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theteasetwrites · 2 years

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Go With the Flow

❧ Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Female Reader ❧ Era: Season 3/4 Interim (The Beginning Is the End Is the Beginning series) ❧ Pronouns: she/her ❧ Warnings: menstrual blood, period, mentions of malnutrition/starvation, mild swearing ❧ Word Count: 5.2k

❧ Summary: Daryl doesn't know much about women. When you have your first period since the two of you got together, he's not so sure what to do for you, but he'll try his very best, that's for damn sure.

❧ A/N: Another oneshot from The Beginning universe! This one takes place during the prison era, after the Governor's first attack but before the incident with Jerome (see chapters 23-24). I wanted to write Daryl going on a little adventure to find period products for his gf. I also just know he would be so good to her. Oh, and I included Glenn and Tyreese too! I never see people writing about Tyreese, so I wanted to have a fun little mission with those guys. Also shout out if you can detect the subtle (or not so subtle?) It's Always Sunny In Philadelphia reference lmao.

Just a few weeks after the Governor had been defeated, and what was left of his former community sought shelter with your group at the prison, you’d begun keeping track of time again.

Your journal had been sitting at the bottom of your pack for a while, but with renewed hope and the beginning of what you believed would be a period of relative peace, you decided there was no better time to begin again. After all, if your group was trying to rebuild some kind of civilization, someone would have to write it all down, right?

When night fell and all the day’s duties of repairing and revamping the abandoned prison were done, you lit a few candles to illuminate the pages of your journal as you wrote, sitting snuggled up in bed and waiting for Daryl to return from his watch.

Trying to get the hang of writing again was difficult. It’d been so long since the simple act of holding a pen was an everyday, monotonous task instead of a luxury. You felt a calmness settle in your bones, realizing that just a month or so ago, you were on the road, foraging for berries and wondering which day would be your last. For once, the world of the dead felt completely removed from you, behind that sturdy fence. Maybe you’d never have to see blood again, you wondered, but of course, that was a little too optimistic.

Just then, in the middle of your musing, a dull pain seared in your abdomen. “Oh, God,” you mumbled, reaching down to rub your hand over your stomach. More uncomfortable strains developed there, and soon your back and thighs began to ache as well.

Your first fear was sickness, something akin to the flu. There was a bad cold that had gone around your group during the winter, but you had had that, and this was different. Then, there was the brief drop of your heart in your chest when you considered the fact that you could be pregnant. Granted, you and Daryl had been quite careful, always using some sort of protection or intervention to keep you from meeting the same fate as Lori.

Still, it was always a possibility, one that terrified you. Perhaps you wanted a baby with Daryl. He was sweet with little Judith, and someday, maybe when the prison would be safer, you’d like to consider the possibility with him, but not now. Certainly not now.

Your fears worsened when you noticed a tenderness in your breasts that night, and when the pain in your abdomen got worse, you gently cried into your pillow, sure to do so before Daryl came to bed. But then, you realized what it really must’ve been, though the phenomenon had, mercifully, avoided you for so long: period.

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself. “That’s what it is.”

When you reached down to allow your fingers to graze underneath the front of your underwear, dark streaks of brownish crimson coated your fingertips. There was a sense of relief to this revelation. For one thing, you weren’t pregnant. That in itself was a cause to celebrate. Not only that, but finally, your body was healthy enough to start menstruating again. A year of constant near-starvation and malnutrition was what kept away the crimson tide for so long. Now, you were finally eating enough to kickstart the cycle again, but then again, the whole ordeal was, for lack of a better word, a major pain in the ass.

You rose from your bed quickly, lifting your nightshirt to examine your underwear—stained. You grabbed the nearest pair of pants, Daryl’s, to put on, and fast walked to Maggie’s cell in the hopes that she’d have something to help you, though you were already incredibly close to Maggie, and you knew she hadn’t had her period in almost a year either.

“Maggie,” you whispered from beyond the curtain of her cell, hoping you wouldn’t interrupt any intimate moments between her and Glenn. “Maggie,” you whispered again, with more insistence and frustration. “I need your help.”

A shirtless and half awake Glenn pulled back the curtain. He rubbed his eyes as he tried to find your face. “(Y/N)?” he asked. “You okay?”

You peered over his shoulder, trying to find your other friend in the darkness behind him. “I’m, uh… Where’s Maggie?”

Her face was soon illuminated by the light of the lantern she’d just lit. She sat up in bed, eying you with concern, and pulling a confused face at the baggy, holey jeans you were wearing. “Hey,” she said. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I just…” You looked between Glenn and Maggie. “I’m really sorry for waking you, but… Maggie, do you have any…” You mouthed the word tampons, in the hopes she’d be able to read your lips.

You knew that periods were nothing to be embarrassed about, as they were a natural part of life and a simple fact of owning a uterus, but you also knew men could be very squeamish about the whole ordeal. It was silly, since Glenn was like your brother, but force of habit told you to always expect men to be unforgiving and immature in regards to a woman’s period.

“Oh,” replied Maggie. “Um, I don’t… Haven’t started mine again yet.”

You nodded solemnly. “D-do you think anyone else might have them?” The longer you stood there, the more you feared you’d bleed through Daryl’s jeans. Not that they hadn’t been covered in blood before, but these ones were freshly laundered.

“Maybe some of the Woodbury folks?” she said.

In the darkness of the prison, you went on a brief mission to interview the few Woodbury women you had met, all of whom were either no longer having periods or hadn’t had the time to pack their pads and tampons before making the move to the prison. You were out of luck, and there was definitely no way of finding any female sanitation products in a former men’s correctional facility. No, it was clear—a run needed to be made.

In the meantime, you’d scurried off to the bathroom to create a makeshift pad out of toilet paper, layering several pieces of the one ply sheets along the crotch of your underwear, which had already become soaked through with menstrual blood, and the inside of Daryl’s jeans hadn’t been spared. “Shit!” you said to yourself. You felt like a twelve year old again, experiencing your very first period at school and leaking through your favorite beige corduroy pants. You remembered a few of the older boys making fun of you, calling you “Carrie” and making jokes about staying as far away from you as possible. You tried to laugh along, but it hurt.

With your lover’s jeans around pooled around your ankles and your underwear halfway up your thighs, you leaned against the open bathroom stall as you tried with all your might to will away the horrific cramps that had come back with a vengeance.

Your brief period of contemplation was interrupted by a heavy push of the door as some unseen person entered the room. Your eyes darted open as you quickly latched the stall shut, intending to preserve your dignity.

You couldn’t see the person’s shoes, but when you heard the sound of pants unzipping, then the loud stream of urine hitting the porcelain of the urinal, you knew it was a man.

And when he let out a short, familiar grunt, you knew it was your man, making his usual stop in the bathroom before he would head to your cell for the night.

You sighed and felt a bit of relief—at least it wasn’t just some guy, and you were in need of a bit of comfort.

“Daryl,” you peeped quietly, still locked in the stall.

He lifted his gaze from the urinal, and he wondered at first if maybe he was so tired that he was imagining your voice, but when he turned to see your fuzzy pink slippers in the stall, he knew you were really there.

“(Y/N)?” he asked, a slight chuckle to his gruff, tired voice. “Whatcha doin’?”

“Nothing,” you answered, still holding your head against the stall door. “I don’t feel good.”

He tilted his head and sighed, getting slightly worried now. “What’s wrong?” You were silent for a moment, until you doubled over in pain, holding your belly as another cramp hit.

“Ah,” you hissed.

He came closer to the stall, zipping up his pants. “Why don’t ya come out,” he said. “You got me worried now.”

Unlatching the lock, you pulled back the stall door slowly to reveal your uncomfortable state. Bloated, bleeding, and about ready to pass out from the pain.

In your emotional turmoil, you stepped forward to fall into his arms, squeezing him tight and breathing a big sigh into his neck. He didn’t hesitate to hold you, rubbing your back up and down. The warmth of his abdomen touching yours soothed your pain for a moment, but the cramps were too strong. You’d suspect it would only get worse, since usually the second day of your period was the worst.

“I started my period,” you mumbled into his shoulder. “My cramps are so bad… I—I don’t even have any pads or anything. I feel awful.”

He turned to face you, a little confused. He had just assumed you’d been having periods since he’d known you. He didn’t know when, or how you dealt with them, but he just assumed you did. After all, he didn’t know much about periods—he grew up with one brother and a dad who didn’t care enough about women to tell Daryl anything about them. His mother died when he was five years old. You were, in general, the first woman he’d ever known so well. Sure, he’d had meaningless drunken trysts with random women before, but he hardly remembered any of that, and besides, he only knew those women for approximately one night. Not enough time to figure out their menstrual cycles.

“You ain’t been havin’ ‘em?” he asked.

You furrowed your brow and scoffed, irritated by the assumption. “No, Daryl. Don’t you know anything about periods?”

He should’ve, he knew that, but he didn’t. He hadn’t had the time to figure that out, not with everything else he’d been doing. Still, he knew that, as a man who loved a woman, he should know everything about her, including her cycle.

“I’m an idiot,” he said bluntly. “Sorry, I—I don’t know nothin’.”

You sighed and rubbed your head, trying to not lose your patience. The pain of the relentless cramps was really getting to you, and the uncomfortable pooling of blood on the flimsy makeshift pad made you even more irritable. You could feel the blood flowing out of you.

“You’re not an idiot,” you said. “I’m sorry, I…” You searched his face to see if he really didn’t know anything about periods. He didn’t, you could tell. Daryl was not an idiot, like you said, but there were things he didn’t know. He could learn easily, picking things up very quickly, but education had failed him in many ways. Growing up in the rural south in the 1970s and 1980s didn’t help much—biology wasn’t top priority, especially not women’s biology.

“When… women are malnourished,” you said, “our bodies go into, like, survival mode. That affects our cycle, and we sometimes don’t have periods because our bodies are working hard to do other things, so it gets put on the back burner until we’re getting more nutrition again… Does that make sense?”

You were a librarian, not a doctor, so you didn’t have an expert-level grasp on the whole thing, but you knew that was why you hadn’t had your period in so long.

“Uh, yeah,” he said. “I think so… Why’re you wearin’ my pants, though?”

You laughed as you followed his gaze to his ripped jeans hanging on your body. “Oh… They were the closest pants I could find. Sorry, I think I might’ve, um… There might be a little blood on them. I’m really sorry, honey. I’ll clean them.”

He shook his head. “It’s okay, there’s blood on all my clothes.”

“It doesn’t gross you out?”

“Does it look like anythin’ grosses me out?” he asked. “‘Sides, nothin’ about you is gross. Not even your—”

He stopped himself before he said the first thing that came to mind: pussy blood.

“I just wanna take care of you,” he continued, cupping your cheek with his hand. “What do ya need, angel? I’ll do anythin’ for ya.”

Daryl was every woman’s dream man, that was for sure.

“Well, um… Would you mind maybe going on a run tomorrow? I mean, you don’t have to, but if you could get some pads or tampons, that’d really help me a lot. I’m kind of just free-bleeding right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll do that. First thing in the mornin’.”

You shook your head in disbelief. Maybe you were so used to having low expectations for men, but Daryl was a totally different caliber of man—he was a knight in shining armor, at least to you.

“Really?” you asked. “Are you sure? Is it too much trouble?”

He scoffed and kissed your forehead. “What kinda man would I be if I didn’t get my woman what she needs? ‘Sides, it’s the least I can do.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek, then wrapped your arms tight around his neck. “Thank you,” you said. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

He tried his best that night to make you comfortable, laying down a towel in case you bled through his pants (which he let you keep on) to preserve your sheets. Your cramps were relentless, but soon you fell asleep, and in the morning, Daryl moved carefully so as not to wake you.

He did, however, gently kiss your forehead, which stirred you from your sleep. “Mm… Daryl?”

“Shhh,” he said, holding his finger to his lip. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be back ‘fore noon. Promise.”

You awoke with a neediness that you were sure would soon morph into irritability, but all you could think about was him holding you a little longer.

“Okay,” you sighed, reaching out to hold his hand. “Thanks, again. You’re so good to me.”

He smiled and kissed your lips, innocently, but still passionately enough to elicit a heavenly sigh from you. “Just doin’ my job. I love you.”

“Love you, and be careful. Don’t get yourself hurt because of me and my uterus.”

He adjusted the pack on his back before lifting his crossbow with a grunt. “That’d be the best reason to get hurt,” he said, turning to peel back the curtain of the prison cell. Before he left, he turned once more, asking a rather important question. “What kind do I get?”

You furrowed your brow. “What kind?”

“Yeah, what kinda tampons? Or pads or whatever.” In truth, his grasp of the difference between the two was shaky at best.

“Oh, um… Super is fine.”

“For both?”

“Yes. Super absorbent.”

He nodded, trying to input that information in his brain. “Does the, uh, brand matter?”

“No, Daryl,” you laughed. “Whatever you can find. And if you can, bring a lot back, for Maggie and everyone else. As many as you can find.”

Thus, the mission was afoot.

He began tuning up his bike at dawn, making sure it was ready to go. He’d almost finished with his maintenance when he heard footsteps and a familiar presence coming towards him. He raised his head from his work to meet Glenn’s gaze. He was wearing his pack and his gear, all the things he took with him for runs.

“Hey,” the younger man said, raising his hand to wave at Daryl. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” replied Daryl, wiping his hands of the grease that had accumulated there. “Boutta head out. Quick run.”

Glenn’s eyes narrowed curiously. “Hey, me too. What are you getting?”

Daryl huffed. Glenn always liked to talk a lot more than he did. He liked the guy, though. He had to admit, when he first met Glenn, he thought you and he were together, and though Daryl didn’t outrightly know it, he was quite irrationally jealous for a short period of time. Now he was family.

“Woman stuff,” he said. “Tampons, pads… For (Y/N).”

“Ohhh,” replied Glenn. “That makes sense. She asked Maggie for some last night. Well, hey, I was gonna go out looking for some, too. I figured if (Y/N)’s starting hers then Maggie won’t be far behind. They… sync up.”

“Sync up?”

“Yeah. Anyway, we should combine forces.”

Daryl scoffed as he stuffed his red rag in his back pocket. “It’s an easy run. Don’t need more manpower.”

“Come on, think about it. Always good to have someone watching your back, and you’re not a strategist. You’re the muscle. Every mission needs brains and brawn… I mean, you have both but…” Glenn trailed off, fearing he’d make a fool of himself. “Anyway, let me help. Besides, I can't let you get all the glory.”

Daryl held up his hands, as if in slightly amused defeat. “Fine. You take the truck, I'll take the bike.”

“Cool.”

Just then, another, much bigger, figure emerged, coming towards Glenn and Daryl. “Hey, Tyreese,” said Glenn to the man. “What are you doing up this early?”

Daryl took note of Tyreese’s appearance—he, too, was dressed for a mission.

“Oh, uh, Karen needs some stuff,” he said. “She says her time of the month’s coming soon… Where are you guys going?”

Daryl’s eyes trained on Glenn, knowing what he was going to say. “No way,” he said. “Already two of us.”

Besides, neither of them knew Tyreese well. He’d just arrived from Woodbury, and though so far he seemed trustworthy, Daryl was a hard nut to crack when it came to being friendly towards “outsiders.”

“Think about it,” Glenn repeated. “I’m the brains, you’re the muscle, and Tyreese, you’re the…” He trailed off, trying to figure out a role for Tyreese within the group. “You’re the…”

“Wild card,” said Tyreese, a friendly smile cracking on his face.

“Yeah, sure. Wild card.” He turned back to Daryl. “So what do you think?”

“Think we’re burnin’ daylight,” he said. “Come on, let’s get back ‘fore noon. Ain’t got all day to sit and chat.”

Despite Daryl’s insistence that his original plan to raid the nearest Piggly Wiggly would suffice, Glenn drew up a new plan, which involved extensive coverage of several supermarkets, pharmacies, and gas stations within the surrounding area. This would account for a lack of pads or tampons at any one location, and would likely yield the highest bounty.

With Daryl leading the way on his bike, and Glenn and Tyreese following in the truck, the three men embarked on their mission, first going to the furthest destination, then planning on working their way back.

First stop was the pharmacy, in some little town on the outskirts of the county in which the prison was located.

It was a family-owned joint, with a pretty good padlock on the door and no signs of breaking in—that was good.

Glenn knocked on the glass door, then they waited for a minute or two, hoping any walkers inside would be attracted to the sound. “Nothing,” he said.

“All right.” Daryl opened the bolt cutters, ready to clip the chain. “Ready?”

Tyreese held his hammer high, and Glenn readied his knife. “Ready,” they both replied.

He snapped the chain and let it fall to the asphalt, then after one last moment to wait for any walkers to show themselves, they headed in.

Tyreese nailed two walkers who’d been holed up in the janitor’s closet, and Glenn made a beeline to the feminine hygiene section, with Daryl following close behind.

“Nice,” said Daryl, nodding as he chewed the inside of his lip. He found himself in a cluttered aisle with the two other men, standing dumbfounded as they examined the myriad of options presented before them.

No one spoke for a while, perhaps because they were each thinking of which products to get, or because they were too embarrassed to be the first one to say, “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

Finally, Tyreese spoke: “Ultra thin, maxi, super maxi, with wings, without wings, panty liners, overnight, regular, heavy flow… Damn.”

“And those are just the pads,” said Glenn. He gestured to the left, where the tampons were. “We got those too.”

Daryl chewed his lip, shining his flashlight back and forth over every feminine hygiene product on the shelf. He’d always been told women were complicated, though he hadn’t found that to be the case. They weren’t any more complicated than men, but maybe the only complicated thing about them was just how many goddamn options they had for tampons.

“We should get a little bit of everything,” said Daryl. “Maybe even take it all…” He re-examined the shelves, noticing a lot of empty space—it looked like the place had been looted before the chains were put on the door. “We’re gonna need to stop again.” He pulled a box of tampons off the shelf, and proceeded to open it to dump its content into his pack. “Don’t need the boxes,” he said. “Takes up room. Dump ‘em.”

They did the same with the pads, and soon their packs were each halfway full of an assortment of pads and tampons.

There were three more stops, each yielding a sizable amount of pads and tampons, so much so that Daryl had to find some crates to fill up, once their packs became too overfilled.

Finally, the last stop was a small grocery store not too far from the prison. The closer they got to home, the more Daryl felt relief. He’d been worrying a little too much about you, slightly irrationally afraid that you’d bleed to death, even though he knew such a thing was impossible. He didn’t really like the idea of you bleeding at all though, so he simply couldn’t help but worry.

The last location proved particularly bountiful, with plenty of feminine hygiene products to choose from. Of course, they chose all of them, scooping the packages into their arms and dumping them into the crates, then taking them back out to stuff them in the remaining empty space of the bed of the truck.

Daryl dusted off his hands when he loaded the last of the crates into the truck. He felt accomplished, and quite satisfied with the mission. He wouldn’t have been able to bring back this much if it hadn’t been for Glenn and Tyreese, so he’d have to thank them later, when they got back home. Daryl had a self-enforced policy: never say thank you until it’s done, and they weren’t done yet—they still had to get back home.

“Hey, Daryl,” said Tyreese, helping to strap down the crates to secure them. “You think we’re gonna be heroes when we get back with all these things?”

Daryl scoffed as he jumped out of the bed, then turned to close the tailgate. “Think my woman needs somethin’, I get it for ‘er. Don’t gotta be a hero to do that.”

Tyreese exchanged a smirk with Glenn, and Daryl felt their interaction behind his back, until they broke out into mutual laughter, amused at the usually stoic man’s undying loyalty to you. “What’s so damn funny?” he asked.

“Nothing. Well, I think we’re heroes,” said Glenn. “Got our ladies their tampons.”

“And back before lunch,” added Tyreese.

“Yeah, well—” Daryl’s voice was interrupted by a snarl, as a small herd of walkers came lumbering forward, their rotting heads popping up from beyond the nearby hill seemingly out of nowhere. “Shit.”

Daryl hurriedly strapped on his crossbow as he spoke. “Let’s get outta here,” he said. “We’ll lose ‘em ‘fore we get back.”

“Right,” agreed Glenn. “Come on.”

Daryl hopped on his bike, starting it up and waiting for Glenn and Tyreese to start up the truck. He nervously tapped the handle of his bike, watching the dozen or so walkers stumble closer.

He heard the engine sputtering, struggling to come to life. “Come on!” he shouted back.

Glenn poked his head out the open window of the driver’s side. “It’s not starting!”

Daryl turned back to face the walkers, now within just a few yards. “Shit!” He removed the key from the ignition and hopped off the bike, grabbing his knife and quickly taking out a few walkers.

Soon, Tyreese was running out the passenger side door of the truck, hammer held high as he came to Daryl’s aid. “Shit, they came out of nowhere!”

“I know!” replied Daryl. “Glenn!”

“Working on it!” He was fiddling with some wires under the hood of the truck, frantically looking up every few seconds to make sure he was clear.

