#anyway. i keep waking up in the middle of the night and not veing able to sleep | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

cinaja · 4 years

Text

Before the Wall part 12

A canon-compliant fic on the time of the War. For the summary and the entire story, click here

Disclaimer: Acotar and all characters belong to sj maas.

----

This is a nightmare. It has to be.

Miryam keeps thinking that she'll wake up any moment. Because this can't be happening. It can't. But deep down, she knows that she won't wake up. This is real.

They will take her back to Ravenia's palace and they will kill her. Slowly, painfully, drawn out over weeks. She has seen the punishments for those who tried to run and can only imagine what they will do to her. Still, Miryam doesn't beg for mercy - she knows it's no use and she decided a long time ago that she wouldn't die begging. (Even if she knows that she'll likely beg for death before the end. They all do.)

The female takes another step towards Jurian, the dagger glinting in her hand.

"Don't!", Miryam calls, "You don't need to kill him, just leave him be. It's me you want.

The female turns to her, her red aura (fire magic) glowing around her. "Be glad I kill him here and don't take him to Ravenia as well."

Something cold settles in Miryam`s stomach. Her power is beginning to rise, sensing her roaring emotions. "If you touch him", she hisses, "I will kill you."

The female just laughs.

Miryam just stares at her, going still in the faeries' grasp. She feels like her blood is on fire, lightning shooting through her veins. She feels like she's standing in the middle of an ocean, power tugging at her like a strong current.

Miryam lets it. What does it matter, anyways? She is already dead.

She doesn't know the spells, never learned to control her power properly, but worry is a distant thing. She barely feels the two faeries grab her hard enough to bruise. Her body might as well have belonged to someone else - there is just the power, tugging at her, begging her to just let go.

Still, she sees the High Fae angle her dagger over Jurian, who is still kneeling on the ground.

Miryam erupts. Her power is pulsing through the air and the female spins around to her. Miryam is burning, floating in an ocean of power, but it is unfocused, unguided - and harmless, because Miryam never learned how to direct it the right way.

She looks around, searching for anything to grab onto, and only finds the auras, glowing brightly around her three captors. Miryam imagines squeezing her hand shut around them, pressing the glowing magic right into the Fae. Choking them.

The female takes a step towards her. "What-"

Then, she screams. The faeries who hold Miryam let go, both of them start screaming, too. The female clutches her head. Drops to the ground.

"I warned you", Miryam says in a voice that doesn`t entirely belong to her.

She doesn't feel anything. Just power, thrumming through her. The Fae continue screaming.

Until they fall silent.

Jurian is staring at her, wide-eyed. He gasps.

This is what pulls Miryam back. She snaps back into her own body. Her power is still there, pulling at her, but she isn't drowning anymore.

Oh Cauldron, what has she done?

The three Fae are lying on the ground, limp, but Miryam rushes towards Jurian. She can see red, burnt skin through his clothes, but if she can tend to the wounds quickly enough, it should be fine. He has to be fine.

She crouches down before him. "Are you alright? I'm sorry, I'm so sorry..."

She reaches out, to pull his ruined tunic back and get a closer look at the burns, but Jurian flinches back. Only then does she notice the look on his face.

Fear. Mixed with horror.

Miryam stumbles back like he struck her. Her head is spinning, her power still pulling at her and there are three dead people lying on the ground around her. People she killed. Oh, Mother.

She spins around and flees. Without seeing or caring where she's going, she runs through the trees. Branches snag at her clothes and scratch her skin, but the pain is nothing.

She just killed three people. And Jurian knows what she is. He hates her. Miryam sobs.

Her foot catches on a root. Before she can react, she crashes to the ground. The skin on her hands rips open, but the pain barely registers. She doesn't bother getting up again. Instead, she simply curls up into a tight ball and begins to cry.

Slowly, her magic calms down. In its place, it leaves a burning pain. Miryam doesn't care.

She hears steps approach, but doesn't move. Maybe it's another Fae, come to kill her after all. She doesn't care. Everything hurts.

"Miryam", a concerned voice says. Helion. What is he doing here?

Strong hands grip for her and Miryam begins to struggle. She doesn't want him to touch her, doesn't-

"Easy", Helion whispers, "It's fine. Everything's fine. I'm just taking you back to the camp."

Miryam stops fighting back, but he still keeps talking to her, softly, like she's a frightened animal to be soothed. She isn`t entirely sure how she ends up in her tent, in her bed. She curls up into a ball. She focuses on her breathing, tries to shut out the pain or the image of the look in Jurian`s eyes.

“Miryam!”, Helion says (from his tone, not for the first time), “Could you please tell me if you`re hurt? Because otherwise, I`ll have to take a look and I feel like you won`t like that.

“I feel like my insides are on fire”, Miryam says into her cushion.

“I won`t claim I know much about witches”, Helion says, “Given that you guys are secretive as hell, but from what little I do know, that isn`t unusual. Just your body telling you to slow down before you burn yourself up. It isn`t fatal, though.”

It sure feels like it is. “I killed them”, Miryam whispers.

“I know”, Helion replies.

“I`m a monster. I`m just like them.”

“It speaks highly of you that you feel that way, but it`s war, Miryam”, Helion says softly, “Show me a single soldier who never killed anyone. And these people wouldn`t have hesitated to slaughter you and Jurian. You did the right thing.”

Miryam jerks upright. “What about Jurian?”, she asks, “Oh, Cauldron, I just...”

“Calm down, he`s fine. A bit scorched, maybe, but nothing a healer can`t fix.”

“He`ll hate me.”

“If he does”, Helion says, “he`ll be the biggest fool ever. But I`m sure he`ll understand.”

Miryam isn`t that confident. She has seen the look on Jurian`s face. Pure horror. But she doubts that Helion would ever be able to understand what being a witch means to humans. But she doesn`t feel like explaining.

Finally, Helion says softly, “You really are that young, aren`t you?”

“What?”

“I...” She can almost hear Helion shake his head. “I knew what you were from the moment I saw you in that war tent. But I thought... I thought you were older. Experienced. I thought you were lying about your age and your abilities to fit in better but I would never have imagined...” When Miryam still doesn`t reply, he adds, “But why? Why are you lying?”

“Why?” Miryam glares at him. “I have had my experience with the noble Witcher`s Guilt. Have watched them slaughter countless of my people. You think this ability is a gift?” She shakes her head. “It`s a curse. This”, she gestures to herself, “will ruin everything I have built for myself.”

Unable to stand that thought, Miryam gets up. The world sways beneath her feet and Helion reaches out to steady her.

“What are you doing?”

“I`m going to talk to Jurian. Before this gets any worse.” By the doorway, she hesitates. “Thank you. For your help”, she says, “Truly.”

Helion just waves her off. “If you want to thank me, take a little care of yourself. Your body is exhausted. You should rest.”

“I will”, Miryam says, “After talking to Jurian.”

For all her brave words, walking through the camp is exhausting. She has to stop every few steps because she feels like she`s going to pass out. But Miryam has some experience in ignoring pain (if a slave in the Black Land couldn`t work, they were killed). She is pretty sure none of the soldiers notice that something is wrong.

She enters Jurian`s tent without knocking, only to find out that he isn`t alone. Tia is sitting on his desk and they are both studying a map. When Miryam enters, Jurian looks up. There is nothing pleasant in the look he gives her.

“Can you leave us alone, please”, he says to Tia, voice cold.

“But...”

“Leave!”, Jurian snaps.

Tia merely arches an eyebrow and looks between them. Then, she shakes her head and pushes past Miryam out of the tent.

“Are you...” Miryam hesitates. “Are you hurt?”

Jurian just stares at her. Slowly, he rises from his chair.

“I`m sorry about what happened”, Miryam says.

“That`s it?”, Jurian asks sharply, “That is all you have to say? You were a personal slave to Ravenia of the Black Land, you stole her damned lover, for Cauldron`s sake! And oh, yeah, on top of all that, you are a gods-damned witch!”

“I`m sorry”, Miryam whispers.

“Sorry?” Jurian shakes his head. “Was anything you ever said to me true, or did you lie about everything?”

“I never lied to you”, Miryam says, proud of how even her voice sounds even though she`s dying inside. “Maybe I should have told you more, but I never lied. I told you I didn`t want to talk about my past and you accepted that, so don`t blame me for it now.”

“And what about you being a witch? You just decided not to mention that, either?”

Miryam`s hands are shaking, she curls them into fists. “You truly think I wanted that?”, she asks, “You think I feel good about it?” She takes a step closer the Jurian until she is standing right in front of him. “If you knew half of the shit I`ve seen witches do, you would never sleep through the night again! I can barely even use my powers!”

“But. We. Are. Friends.”, Jurian says, each word clipped, “Friends tell each other things. They trust each other. That`s how it works, Miryam.”

He is hurt, she realizes. Not angry, not really. Just hurt. And if Miryam is being honest, he has every right to be.

“I know”, she says, “But I couldn`t tell you. I couldn`t.”

“You couldn`t? That`s all you`re going to say?”, Jurian asks, “Don`t you think I had a right to know?”

The utterly wrong thing to say. A part of Miryam knows that he doesn`t mean ill, but the words still make her go entirely still. “The right?”, she asks, voice deadly calm, “Am I your possession, now?”

Jurian flinches. “I didn`t mean that”, he says, all traces of anger gone (he almost sounds panicked), “Please, you know I didn`t mean it that way!”

Miryam just shakes her head. She is so very tired. And nothing she can say will change anything. At the end of the day, she will still be a witch. And Jurian will still hate her. So she just turns around and leaves.

----

Drakon has always hated the Mountain of the Dead, the highest peak in the mountain range that borders the capital of Erithia. Ever since he was a child, going up there scared him. This place isn`t meant for the living and he feels like an intruder every time.

It's been two days since the battle. The dead have been buried and the wounded who survived so far will likely make it. Everything is calm enough that he dared to leave the fort for a few hours to winnow back to Erithia. (He told Sinna he was going to check in on his council. Not entirely a lie, he did visit them for a short while).

But the true reason he left is a different one.

Drakon crouches down before the four newest statues they erected on top of the windswept mountain, next to the ones of their ancestors. The statues for his parents are ornate and vivid enough that they almost look alive. His sisters' statues are different. Still beautiful, but the features are a bit off in places. (Drakon knows that his father had his and his mothers' statue hewn before his death, as most rulers do. But his sisters were young enough that they hadn't seen to the preparations yet, so their statues had not had a living model. The sculptor did his best, but it is still not quite the same.)

He knows that their bodies aren't here. Seraphim get burned after their death, the ashes carried away by the wind. Still, this is the only place where he can talk to them.

"I'm sorry", he says softly, "I'm sorry things went so wrong, I'm sorry you had to pay for my mistakes." He turns towards his sisters' statues. "It was supposed to be you. Either of you." He shakes his head. "You would have been better than me. You would have been confident and strong. True leaders." The statues don't reply. "But I'll do my very best", he says, "I will take care of our people and I will be a good leader. I swear it."

With that, he turns around. Flaring his wings, he takes off, soaring between the mountaintops and down to the city sprawled below. He lands in front of the gates of a small temple standing just beyond the city gates.

The High Priestess is leaning against the gate. She is ancient, her brown skin wrinkled with age and her black hair long since turned white. But her brown eyes still glint with intelligence.

Drakon inclines his head, the female returns the gesture.

"I was wondering", she says, "when you'd seek me out, Prince."

"You think I should have come sooner."

She shrugs. "You are given 21 months. It is not my place to judge what time you choose."

"My father went the night of his coronation", he points out.

"Yes, but he had months to prepare, since your grandmother, Cauldron bless her soul, abdicated. She took the entire 21 months back when she inherited the crown, by the way." She gives Drakon a sharp look. "You doubt too much, Prince."

Drakon doesn't reply (what would he say, anyways?). He just holds out a hand to the female. She takes it and he winnows them away.

The sensation, as usual, is far from pleasant. He blinks in the bright light and takes a deep breath, trying to fight the rising nausea. This is why he prefers flying.

He looks around. They landed inside a jungle. Monkeys and colourful birds are jumping around in the branches, small animals scurry off. Drakon only came here once before, when he was ten, but even then, it struck him how different this island is from Erithia. Colourful, soft. Unreal, somehow.

“Lets go”, Drakon says with a lightness he doesn`t feel.

He offers the High Priestess an arm to help her through the bushes. It is at least a mile to go, as far as he remembers, but the wards around the cave keep them from winnowing in and the High Priestess is old, her wings to frail to get her airborne.

Slowly, the way becomes steeper. The High Priestess leads the way through the trees like she has been here a million times (Not true, Drakon knows. Cretea is holy. The only people permitted here are the High Priestess and members of the Erithian royal family, and even those only with good reason.)

Finally, they reach the cave. Its entry is blocked by a door. Bronze, although it is filled with lead, meant to mask the power contained within. The High Priestess takes a key from her necklace. She whispers a prayer, then opens the door. Immediately, the power in the air intensifies, making a shiver run down Drakon`s spine.

The High Priestess turns to him. “You know what has to happen?”

“Yes.” He reread the ancient texts until he could recite them word by word.

“Then you also know you have to continue alone from now.”

Drakon nods. “I`m ready”, he says, trying not to sound like he wants to convince himself.

The tunnel is not dark. Along the walls, fluorescent plants glow in a pale light. (When Drakon`s father brought him here sixteen years ago, he thought they were ghosts). With each step, the power in the air intensifies.

Finally, the tunnel ends in an artfully carved doorway. Mist rises, then solidifies into a body.

Drakon stares at his father, blinking. This isn`t what he expected. The first time he was here, a big spider sat in the doorway, but he isn`t ten anymore. He knew his biggest fear was bound to have changed, but he thought it would be Ravenia now. Not this.

“Hello”, he says awkwardly, watching his father (the illusion of his father) who still stands in the doorway.

“So you`re the Prince now”, his father drawls, “Congratulations. Got yourself a position you were never meant to have as a reward for your incompetence.”

“This isn`t real”, Drakon says, “You are dead.” It doesn`t make the words hurt less, though.

“Because of your mistakes”, his father hisses, “I asked one thing of you, one simple thing. And you couldn`t even manage that.”

“That`s not fair!”, Drakon replies (so much for not letting the illusion meant to chase him away get to him). “Ravenia is a monster. You knew that, and you still tried to get into an alliance with her. What were you thinking?” It`s what he has been asking himself for the past years, anyways.

“You weren`t ever meant to have that position”, his father tells him, “What are you, hm? The third son, the unwanted one. Too stupid for Continental Politics, unfit to rule.” The male smirks. “The entire Continent laughs about you. And you will fail. You will fail your people and when it all crumbles around you, you will remember me.”

The illusion had a point - that is his biggest fear.

Drakon lifts his chin. “My father is dead”, he says, “You are just an illusion, meant to scare me. And you are wrong.” He thinks of Sinna and Nephelle, who both believe in him and of the vow he swore to his dead family. “Because I will never let my people down.”

His father watches him for a moment longer. Then, the illusion dissolves into mist, leaving the entry free.

Carefully, Drakon steps into the circular room behind the doorway. The power in the air is like a punch to the stomach. He turns towards the vitrine in the center of the room, where an ornate sword is on display, puts a hand over his heart and bows to the waist. He waits a few seconds, then straightens.

The sword is beautiful, its steel like lightning given form. In the hilt, there is a dark stone embedded. It looks like a void, eating up the light around it. (They say the sword was forged by the same people who created the Cauldron, the stone in its hilt the first thing to ever be made by the Cauldron.) Drakon takes a step towards it, then another.

“Wonderful, isn`t it?”, a voice says from behind him.

Drakon yelps and spins around. He only barely keeps from cursing (this is a holy place, after all). Even if what he sees would absolutely warrant a few curses.

A shadow is standing before him. A shadow in form of a male.

“All that power”, the shadow-male says, “Imagine the possibilities. Use it to free me and I´ll give you whatever you wish for.”

Drakon sighs. “I`m kind of busy right now, you know?”

“Ah, yes. The initiation. Saying your pretty little vows.” The male laughs. It sounds like a crow. “I have been trapped here for five millennia. Free me and I`ll do whatever you ask.”

“Isn`t that how you ended up in your situation in the first place, witcher?”, Drakon asks, “By trying to steal this power and use it for your own gains. You committed a sacrilege and you got what you deserved.”

“What if I could find your mate?”, the shadow-witcher asks, “Or kill that female – Ravenia.”

Drakon ignores him and puts his hands on the sword`s blade. He winces as the blade cuts his skin. Blood runs up the blade, towards the hilt and the stone embedded there (defying the laws of physics in the process, but with magic this powerful, those rarely apply anyways). The stone begins to glow as it sucks up the blood.

Slowly, Drakon begins to recite the words of the vow. The language is unlike any he ever encountered. Each word burns on his tongue, halfway through, his throat already feels like it must be bleeding.

“Do you even understand what you`re swearing?”, the witcher asks.

Drakon ignores him. (He does not, but he isn`t about to admit that. Besides, those vows have been sworn by every ruler of Erithia since their nation was founded millennia ago.)

By the time the vow is done, it is all he can do not to collapse on the ground. But it is over. Now, he is recognized as the new Prince not only before his people, but also before the Cauldron.

“I could make you the greatest Prince in history”, the witcher says, “No one would ever laugh at you again.”

“Thank you, but no”, Drakon says, “Not now, not ever.”

He takes his hands off the blade. They are bleeding, but it barely hurts. He wipes the blood off on his clothes, bows again to the sword (ignoring his unwanted companion who rolls his eyes) and turns around to leave.

“Anything you want!”, the witcher calls after him, his voice echoing on the walls, “Mark my words: Before the end, you`ll remember my offer!”

----

Jurian is in a bad mood.

Almost a day after the disaster with Miryam and the bounty hunters, he still hasn`t managed to talk to her. A part of him feels bad for the harsh words between them and the silence that followed. That same part wants nothing more than to go looking for her and beg her for forgiveness.

