#i wrote this in 15 minutes while hiding from the rain sorry if it doesn’t make sense lol | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

aminiatureworld · 3 years

Text

Storms

Ship: RFA + Minor Trio and GN!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 5,431 words total; about 700 per person

Premise: A rewrite of an old request I wrote back in 2017 (link here).

Author’s Note: These are less headcanons and more fics outlines lmao but hope you like this rewrite. I do considering I can barely stand reading the original, my writing has thankfully improved, and I hope it will continue to do so. I haven’t written in 2nd person in literal years (3rd person ftw) so I hope it doesn’t come off too strange.

Two notes. Firstly I’ve done my best to make the reader gender neutral. If you catch any gendered terms feel free to tell me so I can fix it. Secondly, I haven’t played Another Story yet, rip my broke ass, so if V and Saeran are a bit out of character, that’s definitely why. I’m working on it haha. In regards to V I simply know almost nothing about his route, and in regards to Saeran I’ve decided to ignore what I know about his route, mostly because this was hitting 4,000 words at that point and an in depth HC involving canonical thing would probably be about that length. Sorry this is so long and thus the final HCs a bit rushed. Thanks for putting up with me! Hope you enjoy!

Ao3 link in reblog

Zen

Having a fear of thunderstorms was one of the most obnoxious fears on the planet sometimes. Especially when one is surround by 60 mph gusts of wind and the house one lives in feels like 80% glass.

This was the predicament you were left in when a series of storms passed through the first week you and Zen were officially dating. Oh joy.

Despite how in love you were with Zen, revealing one’s fears, especially when they seem vaguely irrational, is a difficult thing to do, so you teetered towards Option B

That being: Don’t tell anyone, keep calm, if you need to take a break go to the bathroom or say you forgot something in the bedroom. Okay? Okay.

However this flawless plan of attack lasted only about five minutes, and the first clap of thunder had you ready to bolt under the bed.

Zen, bless him, was utterly oblivious, listening to the backtrack of a song he was working on and occasionally making such benign comments as “that’s a lot of rain” or “wow that was loud”

Yeah. That was loud. Help me.

Eventually it got a bit… much, and you had to make your excuses about getting a book from the television/living room. Since it was in the “basement” part of the complex you’d figured that it’d be easier to hide out there. Just turn off all the lights, try to find earplugs, then count down the time until the storms were over.

Unfortunately the weather wasn’t adhering to this plan very well, how typical of it, as the storms were supposed to last until the early hours of the morning. And it wouldn’t exactly be unobtrusive to not eat.

So after ten minutes in the dark you went out to help Zen prepare dinner. At least no one needed to go to the grocery store. And today’s menu included Japchae, so always a treat! It was going to be okay, nothing was going to happen. It’s fine.

At least that’s what you told yourself until a particular bright flash of lightning streaked the sky and you promptly jumped and dropped the sweet potato noodles on the ground.

At this point Zen switched from oblivious to overly concerned. Say what you will about him but he was truly a sweetheart when he noticed something was wrong. As he helped you pick up the spilled noodles, assuring you that there was enough still in the package to use, he asked what was wrong

You explained that when you were little your grandparents had a house in a village in the countryside and one summer day lightning struck a powerline, causing it as well as two houses close to yours to burn down.

Zen responded with such concern. “Oh MC I’m so sorry to hear that! Was anyone hurt? No wonder you’re uncomfortable around storms now.”

“It was such a long time ago, and it’s so unlikely to happen again my lifetime… I don’t know why I’m still so afraid, it’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to be afraid of something. You don’t have to hide your fears around me sweetheart. There’s no shame in it.”

Unfortunately words usually cannot make fears go away, but safe to say you were touched. Picking up the rest of the noodles and disposing them you and Zen shared a sweet series of hugs, and maybe you wouldn’t continued down that route if the water hadn’t begun to boil and dinner was once more brought back into stark focus.

Afterwards you guys ate in front of the tv, turning on a random crappy show and making fun of the announcer.

You could still hear the thunder every once in a while, but Zen made sure you felt safe and happy, cuddling you, doing something to draw your attention to him at the beginning of each clap of thunder, and keeping up a steady stream of conversation, even about the most mundane of things.

Your fear still wasn’t gone, and you still weren’t excited for the rest of the week, but at least you had someone with you who truly cared and was actively trying to make you feel better. You knew Zen would always be there for you, and that knowledge would carry you through the most anxious of times, to the other side.

You truly loved him so much.

Yoosung

Sometimes you wished that you could disappear into something as easily as Yoosung did, both with his games and with his studying.

Yoosung was in his first year of veterinarian medical school and, having just passed the first series of exams, had invited you over to the apartment he was leasing, for an evening of games, television, and overall hanging out. It would’ve been more of a date, but the weather was impressively stormy and, much to your relief, it was decided that staying inside was the better option.

Yoosung was loading up a game on the tv and you were checking to see what remained in the fridge, when a bolt of lightning raced across the sky; suddenly you became aware of just how very high up apartment buildings tended to be, and, much like usual, the logical part of your brain repeating Googled information about lightning rods was replaced by a static of anxiety floating around in your brain.

Returning to the TV room you nervously picked up the controller, hoping that Yoosung wouldn’t notice. Not that you didn’t trust him to understand, indeed you’d hardly met anyone as understanding as Yoosung, but it was more that years of being told “it’s just rain” had kinda gotten to your system.

The first half an hour or so was alright, the quiet mental notes you were taking told you that the storm was still far enough away, although there was no doubt it was getting closer; something reinforced by your, hopefully, discreet checking of the weather app.

When the storm arrived, oh boy did it arrive.

The winds felt unbearable, screaming terribly, rattling the windowpanes with fast, stinging rain, so much so the outside looked less like the outside and more like the middle of a whirlpool. A whirlpool that occasionally set itself on fire, the lightning dispersed by the odd shadows of the rain.

At this point all pretense fell out the window.

“MC?” Yoosung looked over as you’d dropped the remote and drawn your legs up to your chest, burying your face in your knees, all thoughts blocked out. “MC.” Yoosung said a little louder, putting his own remote down on the coffee table and scooting over to where you were sitting on the couch. “Hey.” He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, something vaguely uncomfortable considering the position you both were sitting in, but still a welcome presence, a bit of comfort making its way past your wall of fear.

“Not a huge fan of thunderstorms I see.” He said when the storm had calmed down a bit. You let out a shaky sort of laugh. Understatement of the century, wouldn’t you think?

“I have an idea!” Yoosung ran out of the room, leaving you to curl yourself up again, until he came back, a pair of headphones in hand.

“These are the best noise cancelling headphones I own, and they cost a fortune so they’d better work.” He placed them over your ears, and immediately you noticed how muffled the sound became. Evidently it must’ve shown on your face, because Yoosung smiled even wider, nodding gently before picking up his remote again.

As the storm continued so did the gaming. At some point you guys ended up thrown about the couch, cuddling each other, and occasionally knocking elbows when the gaming got intense. When things were finally over you two lay there a little longer, although you’d taken the headphones off.

“Thank you.” You whispered, content.

“For what?” Yoosung smiled. “That’s what boyfriends are for.”

“Not all boyfriends.” You countered “You’re special. The best boyfriend one could ask for.”

And you meant it.

Jaehee

I imagine both you and Jaehee not being huge fans of thunderstorms. They frightened you, and to Jaehee the volume gave her a headache, not to mention the fact you were both living in a cheap apartment on the ground floor while the coffee shop’s purchase was still new; and the whole structure had this obnoxious habit of vibrating with both the lightning and thunder, leaving everything a bit discombobulated and very unpleasant.

The coffee shop wasn’t much better really, open as it was, the whole front being 85% glass and only 15% brick.

So when you both checked your phones and saw that storms were on their way it was all about planning.

Since you couldn’t afford to close the shop for the week you instead put a large display in the windows, putting up cardboard trees, birds, and whatever else would block most of the view.

You went through the store, making sure everything unnecessary was unplugged.

Really it was probably a bit overkill, or at least Jumin and Seven certainly thought it was, but hey better safe than sorry.

The apartment was given the same treatment, blinds and shutters were closed, toasters and charging cords were unplugged, and Aspirin and earplugs were stocked up.

The week of the storms was really incredibly unpleasant, with you two sneaking in hugs and kisses whenever the line of customers was small, squeezing each other’s hands when a particularly bright streak of lightning flashed, or when the thunder seemed to become unbearable.

No dawdling home this week, much to the chagrin of both of you, who’d taking to park exploring and other such mundane things that both you and Jaehee had missed out on, her due to work and you due to being shut up in Rika’s apartment for eleven days.

Nevertheless neither of you were particularly keen to venture out in the middle of a storm, so instead you two headed home, a night’s worth of musicals and cuddling ahead of you.

Dinner was spent in front of the tv, although usually you two usually made a point to eat at the dining table it was in the most windowed room in the house and thus not meant to be.

Zen’s beautiful tenor might not have been enough to completely drown out the storms, but it was certainly a help, not to mention the large doses of cuddles you were giving one another.

But really the best part about it was just being able to talk freely about your fears, you both having the reference that those who don’t suffer with what’s widely considered an irrational fear in modern times don’t understand.

And that was really what kept it together for you two. You’ll always be there for one another, you’ll always understand one another.

Eventually the clock struck the hour and you both realized that not only would there be work tomorrow, but musicals can’t much be enjoyed when you’re only paying half attention.

You got ready for bed, both making a final sweep for plugged in appliances that might burn out if there should be an energy surge.

Right before you two drifted off to sleep you gave Jaehee a small kiss. “What was that for?” She whispered. Everything was so beautifully comfortable, so cozy and intimate, and your happiness in that moment overpowered all fear.

“I just love you, I love you so much.” You replied. Jaehee blushed, but returned the kiss.

“I love you too. Forever.”

Jumin

It’s not that you hid it from him because you were embarrassed, well at least that wasn’t the main reason. It was more Jumin’s habit of blowing everything out of proportion, to the point of hindrance. That was really what you were afraid of, you just needed calm, need comfort, not yoga or whatever was to be the cure. And not that Jumin couldn’t or wouldn’t give you comfort, but the likelihood of him giving you calm was maybe a bit more debatable.

So you tried to keep it hidden, mentioned nothing of it on your way out the door in the morning, avoiding the topic in the messenger, even when Seven started to go on and on about windspeed – did the bastard know something?

Things seemed to be going… okay? I mean they weren’t great, you were constantly pushing down the urge to hide in a closet or something, but hey Jumin wasn’t aware yet. Success?

The trip home was certainly unpleasant, and the text that your husband was working late again certainly didn’t seem promising, but hey there’d be Elizabeth, and the bedroom had amazing blackout curtains. So, yeah, it’d be fineeee.

At least it would be if the damn penthouse didn’t have windows for walls. Something that certainly wasn’t normal or part of the regular plan.

Nor was it really possible to take a nap with the thunder so loud and your thoughts running high, really it’d probably be better on the lower floors if you weren’t so sure of people being there.

At this point the plan became less of “don’t let Jumin know, play it cool” to “survive whatever the cost”, which yes perhaps was also an overreaction on your part, but you knew damn well that all rationality had long fled, and you weren’t about to go chasing after it, that wasn’t what you needed right now. Rationality was also what had you go into a google wormhole about terrifying lightning related accident. Need one say more?

So you picked up a perhaps a bit disgruntled Elizabeth the 3rd, and buried yourself under the covers, stroking her fur at regulated intervals, trying desperately to pay attention to the video you’d loaded on your phone, to less than perfect success.

You wouldn’t say that you were dozing when Jumin came home, it was more like you were so deep in your fears that you really didn’t have room to pay attention to anything else.

“MC?” Jumin was instantly alert when you didn’t run to greet him at the door, something that had really become tradition between the two of you. Him being also a bit of a worrier – and a bit being perhaps a gracious way of saying it, lovely though it can be – his first thoughts were that you’d hit your head and passed out somewhere, but the fact that Elizabeth had also not come to greet him clued him in that you two were most likely holed up somewhere, perhaps napping, as had happened a few times before.

His surprise then when you turned out to be in bed, distinctly not unconscious or asleep, holding onto Elizabeth like a vice, was really immense.

“Darling, is something wrong?” You knew he meant something rather more akin to “Something is definitely wrong and I’m very worried and hope you tell me, if not I might become a horrendous paranoiac and never stop bugging you but I also want to be polite about it.”

You folded quite quickly, deciding that it really wasn’t worth it, you were in such a state, and the anxiety was still in complete control of your brain, excuses weren’t about to be made.

In a moment Jumin had enveloped you in a hug, which you were glad to accept, discreetly kicking his phone away hoping that he’d not notice it and get it in his head to send for a meditative trainer or some such thing, since that wasn’t what you were looking for, at least not at the moment.

Thankfully though he seemed more focused on your wellbeing, asking you to talk through your anxiety, gently drawing circles on your back in an attempt to get rid of excess tension. It felt good to be able to release your stream of consciousness, even if it was a bit embarrassing. Every time you started feeling a bit overwhelming you’d insert an apology here and there but Jumin would simply shake his head and assure you it was fine

“After all, you were so patient and understanding when I went through a crisis of consciousness, when all my emotions were suddenly flooding my mind. You listened to me then, the least I can do is listen to you now.”

After you’d exhausted your thoughts and you two had laid there a bit, cuddled together, basking in each other’s presence, you two went to the kitchen, where Jumin insisted he’d make dinner himself.

You weren’t happy to be in the windowed room again, but one flick of a discreet switch and they were suddenly shuttered closed.

“You can do that?!”

“Of course?”

“Ugh, the idle rich.” You shook your head and Jumin feigned horror. This act went on throughout dinnertime, another thing to help soothe your nerves, as well as Elizabeth, who was being awfully nice, curled up in your lap.

Every clap of thunder and Jumin would hold your hand or give you a kiss or hug, again trying to distract you.

Afterwards it was watching trashy soap operas – really you couldn’t understand why Jumin adored these shows so much, he really did secretly have a flare for the dramatics – and more cuddling.

As the night got later and you got sleepier you realized that, though the anxiety wasn’t completely gone, you really were quite content.

“Ah, I wouldn’t mind this every time it stormed.”

Jumin chuckled at that. “Why not? Anything to make you comfortable and happy.”

“You’re going to spoil me terribly you know.”

“Again, why not? Comfort isn’t spoiling someone, and if it was I’d spoil you rotten. You deserve the universe, I’m just giving what I can.”

And really the comfort he gave you was worth five universes at that moment, but wasn’t he always worth that much?

Saeyoung

Saeyoung’s reaction to your fear would probably initially be teasing.

Not because he thought it was funny, more his brain still found sincerity a hard thing to grapple with, and he found his knee jerking reaction be to try and make fun, enough fun for you to forget about everything.

You knew this of course, had long ago learned his patterns, his mannerisms and habits, and initially you tried to play along with it, after all the only reason he knew you were afraid of thunderstorms was because he’d caught you running into the closet on the CCTV in Rika’s apartment. If it weren’t for that you would’ve been perfectly happy with him never finding out. Surely you could humor him a bit.

Well anxiety has a funny way of sharpening one’s nerves, and by the sixth joke you were ready to pull your hair out, both from Saeyoung and from the storm.

“Hey Saeyoung? I really do appreciate what you’re doing, don’t get me wrong, but I… I don’t think this is going to be the way to sort it out.”

“Oh… I see.” Saeyoung faltered. Saeran, who was also not a fan and was thus gaming, probably with the volume at unhealthy rates, still managed to snort out a “I could’ve told you that.” Saeyoung shook his head apologetically.

“I’m sorry MC… I, uhm. Yeah…” For a moment you both sat on his horrifically battered couch, the tension rising. Saeyoung screwed his face up in thought, before launching himself towards you, wrapping you up in a huge hug.

“I.. Saeyoung-?”

