#its so fucking hard to try your best and still fail worse than anybody you know

[knoxiating]

.

[c-is-for-circinate]

So uh, would the end of runs count as an escalation of the abuse? Like Ik it's a last resort to stop Zagreus from leaving, but it also shows that he has no qualms with hurting Zag to get what he wants.

I definitely had not yet gotten to the end of a run when you sent this ask, nonny, and I was all set to scold you gently for spoilery stuff, but you were actually trying very hard to be nonspecific and this only pinged as a spoiler because I was already pretty sure how things were going to end anyway.  So good job trying to be vague!  I have now fought through to what is fairly clearly the final boss, and my answer is, categorically, ABSOLUTELY FUCKING YES.

(We are going to just keep putting Hades posts under cuts until they stop being about a parent abusing their kid! I realize this helps nobody on mobile and I am tagging for that purpose but hey, at least I might save someone's dash! I swear I will talk about other things in this game eventually! Until then, once again, CW abuse.)

It’s not even about the violence, entirely.  Like, yes, it’s about the violence--but Hades has shown all along that he has no qualms with hurting Zag (with killing him, over and over again) to get what he wants.  Even if we take most of the enemies we’re facing as general nuisances of the zones we travel through, and not Hades’ doing (and oh, if Hades wanted he could give Zagreus a safe escort through those zones in an instant), there are obstacles put in our way that are obviously and deliberately commanded by Hades to stop us at all costs.  The level bosses, for one.  (Also, remember the Hades voiceovers we get at every ‘survive for 45 seconds’ level?)  He wants us to stop.  He wants us to die, and yes we’ll come back, but he’s still setting his employees to hurt us, so like, that’s very much a thing to begin with.

The fact that he’s willing to take up arms against us and kill us himself probably feels like a big escalation to Hades personally.  What really gets me is the dialogue.  “I have always kept my temper, unlike you.”  Wildly revisionist history, placing all of the blame for what’s about to happen on Zagreus the victim for ‘making me do this’. The absolute disgust and disdain, when he finally gets us.  “I have slain titans, boy.”  He’s spent a lot of time throwing scathing remarks in our general direction, wanting us to bow under them, being blandly sarcastic and self-satisfied and smug, but he's never sounded like that.

Because, before now, he thought we couldn’t do what we set out to do.  He thought our suffering as we tried was its own punishment, and he enjoyed watching that punishment.  He did not watch us fail with the affectionate resignation of a parent watching a child learn a harsh lesson.  He watched us and gloated. 

The thing that infuriates him now is not that we’re trying to do the thing we literally said we were trying to do ninety-eight runs ago at the start of the game.  He could have stopped us from trying at any time.  Hypnos to put us to sleep.  Literal chains.  Had he bothered for five seconds to actually step into the courtyard beyond our room, we could be disarmed and helpless.  But it’s fun for him to watch us fail, and it proves that he’s right about us and how pathetic we are, and it reassures him that he’s right about the universe, that nobody can escape from Hades, that we are stupid and foolish and weak.  What drives him to such absolute fury now is not that we’re trying, but the fact that we’re about to succeed.  We’re going to prove him wrong, prove that he was wrong about how he handled this situation in the first place, and that’s flatly unacceptable. 

There is no interpretation of this fight that does not include Hades wanting us to feel inferior, subjugated, crushed.  It’s not about keeping us in his realm.  It’s about breaking us, for daring to try to escape in the first place.

No matter why he’s doing it.  And let’s get into that for a sec, the “it’s a last resort to stop Zagreus from leaving” bit.  At this point in the game, I don’t know why Hades is so desperate to stop Zag from leaving.  I haven’t found out yet!  Don’t tell me!  Don’t hint about it!  But from where I’m standing, I can see, hmm, five main possibilities?

He is trying to protect Zagreus from something on the surface.

He is trying to protect the world from Zagreus, whose arrival out of hell will destroy something/everything in some magic way that Hades knows about but keeps secret.

Zagreus is actually a prisoner, meant to be chained in the Underworld for crimes he doesn’t remember committing, Tisiphone is right, and we were meant to be as condemned as Sisyphus all along but Hades has been generous.

Hades made it law a long time ago that nobody and nothing escapes the Underworld, and Zagreus cannot be allowed to break that law because nobody breaks Hades’ laws, period.  He could have chosen to make an exception but he did not, so all of this is flagrantly illegal and needs to be punished.

Hades himself is trapped in the Underworld, or at least feels that way, and is projecting and taking it out on his kid.

My best guess is that it’s some combination of a few of those (like, I am fairly sure that #5 is absolutely true no matter what other reasons are in place as well).  Thing is?  While I’m curious about this mystery for the story’s sake, I also really fundamentally do not care.

Any one of these things could better have been accomplished by telling Zagreus literally anything.  Even if there’s magic and prophecy bullshit binding Hades away from explaining the whole truth, it is not hard to hint at vague disaster befalling innocent bystanders “because of cosmic reasons I am beholden to keep secret”.  Hell, Hades’ own life becomes easier if he restrains himself just the tiniest bit in an effort to make Zagreus not want to leave in the first place.  Hades clearly does not want this to be happening!  He doesn’t seem to regret any of his actions, but he sure is annoyed and infuriated that he has to go through the trouble of doing them.  Literally one explanation could solve so much.

If the reason is to protect Zagreus?  Then it is one thousand times bullshit, and I think the game knows that.  (The game has to know that.)  When your kid is so miserable that they’d rather flee straight into traffic to escape you, then your kid is not safe.  Nothing that could hurt him on the surface--finding out that Persephone doesn’t love him and never did and in fact wants him dead and tortured for eternity--is any worse than what he’s facing down here.  He already knows one parent feels that way.  At least out of the Underworld he has the option to find some relatives who don’t.

And yet this situation doesn’t ping the “stupid plot that could never happen because it entirely rests on unrealistically shitty communication” sensors.  Because it absolutely, categorically makes sense for the Hades we’ve come to know to refuse to explain himself.  Whether he’s got good reasons or bad ones, HIS WORD IS LAW, and how dare anybody ask him to justify or clarify it, ever.

I am very very sure that Hades has lots of reasons: reasons for being furious, and bitter, and for making rules about his son never leaving the Underworld, and for being so desperate to enforce those rules, and for all of it.  Some of them may even be good.  What makes him an abuser, what those reasons do not and cannot justify, is the verbal and physical violence he uses against the people in his care to cope with those problems.

[whitehotharlots]

The point is control

Whenever we think or talk about censorship, we usually conceptualize it as certain types of speech being somehow disallowed: maybe (rarely) it's made formally illegal by the government, maybe it's banned in certain venues, maybe the FCC will fine you if you broadcast it, maybe your boss will fire you if she learns of it, maybe your friends will stop talking to you if they see what you've written, etc. etc. 

This understanding engenders a lot of mostly worthless discussion precisely because it's so broad. Pedants--usually arguing in favor of banning a certain work or idea--will often argue that speech protections only apply to direct, government bans. These bans, when they exist, are fairly narrow and apply only to those rare speech acts in which other people are put in danger by speech (yelling the N-word in a crowded theater, for example). This pedantry isn't correct even within its own terms, however, because plenty of people get in trouble for making threats. The FBI has an entire entrapment program dedicated to getting mentally ill muslims and rednecks to post stuff like "Death 2 the Super bowl!!" on twitter, arresting them, and the doing a press conference about how they heroically saved the world from terrorism. 

Another, more recent pedant's trend is claiming that, actually, you do have freedom of speech; you just don't have freedom from the consequences of speech. This logic is eerily dictatorial and ignores the entire purpose of speech protections. Like, even in the history's most repressive regimes, people still technically had freedom of speech but not from consequences. Those leftist kids who the nazis beheaded for speaking out against the war were, by this logic, merely being held accountable. 

The two conceptualizations of censorship I described above are, 99% of the time, deployed by people who are arguing in favor of a certain act of censorship but trying to exempt themselves from the moral implications of doing so. Censorship is rad when they get to do it, but they realize such a solipsism seems kinda icky so they need to explain how, actually, they're not censoring anybody, what they're doing is an act of righteous silencing that's a totally different matter. Maybe they associate censorship with groups they don't like, such as nazis or religious zealots. Maybe they have a vague dedication toward Enlightenment principles and don't want to be regarded as incurious dullards. Most typically, they're just afraid of the axe slicing both ways, and they want to make sure that the precedent they're establishing for others will not be applied to themselves.

Anyone who engages with this honestly for more than a few minutes will realize that censorship is much more complicated, especially in regards to its informal and social dimensions. We can all agree that society simply would not function if everyone said whatever they wanted, whenever they wanted. You might think your boss is a moron or your wife's dress doesn't look flattering, but you realize that such tidbits are probably best kept to yourself. 

Again, this is a two-way proposition that everyone is seeking to balance. Do you really want people to verbalize every time they dislike or disagree with you? I sure as hell don't. And so, as part of a social compact, we learn to self-censor. Sometimes this is to the detriment of ourselves and our communities. Most often, however, it's just a price we have to pay in order to keep things from collapsing. 

But as systems, large and small, grow increasingly more insane and untenable, so do the comportment standards of speech. The disconnect between America's reality and the image Americans have of themselves has never been more plainly obvious, and so striving for situational equanimity is no longer good enough. We can't just pretend cops aren't racist and the economy isn't run by venal retards or that the government places any value on the life of its citizens. There's too much evidence that contradicts all that, and the evidence is too omnipresent. There's too many damn internet videos, and only so many of them can be cast as Russian disinformation. So, sadly, we must abandon our old ways of communicating and embrace instead systems that are even more unstable, repressive, and insane than the ones that were previously in place.

Until very, very recently, nuance and big-picture, balanced thinking were considered signs of seriousness, if not intelligence. Such considerations were always exploited by shitheads to obfuscate things that otherwise would have seemed much less ambiguous, yes, but this fact alone does not mitigate the potential value of such an approach to understanding the world--especially since the stuff that's been offered up to replace it is, by every worthwhile metric, even worse.

So let's not pretend I'm Malcolm Gladwell or some similarly slimy asshole seeking to "both sides" a clearcut moral issue. Let's pretend I am me. Flash back to about a year ago, when there was real, widespread, and sustained support for police reform. Remember that? Seems like forever ago, man, but it was just last year... anyhow, now, remember what happened? Direct, issues-focused attempts to reform policing were knocked down. Blotted out. Instead, we were told two things: 1) we had to repeat the slogan ABOLISH THE POLICE, and 2) we had to say it was actually very good and beautiful and nonviolent and valid when rioters burned down poor neighborhoods.

Now, in a relatively healthy discourse, it might have been possible for someone to say something like "while I agree that American policing is heavily violent and racist and requires substantial reforms, I worry that taking such an absolutist point of demanding abolition and cheering on the destruction of city blocks will be a political non-starter." This statement would have been, in retrospect, 100000000% correct. But could you have said it, in any worthwhile manner? If you had said something along those lines, what would the fallout had been? Would you have lost friends? Your job? Would you have suffered something more minor, like getting yelled at, told your opinion did not matter? Would your acquaintances still now--a year later, after their political project has failed beyond all dispute--would they still defame you in "whisper networks," never quite articulating your verbal sins but nonetheless informing others that you are a dangerous and bad person because one time you tried to tell them how utterly fucking self-destructive they were being? It is undeniably clear that last year's most-elevated voices were demanding not reform but catharsis. I hope they really had fun watching those immigrant-owned bodegas burn down, because that’s it, that will forever be remembered as the most palpable and consequential aspect of their shitty, selfish movement. We ain't reforming shit. Instead, we gave everyone who's already in power a blank check to fortify that power to a degree you and I cannot fully fathom.

But, oh, these people knew what they were doing. They were good little boys and girls. They have been rewarded with near-total control of the national discourse, and they are all either too guilt-ridden or too stupid to realize how badly they played into the hands of the structures they were supposedly trying to upend.

And so left-liberalism is now controlled by people whose worldview is equal parts superficial and incoherent. This was the only possible outcome that would have let the system continue to sustain itself in light of such immense evidence of its unsustainability without resulting in reform, so that's what has happened.

But... okay, let's take a step back. Let's focus on what I wanted to talk about when I started this.

I came across a post today from a young man who claimed that his high school English department head had been removed from his position and had his tenure revoked for refusing to remove three books from classrooms. This was, of course, fallout from the ongoing debate about Critical Race Theory. Two of those books were Marjane Satropi's Persepolis and, oh boy, The Diary of Anne Frank. Fuck. Jesus christ, fuck.

Now, here's the thing... When Persepolis was named, I assumed the bannors were anti-CRT. The graphic novel does not deal with racism all that much, at least not as its discussed contemporarily, but it centers an Iranian girl protagonist and maybe that upset Republican types. But Anne Frank? I'm sorry, but the most likely censors there are liberal identiarians who believe that teaching her diary amounts to centering the suffering of a white woman instead of talking about the One Real Racism, which must always be understood in an American context. The super woke cult group Black Hammer made waves recently with their #FuckAnneFrank campaign... you'd be hard pressed to find anyone associated with the GOP taking a firm stance against the diary since, oh, about 1975 or so.

So which side was it? That doesn't matter. What matters is, I cannot find out.

Now, pro-CRT people always accuse anti-CRT people of not knowing what CRT is, and then after making such accusations they always define CRT in a way that absolutely is not what CRT is. Pro-CRTers default to "they don't want  students to read about slavery or racism." This is absolutely not true, and absolutely not what actual CRT concerns itself with. Slavery and racism have been mainstays of American history curriucla since before I was born. Even people who barely paid attention in school would admit this, if there were any more desire for honesty in our discourse. 

My high school history teacher was a southern "lost causer" who took the south's side in the Civil War but nonetheless provided us with the most descriptive and unapologetic understandings of slavery's brutalities I had heard up until that point. He also unambiguously referred to the nuclear attacks on Hiroshmia and Nagasaki as "genocidal." Why? Because most people's politics are idiosyncratic, and because you cannot genuinely infer a person to believe one thing based on their opinion of another, tangentially related thing. The totality of human understanding used to be something open-minded people prided themselves on being aware of, believe it or not...

This is the problem with CRT. This is is the motivation behind the majority of people who wish to ban it. It’s not because they are necessarily racist themselves. It’s because they recognize, correctly, that the now-ascendant frames for understanding social issues boils everything down to a superficial patina that denies not only the realities of the systems they seek to upend but the very humanity of the people who exist within them. There is no humanity without depth and nuance and complexities and contradictions. When you argue otherwise, people will get mad and fight back. 