But Jurian is also proud and angry and if anyone should make the first step, it should be Miryam. Miryam the witch, apparently. Had he not seen it with his own eyes, he wouldn`t have believed it.

She should have told him. They were almost in a relationship, for Cauldron`s sake! Maybe he didn`t have the right to know (and he should have known to avoid any phrasing that implied owning her in any way), but it`s just how relationships work. Trust - something she apparently never had in him. Not really.

So Jurian doesn`t go to Miryam. Instead, she trains until his body is aching. It still doesn`t help his mood. Then, he gets into a fight with Tia, who ends it by snapping at him to keep his frustration away from her.

To keep from angering any more friends, he hides in his tent. That`s where Helion finds him.

“I don`t want to talk to you”, Jurian tells him.

“Too bad for you”, Helion replies, “You`re an idiot, by the way.”

“Why?”

“Talk to her.”

Jurian glares at him. “One”, he says, “stay out of my private life. Two: I`m not the one who lied about everything.”

“That`s your problem? That she lied?”

“My problem”, Jurian snaps, “is that she didn`t trust me.”

“So now you`re proving to her that she was right not to?”, Helion asks, “Because this is how she will interpret it. As you hating her for being a witch.”

Jurian sighs. Like he could ever hate her. “This is not how it is.”

Helion crosses his arms. “I don`t get it”, he says, “She was a slave in the Black Land. And I know that you have a basic idea at the very least of what that means. So what were you expecting? An uncomplicated relationship? For it to be easy?”, Helion laughs, “If that`s what you want, then you should find yourself another female.”

“I don`t want anyone else”, Jurian says. That had been what he`d told Miryam. That he`d chose her over any other female. And that he knew it would be hard, but didn`t care.

And then, at the first true test, he`d failed. Had proven quite thoroughly that it did matter. Had gotten angry and made the situation about himself.

Jurian jumps to his feet. “I`m such an idiot.”

“My words exactly”, Helion says, but Jurian is already running past him.

Miryam isn`t in her tent. Both Tia and Mor have no idea where she is. But Jurian knows her better than either of them, so he has an idea where to look.

He finds her just outside the camp, sitting under an old oak, back leaning against the trunk, Kiel on her shoulder. The falcon shrieks as Jurian approaches, but Miryam doesn`t so much as look at him.

“May I sit down?”, Jurian asks. Miryam nods and he sits down next to her.

“I`m sorry”, they both say simultaneously, then look at each other, “Why?”

Jurian snorts, a smile tugs at Miryam`s lips.

“Me first”, she says, “I`m sorry for not telling you the truth. And for snapping at you. You were right, but that... it was a sore point.” She shakes her head. “I should have told you. I wanted to tell you. But I couldn`t.”

Jurian nods. “I`m sorry for the way I reacted”, he says, “You were right - you never made a secret of the fact that your past was private. I told you it didn`t matter and then I acted like an ass.”

“To be fair, that was a bit more than what you could have possibly expected”, Miryam murmurs.

“Doesn`t matter. I should have stood by you.” He closes his eyes. “Can you forgive me?”

Miryam makes a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “Of course”, she whispers, “Of course I can. But... I`m a witch, Jur. Doesn`t it matter at all?”

He should have known. The fact that she kept this a secret was never about trust, never about him, but all about her hating her powers and expecting everyone else to do the same.

He turns towards Miryam and carefully reaches out for her hand. “No”, he says, “I couldn`t care less, actually. Because it is just power. Nothing else. And power is never good or evil - it`s all about who has it.” He gives her hand a gentle squeeze. “And you, Miryam, you are good.”

Miryam is shaking now. Her breathing is going uneven. She wipes a hand over her eyes and Jurian sees that she`s crying.

“I`m sorry about how I reacted”, he says, “I was just so hurt that you didn`t trust me. Like you being a witch could ever change anything about the fact that I love you.”

Miryam turns to him. “Could you... could you say that again?”

“I love you”, Jurian whispers.

Miryam smiles. There are still tears in her eyes, but also happiness. She pulls him closer, Jurian leans down to her

And then, they are kissing

Jurian never wants this moment to end. But unfortunately, Kiel isn`t pleased at all by what they are doing. He flaps his wings, shrieking. A wing catches Jurian at the head. Him and Miryam pull apart. She gently chases the bird off, then turns back to Jurian.

“Sorry”, she whispers.

Jurian smiles and pulls her close again. His lips brush against hers and they are kissing again. He should have done this sooner. Much sooner. Looking back, he can`t understand anymore why he didn`t.

Somehow, they end up lying in the grass under the oak. His fingers are searching for the buttons of her tunic and-

"Wait!"

The sheer panic in Miryams voice makes him stop short. Hastily, he untangles himself from her and pulls back.

"Did I hurt you?", he asks.

Miryam shakes her head, but she is trembling.

It takes him a moment too long to understand. Looking back, he should have considered the possibility a lot sooner.

Carefully, Jurian steps back, bringing some space between them. Miryam is still shaking. He wishes there was some way to comfort her, but he feels like getting closer will make things worse.

"I'm sorry", he says softly.

Miryam shakes her head. "It's not your fault", she whispers, "I'm a mess."

Jurian wonders if he can get her to tell him the name of the Fae bastard (he prays there was just one) who did this to her. So that he can find him. And end him. Slowly. Painfully.

Miryam pulls herself together surprisingly quickly. Voice steady, she says, "I'm sorry. That was..."

Jurian shakes his head. "You don't ever have to apologize for that. I should have asked if you were fine with this.”

When Miryam doesn't reply, he asks, "Do you want me to leave?"

She shakes her head. "Stay. But just... Can we not..."

"We don't do anything that you aren't comfortable with, all right?”, he says, “Every step of the way, you get to decide. And if you decide that you don't ever want to have sex, then that's fine, too."

Miryam smiles a bit shakily. "Thank you. For understanding."

Carefully, Jurian sits down next to her. Miryam reaches for his hand.

“I love you, too”, she whispers.

Okay, this was LONG. Maybe I should have split it up, but I kind of didn't want to, so here it is. This chapter is a bit of a turning point. The set up is completely over now and things begin in earnest.

#miryam #drakon #jurian #helion #morrigan #mor #nephelle #before the wall #the war

9 notes · View notes

wexregolden · 5 years

Text

Read it on AO3 here <3

THE BOY WHO LOVED Ch. 13

Chapter 13/19

-----

-Hallowe´en-

The bar was crowded and music was blasting from the speakers. Loud, annoying pop songs no one wants to hear anymore by now. The smell of beer, other alcoholic beverages and sweat in the air.

And Marti, Gio, Luca and Elia right in the middle of it.

Each of them having a beer in front of them, chatting loudly.

“Wha t do you even mean with “Why do you even think about that now?!”, it´s important!” Luchino said, sounding offended.

“Dude, we have the end of October! Why do you even think about what to get Silvia for Christmas now?! Just buy her some chocolate or some shit a few days before,” Elia responded, shrugging.

“There´s it! The end of October, nearly November! The month before Christmas, okay?!” Luca said, sounding genuinely worried.

Marti thought that it was kind of adorable. Luca and Silvia together. An actual relationship and not just there to hook up from time to time. These two are a match made in heaven.

“Don´t worry, Luchi. There´s still plenty of time to find a fitting present for her. And if you already see something nice now you can already buy and keep it till Christmas, okay?” Marti responded, smiling at Luca. Who had to smile too, actually seeming thankful.

“Wow Marti, what happened to you? So wise now, huh?” Elia said mockingly.

“Fuck you!”

“Hey hey hey stop, no fights today!” Gio threw in, a grin on his face. The typical mom friend.

Marti had to smile at it, the usual banter and cheekiness of his squad, of him and Elia. But he still managed to drift away as they picked a new topic up.

His thoughts went back to Wednesday, two days ago, and the day spent with Nico.

This afternoon he felt that something changed between them.

The afternoon he realised that there might be more than just friendship between them. More. And that he´s not the only one feeling it.

It´s nice. It´s nice watching you. You´re nice, he recalls. Nico´s words.

But he´s already aware of the fact that he´s fucked, couldn´t see Nico anymore without his mind wandering back to last night. That dream. Fuck, he will never be able to get these images of Niccolò out of his head anymore. The way his voice went low when he talked, the heat in his gaze, the way he kissed every inch of his body, how he went down on it, how he—

His thoughts got interrupted by his phone, lightning up, announcing a new message.

A message from Nico. Fuck.

Nico Bookstagram

Hey Marti, haven´t heard from you for a while. Everything okay?? :D

Hope my mother didn´t scare you at the end L

No, it wasn´t his mother, not at all.

He just couldn´t even bring himself to text Nico after waking up yesterday. After that… sex dream.

His screen lit up again with another incoming message from Nico.

Nico Bookstagram

Or that I haven´t scared you away..

Marti immediately answered this message.

To Nico Bookstagram

Hey Nico J No, not at all, don´t worry!!

I´m doing good and what about you?

Marti had to smile, hoping that this might calm him down, not feeling guilty about anything that happened that afternoon.

“Marti? Huuuh? You still with us?” Marti got torn out of his little private bubble he was just in, looking at Gio who waved his hands in front of his face.

“Ah, you´re still there!” his best friend said with a grin on his lips, “who are you even texting with, huh?”

“No one.”

“Oh that no one again? Come on, Marti!” Gio said, rolling his eyes at Martino.

Marti sighed before he answered Giovanni, or the boys in general, hoping them to let it be afterwards.

“It´s just a friend, okay?”

“A friend? You have other friends than us, Marti?” Elia grinningly asked, Luca giggling next to him. Yes, giggling.

“Asshole!”

“Do we know him?” Gio asked, actually being interested.

“Hm no. I met him over Bookstagram.”

“Can I meet him, we meet him?” he suddenly asked, “one day.”

“What?!” Marti responded perplex.

“Meet him,” Gio repeated.

“Whom are we going to meet?” Elia asked at the same time as Luca “We´re going to meet Marti´s friend?”

“What? No!” Marti immediately answered.

“Why not? He could join us for a few beers. If you want to of course,” Giovanni said with a smile on his lips.

“Yes, come on, Marti, invite him!” Luca tossed in enthusiastic.

“No! No, really guys, you can meet him another time!”

“Marti please!” Luca nearly begged.

“See, Luchi is so desperate to meet new people, grant it for him,” Elia said and Luca was furiously nodding next to him.

“You don´t need to invite him, Marti, but it could be nice, huh?” Gio asked with a comforting smile on his lips.

“Well… I already did so you don´t need to anymore,” Luca suddenly said, a weird expression on his face.

Martino´s phone in his hands.

Fuck.

“You did what?!” Marti asked furiously, grabbing his phone back as fast as possible, looking at the message.

To Nico Bookstagram

Hey Nico Bookstagram we´re at a bar right now, celebration Halloween,

drinking a few beers. Wanna join us?

The address of the bar they were in beneath.

He´s fucked. Totally fucked.

“Luca! Why did you do this?!” Marti asked, being rattled. Already starting to write a response to Nico, telling him that it wasn´t him who wrote the message but one of his friends.

But Nico´s reply came faster.

Nico Bookstagram

Nico Bookstagram, huh?

Guess this wasn´t you?

Or you´re a little drunk already?

Stay safe Marti, okay?

But I´d love to. I´ll be there in a bit :D

To Nico Bookstagram

Yeah it wasn´t me inviting you..

And no I´m not drunk. Yet :-P

Nico Bookstagram

I can also stay home

If you don´t want to have me over

Shit. Marti immediately regretted his choice of words.

To Nico Bookstagram

No, don´t worry, Nico! You can join us if you want :D

Nico Bookstagram

Yeah?

To Nico Bookstagram

Yes

Nico Bookstagram

Okay. So see you in a bit J

To Nico Bookstagram

See you :D

“He´s coming,” Marti simply said as his and Nico´s conversation ended and he put his phone away.

“He is?” Gio asked again, a bit unsure of the situation.

“Yup.”

“That´s great Marti! Can´t wait to meet him!” Luca said enthusiastically.

“There´s only one thing I´m begging you: Don´t embarrass me, be normal. Just behave.”

“Hey.”

Marti nearly jumped at hearing the familiar voice. Nico´s.

He turned around, looking at Niccolò standing behind him. Not exactly knowing what to do or what to say, unsure.

“Hey Nico!” Marti greeted him with a welcoming smile, accompanied with his friends murmuring their greetings too.

He gestured to Nico to sit down on the seat next to him which Nico gratefully accepted.

The both looked at each other, smiling, before the short silence that set in broke and Luca interrupted it.

“Nico, right?”

“Yep,” Niccolò answered, sending a smile in the group, “and you?”

Martino´s friends all introduced themselves, one by one. Gio, Elia and Luchino.

“So, Nico, where did you and Marti meet?” Gio asked, turning his gaze to Nico.

“Yes, we met over Bookstagram. Believe me or not, I actually wrote Marti because of his terrible taste in books, huh?” Nico said, looking over at Marti with a grin as he finished, “and well, now I´m here being friends with him even though he´s probably the worst Harry Potter hater out there.”

“Really Ni? You still keep on about that? You´ll never stop, huh?” Marti responded, mirroring Nico´s grin.

“Never, Marti, never!”

And suddenly it felt as if they were back at the couch in Nico´s apartment, just the two of them, all this tension between them, looking each other deeply in the eyes.

Only that they, sadly, weren´t alone, snapping out of their bantering as soon as Gio started talking again.

“Ha! I already told you that your taste in books is weird!” Giovanni threw in loudly, a victorious grin on his lips, “I already like you, Nico.”

“Oh come on, are you ganging up against me now?!”

“Yes, seems like it,” Gio laughed.

“Well, your fault Marti.”

“My fault? Tastes are different, Nico. Not everyone can love your oh so beloved Harry Potter.”

“You´re the one now who started talking about Harry Potter, just saying,” Nico said grinning.

“Shut up!” Marti tried to sound annoyed but couldn´t supress a grin forming on his lips.

Out of the corner of his eyes he could see Gio, smiling at the both of them, probably amused by their teasing.

“Anyway, Nico, don´t you want to have something to drink? The bar is right there,” Gio said, pointing to the bar a few meters away.

“Yeah, I´m going to get a beer. Does anyone else wants to have something?” he asked into the round.

Marti looked at his empty beer glass in front of him, about to get up and join Nico with getting a new beer.

“Stay, I´m going to get you something. For inviting me,” Nico said, winking at Marti. Yes, he winked.

“Marti, tell me, what do you want?” Nico asked him.

“Marti, tell me, what do you want?”

These words. He wished he could, wished he could make his brain stop. Stop it from coming back to this dream all the time. It´s fucked up.

Marti is pretty sure that his face has to resemble a tomato right now, a bright red flush creeping up his cheeks.

I want you to finally fucking kiss me.

“A beer,” he quickly answered, “thanks Nico.”

They exchanged a smile before Niccolò left.

“Hey, I was the one inviting him, I should get the beer!” Luca exclaimed, earning an eye roll and a slap to the back of his head from Elia.

“Shut up, Luchi!”

Elia and Luca started a little fight as Gio leaned over to Marti.

“He´s nice, I really like him. I´m glad that you´ve found such a good friend, Marti.”

Marti had to smile at Gio´s words. He´s glad, thankful, that Gio likes him.

“Here!” Nico said and placed a beer in front of Marti as he came back.

“Thank you! But you didn´t have to!”

“Don´t worry about that!”

“Nico, tell us, what are you even doing? Are you attending university?” Gio asked, genuinely interested.

“Yes, I´m attending university. I´m doing music theory.”

“Music? Sounds interesting!”

“Yeah it´s a… very important part of my life and helped me through some rough times, so yeah… music theory it is now,” Nico said, being a little unsure of himself, looking over at Marti.

Marti gave him an encouraging smile, only assuming how hard it must be for him at times to talk about such things. Even if it´s only vague here now, he knew that there was more behind it. Knowing what Nico confessed to him.

“Guys, girls!” Luca suddenly threw in, his gaze drawn over to the bar.

Martino sighed before he drew his gaze away from Nico´s, slowly, looking over at the bar where his friends were already starring at.

It seems like a group of three girls has just entered the bar, standing over at the counter now, whispering and looking over at their table from time to time.

“Well Marti? Your type this time?” Elia asked him with a cheeky grin.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

“Yeah, what about the small dark haired one?” Luca continued, pointing at her. Subtility? Never heard of it.

“Come on, let it be guys, no girls today. Just a boys-evening. You can do that once, right?”

“But this could be your chance, Marti! Go over there and talk to her,” Luca said.

“Yeah, why not? She´s pretty!” Gio tossed in.

“She… she´s not my type,” Marti said, trying to sound convincing.

“Oh, this excuse again?” Elia asked.

Marti looked slightly over at Nico, a confused gaze on his face, not knowing how to interpret the situation. But he kept it to himself.

“Yep, and I´m simply not as desperate as you. If you want to talk to them, go over, I won´t stop you.”

He didn´t want, couldn´t talk about girls. Not now. Not when Niccolò was this close to him, their arms brushing and tights touching all the time.

“You´re so boring Marti, just as you´re love life.”

“Oh, and yours is better, Elia?”

“Yes.”

“Ah, I can see! All those girls battling each other to be with you, huh?” Marti said and had to grin at it.

“Well, I have a stable love life. And a girlfriend. Her name is Silvia,” Luca randomly threw in with a big smile on his face.

His friends continued talking about their love lives, his love lives, girls. Girls girls girls.

And Marti couldn´t take all of this right now.

“I need some fresh air!” he simply said, didn´t look back once, as he nearly ran out of the bar.

He went around the building once, stopping at a little dark alley opposite of it, leaning against a trashcan.

His breath went irregular and it took him some time to get it back to normal.

Fuck. That´s not what he planned to happen when he told Nico that he can join them. Not at all.

What does he have to think about him now? About the boy who seems to be gay but still gets set up with girls.

He closed his eyes for a moment, just breathing in the fresh air of the night.

“Marti?” he suddenly heard and looked up, Nico standing next to him now.

