used car, a strange experience since Harrison has not seen him drive in years. Taking the opportunity, he searches through the car and finds a map in the glove compartment. The map is erratically scribbled over and it takes him to moment to realize this is Lonan’s map and the first indication that Lonan, who he has assumed is this stable, perfect person, is not as unscathed as he seems.

The boys pass the waterfront and Lonan nearly crashes the car into an oncoming truck. Harrison regains control of the vehicle tucking them into a side street. Shaken, Lonan apologizes for the mess he’s created both physically from his nosebleed and between Harrison and his mother, which gets Harrison a little antsy because he doesn’t like the suggestion that he’s going to leave. Lonan clarifies, stating he won’t if that’s what Harrison wants.

Scene E:

Later, everyone is back at home and Harrison wakes up to a Lonan-less bed. He gets up to investigate the strange dripping coming from the bathroom and opens the door to find Lonan precariously teetering over a sink filled with water. Harrison, concerned, moves him away and tries to ask why Lonan is presumably going underwater, but doesn’t push. They both stand on opposite sides of the bathroom until the sun rises.

My process:

Honestly, writing this chapter was a huge up and down. The first half of it came much easier to me, but the rest was a literal hellfire to get through. I think I was incredibly fatigued with writing in Harrison’s POV as I’d been writing it since June (I finished this chapter in either December or January). This book has been a pain in the ass to write despite me liking what it is, and I really think it being the only place I’ve physically “gone” since the pandemic makes it even harder to write. I felt claustrophobic in Harrison’s POV since I’ve been writing it for half a year, and in a lil ~breakdown~ my beautiful sister reminded me of something she’d previously told me, “it's not about what works, it's about what you want”.

Let’s chat about this for a sec! I think I was watching a Harmony Nice video on her “hard-to-swallow” self-care, and she basically outline (I’m paraphrasing here) that it’s critical we care for ourselves in ways that might not necessarily be easy to do. Honestly, leaving Harrison’s POV is one of those hard-to-swallow self-care things I literally had to do because my mental health was not happy with me! Y’all know my boys are very close to me, and I’m not picking favourites but Lonan is 2500 times easier for me to write with at the moment. I think Harrison’s situation and how he deals with it is much too similar to mine but in a way that is difficult to place (Lonan and I are unfortunately similar but in a way that is easier for me to understand about myself!). From the beginning of writing his POV I’ve been in Struggleville, but kept pushing through hoping the next chapter would be “the one”. Not to burst my own bubble but there is no such thing in the state of mind I was in! I was pushing myself to find something that doesn’t exist because my brain was really not equipped to do what I needed it to do. I really, really did not want to quit on Harrison’s POV, but I had to, not because I don’t like him (he’s my baby) but because I needed a moment to myself. I felt way too seen in ways I don’t really know how to address in myself, so writing him was horribly frustrating at all times (my fault, not his).

My characters really do live in my head rent-free lol. They live in there! They take up space! They take up energy! They take up concentration, and resources I need for myself! Empathy is so integral to my process, that I give a little part of myself in everything I write. This is a blessing because I really get to dig my heels into the mind of another person, but a curse because I’m not a machine (and sometimes I forget that). It is a lot of emotional energy and labour to give everything you have to fictional people. I don’t think an artist needs to be tortured to create good art (this is not it!) but I never truly practiced this well? In my attempt to be empathetic, I was torturing myself a little bit, not going to lie!

So to combat this, I decided I needed a change. Hence, this chapter is imperfect and probably needs some stuff added to it, and while I’ve only written little of Lonan’s second POV, I’m feeling a lot better! It’s nice to get “outside” in a different place lmao this is so sad (pandemic writing things).

Excerpts:

I wrote the beginning of this in a livestream I hosted on my YouTube channel! There’s also a shoutout here to my dragon tree Lisa <3 miss u boo

Two weeks go by. Lonan sleeps on the couch. Harrison wakes up at dawn—no earlier, no later. Suzanna buys a plant: a Madagascar dragon tree she names Lisa. June grows into the collar. Lonan plays sudoku in the newspaper. Harrison learns to bake focaccia, gluten-free, whole wheat. Suzanna learns to palm read, tells Lonan he’s experienced great betrayal (they stop the reading immediately; Lonan goes back to the newspapers). Harrison begins burning incense at sunrise—frankincense. The dragon tree nearly dies (Lonan saves it). It rains every weekday that contains the letter T. Lonan shifts stacks of soggy newspapers onto the breakfast table, answers crosswords with the help of Suzanna (four across, nine letters, Something held). Harrison burns a baguette. Suzanna buys a hanging basket of pothos. The power goes out for two days and the icebox floods the kitchen tile (Lonan mops it with old newspapers, the ink running like jellyfish). June barks for the first time. Harrison eats a bundle of dried bay leaves. Suzanna waters the plants with rainwater, icewater, wrung into a coffee tin. Harrison leaves the stove on while sautéing shallots (he eats them whole). Lonan wakes up feverish and fills out four newspaper crosswords, then falls asleep on the coffee table. Suzanna moulds panna cotta in coffee mugs and shares the batch with Lonan when they won’t tip out. Lonan teaches her how to propagate the pothos and soon they have twenty empty cans of cuttings poking from the windowsills. They rearrange the furniture, the couch facing the kitchen instead of the TV, the dining table right outside the bathroom, then put it all back the next day. They birdwatch from the tiny window with binoculars and a magnifying glass. They sort coupons. Whittle soaps. Watch Norwegian films without the subtitles. Discuss cliff diving. Make matching anklets (blue beads, elastic string, the plastic clacking how Harrison knows they’re coming). All of this they do as Harrison lies on his bed for two weeks, counting the corners of his ceiling and trying to determine a way to multiply them telepathically.

This is the very next paragraph!

At first he assumes they’re laughing. The sun nearly rising between other high rises, blotting his room with dawn. This is not a surprise. They are probably making pancakes out of buckwheat and discussing the hilarity of whole grains. They are probably laughing at store-bought cherry preserves. Too sour. Their cheeks puckered. But then the laughs get louder, and the sun rises higher and it’s not laughing at all, but gasping.

Here’s Harrison crawling!! is this straight out of the exorcist probably!

Harrison’s instinct is to crawl. As if his smallness against the ground will stop anyone from hearing him, even before he unlocks his door. On hands and knees he shuffles from his bed to his doorframe, edges the door open with his shoulder. On hands and knees he hikes through the hallway, the gasping getting louder, shuffling until he sees them. Lonan sitting on one of the kitchen stools, a grocery bag wound around his throat. Suzanna clacking scissors in two hands so their blades ping in the sun. Her fingers loped around his hair, knuckle-deep, the blades snipping, the gasps growing, them both sobbing, the hair falling, the sun stalking, their bodies rocking. Harrison takes it in from his crawl. Experiences it all on his knees.

So this excerpt seems really you know, normal:

They clean up the hair. Harrison with the dustpan, Lonan with the broom. Harrison still kneels. Lonan still cries. The only thing that has changed since crawling into the kitchen is that Suzanna is taking a walk around the apartment complex. She needs air. Room. If she cries long enough, a cigarette. So Lonan sweeps. Harrison collects. This repeats.

The kitchen smells of nutmeg. Freshly grated from a whole club over espresso, Harrison imagines. He smells this as he tracks Lonan with the dustpan, hovering its open belly for clippings of hair. And Lonan is so compliant, brushes cuttings of himself onto the plastic surface so Harrison can trash it. As Harrison looks on from his knees, Lonan diffuses in sunlight, the window illuminating only his edges. A body so familiar Harrison knows exactly where it flares with light or absorbs it. A body with skin like mulberry silk. A body he could recreate in charcoal with his eyes closed. His archangel translucent and luminescing.

Skip this excerpt if you don’t want to read about Harrison eating hair!! i’m sorry!

Harrison picks a bundle of fallen hair from the dustpan. It’s airy from being recently shampooed, smells faintly of pear, maybe even ginger. This hair, touched by a woman, or a few women, and cut by one, or a few, in different contexts. Eliza’s hands deveining the roots, and then Suzanna’s, trying to fix them. So Harrison eats it. That bundle like a toothpicked cube of cheese. He puts it in his mouth and swallows.

Lonan watches like he’s unconcerned. He watches this feral animal—Harrison must be something feral, starved of something and ravaged by that hunger. Chewing mouthfuls of hair like that will quell of him of what is missing, if there even is anything missing, something unidentifiable in this bland circuit of New York City, this time-loop of sonhood, this fresh start a dousing of flatness. As Harrison eats, he understands he consumes that something like it’s holy communion, reuniting with that something by absorbing it. And still, that hunger moves him, from finishing the dustpan of hair, and closer to Lonan.

“Do you think I’m a bad friend?” Harrison asks, wringing the corner of his lips clean from loose hairs. From this perspective, Harrison on his knees collecting hair, Lonan’s eyes look bluer. Maybe their saturation has nothing to do with the angle, but Harrison feels this is true; his eyes are so crystalline, they are temptingly edible. Like two plump blueberries. Or a matching set of clear glass marbles. Harrison swallows. He repeats, “Do you think I’m a bad friend?”

Lonan swallows, adjusts his grip on the broom. “We’d have to be friends for me to answer that.”

“Aren’t we?”

And here’s the rest of this scene!

“You’re my mother’s friend,” Harrison says. “She trusts you.” He crawls closer to Lonan. “You’ve got secrets. Rituals. Tell me her favourite finger-food and who she wants to marry.”

“I don’t know your mother that well.”

Harrison wraps a handle around Lonan’s ankle. A muscle there jumps like a dolphin breaching the water. He’s memorized this plane of skin, could rebuild it from single grains of sand while blindfolded. He furls his hands across its surface, unfurls.

“You garden with her,” Harrison says. “You share a plate for dessert.”

“She’s kind to me.”

“You cook her breakfast.” Harrison tugs on Lonan’s ankle, knowing it won’t raze him, knowing he’ll come down anyway. “You know the exact temperature she drinks her coffee down to the last digit.”

“I’m trying to be hospitable.”

“You’re trying to be a son.”

Lonan kneels. Crouching so they’re huddled over each other, so it’s nearly impossible to distinguish one body from the other, which one sinks, which one rises.

“My mother’s only got one son to live with,” Harrison says, his voice thin from a clogged throat. He reaches for Lonan’s scalp, scrapes a line down the centre, now an even plane of cropped hair. “And it isn’t me.”

“You’re unstable,” Lonan says, burrowing his face either into a cabinet or Harrison’s shoulder—neither can tell. “You won’t let yourself have friends.”

Farther, toward the tile they go, a pile of hair scattering. “My mother wants me to forgive you by replacing me with you.”

“She’s grieving,” Lonan says.

Harrison loses his hands. He doesn’t know where they disappear to, if he touches skin or tile. “I haven’t died,” he says. Skin or tile. Skin or tile.

Here’s an excerpt from scene C ft. this memoir bit from the time I was shocked that this university I visited had real FANCY teabags:

Lonan brews tea. Earl grey, from a tin. Harrison doesn’t know why he expects it to come from a bag. An individual paper sachet, or if he’s lucky, one of those fancy ones woven from nylon. But it’s from a tin. Two teaspoons into the bottom of a single mug they pass back and forth, wordless at the kitchen table. Strung in the bathroom, Harrison’s t-shirt hang-dries, nearly figure-like, an unfilled phantom. He tugs a throw around his shoulders and stares at his hands. Each crest of cuticle. Each bulb of knuckle. Each maze of fingerprints.

He is material. This is fact. Not just outlines. He’s got skin that goes pinkish when pinched, a pulse that juts from his wrist, two eyes that burn at the scent of lavender, ten fingers. But as he holds his hands up, studying them in the faint moonlight, it is difficult to believe his tangibility. In the city, he has lived as a haze. Fogging over grocery stores, eateries, nondescript. Fresh start has always implied an air of zest, a zing that should have fueled him to plant roots in this restart. But Harrison is rotten, aphid infected, overwatered, underwatered, then not watered at all. He flexes his fingers. He pops the joints. He tries to press his pinkie to the back of his hand. But none of this brings him back to himself. His hands continue feeling like someone else’s. His body invisibly marred in some way he can’t reverse, disconnected in retaliation.

Harrison reflecting on his relationship with his mother:

Suzanna has never left him alone this long, and to her detriment. He imagines her now, living the life she always should’ve lived, the life she lived before he crosscut his way to her most important thing. She’s probably at a salon, having her hair twirled with a round brush, making dinner reservations at some place always too expensive for two (extra points if it has a French name, more if she has to wait a half hour before getting a table). When she talks to her stylist, she doesn’t mention a son, but plans to travel up the west coast, all the way into Canada if she’s feeling adventurous. She’ll buy crime novels she’ll never read at duty-free, reapply a lipstick that cost her a paycheck in the reflection of a hand-dryer. After the salon, she’ll meet a woman at a wine bar, converse about children, and still not mention a son. Suzanna’s singleness will be a celebration.

The boys finally trucing it out <3

When Harrison finally opens his eyes, Lonan is staring at him. His eyes two reels of the Pacific. They cycle in blue. So much of him has changed, and yet he is still the same. Beyond the haircut, Lonan isn’t that much different. He can’t be much different. But as Harrison searches, splaying his palm on the wet table, he knows this is untrue. Lonan is hollower than he was last summer. A little more haunted. They have this in common, then.

“Can we be friends?” Harrison asks. With his pinkie, he finds himself writing against the damp table just as he did Lonan’s scalp not too long ago. Lonan’s gaze follows each loop of each letter, Harrison’s steady left hand.

Lonan is consumed studying what Harrison has written, where each letter connects in near-cursive scrawl. After a moment, he nods, once, twice, and then reverts to staring at the table’s new inscription. On its surface are two words: something held.

The boys in the car like old times <3

Lonan drives. This is strange because Harrison has not seen Lonan drive a car in over a year. Usually, Harrison takes the wheel, but tonight he guides them through the city, in search of Suzanna. His car is clean. This isn’t unexpected. A cherry-coloured hatchback that rattles whenever he makes a left turn. It smells vaguely of cotton air-freshener and the undercurrent of cigarettes.

“You still smoke?” Harrison pokes at the plastic nob for the radio, and it crackles to life. Synth and electric guitar pulse in 4/4 time.

“I bought it used.”

They’ve agreed to get to know one another while they search for Suzanna. Another restart, some attempt at an honest hour. As Lonan changes lanes, Harrison pokes open the car’s glove compartment. A tin of nicotine gum falls on the mat. A hot pink feather pokes from underneath the driver’s manual. Harrison hauls out both, runs the feather along the gum tin, then the back of his hand, and then Lonan’s cheek. When that rouses nothing, he unlocks the tin and removes a slit of gum. Right as he’s about to pop it in his mouth, Lonan says, “I wouldn’t eat that.”

“Why?” Harrison asks. “Did you lace it?”

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

Harrison puts the gum back, and then the feather. He sticks his hand farther into the glove compartment, feels around until he drags out a map of the state, bilgy and half torn. He unfolds it, careful to avoid the rips, and flattens it against the dashboard. Almost immediately, it wilts against the cold, faded from time in the sun. It’s been marked up. Half with pencil, half with a red ballpoint pen. After a few minutes, Harrison understands the previous owner’s route. Or at least he does at first. Following the red pen arrows, they started at Long Island, then reached Manhattan. Then a much longer arrow takes him from Manhattan to Geneva, and then Buffalo. And then the red pen circles, once, twice, three times, four times, and what is in the centre doesn’t even have a city name. What it does say is HELP, in all-caps, each letter then melting into an illegible scrawl. Harrison sees bits of words: Luke, woe, hands, clay, guard, stray, each wobbly and disappearing into the other, becoming cities of their own, destroying others. He tries to understand the route, but the farther he pours over the map, recircling each line with his finger, the more lost he gets in the ink.

“Is this your map?” Harrison asks. There is no proof that it is. Even the handwriting is all wrong. Ragged. Confused. Desperate. Not like Lonan’s careful, hesitant print.

“Like I said, I bought the car used.”

“But is it your map?” Harrison asks again. Gently, he creases the paper and then slots it back into the glove compartment. Outside, they pass three convenience stores in a row, a flock of couples emerging from a bowling alley, tipsy and cradling leftover deep dish pizzas and mozzarella sticks. They pass two more convenience stores before Lonan finally answers.

“I was confused,” he says.

“This is more than confused,” Harrison says. “It’s disturbed.”

“I’m not disturbed.”

“But something is wrong with you.”

Lonan slows at a crosswalk. A group of teenaged girls whisk by in glitter and lip gloss.

“Yes,” he says.

This is Harrison trying to stop Lonan’s nosebleed after their bizarre swerve which I think is kind of <3 tendy <3

Harrison reaches for him. One hand on the back of his neck, and the other reared toward the red stream. His touch is tactful, so faint his fingerprints wouldn’t even be left behind, but still, the dabbing with his jacket’s hem is enough to redirect the blood’s flow from Lonan’s upper lip to the cuff of leather. The radio is still on, garbled like an unmassing of crepe paper lanterns.

This is the final excerpt for this update that takes us to the very end of the chapter! Harrison has just found Lonan supposedly head-first in the sink and though he asks at first why he is doing that, takes an alternate approach as the chapter closes:

Harrison gets up, his knees popping like gnawed bubble gum. He decides he will handle Lonan at a distance, if he chooses to handle him at all. Like a timid pet owner trying to tame their suddenly-rabid yorkie. Like a friend not trying to tip the full glass. To let its contents film at its surface, but never spill.

Somewhere in the apartment, Suzanna probably listens to them. If Harrison didn’t know her better, he’d imagine her pressed neatly against the door, waiting to hear the shuffle of their bodies or the tang of an argument. Instead, he imagines her at the kitchen table, gripping a glass of water for so long, half of it evaporates.

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Harrison says, stepping back until his spine hits the counter’s lip. He curls his fingers under the granite. Looks toward the window, now a faint periwinkle. Lonan heaves. His fingers caging his face, an animal restrained. They stand there until the sun rises.

So that’s it for this gigantic update! I have like four short stories to update you on so I hope to be back soon!

—Rachel

#writing #writerblr #amwriting #writeblr #fostered #mothwork #writingupdates #feedinghabits

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lovelyirony · 4 years ago

Note

hi! so. a while back (like, a good while back) I found a fanfic for you and you said something about a story/short thing in return? I said I'd take you up on it, but then took an extended leave of absence from Tumblr and never did. anyways, im feeling things about gay dads and also Peter Parker and I was wondering if you could do something with iron husbands and tony's many adopted children, both bots and otherwise? idk. you're amazing.

The first kid that gets adopted, in a sense, is Dum-E. He’s the product of a lot of “you can’t do this” energy.

People really do think that Tony and Rhodey aren’t capable of creating an Artificial Intelligence unit that can think for itself.

The final nail in the coffin is when Rhodey is visiting the Stark family home and Obadiah Stane treats their goal dismissively.

When they get back to their home in Boston, Rhodey sets his jaw.

“We’re making that fucking system, Tones. I don’t care what happens.”

“So what you’re saying is that we’re disregarding our previous agreement about limiting lab rules?”

“Yes. Null and void until we bring this fruition.”

This is a very important rule. Despite what most would think, Rhodey and Tony are capable of setting limits and following them. But if there is no physical reminder of that rule, then they can ignore it.

(This is actually just the excuse that they make up so that they can make Machiavellian machines.)

Dum-E spins around and ruins at least three pairs of socks that Rhodey leaves on the floor.

“At least you finally stopped that habit,” Tony says. Rhodey rolls his eyes, watching as Dum-E finally realizes that he cannot possibly open the door to the porch and will stop bumping up against the glass.

"He’s an idiot,” Tony says fondly.

“Took after his mama,” Rhodey jokes. Tony slaps his arm.

“Hey!”

The second and third are twins. Kind of. Both of them absolutely insist that they are not twins because they are very different. After all, U likes alternative pop, which Butterfingers finds simply unforgivable.

Rhodey and Tony didn’t know that the other was making a robot. Dum-E was lonely, and their anniversary was coming up.

They both decided to make Dum-E a sibling and laughed as U and Butterfingers basically rolled up to each other and immediately tried to fight.

“So...who’s first?” Tony asks.

“Hm...U, I think.”

Butterfingers sulks. She’s youngest by one day, and U will never let her hear the end of it.

“I know baby girl,” Tony coos. “But you look so pretty. Look at how nice your dad painted your display!”

It is rather pretty. It’s all cool with yellows and blues. Dum-E is a jealous.

Jarvis is more Tony’s than anything. Made after a lonely Christmas. Not the one that most people think.