And this is the most bitter irony of this idiotic debate: it was never about not wanting to teach the sinful or embarrassing parts of our history. That was a different debate, one that was settled and won long ago. It is instead an immense, embarrassing overreach on behalf of people who have bullied their way to complete dominance of their spheres of influence within media and academe assuming they could do the same to everyone else. Some of its purveyors may have convinced themselves that getting students to admit complicity in privilege will prevent police shootings, sure. But I know these people. I’ve spoken to them at length. I’ve read their work. The vast, vast majority of them aren’t that stupid. The point is to exert control. The point is to make sure they stay in charge and that nothing changes. The point is failure. 

[shepard-ram]

Okay so going deeper into yandere tommy, imagine him trying to get close to/befriend reader. Like he’s trying so hard to befriend them in his little gremlin way and, especially right before his exile, it becomes increasingly difficult because of the accusations and his actions. Despite all of the buzz around him, you both manage to become, in some form of the word, friends. But then the exile happens. Tommy feels like he’s been abandoned, betrayed by his closest friends. He literally has nobody. Well, except Dream and Ghostbur. After some time into his exile, with nobody going to visit him besides Dream, you decide that enough is enough and go to visit your friend. -🦤 1/?

you manage to get through the nether and, after a few failed attempts, find the portal that leads to Tommy’s site. When you find him, he’s probs not 100% in the right mental place. Like his depression is really getting to him and he’s kinda going mental (I haven’t rlly gotten to this part of the smp, I’m at the part right before Tommy’s exile so apologies if this isn’t completely accurate). And when a fucking ghost is your only mostly-constant contact along with a practically-daily visit from Dream, a man is gonna yearn for some other human contact. Especially from someone that you befriended before hand. So he feels closer to you since, ya’know, ur the first and only one that came to visit him (excluding Dream and Ghostbur). So y’all get to talking. you eventually leave but promise to keep visiting pretty often. Now Tommy’s trust issues are most definitely probably worse than before the exile so he’s very anxious when you leave. When you return the next day or the day after he’s like fucking POG the great Tommy is here!!! Right over here!! Look at him! You came back because you enjoy him because obviously he’s the best! But secretly he’s ecstatic about the fact that you came back for him. This keeps going on for a while until Tommy goes off with Techno. -🦤 2/?

You have no idea that anything happened to because you were busy and couldn’t visit him. Then when Tubbo spills the news, you’re devastated. You hadn’t visited Tommy in quite some time and because you visited him so often, you were partially in denial. So you went to check out the site yourself, and the tower convinced you that Tubbo’s news was true; Tommy was gone, dead, killed himself, whatever you wanna say about/call the “accident”. The mourning process starts and you cry. You cry and cry, sobbing until you can’t anymore, and somehow still manage to cry. Time passes and the guilt still stacks on you day by day. Then suddenly there’s news, rumors that Tommy was back; Tommy’s alive and well, seen walking the prime path with Techno and talking to Dream in front of the portal by the community house. -🦤 3/?

You are, understandably, in shock. You must be dreaming again, hallucinating that Tommy had come back and that nothing bad had happened to him. That everything that happened after he went missing was all some sick joke or a prank he pulled that worked a little too well. But when you see Tommy, mostly well but a little beaten/tattered, your emotions suddenly can’t be held back. All you can do hug Tommy, sobbing into his shoulder and calling him a “fucking bitch” for making everyone believe that he died or some shit. Then he chooses L’manberg over his alliance with Techno. Everything turns into chaos from there. -🦤 4/?

You don’t remember much else happening besides the fight for L’manberg which lead to its fall. It was all a blur. But everyone came out mostly unscathed and that’s all that mattered to you. I mean yeah there were some deaths and Tommy and Quackity were struck by lightning, but nothing that lead to a cannon death. But Tommy remembered everything. He remembered the way that you were repeatedly slain by Techno’s dog army, blown up by the tnt, fell into the holes that the withers made. There were so many things that Tommy remembered, all of the horrific things that happened to you and his friends. Some were reality and some came from nightmares/night terrors later on when that Tommy couldn’t differentiate between reality and fiction. But shhhh that totally doesn’t matter *wink*. - 🦤 5/? (Am I losing count?)

Anyways so a decent amount of that time you spent defending your friends against dangers instead of really instigating/fighting the stuff. You defended Tommy a lot because small big man Tommy is gone through so much , it’d hurt to see him go through more. But that just further traumatized him because why??? Why are you doing this? He’s not that important??? Stop getting yourself hurt over him! He’s am a big man! He can care for self! See!! He really appreciates you doing that for him though, even if it leads to disaster and fear/anxiety later on. So the battle definitely could have gone better. -🦤 6/?

People start to rebuild, but conflict still lingers. The Eggpire? Yikes, dangers cult! It literally wants to kill Tommy! So wouldn’t it try to do anything to lure Tommy in? Nicki and Jack trying to kill him. They’d do anything to get to him. And harming the things/ones he loves doesn’t seem to be on their list of “stuff we won’t do to fuck up this kid”. And many people don’t like him. There’s so many dangers for him and anybody he cares about. Tubbo, Phil, Sam, and the others can handle themselves. They have fighting experience. But you? Your first fight/war on the SMP was literally the last fight for L’manberg and you saw how that went! You got so injured during that! He can’t allow that to happen again! -🦤 7/?

So he’s paranoid about your safety, not really about himself. And maybe Nicki and Jack have already tried to use you to get Tommy. Even more incentive to do something ASAP for your safety. The best idea he can come up with is hiding you in a secret base. Secret bases do pretty well in the SMP... when they aren’t revealed; nobody really finds them and they do a great job protecting the stuff inside of it! He’s lazy and impatient and can’t just demand/“persuade” someone into making it for him. Then they’ll know where the base is, get suspicious of him or worse, they’ll know where you are/could be. So “asking for help” isn’t really an option here. He’ll ponder for a while then come up with the Pogtopia idea. It’s perfect! Nobody goes there anymore/it’s abandoned, it’s got the essentials to live there (I’m gonna assume the potato farm is still down there and will work), it’s a pretty secretive location (only the people on Pogtopia’s side rlly know of the location and they’re either dead or most likely forgot about the location! Besides Wilbur, Tommy, Techno, and Tubbo, the others didn’t go there often), and it’s a good distance away from most of the SMP. It’s a great idea! Now all Tommy has to do is get you into Pogtopia without any suspicion... -🦤 8/8 (yeah this was small at first then spiraled out of control owbfhfke sorry for the dump in your ask box)

Bro I'm not even gonna add to this cause it's just so perfect by itself- ah i am so glad you decided to share this <33!!! Like you really said "I'm gonna send a goddamn masterpiece" and I'm here for it

[maria-scribbles]

loyalty’s all i got | part one

summary: three years ago, you had it all: great friends, good grades, and an almost perfect relationship with your boyfriend, jj. it all came crashing down when your mom relocated your family to california for work and you were forced to trade the outer banks for malibu, leaving your broken heart behind in the place you were just starting to think of as home. now you're back in town for college and to pick up the pieces, hoping to make things right again with your friends and the boy you never stopped loving.

word count: 8.9k+ i'm legit incapable of writing something short 😅

ship: jj maybank x female!reader, pogue friendship

warnings: mentions of child abuse, non-graphic injuries, weed, swearing, underage drinking, learning to be vulnerable, trust issues, first love, jj getting the love and affection he deserves, underage sex (nothing too descriptive but it gets a lil spicy, just fyi), teenage heartbreak, failed long distance relationship, angst with a happy ending, references to some taylor swift songs 'cause she's a queen.

a/n: got a lil plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone so here we are lol. title and inspiration for this fic comes from train's song "rescue dog" that gave me 'jj x reader where they're both damaged goods' vibes the second i heard it. this is semi canon-compliant as the treasure hunt never happened but big john is still alive and kie and sarah still work out their issues and become friends again. i used the names daisy, daniel, deke, and mack as a tribute to agents of shield, one of my favorite shows that had just had its series finale (and i'm still an emotional mess). enjoy and keep an eye out for part two, coming soon!

~masterlist~

part one: when our love was young and easy

For you, having a traveling nurse as a mom was both a blessing and a curse. When you were a kid, you loved bouncing around the country to a new town every so often and finding new places to explore with your rebellious big sister. Back then, she was all you needed to be happy: you'd go anywhere and everywhere as long as Daisy, your best friend, was by your side. 

As you both grew older and started school, you slowly realized that packing up your life every few years sucked. Yeah, seeing new places was cool and all but the novelty wore off fast when you found yourself making friends with your classmates, kids who weren't your sister for once, only to lose touch whenever you moved again. You felt like a ghost, haunting a new school for a while and then leaving behind nothing but a memory, one that gradually faded over time until it was gone, as if you never existed at all. You wondered if anyone actually remembered you. 

It was hard. You gradually became more sullen and withdrawn, finding it more and more difficult to make friends when you knew they wouldn't last, while Daisy acted out even worse than usual and ended up being grounded almost every week. It took her getting arrested while graffitiing the school gym on New Year's Eve for your father - a bit clueless about being a stay-at-home dad to two girls but he tried his best- to put his foot down and tell his wife enough was enough. 

"Our kids need stability, Rebekah. They need a chance to make real friends and stay in one place for longer than two or three years. They need a home."

Thankfully by some miracle, your mother agreed and promised the next move would be the last until you graduated high school. You wanted to believe her so badly but you weren't sure if you could as you packed up your life once again and headed down south from Rhode Island.

That's how you ended up in the Outer Banks of North Carolina, finishing eighth grade at some fancy ass academy that you weren't sure your parents could afford. Daisy, a sophomore, seemed to have no problem fitting in on the north side of the island when she landed a job as a lifeguard at the country club and made fast friends with the rich kids that frequented the pool. It stung a bit when she eventually started ditching you for them (and some older boy named Kelce; you knew she'd snag a boyfriend eventually but you didn't realize it'd be so fast and with someone so...douchey) but you tried not to let it bother you too much, as you were okay getting by on your own and honest-to-God happy for your sister. Making friends was a scary thought when you remembered all the kids you've had to leave behind over the years, all the friendships that crumbled into dust in the wind so you tried to stay at arm's length from your classmates and told yourself you were just fine the way you were. 

The loneliness was hard to ignore though, and you soon found yourself slowly, reluctantly becoming friends with a girl named Kiara that sat beside you in algebra after she helped you cram for a test you completely forgot about, even as warning bells rang loud in your mind. It wasn't long before you started sitting with her and her friend Sarah at lunch, which led to being invited to the beach and the movies and sleepovers and just like that, you remembered what friendship felt like. For the first time, you felt like a normal teenager with a best friend that wasn't your sister and although you liked Sarah, Kiara was the one you were closest to, especially when you found out she hated the kook academy as much as you did.

"Fuck it," She said at one of your sleepovers, sitting on the floor at the end of your bed and rifling through your box of movies. "I'm done with acting like something I'm not, I'm done with being fake, and I'm done with rich kid politics." She tossed Legally Blonde in your direction and then joined you in leaning against the headboard as you slipped the DVD into your laptop.

"Yeah, this whole kook thing kind of sucks." You replied, tapping through the previews to the main menu. "That's why I don't give a shit."

"And that's why I'm so happy you're my friend, Y/N," Kiara said. "You're just yourself and don't try to change for anybody. It's cool."

Cursor hovering over the play button, you paused and glanced over at the other girl. "I'm happy you're my friend, too. I...I only really had my sister growing up so just...thanks, I guess. For being here."

Kiara pulled you into a fierce hug after your impromptu confession and you hugged her back, understanding for the first time what true friendship looked like. 

More kids get added to your posse -three boys named John B, JJ, and Pope- after a catastrophic falling out with Sarah over her fiasco of a birthday party and from the very first time you met them, you realized the south side of the island was where you belonged. The pogues were unabashedly, unapologetically real and you felt the freest you'd ever been when you were hanging out with them and from the way Kiara seemed so much happier, you knew she felt the same way. Those kooks and their status quo could suck it.

You vowed you wouldn't let yourself get too attached to your new friends (cohorts, as your dad jokingly called them), lest you get your heart broken when your mom inevitably moved on to the next job in a year or two; despite her promise, you just had a feeling that it wouldn't last and wished you weren't always waiting for that other shoe to drop. You didn't plan on them becoming your second family and you definitely didn't plan on falling in love for the first time, but life always found new ways to surprise you. 

You were fourteen when you started to notice that one of your friends was cute as fuck. To be honest, you thought all of your friends were pretty cute but there was something about JJ that made you flustered beyond belief every time he crossed your mind. You found yourself more than a little fixated on his golden hair, his bright blue eyes, and the way you always felt at your happiest when he was around; he lived like a wild, out of control hurricane and you wanted to get swept up in the eye of his storm, despite your brain telling you not to.

You never had crushes before, always too busy anticipating worrying about your family's next move to really look at anyone like that but you were definitely looking now while you tried to balance on JJ's surfboard in the gently bobbing waves, your trembling hands planted firmly on his -bare, tan, strong- shoulders as he held it steady.

"Lookin' good, Y/N," He looked up at you with a proud grin before glancing back down at your stance. "Just bend your knees a little more and you'll be perfect."

His praise, along with his calloused palms carefully adjusting your legs made your face feel hot and you shifted on the board to correct your balance, slowly raising your arms until you were standing, albeit a little wobbly, mostly on your own. 

"Holy shit!" You yelled, the smile on your face growing more ecstatic at the encouraging cheers of your friends as they watched from the beach twenty feet away. "I'm doing it! I'm actually doing it!"

"Almost," JJ gave you another one of his killer smiles, the ones that you quickly found out made breathing normally quite the challenge, then let go of your knees to give the board a solid push forward. "Now you are!"

Frantically, you recalled everything he taught you that afternoon and managed to make it halfway to shore before you lost your balance and fell into the surf with a giddy laugh. "Guess I need a little more practice," You giggled as he splashed his way over and offered you a hand, a teasing glint in his blue eyes. 

"Just a little?"

You flicked some water at him for that and your laugh grew when he wrapped you up in his arms and spun you around before flinging you both into the waves. The others immediately ran to join you and an all out war broke out, everyone splashing each other with no holds barred.  