“Hey,” Marti simply said.

“Why did your friends do this?” Nico straight forwardly asked, not tipping around the question that seemed to be in his head. No wonder.

Marti sighed, turning his body over to Nico who now stood next to him at the trashcan.

“They… they don´t know it,” he slowly started, “about that thing about me. That girls don´t do it for me. That I´m gay.”

“Oh,” Nico simply answered, his eyes gone wide.

“Yes, oh. You´re the first one I actually told about it.”

Nico didn´t say anything else for now, silence setting in between them.

“I hope this doesn´t bother you,” Marti said after some time, being totally unsure of himself.

“No, Marti, not at all, don´t worry! It´s okay. It´s great that you confided into me. I like it. And I like you, Marti. A lot.”

Marti just starred into Nico´s eyes, not saying anything. Not knowing what to say. But knowing that there wouldn´t be the need to say anything as Nico´s head came closer to his. He automatically mirrored the action, coming closer to Nico.

Getting closer, each of them drawn closer to the other one. Like magnets who belong together.

Their noses bumped into each other, Marti being able to feel Nico´s breath on his lips.

His heart was beating a little too fast and suddenly it hit him. Niccolò is going to kiss him now. He´s going to kiss Nico.

And he´s not afraid.

A smile was plastered on his lips and returned his smile before their lips were about to finally touch—

“Marti? Nico?”

Marti turned his face away from Nico´s as soon as it get there, looking up into Luca´s eyes who stood in front of them now.

“There you are! Gio said I should go and look for you two.”

He heard Nico let out a quiet frustrated groan next to him. At least he thinks so, it might also be his brain not working properly at the moment right now. Still spinning, his thoughts circling about what just happened. That he would have shared his first kiss with Nico if it wouldn´t have been for Luchino interrupting them. His first kiss with Nico.

Luca was already on his way back to the bar again, Nico looked back at Marti with an apologizing smile on his lips before he went after Luca.

Marti sighed and recalled Nico´s words before he followed him back to the bar. Having a smile on his lips despite the occurrences.

And I like you, Marti. A lot.

------

Uff, listening to "Buon Viaggio" on repeat and writing on this fanfic here sounds like a nice coping mechanism, huh? I´m still so so sad about the news about Skam Italia :(( Nico and Mati really made my life better. This might sound sappy now, I know, but it´s the truth. Uff.

Anyway, I nevertheless hope that you like that chapter <3 Is it a good sign that I got frustrated whilst writing the end myself? Haha :D I would really love to hear what you think of it in the comments or my ask box <3

See you next time & Share the Love <3

#skam italia #skamit #skam italia fanfic #skam italia fanfiction #the boy who loved fanfic sharetheskamlove

12 notes · View notes

elizabethrobertajones · 6 years

Text

14x07 watching notes

In Which It Is Now Completely Apparent Which Of Buck And Leming Are Writing A Scene At Any Given Time

A Tale Of Lizbob Being Tormented By Toddlers

Hello it is 3:32am and I am awake from a dream of what the episode might have been (plus side: overt Destiel motel room sharing, downside: Jack accidentally killed Dean) because my tantruming toddler neighbour who just moved into the haunted house next door was screaming, and threw something at our adjoining wall. At 3am. So I'm not exactly well-rested and I'm kinda pissed, which isn't the best combo for a Buckleming episode, but when you wake up with a scream and a thump, you aren't going back to sleep for a lil while :P

Kudos to the rest of the writing team, we're 7 episodes in and I've thoroughly forgotten Nick exists. I've just been assuming he was caught, featured on a true crime program, and is already gone and locked up for the new murder and likely solving of a cold case.

Ahahahaaaa the opening of the recap is "when it comes to killing you, I'll be the one to do it" so that's ominous. As you might tell, my psyche is utterly wrapped around this whole Shakespearean tragedy of Jack vs Dean, and perhaps they're not gonna murder each other today but the constant reminders they're living in a murder or get murdered delicate thematic plot balance is exactly the sort of thing that we need to have hanging over their dynamic, as well of course as being the start point of their relationship to show how far they've come and how much they've changed and now love each other and how just last episode Dean got in his "fine i have a son now" episode a season or two later than everyone else and just in time for it to be "so now you bonded with him of course he's caught Doom because you can't have nice things for literally a single episode and this is your fault for bonding with him, Dean"

This recap is designed to wound me, a Jack fan and lover of how TFW loves their son

Ew, it's Nick. The first time in my life I've been tempted to skip at least a lil of the recap.

Imagine how tight it would have been to just do a 10 second "here's Jack" recap and cut to the action

and the action includes an episode without Nick stealing time from the boy

You know i spend exactly 0 time speculating on how Eugenie might write her personal fave bits of the episodes but if you had to throw together "nick is now a serial killer ritually murdering priests on a satanic bender" then that would have been a pretty close thing to what I could have come up with as distilled Buckleming essence. (gross)

There's a vague continued overlap of the human!Cas arc with the parallel to the open of 9x03 and the general aesthetic of season 11's Lucifer's satanic rampage bender thrown together but you know what that's more meta than this arc deserves and my boy is sick

OH NO CAS IS THE ONE WATCHING OVER HIM ABORT ABORT

His grace looks pathetic. Maybe he's trying not to wake Jack up. Maybe he doesn't have a whole lot left.

That's not helping, Cas

ANXIOUS PARENTS OUTSIDE HIS ROOM

I bet Cas sent them away because they were hovering

Dean this is not what happens to kids, stop trying to kid yourself that this is like having a regular demonic toddler

Man am I glad I do not have kids right now both because I don't have to worry about them and also because they scream and throw stuff at the walls at 3am

Dean angry at Cas cuz he's worried about Jack oh no oh no oh no look at these stressed parents. Cas is forced into the doctor role because he magic but he is just as stressed as they are and tensions are high, and then the boy starts convulsing

Oh my god they snapped, they are actually bringing Jack to an emergency room. This is horrifying and kind of a trip to imagine what they're going to tell any authority figures about who this guy is and what their relationship is to him.

Do they remember that he has barcode fingerprints and probably is gonna be Medically Weird just as default?

(Alex is 29 like me and Misha is early 40s and Jimmy is canonically a year older than Misha for some reason, so at a push Cas could be his dad and have made some very early mistakes but the boy is biologically only like 10 years younger than them on average... JACK looks another half that at times but this is a hospital so idk if "smiles like a toddler" "early teenage adorableness" is a good measure of age)

(I'm stress-typing)

"His full name, please"

All 3 dads look at each other baffled.

Sam goes with Jack Kline, which, a season and a bit later, is the first canonical use of it as Jack's surname

They're cautious about using Winchester, understandably, but it's a nice reminder that Kelly is family too and as the dead parent, naming Jack in tribute to her should have been something they were doing all along (like, season 13 all along), especially as he even visited the Klines earlier this season. Sam being the one who thinks to do this is nice because he's the most dad-aligned to Jack in a traditional sense when it's come to raising him (Cas got the pre-birth role as the traditional father role) and Cas obviously had the strongest connection to Kelly before that but this isn't a moment about her so much as these 3 stressed dads.

LOL Date of birth. Sam wins another point for knowing it, while Dean makes back and forth guesses on '99/2000, making Jack 19 or 20, which would at least mean any one of them could have fathered him and chopping 10 years off Alex's age to compromise between look and feel.

Given Jack's symptoms the nurse should have been a lil more concerned asking about trips to West Africa or other likely Ebola places lately. (This may be poor timing on the show's part but isn't there a fresh outbreak right now?)

(Oof I googled it and there's "Congo Ebola outbreak 2nd worst in history" articles dated 6 hours ago... Maybe a bad year to write haemorraghic diseases for fun and also how comes no one is talking about this in the news and it's all blah blah brexit... Have we just stopped fearing it now a few outbreaks have shown it mostly stays contained in African countries so now they can just suffer it on their own? I'm making a 4am donation to relief efforts)

*returns from the doctors without borders website* anyway back to the fictional sick white boy

And his very stressed dads

I have no idea how much of this is medically accurate but I feel like this is particularly dramatised to match hospital visits people have experienced which did not involve bringing in a stumbling, feverish, person who is having seizures and coughing blood

it's still objectively sad to see TFW lined up all stressed out and Cas and Dean holding hands while they stare through the giant window

The doctors aren't wearing masks even though he has been COUGHING BLOOD

sheesh this entire hospital is in quarantine now

Nick saying he was "getting hammered" the night of the murder isn't super subtle

Cas aggressively still trying to watch over Jack even though they won't let him in the room. Dean paces and talks about ghouls in the middle of the hospital to let off stress.

Cas goes to watch over him in person while Sam and Dean have a personal chat. This is awful D:

I appreciate the sentiment of busting Jack out before they pay the hospital bills because they're running out of medical options and need to turn to magic ones, a la every dramatic event ever in their lives except that one time Dean broke his leg and Sam was too out of it with the Hallucifers to sell his soul to make it better, but if Jack's in system shutdown wouldn't at least keeping him with state of the art equipment mean things like transfusion and machines that keep him propped up?

Mind you his bloodtype is probably, like, X evil negative or something Bucklemingy

It's in his DNA... He might be cute but he's still born of their episodes and wacky non con ideas... It was gonna catch up to him eventually D: You can't outrun it forever!!

I accidentally hit a button and 8x02 started playing on VLC

"DEEEAN" Cas shoves him through the portal out of purgatory, credits roll, this was officially the weirdest episode ever.

(No I didn't watch the whole thing, I was literally paused on the last shot from where I was about to gif it last night when I fell asleep)

Sam already called Rowena... Smart cookie

obligatory yell at Cas shedding the coat to put on Jack so they don't walk him out in a hospital gown

Oh my god Jack's so sick he's white as a sheet and being carried out by 2 of his dads and he still has a lil well of snark to be like "fine we're leaving" to the doctor.

"There's just no talking to him when he gets like this"

We're at the promo scene and I'm still not 100% sure after sleeping on it that Rowena definitely did not have the Book of the Damned, and that she hadn't been able to make off with it at the end of season 11, never for it to be seen again, because she was very much in the process of stealing the Black Grimoire in 13x22, but this does, I guess, make sense in regards to which book would serve Jack better, and Mittens tried her best to convince me that Rowena plausibly did not have it because the Winchesters did... I'm still suspicious because I really did just assume that she took it and the implication was we didn't see it because SHE had hidden it, and from a line in a Buckleming episode as well. And either way around her showing up with it makes sense that she had it but I'd have occam's razor'd it that she stole the obvious books at the obvious times and not that 13x22 became a BotD heist on top of everything else :P

Jack is up and about!!

He's using a more gravelly voice and it's actually a really hot voice and for literally the first time the Alex/Jack divide (gulf) in my head that one is my age and hot and the other is a 12 year old is a bit shaken. I mean Jack's canonically now supposed to be around 19-20? Which explains why he has a "wooo spring break" attitude when we see in the promo he snaps and wants to go to Vegas.

They grow up so fast.

Anyway considering he was in total organ shutdown a lil while ago it seems a night's rest has done him well if he's wandering around the bunker

Can't tell if we swapped writers or what... well, it seems like it's possible given Jack's fluctuating sickness, which of course could just be a plot thing but also a mark of the inconsistencies in Buckleming episodes. It's still odd to me that in the filming process it didn't occur to them that Jack might not at least sway on the spot at little, but he's really standing there like a little trooper, upright and talking confidently.

And betraying to Rowena that his dads like her and say nice things about her behind her back, which is catastrophic for them. How dare. You're damaging the foundations of their relationship.

*cough cough*

"Bollocks"

Yep, her heart has softened, Jack won her over in record time, and she's just thinking about that time she adopted a wee Polish lad and loved him as her own because Jack is genetically engineered to be a blank slate son version of a Mary Sue. You take one look at him and he is Your Son in whatever way will most harm you.

Good grief I wish Crowley was still around to see what HILARIOUS overlap with Gavin we'd have wrung out of Jack's main superpower.

Cas offering his grace to stabilise Jack on the spot. Halp. It's more important to him that his son lives by miles, that this isn't even an internal debate for him. In a way, obvious that Cas would be like this as a parent, in another, Cas just offered to give up his grace live on TV

Rowena shoots down the obvious solution (oh and thank god that for once the show actually even references obvious solutions) and starts talking about how we need archangel grace and as soon as she says that I think "oh, Michael" and Dean starts to come over weird with a wooziness that makes me wonder if that was timed for the audience "oh there's one out there right now" and why would DEAN be personally affected right thiiiiiis second..............................

When they go on spring break together we're getting right to the murderin

I mean SOMETHING is up and Dean's right now having his own weird moment as Rowena talks about how Jack will now have a fluctuating set of symptoms for the sake of the plot so

It's possible this is just his internal POV emotional reaction to bad news because this is what happens to me when I hear it but I suspect Dean is a lil more healthy than me in the first place so doesn't verge on passing out whenever a catastrophe happens regularly. And also Sam and Cas aren't similarly struck with physical symptoms at the news their son is dying.

Ya know, Buckleming, or probably Eugenie specifically which makes it all the worse, writing this woman taking a call in a dark alleyway, then not being terrified to be approached by a weird man and on top of that stopping and turning to invite him to join her in the club... this is the kind of thing where they're writing someone going against all natural instinct that it's bad characterisation for someone we've literally never met before just to put her in danger.

I mean at least they didn't make Nick stab a random woman (and a black woman at that to add to their overall awful stats)

I like how Jack's just decided Vegas or Tahiti are places you just kinda go to die... I mean I don't know what he's learned about them but it all has to be absorbed through the media in his most innocent way. I feel like there's something very sweet about whatever he thinks you do in these places of reputed sin and blaze of glory live fast die young lifestyles, but also utterly tragic. Consumptive tragic hero but with a twist of the reckless and dangerous later tropes of... It's 5am and I can't think but like. Vegas. Drugs and gambling high life style tropey films and books from the American tradition.

And of course it's Dean (who utterly fits into this trope and even has yearly Vegas trips with Sam since discovering his psychic powers back in season 1 and also lives a blaze of glory mindset) who brings him the deadly glass of milk (film trope about innocence but also like, people dying) and a sandwich loaded with salami. Dean went all out to make that for Jack - a couple of episodes after sending a woman off to "make him a sandwich" and regretting it as he spoke, we see the yank the cloth away reveal of Dean's nurturing side where he is the caregiver who shows affection through food and will go to the trouble of making his boy a delicious sandwich.

"Nice." See? He's Dean's son and Dean approves his choice of places to die. "You sure this is the best time?"

"Pretty sure it is," Jack says, backpack on, already almost out the door. He's found a brown corduroy jacket which is both unlike his beige jackets and suits from the rest of his life aside from the blue apocalypse world one, and also very very much like Sam's iconic season 1-2 brown corduroy jacket that he mostly stopped wearing although I think was the one Dean wore in 4x01 as one of its sporadic dwindling appearances, if I'm not wrong.

I probably am but either way, it's a change to darker colours, something Sam-associated to fit the gap of this smol dangerous dying kid Dean has to deal with, and puts Jack in thick earthier tones, thicker clothes to ward against the cold of death, and dressed more like TFW than normal as he usually has quite a distinct child-like version of their clothes.

Jack's concept of life and mortality is fucked, possibly because he was a functioning being after a day or two of gathering his thoughts and starting to come to terms with asking deep philosophical questions about himself, so in a way discovering he only has a couple more weeks to live is hardly anything. He's a fucking mayfly.

Ugh it's now solidly 5am and I am clearly not going back to sleep so I give up, I'm finally getting coffee. The rest of the notes will be maybe a wee bit more coherent :P

Anyway kettle thought: due to Jack and Dean's murder or be murdered relationship (lordy how is this the only way you relate to fatherhood, my guy?) I kinda suspect that Dean's about to abscond with Jack without even telling dad 1 or dad 2, because he is dad 3 and that's totally cool and he's a responsible adult, but, you know, woozy and doomed while Jack is also consumptive and doomed. BAD COMBO.

I charge you with grounds of diminished responsibility due to mutual murder narrative doom

"I'm done being special. Before my life is over, I want to live it"

Okay remember in season 1 episode 14 where Dean was like "LOL WE SHOULD GO TO VEGAS BECAUSE YOU ARE PSYCHIC"? and I referenced that like 5 minutes ago so you should, obviously I've only ever been able to headcanon the reveal of Vegas Week in season 7 (Dabb episode, take a shot) dates back to that and is one of their between episode activities which makes sense that since they only started travelling as adults together in the canon of the show (and Sam 1 year older than drinking age) that it might as well have been when they started the tradition?

Well Jack here is reacting like Dean would have if HE were the one in Sam's shoes in 1x14, and being the fun lil brother who actually would be like fuck it let's go to Vegas and see how psychic I am in the casinos! In the context of season 1 Sam is waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay too angsty and tragic to do anything other than come across as a stick in the mud who thinks Dean is joking and they're gonna carry on being tragic and hunting monsters instead. Dean in season 2, episode 9, also wanted to fuck off and go have fun when Sam's scary destiny got too much for him to carry, and that was when he was locked in the murder or save him vow from John's last words, which is a similar burden to the narrative bind he's in with Jack.

Jack, all of his fathers' son, finally shows up as the god damn first person to take his doom sensibly and actually want to fuck off to Vegas, and that's demon!Dean levels of fuck it.

Incidentally I half-suspect that Crowley, who has billions of dollars and once bid the moon in an auction (hi I watched 99% of 8x02 yesterday and 1% of it just now) probably was steering demon!Dean waaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay carefully around the thought of wait a minute I have an extremely rich and powerful sugar daddy and no responsibilities... VEGAAAAAAAS.

Like, any time Dean started to form the thought, bam, naked triplets show up in their room.

Anyway Jack's busy being tragic, talking about wanting to get a tan (Beach now linked to something to do before death) or see a hockey game (oh shit we forgot Adam) or get a parking ticket (oh so that's why Dean murders him)

"And when it's all over... die."

