#its as if ive been drowning for over a year and finally someone reached out their hands to save me

[collisiondiscourse]

say amen (bkdk drabble)

(a little drabble based off of one of my favorite posts that ive ever made)

Katsuki’s not a religious man.

Yeah, okay, he believes in deities and goes to temples, the blond will admit that much. The existence of a higher power isn’t really that far from the realms of possibility when he regularly interacts with people who have the head of a bird or engines for legs. He celebrates the holidays, and on days where he’s feeling especially magnanimous, Katsuki even buys temple charms and sends out a quick prayer to whoever might be listening.

But he isn’t religious.

He doesn’t like feeling like he’s indebted to someone. That somehow, somewhere, there is someone Katsuki should be grateful to for giving him all his successes. He worked hard to get where he is now all by himself, thank you very much. The idea that everything is somehow predetermined or controlled by someone he can’t even see is one that makes the blond break out into hives.

A man with any dignity such as Katsuki’s is too proud to kneel to any god.

But then again… Izuku Midoriya is no such god.

He’s very much human, Katsuki would believe despite the seemingly endless strength his short and stocky figure possesses. He’s freckles and sunburns and scars and toothy smiles and everything that used to make the blond’s blood boil. Deku can’t dress himself nicely to save his life and sings All Might show tunes in the shower when he thinks no one can hear. Katsuki’s seen the boy throw up on his dumb red shoes and laugh so hard he scared himself with his own snorts.

He’s seen Deku at his worst. Crying and crumbling, body all bloodied and torn up after giving it his all. He’s seen him angry--borderline murderous even--with rage consuming him and leaving him gasping for breath as he saddles closer and closer to the line betwean life and death. He’s seen Deku broken and hollow, unable to eat for days and smelling like a decomposing corpse because the demons in his eyes had all but haunted him from even getting up to shower.

The point being, Katsuki knows that Izuku Midoriya is flawed.

He should, at least. Having seen these cracks and imperfections over and over should’ve cemented the idea that Deku was far from perfect. He sees sides of Deku that even their best friends, let alone the public have never seen. Bakugou knows that Izuku Midoriya is not a God--and is in fact very far from one.

But fuck if he doesn’t worship him like he is.

When Izuku confessed to him in their second year, Katsuki thinks that he learned what it feels like to die.

As dramatic as it sounds, it’s true. Watching those green eyes peel away from their locked gaze on his red ones to stare nervously at the ground causes Katsuki’s heart to jump. His palms were sweaty and blood roared in his ears, deafening him from all sounds except Deku’s voice. He’d initially thought that this was it. This was Deku preparing to tell him that he couldn’t stand being his friend anymore, that no matter how much Katsuki tried to atone for himself, Deku finally realized that Katsuki would never be worthy of his love.

It built up and up until Katsuki couldn’t breathe, willpower alone keeping him from gasping for breath as he awaited Deku’s rejection. The sun set in a brilliant cast of oranges and purples, but neither boy on the rooftop could stand to appreciate it when the sights in front of them were far more important.

“Kacchan,” he blurts at last. A sliver of his pink tongue peeks out to lick at his chapped lips. Katsuki’s chest constricts with want. “I like you.”

And it’s at those three words that Katsuki truly believes in an afterlife.

His heart clenches and stops for a different reason--a different feeling entirely. The world tilts on its axis and his breaths come up short, yet Katsuki’s never been happier to have been wrong. Parts of him shrivel up. Shudder in anxiety. Embers of raw anger and determination (leftover from years of scars and charred notebooks) tell him that he’s not worthy of Deku. That Katsuki is yet to even deserve to take the hand that has been waiting for him for his whole life.

Admittedly though, Katsuki Bakugou is a selfish, selfish man.

He stares at that freckled and blushing face like it’s a reflection of the universe itself. Green eyes that mistakenly take Katsuki’s silence as rejection grow watery, and yet as Katsuki stares into the molten pool of emerald and moss, he thinks he may see his entire life in those pretty eyes.

“...Kacchan? It’s okay if you don’t, uh, like me back. I u-understand if you feel uncomfortable or no longer want me be your friend even if it kinda s--”

“W-well really, it’s more of love. I... love you. Like, a lot. Have for a while I mean and I tried really hard to hide it but I’m sure it was obvious from the beginning and well, Uraraka said I was really bad at lying so I wasn’t really sure...” he mumbles. Stutters, because he’s human and very much not a god.

Katsuki Bakugou kisses Izuku Midoriya for the first time.

He kisses Izuku Midoriya because he wants all of him. He wants the sorrow and broken bones. The awkward laughter and nervous tics. Katsuki wants those green eyes to never stop looking at him and that mouth to never stop muttering the most inane nothings. He wants the beautiful and the ugly, the victories and the losses. He wants and he wants and he wants and he wants, and now that all of it is within his reach dear god is he never letting go.

The blond pours his soul into the kiss. Mouth harsh and unyielding, ever determined to prove to anyone watching that he’d throw away his life for this boy in a heartbeat. The desperation in their kiss practically daring anyone to try and pull them apart. Katsuki wants the kiss to say everything that he, in his weak and human state, cannot even begin to phrase. That somehow a single kiss could show the other that Katsuki loves him so much it breaks him inside. It’s so good that it’s painful. It’s painful and excruciating but fucking hell if Katsuki pulls away for one moment he thinks he might actually truly die.

They’re training to be pro-heroes, so of course their pain tolerance is higher than most. They’ve been taught to fight in any environment no matter what—could probably fight five people underwater for an hour without breaking a sweat. All of those hours of training somehow still mean nothing to Katsuki in the brilliance of the storm that is Izuku Midoriya.

Because as they kiss and breathe in each other’s air, Katsuki forces himself to pull away with a gasp.

Izuku thinks he’s hurt the blond accidentally, somehow. That he’d been too rough or pushed Bakugou into it or even just took his breath away from him in the literal sense. What the green-haired hero didn’t expect was the sheer devotion in ruby eyes.

(It would’ve scared him, if it didn’t make his knees shaky and heart rate speed up in exhilaration.)

Meanwhile, Katsuki’s drowning.

He’s drowning so deep in emotions that he’d never let himself feel until now. Drowning in his insecurities and greatest desires. Drowning in emotion and vigour. Drowning in the feeling of kissing Izuku fucking Midoriya. Part of him screams in agony, protesting this weakness as it fucks with his mind and squeezes at his heart.

The rest of him lets it happen.

Bakugou pulls away, gasping for breath. It’s too much and not enough, because he loves this boy so goddamn much that it actually hurts. He’s crying, and it’s kind of pathetic, really. So undone by a single kiss that tears streak down his face while white spots appear in vision of ruby eyes. A man so weak--so overcome with emotion that he can’t help but sob at the torrent of devotion that overtakes him. His heart throbs painfully and he struggles to take gulps of air, because Katsuki doesn’t truly love many people but there’s something about Izuku Midoriya that destroys him so thoroughly.

Ever understanding, ever patient, and ever too good for his damned, hell-bound soul, Izuku holds him close. He lets Katsuki weep into his jacket and runs scarred fingers through pale blond strands as the other boy tries to stifle his sobs. He hushes him with a light kiss to his temple and listens patiently as Katsuki whimpers every variant of ‘I love you’ under the sun.

Izuku Midoriya is no such god, but Katsuki Bakugou worships him like one nonetheless.

[theasstour]

𝐅𝐈𝐂 𝐏𝐀𝐆𝐄 | 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 𝟏𝟏.𝟗𝐤 𝐍𝐁: 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐢𝐭 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐚𝐠𝐞, 𝐩𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐚𝐭𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐤

Friday, 26 June

Y/N made her way along the gravel path and up the hill leading to Clodgy lighthouse. Her pleated blue, pink, purple floral midi skirt blew in the wind, making it almost a little uncomfortable to walk, but she pushed on. There were a few translucent clouds overhead, but they were neither big enough nor solid enough to cause Y/N any sort of distress. She looked across the flat and green landscape that stretched on for miles and miles as she adjusted her white square neck top, making sure her ruched bust looked alright before actually approaching the house. She’d seen Harry’s yellow van the second she made it up the hill, like a sweet reminder that her final destination was just a few minutes away now.

Y/N didn’t particularly like exercise. Well… she quite frankly hated it. She admired people who liked it and who would spend their entire life practising and perfecting their skills in one sport, but she never understood the appeal. Why put yourself through all that? For a few medals and temporary recognition? You’d have to retire when you were in your mid-thirties or early-forties, and what would you do then? What aggravated her to no end was how male athletes were often more sought after and given more appreciation and awareness than the women. What was so good about men? What did men have that women didn’t?

Y/N saw the white summer dress and the red and white headband bobbing up and down from the grass surrounding the small bungalow. Though it was drowned out by the wind at a distance, Y/N could just about make out Grace singing to herself as she picked wildflowers. At some point, Grace turned around to look around her for more flowers, and suddenly her eyes landed on Y/N. She squealed and ran over to her, throwing her arms around Y/N’s waist. Y/N knew this was Grace’s usual reaction upon meeting someone she knew, but she’d never get used to how much the people in this town hugged and touched each other. She put her heart shaped sunglasses at the top of her head and then held her hands awkwardly out for Grace, her heart hammering as she didn’t really know what to do. She patted her back with one hand, holding the other one to her own chest.

“Y/N!” Grace exclaimed, squeezing Y/N some before stepping away.

“Hi, is your brother here?” Y/N held onto the strap of her tote bag where Harry’s knitted jumper was.

“He’s indoors talking on the phone,” Grace said, furrowing her brows as if it was the worst thing he could possibly do.

Y/N returned the look at Grace, making the little girl giggle. “Think he’d mind me handing this back to him?”

“Well, he’s your boyfriend so…” Grace shrugged her shoulders. “Don’t think you have to ask for permission.”

Y/N felt a little panicked at that, hoping Grace didn’t find it weird that she just asked her if it was okay that she entered her supposed boyfriend’s house.

“I’ll just-“ Y/N pointed at the house and walked past Grace, but the little girl followed her back and started picking some more flowers around the house. Grace’s high-pitched singing started up again, but Y/N didn’t really mind as she knew Grace most likely only did it because she was content.

The door into the bungalow was open slightly, so Y/N opened it a little more to peer inside. However, she didn’t get much of a chance to do that before she heard voices. She stopped in her tracks, eyes on what looked to be a garment rail with different coloured jackets and jumpers. She didn’t want to peer inside in case Harry didn’t want to be interrupted, though the only reason she’d come all this way was to give him his jumper back.

“I… I heard,” Harry said, voice low and very soft as if he was choosing his words carefully. “Fatima told me.”

Y/N bit her bottom lip, fighting the urge to look inside and find Harry. It was already bad enough that she was just standing there and listening in on his conversation. Or… his half of the conversation, she’d have to fill in the blanks herself.

“Thought you said you’d never come back to St Ives,” Harry chuckled, but Y/N thought she could detect the remnants of the effect of a wound in his voice that had yet to heal properly.

The sound of it made Y/N furrow her brows a little. Something about the thought of Harry hurting didn’t sit right with her.

“You said you… You said you were done. That this didn’t feel like home anymore, so I just… guess I just assumed.” Footsteps could be heard, and Y/N took a small step away from the door. “Didn’t think you’d come back after two years.”

Another pause, and in that time, Y/N again felt the urge to creep closer, to look at Harry and his body language. Was he sad? Did he feel uncomfortable? Was he restless talking to someone he clearly hadn’t talked to in a while?

“I dunno. I have plans today, so I can’t. What about this Wednesday? July 1st?” A pause. “I’d like that, too.”

“Y/N!”

Grace’s shout made Y/N jump. Panicked footsteps were heard next and Y/N imagined Harry was stood by the window now, looking out to see if he saw Y/N on the path to the lighthouse. Heart hammering and the tips of her fingers beating with it, Y/N walked quickly away from the door and hoped Harry didn’t hear her feet on the gravel. She rounded the corner and walked a bit away as if it was going to make it less obvious she’d just been eavesdropping and about to enter his house.

“What’s up?” Y/N asked as she strolled over in Grace’s direction.

“I just want you to pick flowers with me. Look-“ She pointed around her at the colourful landscape around them. “I always pick flowers here. And Harry usually picks flowers for nanay as well, she loves them. Harry!” Grace waved and when Y/N turned around, Harry stood by the corner of his house, watching the two of them.

His phone was in his hand still, mouth open, and eyes a little wide as he just looked at Y/N, and then at Grace beside her. A slightly tight-fitted tee shirt with red, orange, white, and black stripes was tucked into the same pair of washed out denim jeans he’d wore the night before, coming up to rest just above his hip. He was wearing his black Converse again, a pair of white socks visible just over the rim of it. Upon meeting Y/N’s eyes again he dropped his phone just as he was about to talk, hastily bending down to pick it up again before walking over to them.

“Here,” Grace said as Harry came close enough, giving him one of the bouquets she was holding. “Why’d you take so long? It’s hard picking flowers with one hand.”

“Sorry, I… I had to take that, Gracie.” Harry looked at Y/N again, letting out a small breath before he clearly wanted to say something.

“Why’re you here, Y/N?” Grace asked, tilting her head a little to the side.

“Gracie,” Harry hissed, looking at his younger sister with a stern furrow to his brows.

“What?” Grace asked. “Is she coming with us?!” There was obvious elation in the little girl’s voice at that, something that warmed every single cell in Y/N’s body.

“She’s allowed to come whenever and wherever she wants.” The second after he said it, Y/N felt something against her wrist. A small pressure that remained tender and careful as it traced its way along the length of her thumb, like the amiable touch of a rose petal after dragging your hand along the harsh thorns of the flower’s stem. Suddenly, she felt his fingers in the crook of her thumb and along her index, then attentively wrapping themselves around her hand. She looked over at Harry who was already watching her, and though he held her glance for a few seconds, his eyes fell to their joined hands. His cheeks grew a familiar shade of red and he swallowed thickly before glancing at Grace again. They’d held hands before, but Y/N didn’t remember him doing it this meticulously before. She started sweating some, not used to being both uncomfortable and safe at the same time.

“Well, of course,” Grace scoffed, cocking her head to the side studied her bouquet that she hadn’t taken her eyes off of for at least a minute now. “I was just wondering if she was coming with us.”

“That’s not the reason I’m here,” Y/N explained, giving Harry a quick smile as she reached for her tote bag, removing her hand from his as her sunglasses fell off her head. She dragged his jumper out and handed it to him. “You forgot this last night.”

Harry’s mouth fell open for a second and he quickly put his bouquet in his jean pocket before he reached for his jumper. Y/N hadn’t thought he’d take her sunglasses that were in the same hand as his jumper, but that’s somehow exactly what he ended up doing. He looked at them for a few seconds, not recognising them, but the confusion on his face was replaced by a slight smile, and at that, she didn’t have the heart to tell him her mistake. Instead, she smiled back at him and rolled with it.

“They reminded me of you,” she said. Harry scrunched up his nose a little before meeting her eyes again.

“They did?”

It didn’t sound like he believed her, but she just shrugged her shoulders. After all, it hadn’t been her intention to give them to him, but here she was, and she wasn’t about to admit she’d done a mistake.

“That’s what I said.” Y/N looked down at them again.

“Alright.” There was amusement in his voice, and it made the smile on Y/N’s face broaden. “Uhm…” Harry said, standing completely still for a few seconds before jolting as if he remembered something. He reached for the bouquet in his jean pocket and gave it to her. “They… They reminded me of you.”

Mocking him, Y/N scrunched up her nose. “They did?”

Harry chuckled a little and she reached forward, her pinky just barely brushing his index before she brought the bouquet to her chest. She studied them, puckering her lips some as she tried to put a name to each of them.

“What are they?”

“Oh! Uhm…” Harry took a small step forward and pointed to each as he said the names. “Bluebells, sea pinks, and hedgerow cranesbills.”

“Are you coming to St Austell?” Grace asked, eyes big with hope.

“Oh, your birthday present, you’re going to St Austell today? For the street market?” Y/N asked, looking into her tote bag before carefully placing the small bouquet at the bottom of it.

“Yeah, are you coming?” Grace asked again, and though Y/N would love that, she wasn’t about to barge in on something that had been Harry’s birthday present to his little sister. Noticing the attention he was getting, Harry inhaled quickly as if taken off guard that his little sister wanted Y/N to come alone. He scratched at his neck, trying to hide his face a little as he looked away from the both of them.

“I mean… only if you- if you have the time. We won’t force you to if you have other plans, but we’d… we’d love to have you.” His eyes grew wide and he met Y/N’s before looking away again. “Not have you, that’s not what I meant, just meant it’d be great if you wanted to come. Unless- unless it’s bad timing, and you didn’t come here for… for that. Dunno.”

Y/N only smiled, finding Harry’s nervousness adorable still. It was probably because he didn’t know her well yet, and so acting like his comfortable normal self didn’t come naturally. She hoped it would at some point, though.

“I’d love to come,” she said, Grace squealing before she ran for the house.

“Harry, we need to put the flowers in a vase!”

Harry met Y/N’s eyes before following Grace toward the house and through the door. Assuming they would be using Harry’s car, Y/N walked in the direction of it, looking out over the sea that stretched as far as the eye could see. The wind was ever-present, and though one would think it to be harsh and violent, combined with the vision of the sea before her, it had a calming effect. Something about St Ives, the sea, and this lighthouse made her feel a version of contentment she didn’t think she ever had before.

Grace ran out of the house and to the van, skipping over to where Y/N was waiting for them. Harry locked the front door before he followed, opening the door to the backseat for Grace. The three of them all got seated in Harry’s van, lowering the windows a tad before Harry started driving down the gravel path and away from the lighthouse. The radio played softly in the background as they made their way through St Ives, Grace humming to the same tune she’d been singing along to earlier. It didn’t talk long till the little girl started speaking.

“Harry, can we listen to some of your music?”

“Go on, then.” He reached for his phone, about to hand it to the person sitting beside him, but then realising that wasn’t Grace, it was Y/N. “Can you plug it in the AUX, please?”

“Oh, sure.” Y/N took the phone, and the second she did, it lit up. A picture of four people popped up on his locked screen, Y/N recognised all of them right away. Amir had an arm around Harry’s shoulders, while Harry was grinning and looking up at Grace who was placed on Dax’s shoulders. It looked to be from some sort of Christmas Market, yellow lights hanging around them and the four of them tucked into warm clothing. Grace was beaming from ear to ear and Dax was holding onto her ankles, seemingly hooting with his eyes closed. It was such a happy photo that it took Y/N by surprise at first. She couldn’t even remember what she’d done last Christmas. She plugged it into the AUX as Harry scanned his thumb so Y/N could access his Spotify.

“Play his favourite tunes one, it’s called ‘favourite tunes’, if it wasn’t already obvious,” Grace called from behind Y/N.

Harry instantly started stuttering. “Now, we don’t have to do that. We have a roadtrip playlist-“

“-Nooo, put on his playlist, Y/N,” Grace begged, and Harry sighed heavily beside Y/N. She chuckled a little before looking down at Harry’s Spotify again, his favourites playlist at the very top. Clicking on it, she pressed the ‘shuffle’ button and the car was instantly filled with a cheery melody. Y/N was sure she’d heard it before, but couldn’t quite put her finger on when or what song it was. Grace clapped in the backseat, clearly happy about the song that had just come on. When Y/N turned around and looked at Grace, the little girl was swaying from side to side with a huge smile on her face.

“Welcome to your life, there’s no turning back!” Grace sang with everything she had. “Turn up the volume, Harry!”

Y/N glanced back at Harry and was shocked to see her red heart shaped sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a small smile gracing his pink lips. He turned the volume up and Grace continued to sing, though some of the lyrics were completely off from what Y/N could hear.

“Harry, sing!” Grace demanded.

“I think you can manage on your own, Gracie.”

“No!” the seven-year-old shouted. “Sing with me!”

Harry quickly looked at Y/N before he glanced away again, biting his lips together. Y/N was sure he wasn’t going to do it. Just when she thought she’d narrowed him down and started to understand him some, he came around and changed her perception of him. But Harry opening his mouth and singing just as loudly as Grace took Y/N completely off guard, to the point where she found herself laughing.

“Acting on your best behaviour, turn your back on mother nature!” Harry sang, at the sound of Y/N’s laugh, a grin widened his lips.

This made her think of the conversation she’d had with Harry and his mates the previous night, about Astronaut Lions and the fact Harry wrote songs. His voice wasn’t bad. In fact, it wasn’t bad at all. He sounded… quite good. He hit every single note and even sounded better than the actual owners of the song, at least in Y/N’s opinion. She didn’t realise she was watching him with a smile on her face till he looked in her direction, meeting her eyes.

“You know the song, Y/N?”

Something about hearing her name spoken like that made her draw a quick breath. So mundane, so curious. She was sure he hadn’t meant anything by it, just to make it clear who he was talking to, but she still felt important. Something about him knowing her name and using it to address her felt intimate in a way any term of endearment never could. Your name was your own; someone else speaking it felt profound. She felt valued.

She felt ashamed of her answer, but pretending she knew the lyrics would be too embarrassing. Her heart picked up some speed and she folded her hands in her lap. “No,” she answered truthfully, sitting back properly in her seat and looking straight ahead at the road.

“That’s fine you can just dance!” Grace said.

Y/N giggled, looking back at Grace and then at Harry as they continued to sing the song with their entire chests. The rest of the drive up to St Austell was filled with 70s and 80s tunes that Grace and Harry knew every single word to. Y/N didn’t mind, though. She loved being surrounded with such unadulterated happiness; she felt it seeping into her own pores and felt it intermingle with the blood in her veins. These two didn’t care that Y/N didn’t know the lyrics, they just liked the fact she was there with them. They just wanted her there. Didn’t care in what capacity or for what purpose, they simply enjoyed her company enough to bring her along. That fact alone had Y/N beaming from ear to ear the entire way to St Austell.

Harry struggled to find parking once they were there, so they drove a few times around town in hopes of catching a spot. While doing that, Y/N got a good look of the town they had taken a trip to. It was like any other coastal town, she thought. Charming with constant seagull screams and plenty of people walking around, either carrying an ice cream or fish and chips. Though it might be identical to every other town in Cornwall for outsiders, every Cornish person would definitely know the difference between St Austell and St Ives. Especially people native to St Ives, like Harry and Grace. Y/N might not have any proper ties to any of the towns, but she found herself favouring St Ives to St Austell.

Before long, they were on the high street in St Austell. The street market stretched along the entire length of it, booths perched on either side and the space between brimming with people. Harry and Grace walked in front and Y/N walked just behind him, it’d be easier to walk properly that way. But Grace often slowed down so she was walking beside Y/N, pointing out different booths or artists that they strolled by.

Y/N suddenly stopped by a booth that held purely vintage finds. Harry and Grace took a little look as well, finding the small antiques and glass animals incredibly fascinating. Y/N, however, stood by the vinyl collection.

“What’re you lookin’ at?” Harry asked as he walked over to Y/N, the heart shaped sunglasses now perched on top of his head. He glanced in Grace’s direction where she still stood with the glass animal figures, just making sure she was still around before directing his undivided attention to Y/N.

“Who’s your favourite artist?”

The question seemed to have come out of nowhere, because it took a few seconds for Harry to answer, “Elton John.”

“Why?” she asked, still looking through the vinyl collection.

“Uh… dunno,” he said. “Guess it’s just something about his music that I connect with in a way. And I also really admire him as a person.”

“That’s very nice. And what’s your favourite album of his?”

Harry smiled a little. “Am I being interviewed for something?”

She laughed. “No, I just want to know. They have tons of vinyls here, but I’m not really huge on music so I wouldn’t know what to look for.”

“The fact you’re not huge on music should already tell us we’re not a match,” Harry mumbled, both of them chuckling as Harry walked over to stand beside her. Y/N didn’t think that was all that true though, because she genuinely liked spending time with Harry. He was a very good friend of hers now.

Their upper arms laid flush against one another, hot skin against hot skin. Y/N hadn’t anticipated Harry to stand this close to her, hadn’t expected to feel him right there beside her like this. It was reassuring and overwhelming at the same time. Her eyes landed on his face, falling from his eyes as they took in the vinyls before them, and then to his nose. She looked away before she caught herself studying further down his face.

He looked through the vinyls for a bit, Y/N watched his hands as his fingers moved between the covers to look at the different albums. He suddenly made a soft “ah-ha” sound and brought an Elton John album out, tapping his thumb against it.

“This is my favourite album of his: Victim of Love.”

He held the Victim of Love vinyl in his hands, smiling a little to himself. He ran his thumb over the edge of it before he started bumping his hip slightly against it. Y/N just glanced at him as he studied the vinyl, smiling uncontrollably as his hips continued to nudge hers.

“Is this a game? Are you just playin’? Will I be losin’ you?” Harry sang lowly so only the two of them could hear him. “Oh, am I a victim of love, victim of love?”

Y/N glanced at the vinyl as Harry placed it back where she’d found it. “How do you know so much about music?”

“Dunno, guess I must be some type of god or summat.”

She giggled and Harry smiled.

“Boring,” Grace said as she made her way over to them. “Look! There’s a booth over there with just American sweets. Harry, can we go?”

“To the booth or to America?”

“Both.”

He bit his lips together as he placed the Elton John vinyl back where he’d found it. “Let’s settle for the booth for now, yeah?”

Grace ran in its direction and the other two followed quickly after as not to lose sight of the little one in the crowd. Multiple people were looking at the strange sweets and other accessories Britain didn’t offer, both fascinated and disgusted looks on their faces that Y/N found amusing. She loved American sweets personally, but then again, she loved right about anything that would make her gain a stone with a simple glance.

“What are these?” Grace asked, pointing to something. Harry bent down and looked with her as Y/N walked over to the scented candles. The American booth was filled with right about anything, not just sweets, and Y/N found this highly fascinating for some reason. These were just things you could get in the US but not in Europe.

“Y/N, I’m getting strawberry liquorice!” Grace grinned as Harry gave the seller a few pounds.

“Can’t you just get that from Poundland for a single pound?”

“Don’t remind her,” Harry mumbled as he walked over, Y/N sucked her lips between her teeth. He chuckled a little. “Shocked you know what Poundland is, though.”

“Oi,” Y/N said, nudging Harry with her shoulder as she picked up a candle to smell it. “I’ll have you know I used to pop by Poundland to buy a pack of Polos if I was just out and about at home. And sometimes even the Haribo Balla Stixx if I was feeling crazy.”

Harry smiled. “Would’ve never thought.”

Y/N shrugged. “You take a look at me, and you think M&S and Waitrose, but-“ She shrugged. “-I’m just like everybody else.”

They both laughed at that and Grace looked between them with slight worry in her eyes, not having found the conversation as amusing as the other two.

The three of them continued down St Austell high street, Grace humming a tune as she held onto Harry’s hand so she wouldn’t get lost in the crowd. Though the high street was filled with people, there was a peacefulness to it that eased every tense muscle in Y/N’s body. She was sure she could walk along this street with Harry and Grace for eternity, she was content right here. They walked on and stopped by a gelato parlour so Grace could go get herself an ice cream. She took some time to decide the two flavoured scoops Harry would buy her, but once she settled on strawberry and cookie dough, she ate it up so quickly she got a stomach-ache. Harry said he felt no sympathy for her, but he still carried her all the way back to the car and into the backseat. Y/N had given Grace the small bag of crisps she kept in her tote bag for emergencies like this one, and Grace was happily chewing away once Harry started driving out of St Austell.

Regardless, the seven-year-old fell asleep pretty quickly, so Harry turned the volume down in the car and proceeded to make small conversation with Y/N. They didn’t speak for long enough or loud enough to wake Grace, neither wanted her to wake up and get pissy that they hadn’t shut up so she could sleep. She did pity herself a great deal.

“Do you and Grace pick flowers a lot, then?” Y/N asked, keeping her eyes on the road ahead.

“Yeah,” Harry answered. “She loves it, especially because there’s so many different ones around the lighthouse.”

“The same ones don’t grow around the farm?”

“No, it’s not that.” Harry reached over and turned the volume down some more so he could talk more hushed. “I mean, yeah, some don’t, but it’s more the fact that you can see them all so clearly on Clodgy. There’s always the same ones each year, and it’s always a lot of fun to just walk around and pick flowers.”

“Ahh.” Y/N nodded.

“Though…” Harry trailed off as he switched lanes. “This year we noticed something strange.”

“What’s that?”