When he casually suggested giving you another lesson the next day as you all laid on the sand to catch your breath, you were unable to say no and the soft, dimpled smile on his face made your heart skip a beat in a way you'd never felt before. For the first time, you told the warning bells in your head to just shut the fuck up and allowed yourself to think about the future, to dream about what you could become and where you could be in two, five, even ten years. You let yourself have hope.

The next morning, you put on your favorite bikini -the green high waisted one that made your butt look good- and caught a ride with Daisy and Kelce to the beach, ignoring the teasing looks and jabs your sister sent your way and the sly smirk on her boyfriend's face. 

"Hey, Juliet, looks like your Romeo's already waiting for you." 

You rolled your eyes and hopped out of Kelce's Range Rover, flipping them both the bird behind your back without a second glance. As they drove away, their laughter followed you to where JJ was indeed waiting by the walkway to the shore, surfboard under his arm, and his face broke out into a wide grin when he laid eyes on you, one that you couldn't help returning.

"Sorry I'm late, my sister was being a bitch."

He laughed at that and reached out to take your hand, sending warm tingles through your whole body. "I was kinda worried you forgot about me, Y/N."

In a sudden burst of courage you didn't know you had, you laced your fingers with his and started pulling him toward the water as you sent him a wink over your shoulder. "I would never."

You started your lesson on the sand, reviewing how to stand up and balance on the board, before moving to the ocean. You catch your first waves on your stomach to get used to the movement and when you get comfortable with that you move to your knees and then your feet; each time JJ was there to catch you when you inevitably bit it, hugging you close to his bare chest and speaking enthusiastic words of encouragement in your ear, and with every passing try you became more and more confident until you finally nailed a small wave from beginning to end without falling on your ass. 

"I did it!" In a flash, you jumped off the board and into his arms, your mouth curving into a joyful grin when he spun you in circles like yesterday with your own arms locked tight around his neck.

"Hell yeah you did!" The proud smile on his face made your stomach do a little flip and so did the way he held you close, his hands hooked under your thighs. "You're gonna be a pro in no time."

"Well," You said, twirling your fingers in the fine blond hair at his nape and hoping you didn't just imagine the shiver that ran down his spine. "I do have a great teacher."

His pretty blue eyes locked onto yours and you couldn't look away even if you wanted to (which you absolutely didn't). You'd been reading about moments like that ever since you were a kid, alone in your room with nothing better to do than drown yourself in overly sappy fanfiction until 2 AM, so you knew all about the magnetism, the butterflies, the invisible string tying two lovers together by fate, but it was just a fantasy, a pipe dream, something to yearn for when the loneliness became too much. Never in a million years did you imagine you would ever feel like that.

And yet you did. You felt it in your whole body, coursing through your veins like liquid fire, and when JJ started to lean in, you didn't hesitate to meet him halfway. It wasn't your first kiss -that happened two years ago when you were still living in Rhode Island, during a rare party you actually got invited to and with a pretty girl in your class- but it was the first that set every single one of your nerves alight. He held you tighter against him as your hands moved to cup his face, letting him deepen the kiss with a tilt of his head and the soft swipe of his tongue against your lips. You never thought you'd find yourself in the middle of a make out session in broad daylight and in full view of everyone on the beach but there you were, not giving a single shit about who was watching. All you cared about was memorizing every detail about the way he kissed you, the feel of his mouth on yours and the heat of his palms against your thighs, the rough touch of drying saltwater on his skin under your thumbs and that little noise he made low in his throat when you wrapped your legs tighter around his waist. You could've kissed him for hours (holy shit did you want to do that) and never run out of new idiosyncrasies to notice.

You pulled back some glorious time later with a breathless smile and swollen lips, heart racing against your ribcage and forehead pressed to JJ's as he smiled back, an endearing pink flushed across his face. 

"I've wanted to do that for a while." His quiet admission made the butterflies in your stomach go haywire and you leaned down to kiss him once again, no longer able to deny yourself the happiness you longed for for years now that you'd had a taste; he returned the kiss and you laughed against his mouth as he spun you around before gently setting you on your feet in the surf, his forgotten board -thankfully still tethered to your ankle- bumping into your legs with every wave.

"Me, too." 

"Good." He shot you a smile that make you weak in the knees and tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear, then it was his turn to lean down to press his lips to yours.

After that day, life was practically a dream. You had the greatest friends you could've asked for, your family was the happiest you'd ever seen them, and you had a boyfriend. A loyal, affectionate, chaotic boyfriend who somehow managed to keep you on your toes while being your guiding light all at once and you wondered how you got so lucky that a boy as wonderful as JJ wanted little old you, with all of your insecurities and shattered edges and tendencies to push people away when they got too close.

You told him that one day as you laid together on your bed, sharing lazy kisses in the warm late-summer sun streaming in through your window while Fleetwood Mac played quietly from your phone resting on the nightstand. Fall was in the air and with it came cool breezes and that nagging fear in the back of your mind that screamed none of it would last. It was the first time you cried in front of him -in front of anyone other than your sister- and he held you tight to his chest, hand running soothingly over your back as you let everything out in one massive, embarrassing flood of years of pent-up emotions. 

Another thing your boyfriend was good at, you found out, was comfort. He didn't say anything as he hugged you close but he didn't need to, the fact that he was simply there and listening was all you needed from him. You spent your whole life living in the shadows until then, when he made you feel seen, heard, and important, validated, all without saying a single word and after your tears had run dry and you pulled your face away from his damp shirt, you killed that urge to flee and buried it so deep you hoped you'd never find it again. 

That day, you poured out your heart for the first time to a person you knew in your very bones you could trust and received nothing but unconditional acceptance in return. JJ took you as you were, flaws and metaphorical scars, dark secrets and past mistakes, and you weren't quite fifteen yet but you wondered if that spark you felt in your blood when he kissed you was love.

It was less than a week later when he showed up at your door late at night, bruised and bloody, and the thrill of a clandestine meeting in your room faded the second you saw the small, pained smile he sent your way. Daisy, swapping roles with you for once, distracted your parents so you could sneak him upstairs like she did with Kelce practically every week and only when you were both safely hidden away in your room did you speak, keeping your voice as soft as your touch against his bruised cheek. "What happened?"

You cried in front of him for the second time when he finally answered, after you cleaned him up with the first aid kit your mom always kept under your bathroom sink and helped him change into some of your dad's old clothes your sister swiped from the laundry room ("if you need anything, just text me, 'k?" she said and you sent her a grateful smile before she left, quietly shutting the door behind her.). JJ was your echo as he spilled all his secrets, too, bringing his demons out of the deep blue darkness and into your golden daylight where they slowly burned to ash, little by little. You held him close, your legs tangled together and his head pillowed on your chest, and you ran your fingers through his hair over and over until he talked himself hoarse and his hands loosened their white-knuckled grip on your sweatshirt. 

Words had never been your strong suit so you let your actions speak for you and gently wiped the tears from his cheeks with your thumbs, leaning down to press your lips to his forehead, then his closed eyelids, his nose, all over his face until there was no inch you hadn't kissed other than his mouth; you saved that for last, letting each delicate touch linger against his slightly chapped lips like bright beacons of light guiding him through a storm in hopes that he'll make it to shore.

"You'll always be safe with me." 

You whispered it into his hair sometime later, through swollen lips that hurt in the best possible way and you felt his slow smile into the curve of your neck, his reply coming in the form of a soft and feather-light kiss against your heated skin. You fell asleep that night with your boyfriend wrapped up in your arms, safe and warm and far away from the father who hurt him in more ways than one. 

Your parents, on the other hand, loved JJ so much to the point you thought they'd adopt him if they could, especially your dad. They were constantly inviting him over for dinner, fishing trips, movie nights: you name it, your parents wanted him there, and you were pretty sure he was spending even more time at your place than at John B's. He won the 'favorite boyfriend' category by default because Kelce barely made the 'tolerated' list, much to your and Daisy's amusement. 

Despite that fact though, you still snuck JJ out your window that morning to meet him at the front door just as your mother was leaving for her shift at the hospital. Rebekah greeted him with her customary hug before touching his bruised cheek with a gentle hand and concern in her eyes.  

"What happened, hon?" 

He shrugged, expertly bullshitting some excuse about defending your honor when one of Kelce's friends started going off about how good your ass looked and it instantly appeased your dad, who reached over to clap your boyfriend on the shoulder.

"Good job, kid." Bill said with a pleased grin, then kissed his wife goodbye and headed back down the hall toward the living room. "Hear that, Daisy? Your boy needs to get better friends!"

"Dad!"

"Even better, just get a better boy in general!"

As your father and sister squabbled, your mother pulled you both into another fierce hug and whispered "You always have a place here," before she headed out the door; JJ looked a bit stunned at Rebekah's words and you reached over to give his hand a gentle squeeze, smiling softly when he slowly did it back.

Your parents weren't stupid. They knew your boyfriend didn't come from the best of homes but they loved him anyway, showering him in ordinary, everyday affection they knew he rarely got. You noticed it more and more as the months passed: your dad always asking him for help fixing Daisy's clunker of a car when it broke down and both would come inside with grease-stained hands and easy smiles, your mom keeping all the first aid kits fully stocked and hugging him a little tighter when he looked a little worse for wear, both of them making sure he was fed and safe and cared for like he deserved. Even Daisy had a penchant for leaving snacks on your bed like some sort of food fairy and offering to give rides to the beach or the Chateau, especially after she finally dumped Kelce and had, as she said, 'nothing better to do.'

And you? You fell harder each passing day, each moment you spent with him, each kiss that made your veins hum with white hot lightning. Of course, your friends teased you mercilessly but neither of you really minded, knowing that each joke was born pure joy at seeing you both together and happy (though you never missed an opportunity to be extra affectionate in front of everyone as revenge.). JJ continued to teach you how to surf until you could hold your own with the rest of the pogues and when you turned fifteen in late spring, they gave you the surprise of your life in the form of your very own board.

You stared in shock at the sea foam green board propped in the sand beside your friends,' gaping like a fish out of water as they all screamed "happy birthday, Y/N!" at the top of their lungs.

"You...you guys -are you for real?" You reached out to run your fingers over the smooth epoxy surface, the mounting pressure behind your eyes becoming harder and harder to ignore when you caught sight of your friends' identical bright grins. What did you do to deserve them?

"We figured it was time you had your own board instead of that shitty hand me down," John B said, ruffling your hair with brotherly affection that made your heart feel full. Pope nodded enthusiastically and added, "You're gonna improve so much with this -not that you weren't already, I mean!"

"She's already good 'cause she has me for a teacher," JJ said with an overexaggerated wink as he pulled you closer and planted a kiss on your cheek. "Taught her everything she knows."

"Oh, please, you just wanted to mack-"

"Taught her how to make out-"

"What they all mean to say, Y/N," Kiara interrupted, sending the boys a pointed look, then gave your shoulder a quick squeeze, "is that we love you. That word won't kill you guys to say, you know."

"I-I love you guys, too. All of you." You admitted thickly, hastily wiping away the tears you just realized were slipping down your face. It didn't scare you to say it. You didn't feel the urge to run or pretend you didn't care for them as much as they cared for you 'cause you loved your friends like you loved your sister, your parents, and the thought filled you with joy instead of terror. "I don't know how to thank you."

You suddenly found yourself in the middle of a colossal group hug, laughing and crying at the same time as four pairs of arms all tried to wrap around you at once.  "How about you start by getting out there and showing us what you're made of?" John B said with a nod toward the ocean and you wiggled your way out of the tangle of limbs, darting forward to pull your new board from the sand.  

"Come on, slowpokes," You called over your shoulder as you jogged toward the water, "You aren't gonna let the newbie have all the fun, right?"

The water was a bit too chilly for surfing but the five of you dove in anyway and you grinned so hard you were sure your face would split in two when you nailed your first wave to the rest of the pogues' cheers. You all surfed until the cold was too much to bear before packing up and heading back to your house, where you spent the rest of your birthday surrounded by all of the people you'd ever loved, making s'mores around the campfire in your backyard. 

"I meant what I said earlier." You blurted when JJ was the only one around to hear it, the others already headed inside for the night. The two of you laid together on a blanket beside the dying fire as you stared up at the stars and when you spoke, he tore his gaze from the sky to focus on you, one eyebrow raised in the cutest confused expression you'd ever seen.

"Meant what?"

Maybe it was the look in those pretty blue eyes of his or the feel of his fingers running through your hair or your brain remembering every single moment you'd ever shared with him all at once but something screamed at you to say those words, the ones you'd been thinking about saying to his face for a long time. Though you'd already said them earlier, this time was different -so, so different- and you took a deep breath, fighting away the nerves that made your hand tremble as you cupped his face and ran your thumb over his cheekbone.

"I love you."

The funny thing about words: once they're out in the air, there's no taking them back. These words, though? You never wanted to take them back. Ever. 

"I love you, too."

It wasn't like the movies. Fireworks didn't go off, the world didn't stop spinning on its axis, nothing magically clicked into place, but you did feel the most wonderful warmth you could ever imagine slowly sinking into your bones when he said it back, the soft smile on his flushed face snatching the very breath from your lungs. He loved you. You loved him. It was simple, uncomplicated, effortless and you smiled into his kiss with the moon and stars as your witnesses. 

Summer came again, setting you and Kiara free from the hell known as the kook academy and its rich kid hierarchy and the two of you ran wild -from sunrise to sunset- with your boys at your sides, like birds escaping their cages or horses let loose in the grasslands, untamed and thirsty for adventure. It had only just begun and yet you already knew it was the best summer of your life. 

Your dad, a man able to make friends with a rock, struck up a camaraderie with Sarah's father of all people during a deep sea fishing trip and snagged five invitations to some fancy party called Midsummers. 

Kiara nearly had a coronary when you shared the news, her face lighting up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Oh, thank God!" She breathed, sitting up on her towel and pushing her sunglasses up onto her forehead. "Maybe I'll actually have a good time for once."

The two of you were relaxing on the beach, taking a break while the boys surfed and you turned away from admiring your boyfriend's bare back to look her in the eye. "So what you're saying is-"

"-it fucking sucks. Just..." She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "a bunch of bourgeoise pigs throwing a party to stroke their overinflated egos."

You groaned and flopped back onto your towel, throwing your arm over your eyes. "Great, a night of rich people being rich people."

Kiara laughed and reached over to grab a bottle of water from the cooler. "You have no idea."