“Cuddles are a miracle cure.” He said, kissing you on the forehead. “They’ll chase away the storms, just you wait, and in the meantime, how about you teach me how to make something other than sandwiches.”

“I know you know how to cook.” You pointed out, at least happier with this approach, but Saeyoung shook his head.

“I forgot. I can now only make ham sandwiches, and that is truly a sad fate. Won’t you help me? Oh cook in shining armor.”

You rolled your eyes at that “Isn’t being the hero more of your route?” But agreed to make something with him.

Saeyoung really put everything into the “I forgot act”, and you soon found yourself distracted by his antics, peeling onions with a vegetable peeler, “accidentally” getting flour in your hair, tackling you with hugs and kisses the minute thunder or lightning even attempted an interruption. You found yourself either laughing or breathless from his attention, and when your anxiety was too difficult to ignore you allowed Seven to wrap you in a hug as you buried your head in his shoulder, his arms acting as a barrier for the sound.

Dinner took a horrendously long time to cook, something Saeran was sure to point out, but it really did help. As you two were cleaning up dishes Saeyoung paused for a moment.

“Being a hero really isn’t my thing you know.”

“Huh?” You’d sorta forgotten the earlier conversation amidst all the antics.

“You saved me MC, from myself, my own destruction. The least I could is chase away a few thunderstorms. I’d do anything to make you happy. So, I hope that you can be happy.

“What a silly thing to say.” You said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I’m already so very happy, so incredibly glad to have you in my life. Indeed, if this isn’t happiness then there is no such thing.”

He really was your hero, your knight in peculiar armor. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

V/Jihyun Kim

V hated thunderstorms. Although he’d agreed to get his vision fixed, the date of the surgery was still some months off, and in the meantime every storm sent him in disarray, the sudden loudness of the thunder a disconcerting reminder of his own vulnerability, the fact that if even one thing in his life shifted he was likely to run right into it.

Being someone who had such a visceral hate, he was quick to become aware of your anxiety as well. It was something he just picked up on, before you had the chance to even think about hiding it from him.

“I see I’m not the only one who hates when it storms.”

You weren’t really surprised by his fear, he’d made it quite clear how he disliked to be reminded of the vulnerability that came from being blind, his eyes were already an ever present reminder of his past, a reminder of the feelings that had rotted inside him, which were so difficult to reconcile with.

So during the storms he ended up focusing most of his nervous energy on you, preferring that to morbid thoughts about the path his life had taken.

Coincidentally you tended to have the same reaction, and thus stormy days, though far from pleasant, became a semi-pleasant ritual, full of affection and comfort.

You pointed out the lightning and counted the miles out loud for him, something that helped him ground himself in the world, feel a little more in control of the situation, and in return he kept up a steady stream of conversation, telling you how your fears weren’t silly, how much it mattered to him that you were happy, and all the things you’d do together when the storms passed.

Sometimes you two turned on a podcast, or a video whose audio V had heard multiple times before, another exercise in familiarity that helped comfort you two. He also didn’t mind whether you kept the lights on or turned them off, only wishing to keep at least one window open, to keep track of the storm’s progress.

He also was in the habit of singing or humming at random intervals, his voice kept you in the moment, rather than in an endless loop of “what ifs”.

By the end of the storm you two were often exhausted, which is why they so often ended with you two tangled together, already half asleep.

One such time you were about to sleep, only barely awake to nod when V said the storm had passed.

“Jihyun,” you mumbled, hearing a hum in return. “I love you.”

V smiled, hearing that from you always felt like a moment of rejuvenation, of sudden clarity.

Kissing your forehead he hugged you a little tighter.

“I love you too.”

Saeran

Saeran loved storms. Loved the sheer, raw, uninhibited power they exuded, the proof of how natural ruled above all.

You knew that. You also knew that storms were, in fact, the bane of your existence, and that you’re rather die than sit up and watch them with him.

But you also didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want to be a source of unhappiness in his life, so when Saeran eagerly looked out the window and called out “MC! It’s thundering!” You reluctantly dragged yourself over to watch with him.

At first it was alright if you focused on him more than on the outside, the awe and glee he took in watching the rain was endearing, the happiness marked so clearly and without inhibition. It was something that almost took your breath away in how beautiful it was, the joy of somehow who’d had so little of it.

Then the first clap of thunder arrived and you’d nearly sprained your wrist, slipping on the counter and banging your arm.

Saeran’s attention was immediately turned away from the thunderstorm and he looked at you curiously.

“Are you alright MC?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, it’s just, I’m fine.” You didn’t want him to know. It made him so happy, how could you ever take away from that, holding you bruised elbow you excused yourself to the bathroom for a moment, saying you needed make sure nothing was serious.

Of course that excuses could only last for so long, but the bathroom seemed such a comfort compared to the windowed rooms, and you lost track of all sense of time or space, curled up in a ball, leaning against the cold wall, the linoleum tiling keeping you grounded.

Eventually however it came to an end, and there was a short knock before Saeran turned the doorknob and opened the door.

“Something wrong?” He asked, immediately realizing the answer to that question after looking at your position. Kneeling down to face you he cupped your cheek. “Thunderstorms?”

You nodded, despite yourself. You really didn’t want to take this from him. But he didn’t seem to have felt like anything was taken, instead kissing you on the forehead and opening his arms for you to envelope yourself in them, something you did gratefully.

He held you, rocking you slightly, whispering random bits of words, random pieces of song, anything to keep your anxiety lower. Nudging the door shut once more you two stayed there for a while, and you finally felt yourself calm down.

“I’m sorry.” You mumbled.

“For what?” His tone was that of genuine confusion.

“For taking away watching thunderstorms from you. I don’t want to take anything away from you of course, I really don’t. I’m so sorry.”

“Oh MC…” Saeran peppered your face with kisses. “You haven’t taken anything away from me. I can still watch the thunderstorms, can still love them. Your fear isn’t something to be ashamed of, we all fear things in our lives, all have things we’d rather throw aside. I’m always here for you, always. It’s something I chose, and would choose over and over again. And that choice doesn’t mean I cannot chose to love thunderstorms, or watch them. It just means I have to make sure you’re comfortable as well. Besides, I wouldn’t want to do something that made you uncomfortable, not if I could do something about it. So don’t talk like that anymore, okay?”

You nodded, feeling reassured and slightly sheepish. He really was too good for words.

You two stayed in the bathroom until it became too uncomfortable, when you moved to the bed. It was a lovely evening, the storms having mellowed into a gentle rain.

Wrapped in Saeran’s arms you suddenly felt such a rush of emotions overcome you, contentment, bashfulness, love. Especially love.

You loved Saeran so much. And you always would.

Vanderwood

You’d really rather not tell Vanderwood.

You two were the cynics of the group, sarcastic, unfazed, or rather you hid your general emotions to the larger group in a swath of wit and humor. You really didn’t want to tell him that you were afraid of what was essentially a fear that had outlived its purpose.

It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Vanderwood with your true feelings, indeed sometimes you felt as if Vanderwood was the only person you could trust with your true feelings, a sentiment they had reciprocated multiple times.

It was moreso you already knew how much people saw your fear as overreacting. Didn’t need your partner to join the bandwagon of slight bafflement and bemusement, even if they couldn’t help themselves.

So there you were, sitting on the couch, storm on full display, trying not to dig your head into the side of the lazyboy as Vanderwood sat typing away on their computer.

Unfortunately the storm grew more and more violent, and you quickly grew more and more uncomfortable, your plans of nonchalance having really taken a critical hit.

Before you could think of a proper excuse to go into the bedroom closet and have a bit of a scream a huge clap of thunder shook the complex and the book you’d held in your hands plummeted to the ground.

Vanderwood immediately got up and shut the blinds. “I forgot you don’t like storms.” They said, closing the last of the blinds before turning around to your startled face.

“You know I don’t like thunderstorms?!”

“Was I not supposed to?” They looked vaguely confused, and not a bit amused.

“No.” You buried your hands in your palms.

“No I was or no I wasn’t?”

“You weren’t.” You groaned. “It’s embaraassing.”

“Why should it be embarrassing? Look, MC.” They walked over to you, taking your hands in theirs. “There are a lot of embarrassing things people are in life. Of which I’m at least half of them. I cannot say a lot of things with great confidence, but I can say this. You aren’t the least bit embarrassing for having an incredibly common and practical fear.”

“A fear that should’ve died out with the invention of bricks.” You muttered.

“Perhaps. But we both know that’s not how it works.” They replied. “So don’t feel the need to hide something like that. Okay?”

You nodded and Vanderwood smiled, before giving you a hug, something which you gladly reciprocated.

It was a quiet evening, one of easy cooking and laughing at miscellaneous videos, of making fun of spy shows and swapping stories.

In the end you probably shouldn’t’ve been so surprised.

Vanderwood was an amazing partner, caring, funny, observant, loving.

Perhaps it was okay to have such a fear around them. And if it was okay with Vanderwood than everyone else would have to suck it up, because really two people’s opinions mattered to you on the fact, yours and theirs. And in this instance you’d found yourselves completely in accord.

#so... fucking... long #I'm so tired #was gonna write request tonight but I have to sleep #hope people like this at all lolol #if not might cry #mystic messenger #mystic messenger fanfiction #mystic messenger headcanons #fanfiction #headcanons #my writing #rewrite

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nerdforestgirl · 4 years

Text

Note: This might be the last year that I do this, but for now I have a tradition to continue.

Amy's birthday was coming up, and it was always among her favorite days of the year. Sheldon always made a fuss. Her friends too. It felt good to be celebrated for just existing. Sure, Amy was a Nobel winning scientist, but to her husband and friends, she was so much more than that. To them, she was Amy Farrah Fowler. That was the long and short of it. She was her, and that was all she needed to be to them.

Amy had never been one of those birthday week or month people. The single day or maybe an extra weekend day if that fit everyone's schedule better was all she needed, but it felt good to be unabashedly loved by her friends. Especially when she grew up with so many birthdays where all she did was spend the day with her parents. If she even got that. Her 15th birthday had involved spending the whole day completely forgotten about and stuck in the rain.

“I was thinking that this year for my birthday, I'd love it if we all dressed up and went out to dinner. My and Sheldon's treat of course. I love an excuse to dress up, and Sheldon looks hot in a suit,” Amy told Bernadette while they sat in Bernadette's kitchen one afternoon.

“Aren't you a little old for all of this?” Bernadette snapped. It was a hassle to fit both Amy's birthday in on the same day as Halley's. Halley was a little kid, so obviously her birthday could be a big deal. Amy was in her 40s. She was an adult, and Bernadette didn't really have time to hear about Amy's plan to have everyone out for a nice dinner.

“Uh. Yeah. I guess I am,” Amy said. She didn't think she was, but she was taken aback by both Bernadette's tone and words. “I just forgot that Sheldon wanted a ride to the train store. I'll see you later,” Amy added before a couple tears could start making their way down her face. Then she got up and left Bernadette's house.

Amy cried for the whole drive home. If she was going to cry, she usually tried to do it in her car. No one liked it when she cried, so she tried to spare anyone she could. When it wouldn't stop, Amy stopped at a coffee shop and picked up a hot beverage in the drive thru. The sugar from the hot chocolate and the warmth would help calm her down.

At first, Amy didn't know why she was crying. Her birthday wasn't all that important to her. Neither was the idea of a dinner with her friends. They did that stuff all the time. Sure, she wanted to go out to a restaurant instead of just eating at Leonard and Penny's, but it wasn't all that different. Then it hit Amy. She wanted to matter. She wanted to matter to her six best friends enough that they would take the time to have dinner with her. She wanted to be worth three hours of their time. And suddenly she didn't think she was was worth even that to them.

“I've won a Nobel. I have my own Wikipedia page. I matter,” Amy muttered to herself as she sipped her hot chocolate. It didn't make her feel any better. Sure, asymmetry was groundbreaking. People were already expanding on her work in so many ways. But if the people closest to her didn't have time for her, what did all that matter?

Amy kept crying alone in her car until she got a text from Sheldon.

“My phone says you are here, but you are not home or at Leonard and Penny's. Did I forget about the finals of our hide and seek competition? I thought they were next week.”

“I'm in my car. I'll be up in a minute,” Amy wrote back.

After a few minutes, Amy knew she really needed to get upstairs before Sheldon got too worried about her. Still she didn't. She stayed in her car and finished her hot chocolate.

Amy jumped when there were suddenly three knocks on her car window followed by her name. Amy rolled down the window and looked at her husband.

“Why are you still in your car? And why are you crying?” Sheldon asked Amy. Then he opened the door and climbed in next to her.

“Could you do me a favor and tell me that you love me?” Amy asked Sheldon.

“I love you,” Sheldon said without any hesitation. He didn't even ask why Amy would ask for such a thing. She knew he loved her, and it wasn't like he neglected to tell her that on a regular basis. He usually told her at least once a day, but often more than that.

“And I'm not a burden?” Amy tried.

“You are not a burden,” Sheldon repeated. He was the annoying burden out the of the two of them. They both knew that too. Of course she was annoying sometimes, but so was everyone. “Why do I need to say it?”

“Bernadette said that she didn't have time to celebrate my birthday this year. She said that I was too old to still care about my birthday,” Amy explained.

Sheldon knew that Amy hadn't had fun birthdays growing up. He didn't mind celebrating with her. She was his favorite person, so even if she wasn't making up for lost time, he loved celebrating her existence. He was beyond thrilled that she existed. Just like when he loved celebrating the day she became his wife.

“Fine. Bernadette can't come. Wolowitz either. Just because he's annoying. We'll still have your birthday dinner. Now, come inside. It's getting dark out here,” Sheldon told Amy. There would soon be shifty people and loose dogs about.

“But I'm crying,” Amy explained.

“You may cry inside. It's silly to just sit out here in the car just to cry,” Sheldon told her.

“You don't like it when I cry,” Amy told him.

“Of course I don't like it when you cry. I don't like it when you are hurt either. Well, except when you slipped on the last step last week and fell on your butt. That was hilarious,” Sheldon reminded her. He chuckled at the memory because it really was one of the funniest things he had seen all week and no permanent damage was done. “It doesn't mean you are not allowed to cry.”

“When did you get so smart?” Amy asked as she opened the door to go upstairs with Sheldon. She felt better already. Sheldon wasn't usually great at emotions, but he completely validated her emotions. It wasn't something he was usually great at.

“I've always been smart,” Sheldon said.

The pair went up to their apartment. Amy decided to climb into a nice hot bath and relax for a while. Sheldon was going to just order them a pizza because Amy didn't feel like cooking even though she normally did.

Then when Sheldon was alone, he found Amy's photo album. From there he took pictures of several of the photos in them before sending them to Bernadette.

“Did you know that Amy didn't have a birthday that included a single friend until after she met us?” Sheldon asked Bernadette in a message along with the photos of Amy all alone on her childhood birthdays.

“Was she upset that I said she shouldn't make such a big deal out of her birthdays? I knew I was being a jerk. I should apologize,” Bernadette wrote back immediately. She had had a feeling that Amy was upset when she left. Bernadette didn't think she was wrong exactly, but she could see that she had hurt Amy's feelings. Sometimes Bernie forgot how sensitive Amy could be under the surface.

“She was crying when she got home. She was worried that no one loved her and that she's a burden,” Sheldon wrote back. He wouldn't have known that if she hadn't outright said it, but he did know. He thought he would pass it along since he always could use the help on knowing how people felt.

“I will call and apologize right now,” Bernadette promised.

“She is in the bath and I do not allow electronics so close to the bathtub. I will text you when she is available again,” Sheldon explained.

Amy got out of the bath when the pizza came, and she started to serve herself a couple slices when her phone rang. It was Bernadette. She wasn't sure she wanted to answer it, but Sheldon looked at her expectedly. Amy grabbed the call.

“Hello?” Amy said.