“Work faster!” Tyreese added. More walkers started to follow, and soon Daryl and Tyreese were surrounded, with Daryl’s bike close by.

With their backs pressed to each other, Daryl kicked a few walkers away to clear his path to his bike. “Come on,” he said. “Get on the bike.”

He wasn’t entirely sure how Tyreese would fit on the back of his bike (he’d only ever had you, Maggie, and Carol on the back, and Tyreese was quite a bit bigger than all of you), but it was the safest way to get out of the crowd.

The bike roared to life, and Tyreese nailed a few walkers in the head with his hammer as he climbed onto the bike. “Go!”

Daryl punched the gas pedal and zipped through the crowd, while Tyreese killed any walkers that got too close for comfort.

Luckily, the walkers hadn’t yet got to Glenn, who was still trying to get the truck to work when Daryl and Tyreese got to him. Hopping off the back of the bike, Tyreese looked back to see the small herd stumbling around a cage of propane tanks about a quarter of a mile away.

Tyreese looked between Glenn’s nimble, but struggling, fingers and the incoming herd. He quickly retreated to the passenger side door to locate the rifle they’d brought along, just in case. This was a “just in case” situation, he figured.

While Daryl shot his bow to take down the nearest walkers, Tyreese had another plan.

With most of the herd still lumbering around the tanks, he held up the rifle and aimed. Perhaps it was a long shot, but when a rather loud, slightly earth-shaking explosion nearly knocked all three men to the ground, it seemed to have worked.

“Holy shit!” yelped Glenn. Daryl only gaped in breathless confusion, having not even noticed the other man had grabbed the gun.

Only a few unburnt stragglers remained, with the rest of the herd now charred to a crisp and too weak to lift themselves from the flames of the burning wreckage.

“Damn,” said Daryl, holding his hand to his forehead as he blocked the sunlight from his view. “I didn’t even think of that.”

“Wild card,” replied Tyreese.

It was almost noon now, and you hadn’t bothered to get out of bed, except to replace your stained through underwear every once in a while, until you were down to your last clean pair.

The nice thing about the security of the prison, along with the basic necessities of having a roof over your head and walls to keep out the dead, was that you could sleep in much more than you could on the road. You supposed that if there was any time you could get your period, you were glad it was now.

Still, you worried when your watch struck twelve and Daryl still hadn’t returned. You made a promise to yourself to wait at least another half an hour before getting up to go looking for him. Your cramps only worsened in the meantime, and when he finally did pull back the curtain to your cell, he found you curled up in a fetal position, trying to find the most comfort possible in your terribly uncomfortable state.

“(Y/N)?”

Your head had been tucked under the covers, where you hoped to block out all sensory exposure for a moment. “Daryl?” you croaked. “Oh, I was starting to worry.”

You sat up with a hiss as another cramp surged through you. “God,” you huffed. “Worst cramps I’ve ever had… Did you happen to find any pads or tampons?”

He smiled a little, then you noticed what he was holding. He proudly held out an overflowing crate of all different types of pads and tampons, one that he’d made sure to reserve just for you when him and the others were unloading. Of course, it had your tea in it, too.

“Oh, wow!” you laughed. “That’s amazing! You didn’t have to get that much for me.”

He shrugged as he set down the crate by the bed, then sat himself on the edge to place his comforting hand on your thigh. “There’s plenty more where that came from. Glenn and the new guy, Tyreese, they helped, too. Was no sweat.”

You tilted your head with a glimmer in your eyes, the kind of sparkle only a particularly bewitching person could elicit. “You’re my hero.” He laughed in surprise when you flung your arms around his neck and brought him in for a tight hug. It felt so good to have him back, even if he was just gone for a few hours. It meant the world to have him by your side, comforting you, even if he didn’t know a thing about what you were experiencing. At least he was there.

“Ain’t no hero,” he said softly over your shoulder. Though he had to admit, it was quite nice to know you thought of him like that. “Told ya, I’d do anything for you. This is just a little thing… If you asked me to bring ya back the Holy Grail, I’d do it.”

You laughed and shook your head to face him, with your hands cupping his infectiously rising cheeks. His crooked, boyish smile changed the shape of his face so handsomely. His high, elf-like cheekbones fit perfectly in your palms, like they were made for you.

“The Holy Grail isn’t real,” you said.

“I’d make it real for you,” he said. “‘Sides… you’re my Holy Grail.”

You playfully rolled your eyes at the predictable line. He was always saying stuff like that to you, even if he wouldn’t be caught dead doing it for anyone else.

“Okay, Casanova,” you laughed. “Hand me one of those tampons. My favorite pink panties are getting ruined.”

He huffed and turned to sort through the crate. “Love it when you talk dirty to me,” he said.

So Daryl felt accomplished, having risked life and limb for his true love, doing his part to make her just a little more comfortable. Maybe he didn’t see himself as a hero, but you’d dealt with men who could care less about such things, and be downright heartless when it came to the monthly plight of the woman. To you, he was so much better, and he’d proven that, not for the first time, and most certainly not for the last.

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straightplayshowdown · 1 year

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Doctor Faustus: Yearning for infinite knowledge and questioning his faith, Doctor Faustus forsakes his scholarly studies for the world of magic and sorcery. He makes a pact with the devil. If the evil spirit, Mephastophilis, will serve him for 24 years, Faustus will bequeath the devil his soul after his death and spend eternity damned in hell. Despite warnings from colleagues, Faustus is blind to the terrifying extent of his actions until it is too late. Going on a journey with Mephastophilis and displaying his magic to a host of influential and important figures, Faustus finally realizes that he has come to the end of his allotted time on earth and learnt nothing.

The Importance of Being Earnest: Two bachelors, John ‘Jack’ Worthing and Algernon ‘Algy’ Moncrieff, create alter egos named Ernest to escape their tiresome lives. They attempt to win the hearts of two women who, conveniently, claim to only love men called Ernest. The pair struggle to keep up with their own stories and become tangled in a tale of deception, disguise and misadventure.

Propaganda under the cut!

Doctor Faustus:

Gay as hell (I wrote a 30 page senior thesis on this), beautiful writing, great if you're going through some shit and have christian guilt, then you can kin Faustus really hard

funny and also a great look at christianity and damnation. also faustus is gay for a demon

It's about Christianity and damnation where Faustus is bored of academia because he's too smart so he sells his soul to the devil for magic. Then, he pranks the pope and is gay for his demon attendant.

God this play is so good. A scholar, who's learned all he could of earthly things, sells his soul to the devil for magic. It's about sin, damnation, predestination. Is Faustus damned or is he damning himself? God it’s so good. Going to list some of my favorite lines now bc the writing is just so <33

When Faustus asks the demon Mephastophilis how he can be here on earth when he's damned to hell, he says "Why this is hell, nor am I out of it. / Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God, / And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, / Am not tormented with ten thousand hells / In being deprived of everlasting bliss?" which is just so true. Like god that conception of hell is so. Like yeah. Of course anywhere other than heaven would be hell when one has experienced heaven. God.

So many lines from Faustus questioning his choice and wondering if he should repent and if he were to repent would God even forgive him like "Why waverest thou? O, something soundeth in mine ears: 'Abjure this magic, turn to God again.' / Ay, and Faustus will turn to God again. / To God? He loves thee not: / Thou God thy servest is thine own appetite." Like the “To God? He loves thee not” gets me every fucking time bc he is SO convinced that he’s damned, he’s SO convinced that there’s no hope for him and that God does not love him. Like. And "Whither should I fly? / If unto God, he'll throw me down to hell.” Again, he’s absolutely convinced that there’s no hope for him. Even if he wants to repent, it doesn’t matter; God will turn him away. And "What art thou Faustus, but a man condemned to die?" And, god one of my favorite Faustus being convinced of his own damnation lines, "But Faustus' offense can ne'er be pardoned! The serpent / that tempted Eve may be saved, but not Faustus." Even the SERPENT THAT TEMPTED EVE may be saved, but not Faustus. Like?? He’s so convinced of his own damnation that he believes that even if the literal serpent who caused the fall of humans could be saved, he would still be damned. Like god. Also, this whole spiel after another scholar is like call on God and repent to which Faustus goes, “On God, whom Faustus hath abjured? On God / whom Faustus hath blasphemed? Ah, my God—I would weep, but the devil draws in my tears! Gush forth blood, instead of tears—yea, / life and soul! O, he stays my tongue! I would lift my hands, but / see, they hold them, they hold them!” Like god. He would weep but the devil draws in his tears and he is weeping blood instead. He would raise up his hands to heaven but he is being held down. And like the beginning. The “who am I to call on God? God whom I have abjured and renounced? God who I have cursed and blasphemed? Who am I to call on him? Would he even answer if I did? If I could?” Like god. It’s so.

And finally, my fucking absolute favorite lines in the entirety of the play, which technically fall under the Faustus repenting category, but deserve their own number bc I love this part so much. Background: These are lines said by Faustus in his final monologue, a monologue that really starkly resembles Jesus in the garden of Gethsemane. It is Faustus, minutes before the devils come to take his soul, pleading to God for the last time to have mercy on him. He says (bear with me this is long) “The stars move still, time runs, the clock will strike, / The devil will come, and Faustus must be damned. / O I’ll leap up to my God! Who pulls me down? / See, see where Christ’s blood streams in the firmament! / One drop would save my soul, half a drop; ah my Christ— / Ah, rend not my heart for naming of my Christ; / Yet will I call on him—O spare me, Lucifer! / Where is it now? ‘Tis gone: and see where God bends his ireful brows! / Mountains and hills, come, come and fall on me, / And hide me from the heavy wrath of God. / No, no? / Then I will run headlong into the earth: / Earth, gape! O no, it will not harbor me.” So what’s happening here? Faustus is watching the time tick by before the devil comes to take him. He is trying to leap up to God, to repent, but he can’t; there’s someone pulling him down. Is it the devil? Is it himself? Who knows. Then, he sees Christ’s blood in the sky. He’s begging for it. For not even one drop, just half a drop; if he could just have half a drop perhaps he could be saved. That line btw, while it is only in the A text of Doctor Faustus (there’s two versions of the play, the A text and B text), is often still included in the B text editions bc it’s just that fucking good. Anyway. He pleads to Christ, something he is not allowed to do under his contract with Lucifer; he is not allowed to call upon God or Jesus or say any holy names. So when he calls upon Christ, he knows what Lucifer could do to him for it, but calls on him anyway, begging Lucifer to spare him. But once he invokes Lucifer’s name, the blood in the sky disappears. Instead, now all he sees is God’s ireful brows. So, he tries to take shelter from God in the earth, but not even the Earth will harbor him. It’s just so. Like god. And finally, at the end of his monologue, right before the devils enter to drag him to hell, Faustus cries, “My God, my God, look not so fierce on me!” a line which is just so. A blatant blasphemy of “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me,” this line is everything to me. Like god. It’s just so. God.

Anyway, Doctor Faustus is fucking amazing and these aren’t even all my favorite lines, I have so many more and there’s so much more I love about this play, but this is already long enough. It’s just so good. It’s a meditation on predestination and damnation, it’s blasphemous, it’s wonderful. The writing is so good. I just love it so much.

The Importance of Being Earnest:

Queercoded love interest and Victorian dandies, what’s not to love?

Quite possibly the funniest thing I have ever read.

It's very funny.

there is a HANDBAG and it is a MAJOR PLOT POINT. jack pretends to be ernest because he's been doing it for ages and why not am i right? algernon pretends to be ernest to get a girl and also so screw stuff up. as one does. gwendolen and cecily have a REALLY passive aggressive tea party. this play slaps. it is so good. go read it and/or see it

“Nothing will induce me to part with Bunbury, and if you ever get married, which seems to me extremely problematic, you will be very glad to know Bunbury. A man who marries without knowing Bunbury has a very tedious time of it.”

Lady Bracknell: “I do not approve of anything that tampers with natural ignorance. Ignorance is like a delicate exotic fruit; touch it and the bloom is gone. The whole theory of modern education is radically unsound. Fortunately in England, at any rate, education produces no effect whatsoever. If it did, it would prove a serious danger to the upper classes, and probably lead to acts of violence in Grosvenor Square.”

Lady Bracknell: “My nephew, you seem to be displaying signs of triviality.”

Jack: “On the contrary, Aunt Augusta, I’ve now realized for the first time in my life the vital Importance of Being Earnest.”

#polls #round 1 #doctor faustus #the importance of being earnest #the straight play showdown

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nightswatchdisbandmentera · 1 year

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Me seeing the ask game: *cracks knuckles* Let's go.

I hope you don't mind answering all of these 😅.

10.

12.

13.

16.

20.

21.

22.

24.

25.

Have a nice day!

I won’t answer all of them haha. I had no time to write that much plus I wanted to actually give hOt TaKeS.

8 common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I’ll start of by saying that I’m not one who wants to police other people’s interpretations of the text. BUT I will say this: Jon is not a below average swordsman! He’s not even average. He may not have many on page feats, but he’s only been in less than a handful of serious fights and they were against middle aged men with decades of experience over him. People like to bring up his loss to Mance, but this fight was against a man who managed to unite the wildling tribes under his rule; Mance is a highly skilled warrior.

Remember, Jon is 15-16 years old when most of these fights are happening. So he’s still young and growing. People will also say “oh, but Jaime Lannister was a god at that age”. Honestly, who cares? How many characters are comparable to Jaime at any age? It’s such a dumb comparison. I’ve even seen people argue that a 13 year old Peck is better than Jon and huh? Jon hasn’t won over any knights….because he’s not encountering them in the first place.

It’s clear that GRRM holds Jon’s skill in high regard. I mean the first Jon POV chapter established him as a noted swordsman. It also clear that Jon isn’t meant to be the warrior type. He’s a deconstruction of the archetypal fantasy protagonist. GRRM has chosen to build his political skills, so he’s not putting much of a focus on how well he swings his sword. That doesn’t mean though that he doesn’t have any skill at all. Just that it’s not the main focus of his character. But I think this fandom generally has the most wretched discourse when it comes to this stuff. Like people on Reddit this past week tried to argue that Brienne is overrated…Brienne, of all people. It’s just insane to me that people think they know more than the guy who wrote the damn books.

13 worst blorboficiation

Has got to be Kevan Lannister. Not so much on tumblr, but it’s a disease in some of the other communities. For whatever reason, he’s quite beloved. And this is rather strange because he is very much complicit in the corrupt Lannister regime. And as far as we know, he’s also fully supported Tywin in everything (which includes legitimate war crimes). He has his moments where he is shown to actually care for family members (e.g., Lancel, Tyrion), and that makes him a delightfully complex character. He’s also really funny. But we shouldn’t ignore his really bad traits. I’ve had to suffer a bunch of “Kevan Lannister is the best guy ever” posts on Reddit, and it’s absolutely maddening. That’s not to say that we can’t like “bad” people! Heck, Cersei is one of my faves. But it’s weird how certain characters get a pass for doing problematic things (e.g., Kevan or even Bobby B), and other characters get lambasted for the most tame things imaginable. It’s just the hypocrisy that’s annoying.

16 you can't understand why so many people like this thing (characterization, trope, headcanon, etc)

Powerscaling lol. It can be fun, but the people who engage in these discussions can be so tedious and boring. Tiktok and Reddit are full of this. “Who is the greatest fighter”, “who is the best warrior”, “this is why prime Robert low diffs Barristan Selmy”, and it’s the same old arguments every time. I think we should get more creative with powerscaling if we have to do it. Like “who has the best 🛌 skills”. Let’s at least argue over something fun, damn.

22 your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

This is going to be twofold:

- On tumblr? Easily Jon’s relationship with magic. In fact, people on here will go out of their way to argue that it’s actually not important to the plot, which is absolutely bonkers. Beyond warging, there’s a lot of weird magical stuff going on with Jon that should be put under the microscope. And I’d even argue that Jon’s a pretty special warg and cannot be compared to the other Stark kids (even Bran) because of how his powers manifest. Ghost is also obviously one of the most special animal familiars in the series (maybe even THE most special one), but no one ever talks about how special he is. A lot of people seem to believe that Jon will be KiTN, but it’s insane how we don’t talk about why it’s magically important for him to rule the North, considering his deep connections to Northern mysticism, religion, and lore.

- Elsewhere: the parallels between Jon and Bran. They’re essentially the same character base split into two (Seoman Snowlack, Frodo, King Arthur, Paul and Leto Atreides, Odin, etc). Both arcs parallel each other and are heading to the same destination, but the details will be different. This is getting to my last point, but I firmly believe we’re getting an ending with both King Jon and King Bran. I like to think of them as two competing but complementary sides of King Arthur’s tale. Jon is the one that is true to legend, as he follows the archetypal hidden prince-to-king trope. Jon is essentially “what if Arthur actually went on his hero’s/knightly quest?”Bran is the subverted one, where young Arthur gets a little detour; so “what if Arthur didn’t go on the hero’s/knightly quest but instead had to take up a job as a part time wizard?” Both will end up kings, just as Arthur did, but it will be different versions of the legend.

- Also: WTF is up with the Watch/Wall? What magic was used to build the Wall and who built it? Why can’t dragons cross? And why can’t wights cross either? What magic dictates that? What’s up with the Nightfort? Why does one only need to say part of the vows to open the gate? And what’s up with the NW vows? Why do they give Lightbringer vibes?! Is the NW Lightbringer? The NW is directly credited with the ending of the Long Night so was the last hero a member of the original group? Who was he? What happened to him after? If the last hero inspired AA then did the NW (and their vows) inspire tales of his flaming sword? And why did the relationship between the Watch and the CoF fizzle out? When did it fizzle out? And who are the LCs whose tenures have not been recorded? Why did they only start recording in the 600s (iirc)? What other history has been lost over time? Who was the Night King? Where did his half-human children go? Need that old man to answer these stat

25 common fandom complaint that you're sick of hearing

Several people will block me for this…but King Bran. Look, I get that Bran isn’t the most popular character out there. But so many people convinced themselves that he would die in that cave or he would amount to nothing which is very, very strange. And it also doesn’t help that a lot of the complaints reek of ableism.

GRRM obviously considers Bran to be central to this series. He is the first viewpoint character (and potentially the last one). He is the most magical character in the story. The scene that birthed ASOIAF came about because of Bran. It’s also said that GRRM considered writing the books through Bran’s POV but decided against it pretty quickly.

Anyone who paid attention to Bran’s story would know that we’re going to get some huge payoff to his story. In fact, I think it’s safer to assume that kingship has always been in the cards for him. I think most of us Bran stans thought he’d be KiTN (actually some of us over at Westeros.org thought he’d end up as the final Lord of Harrenhal). I never once considered King of all Westeros but I’ve had time to think about it ever since the show ended and I’m like, “duh!”. It’s thematically relevant and sound for Bran to end up king. We’re about to enter into a winter apocalypse but Bran’s direwolf is called Summer. Not only is he the representation of summer (which means renewal, rejuvenation, etc.), but he’s also fashioned after the Fisher King. He is also the second coming of Brandon the Builder - who constructed castles all over Westeros, not just the North; and if legends are true, this happened after the Long Night. He’s following after the footsteps of the Last Hero, and is the only other character apart from Jon who is actually fighting in the front lines against the Others. He’s going to be super important!

I can understand some of the questions people having regarding King Bran, mainly those of a political nature. But we’re left with two books. And two books is plenty to move the necessary pieces for Bran’s crowning. Hell, did people expect that Dany would be Queen of Meereen as they started reading ASOS? Most didn’t. A lot can happen in two books. A lot can happen in a singular book. GRRM has enough time to set up a scenario on which Bran is the only one left to rule.

I personally think that the apocalypse will essentially destroy Westeros as we know it, leading to the creation of a new kingdom(s). D&D botched the GoT ending so people have a hard time seeing the thematic weight of a boy who represents summer rising to kingship, but the books lay enough groundwork imo. And I think ACOK shows us that Bran, despite his age, would make a wise ruler. So I’m all for King Bran. Not only is it thematically sound, but I love the idea of a disabled kid rising to power at the end since we don’t see that in a lot of fantasy.