Despite her misgivings, the party wasn't as bad as you thought it would be. Sure, the general stench of opulence and wasted money -so much wasted money- was overbearing and quite frankly disgusting but you did your best to ignore it, focusing instead on having a great time with two of your best friends, making fun of the kooks and sneaking liquor when the adults weren't looking. One of those friends happened to be your boyfriend and you found it very, very hard to keep your eyes off him in that suit of his, with his hair slicked back in just the right way that made your knees weak; JJ couldn't stop staring at you either and you'd lost count of how many times you glanced over to find him already looking at you, something you'd never seen before behind his gaze. You wanted -needed- to find out what it was and you were hoping you would tonight, even if you didn't exactly know how. 

"Why don't you two take a picture? It'll last longer." Kiara said sarcastically and you flicked your eyes down to your lap, smoothing a non-existent wrinkle in your deep green dress to hide your embarrassment. What was it about that damn suit that made you feel so flustered?

"You know me, Kie," JJ replied, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the dance floor. "I like to live in the moment." He grinned down at you and you couldn't help smiling back, giggling as he twirled you under his arm before pulling you close, resting his other hand low on your back.

"I didn't know you were such a good dancer," You said, letting him lead you in a simple waltz across the cool grass. 

"Well, I'm not but I might've spent the last week practicing with your sister while Kie distracted you." He admitted casually, shooting a thumbs up over your shoulder and you turned to find Daisy grinning in your direction as she swayed with some guy (Daniel, you thought, or maybe Deke? You weren't sure.) you'd seen hanging around the pool a few times. 'You're welcome,' She mouthed before spinning under her partner's arm, her wine-colored dress fanning out around her legs and you smiled wider, twirling back into your boyfriend's embrace and surging up onto your tiptoes to press your lips to his.

He dipped you low as he returned your kiss, grinning against your mouth when you flung your arms around his neck in surprise, your fingers holding tight to the collar of his suit jacket. "You did all that for me?" You asked once your feet were firmly back on the ground and your heart skipped a beat as his hands brushed the skin exposed by the low-cut back of your dress. 

"Anything for you, Y/N." 

Later, after dancing until your shoes started to dig uncomfortably into your toes, the two of you snuck down to the beach, your heels in your hands and two stolen drinks in JJ's. You felt a bit guilty ditching Kiara but from the wink she sent your way as you passed by, you were pretty sure she didn't really mind. The sand was cool on your legs through the thin layers of your skirt and yet you felt nothing but warm, both from his arm around your shoulders and the alcohol burning down your throat.

"Shit," You coughed, regretting following your boyfriend's example by knocking the whole thing back at once and playfully jabbing your elbow in his side when he outright laughed at your struggle. "I'm not used to drinking straight...whatever this is." 

"It's bourbon, babe." He took the glass from your hand and set it aside before tucking you closer against him to ward off the slight chill of the mellow ocean breeze. "Don't worry, I still love you even if you can't take shots."

"Ha ha. Love you, too, you jerk." You rested your head on his shoulder after they stopped shaking with laughter, perfectly happy to sit in silence together and watch the waves crash against the shore. A pleasant tingle flooded through your body after the bourbon finally stopped burning and you realized you liked the feeling, even if it paled in comparison to the high you reached when he kissed you, when he ran his hand through your hair, when he made it crystal clear you were loved. 

"Hey, Y/N?"

JJ's voice pulled you out of your thoughts and you shifted your head to look up at him, hooking one of your ankles around his. "Yeah?"

"Gimme your hand."

You obliged, your confusion slowly melting away into something more closely resembling pure, unadulterated affection as he tied a bracelet around your wrist. And not just any bracelet, you noticed when you brought it closer to your face to examine it in the dim, distant light of the party: this one was obviously, beautifully handmade, woven with threads in shades of green, blue, and tan and tied off with two green beads on each end. You ran your thumb over a spot where the intricate motif was just a little messed up and smiled when JJ looked embarrassed, the tips of his ears turning red.

"Yeah, sorry about that, I was in a hurry and fucked up the pattern," He confessed sheepishly, spinning a similar bracelet around his own wrist. "I was gonna give it to you on your birthday but I kind of underestimated how long it took to make-"

"It's perfect." You interrupted, tackling him onto the sand with your arms around his neck as you pressed a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth, leaving a bright red lipstick mark behind. "I love it. I love you."

The smile he sent you was one of unabashed relief and he slid his fingers into your hair to pull you down for another kiss. "I love you, too."

For awhile after that, you let your lips do the talking in a different way and you made out on the beach for -surprisingly- only the second time until you rolled onto your back and accidentally got a little sand in your underwear (he laughed at that but you immediately got your revenge by stuffing a handful down the front of his shirt). You snuck back to the party hand in hand to drop off the forgotten glasses and wave a quick goodbye to Kiara, who just smirked at your smudged lipstick and the golden crown of leaves sitting crooked on your head, before walking toward your house a mile down the road. Well, JJ walked, you hitched a ride on his back when he wouldn't take no for an answer.

"Babe, your feet hurt and you have sand in your ass. No way in hell I'm letting you walk."

You just smiled against his shoulder and let him carry you the rest of the way to your house and then even up the stairs to your room as you fired off a text to Daisy letting her know where you disappeared to. She sent 'check your dresser, thank me later' with a winking emoji back and you felt your face get hot when you caught sight of the small box tucked into the corner of the drawer, quickly placing the phone facedown on your bedside table before tossing your shoes onto the floor by your closet and carefully pulling the crown from your messy hair.

"Thanks for the ride, my feet and ass are in your debt."

"Let's make out again and I'll consider that debt paid."

You laughed but gave in 'cause hell, you really wanted to keep making out, too. You pushed JJ backwards until his knees hit your bed and you ended up on his lap, your hands pushing the suit jacket off his shoulders as you leaned down to kiss him. He slid the pins from your hair one by one until it fell around your face and he tangled his fingers in it, pulling your head back so he could trail his lips down the sensitive skin of your neck and you gasped, pausing in the middle of trying to undo the bowtie around his neck.

Something shifted in the air then and you knew that once you took that next step, there'd be no turning back but you were ready to meet it head on as you finished with his tie and tossed it behind you, then started on the buttons of his shirt. That look from earlier was in his eyes again and you nodded, smiling in anticipation when you finally understood what it meant and he languidly slipped one of the straps of your dress off your shoulder. 

You bared your body like you bared your soul and soon there was no part of you that he didn't know. You learned every part of him, too and together you brought each other to a high you'd never felt before. It wasn't perfect, of course, but it was perfect to you: every awkward, beautiful touch, when you breathed his name like that for the first time, the way your hands clutched his hair like a lifeline. You were burning up from the inside out, every single nerve on fire and blazing brilliantly under your heated skin and you'd never felt more alive when you came undone in his arms.

In the afterglow, you laid wrapped up together like the woven bracelets you both wore, JJ's fingers steadily tracing the curve of your bare hip as yours soothed the darkening red mark you'd left behind on his neck. The fairy lights strung above your bed cast soft, welcoming shadows all around, highlighting that wonderful look in his eyes, open and awed and oh so loving and you knew your gaze held the same.

"I'm, I-" He started, then shook his head and leaned down to place a lingering kiss on your cheek. "I just -shit."

"Whoa, you're speechless," You teased, sweeping a wayward strand of sweaty blond hair away from his forehead. "Guess I really blew your mind, huh?"

"Fucking fried it." He shook his head again with the dopiest, dreamiest smile you'd ever seen and you giggled as he pulled you closer, calloused palm flat against the small of your back. "I'm so fucking in love with you. Straight up head over heels, babe." 

You smiled even wider at his words and how they ignited that flame burning inside you once again. "Good thing I'm fucking head over heels, hopelessly in love with you, too." You replied and pushed him back onto the bed, swinging a leg over his thighs so you were the one on top this time. "And I'm gonna blow your damn mind again."

You weren't sure what you expected life to be like after you had sex for the first time. You'd always heard it was this momentous occasion, that you'd suddenly feel like a real woman or whatever stupid label society came up with to further control girls and their sexuality but honestly, you still felt like the same person. All those rom-coms and their jokes about having that look after getting laid were total and complete bullshit, you realized; to you, sex was just a different, more intimate way to show your love and you just happened to like showing it often (and luckily JJ did, too). You flaunted it in other ways, too, his bandanas tied in your hair and shirts in your closet, your necklaces resting against his collarbone and bracelets you learned to make around his wrists, but there was nothing like the marks you left on each other's skin -necks, inner arms, hipbones- when you were alone together in the dark.

Life went on. Months flew by and things were nearly perfect for you: great friends, good grades, a wonderful relationship with your loving boyfriend. The girl of your past, the one who kept to herself and avoided anything that had to do with being vulnerable like the plague was dead and gone and in her place was the person you always wanted to be. You were happy -ridiculously, deliriously happy- sixteen and so in love with the life you built that you'd almost forgotten about your mom's tendency to relocate your family every few years; that nagging thought was still in the back of your mind but you refused to let it control your life with fear of losing everything -everyone- you'd come to love.

But you knew how the saying went: the bigger you are, the harder you fall.

The higher you climb on an unstable mountain, the more it hurts when it inevitably crumbles beneath you. 

Your mountain didn't just crumble: it was violently torn apart, ripped into pieces by a devastating earthquake, a destructive landslide caused by the one person who promised she wouldn't hurt you anymore but the catalyst that unintentionally set it in motion came from someone you never expected: your sister.

Daisy graduated from the kook academy and got accepted into her dream school, UCLA, alongside her boyfriend Daniel (see, you knew his name wasn't Deke) but you didn't think too much of it. After all, you knew that day would come eventually, the day your big sister would head off to college and leave you, her shadow, behind but the thought didn't fill you with dread like it used to. You had friends, a found family to soothe the inescapable sting of the Daisy-shaped hole in your heart and keep your spirits high when she hopped on that plane to California in the fall.

You still had the summer though and you made it count, days spent with your friends and nights spent with your sister, doing all the things you used to do together when you were little; watching movies, playing games, making a total mess in the kitchen when you baked batches and batches of cookies that had both your boyfriend and hers always hanging around like dogs begging for scraps. You and Daisy started putting them to work the second they ate two dozen snickerdoodles by themselves (Daniel was an excellent cook while JJ was a total disaster) and those nights always ended with the four of you squished together on the couch, wrapped in blankets and cookies and warmth while a scary movie played on in the background. 

The day before Daisy left for LA, you met your parents and sister at The Wreck for what you thought would be your last family dinner until Thanksgiving break but it turned out you were the only one who believed that. You should've known something was wrong the second your dad didn't even make a joke about your friends dropping you off in John B's rust bucket of a van or when JJ pulled you back in for a kiss that was just a little bit too risque for the public eye (You'd laughed when John B and Pope both pretended to gag and just kissed him harder, not giving a single shit about who saw, even your parents.). You should've known when your mother's smile was a little strained or when your sister wouldn't meet your eyes. You should've known but you stupidly didn't see the signs and that made Rebekah's words so much harder to swallow.

"We're moving to California."

You dropped the loaded nacho in your hand back onto your plate as you stared at her, gaping like a fish. "E-Excuse me but what the actual fuck?"

"Language, Y/N." 

"I don't give a shit about my language, Mom, I give a shit about the fact that you broke your promise!" You hissed, roughly pushing your plate away and almost knocking your glass of water over. 

"Sweetheart-"

"You promised." 

Your mother winced at the tightness of your voice and how you snatched your clenched fist out from under her hand. "I know, dear, but I couldn't pass on this offer and I know how much you're going to miss your sister-"

"Yeah, I'll miss Daisy but I don't want to move across the country just to be near her! God, let her be her own person for once!"

"Y/N-"

"And what about me, huh? I'm happy here! This is my home! I have friends, a boyfriend -I'm not leaving!"

"Honey, I understand you're upset-"

"Do you?" You interrupted your dad with a bitter laugh, fighting the tears you felt pricking at your eyes. "Do you understand what you're forcing me to lose?"

Bill looked away as Kiara arrived with your food and set the plates down in awkward silence. You gave her a tight smile when she quickly patted your back and then returned to the kitchen, sending you a concerned glance over her shoulder before she disappeared through the double doors and you turned to face Daisy. 

"Day, did you know?" Your sister avoiding your sudden, sharp gaze was all the answer you needed and your heart dropped like an anchor, weighing heavy on your stomach. You felt sick. You felt furious. But most of all, you felt betrayed.  

Suddenly, the sight of your favorite meal in front of you wasn't so appetizing anymore and you abruptly stood, your chair scraping roughly against the floor. Heads turned to look in your direction but you ignored their curious stares as you snarled with all the venom you could muster across the table at your mother, "I knew I never should've trusted a word you said."

You turned away from her hurt expression -the sheer audacity she had, acting like she was the one whose heart was shattering- and ran out the front door of The Wreck before anyone could stop you, pretending not to hear their voices calling after your retreating back. You didn't know where your feet were taking you but you really didn't care, just as long as it was far, far away from your family.

You ran until your aching legs forced you to stop and you doubled over, hands on your thighs as you tried to catch your breath and it wasn't until you saw the water dripping onto the sidewalk beneath you did you realize you were crying. Footsteps slowed to a stop beside you and your braced yourself to hear Daisy's apology or worse, your mother's, but got Kiara's winded voice instead.

"Did you ever think about doing cross country? 'Cause holy shit," She gasped with her hands on her hips. "You can run." 

Despite feeling like your whole fucking world was falling apart around you, you still managed a snort of laughter at your friend's remark and eagerly returned her embrace when she wrapped her arms around your shoulders, burying your face against her neck. She held you as you cried, running a soothing hand up and down your back until the rest of your friends pulled up in the Volkswagen and you found yourself crying on a different shoulder, one you knew better than your own. 

The white hot fury had left your body and now all you felt was numb. Numb and empty and hollow as you quietly explained everything on the ride back to the Chateau, avoiding your friends' sympathetic stares by playing with a loose thread at the bottom of JJ's shirt. He ran a hand through your hair while you leaned against him and you let his touch slowly bleed life back into your heart. 

"You're not leaving, okay? My parents love you so you can stay with me." Kiara declared later as you all lounged around the bonfire, passing a joint back and forth.

"Or me. My dad would probably let you stay if you helped out around the shop," Pope piped up, handing it over to you without taking a drag as John B added, "Me, too. We have an extra room."

