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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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ೃ⁀➷ a full moon's awakening - the prologue ✧.*

a/n : while this is a roman godfrey x original character fanfiction, I did tag it as an x reader because the fandom currently seems small and I figured it was the best way to gain visibility, but if anyone has an issue with it, let me know and I'll remove the tag, as I know that it does occasionally bother me too in other fandoms <3

this is my first time writing for hemlock grove, so please let me know if you have any feedback :)

additionally, I'd love to credit my darling best friend @angelseraphines for both the cover and her continuous support with my many wips, and the psd I've used is is dream state by pockybub on deviantart <3

The first thing the girl noticed about her surroundings was the silver of the full moon. She was in a small clearing, wildflowers littering the ground around her up to the point where the dark oak trees sprouted from the ground and surrounded the clearing in a circular manner. She was in the middle of the forest — but where? Beyond that, why was she so cold?

The girl — Marlowe was her name, or at least the only one she remembered (or was it Blythe? maybe it was Marceline?), glanced down to see a drift of snow formed beneath her. The rest of the clearing was clearly already experiencing springtime, but winter rested beneath her.

Her lips and legs were trembling, and she could feel herself shivering all over, but she knew she couldn’t stay here. She remembered someone’s warning about wolves and bears in the woods where they went camping — but whose warning? And whom did she go camping with? She stood up with shaky steps, bare feet moving across the grass. She didn’t know where she was headed, but something within her told her in which direction to move, and she listened. Afterall, where else could she go?

Beyond the confusion and uncertainty, something else was beginning to pool in this girl’s mind and heart. An irrevocable rage was beginning to take over her body with every flash of red hair that appeared before her eyes. An inexplicable sense of grief was clouding her thoughts as she heard the sound of laughter. A lingering fear found its way in with the smell of embers and a withering fire. Faces, names and voices were coming and going in waves, blurring together in her mind — she couldn’t remember any of them. Blythe, short brown hair, Letha, curly dark-blonde hair and dorky glasses, Roman, Pauline, Marceline, Brooke, Mateo. Her legs wobbled as she tried to shut them all out, as she tried to suppress the sting of memory.

The last thing she saw was a dark-haired girl, green-eyed and visibly distressed sitting outside of three yellow tents in the very clearing where she awoke. Her hands were struggling to set on fire the sad pile of wood in front of her, and the thin blanket huddled over her shoulders was doing very little to shield her from the cold. she saw her collapse then, saw her fall asleep as the snow fell and covered her body in its entirety. she could feel the cold within her turning to something more unbearable — an inexplicable heat searing into her skin. An anguished scream tore through her and echoed through the woods around her, as she fell to her knees. She didn’t know much, but there were two things she knew for sure. Firstly, whomever she was here with left her for dead. Secondly, she was in so much pain — and she wanted it to stop. She had to find a way to make it stop.

Somewhere, in the distance, a wolf howled. The sound of it shook her out of her daze, but it didn’t motivate her to get a move on. Irrationally, the girl screamed once again as the sound echoed through the green foliage above.

For a minute, there was only silence. After the silence came the sound of footsteps. The creature approached her at a rapid speed, as its paws pattered and stomped through the countless layers of mud and dirt sprawled across the forest floor. The girl wasn’t sure if it was coming to put her out of her misery. Moreover, wasn’t sure if she would oppose it.

It appeared to her almost as a shadow, distant in one second and directly in front of her in the next. The wolf stilled the moment its gaze met hers. It was enormous, or at the very least, she concluded that it was. She had never seen a wolf up close until this very moment. The fur on its back was pitch black, shaggy and just slightly wet, but it looked comfortable. The area under its mouth was maroon and moist, and if it weren’t for its eyes, the sight of it would have terrified her. Its eyes were what truly confounded her. Its irises were almost golden. There was a humanlike quality to its pupils, and she could have sworn there were emotions swirling within their depths. Fear. Concern. Confusion to rival her own.

The wolf moved towards her slowly, in stark contrast to how it had reached her. Perhaps, if she hadn’t been so disoriented, she would have ran from it — and yet, she didn’t. It nuzzled her arm and pushed her once, as if to check her over for any injuries. Once it had determined that she was fine, it moved away from her and back towards where it came from. She rushedly lifted herself from the ground as she brushed the dirt stains from her hands against the denim of her jeans. The brunette staggered after the animal and it stopped in its steps, as if it knew and wanted her to follow it. They moved through the lush woodland as a unit, firm pawprints preceding unsure footprints. The pain had once again subsided to a biting chill. it came and went in waves, but she did her best to suppress her screams, lest she terrify her strange canine companion. and yet, it noticed every pained grunt she let out and every faltering step. In those moments, the wolf would lay down and give her some time to rest, before continuing onwards.

They cleared the thick section of the grove before sunrise. As the moon descended, she could hear the occasional car pass and the chirping of birds. How long had it been since the last time she had heard those? The bright yellow of the sun peeked out from a distance, and its rays landed on her face. She was surprised not to feel their warmth. Beyond that, what surprised her even more was the sight of what was happening to her wolf companion. As the sunrays penetrated its shaggy fur, said fur gave way to human hair and skin. Before her stood an unfamiliar man, as naked as the day he was born, who was glancing at her with a mix of anticipation and trepidation.

The girl stood frozen in shock, until the fatigue of the previous night began to weigh on her bones. ��Please.” she whispered just once as she felt her legs begin to falter. He moved almost as quickly as he did when he heard her scream, wrapping one arm chastely under her arm and tossing one of hers over his shoulder and grasping it with the other. His hold on her was firm, secure and she found herself fully leaning on him and his assistance as they walked towards a rusted structure, with yellowing white planks attached to a faded pale blue surface. He let go of one of her arms as he pushed open the door of the trailer and called out a woman’s name — she presumed it was his mother’s, as the woman that appeared in front of her took in her countenance with a maternal wariness before pulling her away from her son, still in a state of undress, and towards herself.

‘‘I heard screaming. I was worried that she was…’’ he trailed off then, remembering her presence. She was too exhausted to care why he didn’t want to mention what he was afraid of in front of her. ‘‘I smelled the stench of death under her skin. You know what that means.’’ he told his mother, as her expression shifted into one of commiseration and tenderness. The older woman pitied her. That's what that meant. It made her uneasy.

That was when she noticed the other figure in the room. Unlike the others, he seemed familiar to her, somehow. She wasn’t sure how or why, but the disbelief and grief in his green eyes (and they were a light green, much lighter then those of the girl she saw freeze to death, much prettier too) told her that he was aware of exactly how he knew her, and who she was. ‘‘Marlowe?’’ he called out, his voice on the verge of breaking and his eyebrows furrowed. He stared at her as if he had seen a ghost, or maybe even something worse.

The girl could hear the sound of childish laughter, a ridiculous pitbull song serving as a background to the sound of someone vomiting and friendly jabs resembling this young man’s cadence. She heard something else too, something that wasn’t there before — hushed whispers, coming from all-around, but none from the people present. Wispy, ancient murmurs surrounded her, stifling her attempts to remember who this green-eyed man was. She couldn’t understand what they were telling her, but their tones varied. Some came across as resigned, others were enraged. In the midst of it all, a name, the man’s name, returned to her.

She opened her mouth, as if to speak. She heard nothing as her vision turned dark.

#hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey x oc #roman godfrey #peter rumancek #olivia godfrey #bill skarsgård #hemlock grove x reader #millswrites

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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unrequited love + the yellowjackets aka my bread and butter

Yellowjackets Loving You While You Love Someone Else Headcanons! [Pre-crash] (1)

A/N: @nieveink you asked for this! \^o^/

Jackie Taylor:

Jackie doesn't know she's in love with you. Not really. All she knows is that when she sees you in your boyfriend's hoodie, something in her goes sour and quiet. She watches you from across the cafeteria almost always, smiling unconsciously to herself when she sees you laughing and grinning with your friends. And whenever you glance over to her, she quickly looks away and pretends to have been doing something other than staring at you.

One night at a party, you borrowed her jacket when you were cold. Jackie doesn't ask for it back. But she noticed how it smelled like your perfume later when you returned it to her. She doesn't let herself think about it too hard. She never even says anything about it. But when you're around? She always adjusts her hair and smiles a little differently. She tries to rationalize it as her just being a good friend. But at night, when she's on the phone with Jeff and thinking about prom?

It's your name that comes to her mind first instead of his. And it's because of that, Jackie becomes too keenly aware of how much she likes you way more than she should. How much she badly wants to be seen by you.