Edwin Jarvis died in late November.

Tony didn’t rest until it was done.

They sob together as Jarvis states the weather in a crisp, accented tone that sounds so much like the original.

The siblings all get along like a house on fire, although Rhodey swears that Jarvis loves to instigate drama when Tony doesn’t need it.

This is how Dum-E and Butterfingers get into a week-long feud about whose turn it is to close the fridge door. This is a Very Important Job.

Jarvis makes it worse.

“You are trying to kill me,” Rhodey says, scowling. “You know your brother and sister would fight.”

“I am a learning program, Colonel Rhodes.”

“Don’t call me that. Call me anything but that.”

“Confirmed, Private Rhodes.”

“I hate you.”

“You wouldn’t visit my creator so much if you truly meant that.”

Rhodey gives him the bird, and Jarvis almost huffs.

He’s an amazing kid, really.

The next kid isn’t for a while longer. It’s not until a year after the actual event, that Rhodey wasn’t there for.

So he went by Iron Patriot for a while. Didn’t stick. He’s kind of glad it didn’t.

This one didn’t even know about Rhodey, which is a travesty.

It’s a snot-nosed little tween who says he’s not a tween, and his name is Harley Keener.

“Tony Stark and I are connected,” he says stubbornly. Rhodey let him into the house, not like he’s going to just make this kid stay outside.

“Like what, through an email chain? Texting?”

“Life experience,” Tony says. “Hey kiddo. Who the hell let you take a bus all the way here?”

“Bus drivers.”

“Ha ha. Where’s your mom?”

Harley tenses.

His mother got a new boyfriend. New boyfriend didn’t like Harley or his little sister. Little sister is living with an aunt, and Harley didn’t want to live there. So here he is, in New York.

“You don’t have to take me in, but I won’t stop bothering you,” Harley says.

Tony sighs.

“Come on in, kid. Like I’d let you do anything else.”

It’s complicated. Rhodey realizes he’s dealing with another Tony with a bit more stubbornness to him and blistering genius.

He calls his boss.

“I need to put in my two weeks.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I am.”

“Why?”

“Let’s just say I got preoccupied by surprise.”

“Don’t tell me your guy brought home another bouncing baby robot.”

“Well...not really. This one’s human.”

“Christ.”

Harley loves New York. He manages to navigate far easier than Tony ever could, and he grew up there half his life. Harley learns which bodegas are good, and what food trucks he needs to watch out for.

He also adjusts to school far easier than expected, although the environment is much better. He’s being challenged, and he has people that can follow him.

This is when Tony and Rhodey look into Midtown and discover a kid with a lot of promise.

Spider-Man, technically, isn’t confirmed to go to Midtown.

But Harley’s a bright kid and realizes that Peter Parker is Spidey.

It also helps that the makeshift suit is hanging out of his backpack in a back alley.

Peter gets an internship, and Rhodey laughs as Tony groans.

“Oh my god, how do kids have so much energy. How.”

“We were like that.”

“No we weren’t.”

“Do you forget we created Dum-E in, like, a week because we ignored the concept of time?”

“Hm. I choose to forget that. It didn’t happen.”

Rhodey laughs.

They all have family nights. The bots are particularly enamored with movies, and drag Harley and Peter out of the lab to watch them.

It’s Butterfingers’ turn, and she always chooses a soft movie. This time, it’s an old silent film.

Dum-E likes action movies, so this is not the favorite.

“Hush, you got to choose last time honey,” Rhodey scolds. “Don’t make me cut off your turn.”

Dum-E goes silent as Peter snickers, flicking a piece of popcorn at U, who is currently trying to rearrange the furniture.

(He’s decided he wants to watch videos about interior design this month. He’s very invested in Manifesting His Vision.)

Tony smiles at Rhodey across the way. Harley had said he wasn’t tired, and now his head is on Rhodey’s leg, and he’s out of the world. Peter’s getting there, yawning into the pillow he’s decided is his.

U has gone to “charge” although he says he’s Fine, No Charging for Him!

(Jarvis has to laugh.)

It’s not the typical family lifestyle. But Tony and Rhodey want anything but typical.

#anyways i want the bots being Funny and here it is #bot fic #family fic #rhodeytony #ironhusbands #peter parker #harley keener #i was going 2 write a bit more but i am tired and i liked the ending a lot :)#i hope y'all do too!#lovelyirony writes #jarvis #dum-e #u #butterfingers #iron man #war machine

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yeochikin · 4 years ago

Text

egg tarts. | s. mingi

a/n: thank you for requesting this fic, anon! i do apologise if it is not exceeding to your expectations. but still, i hope you enjoyed this! also, this is not proofread so do excuse any mistakes in this! this is also a long read, 10k words!! so i really hope you guys will like this ✨💖

to say that today was a bad day would be an understatement yet saying that it would be the worst day of your life could be too exaggerated as well. but all you know is that you wanted to go back home and let sleep take over your exhausted body as soon as you jumped into the plush mattress of your bed, wrapped into a cocoon made with your soft blankets. all you wanted today was for everything to go smoothly like it always had been, but life managed to just laugh and add a little spice to it just to stir things up.

you had the worst sleep last night, courtesy of your neighbour next door who somehow just decided that it was a good idea to rearrange all of their furniture in the ass crack of dawn which had caused you to not only have a little amount of sleep for the night. that wasn’t it, oh no. life would always add a few sprinkles here and there. as if having little hours of sleep, someone had bumped into you during your morning run and spilled their drink onto your pants. you would have cursed the person out but instead, you just made a run for it to run to campus.

like some type of cherry on top, your literature lecturer, professor kim, seemed to think that it was a good idea to suddenly drop a project that was due in two weeks.your professor thought that it would be a good idea to make up an entire storyline with the elements of what he had taught your class. of course it wasn’t bad but for a huge procrastinator like you? it might be a huge nightmare, considering that you had more assignments at hand from your other classes. yet, that wasn’t the core of your dread.

professor kim just had to pair you up with one of the most obnoxious boys in your class, song mingi.

“i swear, professor kim either hates me or he just really likes to see me suffer.” you groaned into the palm of your hands, both elbows rested on top of the table you and your best friends, yeosang and wooyoung, were sitting at. yeosang could only look at you in a pitiful manner with his large hand patting the top of your head, while wooyoung cackled out next to you.

ah yes, song mingi. the boy that could come straight out of a cliche love story. The boy who was a part of the basketball team of your campus, also known as the captain of the team. the boy everyone loved yada-yada. of course you didn’t hate him, oh no. let’s just say that if mingi were to have his toe being stubbed, you would be the furniture that he stubbed against. So, no, no hard feelings at all.

okay maybe there was some sort of.. unpleasant feelings (as what you had claimed it) between the two of you.

believe it or not, mingi and you used to be close friends during middle school and high school. you remembered the time where you would always wait for mingi during your lunch with him, knowing how he could take his time during his meals, yet you didn’t mind. sometimes, some of his friends would even join the both of you at your usual table. you would always fill the time by doing your own work or even making some random conversations with him and his friends. truly, you enjoyed spending your time with him. it was after the first half of your final year in high school, was where it started. ever since he joined the basketball team, he had gotten together with a girl that was part of the cheering team. don’t get me wrong, she was nice! everyone seemed to love her sweet nature, and she would even join you and mingi during lunchtime. surprisingly, despite being in a relationship with her, they weren’t too big on the pda. you would be lying to say that you didn’t have a small crush on a certain tall boy but as a good friend, you supported them.

it was during a couple of months before you graduated that the two of you seemed to drift apart. you had tried to contact him yet, it was either a simple one worded answer or none at all, until the two of you finally stopped contacting each other. you would even catch mingi in the hallways talking to his friends, his girlfriend at his side as usual, and tried to make a conversation. but every time you did, he looked at you with an unreadable expression, face all stoic while his friends looked at you in pity. to say you were confused, would be an understatement. it felt as if you were kept in the dark. this went on until it was finally the time where you bid goodbye to your old school and start a new page in your life, your university life.

to your surprise, the two of you had enrolled in the same university. you went to greet him one time with a huge smile on your face but.. he merely looked past you, much to your disappointment. you’ve tried to greet him a few more times after that, and still received the same reaction. like any other person who needed some closure, you had confronted mingi one time when you ran into him in the hallways of your campus to ask what happened to him, to the both of you. you had hoped you could get some valid answers from mingi, hoping that the two of you could ever reconcile once again and go back to being friends who dragged lunch time in the cafeteria.

but there was none.

mingi merely looked down at you, some type of coldness was held in his eyes, at least from what you remember. without even a word, he walked past you as if you never even asked a question. thus, that was all it took for you to finally accept that he is no longer a part of your life anymore, making the emotions inside you to be all jumbled up, you becoming overwhelmed.

it was now that whenever you see mingi, all of those memories would come rushing back to you. the memories that only made you choke up on your tears from how easily he had thrown them out of the window, just like that. before you know it, the sadness in your chest you felt every time you saw mingi around campus somehow grew into a ball of anger. it also didn’t help due to the fact that mingi is in the same major as you, so whenever you had class with him, you made sure to sit as far away from the tall boy as possible and hopefully, not interact with him at all.

until today.

“oh come on, y/n. i’m sure it won’t be that bad.” wooyoung reassured, pulling you away from the brief time of reminiscing the past, yeosang humming in response.

“who knows? maybe the two of you could finally get that closure.” the blonde male continued.

you merely deadpanned at the two of them, “or i could be the one doing all of the work for this project.”

wooyoung rolled his eyes at your answer before looking down at his phone. “oh crap, i should get to class, professor park would have my head if i’m late!”

with the claim, the three of you started to gather your things. you were about to bid goodbye to the two of your bestfriends and head to your respective classes until a deep voice called out your name, your whole body feeling a flash of chills running down your spine. you knew who that voice belonged to all too well.

before you responded to him, you gave yeosang and wooyoung a reassuring smile, watching as the two boys stared between you and mingi for a few seconds before walking off, wooyoung mouthing at you to text him when you were done.

“what is it, mingi?” you finally said, arms folded in front of your chest as you faced the tall male, feeling the growing anger just bubbling up in your chest.

said boy rubbed the back of his neck with his hand while the other one was hidden in the pocket of his pants, “so.. we got paired up for this pr-”

“ah, yes. tell me something more obvious, mingi.” you cut him. of course, you did not intend to have snapped at him but how could you not from what he did?

mingi, on the other hand, was taken aback by your sudden sassiness before exhaling through his nose, “can you just remain civil for a bit?” he grumbled, only making your eye twitch before scoffing at his words.

“me? why don’t you give that advise to yourself.” you hissed.

“fuck, y/n. i have no time for this.” mingi groaned and ran his hand through his hair.

“me too, so tell me now instead of making me late for cla-” your words died down as you felt a large hand cupping your mouth, effectively shutting you up. with eyes still glaring daggers at the said boy, you raised an eyebrow at him, mingi taking it as a cue for him to finally start talking.

“i know that you will hate working on this project with me but if we want those points we gotta work together on this or we won’t even get to continue this class.” he started, you listening to him intently though still glaring at him.

“so, what do you say about getting that project started after our classes today? in the library?” he continued, teeth sinking down against the soft muscle of his lower lip, albeit nervously.

it took you a little while to process his words. from the months of not talking to each other and cold glares being thrown every now and then, what gave him the audacity to come up to you and ask this as if nothing ever happened? you could feel blood rushing to your face out of frustration. but, as much as you hated to admit it, he had a point. whether you like it or not, he is still your partner for this project.

your tense shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, a hand slowly moving mingi’s hand away. with a heavy sigh leaving your lips, you nodded your head and tugged on the strap of your bag, adjusting it on your shoulder.

“fine. in the library after classes then, don’t be late.” was the last thing you said and brushed past him, heading to your class.

as soon as you were sure that you’re out of mingi’s vision, you felt your legs give out, yet not to the extent of collapsing completely right on the floor. your breathing was ragged as you tried to calm yourself from the sudden crash of emotions hitting right then and there, a hand quickly reaching up to muffle the quiet whimpers you released, feeling the concerned eyes from the other students passing by you, hushed whispers being exchanged with their friends yet you were too overwhelmed to care.

you don’t hate him. you never hated him. yet why did he do that? why would mingi just shut you out all of the sudden and suddenly started talking to you so casually? you don’t know. but will you ever find out the reason why he acted like he had?

finally having yourself composed, you took a deep breath before standing up, walking off to your next class with one thing left in mind as you did so.

maybe yeosang was right, maybe you’ll soon have that closure from mingi.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

“are you guys up for milkshakes at the diner?” wooyoung asked, running his fingers through his now messy hair from his habit of running through them numerous times, as soon as he saw you walking out of your last class with yeosang leaning against the wall next to him.

yeosang shrugged his shoulders, “i don’t see why not. y/n?”

you, on the other hand, was staring blankly on the floor, only looking up in shock once wooyoung slung an arm around your neck to catch your attention.

“huh? what?”

“we asked if you were up for milkshakes later.” yeosang repeated, his brow raised from the distracted look on your face. “you good?” he asked.

“yeah, you’re kinda out of it. wait, it’s because of mingi, isn’t it? let me beat his a-” wooyoung said, rolling his sleeves before starting to walk, only to be abruptly dragged by yeosang by his collar to where you were standing.

“as much as i wanted you to do so, i don’t think it’ll solve anything, no?” you joked, an attempt to lighten up the mood with a shake of your head.

“though i’m gonna have to sit this one out, guys. mingi and i are supposed to be discussing the project today.” you continued, a small pout on your lips from not being able to hang out with the two boys.

wooyoung and yeosang looked at each other then at you, “you’re actually starting your project early at least.” yeosang said.

cue the sounds of a gentle slap on his arm from you and the sound of wooyoung’s high pitched laugh.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

your foot tapped against the floor impatiently before looking down at your phone to check your phone. you had been waiting in the library for almost two hours now so where the hell is mingi? your eyes looked around the place and saw some students popping in and out yet still no sign of a certain tall male. with a frustrated huff, you slowly gathered your things, convinced that mingi had somehow blew you off.

just as you got up from your seat, the doors suddenly burst open, and in came a panting and not to mention, sweaty, mingi. his eyes frantically looked around the library until he finally spotted you in the corner of the library, quickly making his way towards you. upon arriving, he literally collapsed on the chair in front of you, taking deep breaths to catch his breath. raising an eyebrow at him, you were about to ask what took him so long until he raised a finger as if to give him a moment, still panting. you could only roll your eyes and decided to sit back down in your seat, waiting for him to calm down.

“sorry, i had a last minute meeting with my teammates and the coach.” mingi managed to say between his pants. for the captain of the basketball team, he sure seemed like he was struggling for air.

you waited for him to finally calm down his breathing with a finger tapped against the table, eyes looking everywhere but the male in front of you awkwardly. how could someone not be awkward with their supposedly close friend who suddenly dropped them without telling them anything, was in front of them. your nerves were getting the best of you and made you fidget in your seat, much to mingi’s attention.

“you alright there, y/n?” he asked, snapping you out of your thoughts.

‘why did you do it?’ was what you wanted to ask yet it remained stuck in your throat as your eyes were met.

you felt a huge lump threatening to form in your chest, wanting nothing but to just bombard him with questions of what had happened to make him treat you like the way he did, what did you ever do to him, or what had happened to the friendship you both built. yet, you just couldn’t ask him. no, it was more like, you weren’t ready to know the answer. not now, not when you’re letting your emotions almost get the best of you.

“y/n?” mingi called out again, a flash of concern shown in his features.

“huh? oh, yeah. definitely.” you rambled, sitting straight in your seat before clearing your throat, “should.. should we get started?” you offered, busying yourself by taking out your laptop.

mingi could only study your expression for a few seconds before nodding his head without another word before scooting a little closer so the two of you could finally start discussing about the said project, giving each other certain tasks to do. you would have to say, keeping your mind on the project you were working out seemed to be effective in taking your mind away from the gnawing thoughts in the back of your mind, yet a different type of frustration was instead being replaced, a certain feeling that students from all around the world knew all too well. everything was going smoothly, the both of you managed to discuss most parts of your project yet somehow you were stuck on how to actually start with the storyline.

“mingi, for the last time, we can’t suddenly put two of the characters in the script to suddenly start fighting right at the start.” you groaned, rubbing your face in the palm of your hands. with a roll of his eyes, said boy aggressively pressed onto the keys of your keyboard to erase the sentence he had started.

“uh huh, you say that yet you apply that in real life.” he grumbled underneath his breath, to which made your eye twitch out of annoyance.

“i don’t do that, what are you talking ab-” you started until mingi deadpanned at you.

“when i asked you about this project? or did you hit your head on your way here that you forgot all about it?” he retorted, to which made you scoff out of disbelief.

“if you weren’t being an ass, i wouldn’t do so.” you snapped, clicking your tongue as you snatched your laptop away from him to work on your part.

“says the one who looked like they were about to bite my ass earlier.”

a loud slap on his arm reverberated throughout the library along with mingi’s yelp that came along with your neverending bickers afterwards, only for the librarian coming up to warn the both of you to keep it down or else she will have to kick you out.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

“you going back home?” mingi suddenly asked, his eyes watching you pack your things.

the both of you decided to stop the discussion after a couple of hours, agreeing to meet back in the library the next day to finally get a work on the storyline after finally being able to write out some outlines. fixing the strap of your bag, you raised an eyebrow at him from the sudden inquiry.

“what does it look like?” you answered, though there was a bite in your tone, mingi disregarded it.

“calm down, for fuck’s sake.” he rolled his eyes before getting up from his seat. “i just thought that i could accompany you when you head back.” he offered, much to your surprise.

“ain’t really a good idea to let you walk alone, it’s getting a little dark.” mingi continued, nodding his head towards the windows, to which made you look out.

mingi was right. the sky was turning dark, only a few traces of crimson were apparent in the darkened sky. it didn’t help with the fact that your apartment took a little while to get to by foot. turning back to look at him, you narrowed your eyes up at him.

“how do i know you are not planning to kill me?” you asked, mingi poking his tongue against the inside of his cheek, amused.

“and what will i even do? knock you out with a basketball?”

the response was enough to make you snort, a hand coming up to cover your lips to release a faint chortle. the corners of mingi’s lips twitched up ever so slightly from your reaction, a little familiar tug was felt in his chest. he won’t lie. he had missed seeing your smile. he had missed making you laugh. hell, who was he kidding? he missed everything about you. so why was he acting all cold to you? why was he acting like an ass whenever you tried to greet him before?

from your side of the view, you were clueless. But to mingi, somehow he was the conflicted one. he remembered the time when he was on a date with his ex girlfriend in the past. he had recalled the time whenever you and him hung out during lunchtime, he had to deal with the girl whining as to why you would be at their table right when you left the table to head to class. confused, he had explained that you had always been hanging out with him during lunch time, much to the girl’s dissatisfaction. the girl merely complained that she felt threatened, thinking that you were out to steal him away from her.

it took mingi to put two and two together to realise the situation he was in. he needed to pick a side. It was either his… ‘sweet’ girl or you who was always there for him through thick and thin. but to a lovestruck mingi? he simply chose the girl, listening as she would insult you behind your back to mingi and how she mentioned you were only around him to date one of his friends, even to the extent of not making mingi interact with you in any way possible. hence, the dirty looks he sent you every time you tried to talk to him back then. his friends had noticed the tense atmosphere and decided to confront mingi about it, saying how she was controlling him and how he shouldn’t just drop you because of her. this only led up to a heated argument between mingi and the boys.

fast forward to being in uni, he had finally broke the relationship off with the girl, having enough of her controlling side. the male was surprised that you enrolled in the same university as him, being in the same major even. but.. he couldn’t talk to you. no, he chose not to interact with you at all. it was the guilt that was eating him alive that made him avoid you at all costs, instead, focusing on basketball with all of his practices and games to keep his mind off of you. It was his teammate and one of his close friends he made during his time here, yunho, advised mingi that he should at least give you some closure instead of letting you stay confused and wonder what you had done wrong. the amount of times he had tried to approach you, he chickened out. every time he wanted to approach you, the words were stuck in his throat. he just couldn’t face you.

that was until, today.

“mingi?” you called out, mingi looking up at you with wide eyes.

“yeah?”

“you ready to go?” you asked.

“oh.. oh, yeah! right, let’s go.”

with a confused gaze set on the male in front of you, you shrugged it off before walking out of the library with him.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

the walk to your place was a little awkward, mingi looking around everywhere but you, and you leading the way. thankfully, the street lights and neon signs from a few shops here and there were already lit up, so the walk back wasn’t that long. however, the previous thoughts you had started to appear in your head once again, the same heaviness filling your chest. It was when you both stopped at a playground, just a little further away from your block, you called out mingi’s name softly.

you want to ask him. no, you need to.

hearing your voice, mingi turned to look at you, raising his brows as if to say you had his attention. you looked over at the swingset and pointed at it.