#asoiaf #ask game #jon snow #bran stark #kevan lannister

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carpedanneel · 2 years

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Ya’ll are fucking wild here. no wonder why this rp has just been the same 5 people for the last 4 years. But I thought maybe things are different, maybe it’s changed. Wrong. Admin, you still make rules to cater to the admin or the “inner” 3 other members they’ve deemed “worthy”. You make rules that cater to pretty much you only. You dont care about how you make other people feel, as long as you're getting your way. And the members here have been so brainwashed by the bullshit either theyre too scared or too intimidated to say anything. You still find a way to corrupt people from playing certain fc’s you have history with STILL forcing history on certain fc’s. A history ONE player expects you to remember every detail to even if you don’t like the plot. That one player who makes SO MANY people uncomfortable, whether they want to admit it or not, who also just happens to be the main admin. The main admin who doesnt even do a god damn thing on the main, and then will make every excuse as to why not. Sarah, you’ve found so many ways to provoke, gaslight, bully, guilt or force threads, histories, plots on probably every single player here. It’s gross. You deserve every call out youve gotten. But I don’t even 100% blame you. I also blame most of the spineless people you claim to be your “friends”. Here they complain and shit talk behind your back but then turn around and lick the ground you walked on. But probably because you’ve bullied them into it. I love how you post this long ass thing from the main saying how this place isn't for everyone and if youre bothered, blah blah. Just say this place is for you to do whatever tf you want whenever you want, and be done with it. At least be honest. How many times did you ask if you should drop certain chars looking for pity and how many people begged you to stay, Sarah? No one. That's telling. But its good to know this group is only here for you and your bullshit. Since this group is "anything goes" then the second someone calls your character out ic, you do the same thing you do ooc and come up with every excuse on why youre not wrong. Amd then kick them out! Maybe instead of always blaming everyone both ic and ooc, maybe look inward.I tried, I really tried to come in with an open mind that maybe this place had changed over the many years, but it clearly never will.Also, on the subject of bullying, Lena, you're also a god damn bully, which is funny since youre barely even on. But you still found a way, thought it was okay to message me and try to get me to drop ashley. First time we spoke you instantly were guilting me saying I swiped up Ashley before you could. And then to actually IM me the other day trying to guilt me into giving her up? So fucking rude. But at least you got your wish. Ya’ll have zero class. RP should be fun. This place sucks the fucking life out of you. I now remember why Sarah used to be banned from so many hollywood rps back in the day and why this place was basically blacklisted. Why i used to have to block her and other members here from my character pages bc youd steal shit. I bet I could log onto an old blog and find FANMAILS of her TRYING to force ships and plots in old rps, thats how long its been going on. I will say i do feel bad for some of the quality players in this group. I just dont know why you put up with it when there are groups out there where you dont have to be foeced into ships or plots just bc youve known someone for so long. Where you dont have to NOT come on the dash bc a player/character is being redundant and miserable 24/7. You dont have to sit here and keep letting sarah and this group take advantage of you. Anyways, I'm out. To the few here who actually reached out to plot or even just to chat, ya'll are cool and feel free to dm me or hmu on discord. New members, I'd beware if I was you.

@carpediem-celebrpg

Just for context, this was what I wrote in the ooc of an rp I just left. I'm sure it got deleted but I wanted to put it in the tags to let the rpc know this rp is still a problem and so are some members. Beware if joining, it's all shady.

#Celeb rp #Hollywood rp #Celebrity rp #Psa #Plotless rp #Bc I'm sure they deleted it in the ooc 🙄

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brick-a-doodle-do · 1 year

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For the ask game,

1-22 24-39

I am sorry

-Small brain anon

you're forgiven, it's in the past :)

okay before i get into these,,,, 1, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 10, 11, 12, 15, 20, 25, 26, 27, 28, 30, 35, and 36, 38, have been answered!

that leaves....still quite a few. god damn.

2 : if you had to give up your keyboard and write your stories exclusively by hand, could you do it? if you already write everything by hand, a) are you a wizard and b) pen or pencil?

i would try, i probably could it just wouldn't be a very long time, even longer than usual. my hand cramps a LOT when i write (which is a new thing idk why) but my stories are still important :D

7 : what is your deepest joy about writing?

i have a few actually! honestly, starting with the most basic joy, it's really rewarding to remind myself that i have the ability to make a world. i can create cool versions of people i absolutely adore and make totally new people too! and i often forget that if i try hard enough i can make people cry with my writing or make one joke have people go feral,,,

another one is the reminder that god damn. almost eight billion people and i had this idea. i have complete freedom over this. i have claimed the coolest idea EVER out of almost eight billion people.

and i guess just the fact that i can write what people want me to write or what people enjoy. i love taking input from others because i know it'll make one person enjoy something! little details that i remember about someone? throw it into a fic and hope they see it and smile

8 : if you had to write an entire story without either action or dialogue, which would you choose and how would it go?

bye bye fucking dialogue. i would love to write something wordless and see how it works out, it just sounds awesome tbh, very moody. one of my non g/t wips is like that for a lot of it and it's just really calm to write! i don't have to worry about balancing things or making accurate dialogue, it's just one person in the universe and the vibe of that can easily get through to me. and in my experience, it'll go pretty good!

13 : what is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? what is easy?

ehhh i really hate writing combat or anything fast paced. moving scenes along and changing settings has never been a strong suit of mine imo,,,, like it always feels either really rushed or really choppy imo

and i think mental health is pretty easy for me to write. like that hazy, unhappy mind. it's extremely slow and easy to make long and extravagant descriptions with,,,,

14 : do you lend your books to people? are people scared to borrow books from you? do you know exactly where all your “lost” books are and which specific friend from school you haven’t seen in twelve years still possesses them? will you ever get them back?

i don't have a large collection of books. i'm never really immersed into actually reading a book which i know is awful as a writer and honestly just a terrible attribute of mine but i'm not a big reader. fanfic tho is my bitch, and in which case i have no experience with any of this :'D

16 : what’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever used as a bookmark?

a piece of lined paper i found in the book, so essentially someone else's makeshift bookmark

i am respectfully gonna skip 17 & 18 because i don't have the energy to really explain any of that and all of my wips are so like not worthy of those questions. the best ur gonna get is the minutiae of tiny workers i'll post tomorrow lmao

19 : tell me a story about your writing journey. when did you start? why did you start? were there bumps along the way? where are you now and where are you going?

it's nothing too dramatic, i started when i was in third grade and wrote a nine page story by hand and my teacher mentioned i was a strong writer for my age. i wrote all the time in school, picked up fanfic in like early 2019 (which also conveniently was my first g/t writing)

and uhh i started just because the feeling of writing was really rewarding and freeing. i loved roleplaying on roblox all the time too i would love making long descriptions of things n such :DD

i think i'm on a good track, i have 42 full-fledged wips that i have some ideas for, 3 book ideas and a cool and supportive community to share my growth with :]

21 : could you ever quit writing? do you ever wish you could? why or why not?

honestly, no, i don't think i ever could. even if i change my mind about pursuing it as a career i could never stop it being my hobby. it's so freeing and a great way to unwind, i love the thought of writing all of my life and the thought of what my writing will be like in a few years if i'm writing like this now (which is such an improvement from 6 months ago, let me say. and yeah i'm complimenting my work for once)

i never do wish i could, because i know that regardless of if i take a break or not i'm never going to completely abandon it. i have ideas that i'm too in to be out of,,,

22 : how organized are you with your writing? describe to me your organization method, if it exists. what tools do you use? notebooks? binders? apps? the cloud?

it depends on my wips, but for the sake of convenience i'll just go off of my aus on here: it is so messy. there is no organization, and if it is there are so many wips of my organization ideas, it's so sad. i have tried so many different ways to organize my thoughts because doing lists and making things look neat and tidy is my favorite, but on the opposite end i get bored countlessly listing out information i already know, so uhh yeah no organization. occasionally i'll jot down like "make sure to add this!" in my notes app or at the end of wtv im working on

24 : how much prep work do you put into your stories? what does that look like for you? do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

i love the thought of prep work, hate actually doing it. i go in head first, usually with a mental map of whatever i want to happen. a lot of the time though i let the story write itself cuz i'm lazy like that :'D

i dislike trying to actually sit myself down to make things all laid out and ready to be written cause..........gagghghhsadskdj

29 : where do you draw your inspiration? dhat do you do when the inspiration well runs dry?

it depends! some of my ideas are directly from a movie or show i watch, usually taking the idea of an "au" not from the fandom but from that show specifically if that makes sense,, other times my head'll give me some three am ideas or random ideas.

i also really like picking a color and making an inspiration board off of it! it gives me some cool ideas cause imagery can tell a big story sometimes imo

when the well is try i usually either work on other stuff or just wait for it to rain again so there's water to run off of.

31 : write a short love letter to your readers.

idk about a love letter but honestly y'all are literally so cool. i know my community isn't remotely close to any big publishers' fanbases but damn it feels so overwhelming in the best way possible to get showered with love by the people i can easily recognize whenever i post something! to have over 100 notes on some of my fics and know that every like on my work is an individual person is just baffling. to know i have almost 200 followers in my corner, even if some of them are bots or following me for other content, it's fucking amazing. sweet comments and questions about my work is just fucking exhilarating!! it's so motivating to hear "write more of this" because damn. demanding. people demand i write more. it's SO COOL. joining social media was probably the worst decision i've ever made but tumblr has singlehandedly fixed every doubt i've had about being on the internet :) <3

32 : what is a line from a poem/novel/fanfic etc that you return to from time and time again? how did you find it? what does it mean to you?

ee passerine & rooftops spoilersss down below :]

i will do fanfic bc. yeah wtv. anyway there are a few, i think that if i'm being actually serious and not doing joke ones, i absolutely love the ending off passerine, it's so perfect. i am tearing up thinking abt it ngl which sounds dumb but damn. "he had a life before this, a mother, a father, a home, sisters and brothers, but what he had now was alright too. he stood alone in his bedroom mirror, combing his hair back from his face to braid it for the day, tucking it behind an ear where a sapphire earing hung, catching sunlight. he paused when he saw it, leaning in close to make sure it wasn't a trick of the light, or the lingering traces of a dream. he blinked once, twice, his mortal heart caught in his throat. there, nestled amongst the pink strands, delicate as a bird's wing, was a single, grey hair. if he listened closely, he could hear his brother coming down the hallway, looking for him. but this moment was his alone, half-sobbing, half-laughing, he fell against his chair and closed his eyes against the sudden sting of tears. he could see in his mind, a field of flowers under an open sky, a place for waiting, where all the finished stories went. where he too would go someday. a knock came at his door, and technoblade began to smile." LIKE DUDE. I AM SUCH A SUCKER FOR ENDINGS TO STORIES. it's so dramatic and so domesicated and passerine is such a short story all in all but it's so perfectly written and captures relationships so well. it shows technoblade's acceptance of death so well, and although he'd been wanting of death for a while it still kind of shows how he is eager to pursue the rest of a mortal life.

also from passerine i like "this is what it feels," someone gasped, "to lose everything" I LOVE IT. tommy is their everything and losing him made the story turn so dull,, it went from silver to grey easily. love it.

ALSO. FUCKING ROOFTOPS. it is such an old fic, but it's the second fic i've ever read in the fandom. “youuu aren’t real. nope! noo, no you aren’t. youu’re not reeaal, you'ree inn my head. my head! geoorge is in my head again!” it's just so sad. i love it. the atmosphere of this scene despite it being out of context here is still just so perfect. the vibes of rooftops have never left my head.

and also this absolutely doesn't count but there's a comment on rooftops that said "this is the same story where they went camping" and i have never gone a day without thinking about that LMAO

33 : do you practice any other art besides writing? does that art ever tie into your writing, or is it entirely separate?

hghghhhhh not really, no other art. cooking and baking sometimes but i wouldn't call my skill level art LMAO

but it did start a gbbo au and has helped a lot with terminology and stuff!!

34 : thoughts on the oxford comma, go:

i love it in practice but the second i get reminded to use it i go bonkers and start hitting things

37 : if you were to be remembered only by the words you’ve put on the page, what would future historians think of you?

they would think i am weird as hell bro i keep writing about these people SWALLOWING EACH OTHER ALIVE 😭😭😭

i wanted to do a real response to that but a. its 3 am and b. this was funnier <3

39 : what keeps you writing when you feel like giving up?

the atmosphere of the thing i am writing. i can be in the most unmotivated mood but the second i start thinking about how a scene or an au feels i am immediately lightened up and want to write it!

god damn it only took about half an hour but i did it!! thanks for these questions, even if they took like 2 weeks to finish and cut me short of what i wanted to do tonight /lh/nmay

#brickquiries #brickquiries games #small brain brickling #sb my beloved :]#cw vore implication/mention #breif but still

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lenasai · 2 years

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before 2022 ends (for me) i'm gonna steal an idea from @thehallstara and do a recap of the stuff i wrote this year, with commentary because i feel like it...and also so it's not like. exactly the same thing lmao

first, go take a look at hir post if you feel so inclined. if you have the time, those twines are all bangers.

list below the cut because this will probably be long when it appears in the tag:

the splorts poetry series as it exists now. the first two sets were from 2021, but i started the series after realizing i was going to post more individual blaseball poems. turns out putting a bunch of poems in one work and waiting for those to be done before you publish them means a lot of stuff just goes unpublished, so i moved toward publishing stuff individually. if you wanna just look at the poems i wrote in 2022, start with lucky number 81 (what if)

the merry exit (un?)memorial dimension traveling club - a fun little exploration of the merry exit from the gamma 1 test circuit and the merry exit from the tutorial game

hold on, you'll live to play again - look i KNOW what's going to be in the second chapter. i just haven't written it yet. every now and then i go "oh no i abandoned the happy story about the kids" and stare wistfully at the pages document hoping the second chapter will just write itself. i will write it eventually. shoutout to the random person who left kudos on the first chapter like 50 years after i wrote it, knowing there's a nonexistent second chapter. anyway. i wrote the first chapter for the first anniversary of longest thursday. it's about the season 20 postseason and the moment we knew everyone (mostly ivy) was going to be safe. it's got more core lore than i expected to write. thank you mechs.

ashes, dust, and other reminders of what once was - for the garages fic exchange, about chorby soul and parker macmillan. HOO BOY this is the one i'm proudest of. if you read only one piece from this post, i hope you will consider making it this one...which is a huge ask because it's nearly 11k words. if i had a nickel for every time i wrote over 10k words of People In The Vault Being Sad About Things i would have two nickels. that's not a lot of nickels, but very funny it happened twice. this is also the first work i've written for another person, and they were an absolute pleasure to write for. anyway. i think chorby soul and parker macmillan should be besties.

what if the light at the end of the tunnel burns me again - for the firefighters fic exchange, about Agan Espinoza's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Season 24. i love them. i curled up into a little ball of shrimp emotions when they fell in the last fall ball with parker macmillan. god damn.

end-of-the-world tour - i wrote 1.5k words about parker macmillan's roam to the (prehistory) crabs and immortals in like two hours. absolutely no proofreading went into it. i wrote it and tossed it into the void after my computer threatened to fuck me over at the deadline. written for the blaseball zine jam.

batting practice - yeah so i procrastinated until the week of the deadline, then got possessed by some kind of writing demon and wrote 5.5k words about wyatt quitter and jasmine mason. not to say it was rushed, but it may have a residual formatting glitch i may have missed when copying from pages into ao3. i went over it many times to try and get rid of those, but if you see a couple of paragraphs fused together, no you didn't. written for the lift fic exchange.

#blaseball #now if you'll excuse me i need to find that writing demon so i can finish my fucking flowers exchange fic #and then like. literally any of my other wips. i have so many wips. i am in hell.

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iladnovotny · 1 year

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My first post!!!

Hello new world!!! I'm an aspiring writer leaning towards full on random equals funny. most of my posts might just be personal anecdotes or speculative fiction. Currently writing a short book that consists of random ramblings for 20 or so pages. here's a taste of what I wrote:

You might be wondering, now Michael? Do you read? I do not. I have never read and I never have been able to. I'm beating the reading allegations! haha! *says this while getting dragged into court by two buff angry business mans* I read all the time! I let the trees speak to me through metaphysical extrasensory properties!!! hehehoo! I don't read! I think! I think for myself! kill andrew johnsone. people need some help and I'm willing to get you started if you need help readint!!!! plees read for I cannor]t!! I not read 4for your sins!!! read a bible! gameing is not in the bible! I'm going to eat 12 million trees in the form of gelatinous little creatures called fuck I forgot the fuck thing fuck shit fuck I'm going to jump down the stairs as a publicity stunt in collaboration with john johnson john johnny freepel peeople the secondteenth. I know this guy who ate at the official Bank of America wafflehouse at the end of the world. It's located on an active seismic area and it gets ripped apart every other year. It costs 12 million billion dollars to keep the whole thing running for 12 seconds. the food is made by setting multiple people on fire and telling them to buy food, we didn't have to light them on fire but there's one guy on our counsel who's more powerful and influential than the rest and he always brings up the topic of so-called "Burning up people and lighting people on fire" and he brings it up every meeting for the past 120 years. every god damn day with this guy he calls me and screams in my ear about how there's not anough actively burning people!!! he screams and yells at me and he lives in a hospital bed because he's 24 feet tall and he's so buff and solid he can't navigate our tiny feeble world.

I'm also writing more serious horror and psychological stuff so expect a mix between the two.

#satire #writing

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spencersmagic · 3 years

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a knife twists at the thought - SR

Prompt: a knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark - Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Spencer is new to this, and the poor boy is terrified

Couple: Fem! Reader x Spencer Reid (i picture season 2/3 Spencer but y’all do you)

Category: angst

Word count: 3086 words

Warnings: general criminal minds stuff, mentions and descriptions of torture, descriptions of loss, HAPPY ENDING!!, my 3am writing, tooth rotting love, uhmm spoilers for Orwell’s 1984 (if anybody hasn’t read it), humiliation, Spencer crying and breaking my heart (lmk if you need anything warned or trigger tagged).

A/N This is very loosely based on 2x15 (VERY LOOSELY). I’m quite proud of this one :)

masterlist // 505 series taglist

*****

They say you never see it coming.

When a tragedy occurs, and someone’s life is turned upside down forever, they never see it coming. It just... hits them. Like an oncoming car ramming into a bystander who was just in the wrong place at the wrong time.

No one has time to prepare. In our time-starved lives, there is no place for such a warning.

One day, you just wake up. And they’re not next to you. They’ve disappeared, leaving the stickiest, most unforgettable parts of themselves behind for others to grieve to: the smell of their shampoo in the pillows they used to share, the seconds just as you wake when you still feel like you have them - only to gain full consciousness and realise they left you behind - even the fucking jars, which never seem to be open because he’s just not there to do it.

And you feel your heart breaking all over again as your soul sticks to the parts that couldn’t be erased with the rest of him as he left. Because you needed him, you had him, and now he’s gone. No warning, no letter, no signs which could’ve helped you foresee such a tragedy, because how could he? He didn’t disappear on purpose.

She doesn’t understand why he's so absent. So unequivocally missing. And the person she would turn to to ask these riddled questions isn’t there to answer. Because he’s gone.

But they’re not there yet.

And she feels so close to that feeling - the helplessness, the pain, the empty cups next to her bed because he always carried them to the sink when she was finished with her tea the mornings of those rare days they got to sleep in. Those days when they had time. She can practically touch, with the tip of her fingertips, the waves of pain that would surge over her if he was gone for one more fucking minute.

She has to remind herself, over and over again, like a mantra. He’s not gone yet.

The “yet” at the end of her mantra just breaks her all over again.

She was always the one to tell Spencer “if you worry before something happens, in case it goes wrong, and then it does, you’ve managed to suffer twice through something painful for absolutely no reason”. It usually worked. Needless to say, she felt like a hypocrite right about now.

Because Spencer is gone. And she doesn’t know how to bring him back.

She knows only to watch the monitor, never once blinking, taking in everything that happened in that damned livestream - every word, every sound, every reference. She can only try to hear anything over the whimpers and sobs her love was letting out as he’s tortured by that man. She can only hear the cracks of his knuckles against Spencers soft skin, the same soft skin she had kissed mere hours ago before telling him to “be careful”. Her own way of saying the three little words the couple was too young to hear. She can only see his lips parting, sobs rumbling out of his body as the unsub abuses his frame over and over again - same lips which had kissed her forehead before telling her “i always am”.

Then again, she isn’t sure if its his voice which is filling her head with painful sounds or if her mind is playing tricks on her, memorising the horrifying vibrations coming from his chest for her to ever consider anything else. She hasn’t stopped hearing him since she turned on that damned computer.

She isn’t sure she’ll ever stop hearing it.

As a man of great intellect, Spencer always recurred to knowledge to understand difficult occurrences in his life. Burying himself in textbooks, novels, poems, and even music to understand pain, and himself having a life filled with it, he was an incredibly knowledgeable man.

He knew much. But right now, he only knew one thing.

In Orwells’ 1984, as Winston was being tortured (much like Spencer is right now), Orwell described the following:

“Never, for any reason on earth, could you wish for an increase of pain. Of pain you could only wish one thing: that it should stop. Nothing in the world was so bad as physical pain. In the face of pain there are no heroes, no heroes”.

And, as a man who had acquired most of his intellect by immersing himself in trivial content in the face of pain, he found himself doing the same thing as the unsub hurt him over and over again, each blow seemingly more painful than the last. As his skin bruised, a causality of his abusers torment, he analysed the seemingly logical quote.

It must depend on the person, he was sure. In fact, a number of factors must be taken into consideration at this statement. For starters, Winston lives in a society incapable of any human feelings. There is only dominance, and those who attempt, in vain, to challenge it. Surely, if he had felt happiness, like the one you feel when the first day of spring rolls around, or like the one that creeps up on you as you look into the eyes of your loved one, surely, he would understand that some things can outweigh pain.