Dean looks over his shoulder, mind made up to abduct the boy and take him joyriding

"So that's your plan, huh?"

"I don't want to waste time arguing"

"Did I say I disagree"

jack, this is Fun Dad

I know, the concept is completely radical and you've never seen Dean be fun but trust me.

Even with your very, very limited options, Sam has literally had 3 episodes about how he's Scrooge, and Cas is... Cas. But Dean is legitimately fun dad when you get him on a good day. Trust me.

No one's speaking to Rowena??? How wild.

Poor thing is never going to get her mega coven

Dean (who has rocked up already wearing his jacket) spaces out as Sam starts blahing on about the culturally appropriative shaman Ketch has located.

Same, buddy

At least Dean isn't lying to them about stealing Jack. Somewhat. Not the whole Vegas plan.

Jack smiles at Sam and Cas in a kind of way that somehow conveys in its entirety "this may be the last time you see me but I'm cool with you NOT seeing me die of coughing my lungs up and fun dad has this covered and we've always had a weird death cult about our relationship anyway so I'm okay with it and you guys were the best dads but now fun dad is going to take me out back and shoot me where you can't see and I love you bye"

"Why don't you drive?"

Jack is like ?!?!?!?!? D:

EVEN ON HIS DEATHBED he hadn't figured this would ever happen

It's the make a wish foundation :')

This is, of course, the ultimate sign of Dean loving you and caring for you in Dean's own special way of not telling you he does but showing it with a gesture of absolute confidence and letting you in, and in the vast annuls of the show dates back to the second ever episode where Dean let Sam drive at the end for all of 1 shot (seriously, they've swapped back by the long shot at the end of 1x02 where you can't see them in the car but the prop drivers are definitely doing a generic Sam in the passenger seat Dean driving routine for stock footage :P)

Anyway Dean loves Jack enough that he's letting a kid who does not know how to drive learn to drive in the Impala, like he and Sam did.

I can see Alex sweating bullets about being seated next to Jensen in the beloved Impala and having to mess up turning it on... never mind the fact that both Jensen AND Dean will murder him if he harms the car, and being murdered on both levels at once is spiritually unsettling and he will probably end up an unquiet ghost.

And yet, the glee at being behind the wheel of this legendary gal

TRAGIC NYOOOOOM

"It's like I'm you! :D"

"No, it's not! :D (but with implied murder)"

"THIS IS THE BEST DAY EVER"

Look if he survives this, you're creating a speed demon who will want his own classic car

And then you'll have to teach him how to maintain it

oh god

But yeah, non-toxic parenting in the John Winchester As He Could Have Been style.

At least as long as Dean is in the Make A Wish mode and not back to tragic murder mode

And that wooziness that he may or may not be associating with no sleep and too much stress suggests this isn't going to last as a Fun Day Trip For The Boy

"Cas are you sure you want to handle this alone?"

NO HE NEEDS A HUG HIS SON IS DYING

Sam, go hug him, you need a hug and your son is dying.

Also, of course, you mutually need each other in this instance and Sam is reaching out to Cas with presumably the intent that he wants to be in on it but is asking as if just concerned about Cas

Cas, being Cas, has somehow deduced that Dean is "taking this particularly hard" despite the fact all three of them are Concerned Dads and CAS WHAT THE FUCK are you doing being selflessly concerned about DEAN and sizing up his emotional state when all three of you are wrecked and your son is dying?

You literally have 3x the sitting at his bedside holding his hand moments of any of them and montaged the heck out of the concern at the start of the episode

I remember way back someone wankily made a chart of how often people talked to Dean about stuff and other people talked to each other about Dean, and Sam is now crying about Dean beating himself up over being mean to Jack at the start of season 13 and regretting it, so this entire conversation is Sam and Cas man paining at each other about how much man pain Dean is in.

I say with no wank in my heart, just sheer horrified amusement at this data point if they still are hate-watching the show and being horrified about how Sam never gets stuff for himself etc (I mean. He and Cas both have had extended chunks of seasons about them parenting Jack and this is Dean's time to come belatedly to what the two of them already had)

Cas finally says "son" a season and change after Jack was wandering around calling him "father" and Sam doesn't seem inclined to disagree that this is how it feels for all 3 of them.

Obviously he's crying about Jack and it was just the context above that made it look like he was crying about Dean and I always knew that, I'm not a monster, I'm just deflecting because owwwwwwwww this hurts

HUG EACH OTHER YOU DUMB FUCKS SO I FEEL BETTER

Cas walks off instead and Sam finally after 1000 years discovers how Dean feels when Cas does that when he was angling to come along and they miscommunicated and didn't say what they meant. Except Sam wanted to come out of mutual Dad Angst comfort while Dean normally wants to go with Cas places so he can hold his hand.

Jack's so proud of himself for being able to drive.

"Born with a wheel in your hand"

He literally stole the Impala from you when he was 7 months in the womb

Dean is like, we could get you laid? And Jack is like. Nah. I have a better idea.

No idea what right now but he still doesn't wanna bang anyone

Ugh a Nick scene. Tag yourself I'm the old tyre in the foreground

Is this the house from Family Remains aka the self-admitted worst episode of the show by Kripke and Carver's explicit design

I am going to puke Jack wanted to go on a fishing trip with his dad

There were spoilers about them doing this but I repressed it the fuck down and lied to myself that Jensen was randomly teaching Alex to fish on set because I didn't want to think about Dean doing this with Jack because oh my god someone has taken my heart and gouged it out with a rusty spoon.

Also: someone design Jack a t-shirt with a witty slogan about fishing rather than hook ups. Like, dude bro fishing culture but in a world where you're as likely to get dumb slogans about not wanting sex as you are for it making you a babe magnet

"I'd rather be fishin" is a thing people get on mugs for the workplace but we could start with this sentiment and play

ALSO AS I MENTIONED I WATCHED 8x02 IN THE LAST 24 HOURS AND DEAN NEAR RIVERS SUCKS. We also have 10x01 and Daniel the fishing angel (who was the pizza man from Monster Movie, see above: slogans about fishing, pizza man innuendo, we got a thing going here) who was happy on Earth just fishing and enjoying the planet and not wanting to go back to Heaven, in a very heavy metaphor for Cas to deal with, as the angel who once compared free will to teaching poetry to fish. Lots and lots to unpack here, when we turn this into a Dean and Jack father son bonding moment and throw in Dean's peaceful dream of fishing in 4x20 that Cas interrupted. Fishing is about peace and idyll and comes as a temporary respite in this show. Traditionally, also, of course it's a sport of patience, and a classic father son bonding activity as the long stillness allows for both manly silence and sharing beers in peace, but also talk if they want to open up a conversation.

For Jack, it's an overlap of both Cas and Dean parental stuff, Cas's issues with angelic nature, where he wants to be, WHO he wants to be (just OFFERING to give up his grace to save Jack) and then with Dean we have more classic human cultural tropes but none less painful for Jack's nature and relationships. Especially throwing in that this was his choice and Dean is indulging him completely here.

John may or may not have taught them to fish but I feel like it may have had a "so you are dying in the woods" aspect to it rather than for peace and bonding. BOBBY taught Sam and Dean some basic woodsmanship so he was more likely to be the father figure teaching them to fish if anyone did.

Okay so obviously I typed that just after clutching my heart at the reveal and hitting pause, as Jack immediately goes on to say that John DID teach Dean how to fish and that it was his happiest memory of him - and it comes as a surprise for the expectations (like, that the above paragraph now stands as what I would expect of canon if I was only taking from it and not as an actual writer of the show being allowed to insert new details in which challenge us about the characters, which is where I find the line between fan fic and original fiction really is when it comes to characterisation... Anything out of left-field and you have to tag it as an AU version or explain why instead of just writing it as taken for granted).

And it's unexpected in the sense that it is such a peaceful thing and above all I think the message is that Jack intuited from whatever Dean said about it that it WAS a happy peaceful memory of John which stood so much at odds with the rest of his life. Filed under as well the thing where Mary started talking about how nice John was to Sam and Sam recoiled in confusion until Mary clarfied it was her John, not theirs. Good memories of a gentle soft John are alarming, and yet perhaps this is a way to really confront and exorcise his ghost more than anything - the sort of funeral servive memorialising of the good with the bad and working through it to come to peace in a different sort of way that lets the wounds heal and the anger leave those scars.

"It was how you said it. I could tell." He's such a smart cookie and I think that often takes Dean by surprise in the sense that Jack has been very shrewdly watching him and learning from him and absorbing anything and everything he does, which unfortunately gives him the ability to cold read Dean like very few people do, seeing past the layers and bluffs and into Dean's core.

Jack just murdered Dean by saying if he doesn't make it he wouldn't miss Tahiti or the Taj Mahal or implied going to seedy bars and hooking up, he'd miss more time with Dean.

I mean that's not a literal way to kill someone but you should see Dean's face. He's been shot.

And again, it's a metaphor for what you want from life for DEAN to absorb, the prompt that his family is right here and he doesn't need to chase pleasure outside of them, that hook up bar nearby their home base where he never strikes out, that's irrelevant to the family he has built and it's been put in the subtext of what Dean goes after that's empty pleasure when he has this core family unit around him, by the way Jack has also rejected it and is explaining to Dean the real meaning of Christmas.

Of course, this all gets a bit weird unless you account for the fact he has an angel wearing a trenchcoat made of husband material waiting back at the Bunker because the chronic singleton life otherwise probably ought to account for an outlet for Dean like a hook up bar if his happy ending is a platonic family bond so, you know, end the show 10 minutes from now with everyone happy and alive and not dying, and all Dean's learned is they're 3 dads, one son, a mom and her AUBobby, but he still has unused romantic potential and for seasons and seasons they've been trying to close the door on him seeking out random hook ups in the subtext of what Dean WANTS vs what he thinks he can have. This frank conversation about what Jack wants from life before it's all over is once again ignoring fleeting human connection for the family bonds he values above everything.

"I've had a good life, Dean" the other reason they're having this sentimental conversation by a river is because Jack is a fucking mayfly and I hate this

@ Dabb please never make me see Cas driving this car ever again

Why are you irritating Cas like this. First boring holy fire oh it must be thursday followed by the indignity of making him sit on a pouffe? Listen, when Cas gets irritated he gets snarky and then people die because he snarked them to death. I saw it he did it to the Empty. And Lucifer in 13x12. And Kip.

I just feel sorry for Cas. Why can't he go on fishing trips with the boy. Oh no he has to sit on a squishy pouffe that won't let him be intimidating so that he can cure the boy even though Jack's already decided he's gonna die and will probably Ophelia himself into the river at the end of the fishing trip.

Sergei is basically like "Have you tried turning it off and on again"

Nephilim have a reboot button on the back of their neck, if you get a paperclip and poke it in there.

At least Sergei is so... whatever he is... I can't even tell who he is supposed to be offensive towards :P I guess with the name, I lean Russian, and then he has world esoterica and occult nonsense in his caravan...

The real question is how does he know anything about Nephilim and why hasn't Cas asked that already.

LOL he has a vial of Gabriel grace just lying around. Of course, because Gabriel was just offering it up to everyone.

Considering how he was exploited for it by Asmodeus there's a weird tinge of retconning his own abuse by saying he was going around giving it to everyone before Asmodeus ever bought him and started stealing it on the regular.

Still, it IS awfully tempting a fix to have Uncle Gabriel help Jack out from beyond.

/distantly: "I'm not dead!"

sometimes I can still hear his voice.

It's way more likely Shit Goes Down and this is lost but then Cas has learned what to do with archangel grace to fix Jack just so long as they can pin down Michael and grab his instead.

But I guess in that circumstance at least once again Gabriel gave them part of the answer from beyond the grave as he did in season 5.

("Still not dead!!")

shush Gabriel. The show wants us to think you're dead and my complete disbelief in that doesn't change anything for now.

Except that maybe Gabriel came back, is fine, but has been removing his grace and selling it in the here and now while claiming not to be Gabriel and that he just haaaappens to have it and because he has no grace he could just be any old guy who happens to have an endless renewable resource of archangel grace secretly on tap to sell to fund his life of laying low. Sergei even says HE got it as part of keeping Gabriel hidden.

I'm kind of assuming Sergei isn't Gabriel unless he offers Cas kielbasa

I mean unless later I get a bonus cookie for immediately assuming Sergei is Gabriel based on the holy fire he just happened to have prepared and how similar it looked to Gabriel being trapped in 5x08.

On the other hand this may be the first time this season but pointing at literally everyone and going, that's probably Gabriel, will get old and also dock me cookie points the more wrong guesses I throw out there. Still, this one has pretty strong evidence, from messing with Cas to making him say "Porn stars"

To, um, having Gabriel's grace

Okay so Sergei gives Cas all of this out of the goodness of his heart and a "you owe me" and I AM wondering if that's a Buckleming special because remember in 8x19 where they were like hi we need to go to Hell immediately, and Ajay was like sure, I will take you to Hell and this episode is even titled after me so clearly I am an important character who *stab stab reaper dying noises* wow look I guess we don't have a bargain after all despite me saying you owe me but then Crowley just maaaaagically made it so you never had to find out what a reaper would want in exchange for taking you to Hell off the books.

Also fuck you I never got to finish my pizza

While I've been typing some random ass justice for Ajay screed, Nick has revealed a flashback to 14x02 where it turns out his neighbour said it was a cop who he saw coming out of the house. I literally went back and checked the episode and that wasn't in it, so perhaps it's a new flashback for here, fleshing out that conversation and revealing more for us, and changing the narrative of what Nick's up to, but honestly who cares enough about all this... I was double zoned out for flashbacks I'd already seen for a side story i don't care about

Wow, Nick, demons killed ya family. Could have told you that.

Aw, Dean brought Jack home. No dying out in the wilderness for you, clearly Cas phoned up before Jack could work out his plan to fling himself into the river.

Also Nick has taken up too much of this episode so there's no room for complicated twists and turns, if Buckleming are banned from introducing too many of them.

It's incredible how subdividing them so Eugenie writes all the Nick stuff and Brad writes the rest has elevated the parts of the story we care about to pretty much passable, give or take whatever Sergei was and who he was offensive to aside from the whole concept of calling yourself a shaman because you travelled the world collecting occult stuff in a sort of Aleister Crowley way.

'cept you can't namedrop Aleister on this show because both Alastair and Crowley have stolen too much from him.

So you get a knock off Sergei instead.

Jack hasn't been having as many of the supposed fainting fits that had everyone dogpiling him as I thought - maybe that's next episode too. Could have had one at the start but that doesn't seem enough to be a repeated annoyance of Alex's life :P

Anyway I was just going to comment on his sweater but that thought hopped in there first wondering if the spell was about to knock him flat, as he's sitting on a chair instead of safely in bed.

All the more dramatic for flinging yourself around if the spell messes you up

(honestly if the spells don't work, and they took him out of the hospital, how much of a bizarre commentary is this on trusting modern medicine and vaccinating your nephilims?)

It's 7:20 and my neighbours are yelling again

At least being awake since 3 meant I got a bit more peace and quiet than normal. I feel gross but I may go to yoga just to not be stuck in this room with such awful screeching on both sides of me >.>

Oh I can tell Sergei is Gabriel, he put the grace in a gold container instead of the silver ones

I'm sorry for the expenses, Zerbe

I wonder if they use her products on the show and I'm gonna go on my dash and find her beaming about a specially commissioned shiny gold grace that she made for them :P

"Here, hold this bottle of your uncle's essence"

".... okay I understand how weird that sounded on hindsight"

I love the idea of Jack's grace now being fuelled by Nice Uncle Gabriel who felt kindly towards him, even if this can't be a permanent fix, it changes his internal make up just a bit so that he symbolically has his grace stolen by his shitty bio father but the power only came from him in the first place and there was all the hoo ha about if Lucifer as his father made him inherently evil. Now whatever happens to Jack, he's had a grace transplant from a suitable donor, very much like a parallel of say he needed a kidney transplant and his 2 viable donors were his shitty deadbeat dad who gave him the kidney condition in the first place and his nice dead uncle who happened to have been an organ donor and was the only other one with the same type (if Lucifer's was X evil negative, then I guess Gabriel's is like X tricksy negative which has enough receptors to be a compatible transfusion, while Cas has like, Z dumbass positive grace and no compatibility)

And Gabriel is a beloved character who proved his kind feeling towards Jack even if they had very little bonding overall, he clearly cared and there was an immediate sort of uncle-y kindness about him in relation to Jack (just the comment alone about identifying that Jack liked shiny things and magic tricks is very much how uncles view small children who they may watch and entertain but not in the end have parental responsibility for), which is hilarious to me because Gabriel deeply reminds me of all 3 of my uncles on my mum's side, who are all 3 different shades of trickster god in their own right, and he always has reminded me of them, and now the show has sort of made Uncle Gabriel his new legacy.

I mean. I love it to bits.

It's not a sacrifice FOR Jack like Cas would have given up his grace, but it's still a part of him passed on to Jack.

I am very very aware that like me running my mouth about John (ironically the name of one of my uncles) while hitting pause, I've stopped while Jack is looking up with glowing eyes and he's almost certainly about to spew a fountain of blood across the room and fall on the floor. But I like that the grace even interacted with him and lit up his eyes and unless he physically barfs out the grace to I'm sticking by that ramble.

Cas smiled!! That's the once per season and we already hit it at episode 7, woe betide us

This does look, however, like the scene where they were all looking on from the door so... blood spew in 5 4 3 2 1...

DOGPILE THE BOY

Er, I mean, help him

God I would not want Jared to dogpile me, the man weighs literally as much as an actual moose

Uhoh Sergei made Cas mad

I mean

he made him sit on a pouffe, this was always coming

What do you mean Eugenie can't let Lucifer go wow what a shock

*kicks a pebble*

Ah, here's the concerned dads scene. I'm just going to let that be a balm to my soul while Dean laments ever taking Jack out to have fun.