Shauna Shipman:

Shauna notices everything. The way you touch his arm when you laugh? The way he never notices the sad look that sometimes crosses your face? She thinks about telling you about it all once. But instead, she offers to help you with your homework and says nothing. In her journal, she writes things like she deserves someone who listens and he doesn't even know her favorite book. She knows it's pathetic and bitter for her. Especially because you're so kind to her.

And yet here she is, writing all sorts of complaints she has about your boyfriend in her journal. He's not even that bad, she tries to tell herself. But your boyfriend somehow managed to be much worse than Jeff because he says “cool beans” unironically, and it just makes her irrationally angry. She's tried to date other people, just to feel normal. But then she sees you at practice, running across the field, the sun catching your hair and it all comes back to her suddenly.

She pretends she doesn’t notice how much you look at your boyfriend. But she does. Every single time. Whenever you mention your boyfriend, her stomach turns and she fights back the urge to just scream. But instead, she fakes a smile and tells you how that's so cute. She imagines a different life sometimes. One where you picked her. One where you guys sat on the hood of her truck and held hands under the stars. She dreamt of kissing you and avoided your gaze for a week.

Taissa Turner:

Tai notices you during soccer practice. How you move with grace but laugh like a dork. And to her? It's painfully charming. She's not someone who usually lets feelings get in her way, but you slip past her defenses effortlessly. Tai tells herself it's just a little crush at first. Harmless. But then she finds herself offering to walk you to your class even when it's in the opposite direction of hers. She lets you sit next to her on the bus and shares her granola bar with you.

Whenever you smile at her, It's like the only thing you're looking at is her. Then suddenly, she's fourteen and clumsy again. Tai doesn't herself to want you. But her feelings can't be helped. She never admits it. She'd rather die than say it. But sometimes she wonders if you'd look at her the way you look at him if things were different. She thinks maybe you'd understand her if she tried. But then she sees your hand in his, and the thought of it dies in her throat.

Tai acts a little colder around your boyfriend. She doesn't know if it's because she's jealous of him or protective of you, but she does. You mentioned prom once, and she joked about going stag before imagining what it would be like to go with you. You asked to borrow her hoodie one day when it got cold and she gave it to you instantly with a smile. When you returned it to her a bit late? It still smelled like you weeks later, and she couldn't bring herself to wash it.

Van Palmer:

Van jokes around a lot, it's how she keeps things light. But she feels things hard. Especially when it comes to you. The day you lent her your extra jacket because she forgot hers? She felt something she didn’t know how to name. She wants to tell you about movies you’d like. She wants to make you laugh until you spit soda. But you're almost always talking about your boyfriend like he hung the moon, and she's not going to ruin that.

Every time your boyfriend treats you like you’re ordinary. Like you’re not the most interesting person in the room? Van resists the urge to roll her eyes and tell you how much she can be better. You sit next to her on the bus sometimes, and Van tries her best to play it cool every time. But when you fall asleep leaning on her shoulder once? She couldn't breathe. The flannel she wore that day? She wears it again just in case. As silly as it sounds, it could be a good luck charm for you.

Van once nearly confessed to you but chickened out last second, telling you that you and your boyfriend looked good together instead. She instantly hated herself for it. Every time she watches you smile at your boyfriend, she looks away to stop herself from wishing you loved her instead of him. She plays mixed CDS in her room with songs that remind her of you. And sometimes, she dreams about a version of her life where you were wearing her letterman jacket instead of his.

Natalie Scatorccio:

Nat’s never had the luxury of soft feelings, but you make her want them. She doesn’t even know when it happened. But maybe it was the first time you looked at her like she wasn’t a freak. Like she's just a girl. Just Nat. She hates your boyfriend immediately, because he's everything that she’s not. He's honest, he's kind, and perfect. And unlike her, he gets to hold your hand easily without any problems. Without any worries about anyone looking at you two weirdly.

One night at a party, you asked her if she’s okay. She was just sitting alone, drinking. You were touching her arm and smiling at her. She wanted to kiss you at that moment, but she couldn't and she hated herself for it. So she just shrugged and lied to you that she was. She sees how your boyfriend treats you—decent, maybe even sweet. And it eats at her because she'd treat you better than he does. Because he doesn’t see you like she does.

You compliment her music taste once and suddenly she plays the same cassette until it warps. You laugh with your whole chest, and Nat lights a cigarette just to look busy so she can stop herself from reaching for you. Whenever she watches you lean into your boyfriend’s shoulder in the hallway, she wants to disappear. She won’t act on it. She can’t. But she smokes an extra cigarette behind the bleachers and imagines a version of life where you look at her like that.

Lottie Matthews:

Lottie doesn’t chase people. She doesn’t need to. But with you, there’s this strange gravitational pull. She tells herself it’s just a passing thing. You’re pretty, sure. Kind. Charming. But when she sees you in the hallway, leaning into your boyfriend’s shoulder? Something in her stomach knots. She invites you to a party, just you. And you bring him. She smiles at you when you arrive anyways, offers you a drink, and pretends it’s fine when jt’s not.

When she dreams at night. It’s of you, running barefoot through a field, reaching back for her hand. Lottie is kind, thoughtful, occasionally awkward around you. But she's good. And while your boyfriend never did anything wrong to her or you, she still resents him. She tells herself it’s not jealousy, she just thinks he's not good enough for you and you deserve someone way better than him. Someone who will always be with you despite everything, unlike him.

She brings you a polaroid one day, a blurry shot from a team trip. You’re in the background, laughing, in it. “You looked happy,” She said it quietly. You complimented her nail polish once and she couldn't stop staring at her hands for the rest of the day. Lottie never speaks her feelings aloud for you. But she starts dressing nicer on days she knows she’ll see you. You tucked a flower behind her ear as a joke during class. And she's kept it pressed in a book for months.

Laura Lee:

Laura Lee tells herself it's just admiration—you’re confident, compassionate, someone she wants to emulate. That what she feels when you smile at her is innocent. But then you touch her arm during a group project and she forgets how to breathe. She prays for forgiveness, understanding, and guidance. Before praying for you and herself. But the feelings don't go away. She watches you brush your boyfriend’s arm in the hallway at school, and she tells herself not to look.

Because when she does, her heart aches. She can’t bring herself to resent your boyfriend, because he seems nice and he makes you really happy. But it breaks her heart every time she sees you two together. She writes you letters she will never send that she keeps sealed in a shoebox under her bed. Filled with so many sweet and flowery words about you. And you only. She's always talking to god about you like she’s not in love, but she is.

When your boyfriend picks you up after school? She's always fetching you and bringing you to him. And then she watches as you practically run to him without another care about anything in the world before turning away fast, her heart pounding. Laura Lee wants you to be happy. She truly does. That’s the thing she wants more than anything. But deep down? She wonders if she’d make you happier sometimes. She tries her best not to think about it, but she can't help it.

Misty Quigley:

You are one of the very few people who doesn't treat Misty invisible or weird. You're polite to her. You say hi to her in the hallways. You let her borrow your notes. You partner with her in chem when no one else will. She gets so little affection from anyone that even crumbs from you feel like feasts. One time you called her cute when she was wearing these brand new butterfly clips her dad bought for her. And Misty? She replayed that word in her head for days.

Since then, she memorizes every nice thing you’ve ever said to her. She volunteers to help with any project you're involved in—tutoring, book clubs, anything. Misty is convinced that if she just proves herself enough, you might choose her. Whenever you complain about your boyfriend to her? She listens extra hard, while secretly hoping the two of you to break up. “I wish you looked at me the way you look at him.” She whispers one night in her room, staring at a photo of you during a class trip.

When Misty noticed how your boyfriend waits for you by the locker? She tried mimicking how he stands, how he talks, just so she could understand you. Take mental notes and figure out what you like in people. Sometimes, she fantasizes about you. Nothing big! Just small things like sitting next to you at lunch, just you and her. She doesn’t want anything bad to happen. But if your boyfriend tripped and broke a leg or something... well. That’d be fine, right? You do have her still!

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋𝐅𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐍𝐃.

pairing ⟢ jackie taylor x fem!reader

includes ⟢ fluff fluff fluff, minor suggestive themes.

a/n. been thinking about this one for a hot minute 🛐 + i just miss my wife & i want a gf, but a girl could dream 😞 kind of proofread! this was all that i have but if you want me to expand more, feel free to request ^^

ʚଓ thinking about jackie being the kind of partner who LOVES gift giving (it’s like one of her many love languages). she always puts the time and effort into making the gifts, whether they’re big or small.