Love.

If Spencer’s mind could make sense of what he was feeling right now, he would understand, something he would figure of were he to leave this damned place, that he was thankful to the Gods, were there any, for having the unsub kidnap him and not Y/N.

Winston hadn’t understood emotional pain because emotions weren’t dealt with regularly. They were discouraged. That’s why he believed that there are no heroes in the face of pain. Because he doesn’t understand emotional pain.

He knew he was suffering. He also knew that Y/N was at the other side of the blinking camera suffering more than he could ever imagine.

They say emotional pain lasts 12 minutes. Anything one feels after this would be the aftermath of the cause of the pain in question. Pure emotional pain, the one you practically feel in your chest, the one that says “i can’t think, feel or be. not until this feeling dissipates”.

She had learned this from Spencer.

And she wished it were true. As she watched that damned monitor, she wished that all the venom the unsub was spewing at Spencer, all the verbal abuse, was long forgotten. She wished he could only feel the physical pain. Because the mind is incredibly stronger than the body - it could keep him awake, alive, for just enough time for the team to rescue him.

The entire team had huddled around the monitor around her. She was painfully aware that other people were seeing this. Which meant it wasn’t her imagination. It wasn’t another one of those damned dreams she would have when she slept a little too far away from Spencer’s touch.

They had only been together for two months, but his touch was all that could get her to fall asleep.

She jolted as the unsub landed another slap on Spencer’s cheek, swiftly grabbing his hair for him to look into the camera. He had a cut above his right cheek, just where she would kiss him in the mornings, and bruises all over his neck, jaw and left eye.

“Say hi to your team!” he mocked Spencer, chuckling darkly as he moved his almost lifeless body around for the team to watch in horror. Spencer let out a heartbreaking sob, feeling so vulnerable.

“Why don’t we make this interesting?” he jumped, as if he had gotten an idea. The unsub reached behind himself to grab a pistol, clicking off the magazine safety to put one bullet in one of the eight slots, leaving the other seven free. He pointed it at Spencer’s temple.

Her entire body shook the thought of seeing Spencer’s lifeless body, held up only by the ropes and that sick man’s grip around his curls. The same curls she grabbed as she kissed his face when she wanted his attention.

“I’m going to ask you some questions...” he said, voice dripping with sickening sweetness as he turned the roulette, “and if i don’t like your answer i’ll pull the trigger! Let God decide what I do with you. Sounds good?”. He wanted to humiliate Spencer.

However, Spencer made the mistake of not answering him. He was quickly reminded as the barrel of the gun pointed right between his eyes, pulling the trigger, a loud bang! sound expanding through the barn.

“I asked you a question!” he suddenly yelled into Spencer’s face.

“Y-yes, Sir” he whimpered, shaking at the ease at which the man pulled the trigger.

“Good, you’re learning”.

She experienced it by bits. Hotch’s hoarse voice. “Talk to me Garcia”. “We’ve got coordinates”. Everybody rushing to the SUVs. Tripping over her own feet on the way to the car. Morgan’s voice. The iPad, which still carried Spencer’s whimpers and the man mocking tone.

“I’ve got your diary, Spence” his sing-song voice didn’t match the disgusting man she was looking at. Nothing made sense.

“And I wanna know why...” he drew out the ‘y’ as he looked for something between the worn pages between his hands.

Of course she knew Spencer owned a diary. But she was mature enough to keep her hands to herself and her eyes on her own pages as he wrote on his, eyebrows creasing as he recalled all which he had experienced during the day. His face would twitch slightly at the memories, both good and bad, as he basically described his day word by word.

“...why did you wait until you were 24 to lose your virginity?” he asked in a clear attempt to humiliate and ridicule Spencer in front of his team.

“I-I didn't-” he could barely finish a word before a sob wrecking through his body at the humiliation, chest rumbling and voice wavering. “I didn’t want to lose it before, i w-wasn’t in a hurry” he rushed out. The man brought the pistol to his own chin, tapping it as he thought. “Hmm... I’m satisfied with your answer. Let’s dig deeper, shall we?” he asked as he went back into the pages.

“ooh! This one is new” that sick bastard was having fun with this, completely unaware that the team was less than 5 minutes away from their location.

“Care to read what you wrote three days ago? Right here” he turned the pages so Spencer could read them, though he was painfully aware of that entry he was talking about. His body shook violently. “P-please. D-don’t ma-make me do t-this” he whimpered, body feeling defeated.

“Wrong answer” the unsub said before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger.

A shriek was heard from the iPad. The SUV went silent.

“He’s alive” she whispered, unable to speak up. “He-” she swallowed. “He’s alive. We’re not there, yet” her mantra became a reminder that she hadn’t been quick enough to help him. She had the tools to save him. Every second she had the knowledge to save him and didn’t was another second she remained impotent at the risk of losing the love of her life.

Spencer’s voice spoke from the iPad.

“C-can you at-at leas-st turn off t-the ca-amera?” he said between sobs.

And it hit her.

What hurt him the most wasn’t the memories he had to relieve, but the fact that the rest of the team would have to hear his most intimate thoughts. His deepest secrets.

He could bare the pain. The humiliation? That broke him.

“Aww” the unsub chuckled mockingly, “are you embarrassed?” he said, slouching down to look into his eyes. “Well too fucking bad!” he screamed into his face, spitting with every word he spewed at him. Spencer’s sobs got louder.

“O-okay okay!” Spencer caved, accepting the journal that got shoved into his face.

“Read, pretty boy” the unsub sang. That son of a bitch was having fun.

“We’re two minutes away, Y/N” Hotch said. Maybe it was he sobs, which were barely audible to herself, having accepted them as second nature after all the heartbreak she was experiencing, but Hotch needed her to be okay.

His own heart thumped into his chest, feeling as helpless as he’d ever felt. Seeing a member of his team - someone he was supposed to take care of, someone he was supposed to keep safe - was sobbing as he was physically and emotionally tortured. But he was painfully aware of the feelings Y/N was experiencing. The sheer fear that was running down her veins at the idea of them running out of time.

After a few sobs, Spencer started reading, interrupting himself occasionally with his whimpers:

“It’s been three months. Today, three months, seven hours and forty-six minutes ago, she did what I didn’t have the courage to do. She asked me out. “I’ve been wanting to ask you pretty much since the day i met you” she had said. Those words keep ringing in my head like a beautifully written symphony, intrinsically designed to make me face my deepest fears. Opening my scars one by one, dissecting them and reaching the simple conclusion that i was a coward.

She didn’t say it, but what she meant was “i’ve been waiting for you to do it, but you never did, so i had to”. We wasted time - a time so precious and sacred - because i was a coward.

I’ve never felt like this before. I never understood a love so deep as to move something so stubborn as the human spirit. I’ve read textbook after textbook, and novel after novel, and still I’ve never learned more than with her. But I was a coward. And i wasted her time. I fear that I still am.

A knife twists at the thought that i should fall short of the mark. It’s impossible for me to ever be enough for her”.

Her heart broke at this confession. Even worse at the thought that he wouldn’t’ve told her, instead inhaling fear and exhaling rejection at every breath he took next to her.

“We’re here” she heard Hotch, looking at her. She grabbed a bottle of water and dropped the iPad, not hearing the teams objections at the lack of vest and preparation and ran into the barn.

She isn’t sure if she’ll ever stop hearing his whimpers. As she runs closer, she hears them louder and louder, decorated with sobs and cries, and small, meaningless replies to his abusers’ mocking words.

She kicked the door down, the loud bang booming across the room, only helping in raising Spencer’s sobs as he feared the sound had been the result of a certain trigger being pulled. As she looks at him, she realises just how much pain he’s been put through.

She remembers Orwells words, much like how Spencer had remembered them mere hours ago. And disagrees, wishing over and over, praying to the Gods that she would be the victim of such atrocious abuse. She wished she could take his pain. Morgan joined her at her side mere seconds later, yelling. “FBI! Put the gun down!”.

Spencer used the last bit of energy to lunge forward, hitting the unsubs stomach with his head, successfully getting him on the floor for Morgan to apprehend. Y/N rushed to Spencer’s side, untying him, as his now nonexistent sobs grew louder and louder, not only at the prospect of getting out of that horrible place alive, but also at the knowledge that Y/N had heard what he had so dreadfully recited.

Spencer collapsed into her arms, crying into her in the same way she was crying into him, and she wondered just how to take away all his pain. So they cried into each other, desperately grasping each others hair, skin, clothes, anything that would make them feel like they wouldn’t have to spend another damned second without the company of each other.

Spencer was the first to break the silence.

“I need-” he stopped, coughing. She reached for the bottle of water she had brought with her because she knew he would need it. She always knew what he needed.

He chugged it desperately, stray drops falling down his chin at his eagerness. He took a deep breath trying to steady his lungs.

“I need to get out of here” he choked out.

She grabbed him under the shoulders, careful not to hurt him - not being successful, realising that there wasn’t much of him the man hadn’t hurt. Y/N pulled him out, sitting down on the grass with him. Their legs intertwined, pulling each other impossibly closer. They kissed, over and over again. Not as an act of any sexual relevance, but as a reminder that they had each other in any way, shape or form. That they weren’t out of time.

The team was certain they would stay there, never letting each other go for another minute.

After what felt like seconds in their time-starved little world, she broke the silence, which had only been filled with their own cries and occasional sobs.

“Spence” she grabbed his chin to look into his eyes. They were dull, red and hooded. He was exhausted. “Mhmm?” he let out, looking into hers. She was his solace.

“How could you ever think you were anything but completely and unequivocally enough?” she whispered the words he dreaded.

But as Spencer looked into her eyes he knew, better than he had ever known anything, that he was enough. And she was enough. He realised that which she had known for the past three months (possibly longer). They fit like two marvellous puzzle pieces.

Her hands grabbed his cheeks slowly, as to not hurt or startle him, pulling his forehead into hers. “Baby, I can’t imagine anybody else waking up to me every morning. You’re so much more than enough”, she planted a small kiss on his forehead before resuming her position. “I’ll remind you every day of the rest of my life if that’s what it takes for you to believe it”.

And with their eyes closed, foreheads and noses pressed together and legs tangled between each other, pulling each other close, closer - around grass and voices and his abuser pressed into the hood of a police car, they only felt each other. With their shaky breaths, even shakier voices, fearing any words that would leave them in case they triggered a cascade of tears down their oh so vulnerable cheeks, they were more than enough.

***

I hope y’all liked it!! Feel free to let me know by liking, reblogging, or sending me a message :)

super cool kid taglist: @lady-anon-x @spencerreid-mgg @eoupe @inlovewithbabygirl @galaxydefenderjulia @username2002

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gojology · 4 years

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Lovebirds.

𝑨𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒓'𝒔 𝑵𝒐𝒕𝒆 | omg this is my first request. ilysm anon, im now feelin super cool. also, i just realized i put recc (as in recommended) instead of requests. i’m super stupid LOL. anyways, im touch starved too dw bby, i’m servin u up a long one since i rlly like this request and after all u r my first! 𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 | Gojo x Wife! Reader 𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝑪𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕 | 2307 𝑾𝒂𝒓𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 | None! 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚 | Coming home from a long mission in America, precisely 1 year, you’re excited to catch up on Gojo’s students, Nanami, and just Gojo in general. Leaning out of the car window, resting your arm against your purse, you sighed. A humid wind brushed against your skin, tickling you. It had been quite a while since you had been in Japan, spending almost a year on a huge mission in America. You had killed a battalion worthy amount of special grades. You spent most of your time in America in mostly horribly rundown places, equally as infested with curses. Although you found yourself enjoying America’s natural beauty, further away from the city life that many of the Americans found themselves enjoying, you much preferred Japan. after all, it was your home, and where you met Gojo Satoru. It would be another day until you could return, and you had gone through hundreds of scenarios of finally being in his arms again, but nonetheless, you were ecstatic at the thought of your husband’s touch. Your phone’s notification chimed loudly, you threw your phone onto the other seat, heart jumping up to a high rate. It was a recording of Satoru loudly yelling, “OPEN YOUR FUCKING PHONE!” with a flurry of giggles afterwards. Ijichi jumped, turning left and right. Whispering under his breath, he let out an exasperated sigh, switching the music channel. The recording was mostly because of the time you had to ghost him due to work. Gojo had snuck on and recorded it, doing some magical tech stuff and giving you the custom notification sound. You had kept it that way ever since, since secretly, you enjoyed that you were so badly wanted by Gojo, that, and you had no idea how to change it back. But the custom notification was sweet as well. You smiled to yourself every time you heard it, a familiar twinge of pain flashing inside of you whenever you realized you wouldn’t be able to see him for a while. Well, today, and the days after that would be different. You’d be able to finally see Gojo again, and his new students that he always frantically texted you about. Nanami, an old friend of Gojo, and also an old friend of yours, would also be there to welcome you back, you found yourself reminiscing about them. You had heard so much about them, one of the kids being Sukuna’s vessel, you wondered how Gojo could contain such a fear, being around the kid at all times, he always told you about how the kid was actually energetic and happy and an overall great kid, you had heard about Nanami, finally coming back into the jujutsu sorcerer field of work, even though you always found that he still had a thing for finances. You shook your head, “Save that shit for later, (Y/N).” muttering to yourself, you didn’t want to think of anything but Gojo, after all, it had been one fucking year of being deprived of the man you loved most. You were practically starving for the guy, in more ways than one. Ijichi gulped, facing towards you, one hand on his steering wheel, “Forgive me Mrs. Satoru, but um.. Forgive me if I misheard, but I think I heard your phones notification go off.. Due to the ah- incredibly loud profanity.” Now just realizing that you had completely forgotten about the phone notification, you nodded your thanks to Ijichi, a warmth rushing to your cheeks before opening up your phone. In the small, rounded box containing Gojo’s message, he wrote in all caps, “SUGAR, MY BELOVED, MY QUEEN, HOW CLOSE ARE YOU? I CAN’T FUCKING WAIT I’M LITERALLY BOUNCING UP AND DOWN IN OUR BED.” Smiling to yourself, you furiously texted back, “Calm down honeybun, I’ll be there in like, 24 hours, I’m not even fucking close.” You almost instantly got a DM back, making you jump a bit in your seat. Even with the 5 years of friendship, and the 3 years of relationship, and the 2 years of marriage, he still almost always texted you back as quickly as possible. “God I can’t fucking wait for you to meet the kids! We’ll keep it a surprise, yeah? We have a bunch of treats, and we also got the kids to get some gifts for you! How thoughtful aren’t they? They’re MY offspring by the way, so like, you know, whenever you want a kid, it’s your call ;)” You snorted to yourself, smiling. He genuinely seemed so excited, and it was all shining through even though it was from a screen. “Maybe in a few years, I don’t even wanna imagine a little you.” Despite the excited, bubbling feeling brewing bigger and bigger in your stomach, you figured it’d be best to sleep before the chaos. Happily sighing, you laid down, using your purse as a pillow, drifting into a blissful sleep. ‧₊˚✩彡. You awoke to a sudden halt, Looking around your surroundings, you figured you were home. Ijichi looked like he was damn near about to fall asleep on the steering wheel. Well, maybe that’s what 24 hours of constant driving did to you. You fished around in your purse, silently cursing looking for a water bottle. “Here, Ijichi, looks like you ran a marathon.” you grinned, handing the slightly crumped water bottle to him. He beamed as if a guardian angel had descended down and gave him a trillion dollars. “Mrs. Satoru! You really mean it? The ride was nothing, I was merely instructed to do so and I would’ve done it happily regardless.” You waved your hand, as a dismissal of the conversation. “You overwork yourself Ijichi, go catch a break, on me. If Gojo tears you apart, tell him he won’t be getting any pussy from me for another year.” Ichiji nodded vigorously, before dashing off, probably towards a massage center, God that guy needed it. ‧₊˚✩彡. Gojo frantically hopped up and down, it had been a day, now he was just waiting for you to bust through the door in your wild hair, his legs sprawled onto the whole of a couch, he stared at the ceiling, a dopey smile spread across his face. “Satoru. (Y/N) will not even want to be associated with you, looking at your current state.” he remarked, staring at the sorcerer with his strikingly dead eyes. “Nanami, how the fuck am I supposed to act calm?! I’ve waited for this moment for ONE YEAR! Does my hair look normal?!” “Your hair looks just like an albino porcupine, just as usual.” Flipping the page of his newspaper, he sighed, rubbing his temples. “I will never understand how someone like (Y/N) would be.. Interested in you, Satoru.” Gojo paid no attention to the insult Nanami had so clearly made, his ears were perked up, eavesdropping on a distant conversation coming closer and closer. “Gojo-Senpai was telling me about this movie while training my cursed energy! He basically spoiled the whole thing but he told me that the main character was super annoying but apparently she dies in the end in the most gruesome way possible! It’s worth the watch, your soul will feel cleansed as soon as you see her lifeless body!” “Yuuji, you literally spoiled the whole thing to me just now.” Fushiguro calmly stated, looking bored out of his mind. “Oh, oops.” Yuuji rubbed the back of his neck. He smiled coyly, tightly hugging his present. “What’s with the decorations, Gojo-Sensei?” inquired Nobara, stroking her warm toned brown hair. She had figured it was something about the presents that Gojo had forced the trio to get, but he never told them who it was for. The room had been decorated with various balloons and confetti, scattered about, on the table and the ground. A cake box wrapped with a gigantic bow limply guarded whoever was brave enough to get their hands on something that Gojo seemed to be protecting with his life. A pink table cover with a crudely drawn Gojo and what would seem to be a girl, a heart in the middle of the pair. In a horrible font with an even awfuller text, the text on top and at the bottom of the drawing proudly stated: “WELCOME BACK QT” “-YOU’RE HUSBAND AND THE CREW” Nobara stood in distaste, trying to disguise the face she made. The drawing, the misused you’re, and the overall poor design choice was enough to almost make her vomit. Nobara, about to make her distasteful statements about the whole mess, was suddenly shut up as Gojo started hopping up and down, looking directly at his phone. “SHE’S COMING! SHE’S COMING! EVERYONE IN YOUR PLACES!” Now, seeing Gojo freak out wasn’t outside of the ordinary, but it was to see him freak out to this extent. He was hopping up and down, blabbering about a certain woman named (Y/N). Nobara was pretty sure that if a curse attacked right now, even a special grade comparable to the one with the uncomplete domain could completely crush Gojo, the guy seemed completely unaware of the example he was setting to the kids. Even Yuuji stood in disbelief, and he had seen multiple tantrums by Gojo. Nanami, however, licked his finger and flipped the newspaper page. A face of boredom obviously displayed. Nobara, preparing herself to chew Gojo out about how utterly stupid and embarrassing he made the whole class of jujutsu sorcerers look like, stopped wide eyed as she looked at the doors slide wide open. ‧₊˚✩彡. You stood, shyly, looking at the ground. Gojo dove headfirst into your arms, laughing like a maniac and digging his face into your shoulder. You breathed in his scent, scanning the room. Three teens, sat wide-eyed, backs straight as they looked at you with eyes you couldn’t quite read. All three of them held presents. The one with eyelids underneath his eyes (which you assumed was Yuuji, the vessel of Sukuna) eyed you curiously, his eye twitched. The other boy, one with wild black-blue hair, sat mouth agape, before closing it. He looked like he was about to say something, before stopping entirely and hugging his present closer to his chest. The warm haired girl darted her eyes between you two, seemingly trying to put the puzzle together. Nanami put the newspaper down, glancing over to you two. “This is obviously Gojo-Senpai’s wife. He hasn’t seen her in many months, and as you can see, really really misses her.” he paused, a small smile spreading on his face, a rare sight. “I don’t even know why myself, but what can you do with lovebirds?” he thought aloud, his attention now focused to the two of you furiously making out, hands in places Yuuji and the crew didn’t need to see. “Satoru, (Y/N), leave the kissing for later. Don’t you see the kids?” You detached yourself from his mouth, panting for breath. The air being exhaled out of his nose fanned over your face, you had just now realized the kids again. “Satoru, lets sit down. I bet the kids are surprised. “ you motioned to the couch. Gojo whined. “What? They’re not that dumb, they can tell you’re my wife or at least, you’re my girlfriend, just by the way we kiss right? Isn’t this telling enough?” “You didn’t tell them about me, ever did you?” He sighed in defeat, holding tightly onto your arm as you dragged him over and sat down on the comfortable couch, opposite of Yuuji and the crew. Nanami scooched over, before finally getting up to pull another chair from somewhere else. Grunting, he excused himself from the room. “YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND, GOJO-SENPAI? AND DIDN’T TELL US?” Yuuji questioned, looking like he was about to faint. Gojo laughed, snuggling deeper onto you, almost like a koala. “She’s my wife, aren’t you, sugar? Did you even pay attention to anything Nanami said? He literally said she was my wife.” Megumi made an obvious gagging sound, but even he didn’t seem as bored as he was usually. He actually looked intrigued. “Why didn’t you tell us, Gojo-Senpai?” the girl nagged, slamming her fist down on the table. Gojo smiled, “Uh, well, I wanted it to be a surprise when she came back.” “Couldn’t you have told us that you had a wife or something?” Megumi butt in. The door slid open, Nanami coming in with a wooden stool. “Knowing Gojo-Senpai, that probably went over his head.” grunting as he placed the wooden stool down and sat, he opened his newspaper again. “Where do you guys know eachother?” “Was Gojo-Senpai handsome back in highschool too?” “Do you know what lipgloss Gojo-Senpai wears?” “Gojo-Senpai, how did you know you loved her?” “Gojo-Senpai, can we eat now?” “Do you know why Gojo has such a horrible sweet tooth?” Before you could even respond, Nanami put his hand up. “Now, now, lets let the happy couple settle down.” he cleard his throat, not even making eye contact with anyone but the newspaper. An audible chorus of groans sounded, “What do you expect us to do? We literally just met her!” moaned Yuuji. “Weren’t you the one that literally asked if we could eat yet?” Yuuji immediately shut up afterwards. “Yuuji, she just came back from a 1 day trip. She should be laying down comfortably with Gojo-Senpai and they should be catching up. You’ll have the opportunity to talk to her and learn about her later. Right now she needs space.” “But-” Nobara whined, clasping her hands together. Nanami turned to Fushiguro, but even he had his mind set. “I didn’t even begin to think that Gojo had a wife. I really want to know more about her, if you think about it, this is all Gojo-Sensei’s fault.” Nanami rubbed his temples, staring at the two of you for backup, realizing that you two were making out again. Nanami sighed, 10 years later and you two were still the same.