"Tijuana's always nice, too, babe." JJ suggested, grabbing your hand holding the joint and bringing it to his mouth so he could take a hit. "Just a thought."

You smiled softly and took your own hit, slowly blowing smoke into the air. "You guys are the best. I doubt my parents'll change their minds...but I guess it wouldn't hurt to try." It would definitely hurt if your desperate bid to stay didn't work but you tried not to think about that and focused instead on having a good time with your friends, forgetting all about your phone that was switched to silent and burning a hole in your purse. 

Later, after the others headed inside for the night and it was just you and JJ left, you were reminded of your fifteenth birthday. You'd laid like you were now, on a blanket under the stars beside a dying fire and you told him you loved him for the first time and as much as it tore you apart to know it might all come to an end, you didn't regret it. You didn't regret befriending Kiara back in eighth grade or letting the pogues become so important to you or falling so hard for the boy holding you in his arms. And right then, all you wanted to do was hold onto that feeling by showing him your love and getting loved in return. 

You propped yourself up on your elbow and leaned down to kiss him, your other hand slipping under his shirt in the flickering glow of the flames and you smiled against his lips when he immediately rolled onto his back so you were on top, his hand doing some exploring of its own under your sundress.  

"I don't want to feel anything but you tonight." You answered the question in his eyes when you broke apart some time later, both breathing heavily with your skirt hitched up over your thighs and his shirt tossed somewhere on the grass behind you. "Please."

"Here?"

You'd never fucked outside before but you figured now would be the perfect time to try and to be honest, you were too impatient to make it to a bed so you nodded, slowly rolling your hips against his. "Right here."

You lost yourself in the ardent touch of his calloused hands with the haze of smoke hanging in the cool night air, letting everything slip away until he was the only thing that remained. He was all you needed, tan skin slick with sweat and mouth searing hot, your nails trailing scratches down his back while your lips left smudged marks of blood red on his face. He took you higher and higher, doing exactly what you asked him to, over and over until you nearly forgot your own name and when you finally came back down, he held you close until your limbs stopped shaking and your heart slowed back to its normal rhythm.

"I don't want to lose you." You admitted quietly into the dark, wiping at a stubborn lipstick stain on the corner of his mouth and your thumb caught on his lip when JJ shook his head, then leaned down to drop a kiss at your hairline.

"You won't."

You wanted to believe him so badly it hurt but you didn't know if you could so instead you threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him down to press your mouth to his, his cheek, his jawline, everywhere you could reach, drowning yourself in the right now in hopes that the future would never come. 

"I love you, Y/N. Don't you dare forget it." He whispered it against the shell of your ear before trailing his lips down your neck and the light scrape of his teeth on your skin turned your voice into a breathless sigh as you repeated his words into the air, your back arching from the blanket when he hit a particularly sensitive spot and sent electricity racing through your veins. You may have spoken your love softly but you showed it fiercely, each touch a little harder than the last, each kiss a little rougher and together you burned through the dark like a funeral pyre.

Hope was a dangerous thing to feel; it was fragile and delicate, hard to keep but oh so easy to lose for someone like you, a girl who spent her whole life searching for a home, only to have it ripped away when she finally found it. It didn't matter what you said or how much you cried or even when Kiara and her parents advocated on your behalf, your time on the island was up and just like that, whatever hope you had left disappeared into thin air and left you wondering if you'd ever get it back again.

-

tagging some mutuals who might be interested: @sinkbeneathwaves​ @jiaraendgame​ @sunnypogue​ @alexa-playafricabytoto​ @maybanks​

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

FP//The Midnight Club (part 5)

hey!! here’s part 5 if anybody cares. and here’s part 4 if you need to catch up! i hope everyone is doing well! and if you’re not, thats okay. everybody has dark days but they will get brighter. i promise. 

Usually a week drags in Riverdale, but when you’ve got three more weeks of weekend detention, they go by way too fast. In the blink of an eye, its 9am on Saturday morning again, and you’re all sat in the same room as you were last week.

A lot has changed in the past week. After last weeks detention, you and FP had an actual series conversation, and even though you still haven’t forgiven him, you’re trying your best to move past it. Not for your sake, but for the baby’s. No matter how much a dick he may have been, FP still has a right to be in it’s life, and he still helped make it so, it’s not like you’ve got much of a choice. 

Plus, it’s not like you want to go through this alone. You’ve watched Alice the past week, and you can safely say you don’t want to go through that. The stares, the whispers, the people shuffling away from her. 

Right now, its just a rumor. Of course you know the truth, so does FP, Sierra and Hermione. But to everybody else its just something Alice has said to ruin FP’s reputation. Everyone knows she likes him...a lot, and so they’ve figured she’s just making it up to spite him. 

But soon, people are going to notice the growing bump, and even worse they’re going to notice you’re matching one. So if you’re going to go through this, you’d rather FP be at your side...at least for now, until you can figure out what to do. 

“Welcome to Saturday Detention...again.” Principal Featherstone’s smug voice feels like fingernails against a blackboard. You lean your head on the desk and pout at FP who’s sat beside you. He returns it making you giggle a little and you hear Alice scoff behind the two of you. 

“Just ignore her.” FP mumbles and presses a kiss to your head.

“Its nice to see you all back...especially you Miss Smith seeing as though you disappeared half way through last weeks.” He looks at Alice and she smiles back at him sarcastically. “I also see we’ve got a few new faces in as well. Hiram Lodge and Tom Keller, very nice of you to join us.”

Featherstone starts registration but no one pays attention to him. Sierra and Tom are too busy sharing notes between them and failing to hide their laughter. Penelope is already working on her essay, despite not knowing the subject and it makes you wonder if she somehow broke into his desk to find out what it was to get a head start. Hiram and Hermione share shy looks and soft smiles that end in Hermione blushing and quickly looking away. Alice sits in the corner, playing with her pen while staring up at the ceiling, and you sit beside FP, a hand resting on your invisible bump as you try and keep your breakfast down.

Morning sickness seems to have hit you hard, and no matter how much makeup you put on, you still look paler than usual. FP holds your hand in his, squeezing it every so often to try and distract you.

The bad girl

“Alice Smith?”

The rebelling Catholic

“Hermione Gomez?”

The teachers pet

“Penelope Blossom?”

The artist athlete

“Fred Andrews?”

The political animal

“Sierra Samuels?”

The good girl

“Y/n Y/ln?”

The ladies man

“Forsythe Pendleton Jones, Jr?”

The criminal

“Hiram Lodge?”

And the sheriff

“Tom Keller?”

As soon as the last name is called, Penelope’s hand goes straight into the air and you and FP share an annoyed look.

“Yes, Miss Blossom?”

“What’s the essay topic this week?”

“This week, I want you to write another 1000 word essay on why you think you’re here.” He replies and everyone groans again. “Don’t have fun. I’ll be back at lunch.” He finishes before walking out and into his office.

Lunch time rolls around and its spent in your own little groups.

Alice sits on the windowsill and assaults the aging wood with her knife. Penelope scribbles furiously against the paper and by the time you stop for lunch she’s had to ask for more paper twice. Fred twirls around another pair of drumsticks he was hiding in his bag, and every so often he bangs them against the desk, trying to come up with a tune.

Sierra and Tom spend the majority of the three hours making out in the corner of the room, Hermione and Hiram do the same in the opposite corner. And you and and FP spend the three hours doodling stupid pictures on your paper, whispering in each others ears and sharing quick kisses.

After lunch though, your previous activities get boring and you all are looking for something else to do. You lean your head on FP’s shoulder as the nine of you try and come up with something to keep you entertained.

You don’t really want a repeat of last week, it ended with secrets being spilled and fights being started. Nobody has talked about what was revealed, but it the knowledge of each other’s lives hang heavy over your heads. 

You ask Fred how his father is doing and he always replies with a small shrug and forced smile. You and FP have even been over a few times, just so Fred isn’t alone with him. You keep him and his father company, talking about school and football and it seems to cheer up both him and his dad, even if its just for a little bit. 

You all watch Tom and Sierra talk in corridors and try and hide the pity in your eyes when they part ways to go to class. You notice how they scoot closer to each other in class or at lunch, trying desperately to be seen by each other but not anyone else.  

Fred has asked FP if he wants to hang out after class more, so for the past week he’s been shared between you and Fred. He goes to see Fred while you’re at Vixen practice or studying, and then when he knows your home, he sneaks in through your bedroom window to spend the night with you. 

Everyone has noticed just how much time Penelope spends at school, even after classes. She sits in the library for hours on end, reading whatever book she can find and you can’t help but feel sympathetic. A few times you’ve found yourself sitting at the same table as her while doing homework. Neither of you say anything, but she knows you’re there, and even though she won’t say anything, she’s grateful for the company. 

“Hey Y/n.” Fred says, breaking the silence and pulling everyone from their daydreams of going home. You sit up and hum a reply. “You didn’t get to play secrets and sins last week.”

“Thats okay.” You shrug and lean back in your chair.

“Well, we’ve got nothing better to do. You may as well have a go.” Sierra says and you glance at FP for help.

“Yeah, come on Y/n. Spill your guts.” Alice teases and you send her a look. She’s been quietly fuming for the past week, every time she see’s you and FP playing happy, a deep scowl settles on her face and it doesn’t seem to go away. 

“Shut up Alice.” FP mutters.

“There’s nothing really to tell.” You reply and hold your hands up.

“We all know thats a lie.” Alice continues and slowly walks towards you and FP.

You look at FP unsure of what to do and he shifts in his seat, holding onto your hand tightly. The rest of the group sit and watch on confused. Everyone knows of the tension between you, FP and Alice. But this looks like something more.

If only the knew how much more there was.

“Don’t.” You mumble, only FP and Alice hear and a smirk twitches at the corners of her mouth. She looks at FP who gives her a pleading expression and a part of her almost doesn’t want to do it.

“Y/n? Is there a reason you and FP are so cozy all of a sudden. I thought the last you heard he’d got some other girl pregnant. Have you forgotten that or is there another reason you’re playing happy families.” You flinch at the last word and shuffle further towards FP.

“Shut the fuck up Alice.” FP warns and stands up. Alice also stands and the two of them glare at each other while you sit in the middle of it and try your hardest not to cry.  

“Whats wrong FP? Why does the word family make you so upset? Oh thats right, because you’re starting one aren’t you.”

“Nobody believes its mine Alice.” He replies and you look at your hands. You’re not so sure about that. In fact you know its his, why would he go to her and tell her they’ve got a problem if its not because he’s gotten both of you pregnant.

“Thats not the family I’m talking about. No, you don’t care about your bastard child, it’s the legitimate one I’m talking about.”

“What?” Hermione asks the question thats on everybody’s lips as they watch the interaction. But before she has a chance to answer, a chair dragging against the floor stops it and within an instant you’re up and out the door.

“Thats right.” She smiles. “I’m not the only girl Jones knocked up. Am I?”

[hecohansen31]

Just Hold Me:

Ivar+Reader (Modern! AU).

(A/N): Hello there, lovelies!

I have been opening up my Ko-Fi commissions and already the lovely @youbloodymadgenius​ bought me a coffee, for which I am thankful alongside her ever-supporting comments and gentleness for which I am grateful-

So I thought I’d return her kidness with a small fic!

In here you can find how to commision me a request through Ko-Fi (they are open till the 7th of April), and here’s my Ko-Fi, where you can donate to support me!

Hope you’ll like this and it’ll comfort a few restless lovelies of these days!

Have a nice reading!

WARNINGS: Mention of Sadness and Hard Period, Light Screaming, Akward! Ivar That Can’t Deal With Emotions.

Ivar wasn’t used to things such as comforting others.

He was the one to who comfort was given and most of the time he didn’t like it, since it made him feel even worse, pitied and ‘nothing more than a weak cripple’.

Everyone made him feel that way…

… except you.

You didn’t pity him, and you had a way of being soft with him, which didn’t make him feel horrible inside, but more like cherished and loved and, although he could be quite temperamental with you or cold in his affections, he appreciated your softness and the way you always managed to make him feel better.

But sadly, this kind of growth had left him unprepared to actually react when you were the one who was sad.

Like that day.

He had come back from work and he was honestly… tired: his feet hurt and a few of his colleagues had pissed him off.

He honestly couldn’t wait to talk about it with you, since you always managed to make him feel better.

But you weren’t in the kitchen.

Neither in the bathroom.

Which left him only one room to look in: your shared bedroom.

He thought you were simply too absorbed in completing some chore or had laid down to rest a bit, but he found the room completely dark, the sole light coming in, from the unclosed blinds highlighting your figure on the bed, as you shivered lightly.

He didn’t understand why you might have taken a nap, mostly because you were somebody that had trouble sleeping at night, but he totally respected your need for a bit of sleep, he actually was already thinking about ordering take-out and joining you in bed.

Then he felt a little sniffle…

…followed by a tight sob.

The evident proof that you were crying, which got Ivar to immediately stand on his toes, his soul telling him to comfort you, but…

… he just didn’t know how.

It had taken him an entire life to let himself be vulnerable with you.

He couldn’t even imagine where he could start from in order to comfort you, mostly when your little sobs made him want to kick whoever had made you even slightly sad.

But he thought this would undoubtedly make you cry even more, since you hated whenever he was so angry with anybody.

He had to be better, better for you.

He moved in the room, careful not to make too much noise not wanting to startle you, but he knew that you would recognize his steps anywhere.

‘So that I can know whenever you are near’ you had mumbled gently when you had moved in together, after your first night in your new bed, pushing him lightly against you and kissing his cheek ‘It makes me feel safe and protected, you make me feel like that’.

So, when he moved onto the bed, you weren’t surprised in the slightest, but didn’t try to turn around to face him or hug him as you always did, when you noticed him, your warmth welcoming him and soothing him.

You stayed on your side, your chest heaving up and down in a rather erratic way, as if you had just run a marathon and Ivar understood that it was worse than simply a little crying crisis.

You weren’t an always happy person.

He didn’t think that he could have trusted those, but you never felt like you lost yourself completely in sadness and he felt like you were some kind of strong support to him due to that.

And he hadn’t realized that sadly, it wasn’t always like that.

He didn’t know if touching you would have made you feel better or not; personally he felt like your gentle touch was heaven for his tired and angered nerves, but sometimes you didn’t want to be touched and sometimes it was too much, so he thought that speaking was the best way.

He slowly worded his discourse, asking you how you were feeling.