“Hi. You left abruptly. Did you get to the train store?” Bernadette asked, playing dumb.

“Yeah. Sheldon got the new train car he needed,” Amy lied. She mouthed “sorry” to Sheldon because she knew it bothered him to be involved in a lie even if it didn't remotely matter.

“Good. Um. I wanted to say that I'm sorry about earlier. I have been stressed out at work and about Halley's birthday party, but I want you to know that I am happy you are my friend. I really want to go to dinner with you for your birthday. Getting dressed up sounds really nice,” Bernadette told Amy.

“Oh. It's not a big deal,” Amy lied again.

“It is to me. I like having you in my life, Amy. I love you and I want to celebrate you. I'm sorry that I made it sound like it didn't matter when you were over earlier. Howard and I will both be there,” Bernadette explained.

“Thank you, Bernadette,” Amy said earnestly. She was nearly crying again, but this time because she felt loved by her friend.

“What was that about?” Sheldon asked as if he had no idea what had just transpired.

“Bernadette apologized to me for saying I was too old to care about my birthday,” Amy told him. Then she finally took a big bite of the pizza in front of her.

“Good. Though, we can still leave Wolowitz off the guest list if you would like,” Sheldon joked.

“No. I want everyone to be there. They all love me and I them,” Amy told him.

#NFG fan fiction #this was maybe inspired by the fact that i was told that birthdays don't matter #but my friends all told me i overreacted when i got upset #but amy's friends do love her and think she matters

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fandom-strumpet · 4 years

Text

Lucifer’s Daughter- Chapter 1

Summary: The reader is an undercover hunter in college, and she also has another secret to hide. Her world gets turned upside down when the Winchesters come into town. Will she be able to hold up her facade?

Word Count:

Warnings: Drinking

Word Count for Chapter 1: 1,577

“Whew. Well I guess that’s a wrap.”

You chuckled, wiping the sweat off your forehead with the back of your hand. You turn to see Ruth smiling back at you, less winded than you, but still tired after the fight. You both sprawl on the damp grass to look at the scene laid before you; two headless bodies, and blood decorating the woodland grass and surrounding trees.

“I think this calls for drinks, don’t you?”

“I think you need a shower.” Ruth leans over, after licking her thumb, wiping the blood off your forehead that you had smeared there on accident.

You swipe her hand away playfully.

“Fine. And THEN we get drinks.”

Ruth shrugged and you took that as a yes. It took you both about 15 minutes to get back to the dorm rooms, which wasn’t bad time considering clean-up. You had to cover your tracks well if you wanted to stay in one place, one college, for a while. Stripping down in the bathroom felt so good, the steam from the shower already curling in the air. Mmmmmm. You hummed, lifting the shower curtain slightly to the side with one arm while one leg slowly dipped in to test the waters. Perfect. You loved your showers steaming hot. Sighing in content you fully walk in, the familiar clink of the shower curtain sliding back into place sent you to a happy place. Picking up your favorite strawberry body wash, you apply a generous amount to your body, cleansing yourself of blood and stink. The suds always looked so pleasing to you for some reason and in no time you were out of the shower, towel wrapped around you.

“Hey Ruth? Should it be a sexy dress or shorts tonight? I’m feeling like showing some skin.”

Ruth gave a thoughtful look and nodded toward the shorts you were holding up.

“Good choice. I’ll even wear this new flannel I got.” You couldn’t resist giving a little squeal of excitement with a stupid dance to get Ruth to smile.

“Girls night out it is,Y/N.”

“Damn right. We deserve this!”

About 30 minutes later, you pulled up to the bar most commonly visited by college students. You’re hopping out of your ‘69 red Mustang when you spy a nice looking ‘67 Chevy parked a few spaces down.

“Wwhhooooo” you whistle, unable to keep from staring at the beauty, almost drooling a little before catching yourself as Ruth cleared her throat.

“So are we going to get drinks?”

“Yeah, yeah, sorry Ruth.”

The smell of alcohol poisoning and peanuts hits you with a wave of comfort as you enter the bar. Out of habit, you and Ruth head over to the bar, flashing a smile and ID.

“I’ll have the zombie smash cocktail” you say winking at the bartender.

“I second that” Ruth chimed in.

“Sure thing.” He replies with a smirk.

You always ordered the same drink on nights you celebrated a victory.

“Wow Ruth, really putting yourself out there tonight aren’t ya?” You give her a sly grin and raise your eyebrows playfully.

“Well, as you said Y/N, we deserve it. Girls night.”

The bartender slides the two drinks toward you. Grabbing it, you turn and take a slow, deep drink while scanning the crowded room for anyone standing out. Your eyes freeze upon spotting a quite handsome, badass looking biker guy with a leather jacket on and immaculate hair. Almost like a princess. You give an amused huh before looking past him to see a very large man in plaid, looking pretty serious for being at a college bar. The shorter one seems to be having a good time though, and suddenly he turns, making eye contact with you and holding it as a fox like smile spread across his face. You nudge Ruth in the side to get her looking at what you’re seeing.

“Hey Ruth, look at these two sexy fellas.”

The two men had started to come over to where you and Ruth were standing. The shorter one spoke first.

“Hey, mind if we buy you two a drink?”

“Not at all and how about some fries?” You reply, matching his side smile and coy look.

“My name is Dean and this is my brother Sam.”

“Nice to meet you Sam and Dean.” Ruth speaks up, “My name is Ruth.”

“-And I’m Y/N.”

Dean lifts a finger to signal the bartender over, who nods.

“We’ll get some tequila shots and a basket of fries for us and the lovely ladies.” He winks at you.

You humorously roll your eyes and feel your face flush. That first drink must be kicking in already.

“Are you guys college students here?”

“No, just passing through. We’re here visiting an old friend.” Dean replies.

God, he has an amazing gruff voice that just puts you on edge. You had heard plenty of gruff voices before at the bar but not like this. No. His forest green eyes twinkled with mischief and already you could feel yourself falling into them. Especially as your eyes wandered down to his pink plump lips. Mmmmmm.

“What about you?”

Your mind snaps back to attention upon his question.

“Ruth and I are both juniors at Haverford College, we’re actually roommates.”

“Tonight is our celebrating night.” Ruth beams.

Sam inquires, “What are you celebrating?”

“Oh you know, passing midterms and stuff.”

You shrug with a smile, a silent and stuff reverberating in your mind.

“Congratulations” Sam and Dean chime heartily.

“Thank you! Hey Ruth, why don’t you take Sam and show him the tricks to the pool table?”

You elbow her in the side hard enough to where she can feel it but it doesn’t show.

“Sure! Sam come with me.” She winked cheesily, and it made you inwardly groan. God she is never going to get laid is she?

You toss your head back, taking down the shot, exhaling as the back of your throat stings. Dean follows your lead and takes his, and then proceeds to signal the bartender for another one.

“Aside from being sexy, what do you do for a living?”

“I do the baking at the local diner.”

You two talked for a good hour, both of you becoming increasingly drunk/ tipsy. You couldn’t help letting your giggly side spill out. Some badass hunter I am.

“Dance with me.”

“Sure thing sweetheart.”

You lead him out onto the dance floor, you move his large coarse hands down to your waist, onto the bare skin where your top didn’t cover under the flannel. You start to sway while moving your hands up his arms, taking in every muscle and warmth. When at last you reached his bulky shoulders, you let your arms rest there. Dean tilts his head forward to where both your foreheads are touching.

“Mmmmmm you smell amazing- like strawberries” He said, inhaling deeply.

You love the way his stubble felt against your skin, you could let your hands wander all over him, and let him explore your body as well. You could feel your cheeks flush with the thought.

“What do you say we take this someplace else?”

Dean touched your wrist with his fingertips, letting them slide up and you enjoyed the feeling. It sent chills up your spine and you let an audible giggle escape.

All of a sudden, you hear Ruth say loudly,

“Are you religious? Because you are the answer to all of my prayers.”

You roll your eyes. Ruth has got to up her game.

“However much of a handsome devil you are, I’ll have to take a rain check for another night.” You had slowly inched closer to him as you were talking, your lips just inches from each other. You could feel his warm breath, smell the pine, woodsy, manly essence of him. You let your hands wander on his shoulders,

“Perhaps another night?”

“Sorry little lady, but its a limited time offer only.”

“Don’t be afraid to drop by if you get the chance.” You grinned at him, looking deep into eyes.

You go over to the nearest table, grab a napkin and steal a pen from the passing waitress. You wrote the best you could in your tipsy state, your handwriting looking like a doctor’s note.

“Here, it’s my address.”

Biting your bottom lip, you held eye contact while slipping the piece of paper in his flannel’s front pocket as sexily as possible. You hear Ruth giggle and you look toward she and Sam starting to wander over to where the two of you are swaying.

“I take this is my cue to go. Don’t be a stranger Dean, stop by sometime.”

You stand onto your tiptoes and plant a sweet kiss on his cheek. As you pull away, a smile bloomed across both of your faces. Ruth’s presence behind you let you know it was time to go.

“Goodnight Dean. Goodnight Sam.”

As you and Ruth started to walk out of the doorway, you gave one last longing look backwards to see the two brothers smiling at you and her, saying goodbye. Ruth’s arm entwined with yours led you to the car, and within moments you had passed out in the passenger seat with her driving you home. You awoke to Ruth nudging you out of the car, towards the entrance of the dormitory.

“Best girl’s night out ever.” You managed to slur groggily.

You let her lead you all the way up to bed, even going as far as to letting her help you change into your favorite pjs.

“There. Now you’re all tucked in.”

“You’re the best, Ruth.” You managed to mumble before passing out.

Ruth gave a chuckle, “Thank you for the compliment Y/N. Goodnight.”

Intro Chapter 2

#dean winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfiction #snfanfiction #dean winchester #Sam Winchester #akshi8278

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fencesandfrogs · 3 years

Text

cloudtail’s daughter au

so i decided to do a full write-up of this au instead of doing a second post to cover books 4-6 and then everything will be self-contained.

the essence of this au is pretty simple: dovewing does not, imo, fulfill the prophecy by being the granddaughter of firestar’s nephew, because that’s at least 3 “kin” away from him. so while i think she’d actually have to be princess’ daughter to fit, i’ll let her be firestar’s grandniece and call that “close enough” because it’s better.

anyway, there’s no real reason for this to change anything, but i think given who cloudtail and brightheart are, and how close dovewing and ivypool are to whitewing, it would probably change quite a few things.

[4k words. 15 minute read. proper section headers.]

this is a big summary so i’m sure i’ll forget things, i’ve already had to add in the events caused by the dovewing/tigerheart romance/conflict that carries through the first three books, and that cloudtail being an atheist has a major effect on ivypaw. i know i wrote a detailed summary of the first arc, where i didn’t forget any of that, but nothing exists for the second arc. anyway this au is tagged cloudtail’s daughter and apparently i have a lot to say about it so i’m sure if you click on the tag you can find info about it. assuming this isn’t the first thing i post. which it might be.

section one: things that don’t happen

so i don’t want this to be a po3 rewrite, which means i’m going to take a moment to explicitly discuss what doesn’t change.

first, po3 stays pretty much exactly the same. i want jayfeather to be a warrior too. i also want him to be dovewing’s brother. but the au where brightheart gives birth to dovekit, anxiety child, and jaykit, blind, and feels like a failure despite the fact that its not like her half-blindness is genetic, is not this au. that is another au.

anyway, hollyleaf does keep herself more together, because she needs to be alive for some family drama. she’s in background character hell (BGCH) for a while, though, especially the first book.

she still goes to the tunnels, mind, she just comes out sooner.

but otherwise, despite my personal tastes, i’m not changing po3 very much.

section two: brightheart’s litters

okay so cloudtail and brightheart have four children, i believe, and my choice is either to replace whitewing, or to replace the others. now, i don’t particularly care for either of these options, but i’d rather they have their second litter younger, so we’re replacing amber/dew/snow. this still lets you have old queen drama, but not so much that you’re like “brightheart how on god’s green earth did you have 3 children with no issues”

instead, she’ll have dovekit and ivykit at about the same time whitewing had them.

now, for complicated cat genetic reasons, cloudtail could have been a black cat. now, here me out: what i mean is, if he wasn’t white, he could be black. basically, white is a masking color in cats, it goes on top of whatever pattern they would have displayed. both he and brightheart would have to inherit one dilute gene (princess was not dilute, so she had to carry it), and then either dovewing or brightheart are tortie, and that’s the best i can do for keeping dovewing grey.

i, personally, lean towards tortie brightheart, because i always pictured her that way, but i have seen some pretty cute tortie dovewing.

ivykit inherits red from her mother, and is tortie either way, because tortie ivypool is cute.

in fact, i’ve been tinkering with the idea that ivykit and dovekit have kind of mirrored grey and cream spots. not, like, perfectly mirrored, because that’s not how tortoiseshell/calico (they would technically be calico, since they have white) works, but close enough to be cute.

section three: arc one (summary)

these books are going to have six protagonists (dovekit, lionblaze, cinderheart, hollyleaf, jayfeather, ivypool, in that order) with a secondary character who gets less chapters but the most important b-plot (ivykit, hollyleaf, lionblaze, jayfeather, cinderheart, dovewing).

arc one focuses on “two braincells” i.e., dovewing, lionblaze, and cinderheart (sorry bb, ur not like the other two, but i’m putting you somewhere) and the main theme is dovepaw learning to manage her power. it’s a tug and pull between dovewing: glass canon, and dovewing: can’t do shit.

cinderheart and lionblaze also have a romance going on, which irritates ivypaw, who has a bit of a catalyst with the dark forest in the middle/end of the arc (like in the original). we only get this through external perspecives, though, because when this happens, lionblaze is in the secondary position.

one of the ways to fix this book series is to decouple it from ivy and dove, much as i love them. both the beavers and the dark forest make up a b-plot in this arc, while the quest for the third prophecy cat, as well as growing tensions between clans, take center stage, and lionblaze and cinderheart work in the second and third book to give us the adult perspective of the tension that dovekit and ivykit can’t in the first book.

mostly, this is fairly low stakes. part of that is because characters are having stakes appropriate for them, rather than smeared around in a book. (looking @ u, flametail buddy). so dovekit/paw spends her first book worried about apprentice things and doesn’t get to narrate again until the end of the series.

section four: book one — growing shadows

i think the fourth apprentice is a stupid name, okay?

so book one is dovekit and ivykit, for pretty obvious reasons.

although actually i’m pushing off the beavers in this to book two or three. i’m not 100% sure where i want that, yet.

so anyway, dovekit is born and wow is she anxiety child. (i call dovewing anxiety child a lot, because, well, she is? i feel like it’s sort of implicit in the books and i’m making it explicity.) anyway, she’s in sensory overload like 100% of the time. see, she was born late, and so she didn’t have her powers kick in over time like lionblaze and jayfeather. nope. she got the adult version right away.

so she spends a lot of time hiding with cloudtail because he’s big and fluffy and not complicated to look at. cloudtail and brightheart are understandibly pretty worried about her, because no one really knows what to do about it. she’s skittish and distractable and extremely sensitive. she hates going out in the rain, hates bright sun, etc.