"You made him happy. You did more for him than any of us"

1 dude you tried, 2 you took him on hunting trips and had fun already this season so he got his Cas Time before he died like he wanted 3 just fucking abduct him wrapped in a duvet and go fishing in the dead of night if you have to, trust me, he'd love it and your family is such a mess he wouldn't even think it's weird.

I mean you've literally absconded illegally with him before, what's a trip up to that beach where he was born and some fishing gear really going to cost you with annoyance from Dean

"What can we do?" "Watch over him," Rowena says with Cas in the background, and continues to carve me out with a rusty spoon

"As he dies"

Nah he'll be fine shut up Rowena D:

*whimper*

Well that was a very good episode if you act like me and pretend that none of the Nick stuff happened at all.

#14x07 #season 14 spoilers #my stuff

198 notes · View notes

abtoddler · 6 years

Text

A little melancholia for the day

It’s interesting how far we come and sometimes

Its no where near far enough. When i was younger, I couldn’t tolerate my mother. When shes oh hey, im goin to be a bitch for days, then expect me to talk to her. Its already bad enough shes super dismissive or hateful, and then super concerned so she can ear another tick in her caretaker personality.

Which explains why i need a daddy so much. I al thankful to mine, and my big bro champ, the two of them create a world where i dont have to worry about what occurs outside the front door. - a bit of backstory, and the strings of complaints, spoonie comments, support groups and things like that: i have a chronic pain condition with compression and the slow approach to parapalegia while on the medication, the norco and muscle relaxers to help the sensation of walking on nails, and endless buzz, this is a gift from 14 years ago, that keeps taking the feeling and control of my legs & feet. I also have an inflamatory bowel disease, so its like shitting hot lava. This has been occuring more regular then a ladies period, and has been occuring since longer then I can remember.

Growing up, i would throw up while shitting at the same time for hours ans hours. Get up in the middle of the night and just let it go. Ive turned memory of this shit to another thought. Right now its about how much time i have left, 20 years? That wouls make me 54, if i go out then, or even in the next 35 years wouls make me younger then my adoptive parents.

Now heres a funny thing, since my dad doesnt really keep up with me, mostly my fault because i hate talkin on the phone, and cant exactly travel at the moment. The point is, “oh you still have to go through that, i hadnt heard so i assumed it went away”, its not that” oh i assumed you just stopped having a horrible mutiple times a month for my entire life stomach pain, just stops, because nothing is said about it. Or the trying to convey that i just do not have the means to emotionally handle it, and so cant make effort to do stuff that hurts my heart. The same is whether or not my mother means it. But shes always been cunty when shes not put first, or in control. It’s interesting she abused drugs and alcohol when i moved into my own house the first time. Then the abuse from her starts, getting mad, being dismissive, just down right fucking horrible for no good goddamn reason.

This then causes me to have an emotional shut down, this abuseive crap, this shit makes me not want to be around her. She cant “do” being alone, and it makes her really mean. The more mean she gets, the more i have no desire to fuck with that. The endless complaints, rudeness, snide comments, endless streams of just foulness. Thank you to everyone whose not like this, is what i want to say. Thank you to daddy and champ. Those who “choose” us, and so help up the folk like me who have all sorts of shit to deal with. Its nice having an insulation.

I do not want contact with people who are sneaky and will put someone else under a bus, i do not want folks who do not give more then lip service to”bdsm full exchange” and “demands” that put them ahead of what they want to do with my daddy. Theres so much in this life that i wont be able to do. I have less then most folk i wager. Going by the wayside, posting to the empty vaccum where the internet remembers.

I can do this. I can do one day at a time forever, one moment, that is an endless cycle of sleep. And meds, and pains. The reason i can do this. Family. Good people raised me, but im home for the first time with these last 6 months, 50 or 60 years ahead of me is not enough time for my daddy, for my big bro. There is a ton of the world to see.

These are the thoughts, and feelings ive had since loosing my hope on handling something just a bit better. Its been super dark, with looking at end of life affairs, looking into kinds of burials, and assisted suicide. Everything that would mean i miss everything i want with my family. I do not mind a death I choose. I do not mind my final wishes. What i mind; the knowledge of folks with my kinds of stomach shit dont really see much longer to the older age brackets. It scares the piss out of me, that it could just be done, i wont be able to wake up and work on my grimoires, i wont be able to tell my daddy I love him. Anytime i feel it, i have to say it. That way in all the tiny moments of time, and if folks can remember me. He will know i would always love him, thank him, appreciate him. He is the scope of my world. Anything less then forever is an unacceptable amount of time. The thought of leaving him early scares me. Its my greatest worry, that i will never know enough, or see enough of his life to only see it really start.

Its hard, it sucks. So thats why my grimoire projects will not, end. My desire to be little, and safe and cared for, must be followed right back into daddies arms, and the worlds hes helped build. I ve been trying to process this, its taken a few months, in suspected truth, probably it will be always there. But, i try and focus on projects, on the little things that can be done in a day. I cant care about my mother demanding i go and see her. Or her being a bitch when i do, and leaving her with a “see you whenever” i said “what ever” and just walked out of her apartment the other night.

So, while she feels i should be doing what ever she asks depite my lack or to too much sleep according to her. Not the exhaustion i get subjected to after the fire of hell erupts from my asshole, and causes me to throw up anything left in my stomach. Yea, between that 1-4 hour production of “this is your life” in food I attempted to eat earlier. Shes got stupid questions that have no bearing on day to day shit, and now that shes done fucking making threats at me, she can shut up, while I sort out how to handle her ass, while being with wonderful people, for what will be the rest of my life. However long i can make it. Daddy, makes it worth it, i want to see him and champ be their best selves. I can instead only do everything that i am able to set their roads up, even if i wont get the chance to see how it ends.

I cry, at night, most nights pooh bear has earned his keep as the cuddle surrogate to daddy. My barking dragon doesnt bark, it would randomly do it; making it hard to sleep with. I know that this internet void, is a public place where people will know, coo!. But I need to post this, i need to put it into the world while I think about how i am going to master the coming years, and not let shit get between daddy and champ and all our dreams.

So, while i get word vomity, and sad. The horizon has this light of the future, the single moment of now, stretching on to the morning. The linear path of all actions, thoughts, life and the experiences, its easy when in thinking of daddy, that i can just aim to make the most of the moments with him. That they know he is the best man i have ever known, the range of his character. His way of dominance, his love and zest for life. The way he steps one foot a time to get the big picture. I will walk with him til my story ends. But, daddy i love you, and thank you. I loves that we have forever and ever. Its not long enough.

But anyway this isnt something i can stop thinking, so my hope is putting just this stuff here, will get it out, and lets me sleep tonight. I am trying to post more, to have a place to unload my thoughts. Thank you for anyone who reads this, its just hard to identify the situation at hand, so many moving pieces. I will try not to post to much of this philosophic ramble, and depression.

I will figure on how to deal with it but tonight, it did it’s job and has cleared my head, and given me a look at what i feel is going on. Night tumblr. Thank you for this medium.

5 notes · View notes

wttp · 7 years

Note

Nice blog... Could you please do one with widowmaker coming to readers apartment for the first time and feels at home so she doesn't want to go. Thanks

“Well… This was unexpected” you mutter as you watch the unusual scene before you. Sitting on your sofa is the one and only Widowmaker, Talon´s deadliest agent, with one of your pillows resting on her lap. She looks pretty calm, but her cold demeanor and piercing eyes make her resemble a snake a little too close for you to feel completely safe. As you make your presences known, her grip on her pillow tightens (yes, it is technically still your pillow, but judging by the way she is holding on to it, I wouldn´t recommend trying to take it away from her). You weren’t initially expecting to have any guests over, but when you answered the door in the middle of the night to discover a tired and wounded Widow, you didn´t exactly have a choice in the matter.

You tended to her injuries to the best of your ability, both agreeing that the best solution would be to have Moira examine her back at the base. You´re more of an undercover agent than the members of Team Talon, so you were given a small apartment in the inner parts of the city to keep your cover. It isn´t much but with the salary you make you easily managed to turn it into a home. And it would appear that Widow agrees with that assessment, as she is using the time she is forced to sit down and let her injuries be treated, to gently flick the head of the small bubblehead figurine that is placed on the table in front of her. As the small head wobbles back and forth, you can hear a low sigh escape the sniper´s lips. “This is… Quite sweet actually” she says, as she places a finger on the figurines head, causing it to stop it´s movement instantly. As you are a bit unused to this more relaxed side of the infamous sniper, it takes a couple of seconds before you answer her. “Thank you,” you say “It´s a souvenir from our last mission” At this, she turns her head as much as her current position allows her and looks at you with an almost questioning gaze, one eyebrow raised. “What?” you ask “It was my first time there and I wanted to remember it. Besides, Sombra bought one too”

Okay, this time you definitely saw her face relax, as her lips gently curve upwards in what is probably the closest she can get to a smile. She shakes her head as she responds to your argument. “I do not exactly see how bringing Sombra into the discussion is going to help you but continue if you want”. You put up a playful pout at her answer but am secretly quite pleased with this new side of Widow. As you put the finishing touches on the bandaging, you give her a gentle pat on the back before speaking. “Well, that should do it. All done” you smile. Her answer only stretches to a short “Merci (Y/N)”. “Don´t think about it. We are colleagues after all” you reply, receiving a nod from your guest/patient as she lets her gaze wander around the room once more. You follow her example remembering the good times you have had here, before coming to a halt at the window. It is dark as the night outside (Mainly due to the fact that it is actually night). “It looks like it has gotten pretty late” you say, stating the obvious. Widowmaker turns around to face you, taking her time so she doesn´t reopen her wounds. “It has. I should return to the base” she simply states.

Before you can say anything, she stands up ready to leave, but her form quickly crumbles, forcing her to grab a hold of the couch to keep upright. It is clear that she is trying to work through the strain, but her face betrays her condition. You take one look at her, and make a decision that most normal people, Sombra included, would probably consider insane. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen”. Widow raises her head from her crumpled position, and looks at you, before uttering “What is not going to happen?”. “You walking back to base in your current condition, that’s what´s not happening. It is dark and cold outside, and you are barely able to stand up and walk” you explain, actually physically trying to stand your ground, as you try to order the deadly sniper around (Again, probably not the best idea you´ve ever had). You put on your most strict facial expression, before continuing: “You´ll have to stay for the night, for your own sake”. Her face turns into a scowl at your words, causing you to seriously question why you decided to voice your worries before she huffs and falls back onto the sofa. “Fine, if there is no other way, then I guess I have no other choice” she forces out, not even looking at you at this point. You sigh in relief, glad to know that you aren’t going to die at the hands Talons best sniper.

Due to her current condition, you fail to move her to your bedroom to let her borrow your bed. Realising the hopelessness of the aforementioned strategy, you instead bring out a spare mattress, duvet, and pillow and place it next to the couch. You angle the mattress in such a way that she is both able to look out of the window and see the stars or watch TV should she wish to do so. As most of her clothes are either dirty or dripping blood, you let her borrow some of your clothes and put her´s in the washing machine. Sheepishly wishing the sniper a good night, you accept that the neutral wave she gives you is probably the best you´re going to get and head off to sleep. As you lay down to rest, you hope that your guest will feel better after a good night´s sleep.

As Widowmaker lays down, shuffling under the duvet to get as comfortable as possible, she starts feeling warmer and warmer. This confuses her as her hands and feet are still freezing after being exposed to the cold weather as she practically dragged herself to your apartment, but as she lays there on the comfortable mattress, in the safe home of one of her colleagues, she soon understands that the warmth is, in fact, springing from her chest. She doesn´t really understand what it is or its purpose but seems to vaguely remember it from her previous life. As she lays her head down on the pillow, she allows herself a short but content smile, as she feels something she hasn´t felt in years. She feels safe.

The next morning you are awoken by a bright light shining into your eyes. As you open said eyes, you notice the sun shining in through your window. Gazing at your alarm clock, you notice the numbers 11:35 in bright red colors. It is the weekend, after all, so you don´t feel particularly bad about sleeping more than usual.

You exit your bedroom and are greeted by the sight of Widowmaker sitting cross-legged on the mattress, clutching the duvet to her chest. Quickly rushing to her side, worried that her wounds may have reopened, you are surprised to find that nothing appears to be physically wrong with her. As your worries for the sniper lessens, the woman in question slowly raises her head to look at you. Her eyes are furrowed in what can only be described as confusion. It almost looks like she is unable to understand why you are helping her, why you are so nice to her.

“Are you alright?” you ask her, testing the waters as you finish your short examination, sitting down on your comfortable sofa. She doesn´t immediately answer, instead gradually turning her head to face you in your new position. “Oui. I am okay” she quietly replies, suddenly unable to maintain eye contact as her eyes fall to her hands. An awkward silence descends upon the two of you. You have grown quite used to Widows stoic and cold persona, but this new, almost unsure side of her is more difficult to grasp. “So…” you say attempting to keep the conversation going “The weather has cleared up, and it would appear that you have too. Are you ready to return to base?”

If the sight of an unsure Widowmaker was surprising, her sudden shift in posture after you’re done speaking quite frankly astounds you. Her grip on the duvet tightens, as she once more looks down at her hands, her face contorted into an expression you can´t quite figure out. At this you quickly interject, not wanting to sound like you just want to get rid of her: “Oh, sorry, are you still injured?” you say “I didn´t mean to hurry you along like that. If you still feel bad, you´re welcome to stay until you feel better”. Widow looks at you for a moment, her face only betraying what appears to be a newfound surprise at your statement. She quickly reverts back to her old stoic persona, as she replies. “Yes, I believe that I am still somewhat hurt from last night’s ordeal. It would probably be best to let the wounds heal, just to be on the safe side”. You nod at the veteran sniper, before standing up. There is something off about the way she seemed so weird about going back to the base. Last night she looked like she might shoot you for trying to hold her back, but now… Now, something has apparently changed her opinion.

Well, it isn´t as if you can force her to tell you what is on her mind, so you decide that this is a mystery you´ll have to solve at another time. Right now, your first priority is to look after your colleague. “That’s a fair point indeed” you admit, before continuing “Well if that´s the case I guess I´ll have to call Reaper to keep him up to date. Can´t have him thinking that you´ve gone missing after all”. As you begin to once again make your way into your bedroom, where you remember to have left your phone, you turn to Widowmaker before speaking again. "You should probably get some more sleep. You heal better when you’re relaxed, and it´s the weekend so no one is going to need us for the time being anyway. I´ll wake you up when it´s time to get something to eat, so don´t worry about that". You turn around and walk into your bedroom, closing the door behind you.

As Widowmaker sits on the mattress, she once again hugs the duvet closer to her chest. She buries her head into the soft fabric, muttering a quiet “Merci(1)”. Taking one last look around, she quietly lays her head down on the pillow. The troubles of the day and the voices from her past all seem to become quieter and quieter, as she gently closes her eyes, quickly falling into a deep sleep, as her face is graced by one of her first genuine smiles.

1: Thank you2: Yes

#Overwatch imagines #widowmaker

28 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 7 years

Text

you learn to need the things that stop you dreaming (biadore) - dylann

Texting Bianca that she has to crash at her place, the ride there, showing up at Bianca’s front door in full drag and carrying a corner store bottle of white wine all sound like things Adore would do. She doesn’t quite remember doing any of them but… it sounds about right.

A/N: hell is a quiet apartment in the middle of the night and all the things that never get said. welcome to all of that, and a side-order of mutual pining, exhaustion and people who have absolutely no concept of self care.

i use drag names for both; he/him for bianca and she/her for adore.

the title is from a song by passenger.

shoutouts to dandee and goneawaygirl for screaming at me and pointing out my typos xo

content warnings for implied drinking and maybe some drug use, all the perks of bad hangovers, so much pining

Adore wakes up because there’s noise. It’s low and steady and for a while, it makes her dream of trains, and then persists until the trains dissolve and there’s only darkness, and then she’s awake.

Her head is pounding and the bed she’s woken up in is cold, and it takes one blind fling of her arm to confirm that she’s also alone. The noise is still happening and now that Adore’s aware of the headache, it’s somehow even worse. She groans and pushes herself up to sit, legs dangling off the edge of the bed as she pulls the covers up around her shoulders.

Under her feet, the floor is smooth, cool hardwood. She blinks a few times until the shadows of the room start twisting into shapes as she adjusts to darkness. It must be really late — there’s a window at the other end of the room, and the blinds are half-cracked, and yet barely any light filters in at all. It’s almost unsettlingly dark. In the city — any city — there’s always some light, a bit of street noise—

This room is dark. The only noise is the constant train-like clatter filtering in through the walls.

Adore thinks to herself that if this were a movie, this is where the music would get low, subdued and terrifying, as if the shadows could morph into the monster that jumps out and swallows her whole any second now. And yet the room stays mercifully still and too quiet — no monster at all in sight — so when Adore feels awake and steady enough to move, she gets up to her feet and heads out into the hallway, hands pressed to her chest and clutching the heavy covers like a cape. The ceaseless noise has faded into the back of her head, the way sounds tend to disappear when the mind accepts them and they melt from annoyance to being forgotten in the background. Still, it’s louder in the hallway and Adore follows it down the hall.

The door to the room at the other end isn’t quite closed; there’s warm light bleeding out under it and illuminating the hardwood in hues of brown and bronze-like orange, just to remind Adore that the world exists past the colorless darkness of the apartment. She pushes the door open just a little bit further, and holds her breath as if that would prevent it from creaking.

The light is coming from a desk lamp that’s perched on a table in one corner of the room, and at the table, with his back to the door, Bianca is bent over his sewing machine, glittering red fabric pooling around him as he works.

Unnoticed, Adore leans against the doorframe and watches him for a moment, the edges of the scene dark and blurry like an old film through the lens of her sleep-heavy eyelashes. The back of Bianca’s head is a mess of pillow-crushed short hair, and his neck curves uncomfortably down as he leans forward and bows his head to get a closer look at some detail. The desk lamp casts its light at him from an angle which leaves him in half-shadow from where Adore is standing, his slim shoulders rimmed in a gold outline which makes her think that if she could see his aura — like, literally, actually see it — it’d probably look exactly the same.