ʚଓ the kind of gifts that consist of paper rings, bright red lipstick marks on envelopes as she writes love letters, to cute stuffed animals.

ʚଓ photobooths are a must everytime you guys go to the mall. jackie always pays for you two to go twice so each of you could have your own. keeps all of the photos up on her mirror so she can see them everytime she gets ready.

ʚଓ i love the hc where jackie has a car but she prefers getting picked up by shauna. she just loves being passenger princess but if you two started dating–jackie’s dusting off her car, getting it washed and cleaned so she could take you out anywhere you want!

ʚଓ getting matching bracelets. she either made those pretty glass-beaded ones or bought them from a jewerly store that comes with an engraved golden charm with your initials together :)

ʚଓ jackie who is very CLINGY, she will downright refuse you in leaving the bed for anything (aside from using the bathroom and bringing snacks of course) but she is a cuddler. she just loves resting her head on you chest so she can feel and hear your heartbeat, how it easily lulls her to sleep.

ʚଓ whether if you’re on the team or not, but in this case if you’re not, jackie loves bringing you along to the team bondings she hosts. i honestly think she’d want her friends/teammates to get to know you and see how much of an amazing person you are ☺️

ʚଓ she loves doing your makeup or anything that involves acts of service + quality time. she just likes doing things together, like applying facemasks whilst listening to music as you guys sit on the bed so you can paint her nails. it’s a ritual for every friday night.

ʚଓ jackie who loves kissing you everywhere. envision that lipstick meme where they try different shades 😌 yeah, that’s jackie and you. so dumbstruck with love every time you feel her soft, glossy lips leave a new color and hickey on your skin as she mutters, “hm, let’s try another one.”

ʚଓ jackie who loves receiving flowers, especially lilies with white or pink roses. you always get a fresh bouquet for her for every occasion or just to surprise her randomly, either way, she adores them and always keeps them until they die.

ʚଓ very affectionate, is into pda but will respect you if anything crosses your boundaries. but she loves holding onto your hand, will get pouty and sad if you let go but you’re just wiping your hand because it got sweaty 😭 a hugger (obviously), she’s just like a koala lol.

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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welcome to my blog !!

𝜗𝜚 : here, I’ll be writing headcanons for yellowjackets characters such as..

-shauna shipman

-lottie matthews

-jackie taylor

-van palmer

-taissa turner

-misty quigley

-natalie scatorccio

-laura lee

-and mari ibarra !!

𝜗𝜚 : and of course, I will be taking requests!!

CAUTION: I write solely for fun and so don’t be surprised if my writing isn’t top tier!! I’m still working on it. <33

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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travis martinez and his fleetwood mac obsessed girlfriend

1.7 k words

cw: a little angst, incredibly minor season 3 spoilers, way too much writing than i planned

travis had met you in his freshman year of high school.

really, he didn't want to meet you; he was required to because you were a yellowjacket - therefore, he had to go to games, and his dad made him meet all the girls.

although, teenage boy mindset and hormones aside, you weren't the worst person to talk to, and he thought you were the prettiest girl on the team. so, naturally, he noticed you more. you two had about four classes together, basically over half of your block schedule for the day. but also, fifteen-year-old travis was still very much a loser, and you seemed pretty popular because of the whole 'athlete' thing you had going.

so, instead of talking to you, he took to noticing things.

like how you always seemed to put effort into your outfits - now, travis couldn't care less about fashion, if we're being serious, but with you? he'll take notice of everything. who you sit with during lunch. what questions you answer in class. is that new nail polish? that's a different hairstyle, it's pretty. hey, you fixed your jersey, so there's no grass stain on the hem of the shorts!

safe to say, travis quickly became obsessed.

and naturally, when he turned sixteen, - he was seven months past his birthday - he developed just enough amount of confidence to finally talk to you. it was in your shared biology class, sixth period, room 209. so, he had the entire day to hype himself up for it.

he still managed to fuck it up.

because still, he was an awkward loser who didn't have many friends, most kids knew him as 'flex' or 'coach martinez's son', and he really didn't have a clue why he thought talking to you, of all girls, would work. you wouldn't want him in any way, shape, or form. he'd be insane to think like that.

except you did. you very much did.

because if we're being honest, travis was the most obvious person in the entire world. he couldn't handle making eye contact that lasted longer than five seconds. god forbid you caught him staring, though, he'd look away, blushing all the way up to the tips of his ears and with a mortified look on his face, attempting to hide his face in his hands and forget all about it. it was endearing, really.

which was why you took pity on the boy and asked him to homecoming that year. he was floored. like, genuinely and utterly confused, embarrassed that you had to be the one to ask, and... relieved.

safe to say, it ended up working out for him, considering after junior year started, you were his girlfriend for over half a year and still very much interested in staying with him.

then, the crash happened.

like any other boyfriend would - and just travis being himself - he stuck by your side the entire time. especially after his dad died. and really, it became a comfort thing for him because not only were you understanding, always giving him time he needed, held him whenever you could (or whenever he needed), you were also ungodly obsessed with fleetwood mac.

he had known that fact. he had known since freshman year, how when you had headphones on with your stupidly cute walkman, it was always something fleetwood mac. how you insisted, after the two of you got together, to always hear at least one song in his car when you drove anywhere. how you had the vinyls and posters plastered on your walls in your bedroom. how you were forever jealous that your parents went to see them in concert before you were born. all of it.

so, when you, - after running out of batteries in your walkman you packed for the trip - started humming a song or silently singing to yourself to dull the silence, travis noticed. and really, he found the habit insanely cute, even if he teased you for it any chance he got.

"are you seriously humming gold dust woman again?" he raised an eyebrow with a grin, reaching to playfully nudge your side from where you sat beside him on the log near the makeshift campfire.

"shut up, it helps," you mumbled back with a shake of your head, crossing your arms and leaning closer to the fire.

the girls picked up on your habit quick, too. honestly, they all missed music too, so they'd encourage it. maybe misty had known strictly the stevie songs, so she'd attempt to sing along with you one time. maybe akilah's older sister had played an album here or there, so she'd try and remember some lyrics to pipe up with once or twice. robin probably knew more than the other girls, so she'd hum with you.

it was nice. nice to have a girl around who tried her best to keep her spirits up in a way that would've helped their situation more. nice to see at least one girl not trying to focus too hard on survival that she forgot everything from before the crash.

travis also distinctly remembered you crying when the group found the stereo in the cabin. the girls really had to give you the first chance to use one of your cassettes from your bag - it would be cruel not to - so they could listen to music they liked. not whatever bullshit cabin guy had lying around.

then time goes by, you've kept your habit up surprisingly well, travis is also sure he's memorized at least a dozen songs just from you singing them quietly to yourself in the hut you two had made after the cabin burnt down, or just around during chores.

he also promised that when the time for rescue came, he'd listen to every single fleewood mac album they ever put out just to make you happy. that if the chance ever came up, he'd take you to that stupid show you were so bitter about your parents seeing before you and you two would have the time of your fucking lives because you, you of all people deserved it after all the shit you both went through.

then, winter came.

winter came and, for the second time in the wilderness, ruined travis's life.

because when shauna was so adamant about the fact that she swore she saw van fuck with the cards for the last hunt, she took the spot before mari. which, since you were beside hannah, ended up with you pulling the queen.

you know how that ended up.

and once travis had figured out how you ended up dying, he regretted everything. the pit that you fell in, with the wooden spikes, and was far too deep for anything less than fatal, was travis's fault. and technically, yours too. since, when travis had the idea to put spikes down there, you were right there with him - you didn't question what he planned to do, you knew he didn't mean any harm.

that just ended up with you, the most important thing ever to him, dead. dead because of an offhanded idea he had to get back at lottie for tormenting him with all those shrooms and the manipulation. dead because travis wanted to do something for his gain for once.

he picked up on your habit after rescue, he realized. he found himself thinking of the lyrics to whatever song popped up in his head, picking out the records in the shops he went to, finding the posters - the same ones you had - that he ended up hanging in his room to just feel closer to you again, and listening to at least one song a day, sometimes on repeat, because they were your favorites.

travis, who had walked into the living room one day just like a normal day. it was a good seven years post-rescue, now 2004. he was visiting his mom at his childhood home, one that still felt far too quiet, but he'd gotten used to it.

she had pbs on, like other times he had came to visit. really, nothing different. he had sat down on the couch, the housecat that his mom had gotten during his time out in the wilderness to keep her company had clambered its way onto his lap. his mom had went to check on something outside in the garden, so he just waited and watched the commercials come to a pause and whatever his mom had on the tv come back on.

travis, who still froze when he saw the corner of the screen, 'live from boston, fleetwood mac.' he hadn't listened to the music in about six years. way too many memories tied to it, and he refused to let them resurface. he was okay now, wasn't he? he had moved on the best he could, gotten a house and a good job.

but still, he couldn't help but almost immediately break down sobbing when he focused back on the screen, to just about the cruelest pick for him to be forced to sit and watch. silver springs, one that he refused to listen to whatsoever, simply because it was your absolute favorite song, and he didn't want to dwell anymore. that, and he realized he never really focused on the lyrics.

when he did, he found himself settling a little further back into the couch cushions and reluctantly petting the stupid cat still on his lap. but the ending, as soon as the instrumental for the last part lifted, he fixed his posture.

i'll follow you down to the sound of my voice will haunt you you'll never get away from the sound of the woman that loved you

and travis, who really couldn't hold it anymore and just let himself cry like a baby, even when the song ended.