“There’s a new type of wildflower there. Not many of them, but there’s this new one that I haven’t seen before.”

Y/N raised her eyebrows some. “You don’t experience that? New ones appearing each year?”

“Sometimes, but there are mostly the same ones. Ever since Jessa started teaching me about the different types, giving names to them and such, I’ve always been able to differentiate between the different flowers.”

“But not this new one?”

“No.”

“Hmm,” Y/N hummed, looking at Harry as he concentrated on the driving. “Guess you’ll just have to get Jessa to come over and take a look.”

Harry smiled a little. “Guess so.”

Reaching St Ives again was like gulping down the first real breath of fresh air after taking a deep dive. Though they had only been gone for a couple of hours, it still felt so incredibly good to be back. Harry stopped outside the Inn and Y/N thanked him for a fantastic day, wanting to turn around and say the same to Grace, but the little girl was still sleeping. So, Y/N told Harry to tell Grace goodbye for her once she woke up. He nodded and gave her a wave, driving down the road as Y/N stood watching them until they were out of sight. Upon entering the Inn, Y/N heard voices coming from the back. She peeked her head into the back garden say a quick hello to Bessie and her ladies before she made her way upstairs to her room. As she rummaged through her tote for her keys, she noticed something at the very bottom of it.

She quickly made her way downstairs again, stealing a mug from the kitchen and filling it with water before she walked upstairs to her room. Unlocking the door, she shoved it shut with her bum once she was inside, biting her lip as she hurriedly made her way over to the desk. She put the mug in the sunlight streaming through the window, and reached into the tote bag, carefully pulling the wildflower bouquet out of it, and placing it in the mug. She stared at it for a little while before walking back downstairs for dinner.

Sunday, 28 June

A family walked by Y/N’s open window, the baby in the pram crying and the father talking angrily with the rest of the family members around him, as if that would help the situation in any way. The sun was shining straight through her windows, making her Inn room so hot it was hard to breathe properly. Both her windows were open and the door too, allowing air to circulate and calm her down as the hot weather outside seeped through the house and made a layer of sweat appear on her skin. Though she felt icky, she was thankful for the cooling sensation the wetness brought as wind blew past her. Y/N was sat by her desk in a strappy dress and her hair in a bun at the top of her head, allowing for as much of her to be cooled down as possible.

One of her two UCAT books laid on the desk in front of her, an open notebook beside it where she took notes of topics she knew she’d have to revise some more. A pink, yellow, and green highlighter laid on her desk as well, being used to highlight the parts that were important to remember. Though that was essentially the entire book, Y/N still thought it’d be useful later if she wanted to go through the book again. And that thought was what had her staring off at a point on Porthminster Beach with no particular special value. It was just the shore, where the ocean washed over the soft sand. But she was so deep in her thoughts that she didn’t know where she was looking or what she was doing.

The idea of looking through this book later had made her halt. Later. At some point in the future. Sometime again. When would that be? Would it even happen? For what purpose? She knew the reason she was reading this and why she was so invested, but she hadn’t realised she was working toward something till now. At some point she’d have to find her laptop and sign up to take the UCAT. She would have to find a date fitting for her, and she would need to work towards it. And then it was suddenly a reality. Then it was something that was actually happening. It wasn’t just a dream anymore, but something she was actually doing.

The thought made her more terrified than it ever had before. She knew what she wanted, she was also confident that she was smart enough to do well because this was a part of her own intelligence and person she had never doubted. Her talent for science had never been questioned because her parents hadn’t cared enough to even start. So, Y/N therefore concluded that it could not be that part that was making her anxious. Sure, her parents hadn’t exactly encouraged her to get those good grades for anything but show, but she had proved to herself in sixth form how intelligent she actually was. She had been told by her teachers how great she was at her A-Levels, and her results showed that as well, so her academic knowledge was no issue.

It was the reality of her situation that terrified her. The thought that once she did the UCAT and once her parents got a whiff of what was going on, they’d either try and do something to stop her or they’d never talk to her again. Y/N didn’t know which outcome she hated more.

She didn’t know how long she’d just been sat there staring off into space, it must’ve been a little while at least, because her phone vibrating against the desk made her jump. Quickly, she reached for it, for some reason expecting it to be Harry that texted her. The thought made her eager and she wanted to get back to him as quickly as possible. But it wasn’t Harry that had texted her. Reading that name was like getting a bucket of ice-cold water tipped over her head. It was freezing at first, then her heart started hammering dangerously fast, and suddenly she was hot all over.

Dom Your father knows where you are

Y/N had heard about near death experiences before. How it felt like you were transported out of your body and looking down on yourself, unable to move or live. The feeling of not feeling like your own anymore, but an entity floating above your own head; nothing and no one. She never thought she’d experience a near death experience. She never thought a few words would send her into complete shock like this.

She was thrust into her own body and back into coherent thought with such force that she jolted. She blinked a few times before her phone fell onto the book right under her hand, her hand just hanging limply in the air in front of her. Looking at it, that’s how she realised she’d started shaking. She tightened her hands into a fist and laid it on the desk. She was breathing hard and fast, her chest vibrating with the tremendous force and speed her heart was beating.

It’s not over yet, it’s not over yet, it’s not over yet, Y/N kept repeating to herself. Because it wasn’t. She refused to let this be her only taste of the life she wanted for herself. Or… was this the life she wanted? She had no idea. Ever since she was little, she had always wanted to help people. There was something about being of use to someone that brought her immense happiness, but there were multiple ways she could help people. The life her parents had planned for her was all about helping. She’d never really thought about the life she wanted, just accepted the one given to her.

Coming to St Ives and reading for the UCAT had given her new perspectives on things, however. She wasn’t sure if being in St Ives was what she wanted, but she realised that not being in Winchester and not being with her family was. She didn’t know where she’d end up or what she’d end up doing, but one thing was for certain: if her father knew where she was, she’d have to constantly look over her shoulder. She knew she’d have to face them eventually, but that would be on her terms, not theirs. In the meantime, she’d keep a low profile and hope her father didn’t have any eyes in St Ives just yet.

Wednesday, 1 July

Y/N quite liked the trek up to the lighthouse now. Not that she’d walked it too many times, but she liked walking up the slight hill and seeing the white pointy house in the distance. Contrary to the times before, she noticed a familiar figure moving about outside the lighthouse. Wearing a white tee shirt under a pair of denim dungarees that reached just above his knees, diagonal stripes of red, orange, purple, and white, along with his black Converse. As she got closer, the dungarees he was wearing looked worn, almost as if the coloured stripes had been added after purchase and the garment had been put to good use since. Y/N almost felt overdressed in her white front button maxi dress.

Harry must’ve noticed her approaching, because he stood beside the door leading into his cottage waiting, a hand on the handle and the other in the pocket of his dungarees. She gave him a big wave and a grin, something he returned with a smaller wave back, but the smile on his face matched her own. He closed the door into his house as she got closer, spinning a pair of keys around his index finger as he took a step further out into the gravel courtyard.

“Hiya,” Y/N greeted when they were close enough to hear each other.

“Hi,” Harry said. “You alright?”

“Yeah, yeah. Just… just needed to get out of the Inn, to be fair. Been reading for the UCAT these last few days, and it’s starting to make a nutter out of me.”

A breathy chuckle left Harry’s lips, making Y/N smile.

“And I don’t really know anyone else in St Ives. Well, not well enough to just barge over and demand they spend time with me.”

“So I was your best bet?” The smile on Harry’s face was mixed amusement and slight mockery, something that had Y/N chuckling this time around.

“Maybe. Aren’t you flattered?”

“Understatement.”

She grinned, biting at her bottom lip so she wouldn’t let go of the ridiculous giggle she felt bubbling up. She nodded at the keys in his hand. “Where are you headed off to?”

“Not far.” He motioned over his shoulder with his thumb. “The lighthouse.”

“Oh.” Y/N nodded, looking at the tall building behind Harry.

“You wanna… you wanna come with?”

It genuinely surprised her that he asked. From what she’d heard, Harry didn’t let just anybody into the lighthouse. Maybe it was a rule that had been in his family for generations, to not let outsiders or strangers into the lighthouse. That was at least what Y/N had gathered from previous conversations with Florence and Camilla in Vintage Divine.

But, there was not really any question as to what Y/N wanted. Ever since he’d told her he was the lightkeeper, she’d wanted to look inside the lighthouse and see how it worked. She nodded at Harry’s proposal. “I’d love to.”

He smiled a little, eyes flickering to the gravel under their feet before he met her eyes again. “Don’t have anything better to do, ey?”

“Oi now.” She put her hands on her hips, something that made Harry laugh before he started walking backwards towards the white lighthouse. Y/N followed him, looking up at the tall tower that rose majestically before them. Harry unlocked the door and stepped aside, allowing Y/N to enter first.

“Thank you,” she said, keeping an eye on the six concrete steps she walked up before entering a lighthouse for the first time.

The first thing Y/N noticed was the red interior. The steel floors, walls, and stairs were all red. One could tell it had been standing for a few years, maybe having had some work done to it in the mid-80s, but nothing had really been done to the lighthouse since. There were a few posters on the wall, all of them old and framed as the paper had started to yellow. Different types of ships and their names under it, different types of fish and their names as well, some pictures of Clodgy lighthouse throughout the years, as well as a few posters with lighthouse lenses and other things Y/N had no idea of. There was a window straight opposite to the door, maybe ten metres off, as well as two others, that provided a generous amount daylight to make it easy to navigate around the lighthouse without turning the lights on.

Harry closed the door and locked it, putting the keys in the pocket of his dungarees as he turned to look at Y/N. He gave her a tight-lipped smile as he gestured around him with his arms spread wide.

“This is it.”

“It?” Y/N shook her head, walking up to a picture taken of the lighthouse in 1947. “I love it.”

“Well, let me show you the rest. Bottom floor is nothing impressive.”

She looked at him over her shoulder. “Quite like it down here, not gonna lie.”

He smiled, dimples showing as he looked to the floor again, scratching at his neck. “I-It’s not as impressive as the rest of the lighthouse, is all I’m saying.”

“Alright then, lead the way, mister lighthouse keeper.”

Harry strolled over to the stairs positioned to the left of the bottom floor. “This might take the breath out of you, by the way. We’re about to climb 26 metres, 86 feet.”

“Oh sugar.”

“Yeah.” Harry nodded, looking up the stairs. “You not being afraid of heights will come in handy again.”

He remembered that?

Harry didn’t give her a chance to ponder this for much longer, however, because he started up the staircase right away. The steep set of stairs led straight up to another landing, once they were here, a new set of stairs were located on the other side of the steel landing. Wind howled along the outside of the lighthouse, the eerie sounds weren’t scary when the sun was shining, and Harry was there with her. There seemed to be a station there on the first storey, a desk with an open notebook, papers taped to the wall, along with a telephone and a radio. It looked to be important, but Harry didn’t stop.

The second landing was a little different, a little smaller than the one before. There was a door leading into a room, which opened to reveal a very comfy-looking tall mattress on the floor and an old desk by a window. The rest of the room was shielded from view, but Y/N wondered why Harry didn’t just live in here. That looked like a fantastic space. Or at least the small portion of it she’d managed to get a peek at.

They continued up a number of steel stairs, and Y/N was out of breath by the time the walls were really getting closer around them. Harry climbed up a ladder and pushed open the hatch, revealing a ton of sunlight and a sort of buzzing sound. He looked behind him and down at Y/N.

“Dunno if it’s ideal to climb up here with a dress, but I’ll help you down if you want.”

Y/N shook her head. “It’s fine, I’m sure I’ll get other chances to see… what do you call it? The light?”

Harry smiled. “Lamp. This is the Bell Room.”

“Oh.” Y/N nodded. “Interesting.”

Harry only chuckled some before he walked up, returning a minute or two later. He closed the hatch and jumped down the remaining steps on the ladder, the impact making a loud sound once his Converse hit the steel.

“And down to report,” Harry said, motioning for Y/N to walk first. She didn’t know what he meant by what he’d said, but she didn’t question him. Instead, she walked down the stairs, comforted by the sound of Harry’s footsteps behind her. As they reached the second storey, Y/N heard a slight clicking sound behind her, like someone closed a door. She didn’t have to look over her shoulder to put two and two together; Harry closed the door into the room she’d seen earlier.

Upon reaching the first floor again, Harry sat down by the desk Y/N had seen earlier. He picked up a pen and wrote a few things down into the notebook, speaking under his breath as he did so as if he was remembering specific numbers and whatnot. A shelf was perched right above the desk, multiple binders, books, and important-looking documents were scattered in each of the sections. Other papers, reminders, post-it notes, and a calendar were taped to the wall, all of it holding different kinds of information that Y/N couldn’t even begin to comprehend. There was a clock perched on the wall and Harry glanced at it, and when it read 9am exactly, a static picked up, and then a voice sounded.

“Good morning, this is Trevose lighthouse reporting…” Y/N didn’t catch the rest, but Harry seemed to have, because he was completely calm, eyes now on the book before him as if checking what he’d just written down. After a monologue she understood nothing of, she could just about make out a “thank you” followed by “Clodgy,” as if indicating that it was Harry’s turn to report back. Harry now had the telephone pressed to his ear and the pen in his free hand as he went through the page.

“Good morning, Clodgy is partly cloudy, one five, calm, and rippled.” More static. “One zero scattered, scattered above two five. Zero, one, zero, zero…”

Y/N didn’t know what was going on, so she let Harry do whatever he was doing while she just looked around. She walked over to the window and glanced out at the sea beyond. Though the wind could be heard whooshing past the lighthouse, the ocean was calm. Off in the distance, she could just about make out a ship. She wondered if the light from the lighthouse could be made out in daylight and if they had used Clodgy to navigate themselves wherever they were going.

“Thank you,” Harry said, hanging up the phone as someone on the other line said: “Pendeen.”

“Good morning, Pendeen is partly cloudy…”

“What was that?” Y/N asked, hushed in case Harry wanted to hear what Pendeen lighthouse had to say. He was quiet for a second, as if listening in a bit to what was happening further south, then glanced up at Y/N.

“Weather report. Most lighthouses are automatic, but most on the west coast of Cornwall are operated by lighthouse keepers, so we report to headquarters four-five-six times a day, approximately every three hours. Depends on the weather and the season.”

Y/N nodded. “What if you can’t make a certain time?”

“Well… not ideal, I should always be able to since this is my job. But if I can’t make one time, then Pendeen is pretty close, so one can kind of count the weather as very similar.”

“How about the times when you’re out and you got other plans? Like, Grace’s birthday or any other social gathering?”

Harry shrugged his shoulders. “I make it back in time to do a report, and sometimes I go back to wherever I was earlier if I feel like it. I don’t often leave Clodgy, though.”

She smiled. “I’ve just caught you on the few occasions that you have?”

Harry smiled back. “Strategic, is what I call it. You get to experience the fun part of my life.”

“This isn’t fun?”

“Well, of course,” Harry said, placing the pen on the notebook. “I meant the social part of my life. Summer is when I leave the lighthouse most often ‘cause everyone wants to have plans when they’re not working all the time, but come autumn and I’m back to staying here alone for weeks on end.” He paused for a second. “Not entirely true, Jessa can’t stay away for long. She always comes over every Saturday to give me some food. She doesn’t think I can cook anything.”

“I’m actually a very decent cook,” Y/N admitted, tipping her chin upwards a bit with a smile. “One of my finest qualities.”

“Yeah?” Harry smiled back at her. “What’s your signature dish, then?”

She pursed her lips as she thought, clicking her tongue a few times. “I make a killer courgette lasagne.”

It took a second or two before Harry said, “Can’t wait to taste it one day.”

Y/N bit her lips together and Harry quickly realised how many different ways that could be misinterpreted. Hastily, Harry coughed and ran a hand through his hair as if to shield his face from view for a few seconds, his neck flaring red.

“Jesus Christ, I-I-I didn’t… I didn’t mean it like that. I-“ Harry stopped himself as there were some static on the radio from headquarters. His face was pink with a blush, and though Y/N found him adorable, she walked off out of his side of vision. He was there to do a job, and she was making it hard for him by making conversation. She waited till the reports were over, then waited some more as Harry wrote something down in his notebook, and then, when he finally got up, she too got up from where she’d been seated in the stairs. Harry gestured for her to walk down the set of stairs to the ground floor so he could follow her.

“So,” she started as Harry locked the door after them. “Six times a day, every three hours… when do you report?”

“3am, 6am, 9am, then I don’t have to report till 6pm,” Harry explained, putting his keys back in his pocket. “Usually, when we know the weather’s gonna be unruly or stormy, we report more than four-five times, but since it’s summer and since the weather’s very clear, we don’t report as often.”

“Ahh.”

“Around this time, I just make sure the lighthouse is in good condition. Went up to the Bell Room just now to make sure the lightbulbs work.”

Y/N furrowed her brows a little. “Would suck if they don’t.”

“Yeah,” Harry chuckled. “It’s been 25 years since they were changed last, so we need to change them out soon.”

“So,” Y/N dragged it out as Harry opened the door into his house. “How’s a regular day in the life of a lighthouse keeper, then?”

“Get up at 2:30, do a report by 3. Then do the same for 6am, and 9am. After 9am, I usually do chores around the property.”

Y/N zoned out for a few seconds as she took in the view in front of her. There was a tiny hallway, a glass door leading into the studio living space which seemed to be all-in-one. However, there was a door to the left when you entered, so Y/N assumed that must be the bathroom. But everything else seemed to be in the room before her.

At the far wall, a steel bed was placed horizontally, pressed up against the left wall. A big window took up most of the space along that wall, elegant white panes making the big windowsill seem perfect to relax in. To the right of it stood a dresser, decorated with pictures and a small vase with the flowers Grace had picked a few days ago. Along the right wall stood a piano, a big and old painting of a ship raised on the wall above it. Right by the small protruding foyer, a sofa was nestled, a tiny coffee table placed against the wall with a few newspapers and an empty coffee mug, a window placed above it, looking out over his yellow van and some of the lighthouse.

A kitchen was positioned to the left, just big enough for that one person living there, but old enough to know it had been used countless times over the last 30 years. Right beside it was a square white dining table, right under the window that overlooked the path leading up to the lighthouse, three chairs around it. Y/N guessed those were for the times Jessa and Grace made their way over.

All the walls matched the dining table and chairs, though the floor was reclaimed cherry wooden flooring, a small contrast to the walls that must’ve been repainted a year or so ago. It was old, and Y/N was sure that with some more decor, this place would probably be one of the cosiest places she’d ever been in her entire life. The windowsill would’ve been nicer with a soft cushion stretching across it and some pillows, and with some plants and green vines, maybe a straw chair and some pillows, it would be the prettiest place in all of Cornwall. But Y/N wasn’t about to tell Harry how to decorate his house, that was none of her business.

She suddenly noticed how quiet the place had gotten, so she turned around to see Harry looking at her, taking his shoes off.

“What were you saying? I zoned out a bit,” she admitted, gesturing around her as if that explained it.

Harry’s eyes went wide, and he took one big stride to enter the living space. He ran over to the coffee table and hastily put the newspapers under his arm and the coffee mug in the other. Putting the newspapers away, he placed the mug in the dishwasher before he speedily ran over to his bed and made it as fast as he could.

“I-I’m sorry. Didn’t know I’d be getting visitors,” he said, voice a little mumble as if he was truly ashamed of himself for not tidying the place up some more before she visited. He placed a knitted quilt over his white sheets and at the sight, Y/N couldn’t help her slight smile. She couldn’t wait to go knitting with Bessie and the ladies again.

“Please,” Harry said, voice a little louder as he gestured at the dining table, dragging a chair out before quickly rubbing his clammy palms over the shorts of his dungarees. “Sit. How do you take your tea?”

God, he was just so cute it was hard to act normal around him, Y/N thought as she walked over and sat down in the chair he’d just brought out for her. He started the kettle before bringing the tea out.

“Lump of sugar is fine, thank you,” she answered, crossing her legs as he found a mug for each of them. “What kind of chores do you do?”

“Hm?” Harry asked, looking over at her with his lips sucked in between his teeth and eyebrows raised.

“You said you usually do chores around the property after you report the weather,” Y/N explained. “What kind of chores?”

“Check that the lighthouse is in pristine condition. Go over to check for mould or damage, for example. I mow the lawn, clean the Bell Room, make sure no sodding seagulls have had a shite on the windows.”

Y/N giggled some, placing her hands in her lap.

“Lighthouse keepers are expected to be fairly handy,” Harry explained as he put a lump of sugar in Y/N’s glass and then one in his own, adding some milk to what would be his mug. “You’re expected to know how to use a hammer and nails, a saw, for example. You need to know how to do housework, building work, yard work, and all those other things along those lines.”

“Does Jessa make you do housework on the farm, then?”

Harry let go of a chuckle as he filled their cups, walking over and placing them on the table before opening the window they were sat by. It was fairly hot inside the house, would be even more so if they were drinking tea. But they were British, so drinking piping hot tea on a hot summer’s day without getting overly affected by it, was one of their few skills.

“Not too often, she’s amazing so she does most of the work around the farm herself. I just help sometimes when she asks, which isn’t often.”

Y/N nodded, slowly blowing on the tea before bringing it to her lips to take a sip.

“How’s…” He cleared his throat. Y/N wondered if it was a nervous tick of his, he tended to do it quite often. “How’s the UCAT reading going? You mentioned it earlier.”

Y/N couldn’t remember that she had, but she was so flattered that he remembered that she felt her cheeks heat up some. She took another sip of her tea and blamed it on the steam.

“Is it doing your head in?” he asked, sipping his mug as he brought his ankle to rest against his bare knee. His legs were so hairy. Not an odd amount, but just enough to make him a little more attractive.

“Yeah, it’s very hard to concentrate sometimes. Being stuck inside the Inn room is making me a bit mental, not gonna lie.”

“You could come here.”

The suggestion seemed to have taken both of them a bit off guard, but once Harry realised what he’d said, his shoulders sank a little, as if he wasn’t totally embarrassed he’d just blurted that out. Compared to the many times before when he said something and he’d gone all red. Friends suggested stuff like this, they offered their space and wanted their friends to feel at home. Y/N could still detect a slight worry in Harry’s eyes that she might reject his offer, but she smiled at him and gave him a little nod.

“That would be very nice,” she admitted.

“I’m rarely in the house anyway. I’m mostly in the lighthouse or out and about here, so I won’t disturb you.”

“You sure you’d be okay with me using your space like that?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah, you don’t seem like the person to make a mess. Not that… I should be telling you not to make a mess, it’s a mess in here as is. I’m a mess.”

Y/N laughed and Harry joined her. The two drank their tea to light conversation. As much as Y/N loved being with Bessie and her ladies, she’d much rather spend time with Harry. The two of them just got on. It was so incredibly easy to be around him, it felt right in a way she hadn’t really experienced before. She had friends back in Hampshire and they were all lovely people, but none of them made her laugh, made her think, taught her something new, or made her feel as important as Harry had in the few weeks they’d know each other. He was quickly becoming a very good friend, so him suggesting she study for her UCAT at his place meant a little more in that sense.

Before long, Y/N was out in the fields beyond the lighthouse. They’d spent two hours inside Harry’s house just talking, so Harry hadn’t gotten any of the chores he needed to do, done. Y/N brought the book she was currently reading and laid down in the grass. She lay there reading; on her back, on her stomach, on her side, or sitting. At one point, she was just walking back and forth by the cliffs with the book in her hands, reading as she strolled. The wind was soft, and the temperature was nice considering it was the first day with partly cloudy weather. Y/N actually quite enjoyed just being outside today. And she particularly enjoyed being on Clodgy Point. It was so relaxing that she completely forgot where she was and how exposed and vulnerable she’d be if she fell asleep. But that’s exactly what happened.

She fell asleep in the grass, the open book resting against her chest, and she must’ve slept for at least an hour and some, because the sun was at a completely different angle than before. She started awake, sitting bolt upright and looking about her. Her heart was hammering as her gaze wandered over the landscape around her, frantically searching for figures in the distance.

“Oh!” Harry exclaimed, startled by her sudden movement.

She looked at him, readjusting the heart shaped sunglasses on his nose as they must’ve slid down when she startled him. Her hand came to her chest to check if her book was there, but it had obviously fallen off her when she sat upright. It laid on the grass beside her and she frantically reached for it, trying to find the page she’d stopped reading on.

“You alright?” Harry asked, voice low as if asking it too loudly would disturb her in any way.

“No, I- I mean, yes, I’m alright. I just lost the page.”

Harry watched her for a few seconds. “Bad dream?”

“Huh?”

“You… You just sat upright like that, did you have a bad dream?”

Y/N was way too busy focusing on the book to even think about the dream she’d just had. She turned page after page after page, but her mind was so far away. She wasn’t thinking about anything, yet she was thinking about everything. She was busy looking for the place she’d left off, but didn’t know what on that page would indicate it was the right one. Her head felt heavy, yet empty.

“Y/N.”

“Hm?” She finally looked up at him, eyes wide as if he’d just interrupted her.

“I… Are you okay?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes some as he watched her, not believing her when she nodded her head and made an “Uh-huh” sound. His eyes fell to the book in her lap, her hands still as she just held a page between her index and thumb. Y/N didn’t know what made Harry ask the question in the end, but she assumed he must’ve done it because he knew that to capture her undivided attention, he’d have to talk about books. “You never told me who your favourite author is?”

Y/N met his eyes and, for the first time since she woke up, actually registered what Harry was saying. “Virginia Woolf.”

Harry smiled a little, his dimples showing. His right one was a little more prominent, Y/N realised. “So, her.” He nodded down at the book in Y/N’s lap. “What’s so good about her? Is that your favourite of hers?”

Y/N smiled a little at the questions, looking down at the book before meeting Harry’s eyes again. “Think Mrs Dalloway-“ Y/N showed Harry the cover to tell him that was the book she was reading right now. “Might be my favourite, yeah.”

“Why?”

“It’s just so-“ Y/N stopped herself, looking at Harry for a few seconds before shaking her head and chuckling some. “I won’t bore you with book talk again.”

Harry smiled. “I don’t mind.”

“You always trick me into talking for hours!”

Harry put his hands up in surrender. “And you don’t get me to open a monologue? Ask my mates, I didn’t talk this much until you came along. You’ve ruined my image.”

Y/N laughed, turning around and laying down on her stomach. “Think it might be my favourite spare time activity.”

“What, ruining my image?”

“Yeah.”

“Mine too.”

Y/N grinned up at him and Harry grinned back, laying down on his back, perching his sunglasses on top of his head as he stared over at her.

“Alright, you wanted to know why it’s my favourite, yeah?”

“Why I asked, yeah.”

“How about I read it for you, and you’ll make up your own mind.” Y/N raised her eyebrows and Harry furrowed his own. She giggled. “You don’t seem thrilled.”

“Well, I can’t say anyone’s read to me before, so I wouldn’t know how I’d like it,” he answered truthfully, but his eyes got big a second later. “Not-not that I don’t think it’s a lovely idea!”

Y/N laughed. “Harry, I know you don’t read ‘cause you don’t find it entertaining, it’s completely fine. Your flaws are your own to deal with.”

Harry barked out his hyena laugh again, hand covering his mouth for a second, but at the sight of Y/N howling at his outburst, he laughed with her and forgot all about it.

“I just asked,” Y/N said, still with a hint of laughter in her voice. “’Cause if you think it’d be a way for you to actually manage to follow a story, then I’d gladly read to you.”

Sucking his lips in between his teeth, Harry watched her for a few seconds before nodding his head, moving a little closer. “Yeah, go on then.”

She opened the first page again, focusing in on the words before her as Harry focused on her.

“’Mrs Dalloway said she would buy the flowers herself. For Lucy had her work cut out for her. The doors would be taken off their hinges; Rumpelmayer’s men were coming. And then, thought Clarissa Dalloway, what a morning – fresh as if issued to children on a beach’.”

“Hmm,” Harry hummed. “I like that.”

“What?”

“’What a morning – fresh as if issued to children on a beach’.”

Y/N smiled, looking back at the boom. “Virginia’s writing is beautiful. You can tell she took a while to write each sentence.”

Harry nodded, keeping his eyes on Y/N as she continued to read.

“’What a lark! What a plunge! For so it had always seemed to her, when, with a little squeak of the hinges, which she could hear now, she had burst open the French windows and plunged at Bourton into the open air. How fresh, how calm, still than this of course’-“

A car engine sounded in the distance, getting closer and closer.