(side note: dovekit’s powers extend to pretty much all her senses. she can see, hear, and smell much farther than she should, and she can taste and feel much more strongly than an other cat.)

ivykit doesn’t feel unloved, but she does know her sister is getting more attention, and that always kind of hurts, even if you’re understanding.

cloudtail and brightheart work to try to help dovekit get on her feet, but they’re not super successful. she learns to cope enough to be able to function as a kit, but she’s always kind of a strange, quiet kit. she doesn’t know how to talk about seeing too much because she doesn’t realize its too much.

dove is given to cinderheart, because lionblaze is a terrible mentor for small anxiety child, and ivy is given to lionblaze. this will also create drama later, just wait.

so the main plot of this book is keyed into dovepaw learning to hunt. the stakes are pretty low, honestly. they’re mounting around dovepaw and ivypaw, but the girls are too young to properly understand everything.

dovepaw is initially successful hunting due to some luck and being good at spotting prey, but she can’t replicate it. ivypaw only trains with her a bit at first, and she sees this success, and feels like her parents’ attention on dovepaw made dovepaw better than her.

this gets ivypaw into the dark forest. this is the b-plot: ivypaw training, realizing she made a mistake, and not knowing how to get out. plus, she doesn’t have to mind her sister. (ivypaw is raised by an atheist, so while she’s smart enough to eventually work out that these cats are evil, she doesn’t have a sunshine and rainbows view of starclan. that’s the only way i can justify her not being smart enough to nope the fuck out of there, even if she is really young and really angry.)

in clan life, ivypaw knows she needs to look out for dovepaw. she doesn’t mind, but she gets to experience a life without that in the dark forest.

dovepaw does mind how everyone treats her like she’s made of glass. she sees cinderheart talking to brightheart and jayfeather and firestar and feels like everyone thinks she’s useless. so she decides to go out on her own and prove she can function.

dovepaw starts sneaking out at night and she finds the tunnels. her senses dampened, she panicks, running deeper and deeper, getting lost. fallen leaves will find her, and help get her strength up and then get her out. kind of like with hollyleaf, who is out of the caves by now.

ivypaw sees everyone searching for dovepaw and starts to feel guilty about wanting more attention, and the fact that part of why she wants dovepaw back is so people pay attention to ivypaw again. she also feels responsible for this.

cinderheart is distraught, because she really did care about dovepaw, and it’s been three days, her scent tracked to the tunnels but it was raining and no one has seen her since, so she’s probably dead.

ivypaw, grieving, refuses to accept that dovepaw is dead and she hunts outside the tunnel mouth until she thinks she hears something.

dove and ivy reunite and return to the clan. ivypaw’s convictions that dovepaw needs to be protected are strengthened, and dovepaw knows she failed in her goal. everyone is happy to see them.

we get some fretting about how washed out everything is, how the rain didn’t even stick because the soil is so dry. that’s a cue to the drought, which will be a bigger deal next book.

section five: book two — fading echoes

honestly i’m not attached to book titles, but this works here too.

so this book is split between lionblaze and hollyleaf. i’m pretty sure hollyleaf is out of the caves by now, but i haven’t decided if she’s rejoined the clans. she feels strongly for fallen leaves: they’re listed as mates on the warrior cats wiki, and if hollyleaf and jayfeather are both going to have ancient dead ghost mates, she’s at least going to visit hers. her end goal is to get him to starclan so they can be together after her death.

anyway, this is beavers book. i don’t have a ton to say about it because it’s pretty much the same, except hollyleaf goes with dovepaw and cinderheart and she’s our pov as dovepaw falls for tigerheart because (and this is my understanding of her logic in the books to begin with): “big fluffy tom is safe fluffy tom.”

lionblaze feels the disconnect between him and ivypaw, but he can’t help that cinderheart is away. ivypaw is clearly preoccupied, but he can’t tell with what. his larger conflict is in finding the third cat.

this isn’t a filler book, per say. the tree falls and that happens, and lionblaze gets thrown into rebuilding camp. ivypaw feels doubly abandoned. lionblaze tries to win her affection, but he doesn’t know how.

beaver crew gets back. dovepaw has stars in her eyes. ivypaw is close to passing her warrior assessment, but lionblaze can tell she’s holding back because she doesn’t want to leave dovepaw. dovepaw can hunt by now, but she can’t really split her attention.

she’s scared of going into battle.

after a border skirmish where dovepaw just freezes, ideas of her being a medicine cat are raised.

ivypaw sees tigerheart in the dark forest, and she goes all bluefur being like “snowfur ur bf has rabies” on dovepaw, who is not happy with this. ivypaw pushes dovepaw to be a medicine cat because of this. the sisters are squabbling and barely talking.

book ends.

section six: book three — distant whispers

again not 100% sold on the names.

so this is cinderheart’s book, and she’s going to figure this out, because dovepaw and ivypaw are falling apart, and dovepaw deserves to be a warrior. so she convinces firestar to let her and lionblaze take ivypaw and dovepaw to the mountains. she believes, well, i’m not sure i haven’t worked that part out.

anyway, they go.

the tribe is like “yeah the world sure is a big place with a lot to look at. that’s why only half of us look.” (i know that’s not exactly how cave guard’s work but close enough.)

cinderheart is like “hm. what if, dovepaw, just a thought, what if you just, you know, avoid battles? i know it’s part of clan life but judging by the two souls crammed into my body, i’d say there’s been very few major conflicts over this and, reasonably, you should be able to avoid being chosen for battle control.”

dovepaw says, “but cinderheart, i’m a main character! unless i’m being punished or taught a lesson about duty, i’ll be automatically registered for every battle patrol until i die!”

cindheart says, “you’re right, i’m so sorry. hey ivypaw, [whoops yeah ivy and lion are here too sorry i forgot to mention that] what if you two learn to work as a team.”

dovepaw says, “i don’t want to work with her.”

ivypaw says, “that’s a great idea.”

because dovepaw talks very quietly (she forgets not everyone can hear as well as her), ivypaw wins.

they spend at least a month in the tribe, maybe longer, i’m not sure. eventually, they decide to go back. dovepaw is never happy in the tribe, it’s way too loud all the time, but she does manage to sort out her hunting issues, and so fighting is left.

so there’s still a big push for dovepaw to consider maybe being a medicine cat.

but that is not this au. this is the jaywing/dovefeather au where they basically switch roles. there’s a really good fic where dovepaw goes to riverclan for a while that i love and anyway this au is a as-close-as-possible to canon au for me to rectify my issues with dovewing in canon (nominally, i don’t have any, but i think her character was displayed…curiously, and i’m mad about the prophecy.)

ivypaw is team medicine cat. cinderheart and lionblaze are struggling. cinderheart eventually teaches dovepaw an extension of the techniques of the tribe, and they work out that dovepaw can kind of, track the cats she’s with to anchor herself in battle. this means dovepaw no longer is tied to ivypaw for her success, and so they both become warriors.

while they’re still in the tribe, ivypaw has time away from the dark forest and lionblaze finally puts two and two together, and that basically makes up the b-plot for the back half of the book, lionblaze trying to get ivypaw to admit what’s going on and then trying to help her.

dovewing’s senses begin to return but since they come back slowly she’s able to manage them. so she quickly excels in hunting.

ivypool cottons on to the dark forest breeding loyalty between its members, not to their original clans, and realizes that this is going to threaten all four of the clans.

end book with a bang, end first arc. we will now turn to the actually-have-more-than-two-braincells crew (sorry cinderheart, you don’t deserve to be in this group, but your prefix doesn’t end in -y, so you can’t be with jay/holly/ivy in the brainy crew.)

section seven: arc 2 (summary)

so this arc is when the main conflict (dark forest battle) becomes obvious. dovewing’s problems have been sorted out, so she’s pushed into BGCH for a little bit while the smart adults sort things out.

book three ends with ivypool realizing the dark forest isn’t a personal problem, but a clan-group (like, all of the clans together? not sure how to call it) sized problem. ivypool, jayfeather, and hollyleaf together manage to sort out a lot of the dark forest’s eventual plan, and they try to sort out a way to solve it. then the battle happens. that’s basically the summary?

in here, the clans start working together way sooner and the prophecy comes out way faster.

section eight: book 4 — the forgotten character

alright, hollyleaf is liberated from BGCH. actual title is still the forgotten warrior.

hollyleaf and ivypool start to bond, and hollyleaf is convinced all the clans need to know about what’s up.

ivypool disagrees, and they talk about it like rational people.

hollyleaf and fallen leaves are still cute.

jayfeather has his timetravel thing in this book so he can do flametail’s job in the next book. he gets to talk to hollyleaf and fallen leaves about it.

i don’t think i’d mess with jayfeather and briarlight’s relationship in this au, because i think it’s sweet in canon as is, but you know i have thoughts about half moon and briarlight. anyway, jayfeather gets his book next, this is about hollyleaf.

fallen leaves helps hollyleaf learn to control, idk, spirit dream travel? jayfeather helps with this too. hollyleaf has to share extra hard with jayfeather because she took up a disproportionate amount of time in lionblaze’s book.

so anyway, hollyleaf is learning to travel into the dark forest. similar to the way dark forest cats leave it? but in reverse. this is the main plot.

like the second book, it’s not really filler, so much as lower stakes, and like the second book, i don’t have a ton to say about it because the plot is self evident. unfortunately, hollyleaf has the two “chill” books. sorry bb.

anyway, this is building into jayfeather going all angry old man yells at sky at starclan next book, so the biggest conflict in this book is hollyleaf realizing she can just, leave. she can go back in time the way jayfeather did, but on purpose, save fallen leaves, and they can be alive.

i mean, that wouldn’t actually work, not the least because i’m not keen on hollyleaf being a reincarnation, espcially in the reincarnation-lite universe, but also because she can’t save fallen leaves, then he wouldn’t be a sharpclaw, not really, and like a whole host of other issues but anyway

at the end of power of three, hollyleaf runs away from her problems. this book is about her standing up to defend them.

i don’t know if she explicitly breaks up with fallen leaves, but they have a falling out that won’t get resolved until after the great battle. this is a mutual/not mutual thing where they both know that fallen leaves is stopping hollyleaf from fully committing to helping her clans now, but they love each other.

relationship conflict that isn’t forbidden romance.

speaking of, ivypool getting close to hollyleaf means that the two of them start to reconnect with their siblings. hollyleaf’s actions alienated her from jayfeather and lionblaze and she kind of just was sad and apologetic but they didn’t want to forgive her.

(sorry hollybush, says jayfeather,

that’s not my name, says hollyleaf,

oh, says jayfeather, guess i forget. well anyway, i have a new sister now. her name is dovewing.

dovewing?, says hollyleaf. but you don’t like her.

it’s okay, says jayfeather, she never tore my family to shreds and then abandoned me to deal with the fallout.)

(jayfeather and hollyleaf always seemed closer to me than lionblaze and either of them, until hollyleaf’s whole event. anyway he remains petty about everything and lionblaze stands by him because, well, he’s not wrong, also dovewing is important to cinderheart so he feels like he should be on her side on this which means jayfeather’s side. even though cinderheart is friends with hollyleaf look i said lionblaze is a loveable dumbass already, didn’t i?)

so anyway hollyleaf is sad and ivypool sees that and is like “hm maybe i shouldn’t be a petty bitch for no reason” and this is fine until after this series is over when dovewing and tigerheart are like “bitch we gon b together”

dovewing’s emotions get jayfeather to, well, not go back on his actions, but recognize hollyleaf is the most effective person to work with. because lionblaze and dovewing are just. so dumb.

and yeah this book ends with things feeling almost hopeful.

section nine: book 5 — sign of the moon

i cannot overstate how little i care about the titles of these books.

anyway, jayfeather and cinderheart.

i don’t have a ton of thoughts about this one. jayfeather reunites starclan, cinderheart helps convince ivypool and dovewing to work together. this is the book where clans find out about the propechy but not the dark forest that is for next book

they know something is coming, but everyone agrees not to give ivypool away yet. they like her, you know, alive.

anyway, i don’t have much to say because it’s pretty obvious what happens, because this is just a bunch of events from other books crammed into this book, now, and they’ve been written and i don’t see the need to make many changes.

cinderheart and lionblaze have kit drama, maybe? cinderheart counsels dovewing about tigerheart, maybe? my point is it’s not super important.

the book ends with the two warriors to every camp. and dovewing, jayfeather, and lionblaze, are going to get split up.

this is my biggest change so far imo because it’s the most plot relevant.

dovewing is going to shadowclan with ivypool. jayfeather is going to windclan with…i’m not sure yet? i don’t want him going to riverclan because leafpool has ties to riverclan and, well, i want jayfeather to get a chance to stand on his own. and lionblaze goes to riverclan, with either cinderheart or hollyleaf.

jayfeather is super grumbly about this, but admits that it’s important as a show of unity, and also, he’s pretty functional in wind clan? like they’re all playing to their strengths.

jayfeather learns to navigate pretty quickly, dovewing appreciates quiet and also not being that-strange-cat who everyone is super careful around, and lionblaze is big and gregarious and enjoys riverclan being chill and friendly. so yeah, people get a chance to chill and be happy.

ivypool is in position to be angsty next book.

end book.

section ten: book 6 — the last hope

despite my claim that the biggest change is sending the three to different clans, i don’t have a lot to say about it.

basically, well, okay

first, we see ivypool and dovewing again. reminder that last time we were in one of their heads, they were apprentices. in book one.

dovewing couldn’t even hunt last time we had her pov.

so there’s a few chapters to some characterization that happens. dovewing is no longer anxiety child. she’s somewhat shy, she’s soft spoken, but she’s not skittish. you can’t surprise her. and she’s intense. she’ll just stare at you with wide eyes if you come talk to her until you say something she wants to respond to.

ivypool sees why dovewing and tigerheart are good together. she’s still not supportive, but, like, he understands her. he doesn’t treat her like she’s fragile, but he also is kind and forgiving and soft to her.

plus he’s a total simp for dovewing. that helps.

anyway, ivypool gets along fairly well in shadowclan. i don’t have ton of thoughts about this.

ivypool, hollyleaf/cinderheart, and jayfeather’s companion, as well as half of the other cats away on missions, are acting as messengers between their host clans and their home clans. that’s how ivypool gets to find out about info. they meet on the island every morning. or something.

anyway, this bit is where i most hate the set up of this with two pov per book hard cap because it’d be cool to see into everyone else’s head but that’s for novellas and side stories.

the battle happens.

everything sucks. dovewing has basically committed to tigerheart, but bramblestar’s storm messes with the timeline.

and that’s pretty much it.

section eleven: what’s next?

so i swore i wasn’t starting new fic and then i thought of this and now i do want to write it so, maybe?

the most important thing is:

tl/dr: the reason dovewing shouldn’t have been a prophecy cat is because she’s not the kin of firestar’s kin.

#dovewing #ivypool #jayfeather #cinderheart #lionblaze #hollyleaf #warrior cats #cloudtail's daughter #mine #txt #22nd #February #2021 #February 22nd 2021 #q #essay #long #lovewing dovewing

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ohnohetaliasues · 4 years

Text

Stones to Abbigale {Ch. 1}

(Kat)

This is going to be the worst thing I’ve ever read, isn’t it?

Am I going to actively want to die? Yes, most likely. But apparently, because I run a blog like this, I can endure suffering.

Flashbacks to Blood Raining Night.

Here we go. We will start with the introduction, written by the onion lord himself.

I want to be direct, my name is Greg. I go by “Onision” online.

Okay, I dunno what it is, but something feels off about this sentence.

This book is made up of events that occurred in my own life mixed with fiction from the made up life of James. James is essentially a better version of myself.

I can’t imagine how good that could be, seeing as the man who wrote this is a child predator and is just an overall piece of hot garbage.

His home, his school & his life all resemble my own at his age.

Don’t ever use a fucking ampersand instead of the word ‘and.’ It’s just bad grammar.

The people James analyzes and is surrounded by are not so unlike those I’ve known as well.

Analyzes?

Why?

I have experienced much of the loss James has however his happier moments are more often than not also mine.

Then write a memoir. Not this.

I want to share my story without it being purely non-fiction.

I mean, some people do this with books about their lives, but this feels... Odd?

I simply felt this approach would make for a far better book. At points I cried while writing this, at others I laughed.

Congratulations.

I don’t care.

Stones To Abbigale is not just a book I wrote, it is a piece of who I am.

That’s a given for all writers, but I still don’t care.

I’m going to rip this book to shreds.

Okay here we go.