“can.. can we sit there for a bit? please?” you asked, mentally slapping yourself from the slight quiver in your voice as you spoke.

confusedly, mingi merely shrugged his shoulders before making his way towards the swings, sitting down on one of them, then looking up as you sat on the swing next to his. silence hung over the two of you, only the occasional squeaking from the rusty chains of the swings could be heard.

‘come on, ask him. you need that closure!’ your mind screamed, you heaving out a shaky breath.

mingi, upon hearing your sigh, furrowed his brows in confusion and concern before asking softly if you were okay, or if you were feeling faint. you slowly shook your head as if to reassure him you needed a moment, to which, mingi quietly complied. with a shut of your eyes, trying to ease the growing anxiety just bubbling up in the pit of your stomach, you took in a few deep breaths. once you were ready, you parted your lips to speak.

“i’m sorry.”

your head snapped to the side to look at mingi with wide eyes, not expecting him to be the first to say something. the words that you at least wanted to hear from him. mingi’s gaze was set on his feet, teeth gently chewing against his lower lip. your throat felt like someone was squeezing onto it, feeling as if all of the emotions you felt from all the pent up frustrations slowly started to pour out.

“why did you do it?” you asked, mingi’s heart aching from how shaky it was, somehow feeling how broken it was. and it was all because of him.

it was when he finally explained everything to you that made you feel as if time had stopped. from how the girl was spreading something about you behind your back, to poisoning mingi’s love struck mind, and to the breakup they had. Your mind was all over the place the longer you listened, heart starting to beat rapidly in your chest as your breathing grew ragged, vision slowly turning red.

so this was the reason? this was the reason why he was avoiding you ever since high school? thinking you would steal and date his friends? this was the reason that made you think that there was something wrong with you? your eyes welled up with tears of anger, laughing in disbelief before abruptly getting up from the swing to stand in front of mingi, eyes all glossed with fresh tears, along with hurt that was apparent in them.

“that’s it? you avoided me in high school and our time in uni just to believe her words?!” you whispered shakily, clenched fists at your sides. mingi looked up at you in alarm and stood up as well, he called out your name softly.

“y/n..” he started.

“no… no! mingi, did you fucking know how i felt? did you know how many nights were spent thinking that there was something wrong with me? did you even know how hurt i was for you to suddenly drop me like some type of a doll?!” you yelled, tears now cascading down your cheeks, mingi pleading for you to listen to him.

“and you even listened to someone you just met in the span of a few months? and not only that, but implying ever so slightly that i’m some type of whore just to date your friends?” you ranted.

“y/n.” mingi whispered.

“no, mingi! you even had the chance to explain it to me right AFTER you guys broke up, so why didn’t you? were your friends all in on this as well? is that why i was kept in the dark-”

“i wanted you to hate me! i couldn't live with the fact how selfish i was for choosing her over you, so i purposely avoided you to make you hate me more. i’m guilty!” mingi yelled back, effectively cutting you off.

silence.

it felt as if everything around you was muted, mingi’s last words the only thing ringing in your ears repeatedly. said male’s breathing was ragged from the sudden outburst, his torso heaving up and down. you pinched the bridge of your nose and sank your teeth down against the plush muscle of your lower lip, before looking up at him.

“do you have any idea how fucking stupid this is?” you said, suddenly feeling too exhausted as you gathered your things, swinging your bag over your shoulder.

“y/n, you don’t have to forgive me but.. i just wanted to let you know that i missed you.” mingi responded, his hand holding onto your wrist.

once again, you felt a fresh wave of tears flooding your vision. you wanted to say that you missed him too. you missed hanging out with him during lunch. you missed laughing at his lame jokes. you missed everything about him.

you missed song mingi.

you wanted to say those words out loud but not even a whisper could be heard. it was when you felt a large hand wiping away the lone tear rolling down your cheek managed to steal your attention away from your now jumbled up mind, looking up at mingi who was staring down at you with a hopeful look in his eyes. the two of you stared at each other, as if waiting for the other to say something. with a low sigh, you finally broke the silence.

“i missed you too, mingi but.. after all of this? i’m hurt, mingi.” you whimpered out, taking a deep breath a few times to stop yourself from breaking down once again.

“i’m sorry, y/n. i really am.” mingi whispered, eyes casted down on the wrist in his large hand.

“i might not be able to forgive you now. but if you really do want us to start over again.. you need to prove it. mere words are not enough.” you continued as you slowly moved his hand away from your wrist.

“and how do i do that, y/n? i’ll do anything, please.” mingi asked, desperation glinted in his eyes as he tried to reach for your wrist again, to which you took a step back.

“that’s for you to find out, mingi.” checking the time on your phone, you emitted a soft sigh before sending him a faint smile.

“i’ll.. see you tomorrow.”

and with that, you turned around to leave, leaving mingi standing there alone while watching your retreating figure head off to the apartment’s direction. a wave of mixed emotions hitting you like some type of a tidal wave, coming all at once. now that you finally had closure, were you relieved? were you disappointed? you were not sure. but all you know, is that you feel as if a huge weight has been lifted off of your shoulders.

meanwhile, a heavy sigh was heaved from mingi’s lips before he looked up at the sky, the stars hanging on the canvas of the night sky.

“i promise i won’t let you down again this time, y/n.” he whispered, staring at the sky for a little longer before turning around to leave as well.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

“that’s it, i’m gonna beat his ass!” wooyoung yelled out, only to be dragged back by yeosang to make him sit back down in his seat, other hand holding onto a chicken wing he was eating. of course, you had expected his reaction after you told them what had happened yesterday.

“wooyoung, i swear, he’s just gonna step on you like some type of bug.” the blonde deadpanned, wooyoung pouting in response as he sulkily sipped on his drink.

“guys, please. i’m conflicted.” you groaned, smacking your forehead on the table, yeosang grimacing at the soft thud your forehead had made against the surface before shaking his head.

“give it time, hm? though, valid. but who knows?” he took a bite from his chicken then continued. “maybe he really does wanna make it up to you?”

there was a reason why you and wooyoung had called yeosang the reasonable one of the group. he was the one who kept giving some more options before wooyoung or you did anything rash out of impulse.

“and if he’s not doing that, then i would have to talk to him.” wooyoung grumbled, teeth biting down on the straw he’s chewing.

of course, a friend group wouldn’t be complete if the chaotic one of the group is not present. and that role would be given to wooyoung, the life of your little circle.

“speaking of the devil..” yeosang mumbled underneath his breath, eyes focused on something, or rather, someone from behind you.

you paid no attention to it, only keeping your head on the table as you were fighting with your inner thoughts. it was only when a familiar deep voice called out your name that you immediately lifted your head to look at the owner of the voice. however, as you did so, your whole body seemed to jump in place, causing your knees to hit against the table. hard.

a string of curses flew out of your lips, hands rubbing against your poor kneecaps, much to yeosang and wooyoung’s amusement, both boys clamping their mouths shut and started to look around everywhere in the cafeteria but you as an attempt to hold in their laughter. you sent them a glare until mingi mumbled your name.

“you okay there?” he asked, eyes full of concern.

you still didn’t want to look at him, instead keeping your gaze on your knees. you swear you can feel them still throbbing from the impact.

“what is it, mingi?”

“can i… can i join you?” he asked out of the blue, making you look up at him in shock. it was only now that you noticed that he was holding a paper bag in his hand while the other held a duffel bag, probably filled with extra clothes for basketball practice later.

wooyoung was about to deny his request until yeosang pinched his thigh, effectively shutting the boy up. with a glare from him, wooyoung huffed underneath his breath yet he behaved, though subtly glaring up at mingi’s way. for some reason, his anger reminded you of a chihuahua.

“oh, what about your friends?” you asked, you didn't hold any malice in your tone, but you were just genuinely curious as to why he had suddenly come up. though to mingi, he flinched at your question as he rubbed the back of his neck in a sheepish manner.

“oh uh, yunho had to go for practice and i haven't exactly had lunch yet since i got out of my previous class a little later than i intended to.” he admitted, a shy smile on his lips.

“i thought that.. i could sit with you?” he continued. you could only stare at him, losing your voice all of the sudden until yeosang cleared his throat.

“oh, would you look at that, wooyoung. i think i heard professor park looking for us.” he declared, standing up from the table, much to wooyoung's confusion.

“what do you me-”

“see you guys later!” yeosang waved and pulled wooyoung away from the table, his eyes catching the panicked look on your face.

‘talk to him.’ he mouthed before walking off, wooyoung whining next to him.

as soon as the two boys were out of your line of vision, you turned back around to finally face mingi. much to your surprise, he was already looking at you after sitting down right across from you. this certain moment right here was enough to make you feel like you were in a repeated dream, memories of you and him from back then rushing to your head. Maybe he’s just sitting here until both of you were done with the project? You weren’t sure, yet would it be selfish of you to think he would still talk to you? the both of you sat in silence until mingi’s features flickered, making it seem as if he realised something, before rummaging through the paper bag and pulled out two egg tarts.

“i remembered that you liked the tarts from that old bakery we always hung out at after school. I know that the bakery closed down and these aren’t exactly the same but i just thought that you would like them.” he explained.

at his words, you couldn’t help but smile ever so slightly, touched at his gesture before taking one of the tarts from with a quiet ‘thank you.’ again, you both sat in silence as you ate your tarts, mingi fidgeting in his seat. the awkwardness was so thick in the air that you could almost cut it with a knife. with a clear of his throat, mingi was the one who broke the silence between the two of you.

“so.. how are you?” he asked, a look of uncertainty was etched in his features as if wondering whether it was the right thing to say.

finding it endearing for some reason, you chortled lightly, “i’m.. okay, i guess? and you?” you asked with a slight tilt of your head.

“i’m fine, good. yeah, good.” mingi rambled on, almost wanting to hide behind his tart at the little crack of his voice.

another giggle had made its way out of your lips, hand coming up to cover them as you did so. and that was enough to have mingi relax ever so slightly in his seat, at least you are smiling. so that’s a positive thing maybe? he hoped so. he really wanted to patch things up, catch up with each other, but of course, with how he had acted towards you before? It wasn’t easy, but mingi is willing to try. so, the two of you spent the remaining free time you had, just talking about the project you were both partnered for most of the time. occasionally, the two of you would even throw in a few bickers here and there but all were lighthearted.

it was when you looked down at your phone that you had to cut the brief hang out short, much to your silent dismay, and mingi’s. as you were gathering your things, the male called your name, making you halt in your movements.

“is it okay if we meet in the library again? for our project, i mean.” he asked, fingers nervously tugging on the ends of his sweatshirt.

you were taken aback from the sudden question but sent him a smile, shrugging your shoulders.

“i mean, we are partners, no? so, i don’t see why not. same time?” you agreed, watching as the corners of the boy’s lips quirked up.

“oh yeah, definitely.”

“and don’t be late, mingi.”

“yeah, yeah. I won’t, see you soon, y/n.”

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

it has been a little while now after that closure you both had. you expected for things to still be awkward. worst case? mingi going back to being a total asshole like before. yet from the amount of times mingi and you kept meeting up to work on your project, you felt as if the awkwardness around the both of you slowly fade away. both of you starting to open up to each other once again, sharing pieces from the past and even what happened during the time the both of you drifted apart, catching up with each other. of course, you were still hurt from the way he treated you from before but, as much you didn’t want to admit it, you still gave mingi another chance.

even when the both of you had completed your assignment, you were surprised that he came by your table to join you, yeosang, and wooyoung every time the both of you had lunch the day after turning in your assignment to professor kim, even to the extent of bringing egg tarts whenever he came by. you were even more surprised at how wooyoung stopped wanting to beat his ass, instead, laughing his high pitched laugh at mingi’s jokes while you and yeosang would sigh at the lame joke. his friend, yunho, sometimes would join in. despite him being intimidatingly tall, he had a bright personality that reminded you of a golden retriever. before you could even realise, the days of hanging out turned into weeks, and into almost two months by now.

more often than not, you would even tag along to watch mingi practice. despite seeming like a bouncy kid during most times, he was serious in the court. the way he dribbled the ball across the court away from the opposing players, and made a couple of three pointers easily, it was no surprise at how he was chosen as the team’s captain. whenever he was done with practice, mingi would always ask if you wanted to try playing with him. now, for one, you weren’t exactly a sporty person, so suddenly having to play with the captain of the basketball team? yeah, you would definitely have to pass.

as usual, you were sitting at the sidelines watching the team practicing their aims and evading, along with mingi trying out new strategies with the team, you couldn’t help but to admire them. occasionally, you would catch mingi staring at you whenever your eyes landed on him after watching his other teammates play in the court, confused when he avoided your gaze as soon as you looked at his way. did you have something on your face? brushing the question away, you continued watching them. It was probably nothing.

everything seemed like a blur, and before you know it, everyone was packing up their things, giving each other words of encouragement on the way out of the court. once his teammates had left, you went up to mingi who was still standing in the middle of the court, bouncing the ball in his hand absentmindedly before getting ready to shoot it into the hoop.

“you did well today, as usual.” your voice surprised him, missing his timing as he threw the ball, missing the hoop. with a playful scowl of his lips, mingi looked down at you.

“damn, you weren’t supposed to see that.” he complained, making you roll your eyes at him.

“just like how i wasn’t supposed to see you trip a few times today?” you retorted, smiling as mingi rubbed the back of his neck, a clear habit of his whenever he felt embarrassed.

“i thought you didn’t notice.” he chuckled, the timbre of his deep voice somehow sending a chill down your spine yet you kept your calm demeanour.

“i may not know how to play, but that doesn’t mean i don’t notice the small things, mingi.” you laughed and crossed your arms, raising a brow up at him.

mingi mimicked the expression on your face and crossed his arms, lips quirking up as if there was a lightbulb having his switch being flicked on. you knew what was coming up as a groan left your lips, shaking your head at him.

“mingi, for the last time, i don’t wanna play. I don’t even know how to pl-”

“then let me teach you how to play!” he pleaded, pulling his best puppy eyed look. did yunho teach him that?

you stared at his face for a little while, mingi about to give up before he grinned upon hearing the sigh out of defeat from you. well, what’s the harm in learning anyway. at least if you embarrassed yourself while playing, mingi would be the only one to see it.

“okay, fine. teach me how to play, captain.”

and with that, you spent the rest of the late afternoon just having mingi teach you the basics of how to play basketball, exchanging laughs and teasings here and there. though you still weren’t entirely a fan of the sport, you find it rather enjoyable.

“okay, let’s play one game. winner makes the loser do anything they want.” mingi suddenly declared, balancing the ball between his side and arm.

your mouth fell open. was he being serious right now? you barely even got the hang of all the techniques he had taught you, and suddenly he wanted to one up against him, the captain of the basketball? with a scoff, you shook your head at him.

“mingi, there’s no way i’m gonna do that.” you rejected, clicking your tongue.

“come on, y/n. i’ll go easy on you, please?” mingi whined, nudging your side, you deadpanning up at him in return.

“no.”

“please!”

“i said n-”

“i’ll buy you ice cream tomorrow after classes.” mingi offered, knowing how you had a sweet tooth.

“..fine.” you sighed out, to which made mingi cheer and took a few steps back from you with a huge grin on his face. running over to the side to pull out his phone and placing it on the bench, then running back to where he stood before.

“whoever has the most points before time’s up, wins. ready?” with a look of determination, you nodded your head.

“start!”

before you could even react, mingi ran towards your goal, causing you to squeak at his sudden moves before quickly trying to block him from getting closer. but of course, with the years of experience, and maybe due to his long legs as well, it was almost impossible. he smirked down at you once he made his first shot through your hoop, you huffing up at him.

‘going easy, my ass.’ you groaned in your head as you narrowed your eyes up at him.

the quiet court was now filled with the sounds of mingi’s laughter mixing with your own, you yelling at him for being ‘unfair’, and the soft thudding of the ball hitting against the basketball court’s floor. this went on for quite a while until the timer in mingi’s phone went off, you two immediately halting your movements, chests heaving up and down to catch your breaths. too tired to stand, you sat down on the floor, mingi doing the same next to you.

“looks like i won, princess.” mingi teased, earning a gentle slap on his shoulder from you.

“oh, come on. someone who knew to actually play versus someone who never dribbled a basketball across the court? of course you would win!” you whined, glaring over at the laughing boy next to you.

“i went easy on you, y/n. be thankful.” he defended, sticking his tongue out.

with a scoff, you turned slightly in place to face him while staying seated on the floor. “okay, okay. now what do you want?” you asked, voice sounding rather sulky.

mingi went quiet for a few seconds, teeth chewing on his lower lip as his gaze was casted down on his fingers that were fiddling with his shoelaces. your eyebrows furrowed, confused as to why he went quiet. surely it couldn’t be that hard in wanting whatever he wished for. you were about to ask whether he was alright or if he did not hear you when you asked before he suddenly turned to look at you, causing you to jump slightly in surprise.

“you owe me some egg tarts.”

dumbfounded, you could only stare at his face, why would he want some considering he basically had been eating them every time you guys had lunch? but.. you couldn’t complain. he is the winner here, and what a winner wants is what they will get. with a nod, you mumbled out a soft ‘fine’, causing mingi to grin over at you and jump up to his feet.

“i’ll go and take a brief shower, then we can go to the bakery i always go to!”

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

the sweet smell of various baked pastries filled your nose upon entering the bakery mingi led you to. the bakery wasn’t too small nor was it too big, it was just the appropriate size for people who just wanted to chill or needed to unwind after a long day with a plate of their favourite baked goods of their choice. you noticed the decor a few knick-knacks as well, probably to fill the empty spaces of the bakery.

“oh, mingi, you are here!” an unknown voice reached into your ears, making you turn around to see a middle aged lady, maybe in her late fifties, giving mingi a hug.

“hi grandma, i am! I guess i couldn’t resist your treats.” mingi laughed after he pulled away, a hearty laugh leaving the woman’s lips before your eyes met.

“oh my, i take it you are a friend of mingi’s?” she asked, sending you a smile that somehow reminded you of a mother’s warm smile. not wanting to be rude, you bowed your head slightly in response.

“my name is y/n, y/n l/n. i am a friend of mingi’s indeed.”

right after your name, the middle aged woman gasped as her eyes stared up at mingi’s wide ones, much to your confusion from the sudden reaction. mingi could only purse his lips and gave her a vague gesture, the old woman forming her lips into a small ‘o’ in response. your eyebrows creased together, was there something going on?

“my, it is nice to finally meet you, y/n.” she giggled, eyes holding a certain glint that you just couldn’t figure out.

that was until you realised when her words finally processed in your mind. finally? what did she mean by that? you looked over to mingi, his cheeks somehow a tinted pink as his eyes were looking up at the written menu board hanging on the walls. something was going on, you just know it.

“now, what can i do to help you, lovebugs?” ‘grandma’ had said, making her way to the cashier.

lovebugs? before you could ask, mingi suddenly spoke up.

“the usual please, grandma.” he chuckled, albeit nervously. why was he acting so weird all of the sudden? yet, you decided to ask later and walked up to the cashier to pay for the treats until grandma tutted.

“no, no, dear. this one is on the house. consider it as a lil present to meet the infamous y/n our mingi has always mentioned.” she chuckled, hearing mingi slapping his forehead in the background.

thanking her, the both of you made your way to a vacant table just at the back of the bakery right next to the window with some type of device in your hands to inform you when the tarts would be ready. once both you and mingi had sat down, you released a little noise out of interest that piqued mingi’s interest, wondering what had made you to do so.

“the sky’s really pretty.” you mumbled, irises focused on the sky, mingi doing the same.

it was your favourite time of the day. the sky ranging from how the shades of crimson had mingled with the orange colours, along with a few streaks of pink here and there, looking as if someone grabbed a huge paintbrush and the sky was their canvas. it was always this time of day that made it seem like time around you had slowed down, letting you whisper your goodbye’s to the daylight before finally having to greet the night sky.

mingi tore his gaze away from the sky to look at you, saving your awed expression in his mind. the male took the brief opportunity to admire your side profile, the familiar tug in his chest reminding him the feelings he thought were long forgotten. but how could he?

how could he forget when you are just sitting right in front of him? how could he when you looked especially pretty when you briefly stopped in your tracks to admire the things you loved in life? how could he when you genuinely looked at ease? he could feel his heartbeat just beating so rapidly against his chest, his large hand coming up to rest on his chest. With a glance towards you again, he knew damn well what he was feeling.

mingi fell for you.

it would be a lie to say he didn’t. it would be a lie to say he didn’t develop these feelings for you when you would always have that quiet yet snarky side of you. it would be a lie to say that he didn’t purposely make mistakes in the project just so he could hear your voice explaining to him. but.. did he even have the right to do so? he had been an asshole towards you. though with the two of you finally having patched things up, he still felt the guilt gnawing at his mind every time you looked up at him with those bright eyes of yours.

it was the sudden beeping from the device along with your voice calling his name making him just snap out of it, you looking at him, concern painted over your visage.