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

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nobody does it like you do - act 1

I'm finally back with some more rowaelin! I started this fic in november last year and wrote the first 10k in 24 hours, but from then on this fic was a struggle... Thank you so, so much to @morganofthewildfire for sharing so much of your time to help me with this, this fic would not be here without you 💗 I'm so happy to have finally finished it and can share it on here. I hope you enjoy

CW: past drug abuse, minor character death, violence

7.7k - masterlist - ao3

When her agent sends her the script it’s not the first time she’s heard of Rowan Whitethorn, his name is written at the top under the heading director, which itself is under the big red text reading confidential. He’s been at this stuff for a while now, directed a couple of movies that popped up on her radar but that nothing ever came of for her, and he’s well known in the business.

He was even nominated for an Oscar a couple of years ago, and she watched the ceremony with Lysandra, slapping the bills into her outstretched hand when he didn’t win.

His movie had been far too fucking raw for him to have won, she knew that, a tale about a group of kids who witnessed a murder and how it stayed with them and fucked them up into adulthood, but it had stuck with her nonetheless and she’d put her money on him anyway.

She reads the section of script Dorian has sent her, tucked up in bed with a glass of sparkling water and her most comfortable sweater, leaning back into the mountain of expensive pillows she had Elide buy for her and pondering how so much money could end up so uncomfortable, and she knows it’s something special.

She realises she wants this role, almost to an uncomfortable degree, when she’s about five lines in. The heroine is bratty and rash, but serious and pained in a way that makes her completely fleshed out and Aelin wants to play her, wants to be her and embody her in a way that takes her out of the pit she’s in.

She hopes this could be what gets her out of it.

Aedion had tried to pull her out, gods bless him, dropping by her apartment every morning for weeks to check up on her with a coffee in his hand, topped with cream and two sugars the way he knows she likes. Each morning he let himself in with her spare key, the one she gave to him the day she moved in, wanting him to be able to let himself in whenever he wanted but also knowing there was no one else she wanted to give it to.

She would have given it to Sam, would have given everything to Sam, but he’s gone and she’s left sitting here, wondering how to salvage what’s left of her reputation.

What reputation she had even managed to build after starring in one mediocre TV show and a handful of low-budget movies. She knows deep down, and in a way her brain likes to remind her of when she’s at her lowest, that the main reason she isn’t a complete nobody is because she’s Evalin Ashryver’s daughter. Her therapist tells her every time she bothers to go to a session that having a famous mother doesn’t mean she’s a failure and that she has to recognise each of her successes as her own. She nods along every time, but she doesn’t believe her. What has she managed to accomplish truly on her own?

It hasn’t been made public yet that Rowan Whitethorn is involved in the film, she only knows because Chaol wrote the whole script himself and texted her to let her know when he signed on to direct. She’s known Chaol since she was eighteen and took her first solo trip to Rifthold, drawn to the lights of the big city and the almost magnetic pull of the heart of the industry. He’d stumbled upon her in a club she was far too young to be in and had pulled her out, sending her home in a cab that he paid for. Looking back she was grateful for his attempt to avoid what she knew later was an inevitability.

She had cursed him when he told her she’d still have to audition, but she gets it. She hasn’t exactly behaved in a way recently that makes people want to take a chance on her.

Stumbling out of clubs, eyes as wide as saucers and high as a fucking kite isn’t the kind of star casting directors are desperate to hire, but she’s trying to be better. She’s promised those around her that she’ll be better, and she knows that the only reason she hasn’t ended up in rehab is that she has an incredible therapist and a highly persuasive manner of dealing with her friends and family. The only reason they’ve taken that chance on her is time, and she’s grateful for that mercy.

She turns the page, hitting the final line for the third time. Chaol’s script is so good she’s read the few pages she’s been sent over and over.

She only reads scripts in physical copies, takes the time to print them out using her shitty printer that belongs right back in 2008, and she knows it’s wasteful but she allows herself that small luxury of the crisp paper in her hand as she delves into each new world. Her character is in the middle of a teary monologue that she knows exactly how she’d do, the way she’d halt her breath and choke out the words-- it’s not her character. Yet.

The audition is next week, and she’ll work her ass off to make sure she’s ready. Her usual pre-audition ritual involves taking up far too much of Lysandra’s time to practice reading the lines and filming herself time after time, take after take, and watching it back in the unholy hours of night until she’s happy she’s made an improvement.

Or at least that’s how she used to do it, nothing has made her want a role like this in a long while. She worries as she bites her lip, that wanting something this much means she’s getting over Sam. That maybe one day she won’t think of him and hear the pounding in her ears, won’t feel the lightheadedness that comes with a memory of their time together. Worries that if she forgets the sounds of his screams she’s failing him somehow.

She takes another sip of her sparkling water. It’s poured into a wine glass so she can at least pretend she’ll get the relaxation she craves. Alcohol was never one of her vices but she finds it’s better to be safe than sorry. It’s unhealthy as far as coping mechanisms go, but she’s been worse so it’s going down as a win.

Chaol told her some guy called Brullo is casting this one. She’s never heard of him, which is kind of rare. She’s been on the periphery of this bubble for pretty much her entire life, following her mother around her own movie sets and sitting on the wooden directors chair when her legs still dangled off the side, but if he’s like any other casting director in Adarlan she knows how to impress him.

When she reaches the last line of the part of the script she’s been sent, her mind wanders again to Rowan Whitethorn.

He’s the kind of director up and coming actors can only hope to one day work with, even though she’s pretty sure he can’t be much more than thirty, he’s built himself to a level where he can be choosy with his projects.

It's a well deserved privilege. Each of his works has stayed with her after watching, his style is gritty and dark, but grounded in a way that leaves her empty each time after finishing.

She wants this, and she buries the guilt she feels for that. Sam would want her to want this. She deserves it, or at least she hopes she can come to.

Dorian books her a mid-morning flight so she doesn’t have to wake too early before the audition, he’s a damn good agent and one she definitely doesn’t deserve with his seemingly endless patience, but she’s continuously grateful for him.

Aelin styles herself for it, ties her hair back and leaves the makeup to a minimum in a way that she hopes shows them she’s right for the part, that she can be the insecure little girl who experiences far too much. She knows she doesn’t have the sheltered innocence the character has, but she’s an actress and this is what she does. Aelin pretends for a living.

He’s also booked her a room in a pretty nice hotel for the night, she’s not sure whether he’s used her meagre acting funds or the funds from the account she knows he mom throws money into every month. It’s an argument she and Evalin have had repeatedly, she wants to stand on her own two feet, but she never protests too hard. The account kept the roof over her head when she was too busy snorting her life away to consider where her next paycheck would come from.

Aelin throws herself backwards into the crisp white bedding on the hotel room bed and takes a deep breath. The only luggage she brought with her is a carry on slung somewhere by the door and the room feels too empty to sit here and wait for the car that’s arriving to take her to the studio in just over an hour. If she sits here and waits the nerves will only build, and then she’ll itch for something to take the edge off.

She picks her phone up to text her cousin.

Jet lag from a 2 hour flight. Who would have thought?

Aelin waits two minutes for a reply, locking and unlocking her phone as she sits there, but one doesn’t come. Aedion’s probably at a training session and not checking his phone. Aelin runs a hand through her hair, careful not to dislodge the pins she placed carefully in it this morning, she needs to stop using him as her crutch. She knows he doesn’t mind, but it’s not right either way.

She needs to get out of this room.

The streets of Rifthold are busy and crammed as she meanders down them, clutching the takeout coffee cup she bought from a vendor with a stall at the side of the road.

People pay her no mind as she walks, the oversized shades hide her eyes that she knows are a dead giveaway for her membership of the Ashryver line. Even if she didn’t wear them, everybody else here wants to be someone, and so far she can still blend in if she tries.

She sends a text to the assistant organising the audition, it’s kind of shitty of her but she keeps it brief because she can’t remember their name, letting them know the car isn’t needed anymore and that she’ll make her own way there. She needs the stroll through the streets to clear her head.

Aelin needs to nail it. She hasn’t felt the twisting of desire so sharp in her stomach for a long time and the only way she’ll manage it is with a clear head.

She alternates her breathing with sips of her coffee, the taste is bitter but she keeps drinking. She pulls her phone out to check the directions to the studio.

Spontaneous isn’t a word Aelin would use to describe herself anymore, any longing to go with the flow died the minute she lost control. It’s safer now to plan, to make sure she won’t lead herself astray.

Brullo is a man in his mid forties, with dashes of grey seasoned through his muddy brown hair, and kind lines around his eyes as he smiles and shakes her hand. Aelin wipes the sweat off her palm on her jeans before clasping her hand in his.

The audition goes about as well as she can hope for, she remembers every line, and the other casting director is fairly natural reading the lines for her to act against. Aelin swallows back her tears after she finishes, trying to keep what dignity she can to end the audition when there’s snot threatening to run down her upper lip. It was a brutal scene to start with, but if she can pull this off she can surely manage the rest.

Brullo’s expression is carefully guarded as she leaves, giving nothing away, but Aelin thinks she did a good job, which is all she could have ever hoped for.

She’s staring at the tiled floor, mulling over Brullo’s parting words, thanks Aelin, our people will be in touch, when she hits something hard and warm.

She’s too busy dissecting those eight words to register exactly who it is with their hands clamped around the top of her arms, steadying her as she stumbles, but she looks up and her gaze meets that of a pair of striking, green eyes.

The man gripping her is easily over a head taller than her, broad and strong enough that she fights back the shiver that wants to roll through her at his touch. He’s staring down at her, the strong planes of his face drawn into a deep frown, with his strangely coloured eyebrows pulled in.

They’re a kind of silver that matches his short cut hair, and it shines in the fluorescent light of the hallway in a way that it can only be natural, but she’s never seen a shade quite like it.

“Sorry,” she manages to stutter out, still thrown from the vulnerability of her audition.

“It’s alright.” His voice burns through the words, his accent rolling in a way that raises hairs down the back of her neck. He flashes her a dangerous grin and she steadies herself. She knows what that look means. She’s used to the male attention, and as much as she hates to acknowledge it, she knows her looks are an element of how she’s got as far as she has. That and her family’s name.

The decision of whether to register in the guild as Aelin Ashryver or Aelin Galathynius was one she had spent hours deliberating over. Did she want the level of independence Galathynius would give her, or the reputation being an Ashryver would bring?

The man releases his grip on her shoulders, but not before running his hands down her arms until he reaches her wrists which he releases with a light squeeze. She takes an almost imperceptible step back, leaning back to breathe some air into her lungs. All she ends up doing is filling her mind with this man’s smell, inviting and intoxicating, a delicious combination of pine trees and snowy winter mornings.

“I don’t usually go around slamming into people like this,” she tells him, letting some of her snark slip through. He’s said two words to her so far but she knows he can take it, and she wants to play.

His grin becomes even more wicked and it truly is a sight to see. This man is built like a god; broad, muscular shoulders stretching the white button up he wears and she spies the dark lines of a tattoo threatening to slip past his collar.

It’s been a couple of months since her last mindless hook-up, and this man would more than do. The mischief glimmering in his eyes tells her he’d know how to make her gasp and beg.

“Slam into me anytime.” His words are a sensual croon and her mouth drops open slightly, but he sidesteps her before she can manage to speak again, nodding towards the door she’s come through. “Good luck with whatever you were here for.”

With that he’s gone, leaving her to turn and watch the way his grey slacks pull against his thighs as he walks away from her.

Aelin tries not to think too much about the outcome of the audition, and flies back to Orynth in economy class with a sleep mask tucked over her eyes lest she be recognised when all she wants to do is curl up in bed and be alone for a bit. That or get fucking wasted, and she can’t do that.

She tries far too hard to forget about the man from the hallway, forget about the way his voice had rumbled deep in her chest and the tug in her belly that his words had sent through her.

She begs Elide to come to a bar with her, and she agrees. Aelin needs to pay her more, maybe change her title from publicist to publicist-come-part-time-therapist-and-life-saver. Aelin’s not sure she has the budget for that really.

Elide would smack her if she knew Aelin’s thoughts. Would scold her for looking at Elide just like an employee as if they weren’t childhood friends and Elide hadn’t been there holding her hand through the whole Sam thing. As if she, Lysandra and Aedion hadn’t been her only reason for being here now.

A bar might be a risk, but she can sip her sparkling water while she browses the small selection of men that Orynth has to offer.

She enjoys the easy conversation she has with Elide, chatting about what their friends have been up to, even though most of them are mainly Elide’s friends at this point. After Sam she stopped speaking to everyone but those who were necessary. She couldn’t manage any more than that.

“You should come with us next time,” Elide is saying as she sips her own lemonade. Aelin knows Elide would normally choose a crisp glass of white wine over a lemonade and her sobriety solidarity touches her heart.

“Maybe,” she shrugs, noncommittal.

The look Elide wears tells her she’s debating pushing the issue for the millionth time against the risk that Aelin would pull back again. She hates that she does this to her friends so she sighs.

“Text me next time,” she tries. “I’ll see if I’m free.”

Elide offers her a thankful smile, and Aelin returns it, trying to tell herself this is what she needs and that she shouldn’t just stay locked up thinking about Sam.

There’s a dark haired guy at the bar catching her eye, his jeans are far too tight and his shirt is ridiculous, but she can see the body beneath and his face is striking. Elide notices her stare and smirks.

She likely knows why Aelin invited her out tonight, but doesn’t mind. Lorcan’s probably waiting for her at the home they share, waiting for her to come back so they can be in love. Aelin hates the bastard, except she doesn’t. She introduced her friend to the tall, dark and grouchy hockey player at the wrap party for the shit teen movie she did a couple of years back, and she’s big enough to admit she wants what they have.

She had what they have.

What’s left in her glass slips down her throat easily in one mouthful and she promises to text Elide tomorrow before slipping out of the booth and over to the guy at the bar.

“You going to just stare at me all night?” She asks with a sly smile. “Or did you plan on doing something about it at some point?”

His smile makes him look even more attractive.

“Maybe I was waiting for you to make the first move, a beautiful girl like you can be intimidating.”

It’s a shit line and she rolls her eyes, but tugs him into a cab back to her place anyway.

“Please.” Her voice shakes as she begs. “Please don’t do this.”

The man in front of them scoffs and Sam squeezes her hand, his palm rough against her own.

“Aelin, baby. It’s okay, just do what he says.”

He lets go of her hand and turns back to the guy in front of them. His face is covered by a black mask, only two slits show her the dark brown of his eyes. She can barely look away from the knife he holds out in front of himself, it’s pointed at Sam but that doesn’t make her feel any better, it makes her feel worse in fact.

“Your wallet,” the guy demands.

Tears are rolling down her cheeks, fat and hot, as she fishes around in her bag for her purse.

“Just dump the whole thing,” the guy growls, irritated, but she’s pretty sure she’s going into shock and she can’t focus. Can’t breathe.

Sam’s voice is steady by her side as he throws his own wallet onto the street in front of them.

“Alright, man. We’re doing everything you say.”

“Hands up.” The mugger’s voice is sharp. “Don’t fucking move.”

She raises her arms straight in the air, trying to control the way her hands are shaking and the attacker ducks down to grab their things.

She lets out a tiny whimper and feels Sam spin to her, his eyes begging her to trust him. No, she shakes her head.

“I said don’t fucking move,” the guy yells and lunges for Sam.

His scream cuts the night air and she whirls, hands dropping into the air between them as he drops to the ground. The mugger takes off, sprinting down the empty street and she falls to her knees by Sam’s side.

In the dark, the pool spilling out across the floor by Sam’s side just looks black, but she knows that really it’s red. She’s not stupid. His face is twisted in pain and her hands flutter around his torso before she manages to pull back the flap of his jacket.

There’s a hole in his white t-shirt and now her jeans are wet where she kneels.

She needs her phone, needs to call someone who can make this all better, but her phone is gone.

She presses her hands against his side and his eyes shutter closed as he gasps. His breathing is stuttered and uneven.

“Sam. Sam, no,” she cries. “I’ll get help. You’re okay.”

“Aelin.” He raises a hand to press against her cheek, and the blood on it is sticky and warm.

“No, Sam. No, stay with me.”

The scream that tears through her throat will hurt tomorrow but now she barely feels it. “HELP!”

His breathing becomes much quicker as she presses on his side and screams again.

She knows abstractly that she’s crying, tears and snot streaming down her face as she desperately presses her hands against his side.

There’s a strong arm around her waist, tugging her back and away from Sam, and she screams one word over and over.

“No, no, no, no.”

There are people here now, leaning over Sam, leaning over his body.

“NO.”

Aelin gasps as she launches up in her bed. The sheets are stuck to her clammy skin and her head flies to the side. The guy is gone, the side of the bed he occupied when she fell asleep now cold. Good.

She lives it over and over in her dreams, sees the dark street more often than not, feels the phantom warmth of his blood down her legs. Wakes screaming herself hoarse just as she did that night. She doesn’t normally let people stay the night. Even when Aedion tried for the first few weeks after the fact, she couldn’t sleep, couldn’t turn her brain off for even a second. Every time she closed her eyes she was back on that street, begging and pleading for him to open his eyes.

She grasps at her side for the switch of her bedside lamp and flicks it on. Her room is cold and empty and she hasn’t had it in her to decorate past the basics so it’s plain and impersonal when she looks around, trying to calm her breathing.

She checks the time. 6:25am. Not bad, she must have managed about six hours of sleep last night, and it’s more than she usually gets.

There're a few texts waiting in her inbox, including one from Elide, and she expects it to be a request to let her know that she got home safe but it’s not.

Call me as soon as you wake up.

Sent at 6:02am. Elide is a chronic overworker, no matter how much Aelin begs her to stick to a 9 to 5 schedule, but she couldn't imagine her friend any other way. The smiling emoji at the end of the text lets her know it’s nothing she needs to panic about, so she takes a moment to scroll through her other messages. It’s unusual for her to wake up to so many.

She clicks on her conversation with Dorian, the only message she can see, his most recent one, just says Aelin. He has sent her nine messages while she slept, and she scrolls up to reach the first one.

Aelin, you did it. You booked the Rowan Whitethorn movie.

Her heart pounds in her chest, running into overdrive as she processes the words on her screen.

She got the part. She fucking did it.

This is one of those moments she knows she’ll remember.

Dorian has forwarded over a number of contracts and official things but she ignores them in favour of dialling Elide’s number.

“Aelin!” Her friend’s voice is breathy when she answers. “Congratulations, I knew you could do it.”

“Thanks, El.” A pause where she takes a deep breath in. “I can’t believe it.”

She falls back onto her mattress, pressing a fist to her lips as she smiles, eyes closed, almost giddy as she listens to her friend talk.

“They’re putting a press release out today at 12:30, announcing you and the male lead, who I haven’t found out yet but I will.”

“Oh my gods,” she sighs, covering her eyes with a clammy hand.

“I know,” Elide laughs.

She allows herself one tear as she stares up at the white of her ceiling.

This is big, she can feel it.

Later her phone buzzes as Elide sends her links to two different articles breaking the news.

Fenrys Moonbeam and Aelin Ashryver to star in new Chaol Westfall drama. More to follow.