A sniffled ‘fine’ escaped your lips, and you pushed yourself a bit away, hurting him a bit, but he tried not to let it stop him from trying again to connect with you.

“It doesn’t seem so, lovely” he knew that pet names never failed to make you feel better “… if something is wrong…”.

“Nothing is wrong, Ivar” although you hadn’t screamed, your words screeched agains Ivar’s ears “… can you actually leave me alone? I am just tired, and I’d like to rest”.

Again, he shoved down any annoyance and pain your words may have caused him and tried to keep up his calm approach.

“… sweetheart, if you have a problem, we can talk about it”.

“I don’t fucking have anything, Ivar, stop fucking talk to me!”.

Ivar was surprised.

You didn’t scream many times, you did it rarely and when it happened it was mostly out of joy.

He always said it was annoying, because of the high-pitched tone your voice had, but right now he would have given anything just to hear that sweet tone of yours, instead of that angered and aching one you had assumed.

A few minutes after the scream your body started shaking and your sobs intensified.

He knew it all too well what it truly meant and this time.

And although he knew it was risky, he moved to circle your waist with his arms.

He held you tightly in his arms, trying to calm your trembling, meanwhile you sobbed softly and cried in an even harsher way, making sure to break Ivar’s heart with each choking sound.

He let you take your time, meanwhile he tried to sooth the sobs with gentle caresses on your back, till he felt your breath go back to a softer rhythm, your lungs relaxing and your stance becoming less wound up.

Only then, softly and slowly you turned around, although you didn’t dare to meet his face, immediately hiding it in his chest.

And as he was retreating to find a better way to adjust you against him, you grabbed on his hands, setting them where you wanted them: one in your hair, gently untangling the knotted mess, and another on your waist, rubbing it comfortingly.

“… I am sorry for screaming at you” you mumbled, your hands coming to play softly with his Mjolnir’s pendant he always wore at his neck, as you always did when you felt particularly fidgety and Ivar would bring you in his lap.

His physical presence was something which never ever failed to comfort you.

“It’s ok, I always scream at you when I get angry, so I think that you have every right to scream at me” he replied and laid a soft kiss onto your forehead to enhance the fact that he wasn’t pissed with you.

He didn’t think he could ever be.

Whoever had made you cry was another question.

“… I don’t know what got in me…” you mumbled “… it has been just… a few rough days”.

“It’s fine” he whispered, comforted by the fact that you scooted closer to him “… but I don’t know what I am doing with this entire… comforting… thing… so…”.

“You are being perfect” your voice had come back to its usual softness, although it had a biting edge “… I just need you to hold me and… feel you near…”.

Which meant you didn’t want to talk.

But he was fine with it.

He sucked with words.

They were more your thing.

“Then I think I can do that for you” he replied gently, and you finally met his eyes again.

And although they were still suffering, they were brighter as a clear sky after a storm.

“… then I think that I already feel a bit better”

[glossymusings]

(this is a letter I wrote to my boyfriend for his quarantine Birthday)

Hello Popu :)

Lets start this with a smile pleaseee🙈😌

(i clearly didnt know how to start😂)

So Heyyyy Babyy❤️ and *A VERY VERY VERY HAPPPYYYY BIRTHHDAAYYYYYY*!!!!!!!!!

🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂🎂

I write this to let you know that you are the most worthiest thing happened in my life so this letter/whatever is *just an effort* to outline my feelings for you.💘💘

AND This will be the first letter I've ever written to you- or anybody in that case🥺

Well anyways, let me tell you that the tone of this letter may change(more like I know it will change) so that’s just a little warning for you.

This might jump around quite a bit and if you hadn’t noticed…there will be many parentheses because of either my inside thoughts😛, apologizing for putting my thought or something else.

And there will be parts where it won’t even make sense, remember I am stupid and also I am writing this late at night/morning.

But I want you to know that I am going to work hard on this letter and hopefully make it special and not retarded sounding. I will also try to make you laugh with some humor but I know I probably will fail,

but you can laugh at how bad my writing is! Okay?

Also i'll try not to overuse those 3 words (i love you) and scare you off.

AND this has nothing to do with your 20(age)..but i think i don't think i say this enough isliye aaj bol rahi hu and i'll try my best to not make this super duper cheesy and long

the things written below purely come from my pathar dil so much in love with you and also the reason why I am making this is because

it is your birthday and I wanted to give you something at least semi-romantic and

hopefully you will think this is special and you’re going to keep it with you(rakh warna maarungi).

So this is the part where i actually start the letter..i really reallllyyyy hope you like it :)

I really wanted to make an illustration/vector art for your birthday(of you ofc) and i even started working on it but mai save karna bhool gayi.. then i got lazy and didnt make it. (sachi mai save karna bhool gayi 😭🤦🏻‍♀️)

Then mujhe idea toh tha pehle se letter/bday message (but tbh I really wanted that letter/bday message to be better than samiksha's(not jealous)) isliye I didn't start(early).

But phir jaise jaise tera bday paas aa raha tha mere paas aur koi idea nai tha(sorryyy 🥺)

(nothing is more romantic than a letter haina?💋)

toh here it is.(Apna first love letter💋💋🐨)

(all the emojis look weird on whatsapp🤷🏻‍♀️)

.

.

I am trying not to go back to the memories of 2018 when we met( kyuki sirf 2 saal hua hai utna toh yaad rakh🙃) but tujhe bhi pata hai we have come a longgg way and apna journey aur bohot hai I hope :)

Thank you for coming into my life, seriously you have changed me for better(or for worse who knows ;) ) YOU are someone, someone that captured my gaze, my thoughts, my mind, maybe even my heart and i fell for you. 👩🏻‍🦽

You made me feel so many feelings i have never experienced before ;) (thats winky face) and dealt with them in ways i can say i'm either proud or not so proud of.😗👉🏻✌🏻👀

You are literally the best.

My Best Friend(I'm your best friend haina?)

One of my biggest supporter(or not)

One of my biggest Inspirations❤️

One of my biggest Blessing🙏🏻🧐

One of my biggest Strength💪🏻

And My Comfort👩‍❤️‍👨

…. my favourite <3.

And seriously you make me happy in a way no one else can🥵

And Popu my biggest wish is that someday we finally meet again and have the greatest time together.😇❤️🙈

I want to have you by my side so badly<3 But mostly I just want you to be happy and keep on going, because you are one of the greatest persons I know. 😌

And i wish you all the best in life and everything you do with your life. I hope that you are happy and although there may be times i really do may fucking hate you, know that i dont.👀❎

Its always easier to hate the person you love when times get tough.(Well it is for me!)

I hate to face the fact that we won’t be able to be with each other that often in the coming months/year. 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

I knew this was going to be hard(er) but it didn’t hit me on how close this will actually be.

I have enjoyed every moment we have spent together, even though we haven’t really been doing anything too exciting, this has still been the best I have ever

had because of you.

😁✨

I couldn’t want anything else. I don’t like the fact that I won’t be able to spend my lunches with you or even having to wait for buses on bus stop

or sitting on the back seat of buses and holding hands, and watch movies with you :'( ,or quietly sneaking to terrace or staircase (for a few months.)

No matter what past me has said or future me will say... i just want you to know you will forever own every piece of my heart :').

There’s no possible way I can tell you how much I really do love you. I am so happy you gave “us” a chance,

all I can say is thank you and I love you. I hope you enjoy this relationship as much as I do. ❤️

Ever since I’ve known you, you never left my mind, from that first lecture in D5 until now,

you have made a huge impression and the thought you will always be on my mind and in my heart. I love you so much and I cannot wait

for us to grow together and share so many more years of affection and unforgettable memories, cause let’s face it,

with you everything is going to be an adventure. You are not only my boyfriend but also my best friend.

I hope this year brings you loads of love, health, luck, unforgettable moments, laughter and magical emotions. ❤️

......AND I ALSO MISS YOU, A LOT.

😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

[howtodisassembleyourdeviant]

Be My Garden of Eden Ch.1

ConnorxFReader Pleasure Android AU

I finally decided to get a Tumblr and post more of my beta chapters here. Just a place to get some opinions or a wider gauge of how people feel about my writing.

I also take requests for ConnorxReader one-shots.

If you like what I post, I also have stories posted on AO3 under DisassembledDeviant. If you have read them, you know I don't mind venturing into the NSFW category... At all. ;)

Anyway, hope you enjoy!

Warnings: probably cursing and sexual implications

"Goddammit! You stupid piece of shit!" The wrench came down hard against the android's shoulder. "I should have just left your ass with the rest of the scrap!" Another blow, this time to his chest, warnings of the damage flashing on his HUD.

Connor couldn't help but agree.

His recollection of his life before working at Club Mimosa in the seedier side of town was minimal. A roof, A little girl, Falling... Then, nothing. Just a name. Connor.

The owner had found him in the scrapyard, looking for replacement parts or functional androids he could illegally fix up for his club. While much of his body was destroyed, the owner re-built him. His unique look was sure to capture new clients, and he was right. Connor started as a popular model. Both males and females would pay for a session with the doe-eyed android.

However, no matter what he was 'equipped' with, it was apparent he was not programmed to please humans sexually. His movements were stiff, his reactions lackluster. Most demanded a refund, as his last client did. The owner was getting fed up, and the beatings were getting worse. Before the owner could take another swing, one of the employees entered the workshop.

"Hey, boss, someone is requesting Connor for delivery."

"Fuck!" The owner sneered, "tell them it will be on its way in a minute!" He turned to Connor, tossing the wrench on the metal table behind him, attempting to be intimidating. Connor didn't even give him the satisfaction of imitating fear, simply watching the middle-aged man turn redder by the second. "Fix yourself up, then go to the client's address, and if you fuck this one up, I'll scrap you for parts!"

Connor was sitting in an automatic taxi ten minutes later, dressed in a simple button-up and jeans, the familiar illuminated triangle on his back. There was still a small dent on his chest, but he couldn't do anything about it, only hope the client doesn't notice. Outside, he watched the protesters, harassing androids, the homeless begging for change on the street corners, and all the people, heads down at their phones while ordering their androids to do various tasks they were perfectly capable of doing themselves. It... Bothered him.

Not as much as working at that terrible club. He wonders what would happen if he never turned up at the client's address, if he got out of the taxi and just kept walking. Would the owner bother hunting him down? He didn't want to be touched, used by people in such a humiliating way. No matter how many times he was disinfected, he felt dirty. Catching his reflection in the window, he turned away. Even if he left, where could he go? These... Thoughts are dangerous.

The taxi led him to a more rural area of the city, a small house with several trees surrounding it, the Autumn leaves dancing gracefully through the air. He had to double-check the address. This was far nicer than anywhere he had gone before. He walked up the cobblestone path to the door, a soft chime ringing when he pressed the doorbell.

"Coming!" A singsong voice called from inside. The door opened, revealing a young woman, dressed in a tight black turtleneck, jeans, and an apron covered in various paints, some of which had gotten on your cheek and the tip of your nose. You were... cute... For human standards, that is.

"Hello, my name is Connor. I'm the Android sent by Club Mimosa for your personal pleasure."

Confusion, realization, and exasperation washed over your face in waves. Eventually, you sighed.

"Come on in and have a seat."

He entered the little home to find it just as cozy on the inside as it was on the outside. The colors gave off a feeling of warmth, the small trinkets and figurines adding to the atmosphere. Usually, the homes or apartments he had been to were run down, a few even host to drug dealers. He didn't know there was a place like this in Detroit.

Above your fireplace was a portrait, an abstract painting of a pair of hands reaching out. Based on your appearance, he initially assumed it was yours, but a quick scan informed him it was a Carl Manfred original. He didn't know much of art, but he did know that Carl Manfred was a renowned artist of Detroit and a favorite of the android creator, Elijah Kamski.

He stood in the doorway, unsure what to do.

"Make yourself at home."

He didn't know how to respond to that.

"I'm sorry, I don't understand your request." Your eyes seemed sad. He was already screwing things up.

"I guess take your shoes off and make yourself comfortable." While he was able to follow the first instruction, he still remained in the doorway. You hesitantly reached out and took his hand, leading him to the loveseat before sitting him down.

Usually, this would be the part where the client would straddle his lap, grind on his crotch while forcing their tongue in his mouth, the rancid taste of red ice, cigarettes, and alcohol broken down to their basic ingredients as he ignored the urge to shove them away. He sat back, expecting the same. He had a task to do, and this time, his life was on the line. Instead, you headed for your kitchen, coming back with a cold beverage.

"I don't have anything to offer you, sorry."

"I do not require anything, " nobody had even thought to offer him anything before, let alone apologize for not having it. It left him fumbling for words, clutching onto repeated phrases he hated, "I am here for you to do with as you please."

You sipped your drink, a small giggle leaving your lips. He liked how it sounded, even if he was confused as to why.

"To be honest, I didn't call for you."

Something inside him sank. Of course this was too good to be true.

"I'm sorry. There must have been an error in our system. I will take my leave now." He went to stand, but you put your hand on his knee, stilling his motions.

"There is no error. A well-meaning friend has been concerned with how much time I spend working and believes I need to let loose sometimes. This is exactly something he would do."

"Oh, " he was still disappointed that you hadn't been the one to call directly. Your hand was still on his knee. You only seemed to notice when he glances down at it, quickly pulling your hand back and apologizing again. Your cheeks even flushed, the red only adding to your beauty. You were so different from everything Connor has known.

"So, Connor, " even his name sounded pleasant coming from you, "how long did my friend request you for?"

"24 hours."

"That long? How much stamina does he think I have?" You looked him in the eye, "though, I have no intention of sleeping with you."

"Why?" He had to have done something wrong. He's dead if he goes back empty-handed. You noticed the panic in his voice, his LED flashing a bright red.

"It's nothing you did, I'm just not the type to sleep with just anybody."

"But I'm not 'anybody'. I am a machine made to please humans. If I fail, they will destroy me." Your eyes widened. How could they do such a thing? Even if they are machines, how could they kill them so easily? If it weren't for that light on his head and the android labeled clothes, you would think him a human. Especially with the desperation he showed.

"Calm down. I'll call whichever club you came from tomorrow and tell them you were the best lay of my life. Everything will be fine." His LED flickered on yellow for a second before returning to blue. He was not going to be destroyed.

"Thank you." He didn't know what else to say or how to show his appreciation. You were lying just to keep a machine from shutting down. It might not mean much to you, but you were saving his life. You smiled nervously as he stared in awe.