“are you alright?” you softly asked.

he needed to tell you. sooner or later.

“i’m fine! just daydreaming for a bit there. i’ll go get the tarts!”

as quickly as he stood up from his seat, mingi went off to return the device along with getting the said baked goods.

you, on the other hand, weren’t stupid. you had noticed the gaze that landed on you while you were looking at the sky, you noticed the way he briefly placed his hand on his chest as soon as he tore his gaze away from you. with a shaky breath escaping your lips, you shut your eyes momentarily. It felt as if you were back in high school again, feeling the way your stomach flipping every now and then.

you had thought those feelings were long gone. yet, with all the lingering gazes that were exchanged between the two of you whenever your eyes met? or how you felt some sort of electricity shooting up your spine every time his arm brushed against yours when he stood next to you? but should you even tell him how you felt? no matter what the consequences will be?

your eyes looked up to the said male as he bounded over towards the both of you, a bright smile on his lips as he mentioned how good the tarts smelt, fresh out of the oven. seeing how his eyes widened ever so slightly out of excitement, you had your answer.

you needed to tell him. sooner or later.

but for now, you needed the right timing to do so.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

you laughed as mingi had told you one of his rather embarrassing moments during the first few months of becoming the captain of the basketball as you two walked side by side, mingi offering to walk you home considering the two of you lost track of time in the bakery. the crimson sky from before turned into night.you swear that you could feel the little tears just rolling down your cheeks from how much you were laughing as mingi continued on with his story.

“if only my voice didn’t crack that time, the other teammates wouldn’t even start to drag me every chance they get.” he sighed, though the corners of his lips twitching up at the sound of your laughter.

“hey, they do listen to you. your teamwork is great too! i’m sure they would be frozen in place if you kept a strong persona.” you reassured him.

suddenly halting in his steps, his eyes landed on the familiar place. the place where he finally came clean, the place where you burst into tears, the place where… he had promised to himself that he won’t let you down yet again.

turning around, you only noticed he had stopped in his tracks from the lack of presence next to you. “something wrong?” you asked.

pointing at the swingset, mingi looked over at you. “can we.. sit on the swings?”

deja vu. only, the roles were switched.

without a word, the both of you made your way to the swings and sat down, side by side. the sounds of the creaky swings filled your ears as you slowly swung yourself, both of you growing quiet as if the words in your heads disappeared. that was, until mingi spoke up.

“you do realise that technically you still need to do what i want you to do.” mingi reminded you.

he was right. the egg tarts weren’t actually from you, it was on the house. raising a brow, looked over at mingi.

“and what are you planning, hm? don’t tell me you want another egg tart.” you joked, an attempt to lighten the mood, mingi chuckling in return.

however, the smile on his lips disappeared as soon as it was shown. you would be lying if you said that you weren’t nervous. suddenly, mingi stood up and knelt in front of you. your eyes widened as you stared into his own intense one, gulping the huge lump forming in your throat, fingers clutching tight on the chains of the swings.

“min-”

“i want… i want you to like me. to take responsibility for what you are making me feel.” he spoke up abruptly, effectively making you freeze in place.

silence hung over the both of you, the sounds of cars occasionally passing by filling the quietness. did.. did you hear it right? or were you just dreaming? yet, the cool breeze of the night air was enough to tell you this was very much real, you were not dreaming. you could hear the way your heart beating violently in your ears, not being able to find the words to answer him.

to mingi, your lack of response was enough to make him grow nervous. the negative thoughts started to swirl in his mind, scolding him for suddenly acting rather hasty. he was starting to feel scared. scared that you might run away, scared that he won’t be able to watch him during practice, scared that he might not be able to walk you home.

scared that he would lose you once again.

“i’m.. i’m sorry i shouldn’t have said that. you can reject me, y/n. just please.. please don’t leave me again. you can forget this ever happened. you can forget i ever said any-” he rambled.

however, your actions effectively made him stop talking. your hands cupped his cheeks before crashing your lips against his with your eyelids shut tight, couldn’t say the same for mingi though. poor boy was frozen in place. it took him awhile to process what’s happening before slowly reaching up to place his hand on the back of your nape, eyes slowly fluttering closed to reciprocate the kiss. it felt as if time had slowed down around the two of you, lips moving in sync.

both of you wished that you could have this moment forever but the need for oxygen was urgent, burning both of your lungs. slowly, the both of you pulled away, faces just centimetres apart from each other’s. no words were exchanged between the two of you, just staring at each other as mingi rubbed the pad of his thumb along the length of his cheekbone, and your own digits playing with the strands of his hair absentmindedly. clearing his throat, mingi started to speak to break the silence.

“i guess that’s a yes then?”

with a jovial titter, you pulled him by the collar of his shirt to place your lips on his once again, mingi happily returning it as he circled his arms around your waist, the twinkling stars on the night’s canvas along with the bright moon being the witness of the start of a new level between the both of you.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

“are you fucking kidding me?” wooyoung screeched, eyes all wide at the sight of you and mingi coming to your usual table hand in hand. yeosang, who was peacefully drinking his tea, nearly did a spit take at the sight while yunho laughed at their reactions with a shake of his head before looking back at the two of you.

“i’m guessing you have something to tell us?” the other tall male asked, spinning a basketball on his index finger before swiftly catching it in his hands as wooyoung poked it.

“what else do they have to say? the answer is right there, puppy.” yeosang gestured at the your intertwined hands, not missing the fact that both of your cheeks were in a faint tint of pink.

yunho merely raised an eyebrow at the blond, amused, “for someone with a snarky attitude, you sure can’t sense someone else’s sarcasm.”

wooyoung cackled at the way yeosang deadpanned at yunho, immediately shutting his lips at the sight of the blonde’s glare, though not without letting out a stifled laugh.

you couldn’t help but to laugh at your friends’ antics as both you and mingi sat down at the table, eyes turning into small crescents as you did so. It was when yunho had asked the two of you what exactly went down between the two of you, yeosang and wooyoung leaning in expectantly. you looked over at mingi, who was already looking at you with fondness and adoration just written all over his face, before turning back to your friends to finally tell them.

alas, the rest of the lunch time you had was filled with your friends just teasing the both of you. though you didn’t mind, you were content.

somewhere in the back of your mind, you thanked the heavens for giving mingi and you another chance to start over. It was a rocky start, yet you didn’t drop each other right then and there. and you were glad that you didn’t.

“wanna go to grandma’s after this, y/n?” mingi whispered into your ear as your three friends bickered in the background.

“just don’t be late, hm?” you teased, making mingi roll his eyes in a playful manner before gently pinching the bridge of your nose.

“hey, don’t make us feel single, lovebirds.” wooyoung yelled.

cue a slap on his arm from you along with the round of laughter filling the air.

#ateez #ateez writing #ateez fanfic #ateez angst #ateez au #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez reactions #ateez x reader #ateez fluff #ateez song mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez yeosang #song mingi #ateez yunho #mingi scenarios #kpop #kpop scenarios #colly's writings

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yutaya · 4 years ago

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Iron Fist Week Day 7: minor character/missing scene

Albert is a man. A man... with a van.

He's proud of his van. Sure it was a bitch and a half to get certified and sometimes trying to drive three freaking blocks in this city when he's having a bad enough day can threaten to put his blood pressure through the roof, but he's ground out an honest living for himself with it. That's no mean feat, in this neighborhood.

Plus, Al likes his job. It involves a lot of visiting every nook and cranny of the area, meeting loads of people at varying levels of talkative - it's a job that requires someone personable, and Al doesn't think it's too immodest to say that he fits the bill.

Staring down a fully loaded armoire, though, Al can admit to himself that there are times he's less fond of this job than others.

By the time he's got the thing down on the sidewalk, doors and drawers bound shut and with an initial layer of wrapping to protect it from pedestrian traffic while he sets up the loader, Al has mentally added two upticks to his pain-in-the-ass fee.

"Woah, can I help you with that?"

Al pauses in his transferring long enough to take a look at who's spoken. It's a white guy, 20s, a little scruffy but looks comfortable, and, most importantly, seems genuine.

Al smiles at him. "I appreciate the offer, but these need to be moved in a specific way to prevent scuffing."

"Oh." Al goes back to loading the armoire. "...Would you show me?" Al pauses again. Looks back at the guy. "I'm Danny, by the way," he adds, and smiles beatifically.

Al blinks up at the sky. Had the sun shone more brightly for a second, there? He turns back to wrapping the furniture with blankets and bungee cords. "You need to move a lot of furniture, Danny?" he asks while he works. Engaging in friendly conversation with strangers is second nature to him, at this point.

Danny, who has the courtesy to remain standing out on the street behind the van as they talk, bounces a little as he replies. "Yes, actually! My girlfriend and I have been redoing her apartment."

"Wow, big project. Hey, if you guys need stuff moved around, I've got you covered. Back and forth from the storage unit, delivering your new stuff from the store, bringing your old stuff wherever it's going... My rates are fair and, as you can see, I'd actually take care of your things." He pats the carefully cushioned furniture from his current job in indication.

Danny laughs a little, looking at it. "At least that isn't a piano, right?"

"Hey man, pianos have wheels. I can walk them right up the ramp."

Danny eyes the ramp Al uses with the handtrucks. "Isn't it too skinny?"

Al laughs again. "What kind of piano are you picturing, a grand?" As if anyone who owned one of those would be hiring Al to move it. As if anyone who owned one of those would be living in this area at all.

Danny shrugs, unbothered. "I haven't seen one since I was a kid. Maybe it seemed bigger back then." A beat passes, and then Danny continues talking, the oversharing sort of babble symptomatic of the sleep-deprived. "Anyway, we'll definitely call you for help with our stuff. And you can show me all the right ways to handle everything! I'm probably going to be doing a lot of rearranging furniture and stuff since Colleen is out at Bayard all the time now; she keeps talking about helping the community during the daytime - Colleen's my girlfriend, she's the best - and, I mean, she's right, of course, plus, we just got back to the city and I am not used to not having to do something -" he cuts himself off, lighting up. "Hey, could I get a job with you?"

Al startles. He can usually recognize when someone's coming at that angle. Granted, they usually don't seem to stumble into it by mistake.

"The shop down the street is hiring," he offers. "On the corner."

"Thanks! I'd like to work for this business, though."

Al pauses. Revaluates "Danny". There are only so many reasons someone would be looking for a moving job specifically, and in this neighborhood, the most likely scenario is one that Al has been very carefully steering clear of for 30 years.

"I appreciate the interest," he repeats cautiously, "but we're a small business. I'm afraid we don't really have the means to hire right now." It's a bit of a risk, revealing a vulnerability like that. Luckily, Albert is overstating it a bit; it won't be that easy for any of the triads to put financial pressure on him, and, well. He's stubborn. He swore a long time ago that he wouldn't go there.

"Oh, that's not a problem!" Danny says brightly. "You wouldn't need to pay me. I'm more looking for the experience, you know? I've never had a normal job, and Colleen thinks it'll be good for us to start over."

The alarm bell clanging in Al's head rises to a shriek, then falters. If this is a ploy, it is astoundingly poorly executed. If this guy is in with any sort of organized crime, he can't be more than a fledgling recruit. Al feels a moral obligation to try and steer him better, even if his self preservation instincts disagree.

"Look," Al says, watching Danny's face carefully. "I'm running an honest business, here. I'm not interested in having our name attached to anything. And, if I could offer you a word of advice?" Danny, who mostly just looks confused, nods. "Don't go saying that stuff about working for free. Depending who hears it, that's a good way to end up either severely taken advantage of, or in a coffin. Anyone you might be trying that hard to get a resource for won't be happy about you overplaying your hand."

Danny still looks confused. Al mimes swinging a hatchet. Danny's eyes go wide with clarity.

"I'm not with the triads," he says disconcertingly earnestly. "I'm the Iron Fist. I'm sworn to defend the city from people like them."

...Ok.

Well, at least this is an interesting conversation.

"If you're not with the triads, why do you want this job?"

"I guess I'm looking for something new. For fifteen years, I had one purpose. Now, it's done. Now, I need to build a new life, and..." His voice dips in a certain way with the next words, a way that makes Al's stomach sink with the familiarity of it. "...keep a promise to a friend."

Al looks at Danny, a pit in his stomach and memories in his heart. Resignation settles underneath his skin.

"You have a résumé?" he asks. At least Danny doesn't seem inclined to just throw things around, like some other shipping companies that Al could name. Royal Al Moving provides quality for its clients, thank you very much.

"I don't think so. What is that, equipment? I could buy some."

Al stares at him. He'd been expecting either an agreement to email or bring by a copy later, or a conversation along the lines of 'do I really need one?' followed by a verbal listing off of previous work or even just ability.

"Do you have any previous experience?" Al tries again. "Had any jobs before?"

"Yeah, I have," Danny says, and doesn't elaborate.

White people.

"What about ID?" Al asks, despite knowing full well he'll probably pretend not to notice if anything seems off about it.

Danny laughs a bit, seemingly unphased by his own complete lack of knowledge regarding ordinary job application/interview etiquette whatsoever. "Oh, I definitely have that. Had to fight really hard for it, too. It was almost all gone, but once everything got sorted out, we made, like, 10 new copies of everything." Danny pats around at his pockets, not appearing to notice Al's incredulous expression. "I don't have any of those with me right now, but... Ah ha!" He pulls something out triumphantly. "Business cards! I'm pretty sure my brother thought I was just going to destroy them, but my friend Jeri said it's important to always have one. It might have gone through the laundry, though, sorry."

Assuming this day can't get any weirder, like a fool, Al takes the card.

Even worn and slightly crumpled, the obnoxiously expensive quality of the original card is still clear. There's embossing and gold foil, for god's sake. The Rand Enterprises logo glints up at him almost mockingly even as the three dimensional lines of the border rise and fall under his thumb. Either seems unnecessary and frankly tone deaf for a Humanitarian Aid company, let alone both. Then again, maybe they reserve this version of the card for the executive level, those who hobnob among the elite, who need to make a certain type of impression on the too rich in order to convince them to donate well.

Because that's another thing this card reads, right there in plain English: a 9pt bold 'Daniel Rand', and under that, 'CEO'.

'What,' a little voice in Al's head wails semi-hysterically, 'the fuck?'

"Is this a joke?" Al asks out loud, vaguely surprised by how calm he sounds given the way the voice inside his head might be having a meltdown. "Am I on Candid Camera?"

But, no, wasn't he just thinking that this card is way too expensive - and thus definitely too expensive to be a prop?

"Hey, I know that one!" Danny Rand says cheerfully. "Joy and I used to watch it together!"

'Joy,' the voice in Al's head supplies. 'Joy Meachum.

'Well, at least this explains why he said he doesn't need money.

'Wait, why is he looking for a job in the first place? Is he not CEO? Did they kick him out or something? Did they disown him for wearing a hoodie with holes in it? Is that what he meant earlier when he said the thing he was doing before is over now?'

Al has never felt more rueful that he doesn't pay much attention to celebrity news.

"So," Al tries to find a way to word this that isn't 'have you been cut off or what?' "Why is Danny Rand looking for a job here?"

By "here", Al means a lot of things. This type of neighborhood, in general. Chinatown, out of all of them. At a low-wage position in a manual labor business with very little room for growth, if they're really getting into it.

"I like your name," Danny replies. It's far from the kind of answer that Al was expecting, but he finds himself unperturbed. Maybe he's hit a point where nothing is surprising anymore. "It reminds me of a friend. He was more of a Big Al than a Royal one, but I saw your logo and it seemed right."

(Al still pays Danny, because he refuses to be a shady business and because if he's finally getting around to setting up an employee system, he's needs to make it one that will work for anyone he might hire in the future, too. They won't all be Danny Rand. Danny keeps finding ways to immediately give it back, because he's literally a billionaire.)

#here it is like an entire week late #it took so long to write and i still kind of hate it but whatever #ironfistweek #iron fist #danny rand #fanfic #?#my stuff #the immortal iron fist #the internet is for fanfiction #colleen and misty's days still to come #they're just gonna be gifsets tho so~

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notveryglittery · 4 years ago

Text

birthday prince (5)

summary: happy birthday, roman!!! words: 2,900 / ship: dlampts (deceit/logan/virgil/patton/roman/thomas/remy) author’s note: this is part five of my Giving The Gay Anything He Wants series for roman’s birthday (june 4)! all ships are written implied romantic but i’m not stopping you from interpreting it otherwise. check the end notes on ao3 for credit on these gifts (bc i don’t know where to put them in this post)! i hope you enjoy!!

part 1 (roceit) | part 2 (logince) | part 3 (prinxiety) part 4 (royality) | part 5 (dlampts) | read on ao3

— — —

“Rise and shine, buttercup!”

Roman swatted at the air, as if that would send away the voice trying to wake him. “Five more minutes,” he grumbled, burying his face back into a pillow.

“You said that ten minutes ago, sugar,” drawled another.

If Roman really thought about it, he’d remember that, yes, he was guilty of this charge. That didn’t mean that he would admit to it, of course! Besides, even if he did, today was his day so he should have been able to do whatever he liked.

Oh.

Oh!

Energy shot through him as he jolted up. “It’s my birthday!”

Patton’s laugh was musical, the most beautiful sound Roman could ever ask to start his morning with. “I knew we’d get there eventually.”

“I dunno, I was sure it’d take him at least another half hour,” Remy teased, standing in the doorway.

"Good morning!" Roman exclaimed, swooping in for a kiss from Patton. He happily obliged, taking it also as an opportunity to comb a hand through Roman's tangled hair.

Were it not for Remy clearing his throat a moment later, the two might have lost track of time entirely. They pulled apart, only a little sheepish about it. Patton took Roman's hands in his and gave him a tug, urging him out of bed. Thankfully, now that Roman knew what was being celebrated, he followed easily, lips curled into a grin that seemed it'd never go away.

"What's on the agenda?" He asked eagerly, curious how early it actually was and how long it'd be before his first gift.

"Get yourself dolled up first, hon," Remy told him, tilting his tumbler in the direction of the closet.

"Remy!" Patton hissed, a hint of a scolding reminder in his tone, if Roman was hearing right.

Apparently, this was all it took for Remy to remember whatever Patton was trying to say. They swapped places faster than Roman thought possible, especially with his sleep addled brain not quite keeping up. Remy looped an arm through Roman's and began leading the way to the bathroom.

Patton waved at them as he left, "see you in a bit!"

"You're up to something," Roman accused without hesitation.

"Why I never," Remy said, pouting. "When have I ever been up to anything in my whole life?"

It was, again, thanks to Roman's still half-asleep state that he could level Remy with his best unimpressed look.

"Here I am, just trying to help you look your absolute best, and you're claiming me a criminal. That's just plain unfair."

Roman couldn't deny how wonderful that sounded, actually. Doing his own makeup and hair was a regular occasion, so much so that it almost got boring to do anymore. Remy, without a doubt, could be trusted to make sure Roman's winged eyeliner would be sharp enough to kill a man. Not that Roman would ever admit it, but Remy might have been even a better makeup artist than he was.

"Alright, alright," Roman yielded, "I supposed I'd be lucky to have someone of your talent dress me up today."

Remy looked equally smug and delighted at this. He shooed Roman along to take a shower, ducking back out of the bathroom to, presumably, pick an outfit for Roman for the day. The prince used the hair and body care products that he liked to save for special occasions, singing (of course) various Disney love songs as he did. With what must've been some sort of sixth sense, Remy was on him again as soon as he was wrapped up in a bathrobe and towling his hair dry. He got to work without wasting a moment, making sure that Roman's luxurious locks were fluffy and styled just right. The swoop to his bangs had never been so perfect, if he was being honest! The makeup look was bold, reds and golds and glitter; thankfully, Remy reassured him he'd used all waterproof brands so that Roman could cry all he liked without issue.

They returned back to the bedroom, where Remy had the outfit displayed on a mannequin. It shouldn't have been a shock that he'd picked some of Roman's favorite pieces but he was pleasantly surprised all the same.