When Adore can no longer bear the vague guilt from sneaking in and watching, unannounced, she speaks up softly, in a sleepy lilt, and leads with a joke because anything else would feel off.

“Aren’t you, like, rich enough to pay other people to do this shit for you?”

Bianca doesn’t quite flinch at her voice but he goes very still for a fraction of a second and then picks up his sewing again as he answers distractedly,

“I started a sweatshop, actually, but my workers unionized—“

“Or are you just makin’ sure your geriatric old man hands still work?” Adore prods, walking over to hover by the desk, right where she knows she’s in his line of vision.

Bianca takes a breath to answer, but holds it in a moment too long and shrugs instead,

“Something like that,” and then, immediately, “How the fuck are you even awake right now?”

The question gets Adore to focus on herself for a moment, and suddenly she’s once again all too aware of her headache, her dry mouth, the vague nausea twisting up her gut. Texting Bianca that she has to crash at her place, the ride there, showing up at Bianca’s front door in full drag and carrying a corner store bottle of white wine all sound like things Adore would do. She doesn’t quite remember doing any of them but… it sounds about right.

“Not by choice,” she shrugs and makes a show out of glaring at the sewing machine. Bianca makes just as much of a show ignoring her and carrying on his work instead.

“I was gonna crash with a friend but she bailed on me,” Adore starts, almost apologetically, as she leans with her back against the wall next to the table.

“Yeah. You told me at least three times.”

“—and I could’ve texted someone else, I guess, but…”

“You knew I was home and wanted to see me anyway, yeah,” Bianca’s voice is halfway to an impression of Adore but just a little too tight to really sound the way he usually does when he’s joking. Adore’s head pounds with each clack of the machine and she lets out a long groan as she slides down the wall to sit on the floor. The surface is too cool against her bare skin, so she pulls her knees up to her chest and wraps herself up in the covers she’d brought, until it’s just her head peeking out, hair falling out of the remnants of her bun to frame her face.

Bianca finishes a stitch and glances down at her, and between the silence as the machine stops and his eyes on her, Adore feels like she’s suddenly under a spotlight. When she looks up to meet his eyes, he’s looking at her in that Bianca way, measuring without judgement, just slightly exasperated but light, all of his annoyance laced with a perfect dose of amusement. He also looks tired.

He looks exhausted in a way that is beyond being fixable with a good night’s sleep.

Adore hasn’t been there for more than a few hours so she can’t be the reason for the tight set of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes, the slightest downward turn of his lips. She takes it all in silently and she must be crashing because what was vague unease minutes ago is morphing into a heavy anxiety which settles at the bottom of her ribs and pulls her down. Adore dreads to think about what it’ll feel like when she’s sober, fully sober, and irritable and hungover in the morning.

“You’ll give yourself wrinkles,” Bianca half-scolds and Adore feels her face drop into neutrality. She hadn’t even realized she was frowning. “And I ain’t paying for your facelifts,”

Bianca adds, just slightly louder, sharper, three quarters of the way to his character voice but not quite there. It’s the not-quite-thereness that unsettles Adore. Bianca is teetering between whatever is weighing him down and constant attempts to return to his usual self, and it’s like watching an underrehearsed high wire act that’s half a second away from disaster.

“Bea—“ Adore starts, carefully, and when Bianca looks away and picks his work back up as a clear sign that he doesn’t want to talk, she shrugs and offers instead, “I can pay for my own facelifts, thank you very much.”

Bianca almost laughs — his shoulders twitch up, which feels like a victory — and then he turns all of his attention to the unfinished garment under his hands. Adore settles in her cocoon on the floor and resolves to ignore the way the sound of the machine feels like drills working their way into her temples and splitting her head open. It is, realistically, a small price to pay in exchange for being in Bianca’s company. It’s been too many months since the last time they’d hung out, and if that’s the way it has to happen tonight, then Adore’s willing to accept the side effects.

Adore’s head swims and her thoughts blur into vagueness for a while but she doesn’t quite drift off. She listens to Bianca work with her eyes mostly closed, breathes evenly to keep the nausea at bay, tightens the covers around her body when she begins to shake.

Bianca, for his part, doesn’t seem to mind her company but he’s not actively acknowledging it either, which is okay. They have learned a long time ago how to share a space in silence, and falling into that rhythm after so many months apart is more grounding than conversation.

Eventually, Bianca swears and the machine stops and it jolts Adore away from her half-sleep.

“What’s wrong?” she asks, shifting to sit up on her knees so she can look at the table, even though there’s no way she’d be able to help at all.

“Fucking— nothing. The fucking needle broke,” Bianca shrugs and he’s already twisting the broken needle off, still swearing under his breath as he sets off to replace it. It’s clear in the way he moves that this is, usually, the kind of issue that would get settled within seconds without ever being a cause for concern. Right now, though, it speaks to something bigger and is enough to set him off, and Adore wants to ask so many questions and offer all of her help, but it feels like prodding at something that possibly doesn’t belong to her and she doesn’t know how to begin.

Bianca changes the needle and then the machine is clattering away again, and Adore settles down with her head nearly resting on Bianca’s thigh. His leg twitches in response and he looks down at her in a way that would be quizzical if he didn’t know her as well as he does. An Adore who’s coming down and sobering up will always be cat-like, desperate for contact, all stray hands and an open invitation to be touched, regardless of the circumstances. Tonight doesn’t have to be, and isn’t, any different.

“What are you making?” Adore asks, using that one second to catch his eyes. That’s her checking in, cracking the door open for a conversation that doesn’t have to be heavy if Bianca doesn’t want it to be: he can just go on and on about fabrics and construction and his ideas, and Adore would listen, and they could feasibly pretend that the air in his workroom isn’t thick with unvoiced anxieties and just enough anger to truly throw any carefully built semblance of calm off balance.

“I don’t know. I mean—It’s a dress. I don’t know why I’m making it, though, it’s not like I’ll ever wear it—“

“I’ll wear it.”

Bianca scoffs at that and Adore isn’t about to let on that it actually stings a little. Instead, she sits up on her knees, her covers-cape slipping off her shoulders, and repeats insistently,

“I would. I’d wear it.”

Bianca arches his brows as he stares down at the garment. It’s a heavy, sparkling red fabric, it will end up becoming the kind of gown Bianca looks breathtaking in, and Adore has never worn. Somehow, his eyes fixed on the unfinished dress are enough to convey all of that.

“I’d wear it if you made it for me,” Adore adds earnestly.

There’s a moment of complete silence, save for the steady hum of the machine when it’s on but not in use, and then Bianca exhales a sigh, his shoulders shuddering with it. It must be the way light hits his body — his frame looks even thinner than usual, and Adore imagines she’d feel bone if she’d reach out and press her fingertips against his back.

“Bianca, what’s wrong?”

He must’ve expected the question, must’ve anticipated it since the second she walked in, because his answer comes swift and immediate, with a decisive shake of his head,

“You’ve got enough on your plate, you don’t wanna know.”

Adore hardens a little, resists the urge to be sharp when she argues, and says quietly, “I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t wanna know.” When Bianca doesn’t answer, she pushes, “I showed up at your house and you let me crash in your bed, B, the least I can do is listen… You know I’m a good problem-solver.”

“Who told you that?”

Bianca is, as usual, lightning fast and biting in that terrifying way that’s been making Adore’s head spin since the very first time they’d spoken, and she doesn’t have the time to deal with the way it makes her something in her ribs twist just a little, just as a reminder that it’s still there and is probably never going away.

“Fine,” she relents instead. “Maybe not a solver. But I can listen?”

“Honestly, not much to hear,” Bianca shrugs. The machine picks up again and he redirects his attention as he speaks over it. “This is what most nights look like when I’m home, actually. Some— variation of this. Who the fuck knows. Sleep is for the weak or whatever.”

“You don’t sleep?”

Adore’s voice drops to very gentle concern, in a whisper, because she’s been trusted with a confession and her heart twists with the weight of it. It’s messed up that she’s grateful for the trust; she shouldn’t be happy that Bianca is letting her in when it’s happening like this, when Bianca’s quiet turmoil should be so much more important than her own selfish reasons to consider herself lucky.

Bianca, in turn, shrugs and motions vaguely around the room. The space is cluttered with most everything that makes Bianca Del Rio look the way she does, floor-to-ceiling shelves, too many drawers, racks upon racks of garments, brocades and velvets and satins bleeding out into the space from each crevice. It’s breathtaking, almost, to look around and realize that one room can hold so much stuff - so many gorgeous things - and that it’s Roy with his painfully arched back at his sewing machine in the corner who’s behind all of it.

Not literally, of course. Not quite. And yet, Adore can’t help wondering how many of the gowns that litter the space are the product of his sleeplessness, she wonders if she’d ever complimented one of them, wonders how many of Bianca’s “I made this myself ‘cause I can’t trust any other bitch not to fuck it up” looks have come from nights like this.

She imagines that some nights, it’d be Bianca with a can of Elnett and a rattail comb, teasing out his anxieties into a wig pinned to a foam head, or meticulously detangling costume jewels and organizing them into the plastic drawers that line half a wall, for hours on end with nothing but his thoughts for company.

“Bea—“

“Please. Really. I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Adore swallows but nods, pushing herself to her feet. She knows a thing or two about not wanting to talk, about the way her throat sometimes feels like it’d close up and collapse on itself if she tried to, about when to stop prodding and just offer comfort instead.

“Not now?” she offers lightly, because she needs Bianca to know that when he’s ready, she’ll still be there in her bad problem-solver, good listener glory. He concedes with a nod and reaches to pick up the sewing again but his hands falter when he touches the fabric and he huffs out a sigh, almost annoyed at himself.

Adore rests her hands on his shoulders and squeezes a little, and hates the way he shifts into the touch the moment it happens as if the smallest contact is what can keep him from tipping over some edge tonight. Adore’s head hurts for him because she understands, but it also hurts for herself because she’s still probably not even sober and this is nearly too much, and she feels too helpless at the realization that she can only offer some comfort and not much else.

Under her careful, steadying grip, Bianca shivers again so she reaches down quickly and grabs the covers from the floor, wordlessly wrapping them around his shoulders the way she’d glided across his apartment like a child playing royalty, cape-like. Bianca sighs and grips the covers from underneath, holding them to his chest.

“You should come to bed,” Adore offers tentatively, actively compartmentalizing the way the words could sound. That’s an issue for another time, for a night where she’s far away from him and not in the present danger of being too close and too vulnerable in that late night way which feels so far removed from the rest of the world. She can’t think about any of it, not right now. “This stuff will still be here in the morning.”

Bianca exhales another very quiet sigh, and Adore watches as he touches the garment, fingertips so light that it doesn’t move at all. His fingers flex on the fabric, contemplative, and then he reaches to the back of the machine and flips the little light that illuminates the needle off.

“Great,” Adore encourages softly, giving his arm a light pat as she takes it upon herself to turn the desk lamp off. Her eyes retain the glimmer of the dress a second longer and she feels its brightness exploding between the walls of her skull as the room fades to darkness.

Bianca gets up and his chair slides across the hardwood with a scratch, making Adore’s skin crawl. She feels the slightest hint of guilt at her own self-induced irritability, which frankly isn’t anything Bianca should have to deal with right now, so she sucks it up and bites her lip and follows him out into the hallway.

There’s really no debate to be had. Adore isn’t about to pretend that she’s even considered offering to crash on his couch. Instead, she walks ahead of him toward his bedroom, absently brushing her hand across the small of his back in a guiding gesture as she rushes forward.

“Come on. Bedtime,” she announces once they’re in the bedroom, and Bianca, terrifyingly, complies. He heads straight for the bed and drops the covers down from his shoulders without saying anything. Adore sits down with her back against the headboard and watches him — just a silhouette in the dark room — pull his sweatpants off and change into another t-shirt.

“Have you had enough water?” he asks suddenly, and Adore can feel more than see his eyes on her as he settles down on the other side of the bed, kicking the covers into a pile at his feet instead of pulling them up. “You’re gonna feel like shit tomorrow but you might as well be hydrated—“

“Bea,” Adore interrupts, shaking her head. I already feel like shit, she thinks and doesn’t say. “I’m fine. You don’t have to— I’m taking care of you right now.”

Bianca makes a noise that may be a suppressed laugh or a scoff, Adore doesn’t want to know which, and then nods to himself, shifting to curl up onto his side with his back to her.

He doesn’t say goodnight. Adore watches as his breathing slows and her eyes adjust to the darkness just enough that she can study the outline of his back, the way his shoulders seem to soften and drop more than any time when he’s awake as he drifts off.

She doesn’t move for a while. A few minutes, maybe, or perhaps an hour. It’s too late for time to really matter, and she’s worlds away from the nearest human, her chest tight with an uneasy cocktail of nausea and want and helplessness.

Eventually, when it gets too hard to keep her eyes open, Adore shifts and lies down on her back and only hesitates for a second before rolling over to face the wall that Bianca’s facing. The back of his head is a dark blur that covers most of what she can see, and her chest twists as she spends a moment looking at his sleep-flattened hair.

Then her eyes can no longer stay open, and she’s halfway to sleep when she whispers,

“Night, Bea,” into the overwhelming silence of the room.

It takes a minute — or more, again, time stretching out in that late night way, but then Bianca shifts, moves closer with an air of decisiveness even as his breathing remains steady and deep, as though he’s been asleep for a while.

Adore’s too full of unnameable things to resist.

She drapes an arm over the dip in his waist where he’s curled up, exhales a soft sigh and knows it must hit the back of his neck. Bianca shifts into the weight of her arm and settles there, and says nothing for long enough that Adore doesn’t notice when she stops thinking and drifts off.

Adore awakes to a pounding headache and a dry mouth, and she has to dash toward the bathroom before she can register or overthink the fact that she never pulled away from where she’d crashed.

When she tiptoes back into the room, pale and shaky but freshly showered and wrapped in one of his towels, Bianca is still curled up in the middle of the bed, and he looks younger and calmer in his sleep.

Outside the window, through the half-open blinds, the sun is approaching noon.

#biadore #bianca del rio #adore delano #mutual pining #hurt/comfort #tw alcohol #dylann #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

97 notes · View notes

princerazzie · 7 years

Text

Tagged by @scribblindown

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people.

@pineapplerobots, @magicfox3, @sumomo220, @princessofimagination, @theamazingrosinki, @spikewerks, @eds-art-factory, @theactualcel, @duskybunny feel free to ignore me if you don’t want to do the tag.

LAST:

1. Drink: coca-cola mixed with some vanilla brandy(this is gonna get wild or just plain sad by the end, HOPEFULLY THE FIRST)

2. Phone call: My job 3. Text message: to my friend nate about how much I love werewolves, and how i miss dating someone with a hairy chest. 4. Song you listened to: Dead Girl Walking -reprise- from Heathers 5. Time you cried: probably wednesday, I missed my mom again.

HAVE YOU:

6. Dated someone twice: Uhhh, so like get back together after you broke up?? if so twice then :DD one i regret the other i’m like ehh about. 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: nah, i have kissed a bad kisser before V_V not fun but it was an experience ya know. 8. Been cheated on: not really?? i mean i had this online bf and he “cheated” on me technically but he just like rp kissed someone XDD 9. Lost someone special: Yeah....... 10. Been depressed: *POINTS TO #9* 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: HAHA, NOT YET AND I WANNA KEEP IT THAT WAY. THOUGH I HAVE DRUNK BOUGHT STUFF ONLINE BEFORE

LIST 3 FAVORITE COLORS:

12-14:

ehh it changes alot but! GREY

PURPLE

RED

IN THE LAST YEAR HAVE YOU:

15. Made new friends: Yes! at saikoucon and at my college! 16. Fallen out of love: nope!!! i’m a grey-rom 17. Laughed until you cried: yeahh!! we were messing with my friend while he was using his VR by like interrupting him, it went on for like 15 minutes 18. Found out someone was talking about you: Hmmm, nah, i mean there was that one time my friend told me about an ex friend of mine not really caring about me at all. :/ that made having the friendship break off easier honestly! but meh

19. Met someone who changed you: not really? i guess my ex, he made moving on from old shit alot easier and help me realizing, i’m not the worse? 20. Found out who your friends are: Yup!! I love them to death! 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: ehh, yeahhh my last bf >_>

GENERAL:

22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: ehh maybe like 40?? i guess 23. Do you have any pets: MY CLINGY BOY, SABLE THE LOVE OF MY LIFE(THIS MIGHT BE A FUTURE TAG COMING TO A RAZZIE BLOG NEAR YOU) 24. Do you want to change your name: NAH, i wanted to when i was younger because my name is super common 25. What did you do for your last Birthday: CRY!!! AND THEN eat cake with my sister and niece while trying not to cry again. im a very sad person. 26. What time do you wake up: Around 10am 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: petting sable probably 28. Name something you can’t wait for: TRANSFERING TO MY NEXT COLLEGE 29. When was the last time you saw your mom? .....I DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING wow i’m like tearing up abit, APRIL 17th when we buried her. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: I wish I focused more on art so i could have felt more comfortable with making that a main part of my future 31. What are you listening to right now: the sound of my fan and my 5pm alarm going off. 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: ehh not since like being at my last college 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: *DRINKS MORE* LEGAL STUFF 34. Most visited website: THIS DAMN HELLSITE. 35. Mole/s: EHH MY right middle finger, my shoulder, my thigh, my tit, both my wrists, my upper arm, my leg, i have alot of moles like you can play connect the dots 36. Mark/s: like scars? or stretch marks? because i have tiger stripes some on my hips, and i have a stitch scar on my forehead. 37. Childhood dream: like almost every child*looks off into the distant* a veterinarian 38. Hair color: Dark brown almost black with a dyed brown part in the front of my hair 39. Long or short hair: Medium, i’m growing it out to cut it AGAIN! :DDD 40. Do you have a crush on someone: KINDA BUT i’m not trying for it. :/ i don’t think it’ll work out anyway

41. What do you like about yourself: I’M PERSISTENT WITH WHAT I WANT! also able to do things on my own if needed, i’ll find a way if i really need to. 42. Piercings: EAR PIERCINGS!! 43. Blood type: i think B positive ??? its something on the rare side if i remember right. 44. Nicknames?: raspberry, ash, some others but i’m blanking. 45. Relationship status: single...i’m not too bent out of shape over it, like i need to get myself together before i can start looking at people. also there’s noone im really interested in aside from Nyx, but he’s fictional soo yeah 46. Zodiac: Leo 47. Pronouns: She/Her 48. Favorite TV Show: Hmmmm, probably Rick and Morty since Still Star Crossed was cancelled 49. Tattoos: I want like lace across my arm, with white ink but i’m a bitch with pain 50. Right or left hand: Right-hand, though i can draw somewhat with my left :D. thank you art class warmups.