"Don't mention it. Now, the TV remote is on the coffee table, there's a list of movies I own on there that you are welcome to watch. If not, there's books and a stereo over by the front window. If you need anything, just let me know."

"Where are you going?"

"To my studio. It's just down the hall, the last door on the end, " he only looked more lost and confused, "you can come with me if you like."

He stood, following you down the hall. At one time, it must have been the garage, but it has since been modified, the back portion knocked out and replaced with glass, revealing a small koi pond in the back, a statue of a lion prowling the edge, water pouring from its open mouth. Ivy climbed the walls inside, the sun shining through the leaves. Paintings lined the walls, some finished and some abandoned. Looking them over, he found he liked them. They were colorful. Your style favored realism, yet they seemed to hold a sense of wonder, something he couldn't put into words. There was one of a beagle, lying next to a roaring fire.

"Someone wanted a painting of their recently deceased pet as a memorial. A friend of mine had the same breed and let me borrow her for two weeks. There are some slight differences, to match the owner's photo."

"It's beautiful." He didn't have too many memories of dogs, though one did try to bite him at a client's house, but looking at this one, he could imagine the warmth from the fire, almost touch its fur, and hear the tiny snores coming from the beast. It made him want to be there.

You had moved before an easel, a painting sitting half-finished already on it. It was of a clinical white pot sitting on a wooden table, several cracks along it, revealing bits of dirt, roots, and leaves. The top was unfinished, just shades of reds and blues, blending to violet in a few spots. Various photos of plants were lying about your workspace, and across from you was a cheap, plastic flower arrangement.

You wasted no time getting back to work, a fresh brush in hand. Connor stood, watching you, mesmerized by your focus and the grace in each stroke of the brush. You felt awkward, being observed so closely, but quickly fell back into the task at hand. Ten minutes of him just standing there though was too much.

"You can sit down if you like." He found the closest chair to him and sat down, perfectly straight, hands in his lap. "Just relax, this is a safe environment."

It took time, but after half an hour, he leaned back into the chair, and in another hour, he was standing again, looking around the studio at all the different paintings, the plants that kept this place feeling more vibrant, and he stared out at the koi pond, watching the fish. You had told him how to get to the back for a closer look, but he made no moves to leave.

"I couldn't help but notice you have a Carl Manfred original in your living room," He broke the silence. "It must have been quite expensive."

You continued to paint, "It probably would be. It was a graduation gift. Carl was my mentor. Our styles are completely different, but I don't think I could ask for a better teacher or friend."

"I see," Connor returned to sitting down, watching you once again. "What made you want to become a painter?"

You brought the brush to your chin, thinking.

"Well, I've always liked to draw. A lot of people in my family were artistic, but they never did anything with it. They believed it wasn't a good career path. I guess I just wanted to prove it was. Though, I will say it can be an uphill battle. Sometimes I can sell a painting or get commissions with ease, other times I look at my paintings and wonder if I'll get any nutritional value if I just ate them. It seems to be the only value I could get."

He nodded, even if he didn't really understand what you meant. He had never heard of the term "starving artist".

"You've got paint on your face." You pulled the brush away, wiping at your chin, succeeding only in spreading it around. You could hear Connor suppressing a laugh. Looking over, you could see him trying to hide his smile. A part of you found it adorable, while another was saddened. Why hide such a nice smile? Was he forbidden from smiling, or could it be because it was technically at the client's expense?

You pushed it from your mind. As much as it pained you, you couldn't afford to get involved. You had it calculated. The commission would go to restocking your food, paying the water bill, and the mortgage. The painting in front of you would go towards paying your electric bill, along with the late charge they tacked on. If you don't finish it on time, you'll miss the deadline and will be painting in the dark, not to mention how that could hurt your reputation for future commissions. Carl would loan you the money if you asked, but you refused to take advantage of him like that. You will earn your place, even if it kills you.

"I guess I'll go wash up, " you giggled. Connor stood, as if to follow you. "Why don't you pick a movie we can watch when I get out of the shower?"

"You don't wish for me to accompany you?" All his other clients had. Your cheeks flushed.

"N-no, no, thank you! I can do it myself, " you stammered. You were embarrassed. Connor liked how you stuttered and when your cheeks turned red.

After a few minutes of sitting on the couch, he started to hear your voice from the bathroom. Curious, he moved a little closer, just outside the door. You were singing. He... Liked it. You couldn't quite hit the high notes, and your lows sounded more like growls, but it was sweet and melodic. He stifled another laugh when you started singing what sounded like a duet, but one of the singers was a male.

He'd never laughed before, or even had the inclination. He didn't know if he should laugh out loud or if you wouldn't like that. Was he allowed to laugh? The female androids at the club, particularly the Tracis, often giggled at clients, but the males rarely did, and it was usually nothing more than a huff or a scoff. Despite his worries, he liked the feeling that accompanied the involuntary action. He leaned against the wall, listening to you until he heard the water shut off, moving swiftly to the couch as to not arouse suspicion.

The rest of the evening was quiet, something Connor wasn't used to. There was no loud groaning or terrible derogatory names. No claws digging into his back, threatening to break through his synthetic skin, or rough hands clutching his hips. Just you and him, sitting on your small couch, a cartoon playing on your screen. He had never chosen a movie before, never chose anything before, yet when he showed interest in it, you didn't hesitate to put it on. It was childish, but he was greatly enjoying it, enjoying being with you.

Halfway through the third movie, he felt a weight on his shoulder. You had fallen asleep, your head resting against him. You appeared so serene, softly snoring. He had never met anyone like you. Nobody had ever treated him with such kindness. In one afternoon, you had flipped his whole world upside down.

When the movie ended, you woke up, the loud end credit music startling you. Realizing just who you were using as a pillow, you could feel your cheeks heating up.

"Sorry."

"It's fine." He smiled down at you, your eyes glazed over with exhaustion, "Perhaps you should retire for the night."

You hummed, stretching before a thought came to you.

"Why don't you take my bed and I'll take the couch? You're far too tall for it."

He gaped at you. You would give up your bed, your comfort, for him? A machine?

"I... Don't require sleep..." He said in a hushed tone, still in shock.

You seemed unsure of what to do. "Well, what do you usually do?"

His mind played memories of working a pole or acting 'tantalizing' behind glass. Not really helpful in this situation.

"Sometimes I enter stasis between clients, " he murmured. Usually for repairs after the owner beats him, but it seemed the only appropriate response.

"Stasis... that's, like, sleeping for androids, right?"

"I suppose it's similar."

"Well, come on then," you took his hand and hauled him to his feet, leading him down the hall to your bedroom. Your bed was so plush, he sank into it when you sat him down. With your urging, he positioned himself to lay back into the pillows. You went to the closet, pulling out a spare blanket.

"You make yourself comfortable, and I'll be on the couch if you need anything."

"I couldn't take your bed. I don't require sleep, you do, " he tried to stand, but you gently pushed him back down.

"The couch is comfortable enough. I don't mind."

"Since you're so insistent, why don't we share the bed?"

The heat returned to your cheeks. Your mouth was gaping open, as if to argue why not, but eventually, you said nothing. You didn't want to admit this would be your first time having a man share your bed. Instead, you walked to the other side of the bed, the flush on your cheeks spreading to your ears and neck as you climbed in. You laid on your side, facing away from him.

"Good night, Connor," You mumbled under your breath.

"Good night, Y/n."

He wished tomorrow would never come, that he could stay here forever instead. It was such an insignificant day, yet it meant everything to him. Here, he felt a peace he never knew existed outside his daily hell. He wanted to pull you close, feel the warmth he felt as he sat next to you on the couch, the weight of your head on his shoulder again, but for the first time, he felt like the greedy one. He did turn to lay on his side, just a few more inches closer to you, just barely able to register the heat radiating off your body. It will have to be enough.

You, on the other hand, could not sleep. Not only because you were sharing a bed with a man, a very attractive man at that, but because you felt guilty. Your "friend" couldn't have picked a worse time. He was a polarizing character whom you knew since middle school. He dropped out of high school and started selling drugs. He deals with anything but red ice, and as he grew more powerful on the streets, he would sell prescription drugs to people who couldn't afford their medications at a much cheaper rate. Something like a robin hood character, though he still sold hardcore drugs to violent criminals, so you were at a loss how to feel about him. He liked androids though, having been raised by one, who was also his right-hand man. He wouldn't dare take blue blood from his friend just for a few bucks and finds red ice to be deplorable.

He knows you like androids and how you feel about them, so, occasionally, he would send one to your place to 'liberate'. With your connections, you could help get androids across the border, or if needed, you could help them find Jericho, the android safe haven. Because of his stance on androids, he couldn't help directly without risking his own safety, so he was like an informant (except you didn't ask for the information, he would just leave it with you, knowing you wouldn't just look the other way like any smart human that wanted to live a healthy life would do).

Most of the time, they were abuse victims that ran away from their owner after he told them where to find you. Unless they were damaged, they were easy enough to deal with. Occasionally, though, he would send you an Android he suspected of abuse that came from some sleazy sex club. It was part of the reason you were broke. The last one was from a more upscale club and cost you $7,000 just to get her out. You had to sell your car just to make your mortgage payment on time. Must be nice to have all these ideals but not spend a dime to support them. Though you supposed he did send supplies to your house on occasion, blue blood or sometimes food, not much, but it would get you by. It was as if he wanted you to be on the cusp of hatred toward him.

You couldn't afford to help this time, and it tore you apart on the inside. Connor wasn't like the others, not only in appearance, but in his manners. He came from a sex club, but he was clearly uncomfortable with it, and not just because he didn't want to satisfy humans. He genuinely didn't know what he is supposed to do. Any other Traci would have been flirting or trying to fondle you before you could even begin to explain the situation. With Connor, you couldn't tell him what you do. It would be far too cruel, knowing you couldn't save him. All you could offer was a day of solace. It was nowhere near enough, but it was all you had.

The next day, he returned to the club. You had been reluctant to let him go, but when he told you how much another night would be, you blanched. It couldn't be helped. He can only hope you or your friend might call for his services once again. You embraced him before he left, promising that you would see him again. He carried that warmth all the way back to the club.

[skeletorific]

YES! Marvus 6, 12, and/or 27 and Marsti 1, 8, and/or 9? I know that's a lot so u can just choose your faves if you want!

UGH YES MARSTI WRITING MUSCLES FUCKING ACTIVATE. Also I could use some meatier asks anyways (trying to recover fro castlevania s3 lmao) so I’ll do em all

Marvus Xoloto

9. What is their biggest regret?

I don’t see Marvus as being built for regret, honestly. Based on his entire speech on extra-canonicity he seems to view every failed choice as simply one more stepping stone into who you eventually become, for better or for worse. He’s done shit that, all told, he probably wouldn’t do again. No one gets out of Alternia without committing at least a few atrocities, least of all clowns. But he can’t change that. What happens is, usually, exactly what had to happen, and while he probably internalize at least a little guilt he doesn’t really see the need to make a Thing of it. Just take it, and do better next time. Call it the Seer instincts.12. Do they prefer to be asked on a date, or would they rather do the asking?

Its tricky. Marvus enjoys being chased, being desired, but he’s also very used to fielding requests with less than honest intentions. If you ask first, even if you were friends beforehand, there’s always going to be a part of him that wonders if you just got to know him for the clout. Which hey, he’s not about to shame anyone for doing what they gotta to get those $$$, but he’d just rather not mix quadrants and work.

In general I think he prefers to ask for the first date, just to dodge that particular brew of trust issues. For subsequent dates he tends to prefer being asked, though. Bonus points if you coordinate with his schedule before asking because nothing sucks the romance out of it for him like an 80 message long text chain of “I’m off this day but only for ten minutes but the day after I’m in a literal different continent and-”

27. Being alone hc

He’s a chronic extrovert, and gets cabin fever like you would not believe. Still after getting knocked out cold by a pretty severe fever/breakdown after his first tour he learned his lesson about setting aside alone time. He tries to reserve at least one weekend every two months where he is just unavailable. Doesn’t answer his phone, doesn’t check venues, doesn’t do interviews, nada. Might occasionally get someone over during those days but no one involved in his tour is allowed near his hive or whatever hotel room he’s holed up in because its gonna shift him into work mode. Its just him, a couch, some absolutely godforsaken clothes, and some shitty tv. His one exception is he does let himself write, given his tendency to absolutely forget lyrics if he doesn’t write them down right away. Still, after a couple of days he’s usually desperate to get out.

Marsti Houtek

1. What are they like at their worst?Look, complete and total alienation from your own desires isn’t exactly healthy for anybody, but Marsti strikes me as someone who has had points where she is infinitely worse. There was a time when she committed hard to that subservient lowblood role. Not only was she cleaning, but she was quiet and apologetic to any highblood looking to pick a fight. That would usually only provoke other lowbloods to get into it with her, mocking her for just caving, which would also make her apologetic. Once she got older though, I think eventually she got sick of it. She’s not breaking through of this social role any time soon: not like she’s looking to get culled for being stupid. But that doesn’t mean she has to take shit lying down. She  discovered there was a certain power in not giving a shit. The truth is most highbloods won’t consider you worth the energy to kill if you’re just lippy. Not to mention, she’s not interested in hearing it from other lowbloods who haven’t figured out what she’s always known: there’s no way out, like it or lump it. So, Marsti, at her worst? Its her giving a shit what anyone thinks. Giving that up gave her the largest fraction of power a lowblood with no psiionics and no prospects can have on Alternia.

8. Do they consider themselves dangerous?

She knows her own abilities well enough to know, she’s fucked if she ever ends up in an out and out brawl. She’s not particularly strong, has no psychic ability. Still, she doesn’t underrate herself either. She’s intelligent, adaptable, and nihilistic enough to be functionally fearless. So, while she doesn’t see herself as dangerous, she knows she’s not defenseless, which is ultimately what’s important to her.

9. What is their biggest regret?

Like Marvus, Marsti doesn’t really give herself a lot of space for regret. Doesn’t see the point to it. If she had to name one, though, probably for not studying more into medicine when she was younger. Don’t get her wrong, there was never a circumstance under which she would be able to pursue it in any meaningful way. Still, being young and naive and tearing through every book she could find on troll anatomy and disease....it was some of the best times she’s ever had, and she sometimes wishes she had indulged in it for longer before that inevitable maturity known as a “reality check” set in.