"I really do just know you that well, I guess," Remy said, nonchalantly.

Roman, lightning quick, pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving behind a lipstick print. "You do and I love you so much for it!"

While Remy blushed and stammered at the sudden affection, Roman darted ahead and began to get dressed. Remy didn't need to turn away to give Roman his privacy, all things considered, but he did anyway, fiddling with the jewelry on Roman's vanity. It took some deliberating, but he decided finally that, above all else, the rainbow jewel encrusted crown was a must for today's ensemble.

"How do I look?"

"Babe, I don't even need to—" Remy's words died on his tongue as he faced Roman. Sure, there had been no doubt that Roman would look handsome as hell, but the beaming smile and light in his eyes and bouncy excited posture… He looked so happy and radiant and— "Wow."

"Stop," Roman said, giggling.

Remy took the crown and approached. He gave Roman a half-bow, smirking up at him. "May I have the honor, your majesty?"

“Stop!" Roman repeated, squeaking.

"Never," Remy promised, standing and reaching up to nestle the accessory on Roman's head. Each strand of hair still fell perfectly into place. "Now then," he said, taking Roman's arm in his, "shall we begin the festivities?"

Getting downstairs took no time at all, though Remy did dart ahead and down the steps first, so that he could loudly announce Roman proper. Patton and Thomas cheered for him as he descended, which added only more to the warm blush that he had a feeling might be a permanent addition today to his makeup. The pair ooh'd and ahh'd over Roman's look, showering him in compliments and praise. If this was just the beginning, then he sincerely was unsure whether he'd make it out of the celebrations alive.

They gathered at the dining room table, where Virgil and Deceit were laying the finishing touches on breakfast. The spread looked delectable, every one of Roman's favorite foods, and all of it hot and freshly cooked. Logan joined them last, carrying a plate with a single biscuit on it. There was a lit candle, too, and they'd all started singing before Roman could even catch up. He blew the little fire out and made a wish - though they'd nearly all already come true at this point, anyway.

"We're breaking a record today of how many times we can sing happy birthday," Thomas said with a wink, "fair warning."

Breakfast was full of fun and light chatter. They talked about the rest of their plans (at least, the ones they weren't keeping secret) and reminisced on old milestones. Roman felt full and happy, content to just sit and listen to his loved ones talk and joke around him. He was never left out of the conversation, though, always pulled back into a topic or started one anew with. He was listened to, unequivocally, and the attention was pleasant.

Soon, the food was finished, and the group moved to the kitchen. Patton and Deceit worked together on dishes while Logan presented what would be the first of birthday treats. They were muffins with Crofter's jelly in the middle, a flavor that Roman didn't recognize.

"Roman's Razzleberry," Logan explained, looking mixed on his feelings regarding the name. "It took some experimenting, but this combination of raspberry, strawberry, and dragonfruit came out the metaphorical winner."

"It's delicious!" Roman exclaimed, taking another from the tray. "My own jam! Thank you, dearest."

They gathered in the living room next, where the furniture had been rearranged to give them space for various activities. They did start with a movie, to let their meal settle, all huddled together on the couches. Roman was squished between Virgil and Thomas, the former playing absentmindedly with Roman's fingers while Thomas trailed his hand up and down Roman's arm, leaving tingles along the way. He might have dozed off a little, warm and cozy as he was.

The short nap energized him for their next game. Charades was one of his favorites as it gave him an opportunity to really practice his acting skills. What better way to hone one's craft than by not being able to use all the normal necessary components? Playing a part without any speaking lines and having to hope he'd do well enough that his companions could guess… It was a challenge he always looked forward to!

Virgil popped out and back in shortly with snacks for them all, the apparent second birthday treat: popcorn and candies and chips and soda, all easy and quick but not any less appreciated. They split into teams of two, leaving one to be their referee, and then each round, swapping out so that they all could have a turn to play. Roman ended up the winner, to absolutely no one’s surprise, though Deceit did come in a close second.

Lunchtime had rolled around and this time, they took to each making sandwiches for themselves. Patton and Remy surprised them (well, surprised Roman) with the third and fourth birthday treats: heart shaped cookies with exquisite frosting doodles and red velvet cake pops, respectively. They were sweet and delicious and baked perfectly and Roman only resisted eating more than he could count because he knew he had to save room still for whatever Thomas and Deceit had made. After they were finished and the dishes were washed, Patton led the way back upstairs. They stopped in front of his room.

“Would it be okay if we took a trip down Memory Lane?” He asked, holding Roman’s hands. “I was thinking we could visit some birthdays past!”

Roman looked to the others, nearly overwhelmed with how much affection and love he had for them all. “Whatever you have planned, I’m all in.”

“Nap time,” Remy and Virgil chorused.

Deceit rolled his eyes while Logan stifled a laugh.

“Shh,” Thomas hushed, giving them pats on the head. It was an amusing sight, to say the least, as Remy had a couple of inches on him and Virgil’s hunched over form was shorter than them both.

Memory Lane was as warm and fuzzy as Roman remembered it. He didn’t come through here often, usually only when he and Remy needed something for a Dream, but the consistent feeling it carried of being embraced by Mom or Dad was nice. The memories they visited were nice, too: old visions of time spent with friends, trips to amusement parks, parties that ran late into the night. While they all had their moments, Roman couldn’t help but feel that his birthday today was the absolute very best of them all. By the time they exited, he wasn’t sure he’d ever felt quite so relaxed. Logan and Virgil, on the other hand, looked like they were a little tired from the adventure. He took to their sides, planting himself between them, and grabbing each of their hands. Their quiet, grateful smiles were enough to give him pleasant shivers down his spine.

“Kitchen’s off limits,” Deceit announced as they all arrived back downstairs. “None may enter.”

“Except me!” Thomas piped up.

“Except you,” Deceit agreed, giving him a not-so-secret smitten smile.

Before Roman could ask why, they’d both disappeared. His attention was quickly stolen by Remy anyway, who was dragging him down onto the couch for his and Virgil’s aforementioned nap time. Patton giggled, making sure that they had enough blankets and pillows to be comfy.

“You sleep well, okay? We’ll wake you up in a little bit!” Patton said, taking Roman’s crown for him so that it wouldn’t get in the way, and setting it carefully on the coffee table.

If Roman wanted to ask Logan and Patton to join their cuddling, he didn’t get a chance to. Remy was carding a hand through his hair, draining him of his energy with each gentle scrape of nails against his scalp. He would have declared Remy a cheater for using his powers like this, but Virgil was falling victim to it as well and having his emo nightmare curled up with him was too pleasant to allow any upset feelings, regardless of how joking or serious they were.

Roman did, in fact, nap well, especially thanks to Remy’s presence.

When he woke, his limbs were only a little stiff, but he was overall very warm and relaxed. Virgil was gone but Remy had his face tucked into the crook of Roman’s neck. His sunglasses had been removed and Roman decided it might be worth dealing with the possible attitude of rousing Remy before he was well and ready if it meant getting to see his pretty eyes.

“Pstt,” he whispered, cupping Remy’s hand in his cheek. “My sweet dreamcatcher, it’s time to wake up.”

Remy grumbled, leaning into Roman’s hold. “Sweetie, I know you aren’t trying to coax me out of slumber right now.”

“Why I never,” he teased, echoing Remy’s earlier faux offended tone.

It took a moment longer, but Roman was blessed with getting to watch Remy blink away the lingering sleep. He thought this might be the best present of them all, seeing the swirling and shimmering shades of brown in Remy’s eyes, never one color at a time. It didn’t last long, what with Remy letting his eyelids slip back closed, but that was because he was leaning in to kiss Roman, and that sort of made it worth it.

“I should’ve known better than to leave you two alone,” Virgil groused suddenly, startling them apart.

“You’re just jealous I got to kiss the most handsome prince in the world before you did,” Remy said cheekily, reaching over to grab his sunglasses from the table and sliding them back on.

Roman couldn’t have prepared even if he wanted to. Virgil moved so quickly, thanks largely in part to those flight reflexes, swooping in and capturing Roman’s lips with his own. The kiss was fierce and passionate and even as Virgil pulled away, Roman followed after him. He sighed, disappointed for it to have ended so quickly. Virgil stuck his tongue out at Remy and then shot away as Remy lunged for him. They chased each other around the living room, laughing and throwing playful insults back and forth. Roman watched fondly from the couch, warm still in their nest of blankets.

Hands pressed down on his shoulders, massaging the post-nap aches away. Roman looked up, finding Logan above him. Logan smiled, bending slightly to give him a kiss on the forehead.

“Troublemakers, the both of them,” he said, only pretending to be disappointed.

“You’re one to talk,” Roman pointed out. “I’ve seen what you and Deceit get up to.”

“Shh,” Logan hurried to interrupt. “I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Dinner’s ready!” Patton called suddenly from the kitchen.

Roman’s stomach growled, surprising him; he wondered how long they’d slept for. Logan came around to the front of the couch and helped Roman up. Virgil and Remy had already darted away to try and steal bits of food.

“Has your birthday been so far satisfactory?” Logan asked, taking a moment to return Roman’s crown to his head. It was a testament to Remy’s hard work that his hair still looked flawless.

“It’s been perfect,” Roman answered enthusiastically.

Dinner consisted, once more, of Roman’s favorite foods. The cupcakes were courtesy of Thomas, another birthday treat, and while he seemed embarrassed about the messy frosting, Roman thought it overwhelmingly endearing; he especially liked the edible glitter and fondant stars. As they were nearing the end of their meal, Deceit procured the final birthday treat: champagne glasses for them all, filled with bubbly cider. There was another happy birthday song as Patton brought the cake out to the dining room. Roman had definitely started crying by now, as it all came together just how much they’d done for him today.

“A toast,” Deceit began, holding up his glass. The others followed. “To our favorite author, poet, artist, actor.”

“To the prince of our dreams,” Remy chimed in.

“And our hearts!” Patton added.

“To the best Creativity I could ask for,” Thomas continued.

“To the greatest hero,” Virgil suggested.

“To a wise and clever leader, one whom we can always trust to take care of us,” Logan rounded out.

Roman wiped frantically at his eyes, uncertain whether his makeup was smudge proof as well, but not caring one bit. “Thank you,” he said, voice wobbly and thick with tears. “I love you guys more than I can say.”

Deceit, from his seat beside him, used his free hand to take one of Roman’s. He pressed a kiss to his knuckles and then held that hand to his cheek. “How unfortunate for your wellbeing,” he threatened sweetly, “because I think that we can say plenty.”

And they did, praising him on anything to everything: from his appearance to his creations, his traits and what made him tick, and the cute faces he made without realizing, and every tiny simple little thing they adored about him. It was, to say the least, the best way to end what had been the best day.

#sanders sides fan fiction #roman's birthday #roman sanders #sanders sides #dlampts #ts deceit #dani writes #gifts for roman's bday #it's basically dlamp + thomas + remy but focused on the roman ships #IT'S PUBLISHED BEFORE MIDNIGHT PST HALLELUJAH

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gottawriteanegoortwo · 3 years ago

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Mermay - Dilliam - Operation Renovation!

While working on Mark and Celine’s house, William has the bright idea to bring Damien inside to help give him a second opinion. It’s another chance for both to learn more about each other, and for William to realise he caught feelings for the cute merman.

Word Count: 2,046

William and Mark mutually agreed to stay away from the Rockpool that night, bar Mark briefly hurrying down with dinner. Whatever happened between the siblings would stay between them. William had a hunch that Damien felt isolated from his family - and even his sister he adored - because it seemed difficult to find middle ground, but William kept that to himself.

As he went to bed that night, William was drawn to the window to look out over the sea. A glimmer of light could be seen at the Rockpool, seeming to only emphasise the distance between the house and the coast, as well as between the twins. If there was a way to help them re-establish a connection, he would.

Opportunity arrived two days later. William had spent the entire of the first day painting the living room to freshen it up, and was unexpectedly left alone to handle the redecoration part on the second. Celine, who was supposed to be there, was called into work urgently. William always preferred having a second opinion on matters like this and was nearly about to abandon his plans for the morning when the breeze hit the chimes just outside the kitchen window. He turned to see the garden and… Of course!

"Damien!" William scrambled down the rocky steps, screeching to a halt just beside the water. "Damien, you here?" He could see small bubbles popping on the surface just beside the large rocks. Then, after a few moments, Damien's head slowly rose over the water. His eyes were half-lidded as he peered up at the source of the loud voice.

"Oh, uh, sorry. I didn't think you would be asleep. I can come back-"

"No, it's alright… What's wrong?" Damien pulled himself out of the water to sit on the path. He began stretching to undo the effects of being curled up all night. William couldn't help but stare at how toned the merman was. Damien's body had more bulk to it to help keep warm in colder climates, but it was well defined between the lack of patterns on his body and his current stretches. William had to quickly snap himself out of it before he was caught staring in a daze of awe.

"I'm trying to rearrange the living room space and have been trying to decide where I should… what are you doing?" With his back still to William, Damien interrupted the other's train of thought by lifting his hand and turning the palm up.

"Pass me your phone."

"What?"

"Show me the photos and I'll tell you what I think."

"I never said anything about photos."

"Then I can't be of help."

"Poppycock. You're coming back up with me." William's suggestion had Damien finally turn to face the human. Even with what William could only describe as 'merman bed hair', Damien's accusatory look was sharp.

"I cannot walk, remember? I'm not of the species that can magically shapeshift -" Now it was Damien's turn to trail off as William let out a snort of laughter.

"You know, for someone who is so smart, you're awfully fond of jumping to conclusions and thinking you know what I'm going to say, huh?" William put his hands on his hips as he grinned. "No, no, dry your tail! I'm carrying you up! And no - I know that look from Celine - don't try and argue, I've made up my mind. Unlike Mark, I've spent years in the army. I'm a strong man. Have you even had a chance to see the house yet with your own eyes?"

William’s observation stunned Damien into silence. William was right - why did he keep assuming the worst of William? Was the simmering anger from yesterday influencing this, or was Damien really expecting the worst of humans?

"Only in photos…" He finally answered after a short pause. Damien was bewildered that William was even considering this after how Damien had behaved yesterday. "But you must know my tail is -"

"You won't know until you try. Come on, chop chop!"

Damien sat on the picnic bench, shaking the tip of his tail of extra moisture while William properly examined the merman's body to decide how best to carry it. At a glance, his tail was longer than his torso, and the eye-catching tip was large and potentially awkward if handled wrong. But William’s thoughts briefly strayed as he admired the colours. Damien was rather handsome. Not only that, he had such a wonderful personality (when he wasn’t jumping to conclusions) that William genuinely enjoyed the other’s company. But right now, he needed to focus. The last thing he wanted was to make the merman uncomfortable. Hoisting Damien over his shoulder was rather undignified, so it would need to be bridal style at a higher angle.

He grunted at his decision. It caught Damien’s attention and he lifted his head in time to see a smirk peeking out under William’s moustache.

"I'm starting to think that is the 'I have an idea' look Mark had warned me about," Damien muttered as the soldier approached. Establishing how best to pick up Damien was a little awkward - "We'll get the hang of it!" William insisted - but they managed it. Damien wrapped both arms around William's neck and held on for dear life with such strength he was sure he’d leave marks on the skin. One of William's hands was at the base of the torso, while the other arm had the tail draped over it. To Damien's amazement, there was no sign of struggle from William once they settled.

"I can carry twice my own body weight," said William with a wink, like he read the merman's mind. With that, they made their way up the steps. William's eyes were on the ground to watch his footing, while Damien needed time to recover from that damned wink.

The initial reason for William bringing Damien into the house was ignored as Damien was taken aback by a moment of awe upon seeing the house for the first time. William decided that Damien absolutely needed the 'grand tour'. It was the right choice, as Damien was curious to learn more about the house beyond the photos he had been shown. William was able to point out the various jobs he was required to do while here until, finally, it brought them to the chaos that was the living room. Damien could see why William wanted a second opinion. All the furniture was grouped together in the middle of the room. It was quite a sorry mess of eccentric items that needed to somehow find new homes within the room.

Damien was sprawled across the couch - the end of his tail casually dangling across the far arm of it - as William set to work moving items to and fro as Damien instructed. Neither homeowner being there was a blessing, as William discovered that Damien had a very good eye for object placement and how to make a room look nice. Damien laughed and admitted that it was probably due to the natural merfolk love of beautiful things combined with a human awareness of furniture and ornaments.

The pair chatted throughout the morning as William completed the heavy work (not that Damien minded that he had to watch the human flex his muscles and show off that strength). This was how William learned that merfolk are not as materialistic as humans. A normal human home would be too 'cluttered' for them. There was little need for 'the latest and trendiest goods' in a merfolk's life in the same way as humans needed them, but those that had trinkets or ornaments knew they would never be stolen since they only have sentimental value.

"Is it true that merfolk like jewellery, since those are pretty valuable?" William asked as he showed Damien a mermaid figure before he could put it on the shelf.

"It is. It's purely aesthetic. The value of the materials mean nothing. I once met a young mermaid who had one of those bright, plastic bracelets a human child would wear. She valued it so much that when it went missing, the entire community banded together to search for it. I realised that an item imbued with sentimentality should be the most important value in my life, not how much money is used on it. Though there is a natural draw to gold because it isn't as unpredictable as silver in the water."

"At least the movies get something right. So what about the nesting-whatchamacallit - they aren't 'homes', right?"

"Right. Merfolk communities normally have a shared 'living space' that we call 'nesting grounds'. These are areas that are sheltered, mostly shallow, and open. It's a communal area, so it's ideal to have enough room for everyone to socialise without the danger of being swept away by storms. There are small nooks and crannies that are used for nests, which are a merfolk's personal spot for sleeping. Everyone knows to leave another's nest alone. Messing with the nest or the items near it without permission can land you in a lot of trouble." Damien paused, eyes drifting to one of the seascape photos on the wall. "The nesting ground I've been welcomed into has our distant relatives in it. Their home is situated amongst the coral reef. There's always colour there, along with whatever 'souvenirs' are brought to either share in the communal space or for a personal nest."

"Huh....Sounds like the dorms in the barracks I'd stay in. We'd have individual beds and lockers, but that's it in terms of 'personal space'. Everywhere else is communal." The comparison, though not perfect, was close enough to help William gain a better understanding of Damien's world, and of the setting for Celine and Mark's home. "So… Would that make the land part of the Rockpool the nesting grounds, and the small section under the water by the rocks your nest?"

"Yes, I consider it as such. I like it as it is. I don't see why it needs to be changed."

Realisation dawned on William. That explained Damien's offense at the mere thought of the space being changed. If everything was fitting for a merman, why humanise it? There was a solution to this, he was sure of it!

The pair took a break in the afternoon to bring Damien into the bathroom to get some moisture back into his body - the handheld shower head made this a lot easier - and have some lunch. Then, as William was asking Damien his opinions on which colour would better suit one of the empty rooms, Celine returned. She thought William was merely talking out loud as usual and was pleasantly surprised to see her brother lounging across three kitchen chairs, waving innocently at her.

And that was how the pair spent the next week. Each morning, William would set up and go on a long walk to strengthen his leg and explore the area, then fetch Damien so they could spend time together while William worked. Mark had gotten his hands on a wheelchair, which William then spent half the night refurbishing it to support a long, heavy tail instead of two feet. It gave Damien a little more independence when in the house… As well as the ability to ram into William with it when he was fetching items. The three humans agreed that it gave Damien a new lease of life once he was able to be involved in a way that was suitable for him. Some days he would ask William to bring him back to the Rockpool so he could spend the afternoon alone instead, and that was a request that was always respected.

However, as the week went on, William found he would spend his evenings at the Rockpool, regardless of whether or not the others joined him. He found Damien to be such good company… and feelings had taken root. But with how adamant Damien had been in not wanting to be humanised, he decided it would be best to keep it to himself.

It didn't help that Mark gave him a knowing nudge one night when they were heading back into the house and seemed to be blissfully oblivious to William’s threat to keep it to himself.

#mermay #dilliam #mayor damien #wkm the colonel #who killed markiplier #(I apologise because I did not realise how much I've spammed some of these tags lately)#(I'm aiming to spread anything else out for the rest of the month)#Blue Soul (Damien)#Eccentric Goof (Colonel)#(read-more is for tidiness! :D )#(it's mostly them talking btw. It's a lot of world-building)

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dreamypeaches · 4 years ago

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sunday morning | pope heyward x reader

summary: after spending the week moving into your shared apartment, you insist pope takes a break and has a lazy day with you.