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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jane my love <33333

haven't seen narcos but there isn't a single fic that angel writes that doesn't have me losing it 😍

THE ART OF VICTORY.

chapter one | “paper in hand, heart elsewhere.”

GUADALAJARA, MEXICO — 1984

the house stood on a narrow incline outside the center of the city, set back behind a short white stucco wall and a rust-colored iron gate that squeaked whenever the latch was lifted. it wasn’t a palace by any means, but it was something out of a painting, low and long, its walls a warm adobe orange softened by years of sun, with terracotta tiles curling along the roof like thick red scales. the bougainvillea was wild and bright, growing unchecked over one corner of the patio wall, its fuchsia blossoms spilling into the courtyard below. there was a clay fountain shaped like a plump cherub in the center of the yard that trickled unevenly, often clogged with fallen petals or dry leaves, and the scent of hibiscus and citrus from the trees they’d planted their first year in mexico lingered in the warm air. the house breathed old heat through every crevice, and in the serene afternoons the birds outside made more noise than the city.

inside, the tile floors were cool and earthy under bare feet, painted in that deep saltillo red that absorbed sunlight and radiated it back hours after sundown. thick wooden beams ran across the ceiling, darker than the clay walls and hand-polished with age. colorful woven rugs from oaxaca were thrown over the floors in each room, and the shelves were packed with hardcovers and old university folders, mostly belonging to richard carlisle, whose research notes had spilled across continents and now littered his small study near the front of the house. there were tapestries brought from barcelona, brass sconces flickering at dusk, and the occasional dead mosquito smacked against a windowpane.

they had been living in guadalajara for nearly three years. before that, it had been rome for one semester, and before that, a year in cairo. jane had started picking up spanish naturally after their first six months in mexico, her accent was imperfect but fluid, and her vocabulary surprisingly good for someone who had never studied it formally. timothy, thirteen now, had taken longer to adjust, but he was quick with numbers and geography and had made a few friends at his local school. richard, her father, was teaching politics and international relations at the university of guadalajara, specifically comparative authoritarian systems, an area of expertise that had earned him recognition back in the united states, though he was never one to flaunt prestige. his alma mater was the university of texas at austin, but he had taught at stanford briefly, and now held tenure at the university of california, los angeles. he was spending these years abroad on a long sabbatical, funded by a mix of private research grants and soft connections to american think tanks eager to monitor political instability in latin america.

jane carlisle, at eighteen, had always felt older than she was. she carried herself like she knew the world already. not in the smug way some girls did, but with a subtle quietness that came from years of watching everything carefully and saying very little when it wasn’t necessary. she had a type of beauty that struck you, nothing simple and conventional at first glance, no blonde hair or perfect symmetry, but something arresting and enrapturing. her skin was ivory pale, the kind that pinked easily in the sun, with the occasional blemish along her jawline or near her temple, often half-hidden by a sweep of her thick dark hair. her hair, somewhere between black and deep brown, hung in long, natural waves past her shoulders, the strands always a little frizzy from the humidity. she had honey-colored eyes, dark golden brown, and they were almond-shaped but soft, the kind that flickered sideways before fixing directly on someone with full attention. her lips were full and heart-shaped, naturally pouty, often painted in red, the exact same lipstick her cousin carmen always wore.

the lipstick was a detail that mattered. it had been a gift. carmen had visited them the year prior, on a break from san diego state university where she was dragging her way through her undergraduate studies, undecided, uninterested, but still somehow always two steps ahead of everyone else. she had brought jane a backup of her favorite lipstick, the expensive kind that only department stores in the states seemed to carry. the packaging was slim, gold, with a tiny mirror inside the cap. the color was a deep, bold cherry, rich but matte, the kind that didn’t bleed or smudge even after coffee. since then, she wore that lipstick on days when she wanted to feel braver than she was. and today was one of those days.

it was early afternoon, the kind of lazy, thick warmth that settled into the walls like a second layer of paint. the city outside buzzed with life, car horns, the distant rattle of a bus changing gears, the murmuring hum of passing conversations in spanish. the carlisle house was half-shaded by tall trees lining the narrow street, and somewhere in the kitchen, margaret was fussing with a pot of coffee and muttering about the gas pressure again. the clink of ceramic could be heard through the walls.

jane sat cross-legged on her bed, a notebook open beside her and an old paperback in her lap, not reading it. she wore a sheer white cotton blouse tucked into a denim skirt that hit dangerously mid-thigh, a detail her mother had already commented on with a disapproving glance and a sigh about “what girls were wearing these days.” the skirt had little embroidered flowers running down the hem, tiny lavender and pink petals stitched into the fabric like a quiet rebellion. her nails were painted red, the same tone as her lipstick, and the polish was fresh, glossy. her fingers were elegant, her hands steady. there was a tiny scab on the inside of her wrist from where she had caught herself on the garden gate earlier that week.

her room overlooked the courtyard, and the slatted shutters had been pulled open to let in the air. the mosquito screen rattled slightly in the breeze. inside, the room was sun-drenched and softly cluttered. posters had been taped to the walls. some in spanish, others faded band prints from before they’d moved. there were stacks of journals, fashion magazines smuggled in from california, a ceramic bowl full of old rings and broken earrings, and a hairbrush with half her hair still caught in it. her bed was unmade, the sheets rumpled from where she’d stretched out earlier, and on the floor near her nightstand was a half-empty bottle of coca-cola sweating through the label.

she wasn’t thinking about school, or her father’s lectures, or the paper she was meant to be helping him with. she was thinking about the call she hadn’t made yet. about the boy she wasn’t sure she’d wanted to see again. about the quiet, twisted thread of tension that had been building in her stomach for weeks now for no explainable reason.

in the hallway, timothy’s voice shouted something unintelligible, probably at a stray dog outside. her mother scolded him from the kitchen. her father, as usual, wasn’t around, he had gone to meet some contacts, or maybe to sit in on one of the seminars at the university. he didn’t always explain his schedule. sometimes it felt like he belonged more to the world outside than to their family.

jane leaned forward and stared at her reflection in the vanity mirror, blotting her lipstick with the back of one hand and adjusting the curl of her hair. the color still looked perfect. it made her feel like carmen. or at least like the version of carmen that everyone else saw. bold, untouchable, cool without effort. but carmen had always known how to lie better than jane did.

outside, the wind picked up scarcely enough to lift the edge of the curtain. and in the stillness that followed, jane carlisle sat back on her heels, pressed her fingers to her lips, and stared at the pale heat bleeding through the window, listening to the silence stretch long between moments.

the telephone rang with its usual shrill, jagged cadence, cutting through the warm hush of the early afternoon. jane didn’t move at first. she sat at the edge of her bed, barefoot, one leg crossed over the other, her skirt hiked slightly above her knee. the rotary dial telephone sat crooked on the hallway table just outside her door, its cord tangled from how often it got dragged from room to room. the second ring came quicker. then a third. she finally stood, brushing her hair back from her face with a red-polished hand, and padded into the hallway. her nails glinted under the filtered sunlight pouring through the hallway window.

“hello?” her voice was soft, distracted.