I was asleep until I met her, but when I woke, I learned the meaning of "perfect imperfection."

Is this Onion boy trying to be poetic?

It actually made me want to die.

I've always been the type of person to focus on stars as we spin beneath them, the cool breeze on a sunny day, scattered patches of grass under my feet, the world around me, often forgetting to even glance at the one within.

‘The one within.’

Okay so the way this is written makes those three things seem disconnected. I often do stuff like this when I write, but I’d write it like ‘as we spin beneath them, focus on the breeze on a sunny day, on the scattered patches of grass, etc.’

You couldn’t pay me all the money in the world to rewrite that garbage sentence. This is all very waxing poetic and not in a good well structured way.

I had remained emotionally unexplored for so much of my life.

That must’ve been boring, not experiencing human emotions like the rest of us.

You sociopath, you.

It's painful knowing some can go an entire lifetime without understanding their own heart, an internal lock waiting for the right key to change everything.

Yeah, whatever, shut the hell up, you whiny idiot.

This is like an introduction by a teenager who just opened a poetry book and was like ‘yup. I wanna write like that.’

Except you aren’t William Blake or Walt Whitman and you never will be.

Sorry, Onion boy.

Except I’m not.

Die mad about it, grease ball.

It was the first Monday of November. I opened my eyes, blinded by my recently painted wall-to-wall white room. Even my bed frame, constructed of purely metal, was painted white.

Okay, cool. I’m a descriptive writer and I take every chance I can get to mention details, but even I find this description awkward. It feels irrelevant in this situation.

It bounced off the walls causing my eyelids to desperately clamp together. Painting my room like this was a clear act of subtle self-inflicted psychological torture.

Then why in the sweet hell did you do it? Do you enjoy suffering?

Actually, he probably does.

Because this is edgy as hell.

I was going through another phase, from darkness to light, and repeat. Seemed like the story of my life.

This is so edgy I am in physical pain.

You know your symbolism is good when it’s so random that you have to point it out and explain it to your audience.

My mom could see the darker colors were depressing me, I felt comforted by them, but found there were good aspects of both extremes. I was happy to visit either side, they are both so simple. But right now the intense light bouncing from wall to wall felt like it was ripping my mind in two.

Am I an idiot or is that just... word salad?

My mom didn't wake me. My alarm clock sat on my dresser with no explanation for it's failure to function. The clock only illuminated a blank stare with 8:17 written all over it's face. While entirely robotic, I imagined the clock to have the dumbest possible expression, one complementing its failure to behave any way outside its random glitch-infested nature.

That was the worst way to write a personification ever, but okay.

In the reflection of it's plastic face I could see myself unconsciously making the dumb expression I was imaging the clock to have. I laughed in my casual dorky tone and began to get ready to leave home.

I’m not laughing, idiot.

Without breakfast, I left for school with a bogus note in hand to idealistically explain my tardiness.

You... You wrote a fake note?

Do you realize you could get in trouble for that?

You’re an idiot.

I think most of my teachers were too exhausted to worry about small variances in our appearance from time to time. With how low their pay likely was, I imagined there were very few rules most teachers cared about.

That isn’t true at all. Teachers have to pay attention to rules unless they want to get, I dunno, fired.

It was another cold day in Lakewood. The wind hit my eyes forcing tears to form in the corners as I sped along the sidewalk at a no-doubt unreasonable speed.

I cannot imagine any good imagery for this scene. I’m just imagining this gif:

I passed Lauren and Raymon walking the opposite direction, no doubt headed toward the nearby church where all the students go to smoke, make out and hide out till school ends.

Um okay. Does this guy know that if characters don’t have relivance to the story, if they have no reason to be named, than they don’t have to be?

No.

Because he’s a 34 year old man baby.

They seemed so childish as they held hands and smiled excitedly as if they had gotten away with some tremendous crime.

That sentence seems so robotic I genuinely can’t.

Mr. Hanson, my heavy-set, middle-aged history teacher, rolled his eyes as I walked into class. "James, talk to me after class" he said quickly, looking away from me as if I were an undervalued employee who was barely important enough to make eye contact with let alone deliver a full sentence to.

It bothers me so deeply that a new paragraph wasn’t started when this character talked.

"I have a note," I said. He ignored me, and continued his lecture on yet another topic that would not only be completely useless later in life, but wasn't even relevant for even a few seconds after the words left his mouth.

Why is this teacher acting like a petty teenager?

I’m deeply annoyed by this.

And yeah, it’s relevant. You have tests, you idiot. Take notes. And it’s also history, which is, again, relevant.

In conclusion, shut your mouth and stop bitching.

There was only 15 minutes left in the class, but I felt it would be more stimulating to integrate myself into the room to yet again study my classmates' behavior than to sit in a hall watching the rows of scum covered tiles inevitably slide off the decaying walls.

That’s a health code violation, friends.

Or Onion is an awful writer and he thinks describing a school like this is a good idea. My money is on that.

For as long as I remember I've enjoyed seeing how people move around and talk to each other, like they're all animals at the zoo.

Something is wrong with you, friend. Liking to people watch is one thing, but doing shit like this is something else entirely.

Uh, try sociopath-like?

Creepy as hell?

We’ll go with both.

I would try to deliver a more accurate analogy if I felt there was one

Bitch, there is. I can’t name one off the top of my head because reading this makes me feel like my brain is melting out of my ears, but I’m 100% sure there is a better analogy. Even though this feels more like a simile.

but so many of them seemed incredibly unaware of themselves, just living life as if it were some generic predefined routine.

Oh, and you’re so much better obviously, you pretentious bastard.

Sometimes I felt like an alien who had a VIP pass to submerge myself in primitive human culture just for entertainment.

Congratulations, that’s also what you sound like.

I sense everything I can take in around me. The seemingly limitless audible tones, tremors in the voices of growing children rang in my ears. In studying people, I found myself gradually learning to literally feel the various personality types I encountered.

Do you... Do you have psychic powers?

If not, shut your damn mouth.

I hyper analyzed every inconsistent smell, the seemingly random clothing styles, freckles, and assorted hairstyles filled my mind with questions. Trying to rationalize and understand what sequence of events led them to decide who they would become.

You are the most pretentious protagonist I have ever read. I’m half a chapter in and I already fucking hate you.

This character is so poorly written and immediately unlikable. i cannot relate to him at all and if someone does, I suggest you go get some help because how this asshole is behaving doesn’t sound human.

I took favor of categorizing most everyone around me. The socially inept know-it-all, the dumb attention-seeking drama kid

On behalf of all drama kids, go fuck yourself.

and the bleach blonde bimbo who gets overly defensive at the slightest hint of criticism.

Do you mean you?

Onion obviously didn’t let anyone edit this garbage.

Then there were the kids who just hoped no one noticed them at all. There was so much to be seen, to be considered and organized in my mind.

Mhm.

I don’t care.

Class had just ended so I walked over to Mr. Hanson's' desk &

And*

placed the tardy note down in passing. As I walked out with the rest of my class, he called after me. "James! We still need to talk!" I responded but continued to walk outside the room. "I have to be early to my next class! Let's talk tomorrow!"

You’re an asshole.

And I hate you.

I walked quickly down the hall towards my art class, which was awkwardly placed in a trailer outside my clearly poorly funded high school.

Um.

Okay.

On my way to the class a fight had already broken out between two jocks who, no doubt, both had controlling, iron-fisted fathers who brainwashed them into believing conflicts between men are best resolved with the bloodying of their fists.

That’s a bold thing to assume, dear Onion.

These kinds of men plagued my mind with wonder. I could not conceive a scenario in which they could justify their primitive & pointless mentalities yet they would always continue to perpetuate their self-destructive attitudes as if it offered the slightest legitimate benefit.

Oh, shut your pretentious mouth.

Most everyone nearby crowded around the fight. None of them likely cared who was winning, what it was about or how far it went. All they ever seemed to show concern for was their own amusement, always excited to see violence without having to pull out their wallets to pay for it.

Are you joking?

Where are the teachers?

This is complete bullshit.

This is high school, not a fucking fight club.

Does Onion even try to make this believable? Or is he just vomiting all over his keyboard and just accepting whatever nonsense that makes?

As the sounds of flesh collided fist to cheek & chest quickly followed the howls from the surrounding students. They would scream "Oooohhhh!" as if it were sincerely delightful to witness creatures like themselves suffer & fall apart before their eyes.

The use of ampersands is making me lose my goddamn mind.

Even if I had time to stop, I never really took pleasure in seeing strangers hurt each other. Most all fights seemed avoidable and were often initiated for a senseless reason.

Go choke on air. This protagonist annoys me more than any protagonist has. I’m not joking. Fuck this dickwad.

I know, you could say it's more complicated than that, I would like to think it were as well, but reality trumps the way I wish things would be. There's no sense in fighting it when doing so rarely helps anyone.

While this is true, this is worded in a way that’s so pretentious it’s painful and also in a way that paints this protagonist in such a white knight-y way that it makes me want to die.

As I approached my next class the image of Abbi's face illuminated the neon walls of my mind like a projector teasing a theatre screen with fleeting moments of depth & purpose.

That is complete and utter word salad. Stop immediately.

Ever since I met her, she had occupied a part of my consciousness; whenever I wasn't near her I missed her to an unrealistic extent. You could call my longing sad especially considering we had barely talked; she just had a strange effect on me, one no doubt similar to a willful addiction.

That’s called a crush, but the way that was just described is so creepy.

There are people in life which we pass by on a daily basis, barely aware of their existence, but on an exceptionally rare occasion you can find a person who fills an area inside your little world you didn't even realize needed filling.

While that’s technically not untrue, it feels like a lizard person is trying to tell me what having a crush on someone is like.

As I walked up the creaking stairs into my art class trailer I could see Abbi was sitting at her shared-desk, alone, same makeup, hairstyle & general appearance I had thought about repeatedly over the last couple days. She was drawing pictures on her blue-lined paper, distracting herself from the cold that filled the oddly glowing room.

This... This imagery is so fucking weird.

I smiled slightly trying not to be too obvious and sat down on my chilled metal chair positioned a few seats to the left in front of her. Glancing over, I could see she hadn't moved at all, I felt like she didn't even notice me come in.

You aren’t the center of her world, so yeah, she’s focused on something else. That’s just how it is, asshat.

I wanted to inspire some acknowledgment of my existence from Abbi so I opened my mouth to greet her when my fingers brushed up against freshly smeared gum under my desk. "Eeew!" I shouted out on impulse. She looked up at me with a blank expression.

I’ve accidentally touched gum on the bottom of my desk before, as I can imagine everyone has, but I’ve never shouted about it like a lunatic.

Bursting into the room came a group of boys. "Dude I think John's done bro!" one of the other boys laughed, saying "Won't see them for a week at least."

Nobody talks like this. Have you ever spoke to another human?

I looked back at Abbi to see she also didn't react to their outburst. Strangely knowing that her apathy was generalized and impersonal gave me comfort.

There needs to be a comma after ‘strangely,’ but whatever.

Her influence on how I felt was obviously dangerous but I didn't care as no matter how fond I was of the idea that I was not of the world, I knew my place and had no real interest in pretending otherwise.

Explain to me how in the hell that’s dangerous.

Jason, one of the boys energetically praising the fight they had just seen, sat in his seat next to Abbi. I smirked watching her shoulders shift away from him. Her body language sent a loud message that she had the same impression of Jason as I did. He was just another moron, placed on this Earth to live his life completely unexamined,

That word is not used properly in that sentence.

a pawn that had no awareness of its own role let alone that it was just another tiny component within a massive unstoppably twisted game.

Shut your pretentious mouth because that doesn’t make any goddamn fucking sense.

I know it sounds morbid and condescending but my attitude was just something that naturally developed the more I studied human behavior.

Bullshit.

I would be more optimistic but I find doing so would be like walking into a room with no windows and turning out the light. If you refuse to see the world around you for what it is you're just wasting your eyes.

Being optimistic means looking on the good side of things. You’ve heard the glass half empty or half full thing. it’s that. And as someone who jumps between optimism and pessimism, being optimistic isn’t like this at all.

Don’t try to be poetic or funny, Onion. Those are two things that you aren’t.

Art class was about to begin. My teacher, Mrs. Stanley, who looked like she should have retired a ridiculous thirty years ago, approached the front of the room talking about how art is sacred. She also discussed the random object she had us all draw the previous school day and ironically graded it by using her own narrow-minded definition of art.

That isn’t ironic.

I always wondered how teachers could even attempt objectively grading art. Is there any logic behind validating a form of self-expression using a cold black and white mathematical system?

It’s a class where you have to follow the curricula. Shut your damn mouth.

And this is coming from someone who hated her art teacher. But this art teacher was so utterly closed minded that she didn’t accept anyone else’s creative process. She basically told us that if we didn’t follow her process, we weren’t real artists.

"Today I'm going to place you with partners" Mrs. Stanley said as she pulled out sheets of paper outlining our activities to come. "To keep this simple, I'm going to partner you with the person you are currently assigned to share a desk with" she said. I sighed knowing I was bound to be paired up with Alex, a guy I had specifically asked to be seated away from ever since he peed in a jar literally right next to me under our desk, acting like he was so cool for publicly exposing himself while simultaneously urinating.

That... He expected to be treated like he was cool for this?

That’s fucking disgusting.

It happened weeks ago and I still can't figure out what kind of crazy it takes for you to, in the presence of people you barely know but have to see nearly on a daily basis, pee in a jar held in your hand just beneath your desk in the middle of a classroom.

At first when I read this, I thought that the wayit was worded made it sound like Alex forced James to hold the jar while he peed in it, but okay, whatever.

What then? You show it off like you will be praised and accepted as if it were an accomplishment? Alex, despite being borderline mental, was one of my least favorite people to study.

It is actually physically exhausting to read this shit. James is a pretentious asshole.

I couldn't help but feel there was some defect in his mind that invalidated the point of conducting a thorough analysis of him.

This just makes it seem like James has mind reading powers.

He was completely irrelevant when considering the realities of normal human behavior.

Behavior you don’t act according to, you lizard person sociopath.

As I was off on a tangent in my own mind I heard a familiar voice ring out, one that inspired the very same emotion you experience when a song you had forgotten you loved, randomly plays in the background of your daily life. "Can I be paired up with James?" her voice was just as I remembered.

Is this Abbi?

I have a friend who spells her name like this, so I really hate that there’s a character in this shitty book who shares a name with her.

Despite her having not spoken in class in some time, she hadn't changed a note. Abbi had interrupted the teacher just to partner with me, but I asked myself if was it really just to work with me or just to get away from Jason.

Um. Okay.

The teacher, looking irritated but understanding Abbi's discomfort with Jason responded "Alex and Jason, you'll be partners. James, switch seats with Jason" "Thank you!" Abbi said with a slight smile. With a cocky grin Jason stood up and in a comedic fashion smelled his armpit. "Wow, I didn't know I smelled that bad" Jason said as he walked over to sit by Alex.

That isn’t funny and Onion boy isn’t funny.

Approaching Abbi was no doubt a way scarier act in my mind than it was to everyone around me, I felt like my head was burning from the inside out.

That’s a little extreme.

Nevertheless I continued to remind myself that her public outcry to partner with me could have meant nothing. I sat down next to her and did all I could not to turn into a complete dork on her. She reached out and grabbed the project outline that was being passed out. Mrs. Stanley began to read the description of the assignment. "Today you will both be taking something meaningful, but expendable, from your own homes."

If something is meaningful it isn’t expendable. Stop.

Mrs. Stanley looked up and emphasized, "That you own!" then looked back down at her paper. "You will tear those items apart here in class. You will then take those items and, using the adhesives, staples and the strings available in class, find a way to create something new out of those possessions."

That’s actually kind of an interesting idea. But like. Maybe with a cup? I don’t wanna rip apart something I care about.