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, maybe one (1) curse word

word count: 1.4k

a/n: if you follow me, you know about my undying love for pope heyward. this fic is just one way of me expressing my love for him. please enjoy :)

One week since you and Pope started a new chapter in your relationship. One week of non stop moving, unloading, rearranging, eating take out on cardboard boxes, and pure exhaustion. Last night, the final box had been unpacked, and you and Pope were officially moved into your new apartment. Waking up early on Sunday morning, your body ached, arms sore from carrying heavy boxes and shifting furniture. You wanted nothing more than to just sink into the bed and sleep for twenty years. Pope, on the other hand, couldn’t sit still.

As per usual, he had a lot of his mind. He was starting medical school next month, on his way to his dream of becoming a forensic pathologist. Even though the start of the semester was weeks away, Pope wanted to get ahead of the game. He’d bought all his textbooks already and read through them twice. He was getting ready to go through them for a third time.

“Once for information, twice to understand, three times to see what I still need to work on,” Pope had said to you when you asked exactly why he needed to read his books so many times.

You thought he would take the day off, having worked just as hard to make your new apartment livable. But as the sunrise just barely peeked through the blinds, Pope was already up, sitting at his desk in the corner of your room, furiously writing notes. You sigh, ignoring the burning in your muscles as you crawl from the bed, padding over to wrap your arms around him from behind.

“Pope,” You say sleepily, drawing out the o, “do you really have to do this now?”

“Yes! The first day is going to be here before I know it and I cannot fall behind.”

You sigh, your finger tracing shapes on his bare chest as you nuzzle into his neck, placing soft kisses that makes him shiver.

“You can take one day off, baby. You have a month until school starts and I can guarantee you’re already miles ahead of those other idiots. Plus, you’ve been working hard all week to set this place up! Come, appreciate our home with me!”

Pope can’t help but grin at your last sentence. Our home. A place for just the two of you to share, where you could love and laugh and just be. He’d been waiting for this moment ever since you were teenagers, living on the Cut in the Outer Banks, hoping and praying that you would one day make it off that island.

Pope turns his head to look at you, admiring your sleepy smile and half awake eyes. Pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose, he nods.

“Okay. You’re right.” He places his pen in the center of the book, closing it and standing to wrap his arms around you. “What shall we do today, my love?”

You smile again, arms around his waist gently pulling him along with you as you move towards the bed.

“Absolutely nothing!” You push Pope onto the bed, his back landing on the mattress, then curl up beside him, wrapping your arms and legs around him like a koala. He chuckles at you, one hand coming up to trail through your hair while the other traces the skin on your leg.

“What about breakfast?” He asks.

“Later. ’S too early,” you mumbled, already falling back asleep. He sighs and closes his eyes, pulling you close to him and following you into unconsciousness.

The sun is shining fully through the window the next time you wake up. Once again, Pope is not at your side, but the smell of food wafting through the small apartment let’s you know exactly where he is. You sit up, arms stretching above you when Pope appears in the door way.

“Don’t move. You’re not allowed to move from that bed for the rest of the day,” He says, moving over to crawl onto the bed, pushing you to lay back down and hovering over you. He kisses up your neck and round your cheeks, making you giggle before he’s gone again. He returns a few moments later, a tray of food in his arms.

Placing it on your lap, his plops down next to you before turning the TV on, clicking buttons until the opening of your favorite show starts to play. He’d prepared both your favorite breakfasts, plated beautifully as if they were from a five star restaurant.

“Quite the spread, my love,” You say, giving him a smile. He just shrugs, cheeks heating up suddenly.

“Special day with a special girl deserves a special breakfast.”

The pair of you dig in, sharing sweet kisses in between bites and giggles at your favorite scenes in the show you’d already seen a million times. Once your plates are clean and bellies full, Pope moves to bring the tray out of the room.

“Promise me this is the last time you leave this bed today,” You say as we walks out.

“What if I have to pee?” He jokes. You just give him a look and he grins, pressing a kiss to your lips before hurrying away with the dirty dishes.

When he returns, he practically launches himself at you, collapsing onto of you and burying his head in your neck. His words vibrate through your neck, but the meaning is muffled and you giggle.

“What did you say?”

He looks up at you, eyes full of adoration, resting his head on his hand.

“I love you so much.”

You reach out, tenderly stroking his cheek, eyes flitting across his face as you take in every detail of the beautiful man who stole your heart.

“I love you so much,” You say, almost a whisper. He leans forward to kiss you. It’s tender and soft but full of the burning love you had for each other. He rests his forehead on yours when he pulls away, eyes closed.

“I’m glad we’re doing this. Everything is going to change next month,” Pope says.

“Not everything. We’ll still be together and I will still love you and you will still love me. Sure, life is going to get a little crazy, but life always does. I am sad that I won’t get to spend as much time with you, but that’s why we moved in together, right? So we can make the most of every moment we have. And I am so proud of you that it overwhelms my sadness. I can’t be sad when the man I love is living out his dream!”

Pope pulls back, eyes a little watery as he takes your head in his hands.

“A life with you is my dream. Forensic pathology is just a small part of that dream. And…” Pope trails off, looking suddenly nervous. He pulls away from you, hopping off the bed and rummaging through the dresser. He turns back to you, arms behind his back.

You sit up, brows furrowed together at Pope’s sudden change in demeanor. He kneels at the edge of the bed, pulling you so your legs dangle off and he is situated between them.

“I was going to wait until our anniversary in a couple weeks, but this moment is perfect and I can’t wait any longer. I’ve been waiting for this moment since you first kissed me on the hammock at the Chateau and I knew I would love you for the rest of time. You are the best thing in my life, Y/N, and I love you with my whole fucking heart. So…”

Tears are flooding your eyes and streaming down your face as Pope reaches down, revealing a small, velvet black box. He opens it, and you can barely see the beautiful, shining, perfect ring through your tears.

“Will you marry me?”

The lump in your throat won’t let you speak with out sobbing, so you just nod furiously, throwing your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a passionate kiss. Pope is grinning when he pulls away, tears flooding his eyes as he takes the ring from the box and gently guides it onto your finger.

He joins you on the bed, kissing you hungrily with all the joy in his heart. He’s hovering over you, your hands combing his hair as his stroke your cheek. He pulls away, both of you gazing at each other with pure adoration and content in your eyes.

“Thank you for a wonderful morning, Mr. Heyward.”

“There are a million more to come, Mrs. Heyward.”

taglist/moots: @ilovejjmaybank @broken-jj @vindictive-hearts @wtfkie @fttayla @jjmaybby @dontjinx-it @butgilinsky @rekrappeter @diverdcwn @rafecameron @prejudic3 @starlightstarkey @https-luna @sunnypogue @obxmxybxnk @jjmayybank @bluesiderudy @socialwriter @kindahavefeelingskindaheartless @peachydrews @outerbanksbro @poguestyleskye @softstarkey @bricksatanakinswindow @mdlyncline @poguemackin @downbytheouterbanks @ptersparkers @prkerspogue @moldisgoodforyou @outrbanks @girlsru1eboysdroo1 @tempestuousjj @stargazingstarkey @anxietyandtacos @uwubonebabie @joshy-obx @sortagaysortahigh @overly-b @highondrew @madelynsclines @cherryobx

#pope heyward x reader #pope heyward fluff #pope heyward fic #pope heyward imagine #obx fic #my writing

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serararku · 4 years ago

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The Writhing Prize

This was the first time Mizuna had to actively work alongside a blind woman, which brought its own host of unique challenges.

Truth be told, Dawn probably wasn’t the easiest woman to work with before she lost her sight. Even in the best of moods she was easily agitated and quick to anger, and it wouldn’t take much to get on her bad side. She could walk around the clinic without the use of her outstretched hands just after a few weeks, memorizing how many steps she needed to take to get around easily enough, but all it took was Mizuna forgetting to push in a chair or rearrange a table near the wall to upset the blonde she-devil. After the third or fourth time she stubbed her toe on the leg of furniture, Mizuna felt she had no other choice but to buy soft covers to prevent Dawn from hurting herself. It was also impossible to tell if she was sleeping or awake, and more often than not Mizuna suspected Dawn would pretend to rest so she could listen in on her conversations during her many checkups.

Every tincture, remedy, elixir, potion, cupboard and drawer had two labels each- one in Doman prepared by Mizuna, and the other in Braille by Dawn. The fear of Dawn using the wrong medicine for the job and seriously injuring or even killing a patient compelled the Auri to learn the language of the blind in order to ensure she could double-check the Braille to make sure they remained accurate. On the other hand, if Mizuna needed something fetched- and she hadn’t left it where it wasn’t supposed to be- Dawn always knew exactly where to go to find it. Losing her sight seemed to sharpen her other senses as well, giving her an uncanny sense of smell, touch, taste, and hearing; she could smell an infected wound minutes before Mizuna did, applied stitches just as good as the best of them, and could rattle off the ingredients of a potion with a simple taste of a single droplet. Mizuna also theorized Dawn could listen in on conversations going on beyond the clinic’s walls- why else would she zone out so often?

Despite Dawn’s volatile temper and spiteful nature- at least from Mizuna’s perspective, she couldn’t help but watch and study her associate as she went about her duties. It had only been a few moons since her grievous injury but she had long discarded the few habits just about everyone else would easily overlook; when she read from her braille book, she no longer tilted her head to point her glazed eyes down at the pages, because she no longer needed to. Instead Mizuna would watch her silently mouth the words as if she was reading out loud, her delicate hand brushing across the dotted parchment a dozen times before she would turn to the next page. She wouldn’t even turn her head toward the person she was speaking to- unless she was angry. Mizuna would often deliberately wear different types of shoes to see if hearing her approach would throw her off, but she always knew it was her.

“Mizuna? We need to have a talk.” dreadful words escaped the woman’s lips. Words no one ever wants to hear and inspires anxiety even in the most aloof personalities. Mizuna stiffened in her seat, her attention yanked away from a particularly raunchy romance novel she had borrowed from one of Lord Isenhart’s students.

She braced herself for the topic at play, silently praying to Azim the Dawn Father that she wasn’t going to bring up her untimely outburst in Ul’dah again. “Yes? I’m listening.”

“Mn? Well, it’s Osric.” she held up a vial full of black goo that Mizuna swore was writhing and squirming in her grasp. “I managed to extract this from him, from what I can gather it’s parasitic and while not immediately toxic, it’s not doing him any favors. I sense something sinister from this, like… like the thing that took my sight.”

The more everyone brought up that encounter up north in the Coerthas Highlands, the happier Mizuna was for missing out. “Disgusting.” She blurted out, pursing her lips and furrowing her brow at the vial. “Whatever it is, I don’t think it’s natural. But if that’s what was causing Osric so many problems, it seems you already took care of it, yes…?”

“From what I can tell, I managed to forcibly extract half of it. I have a plan for a procedure but I wanted a second opinion. Seeing as this is using him as some kind of host, I figured making him inhospitable might be enough to make it want to leave- but not only just that, we should have bait for it to want to leave on top of that.”

Mizuna slowly nodded, doing her best to keep pace with this wild conversation. “We don’t know what this thing is. It could be a parasite, or a curse. Or maybe some voidsent illness that could react poorly if we tamper with it further.” She leaned back in her chair and folded her arms; whatever Dawn was planning, she didn’t like it. Fumbling around in the dark is Dawn’s specialty, after all. “Let’s hear the rest of it.”

Dawn continued to explain her plan, “I managed to mix in some essence of nightshade and belladonna into a concoction that is just below lethal levels of toxicity, it should render him into a near-death state. Slowed heart rate, lowered body temperature, by all means it would appear that he was dead, even to his little guest. Then I can use some dark-aspected aether to draw it out, the same type of aether that the monstrosity had when we fought it- assuming the infectious thing came from that monster.”

“No.” Mizuna’s face hardened into a scowl. “Even if you managed to figure out Osric’s tolerance to nightshade, even if this thing behaves like you assume, and even with you casually mentioning dark aether, it’s still a far cry from a reliable plan. Nothing ever goes according to plan… and if our gamble deviates even a little bit, Osric will die. There has to be another way…”

Dawn knitted her brow, “And while we’re grasping at hopes and dreams this is the closest thing to a reliable plan. Measured and weighed. I have experience extracting this thing before. I’m glad you’re all for criticism but I’m not sure you trivializing things makes anything any better- did you have a better plan? Time is against us.”

The Raen seemed taken aback, seemingly ignoring her question entirely. “Dawn… you can control dark aether…?”

Seemed entirely annoyed by Mizuna’s question. “If I couldn’t manage the plan, do you think I would’ve proposed it?” she brought out a necklace from her shirt, a small crystal glistened. “I’m borrowing this from a friend.” With her other hand she sparked a brilliant purple hue of aether, small specks gently floating to the floor like dark snowflakes.

Mizuna once thought she understood this woman. She believed her ability to use her own life force to empower her aether was the darkest secret she kept, but this was something else entirely. Swallowing dryly, her eyes darted from the crystal in one hand, and the umbral aether in the other; her stomach twisted into a knot, and she suddenly felt lightheaded. “Alright…” She muttered out before quickly clearing her throat. “If you’re absolutely sure you can control this… then we should consult with Osric to get his consent for this procedure.” Mizuna nervously ran her hand through her hair while shifting in her seat. “What do we plan to do with this creature once we’ve successfully removed it from his body?”

“Collect it in a vial for further research. I know how it affects him in the short term, we don’t know what lasting damage it could leave. Even if the dark aspected aether doesn’t work, we have the other half and might use it to attract what’s left…. Are you okay, you’re moving around more than usual. I know this isn’t normal but desperate times call for desperate measures, Mizuna.”

“I’m just surprised, is all…” Once again she forgot about that razor-sharp hearing. “I’ve only known Black Magi and Necromancers with the ability to manipulate dark-aether. It’s… not something anyone can just pick up.” Mizuna pursed her lips and straightened in her seat. “Alright then… shall we ring him up right now? Or should we wait to do this on the morrow?”

Dawn sighed, “Or Dark Knights. Anyway, that’s why I asked for a second opinion. I know you’re skeptical but I wanted to know if you felt it was doable… I feel confident but… I’d feel better if I knew you checked the dosage and saw some sort of sense in my plan. But if you don’t… maybe it’s better that we just scrap this idea altogether…”

She scraped her nails along the scales on her wrists as she sat on her thoughts for a moment. She didn’t know how to answer this without bruising Dawn’s confidence in her plan, but lying hasn’t exactly helped their relationship in the past. Begrudgingly, she ultimately went with honesty.

“I’m terrified of dark aether.” Mizuna paused just long enough to gauge Dawn’s reaction. “I’ve never once heard or seen it used as a form of healing. It’s out of my expertise, unfortunately, so I honestly don't know what to think of this plan. But…” She leaned forward and rested her chin on her palms to keep her hands busy without making needless noise. “If you’re confident this will work, I will follow your lead. I know you have Osric’s best interests in mind, so… I’ll trust you to lead this operation. Just tell me what to do and keep me in the loop, okay?”

“The aether is a lure. Aside from that, we’ll be using typical conjury and good old fashioned medical knowledge.” she tried to assure Mizuna. “I think we should do this as soon as possible. If you think it’s manageable. If my plan doesn’t work, we’ll need to be quick on our feet and think of another method. Otherwise we’re back at square one and tearing him open again for no reason.” Mizuna’s brow cocked at that veiled insult; that foreign object she pulled from the Dragoon’s chest was dangerously close to his heart, and she still felt justified in removing it. Instead of inciting another argument, she decided to let this one slide.

After sharply inhaling, Mizuna reached up and pressed her thumb against her temple, activating her linkpearl. “This is Mizuna Kusakari, requesting two volunteers to bring Sir Osric Slater to the operation room immediately. Requesting two volunteers to bring Sir Osric Slater to the operation room. If he isn’t in the downstairs bar, he will be in his apartment, over.”

Another nap on another couch - Osric groaned as he sat up, the message waking him from one of the rare moments of quality sleep that he’d been able to have in recent weeks. With a tired sigh he pushed himself up off the couch, taking a moment to steady himself before making his way towards the clinic - still barely half awake.

“No need for an escort...I was right downstairs.” Osric declared, taking a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Message said I was needed in the operation room?”

Mizuna gave him a gentle smile while she pushed her chair out and rose to her feet. “Yes… Dawn-... we have a plan to cure you once and for all, but it’s… a tad unorthodox. We wanted to explain it to you before we began, is that okay with you?”

“I… explained the gist of it to him earlier today… But I wanted to delay until I got a second opinion. Can you double check the tincture?” Dawn added. “I’m confident… like I said, but I’d rather not let my certainty risk Osric’s well-being.” Potions made with the essence of nightshade aren’t something one should underestimate; a single drop too much could be the difference between a deep slumber... and a permanent one. Mizuna had to reach way back in her memory to recall her experience with alchemy for this one. She poured just enough of the contents into her hand and rubbed it between her now stained fingers, checking both the quality and consistency of this nightshade tincture.

The man in question looked between the two women, loosely crossing his arms over his chest. “She did explain a majority of what she wanted to do - if you’re both in agreement then I’m fine with it. Mira had the right of it earlier - well, mostly right. I can tolerate the pain, but the sleep issues are going to lead to more issues down the road. If the two of you can remove this thing, I trust you both to remove it.” He gave a tired sigh. “I get the sense that either it’s addressed, or it gets significantly worse - and I’d prefer not to find out what that looks like.”

“Then we don’t have much time to sit around.” Mizuna pushed the cork back down onto Dawn’s nightshade tincture. “I’m going to prepare the operating room… it shouldn’t take more than a few minutes.” And with that, the Raen woman stepped out of the lobby, and disappeared behind the thick curtain on the other side of the room.

“Well, best case scenario you wake up and we’ll have been successful; worst case, and it’s suddenly not your problem anymore.” Dawn said in a grim tone. “It’s going to start taking a toll. I’m sure it already has. Take a seat until the room is ready…”

Osric reached up and rubbed the center of his chest, exhaling sharply before sitting down as directed. Anxiety wasn’t something that he typically struggled with, but the idea of being in a ‘near-death’ state was a bit nerve wracking. He laced his hands together - primarily to stop the shaking while he tried to think of something else… anything else - but his attention was drawn to the sound of movement behind the curtain.

That unaccustomed anxiety crept in as time itself seemed to dilate - the moment prolonging and speeding up at the same time. A reassuring hand rested on Osric’s shoulder which grounded him in the moment. He wasn’t sure whether seconds or minutes had passed, as it was difficult to keep his mind away from this imminent procedure; but when he looked up at Dawn’s soft lips and sloped jawline, he found the strength he needed to steal his nerves and keep his worries in check.

“Alright, we’re ready to proceed.” Mizuna gently called out, causing Osric’s stomach to drop into his lap.

“Let’s go inside.” a wispy tone drifted from Dawn as she softly yet firmly pulled at his shirt sleeve.

“R-right.” Shaking hands ran over his face as he stood, stumbling forward as a sharp pain rocked through his chest - as if the damn thing knew what was about to happen. Another moment to breathe through the discomfort, and he was able to turn his attention back to Dawn. “After you…”

The room was dimly lit- not exactly what he expected to see in the heart of the Ashen Wolves’ clinic. Only a handful of candles sat on empty shelves and on top of vacant cupboards, with the large rectangular table beckoning him closer, pastel white as everything else. Mizuna was flicking the tip of a syringe and squeezing out any potential air bubbles when Dawn and Osric pulled aside the curtain to join her.

“Take your shirt off.” commanded the blind woman, before exchanging a few utterances with Mizuna. The Dragoon swallowed dryly but complied, gripping the bottom of his shirt with both hands to pull it over his head in one single motion. The same reassuring touch from earlier found his shoulder when he lowered himself onto the edge of the table. Dawn peered blankly in his direction while pulling his hand up by the wrist, “Here…” she handed him a vial, smiling warmly. “You’ll be sleepy, and it’ll be over before you know it. You’ll be dreaming and everything will be fine.” Osric wanted to be relieved by her kind words, but he was no fool; he may not feel any pain with this medicine coursing through his system, true, but he would definitely know what was happening. Manipulating a living person’s aether was never a comfortable endeavor. A furtive glance went to her as Osric inspected the vial. It was now or never, and he already said he trusted them. It was now a matter of following through. He was getting cold feet despite what he told them- going under and leaving everything to them was easier said than done. After removing the cork, a shaking hand guided the contents to his lips.

It tasted far worse than he expected.