“-‘the air was in the early morning; like the flap of a wave; the kiss of a wave; chill and sharp and yet solemn’-“

Closer and closer.

“-‘feeling as she did, standing there at the open window’-“

The gravel moved harshly as if the car was driving unusually fast. Y/N whipped her head around. The car screeched to a halt in front of Harry’s house. She forgot all about her book. It slipped from between her fingers as she turned around and sat up. Quickly, she started scooting away, keeping her eyes on the car.

“Y/N,” Harry said, looking at the Royal Mail car before glancing back at Y/N.

She didn’t seem to hear him, though.

“Y/N,” he said again, getting to his feet and following her. She didn’t stop. She kept trying to get away from the car as the postman got out, waved at Harry, and put the mail in his mailbox. “Hey,” Harry said as he reached her. “Hey, what’s going on-“

As he put a hand on her shoulder, she startled out of whatever trance she was in. His skin against hers startled her to the point of her moving away from him. Harry moved his hand away, blinking as if hurt. It wasn’t that Y/N didn’t like Harry touching her, she actually really did, she liked it when anyone touched her, but it had just taken her so completely off guard with everything storming through her brain that she couldn’t help her reaction.

Her heart was hammering, palms were clammy, and her brain had been somewhere else completely. ‘Your father knows where you are’ had been all she’d manage to think in those seconds. Nothing and no one else had mattered. She looked at Harry again, trying to regain a normal breathing pattern.

“I-I’m sorry,” Harry said, taking a step away from her.

“No.” Y/N shook her head. “You don’t have to be. I… I like… I don’t mind you touching me.”

Harry bit his bottom lip, sitting down on his knees beside her.

“I’m not used to it.”

Harry paused for a second. “People touching you?”

“Yeah, uhm…” She ran her hands over her face before she looked over at the mailman. He was back in his car, not a danger to the two of them in any way. She’d just overreacted. Just thought her Dad had made it to St Ives and was driving down the gravel road towards the lighthouse, as if he knew that was exactly where she’d be. She didn’t know why she reacted the way she did, maybe it was just too much, too soon. Everything that happened Sunday with Dominic texting her and knowing that her father had been looking for her and knew where she was, it had all come to this. Just an hour and some earlier, she’d felt so safe. She hadn’t expected to feel so content and at ease anywhere ever again. But she did there. And it had all been taken away from her.

She felt a warm pressure against her shoulder. Reassuring, supportive pressure that felt a lot like Harry’s rough hand. His thumb smoothed over her skin and she closed her eyes for a single second before she glanced in his direction. There was something about the way he looked at her that made her believe everything he said and did. There was a truth and constant to him that was unwavering; like a bright star you knew would show up in the sky every night. It might not always show, but it was there. Waiting for the right time to show itself. Every single thing this man did came from the heart. He might not do too much, might have trouble finding his words, but there was assurance and comfort in everything he chose to say and do. It somehow held more meaning than anything else ever had.

“You’re okay,” he said.

And though her heart was beating faster than it ever had, and though she hadn’t felt okay a moment ago, she believed him. She let go of a shaky breath, and at the sound of it, a worried look graced Harry’s face.

“Want to go inside?”

Y/N shook her head, gesturing at her book. “I said I’d read to you.”

“If you don’t want to be outside… that’s completely fine.”

She crawled over to her book again, her shoulder felt cold when she was out of Harry’s reach. “Let’s read.”

“Y/N.”

She stopped, looked over at him as he looked at her. Seriousness lay in every single feature of his face as well as how calculatingly slowly he moved toward her to not overwhelm her in any way. She watched him till he sat before her, staring into her eyes for a few seconds before saying a soft, “You’re okay.”

She wasn’t so sure that she was, but she forced herself to believe him enough to open the book to the first page again. Just as she was about to start reading, Harry’s phone went off with a text. He brought it out, read the text, and looked about to say something, but stopped himself as he started answering whoever texted him. Y/N watched him, biting at her bottom lip as she waited for him to be done.

“Alright?” she asked once he put his phone away.

He pointed over his shoulder, mouth opening again as if he was going to explain, but he just shook his head as he thought better of it. “Yeah, go on.”

Y/N gave him a smile before she continued to read.

NEXT UPDATE: Sunday, 13 September, 9PM GMT!

A HUGEE thank you to my amazing and beautiful beta readers! 🌊 @aileenacoustic 🌊 @bopbopstyles 🌊 @fromyourstrulyh 🌊 @harrys-creature 🌊 @summerfeelng 🌊 @watermelonsuger​ 🌊  @withallthelove-a​ 🌊

[blogbuddy2]

Blog 6: Tales Along the Senescent Trail--An Unexpected Adventure.

Incredibly, it’s been four hours now!

I’ve been lying on this gurney for so long I think I’m going blind.

Wait! Here comes someone who’s actually making eye contact with me.

“Mr. Thornton. I’m Dr. Jones. I’m working the ER today.”

My throat is so parched, I can only croak an acknowledgment.

“Sorry for keeping you waiting so long, but we get homeless walk-ins all the time. We had to make sure you weren’t just another drug user looking for a fix.”

Hello. I’m wearing farmer Jones bibs with suspenders. Do I look homeless to you?

“We get too many folks trying to get in here every day looking for a quick fix when they run out of drugs, so we had to make sure you weren’t one of them. We try to help them but it's reached a point where we are being overrun."

I sat up. Suddenly I didn’t feel too good. It was getting hard to breathe again.

“Hey, Doc!. I’m having trouble breathing. Can you give me some oxygen or something,” I gasped as I laid back down. I had a pale complexion before I ever came down to the VA hospital. Now I was turning a purplish color.

The doctor made a quick gesture to an orderly standing close by and called for a wheelchair, an IV, and oxygen. They whisked me up to the fifth floor and into a hospital bed there. You know, the kind with the flip-down rails running horizontally along each side.

I began to feel much better after they put a nasal cannula in my nose. The nurse pulled a curtain between me and the guy next to my cubicle. I quickly fell into a deep sleep—the best I’ve had in a while.

I woke up the next day feeling much better. Soon a nurse entered the room pushing breakfast food carts with trays, but she didn’t stop by my bed. I wasn’t very hungry anyway.

The nurse pulled the curtain back, and I chatted for a while with the guy next to me. He was a cheery, talkative young man who very nonchalantly told me they were going to cut his foot off in a couple of days. He stepped on a nail, it seems, and it got infected. Turned gangrenous on him. So, now it had to go.

A little later in the morning, Dr. Smith came to see me. We chatted for a while about my symptoms. He said that he wanted to perform a catheter insertion through my right thigh so we could take a look at my heart. I said sure. Anything was better than going on like before. Not getting enough oxygen to your brain is like slowly drowning where you’re gasping for air but not quite suffocating.

When we said goodbye, I lay down thinking about the stress test I had taken the year before and felt a shiver go up my spine.

When I first started displaying symptoms of fatigue, my doctor at that time recommended that I go to the VA hospital in Atlanta and take a stress test. I had no idea of what I was getting into.

So, at the appointed time, I went to the hospital for the test.

Now, you’ve got to understand that parking at the VA hospital in Atlanta is an adventure all on its own. I tried it once and finally gave up after circling the parking deck twenty-eight times. After that, we utilized the Valet Service at the front door of the hospital. That was really great—if you could ever get to it. Sometimes the valet parking line snaked all the way around the hospital, and even out into the main road at times. It took a long time to get to the front door.

I finally made it and took their redemption ticket. I made my way back to the stress-test room where they determine how your heart works during physical activity. They stuck a bunch of cardiac memory loop monitors all over my chest and put me on the treadmill. I can tell you I wasn’t looking forward to the test because of my angina episodes. I did warn them, but they didn’t seem to be too concerned.

We started out real slow, and things were just fine—until they picked up the speed. I started to huff as the speed increased and warned them I wasn’t feeling too good. They poo-pooed that and cranked the speed up.

I was having trouble holding my own and warned them I was “fix’n to go.”

The male nurse hollered, “just give me another minute . . . just a minute more!”

“I’m fix’n to fall!” I gasped. Then I did. Right down on the still rapidly moving treadmill. I slumped to my knees and grabbed the support bars as my knees dragged out behind me.

A couple of male nurses grabbed me and picked me up and off the machine and set me down in a nearby chair.

“We’re so sorry! We thought you were okay,” the nurse stuttered apologetically.

Yeah. Sure. Like I didn’t warn you.

So now you can see why I was a little leery about having a catheter procedure. As it turned out, it wasn’t so bad. They took me down to a special room where they administered the stent through my inner right thigh and up to my heart with a camera.

It was terribly interesting. I was able to see my own heart beating and all the little black web-like arteries and veins that roped to and from my heart.

The doctor--and I forget his name now--seemed surprised at not finding something wrong there.

“Hmmm. Your heart is only twenty percent blocked, and that’s really good for your age,” he murmured, more to himself than to me. He paused . . .

“I think we’re going to send you to the Nuclear Lab to let them take a Nuclear Lung Scan because I don’t see anything much wrong with your heart. For your age, it’s in pretty good shape.”

The next day, I went in for the scan.

He brought the results back and gave me a strange look.

“Well, it looks like you’ve got three clots in your right lung and two clots in the left one.” he paused, “You should be dead. It only takes one to kill you.”

Thanks for the cheery prognosis. Needless to say, they sent me back to the fifth floor and put me on a blood thinner right away.

Later that evening, the doctor came by.

“We want to keep you here a few more days to make sure everything is going okay (with the thinners).

“Okay,” I said. “Hey, Doc. Do you think I can get something to eat? I haven’t had anything in two days.”

He just stared at me for a moment in total exasperation.

Somehow, they didn’t have my name on the patient list for food so the food cart kept bypassing me when it came to the fifth floor.

I lost fifteen pounds during my stay at the VA. Not by choice, I can assure you. I looked forward to leaving.

This was a real scary brush with death. It wasn't my first, and it wouldn’t be my last. Over the next couple of days, I thought about many of the things I had done—both good and bad—over the course of my life.

It all seemed much clearer now. I knew what I had to do.

[samanthadalton]

Hey! Do you think you could write an avaxmc fic that’s today’s chapter (81) of mtfl but from mack’s pov? Like a rewrite, with more gayness and no boys? Maybe have mack see them at some point, or find them sleeping together the morning after? Idk it’s just an idea and ofc it’s ok if u don’t wanna do it, just thought i’d ask

i loved this idea anon, idk if its super gay but I tried writing it from what i think Mack would be like, i hope you enjoy tho ❤️❤️

(also ive been so busy this week, i hope to do some writing for star crossed lovers next week as well as some more requests💖) 

taglist: @cloud9in @midnitesteph @kamilahsayeet2063 @dopeyouth @avalawrencefl @alleycat97 (i added people from my other ava fic and people who might like the fic) 

The tales of the sister 

Now playing as Mack

I know something has been going on between Emma and Ava since we’ve come back from Jenning’s lodge but I don’t know exactly what. I scrutinise Emma as she fluffs the pillows for the 100th time tonight before taking out her phone to check her makeup...again.

“Chill Emma, it’s only Ava” I add a tiny dose of teasing to my voice, while Emma’s cheeks begin dusting with a tiny bit of red on them before she pointedly looks away. 

“Everything just has to be perfect,” her eyes scan the living before she moves the tv remote an inch to the left before placing her hands on her hips, satisfied. 

“Why?” I raise an eyebrow at her, trying to get any crumb of information since Emma and Ava used to always leave me out of the big girl gossip. 

Emma freezes for a split second before her eyebrows furrowed together in contemplation, “I don’t know, it just has to be.” 

I nonchalantly shrug my shoulders and sit on the couch before grabbing a handful of popcorn and shoving it into my mouth. Emma swats at my arm, “Mack! Don’t make a mess!” 

“Whuh- iuts pouhpcourn” I retort, my mouth still filled with popcorn as Emma begins stress cleaning around me until the doorbell suddenly rings and she stands up straight so quickly before plastering a wide smile on her face. Just before she opens the door, she throws a warning look at me over her shoulder. 

“Ava!” Ava squeals and tackles Emma into a huge bear hug while Emma just giggles like a schoolgirl, yuck. 

“Hey, hey, let me say hi to Ava.” I see Emma shooting daggers at me in my peripheral vision but I ignore her as I give Ava a quick hello hug before settling back into my seat on the couch. “So” I take another handful of popcorn but before I can throw it all into my mouth, Emma glares at me, her eyes wide and full of warning, so I roll my eyes at her and plop a couple into my mouth before giving her a melodramatic smile. “What’s on the agenda for girl’s night?” 

Ava and Emma share a weird look before Ava speaks up, “how about 2 truths and a lie?” 

“Yes, I’ll finally get to learn your secrets.” I conspicuously rub my hands together, excitement running through my body. 

“Yeah, now that we can trust you not to be a total blabbermouth,” Emma taunts. 

“Hey I wasn’t that bad,” I throw my hands up defensively as Ava laughs. 

“Yes you were.” Ava gestures over to Emma,” remember when Emma and I were freshmans and you came with your dad to pick Emma up from school and you literally screamed out that I had a crush on the science teacher.” 

“Wait what was his name again?” Emma and Ava go silent as they try and remember before Ava slaps her thigh before shouting, “Mr Durrant!” 

“Oh my god yeahhhhh,” Emma shakes her head as she and Ava laugh together but when they catch each other’s gaze, their laughter slowly fades and is replaced with an intense stare. Ava deftly glances at Emma’s lips before I awkwardly cough gaining the attention of the two girls again.

“So, 2 truths and a lie? I’ll go first. I’ve been arrested. I used to have an imaginary friend and I have a belly piercing.” 

Ava and Emma share a conspirutual look before simultaneously saying, “belly piercing.” 

“Come on Mack, you really think I forgot about your imaginary friend Lily? You used to always talk to her and have tea parties with her.” 

I grumble and cross my arms together, “whatever someone else go next.” 

“I’ll go.” Ava calls out. She presses her lips together in a thin line deep in thought before making an, “ah-ha” sound. “I’ve never broken a bone, i’ve been in a car crash and I have a secret cinder account.” 

I reflect on Ava’s answers for a few moments before coming to a conclusion. “Definitely the broken bones. Did you think I wouldn’t remember the nasty fall you took in cheer your freshman year?” 

Emma still in deep contemplation, quietly gazes at Ava. Her eyes roam her facial features before she squeaks out, “cinder account.” 

“Ding, ding, ding.” Ava lifts her forefinger, tapping it on her nose, “we have a winner. To be honest I thought about making one but I chickened out at the last minute.” 

“What? Why would you even consider making an account, you’re gorgeous. I would’ve thought you would have girls lining up around the block? 

“Well even though we didn’t work out, I’m still grateful for the time I had with Bayla. She made me feel like I wasn’t alone because for a long time I felt like I was.” She flickers her gaze at Emma, her eyes softening, “And thanks to her she helped me realise that I have my eye on someone else.” 

Emma gives Ava a small smile, hmmm so maybe something did happen between them and they haven’t told me before they keep giving each other flirty looks all night. Just to mess with them a little I break the moment between them by throwing a piece of popcorn at Emma, “I guess it’s your turn.” 

“Okay fine. I’ve seen two boys from our school topless, I’ve dyed my hair blue and” she looks over at Ava, her eyes full of longing. “I kissed a girl.” 

I KNEW IT. I KNEW IT. THEY KISSED. 

I play off Emma’s statement cooly with a blank expression on my face, trying to hide my happiness for them both. I subtly look over at Ava who is so trying not to blush right now but is attempting (and failing) to suppress a smile. Cute. 

“Emma I live with you, I know you haven’t dyed your hair blue!” 

“You got me.” 

“Now that you mention it you would look good with blue hair.” 

After a lot of convincing, we finally managed to get Emma to agree to dye her hair blue. 

“I have a box of dye under my bed. I'm going to go grab it.” I leave the two girls and begin inspecting the contents under my bed, looking for the dye. I triumphantly cheer to myself, like a loser, when I find the box and as I’m about to enter the bathroom, I see Ava leaning down and whispering into Emma’s ear. I can’t hear what she’s saying but I can see Emma’s reflection in the bathroom mirror, her eyes glistening with desire? Excitement? I don’t know but I can tell Emma’s slightly nervous because she’s chewing on the inside of her cheek. 

Emma’s about to respond to Ava before her eyes catch mine in the mirror, “Mack!” her voice startled, “we didn’t see you there.” 

“Yeah I figured.” Emma looks away abashed while Ava awkwardly coughs before reaching out and plucking the dye from her hands. 

We begin mixing the dye together with the bleach and then Ava begins parting Emma’s hair, her fingers slowly tangling in Emma’s hair, before giving it a playful tug. Yuck they’re indirectly not so indirectly flirting in front of me. Right in front of my metaphorical salad! 

“Do you guys think I’ll look different after I dye my hair?” Emma asks as Ava begins painting on the dye with her fingers. 

“How do you want to look?” She raises an eyebrow at Emma. 

“Hot.” 

Ava snorts, “please, like you need a boost in that department.” 

“Hey everyone could use a little hotness, well everyone except you because you’re practically a goddess.” 

Ava’s grin widens and she takes in Emma’s admission. “It’s true. I guess it’s a cheer captain thing.” I clamp my mouth shut, trying so hard not to say anything to ruin this moment, hoping that they’ll forget about my existence. And maybe it works a little too well because Emma and Ava flirt the rest of the time we’re dying her hair and it takes everything in me not to scream and tell them to stop being so weird. 

“Wow you look sexy,” Ava beams at Emma as she brushes through her now blue hair, stars practically glistening in her eyes. 

“Thanks, I guess I’m catching up to you in the hotness department.” 

Ava growls, (weird), her voice a whisper, “mmm. I think you’ve definitely surpassed me.” 

I think I barfed a little in my mouth when I finally have had enough and I throw my hands up in the air, “I’m going to bed!” I turn back and teasingly wiggle my eyebrows at the girls, “make sure to behave yourselves.” 

I crash into my bed but an hour later I hear Emma’s bedroom door shut and a flurry of giggles coming from her room. I guess they’re now making out? Gross. Right where I can hear them. I fold my pillow over my ear, trying to drown the sound of the laughs, and sound of kissing and sucking? I don’t know and I sure as hell don’t want to find out. Eventually I doze off and when I wake up the next morning I creep up to Emma’s room to see if she’s awake and can make me breakfast. But when I open the door, I see her  half naked body, tangled up with a half-naked Ava as they peacefully sleep in each other’s embrace. I quickly but quietly close the door and flop back into my bed, glad that my older sister is getting some but sad because I don’t know when I’m going to get my pancakes now. 

[theheartsmistakes]

The Last Night Part XXII

(Author’s Notes at the end)

Parts I-XXI:

Here is Part I

Here is Part II

Here is Part III

Here is Part IV

Here is Part V

Here is Part VI

Here is Part VII

Here is Part VIII

Here is Part IX

Here is Part X

Here is Part XI

Here is Part XII

Part XIII

Part XIV

Part XV

Part XVI

Part XVII

Part XVIII

Part XIX

Part XX

Part XXI

.XXII.

“Lucie!” Her father’s voice came from the other side of the door as it cracked open inviting in a warm light that chased away the darkness from inside Lucie’s bedroom. Lucie, being only five years old should have been asleep hours ago, but was sitting up in bed with her old stuffed rabbit in her lap, and both hands firmly clamped over her ears.

Will, dressed in his white stocking pajamas, his black hair a mess of tangled curls stepped into the room. “Lucie, I heard voices-- what’s the matter?”

Lucie uncovered her ears and slowly opened her eyes as her father walked into the hazy moonlight that came in through the oval window like a dramatic spotlight. “They won’t stop whispering at me, Papa.”

“Who?” Will looked around her room. “Is someone else in here?”

Lucie nodded.

“Where?” Will demanded.

“They’re not here now,” said Lucie. “You frightened them off, but they wouldn’t stop whispering to me.”

A strange recognition filled Will’s expression. He walked over to Lucie’s side of the bed and climbed in beside her. “Is that so?”

She nodded. “They can be so loud. I think they just want someone to talk to, and I don’t mind, but I want to sleep.”

Will smiled. “As you should be. What do these visitors say?”

Lucie played with the silk ear of her rabbit. “They mostly just say my name. Whisper it over and over again, like they can’t say anything more. Are they ghosts?”

Will nodded. “Yes, I think so.”

“How come I can see them?”

“Because you’re a Herondale,” said Will, proudly. “All Herondales can see ghosts.”

Lucie contemplated this for a moment to the best ability of her still developing five year old brain. “So even James and Mam?”

“Only James, not Mam,” explained Will. “Mam was a Grey before she was a Herondale. It’s hard to understand, but you will.” He tilted her chin up with his finger. “Only born Herondales have this particular talent.”

“And devilishly good looks,” parroted Lucie.

Will barked a laugh. “Exactly.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “They’re nothing to be frightened of. They can’t hurt you. They’re just looking for a friend. Now, you go to sleep and if these ghosts visit you again, you remind them that your bedtime is seven-thirty and if they’d like to visit you it must be before then.”

Lucie nodded and slid down beneath the thick comforter. Will tucked Lucie in all around until she resembled a log underneath a fancy blanket. With his white slippers shuffling along the floor, Will left the room and closed the door behind him.

For a moment, her room was quiet and she thought her father might have chased the last of the voices away.

When she was almost asleep, she felt a cold breath of air against her cheek.

Lucie.

Lucie.

LUCIE!

The whispering could be heard even as she folded a pillow over her ears and squeezed her eyes shut. They continued until finally she sat up and yelled into the void, “BE QUIET!”

The voices went out in a whoosh like a candle being snuffed. Nothing could be heard except for the grandfather clock’s ticking on the wall in the hall and the crickets chirping in the warm summer’s air outside. With a curt nod, Lucie closed her eyes and fell asleep.

“Good,” said Belial as he stood from the bed. “You received my message.”

Lucie’s eyes flickered to Grace cowering in the corner beside her mother. Tears stained Grace’s face and her chin shook with more to come as she looked apologetically at Lucie.

“What have you done?” Lucie whispered.

“I had no choice,” said Grace. “He was going to kill my Mum and he would never bring Jesse back. I wouldn’t be left alone— not again.”

Blood boiled in Lucie’s cheeks. “You really think he’ll uphold his promise? He’s about as reliable as a trained lion. He’ll get what he wants from you and then tear your face off.”

“What do you know of it?” Snapped Tatiana Blackthorn. “You’ve been handed things your whole life. Blessed. You’ve no idea what it means to lose something you love.” She turned her attention to Belial. “I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I killed seven innocent souls, I’ve released six demons from captivity using Shadowhunter blood, and I’ve brought you the girl. Now, return my son and we’ll be on our way. You can do what you wish with her.”

Belial blinked lazily.

Lucie hadn’t noticed before since her focus was entirely on the prince of hell lounging on Grace’s chiffon bed. The two women broke apart like curtains and resting behind them, on the bench beneath the window like he’d fallen asleep reading a book, was Jesse’s body.

Lucie gasped and took a marginal step closer to him, but stopped.

Death begets death begets death. You cannot take from death without giving to death first and sometimes it takes more than its share.

“Grace!” Lucie reached forward.

Belial snapped his fingers and Tatiana’s body crumpled to the floor with a sickening crack. Her neck lolled to the side like a broken stick. Grace screamed and fell back against the wall behind her just as Jesse gasped from the window seat.

Limbs flailed around as if he were trying to save himself from drowning until he fell to the floor on his hands and knees gasping for breath in lungs that haven’t been used in years. Lucie thought she could hear his heart beating until she realized it was her own. He sat up and clutched his chest, his blue, green eyes darted frantically around the room.

Grace fell to the floor beside him. “Jesse, it’s alright. It’s alright!”

Jesse wouldn’t look at her. His eyes locked on Lucie. “No, what have you done.”

“I haven’t done anything,” said Lucie.

“Then why are you here?” His face turned red in the cheeks. “I told you specifically not to come. Damn it, Lucie, why didn’t you listen.”

Lucie moved back a step. “I did listen. I came here to tell Grace that I no longer wanted to be a part of our agreement. I came here to tell her that I was giving up. I thought I was honoring your wishes. How was I to know that he was waiting here for me?”

“I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t believe me,” groaned Jesse. “I thought you’d think I was bluffing to keep you from trying.”

Lucie scoffed. “And look how well your dishonesty worked out.”

Grace cried over their dead mother and clutched at her thick collar in a feeble attempt to wake her up.

“Enough,” said Belial, growing bored of the exchange in front of him. “I have upheld my bargain. It’s time for us to go.”

“No!” Jesse tried to stand. Belial cocked his head and Jesse fell back against Grace.

“Another move and I’ll kill you again, this time with no chance of return.” Belial’s eyes flickered over to Lucie. “I’ve realized I’ve been going about this the wrong way. I tried to capture the Carstairs girl thinking that she would get you to join me, but she’s far too much trouble. No, there was another pawn hiding right underneath my nose. The Blackthorn boy. It didn’t occur to me until you came to visit Grace and asked for her assistance in bringing him back. She was a good pet and delivered the message to Tatiana who in turn delivered the message to me.”

Lucie glared at Grace with her arms wrapped around Jesse’s shoulders. But how could she blame her? If the tables were reversed and it was James she was trying to revive, she might have done the same. No, she was positive she would have done the same. She’d allowed Jesse to give his last breath to her brother to save his life. In the end, she had been willing to give something up for the life of someone she loved. She could not fault Grace that.

“I’m not going with you,” she said. “The entire clave will be here shortly and you’ll be banished back to whatever level of hell you came from.”

Belial grinned. Despite herself, Lucie found it quite a charming smile. “Wonderful. A family reunion. It’s been so long since I’ve spoken to my daughter. I’ve wondered how she fared all these years.”

“She fared nicely without the likes of you,” said Lucie, cursing herself for not bringing a short blade or at least a couple of throwing knives. She’d left in such a rush, she didn’t find a need. Her uncle was notorious for hiding weapons about the manor. Her aunt was always cursing him about it when they were children and Christopher or Anna would somehow wander down the hallway with a curve blade in their chubby little hands.

The hallway, Lucie nearly gasped as she remembered the cross blades hanging in the hallway.

The door behind her remained open. Only a few steps back and she could make a break for it and at least have a chance at defending herself.

“I wouldn’t try it if I were you,” said Belial, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Not unless you want me to start breaking bones in their bodies starting with the smallest.” He raised on his hands and folded his fingers. The door slammed behind Lucie and she heard the faint sound of the lock. “We don’t have much time. I have a very short window back into my realm and we’ll need to be going now. That is if you want your friends to live.”

“Lucie.” Jesse fought against Grace’s hold. “Do not go with him. I’m not meant to be here. I’m not meant to be alive.”

“How rude,” said Belial. “Do you have any idea how hard your mother and sister worked to bring you back to life. The least you could do is be more grateful.”

“If I go with you,” said Lucie. “If I agree to do what you ask, you’ll promise to leave them alone?”

“You have my word,” grinned Belial and extended his hand towards Lucie.

Every instinct drove her to pull away, to run, but then some stronger instinct took control, and of their own free will her fingers closed round Belial’s. Heat seared down and through her, swift as wildfire chased by wind, and as it moved she felt something strong and heavy wrap around her waist.

Her connection broke with Belial as she was dragged back to the center of the room. She turned her neck and looked up.

“Thomas?”

His face was contorted in rage as he yelled over his shoulder to the hallway, “Now!”

A figure dressed in Shadowhunter gear stepped into the room. Lucie didn’t recognize him at first as his face was hidden behind a curtain of black hair.  A spear flew from his hand towards Belial.

Before she could even blink, it’d somehow stopped inches from Belial’s chest, and shot back at the shadow hunter with blinding speed impaling the person in the chest and pinned them to the wall like a collected insect.

It wasn’t until then that Lucie caught a glimpse of the face against the wall. Mouth open and eyes glossy as he stared down at the stick protruding from his chest was Alastair.

A/N: Hope you all are well! Good news, next update is coming in just a short seven days, Dec 13. You know the drill: hit that like, share, leave me comment, and follow along for more updates. Stay safe and stay healthy!