She looked up and said in a low voice sounding somewhat like Dracula "Two, will become one."

That is unnecessarily creepy. It reads like an innuendo.

Also, what in fresh hell does Dracula’s voice sound like?

Did she say it with a Transylvanian accent? I’m confused.

Jason raised his hand objecting, "All due respect Mrs. Stanley I'm not breaking something of mine for this class."

Jason has the right idea.

She replied putting her hands on her hips, "That's fine Jason. We'll supply you with a toilet paper rolls, we have plenty of extras around here." Jason suddenly looked disturbed and sarcastically spouted "Freaking great!"

Why???

That’s better than ripping apart a t-shirt.

Mrs. Stanley asked, "Are you sure? Your grade shouldn't suffer that much if you two just take Alex's piss jar and tape it to a toilet paper roll. You're already failing this class."

What in the literal fuck?!

You cannot say that to students. No, you can’t say that to anyone.

Jason couldn't believe what she had just said

Same.

and Alex maintained an awkward frozen facial expression with his mouth slightly open in his normal weirdo somewhat robotic fashion.

"Oh my god" Abbi whispered under her breath with a slight smirk. I grinned uncontrollably; just seeing her amused was amazing to me.

That wasn’t really funny, it was just shocking.

I could hear a scream in the back of my mind reminding me my dorkiness and borderline obsession was escaping through my face.

It's not that I couldn't help being in awe of Abbi and basically every little thing she did, I simply didn't want to change how I felt. In a way, she was like your favorite song or book, you could pretend not to like it and in time with the right mental coaching maybe you would sincerely dislike it, but life just felt so much better embracing your condition entirely, letting all your nerdy admiration flow freely.

This just reads like an obsession. I don’t have the energy to actually express how romantic feelings actually feel, but this is terrifying.

Mrs. Stanley continued, "If there's anyone else who has an issue, please take it up with my 1800 number which is?" She put her hand up to the air signaling the students to react but only a couple kids replied aloud with her catch phrase. "1-800-BOO-HOOO" they mumbled.

Sweet Jesus.

So this is what it feels like to lose my mind.

She continued, "Good, now for the rest of class please work with your partner on what you plan to bring and draw up a prototype sketch of what you feel your final piece of art will look like." Mrs. Stanley walked to the back of her room and sat down at her 1950's looking rust-infested desk.

Is this school just a giant health code violation? And what the hell do you mean by ‘1950′s desk?’ All I got when I googled that were pictures of wooden desks.

I would always laugh internally when I looked at the old thing. Maybe it was my way of coping with the fact I attended one of the most run down schools in the state.

I have nothing that isn’t full of curse words and fact checking to say here.

"What are you going to bring James?" Abbi asked.

This sentence is put so Abbi looks like she’s asking if James is going to bring himself without the comma after the word ‘bring.’ Did Onion really not edit his book at all? These are simple and fixable grammatical mistakes.

It was amazing hearing my name pass her lips but I had no time to think, if I didn't respond right away she would think I was totally awkward. "I... have no idea..." I responded. Smiling she said, "I'm going to bring my hamster cage", I asked, "Did he die or something?" she laughed, "No, I never got one, the cage was just a gift from my dad."

But you’re supposed to cut it up.

Hamster cages are made of metal.

Does Abbi just have superhuman strength? Is she going to bring a pair of bolt cutters?

"Your dad didn't get you a hamster... for the cage?" I asked.

My question exactly.

Sometimes you just...

You just gotta give your daughter a hamster cage but no hamster.

She paused and started to lose her smile.

Oh fabulous, she’s one of those characters.

At the first sign of her smile fading I felt a crushing pressure in my chest. "Hopefully you can find something that will work with that," she said. I couldn't help but feel like a total jerk despite not even knowing what I did wrong.

That interaction was so... Weird? Robotic? i don’t know. Something felt wrong about it.

I had the overwhelming urge to fix how she felt so I took a gamble, "Well, I could always bring that weird vibrating thing my mom hides in her drawers all wrapped up in a cloth" I said.

What is wrong with you?

I cannot fathom what made Onion think this joke was funny.

She busted out laughing hysterically as a huge grinned filled my face. I was so happy I could get her to smile again. "Eeew! James!" she continued to laugh as the extent of my grin began to stress my cheeks. I couldn't remember a time when I was this obvious about how I felt.

This... Something is wrong with just... all the dialogue.

And with the formatting. You make a new paragraph when someone starts talking. A 34 year old man should know this. He writes like me when I first started writing, and while this probably means he just started writing, I was 11 years old when I wrote like this.

He is a 34 year old adult. There is no excuse for how bad this formatting and how generally terribly written these interactions are.

Abbi's laughing trailed off and she paused. Turning to me she said, "You... you didn't actu- ally... your moms?"

*Pained groaning.*

I responded, "No, I wouldn't know about that, but I'm glad it made you laugh." She responded, returning to a soft laugh "You're more goofy than I thought James." I sat next to her looking at my fingers interlaced in front of me; my wide smile relaxed but still filled my cheeks with warmth.

This entire chapter, everything here, is so awkwardly written.

As class came to a close Abbi patted me on my arm. I turned and she handed me a note. Instinctively I put it in my pocket and said "See ya tomorrow", she just smiled and walked away.

????

On my way to my next class, I opened the note. I didn't understand why, but it read "NISEONE."

Not knowing what to make of it and with little time, I stuffed it back in my pocket to look over later.

Yeah, that’s cryptic as hell.

Not feeling like skating home,

Oh, we’re really getting into edgy 2000′s shit now.

I got on the bus to see all the normal rejects and misfits waiting. Davis, a short and scrawny kid who had been my best friend since middle school despite being one grade behind me excitedly waved me over.

Oh, good, more terrible characters.

"James! Nice to seeeee you!"

Oh, this bitch needs to die.

he said in seemingly the dorkiest way possible. I smiled as he stood up giving me the window seat, knowing very well by then that I preferred it.

Um. Okay.

As I sat down I began looking out the window, analyzing the little humans running left and right to get on their busses.

Buses*

And I am going to eventually kick your ass for this pretentious bullshit.

Something reached out and caught the corner of my eye. I immediately shifted my head to see what it was and quickly realized it was Abbi standing in the parking lot by some beat-up sedan.

"What'cha looking at James?" Davis asked. Without hesitation I began to respond, "Oh, it's Abbi, she's in my art..." my heart sank as I witnessed a boy I barely knew, named Seth, walk up and kiss Abbi on the lips.

Oh, boo fucking hoo. Get over the fact that she has a life outside of your crush on her.

"James?" Davis said, but by that point his voice was a faint echo in the darkness my mind instantaneously lost itself in. I felt like after a life of numbness I was finally about to truly feel warmth for the first time only to have it all taken away in an instant, leaving me hopeless in the shadows, alone once again.

Cry me a goddamn river.

You angsty pretentious idiot.

Don’t give me angsty word salad about how sad this makes you, I don’t actually care at all.

I looked down at my knees feeling as if I lost all muscle control in my neck.

That isn’t a thing that happens ever when someone is upset.

"Are... you ok?" Davis asked. I responded with hesitation "...I'm... just stupid."

You spoke to her once, you fucking dumbass.

"No you're not. You're one of the coolest guys I know!" Davis replied. I continued my silence as he offered words of encouragement. "Okie dokie, well, you're awesome and should be super happy so if you want to talk, I'm your buddy so... so I'm here to talk."

That’s uh, nice of him.

But the way he’s talking sounds like... almost mechanical? All he’s done since he was introduced has been compliment James.

I was too focused on the con- flict raging in my mind to hear anyone at that point. I couldn't think about anything but Seth kissing Abbi the entire trip home.

Oh, get the fuck over it.

That night my mom was literally just serving lentil beans she prepared on her crock-pot for the billionth time, a fair exaggeration but still, it was excessive to say the least. My sister was behaving as she usually did at the dinner table, talking about how stupid she thought school was and how she couldn't wait for college. "How was work mom?"

I mean, I’m also tired of high school. I’m really done with judge-y teenagers.

I asked trying to keep my mind off the haunting images looping in my mind.

YOU HAVE HAD ONE FUCKING CONVERSATION WITH HER. CRY ME A FUCKING RIVER, YOU BITCH.

Any normal person would express disappointment over the fact that a person they like has a boyfriend or girlfriend or partner in general, not go into a damn depression about it.

"Well, no one at work respects me or listens to me and I generally can't stand it, but you know, we still have food on the table" she said in a stern tone.

That

That is weirdly passive aggressive and mechanical.

My sister barked as food flew out of her mouth, "Well at least it's not high school. I'm learning how to be a successful person from a bunch of low-income losers."

Oh, I guess bitching runs in the family.

My mom replied "Whatever your teachers are, they have full-time jobs, which is more than a lot of people can say." My mom gave my sister Lisa a disap- pointed look. Lisa was well known for showing little respect for hard-working people. To her it didn't matter how much you gave back to society, it only mattered how much money you made.

That’s a very black and white way to look at things.

After the rerun of lentil soup I washed the dishes per my mom's orders and headed to the shower. I sat on the floor of the tub thinking about Abbi, barely feeling the water as it hit my chest.

Sat on the floor... while water hits your chest? Are you like sitting with your back arched so the water can hit your chest?

This imagery is so odd.

I was so consumed with what I had seen that I had completely forgotten the note until that moment. I quickly reached over to my pants resting on the toilette.

Why the fuck did you spell toilet like that?

That’s literally the word for ‘toilet’ but in French. It isn’t a spelling used in English. It just makes you sound even more pretentious.

Also, he reached over to the toilet to grab the note from his pants while he’s in the shower?

It’s gonna get wet, you idiot.

I had hoped I read it wrong the first time and that it would make sense with a second look only to see it read exactly what I gathered in my initial passing glance. "NISEONE"

I fucking hate you, Onion.

This literally looks like you scrambled your screen name up.

Die.

In a fire.

I mumbled to myself. I joked with the idea in my head that she handed me the wrong note but still assumed it wasn't a failed attempt to say "Nice one," which could be taken as a compliment if you were desperate enough.

That joke, while just a little funnier, is still fucking lame.

Seconds into looking at the note my eyes widened, having figured out what it meant, I jumped up slipping to my feet and screamed "YEAH!!!" I had cracked it, only to immediately after feel completely stupid for not having figured it out sooner.

I’m just done functioning.

My mom screamed through the door from her bedroom "WHAT?" I responded "Sorry! Nothing!" I hurried to finish showering.

I’d just assume he got really into jerking off.

I’ll see myself out.

Staring at my phone wearing only a towel, I smiled as I typed in "NISEONE" or "647-3663" into the number keys.

That is the most cryptic and strange way to give someone your phone number.

I assumed we shared the same area code otherwise she likely would have given me a longer sequence of letters and I was right. After two rings I got an answer. "What do you want?" a disgruntled man's voice asked.

This... This girl gave this guy a home phone number?

I guess that’s fine since this is probably set in the early 2000′s, but it’s still odd.

Like a bad engine struggling to start in a monster movie I clumsily belted out a response "I... uh... I was looking for..." An unenthusiastic female voice in the background said, "Give me the phone." "Whatever" he said dropping phone in front of her.

James can apparently see through the phone, or he wouldn’t know that probably Abbi’s dad did this.

"Hello?" I could recognize the voice now it was Abbi.

Trying to hide my excitement by maintaining a normal tone I said, "This is James." Abbi excitedly screamed

Like how girls screamed in Disney Channel shows?

That’s ridiculous.

and responded "Oh my god you figured it out!" Hearing her optimistic tone I laughed saying, "So... why..." She interrupted. "I was hoping to find out if you figured out what you're bringing to art class."

Why the hell didn’t you just fucking ask? Or give him your regular phone number? This is just unnecessarily complicated.

I said "Oh!" and looked quickly around my room. I couldn't see anything immediately so I just said, "I'll... surprise you!" She then replied "Oh come on, tell me." My eyes locked on to a plausible item for the project. "How about my... bear... I'll bring my bear!"

You’re okay with destroying a teddy bear? Okay, I guess.

I said. She replied "Oh, ok, oh! I have an idea. Instead of the cage, I'll bring in a stuffed animal of mine and we'll make like, a zombie bear."

Sounds fine.

I don’t care.

You guys are fucking boring.

I laughed "Awesome" I said. "Ok, I'll see you tomorrow ok?" she replied happily. I answered "Ok, byeee."

I would appreciate it if you would fuck off.

I can’t believe this shit is on GoodReads.

Just before she hung up I could still hear her laughing, leaving me with a sense of accomplishment and a lasting smile as if it were painted across my face.

That’s the end of chapter one?

Oh god, okay.

That was.

Terrible.

The characters are bland and flavorless and I cannot get attached to any of them. I can already tell I’m going to completely despise this.

I’ll see you next time. I need to go think about my life.

~Kat

12 notes · View notes

drowning-in-dennor · 5 years

Text

Monochrome

This is my entry for day 1 of @aphyuriweek2019! I chose the theme of “colour” and the pairing here is nyo!DenNor. I actually wrote this quite a while ago, and it’s probably the longest one-shot I’ve ever written at around 4.5K words.

The first time Maren sees her, the sky is dull and so are her clothes.

Platinum locks. A white cardigan. A beige skirt, grey heels. Fair skin. She’s clutching something in her arms.

The air is stuffy with the prelude of rain, and Maren sees the girl a few meters away from her. She herself is heading towards the bicycle store for her shift, preparing for a busy afternoon. Maren finds herself wondering where that girl is going.

The next time Maren glances at her, she is on the ground.

She runs to help the girl, who is picking things up. They’re papers, Maren notices. Black and white and as dull as everything else about her. Maren holds out a hand to help the girl up, and she takes it. Her skin is cool.

“Thank you,” she says. Her voice is quiet and monotone.

“No problem!” Maren replies cheerfully. “What’s your name?”

The girl looks into her eyes. They’re blue. Not the noonday-sky-blue of Maren’s own eyes, not the sea-blue of her brother’s. They are the blue of the night sky right before the sun rises, but there are no stars in them.

“Linnea Norsdottir,” she introduces herself as. “I go to the public university here, and I’m studying world literature.”

“Cool. This is Maren Dansdatter, at your service.” Maren grins. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Linnea nods, stands up and, after another short “Thank you”, leaves.

Maren still doesn’t know where Linnea is going.

…

The second time Maren sees her, the sky is clear.

She’s heading for her shift again, and catches Linnea walking in the same direction. Her skirt is blue this time, a pale blue like watered-down paint. She’s carrying a bag this time, a plain canvas bag slung over one shoulder. There’s a clip on the right side of her head, something Maren didn’t notice before.

Maren waves at her with a smile. “Hi!”

Linnea turns and locks gazes with her. “Oh, hello again. Maren, right?” She smiles at the other girl’s nod. “I’d recognise that messy hair anywhere.”

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” she says, not sounding very apologetic. “But it’s true. That, and your loud voice.” Her clip is cross-shaped, Maren realises.

“So,” trying not to sound too indignant, Maren changes the subject. “Where are you going?”

“The hospital.” Linnea clutches her bag closer and turns away. “I’ll see you later, Maren.” She walks away before Maren can ask more.

…

The third time Maren sees her, the sky is on the other side of a window.

She’s in the hospital, visiting her nephew after he’s broken his leg. After punching her younger brother in the arm, she walks into the ward. It’s small, with white walls and a window and a curtained-off other half, where another patient must be. She approaches with a careful smile. “Hey, Peter!”

Her six-year-old nephew, with his legs propped up with pillows, gives her a wave. “Hi, Aunt Maren! How are you?”

“I should be asking you that, kid. How did you end up here?”

“Oh, I fell off a tree at school.”

“You what?”