“hello, jane?” a man’s voice, clipped, precise, very british.

she straightened, immediately more alert. “dr. monroe?”

dr. peter monroe was her father’s research assistant, or maybe his co-professor, it wasn’t clear, even after all this time. he taught some seminars at the university, worked on joint research projects with professor carlisle, and always seemed to be circling in the periphery of her father’s professional life like a hawk with a polished résumé. mid-thirties, probably, though his skin was smooth and evenly toned, the kind of curated hue that came from vacations on private coasts. his cheekbones were akin to something carved and deliberate, angled so sharply they seemed drawn with a ruler. his eyes were a piercing, almost unnatural blue, too blue, like they had been colored in by hand, and they held a constant glint of amusement that bordered on arrogance. he wore pressed shirts, never slouched, and always looked like he had somewhere better to be. jane had never been able to decide if she found him compelling or insufferable.

“yes, hello,” she said, her fingers twisting the cord out of habit.

“your father left some very important folders in his home study. notes he needs for this afternoon’s panel.” a pause. “would you mind bringing them to campus?”

“sure,” she said, not even hesitating. “i’ll find them and head out now.”

“great,” he said, his voice smoothing at the edges, like velvet folded too neatly. “thanks, jane.” click.

she didn’t like how he always said her name like it was meant to linger. but she didn’t think too hard about it. she hung up the phone and turned back toward her room, moving quickly. the house was still quiet, save for the distant clang of dishes in the kitchen and the occasional thump of her brother’s footsteps overhead. the hallway was dim and cool, lined with framed black-and-white photographs from their time in egypt and faded polaroids from barcelona. she passed through the tiled living room and slipped into her father’s study.

the study was a mess. books stacked in every corner, loose papers clipped and re-clipped into bulging folders, a map of the middle east pinned crookedly over the desk. a typewriter sat under its cover in the corner, and there was a chipped mug of coffee with a skin forming at the top. she knew where to look, beneath the second shelf on the left, behind the spiral-bound notebooks. the folder was thick and heavy, the edges dog-eared. she tugged it out and tucked it under one arm, brushing dust off the front with her hand.

as she turned to leave, her mother’s voice rang out sharply from the kitchen.

“jane? where are you going?”

jane stepped into view, folder in hand. “dad left this,” she said. “i’m taking it to him.”

margaret carlisle appeared from around the kitchen doorway, drying her hands on a tea towel, her eyes narrowing at her daughter’s outfit. “you’re going outside like that?”

“it’s hot.”

“that skirt is indecent. you want to cause a car accident?”

jane rolled her eyes and walked past her. “i’m walking. it’s not far.”

“i could call the driver.”

“i don’t need the driver. i can walk.”

margaret sniffed, clearly unimpressed, but said nothing more. she returned to whatever she had been cooking. the kitchen smelled of onions and something sharp, vinegar or citrus.

jane left through the front door, folder still tucked under one arm. outside, the sunlight was thick and golden, beating down on the red clay tiles of the courtyard. the air smelled like heat and dust and jasmine. cicadas buzzed somewhere in the distance. she walked through the gate, turning right down the street lined with jacaranda trees just beginning to bloom. the sky above was cloudless, and the air shimmered faintly over the pavement.

she liked walking. she liked the rhythm of it, the way the city moved slowly during this time of day, children shouting in distant courtyards, laundry flapping on lines strung between balconies, the strains of radio music drifting from open windows. a car passed now and then, slow and sleepy, with the windows rolled down and the driver’s arm resting out one side. the streets curved gently toward the university, and as she neared the first long block leading into the more commercial area, she heard someone call her name.

“jane!”

she turned, squinting into the sunlight.

tamara stood half a block down, waving, already walking toward her. she wore faded jeans and a black tank top, her hair pulled back with a cloth headband. her highlights were barely visible now, faded into a dull coppery brown. she had the kind of soft, tender face that made people trust her without trying, round cheeks, clear skin, warm brown eyes flecked with gold.

“i didn’t know you were walking out,” tamara said, grinning, slipping into step beside her. they greeted each other and tamara pulled her into a brief hug. “where are you going?”

“my dad left some documents. i’m taking them to him at the university.”

“ay no, all that way?” tamara groaned dramatically, swiping sweat from her forehead. “it’s too hot today. i would’ve said no. i would’ve lied.”

“i considered it,” jane said, laughing. “my mom wanted me to have the driver take it, but i’d rather not deal with that.”

“your mom’s mad about the skirt?”

“as usual.”

tamara shook her head. “you look good, chica. ignore her.” she glanced down, catching sight of jane’s nails and lipstick. “ah, so it’s a carmen day.”

jane smiled faintly. “she gave me a second tube before she went back to school.”

“i think she wants to be the only woman in california wearing that color,” tamara teased. “isn’t she at san diego state?”

“yeah. criminal justice. thriving, probably.”

they fell into step together, walking past a block of tiny tiendas, the windows plastered in concert posters and peeling advertisements. a woman stood outside a corner shop selling chilled tamarind drinks in plastic bags, and a cluster of boys raced past them on bicycles, shouting back and forth in quick spanish.

“we should hang out,” tamara said suddenly. “i keep saying we should, and then i forget. and if you go off to the u.s. without me seeing you again, i’ll cry.”

jane glanced sideways. “you know i took a gap year, right?”

“what?” tamara stopped short. “i thought you were leaving this fall.”

“i was supposed to,” jane said, shifting the folder to her other arm. “uc santa cruz. i got in for education. but i asked to delay. just one year. i don’t know. i don’t feel ready yet.”

tamara nodded slowly. “that makes sense. i’d want one more year here too. especially now.”

“yeah,” jane said quietly. “i’m not in a rush.”

“well, then we have to hang out. there’s a party on saturday. gabriela’s cousin is in a band. they’re playing at her cousin’s friend’s house in zapopan. very exciting,” she added with mock grandeur.

jane laughed again. “text me.”

“i will,” tamara said. “don’t die walking in this heat.”

“i’ll try not to.”

they hugged again, quick and warm, and then tamara turned back the way she’d come, calling something about “nos vemos!” over her shoulder. jane kept walking, slower now, the sun warming her scalp. she could see the edge of the university buildings in the far distance, sunlight glinting off a glass window, students milling like ants near the entrance. but she wasn’t there yet. she was still two blocks away. and for a moment, she just walked in silence, the sound of her sandals on the pavement rhythmic, her shadow long behind her, red lips pressed together as if she was thinking something she wouldn’t say aloud.

the walk from their neighborhood in colonia americana to the university wasn’t short, but it wasn’t unbearable either. it was maybe thirty, thirty-five minutes if she didn’t stop, less if she cut through some of the narrower streets behind the market and didn’t get slowed down by traffic or old men trying to talk to her. the sun was hot against the pavement, baking everything it touched until the light bounced off the glass storefronts and metal window grates in searing flashes. everything shimmered at the edges. the sidewalks cracked underfoot in places, uneven stone buckling from years of rain and tree roots growing underneath. dust kicked up with each car that sped past, and the smell of gasoline hung thick near the main roads.

she passed corner stores, their windows papered with ads for soft drinks and telenovelas, and fruit vendors rolling carts stacked with mango, papaya, and sandía cut into neat plastic cups. there were dogs sleeping in the shade of parked cars, their ribs rising slowly with each breath. old women leaned out of second-story windows shaking rugs. the air pulsed with life, music from inside the panadería, the clatter of kitchenware from apartments above, and the low, endless hum of a city that was always, always moving. guadalajara in the summer wasn’t quiet. it was sweat and color and smoke and sunlight that hurt the eyes. and when she passed by the corner near avenida vallarta, two men leaning against a motorcycle turned their heads and whistled low.

“chula,” one of them muttered, loud enough for her to hear. “ven acá, morra.”

she didn’t flinch. didn’t look. she kept walking, eyes fixed ahead, face blank. she’d learned quickly, after three years here, what kind of reaction made men more frustrated and what kind made them give up. this time, they gave up. she heard one of them snort behind her, muttering something else she didn’t catch. she only adjusted the folder under her arm and kept her pace steady.

the university was sprawling and old, with tall stone walls covered in ivy and long horizontal buildings flanked by jacaranda trees. it sat just beyond the heart of the city, a few blocks from the older neighborhoods, with its architecture somewhere between colonial revival and practical postwar minimalism. the oldest part of campus had high-arched windows and thick columns, a cream-colored façade that had once been pristine but was now faded by decades of sun and smog. the paint on the window shutters had peeled. the stone steps had been worn smooth by generations of students. graffiti had begun to creep up the outer walls, political slogans in red spray paint that no one bothered to scrub off anymore, justicia para los desaparecidos, no más intervención, fuera la cia.

there were students everywhere, clustered in the shade with books open on their laps, some smoking, some laughing, others hunched over newspapers with furrowed brows. the smell of tobacco and sun-warmed stone filled the air. she walked through the front gate without hesitation, past the stone arch carved with the name of the university, and across the tiled quad toward the faculty offices. most students didn’t look twice at her. a few of the boys did.

the political science department was housed in a separate building near the back, newer than the rest, with high ceilings and polished floors that always felt just a little too sterile. her father’s office was on the second floor. she climbed the staircase slowly, feeling the weight of the heat still pressing down even inside. when she reached the top and turned the corner, the hallway was quiet. a few doors were closed. the light buzzed faintly overhead. she moved down the corridor, familiar with every chipped tile, every poster about guest lectures or archival symposiums stapled to the corkboard. at the end of the hall was her father’s office. the door was open.

she stepped inside.

neither her father nor dr. monroe were there. instead, sitting neatly at the edge of one of the guest chairs, flipping through a thick sheaf of papers, was ms. elaine lee.

elaine looked up immediately.