[bloopbyoop]

weep woop

ayo. ive read my scheduled email and its time for freewriting shit again. lmao. I want this post to be like a small light from a lit match stick inside a very hollow, icy, and numbing cave. (sounds cartoonish right? I know. Im obsessed with Adventure Time.) I want all people to be genuinely happy.  Spiritually, emotionally, and physically. Upon reaching my 24th anniversary in this world, I finally learned how to truly embrace all my emotions. Some are more overwhelming than the other, but we have to heed in our treacherous yet perplexing minds that everything is fleeting and we are in control. The feeling of extreme sadness fades, but so does joyful states. Everything can change in a matter of minutes or years. You are in control of all your emotions. You are in control of all your life choices. Your actions. Your words. Your perspective. It feels weird to actually write about it. I've wanted to talk about it. I never wanted help from anyone as I firmly believed that I was alone. Sure, I have a family and friends, but it is hard to see that when your head is clouded with negativity. I've even come to the point where I was too overwhelmed, I found being physically hurt less painful. The pain I felt distracted me from what I was thinking. My mind tended to go bonkers. lmao. But bro, I was so good at concealing my bonkers mind. It's easy to fake any emotion that you have. Slap anything sunshine-y or happy to anything and people would believe you. It went on for years. Long story short, thousands of bracelets collected, it became worse. The physical pain could no longer withhold the emotional pain. Couldn't sleep. Couldn't stop thinking. And voila! I found a good amount of self help books (from tumblr) and novels. Novels that brought me to different places. Self-help books that made me understand what I feel and what to do. I've read that taking the easy way out will leave everyone sad. AND IN THE FIRST PLACEEEEEE, I NEVER WANT THATTTTTTT. I want everyone to be happy. I would act foolish and do dumb shit to make everyone happy in a heartbeat. So, that idea made me push a few more years. Later on, the crippling shit came crawling back again to my head, sooooooo I needed new shit to keep me distracted again. Films, series, music, and short clips from YouTube helped me out a lot. Every single time that my mind is going to think like anything that can think of, even to the point that I was just going to think that I might be hungry, I'd watch something. There's just something about silence for me. Because of this new habit of mine, I've learned more about myself. I love different types of things. I like horror. I like thriller. I like comedy. I like romance. I love all types of films, but there is something about the horror genre that interests me. I still can't point out what, but I love watching horror films. With regards to music, I've learned that I love Indie, Punk Rock, Rap, and Pop. We all can't like a specific genre. It's stupid to ask "what genre of music do you like?". It's not actually stupid-stupid, it's just stupid. Ya know? Anyway, passing this phase, I needed to find something again because it's not doing the shit that it was supposed to, I tried investing more time on video games. By investing more, I mean a whole shit lot. I love video games since I was young cuz.... u know.... they keep u... try to guess it! oh yeah. you got that right! distracted! I love the aggressive plays and trashtalks that my friends and I make. The short stories we tell one another. The rants. The lame jokes. The late night we sound drunk but we are not drunk jokes. The roleplays. The lame jokes. The memes. And once again, The lame jokes. Something about lame jokes and the laughs and curses after that always gets me every single time. Oh shoot. Yup Yup. Few years later, I finally noticed the pattern that my sadness is temporary. I got over it one way or the other (or another. depends on how you wanna read it. i dont wanna say another cause i might write about one direction like what im doing now so-). Happiness is temporary as well. But, we are the ones who are actually in control of our emotions. If you wanna feel sad, be sad for a while. You're getting too sad? Try hanging out with your funny friends. Can't do that? Find an alternative. Watch a movie, knit a sweater. Anything your mind could think of as long as it will keep you mentally distracted from being physically and mentally hurt. I do have a few notes though. We cannot and should never assume what people are going through. It may be petty for you, but it may be very crucial to them. So never everrrr say things like: -Some people have it worse than you -At least you have ..... These sheetsss are annoying as heckkk and could really down someone. I know it is not your intention to annoy but people react differently. alsooooooo, it is not okay or normal to hate on things for bandwagon. that is just plainly crazy and stupid. let people enjoy things. anddddddd never suppress your emotions. admit what you feel inside and try to think of a way to resolve ittttt. keeping it to yourself will just make it worseeeeee. find your own outlettttttttt. hihihi ️ alsooooo. being more spiritually full with God's words and ideas really help me to be spiritually happy. ps. im christian but i dont discredit other religion and even applaud other religion's ideas and beliefs. this is a really long, selfish post so i might as well recommend some things I like : Songs with their lyrics that made me go through life. “I’ve got soul but I’m not a soldier” -All These Things That I've Done, The Killers “It's not too late, I'm still right here” -Breaking Your Own Heart, Kelly Clarkson "And the salt in my wounds / Isn't burning any more than it used to / It's not that I don't feel the pain / It's just I'm not afraid of hurting anymore / And the blood in these veins / Isn't pumping any less than it ever has / And that's the hope I have / The only thing I know that's keeping me alive" -Last Hope, Paramore “There is not a single word in the whole world / That could describe the hurt / The dullest knife just sawing back and forth / And ripping through the softest skin there ever was / How were you to know?” -Hate to See Your Heartbreak, Paramore "It's holding on, though the road's long / And seeing light in the darkest things And when you stare at your reflection / Finally knowing who it is / I know that you'll thank God you did" -1800, Logic "Did some things you can't speak of / But at night you live it all again / You wouldn't be shattered on the floor now / If only you had seen what you know now then" -Innocent, Taylor Swift (My bb) "10 months sober, I must admit / Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it / 10 months older, I won't give in / Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it // Rain came pouring down when I was drowning / That's when I could finally breathe / And by morning gone was any trace of you, I think I am finally clean" -Clean, Taylor Swift “I guess I always knew / That I had all the strength to make it through.” -Believe in Me, Demi Lovato "I'm addicted to the madness / I'm a daughter of the sadness / I've been here too many times before / Been abandoned and I'm scared now / I can't handle another fallout / I am fragile, just washed upon the shore / They forget me, don't see me / When they love me, they leave me" -I Hate You, Don’t Leave Me, Demi Lovato “I'm overwhelmed / I need a voice to echo / I need a light to take me home / I need a star to follow / I don't know” -Nightingale, Demi Lovato "I'm a walking travesty / But I'm smiling at everything. // Arrogant boy, Love yourself so no one has to." -Therapy, All Time Low "I tried it once before but I didn't get too far / I felt a lot of pain but it didn't stop my heart. / But maybe I'm alive 'cause I didn't really wanna die / But nothing very special ever happens in my life / Take the blade away from me I am a freak, I am afraid that / All the blood escaping me won't end the pain / And I'll be haunting all the lives that cared for me / I died to be the white ghost / Of the man that I was meant to be" -Ghost, Badflower "Are the pieces of you / In the pieces of me? / I'm just so scared / You're who I'll be / When I erupt / Just like you do / They look at me / Like I look at you" -DNA, Lia Marie Johnson Movies and series to try : -The Perks of Being a Wallflower (The book is bomb af. if yall havent tried, ur missing out) -The Kings of Summer -Never Let Me Go -The Art of Getting By -Silver Linings Playbook -Winter’s Bone -The Lovely Bones (The script. The words) -Me and Earl and the Dying Girl -American Horror Story -Black Swan

pps. remember that every one has their own pace and point of view. don’t push yourself too hard, and don’t overthink. give yourself time, and respect all your emotions. analyze them but not more than like 5 minutes as anything beyond that might cause you to overthink and be sadder. and sad is not rad. hehe. you got this. you got you. self love is the best even though it can be tricky to do. nobody else is like you. you’re the only one of you (i just remembered me.......... i might have hummed it while typing it mid sentence). consider other people’s opinion but do not let it cloud your own judgement as you know yourself best. dont let other comment’s define you. spread love. vibe people you vibe with. ayeeee lets go!!! 

ppps this is my last post bc im happier now and know myself better. i no longer limit myself on the age that I want. I want to live as long as how God wants me to be. hehe. 

x :D

[softlyjiminie]

happy birthday, my love | p.j.m

⇢ pairing(s): boyfriend!park jimin x reader.

⇢ word count: 1.3K

⇢ genre: fluff, angst, long distance relationship!au, idol!au.

⇢ summary: it’s one of those birthdays, where jimin is without you and the distance is killing him.

⇢ warning(s): please read!  a little angst, swearing.

⇢ author’s note(s): hi guys! its currently 11:40 something pm GMT time so i'm posting this little drabble while it’s still jiminie’s birthday, i hope you goys enjoy!

“happy birthday, my love!” was the first thing you said to jimin as the screen illuminated on his computer. he was in his usual spot in whatever hotel room it was, by the the balcony with the lights streaming in through the curtains. it’s about mid day, october twelfth and jimin has a few hours to kill before show time. a small, albeit, sad smile dances across his lips as he watches you pull out a party popper and laugh until he sees your smile lines. 

he tries to ignore the dark circles under your eyes from staying up late. it’s midnight for you and he knows that you’re tired. he ignores the time zones and puts on a front. because he knows that you stayed up just for him. 

“thank you my darling.” he nods simply, fingers decorated with rings, touching the screen as if you were holding hands. you mirror his actions, beaming when the party hat you wore tilts to the side. jimin’s heart aches. 

“i know there’s twelve more hours for you,”  you whisper into the darkness of your own room, bound by blankets and headphones tucked in. “but i wanted to be the first, even if i am early.” 

jimin nods, hiding his wince whilst you hide your yawn. you speak again. “why aren’t you smiling?” 

“i can’t,” he mumbles back, the habit he has of driving his hands through his thick black hair coming forth again. his heart sinks in his chest at your disappointed face, knowing you stayed up for this call to see him. “not when you’re not with me like we planned.” 

he sees your frown, he knows you’re hurt too. “my love, you know i’m impossibly sorry that i couldn’t  make it, things came up and i just can’t afford it-“ you try to reason with him, memories of this same conversation relaying in his head.

“let me bring you out here...let me do something for you...” 

you shake your head, and jimin leans back in his chair. he admired your humbleness, he loved how stubborn you were but he craved you to be close and to feel your skin on his. cherry lips between your teeth, you sigh and reach out to the screen with your hand again. “you know i couldn’t take a gift from you, especially on your day.”

he nods painfully, looking away and avoiding the lump in his throat. he won’t say much to you know, the ache in his chest growing like the distance between you. the next few moments are spent in an overbearing silence, you watching jimin and jimin watching you. a knock on his door raising a sad smile to your lips as you lean forward and press a kiss to the screen. 

“happy birthday my love,” you whisper, a slight waver in your voice as you tilt your head to look at him. “i love you.”

jimin didn’t have time to say it back.

he smiles but his heart does not smile with him, you’d think being surrounded by thousands of fans who were all there just for him, he would have his spirits lifted. 

but jimin was tired, his body was stiff and his heart ached. he couldn’t see your face in the crowd like he had planned. he couldn’t feel happy. 

and yet, in honour of his birthday, while his beloved army sung their hearts out for him, jimin smiled. his crescent moon eyes creasing at the corner to the point where he couldn’t see, and where the tears wouldn’t fall for all of them to see. 

the stage lights dimmed and he begun to descend back stage, where his body sagged and his emotions reined free. namjoon was on next, giving jimin a pity full  grin as it was all he had time for. the stylists dabbed and danced around jimin, fixing his hair and touching up his make up. his bottom lip couldn’t help but wobble when seokjin approached him, concerned.

“jiminie...” elder mumbled, drawing the attention of the others members dotted around the room. “how’re you holding up?” 

the younger let the dam break, curling into his hyung who wrapped him up in his broad arms. jimin cried, like a child, he cried as tears fell and drifted down the apples of his cheeks. “i miss her hyung, i want to go home, i miss her.” he sniffled, not caring about the stage make up that had begun to run.

“i know you do chim but-“

“no...you don’t know!” the dancer counters, his chest heaving from heavy emotions and words that weighed down his mind. “you don’t know what it’s like to not see her everyday, to not be able to hold her whenever i want, to kiss her whenever i want. ive been looking at her through a screen for this entire time, touching the screen at the same time as she just to feel something. every time we travel i feel us getting further apart and i see her heart shattering but there’s nothing i can do because i can’t comfort her. i can’t even comfort myself, hyung...” 

the room was rendered silent, the only sound coming from namjoon performing on stage. jimin’s breathing was ragged, his hyungs and the maknaes watched over him worriedly. jungkook and taehyung being the most concerned, jimin was usually so bright and it pained them to see the oldest of their trio hurt so badly.

yoongi gave the singer a light massage to his back, a sort of comfort. “let’s get through tonight jimin, it’ll all be over soon.” 

at 00:00 on october thirteenth, jimin hit the soft sheets of his five star hotel bed. his dark hair splaying out across the whites, as he lay in silence. it was his birthday now. he was meant to be a year older, a year wiser. and yet he felt that he’d only stayed the same. 

if you were here, you would tell him how he didn’t need you to feel changed. that you didn’t complete each other but we’re instead equals, soulmates. but him being him would always feel as if a piece of himself were missing without you. 

his only wish for midnight, was for you to be with him on his birthday.

“room service!” someone calls from the other side of the door, knocking gently. he didn’t order anything, jimin frowns, rolling over and putting his phone down. dozens and thousands of notifications streaming in from his fans to wish him a happy birthday. he didn’t want to move.

the person knocks again, only irritating jimin as he tries to cover his ears and drown in his own self sorrow. knockknockkock, room service! they call again and again until finally-

“park jimin i swear to god if you don’t open this door right now i’m going home.”

 his head full of midnight black hair pops up at the sound of the voice, stumbling out of bed half dressed and rushing to the door. jimin wastes not a second longer tearing it up and throwing his arms over you, not even giving you a second to register what’s happening.

his brain is frazzled, a series of short circuits with a million and one burning questions to ask. you’re here, with him. in the flesh and blood, the touch of your hand on his cheek bringing him back to reality as it sears through him. “Y-YN?” he breathes, whiskey eyes fluttering across your face as if you confirm you’re real. “how did you get here? when did you get here? what are you doing here?” 

“so many questions, my love...” you smile, pressing a small kiss to jimin’s nose as he holds you close. your scent relaxes his racing mind and his heart finally smiles along with him. “the boys did a good job keeping it a surprise, i planned to show up during your set onstage, but i got delayed a bit, but im here now and for the rest of the tour!” 

jimin hugs you close, nuzzling into your neck as he inhales. he doesn’t need to say much for you to know that he loves you. and instead of speaking, you hold him tight and whisper.

“i’m here now, happy birthday my love.”

[keldae]

These Dreams Of You

could be considered a follow-up to this.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He’s in his apartment on Coruscant -- a place he hasn’t set foot in for almost a year. This feeling of warm comfort, of languidly rolling over in his bed, is one that he’s almost forgotten about entirely. He frowns -- why does this feel so strange?

But then he sees her in his bed next to him, curled up on her side, gazing up at him through her eyelashes. He smiles and leans in to nuzzle her nose, and for a second, everything feels perfect -- or almost perfect, anyway. “Hey,” he murmurs, his voice low and gentle.

“Theron.” How does her voice make his name sound so good? She smiles at his caresses, all but purring. “I miss this.”

“I miss you,” Theron whispers, and wonders where that thought came from. How could something be wrong in this moment of blissful comfort?

Xaja shifts slightly, her smile fading. Theron can feel the tendrils of dark, painful grief snaking back into this moment before she speaks again. “I need you, Theron. Please…”

“How could you need me?” Theron reaches to caress her cheek, frowning. “You’re--” You’re dead, floats through his mind, and now he remembers why this doesn’t feel right, and he wishes he could forget it again.

Fear flickers through Xaja’s eyes as she seems to shrink under his hand. “Theron, hurry, please. He’s… he’s hurting me again...”

“What? Who’s hurting you?” Theron tries to grab her shoulder, and panics when his hand goes right through her like she’s made of mist. “Where are you?”

“I don’t know…” Her voice is quiet, but he can’t tell if that’s because she’s fading away from him, or if it’s due to the tears he can hear her trying to hold back. He desperately reaches for her again as she cries out for him, as the apartment around them suddenly grows dark and terrible. He can hear a cruel laugh in the background, one that reminds him too vividly of Yavin IV and Ziost. “Theron, help me, please!”

With a ragged gasp, Theron jerked himself upward, for a second panicking until he recognized his surroundings. This wasn’t Coruscant… this was the sketchy back-alley hovel he’d taken up residence in on Zakuul, deep in the Old World where the Knights weren’t likely to look for an offworld spy. The narrow bed he laid on was cold, sheets strewn in all directions from his restless movements. And when he reached his hand out to where Xaja should have been at his side, he felt nothing but a hard mattress and a cold, painful grief.

“Fuck,” he whispered as he swung his legs over the side of the bed and dropped his head into his hands. Over two years after Xaja’s murder at Zakuul’s hands, and the grief hadn’t eased at all. If anything, his nightmares about her were getting more and more vivid. He wasn’t sure yet if this was better or worse than the ones he’d been having previously, the ones where his overactive brain decided to imagine what her final moments alone before her death had been like.

At least being alone in the dark as he was, with only Tee-Seven for company, there was no one to witness the tears on his unshaven cheeks, or the shuddering of his hunched shoulders as he tried to smother the grief again. He balefully frowned at the chronometer on his ocular display -- two in the morning, local time. He had a feeling he wouldn't be going back to sleep tonight, not with the lingering fear and grief drowning him.

"These dreams of you are gonna drive me mad," he finally mumbled as he wiped a hand over his eyes and took a shaky breath. He'd all but given up meditating, given how the Force seemed to have drop kicked him over the last couple of years, but maybe trying again now would calm him down after the nightmare. Leaving the bed, he knelt in front of the window that looked out over the Eternal Swamp beyond the city walls. He then closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing as he tried settling into the patterns Master Zho had taught him. In, and out… in, and out… in, and out--

Help me, Theron. Please!

Theron swore and flopped onto his back as Xaja's voice whispered in the back of his mind. "Never mind," he groaned, "I've already gone mad." When he had said he would have done anything to hear Xaja speak to him again, he hadn't meant being haunted into insanity by dreams of her. It shouldn't have been you. It should never have been you…

"Fuck, I miss you," he brokenly whispered to the empty air above him. "I want you back." He bitterly snorted. "Why can't I hallucinate you lying beside me where you belonged?" If this was the Force's way of giving her back to him in some form, it was a cruel comfort. He was pretty sure this counted as proof that the Force hated him personally.

"I'm sorry," he finally mumbled, squeezing his eyes closed as he felt tears trickling down his skin again. A low hum emitted from the corner -- no doubt Tee-Seven offering his concern -- but he couldn’t respond. He could only shake his head. "I need you back, Xaja. Never should’ve let you go to begin with. This just... hurts too much without you." He took in a shuddering breath. "I don't know what to do without you here."

So much for not getting attached, he thought with a snort of sarcastic amusement. He tried to tell himself to not risk it with the pretty Jedi during their time together on Rishi or Yavin IV, and that was even during happier times when she had still lived, a bright spot in his galaxy. He clenched his jaw in an attempt to smother down his grief and tried to think about something else… anything that had the hope of getting his mind off of Xaja, his dreams of her, and the regrets he carried with him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hours later, as he was sipping a mug of lukewarm caf and scowling at his datapad, he gave a start at Tee-Seven’s sudden beep of warning. The droid’s sensors had picked up someone walking down the alley toward Theron’s cramped residence -- someone walking quietly, but not exactly sneaking about. Frowning, Theron got to his feet, setting the caf down and reaching for his blaster. No one should have known he was here; no one had reason to be knocking on his door, the raps echoing in the stillness of the apartment.

Cautiously, Theron cracked the door open -- and a second later, wasn’t sure if he was relieved his visitor wasn’t one of Marcus’ operatives coming to track him down, or more uneasy that this was an Imperial asset looking him in the eye. “Nine,” he sighed, easing his grip on his blaster. Cipher Nine might be a notorious sociopath and an infamous Imperial spy, but Theron was at least reasonably sure that the old man wasn’t here to end him. If Reanden Taerich had wanted him dead, he could have killed him easily enough on Nar Shaddaa last year.

“You’re a pain in the ass to track down, you know that?” Reanden dryly said by way of greeting, shifting his hands into his jacket pockets. The older spy’s hair had gotten more grey in the last three years, and there were new lines on his face, but those calculating dark eyes were still as sharp and piercing as ever.

“Apparently still too easy,” Theron grumbled. He crossed his arms and leaned against the door frame. What the blazes had Cipher-kriffing-Nine been looking for him for? He settled for a direct approach. “What brings you out here?”

Reanden paused, dark eyes glancing to the alley for a moment. “That’s a conversion best not had out here,” he finally said, his voice low. “You mind?”

Barely keeping from rolling his eyes, Theron stepped back to allow the old man inside. His tone was acerbic as he gestured to the shabby room. "Make yourself at home." The door was secured behind him.

Turning, he watched Reanden survey the one-room apartment with its scarce furnishings, lazily shrugging one shoulder. "I've seen worse," the old spy as he sat in the one chair in the room. Somewhat surprised to not hear a snarky comment from the old timer, Theron found himself sitting on the bed as Tee-Seven started happily beeping upon recognizing their visitor. Even more surprising, he watched as the elder man patted the droid’s chassis with something approaching affection. "So this is where you ended up."

"Busted him off Coruscant when I left," Theron shrugged casually. "He was being wasted in a military hangar."

"Same time you took the Serenity?" Reanden offered a tired smirk as Theron started. "Heard about that through the vine."

"... Xaja would have hated her ship being left to rust in a hangar," Theron protested, for a second certain that the old man was ready to tear him a new one for stealing -- no, liberating -- his late daughter’s starship.

"She would have," Reanden agreed, his voice quiet, sombre, and definitely not the verbal fight Theron had been expecting. “Definitely the Corellian in her.” 

Theron frowned as the old spy looked down at his hands, the normal snarky demeanour fading into a familiar heartache. “You didn’t sneak onto Zakuul for a social call, old timer,” he finally said. “And you definitely didn’t drop in to catch up with me.”

“Bite me, kid,” Reanden muttered, glaring up at Theron for a second before seemingly standing down and sighing. “There’s a lot of people searching for your hide in particular, but, no, that’s not why I’m here. I’m here on unrelated business -- only just figured out you were onworld about two hours ago.”

“And you tracked me down because…?”

“Because I figured you’d have a personal interest in this.” Reanden unflinchingly met Theron’s gaze when the younger spy frowned in confusion at him. “Sorand… has a theory that he’s asked me to look into, and I believe Lana will only be a couple of steps behind me on this.”

A personal interest for Theron that Cipher Nine would be involved with… and on Zakuul…? Maybe, he thought, the old man had an idea to kill Arcann directly for what he’d done to Xaja. And Darth Imperius was clever, with his own reasons to hate Zakuul -- perhaps father and son had figured out a plan. Or had Korin gotten into something? “What’s up? You find some sort of a vulnerability in that half-metallic bastard?”

“Not yet.” Reanden opened his mouth as if he were going to say something, paused, then shook his head. “What do you know about Force bonds, kid?”

Theron frowned in confusion. This was not where he’d expected this conversation to go. “Not a lot. Connections that form between Force-users, usually people close to each other.”

“Like a student and their teacher; a parent and child,” Reanden slowly agreed, “or siblings.” Theron felt his frown deepen as the older man looked at him. “Sorand had... formed a bond with Xaja, presumably some time during the Revanite incident. He’s been having intermittent dreams since…well, since the attack; they’ve been getting more intense over the past few months.” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair, an uncharacteristic sign of anxiety that Theron wasn’t used to seeing from him. The next statement left in a rush: “He believes there’s a chance that Xaja might have survived the attack. He suspects that if she's still alive, she’s probably on Zakuul, and she's in some sort of danger that he can't identify.”

For a second, Theron felt hope flare within his chest, his heart in his throat -- then reality kicked back in, and he felt his shoulders slump. “Dreams? If dreams were real, Taerich, I’d be piloting a Hutt pleasure barge overrun with gizka. The only dreams coming true now are nightmares.” He blindly gestured with one hand toward the wall, and the Spire beyond it, as if to prove his point. "You saw those reports of what happened to Marr’s fleet. There's no chance she made it."

"He swears up and down that he can feel her, or at least feel something where his bond with her was -- and he says it feels nothing like the broken bond he had with his mum.” Reanden grimaced, shifting forward in the seat. He rested his elbows on his thighs, fingers interlaced over his knees. “Look, I'm about as Force-sensitive as you and have no idea what a bond is supposed to feel like, but I trust my kid. He wouldn’t… offer hope where there isn’t any. He’s not that cruel." He shrugged. "At the least, I promised him I would do some snooping. Figured you'd be interested."

Sorand was a pretty sane, reasonable Sith, Theron knew. Unless the siege on Dromund Kaas had driven him completely insane… but Reanden, even with his clear biases toward his surviving children, should have been able to recognize that. So if Cipher Nine thought Imperius' hunch concerning a long-dead Jedi was worth investigating…

But if they're wrong? Theron raked a hand down his face as he stood up and paced to the window, then back again. "I can't do this," he heard himself whisper. "Getting my hopes up, and then finding out it was a false hope… I can't do that and lose her again." He had done that enough with the first reports of the infamous Outlander assassin, whispers of whom indicated they matched Xaja's description, unless there were other tiny, feisty redheaded women with blazing green eyes and blue lightsabers. Nothing had come out of that.

"What makes you think I can?" When Theron glanced over, he was struck by the tangible grief in Reanden's dark eyes, the sorrow making itself evident in the stoop of his shoulders. This wasn’t the Cipher Nine of legend, infamous saboteur and assassin -- this was a grief-stricken father. "My children mean everything to me, my daughter included. I need a confirmation, one way or another."

"Fuck," Theron muttered as he stared out the window for a moment longer, then finally looked back at Reanden. "If he's wrong and we're chasing a false hope, and she's still de-- still gone…"

"And if he's right, and Xaja's alive and in some sort of distress? Could you live with yourself if you didn't even try to help her?"

Help me, please…

Theron groaned and sat back down on the bed, the mattress creaking under his weight. Weird coincidence that Nine would show up with this new theory after last night's dream, he thought, and felt himself frown. The Force didn't operate in coincidences like this, did it? He wished he had Master Zho's guidance right then -- or Hells, even his mother. Somehow, he felt like Satele would at least offer some sort of advice. And he would take any answers he could get right now.

"I... dreamed about her last night," he heard himself admit quietly, before his brain quite caught up to his mouth. "It was different than the normal nightmares about her. She was… she was scared, and kept saying 'he's hurting me'. She didn't say who 'he' was, but…" He bitterly laughed and raked his hand through his hair. "And now I'm hearing her voice in the back of my head. I think I'm losing it."

When he finally looked back at Reanden, the older man was frowning in thought, clearly considering what Theron said. "Sorand thinks he felt her fear too," he added at length. "Said he could feel pain and cold -- thinks they might have been from her end of the bond. He didn't say anything about her being hurt by anyone though. I haven't been in contact with Korin, so I don't know if he's having dreams too."

"And you haven't…?"

"Pfft. Do I look like the type of person to have dreams from the Force?"

"You're as likely as me, old timer."

"One of us didn't get thirteen years of Jedi mind training as a kid." Reanden shrugged. "Not to mention you've been onworld longer. If Sorand's right, and Xaja's here, proximity probably can't hurt."

The idea that maybe, just maybe, Xaja was somewhere on this damned rock turned the spark of hope into a tiny flame in his chest. Theron closed his eyes against the sudden desperate yearning to have her in his arms right then, and for a moment was grateful Reanden couldn't sense his feelings. "You've got some sort of plan for looking, right?"

"I've got about forty percent of a plan," Reanden acknowledged. "You and Tee-Seven share what you've turned up so far, and we might have more of a plan before Lana turns up."

"Forty percent isn't much of a plan," Theron dubiously pointed out, not mentioning he was pretty sure he only had about five percent of a plan to search for Xaja himself… and only thirty percent of a plan to kill Arcann, which was rapidly being bumped down the priority list.

"This coming from the guy who blew up a Sith warship in his underwear."

"Never gonna live that down, am I?" Theron asked with a sigh as he made his way to the computer console, ignoring Reanden's smirk. "I've been doing recon around the Spire for the last few months…"

[mo-nighean-rouge]

You Can Call Me- IV

About a million years ago, @ianmuyrray asked for “FAKE MARRIED AND PREGNANT DO IT” based on the trope prompt below. This is what you get, friend. Some characters show up that you might like, idk.

I didn’t really know when I would have this ready, but then I caved to some writing peer pressure from @lady-o-ren recently, and asked @whiskynottea and @isitgintimeyet for some beta TLC and here we are.