“Lay down.” Mizuna moved to help Dawn rest the Dragoon’s body against the table, almost letting him slam down when she lost her grip due to his waning consciousness. The potion was quick, and effective, but so were the effects’ longevity; now the race against time began. A finger ran along the scar on his chest that she created the first time to partly remove the affliction; “Mizuna,” Dawn spoke, “Can you make an incision here over the same area, I’d rather not create another scar unless necessary…”

“Just breathe, Ric. Close your eyes and count to ten.” Mizuna reached over to hold his head steady. Osric looked up at her face, seeing the colors bleed and tear like a dripping painting, and before he knew it, his sight was gone.

Tha-thump! Tha-thump…! Tha… thump….! … tha… thump...

“Fifteen minutes until we pull him back. Let me know if we start losing him.” Mizuna ordered, flicking her wrist to unroll the sterilized surgical tools. She took a piece of antiseptic dressing and rubbed his chest clean, before tracing her fingernail along the thin scar and holding the skin down. “Okay… here we go.”

Dawn kept a hand along his neck, feeling for a faintest of pulses. His core temperature seemed to be dropping as well, just as planned. His slowing circulation would also slow and stem the loss of blood, especially if they managed to avoid nicking any arteries. Mizuna ran her knife down the scar and cut through his chest like it was the first stroke of a painting. Just as she expected, the slowed heart rate kept blood from making a huge mess; a cut this deep would have sprayed the woman’s face in almost any other situation. While she worked her magic figuratively, Dawn went at it literally; she removed her necklace and wrapped the chain of it around her hand, holding the soul crystal tightly within her palm. She drew from its deeply embedded and fathomless aether, her eyes glowing a bright blue as she examined Osric’s form; now she could see Osric- the real Osric, his silhouette shimmering and brimming with life against the backdrop of absolute darkness. Her plan was to use the stone’s aether to convert to her own life force, and then use it as fuel to see the aether around her. Beneath the myriad of dancing colors and twinkling lights she saw it- a black parasite slithering about in liquid form through his chest cavity. A burst of purple aether fought to escape her fist, exuding dark aether as she held it above his incision.

“Come on…” Dawn goaded the infestation, “Come get it…” she continued.

The infection didn’t seem to move, but instead embedded itself deeper into his chest and around his heart as if to preserve itself as best it could.

“It’s… it’s not taking the bait…” Dawn said with a tone riddled of reserved distress.

Mizuna shot Dawn a glare, and in between bated breaths she said, “Describe what it’s doing.”

“It’s… wrapping itself around his heart, as if it’s… trying to keep itself warm or… tie itself to his vital functions. Either it’s trying to preserve itself through basic biology or it’s trying to keep us from extracting it- both are dangerous implications…” she reached for another vial she kept on her person, the other half of the parasite squirming within. Her hand trembled as she stared at the object in her grasp, bright blue eyes slowly shifted to regard Mizuna. “I think I have a plan…”

“Spit it out, we’re running out of time.”

“Self-preservation… that’s what’s motivating it. I have half of it right here, and if we give it a more suitable host than it has right now…” her eyes darted back to the thing around Osric’s heart. She brought the vial up to her lips and smirked.

Mizuna hissed at the woman, her scowl twisting into a grimace. “Stop! What are you doing?!” She almost leapt across the table and grabbed Dawn’s hand. “Your aether is fading enough already- and you’re the only one who can remove it!”

Her thumbnail pressed against the cork, ready to pop the top off any second. “If you don’t have a better idea here in the next few seconds, this is the only thing I can imagine might work. My internal aether manipulation is clearly better than Osric’s, and if I bring this thing into myself, it will attract the other half out of pure survival instinct. A healthy host, making itself whole again- Do you have a better plan?”

“The greatest surgeon in the world can’t operate on themself. If this thing latches onto you, it won’t ever let go until you’re killed.”

“Then you’ll have to remove it for me. Or I live with it and control it better than Osric can, we don’t have many options here and the clock is ticking.”

Mizuna swallowed hard before speaking. “Give me the vial. I’ll be the host.”

“You have ten seconds to explain to me why that’s a better idea and why you’d be a better host.” Dawn shot at her.

The woman shot Osric a worried glance- his eyelids were flickering and his fingers were twitching; this parasite was wrapped around his heart and hindering it from beating. “Because I’m healthier. My aether is perfectly normal- which means we buy everyone more time if I take it. You will be unhindered to remove it from me, and Osric can recover enough to help us. You’ve shaved epochs from your life already- this one last sacrifice may use up what’s left.”

“... Why waste a full life when you have a fraction of one right here?... Bottoms up.” she popped off the top and drank the contents. She heaved and retched a couple times, her free hand grasping at her throat. She gasped for air but found no purchase as she struggled to swallow down the ichor. After pounding at her chest and forcibly swallowing, she found herself grounded enough to focus and do what needed to be done. She took the soul crystal in her left and used it as a rudimentary blade to carve into her other hand, creating an open wound. She brought the hand onto Osric’s laceration and watched- the infestation kept still on his heart for the longest moment before twitching and loosening its grip. It now swam across his chest to reunite with its other half.

Her associate watched helplessly from the other side of the table, her face deadpanned as she seethed. It was too late to do anything about it now, so she was forced to go along with it.

“Ugh… Hng… Nng!” she sounded out as she felt the infestation slide through her wound. The other half seemed to be aware of what had transpired and directly tied itself to Dawn’s heart as well. This answered her question as to whether there was true intelligence or purely an instinct for survival driving the infection. The two were simply halves of a whole disconnected.

Mizuna muttered in the native language of her tribe. “You stupid little girl. Blind, and deaf, and stupid.” WIth nothing left to do, and Osric officially free from his affliction, she lifted the syringe she had been preparing and jammed it into his chest. With hardly any blood flow, injecting the antidote directly into his heart was the only option she had left.

Tha… thump… tha…. thump…! Tha-thump…! Tha-thump! Tha-thump! Tha-thump!

“... Don’t you dare say a word of this to anyone…” Dawn stared at Mizuna. For a blind person, she looked piercingly straight into her eyes. The Raen woman clasped her hands over Osric’s ears, ensuring he wouldn’t catch the tail-end of her comment when he started coming to.

“If you’re so eager to kill yourself, there are better ways to go about it.” Mizuna hissed, shaking her head. “I hope you have another genius scheme up your sleeve to get rid of that thing. I won’t be helping you throw your life away next time.”

Dawn felt an irritation overcome her; hate welled in her heart from perhaps the stone or the discomfort within her chest now- regardless, her dislike for Mizuna seemed to amplify itself exponentially. “You’ll help me if I tell you to, and you’ll keep my secrets if I tell you to. Or I’ll tell everyone how you lied about your application, how you don’t have a residence, and sleep in the sewers. I can smell it on you, no matter how many times you bathe yourself, the stench still sickens me. Every. Day. How are you going to get a job if I let everyone know about the unclean healer who’s lost everything and has nothing to give or lose anymore? Nothing to live for… nothing to offer.” her voice hatefully rasped out.

"Lied?" Mizuna repeated, grimacing. "You read my application, did you? What makes you think the Isenharts don't already know? Because they didn't tell you?"

The woman slowly blinked, biting back what she really wanted to tell Dawn; two outbursts would only make this clinic unmanageable, even if their relationship was already torn to pieces. "Tell who you like, Ms. Aethwyn. If you think insults and blackmail will make me do your bidding, then you've greatly overestimated the control you have over me." Sharply she inhaled, realizing she was squeezing Osric's head between her hands. "And for the record… I still have plenty to live for… like Osric- a man who deserves better than a hateful woman like you."

Dawn’s eyes widened, her hands moved to cover her mouth. What did she just say to Mizuna? She just knew she felt so angry. But she was cruel in her words and her mild distaste for the other healer had festered inside exponentially until it burst; it wasn’t Mizuna’s fault but she couldn’t stop feeling so overwhelmed by an emotion she wasn’t used to being bombarded with. She couldn’t see Mizuna’s scornful expression but she could almost picture it. Dawn shook her head to try and regain some bearing; she wanted to apologize but she had neither the words or time. It was too late to take back any words spoken. Quickly, she uttered a small incantation under her breath to heal her hand before Osric regained control over his mental faculties.

The Dragoon groaned, eyes shifting and moving under his eyelids as the antidote did its work. Slowly it brought him back to consciousness, and his gentle stirring caused Mizuna to release her death grip on his ears. His head turned from side to side, fingers wiggling as he started to wake, eyes slowly opening.

"You're awake." Mizuna beamed, folding her trembling hands behind her back. "How are you feeling, Ric…? Better?"

“A...a bit.Still out of sorts…” He blinked, trying to focus on the two forms near the bed - his vision still foggy. He attempted to lift his arms, finding the limbs still too heavy to shift, and settling for turning his head to try to look around the darkened room. “...Where is it? The...thing? I know you pulled at least some of it out before and I’d...like to know what’s caused me such grief the last few months.”

Dawn was turned away, her hands shaking as she was trying to catch her breath. She wrung her hands and kept them close to her chest. She turned her head in Mizuna’s direction, and she didn’t know what to say- she was quickly drained of her concentration and strength, and all she could muster was a bit of a stressed, apologetic, and pleading look, with guilt and tension seasoned in nicely to top it all off. She just needed time to burn the thing inside out with holy magic, at least, in theory she thought she could. But if Mizuna caused a scene she worried it wouldn’t help anyone. Alas, she was still at a loss for words- she could make up a story like she planned but Mizuna was right there to contradict her on the spot. She also had no right to ask that of Mizuna- to go along with a story, not after the way she spoke to her- she was sensible enough to know that. She decided to choose her words carefully.

“We… have it stored, in a container for now. We might be able to get more information from it now without it hurting you anymore… and I can start working on destroying it.”

“You need to worry about recovering.” Mizuna plucked the needle and thread from her toolbag and pinched the cut on Osric’s chest closed. “I’m going to give you some medicine to help you sleep. Hmn…. perhaps a bottle of brandy would be more appropriate? You can finally rest easy now, and soon you’ll be back on your feet, Ric. Speaking of which…” The woman pierced his skin and began threading the needle again and again. “Once I know you’re fully recovered… how about I grant you permission to leave the Goblet? I’m sure you’re dying to stretch your legs.”

“Bourbon might be the better choice...but I wouldn’t turn away decent brandy.” He offered Mizuna a tired smile before his gaze shifted over to Dawn, despite the woman being turned away. “I...feel different - so I know it’s not there…” He paused, taking a moment to flex his hands, the heavy feeling finally lifting. “But I’d still sleep better having seen it - is that not a possibility?”

“You can’t see into the container. And we don’t want to let it out, unless you wanted it right back where it started. Rest.” Dawn looked over her shoulder and gave a smile. “I’ll leave you in Mizuna’s capable hands. I need to give Hadriel back something important I borrowed for the operation...” she moved fluidly from the situation. Mizuna clenched her jaw shut as she watched the woman slip out behind the curtain. Her face was still flushed green and her tail lashed back and forth behind her, but she held her tongue and her temper for Osric’s sake.

The last thing he needed was to get roped into their feuding, and she certainly didn’t want him to take a side.

“Drink.” Mizuna insisted, pressing a vial into his flexing hand. “Let’s get you to a warm bed… we’ll talk all about this ordeal in the morning.”

Osric’s gaze followed the blonde woman as she disappeared from the room before turning back to Mizuna once again. With a wince, and with significant effort, he managed to sit up before drinking from the vial as he’d been instructed to do and handing the empty container back to Mizuna. “...As you say - you two are the professionals. Which way to the beds? I feel like I could sleep for another few hours…” He trailed off, glancing back towards the curtain again. His chest felt lighter and he certainly felt better, but he could shake the nagging feeling that something still wasn’t just quite right…

His focused attention didn’t go unnoticed by Mizuna. She furtively watched him in silence from the corner of her vision, as her stomach churned and twisted. “How can he love someone who treats him so poorly? Do they have a history? Or is it something more… simple?” Thinking about it only made her headache worse, and she wasn’t eager to dwell on it for much longer. “Ric…” She started, unfolding a collapsible wheelchair and setting it near the side of the table. “I’ll take you there. Come.”

With a nod the Dragoon shifted from the bed to the wheelchair, exhaling as he relaxed against the back of the chair. “...Thank you, Mizuna.”

---

Collaborated with @dawn-aethwyn @osric-slater-ffxiv

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ladynestaarcheron · 4 years ago

Text

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Nineteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival)

back after my exam hiatus!! so without further ado, here we go!

---

February 12 - 4 years after

The sun is barely shining before Nesta has rushed out to—who else?—Zeyn's house.

She can hear him taking his time as he makes his way to the door and she bounces on the balls of her feet. It's not an emergency...yet. But she doesn't like the minutes ticking by, with Cassian home alone with the three of them.

His warm brown eyes are bleary only for a second before he realizes it is her standing before him, and then they fly open.

"Nesta? What are you—is everyone all right?"

"We need to take Ollie to see his healer," she says.

"All right, I'll get my shoes. But—you didn't bring him?"

Nesta winces. Poor wording on her part, indeed. "No," she says. "I meant...Cassian and I are taking him. I...need you to come be with Avery and Nicky."

Zeyn, to his credit, does not flinch. His concern slips into something else, something she cannot name, for only a fraction of a second before it is back. "Of course. Just a minute, yeah?"

And he reappears less than a minute later, boots laced, shutting the door behind him. They set off together.

He doesn't even ignore her. "Are you worried?"

"I'm always worried," she says. "It's not the worst it's ever been, but...it's been a while." It had been six months since Nicky had coughed badly enough to need to see a healer. She remembers holding him in the first minutes after his birth—she hadn't been given him right away, like his siblings, because even then there had been something wrong with his lungs.

Zeyn must sense where her mind has run off to, because he reaches out and squeezes her hand. "If you think it's not that bad, you're probably right. You're going to see a healer. Everything will be fine."

She shoots him a shaky, grateful smile.

"Are Ava and Nicky awake?"

"I don't think so. Not when I left."

"All right...just get them ready and take them to nursery?"

"Yes, I already packed their things...if Avery won't put on a jacket, don't argue with her, but bring it along and give it to her teacher."

"Is that still going on?"

"Don't get me started," she grumbles. They round the corner and walk up the path to the house. Nesta holds out her hand to stop him. "Zeyn," she starts. Pauses. "Thank you."

It's not enough...there's more to say, she knows. But it does it, for now. And she has more pressing matters at hand, anyway.

---

April 12 - Year of

With the dawn of spring came dramatic change in the shop. Whatever winter wear had not been sold was tucked away in storage, and the switching out of the clothier's merchandise had inspired Nesta to do the same in Cassian's home.

Cassian did not have much to begin with, of course. But she felt she could rearrange the furniture in her bedroom.

Not that she had done much to make the place "hers"—in fact, she was not quite sure how. The little apartment she had rented in Velaris was the closest thing she had ever had to her own home, and she hadn't done much in the way of decor there. Briefly, she wondered if it was still in her name, or if Feyre had stopped paying the rent.

She decided she didn't care much. She was never going to go back to Velaris. Even if Cassian did still take his trips there.

While it was true that she had never purchased any bedding or curtains or a vanity, the subscription Cassian had gotten her for Solstice—NightWrite—had provided her with little knick-knacks. She had thrown out anything with Night Court insignia, but kept most of it. So pushing her bed to one side of the room and moving her bookshelf to the other was also accompanied by shuffling around of these objects.

It was during this...rather useless endeavor, she could admit to herself, of switching the order of the tiny figurines on her shelf, that she found it—the old flyer she had taken from the bar in the town center. The one advertising ships to that land across the sea. Gilameyva.

Nesta sat down on the bed. This is the paper that had inspired her, all those months ago, to get a job. To save up and go.

Since she never bought much of anything, she definitely had enough to book comfortable passage. She could go. Just set sail and...never come back.

Or maybe she could go...somewhere else. On a vacation. And then she would...come back. Didn't people plan for summer holidays months in advance? She could bring it up to Cassian now. Couldn't she?

But no, that would be insane. She had to save up. Because she was not going to live in his house forever. And where would she live? Would she build herself a house here, in the Illyrian mountains?

The flyer in her hand seemed to mock her. An idyllic land far away where no one knew the name Nesta Archeron. A fresh start.

For what she could not admit to herself, but what she had just started to understand was: she did not want a fresh start somewhere else. She wanted to stay with Cassian.

When had the switch happened in her mind? When did this pull between them not become so irritating? When had she decided to make her bedroom more comfortable, make her mark more permanent?

She didn't know. The only thing she was certain of was that this current state of limbo, of living in her room in his house while waiting for him to come back from meetings with her sister...this would not do.

Romance was fun in books, but in the real world, practically always won out for Nesta, and so it was abundantly clear to her that two options lay before her: either she would leave or she would stay. And those were her terms.

So all she had to do was work up the nerve to act on her decision.

After she figured out what it was, of course.

February 12 - 4 years after

When they get to the clinic, they are not immediately rushed into a room, which calms Nesta down. Cassian, on the other hand, only gets more anxious.

"Why aren't they letting us see the healer?" he demands in a whisper, low enough so Ollie, his head on Nesta's shoulder, cannot hear him.

"Trust me, if they think we can wait in line, we're all right."

"But he's coughing!"

"The others might have some graver issue. If they pull you ahead, your situation is dire." Indeed, there had been times when Nesta had brought Ollie in; the healer had taken one look at him and announced that she would need all her appointments cancelled.

"Sit down," she tells him, lowering herself and Ollie into a chair. She presses her lips to the top of his head as she strokes his lower back.

Cassian does, but it must be wildly uncomfortable; these tiny things with no wing-accommodation. She frowns. What will that be like for her children? To live here, where even in a community of different types of faeries, they are clearly other.

"You're really not worried?" he asks her.

"I'm concerned," she says. "But I'm not nervous. I know more or less what she's going to say. His lungs haven't gotten drastically weaker. You see him play and run around. It comes and goes for him. As long as we keep up with what the healer prescribes—which we do—we should be fine."

Cassian is quiet, clearly struggling for words.

"What is it?"

"Sometimes...things don't happen according to plan," he says finally.

She actually laughs a little. "Well, I know that."

His lips quirk at her slight laugh. "How did...how did you find out? That you were...pregnant?"

She leans back in her chair, giving Ollie more room to recline on her. Lying on his stomach sometimes helps with his cough. "I fainted, actually. And they—Miri, Zeyn—they brought me to the clinic and Amorette told me."

"She was your healer the whole time?"

"Yes. That's how we met."

"And you..." he hesitated. "She delivered them?"

"She did," she says.

Nesta often recalls that day with wonder. Her whole life she had felt—everything. Just so much, all the time. And how insignificantly nothing it all appeared, compared to that cacophony of emotion in those few hours.

"He was sick, then, too," Cassian says softly.

They have never truly discussed this before, but..."Yes. He was born...he was too small. And his lungs were...weak. Not quite underdeveloped, but weak. He wasn't...ready to breathe...yet."

Recollecting that time—collapsing in exhaustion and relief against the bed, and realizing only a few seconds later that something was horribly, horribly wrong—why weren't they giving her the baby? Why could she only hear two cries?—it always tightens Nesta's throat and blurs her vision. She can barely feel Cassian put his arm around her.

"We didn't know what was going to happen, at first," she whispers, half because of where they are, half because of what she's saying. "But he's...he's strong now. This is just...we're at the healer's. He'll be fi—" Nesta's voice catches on the last word and she can't finish it. She forces her mind to go blank. She can't imagine—can't let herself think—

"Hey," Cassian's voice cuts in. He squeezes her shoulder. "Stay with me."

You stay with me, she wants to say.

But she stays silent, choosing to focus on the feel of his arm. She doesn't trust her voice now, for anything.

---

April 15 - 1 year after

Midway through her second trimester, Nesta was more than ready to give birth. The extra weight she was carrying was officially past flattering, she couldn't see her feet unless she was lying down, and everywhere she went, people stopped her and asked her if she was excited.

The latter was the absolute worst, because she still had not decided whether or not she was going to keep the children.

But she had never been good at being put on the spot—her preferred method of dealing with unwanted advances had always been silently staring them down, and since she was trying to get along as an average Sugar Valley resident, when Zeyn asked her if she had gotten around to painting the nursery yet, and if she would like some help...

What else could she say?

So he was there that afternoon, holding two buckets of light blue paint.

"Are you sure there's any difference between these two?" he asked, squinting.

"Sky and powder? Yes." To be fair, she probably wouldn't have registered the difference so clearly had she not grown up with Feyre, ever-obsessed with chronicling the different colors around them.

"Are we doing...stripes?"

"No." Stripes? For babies? "Just those two will be powder," and she punctuates her words by pointing to the wall front and back walls, "and those two will be sky."

"Oh. Why?"