“jane,” she said, her tone warm but composed, her voice low and rich like velvet pulled through water. “it’s good to see you.”

elaine was tall, taller than most women jane knew, and taller than some of the men her father worked with. her presence filled the room in a way that was neither overbearing nor passive. her figure was slim, statuesque, wrapped in a cream silk top tucked into high-waisted navy trousers, the kind that seemed tailor-made. her dark hair was twisted into a smooth knot at the nape of her neck, and her skin, ivory-toned, was flawless. her face was elegant, sharp, but not harsh, with delicate brows, and lips always slightly curved at the edges. she wore almost no visible makeup, just a faint shimmer at her cheekbones and a touch of eyeliner. she looked expensive, like she didn’t belong in a dusty hallway full of bulletin boards and rusted file cabinets, and yet she always made the place seem dignified by standing in it.

jane hesitated. “oh. ms. lee. hi.”

elaine rose smoothly from her seat, her movements fluid. “your father stepped out a few minutes ago. he had to meet with a visiting professor from a neighboring region, someone from the geology department.” she smiled. “he said it wouldn’t be long.”

“oh,” jane said again. “i can wait.”

“you don’t have to. i can take that.” elaine gestured lightly toward the folder in jane’s arms.

for a moment, jane hesitated. she always did. there was something strange about elaine, not bad, never bad, but something quietly unreadable. maybe it was the way she always looked like she was watching even when she wasn’t, or the way she always smelled faintly of jasmine and something cooler, sharper, like mint.

“sure,” jane said finally, handing the folder over.

elaine took it carefully, not glancing at the contents, just setting it gently down on the desk beside her. then, as if she had been waiting for this moment, she turned to her purse.

“actually, i have something for you,” she said.

jane blinked. “what?”

elaine opened her bag, some sleek black leather thing, minimal and expensive, and pulled out a small box. square, matte gold, with a ribbon wound once around it and tied at the corner. she handed it over without ceremony.

“i picked this up in seoul last month. i visited my sister and did a bit of shopping. i saw this and thought of you.”

jane opened the box slowly. inside, nestled against black velvet, was a delicate gold bracelet, thin chain, with a small, curved pendant shaped like a half-moon wrapped around a pearl. the metal caught the light and shimmered subtly, the kind of shimmer that didn’t need to be flashy to be seen.

“ms. lee,” she said, mouth parting. “this is… it’s lovely.”

“i thought it might suit you.” elaine tilted her head slightly. “you have that kind of face. classic. soft lines.”

jane smiled lightly, “thank you. really.”

“try it on,” elaine said gently.

jane unclasped it and slipped it around her wrist. the metal was cool against her skin. it paired suitably with the style of her blouse, perfectly matched. as if it had been chosen for this exact outfit. for this exact day.

elaine smiled again, pleased. “lovely. see?”

“thank you,” jane said again. her voice sounded too small in her own ears.

elaine stepped forward just slightly, not invading her space, but enough that her presence became unmistakable. “i’ve always meant to tell you,” she said. “if you ever need guidance, advice, someone to help you figure things out. professionally. academically. personally. you can come to me.”

jane blinked. “oh. that’s… thank you. i mean. i appreciate that.”

“i’ve always wanted to be that kind of woman. the one other girls could count on,” elaine said, her tone serene. “there weren’t many women like that when i was your age. especially not where i worked.”

jane nodded slowly. “yeah. i’ll… i’ll keep that in mind.”

there was a strange lightness in the room, a stillness that felt both comforting and sharp. jane didn’t quite know what to say. elaine was generous, and calm, and everything about her was composed, but it was the kind of composure that made jane feel somewhat off-balance, like she was being measured and weighed with every glance.

although, the bracelet looked perfect. she touched the pendant gently, her fingers grazing the cool gold, and smiled. “it really is beautiful,” she said again.

elaine only nodded, her eyes unreadable, and returned to the desk, smoothing the folder’s edge with one hand.

“your father should be back soon,” she said.

jane didn’t answer. she was looking at her reflection in the window glass, watching the light glint off the delicate chain at her wrist.

the door creaked open behind her, the hinge sticking as it always did, and she turned just as her father stepped inside, followed closely by dr. monroe. both men entered in conversation, their voices low, quick, like they had only paused long enough to breathe before the next point needed to be made. richard carlisle’s brow was furrowed, his mouth tight, as if something had been bothering him all morning, something he hadn’t been able to shake. he held a stack of papers loosely under one arm, the corners curled slightly from being gripped too hard. his glasses were perched low on his nose, and he looked tired, more than tired, actually. drained. the kind of tired that didn’t come from lack of sleep but from something deeper.

“jane,” he said, nodding toward her with a quick, automatic sort of familiarity, like she was a note in his schedule he hadn’t expected but didn’t have the time to fully acknowledge. “thanks for bringing that.”

dr. monroe followed his lead with a polite nod and that usual, faintly amused smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “always a pleasure,” he said, voice smooth and clipped. he had a leather folio in one hand, his shirt sleeves rolled just slightly, enough to show part of a watch, silver, european. probably inherited. probably expensive. he looked freshly shaven, his blue eyes cool as ever, scanning the room briefly before landing back on jane, not quite lingering, but not indifferent either.

she tried to speak, tried to break into whatever cadence had carried them through the door. “mom probably wants to know when you’ll be home. she’s making…”

her father didn’t let her finish. “we’ll talk later,” he said sharply, not unkind, but definite. his tone clipped off the end of her sentence like scissors cutting thread. “i’ve got work. there’s a conference call later this evening with washington, and peter and i still need to draft a response to this colombia thing.”

he didn’t even look at her when he said it. he had already moved toward the desk, papers flapping as he dropped them beside the folder she’d brought. elaine, still seated nearby, gave jane a sympathetic look, one that didn’t pity her but acknowledged the imbalance with a pristine smile. she seemed to see everything without needing to say much.

“oh,” jane said, blinking. “okay. yeah. i’ll see you at home, then.”

“thanks again, jane,” her father said, already scanning the top page. it wasn’t cruel, just distracted. but it still left a hollowness in her chest that she didn’t fully understand.

she turned, fingers brushing against the pendant at her throat, the gift from elaine, gleaming against her blouse, and gave a small nod to the room as a whole. “bye, everyone.”

“take care,” elaine said politely.

“great to see you,” added dr. monroe, his voice trailing faintly as she stepped into the hallway and the door clicked shut behind her.

the hallway had grown busier in the late afternoon. the light from the windows was angled sharply now, cutting across the floor in long golden stripes. voices echoed from the far end, students laughing, someone calling out a greeting in rapid spanish. a pair of young professors passed by deep in argument, their hands gesturing wildly. the university had started to come alive again in that strange in-between hour when the sun began to soften but the heat lingered heavy against the walls.

she had only made it a few steps when someone called her name.

“jane!”

she turned and immediately smiled. rita alcántara came bounding up the hallway, her shoulder bag swinging behind her and a handful of papers clenched in one hand. rita was short, barely to jane’s shoulder, with dark, sun-warmed skin and hair that she always wore half-up with little silver clips that glittered under fluorescent light. her features weren’t dramatic, not the kind that people stared at across rooms, but there was something so bright about her expression, so immediately open, that she never seemed to lack attention. she had a kind smile, a quick wit, and the kind of honesty that made people trust her even before they realized it.

“i thought that was you!” rita said, breathless, eyes lighting up. “i’m so glad you came today.”

“i didn’t come for anything exciting,” jane said with a laugh. “just dropping off something for my dad.”