Modern AU: Inspired by a Fanfiction Trope Mash-up prompt - Bodyguard and secret relationship. A look at the life of Prime Minister Claire Beauchamp behind closed doors.

Previously: Part I | Part II | Part III | AO3 | Masterlist

Claire reached for him, hands trembling as she swept her thumb across the cut under his eye.

He hissed at the contact against the open wound, but couldn’t find the energy to truly mind. He basked in her touch, preserved for him after all.

“Oh, Baby,” her voice wavered.

Before Jamie could answer, Claire went limp in his arms, dead weight held up only by her oxters draped over his elbows.

Part IV

Jamie felt like he was swimming through the thick and sterile air as he strode purposefully down the endless hallway. It wasn’t Claire’s weight in his arms that slowed him, but the hollow agony in his chest each time he glanced down at her still form sprawled in his arms. Her limbs swung uselessly with his hurried gait. He couldn’t even protect her head properly as it thumped against his shoulder.

Murtagh had guided the yacht to shore in only minutes, but time had stretched mercilessly ahead as Jamie waited, exhausting the possibilities to coax a response from Claire.

The back-up officers they had radioed had been waiting on the dock in full force, more than equipped to drag the barely stirring forms of Randall, Wolverton, and their bloody goons into police cars.

“Let’s go,” Jamie had commanded the first unoccupied officer he passed.

“But Agent…” the man had squabbled, eyes darting around for someone of higher authority to disagree.

“Drive, damn ye,” Jamie had insisted. He wouldn’t wait for an ambulance to push through the growing crowd when they had been only streets away from the hospital.

Jamie had ducked into the back of a patrol car with Claire stretched over him, Murtagh having promised to report back once he resolved matters at the scene.

He had patted the perspiration from her face and felt for her weakened pulse as the car’s sirens drowned out the mad thoughts rushing through his head. As his fingers had run through her gnarled curls, they had come into contact with a harsh knot on her head, the swelling worsening as time passed.

Jamie’s rapid thoughts matched the pace of his steps as he finally burst through the last set of doors.

Several faces looked up as they entered the confined space. “Please,” Jamie rasped without taking a new breath.

Registering the pallor of Claire’s countenance, an orderly turned to pull a hospital trolley forward.

Much as he didn’t want to let go of her, Jamie laid Claire delicately on the trolley as the staff around him rolled off questions and phrases he couldn’t process.

“By Christ!” The young man’s eyes widened as he examined Claire’s face while fastening a blood pressure cuff around her bicep.

The nurse taking her vitals followed his gaze, her own face going a shade paler. She stepped to face Jamie as the rest of the party rolled the bed down the hall. She stepped in front of him, her badge reading “Phaedre Cameron, Staff Nurse” prominent.

Jamie allowed an infinitesimal nod as his feet set into motion underneath him. “Alexander Malcolm,” he responded over his shoulder as he made his way past her.

The nurse held him back before his steps could quicken to the pace of the trolley as it carried Claire beyond double doors. “Are you family?” she asked briskly.

“Please,” Jamie said again, barely sparing a glance at her as the attendants pushed his heart away from him. “She carries my child,” he said softly, rising to his toes to keep track of her curls through the miniscule windows as they disappeared further down the hall.

“So you’re her husband?” Her voice returned, warily following his gaze through the glass. She surely had recognized the leader of her country by now, but would know of no such relationship.

Jamie grunted, but did not argue. She wasn’t altogether wrong.

The nurse hesitated, nodding before finally leading him beyond the doors. They caught up with Claire and the other nurses just as they rounded the corner into a secluded area.

She left his side to confer with the doctor leading operations, each stealing glances at Jamie as their conversation grew more serious.

Chaos. Monitors flashing, machines beeping, more wires attached to Claire than he could count. He wished he could touch her, hold her. Was she in pain? Or worse, beyond registering the sensations tethering her to life? He folded sloppily into a nearby chair as his legs gave way.

He yearned for her eyes to fly open and for her to give them all a tongue lashing for focusing on her and not checking on her child.

Christ. The bairn. Jamie pitched forward and put his head between his knees, balancing precariously on the edge of the chair. That she be safe, she and the child.

He fell to his knees and raised his chin to the heavens, the motion around him falling away.

The room held its breath in anticipation, creating a silence broken only by the steady pulsing of the heart monitor.

The beat sounded steady, for all Jamie knew. But after a few minutes it was rivaled by the echo of a faster, fluttering rhythm, nearly stopping Jamie’s own heart.

It was the first time their child had made its presence known. There’d scarcely been time to schedule a scan as of yet, though they had estimated how far along Claire might be.

Taing dhia.

The roomful of people trickled out of the door, leaving only three occupants. Four, Jamie scolded himself absently.

The lead doctor snapped his gloves off and turned to face Jamie as he waited in the corner in agony.

A sheen of perspiration glowed over the man’s dark skin as he drew closer. An easy smile rested on his face. “Alex, is it?”

Jamie’s hand rose instinctively to grasp the other man’s. He nodded, focus not trailing away from the chest rising and falling across the room.

“Joe Abernathy.” The doctor stepped into Jamie’s line of sight to hold his attention.

He tried to take in the news the kind American doctor relayed to him, making sure to nod when appropriate. Everything sounded fine, but he couldn’t allow himself reprieve until she set her eyes upon him once more.

Severe dehydration, he said.

“I can guess how troublesome her morning sickness has been. We’ll get her caught up on fluids and monitor things from there.”

Minor concussion, he said.

“I’m sure you know she’s been knocked around pretty thoroughly, Mr. Malcolm.”

It’s up to her now, he said.

“We’ll have to wait for her to wake up. Their heartbeats are both strong, which is our main concern for now.”

Jamie had done his best to follow along and swallow his emotions, but couldn’t control the sob that escaped him at that simple statement.

Abernathy gripped his shoulder. “You did well, man. We might be telling a different story if not for you.”

As Jamie stood and pulled his chair behind him, the doctor clapped him on the back, then pulled the sleeve of his white coat up to glance at his smartwatch. 

“I’m told the Doctors Beauchamp are stuck in parade traffic.” Dr. Abernathy’s finger swiped smoothly across the small screen. “There’s also a small crowd in the waiting room that’s anxious to see the two of you.”

Goistidh. Jamie unlocked his mobile. Eight missed calls from Murtagh. Five from Claire’s assistant, Mary McNab.

“I’ll tell you now, but will also be sure to let the persistent young lady in the waiting room know, that no one on our staff will speak a word.”

Abernathy looked up to meet Jamie’s eye once more, seeming to finally take a closer look at him. “That’s a nasty cut you’ve got there, man.” The doctor gestured toward Jamie’s eye. “I’ll send someone up to see that it gets taken care of.”

Jamie shrugged the doctor off. “‘Tis nothing to fash over.”

“The stitches might help take your mind off things,” Abernathy suggested.

“Dinna want to ‘take my mind off things,’” Jamie mimicked. Another bout of guilt flooded him. “I’m sorry, Doc.” He swallowed deeply. “This is almost more than I can bear, myself.”

Abernathy fixed him with a look. “She was in good hands, Mr. Malcolm. She still is.” 

The doctor exited the room and closed the door quietly behind him, leaving only Jamie’s thoughts to fill the silence.

Jamie didn’t spare space between his chair and Claire’s bed. He reached for one of her cold hands and rubbed it between his own.

“Wake up, lass,” he whispered. A surge of feeling rose in his chest. “If ye’ll ever obey anyone in your life, let it be me, now, Claire.” He scrubbed his dirty, scuffed palms across his eyes. “Please, mo chridhe.”

Motion at the door stirred him from his greeting. A blonde blur sped in and hit him squarely in the chest. “Nunkie!”

“Germain Henry!” drilled a stern feminine voice. “Give yer uncle some space.”

Jamie squeezed the toddler against him and ghosted his own lips over his forehead before Marsali swung him up and settled him against the swell of her belly, patting Jamie’s hand soothingly. Her expression became disapproving as she took in the damage to his face.

He looked up as his future brother-in-law squeezed his shoulder as he circled the bed, pulling forward the chair on the other side.

Fergus leaned forward to brush his lips over Claire’s clammy forehead. “Milady,” he whispered, the light French lilt from his university and medical school days in Paris echoing in the sentiment. He gripped her hand with both of his, eyes not leaving her still form.

Jamie’s heart twisted. The moniker had been bestowed on a prim and proper young Claire by Uncle Lamb when she struggled with culture shock during her first trip to the edge of the earth. Soon after she’d gained her bearings, her passion for the world she lived in had established itself, along with her heart for helping its people.

Marsali allowed Germain to roam once more with a warning to ‘nae get underfoot.’ She washed her hands at the corner basin and slipped on a pair of rubber gloves, helping herself to the cotton swabs and peroxide stored in a high cabinet.

Jamie winced at the sting as she swabbed the wound under his eye.

Satisfied, she ruffled his hair and helped herself to the medical chart fastened near the bed. She surveyed the information with her experienced obstetrician’s eye, her observations undetectable until a gasp emitted from her and her gaze landed on Jamie.

He immediately knew what the file had revealed to her, and nodded his permission for her to speak it aloud.

“Did ye know, a bràthair?” Marsali whispered.

Fergus snapped to attention, both his hands still grasping Claire’s.

“Aye.” Jamie breathed, the barest of grins tickling his lips. “She was – is – sae excited to tell ye both at Thursday night supper.” He clapped his hand over his mouth, unable to stifle the sharp intake of air that followed. He met Fergus’s eye. “Ye should know, man, it’s driven her mad to keep it from ye…”

Fergus nodded slowly, stroking Claire’s wrists. Jamie suspected he was seeking her pulse points himself. “She will,” he said firmly. “She’ll tell me.”

Jamie sniffled hard in an attempt to regain his composure. “I’m sorry I didna protect her,” he whispered.

“You have, ye dolt,” Marsali cut in. Her steady hand smoothed the wrinkled bed covering over Claire’s belly where Germain had tugged it, attempting to check on his aunt for himself. 

“I met Claire when she was but 15, a gangly wee thing gettin’ in her uncle’s way. She’s always been headstrong and determined. But I’ve never seen her so passionate, so content. Not until ye came along.”

“You couldn’t have expected this,” Fergus added, boosting Germain to his lap.

Marsali’s mobile vibrated.

Jamie could hazard a guess at how many times it had sounded that day based on the weary expression that crossed her face as she answered it.

She began speaking in rapid Gaelic, making it clear who was on the other end of the line. She could give Jenny a clear update without worrying Fergus unnecessarily.

Jamie flinched as he overheard rough translations for ‘still out’ and ‘hard knock to the head.’ She kept their big news to herself for now, and Jamie couldn’t help but imagine the sheer joy that would cross his sister’s face when she heard. Not to mention the bizarre hints he’d heard about their father today. How could he drop something like that on her, especially if it wasn’t true…

But he could puzzle all of that out later. As long as his stubborn lass woke up, all would be well.

The moment Marsali switched back to English, stepping toward the door and whispering into the receiver, Jamie knew she was talking about him and his own haggard appearance. There was no language the women shared that could conceal their worries from him.

As Germain’s impatient questions and complaints of an empty belly increased, Fergus and Marsali finally escorted him out of the room and to the cafeteria, promising to bring something back for Jamie. He doubted he’d have the will to eat it.

And so he was alone with his desperate thoughts once again.

________________________________________

Claire struggled against her heavy eyelids as awareness came back to her. Her immediate line of sight was blurred, and she ached all over. Gone was her torn pantsuit, a starchy white gown in its place. Her sorry state was apparent, almost as if she were taking account of her injuries from outside her own body.

She tried to recount what had happened in the last few hours… days? She had a vague recollection of a gun being drawn and shots firing, and someone going down painfully. Jamie?

Claire jolted at this thought, her vision adjusting to recognize the profile standing at the window across the room from her, with dazzling afternoon light refracting off his cinnamon waves as his head hung low and shoulders drooped. Though she could barely make him out in the shadows, she knew she loved him. He appeared healthy and strong, uninhibited by ballistic injury. So how much of what she remembered was actually real?

Could she trust her own tender feelings, anything besides the pull she felt toward him in spite of the weight of her limbs gluing her to the bed?

Had they truly shared all the things she thought she remembered, or was it all just lovely images her mind her created to comfort her as her body healed?

________________________________________

 Jamie lifted the corner of the curtain with just the tips of his fingers. The car park was littered with news vans, camera bulbs flashing as hospital officials created a barrier between the crowd and their front doors. In the hours that had passed since he carried Claire in, it was clearly no longer a secret where the prime minister was recovering, nor how she had fallen victim to betrayal and neglect. He dropped the flimsy material in disgust. Just once, if they would leave her alone…

He barely registered the rustling on the other side of the room, but spun to attention. Claire was moving.

Her head flopped across the pillow as she sniffled, then moaned.

Jamie released a startled cry, just watching in relief as she flexed unused muscles.

Claire stilled, eyes focused on him. She looked awkward and unsure.

He cursed himself for putting distance between them. She should have woken with her hand in his as he watched her closely for any simple comfort he could provide.

Jamie raced back to her side. “Thank Christ,” he whispered, kneeling to adjust the pillow under her as she sat up.

Claire tensed and leaned back into the pillow as their eyes met. Jamie wished he didn’t see it, but there was fear in her expression.

“C—Claire…” he soothed. “It’s over. You’re whole.” His mouth curved into what might have been a smile, but it apparently had no calming effect.

She gulped and took shallow breaths, wild eyes looking anywhere but at him. A panic attack.

Understanding dawned on Jamie. She didn’t remember. Dr. Abernathy’s term returned to him: Concussion. He wondered briefly how bad it would be, whether she would remember him at all. He wouldn’t be able to bear hearing her call him “Alex” or “Agent Malcolm” without a hint of the flirtatious banter or sultry tone of jest that usually accompanied the nicknames.

He couldn’t bear not to know, either.

“Seas, a leannan,” he cooed. He curled his fingers under her jaw. “Breathe with me, mo ghraidh.”

Her eyes locked on his as he spoke the language of his heart. “… Jamie?” Her face lit with hope.

Jamie’s nerves unknotted themselves. “Just me.” His other hand smoothed her tangled curls from her glistening face.

Claire’s breathing slowed as she leaned her cheek into his palm, grimace giving way to peace.

He boosted himself into the bed beside her, relief flowing through him as she curled into him, careful of the IV running between them.

“I’ve been having terrible dreams, I think…” She shook her head. “I was worried I’d dreamt it all.”

“Nay, mo nighean donn.” He kissed the side of her head, her sweaty neck, anywhere he could reach as his palm stroked down her side.

Claire’s hand flew to her middle, features crinkling once more. “Our baby, is everything...?”

“A braw one like ye,” he managed to choke out. “Has a good wee heart, I’ve heard it myself.”

________________________________________

 The door squealed open again just as Dr. Abernathy finished setting up the ultrasound machine.

Claire exhaled as her extended family piled through the door.

Amid the bustle of activity in the crowded room, she and Jamie had barely managed to speak discreetly about all that had occurred that day.

Claire had insisted on letting Jamie squeeze her hand as Nurse Cameron had placed five stitches under his right eye. His grip had been mild, but he had let her see him wince as the nurse had tied off the final suture. They had no secrets, and if she could bear a bit of his pain, she would.

She had stroked his curls as he recounted all the possibilities that had raced through his mind at the mere suggestion that Brian Fraser was alive. Much as he wanted to find out for himself, Jamie couldn’t risk investigating if it meant leaving Claire and the baby behind.

His tears had soaked into her gown as he apologized for not suspecting Frank sooner and taking care of the problem himself.

“Shh, shh,” she had whispered. “You had nothing to go on. I can just imagine it, ‘Metropolitan Police Protection Officer breaks into the House of Commons to tackle Home Secretary to the ground.’” She had scratched his stubbled chin. “You’d still be in gaol now.”

Jamie had snorted against her shoulder, shaking with the force of her own laughter. “It’s no’ funny, Claire.”

“Are you quite sure?” she had asked, lips curled. “I’m looking forward to the joy of seeing both those characters put away for awhile.”

“Aye,” he had rasped. “I’ll see to it, a nighean.”

Claire had tilted his chin to lock eyes with him. “We will.”

Jamie had sniffled and nodded firmly, grasping her palm to place a kiss there.

Fergus set Germain at the foot of her hospital bed, but her nephew jumped onto her sore legs instead. “Auntie Bear!” he cried.

She tried to withhold her groan as she gathered him to her. “Gracious, but you’re getting big, my lad.”

Claire got a lovely whiff of his lingering baby scent as her sister-in-law stooped beside her bed and took her face in both hands. “How are ye, a chridhe?”

Claire grasped her hands over Marsali’s. She had never been able to hide anything from the other woman’s intuitive gaze, so she shouldn’t have been surprised when Marsali glanced down then met her eye knowingly. She darted a glance to Jamie, who shrugged helplessly in the midst of feasting on his newly delivered hamburger and chips.

“My wife read your chart,” Fergus’s voice sounded as he closed in on their huddle to ruffle her curls. “Congratulations, ma cherie.”

Claire laughed and took a wonderfully full breath. “I don’t suppose I could have kept it from you for long. You might have been suspicious otherwise when I booked an appointment with you.” She squeezed Marsali’s hand before leaning into Fergus’s arm around her shoulders.

“Alright, Ms. Beauchamp,” Joe interrupted the lovingly chaotic scene.

Claire smiled up at him. In the half hour since he’d walked in to find her conscious, she had already grown to like the young doctor for his wit and gentle manner.

Nurse Cameron gestured that she was ready with the cool gel.

Fergus swept Germain out of her lap as Jamie nestled closer on the edge of her bed, shielding her as she wrestled the thin hospital gown up over her hips.

A few minor adjustments later and Claire’s eyes filled with tears as she watched a tiny form swim on the screen in front of her. She held onto Jamie – perhaps not as tightly as he clutched her – to make sure it still wasn’t a dream.

She had no idea how she’d do it all, but knew she could with the support of those around her.

[all-hail-the-witcher]

out of time

so this is an original work. and yes, i did tag list it because i want to know if people like it/find it interesting. ive been slowly building this universe for the last like 6 years and i legitimately want to write a novel in this universe and this might be the beginnings of the first chapter. you dont have to read it if you dont want to though.

_____

genre: angst i guess

warnings: implied death/violence, visions that could be interpreted as hallucinations, implied anxiety, distress

words: 2791

editing: yes

*note: the bold and italics together represent talking telepathically (sorry if its confusing)

_____

Lynnie where are you?

Trace counted slowly to five as he waited to hear his sister’s response echo in his head.

Dance floor, came his sister’s gentle voice. Your 1 o’clock.

Trace’s eyes scanned the dance floor below him before finally landing on his little sister. The ancient castle that the Friday night dances were held in was definitely not Trace’s favorite place, but tonight he was willing to put aside his hatred for the drafty candlelit rooms and appreciate the long walkway at the top of the grand staircase for giving him a full view of the room below. His shoulders relaxed as he saw Lynnie on the arm of some boy with too much gel in his hair. Her massive poof of an evening gown glistened like freshly fallen snow in the candlelight as she twirled.

Don’t knock over the punch bowl again, he warned, savoring the uncharacteristic misstep he saw her take.

Oh shut up. He could practically hear her eye roll. What’s up though? Do you see someone?

Trace was certain that nothing was amiss and normally he trusted his instincts, but tonight he took his time scanning the area again, even squinting at the frosted glass windows for good measure, just to be sure he hadn’t missed anything. No, he thought, shifting his weight back and forth subtly so he could feel the small vial tap against his chest. I just have a feeling.

He watched as Lynnie curtseyed, bidding farewell to the boy she was dancing with before navigating her way through the crowd and towards the staircase.

Hold tight, I’m coming.

Trace nodded, unable to formulate a response. His hands were suddenly itching to grasp the vial.

Trace’s Gift was both a blessing and a curse. On one hand, it helped many people and saved countless lives. But on the other hand, it meant that he had to take a horrifying look into the future, which was often not the happiest place. It wasn’t as if he could prepare for it either, he never knew when his Gift would demand to be felt.

The urge to grab the vial jerked through his body again, jolting him forward into the railing. The room began to blur in front of him and he squeezed the ornately carved wood with such force that he was sure it would break. Lynnie please, I need you, Lynnie please, please, Lynnie-

A hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped, reaching blindly into the inside of his navy blue suit jacket for his father’s knife, cursing himself for letting his guard down.

“Hey! It’s just me! I’m here.”

“Lynnie.” The immediate safety his sister emanated overwhelmed him and he slumped forwards into her unexpecting arms, the knife clattering to the ground, forgotten. Lynnie tensed as she attempted to keep him from drowning in her dress and he distantly wondered if she was worried. Surely she should know that this was just another vision, right? There was no real need for her to worry, the visions themselves weren’t the dangerous part. It was what happened after that she should be worried about.

But then again he had just collapsed on her, and dropped his knife accidentally for the first time since he’d been seven and gotten scared by a mouse that had snuck into the training room. That mouse had been scary, scary scary mouse. But he had just wanted to touch it, touch it, just touch it-

Lynnie’s muttered uncharacteristic string of curse words interrupted his thoughts. “Just hang on a minute Trace.”

Had he said that out loud? Oh no. Even at their worst, Trace had always had control over his visions. He firmly clamped his mouth shut, choosing instead to focus on the pressure of Lynnie’s arm around his shoulder as she guided him into one of the private rooms, away from the people that were undoubtedly staring at the scene he was making them. Hopefully no one would tell his mother about this embarrassment.

Before they could duck into the safety of the room, Trace’s hand unpinned itself from his side and thrust itself at the vial. He struggled against the unseen force drawing his hand towards his neck. “Stop...it,” he grunted, squeezing his eyes shut forcefully. Lynnie froze next to him, no doubt staring at the spectacle in front of her. Lynnie. He couldn’t let her see him like this, succumbing to an invisible force. With renewed determination he clenched his fist tightly and finally managed to fling his arm back in the opposite direction.

He opened his eyes, unable to hide his relief as he felt the tension momentarily drain from his body. He could control this. All he had to do was get into the room.

He reached out to grab the doorway, ready to pull himself inside and get the vision over with already when the air became still. Too still. He squinted suspiciously, straining his ears for even a snippet of the previously overwhelming noise from the dance below. Trace slowly turned his head down towards his chest, dread overcoming him once again. Screams bounced around his head, imploring him to just touch the vial already! His hands were stuck, floating in the air, unsure whether to listen to his mind or his heart. One commanding voice rose above the rest, drowning them out.  

Look at your sister. What do you see?

Trace’s gaze hardened as he forced himself to focus. Lynnie emerged from the fuzziness, holding up the majority of his weight despite the fact that she was wearing a huge blue sequined ball gown and heels. In that ball gown he knew there were exactly five hidden knives in addition to her white pouch of fairy dust. She was wearing their grandma’s diamond necklace and chandelier earrings, her long blonde hair arranged in an elaborate updo. One of her earrings had scratched the side of her neck and he found himself wanting to reach into his own fairy dust bag and smear some over the minnescule mark. The delicate silvery swirls of her dust marks graced her shoulders and bare arms, their familiar patterns grounding him. Tiny lines puckered up between her eyebrows and around her mouth, the only evidence suggesting she was worried. Her eyes, the same steely blue-green as his, remained unreadable.

No. Look deeper. What do you see?

Trace squinted. There was the tiny scar above her left eyebrow that she had gotten when she was six and trying to shoot her bow for the first time. The arrow had rebounded backwards and smashed into her forehead. He had never told anyone, but looking at his sister’s face frozen in shock with blood gushing out of her forehead had been the first time he had been really, truly worried. The spray of freckles across her nose looked exactly like the ones that littered his mother’s face. She was the only one of all his siblings that shared their mother’s freckles. Her silver hoop earring glinted in the candlelight from its position at the top of her ear. He had given her that piercing at two am in their kitchen when she had been thirteen and their father had said she couldn’t get one. She referred to it as the “first of many acts as a rebellious teen” and so far she hadn’t disappointed. There was the birthmark on her right wrist that looked like an x. She often joked that she had probably been stabbed there in a past life because “x marks the spot.” Everytime she mentioned it he couldn't help but shudder - he did not like the thought of his sister ever being stabbed, no matter what life it had been. She was too important for him to ever fathom losing. Her eyes were set, the determined glint in them reminding him of the way she looked when he proposed a crazy idea to her, except there was something else there as well. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on…

“Trace?”

He snapped back into the present, immediately resuming fighting his body as his eyes clouded over again. “Hm?”

“Are you ready to go inside?”

Strangely enough, he smiled despite the circumstances, finding himself grateful for his sister’s perpetual calm and collected state. She was always so dependable, there without question any time he needed her. He could only hope that she thought the same of him.

He nodded, letting himself be led through the doorway before slumping to the floor, not trusting the bed in the slightest. Who knew what kinds of unspeakable things had happened there.

“I need- it's- the vial, the one around my neck,” he said, quieting the screaming voices clouding his consciousness. “It’s time.”

She nodded in understanding. “What do you want me to do?”

“Pull me out.”

Unable to wait for a response, Trace’s hand snapped up from his side again, this time successfully clutching the vial, issuing a guttural scream as images flashed faster than lightning before his eyes. With every anxious breath the images cycled faster and faster, until he couldn’t see anything but color after color after color until they morphed together to form a murky image.

It was dark. That was all he was able to register, darkness. And water. Somewhere water was dripping, pinging against what must have been a stone floor. A door banged open and a bright white shaft of light splayed in, illuminating the bars of the jail cell in front of him. He shielded his eyes, blinking as he scanned the area. To his horror, when he looked into the cell across from him he was met with a gaunt skeleton person staring blankly back at him, their blue-green eyes empty. But he wasn’t the only one. There was another in the cell next to that, and next to that, and as far as Trace could see in the eerie lighting. He looked back to the person in the cell across from him, inhaling sharply when he noticed red marks glinting on their arms, like dust marks that had been ripped off.

Heavy footsteps echoed off the cells and he craned his neck. Coming towards him was a tall man with clean cut hair. He walked slowly, peering into each cell as he went, but said nothing to its inhabitants. Behind him was a girl with a roughly cut black bob, her silhouette flicking on the wall as if she wasn’t really there. The only thing he could see was her eyes, bright purple against the blackness. She was gone as soon as she had come and it was just the man again. The man was close to his cell now. There was a muffled curse from the cell across from him and something glinted against the man’s all black ensemble, something long and pointy and sharp and-

The dim cell block swirled and changed. This time there was a girl with short hair and blunt bangs dressed in green and brown traipsing through the woods. Peeking out from under her shirt were silver dust tattoos, swirling down her shoulders and arms in a familiar pattern, catching the light in the exposed places. Her brown eyes were heavy as she trekked through an overgrown pathway with shaky steps, a sword sheathed on her back. No, not just any sword. His sword. The family one that had been passed down through so many generations that they had lost track. What was she doing with his sword?

As she came closer he could see a boy trailing behind her, his mouth moving with words Trace couldn't hear. But while the girl’s clothes blended into her surroundings, the boy was wearing a tattered pink shirt that made him stick out against the trees. It was clear that he was bothering the girl, and Trace wondered why she didn’t just ditch him. Tactically, he didn’t seem any more useful than a pile of leaves.

The girl, still ignoring the boy’s rambling, tensed slightly and slowed her pace. Up ahead, two figures had appeared on the path in the traditional green fight clothes, weapons drawn. The girl unsheathed the sword and he saw her flinch as her eyes hardened, the briefest flash of blue in a sea of brown. He opened his mouth to call out but words escaped him as the colors flashed again.

This time when the haze cleared he was outside the castle. People dressed in formalwear were running around him, clinking their various blades against an army of black-clad soldiers on a moon-lit battlefield. Screams and cries echoed against the blooming red sky. Distantly, the raid siren was blaring. Instincts kicking in, Trace felt himself taking a low stance and reaching into his jacket for a blade.

One black-clad figure flew past him, sword drawn, target locked. Trace followed the figure's path as he ran several more steps before smacking his blade against one of a blonde boy wearing a navy blue suit that had obviously seen better days. The blonde boy moved in a familiar manner as he jumped, dodged and stabbed at the blade of his attacker. His skill was apparent, but there was doubt clouding his features. Despite the enemy in front of him, the blonde boy’s sword began to hesitate, deflecting the blows only at the last minute until the opposing blade ripped open his dress shirt, gushing blood onto the cobblestones. The dark figure jumped over the body and onto his next victim, but Trace found himself staring at the fallen boy, his stomach sinking with every breath.