51. Surgery: nah never 52. Hair dyed in different color: ahaha, *side glances* red in high school three times, brownish black to get the red out, and now a copperish brown 53. Sport: ahah i wish, i wanna be in shape bro! tho i;ve been wanting to take up boxing lately 55. Vacation: HERSHEY PARK! unless cons count then SAIKOUCON! 56. Pair of trainers: no??

MORE GENERAL:

57. Eating: Leftovers from eating out with my sister. 58. Drinking: STILL DRINKING THE COLA WITH BRANDY, i’m about to pour some brandy into root beer 59. I’m about to: give up on goggling the missing questions, i’m doing that inbetween writing this and it’s kinda weird. it raises the question on where this question meme started, and who started it 61. Waiting for: the next time i play DND, its GETTING SO GOOD FAM. 62. Want: to figure out what i’ll be doing with my life also get better at art.

63. Get married: In the future, it would be cool to wake up to someone i feel i can trust and love 64. Career: I’m not quite sure lately, something in psych or art maybe both 65. Hugs or kisses: HUGS I NEED WARMTH 66. Lips or eyes: lips, lips have an attractive curve to them. >d 67. Shorter or taller: Taller if guy, shorter if girls 68. Older or younger: Older >_> 70. Nice arms or nice stomach: ARMS!!! BUFF ARMS ARE THE BEST. PICK ME UP AND SQQUEEEEZEEE ME

71. Sensitive or loud: loud, loud is fun!! i can be abit distant when i get into a mood and that hurts people >_> 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship!! i wanna cuddle and talk!! JUST CUDDLE AND TALK 0__0 FUCK SEX 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: ehh i wanna say hesitant but i always seem to get along better and have more fun with Troublemakers because deep down i’m super mischievous

HAVE YOU EVER:

74. Kissed a Stranger: Nah, but it’s not out of the question >D unless they have something weird going on with their health 75. Drank hard liquor: CURRENTLY AM NOW KEKEKE, 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: EVERY MORNING 77. Turned someone down: Yeaaa >__> 78. Sex on the first date: ....i wanna say no, but with my last bf, ahahah, i wasn’t in the best state of mind emotionally. though it was pretty nice because he didn’t treat me like I was easy and was like serious about me??? 79. Broken someone’s heart: maybe? idk i mean i guess i ccould have with my breakups 80. Had your heart broken: Yeah it was pretty bad 81. Been arrested: Nope and least have it stay that way 82. Cried when someone died: WHY WOULD I NOT! 0/10 bad question!! 83. Fallen for a friend: ...DON’T YOU MEAN EVERY AND ANY FUTURE RELATIONSHIPS I HAVE.

DO YOU BELIEVE IN:

84: Yourself: Somewhat. 85. Miracles: Yeahhh 86. Love at first sight: Nope!! that’s saved for fiction! 87. Santa Claus: I’m like 24, HE’S VACATIONING IN HAWAII. (no) 88. Kiss on the first date: ....if they’re cute 89. Angels: yeaa

OTHER:

90. Current best friend name: Nate 91. Eye color: Dark Brown, basically black honestly 92. Favorite movie: idk ?? too tipsy to remember fam

#meme

2 notes · View notes

batsy-batsy-batsy-blog1 · 8 years

Text

Gotham’s Most Wanted [The Joker x Harley] Part 2

Day 2 of JokerxHarley Week: Greed

(This fic is going to be a series, one chapter for each day of the week, but some chapters may have more to do with the theme of the day than others) Check out @jokerxharleyweek for other submissions

Summary: Harleen Quinzel finds someone she never expected in a world she’s convinced is out to get her. (Highschool AU)

AO3.org

For the first time in a very long time, Harleen didn’t wake up with fear on her mind, she woke up with thoughts of him. He knew her name, poured his heart out, sat with her for almost two hours. She would have sat with him all night if it hadn’t been for the sounds of her father BANGING on the bottom floor. The second she heard he was back, she had disappeared back into her family’s apartment in a flash, not even checking to see whether Jack was awake or not.

Jack.

She sighed happily as she slid out of bed, put on some clothes, and blinked on some mascara. Expertly, she tied her hair into two pigtails for two reasons, 1) It was adorable and 2) It made her look more innocent, less people would suspect her of her little crimes. Obviously the pigtails hadn’t worked their magic when it came to stealing Miranda Costello’s laptop though.

Harleen carefully poked her head out her door, and surveyed the situation. Her father was passed out on the couch like she assumed he would be, an ash tray full of cigarettes and empty beer cans surrounded the floor around him. She swore her life came straight out of an angsty teen novel. Her mother was no where to be seen.

She tiptoed her way to the front door like she had done last night. She passed the kitchen on her way and froze. Her mother’s wide, glassy green eyes caught her own blue one. Harleen was caught with her backpack slung over her shoulder, leaving way earlier than she needed to, and her mother was caught clutching a nearly empty vodka bottle in one hand, and raiding the alcohol cabinet for more with the other. The alcohol cabinet was the only reason her mother ever went into the kitchen anyway. They both said nothing, slowly returning to what they were doing, a silent agreement to keep what they saw a secret.

As Harleen began to descend the rickety, spiralling staircase to the main entrance, she briefly glanced over the railing and she was so glad she did. Jack. The unmistakably fluff of black spiked hair was two flights below her.

“Jack!” She called. He looked up, and when he saw who it was, he rolled his eyes and kept going. Harleen wasn’t going to stand for that. She jumped down the stairs two at a time to catch up with him, but it wasn’t until they were out on the street, and she saw the back of his over-sided purple hoodie was she close enough to call his name again.

“Jack!” She yelled again, he was only ten-feet ahead of her now. This time he didn’t keep quiet and continue walking. This time he whirled around, and ran at her. He slapped a hand over her mouth, and dragged her into one of the plentiful ally ways that littered this street. It took everything she had not to completely flip out. From her experience in life, a hand over her mouth meant suffocation, but he released her as soon as they were alone in the ally, he wasn’t going to hurt her.

“Are you insane? You can’t just yell in the middle of the street in this part of town this early in the morning, you’ll be shot! Are you stupid?” He reprimanded her. Harleen’s eyes narrowed at that remark.

“No, I am not. Don’t call me that.” She ordered me. He just rolled his eyes, and began to walk away again. “Hey, I’m talking to ya! No one’s gonna shoot me ‘round here cuz they know who my father is, he works with Falcone.”

“For, not with, for, you’re father is scum.” Jack retorted, but he didn’t seem angry, just bored. This is not how she had wanted this conversation to go. And Jack was walking away again.

“Hey! Stop doing that!” Harleen whined jogging to catch up with him. “Look I don’t disagree my dad’s scum, I’m just saying the people ‘round here no not hurt Falcone’s people.”

“And I’m just saying, you ought not to feel so safe. You think cuz you’ve got a big bad dad, you’re fine, but you’re dad isn’t one of Falcone’s ‘people’, he just thinks he is. Falcone’s wouldn’t care one way or another if your daddy was dead, not to mention his annoying daughter.”

“You didn’t find me annoying last night,” Harleen mumbled.

“Is that what this is about? Look Harleen I’m sure you’re a sweet girl, but I don’t do sweet. I was drunk last night, that why we talked, that’s why I told you all that stuff. Just because we had one conversation does not mean we have some sort of connection now. I was so fucked up, I would have had a heart to heart with the fucking wall.”

“I think you’re lying, I think you liked talking to me, and I think you’re just trying to push me away now because you’re afraid of human connection.”

“What the fuck? You think you’re some kind of psychologist?” Jack gave her a confused and annoyed look all rolled into one facial expression.

“No, but I’m taking a psychology class, and I’m really good, so I’ll probably end up being one.”

“Well I hate psychologists, they’re all idiots you think they're helping me. They don’t, just want their fat paycheque.”

“You don’t think being able to read people and pick apart their mind is fun?”

“I can already do that, I don’t need a class.”

“Fine whatever, we’re getting off topic, there’s a reason I wanted to talk to you.”

“And what’s that?”

“I think we should be friends.”

Jack actually laughed at that one, not the same laugh as last night. This one was real, he found actual humour in her statement.

“No thanks Harleen, I don’t really do friends.”

“I know, that’s why you need me, so next time you get drunk you won’t be having that heart to heart with the wall.” She giggled, she swore she saw a hint a smile on his lips. She only ever saw him smile when he was wreaking havoc on the school.

“You only want to be friends because you have none.”

“I do!” she defended herself.

“Like who?”

“Well I got Red, you know Pamela Isley?”

“Oh, that chick hates me more than the average person, but congrats on your one friend!”

“I have more than one! I got, um, Selina Kyle!”

“You’re friends with Selina Kyle?”

“Well yeah, sorta, kinda, well we have an understanding.”

“So no, not friends?”

“I guess not.”

“Didn’t think so. Let me rephrase Harleen, I just don’t think we should be friends. You’re nice and everything, but you’re too sweet and innocent. You wouldn’t enjoy the things I like to do in my free time. I mean you smell like cotton candy for fuck sake.”

“Try me, Jack. You might be surprised.”

“Harleen, your hair is in fucking pigtails.”

“Fuck off.”

“Oh, she swears, how rebellious!” He covered his mouth with his hand in mock horror. “Okay, for example the reason I’m off to school so early is this. You see that ATM up ahead? Yeah, I’m about to break into that.”

“Oh wow, I’m so impressed, an ATM, how high risk!” It was Harleen’s turn to be sarcastic.

“Well it’s not like you’re off to rob a bank there Hun, let me guess, you’re headed off to school so early to what? Get some extra studying in?”

“Yes actually.” She shrugged as he scoffed at her. “Well that, and to stash like stuff.” She swung her bag off her shoulder and opened it to reveal it was stuffed full of electronics.

“What is all that?” Jack seemed genuinely interested in their conversation for the first time.

“Shit I’ve stolen from our classmates. Like that’s Miranda Costello’s laptop she’s all bent out of shape about. There’s phones and tablets, and just stuff like that, stuff people are dumb enough to bring to a school full of poor kids, who come from bad neighbourhoods. Like I got a solid gold pen in here Bruce Wayne brought to school.”

“Bruce Wayne huh? I hate that guy.”

Harleen just shrugged, zipping her backpack up, she didn’t really know much about him, except for the fact she had stolen his pen, and he had the locker beside her. Well that and his dead parents, but everyone knows how that song goes.

They were now stopped in front of the ATM Jack had been talking about. He crouched down and examined it’s lock.

“Look, you may wanna get out of here, unless you want to be an accomplice.” He warned her.

“Oh you’re right, we could get put on death row for this one.”

“Fine, but I warned you.”

“So, ya gonna pick the lock?” She crouched beside him.

“I’ve never really been one for silent, sneaky crimes.” He produced a hammer from his own backpack. “I’ve always been a slut for chaos.” His face split into something that could only be described as a maniacal grin, and he laughed as he swung the hammer once, twice, tree times against the lock.

“Oh fuck!” Jack exclaimed as the door swung open, causing the both of them to jump backward slightly. “Exploding dye pack!” He was right, there was a somewhat small bang, and then bills were fluttering to the ground, coated in a thick dark blue dye that matched the dye splattered across Jack and her skin and clothing.

He scooped up a small pile of bills into his backpack, tossing the hammer in along with them. Harleen did the same trying to find the least affected bills.

“Run, come on!” Jack was on his feet and offering her his hand, he was smiling so wide. She smiled back and gladly accepted.

They took off down the street, Jack pulling her along. They wove their way through Gotham’s complicated maze of streets for at least 15 blocks. They took detours through ally ways, hoping fences using crates and dumpsters, but every time he went before her, and every time he waited to take her hand again. Jack laughed the whole time they ran, it was infectious causing her to giggle along with him. He finally stopped, turing off a main street into yet another ally, and leaned against the brick wall. They slid down into a sitting position.

“Now that’s was I call a good time.” Jack sighed. His eyes were closed and he wore the most content smile in the world. Precious.

Harleen felt her adrenaline pumping wildly through her veins, and her lungs heaving to catch her breath. She could feel her cheeks flushed from the running and every time she breathed it felt like she was swallowing razor blades from the cold.

“I feel awake.” She whispered, mostly to herself, but Jack opened one eye, taking in her expression.

“I’m going to give you one day. We do what I want to do, and if you think you still want to be friends after that, then fine, but this is your one day to decide. It’s also my choice so if you piss me off, then you’re gone. Now, come on.” He was on his feet again. “I got somewhere we can hide your stuff, and this ink-covered clothing. He was offering his hand again.

He helped her to her feet, and led her down a couple more streets, until they ended up at the backdoor of their school.

“I broke the lock off this door last year, and they still haven’t fixed it or noticed for that matter.” Jack chuckled, holding the door open for her.

Harleen had never been in this part of the school, it was usually so clean, and orderly, but down here it was unkempt and messy.

“I like it better down here, I feel more in my element. Everything upstairs is so fucking perfect and fake. Nothing is perfect, this basement is like a reminder that even the things that seems the most put together and lovely, have secrets, dirty, broken secrets.”

Harleen ate up his words, like he was some famous poet.

“Here we are!” He announced, gesturing to a plain old grey door. She was slightly disappointed, she was suspecting something a little more hidden.

“A janitor’s closet, isn’t that a little cliche? And wouldn’t the school easily be able to get in here, and you know, find my shit?” Harleen crossed her arms.

“Maybe they could have two years ago, but around the same time I broke the lock on that door back there, I changed the lock on this one, and only I have the key.” He grinned, holding up a key chain with about four or five keys on it.

Harleen stepped closer to him, excitement gleaming in her eyes. “Now we’re talking.” She took the key chain from him, examining each of the keys. “It’s this one isn’t it?” She held up a small silver key with a circular head.

“How could you tell?” He asked, mildly impressed.

“Psychology doesn’t seem so dumb now, does it?” She giggled, turning away from him and inserting the key into the lock. He rolled his eyes.

“What are the rest of these keys for?” She asked, fiddling with a few of them.

“We’re not that close yet.” He said, snatching the keys back, and shoving them in his pocket

“Yet.” She smiled opening the door, and her mouth dropped open. The little closet was full of things, electronics, clothes, jewelry, anything you could imagine. Now it was Jack’s turn to look smug.

“Greedy little bastard, aren’t ya?” She laughed.

“You may have stolen a few bits and pieces, but I’m the king sweetheart.”

“You don’t say.” Harleen replied in awe, following him inside the little room, shutting the door behind them.

“You can toss you’re bag anywhere.” He said. “And we gotta get rid of these clothes, we may have broken into an ATM, but the world doesn’t need to know.”

“But I don’t have any other clothes here.”

“Guess you can wear some of mine for the day, here.” He tossed her a flannel and a grey t-shirt that had been handing on a make-shift clothing rack. “You’re jeans will be fine, you can barely see the stains of them.”

“You want me to change in front of you?” Harleen smiled slyly.

“I don’t care, do what you want.” He shrugged, but as she turned around and pulled her shirt over her head, she could feel his eyes on her back. She smiled, she had him.

“Hiya Red!” Harleen greeted her friend, sitting down at their shared table in the chemistry lab. She turned her head to see where Jack had sat. He was in the very back with the goggles everyone was supposed to keep on their faces at all times pushed up on his head, covering his wild mop of black hair.

“See I have friends” She mouthed at him.

“One.” He mouthed back, Harleen replied by sticking her tongue out at him

“Hey, Harleen! I’m talking to you.” Pamela snapped her fingers in her face trying to get her attention.

“Sorry Red! What were you saying?”

“Where were you this morning we were supposed to study? And why were you 15 minutes late to class? What are you wearing? And most importantly, for the love of god, why did you walk in here with Jack?” She spat his name out like it was poison.

“Slow down, one thing at a time Pammy! Okay, this morning, I- uh, got a little held up, I only just got to school, that’s why I’m late too. I had to change clothes, mine got ruined, and as for walking in here with Jack, he’s the reason I’m late.”

“Ugh, figures.” Pam grumbled, shooting a glare in Jack’s direction. “I hate that guy.”

“I like him, I think we’re kinda friends...” Harleen trailed off after seeing the look Pam was giving her.

“Friends with Jack? Since when are you friends with that fuck up?” She whisper-screeched.

“Pamela! Quiet down, finish your lab work.” Their chem teacher snapped, and Pam began to angrily mix their solution.

“Honestly Harleen, being friends with Jack, is just going to derail you entire senior year. There’s a reason everyone calls him a clown!”

“Red, I think you’re being-“ Harleen started to defend him, but Pam cut her off.

“It’s because he can’t take anything seriously, and everything is a joke to him. He’s a total train wreck Harleen.”

“Listen red, I know you’re one of my only friends and I appreciate that, but shut up. You’ve never spoken to him in your life.”

“I don’t have to, to know guys like that are going no where, probably going to end up dead in the gutter!”

“Pamela!” Harleen could have started shouting at her right in the middle of class. “That was too far.” Her voice low, and menacing, so much so that Pam knew she said too much.

“I was just making a statement.” She mumbled.

“Well next time you want to make a statement like that, don’t.”

“Wait, what are you doing, that’s not right!”