“i feel as if i never see you here anymore.” rita’s voice dropped slightly, conspiratorial. “i’ve been buried under this stupid journalist column i’m trying to put together. it’s about labor strikes, but no one wants to talk on the record, and i think one of my sources might be connected to a union with cartel ties, which is… terrifying.”

jane raised an eyebrow. “why would you…”

“because i’m an idiot,” rita said cheerfully. “and because our editor wants something spicy for the next issue. and apparently ‘economic injustice’ isn’t spicy unless it involves missing persons.” she rolled her eyes. “you’d think we were writing narco thrillers, not campus news.”

jane laughed, the tension in her shoulders easing. it felt good to talk to rita, someone her age, someone who wasn’t dissecting trade policies or disappearing into back rooms with government folders. “are you thinking about going into journalism?”

“i think journalism’s going into me, honestly,” rita said. “i have this dream where i live in a tiny apartment in the city, and i spend all day writing exposés and drinking too much coffee, and i get sued a lot but win most of the time.”

“sounds idealistic.”

“sounds exhausting,” rita replied, grinning. “but you know me. i want to make noise before the world forgets me.”

jane looked at her, head tilted somewhat. “i don’t think anyone could forget you.”

“aw,” rita said, touched. “don’t make me tear up in this hallway. i have a reputation to maintain.”

they stood in the corridor for another minute, merely talking, about nothing in particular. old classmates. a girl they knew who got engaged in guanajuato. a party neither of them had gone to because the host was rumored to have family in the dfs.

then jane glanced down at her watch, a simple gold analog one that had belonged to her grandmother, and winced.

“i should probably get going,” she said. “my mom’s going to wonder where i am.”

rita nodded, then hesitated. “wait… you’re walking back?”

“yeah.”

“jane…” her tone changed. “i know you’ve done it a million times, but… be careful, okay?”

jane smiled, a little dismissive. “i’ll be fine. i’m american. nobody’s gonna mess with me.”

rita didn’t smile. “that’s not always how it works. not anymore. not since everything started shifting. the papers won’t say it, but you know there’s something going on. you can feel it.” she lowered her voice. “and i know you heard about what happened last week, right? the shootout near plaza tapatía? it wasn’t just random. it was…” she stopped. “… be careful. it’s starting to feel weird out there. you’re not always gonna see it until you’re in it.”

jane’s smile faded a little. she didn’t know what to say to that. she touched the bracelet again, almost without realizing, and nodded slowly. “yeah. okay. i will.”

“promise me.”

“i promise,” jane said.

rita reached out and squeezed her wrist, firm but quick. “good.” then, softening, she added, “and if you ever want to ride with me, or if it’s too late to walk, call me. seriously.”

jane nodded again, slower this time. “i will.”

and then she turned toward the stairwell, the light slanting long across the floor, shadows deepening with each minute. she didn’t look back. but she walked a little faster. and for the first time that day, she didn’t feel quite so fine.

the sun had started to dip behind the buildings by the time she left the university grounds. the late afternoon haze that had clung to the city all day began to thin out into long shadows that stretched like dark fingers over the cobblestone and concrete. the temperature was cooling, but the air stayed heavy, humid with the weight of exhaust fumes, hot stone, and distant rain. traffic was louder now, the sharp blare of horns echoing down the avenues. stray dogs nosed through trash left in alleyways, and the chatter of voices from street vendors and passing families became more fragmented, more urgent. there was a tension in the way people moved, faster, closer to home, like they knew the city changed when the light began to drain from it.

jane crossed onto avenida hidalgo, her sandals clicking over the broken pavement, the weight of her bag shifting against her hip. she didn’t usually feel nervous walking home. not really. not anymore. three years was enough to get used to the chaos of it, the rhythm of the streets, the way you could disappear if you walked fast and didn’t look too curious. but today, today something was off. maybe it was the way rita’s words had stuck with her. maybe it was the men she’d passed earlier, the way one of them had stared too long as she crossed the street, his cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, ash flicking into the wind without him noticing.

she turned onto a narrower street where the paint on the walls had long since peeled away. vines grew thick over the balconies, and the metal bars on the windows were rusted orange from years of rain. up ahead, two men stood outside a shuttered shop, leaning against the wall like they had nowhere else to be. their eyes snapped toward her as soon as she appeared.

she kept her pace steady. no eye contact. don’t look. don’t flinch.

one of them murmured something in low spanish, too low to catch all the words, but she caught enough.

“qué buena estás…” followed by a quiet whistle. the other laughed under his breath.

she didn’t break stride. her jaw tensed.

they didn’t follow, but their eyes stayed on her like fingers dragging down her back. she walked faster. her breath was shallow now, her pulse ticking hot under her skin. every sound was louder. the squeal of a distant bus. the rustle of newspapers underfoot. even the sound of her own steps, one after another, sharp against the concrete. the light was bleeding out of the sky now, the clouds above the hills glowing a faint bruised pink.

she turned another corner, and felt a hand close over her shoulder.

she spun around so fast she almost stumbled, heart lurching into her throat.

“hey, hey, tranquila!”

it was tamara.

jane’s chest heaved. “jesus christ, no mames, tamara, are you trying to give me a heart attack?” she could feel the adrenaline pulsing in her fingertips, cold sweat prickling at the back of her neck.

tamara stepped back with her hands raised, half laughing, half apologetic. “sorry! i didn’t mean to scare you, i swear. i just saw you and thought, shit, i forgot to tell you something earlier.”

jane exhaled, pressing a hand to her chest. “gosh. okay. what?”

tamara’s smile returned, mischievous and warm. “there’s this thing happening friday night. at la luna negra.”

jane frowned. “what thing?”

tamara’s eyes sparkled. “you’ll see.”

“that’s not helpful.”

“i know,” tamara said, still grinning. “i didn’t want to say anything earlier ‘cause you were in a rush, but now i have your attention. it’s kind of a big deal. kind of not. depends on who shows up.”

jane narrowed her eyes. “is this one of those secret dj nights again where the place is too packed and there’s no air and someone gets too high and tries to dance on the speakers?”

“no,” tamara said quickly. “this is something else.”

“so what is it then?”

tamara shrugged, too casual. “trust me. it’s fun. we’ll dress up, we’ll dance, we’ll drink something gross and overpriced. and there’s a guy i want you to meet.”

“oh my god.”

“not like that. i mean… maybe like that. but not in a weird way. just… trust me.” she stepped closer, lowering her voice. “you don’t want to miss this, jane. seriously. it’s one of those things people talk about after. and if you’re not there, you’re gonna wish you had been.”

jane studied her. “you’re being terribly vague.”

tamara smiled again, but this time there was a hint of something behind it. something guarded. “not everyone can know everything. and besides, it’s better when you don’t know what to expect.”

“and you just expect me to sneak out of the house at night?”

“do you want to be the girl that spent her whole last year here reading novels on her porch?” tamara tilted her head. “come on, you’ve got one foot out of this country already. don’t you want to do something wild at least once?”

jane hesitated. she did. she just didn’t know what the consequences would look like.

“fine,” she said. “but if i get caught…”

“you won’t. you told me your mom never checks your room past ten, and your dad’s gonna be in his study pretending to care about political unrest in central america. you’re golden.”

jane crossed her arms. “what do i wear?”

“something hot,” tamara said without missing a beat. “not your girly little denim skirts and lace flats. wear red, maybe. you always look good in red.”

jane laughed. “what is this? a bachelorette auction?”

tamara gave a sly smile. “i am only saying it wouldn’t hurt if someone important noticed you.”

jane blinked. “who?”

“you’ll see.”

“again with the mystery.”

“trust me. it’s not the kind of night you get twice.” tamara leaned in, her voice lower now. “and it’s better to show up shining than regret what you didn’t wear.”

they stood there a moment longer, the sky above them dimming into dusk, the first signs of city nightlife flickering on, buzzing neon signs, headlights, the thud of bass from a distant car radio. the street felt different now. looser. more dangerous. but also more alive.

jane nodded once. “okay. fine. friday.”

tamara’s grin widened. “that’s my girl.”

and then she was gone again, turning down another street, her silhouette vanishing between the press of people and headlights. jane stood unmoving for a long second, staring after her, her heart unsteady from the earlier jolt. she touched the pendant at her throat again, then glanced toward the narrowing sky.

jane walked the rest of the way home faster than before, her pulse threaded with unease, and something else. not quite fear. not quite anticipation. something in between

#ultimate recs <3

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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hiii !! I've gotten crazy into hemlock grove over the past couple of days so I'd love it if you guys could send in some requests for fics !! <3

I've also started writing a hemlock grove fanfic with an original character but I'd love to write some x reader stuff to get a stronger grasp on the characters, so please send in any requests you may have for the characters on my masterlist — but especially for roman, peter, clementine and olivia !!