He looked up, scanning the crowd of tattered fighters, half hoping that he wouldn’t see her, that this wasn’t possible. There were too many people, she would never find them. But a path appeared in the chaos there she was, blonde hair coming undone as she ran, shreds of blue ball gown cascading around her as she dodged attacker after attacker, heading straight towards the fallen boy at Trace’s feet.

She sank down beside him, tears already staining her cheeks as she swiftly grabbed his sword and scabbard. She placed a gentle hand on the ripped shoulder of his suit, pieces of her hair falling in front of her face like a curtain, giving her a much needed sense of privacy. But Trace could still see her shaking hands reach down and unclip something from around the boy's neck, fastening it instead to her own. She leaned her face down, lips moving in some inaudible phrase before she kissed the boy's forehead. She stood slowly, keeping her eyes trained on the boy for as long as possible before a shout from somewhere further down startled her and she tore past Trace, away from the battle, down the street and-

Come back to me Trace.

Trace gasped, the bloody cobblestone street and clashing blades slipping away as he was drawn back by Lynnie’s voice. He left his eyes closed, focusing on his sweat dripping off his nose and onto his hands, which were tightly clasped in his sister’s. He didn’t move as he attempted to process the fragmented scenes that he had just witnessed. His eyes grew heavy as he found himself arriving at the same conclusion each time. The Gift never lied, he had learned that the hard way. This time though he couldn’t help but hope that it was wrong. It had to be wrong. There was no way that-

Trace. Breathe, Lynnie’s voice spoke in his head. Thankfully she had the sense not to speak out loud. But then, she always seemed to know exactly what he needed. He should have told her that more often.

Almost involuntarily, he felt his lungs fill with much needed air again and again, pushing his tears pushed further and further down with every breath.

What did you see?

I, uh, Trace paused, not knowing how to articulate what he had seen. Normally he always shared his visions with Lynnie, but this time he didn’t think he could. Well, not entirely. There were still things she needed to know. The time had come and he had to pass the job onto her now. What he needed to say had to be said out loud.

“I know what the vial around my neck is,” he whispered, voice rough with emotion.

Lynnie waited several long moments to respond. “What is it?”

“It’s hope,” he looked up at her for the first time and took a deep breath, holding onto as much of the calm moment as he could. He knew it wasn’t going to last. “Protect it at all costs.”

In the distance, the raid sirens began to blare.

_____

for a culmination of 6 years of work its not the best. but i like the au i created and i would be open to writing fics in that au to develop it more if people want. or i also have like, 2 other characters developed in this universe and if people want i could write about them 

anyway thanks for reading, comments are always appreciated, hmu to be on the tag list

tag list

@fairly-awkward-trashcan

@sun-kissed-star

@racetrackcook

@ughwaitwhat

@aw-jus-let-em-try​

@voice-foundshoe-lost​

@stopthe-presses

@pinecovewoods

@i-got-no-clue-what-im-doing​

@getchapapes

@be-more-chill-evan-hansen​

@stellar-alpaca

@saxoph-ella

@smolcanadiankid​

@disney-princess-sized​

@the-newsies-justice-for-zas-blog​

@spot-conlon-king-of-brooklyn

@have-we-got-news-for-you

@thatfancyclam

@legoflambwrites​

@albertdasillvaprotectionsquad​

@entschuldigung-bitches

@thebroadwayaesthetic

@tea-and-theater

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@deathcast-s

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@hopefully-not-the-ghostbusters​

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@albert-eats-cookie-cake​

@nico-nat

@localfakeitalian

@carryyourownbanner

@writing-makes-me-antsy

@racetrackyeetgins

@panpervinca

[dr-who-said-lgbtq-rights]

Hey so ive been writing recently (I know gasp lmao) I find I can really stick with writing if I do it between 9-10 pm so thats what ive been doing and i have three chapters written so far??? Im so happy with myself :)

Anyway I wanted to share the first chapter on here with yall, I’ll put it under a “keep reading” thingy, but if you could read it that would be amazing!!

tw: death

Chapter 1: It Had Begun

The air was cold and damp and quiet as the grave. A breeze drifted through the air, too weak to be felt but strong enough to slowly push the pillowy clouds of fog that had formed over the river. The lazy currents passed by small, moss-green foothills that eventually grew into formidable sapphire mountains. The river was also wide, wide enough that, in order for someone standing on one pebbly shore to see the other, they would have to squint their eyes nearly shut and tilt their head just so.

While it may have been hard to see the opposite shore, it was certainly not hard to see the gargantuan creature dwelling in the river. As wide and flat as the river, the beast resembled a koi fish, with its long barbells and patterned scales. This fish, however, was more of a greenish-blue hue than koi fish tend to be. It also had six eyes.

This remarkable being was the Guardian, a creature with both incredible power and wisdom, as well as a good sense of humor. Its duty was to swim the river, called the Stream of the Stars, and make sure the multiverse was taken care of. It had done so for nearly three googol years, and it planned to do so for the rest of time.

But, as anyone could tell you, plans never work out the way you want them to.

It was the 3.2978534^100th year of the multiverse (for you non-math people, we’ll call it the “Really Bad Year”, for reasons that might be elaborated on later). The Guardian was doing what it always did: swimming in the Stream, laughing at its own jokes in between looking out for potentially universe-ending situations. While it never paid much attention to the shores (as one who lives alone tends to do), an odd disturbance coaxed the Guardian to one of them.

To its surprise, a figure stood firmly on the slick shore. Their dark cloak was drenched, making the Guardian wonder just how long the being had been standing amid the fog. It could hear the figure’s breathing: quick and raspy, like a smoker who had just won a marathon would sound.

“Who are you?” The Guardian asked, though not in the way you humans do. As a fish being, it couldn’t form words with its flubbery lips and fish tongue. Instead, it spoke telepathically, its words seeming to boom in the misty air.

“I am the End,” the figure replied. They appeared to talk like a human, despite not having a face.

“Ah yes, the End. My immortal enemy and shadow; the one to kill both me the multiverse I hold so dear.” The Guardian laughed, ignoring how morbid that might have sounded to you readers. “You’re about...”

The Guardian paused. Not a thoughtful pause, as a scholar would take when pondering a paragraph they had just read. No, this was an awkward pause, the kind well-meaning children make when they have to weasel their way out of trouble, the kind that twenty-somethings make when they have to tell their Aunt Gertrude why they won’t be attending her birthday. After this awkward pause had lasted a horrifically awkward time, the Guardian continued.

“...about 300 million googol years too early.”

It was the End’s turn to laugh. Their laugh was surprisingly nice, considering the proportions of their evil. While one might expect their laugh to be akin to nails on a chalkboard, the End’s laugh was more like that of one’s favorite grandfather, deep and joyful. Of course, considering their role in the Guardian’s life, the grandfather laugh didn’t really help matters.

“I assure you, I am right on time.” The End wheezed, recovering from laughter. “I have been looking forward to this moment since the beginning.”

“The beginning. Boy, that sure was a long time ago, wasn’t it? I was only the size of a large boat, and you had the loveliest voice voice. I wonder, do you still sing?” The Guardian reminisced.

“Quit stalling.” The End said, letting their impatience extend past their generally stoic exterior. “I’ve come to kill you, and that’s just what I’ll do.”

The Guardian sighed. “I suppose it would be rude to deprive you of your very point of existence. But would you please do one thing for me?”

The End said nothing. They only raised their hand and spun it a little, the universal sign for “well, get on with it already.”

“Would you please write this prophecy down for me? And then send it to the Center? Pretty please?” If the Guardian were capable of making puppy-dog eyes, it would be.

“And why,” The End said, “would I do this for you?”

“Simply to humor me, I suppose.” The Guardian mused. “After my death, the multiverse will only have six days until it is wiped from existence. It’s entirely likely that this property will yield nothing more than frantic scrambling.”

Silence ensued. The End was taking a scholarly pause, considering what the Guardian had just proposed. Finally, they spoke. “Speak quickly. I’ll only write it down once.”

“Splendid!” The Guardian cried, almost giggling. “The prophecy is as follows:

“In six winks of a serpent’s eyes,

Universes will fill with the sound of cries,

All will end in fire and torment, 

Leading up to all that is silent.

“The first to go will be on the edge,

The next slipping off a delicate ledge,

The third crying through pain and blood,

The fourth drowning in flaming flood,

“And the final will last, through days five and six,

Praying helplessly to Gods in Heavens,

All will die, all will burn,

If not for the one whose eyes will turn.”

The End scribbled the final words on to a summoned scroll of parchment. As soon as the pen left the page, the paper began to burn. It smoked until nothing but an ash or two remained, a sure sign of its delivery to the Center. 

“Some of that was rather... cheesy.” The End finally remarked.

“I know, I know,” the Guardian said. “Now that my business has been taken care of, you are free to take care of yours.”

The End bowed. They reached into their cloak and pulled out a sword. It was long, almost to the point of comedy, but a sword must be long if it is to cut the Guardian.

The fish blinked its eyes several times, the way you humans do when you try to erase your tears.

The End raised their sword and brought it down in one quick, smooth motion.

The Guardian laid still, its eyes unblinking. The gentle breeze that had been animating the fog ceased, giving the scene an increasingly eerie feel.

The End disappeared from the Stream of Stars.

It had begun.

~END CHAPTER 1~

YEEEEEE I WROTE A CHAPTER!!!! and as of me finishing transferring this I have six chapters written! If this post gets 50 notes I’ll post Chapter 2! plz don’t let this flop i’m really excited about this

[general-mahamatra]

Picture This (Chapter 1)

Pairing: Ralbert (slow burn), eventual background Javey

Genre: Romance, fantasy

TW: N/A

Wordcount: 6955

A filmography camp during July didn’t sound that bad. A month long and spanning the entire month full of classes to help students improve their filming and acting, it sounded wonderful! Except for the fact it was hosted right next to the Atlantic Ocean. It couldn’t be that bad, right? Wrong.

Albert had signed up for the camp a year ago when one of his professors mentioned it. He didn’t expect to actually win the raffle for a fully paid scholarship from the college considering at least 200 kids had put their names in. But, here he was, hundreds of miles away from home surrounded by other teenagers and young adults he’d never met in his life.

Of course, like the idiot he was, he forgot to check the location.

Albert hated the ocean for years. Nearly a decade now actually. He had been on vacation with his little sister and his parents when he was ten, the last time he had ever stepped near an ocean.

--

“Albert, come on!” His sister called, waving her hands in the air. She held her goggles in a tight fist as she tried to get his attention. “You gotta come get in the water with me!”

With a soft chuckle, Albert kicked off his sandals and ran down to the water to stand by his sister. “Get in the water with you, eh?” A mischievous grin started to tug at his lips. “So be it.” The ginger grabbed his little sister under her arms, much to her surprise, and began to carry her to the water.

Her squeals of protest kept pausing to give way to her shrieking laughter. “Albie, stop! Albie!” She was cackling by the time Albert was up to his knees in the ocean. “Albie put me down!”

“Put you down?” He asked, his expression shifting into a smirk. “Gladly!”

“Wait, no-!”

Albert hefted his sister one last time before chucking her into the water. Her scream was cut off with a loud splash. A few moments later, the small girl burst to the surface and was giggling.

She swam back to her brother until she could stand. When her feet were planted, she grinned and leaped on him. She wrapped her arms around his neck and, with the help of the incoming wave, knocked him out of balance. They both fell under the water.

The sudden motion surprised Albert. His eyes shot open under the murky water. He couldn’t see anything, not even the form of his sister whose entire body weight was pressed against him. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his neck, holding him down as yet another wave passed over them. The current pulled them further down only to shove them along in a tumble.

The ginger grabbed his sister as he tried to right himself to be able to stand and pulled her up with him. Once they were above, Albert gasped and unlatched his sister. When she was standing next to him, laughing and messing with the straps of her one piece, Albert shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. He proceeded to wipe his eyes before looking down at his sister. With a glare, he lightly shoved her head. “Look what you did! We could’ve drowned!”

Neither of them truly took that fact seriously, though. Both of them ended up laughing at the situation and his sister even tried to do it again. This time, Albert was prepared. Instead of being thrown under the water, he just spun around and dunked her.

As soon as she was back above the surface, her eyes were shining with mischief. She let go of Albert and slapped his arm. “Tag, you’re it!” She shouted. Before Albert could even reach out and hit her, she was swimming off.

“You’re dead!” Albert called. He ran after her, slipping down below the surface to swim. She had goggles, he didn’t, which meant he would have to keep his head above the surface.

It didn’t take long for Albert to catch up to his sister. He grabbed her ankle as she tried to kick water in his face. “You’re it!”

“Albie!” She shrieked. A large smile was plastered on her little round face. By the time she was free and able to chase after her brother, Albert was already swimming off.

He kept going further and further away from shore, leading his sister into deeper waters. Albert would occasionally glance behind him to see if she was still following (she was). Eventually, he came to a stop, both tired but also greedy. He kept treading water as the waves kept shoving him up and pulling him down. Yet, as his eyes scanned over the surrounding ocean, he couldn’t find her.

The next thing Albert knew, something grabbed his leg and pulled him under. His totally manly scream was cut off by saltwater forcing its way into his mouth. It started to shove its way down his throat and his panic got the best of him. He took whatever was holding onto him and ripped it off. Within moments, he was back to the surface sputtering and coughing. Just next to him, another head popped up: his sister.

“What the heck?” Albert exclaimed, attempting to rub his eyes as he tried to stay above the churning water. “Why would you do that?”

When he didn’t get an answer, Albert squinted past the dripping water. The sting of the saltwater burned his eyes but when he realized he couldn’t see his sister, his eyes shot right open.

“Hey sis?” He called. “Sis, where are you?” Albert continued to spin around until he saw her head pop up for a split second a couple feet away. He immediately began to move. He swam in her direction and went to reach for her but soon found himself caught off guard by another wave.

Albert was sucked down far below the surface. He made the mistake of opening his mouth and was assaulted by a sudden surge of even more saltwater. His sense of direction fell away as his focus was suddenly on the need for air. He couldn’t breathe and the more he tried to, more water forced its way into his lungs.

By some miracle, Albert was able to get to the surface. But, by some sort of terrible force that decided he needed some horrible luck, Albert was pulled right back under. He hadn’t been able to get any air in before he was surrounded by the near-opaque water.

During his panic, his vision began to close around him. Darkness started to slither in from the corners, trying to completely cover his sight. The more it encroached, the slower and more sporadic his movement became.

Before his awareness gave entirely away, he felt a pair of arms wrap around his torso.

He opened his eyes to a repetitive pressure on his chest. His vision was blurry and his eyes burned but he wasn’t able to focus on that. The next thing he knew, he was coughing and vomiting. Rushes of water spewed from his mouth as he quickly pushed himself into a semi sitting position. It drenched the sand below him, along with his lunch from earlier.

It wouldn’t stop for what felt like ages, but when it did, he fell back with his face to the sky. The faint sound of muffled speech reached his ears but never processed.

Before he fell back into unconsciousness, he saw the fuzzy image of a young boy with curly… blonde? Brown? Hair. He didn’t remember seeing a kid like that.

Albert woke up to a slow beeping nearby. It was consistent and high pitched right next to his head. When it didn’t stop, he groaned and pressed his hands against his eyes. Well, he tried to. He felt an odd tug in the crook of his arm.

Opening his eyes, Albert glanced down at his arm and came to find an IV sticking out of it. He started to look around the room he was in and felt his stomach start to twist when he realized where he was. He was in a hospital room, laying in a small bed that faced a muted TV. To his left was a bright window with the blinds raised to let sunlight in. To his right was a monitor and some other medical equipment Albert didn’t recognize.

Albert’s gaze finally landed on a chair in the opposite corner of the room. In it, he saw his dad passed out with an open book in his lap.

“Dad?” The man didn’t move, so he tried again, this time a bit louder. “Dad?” That time his dad heard him and perked up. The moment his eyes landed on Albert, they lit up.

“You’re awake!” His dad closed the book without bothering to mark the page and got to his feet. He crossed the room over to Albert. When the ginger tried to sit up, his dad stopped him by pressing his chest. “Lay down, I don’t want you to strain yourself.”

Albert listened to the man and didn’t move to sit up again. “What happened?” His voice was small, barely audible if his dad wasn’t standing so close. “Dad?..”

His dad placed his hand on Albert’s arm, his expression growing solemn. The silence was uneasy for the boy. “Dad, what happened?”

The man pursed his lips and glanced away from his son. Albert grew anxious with each passing second.

“You and your sister… you got pulled under by the current,” the man admitted.

Albert’s stomach dropped at those very words. He wasn’t sure how to react or how to feel, to know both of them had gone under.

“Another boy your age managed to get ahold of you though and got you out,” his dad assured, gently rubbing his thumb along Albert’s arm. “He got you back to the shore and we made sure you were okay.”

“But what about..?”

Albert’s dad bit his lip and looked back at his son. He seemed so torn, like there was a battle in his own mind trying to figure out what to say, what to tell his son.

“We couldn’t find her.”

--

July 1st, 20XX

Albert sat at the top of the hill that looked down upon the exact same beach and ocean. Any other day, he would have avoided the water. He would have stayed back in the hotel they were all lodged in instead of agreeing to tag along with his roommate. But the night before he lost a bet and now he had to face his worst fear.

He wasn’t too excited to go down to the shore. He was rather content where he was in fact. The light breeze mixed with the warmth of the sun was soothing and kept Albert calm. He was able to sit there with his eyes closed to soak it all in for a while until someone started to nudge his shoulder.

“Come on Albert, you gotta follow through,” the voice said.

Albert opened his eyes and looked up at the newcomer. Standing above him was his roommate, Jack Kelly. He’d never met the brunet before yesterday, but they got along pretty well. Jack was definitely the kind of guy Albert would try and stay in contact with in the future, as hard as it would be.

With an eye roll, Albert turned his attention back to the ocean. “I don’t know. You never said when I had to do it.”

Jack scoffed and kicked the ginger’s leg. “Oh come on! We’re all waiting for you! You already have your trunks on.” Albert huffed and punched Jack’s leg in return.

“The only reason I even have these stupid things is because I planned on swimming in the pool, not the ocean,” he pointed out.

Apparently his roommate wouldn’t take that as an answer, because he grabbed Albert by his bicep and pulled him to his feet. “We’re gonna go swimming! Come on!”

Albert sighed and pulled his arm away from Jack. “I burn so easily, I don’t think it’s a good idea…” “Of course it is!” Jack exclaimed, throwing out his arms. “We have plenty of sunscreen down there, we can slather you right up!”

Albert shifted on his feet as he stared at the ocean. There really was no way for him to get out of the bet when he was already so far. After all, it has been ten years, so it wouldn’t hurt to step back in the water.

He pinched the bridge of his nose and then turned to Jack. “Fine, I’ll do it. But I’m not going any further than my knees.”

That answer seemed to be good enough for Jack as he was now dragging Albert onto the sand. The ginger let it happen. There was no way he could get out of it at this rate.

It wouldn’t be too bad, right? He’d just take a couple steps into the water, turn around and announce to his roommate he did it, then get back out. No big deal!

At least, that’s what Albert thought on his way down the small hill of sand. By the time his sandals were off and his bare feet was on wet sand, logic was out of the window. His feet stuck to where they were as he stared wide-eyed at the large expanse of murky green water.

The shouts and laughter around him started to fade into the background as Albert began to fixate of the waves before him. Up and down, all of the foam gathering and spraying as it ran into people. All he could do was stare at the ever approaching and receding water.

A hand on his shoulder made Albert jump and turn around, snapping him out of the small trance. Jack eyed him with an unreadable expression. If it was pity, Albert was going to deck him.

“Are you alright?” Jack asked. Concern flashed across his features in the process.

“I- yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Albert pushed Jack’s hand off of his shoulder. “I just… I don’t think I can do it today.”

Jack smiled. “That’s valid. You can just sit on our towels and sunbathe or something while we head out into the water.” With that, Jack turned and started to walk away from the ocean. He was soon followed by Albert in an attempt to get as far away from the water as possible.

When Albert got settled on the towels and removed his shirt to slather himself in sunscreen, Jack and some of the others they had just met ran off towards the ocean. He envied them and their ability to run and swim their hearts out in the torrent of waves. He used to be able to do that without a care in the world but now he was stranded on the coast.

Over the course of the next few minutes, Albert ended up laying back and relaxing in the sunlight. The feeling of the rays hitting his skin was soothing, the warmth soaking into him and leaving him feeling like he could lay there for hours.

Eventually, after what felt like not nearly enough time, Albert sat up and opened his eyes. He stretched for a good moment before twisting to crack his back. He wasn’t sure how long he had been laying there since he hadn;t actually brought his phone out with him. None of the others had returned during that time, meaning it couldn’t have been that long.

Instead of returning to his wonderful position where he had been basking in the sunlight, Albert simply crossed his legs indian style and looked out at the groups of teenagers and young adults playing in the water. They were all enjoying themselves. Splashing each other, tossing a ball around, jumping in the waves… everyone had something fun to do.

It’s not like Albert was upset about that or anything. In fact, he was rather content where he was. It was more how he felt like he was missing out. After all, they only got so many true down days at the beach during the camp. Yeah, they would probably head out to the shore for different activities, but that’s not the same as bonding with new people by messing around in the ocean.

Albert sighed and leaned back, pressing his hands into the sand behind him for support. He may not get to meet any new people aside from Jack and his friends during the down days, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t be able to chat with people during the rest of the month’s events. According to the itinerary, they would be spending a lot of time outdoors. It’s actually pretty nice.

To add to, it’s not like he’ll stay in touch with anyone he meets. None of the people in attendance actually go to his college. They come from all over the country in fact. According to Jack, though, most students that come are barely supported by scholarships. It costs a lot of money to go to such a camp, especially one as big as the film camp they’re in. Albert had quickly realized just how lucky he was to have been given the opportunity to attend such a thing for free. After all, his professor was more than willing to help pay.

As his eyes lazily trailed over the group of people not too far ahead of him, his gaze landed on one overly boisterous, blonde boy. His smile was wide as he tousled around with two other guys, throwing each other into the water. Every time he was tossed down he somehow managed to get up faster than any of the others. It was almost like he was used to the water. Albert wouldn’t doubt the kid was probably on a swim team.

What truly set the boy apart from the rest of the group was just how obnoxious his damn swim trunks were. Bright red! Bright freaking red! Who in their right mind would bring such a thing with them to a filmography camp where there are so many fashion snobs just waiting to pick at your style?

Not Albert, that’s for sure.

But this guy? God, this guy had some guts bringing such a bold statement to wear at the beach. Not that Albert was judging him. He’s not a fashion snob in the slightest. It just baffled him that this boy really didn’t seem to care at all.

It didn’t take long for Albert to grow bored of watching the others mess around. So, instead of staring blankly at other people, he instead tilted his head back so he faced the sky. The warmth of the sun felt even better in that moment. With his eyes shut, he was able to focus on his other senses. He could feel the cool breeze that ghosted his skin and the heat of the sand under his hands and legs. Oh, and the sound of the ocean… it was beautiful, as much as the thought of stepping into the murky waters scared him. Being able to just bask in the moment like a little reptile was all Albert really wanted.

“You’re wearing trunks but you haven’t even gotten in the water?”

Albert opened his eyes and lifted his head so he could glare at whoever just spoke. Whoever decided it was a good idea to interrupt his moment of peace surely didn’t understand what it was like. Who in their right mind would try to snap someone out of a pleasant moment like that? He just wanted to sit there in peace without having to deal with going into the ocean and-

The first thing Albert saw was the goddamn red shorts. He groaned.

“Why does it matter?” He asked, now craning his neck to actually look at the guy’s face. Damn, those were some blue eyes.

The guy blinked and stood there for a moment. Did he not know how to respond? The boy huffed and pointed at Albert’s trunks. “Usually when a guy wears a swimsuit to the ocean, they go in the ocean!”

Albert shrugged. “What if I don’t wanna?”

“What if you don’t- WHAT?” The comment definitely caught the guy off guard as he was now staring at Albert, his mouth parted in shock.

“I don’t wanna go in the ocean,” Albert repeated. “Do I need to say it again?”

With a shake of his head, the blonde was quick to respond. “No, no it’s all good. I just- I’ve never had someone tell me they don’t want to.” He bit his lip and glanced down, earning a raised eyebrow from Albert. Silence hung between them in a now-awkward tension until the boy spoke. “Do, uh… do you want company?”

Albert’s expression shifted to a frown. “Company? Why?” “I don’t know, you seemed kinda lonely,” the boy said. “Thought you might enjoy it.”

Albert scoffed but patted the ground next to him anyway. “Yeah, sure, why not.”

When the boy sat down, the tension returned as neither of them spoke. The silence felt as though it were gripping Albert, tightening his muscles and keeping him still because if he moved, what if it did something weird to the situation? You know, how you just kinda sit there and wait for the other person to do something because dear Lord, Albert refused to be the one to break the tension.

To keep himself occupied, Albert returned his attention to the group messing around. He struggled to keep his eyes trained on them, as he found himself occasionally starting to glance over at the blonde.

Why did he want to sit next to him? What made him stop messing around with the other guys? Did he even want to talk? What would they talk about if he did? Or was he just messing with him… or was he part of the group last night when he was dared to face his horrid phobia?

“So, are you here for the film camp?” The boy asked.

Albert, now startled out of his thoughts, jumped and tried to play it off as he turned to face the blonde. “Uh… yeah. Yeah, I am.” Albert paused and licked his lips, not entirely sure what else to say. “Do you- are you here for it too?”

There was a moment of hesitation from the other. His eyes dropped down to his lap where he was now fiddling with one of the strings on the hideous red shorts. “I mean, you could say so?”

Albert frowned yet again. What kind of answer was that?

After a couple seconds, Albert cleared his throat and sat up to rest his arms in his lap. “That’s cool.”

Albert was starting to hate how awkward the entire situation was. It was terrible, having to sit there watching the boy as people shouted all around them. It’s not like he could move either, as the looming quiet was holding him in place.

The boy seemed to feel the same way. At least, with the whole hating how awkward it was, because he once again tried to spark up conversation. “Where do you go to school? I’ve heard so many different answers today. People come from all over to this camp, don’t they?”

“Manhattan,” Albert said. “The New York Film Academy to be exact.”

“Damn,” the blonde breathed, now looking straight at Albert. “Jekyll Island is really far away. You seriously came that far? I guess I really shouldn’t be surprised. I just got lucky since I don’t live too far off. A lot of you people live so far away though!”

Albert chuckled at the boy’s reaction. “Yeah, New York is a good distance away. Who would’ve thought I’d be spending a month of summer vacation on a beach in Georgia.”

“Well, at least you picked a good beach.”

Albert rolled his eyes. “Yeah, right. The best thing about this beach is I get to sit on the sand without having to touch the water. I’d much rather go swimming in the pool at the hotel.”

“Well that’s boring,” the blonde said while crossing his arms. “Why would you go swimming in a pool when you’re so close to the ocean?”

“Because.”

The boy kept staring at Albert, waiting for a response. It didn’t take long for Albert to cave. “Maybe I didn’t want to swim in the ocean. I’m just not a fan of large bodies of water,” Albert said. “Is that a good enough answer?”

The boy narrowed his eyes at Albert for a few moments before dropping his hands in his lap. “Yup! All good on my end.” He then pointed at Albert, his expression growing somewhat stern for the few seconds that followed. “But I swear to you, I will get you in that ocean if its the last thing I do because damn, you’d have a lot of fun out there!” “Excuse me?” Albert asked, taken aback by the sudden change in tone.

“What? You looked like a lost puppy staring at us while I was messing around with those guys!” The boy exclaimed, a smile starting to form on his lips. “You think I’m going to let you sit around and just watch everyone have fun?” “...Yes?”

“No!” The boy poked Albert’s arm. “You’re going to have fun during this camp if it’s the last thing I do.”

Albert simply scoffed and shook his head.

--

July 2nd, 20XX

Albert was required to go to a photography class. It wasn’t so much about how to use a camera or take pictures, but rather about how to find the proper lighting and setting. After all, whether you’re behind the camera or out on the stage, you want to know just exactly what to do. It’s not like you want to do your best take only for the lighting to leave you in the shadows.