"It's supposed to be lightly stimulating." She had read that in a book Amorette had given her. She was skeptical, but the store she had gone to had given her a good deal on the paints.

"Right. Well. Let's start, then."

Zeyn could be irritating, but his endless, mindless chatter could be comforting, as well. That was how she felt today. And she did appreciate how he kept going to fetch her things—berry juice and an extra cushion to put on her chair. Nesta felt she had not done her part at all, but Zeyn didn't seem to mind.

"Any progress on names?"

"Nothing concrete."

"Ah, well," he said. "My mother says you have to meet a baby before you know for sure if the name is right."

Nesta didn't think she'd be able to "meet a baby"—surely they would just be...the same as the rest of the small children she saw at the clinic or around town. Babies, she felt, all looked the same, and even if they were older and had developed their own features, they weren't very diverse personality-wise.

Not that she didn't like children. She remembered a vague feeling of excitement being told that she was going to have a new baby sister—Feyre, she couldn't remember Elain's birth—and she had liked to play with her, when she was a young girl. But there had not been very many babies for her to interact with during her teenage and adult years.

This was ridiculous. She didn't need to dwell on this so much. She probably wasn't going to keep them, right? That was why it didn't matter that Cassian still had not written back. It wasn't...he didn't need to know, if neither of them wanted anything to do with this. Because he did not want children either, obviously. He was...busy.

"Maybe it'll look different when it dries," Zeyn said, interrupting her thoughts.

"What? Oh, yes...sky's a bit darker."

"Hmm," he said, frowning. "You know...I really don't see it."

Nesta shrugged.

Zeyn clapped his hands together. "Well, as fun as staring at paint dry is..." he grinned at her. "Want to go for dinner? Jamal's?"

And she was certain that Sugar Valley etiquette demanded humoring the person who spent the afternoon doing handiwork at your house, so she said, "Sure."

---

February 12 - 4 years after

It is just past noon when Nesta sees Zeyn again, at the shop, coffee and pastry in hand.

"Hey!" he says. "You're all right? Ollie's...?"

"Fine," she says, unable to stop her grin. "The healer gave us a tonic for him to take over the next few weeks. She said that he might need it now and again, but as long as he takes it when he does, she sees no reason to expect significant deterioration. He'll probably be on par with his siblings by the time he turns twelve." Nesta's heart sings as she repeats the healer's words.

Zeyn pulls her in a hug. "Let's tell Miri and Adil. They're in the back."

"Oh, I'm actually not staying long. I just came to let you know we're all right...and give you this," she adds, holding out the food. "Thank you so much. How were Avery and Nicky?"

"Fine," he says. "We had fun."

Nesta rolls her eyes. "Don't tell me."

"I wasn't going to," he teases. "It's a secret."

"You four and your secrets," she says, rolling her eyes again.

He shakes his head, eyes still laughing at her. "Are you taking him back to nursery?"

"No, we're going to let him rest. We think it also might be nice to spend some time with just him, the both of us. We're thinking—" Nesta stops herself. Zeyn does not need to know how she and Cassian plan to spend time with each child individually, he does not need to hear this. "He's just so tired," she finishes.

But the damage is done and the warmth slips out of Zeyn's face. He looks down at the order from Samir's. "Nesta," he says, soft, slow. "Are you really doing this with him?"

She freezes. "Zeyn. He's their father. He has a right to be included in this."

"I'm not talking about that...and I don't agree with you on that matter, either."

Nesta raises an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"He wasn't there, Nesta," Zeyn says, more desperate than anything else. "He just—you had to do it all without him."

"I can't believe you're starting this right now," she says, more to herself than to him. Louder, she says, "I will not discuss this. He's here now. He's a part of their lives now. He was with me today."

"He's here when it fits his schedule."

"There's nothing wrong with having a job," she defends—defends! As if she doesn't hate that he commands the Night Court armies!

"Yours and his are not comparable," he says. "Do you remember...what it was like? What it felt like?" Zeyn stops, takes a shaky breath, before continuing. "Because I remember seeing you. In pain. Burdened. All alone."

"That's enough," Nesta snaps, crossing her arms. "It's been months, Zeyn. He's a permanent fixture of their lives. You ought to get used to it."

"Oh, I'm used to that," he says, about as close to testy as Zeyn can get. "It's his being a permanent fixture of your life I can't get behind."

Nesta tenses. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nesta. Please."

She shifts her weight backwards. If he were anyone else...but he's not. He's Zeyn. Zeyn, who has always been there for her, to the very best of his ability, who left his house at dawn this morning to feed and dress her children.

So she takes a deep breath. "I need to be getting back, Zeyn," she says.

He slumps slightly, but she knows this isn't over. "Give my love to Ollie," he says.

"I will."

"Thanks for the food."

"Don't be silly...thank you. Really."

"Don't thank me."

"Well, I will if I see fit. Thank you."

It works—he gives a short laugh. But it doesn't meet his eyes.

She doesn't have space, though, in her head or heart for that right now. Not Zeyn; not that she doesn't have any room for him. But right now...right now she needs to go to Ollie.

---

thank you all for your patience with this chapter, and @thestarwhowishes for betaing<3 would love to hear what y’all think<3

---

Chapter Twenty

#acotar fic #acotar #nessian #nesta archeron #acotar au #i know all you know me only from like pristine glass but this is a sieblog #y'all we legit have only four chapter left!!#it's been such a journey babes<3

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normallee · 4 years ago

Text

They Were Roommates || Notia and Norma

TIMING: Before Christmas LOCATION: Norma (and Notia’s) Apartment PARTIES: @humanmoodring and @normallee SUMMARY: How to be a Human 101

“Hello, roommate! I have arrived home!” Norma called out as she hung her pirate hat onto the coat rack inside the door. The entire apartment looked bare to her. Nadia had been pairing down her belongings and attempting to make it appear more human. She wasn’t convinced she was doing a very good job but the ghost in a mortal’s body was the authority on these matters. She supposed she’d have to trust them. She stepped inside and looked around some more. “Did you leave Tom on the porch again? That’s not very nice. We need to keep him until Christmas. I heard it, too, requires a turkey. And I cannot imagine having two of them running around.” She went to the sliding glass door and let the turkey back into the apartment. It was big and smelly but she had grown strangely fond of this large feathered creature. Maybe it was because it reminded her vaguely of a shriken. She wasn’t sure. “Are we going to have more lessons today?” she asked. “I have a pen and paper and everything this time. I’ve been told that is what students bring to classes. They also always have gum in order to make bribes of friendship and annoy teachers.” She reached in her back pocket and pulled out a pack, holding it towards her roommate. “Would you like some chewing gum?”

The lack of loud colors in the apartment meant nothing when there was a loud turkey and an equally loud Norma running around, but Nadia had been nursing a cup of coffee long enough that she only flinched a bit when Norma walked in. “Hi, Norma,” she said, a bit too tired for a proper greeting. She wasn’t sleeping much, these days, and… she wasn’t cold, she didn’t get cold, but her body sometimes reacted like it was, shivering for hours before she could get it to stop. She was fine, now, but it came and it went. “Tom?” The fucking turkey. “Oh, yeah! You know, it’s actually proper etiquette that, between the holidays, the holiday turkey is kept out of living spaces. Turkeys need plenty of fresh air, you know. And grass. Keep ‘em inside for too long and they get interior depression.” The turkey thing had been Norma’s idea, sure, but Nadia was rolling with it because, fuck, it was funny. Annoying as hell, but so, so funny. “Yeah, I’m down for more lessons.” They were pretty fun, especially when half the shit that came out of her mouth was made up. Sure, she gave Norma a few good pointers; she didn’t want the woman to get caught and end up killing this body because of some bad advice. “Yes, perfect. It’s always good to take notes. You’ll be quizzed on all of this, later.” She took a stick of gum. “Thank you. See, politeness. A very useful tool.” She popped the gum in her mouth and settled in for the inquisition. “So, what do you wanna know today?”

“Yes, Tom the Turkey. He informed me that was his name through a series of gobbles.” Norma started scribbling notes already as the turkey started to follow her around. “I think he also says that he much prefers the indoors, but we will take your advice into consideration.” She sat on the couch, sitting on the edge with rapt attention with her pen in hand, ready to learn. She would have to take good notes if there was going to be a quiz. Did she need a highlighter? She saw most people studying used one of those and they looked like fun. Oh, right. She had to pay attention. “Well you rearranged my apartment and I’m still not sure as to why. So more about that, please. And as well, I need to understand how a book of faces works. And why toks tik. And what a yeet is. And what humans shop for. There are so many shops and strange items to purchase, I don’t understand the value structure. Did you know that some rocks cost more than others? Why? They’re all rocks. It’s very odd.”

“You… understand the turkey.” It wasn’t a question, but Nadia still cast a doubtful glance towards the creature, looking into its beady eyes for a sign of intelligence. It, Tom, whatever, stared back. Even though the turkey blinked first, Nadia felt like she’d lost a battle of wills or some shit. “Well, thank you both so much for your consideration.” She looked around the apartment, grateful that it wasn’t in the same state that it’d been when she arrived, though it was still a bit odd. The flamingos had been allocated to outside, and she’d managed to get rid of most of those damn trophies. The furniture was better put together, though she didn’t have the patience to really build shit, and she’d short circuited the fucking apartment twice putting things together, but it looked less like an alien lived in the joint. Instead, it looked like an alien and their human roommate lived there. “Okay, so I rearranged things to look, like, more human. Yeah, yeah, all the shit here was very human, but too much human stuff makes you look… less human and more human impersonating. Also, some of that shit was old and obsolete. You don’t need it. Now it looks more liveable, you feel?”

Nadia chewed thoughtfully on her gum. “Okay, so a book with faces on it’s like one of those people from Game of Thrones that’ll steal your face and pretend to be you, but a Facebook is a website, like that town forum thing but with more videos of cats and babies. Uhhh, toks tik is, like, a clock metaphor, and to yeet is to projectile vomit, I think. Humans are dumb, but they typically make purchases for necessity and amusement, in that order if they’re smart.” This was something that she knew about. “Necessity’s like food, water, booze… Toilet paper and hygiene stuff. Amusement’s literally anything to keep them entertained for their short, short lives.” And she knew all about that, didn’t she? “Most of the stuff you’ve got here’s amusement purchases. You need more necessities. Some stores specialize in certain things, be it necessity things or amusement things. And the rock thing is all about rarity and aesthetic. Some rocks are more valuable because they’re prettier, shinier, or because they’re so damn hard to get a hold of. Then, of course, there’s paper money, where someone just wrote a number on a piece of paper and the rest of us are supposed to go along with it like chumps.” Nadia snorted. “Don’t get me wrong, I love money, but it’s fuckin’ useless.”

“Well I can’t be completely sure but he’s easier to understand than most humans, I will say that much,” Norma said. Tom gobbled in agreement before waddling off looking for seeds. The entire apartment felt oddly empty now that Nadia had rearranged it and had removed some of her belongings. They had all been meaningless but she had come to enjoy them and the sense of familiarity they brought. “Old? None of it was very old. All of it was from the last century at least. That is very recent, let me tell you. Nothing has even started to rust yet.” There was barely any dust, too. She had been very proud of this fact. Humans were always so dusty. As Nadia talked, Norma scribbled furiously, taking as many notes as she could. They were in a few different languages, mostly something that just amounted to furious scribbles. She wasn’t entirely sure what note taking actually entailed but it seemed like she was doing it the same way she had observed. It’s not like she needed to read these later anyway. “Food, water, booze. Booze? This is alcohol, correct? That is necessary? Interesting. I do find humans more tolerable when inebriated.” It made them drop their inhibitions and without those, they were far more prone to chaos. She did very much appreciate the improved hygiene over the years, she would say that much. Her face scrunched up in confusion again. “Wait, money is useless? Then why is it so often considered valuable and a thing that mortals will both risk and waste their lives on?”

“Seriously?” Nadia asked, marginally curious. “What does he say?” She watched the turkey, completely confused by the dynamic that he and Norma had going on but, really, it wasn’t the weirdest thing about her roommate. Norma was odd as hell, and that was saying something because some of the fuckers Nadia had worked with over the years had been strange. “Anything older than, like, twenty years is considered old. Some old things are good. Old might mean that it’s worth more, or is considered vintage. But, sometimes old is shitty.” She paused. “Phones older than, like, three years are very shitty.” She peaked at Norma’s notes, frowning at what looked like a mess of squiggly lines. What the fuck? Some of that couldn’t even be an actual language. “You gonna be able to study those later?” she teased. But then she sobered up. “Booze is alcohol, yes, and it’s absolutely a necessity. The drinking kind, not the medical kind. That kind’s not important. But it’s vital that humans have alcohol at least once a week, unless their lame and abstain from that kinda thing. But yeah, most people are way better to be around drunk.” It made them more fun and easier to manipulate. Nadia was a fan of doing business in bars. “Because people apply a fictitious value to slips of paper, and people think they’ve got to work themselves to death to get it, which is dumb. It’s just paper. Just, like, take it.”

Norma thought that Nadia’s question was very strange. “He gobbles a lot. And makes strange clucking noises. Your ears function, yes?” She shook her head. Did she think the turkey spoke in English? That was very silly. Tom made another gurgling noise and she nodded. “You’re right, Tom. Humans are simple minded.” She made a mental note (and a scribble in her notebook) to get Tom more grain. He seemed to enjoy it very much. “Twenty years?!” Norma shot up and practically dropped her pencil. “That’s so recent! Like a blink of an eye!” She let out a huge sigh and reached down for her writing utensil. “How am I supposed to remember what’s recent? That’s such a short time span, the next twenty years are almost here.” She broke the tip of the pencil at her next eplatantion. “Three years? Why do you bother having these gadgets if they are immediately outdated? Why bother? This is silly! That’s no time at all. Do you all really think a year is a long time? Like it matters? This is exhausting. How do you all live so slowly and quickly at the same time?” This felt hopeless. She threw her pencil away, behind the couch. It didn’t matter. “So all humans need alcohol to survive and I can just take their paper money. What about their plastic money? That one is mostly unlimited, right? The currency that is allowed on the small rectangular cards? I ran into some issues the other day but I think I resolved it.”

“Yes, my ears fucking function.” Nadia sighed. “I don’t think that the turkey speaks English. I was wondering if you spoke turkey. How the hell do you understand him?” Asshole. But she didn’t call Norma that, didn’t want to come off as too much of a jackass, even though Norma was the one to start the name calling with that simple minded shit. “Yeah, twenty years is pretty recent, I guess. In the grand scheme of things,” Nadia mused. “But not all of us live for… how long have you been around again?” She was hoping, maybe this time, Norma would say. She was beyond curious about her seemingly ancient roommate. “Technology upgrades at a rapid pace. New stuff comes out every few months, each thing better and more technologically advanced than the last. We’ve come a pretty long way from the invention of the wheel.” She laughed a bit bitterly. “Good question! I did the smart thing and just upgraded bodies when the old one expired.” She took a sip of coffee, glad that Norma was at least absorbing some information. “Yes, and you can, but you’ve got to be sneaky about it. It’s not taking so much as stealing. And you can steal the plastic money, credit cards, they’re called, too, but you gotta be especially sneaky, and you can’t use them for long, or you’ll be tracked. Credit cards are pretty simple: you use one, and they charge you for it. Not immediately, but eventually. I don’t use ‘em. I don’t trust banks.” They were only good for being robbed.

“I don’t speak turkey, I just understand the turkey. It’s very different.” Norma gave an exasperated sigh. It was far less complicated than being human was so it was strange to her to get such pushback about it. Tom agreed. She could tell by the ruffling of his feathers. “I lost track,” Norma said nonchalantly as she doodled severed heads and some intestines spilling on the floor, along with some nice bleeding hearts with knives through them. “Based on your current calendar, quite a few centuries, I believe. But there have been other calendars and other systems of time so it’s all rather subjective and silly.” She added some more blood splatters around the heart with a flourish of her pen. “The real solution would be to get a better, less human body,” she said, mostly to herself, with another sigh. “Can you upgrade bodies like technology? That’s only a ghost thing, correct?” She had a feeling if humans could, they would. They tried so hard as it was to appear less old and feeble as they progressively aged. “Stealing. That’s a thing that is against the human laws, right? Most of them seem to be very against that. I know there are many in different places but that one has always been frowned upon. Humans are very possessive despite the fact their goods and money does not go with them to death.” Her next doodle was a man dying by way of a small plastic rectangle. ‘What’s not to trust about banks, though? Is that not where the money lives? Which you need. Please explain.”

Nadia blinked at Norma, unsure if this was a topic she wanted to keep discussing. “Okay.” It wasn’t. She cocked her head a bit looking at Norma’s paper with raised eyebrows. Violent. She could get behind that. “Damn, okay. That’s, like, an impressively long time. And you don’t age or…” Norma didn’t look much older than Nadia Diaz’s body. At the most, Norma didn’t look any older than Nadia had been the first time she’d died. “Right, right. Super subjective. Very silly. Time’s an illusion, and all that.” She raised her eyebrows a bit. “I mean, you’re not wrong or anything, but less human bodies aren’t exactly easy to find, you know? Outside of this town, at least.” She kind of liked her humanness, too. It was familiar and useful. So what if she couldn’t light herself on fire or have supernatural strength? She could blend in, and humans were in an abundant supply. They trusted their own, even if they didn’t always realize that other species existed. “Yeah, it’s just a ghost thing. I kinda dig this body, though. She’s worked well for me for, like, over six years, now.” She wouldn’t give up this body without a fight, at this point. Besides, it’d literally die without her in it, now, since Nadia Diaz was gone. “Stealing, yeah. It’s definitely against human laws, but laws are subjective. What’s another person to tell me what I can and can’t do, you know?” She grinned lazily, leaning back. “Doesn’t matter. We like to look good, impressive, for the living. Nothing’s more exciting to most people than being better than everyone around them. Wealth makes them believe they’re better. And banks steal money. They all just work for big corporations and the government, and they’re fucking useless when people come along and take your money from you.” Like Nadia literally did all the time. “Why should a group of bureaucratic assholes be in charge of the value of pieces of paper? It’s fucking ridiculous.”

“Physically? No, not really,” Norma answered, eyes still glued to her paper and the hatch marks she was adding to the spleen sketch to add some shading. “For the most part I believe I look relatively the same as I did when I was last human.” The words always felt a bit like boiling water in her mouth. To admit she was ever anything so plain was shameful and never something she enjoyed advertising to her demonic cohorts. They all thought they were so much better than her because they had never once been mortal but it was not her fault that her near godhood was delayed a few years. It hardly mattered in the grand scheme of eternity anyway. “If you say so. You are right, however. There really is an overabundance of humans. I see why it would be much easier to acquire one of their bodies. But you should really consider a siren. I think it would suit you.” Norma tilted her head to get a better look at her work. She ripped the page out, crumpled it up and tossed it behind her before she started on her next set of illustrations. Norma was unsure if anything that Nadia was saying about these bureaucratic institutions were correct but she found herself nodding along in the appearance of understanding and solidarity, something they had gone over in the previous weeks. Questions were an indication of non human behavior, at least that was what she had been told by her current tutor. “So we steal money to be wealthy and toppled the banks. Very much noted,” she said, letting out a small sigh as she finally looked back up at her current roommate. “This is all very nice. Thank you. I appreciate you. But can you just show me how to find the cat videos in the world wide web again instead?”

“Huh.” Nadia took all of Norma’s information in with interest; it was the first time the other woman had admitted to once being just that, a woman. A human woman, in fact, who had somehow managed to become immortal in a way that seemed way better than any deal the undead got. “That’s pretty fucking cool.” Maybe she could check in to figuring out how Norma had become, well, Norma. It’d be pretty fucking funny if she made this body immortal. Then, if Nadia Diaz’s ghost really was still hanging around, there would be no doubt that she’d outlast it. She laughed, though, at Norma’s next remark. “A siren? Makes sense, I guess. I’ve been told I have a wicked good tongue, anyway. Imagine if it was supernaturally so.” Whether or not Norma actually took her words to heart was irrelevant. Half the time, Nadia was just fucking with her. It was fun. Norma seemed to genuinely believe whatever came out of Nadia’s mouth, as long as she said it in the right tone. And, besides, what harm could it do? It was fun, and, if Norma ended up robbing a bank or something, it’d be funny as hell. She could feel that Norma was losing interest, though, so the cat videos question didn’t come as a surprised. Nadia was only a little exasperated as she finished her coffee and went to grab her laptop. “Actually, this time, you are gonna show me how to find cat videos. Remember, it’s just like I taught you.”

#writing #wickedswriting #chatzy #humanmoodring #nadia #notia #they were roommates

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