I'm still on season 1 in the show and I've started the book but I am not quite done with it — but I feel confident enough with what I currently know about the characters

#hemlock grove x reader #hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove #roman godfrey x reader #roman godfrey #peter rumancek x reader #peter rumancek #olivia godfrey x reader #olivia godfrey #letha godfrey x reader #letha godfrey #clementine chasseur x reader #clementine chasseur #norman godfrey x reader #norman godfrey #christina wendall

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ hemlock grove masterlist. ੈ✩‧₊˚

╰┈➤ roman godfrey, peter rumancek, olivia godfrey, letha godfrey, norman godfrey, destiny rumancek, christina wendall (platonic), clementine chasseur

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ roman godfrey. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ peter rumancek. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ olivia godfrey. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ letha godfrey. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ norman godfrey. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ destiny rumancek. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ christina wendall. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ clementine chasseur. ੈ✩‧₊˚

tba.

#hemlock grove #roman godfrey #roman godfrey x reader #peter rumancek #peter rumancek x reader #olivia godfrey #olivia godfrey x reader #letha godfrey #letha godfrey x reader #norman godfrey #norman godfrey x reader #destiny rumancek #destiny rumancek x reader #christina wendall #clementine chasseur #clementine chasseur x reader #hemlock grove fanfiction #hemlock grove x reader

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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unhappy endings

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lumillsie · 3 months ago

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my yellowjackets takes !!

- taissa turner is the most intriguing of the central characters, and her storyline deserves the level of effort the writers put into it back in season 1.

- teen!misty was far too overhated in the first two seasons and I struggle to understand how people can understand shauna making poor decisions due to feeling overlooked in comparison to jackie, but couldn't understand why misty would do something awful as a consequence of being, narratively speaking, completely othered and isolated by her entire community. her actions were objectively wrong but it seems like more of the dislike towards teen misty stems from people finding her annoying rather than unnerving.

- I wish we saw more of nat and kevyn tan. I really enjoyed their dynamic during the brief period of time we got them, and I wish we could've seen them develop. the fact that they both died on the same day is very romeo-julietesque of them.

- I want to know more about adam. I know the concept of him being javi was scrapped, but I really want to know more about the final version of him the writers settled on — was he genuinely just interested in shauna? what did he know about the survivors?

- jeff's complete disregard for jackie makes me dislike him. it's not about the fact that he cheated on her as a teenager, but for as rude as the taylors were — how on earth could you bring up the fact that you cheated on their dead daughter at her birthday lunch? there is not a single moment in which he exhibits any sort of remorse or grief over what happened to her despite his teenage mistakes directly leading to her death (and him being aware of it).

- while I really enjoy young taivan and consider them to be the core romance of the show, I preferred tai and simone in the adult timeline. simone's presence didn't take away from taissa's own arc the way van's did, and I do think there's a reason as to why taissa married simone despite breaking up with van over her fears to come out of the closet. is it necessarily a romantic one? no, of course not, but it does paint that bond in a much deeper manner than the show portrayed it post-s1.

- sammy should have been the wilderness' child instead of callie.

- I don't hate adult melissa. I know people are a lot more attached to van and were devastated by her death, but I do think some of them are forgetting that melissa's would be murderer was right outside the door, and she saw an opportunity to escape and took it.

- mari being pit girl makes sense but it shouldn't have occurred until season 4, or they should've done the pacing differently in s3. the reveal felt rushed.

- I'm not sure if this is a controversial topic but I don't believe shauna would have hooked up with jeff if she actually believed jackie loved him. in the scene where jackie tells her she should've said "I love you" back to him, she seems rattled before asking her if she does — because the foundation of her justification for her betrayal had itself been rattled.

- perhaps contradictory to my previous point, but I don't believe that shauna was ever a 'good' person. I know people try to justify her by pointing out instances of her kindness and care for others early on, but one of the first acts we see her engage in is a heinous betrayal of one of the people closest to her. on the flipside, I also don't agree with the people who think she had no redeeming qualities due to that betrayal, when her scenes with javi and van show the opposite. it's okay to admit that the characters you root for did in fact start out as morally fallible individuals — I adore misty, yet I don't feel the need to justify her actions.

- I love lauren ambrose but altering the plot to make van a survivor really didn't benefit the adult timeline that much. (although I may change my opinion on this once I see taissa's season four arc.)

- I prefer adult shauna to teen shauna, mainly because I've always been a major melanie lynskey fan and I find her to be one of the most compelling figures on screen.

- I really liked mistywalter in season 2, and I enjoy walter as a character.

- I need to know who on earth was javi's friend.

- with how many crackships there are within the fandom, I really want to see more of them with taissa. I know she's one of the very rare few characters in a canon wlw relationship and that does play a part in the lack of them, but I really do like the concepts of tainat, taikilah and taijackie come to mind.

- mistynat > lottienat

- I really would have loved to see more of lottie and misty's dynamic !! in my head they're best friends who both understand what it's like to be different and help one another cope.

- jackieshauna being the most widely-known and popular yellowjackets ship is perfectly reasonable. there is an element of unfulfilled potential and grotesque tragedy that compels the masses to them and a significant portion of screentime is dedicated to them (with jackie continuing to appear in scenes with shauna postmortem).

- shauna was AN antler queen during the pit scene, but not THE antler queen. there is no one singular antler queen and we see the mantle pass through the seasons, and I think we will see tai in that role in season 4.

- shauna's most tragic relationship isn't that with jackie or with her son, but rather with callie. the scene where she places her 16yo daughter's bunny in her bed next to her breaks my heart. she's there and she's present and shauna wants to love her but she's scarred and wounded and struggles with it immensely.

- jackie was not as bad of a friend as shauna was, but she had her flaws too. her communication was just as abysmal as shauna's and her assumption that shauna understood her affection for her and refusal to genuinely say something kind and loving about shauna that didn't center her contributed to the downfall of their relationship. with that, I do believe shauna was the person she loved most in the world and that she would've done anything for her — but they had diabolical normal people levels of communication.

- I absolutely adore the original concept of mistyjackie in the script but if it had made it into the show itself, I don't think jackie would have died.

- I actually like the fact that they separated travis and natalie this season, as I believe it helped develop their characters more individually in the teen timeline. I liked getting to see nat interact more with misty and travis interact more with akilah and lottie.

- travis seeing lottie in his scenes with natalie and imagining her comforting him is a storyline that feels unexplored and I wish we saw how they got to the point of their early season 3 dynamic

- natalie was not the only person to show jackie respect in the wilderness / after she passed away. taissa attempted to help her during the confrontation, advised shauna to go get her and was narratively/psychologically absent during the feast scene. she exhibits concern both for shauna's mental state and the fact that jackie's body is being used as a doll. she reminds natalie of what happened to her after mari and shauna get into a conflict. taissa respected jackie just as much as natalie did.

- taishauna is THE friendship of the show.

- jackie taylor remaining the face of the show and such a widely-talked about character years after her death (and so high on people's rankings) is a testament to both ella's performance and the value of her character.

- earlier on, misty sought the validation of acceptance and the motions of friendship more than she did genuine companionship. we see that in the way she snitches on jackie (who is one of the first people to offer her genuine friendship) and in the way her allegiance shifts from girl to girl. I don't think it's as clear cut on screen, but I think nat becomes the one person she is truly loyal to with the events of late s3. had nat lived, regardless of what happened, her allegiance would've remained with her.

- mr matthews gets a lot of hate but I genuinely believe that he was just terrified for his daughter and enraged by the fact that he could do nothing to help her. I don't believe that he resented or despised lottie.

- jackie taylor did not hate rabbits.

- I hope we learn more about kodiak. joel mchale is too peak of an actor to play a character whose only role is to be mysterious and then get shanked. I'm still convinced he's related to our cabin guy.

- travis dying so early on made sense narratively but I still hope we get to see more scenes of andres soto in the role. I thought the casting was a miss until I saw one specific photo of him that really illustrated to me how much he looks like kevin alves.

- the soundtrack is absolutely peak and a major contributor to the quality of the show.

#yellowjackets thoughts 💭#yellowjackets #taissa yellowjackets #taissa turner #jackie taylor #shauna shipman #misty quigley #lottie matthews #natalie scatorccio #jeff sadecki #walter tattersall #yellowjackets rant #jackie x shauna #mistynat #jackieshauna #travis martinez #akilah yellowjackets #taishauna #jackie yellowjackets

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