Throughout the month, Albert would have to attend multiple classes about photography and filmography, film editing, acting, dancing, and directing. The schedule was weirdly spaced out, at least for Albert. After comparing it to Jack’s, he soon found that the other had a much better layout for the next few weeks. That also meant Albert would have to talk to new people. Yay.

The instructor was going over the basics of how to use a camera. What each button meant, how to switch between modes and change the lighting, everything Albert already knew.

The students were given the option to bring their own cameras if they had any and, thank God, Albert had his own. He had used the camera for well over a year now, meaning he was well accustomed to it. So, he zoned out. His eyes wandered around the beach they were standing on.

Albert would’ve assumed that because they were taking a photography class, they would venture out into the rest of Jekyll Island. Instead, their task was to take pictures of what they could find on the beach: the ocean, seashells, animals, you name it.

While his bored gaze wandered around the beach, he had to do a double take when he spotted someone sitting not too far off. Floppy, curly blonde hair was being tossed around in the breeze as the guy faced the ocean. His hands were clasped in his lap, only reaching up once to straighten his blue and white striped shirt.

What was he doing here?

“Alright, get a move on! Be back here in two hours so we can look over your first photos!” The instructor announced, spreading her arms out wide. “Go show me what you can do!”

The group was hesitant to disperse when the instructor walked off. They hung together, some of them chatting amongst themselves and others just standing there. No one really seemed to know what to do until two of the students broke off. Once those two had left, the rest of the group started to go their separate ways.

This gave Albert the opportunity to indulge his curiosity. While everyone else split off to take pictures, Albert made a beeline to the boy.

Albert's hand rested on the camera that hung around his neck as he closed the distance between himself and the blonde. When he was within a few feet, the boy looked up and a large smile formed near instantly.

"What are you doing here?" Albert asked once he was standing over the boy.

"I'm enjoying the view," the boy said. He tilted his head at Albert. "Is that not allowed?"

Albert frowned. "Shouldn't you have a camera? You weren't even with the group for the assignment."

The guy pursed his lips for a moment before they twisted into a smirk. “Mm… I don’t know. But with that face of yours? I would love to have one just to see your face every day.”

Albert stared at the boy for a solid couple of seconds before scoffing and crossing his arms. “Yeah, sure. But seriously, where is your camera?”

“I don’t have one,” the blonde said.

“You-” Albert paused and looked down at the boy in utter confusion. “You don’t have a camera? Don’t you know they have some for every student to use? Especially for this class?”

“I’m not in the class.”

“You’re not- what? Then why are you here?” Albert asked. What in the world was this boy doing out on the beach with the photography group if he wasn’t part of it? “What class are you supposed to be in?” The boy shrugged. “I told you, I’m just trying to enjoy the view.”

Albert looked at the blonde in sheer disbelief. “Wow, okay.” He proceeded to press the palms of his hands over his eyes and take a deep breath. “Look, I have to take some photos. We have to get back together in two hours for inspection. So…”

“So… I’ll come with you!” The guy scrambled to his feet before Albert could even try and protest. “Where to?”

Albert stood there, now looking up at the guy. He licked his lips as he tried to think about what to do because he had not anticipated in the blonde wanting to come with. “Uh… okay. That works. Yeah.” He cleared his throat and glanced away. “I’m not entirely sure. I just know I need a good amount before time is up.”

The boy was quiet for a few moments before he pointed out at the ocean. “There’s no harm in taking a picture of the waves.”

Take a picture of the ocean? That is the most simplistic idea Albert had ever heard. While it was easy enough to get a good picture of the water, it was one of the most obvious decisions and Albert was pretty sure photography was not only about how good the photo was, but also the creativity. The guy had to be kidding.

“No, I don’t think-”

“Oh, come on! Just take a picture of the ocean!”

Albert sighed and lifted his camera. Judging from what he knew of the boy’s personality, if he didn’t take the picture, the guy was not going to shut up about it. Ever. Not in a million years.

As he peered through the lense, Albert scowled. There was no way the instructor would like a photo of the most simple subject. But, what harm would it do? With a couple back and forths between peering through the camera and adjusting the lighting settings, Albert was able to snap a picture of one of the incoming waves. After taking a glance at it, he did it a couple more times.

Once he was finished, Albert lowered the camera and scrolled through the couple pictures he took. They weren’t that bad, but definitely boring.

“Oh, I like that one!” The blonde pointed at the first photo Albert had taken. “It’s pretty!”

Albert rolled his eyes and let the camera rest against his chest. Part of the strap started to dig into his neck when he did this, but he made no move to fix it. “It’s just a picture of a wave, it’s no big deal. There has to be a lot better things around here I can take pictures of.”

“Well, yeah, I guess,” the blonde mumbled. “There’s a really cool beach here with a ton of driftwood and driftwood trees, but that’s on the far end of the island and would take absolute ages to get to. But around there there's a ton of birds and there’s also a sort of forest.”

Albert thought for a moment, now looking in the direction of the forest the guy had mentioned. “How about we go there. The forest, that is. There’s gotta be some cool plants I could get a picture of, maybe even animals if I’m lucky.”

And so off they went, walking side by side along the beach. It was a slow stroll, but not bad at all. The lapping of the ocean against the shore was soothing in a way, keeping Albert at ease despite all of the horrors of so much as touching the ocean.  He enjoyed the peace while he had it. The boy wasn’t talking, no one was shouting… it was just so calm.

“I never caught your name,” the blonde piped up, snapping Albert back to reality.

“Me?” Albert asked in shock. “Oh, yeah, duh. My name’s Albert.”

“Albert,” the boy said, as if he was testing the name. “That’s a boring name, can I call you sweetheart instead?” Albert choked on absolutely nothing. When he didn’t respond and only stared at him incredulously, the boy smiled. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

“What, no, I didn’t-”

The boy tsked and shook his head. “You already gave me your answer, sweetheart.”

Albert groaned and rubbed his face. There was no way he was going to avoid the nickname now, was there. “Just tell me your name then.”

“Race.”

Albert glanced back over at ‘Race’ with a raised eyebrow. “Race, what kind of name is that?”

“A nickname,” ‘Race’ said rather bluntly.

“Well, then, what’s your real name?”

‘Race’ stopped in his tracks and looked straight at Albert. A pondering expression replaced his amused one as he thought. It quickly switched back to his usual smile. “Racetrack.”

Albert stopped as well and met the taller boy’s gaze only to huff at the revelation. “Yeah, sure it is. Racetrack. What mother in their right mind would name their child Racetrack?”

“Not mine, that’s for sure,” Race admitted with a chuckle. “She honestly hates the nickname and how much it’s caught on. No one even seems to know my real name except for my family anymore.”

“I’m not sure if that’s hilarious or pitiful,” Albert mumbled as he turned to continue walking.

The two continued on their way along the beach. Every now and then, Race would point out different objects or plants for Albert to take pictures of. Most of the time, Albert would decline but occasionally he would amuse the guy and take the pictures.

The walk was nice. Every now and then they would pass by some other students who were out taking pictures for the class and they would wave. Well, more like Race would wave at the other student and make an entire awkward situation where Albert pretended not to see the person and would just keep walking.

When they came across an area with loosely spread out trees, Race stopped and motioned at it with a grand, dramatic gesture. “Here we are!”

Albert stopped next to Race and let out an exasperated sigh. This was not a forest at all. It was literally just some trees planted in an area meant for kids to play around or something. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Hey, you put me on the spot! I didn’t know what else to call the place and you didn’t ask any questions! It’s your fault for getting your hopes up,” Race proclaimed.

“I hate you, I really do,” Albert stated. “There is nothing on this planet that can change my mind.”

“Sure thing, sweetheart,” Race cooed as Albert began to head towards the trees. He was quick to follow after the ginger, sticking close as Albert looked up towards the top of the trees.

Race stayed quiet -- thank the Lord, amen -- as Albert squatted down on the ground and lifted his camera. He took a couple photos from that angle, adjusting the lighting here and there as he needed to get a better image. When he was satisfied with those photos, Albert got up and moved more towards the center of the small grove of trees.

This time, Albert lowered himself to the ground and lay down on his back. From there, he began the process of taking a couple more photos. It took a few tries to get his desired effect, but it worked soon enough.

While Albert was going over his photos after he dusted his back off, he was well aware of the presence that was Race hovering over his shoulder.

“Could you take some pictures of me?” Race asked.

“Huh?” Albert turned his head in an attempt to look at Race. “I mean, sure, why not?”

The answer must’ve made Race rather excited, as he was now sporting a goofy grin and looked like he was trying not to squeal like a little girl.

So, Albert, considering the requirements of the assignment, actually found himself much more willing than initially anticipated. He had to take pictures of things on or around the beach, she never said it couldn’t be people.

Albert tapped on the camera in thought. The problem was where he would take the pictures. All he had to work with was trees, bushes, and the open expanse of the ocean. Albert looked over Race as he tried to figure it out. Race had on nice blues and whites, so it was possible he could do them with the ocean. But, at the same time, he could probably find a way to work Race into the current surroundings.

No. No, he had to do it with the water otherwise it wouldn’t look good.

It was then when Albert realized that Race wasn’t wearing shoes. At all. Like, he didn’t even have sandals or flip-flops on. Race was flat out barefoot. Albert could make that work.

“Alright, I have an idea,” Albert finally said. Race stared at him expectantly. “Let’s go back to the beach.”

Race nodded and so began their short trek back to the shore. Soon enough, their feet were back on the sand and Albert was leading Race down towards the water.

“What are we gonna do?” Race asked, eyes wide with wonder. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

Albert pointed to where the remnants of waves lapped at the went sand. “Walk along there. Don’t be goofy or anything. Just walk.”

“That’s simple enough.” Race walked past Albert towards the water and glanced down at it then back at Albert. “Do you want me to walk normally or…”

“Act like you’re confident. Stand tall but also act like you’re sight-seeing. Maybe put your hands in your pockets and look out at the ocean from time to time. Just wing it,” Albert explained.

Race shrugged. “Sound’s good.”

As Race was getting ready to do what he was told, Albert lifted his camera and began to test the lighting. When it was where he wanted it, Albert gave the other a thumbs up.

And so, for the next twenty minutes, the two did their thing. Albert snapped multiple photos of Race being serious and then even more when they started to screw around. He got some of Race making weird faces and some where he struck absolutely absurd and unnatural poses. Albert wasn’t even sure how he managed to snap a picture of Race laying down in the air. Right after he took the photo, Race had fallen into the water in a sprawling mess, leaving Albert keeled over with laughter.

When the two finally finished up, Race was dripping wet and Albert was making an effort to not let the other touch him. He would much rather stay dry than return to the instructor looking like he had jumped straight into the ocean.

That didn’t work too well because the next thing he knew, the bottom of his shirt was drenched from Race drying his hands off on it.

“Hey!” Albert exclaimed, swatting Race’s hands away. “Why would you do that?” Race shrugged and flashed an innocent smile. “I just needed to dry my hands off. That shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you, it should dry here soon.”

Albert frowned. “What?”

“You know, because you’re hot!”

Albert stared at Race, face void of emotion because what?

“You know, cause you’re hot, so the water would just evaporate?” Race explained, motioning at Albert, who still didn’t get it. “Like how when things are hot water starts to boil and stuff!”

It took a few moments for the words to process in Albert’s mine who proceeded to groan when he figured it out. He pointed at Race and said, “I swear to God, that was the worst line I’ve ever heard.”

Race giggled and then started to slowly walk off. “Race ya to your instructor,” he shouted before taking off like a shot.

Albert stood there for a few moments as he watched the blonde boy run off. How the guy even had energy now after all of the stupid photos they took was completely beyond Albert but you know what? Maybe he’ll figure out why the boy goes by Race.

[chopstickchild]

ok i need to rant for a bit (read at your own risk)

also tw for body image issues

for a bit of background, i do ballet, and im pretty damn serious about it. as in its the centre of my life and i plan to make a career of it.

well my mom is rly supportive about this, but sometimes she gets to be a bit too much. as in extremely insensitive about how her « helping me » makes me feel. the subject of obsession tends to be something important, or some milestone, such as a performance, competition, or audition. in this case it’s two audition videos: one for a prestigious international competition (which could change my life if i got in), and the other video is an audition video for my dream school (and again, life changing if i get in).

These two videos are EXTREMELY important, and we wanted everything to be as perfect as possible, but the focus on perfectionism is where the problem lies. i’ve gotten better about not dragging myself down over every single detail, but my mom on the hand has not. she doesn’t obsess over my dancing (i do that enough already) but over details like lighting, camera angle, the line my leotard makes, my shoe color, my bun angle, the amount of makeup, the video quality, etc. she has a really good eye for those sort of things since she used to be an artist (and majored in fine art), and if she was the one filming my videos there would be no problem there.

But evidently there is a problem (which is why i’m writing this all out cause istg if i don’t i WILL lose it). Actually there’s two, one per video, though the second problem has nothing much to do with everything mentioned before.

The first issue is something that’s been haunting me for two weeks, and not in the good halloween haunting way. The video for the competition was filmed over the course of a few weeks by one of my teachers, and she and my mom have an *interesting* relationship. as in ive learned to brush off my mom cussing her out in car rides or at home (which happened today twice lol). My teacher wouldn’t allow my mom to be in the studio to help with lighting, camera angle, etc., saying that the studio wouldn’t allow more than two people in at a time (a lie, cause when we went with my contemporary teacher for one section of the video my mom was able to go in and film that portion). My teacher is a really well intention person by the way, but since my mom is so similar to how her mom was, being in her prescence triggers her which i think may be why she tried to make it so she wouldn’t have to interact with her as much.

So anyways my teacher and i worked on the audition video and we finally completed it, but the way she filmed it was not up to my moms standards. so we filmed it again. and right now it’s STILL not up to my mom’s standards, but at this point there’s literally nothing we can do. the deadline is in a few days and there’s no way we can refilm it then. in terms of my dancing, i feel pretty satisfied, though it’s not perfect, but i feel ok sending it in. but for thé past few weeks i’ve been constantly hearing how the video isn’t good enough, and how it doesn’t present me well enough, and if my mom could just have filmed the barre and centre i would look so much better. and that if i really want to catch the judges eyes then the video quality would need to be better. and i argue back at that point, saying my dancing should be enough to do that, and that i’m not auditoning for a film school but for a DANCE competition. and i know my mom has a point. we are drawn to things well presented, even if the content may not be the best. but after hearing that my video is not up to par for WEEKS it hurts a lot. and if i ask her to stop focusing so much on that because at this point all that is doing is making us feel unsatisfied with something unchangable, i’m ignored and she goes on saying i don’t understand her point. I’m also told that she’s saying all this because she cares so much and wants me to succeed. and that is all true, but i don’t CARE that she’s saying all this because she wants to help me with my goal. there are so many more productive things to do than fixating on unchangable shit, and there’s a voice inside telling me that if she really cared about me, the real actual me and not the dancer side of me, she would take a moment to understand how much certain things she says hurts. no matter the intentions behind, no matter that she always adds that my dancing wasn’t the problem and that it was all my teachers fault (which also pokes me in a different way), i ALWAYS leave that conversation with an extremely tight knot in my chest and a bunch of self doubt. sometimes when the convo evolves into an argument, my mom tells me that it’s cause she’s stressed about this and the video and because she cares so much, but i’ve reached the point where i don’t give a fuck. i’m stressed too, and i care a TON. i sacrificed so fucking much for this (not to say she hasn’t like good lord i worry so much about her sometimes) but being stressed and caring about something does not excuse harping on about something someone has EXPLICITLY told you to please stop going on a bout and try to let go of. multiple times. which is why i really want to scream sometimes, and why i decided to just let it out here. (it’s worked by the way. as of right now the knot inside has loosened and the negative energy about this problem has almost dissolved, which why i’m now moving on to the second issue)

ISSUE NO. 2- thé audition video for my dream school. now this is a different direction than the other video problem because this video hasn’t been filmed yet. so i should start out with saying that as a by product of doing ballet, i have body image issues. it got worse over the course of the past year because i put on a few pounds. and i know that honestly, i shouldn’t worry too much, but doing an art form where your body is constantly critiques in so many ways kinda has a way of making you always wish it was better. now my mom knows about how i feel about my body, and in the past she has completely invalidated my feelings if i try to talk about it (because in her eyes i’m perfect yaddayaddayadda and i’m just manifesting these insecurities out of nowhere cause i have nothing to be worried about). the thing is tho (and i’m pretty thankful for this) is that she will tell me if i’ve gained weight, and she will help me if i want to lose some and stuff. so it’s like she has this weird mix of telling me to not worry about my weight cause i’m perfectly fine, but also telling me that i need to watch what i eat more and that i need to lose a little weight. and i hate it so much. recently i just stopped weighing myself every morning cause i realized i was literally basing how i felt the whole day off the number on the scale. and honestly i’m so much happier now cause i stopped. everything is the same except that one thing, and i have no intention to start obsessively weighing myself again.

And that brings me to issue two. because we were talking about the video for the school, and my mom said “you need to start weighing yourself every morning again”. well i saw every single color of the rainbow when she said that, and i was enraged. because my instinct was to be angry in order to protect one of my biggest insecurities, my body. the implications that came from telling me i needed to start weighing myself more HURT, and thinking about it right now is making me almost cry. and her saying that also pissed me off SO MUCH. because my mom KNOWS how i feel about my body, about my weight, and my eating habits. i have explicitly stated MANY time that i would prefer if she would not make those little comments about those subjects, and i have let her know how much it hurts me. i don’t think she understood that though, despite the amount of times i’ve completely shut down or started crying. but that one comment is hanging over my head right now, acting as a smoke cloud twisting around my heart and making me have some rlly self deprecating thoughts. and so tomorrow morning if she asks me what my weight is i don’t know what i’ll do. i’m considering just saying something above what ik she wants it to be, no matter what i may actually be, but i’ve also considered just tossing the scale in the rubbish bin. actually won’t do that though cause i would get in a ton of trouble lol. but a problem is that as a result of her comment, i’ve also begun considering starving myself, of making myself throw up, and other unhealthy ways to lose weight because right now, i feel like my body is too fat filled, too squishy for ballet. which is bullshit but the negative voice is drowning the positive one out now.

ok i have gotten all the rant energy out now, and no longer feel like punching a wall, cry screaming, cussing out the next person i see, or any assortment of high negative energy release techniques that would hurt others or myself. if you read this far, props to you cause i sure as hell would not have been able to make it thru that 😂.

also i should add that my mom and i are SUPER close and she honestly a great person in every aspect except certain dance related stuff. i really really appreciate everything she has done for me, all her sacrifices and all the effort she has put in to make sure i am where i am now. it’s just sometimes i feel like she forgets that i’m a person with feelings about topics, not just a dancer. thank you for coming to my tedtalk 😌

[marveling-chrisevans]

Its Always Been You - Chris Evans x Reader

Chris Evans x Reader 

Prompt: Prompt: Start and end with the same line - Line “i never stood a chance, Did i?” 

Word count: 2,177

Warnings: Fluff, very fluffy 

Reader: Female 

Summary: you had a deadbeat boyfriend and finally had enough before you realized the person you were always meant to be with was always right there 

** if you have an idea and wanna message it to me, I am happy to write it. im always looking for one shot prompts or ideas to write on top of the stories I like to put off**

“I never stood a chance, Did i?” You wondered as the tears that had built up in your eyes finally spilled down your cheek as you looked at him “why did you lead me on then?” You wondered and shoved the man in front of you the man that you had spent the last few months going on date after date for him to just for him to tell you that you were not the one and he was actually already engaged to someone else. You did what any one would do you went to your best friend. No contact. You showed up at the door and knocked on the door, as it swung open you head a dog barking. You saw the tall man standing there opening his arms to you as he saw you were upset “i don’t know why I try” you said to him as you feel his arms pull you in and your head rests in his chest as he rubs your back softly pulling you into the house softly so he can close the door before his dog gets out “you try because you have a big heart, even for that asshole, who does not deserve you” He answered back as he kissed the top of your head softly, in a comforting manner, you didn’t think anything of it “no its exactly what I deserve” you said back to him “if you excuse me I am going to go actual dead man float in your pool” you said as you pulled your phone out of your pocket set it on the table as you walked by and belly flopped into the pool. His dog jumped in after you and stopped you from doing whatever you were doing. You laugh as you float in his pool “dodger stop!!” You laugh and try and swim away from the dog as you felt another splash behind you “Chris Make him stop, he might actually drown me” you said as you couldn’t really touch where you decided to jump in fully clothed into the pool He saw over to you and supported you as dodger gave you one more lick and got himself out of the pool “it doesn’t help that you are fully clothed in the pool, that gives you a good 10 pounds more” he said as you splashed him “Evans i swear” you said back to him as you reached and pulled off your shirt just leaving you in a bralette which is basically like a bikini top anyways. And tossed it to the side of the pool, followed by your jeans and then swam away from him. He shook his head and didn’t follow, as the two of you swam for awhile before you pulled yourself out of the water. “can I uh borrow those sweatpants that are now too small for you since you became the hulk?” You wondered as you looked at your best friend who basically was beefing up for his next movie “they still fit, what are you talking about?” He said as he grabbed himself a towel and threw one at you, and you wrapped it around yourself “you mean the ones that, sit right here on your hip bone, that if you bend over you could rip the ass out in them..” You countered back and raised an eyebrow and walked into his room to find them yourself. Dodger happily followed as you were one of his favorite people.

You didn’t mind changing infant of Chris, as the two of you grew up close, in locker rooms, dressing rooms for plays, you met in college in new York as you both auditioned for the same show and kinda just hit it off. You went over to his dresser and dug in his drawer and pulled them out “you mean these that you have had since college” you said as you slide off your panties and slide his sweatpants on. And then went and grabbed one of his t-shirts and turned so your back was facing him and unclipped the bra and pulled his shirt on. When you turned around you saw he was in the middle of changing himself. You couldn’t help but look him up and down because let's be honest tho it was just friendship, you had to admit that he kept it tight. Chris shook his head at you as he walked away. You followed and went and laid on his couch “do you still have that Mint chip?” You wondered as this wasn’t the first time you ended up on his couch after you and Matt, ended things cause he cheated and you always forgave him, cause you thought its what you deserve “if I give it to you, do you promise to share?” He wondered grabbing it out of the freezer You shook your head “no, what have you not learned this entire friendship is soul based on your able ness to not take the ice cream when I'm heart broken” you said and took it from him when he brought it over “is this the last time?” He wondered looking at you. As you had a spoonful of ice cream in your mouth as you looked at him with your big eyes, wet hair. You shrugged looking at him as you were not sure, your head was telling you yes, but your heart wanted to try one more time. “im not sure” you responded with a mouth full of ice cream. And sighed “yes? I need it to be, but we moved in together, and where am I suppose to stay? I can’t move home. God I can’t do that’ you said back to him “well ill be in Atlanta for the next couple months, why don’t you stay here, and keep dodger company, and ill be home and come visit, well you work getting back on your feet?” He offered you. You knew this is what you needed, you didn’t have an excuse to go running back to him now so all you did was nod “okay, but you have to come with me to get all of my stuff” you asked him, and he knew what that meant, and he didn’t hesitate to respond yes. You sigh as the two of you sat on his couch with dodger in between the both of you, watching Netflix, laughing at one of his old movies ‘playing in cool’ mostly at the part where he dressed like a girl. It was your favorite form of blackmail, you made him watch it every time you got your heart broken. He was your best friend and did everything you wanted him to do without hesitation. Chris left town to work on one of the new avenger movies, or solo movie you we're not entirely sure. You and dodger held down the fort. You held your ground, no matter when Matt tried to come crawling back to you, you said no, you kept saying no. You needed to get away, before you gave in. so you got yourself a ticket to see your best friend work on one of the biggest movies of the summer, a short flight later you knocked on his hotel room, but he was not there, instead his assistant answered and let you in, and told you to make yourself comfortable. He would be on set late that night.

You walked around his suite, seeing the giant tub. You smile as you finish your tour. You wanted to take full advantage of that tub, it was like the one you always wanted and tried to get Chris to get when he remodeled but he got one with jets and was lame, nothing like the old fashion claw foot tubs. You put your hair in a messy bun and turned on the hot water, and found some bubbles and let that stu as you turned on your favorite album and grabbed the book he was reading as you didn’t bring your own, and climbed into the tub and just relaxed. About an hour later you heard the Hotel room door open and shut “y/n” he yelled like he was letting you know he was home “In the bathroom” you said back as you folded the page of his book you were on and turned to look at him walking though the door as he laughed “i knew I would find you in that thing” Chris smiled “come on we are going out with the cast, since off, and get dressed, you and I are going to have fun” he said to you “seriously, Mackie wants to meet you” He said mentioning one of the newest cast members “oh my god okay, grab my dress out of my bag and ill jump in the shower” You said handing him the book “also I need to borrow that when you get home” you said as he left “DON”T LOOSE MY PAGE” you said letting the water out of the tub and went and rinsed off in the shower before wrapping a towel around your waist and walked out to the living area where he pulled out the dress you asked for, you changed and went into the bathroom to put your face on and simple curl your hair. You heard a knock on the door as Chris answered it, and heard two men walk in, you peak your head out the door and went running over to Sebastian “Stannn!” You said giving him a hug, it has been a second since you had seen him in a few years. Sebastian smiled and hugged you back and introduced you to Anthony the newest member of the Capitan America cast. “alright are you boys ready to go out?” You smirked and slide on your heals becoming as tall as Chris was, you linked your arms with his as the four of you walked out of the hotel room and walked to the nearest bar. You went to our go to drink and the boys drank beer. A few drinks later, you were on the dance floor with Chris swaying to a slow song, you were a little more drunk than you normally were at that point, Anthony was not messing around with the shots. “I love you, you know that?” you wondered as you looked up at Chris He nodded “i know, I don’t know where my life would be with out your crazy self” He said honestly with a slight grin as he spun you. You spun then quickly steadied yourself as you put your hands on his chest and your forehead into his shoulder, as his arms went around your waist “y/n” he paused for a second before he kept talking “you know its always been you right?” He wondered. YOu pulled your head away just slightly and looked at him “always been me?” You wondered back, I mean you loved chris, but you didn’t believe that you deserve to loved like this man could love you. “I love you, I mean like love you, its always been you ive dreamed about spending my future with, and I know you don[t think you deserve to be happy for whatever reason, and I am right here to tell you that you are wrong. You deserve the damn world. And to be swept off your feet, in the right way” he said as he moved one of his hands to your cheek, and leaned down connecting the two of your together. His lips connected to yours. You never felt that sort of connection with anyone, in one simple kiss. You slowly pulled away from him as you looked up into his baby blue eyes as he looked in yours. You could swear you two were the only ones left in the bar. You thought this is what those movies were talking about “Chris” you said softly as you could feel his breath as Anthony walked up bringing you another shot “i can’t sorry” you said to Anthony before letting go of Chris and walking out of the bar. You needed a breath. Chris followed you out “y/n” he said softly as you turned to look at him your fingers linger on your lips as you still felt his against yours. You walked back over to him and crashed your lips back to his. The two of you end up back up in his hotel room.

The two of you woke up at the sound of Chris Alarm, you rolled over and saw him slowly starting to wake up, you bite your lip your lip as you just watched him come around “ I shouldn’t have fought it for so long” you sighed as he sat up slightly and gave you a peck on the lips before reaching over and turning off his alarm. “i never stood a chance did I?” You wondered as he was always the one you were meant to be with. It just took you long enough to figure it out.

[bulletproofscales]

Is there a chance we could get a really gassy Jungkookie w any member? Like, Jungkook was so stuffed and was drinking soda and couldn’t stop burping? Love your blog❤️❤️

--SOO,, u mentioned anymember so i took the liberty of making this a hOPEKOOK FIC!! Ive really wanted to write somethign about them and experiment with their amazing dynamic. It was so HARD!! i tried to balance them exploring their relationship and feelings for eachothr (since its such an uncommon ship) whilst trying to stay on track with your reuqest... I really hope you enjoy it!!-- 

---

By how fun the director had made the commercial sound, this Coca Cola promotion was truly: a drag. Of course, no promotion could be entirely fun, Jungkook likes to keep it professional; so he never once complained, and tried to be as collaborative as everyone else was. Besides, it wasn't all bad, look at all the free soda they were giving them! Ok. Perhaps Jungkook was drowning his boredom in Coke. But, he didn't notice until he felt a strain of discomfort.