Rowan Whitethorn signs on to direct The Crescent City, the latest project from Chaol Westfall (Throne of Glass, The King’s Hand & more).

She presses the phone to her chest as she lets out a sigh of relief.

It all moves pretty quickly from that point.

She’s on a plane back to Rifthold the next day and Chaol has sent over the whole script for her to read on the plane, bypassing Dorian completely even though that’s how it normally goes and she knows the two are like brothers.

Chaol was the one to introduce her to Dorian, and they kind of took her under their showbiz wings in the first few years she began to get really serious about acting.

They gave her the inside scoop, having been in the industry for a few more years than her. Chaol writing and making movies and Dorian doing all the background stuff like contracts and negotiations and exposure. They took her to their wrap parties that everyone knows are just networking events and introduced her to some of the big names in the industry without so much as batting an eyelid, and she knows she owes them a lot.

The script is phenomenal, and she has to try and hide the tears that form when she reaches the end, it probably wouldn’t be the best start to the project, being photographed crying on the plane on the way to start shooting. It really is some of Chaol’s best work, and she sends him a text when she lands that says fuck you, I hate it, but his reply lets her know he knows she’s joking.

It tells the story of her character, Feyre, and how she’s dragged into selling drugs to pay for her mom’s hospital bills. Along the way she meets Fenrys Moonbeam’s character, Rhysand, the glowering bad-boy who’s well established in the gang and together they see some shit and do some shit but manage to get out together. The topics are kind of cliché and over done, but Chaol has managed to add a level of originality to it that makes it really special.

It’s heavier on the romance than Rowan Whitethorn’s previous projects, but it’s gritty enough that she can see why he’s signed on. It’s going to be hard, she knows this, and it will really push her to her limits trying to embody the range of emotions her character goes through. But she wants it, and she will make her performance incredible if it fucking kills her.

There’s a niggling part of her brain that reminds her that she’s surrounded by some big names on this project, names that are big for a reason, and she can’t let them hiring her be a mistake.

She sends Chaol a follow up text, wtf are these names btw???

He ignores her.

When she’s in the car taking her to the apartment the studio is renting out for her while they film she decides to take a little trip through Instagram and look up her new co-star. Fenrys is a household name by now, a couple of years in after his debut, but it can’t hurt to know a little more about her leading man.

f.moonbeam01 comes up as the first option when the types the three letters f e n into the search bar and he has over eleven million followers.

Shit.

Not that she needs a reminder but it slaps her in the face that this is actually big. Aelin only has a few thousand followers herself and Elide has already told her to prepare herself for that to rise.

His Instagram is a mixture of mostly photos of himself, some selfies and some professional shots, and he’s obviously gorgeous. His deep brown complexion playing well against his golden curls with a straight strong nose and flawless white teeth. He’s definitely leading man material, and she can tell just how charming his grin is even through a screen.

There are also promo pictures for all the movies he’s involved in at the moment, there are at least three projects he has coming out this year. Damn.

His most recent picture is a screenshot of the article announcing their casting, and he’s actually tagged her in the photo along with Rowan himself. She hasn’t seen the tag until now, it’s normally Elide’s job as her publicist to tackle the professional side to her social media, but there’s 6.4 million likes on the photo.

Again, shit.

She can’t help herself from clicking onto Rowan’s account, rowanwhitethorn is a pretty simple handle. He only has 27 posts, most of them are behind the scenes shots from projects, one with his classic director’s chair that has his surname printed across the back in thick white lettering, and a few pictures of different cameras and pieces of equipment.

There’s only one picture of him on there, and it’s from 2017. He has his back to the camera and the sunset behind him lends a shadow that covers all of his features. Very artsy she muses to herself as she double taps the screen to like it, he probably won’t see anyway, the notification will probably get lost in the ones his account no doubt gets from his 2 million followers. The only thing she can gather from the photo about his physical appearance is that he has pretty broad shoulders.

She’s tempted to google him, wanting to know what he looks like, but she feels a bit too much like a stalker, and she knows she’ll meet him in a couple of days anyway so she leaves it and pulls up her emails to reply to the seemingly endless list of forms she has to fill out and send back to Dorian.

The apartment she’s living in for the next few months is modern and airy, with clean lines and bright decor. Aelin likes it, and while it’s not hers in the same way as her home back in Orynth, it’s far better than a hotel room that lower budget movies tend to shove actors in. Another reminder that this time is different, there’s a bigger budget than she’s used to, bigger names than she’s used to, and she can’t fuck this up. There’s more eyes on her now than ever before.

She sends Elide a picture of her new bedroom and her friend just replies with a bunch of exclamation marks and she forwards the picture across to Lysandra too. Aelin wanders through to the kitchen, wondering if anyone bothered to stock the kitchen, not that she can’t do groceries herself, it would just be nice. She’s delighted to find a fridge full of fresh produce and gets about making herself a dish of pasta and veggies.

She tucks herself in front of the big television, munching away as she watches some National Geographic documentary about whales and it helps to take her mind off the fact that this is her last night of peace for a while. She’s trying not to get too in her head about it, there’s a fine line between knowing it’s a big deal and freaking the fuck out about it, and she needs to stay on the right side of that line, needs to keep herself in check.

If she allows herself a moment to relax, a moment to sink into the situation and bask in the opportunity; she’s excited.

And depending on how well this movie does, she knows she may not have another night like this one. Somehow the thought doesn’t seem to scare her.

Lysandra calls her as she’s waiting for the car to arrive to take her to the studio, it's day one of their table read today and she’s tired. She spent all of last night tossing and turning, unable to shut her mind off and panicking over every single detail of how this day could go.

She’s lucky it’s only a table read, she’s not sure even a professional make-up artist would be able to cover the dark circles under her eyes.

“Hello, you.” Lysandra’s voice is cheery through the phone and Aelin smiles, she’s really missed Lysandra and hasn’t taken nearly enough time to seek her out during her recent whirlwind. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

They had texted since the news dropped, but with Lysandra shooting a campaign for a brand she can’t remember somewhere over in the Southern Continent they haven’t had time yet for a call.

“Thanks Lys,” she says as she gets into the back of the sleek black car that the studio has sent for her, tucking her small black backpack onto the seat next to her. It’s all she can use at this point, any other bag just makes her think of that night.

“How’s it going? Have you met everyone yet?”

Lysandra runs in these circles of A list celebrities and Aelin wouldn't be surprised if she already knew Fenrys. She met Lysandra when they were teens; years before her first show for Victoria’s Secret, years before she was walking for people like Gucci and Prada, and they stayed close when they were both living off cheap ramen and thin strands of hope. Aelin likes to tease her about hanging with a lowly C-lister like herself but Lysandra is always quick to quip that she’s maybe a G-lister at a push.

That could change.

“I haven’t met anyone so far, but I’m literally on my way to meet everyone now.”

“That’s exciting, you’ll have to let me know if Fenrys Moonbeam is really that good looking in person.”

“So you don’t already know him?” she asks, teasing. Maybe Lysandra doesn’t know quite everyone.

“Oh you know, apart from every week-end when we hook-up, we’re not really that good friends.”

Aelin laughs, mostly to herself, knowing that somewhere out there that probably is a story that’s cropped up in some cheap tabloid. She knows there’s probably some dating rumours about herself and Fenrys already even though she’s still yet to meet him. It’s just how it is, she knows this, has known this since she was old enough to read the stories about her parents’ messy divorce.

“What does Aedion have to say about that, hm?”

“Oh, he joins us obviously!” Lysandra’s laugh is bright and loud through the grainy speaker.

No-one is more desperate for Aedion to propose to Lysandra than Aelin, not even the magazines, desperate for a scoop of the golden couple, quarterback for the Rifthold Ravens and the world-famous supermodel.

“I think I’ve heard enough, thanks,” Aelin laughs as the car pulls through security checks at the studio. “Lys, I have to go, I’ve just got to the studio.”

“Okay, good luck! Promise you’ll call me later though and let me know how it goes.”

She needs to make sure she puts aside a minute to catch up properly with Lysandra, she’s been slacking recently and she knows her friend misses her. She misses Lysandra too, and Aedion. Maybe she’ll stay with them for a couple of days when she gets a break from filming, she can probably see them far more often now that she’s in Rifthold too.

“I promise,” she agrees. “Tell Aedion to make sure he spoils you from me.”

Lysandra snorts, “Oh he does, I’ll pass it along anyway though.”

“Means a lot. Love you, got to go.”

Lysandra’s returning love you is sincere, but she cuts off the phone as the car comes to a stop outside the plain brick building.

She readies herself in the back of the car, pulling down a deep breath to center herself, she can do this.

The girl leading her to the room doesn’t speak other than to tell Aelin to follow right this way, and she’s grateful, she’s not sure she could speak right now without vomiting all over the dated linoleum flooring.

She needs to get a grip, and fight the urge for a hit that strikes her when she’s nervous like this. It could make her fears disappear, at least for a moment before they all came crashing back down ten-times worse the minute the high faded. There is a reason she packed that shit in, and she knows her nerves will pass. It’s been a while since she’s done any of this, her last movie read was pre-Sam and no matter how hard she tries to push it down, there’s a lot of pressure on her for this to go well.

The girl pauses outside an unassuming white door and holds a hand out to gesture for Aelin to go in. She rolls her shoulders back, holding her head high before she steps into the room. If all else fails she’s still Evalin Ashryver’s daughter and to some people that is something to be proud of.

Fenrys Moonbeam is the first person to catch her eye when she steps into the room, and it seems he’s done some stalking too because he ends his conversation by the food table with some others she doesn’t recognise and bounds straight over to her with a grin.

“Aelin Ashryver,” he says, his voice deep and smooth like velvet. “I’ve heard of you. It’s a pleasure.”

“You have?” She’s both surprised and not at the same time as she holds a hand out for him to shake.

He bypasses the hand she holds out and tugs her into his chest, wrapping both arms around her and knocking her backpack off her shoulder.

“I have,” he says as he bends down to pick her bag back up. “Sorry about that.”

She shakes her head. She needs to stop acting like a bewildered school girl meeting the Queen, she needs to remember that she has second billing for this movie thanks to Dorian.

“Don’t worry about it.” Aelin finds a smile and plasters it on.

Someone calls for everyone to take their seats and she notices the name placards spaced out in front of each chair. She locates her own and it's surreal to see her name printed there, Aelin Ashryver, between Fenrys and another actress playing her sister called Manon Blackbeak. She’s even less known than Aelin, and she only feels slightly guilty for how much that relaxes her.

Aelin knows how this goes down, they sit opposite the production team, the director and all the executive producers and she realises that she’s opposite the sign that reads Rowan Whitethorn.

She slides into her seat, Fenrys and Manon chatting over her head as she does, and she spots a male slipping into the chair opposite her. He’s wearing a slim-fit forest green henley and dark jeans, his shoulders are just as broad as they were in his Instagram photo and here there’s no shadow across his handsome features.

She can’t deny that he’s attractive, she knew it the first time she saw him. Her stare locks onto the man from the hallway after her audition and he smirks at her as if they have a secret. And maybe they do, but now she’s realising that he’s her boss, and a little voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Elide is whispering to her that opportunities like this don’t come around everyday.

She owes it to Sam and she owes it to herself not to fuck this up, but the look that Rowan Whitethorn is sending her across the table makes her think she could risk it all.

It takes them three hours to run through it in full, and she’s happy to see she’s not the only one with a tear in her eye at the end. Rowan doesn’t cry, but he hasn’t looked at her since before they started and each time she read a line she avoided looking at him. She knows there were a couple of times where he nodded along with her expression of the lines. She’s ignoring it.

This is what she lives to do, they’re not even filming yet and she feels like she’s right where she needs to be. It’s cliche but she breathes easier when she acts, the air feels lighter when she takes on a new personality and feels all the things she’s told to feel.

It takes away the restlessness she feels when it’s all just down to her, being told how to feel is far easier.

Her therapist tells her she has both anxiety and PTSD, but she feels like giving it a name doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. She knows a diagnosis can be a relief for some, but to Aelin, what she feels is far too messy to be summed up in four letters. Her life has simply become the before, and the after, even though what each of those contains is a complete fucking shit show.

There are two Aelins; pre that night and post that night.

The Aelin from before that night doesn’t exist anywhere but in her own memory.

Once the run through is completed and basic notices are given by the producers, things like call sheet distributions and health and safety, the occupants of the room begin to mingle. She sees him make a beeline for her, and she swallows. She’s not ready for this.

“You look surprised to see me.” His voice is as hot as it was the last time she saw him, the slight rasp in his throat and his accent. Gods, the accent.

“You don’t look too surprised to see me.” She tilts her head at him because she feels way thrown off, like he has all the power here. Which he does. But like, she can play it cool. Fake it ‘til you make it, right? “Maybe had a little google search?”

He shakes his head at her, biting his lip kind of like he wants to laugh, and she bristles. She needs to level the playing field.

“Says you.” He’s definitely laughing now. “I saw you liked my photo last night.”

“What about it?” She shrugs, hoping her acting skills are up to it. He only tilts his head to the side as he takes her in.

“Do you think I didn’t know who you were in the corridor? I’m the director.” And fuck him for saying it like that, full of an easy confidence that in any other situation would have had heat pooling in the floor of her stomach. “Brullo discussed the casting with me.”

Right. Of course.

She’s not sure what to say next. Honestly? She kind of wants to flirt with him, but fuck.

Instead she hums a laugh, not really caring whether he thinks it’s sincere or not, and looks absentmindedly around the room instead of back up at him. He reaches a hand out to brush his fingers down her arm, looping them round the bones of her wrist and squeezing slightly like he did the last time before letting go. Her eyes snap back to his.

“Just between you and me?” he asks and the smile he wears is far too hot for her to deal with right now. “I think we made a good choice.”

“Thanks,” she says, but it’s a little too breathy. A little too dazed for having spent such a short amount of time in his presence. She’s aware that she needs to be careful, they are very much not alone in this room right now, and she doesn’t need to start any rumours that would destroy her chances of escaping this without a scandal.

She’s here to do a job, and she’s going to do it well. She doesn’t need any distractions.

He leaves her soon after that, and his parting remark of “have a good first day, Aelin” sticks with her, and she tries not to replay the way his voice had wrapped around her name.

Manon Blackbeak is watching them from across the room, and she arches one perfectly shaped eyebrow at Aelin. She ignores her; let her think what she wants, she’s surely professional enough not to gossip to any press, and stomps over to where Fenrys is chatting with one of the producers. It seems like a good enough place to start.

#rowaelin #rowaelin au #rowaelin fic #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #nobody does it like you do #ndilyd #im so nervous to post this lol #hope you all enjoy #cw: past drug abuse #cw: minor character death #cw: violence

109 notes · View notes

gloombeauty · 2 years

Note

Didn't Karen want Jack back? Even though he was sleeping with Olivia already by then? That means she was fine with him cheating on her. She knew about Olivia already because she wrote Cruel Summer about her. Her second album should have been named Jack and Olivia betrayed Me. I'm trying to understand Karen. The day these two got married she un-followed Olivia and Jack. 24 hours later she re-followed Olivia and liked her first post about the wedding. Karen has to have a lot of fear of Jack or she's crazy. Doesn't she have a boyfriend now? I think if anyone is a doormat it's Karen Elson.

The entire bunch of woman who have been in Jack's life are doormats except for one: Meg White. Meg filed for divorce allegedly as soon as he was caught cheating. Even Renee came back to him and forgave him until she got tired for the last time.

Karen had lost the love of her life from a heroin OD. To this day she continues to post about him. In comes Jack into her life and they fall in love, marry and have kids. Karen fell madly in love but sadly for her, she didn't do her research on Jack. Had she, Karen would have heard about his alleged cheating and the real love of his life, Tracy Mae Miller.

If I had been in Karen's situation, I would never want Jack back. I would hire a great divorce lawyer (which she did) get my 50% of everything he owns and make sure he takes care of the kids. Karen was doing all that until she recanted. A damn shame she didn't do it. Instead she wanted to move back with him. It is pathetic. It's sad and pathetic. But hey, look at Olivia. She's the worst of the entire bunch. She put up with all his alleged cheating for how long? 15 or 16 years? But Olivia was a fan girl with a fan page dedicated to him. Posters of him all over her room. He literally married one of his fans and didn't have a prenup.

Possibly karma will be knocking on his door for all his alleged cheating.

I can’t imagine the PTSD that Karen had when she heard about the wedding in Detroit. For her to unfollow both of them so abruptly that day speaks volumes. She was definitely triggered and hurt. I don’t know why she refollowed her and liked a post about the proposal/wedding. She only liked one of them, not all three. Thank god for small miracles.

Honestly, the entire bunch of woman are doormats.

Except for Meg.

Go Meg.

PS: Don't forget that Jack's wives carry Meg's name. Also both children are named after Meg's surname. So there's that.

Just saying.

#jack white #olivia jean #karen elson #the power of megan martha white

18 notes · View notes

dynyamight · 3 years

Note

meet cute number 47 is interesting!

send me a writting ask

47. Texting the incorrect number but continuing the conversation.

“You got all that, right?” Shinsou asks, readjusting his stance, so others can leave their classroom door easily.

Midoriya hums absentmindedly. He’s still quickly jotting down the last few digits onto his planner. “And, you said tomorrow morning, around 7? At the library?”

“Yeah,” Shinsou shrugs, “Or anytime really. The deadline isn’t until next month, you know.”

“I kinda just want to get it done, as soon as possible.”

Shinsou breathes out a snort. “Figured you’d say that much. Just make sure you got my number. Repeat it, if you need to.”

“No time.” Midoriya drops his bag to the side, shoving his now closed notebook inside. “Thank you! I’ll text you later tonight!” He offers hurriedly, before taking off down the campus halls.

Shinsou’s warning falls deaf to his rushed mind.

He has to run the entire way, in order to graciously catch the last bus for the hour. Sweaty and flushed, Midoriya slumps into his seat in relief. Fortunately, he was able to cop a seat for himself, settling by the window and his backpack right next to him.

Staring out, Midoriya tries to remind himself of the rest of his priorities he needed to do.

He still needed to start on Doctor Chiyo’s online Physiology exam, and gather his notes for the open book portion. It was a bit bothersome to handle tests online, but if the rest of class prefers it, there’s nothing Midoriya can do about it.

Speaking of which, Ochako had requested for copies of those exact same notes, since apparently she barely writes anything during lectures. He wants to suggest to her to just simply take better notes, but alas, he will gladly help her out.

And, finally, Midoriya has to collect reliable, approved research articles for his and Shinsou’s debate, in their argumentative project in Communications. Being assigned “PRO SOCIAL MEDIA INFLUENCE”, while being the most uninvolved people on the internet, Midoriya and Shinsou had a lot of work to do.

Not to mention it was already 18:00 by the time he reached the school’s dormitories. And yet, he needed to shower, make dinner, water his plants, and watch the newest episode of his favorite drama, airing tonight.

University was eating him alive.

Thankfully, he’s able to complete half of his list.

He finishes the exam with a 98%, and quickly snaps the pages of his notes over to Ochako and Iida, making sure to highlight the main topics questioned in the exam. Ochako sends a ‘thank you’ gif, and Iida texts a long, yet endearing message of gratitude.

Midoriya doesn’t have time to shower, instead blasting the TV volume loud, as he waters his indoor plants at the same time. He overwaters them a little bit, busy glancing back at the screen for too long. But, at least he’s able to watch the episode. He pouts when it ends on a cliffhanger, almost drowning his bonsai tree in frustration.

He’s only able to warm up a plate of leftovers, and read through only one research article, by the time it’s already blinking 21:30 on his phone. Sighing, Midoriya closes his laptop and grabs his cell phone instead.

An all nighter wasn’t preferable. But, if Shinsou is working overtime at his late night job, Midoriya supposes he can stay up and keep looking through more articles, until he has at least the required ten.

Flipping open his planner, Midoriya inputs Shinsou’s number into his phone. He adds his name, a contact photo of him sleeping, and finally taps a quick message.

(21:38) < You working?

When Shinsou doesn’t respond right away, Midoriya simply sets aside his phone on his desk. Stretching his arms, he sighs in defeat, now expecting Shinsou to be stuck at work.

He’s never worked at a restaurant, but he bets Friday nights can get pretty busy. And, Shinsou always complains that group outings and dates tend to stay over, even after the place is supposed to close. And, Midoriya trusts his word.

So, by the time his phone dings, Midoriya has been clicking through more articles on social media, bookmarking a few to go over later, as he went.

He lifts his phone, and with a bright screen, a message stares back at him.

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > Who’s this

Oh, he did forget to specify. But, Midoriya smiles, having a small prank in mind. There was no harm in teasing his friends, let alone Shinsou, who definitely needed a good laugh, now and then.

(21:58) < It's the cutie from your communications class ;)

shinsou hitoshi (21:58) > So, no one

(21:59) < Haha! I guess you’re right about that

(21:59) < Anyways, it’s Izuku! You still working late, Hitoshi?

shinsou hitoshi (21:59) > This ain’t Hitoshi

Midoriya's face drops, blinking. Oh god, did he mistype the number?