“It was a dare!” Peter protests, turning red. Maren laughs when she sees him pout. “Wendy said she’d do my homework for me if I could climb the highest tree in the school. So I did, and I stood up and she clapped, then I slipped and hit the floor. Papa almost passed out when he saw me in the nurse’s office with my leg all bent.”

“And what did your faather—” Maren snickers at that. “—say when he found out?”

“Dad dropped a plate when Papa called him from here. I heard it from over the phone.”

Maren snorts, glancing briefly at the door when she hears voices.

“Linn?”

“Berwald, is that you? We haven’t talked in years, how are things?”

She swings the door open when she hears Linnea’s voice, feeling her heart pound. There she sees Linnea, wearing the same as the day before, in conversation with Berwald.

No, Maren notices with a jolt, she’s wearing arctic-blue heels, with little flowers sewn on top. And Linnea’s hair is done differently today, in a braid that sweeps over her shoulder. She doesn’t realise she’s staring at her until Berwald taps her shoulder.

“Hey, do you two, like, know each other or somethin’?” Maren asks. She realises that Linnea is deliberately not looking at her.

The blonde clears her throat, looking down. “Berwald’s my ex.”

Maren stares at Berwald. “Since when did you like girls?”

He stares back, glaring when she starts to smirk. “Experimenting. I was experimenting.”

“It was high school,” Linnea adds. “We dated for two weeks, I think, before Berwald realised… that. Then we just kind of stayed friends.”

“And I never knew about this.”

“It was two weeks,” Berwald grunts.

“A while after we broke up, I realised I swung both ways, so I guess it helped.” Linnea shrugs and pushes the door open. “Now goodbye.”

Maren follows her inside the ward. “You’re here to visit Peter, too?”

She ignores her and passes Peter’s bed, pushing a curtain aside and walking to the other half of the ward. From her spot next to Peter’s bed, Maren hears, “How are you?”

From behind the curtain come coughs, and a weak, almost-inaudible reply.

Trying to distract herself, Maren looks out the window. It’s dark now, and the little dots of lights poke out from windows and stand out like stars. The clock on the wall reads 8:24.

She leaves the room a few minutes later with a goodbye fist-bump to Peter and heads home. Almost two hours later, she gets a text message from Berwald. Tino and I just left the hospital, it reads. Linn is still there — I think she’s staying the night.

…

The fourth time Maren sees her, it’s raining.

She’s walking to the hospital, ready to help Peter get home after a week at the hospital. It’s raining cats and dogs and she has her umbrella open, though it doesn’t stop rainwater from splashing onto her shoes.

In front of her, under a clear umbrella, is Linnea. She’s wearing her bland colours again, all whites and beiges and greys. Her head is bowed.

Maren doesn’t talk to her until they both get inside the hospital, closing their umbrellas and kicking off stray droplets. “Linnea,” she calls.

She turns, and Maren notices that her eyes are dull, defeated, tired. “Hello, Maren.” Even her voice is weaker.

“Hey, are you okay? You look really tired.”

“I’m fine,” Linnea says. She walks towards the elevator, although her walk looks more like a trudge. “And can you stop following me?”

“I’m here to see my nephew,” Maren counters, while walking into the elevator herself. “He just happens to share a ward with whoever you’re visiting, so I can’t help it.”

“Tch.”

They ride the elevator in silence.

Peter is gone. Maren stands in front of what once was his hospital bed for a moment, before hearing a chime that came from her phone. She turns it on, noticing exactly 15 text messages and 4 missed calls from her brother-in-law.

Tino Maren (3:13 p.m.) Maren (3:13 p.m.) Marennnnnn (3:13 p.m.) Dont go to the hospital (3:14 p.m.) Peter’s already home (3:14 p.m.) We picked him up (3:15 p.m.) so stay at home (3:16 p.m.) Maren Dansdatter don’t go to the hospital!!! (3:17 p.m.) Holy crap it’s raining so hard (3:17 p.m.) Aaah (3:17 p.m.) So yeah (3:17 p.m.) Stay at hone (3:18 p.m.) *home (3:18 p.m.) You won’t see Peter (3:18 p.m.) Also he says hi (3:20 p.m.) If you want to visit Peter then come over when its not raining (3:20 p.m.) See ya (3:21 p.m.)

Linnea snickers while reading the messages. “You really should check your phone more.” She nudges a dumbstruck Maren, who jumps at the contact. “You know what? There’s no use in you staying here, so come along with me.”

Maren stares at her. “What?”

She pushes the curtain aside and gestures impatiently. “Come on.”

There’s a girl asleep in the hospital bed, tiny against the mountain of blankets covering her. Linnea sets her bag down on a chair next to the bed and approaches the girl, gently placing a hand on her shoulder. “Sula?”

The girl — Sula — stirs, opening her eyes. She sits up slowly, propping herself up on the pillows. “Linn?” She murmurs.

Linnea smiles at her, although her eyes remain dull. “How are you feeling?”

Sula coughs. “Much better. Doctor Ardelean said my fever’s going down, too.” She coughs again, covering her mouth with a gasp. Linnea jumps and scrambles for a bottle of water, hands shaking when she hands it to Sula.

Maren feels invisible while watching Linnea fuss over the girl, without sparing so much as a single glance at her.

“T-Thanks.”

And Sula looks into Maren’s eyes, and the older girl finds herself locked by a gaze that eerily resembles Linnea’s.

“Who are you?” Sula asks quietly.

“Sula, this is Maren.” Linnea says. “She’s… a friend, I think. Her nephew was the one who stayed in this room with you.”

“The loud kid who wouldn’t shut up?”

“Yeah. And Maren, Sula’s my younger sister.”

Maren waves awkwardly. “Hey.”

Sula blinks, not dropping her gaze. “Your hair is messier than my life.”

“My hair is what, now?”

“Kids these days,” Linnea mutters. “All nihilists.” She smooths out Sula’s blanket and reaches for her bag. “Literal twelve-year-olds talking about how life is meaningless while eating detergent.”

“That was one time,” Sula protests weakly. “And I won Mr. Puffin from that.”

“Oh, right, that’s how you got him. Speaking of your bird, he misses you.” Linnea pulls out a plastic bag. “Pecked me awake at three in the morning yesterday asking for food, then screeching when he didn’t get any.”

“You have a puffin?”

“Mr. Puffin is actually a… a…” Sula looks to her sister. “What’s that bird called again, Linn?”

“A zebra finch, Sula. But he looks like a puffin, and Sula loves puffins, so… that happened.” Linnea places the plastic bag on Sula’s bedside table with a flourish. “I brought you some liquorice. Don’t tell Aleks.”

Someone knocks at the door.

“Oh, speak of the devil.” Sula hides the bag of liquorice under her pillow as Linnea goes to open the door. “Hi, Doctor Ardelean.”

The doctor in question is a young man Maren’s age, wearing an easy smile and a strange red hat alongside his scrubs. Strawberry-blond hair, amber eyes, the only colour standing out from his sterile white clothes. The tag attached to his coat reads Aleksander Ardelean.

“How are you, Sula?” The doctor bends down in front of her bed. “Feeling better?”

Sula nods, forcing a smile. “I’m not coughing as much as I used to, and I don’t feel as tired. Can I go home soon?”

At the corner of her eye, Maren sees Linnea stiffen. “Maybe in a week,” her sister says. “If Aleks says you’re well enough.”

“Yeah, one week more and I’m sure you’ll be able to go home,” Ardelean agrees. “Don’t forget to take your medicine and lay off on the candy, okay?”

The sisters exchange a knowing glance at that.

“Is there anything else we can do today, Aleksander?” Linnea asks. Maren, in surprise, notices how her voice is tight with worry. “Something to help Sula feel better?”

“Not much. Just keep doing what you did before, Linn. Things are getting better, and they’ll keep on getting better.”

Ardelean stays for an hour, keeping Sula company as Linnea fetches basins of water and towels for her sister to wash herself, new clothes for Sula to change in and a stack of worksheets she turns her nose up at. “Really?” Sula asks incredulously. “I have pneumonia, and my teachers are worried about my grades?”

The girl smiles at a stack of get-well cards, though, spending a good amount of time telling Maren about her friends. “Erika, she’s the one who gave the green card, is one of my best friends,” she says. “Her older brother is scary sometimes, but he’s nice, I guess, once you get to know him.” She points to another card, white with a messy red scrawl and doodles of birds and dragons. “This one’s from Ka Yu, another of my best friends. She bet that I was too chicken to do this challenge where we put a detergent pod in our mouths. But I did it, so she gave me Mr. Puffin!”

“I don’t like her,” Linnea adds briefly, wringing out a face towel and hanging it up. “What kind of friends bond by eating Tide Pods?”

Ardelean leaves when his pager rings, giving a few reminders to Sula with a grin. Linnea turns away when he talks and hides her expression. With a muttered “Thank you”, Linnea walks out the room, her heels echoing in the hallway. Maren, with only a few seconds of hesitation, follows her.

Linnea is sitting on a bench in the corridor outside, scrolling down her phone with tired eyes. With a glance out the window, Maren realises that it’s getting dark, but raindrops are still pelting the ground below. She sits down next to Linnea. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“It’s getting late. When are you heading home?”

“I don’t know. You can go first.”

“Linnea?”

“It’s fine,” she insists. “Really. Thanks for staying, Maren.”

…

The fifth and sixth time Maren sees her, it’s pouring. Linnea’s clothing is as dull as the sky, her cerulean eyes reflecting the dismal gray of the storm clouds. They stay at the hospital for hours on end, arriving in the afternoon and leaving late at night. They talk to Sula, to Aleksander, to each other.

Maren learns more about Linnea in their many conversations. She’s twenty-one years old, four years younger than Maren, and studying world history at the university in town. She went to Berwald’s high school when Maren was studying in Denmark. And Maren tells Linnea about herself. She never went to university, she works at the local bicycle shop with her best friend, she goes to that bar run by old Kirkland every Friday.

After leaving the hospital, Maren walks Linnea home, to a small apartment complex in a quiet part of town. The younger girl always nods, thanks her, on the sixth day she smiled at Maren (and she likes replaying that smile over and over in her mind), but her shoulders are curled forwards in exhaustion and there are bags over her eyes.

Neither of them talk about that, though. Linnea gives her phone number to Maren on the evening of the fifth and they chat the night away, sending photos and exchanging jokes like middle school besties.

She learns more, and tells more. Aleksander is one of Linnea’s childhood friends; one of her classmates, Ka Wing, has a younger sister close to Sula. She’s kind of jealous of Berwald for getting married and having kids before she did; she was in the debate team back in school.

She saves Linnea’s contact in her phone as “Linn”.

…

The seventh time Maren sees her, a storm is thundering through town. They’re both running for the hospital, hopping over puddles and dodging lampposts.

They shiver once they reach the air-conditioned entrance of the hospital, blinking under the bright lights, blinding compared to the dim sky outside. Linnea wipes fallen leaves off her umbrella, Maren shakes hers dry.

“Is there stuff in my hair?”

She turns to face Linnea, eyeing her golden locks for sodden leaves, blades of grass. Nothing. Maren’s eyes wander down to her face, catching once-bright blue eyes that stare without seeing and puffy with tears that may or may not have been shed the night before.

“Nothing.”

They don’t talk again until they reach Sula’s ward, and Linnea puts on her big-sister mask. “Hi, Sula.”

“Hey, Linn.” Sula is sitting up in bed, playing on her cell phone. “Hi, Maren. Guess what?” She continues when Linnea stays silent. “Doctor Ardelean said I can leave next Wednesday! I don’t have fever anymore and I don’t feel like trash, I—” Sula collapses into a fit of coughing and Linnea rushes to her bedside.

After a while of Linnea comfortingly rubbing Sula’s back and passing her a bottle of water, the girl continues talking. “Okay, I still kind of feel like trash.”

Maren approaches Linnea’s side. “You’re doing good, Sula,” she says. “You’ve got an awesome big sister and her friends looking out for you! You’ll be back to eating soap and taking care of your bird in no time!”

“They’re Tide Pods.”

“You’ll be back to eating Tide Pods and taking care of your bird in no time, then.”

“And I’ll have to go back to school and suffer tests again.”

She laughs a little. “Well, that’s life.”

They talk like that for a while, telling stupid puns and laughing at stories. Linnea cuts in as Sula is telling Maren about shenanigans with Ka Yu. “Don’t strain yourself, Sula.”

“I’m fine, Linn,” she protests. “I’m just a little tired.”

Linnea goes off collecting supplies for Sula again, helping her change into new clothes and passing her damp towels to wash her face. Nobody talks about how she slumps while carrying basins of water or her heavy steps when approaching the nurses.

Aleksander drops by occasionally, refilling Sula’s IV and giving Linnea a hug when she yawns. “You’re a great sister, Linn,” Maren hears him say. “Don’t beat yourself up if you can’t handle everything. You’ve gotta take care of yourself, too.”

The two of them stay in Sula’s ward until almost eight in the evening, when they walk down to the hospital’s canteen for dinner. Linnea barely gets anything down before returning upstairs, leaving Maren to pack leftovers for her. They share a batch of liquorice with Sula, playing a game of chess and taking turns competing against each other.

And, all of a sudden, it’s eleven o’clock and Sula is nestled against her sheets, snoozing away. Linnea brushes her sister’s hair from her forehead with a wry smile. “At least she’s getting enough sleep now.” Maren follows her out of the room and into the bench they sat side-by-side on three days ago.

Linnea drops down onto the seat, exhaling sharply. She rubs her eyes, blinks, yawns. And she starts crying.

Maren sits down next to her and wraps an arm around her shoulder, unused to seeing the composed girl breaking down. “Linnea?”

She wipes at her tears, head bowed. “I’m fine,” she tries to say. “I’m just fine.”

“No, you’re not,” Maren insists. She pulls Linnea closer, surprised when the other girl’s breath hitches and she starts crying harder. “You’ve been dead on your feet these past few days. You won’t let anyone help you, you’ve practically become on of the nurses and hell, even Aleksander says that you’re working too much! Why aren’t your parents here helping you out?”

“They don’t care.” Her voice is quiet, barely a whisper. “They pay for Sula’s hospital fees because they don’t want her dead. They don’t care how sick she is, they just need her to live. I’ve been taking care of Sula for almost two weeks now, and I’ve barely been scraping by my classes in uni and I don’t want to fail, but I can't just leave her here!” She buries her head in her hands, shoulders shaking with sobs. “My life is a mess, Maren, and I have no idea how to deal with this.”

“Sleep,” Maren says firmly. She helps Linnea sit up straight again, staring into eyes flooding with tears. “You need to rest, Linnea. Forget everything for a while and just sleep, okay?” An arm still around her, Maren holds Linnea tighter as she leans into her and rests a head against her shoulder.

From the window, Maren hears the sky boom with thunder and flash with lightning. Linnea sleeps through it all, her chest rising and falling evenly with every breath. Maren doesn’t remember when, but at some point darkness takes over and she passes out.

The next morning, Maren wakes up lying against the bench, a killer cramp stabbing through her neck. Linnea is nowhere to be seen — not on the bench, not in the hallways, not in the still-sleeping Sula’s ward. The clock on her phone reads 10:43 a.m..

Ding!

She looks down at her screen, almost dropping her phone when she realises it’s a text from Linnea.

Linn Thank you for staying with me.

…

The eighth time Maren sees her, the sky is bright and so is she. Three days after spending the night with Linnea, neither girls hear from each other again until Wednesday, when Sula is discharged from the hospital. Maren receives a text message from Linnea at eight in the evening, grinning madly when she reads it.

Linn Sula’s home today. Come over and have dinner with us, okay? I’m cooking.

She runs for Linnea’s apartment complex as fast as her legs can carry, almost getting run over by some driver who flips her off through the window. Maren arrives at the building in less than ten minutes, out of breath and grinning like crazy. She presses the buttons on the speaker panel, listening as it crackles, before Linnea’s voice sounds over the static. “Hello?”