Pam and Harleen turned around to see little Edward Nygma jumping around Jack’s shoulders, waving his hands. Incidentally he had ended up being Jack’s lab partner.

“Relax Nygma.” Jack was saying as he finally replaced him goggles to his face. Now, duck!” He shouted, grabbing Ed by the shoulders, and pulling him to the floor with him. Their was a small pop, then their mixture exploded. When the smoke cleared, Jack was peaking over the table, the tips of his hair singed, and the entire table blackened. Ed whimpered from the floor, but the teacher, who Harleen kept forgetting the name of, looked ready to explode himself.

“Jack. Principal’s office. Now.” Jack stood up, bowed, and casually sauntered out of the room. A low rumble of laugher started up in the room, but one look at the teacher had everyone silent. “Edward, clean that up. the rest of you get back to work.”

Harleen turned to look at Pam, but she had already gone back to working on their own assignment, she was mumbling to herself, and shaking her head as she did so.

“Friends with Jack, I mean honestly...”

“Harleen, where have you been?” Harleen whipped her head around with a big smile on her face to see Jack walking toward her. She had been walking to the main doors with Pam, they had both been a bit short with each other that day since the events in chemistry class, but they were each other’s only friends, so they had to suck it up.

Jack walked right up to them and caught her by the arm, pulling her away from Pam, into the busy crowd of students making their way out of the school, so she couldn’t follow.

“I thought we were supposed to spend the day together, just us, that’s what you agreed to isn’t it?” Jack raised an eyebrow at her.

“Yeah, but you got sent to principal’s office first period, and never came back, I just figured you got suspended again.” She shrugged, but delighted at how eager he seemed to have her around.

“You think I actually went to the office? No- god Harleen, rule 1 of hanging out with me, you get in trouble, cause more. You get sent to the office, don’t waste the opportunity of being out of class by actually going where you’re supposed to, and find something fun to do.”

“So what did you do?” The were outside now, and Jack was leading to the back of the school again.

“That’s what I’m showing you.”

As they got around to the back, they were about to round the corner when Jack stopped her and physically pushed her back around they corner.

“There’s a cop car back there, and cops and they’re talking to the principal. Did you give me up? Is that why you wanted to be ‘friends’ so I’d show you where I hide my shit, and you’d give me up? Is that it?” He held her against the outside wall out the school, eyes flashing, all too alike to her father’s.

“No, get off me! I stashed my bag of shit in that room if you forgot. What? You think that was just a bag full of props? You think all that stuff was actually mine, and I’m just playing you to get you arrested again?”

“I just-“

“Don’t fucking accuse me of that shit.” She shoved him.

“Calm down, I have to cover my bases.” He looked down, apparently focused on straightening out his sweater, but she assumed he just didn’t want to look her in the eye. “It doesn’t even matter now, they’re gonna find everything in that room, all our stuff is gone.”

“No no no no, I have to get back in there, we gotta get it before they find it!” Harleen eyes widened in fear.

“Are you kidding, if any of them even see me near there, they’re gonna arrest me in a heartbeat, no, we aren’t going back there.”

“No, you don’t understand, my dad...” She trailed off, imagining wha he would do once he found out she lied, stole, and had been arrested. “My name is in my backpack with the stuff.”

“I really wanna call you stupid right now.” He shook his head, turning his back from her, trying to think. “If they find that backpack, you’re gonna go down for the whole room.”

“No, that can’t happen.” She went the corner to peak around see what was happening, and her eyes almost popped out of her head. “Jack come here, look at this.”

“What?” He peeked his head around above her’s. “No way.” He laughed coldly.

“The principal and a cop doing a drug deal.” Harleen was still in awe.

“Come on, let’s get out of here. Don’t wanna get caught spying.” He pulled her away from the wall, and started walking back toward their neighbourhood. “That’ll just teach ya, everyone is shit, no matter how good they seem.”

“I can’t argue with ya.” She agreed. They walked the rest of the way in silence, but she could practically feel the anger radiating off him.

As they reached their front doors opposite each other, he turned to her.

“You wanna come inside, my mom probably won’t be home until late?” He asked, but he wouldn’t meet her eye.

“I wanna, I do, but I gotta be home when my dad gets home and I don’t know when that will be.” She said sadly.

“Well, I could come there if ya want?” He offered.

“Yeah! Okay!” She was agreeing enthusiastically, before she thought about it. How would she get him out of the apartment before her father got home? And how would she avoid him meeting her mom?

Shakily she took her house key out of her pocket, but she couldn’t keep her hand steady enough it get it in the lock. Without saying a word, he took the key from her, and did it himself, pushing the door open. She shut the door behind them and when she turned back around, she came face to face with her mom. So much for him avoiding meeting her.

“Oh Harleen, do you got a friend over, do ya?” She drawled, giggling. Drunk as usual.

“Yeah mom, come on Jack.” She sighed, trying to lead jack past her, but her mom snatched her wrist with what could only be described as her claws.

“You know ya dad don’t like boys in the house little lady, he won’t be happy to find him here.” She smiled, showing all her yellowing teeth. Her mom used to be beautiful, but years of alcoholism, smoking, and beatings from your husband took that away from her, leaving Harleen with this broken shell of a woman, for a mother.

“Yeah, that’s why he’ll be gone before dad gets back.” She pulled her arm away, creating stinging scratch marks on the sensitive skin.

“That doesn’t mean he won’t know he was here.” Her mom laughed loudly, which quickly turned into a hacking cough, and the whole scene ended with her passing out on Harleen. She stumbled under the weight. The whiskey bottle her mother had been burning like a child slipped from her hand, and smashed of the floor.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, but could you please clean that up for me, while I put her in her room?” She had never felt more embarrassed in her life, but he just shrugged it off.

“I know the drill.” He agreed

“Thank you, there’s probably a towel to dry it up with, and a broom for the glass in the kitchen.” She directed, awkwardly pointing in the direction of the kitchen under her mother’s dead wait.

Harleen began to drag her mother’s unconscious body toward her bedroom. It wasn’t easy, no matter how fit Harleen, what a person’s dead weight is fucking heavy. She felt as if she struggled for an hour trying to toss her mother onto the bed, but in reality it was most likely 15 minutes.

Once she finished dealing with her mother, she found Jack standing back in the main entrance holding a wet towel, and a small plastic bag, witch what she assumed held the glass pieces.

“What do you want me to do with these?”

“Nothing, I’ll take them, thank you.” She took the items from his hands, giving him a small smile.

“It’s no big deal, I’ve done it a million times.”

She led him to her tiny bedroom at the back of the apartment. He father had thrown up some pieces of ply wood and a curtain when she was born, sectioning off a minuscule corner of the living room for her bedroom. Just enough room for a bed, and a dresser stuffed in. But she did have a window, right above the bed.

“Welcome to my humble abode.” She said as she crawled up on the bed and forced open the rusted window, tossing the towel and the bag of glass outside. “Can’t have dear ole daddy finding those.”

Jack jumped and flopped onto the bed, causing her knees to buckle from where she stood on the bed, she fell, landing on top of him. but this wasn’t some adorable ‘moment’ like in the movies where their eyes meet, and their faces so close they could kiss. Instead, he knees fell right onto his groin, and she smacked her head off the wall. They both crumbled to the ground in a fit of equal parts pain and laughter.

Once they got themselves together again, they lay side by side on her bed. She didn’t know how long they were there, but conversation with him came as simply as if they had been friends forever. He was funny, really funny, making her laugh more than she had in her entire life, and she knew she wanted him, just him.

“You know you’re name is a mouth full, Harleen Quinzel.” He commented after a few minutes of silence.

“Don’t remind me, I hate it.” She groaned.

“What you need is a nickname, I’ll have to think of one.” He said, making her smile. She liked the idea of him having his own name for her.

“Okay then, J.”

“I never agreed to a nickname.”

“Too bad, you got one.” She smirked. He chuckled, ruffling her hair.

BANG BANG.

She knew what that meant all too well.

“Oh god, you got to go.” She scrambled.

“What why?” She could see he didn’t want to.

“My dad, he just got back, I heard him downstairs.”

“How the fuck would you have heard that, we’re on the fourth floor?”

“Believe me, I think I’ve learned the sound of my dad, I always hear him. It doesn’t matter, he’s gonna be up here soon, you have to go!” She pushed him out of the bed with her, over to the curtain that serves has her door.

“Fine, I’ll go, but I’m not done talking to you.” He said flipping around to face her, so her hand that had been on his back pushing him out, were now on his chest.

“So, I guess that means we’re friends?” She smiled, not moving her hands.

“Fine, friends.” He rolled his eyes, he did that a lot, whether he meant it or not, and she was hit with a surge of confidence. She bawled her hands into fists, gathering his shirt in her clutch, and pulled him toward her, kissing him freely, and to her delight, he kissed back. When she released him they were both smiling.

“Just friends?” She asked.

“Go to sleep Harleen, it’s late.” He chuckled, and was still smiling as he backed out of her room, never breaking eye contact with her until the curtain forced them to.

#jokerxharleyweek #joker #the joker #jokerxharley #harley quinn #harleen quinzel #highschool au #bruce wayne #pamela isley #poison ivy

53 notes · View notes

throwbacknotup · 8 years

Text

//UnWired//

Esme wasn't always the girl who seemed a little unwired. She was a girl with darkness resting upon her pale shoulders with satire etched upon her skin. Her eyes electrocuted another with a fear of fear itself, but the girl wasn't dangerous. The girl was just scared. Light was what she craved. Yet, bad blood wired itself around her heart. A heart that was still beating.

Present

His nails were gnawed down to stubs. His mat of hair obscured his bloodshot eyes from his mother's harsh stare. This was his fault.

"Noah...," his mother desperately tried to wake him, "Noah! Get UP! Get out of bed! You need to start to get ready for today." She screamed at his desolate frame of meat and bones. Her frustration was turning to anger, and that anger was turning into her son's self-loathing. This wasn't his fault.

Rewind One Week

Noah Thomas never really discovered what it was like to be risky. He never understood the point of his friends going out on the weekend to drink, when those drinks could potentially make them sick or even kill them. He never understood the need for speed, as he read about disgusting car crashes involving adrenaline junkies befriending the accelerator. He never understood what he was missing beyond his five foot eleven walls of caution. But one day, those walls had a chance of being shattered.

Friday. Early Autumn. The New York air was brisk. A torn piece of copybook paper was shoved between his lunch and his Psychology textbook in his locker with a message reading, “Meet me in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge at dusk." Start living or keep surviving? Hours of intense pacing later, he stood in the middle of Brooklyn Bridge at approximately 7 o’clock waiting for his nameless host. Rumors and stories about this notorious bridge flooded his memory. Fear wrapped her icy fingers around his wrists trying to pull him from the grasp of another girl.

Present

Noah stepped into the steaming shower. The water hit the back of his neck and crawled down his spine. No amount of soap was going to wash away what happened, but nevertheless, he lathered, rinsed and repeated. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. Lather, Rinse, Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

"Wait, wait. Wait. Repeat, please? Sorry, I'm having a hard time focusing today... A lot on my mind," Noah's mom, Steph Thomas, said to her own mother, Margaret Thomas.

"I said, 'You should think about gettin’ Noah checked out.' Like, by a psychiatrist or someone, Stephanie. Honey, listen. Listen, you can't try to straighten him out all by yaself. Ya need help. He needs help." Ms. Thomas sighed and said goodbye to her mother. She didn't want to admit her son's brain might've gone unwired into a catatonic state. She had too much pride to give up. She had raised him by herself all these years, and she wasn't going to let anyone barge in now.

Rewind

“Huh, so you showed up,” her voice was cool and slightly surprised.

Noah fidgeted away from the voice that came out of the dead air. He caught sight of dark flowing hair, gaunt features, and ashen skin coming out of the shadows. It was that girl, Esme. He never spoke to her in the past four years of high school. There were only whispers he knew about her. Her eyes daunted him. All he could see through the dark were two gray rings that had a look of hysterical panic and desperation. It was like she was trying to convince him of something, even though she hadn't said anything yet.

She ignored the lack of conversation, “I invited you out to this splendid e-ve-ning to tell you My life story. The crazy tale about a screwed up girl. Almost was a spin-off series from those books about unfortunate events... and the old guy or whatever.”

“I...um.. Uh, I don't understand,” he replied slowly as he scratched the back of his neck. He didn't want to admit it, but she was scaring him. “Why me?”

“You don't know me. I need an audience. That audience needs to watch and listen without knowing who I am...or who they think I am. It just ruins any plot twists. Standard protocol,” she paused, “What do you think when you think about this bridge?"

Was this a trick question? He felt uneasy, but answered anyway, "I think of cars. Like, transportation across a body of water. Heights? I dunno.. It's a bridge."

“See. There it is. The first difference between you and me. You are black and white. Conventional. You see this bridge used for only it's initial purposes. To me? This bridge? This bridge is an adrenaline goldmine,” she smirked. No drumroll, she hoisted herself up onto the diagonal bars using the steel suspension crosspieces. Trying to keep her balance, she motioned for Noah to repeat her actions. He got a firm grip on the frigid bars and used his limited upper body strength to pull himself up onto the ultimate balancing beam. He gaped up at Esme seven bars up from the ground. His breath split once his brain caught up to his body, but he felt it. The rush. Was this what it felt like to be alive?

Present

He felt dead. He slowly buttoned up the freshly pressed, starched white shirt, and tied and untied his tie seven times. Noah couldn't focus. He kept fumbling around trying to dress. A look in the mirror made him cringe back. Noah pitied him. When did this coward start looking back at him through the looking glass?

Ms. Thomas was in the other room deliberating what to do about her current predicament. Should she take her mother's advice, or should she not give up on herself and Noah? How could she admit to herself that her pride and joy has a problem?

Rewind

“I have a problem,” she stated. Finally, the adrenaline was running its last laps through his body. Esme continued, “I hunger for these unseen 180°s in life...Ya know what it's like..like when your life gives you like a little dose of turmoil to remind what it’s like to be alive. I’ve been waiting for a disaster to strike me so I could feel something, anything again.” She waited for his answer, but he didn’t have one, so she went on. “I am tired of not feeling.."

“ Uh, um," he interrupted, “Can I ask… what happened to you?" She sat up abruptly turning away facing the dim lamps. The golden-toned light silhouetted her body revealing there was something tense about how she held herself.

“It was September. Perfect weather. Still warm outside, but a lil bit of chill, ya know? I was four… Still had to sleep with my blankie at that time.. My parents already had left for work that day. Mom was the secretary for dad’s office… Family business, ya know. But, that day had a very important meeting scheduled on it, so they, like, had left me in the care of my neighbor to get me to school..."She exhaled and laughed. "I don’t think I’ll ever forget the look on my neighbor’s face, when she picked me up early that day,” she took a deep breath and continued, “If you’ve ever seen any footage or documentary of 9/11, you’d know of the people, who jumped while holding hands. I don’t know whether my parents were those people, but I like to dream they were.”

Noah could hear silence. It cut into his ears. She looked up to the sky, "I haven't had a family for over 14 years of my life. My foster homes took out more of my soul than my parents leaving initially did. I've learned to just not feel. You sort of get used to the numbness. It's like a drug."

He was confused. What was he going to do with this information? Noah sighed and shook his head, "I….I don’t know what to say. I want to say sorry, but a thousand sorries could never replace your parents. But, well... I just don't understand why I’m here, Esme. You need an audience. I get that. But I just don't get what I’m supposed to do as an audience member."

Esme snickered, "You're trying to skip to the ending when what you seek was really in the beginning."

"What? You don't know me I get it but-"

"Not there. I didn't bring you here to help myself. I brought you here because there is a lesson you can learn from me too. Bridges have another meaning, as well." She grabbed his hand, "you'll understand sooner than you expect. Goodbye, Noah." And with that, she disappeared into the shadows. He wondered if Esme, herself, was a shadow.

Present

There was a slight chill in the air as strangers processed from the burial site at St. Paul's Cemetery. Noah stood staring blank-faced at the roses scattered on top of the casket. Words, words, words. Unspoken words. He should've known this was going to happen. This was not the ending that he expected. A hand softly pulled back his shoulder, and a voice asked, "Are you, Noah? Hello, hi. I was.. I am. Esme's foster-mom, sorry... Sorry, She left this for you on her bedside table, here." The woman handed him a letter that read:

Noah,

Don’t hold this little thing like death over your head. Please. It's something that needed to happen, and it's happening had nothing to do with you. I’m assuming you’re probably still confused on why you were even there that night. I need my story to be told. I trust a stranger more than someone I know. Knew… I’m not really sure what tense to write this in to be honest. That aside, Noah, you were affected (whether you like to admit it or not) by not having a father. (Yes, I did research on the stranger I was going to tell my story.) You aren't able to trust, to risk, to do anything at all... I want you to tell my story, because it's the right thing to do, but live your life, because you have to. You have seen first hand what not feeling does to a person. It caused me to do life-threatening risky things. It caused me to do one final risk to risk to try to help you. You went to the bridge that night. You climbed the bars. You listened to an insane girl. You have it in you to live a life worth living. Stop surviving. Stop going from day to day. Unwire yourself, because I know you have it in you to rewire. Create your 180°...for me.

-Esme

"Noah. Noah, I need to talk to you," Ms. Thomas shook her son for his attention, "I've thought a lot about it. Everything. I think it's best to get you some help. You need to work out some issues about what has happened, and I hate to admit it, but I just don't think I'm enough."

He ignored her comment, "I need a pen and a piece of paper."

Esme wasn't always the girl who seemed a little unwired. Loose ends must’ve given her the rush that she craved, but she wasn’t heartless. She wanted the loose ends to be tied up for those she cared about. She just couldn’t do it herself. Life had wired her to have a completely normal life, but life made an 180° turn. She had been cutting her wires ever since trying to create that next disaster to put her back on track. The last wire she had to cut was telling someone her story before she ended it.

Author: Noah Thomas

#mine #writing #writer #story #stories #unwired #words #word #angst #teen angst

0 notes