(21:38) < Wait, you’re not???

Another text pops up, shortly after.

shinsou hitoshi (22:02) > You got the wrong number

Embarrassment burning his entire face red, Midoriya wishes he could delete himself from the world.

(22:03) < I’m so so so so sorry!

(22:03) < God, I thought I wrote down my friend’s number right

(22:03) < But, I was in this stupid rush to get on the bus that I didn’t make sure

(22:04) < And, listen, if I had missed that bus, I would’ve had to wait

(22:04) < Not like a few minutes wait

(22:04) < Like, a whole two hours wait!

shinsou hitoshi (22:05) > I didn’t ask

Deleting the conversation, Midoriya erases the new contact completely. And instead, he looks back to his planner, and retypes the numbers in his phone onto a new conversation.

Hopefully, he has typed the correct series of digits.

(22:07) < Hey, Hitoshi! It’s Izuku

unknown (22:08) > ...

unknown (22:08) > What the actual fuck

unknown (22:08) > You've still got the wrong number, you goddamn idiot

Slamming his phone onto his desk, Midoriya grabs a pillow off his bed and shoves it in his face. The temptation to scream sounds awfully pleasant, but it’s too late at night to do so. His dorm neighbors would definitely wonder what the hell is wrong with him.

What’s wrong? Oh, he has completely done one of the most dreaded imaginary scenarios in his head; text a complete stranger. Twice.

What was he supposed to do now? Never text back? Delete it? Block it?

How is he supposed to contact Shinsou now?

His phone dings again.

Lifting the pillow off his face slightly, Midoriya eyes his phone warily from his swivel chair.

That definitely wasn’t supposed to happen. Another text from the same stranger sounds a bit unheard of.

After a seconds-long hesitation, Midoriya lifts his phone and opens it once more.

unknown (22:13) > Double check next time

unknown (22:13) > You can fucking wait the two hours, dumbass

Midoriya grows a little irked. He has a bad feeling that his stranger isn’t too friendly, to say that least.

There was literally no reason to text back something so rude.

(22:14) < Well, that wasn’t nice

unknown (22:15) > Wasn’t trying to be

(22:15) < ..Are you always like this?

unknown (22:16) > Pretty much

(22:16) < That’s sad

unknown (22:17) > What’s fucking sad is that I was woken up from my sleep

unknown (22:17) > Because a damn moron didn’t write down the right number

Midoriya winces. He hadn’t even thought about the other person’s predicament, let alone if he had interrupted anything.

(22:20) > I really didn’t mean to do that, I’m sorry :(

unknown (22:22) > Yeah whatever

(22:24) > You should try to go back to sleep, then

unknown (22:25) > I was

unknown (22:25) > But the same moron from before keeps texting me

(22:27) > Who?

(22:33) > Oh.

(22:33) > It’s me, huh?

unknown (22:34) > No shit

(22:35) > Right, of course. My bad!

(22:35) > I’m going to just stop now

unknown (22:36) > Thanks

(22:36) > For the umpteenth time, sorry! ><

(22:37) > Okay, Okay! I’m stopping now, for real

Midoriya desperately needs to call it a night.

After going through his nightly routine, he slips under his bedsheets, exhausted. He sets an alarm for 5:00 on his phone, hoping Shinsou will show up at the library, regardless of the missing confirmation text on Midoriya’s end.

He keeps his phone on awhile longer, swiping through his professors’ emails, before a surprising text notification pops in front of him.

unknown (23:01) > FUCK YOU FUCK YOU

(23:02) > …

(23:02) > What was that for??

unknown (23:04) > I CAN’T SLEEP

unknown (23:04) > GOD, I CAN’T GO BACK TO FUCKING SLEEP

unknown (23:05) > AND IT’S YOUR FAULT

(23:06) > What do you expect me to do????

unknown (23:07) > HAHAHAHA OH DON’T WORRY

unknown (23:07) > IF I CAN’T SLEEP, NEITHER CAN YOU

unknown (23:08) > AND IF YOU TURN YOUR PHONE OFF I WILL SEND HELLFIRE

(23:09) > Wait

(23:09) > No, please

(23:09) > My alarm is on my phone, I need it on

(23:10) > I need to go to an important meeting for a group project at 7:00!

unknown (23:10) > Aw, really? :0?!

(23:11) > Yeah! I really do!

unknown (23:11) > Sike. I don’t fucking care

unknown (23:12) > Hope you eat shit tomorrow

(23:13) > ..Why are you like this?

(23:13) > I could literally be a twelve year old, for all you know

unknown (23:14) > I doubt fucking twelve years do group projects

unknown (23:15) > But whether you’re a damn infant, or grown adult, I hate you

(23:16) > I wouldn’t say I hate you. That’s too harsh

(23:16) > But, wow, you are very unlikable :/

unknown (23:17) > That’s the fucking nicest thing anyone has said about me

(23:18) > It wasn’t supposed

(23:19) > Nevermind.

(23:19) > Do you have any friends? Just might as well ask

unknown (23:21) > Surprisingly yeah

(23:22) > Oh, so you also agree. That it’s a surprise

(23:22) > At least you’re self aware :0

unknown (23:23) > Yeah, they are annoying as hell

unknown (23:24) > But, also pretty good people, I guess

(23:25) > Pretty good or pretty dumb?

unknown (23:26) > SHUT IT

unknown (23:27) > Only I can make fun of them

unknown (23:27) > You. Don’t.

(23:28) > You’re right, I shouldn’t have said that

(23:29) > I’m sorry :(

unknown (23:30) > You like apologizing, huh

(23:29) > There’s a lot to apologize for tonight

unknown (23:30) > Still, you don’t have to say it every damn minute

(23:32) > You probably don’t ever apologize

unknown (23:33) > Fuck no

(23:35) > Right, of course

(23:36) > Well, you know what I need to do tomorrow

unknown (23:37) > Unfortunately

(23:38) > What about you?

unknown (23:39) > I’m covering a shift at my shit job at the ass crack of dawn

(23:40) > Unnecessary visual, but I digress

(23:40) > Uh, where do you work?

unknown (23:42) > No. I don’t even know your damn name

(23:43) > I told you?? It was in my first text

unknown (23:44) > Yeah, I ain’t scrolling

(23:48) > Well, it’s Izuku. Midoriya Izuku :)

unknown (23:49) > Great. I still ain’t giving you mine

(23:50) > ?? Is there anything I can know about you??

(23:50) > You know more about me, than I do about you

unknown (23:51) > You know I hate you

unknown (23:51) > That’s plenty

(23:52) > But, I have been staying up for you :(

unknown (23:53) > Because it’s your fault I can’t sleep

(23:54) > You aren’t feeling sleepy yet?

unknown (23:56) > ..Are you

(23:57) > I asked you first

unknown (23:58) > I asked you second

(23:59) > That

(23:59) > Look, it’s almost midnight

(24:00) > Oh, now, it’s actually midnight

unknown (00:01) > I have fucking eyes. I can see the time

(00:02) > And we BOTH have places to be tomorrow

(00:02) > So, let’s just sleep. Call a truce, please

unknown (00:03) > What about my petty retribution

(00:04) > PLEASE LET ME SLEEP

unknown (00:10) > FUCK

unknown (00:10) > FINE

unknown (00:11) > I STILL CAN’T SLEEP BUT WHATEVER

unknown (00:12) > HOPE YOU FUCKING OVERSLEEP TOMORROW

The rest of the night, Midoriya hears his phone go off, but he doesn’t bother to open the messages. Fortunately for him, the time staying awake quickly catches up to his body, the moment he shuts his eyes. And, in an instant, he falls asleep, heavy.

However, he’s jolted awake by the ringing of his phone, the tone alerting him of an incoming phone call. Banging his head on the headboard, Midoriya blindly grabs and answers his phone. “Uh, H-Hello?” He blurts quickly.

“Tch.” A low voice emits, “You owe me, Deku.”

Click. The phone call ends.

Confused, Midoriya hurriedly rubs his eyes open. Running his messy curls through his fingers, he lifts his bangs up, in order to correctly look at the time.

The time was 5:10. And, his 5:00 alarm had been off the entire time.

And, instead, that same unknown number from last night was his saving grace.

#star responds #MY FIRST TEXT FIC??? WOW #i kinda struggled with how i wanted to format the texts #but alas here it is #poor midoriya smh next time repeat the numbers back #never wake bakugou up from his 8PM to 6AM sleeps LMAO #i hope this was okay !!#bakudeku #tigridiae #my beloved #FICLET

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horansqueen · 4 years

Text

Stuck With You - Chapter 32

Chapter 32: If You Don’t Know

🡪chapter 1 🡪chapter 2 🡪chapter 3 🡪chapter 4 🡪chapter 5 🡪chapter 6 🡪chapter 7 🡪chapter 8 🡪chapter 9 🡪chapter 10 🡪chapter 11 🡪chapter 12 🡪chapter 13 🡪chapter 14 🡪chapter 15 🡪chapter 16 🡪chapter 17 🡪chapter 18 🡪chapter 19 🡪chapter 20 🡪chapter 21 🡪chapter 22 🡪chapter 23 🡪chapter 24 🡪chapter 25 🡪chapter 26 🡪chapter 27 🡪chapter 28 🡪chapter 29 🡪chapter 30 🡪chapter 31

College Enemies To Lovers AU

characters // masterlist // instagrams // mood board

Tonight we're fading fast I just wanna make this last If I could say the things I want to say, I'd find a way to make you stay I'd never let you get away Get you in all the games we play

So go ahead, rip my heart out, Show me what love's all about Go ahead, rip my heart out That's what love's all about

I want you to want me this way, And I need you to need me to stay If you say that you don't feel a thing If you don't know, let me go, let me go, let me go, let me go If you don't know then just let me go

Let's forget the past I swear we'll make this last 'Cause I remember the taste of your skin tonight And the way that you looked, you had those eyes I remember the way I felt inside And the name of the songs that made you cry You would scream, we would fight, you would call me crazy I would laugh, you were mad but you'd always kiss me And the shirt that I had that you always borrowed When I woke, it was gone There was no tomorrow

click here to be on the update list

(check the characters page, i updated it with all the characters!)

NIALL

It was extremely hurtful to push her away. In fact, it was horrible, even worse than when I did it in the first few weeks after we met, mostly because now, I loved her, and I knew she loved me too. When she told Abby off, I was a bit surprised. I knew they wouldn't be friends but I didn't think Devon would actually have the guts to say these things in front of everyone but if I had to be honest with myself, I liked it. I did it to her ex boyfriend, she did it to my ex girlfriend... To me, it just showed that we cared about each other and didn't want to other to get hurt again. I also felt like it proved the feelings we had for each other because I could pretend the opposite, but there was also a tiny bit of jealousy in the way we told each other's exes off.

I knew Abby and although I didn't like the way she was acting with me, I was also aware that pushing her away would only make her try harder. She was exactly like a boomerang and even if I had no intention to give in to any of her propositions, not answering was still my best bet. I wanted to tell Devon about it but I didn't have a second alone with her and whenever I tried to talk to her, Abby would interrupt me to get my attention back.

The conversation we had alone in the dark street was rough on my heart and it kept playing over and over again in my head for the rest of the evening. I was lost in my thoughts and even felt bad for Louis when I realized Abby was trying to get his attention. She never really knew what she wanted and to me, it only proved she wanted nothing except feeling special. Perhaps, the way I loved her didn't make her feel special enough but at that point in my life, I didn't give a fuck.

I wanted to talk to Lewis but he was busy pushing Daxia between him and the wall for the rest of the night and when I was about to leave, Abby ran back to me to have an long chat about what she was doing, what she planned on doing, and how we should spend time together again. I also had to walk back to campus, too drunk to take my car, and when I got back in my room, I tried to be quiet but I quickly realized that Devon was not asleep for the simple fact that she was not snoring. She pretended to be asleep though and I decided it meant she didn't want to talk. Anyway, we were both way too fucked to have a discussion. Still, I couldn't help but stand near her for a few minutes, just watching her, as creepy as it sounded. She was obsessing me in a way I didn't understand. I had obsessed over Abby for months, yet it never felt the way it felt with Devon, and I had no idea why.

I woke up early the next morning to go get my car and when I stopped near her bed, she was snoring low. My lips curled sadly on the left when I realized she was wearing my shirt and I took off the hoodie I was wearing to lay it down on my bed, in hope that she'd see it and wear it.

I told her I wasn't going to have sex with her anymore but it was not because I didn't want to. With Abby coming back, it made me realize that perhaps, I was ready for more with Devon, and yelling to her that I loved her had an effect I didn't expect. I could see in her face that she was actually surprised, as if she didn't really think I had these feelings for her. To me it was obvious but perhaps I was not as transparent as I thought.

I spent the morning working on a new song and had to kick myself mentally to make sure I'd go to my classes in the afternoon. I had so many feelings stuck inside me that it was hard to focus on anything else, especially anything school related.

It was only near the end of the afternoon that I saw her and my heart twisted in my chest. It was crazy how much I missed her. After spending so many days together, 24/7, being away from her for almost a whole day seemed impossible but it was still happening. She was laughing with Louis but there was sadness in her eyes and they met mine, her smile fell and her lips parted. She brought her shoulders closer to her face and sent me an embarrassed smile. That's when I realized she was wearing my hoodie and it made me smile.

I didn't know why I expected Devon to be the kind of girl who would scream her feelings. Of course, she had never told me she loved me with words, but just seeing her wearing my clothes even if we were mad at each other told me she had feelings for me. Everyone has their own way to express their feelings. Of course, it's easier when it's clearly said, but words are still just words. Actions speak louder, even if they're made obliviously. She had always been secretive, almost hiding who she was and how she felt. I even wrote a damn song about it, so why was it so surprising that she couldn't tell me that she loved me? And was it selfish to want it anyway? To need it?

Louis made a quick head movement and Devon started nibbling on her bottom lip as I stood there motionless like an idiot. I was thinking I could just grab some food and go back to the music room to write some more or at least, to play something. I knew I could just go back to my room with my guitar but I couldn't seem to clear my mind when I was there, and I knew it would be worse if Devon was there and at the same time, I was desperate to spend time with her or at least, around her. She just moved her hand up as a 'hello' and I did the same. How could you feel so close to someone and at the same time, so far?

I finally sighed and walked back to my room a bit reluctantly. I worked on a school project for about an hour and finally gave up since I was not able to focus at all. I decided to take a shower before to play guitar and a few minutes after I got out, the door opened and Devon appeared. Her lips parted, she held her breath and she quickly closed her eyes, making me chuckle.

"Oh god, I'm sorry!" she let out, shutting her eyes tighter as I grabbed a towel to wrap it around my waist.

"No worries, Devie. You can open your eyes." I said, amused. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

She licked her lips and after a few seconds, her eyes fluttered open only to meet mine. She smiled shyly and I noticed some dark paint on her face. It made me realized she painted a lot with dark blue and greys these days and I was not sure it was a good thing.

"Your turn." I just told, walking past her to give her some privacy.

"You can stay!" she quickly proposed. "Nothing you haven't seen before."

I turned around and she looked nervous, nibbling again on her bottom lip. She grabbed the bottom of my hoodie that she was wearing and when she took it off, my heart skipped a beat as I realized she was wearing nothing under it. I knew it took her a lot to expose herself to me like that, and I was torn between giving her what she was clearly asking, or holding on to what I had told her not even 24 hours before. My eyes roamed on her face and down to her chest despite myself. I wanted to touch her so bad it was driving me a bit insane. I thought about sliding hands on her breasts to feel her hard nipples on my palms but just cleared my throat and blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the images in my head.

I took a step closer and her lips parted. It felt like I didn't have control on my legs anymore and I stopped in front of her, looking down in her eyes. I brought my hand up slowly to push a lock of her hair behind her ear and she raised her eyebrows in surprise.

"I... think I'll just go get dressed."

It was so pathetic. I was there in only a towel and she was standing in front of me, shirtless and literally begging me with her eyes to fuck her, but I was about to leave anyway. The less I was thinking with my head, the more I wondered why the fuck I had decided to stop having sex with her, and I knew that the longer I stayed, the harder it would be to leave. I took a step back but suddenly, she grabbed the towel around my waist and I held my breath.

"Niall!" she almost yelled before swallowing hard. "Please."

I could feel the back of her fingers against my skin as she held me by the towel. They were so close to my dick it actually made my heartbeats accelerate.

"Devie, I can't."

"Niall I fucking miss you."

I put my hand over hers, pulling it away frim me but still squeezed her fingers, my eyes never leaving hers. "I'm sorry."

It took everything in me to just turn around and leave and when I closed the door behind myself, I leaned against it and closed my eyes. My head made a light thud when it fell against the wood and I let out a few curse words under my breath.

My heart dropped in my chest when I heard her sob on the other side of the door but quickly, she started the shower and I couldn't hear anything else.

How could I tell her that if she didn't love me, I couldn't keep having sex with her because it hurt too much? How could I explain to her that I loved her so much that it made me want die thinking I'd never have a chance with her? I stayed against the door for so long what actually took me out of my thoughts was when she stopped the shower. I forced myself to walk to my bed after breathing in deeply and quickly put a pair of sweatpants on and a t-shirt. I sat in my bed just as she got out of the bathroom and I noticed she was wearing my shirt again.

"That's my hoodie." I just said blatantly, running my fingers on the strings of my guitar.

I was sitting with my back against the wall, if only to face her and be able to see her better.

"Oh yea, sorry, let me just grab a new shirt and I'll go get changed."

I frowned a bit, wondering why she'd suddenly feel the need to hide in the bathroom to change but I just licked my lips. "No it's cool you keep it." I sent her a small smile. "Looks better on you anyway."

She pressed her lips together and nodded slowly before sitting on her bed. "Thank you."

I noticed her tired eyes and how sad she seemed to be and remembered the sob I heard through the door. I didn't want to make her sad. In fact, I wanted to make her happy every single day, I just didn't know how without hurting myself in the process, and I didn't want this to be a rerun of the past relationship I had. Abby had fucked me up but at least, now, I knew what I didn't want in a relationship.

I stared at her for a few minutes in silence and she finally leaned against the wall as we faced each other. I wanted to apologize for not touching her earlier but I knew it wouldn't change anything. I could also read on her face that she had so many questions and I was not sure I had the answers. My fingers ran again in the strings as I started a song. I noticed her eyes falling on my hands and I couldn't remember the last time I felt so nervous to sing in front of someone. I was sort of used to it in my classes and I was never the shy type, but she meant so much to me and I wanted her to enjoy everything I wrote, especially if it was about her.

"Someday, it could be more than we intended And we'll be happy that we waited When it's all been said and done Oooh, and you have changed me And we both got what we wanted And looking back it's complicated But we would've happened all along

So keep this open There won't be any more hearts that are broken Hold on, hold on

Don't leave me wastin' all alone Wondering where the time has gone I know it's hard to keep keeping on Don't leave me wasted

Don't leave me wastin' by myself Let's leave emotions on the shelf I swear there ain't nobody else Don't leave me wasted Don't leave me wasted"

I stopped playing and Devon sent me a sad smile, wrapping her arms around her knees and leaning her chin on the top of them.

"It's beautiful." she expressed very low, licking her lips. "Gave me goosebumps."

I wanted her close. I wanted to ask her to come on my bed with me and take her in my arms. I wanted to press her body so hard against mine that I could imagine us melt into each other. I wanted to tell her how much I loved her and hear her say it back. Instead, I smiled slightly at her back.

"Thank you." I whispered and let out a sigh. "You know, I didn't want to hurt you."

"No, it's okay, I'm okay." she quickly replied even if we both knew it was a lie. "I mean, you don't have to want me, or have sex with me. I'm sorry I just got half-naked in front of you, it was wrong of me."

I stared at her a few seconds and put my guitar away to lean my wrists on my knees. "I was talking about last night."

Her traits softened and her lips parted. She shrugged a shoulder and glanced away before looking back at me. "You didn't hurt me. I was just pissed, in both senses. You can flirt with Abby all you want, you're right, it's none of my business."

"That's not what I said last night and you know it, Devie." I pointed out calmly,

Her face changed and she seemed to tear up and I tried to push away the urge I had to go sit next to her and take her in my arms.

"I know."

---

Two weeks and a half. That's how long it had been since I had felt Devon's lips against mine. Two weeks and a half since I had told her that I loved her. Two weeks without much interaction with her. It felt like the first few weeks she had moved in, when I desperately tried to hate her without success. I was longing for her in a way I hadn't longed for anyone in a while, if ever, but I resisted.