“Hey, it’s Maren,” she says. “I saw your text, so, uh… yeah.”

The door clicks open and Maren dashes inside.

She knocks on the door of Linnea’s flat, waiting for what seems like forever until she opens the door. Then Linnea steps into the doorway, and Maren freezes.

No more dull clothes mirroring the dull sky — now Linnea is wearing all-blue as clear as a summer day, a sailor-collared shirt and matching skirt, eyes sparkling and the faintest hint of a smile on her face. Even her clip seems brighter. “Hi, Maren,” she says.

She doesn’t reply, trying to remember how to breathe again.

Linnea rolls her eyes and grabs Maren’s hand, pulling her into the apartment.

Sula waves from a sofa, tapping away on a laptop with a similar smile. She isn’t coughing any more, her face no longer sallow. A bright flash shows up on the screen and she gives a tiny cheer. Linnea heads for the kitchen, humming quietly to herself.

Their parents are nowhere to be seen. Maren, remembering what Linnea told her, stays quiet, flopping down on the sofa next to Sula. “Hey.”

“Hey, Maren.” She’s playing a computer game, looking away from shooting demons for a while to glance at the older girl. “Thanks for coming over. You’ve made Linn a lot happier, you know. She smiles much more now.”

“And you’re feeling better, right?”

She nods, blowing up enemies with a flourish. “I get to go back to school tomorrow, but a lot of my friends dropped by today. The homework’s going to be a nightmare to catch up with, but hey, at least I’m alive, unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?”

Linnea appears out of the kitchen before Sula can reply, holding a steaming pot with mitten-clad hands. “Dinner’s ready.”

She passes plates of food to Sula and Maren before serving herself. “I haven’t made raspeballer in a while, so I hope it turns out fine.”

Sula polishes off two plates of the potato dumplings, holding her plate out for a third. “I haven’t had your cooking in so long,” she quips. “And the hospital food was trash.”

“You excited for school tomorrow?” Maren asks.

“Excited to see my friends, yeah, but not for, y’know, school. I’m going to ask Ka Yu if I can copy all the homework I missed.”

“You’re not copying anyone’s homework,” Linnea says, cutting into a piece of meat.

“Not even for math?”

“Especially not for math.”

“I mean, you’ve been sick for a while, so you can kinda copy,” Maren says.

Linnea glares at her.

They finish the rest of their dinner talking, laughing. Sula goes back to her computer game after dinner, calling her friends while playing. Linnea and Maren sit side by side on the sofa, and Linnea rests her head on Maren’s shoulder like she did before. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“For what?”

“For keeping my hopes up these two weeks, and making me happy. Sula was hospitalised for almost a month, and I was failing classes to take care of her. Thank you for helping me out.”

“You're welcome?”

“And I noticed something, since you’ve been coming to the hospital with me.” Linnea sits up and turns so that she’s facing Maren. “Maren, do you like me?”

Maren fervently glances at Sula, still engrossed in her phone conversation, before making eye contact with Linnea, deciding to be honest. “Yeah, I like you. In that way.”

She smiles, inching closer still. “I like you too, you know.”

“I, uh…” Maren finds herself getting lost in Linnea’s eyes, intoxicating and dizzying. “A-Are you asking me out?”

Linnea nods, a blush slowly spreading across her face.

“Well, I mean, I like you and you like me so we could totally date, and, so…” her face feels hot when she realises she’s rambling. “Yes, I’m so going out with you.”

And suddenly Linnea is kissing her, lips against hers and slow and sweet and Maren feels like her heart has stopped, perhaps she’s died and gone to heaven because it feels like an angel is kissing her—

Linnea’s face is bright red when she pulls away and she ducks her head, avoiding eye contact with Maren. “Sorry,” she mutters. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

She wraps an arm around Linnea’s waist and pulls her closer, lifting her chin so that their noses are almost touching. And they kiss again, Linnea melting into Maren’s touch. She doesn’t say it, but the message is clear in her eyes: “I love you.”

…

Maren stops counting the days they meet after that. She stops looking at the sky too, for every day it’s a breathtaking blue.

#aph fanfiction #aphyuriweek2019 #aph dennor #APH Denmark #APH Norway #nyotalia #nyo dennor #nyo denmark #nyo norway #APH Whale Brothers #aph whale sisters #APH Iceland #nyo iceland #aph hanatamago family #APH Sweden #APH Finland #APH Sealand #my writing

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badboys-imagines · 6 years

Text

Lie to me

Pairing : Tom, Reader

PART VI

Summary : A complicated story in which Y/N and Tom already know each other from work.

Y/N : Your Name

Y/L/N : Your Last Name

A/N : Sorry it took so loooong ! Hope you like it. xxx

Y/N woke up earlier this morning, almost sure Tom would cause her to be late again.

As she entered the kitchen, she saw him typing on his computer, but he instantly looked up at her,

"Hello," he paused, gauging her mood, "How are you doing ?"

Grabbing a bottle into the fridge, Y/N slightly shrugged and took a sip of milk.

"Today I'm feeling cloudy, with a chance of sarcastic."

"Can't you use a glass ?" Tom sighed, but immediately corrected himself, "Never mind."

A satisfied smile curved Y/N’s lips and she sat in front of him as he typed furiously on his keyboard. It felt so unusual to be here with him, in an almost peaceful atmosphere. Closing the lid of his laptop, Tom looked at her for a moment.

"I didn't know working with Ken could make you so happy though." he chuckled, referring to the smile on her lips.

Y/N frowned. She hadn't even realized she was smiling. But it had nothing to do with... What was his name again ? Suddenly, the young woman felt angry at how Tom's attitude influenced her own thoughts.

A proud grin appeared on his lips and Tom took a sip of his coffee,

"Oh dear, you don't even remember his name, do you ?"

Y/N flushed. No, she didn't.

"Of course I do, he’s my assistant."

At this point, the young woman was nothing but a constant state of internal cringing.

"Well ?" he insisted.

"Tom, if karma doesn't come around and hit you in the face, I will."

Tom Hiddleston was like the weather. One minute he was sunny, the next, he was pouring down with rain. He could be an ass around her, but the rest of the time, it was all about Tom's polished, plummy accent combined with the rich timbre to his voice. The effect was completely obscene.

Tom was never just being irresistible, and the tabloids loved that. They also loved that he'd temporarily moved in with Y/N and it didn't take long until fake news popped into magazines.

It was Sebastian who handed her the first article where her building appeared on a picture, Tom apparently walking out. Near him, a bold title dramatically read: "New girlfriend ?"

Y/N raised an eyebrow, wondering what the press could possibly say.

"After writing his first book about her... Taking a step further... New girlfriend..."

Her eyes widened as she read.

Tom wrote a book ?

All day long, Y/N couldn't think about anything else. Tom had already left set and she was eager to find out what Tom frantically typed on his laptop every morning.

After a moment searching in a library, she found it.

The Remedy for Love, by Tom Hiddleston

Cocking an eyebrow, Y/N couldn't keep a laughter. She turned the first pages. Science, science, love.

Apparently it wasn’t exactly a fiction.

Without thinking, she bought it and continued her lecture in the subway.

"Human behavior is linked to genetic. All actions, every move, every love story has consequences on the gene pool and can be scientifically explained."

Hm, boring Tom, she thought, turning another few pages. This didn't sound like him.

"You might think, 'this doesn't sound like Tom Hiddleston'. In fact, it didn't, until I met this woman."

Her eyes widened and she felt her heart racing. Y/N skipped a few lines and stopped breathing as she read her own words,

"You don't know anything Hiddleston," she said, "you just act like it." (...)

She turned another page,

"Now, how to make the right choices when they don’t make you a happy person (...) happiness seems to be a condition to humanity. However, finding it without love is quite possible. (...) This is what you learn from a heartbreak (...) to stop loving someone is easier than you think."

The last words echoed in her head. Slowly then, she replayed the past few weeks in her mind. How Tom behaved. How he clearly seemed to hate her now.

Legs shaking, Y/N slowly made her way back home. As she pushed the door,

"Tom ?" she called, "Tom come down !"

Hearing his footsteps in the stairs, she sighed deeply. As soon as she saw his body shape appear, Y/N threw the book at him. A surprised look on his face, Tom shot her a glance,

"Well, I see you've found something to read."

"You owe me 15 box." Y/N sniffled.

She stood there for a while and contemplated discussing with him about love, but renounced. It was too late after all. Instead, she started to laugh,

"Oh god," she cleared her throat, "This was the most terrible thing I've ever read."

She saw his blue eyes widen at her words and Tom tilted his head, as if he hadn't heard her well,

"I beg your pardon ?"

"You don't really believe what you wrote, do you ? It was just for the fame, wasn’t it ? Tell me it was just for the fame, Tom." Y/N scoffed, balancing on one leg to pull a stiletto off her foot.

"I do believe every word I wrote in this book, Y/N.” For a moment, Tom seemed hurt.

"It’s worse than I thought, then. Aren't you getting tired of your own bullshit ?"

"It’s not... bullshit.” he scoffed, shocked, “This book received an award by the way.”

"Yeah, so did Goebbels for his research and he was still a nazi. I'm serious Tom. It feels like it has been written by a four times divorced 45 year old woman. And the fact that you used these things I said... Damn it, you could have asked."

Tom looked straight into her eyes, his blue gaze becoming colder as she talked.

"What ?" Y/N grumbled.

Suddenly, he took a few steps closer, enough to bring his face inches away from hers, "I love it when you rant to me." he said, closing the book at once, "How delightful, to be entrusted with your hate. That’s all I wanted, Y/N."

Tom splayed a hand on the wall behind her, leaning further so she could feel his breathing against her mouth and the heat emanating from his body.

He plunged his deep blue gaze into her lost eyes, "Your kink for nice, perfect guys like Ken is completely unrealistic. People make mistakes when they are in love, and they forgive each other."

Y/N blinked in confusion, heart pounding against her ribcage as she felt the electricity coursing through her whole body, craving his touch. To the blush on his cheeks, Y/N could say he’d felt it too.

"What ?" Tom clumsily asked, as if he’d admitted some enormity.

Y/N slowly shook her head, her voice barely coming out of her mouth,

"I..." she pressed her hand on Tom's chest, long enough to feel his heart pounding under her fingers, "V-vital space..." she managed, causing him to move back.

For the first time in months, Tom had let his guard down. Y/N released a deep sigh, throwing her head back against the cold wall, her body still shaking from the uncontrollable, painful attraction she felt towards him.

Tom started to pace in front of her like a wild animal, as if he wanted to make a confession, but the words remained stuck in his throat.

“Do you realize what you’re saying, Tom, that Sebastian doesn’t have real feelings for me ? You don’t even know him.”

“What I’m trying to say is...” he stopped near her and looked down, his chest lifting up quickly. For a moment, Y/N thought he was finally going to admit how he truly felt, but Tom’s eyes fluttered, “I think he’s not right for you.”

That was it.

“And who’s right for me, Tom ? You ? I've met some pricks, but you are the fucking cactus." Y/N growled.

Tom sat down on the couch, crossing his legs as he stared blankly into space. Maybe she’d gone too far, but he had too.

After a moment, the young woman cleared her throat,

"By the way, I didn't know you were being followed by paparazzis. Now I see you like a Lana Del Rey song that took human form."

Tom's own cynicism burnt off like morning dew,

"What are you talking about ?"

"What did you expect after writing this book ?" Y/N scoffed, "Apparently, you moved in with your new girlfriend,” she waved her hand in a theatrical gesture, “me."

Tom rolled his eyes and she was about to throw an awful comment when he raised his finger up,

"Watch out. I'm strong enough to carry your corpse to the woods."

Cynical Tom was back.

"Look, Tom,” Y/N inhaled deeply, “you might be used to paparazzis because you are an A celebrity..."

"I'm not."

She released a sigh,

"Tom. I’m serious.” Y/N paused, “I think you should find another place to live while we shoot the movie."

There, she’d said it. Tom didn’t move or look at her until he narrowed his eyes,

"You didn't read my book until its end, judged it by its cover, and now you’re kicking me out because of paparazzis."

"You definitely need anger management classes." Y/N sat next to him on the couch, winning a cold glare from him, “Yes Tom, it is too much for me.”

She shot him a glance and shook her head,

"What ?"

At that moment, she saw the light in his eyes disappear, but Tom kept his usual calm and cynical voice,

"There is not enough therapy and liquor in the world to undo your effect on me." he grunted, sinking into the couch as he turned the TV on, unable to hide the desperate look on his face.

"I know, you can't stop thinking about me." Y/N smirked, hoping to lighten the mood.

"Hmhm. I touch myself whenever I think about you." Tom muttered, causing her to blush until he added, "More specifically, I constantly have to rub my temples because I get a headache every time I do."

"Sh-sh." Y/N hushed, gently kicking his arm with her foot as she grabbed his book and lied down, extending her legs so they were resting on his thighs.

Silence fell between them, as it always happened every time their bodies touched. After a while, Tom cleared his throat, his voice softer than before,

"So, you really want me to leave ?"

At first, he didn’t look at her directly.

Of course, Y/N wanted him to stay. But she couldn’t live like this for another two weeks. The last days they’d spent together had been painful, and what she’d read about his conception of love had finished to break her heart. Tom looked up at her, and she quickly nodded,

"It will be better for both of us."

A heavier silence settled in the room and Tom leaned back. He wasn’t even watching the TV screen anymore.

Y/N skimmed through the first lines of his book once more and released a series of sighs, making faces at each new paragraph.

After what seemed an eternity, she realized he was observing her and her eyes fluttered. For a moment, he just searched her gaze, until she shook her head,

"I intend to read it, entirely." she paused, "You're pretty quiet tonight."

"No one plans a murder out loud." Tom retorted, focusing back on the TV screen.

A smile crossed her lips and she rubbed a foot against his abs, then pressed her toes into it, causing him to chuckle. The sound filled Y/N’s chest with a warm feeling and she smiled. Tom grabbed her by the ankles, his thumbs brushing against the sensitive skin.

"Why do we fight over such stupid things ?" he suddenly whispered.

Not lifting her head from the book, Y/N felt a fluttery feeling invading her whole stomach and she flushed. Because I love you, idiot.

Slightly shrugging, the young woman gulped the lump in her throat,

"Because you say stupid things."

His smile didn't fade away and his voice softened. There were so many stupid, romantic things Tom wanted to tell Y/N.

He wanted to stay by her side, he wanted her to finish his book and he wished she could understand how much he loved her. Tom also wished she knew he had a hard time talking about his own feelings and the last thing he wanted was to see her with another man. All those things, he wanted so hard to tell them to her.

Instead, Tom chuckled, hiding the pain behind a smile.

"Go to Hell, Y/L/N." he simply muttered.

In the morning, Tom was gone.

TAGS:

@medussaurora, @nataliehasgrace, @hakuoyuki, @candygui, @im-not-having-your-baby, @toaster-strudel-witch, @midnight-queen-1, @hufflepuff-flufflepuff, @irinabatsy, @hiddlestoner3059, @lilyrosebae, @sarahivi, @kirstieflowerslove-blog, @veerniks, @kasiarella, @honey-anon, @dormousse, @keenkryptonitedelusion, @devilbat, @addyliners, @islaylivesinshire, @little-me13, @t-a-l-i-n-a-l-a-n-i, @nwmtagsb, @aaminah12, @super-who-locks-world, @acidic-nectar, @smexylemony, @sebstaned-loki-ed, @theojjjames, @cookies-and-cream-forever, @jamilelucato, @mikithekiki, @alizayalove, @marveloushiddles, @goodbyebabes, @hiddlestonstansworld, @jozza1bro, @lokilvrr, @multifandomdump, @diana-parker02, @toastystrudleblr, @hiddlestaan, @thundermaximoff, @naniky, @midnightdragonzero, @yokaimoon

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