He tried to maintain a straight face as best as he could, they were still in the middle of the recording. In his mind trying to remember how he got into this state in the first place. It slowly came to him, the unconscious need to have a bottle in hand during the whole pre-recording, make-up, and rehearsal. Trying to keep count he stood in disbelief when he remembered his tenth Coca Cola. In fact, he could still perfectly remember the feeling. His stomach getting harder by the bottle, but i'm only being automatically motivated to more. He peeked down discreetly and there it was: his taun stomach pressing firmly against the white t-shirt they had dressed him in. Just the thought of how careless he had been about his surroundings, made the boy blush a deep shade of crimson. Luckily enough, all his hyungs were much more professional than him and were way too concentrated on what was going on in the recording to notice, this time...or, any of the... other times.

If he had to come clean, Jungkook had sometimes had the habit of, overdoing it; whatever it was. He never really understood the reason behind this actitudes; thought to himself he had the courage to acknowledge: he liked the way fullness felt. It felt safe, warm and fun. And as mysterious as its reasoning was, or the vagueness behind what it was that he liked, reall; the maknae still knew nobody had to find out about this. If it was so confusing to he himself, he couldn't imagine trying to explain it to someone else. However it was so consuming, so inviting; he couldn't bring himself to stop. He figured if done every once in a while in the privacy of his locked door, nothing bad would come from it. 

But this was certainly not the place. All this time he'd been spacing out the director was giving corrections for the next shot; which was by far the most fun out the bunch. For Jungkook's bloated stomach though, it was going to be only insufferable pain. Of course, he already knew what he had to do; even with his incautious behavior now, he had studied the scene before even coming into set. That made him dread this scene even more; he could barely walk without having his midsection send a wave of pain coursing through his entire body, let alone jumping excitedly into a pool. He put himself in his position, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and prepared himself for the discomfort he was about to feel. 

"Everybody! Take five!" HIs eyes snapped open and look like they were about to fall of his skull. He took no time bothering in explaining anybody why he pathetically waddled or attempted to run to the toilet.

When he finally got there, he noticed it was a one person only bathroom, which in a way brought him some sense of comfort. Knowing nobody else would be there. He knocked almost excitedly on the door, just to check before locking himself in. Promptly sitting on toilet, JUngkook couldn't help the relaxed sigh that escaped his lips. He peaked down like he had done back in the recording, fearful of what he might find at the bottom; with anticipating undertones. Except this time, he could keep staring in awe. 

His stomach has ballooned enormously, to the point where the waistband of his swimming trunks were interfering with his hardened dome. With slightly shaking hands he reached for said wasteland, and began pushing it down slowly; mesmerized by the continuously skin being exposed. Flesh taunt with gas, pushing outwards like he had swollen a melon. Once they were all the way down to his crotch, Jungkook was still struck with his own body. The way the enormous amounts of liquids had been able to fade away almost every sign of muscle that was there not too long ago. Or the way his stomach now was big enough to cover some of the view of his lap. HIs large hands left their resting place on his muscular thighs and grazed above the hardened flesh tentatively. Slowly, they descend until placed on top of the bloated midsection. Without any force, Jungkook began moving his hands around the dome with care. Not pushing enough to press the gas ou, but he didn't want that; he wanted to stay like this for as long as he possibly could. His eyes still strained to the exposed skin he stayed there caressing himself for what felt like an eternity. Nothing mattered now, not the recording, not the five minute break. This moment was only for himself- There someone banging on the door. 

 When Jungkook had come into BigHit as a trainee he was well accustomed with the fact that he liked men as well as women; so seeing not only Hoseok, but all of his other members as handsome young men wasn't a surprised. However, nothing had prepared him for the dancer's caring and outgoing personality, that would become the one thing helping Jungkook out of his shell to the others. Back in the day, Hoseok was the only people he felt comfortable with. It didn't take long for a crush to appear. 

Throughout the years, Jungkook has had to suffer through cuddles and forehead kisses from the man he's been crushing on for years. It is hell. To know Hoseok is filled with love and needs to express it even without it being romantic really hurt. But he couldn't even be mad about it, it was Hoseok's way of being and it was endearing to say the least. Eventually he stopped asking him for touch and affection, Jungkook reckoned that if he did he was probably taking advantage of Hoseok's loving personality. Recently, he older had caught him off guard, asking him if anything was wrong; he really didn't know what to answer, so he didn't. Needless to say, things were conflictive between the two at the moment. 

"Jungkook, is everything alright? Can I come in?" You could feel his tone becoming more stern, but the care was always there. Guilty, the maknae thought about how he shut Hoseok out the other day. And how, as embarrassing as this was, he couldn't bring himself to do it again. So he inhaled deeply, feeling his stomach push out even more it even stung a little. Exhaled, and opened the door into the stall. Hoseok walked in, and stared at the younger intently. The compromising position made Jungkook's entire body warm up with shame. He immediately felt the need to explain himself. 

"I-It was an accident! I didn't notice how much I had drank until my stomach was all bloated, and I tried to keep it professional, but it had started to hurt so I came in here..." He wouldn't dare to look at the older man in the eyes, he knew if he did his voice would shake even more than it already was. The silence was suffocating, so he continued. "I was about to take care of it! Y-You don't even need to be here, it's-fine I got it." He explained quickly when he saw the dancer kneel before him.

"Let me help." He sounded so gentle yet so determined. All those times he had stuffed himself as to be taken care of, he had had always wished of having Hoseok be the one to pamper him, and soothe him. Regardless, he was going to protest, but the older beat him to it. "What where you going to do?"

"Um, well... I usually rub my stomach, to help me get the burps out... You really don't have to-?"

"Can I?" He interrupted. To which Jungkook, taken aback, nodded slowly. 

Hoseok's eyes were fixated on the large expanse of skin before him, his dainty fingers slowly reaching for the hardened dome.

"The break is over! We need you on set!" Somebody abnged n the door and yelled from the outside. 

"Just a minute!" Hoseok exclaimed happily as if nothing strange were happening inside the stall. When his eyes came back to Jungkook they had changed; they didn't have that caring and gentle aspect they had before, now he looked determined. 

Without any warning, he placed his hands firmly on Jungkook's stomach; the younger man gasped at the feeling. Hoseok's hands were smaller than hid, making him feel a lot bigger than he actually was. And without waiting another second he began kneading the skin with strength and speed. 

Without any warning, he placed his hands firmly on Jungkook's stomach; the younger man gasped at the feeling. Hoseok's hands were smaller than hid, making him feel a lot bigger than he actually was. And without waiting another second he began kneading the skin with strength and speed. The maknae's eyes widened at the sensation, the hands pushing in and out of his taunt flesh had him feeling all sorts of things. Although weird, he couldn't help but think of how intimate this situation was, freeing butterflies inside his stomach. Wait, no. It's a burp. 

Loud and gurgly, it resonated on the ceramic walls. Jungkook's face grew even redder. But when he looked at the dancer for his reaction, satisfied smile was not what he was expecting. The older moved his hands to the very bottom of his stomach, urging all of the has to come out. Even if dainty, Hoseok's hands were massaging the flesh like his life depended on it. Groping tightly, squishing between fingers urging the gas to come out. And it did, repeatedly so. Jungkook felt his body relax form the tension in his stomach leaving, however he could not bare with the embarrassment that the he felt; using his hands to cover his face and burping through them. 

"Do you feel any better?" He asked with care, to which he nodded, head still buried deep in his own hold. "Ok then, let's get out, they are waiting for us" The older man stood up and offered a helping hand for Jungkook to do the same. He took it and together they walked out of the stall and into the set.

Luckily the wait hadn't even been that long as they had feared, it took a little bit of the guilt but it didn't change the fact that this was horrible, this felt horrible. Jungkook had never felt more disgusting and appealing in his life, feeling the silent judgement form his crush out of all people. Of course, he wasn't showing it, yet it was only natural to judge someone under such bizarre circumstances. How was he supposed to talk to Hoseok after this? He might as well have confessed and be let down, at least that's a normal way to ruin a friendship. 

The recording went by smoothly, although he couldn't help but go into shut down more. He cooperated throughout but he did not want to speak to anybody; it was especially hard pretending to be enjoying yourself and having a blast, but somehow he managed. In moments like this, Jungkook truly felt completely unaware of his surroundings; he didn't know how much time had gone by, the people talking felt like faint background noises and all he could hear were his own thoughts resonating inside his head. Eventually, it was over and they could go home. 

The ride home went smoothly, the rest of the group chatting animatedly about the recording. He chose to pretend to be asleep; he knew that if any of his hyungs saw him even slightly upset, they wouldn't let it go. He walked to their dorm, stilll faking his tiredness but slowly becoming real, and walked into his room. He laid there, drowning in self pity.

Beer. That's what he needed. He quickly changed and headed for the door, some of the other members were there. He reassured them he was going out to get something to drink, he would be right back. As he gto outside, Jungkook considered actually going to a bar or rather buying the beer and drinking it in the comfort of his room. The latter sounded better.It was already dark so the streets were not nearly as packed, a beanie and a mask should do it. Living in such an exclusive part of Seoul, he had to actually walk for a couple of minutes to get to the first convience store. However, he needed the walk, think about everything by himself; his feelings for Hoseok, what had happened today, the odler's response, his own reaction. It all seemed like such a mess, and mostly like he has put himself on this position. He was the one who took advantage of Hoseok to the point where it damaged their relationship. He got out of the store almost as soon as he walked in, the only difference was that now he had two large packs of beer inside of a bag and was determinedly or almost excitedly walking back to their shared apartment.  He sprinted trying his best not to shake the dozens of cans he was carrying with him to his room. He went by so fast, that nobody really had the time to process nor worry about what the maknae might be up to; they were all really tired form the recording and they recon even Jungkook might appreciate the space alone. 

He sat in his desk, and turned on his computer, looking for the playlist he truly wanted to listen to at a time like this. Once he heard the soft tunes begin to play, he physically relaxed into his chair, closing his eyes and letting a long sigh escape through his parted lips. And without further ado, he began to drink. 

 It was so easy to get lost in what he was doing, the movement of the can form the desk to Jungkook's mouth almost automatic, the feeling of fullness engulfing him little by little. The warmness in his stomach growing alongside the dizziness in his head.The music playing making it seem like time had stopped for just this moment, but time did go on and soon all the other members were heading to sleep; further immersing him in this atmosphere he had created. He placed the hand that wasn't holding a beer on his slightly rounded out stomach, the gas already begging to expand his midsection, and rubbed there gently. Just to feel if it was actually real or not, he didn't know through how many cans he had gone through but it was hard to keep track of what sensations were real and which ones he was imagining for self indulgence. 

He imagined Hoseok was here with him, helping him drink, help him grow. He imagined sitting on his lap and difference of size between them, and growing heavy with the liquid he was chugging down. Hoseok's dainty hands making feel even bigger. Hoseok's lithe frame making JUngkook feel massive, his thick thighs over his slim ones. Hoseok's breath on his ear, encouraging him to go on, hot breathes against his body only making him thirstier and eager to continue. The determined look on Hoseok's dark eyes when he helped him today, the memory of his hands being all over his body. Hoseok. He needed Hoseok. 

He stood up too quickly from his chair, the world swirling slightly around him. he didn't have time to check how many cans were actually left as he clumsily waddled towards his phone; partially because of the alcohol, but also because of the sting in his stomach from the gas stored inside it. He grabbed his phone and quickly sprinted towards his chair and sat on it with force; the slight noise it made sent shivers down Jungkook's spìne. Uncoordinatedly he dialed Hoseok's number, without any real awareness of what he was doing. 

"Jungkook?" A very tired but mostly confused voice answered on the other side.

"Hobi I-" A loud burp interrupted him mid sentence, he now realized he hadn't really opened his mouth since he began drinking.Without any shame he continued. "I-I need you Hobi."Another gurgling noise left his throat after the needy confesion. "Need you hands, here with-with me." His voice was shaky with desperation.

"Jungkook, are you drunk?" His voice was stern. 

"Please come?" A deep sigh was the only thing he said after a long minute of silence.

"I'm going, stay where you are." Waiting for him to arrive Jungkook looked down at himself, with his stomach ballooned his shirt had risen up and he had undone his pants to make more room, he didn't remember doing so in the first place.

"You came!" He exclaimed drowsy. 

"Kookie, what is going on?" He didn't sound as stern as he sounded on the phone. "Getting drunk on a weekday? Alone in your room? Is everything ok?" He slowly approached Jungkook's chair, ignoring completely the compromising position the maknae was in; slightly disappointing the younger by doing so. 

Even if drunk, Jungkook knew that confessing his feelings on this scenario wasn't ideal, not for him nor Hoseok. But, on the other hand , he didn't want to keep lying, specially when the older man was right in front of him demanding to know what was wrong. He had to say something. 

"I just...I keep looking for this feeling of being full and, and I never told anybody. But now you know and, I don't know...I'm scared, I don't know why I do this, I wanted you here." It doesn't really answer all of the dancer's questions, but it wasn't a lie either. And more importantly, it seemed to work on Hoseok. His face softened at the younger boy as he walked and sat at the end of his lap. 

"You didn't finish all of your beers." He mentioned eyeing the bag beside them.

"Want one?" Jungkook offered with a playful smile. 

"Well I suppose one beer won't hurt." That's a lie, especially coming from Hoseok, but he didn't argue against it. He took the beer and began drinking it quickly. "So, you said you were 'looking for this feeling'. What do you mean?" Hoseok made talking, even in the most uncomfortable situations, like it was nothing. 

"This. The feeling of being full. I don't know what it is about it...It makes me feel, safe? In a way, it's more like I put myself in position where I need to be taken care of. And it feels... amazing." It was weird finally saying all that stuff out loud, yet somewhat cathartic. 

“But…” Hoseok began tentatively, “Has there ever been someone, to take care of you?” The maknae blushed, even though the question didn’t imply anything; or that's what he tried to convince himself of. 

“Well, it has been more of a treat yourself thing.”He laughed pitiful. Warmth re appearing on his face as he remembered how desperate where his urges of Hoseok's care. “But I can imagine.” He stated carelessly, the effects of the alcohol finally affecting his common sense. 

“Oh yeah? What do you imagine?” It was getting hard to read what the older man’s tone meant. But he could see him leaning closer from the end of his lap, eyes intently watching the maknae with a glint of something Jungkook couldn’t describe. It was difficult to pay attention as his eyes closed, drowsy and wasted; Hoseok’s insinuating questions only made his long time fantasy more vivid. Before he could control himself he spoke. 

“You, mostly.” The statement should have been terrifying but he couldn't find it in himself to care at this point, so he continued. “Your pretty little hands all over me, you would take such good care of me, hyung. I can’t stop thinking about it, since today I’ve been wanting it for so long I-” Once the truth was out, Jungkook filled in the silence with only more exposing honesty, though his rambling was cut short by a tentative hand on his muscular thigh. His eye shot open wide. Ant there he was, dainty hand settled comfortably over his thick leg, the older man leaning forward with an expecting look in his eyes. A serious expression made Jungkook shiver, he looked so, demanding. It felt like he was asking for an explanation, and the maknae was about to give it to him, but he beat him to it when he said. 

“You didn’t finish your beers.” He stated simply. An innocent look as he leaned down to grab one from the bag next to the chair. He slid himself forward on Jungkook’s lap, now sitting mid thigh where his hand had once been. The maknae’s eyes widened if possible even more, as Hoseok opened the can and eyed him expectant for a complaint whilst bringing the can to the younger’s lips. Jungkook took it in an obedient began to drank as the older held the can delicately to his lips. Although his adorable demeanor, the maknae still found an authority in Hoseok; but rather than having to fear it Jungkook felt like he was at the dancer’s care, yet still feeling the need to please him as well. His eyes were glued to his drinking lips, so he took the chance to look at the older properly. 

Hoseok had his eyes half lidded and soft exhales where leaving his parted heart shaped lips. With both hands on the can to make sure nothing spilled, he was leaning slightly towards the bloated stomach; which was beginning to make itself noticeable to both men. Giving it a light pressure, not enough to get any as out, but enough to make him squirm. 

The time their conversation ahd taken hadn’t been enough to sober him up, and the extra beer sliding easily down his throat wasn’t helping either. It was becoming hard to process the situation for Jungkook. Of course he knew this wasn’t just a friendly and platonic encounter, but neither had it been the one in the bathroom earlier that day. It was hard to imagine what Hoseok felt for him, let alone this whole stuffing scenario; all the maknae had was his reactions to guide himself on. He had let all his intentions out there, but Hoseok hadn’t mentioned a word; which wasn’t a surprise for the younger. Attentive of others feelings but neglective and fearful of his, yes, that sounded like Jung Hoseok alright. Lost in thought he hadn’t even noticed he finished the can already, it wasn’t until the can was slipped out of his reach that he snapped out of his transe. 

“Just two more.” There it was again. That authoritative tone on Hoseok’s voice. Not stern but strong, motivating, addictive. Jungkook felt within him the strong urge to comply to whatever it was he asked; so when the older man brought yet another beer to his lips, it was impossible to refuse. Even with the growing discomfort on hi middle section. 

Still in doubt of Hoseok’s intentions behind this entire situation, Jungkook raised his hands from the arm rests of his chair; tentatively hovering over the older’s waist. He didn’t want to cross a line and for this to end, but this whole scenario already felt like a line was being crossed. With his mouth full, he tied eyeing at Hoseok looking for some sort of permission; but the dancer’s eyes were glued to his lips. Intently watching the younger drink, as to make sure if he wanted to stop or not. It didn’t take much for Jungkook to decide on gently settling his hands at either side of Hoseok’s waist; gently urging him closer.  The older man slides across his lap, until his slim stomach was pressing firmly against Jungkook’s firm dome. Soon enough the second large can was finished as well, and the maknae was truly feeling the expanse of his midsection pushing against the shirt he was using. It was uncomfortable. But he knew that the more he drank, the more time Hoseok would have to spend taking care of him; so in the end it didn't take much of him to eagerly begin to drink the last can left. 

This one he wanted to get over with, needed the older’s hands on him somehow. He reckoned Hoseok knew that already, yet he pretended to be concentrated on the can on his lips instead of the bulging firmes growing on his stomach. He gulped aggressively as an attempt to finish it as fast as possible, horrible idea. HAfter slightly choking on beed, he was actually grateful Hoseok’s entire attention was settled on him drinking.  

“You are doing great.” He reassured taking the can away from his mouth, his voice sounded gentle and less authoritative than when he first commanded him to drink. “You only have half a can left, you can do that right?” A teasing and challenging mansour taking over the last question, as if darin Jungkook playfully. This made it clear that Hoseok indeed knew what Jungkook was eager for, but wasn’t willing to give to him until the last beer was finished. The maknae hummed determined and the can was once again brought up to him. Patiently he worked his way through the gazzy liquid. He could feel his face scrunching up from the discomfort in his abdomen, the strains of pain making it hard to continue drinking. He found distraction in his hands around Hoseok’s middle, stroking gently; feeling the skin through the fabric, slightly tightening his grip when feeling especially filled. It seemed like forever, but it was finally finished. 

“Amazing.” Hoseok’s voice was quiet and tender. His face inches close of his own; Jungkook wondered if his deep exhales of air smelled like beer, but it didn’t seem to bother the older man. “You did amazing, Kookie.” Their noses were grazing each other with the slightest of touches, and so were their lips. Jungkook froze, petrified by the others bold actions. With a gentle smile, he brought their lips together. Softly the older man began to move his lips.

The maknae was on a spiral, the alcohol only enhancing his feelings for Hoseok and all of the sensations he was feeling. The gas in his stomach, gurgling and roarin within him, the tingling sensation on his lips moving in sync, Hoseok’s thin fingers sliding form his jaw to his neck to his chest to finally settling on the top of his ballooned stomach, pressing lightly against it. Jungkook’s jaw dropped at the sensation, deepening the kiss. On the hardened dome, Hoseok’s hands began to massage strongly; the sensation so pleasing the maknae was opening his mouth again to let out a moan. He wished he’d take that action back, but it was too late. 

A clear burp erupted from his parted lips almost as soon as he had chosen to open his mouth. 

“Hobi! I’m, shit I’m really sorry, all the beer it just-” He began explaining,m petrified by his own actions. Somehow, he had forgotten what stuffing himself usually lead to. Though his ranting was interrupted by yet another burp escaping past his lips. He stayed there petrified, the ashamed warmth taking over his entire body. A quiet giggle erupted from the older man.

“It’s okay, Kookie.” He spoke reassuringly with a tender tone and even softer voice, their faces still centimeters apart. “Just let it all out, I’ll help you” Although it has started with an authoritative Hoseok, this was one Jungkook war most accustomed to: the Hoseok who helped and cared for everybody; even through embarrassing situations. But, how could he be sure he was just doing it for pity of a wasted maknae and not because he actually felt the same way?

His worries were soon vanished, as the dancer continued not only to rub firm circles on the top of his stomach but continued kissing the younger man. He parted their lips and began nibbling softly on his jaw; Jungkook’s hands on the other’s waist tightened at the sensation. Hoseok’s hands over his stomach felt like magic, dainty but strong; he could feel them moving the gas around him. As a result of his miraculous kneading, a string of various burps came out of the maknaes mout like it was nothing. Sure enough, it felt humiliating, but the older’s encouragement was getting him through it. 

“Yes, keep going.” He mumbled lips pressed to his neck. 

“You are doing amazing.”

“Let them out, just like that”

He mewled at the praise, only for it to blended with another burp. Hoseok’s hands had began to travel along the expanse of taut skin. Groping the sides with force; Jungkook’s jaw fell open, his face scrunching up for pleasure. Earning a burp as its consequence. He could feel himself deflating form the gas leaving his body, thought there was still much to go, and Hoseok was determined to get it out. The older man kept on roaming as much as they could, finally doing so underneath Jungkook’s shirt. The dainty hands settled at the bottom of his stomach, pressing slightly. His automatic response came from his hips, pushing forward against Hoseok’s. It was only then he noticed how aroused this situation was making him. He was hard. The older man had shown his awareness, answering through groping of the lower half of his hardened dome. His burps were become softer and quieter, and it seemed like the could finally begin to focus on the maknae’s other issue. 

Jungkook thought about it for a minute, his long term feelings for Hoseok; is this how he wanted it to happen? Drunk, without a clue if this were going to happen again or not? Suddenly, the smooth movement of the hips from the man on top of him seemed unappealing. 

“Wait!” He exclaimed shyly. The dancer stopping entirely, surprised; his attention completely on Jungkook.  “This is not how I want it to happen.” He stated. “I-I’m sorry if I lead you on, but-”

“Hey, we don’t have to do anything.” He reassured with a smile. “How about this, we go to sleep and we can talk it out tomorrow.”

“That does sound nice.” He confirmed drowsy. 

---

Jungkook rose the next day by the excruciatingly loud alarm on his phone. 6:30 am. Right. Work. The memories of last night were blurry, and all his mind could care about at the moment was to finish preparing for the long day ahead of him; whatever it was that they were doing, he couldn’t recall. HOwever the memory of him and Hoseok having to talk made a spark of an indescribable excitement rise in his stomach. Wait no, that’s the hangover.

[lullabiesandgoodbyes]

| PART I | | PART II |

County General Hospital, Chicago

February 15th, 2000

Early hours of the day…

“Time of death,” her words break the silence, “2:56.”

I.

The detective keeps focusing on the how, “How did it happen?” He knows ‘how’ it happened: a blood clot blocked a pulmonary artery, compromising her respiratory function and raising the pressure on the right cavities of her heart, leading to full cardiac arrest. Simple and effective; there was nothing to be done. He’s more concerned about the ‘why’: why did he have a knife, why wasn’t he on restraints? Why was that son-of-a-bitch so out of himself he felt the need to attack those who were trying to help him?

Why here? Why her?

Kerry is peeking over the reception counter, he can sense her even before turning at her. One look and she knows – she knows. Her head slowly disappears as Robert tells the detective that he’s willing to answer any questions he still has but it has been a very long night and he needs some rest. The guy still tries, “This won’t take long, doctor…”, but he’s already past him and doesn’t even care. It’s not like they’re going to need his help anymore anyway.

He passes the counter, behind which Kerry remains with Greene, both with heads down. Some part of him wants to join them – whether to embrace or raging against them, Robert’s not sure. What he’s sure of right now is that he needs to get out as soon as possible: to get away from this place, away from these people, just him and his failure, maybe a bottle of bourbon.

Later, though. First there’s something he needs to do…

II.

Cleo is waiting when he leaves the OR, feeling grumpy and over the edge. He had to abandon Carter in a critical situation to clean up her mess, but now she came to inform him that he’s doing okay and suddenly Peter feels like a weight has been lifted up from his shoulders. This has been a very long night.

She remains a little absent, though, and the alarm in the back of his head warns him that something else is not okay, he just doesn’t know what yet. Her voice finally breaks, “There was a complication with Lucy…”, and she doesn’t have to say more. He can feel the sense of security abandon him and feels shaken for a while, as Cleo keeps sharing the few details she’s already aware of but he’s not listening.

He can’t absorb this information, can’t process it, can’t accept it. He’s not ready for this.

His hand flies against her shoulder and pushes her gently, allowing him to leave in a hurry and without a word. She still calls him (“Peter… Peter, I’m so sorry!”) but he pretends not to hear. The only thing on his mind is that someone is going to have to tell Carter when he wakes up and he wants to be there when it happens.

III.

It’s her job to carry the news to the other side of the road, since Malik is drowning in work, Yosh hasn’t been seen for a while and she’s the only nurse left. She wears the coat over her scrubs and warms her hands in a pair of gloves, but the cold hits Chuny’s face when the automatic doors open at her passage. It feels somewhat odd to her, that she always linked Lucy to bright colors and warmth and her energy wears out on a dark freezing night. Maybe it’ll even start snowing again – an ultimate apology for the unwarrantable cruelty they had to experience.

They’re together when she reaches them, all smiling and laughing at a funny story Haleh is recalling. Then her presence is noticed and they’re suddenly back to reality, waiting for her words. And she wants to share them, she needs to take them out of her system, but they’re gone after the mention of her name.

It just doesn’t seem right. It doesn’t make any sense.

And Lydia’s eyes fill up with tears, and Haleh’s smile gets lost in perplexity, and Chuny knows that not only her message has passed through, but also that they are on the same page with her.

IV.

There are four other people at the table, overwhelmed by silent emotions.

One never really knew her. She was just another medical student around the place, sometimes she noticed her, sometimes she didn’t.

The other one talked to her once, following a terrible first day. True, she hadn’t been very soothing: yes, this is hard and yes, this is going to be even harder, she had told her. But she was throwing money from the rooftops (a dying man’s last wish, apparently) and yes, it did make her feel better, which also gave her some hope. She’d like to know her better. Maybe they could have been friends.

Another one had gone through several stages over the year: from cute and so skilled to too stubborn and very certain of her own properness (“Yeah, I really hate that in a woman!”). But if there was something steady about her it was that in Lucy he had also found one of the few who were willing to give him a chance – as a colleague or a friend, she just knew people too well. How she let this happen, now he’d never know.

And the last one stares at the wooden table, her last words, heard just a few weeks ago, echoing inside his mind. He’s thinking about the girl who just wanted to find her place in a world that didn’t feel like hers; a world that ultimately consumed her in her commitment and didn’t allow her to come back. A life cut so short… and for what, in the end?

They’re all in need of a strong drink.

V.

Pain…!

There’s pain all over his body: his head is aching, his throat is sore, his chest is heavy, his back is killing him, his legs don’t obey his orders. It’s reaching its peak and then slows down, though it’s never gone, but at least it allows him to think.

That’s when Benton’s silence hits him and the impact is stronger than any word. “Lucy’s dead, isn’t she?” It’s clear to him, he doesn’t even know how he didn’t sense it before.

Lucy’s dead, and he can’t believe something so terrible can happen from something so trivial. Lucy’s dead, and he should have been there to prevent it, he should have protected her from this. Lucy’s dead, and he can’t precise the last thing he told her, whether it made her smile or sigh out of frustration, something he had mastered over the past year and a half. Lucy’s dead, and he can’t remember how her face looked like after he told her she would be a great doctor someday.

But he never really got to tell her that, did he?

Carter rests his head on the bed and looks away, staring into the void. He doesn’t even notice when Benton leaves the room, unable to say a word. Lucy’s dead, and somehow he’s sure that some part of him has died with her too.