It was the weekend and all I wanted was to get wasted. We all ended up in a bar but after too many beers, I didn't even feel creepy to stare at her as she danced. It reminded me of that time she danced in my living room wearing only my sweatshirt and panties, right before we danced together on a slow song. Why did it feel like years ago? Why couldn't I just go to her and tell her that it was alright, that we would just keep on having sex and that I'd push all the love I have for her away if I could feel myself inside her again? I scoffed at that thought and shook my head. Why? Because it was impossible for me to ignore these feelings. They were monopolizing my whole heart and mind and there was nothing I could do about it.

I heard a loud laughter near me and I recognized Abby immediately. I had no idea who invited her but I couldn't say I was happy she was here. I got out of my thoughts when someone put an other beer in front of me and Louis finally sat down next to me before glancing a Devon and then back at me again.

"She's a stubborn girl." he let out, turning on his stool to face me. "Trust me, I tried."

"I'm just meant to fall for girls who don't want me. I'm cursed." I explained before swallowing half the beer he had just given me.

"You know she loves you." Louis sighed. "She's just scared, especially of Abby and the feelings you could still have for her."

"I don't give a fuck about Abby."

"I know, but Dev.. she's heard it before, you know? She doesn't want to go through it again. She's trying to spare her heart."

"I should have done that too." I realized, shaking my head as I still stared at her. "Should have tried hating her harder."

"Yea, that wouldn't have worked."

"Fuck, look at her."

I hated what I was seeing in front of me. Devon was with Mandy's brother and she was genuinely laughing at something he said. I could tell in the way he was looking at her that he was interested and suddenly, anger invaded my whole body and I got up quickly, my chair scratching on the floor and making a horrible sound.

"I'm gonna kill him."

Louis jumped up too, grabbing my arm and turning me around to face him. He forced me to move and it was hard for me to fight him since I was already pissed. He tapped my cheek as my back was now facing them and I groaned, moving my head away from his hand.

"Niall, calm the fuck down." Louis let out a bit too loud. "That's not how you're gonna convince her to date you!"

I was about to answer something when I felt someone grab my arm and suddenly tensed. I turned only to see Abby who was sending me a smile and I just shook my head a bit, suddenly extremely annoyed.

"No! Not you and not now!" I yelled, taking a step back.

My ex girlfriend's smile fell and she frowned a bit. I could read in her face that I had hurt her a bit but I was way too hurt myself to care at all.

"Thanks for your advices Louis, but I don't need 'em!"

I turned around and noticed Devon and Noah were already looking at me. Perhaps I had talked louder than I thought and my eyes moved from one to the other before I sighed.

"Fuck that."

I could threaten Noah all I wanted or tell him to fuck off, I knew it wouldn't change anything. It wouldn't make Devon fall in love with me or want to date me and that's all I really wanted. Anything that wouldn't bring me to this goal was counterproductive to me.

I turned around quickly and walked to the toilets, pushing on the door and leaning my hands on the counter, my eyes closed. I was going insane and I knew it felt worse because I was drunk but I couldn't help it and felt my eyes water. Perhaps, getting hammered was a bad idea and I should have known that I always ended up feeling so much when Devon was closed. I heard my phone beep a few times, telling me I had a text message, but I couldn't look at them. I felt my arms started shaking lightly and I swallowed my pain the best I could.

What was there to hope for, now? What could you do when you felt like you tried everything?

#niall horan #niall horan smut #niall horan fluff #niall horan fanfic #niall horan fan fic #niall horan fanfiction #niall horan fan fiction #niall horan story #niall horan writing #niall horan college au #niall horan au #niall horan uni au #niall horan enemies to lovers #my fanfics #swy

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tinyboxxtink · 3 years

Text

"Doppelganger" *Part 23*

WHOO, y'all. I don't know what it is about this story but I am just...rolling it all out with the tragic backstory. No angst, I promise-- It ends happy chill out. But damn. Maybe I'm working out my own issues in here...lulz.

This gif will make so much sense you have no idea.

PART 22

Part 24

Tag List

@madamsnape921

@lolliepopsicle

@chasingeverybreakingwave

@milkshqke

@wanniiieeee

@word-scribbless

@gibbs274

@sassyada

@aprildecker-blog

@bookishfanfic

@stars-in-the-skies-world

@stars-trash-18

@omgsuperstarg

@objection-argumentative

------

“....And how did that make you feel?”

You tried not to laugh out loud as the question left Dr. Crestview’s mouth. Did she really just ask you that?

“...I mean it makes me ‘feel’ bad,” You rolled your eyes with a laugh while looking out the window. When you turned back to the doctor she was not laughing, and she was writing something down.

“...That was a joke,” You clarified.

“Oh yes, I get it,” She nodded as she continued writing.

“Do you?” You asked her frankly. The question caused her to stop writing and look at you.

“Mrs. Barba--”

“Ms. YLN,” You corrected. “I’m not married yet,”

“...Hmm, interesting,” She wrote something down. Seriously? She even had an insight on what-- technicalities?

“I’m sorry, was that some sort of test?” You asked sarcastically.

“Actually, it was,” She said to your surprise.

“Excuse me?” You looked at her, baffled.

“You know when most women get engaged, they start imagining their last names as their husbands. You know such as changing their signature, gathering documents, and the like,”

“...Are you serious?” You laughed again. “This is 2021 lady, half the women I know didn’t even take their husband’s last name at all,”

“And is that what you’re going to do?” She asked. “Keep your last name?”

“...If I say yes are you going to psychoanalyze that too?” You crossed your arms.

“In my experience Ms. Y/L/N, women who don’t want to change their last names tend to do so because they want to keep their independence, their…’identity’. They think taking a man’s last name is ‘giving up’ something. Giving up their identity,” She explained.

“...And?” You gestured with your hand as if waiting for her to continue.

“And in my educated opinion, it also signifies a woman going into a marriage with one foot out of the door already,” She simply stated.

“Wow,” You shook your head with a sarcastic laugh. “Did I come here to resolve my trauma, or for marriage advice?”

“I think they’re one and the same, Ms. Y/L/N,” She stayed completely calm and emotionless.

“Are they?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Given what you’ve told me in our last few sessions, you’ve given off a tone that you don’t think you deserve good things. Maybe you’re keeping on foot out of your relationship so that when it falls apart, you’ll be ready,”

“Wow....wow,” You started to stand up and storm out of the office, but she stopped you with a question.

“I’m sorry if I offended you with my observation Y/N, but be honest. Am I wrong?”

You thought about all the talks you had with Rafael about ‘not being good enough’ for him, or ‘stealing his love’. And on the one hand you felt that you were ‘connected’, you felt safe and secure. After everything you’d been through, it was almost impossible not to be, right? Right?

“....And what is your magic solution to this feeling, doctor?” You crossed your arms.

“You need to forgive yourself,”

“...Jesus Christ,” You rolled your eyes with another laugh as you paced the room. “Really? That’s your solution? Telling me something I already know?”

“No, my solution is this: You need to apologize to your parents,”

“EXCUSE ME?” You practically screamed.

“You blame yourself for their death, correct? You think that because of their desire to make you happy they risked their lives driving into the city and therefore got into their accident,” She looked over her notes from past sessions with you.

“...Right,” You looked down at the floor.

“And I don’t think that you have ever forgiven yourself for that. And in not doing so, you haven’t forgiven yourself for anything you’ve done since then. All these things you say you’ve ‘done’ to Mr. Barba that you should be ‘punished’ for-- he doesn’t see it that way. Other people don’t see it that way. Your parents' accident wasn’t your own doing, getting kidnapped wasn’t your fault. I think that you need to find closure with your parent’s death before you can even begin to ‘forgive’ yourself for whatever transpired between you and Nevada Ramirez,”

“....So you want me to apologize to my parents? How are they going to ‘forgive’ me?” You asked her.

“I think you’ll find Ms. Y/L/N that just the act of apologizing will bring about its own form of forgiveness,” She smiled.

“.....Right…” You tried not to sound condescending, but for a shrink she sure sounded crazy.

“Or don’t listen to me, I can’t force you to do anything. But that is my advice,” She shrugged.

“Noted. Thank you, doctor,” You nodded and walked out the door.

----

You walked out into the streets of the city from your doctor’s office and thinking about just how or when you’d have a chance to go to your hometown where your parents were, when you were stopped by a young girl on the street.

“Oh my god...you’re Y/N!” She gasped.

“...Yes?” You stared at her blankly.

“You’re that girl who killed Nevada Ramirez!” She squealed, causing a few people to stare and take pictures of you as they walked past.

“Oh good lord…” You muttered nervously. “Yeah well um--”

“Can I get a selfie with you?”

“Um--” You looked around, not sure of what to do. You wanted to run down the street screaming, but you thought better of it. You turned back to her with the fakest smile you could form.

“Sure!” You threw an arm around her and smiled as big as you could as she snapped a selfie with her phone.

“Thanks!” She beamed at you. “ And by the way, your fiancé is REALLY sexy,”

“Oh girl I know,” You faked a laugh and a toss of your hair as she walked away with a laugh.

It really creeped you out that girls were ‘fangirling’ over your fiancé. As if you weren’t worried about keeping a hold of him all on your own. Also how did she even know what he looked like?

The article.

You grabbed your phone and did something you told yourself you’d never do: You googled yourself.

The first thing that popped up was an article on the NYTimes.com front page:

“Fairy Tale Romance Or Horror Movie?”

...What the fuck?

The article contained your video as the main focus. Then under it the article basically dictated the video, with Tasha’s opinions thrown in here and there. Then most of the photos from the photoshoot of you and Rafael were at the bottom of the page. They were gorgeous, you had to admit. Granted you were both airbrushed to hell, but Rafael in a suit drove you nuts. Even if it was just on a screen. You dialed his number as you continued walking down the street.

“....Hola, mi amor. How is my pinguino feeling?”

“Well she’s currently feeling like she’s got the sexiest man in New York City,” You grinned.

“Oh really? And why’s that?” He asked you curiously.

“Check out the picture I’m texting you,” You grinned as you texted him one of the photos from the spread.

“Oh Christ…” You heard him mutter through the phone, causing you to giggle.

“Oh yes, you even have your own fangirls now,” You rolled your eyes with a smile.

“No I do NOT,” He argued in disbelief.

“Yeah I’d be careful leaving your office there counselor, a group of tweens might be waiting outside,”

“Oh my god...they’re breaching the doors!” He acted terrified, making you laugh harder.

“Oh I think I see one,” You whispered as if you were sneaking up on someone. “She’s holding a ‘Barba 4Eva’ poster board,”

“You better be kidding,” He warned.

“No, in fact I think she’s right outside your door,” You bit your tongue with a smile.

“Oh well I’d better call security then,” He chuckled as he sauntered over to his office door and swung it open.

“Oh my Gooodddddddd it’s Rafael Barba!!! The sexiest ADA in New York City!!” You giggled wildly, jumping into his arms like a crazed fan.

“I should definitely look into some armed guards at my door,” He laughed as he pulled you into his arms and kissed you.

“Oh most definitely, wouldn’t want to let the crazies in,” You nodded as you kissed him again.

“Well I think it’s too late for that…” He teased you while tousling your hair.

“Shut up,” You playfully hit his hands away.

“Speaking of crazy, how was therapy today mi amor?” He asked cheekily.

Wowwwww, sexy AND sensitive, how did I get so lucky?” You rolled your eyes. “Actually, she gave me homework,”

“Did she?” He inquired.

“Yes,” You suddenly got very serious. “She um, she told me I need to go see my parents,”

“...Your parents?” His eyebrows furrowed.

“Yeah, something about needing to ‘apologize’ to them or some weird shrink thing like that,”

“....Do you think it will help?”

“I mean...” You sighed and looked out the window. “I don’t know. But I’d like to try,”

“Bueno,” He nodded walking closer to you and kissing the top of your head. “So are you going to go now or--?”

“Well I was kind of hoping you’d come with me,” You bit your lip. You didn’t know if asking him to come along on your shrink homework assignment was allowed, but you knew you couldn’t do this alone. Maybe that was the point.

“Really?”

“I mean, I met your family,” You half laughed, trying to make light.

“Right,” He nodded his head with a chuckle. “Well then, let’s go,”

“...Now?”

“Why not?” He started to walk towards the door.

“Don’t you have a job?” You pointed to his desk.

“Oh they just like to pay me to sit in here so nobody robs the place,” He joked as he grabbed his coat. “I have nothing going on today baby, they won’t miss me.”

“Okay then,” You shrugged uneasily. “Guess we’re going to Jersey,”

----------------

After a train ride and a taxi later, you arrived in your small town of Shallow Meadow.

��Christ Almighty, I knew Jersey was in the dark ages, but not even having Uber??” Rafael grumbled. He hadn’t been in the back of a dirty cab in such a long time, and now he remembered why.

“Alright Daddy Warbucks, chill,” You laughed as you started walking with him through town.

It was a quaint little town; one stop light, one grocery store, two bars, something out of an old movie really You know the movies where the car breaks down in the tiny shitty town and all the townspeople are flesh eating zombies or something. The people of Shallow Meadow were pretty much like that. Well, to you anyway.

“So why didn’t we just have the Mayberry Express drop us at the cemetery?”

“...Because we don’t have roads you can drive on up there,” You answered with a nervous smile.

“...Right,” He shook his head as he noticed people coming out of shops to stare at the two of you. “...Do I have some kind of weird sign on my back that says NEW YORKER or what?”

“No, but that thousand dollar suit screams “moneybags” out here,” You smirked. “Besides, they’re not staring at you they’re staring at me,”

“...What? How do you know that?”

As if it was answering his question, a girl with bright red hair dressed in farm clothing and holding a baby on her hip came sauntering up to the two of you.

“Well lookie here,” She smirked. “Miss Prissy Pants brought back herself a Prissy Papa,”

“Excuse you?” Rafael was taken aback by such rudeness by such a poorly dressed person.

“Marla back off,” You scowled at her. “Just because you’re upset I found treasure and you’re stuck with trash--”

“OH, is that what we are now? Trash?” Marla spat. “You have a lot of nerve coming back here and saying that, murderer,”

“WHOA,” Rafael stepped in front of you. “I’m sorry, what-- what did you just call her?”

“Did she not tell you the story? Oh no wait I bet she did, her version. The version where she’s the victim and we’re all just the villains. Isn’t that right, Prissy?” She glared at you.

“...I never said you were--” You tried defending yourself.

“Really?” She scoffed. “Then why did you not even bother to show up to your folks’ funeral? Their ONLY daughter, the ones they DIED for. Couldn’t even be bothered to leave her high rise in the city to pay respects to the parents she KILLED,”

“It wasn’t like that and you KNOW it, Marla! And why was I going to come back? The only two people left in this town that tolerated me were gone--” You got up in her face.

“AND WHY IS THAT, Y/N?” She got back in yours, her baby almost falling out of her arms.

“Alright lady I don’t know who you are, but you’re going to back the hell off my fiancée--”

“Oh good God, your fiancé?” Marla laughed. “You would find yourself a sugar daddy, since you killed yours,”

“Alright you know what we’re leaving--” You grabbed Rafael’s hand and stomped away towards a huge hill that had a sign reading “CEMETERY” at the top.

“I hope you’re heading up there to beg their forgiveness Y/N, ‘cuz you sure as hell ain’t getting any down here!” Marla yelled angrily after you.

--------------

“...Well I think we just figured out where your forgiveness issues came from,” Rafael tried making light of the situation.

“Ya think?” You nodded.

“This whole time,” Rafael shook his head. “This whole time I thought you just had it in your mind that you were responsible for their death. But-- but you had an entire town telling you that,”

“...Yeah,” You shrugged.

“Why didn’t you ever say anything, baby?” Rafael took your hand as the hill got steeper.

“Because I thought they were right, Rafael!” You said in a ‘duh’ tone. “Why would I tell you that an entire town thought that I was a murderer? That’s not really a selling point on a partner,”

“...You thought they were right?”

“...Well, yeah,” You nodded softly with a small smile.

“And now…?”

Before you could answer, you reached the entrance of the cemetery. Luckily it wasn’t that big; you were ashamed to admit you didn’t even know where they were buried. But you found them in a small corner under a shade tree. You walked up to their mutual headstone:

“Y/M/N AND Y/D/N: Beloved Husband And Wife, Mayor and First Lady.”

“...Mayor?” Rafael looked at you in surprise.

“Yeah, well--” You shrugged. “You see why they were so beloved, and I was the hellish daughter that killed them?”

“Y/N…” Rafael put a hand on your shoulder.

“I was supposed to want to ‘take over the city’, like I would ever want to be in charge of anything in this stupid backwards hick ass town,” You scoffed angrily, tears stinging your eyes.

“...But didn’t you say that your parents wanted you to go to Juliard? Pursue your dreams?” Rafael asked in confusion.

“They did! My grandparents-- they had a different view,” You shook your head. “The...the hierarchy here it’s-- well it’s not really a democracy,”

“...How so…?” Rafael raised an eyebrow.

“Because everyone just loved and accepted my family as, I don’t know, the ‘royal’ family?” You felt so stupid comparing your family to the Royal Family, but you didn’t know how else to explain it.

“The Mayor and First Lady titles were just...passed down, in my family. And not because they were dictators or something,” You quickly added the last part, you didn’t want Rafael to think any less of your family than he probably already did.

“People here are just...simple,” You sighed. “They accept things the way they are, they hate change. So it was just assumed that my family would always be... "the family’,”

“But you didn’t want that,” Rafael said again.

“Of course I didn’t want that!” You scoffed. “I didn’t want to just get a high school degree and then marry some ‘Cletus’ redneck man from here and have ‘heirs’ just to keep the family going!”

“But your parents understood that,” Rafael reiterated.

“It didn’t matter what my parents did or didn’t understand. My grandfather had more clout with the townspeople here,” You rolled your eyes. “My dad was the ‘mayor’, but his dad controlled everything. His father had been the mayor for over thirty years before he passed it onto my dad, who didn’t really want it either” You walked up to the headstone and ran your fingers over your father’s name.

“....So when he tried to ‘save’ me from that life, my grandpa wouldn’t hear it. He blamed me for...for manipulating them into giving me anything I wanted, like I was a spoiled little child. He blamed me for them giving me their life savings to go to Julliard instead of putting it back into the town treasury. Then he blamed me when they got killed, and he just reinstated himself as mayor! Which, I haven’t checked but I’ll be damned if he isn’t still rattling around his old ass bones in our house! He’ll just haunt this place forever!” You threw your hands up and looked down angrily at the town down below.

“Carino…” Rafael came up behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist from behind. You took his hands in yours and kissed them before turning to face him. You looked into his sparkling green understanding eyes for a moment, before directing your attention back at the headstone.

“....This is Rafael Barba, mama and daddy,” You pulled him gently forward. “We’re getting married soon,”

“...Nice to meet you folks,” Rafael said awkwardly.

“...Raffi they’re dead,” You smiled jokingly.

“Right, right,” He shook his head with a small laugh.

“...He’s a very good man, daddy. I know you always wanted that. And he’s very handsome, so you’ll have beautiful grandchildren mama, just like you wanted,” You smiled while Rafael softly chuckled.

“...I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to come,” You finally said with tears rolling down your cheeks. “I should have been here sooner,”

“But you’re here now,” Rafael softly rubbed your back.

“Yeah…” You nodded softly. This was the hard part.

“...I’m---I’m sorry, that I made you feel like horrible parents that night,” You tried not to cry, but the memories of that night flooded your memory the more you spoke.

“I’m sorry that you thought you needed to come see me, that you weren’t good parents if you didn’t,” Your lip trembled, you fell to your knees.

“...I’m sorry the last words you heard from me were ‘I hate you’,” You finally broke down sobbing.

“Y/N…” Rafael knelt down next to you and held you in his arms as you cried.

“Do you get now why...why I don’t think I deserve you? Why don't I think I deserve anything? Why I think I have to take everything? Fake everything? Because I am such a terrible person my own parents died thinking I hated them because I was that horrible to them!”

“They didn’t think you hated them, carino,” Rafael rocked you back and forth. “They knew you loved them, I know they did,”

“You know you’re probably right, Rafael. But it--I needed them to hear it,” You nodded at the gravestone.

“And?”

“...And I feel a lot better,” You smiled as Rafael wiped tears from your face.

“Really?”

“Yeah…Really,” You chuckled. “I guess that therapist really knows what she’s doing,”

“She should for the amount of money I pay her,” Rafael shook his head with a laugh as he helped you stand up.

“...Thank you for doing this with me, amor,” You sniffled, pressing your forehead against his.

“Of course, penguino,” He kissed you softly. “And, for what it’s worth--” He added as you two walked back down the hill towards town.

“I think that if your parents were alive, they would be proud of you,”

“Oh, I know my mother would take one look at you and be DAMN proud,” You both laughed at that.

“And I also think they would be appalled to see how their townspeople treat their daughter,” He glared at the town.

“Yeah well,” You shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. Not anymore,”

“I’m glad to hear it,” He took your hands as the sun started to go down in your sleepy little town. “Now can we please get back to the city before I catch something out here?”

“Yes,” You giggled, staring at him lovingly.

“Let’s go home,”

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