[offrankies]

Don't Go Breaking My Heart (Again) || Frankie & Layla

timing: Sunday Morning (7/6), after Layla met with Nic. parties: @laylacooke & @offrankies​ summary: Layla finally comes home, and tells Frankie she killed a man. warnings: panic attack tw, some very minor violence, and lots of sad. 

Layla was quiet as she slipped inside the front door of Graham and Frankie’s apartment. Her hair was still wet and the clothes she was wearing were 4x too big on her; an old t-shirt and sweatpants Nic had let her borrow. And while her neck, wrists, and ankles had nearly healed, they were still somewhat raw and tinder from being chained up all weekend. But it was what she had done. What she had remembered she’d done, that made her feel the worst. She was quiet and the tears that had tracked down her face had long since dried. All she had wanted was to go to bed and sleep away what she had done. The guilt that was consuming her, and if she never woke up, she was fine with that.

The past three nights had felt like a nightmare. Frankie had managed to continue her normal life during the day - if by normal you meant being on the verge of a nervous breakdown and unable to carry conversations without ending up screaming or crying. But the nights were horrible, and she had only managed to sleep at all because her body couldn’t handle being awake any longer. Her eyes were glued to her computer screen, tired but not enough yet to fall asleep when the faint sound crunched leaves reached her ears, probably from her sleep deprivation, and then the door. Layla. The teen rushed out of the door, but her feet frooze the second she saw the red hair. She was a mess, wearing clothes that were definitely not hers, and… were those fresh wounds?! Tears immediately started forming on the corner of her eyes, making her sight blurry, her hand flying to cover her mouth as a choked sob tried to make its way out. Between her anger, pain and relief, she had no words for her.

Shit. She was caught. Stopping dead in her tracks, she supported herself with a nearby wall. Layla was so tired and worn down and her eyes were so sad. But seeing Frankie standing there on the verge of sobbing was the thing that broke her. Collapsing to her knees, she let what tears were left in her small, broken body fall out, while she crumpled under the pressures of what she had done. Would Frankie be able to see that? She still wasn’t entirely sure what powers the woman held, but if she could tell that Layla had murdered someone in cold blood, would she still want to be around the redhead? She covered her face in shame. Shame for what she had done and shame for putting those who loved her, especially Frankie, in so much pain, “I’m...sorry...Frankie...I’m...so....sorry.” Her words came out in broken, muffled sobs.

No matter what would happen, Layla would always be the love of her life, and that meant that Frankie would always try to put her happiness over hers. Watching her collapse on the entrance of the apartment brought a pain in her chest she hadn’t felt in months, not since she had woken up one day and the other was gone. She didn’t want to go through that again, she didn’t want to lose Layla again, and she was more than willing to push her own anger and pain to the side in order to comfort her. Without a second thought her feet carried her over, kneeling in front of her and wrapping both her arms tightly around her, pulling her in so she could continue sobbing in the comfort of her chest. Her right cheek was pressed against the top of her head, eyes tightly shut as her own tears fell and disappeared on Layla’s hair, and she softly hushed her. “Shhh-- you’re here--- Nothing else--- That’s alI I- I care about right now.”

Feeling the woman wrap her arms around Layla made her breakdown even more. Her body had gone limp in Frankie’s arms. How was she supposed to explain that she had just killed somebody? That she had taken a man’s life in cold blood and actually recalled every bit of it. And more importantly that a part of her, the feral animal part, enjoyed it. She couldn’t handle this information. Couldn’t process it, but maybe if someone else knew...someone else cared...Pulling out of Frankie’s arms, she looked up at her and spoke, “Frankie, I-I have to tell you something…” She raised up one of her arms and wiped at her eyes trying to avoid the injury to her wrist. She was broken. Pitiful looking and lost. And perhaps more scared than she had been the night her parents went after her.

Hazel met brown through glistering tears when the other pulled away, and Frankie finally took a good luck at Layla. Beyond her physical appearance and her desperate need to take her hand and kiss the damaged skin on her wrists, the older girl wore a shocked look as she realized something. “Your… your aura changed.” The words came out unconsciously as her hand moved to cup her girlfriend’s cheek, her focus now on the swirling colors around her. The colors were essentially the same - the familiar light blue mixed with the recent purple - but there were bright, red tinges all around it. She had seen them before, briefly, on other people but had no idea what they were - her knowledge limited to her grandmother telling her to stay away from people who had them. They were threatening to look at, and for a moment all her anger disappeared, curiosity taking its place, before she shook her head and  locked her eyes on Layla’s once more. “Listen- Before you say anything --- I love you. Fuck, I love you so, so damn much and if you do that again I swear to God I’m going to… to….” Her voice broke, her whole face wrinkling as she tried and failed to start sobbing again. “Don’t-- Don’t ever leave me again like that--”

Looking into Frankie’s eyes, the wolf took in every bit of sadness and agony that her girlfriend held. Her own heart was shattered, but what was left was starting to crumble and turn into nothing but dust. She hadn’t realized what this had done to Frankie. The memories it must have brought up and flashbacks of the night Layla had left for good. Going away like that, despite the fact that she had left a note, had to have been so hard, and it made the eighteen year old feel even worse than she thought she already could. How could she tell her what she had done? How was that fair to drop that on her? Maybe it was best kept a secret, unless Frankie specifically asked, “I-I just didn’t want you to get hurt. I can’t control what I am when the moon’s full, and if I ever hurt you physically or worse…” She shook her head, “Baby, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how many times I can say it or if it even holds value anymore…” Layla let her eyes fall, “I love you. I love you with every part of my being...that’s why I left back then and this weekend...I can’t lose you either. Not like that...not at the hands of the animal I’ve become…”

“Don’t say that--” Frankie cooed her, now both hands cupping Layla’s face, and she leaned forward so their foreheads were pressed together. She refused to believe it, no matter how many times Graham would tell her, or how much Layla believed it herself: she was no animal, she was no monster in her eyes. If anything, the teen in front of her was at the most fragile point she had seen her in their lives, the most human she had even been. “You won’t hurt me. I know you would never, ever do that, so get that thought out of your head.” Looking down, her hands fell so they were now laced together with Layla’s now not so perfect manicure, and she had to hold back a sob, the raw, red skin a painful contrast to her pale skin, and Frankie hated herself for not being able to protect her. “I don’t… I can’t go through this again. Promise me you won’t hurt yourself again. Not… on purpose, anyways.”

She closed her eyes as she felt Frankie’s hands on her face. Anytime her girlfriend touched her or spoke to her, it gave Layla a comfort and peace she had longed for after she left Nashville. And here she was, once again, in the presence of the most amazing human being ever. How had she been so blessed? She didn’t deserve Frankie. Frankie deserved so much better. But Layla knew she didn’t have the strength to do that or to leave her. Not again. Not knowing the hurt it had caused her, but especially because this was the woman she had hoped she would get to spend the rest of her life with, “Just know, I’ll never forgive myself if I do.” She watched Frankie’s hands fall and intertwine with her own. It was the heartfelt plea that got to her though, “I promise, but I don’t know how else to stop myself from hurting anybody...from killing again…” It had slipped out from the sobs that were now leaving her mouth. Frankie knew. She hadn’t intended for her to know, but now she did. And Layla immediately grew quiet, heart almost stopping in fear of what the woman’s next reaction would be.

It suddenly felt like a cold knife had gone through her gut, and her heart, and all her vital organs, heartbeat skipping a beat but not in a good way. The calm facade she had faked in order to comfort Layla suddenly broke, eyes slowly opening wide in shock as the realization of what the werewolf had done hit her. “Wh-What?” Killing? Frankie’s whole body tensed. “You--- What?” The idea of the other teenager hurting someone was surreal (she was a vegan, for God’s sake, she wouldn’t hurt a fly), but her talking about taking a human life was straight up a cruel joke. “I--- No-- Stop fucking with me---” But by the way Layla was crumbling in front of her, quiet yet still devastated-- it was definitely no joke, which only made it worse. With a joke she could get angry, she could yell at her to not do that and then move on with their lives. But actual murder? Nothing had prepared her for this- well, maybe Graham had, but her brain and heart were too struck to think, to be rational, but it was impossible. The corner of her mouth started to twitch as a horrified look slowly made its way on her face, and she unconsciously let go of her girlfriend’s hands, cradling her own against her chest.

Frankie’s reaction wasn’t what Layla had expected. In fact, she wasn’t sure what to expect. But she could feel herself sinking lower and lower. Like a piece of dirt. Something that needed to be thrown out with the garbage. When the woman pulled her hands away from the redhead, it made her jump and look down frantically at her own hands then to Frankie’s and back to her own. Her jaw was quivering, eyes wide. Heart shattered completely now. Even her own girlfriend; the love of her life, was disgusted with her. Swallowing the knot in her throat, she turned her head away looking past the woman she loved. She could no longer bear to look her in the eyes. What she had done was a crime. It was one of the worst things you could do; take a human life. As someone who had always fought her parents tooth and nail to save the lives of werewolves and other creatures, Layla had become the thing she had dreaded most...a monster. Without saying anything, the eighteen year old got to her feet, and began to move past Frankie, but paused. She wanted so badly to say something, but she didn’t know what. No words could ever explain how broken she felt and how much she had hated herself right now, and the hand she almost put on Frankie’s shoulder lingered slightly above, before giving up and pulling it back in without making contact. Instead, she went to the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it.

No matter how much she yelled at her brain to move, to go after Layla when she stood, Frankie remained quiet, unmoving, and her eyes fixated on the empty spot where the teen wolf had been as if time had frozen. The red tinges. Stay away from those. The only reason her grandma had told her that was because she knew. Because she knew what the scattered red surrounding an aura meant. They were killers, murderers, and her girlfriend was one of them now. NO. That’s not her. She desperately wanted to believe that it truly hadn’t been her, that it had been the thing, the wolf, the beast inside of her- but that would mean believing that there were two Laylas, and the whole point of moving to a new town to be with her would lose its meaning- it would’ve been for nothing. It didn’t matter what she thought now - if she had killed an innocent person, what guaranteed her that she wouldn’t hurt her next? The human’s mind was spiraling, her breath starting to quicken and sharpen, and what if she turned while they were sleeping - or worse, while they were surrounded by other humans and killed not just her, but others? No- No Layla wouldn’t- It had to be an accident. There was no way it had been on purpose, something must’ve happen, something must’ve--- That’s not her. That’s not her. That’s not 

Several minutes had passed, perhaps even an hour, before Frankie’s body was able to move again. It felt sore and weak and tired and for a moment she considered letting herself drift right there, in the middle of the living room, until Graham came home and found her asleep. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t just leave Layla, no matter what or why she had done what she had done. After everything they had been through, she needed to be strong not just for herself, but for both of them. 

Slowly, almost painfully, she dragged her feet to the only closed door in the small apartment, and with closed eyes, she pressed her forehead against it. “... Babe?” Her voice was hoarse from all the crying, her exhaustion no longer just in her head, but it came out soft, as if luring a stray animal that was too scared to come near people. “I’m… I’m so sorry. I’m an asshole, I---” She pressed her lips together, to contain a sob. “I didn’t- I wasn’t expecting to- to hear that from you at all and I just-- Fuck, I don’t even--- I don’t know what to- What I think about… that but-- I just--” A deep, shaky breath. “I love you. And-- No matter what you say or do or think I will--- Nothing will ever make me stop being utterly-- totally-- ridiculously in love with my best friend.”

Layla didn’t know whether to cry. Scream. Break something. So, instead, she just slid down to the floor. Silence was her best friend at the moment. Nothing she could say would ever change the fact that she had killed a man, and she feared what was going through Frankie’s mind. How could the woman she gave her heart to love her after this? Love her for what she had done? No, she wasn’t in control, but she was the beast. It didn’t matter how much she replayed it in her mind, even though she did every damn second since it had happened, she was never going to be able to change what she did or justify killing an innocent man. Instead, she simply sat there just being. Nothing more and nothing less. At this rate, if she sat on the floor of the bathroom the rest of her life and never came out, it would be just fine. Everything would be fine. But the silent tears rolling down her cheeks said otherwise.

It had seemed like an eternity before she heard movement. And in that long amount of time, her mind raced from all the people in her life. Frankie. Ari. Simon. Graham. Ulfric. Winn. The other wolves. Rio. Kaden. How many of those people wanted her dead or gone out of their sight? She knew that if Graham found out, she would be back on the streets, and that was the last thing she had wanted. Sleeping in elements with only God knew what lurking around White Crest? But more so than that, her mind went back to Frankie. Every time. How would this woman ever want to marry her after this?

As soon as Frankie spoke, Layla turned her head to the door, staring at it as if she could see through it and see the woman looking back at her. She listened to her plea, but there was no point in it. Frankie could never be an asshole. She had no right to apologize. This was all Layla’s fault. From the day she first defied her parents and everything in between. “Don’t apologize. I don’t deserve your love or your heart.” Her voice was flat. No emotion. How could a monster have emotion? “I don’t deserve anything.” She turned her head back to face the front.

The lack of emotion in her response felt like yet another stabbing in her chest. Was she rejecting her? “No-- Layla—" Her hands now pressed against the wood next to her face. “You—you deserve the whole fucking world, and the stars and the moon, and you deserve happiness and a long healthy life with kids and three cats and a loving wife that will love you no matter what--- You deserve me and everything the world has to offer---” Frankie’s words had started soft but had slowly turned more and more desperate, not able to hold the tears back any longer. It didn’t matter what she said or what she did now – Layla’s mechanical voice cut her open from head to toe, and the human was too exhausted, too scared, too in love to pretend it didn’t hurt anymore.

“Don’t--- Don’t do this.” The human choked on her own sobs, images of all the time they had spent together flashing in front of her closed eyes. The day they had met in school. Their first date despite neither of them realizing it had been one. The first time they held hands, at Layla’s house, watching Buffy. The first time they kissed, in the locker room after cheer-leading practice. The day Frankie asked Layla to be her girlfriend. The day Layla punched Denisse on the mouth because she had called them nasty lesbos. The day they had come out to their families. The first day they had said I love you meaning more than just friendship. Frankie’s heart was threatening to run off her body through her mouth. Was this it? Had they fought against earth, air and sea just to watch everything disappear one second to another?

Hand curled in a fist, waves of sobbing washing over her and drowning her in a sea of sorrow she didn’t have the means to escape, the only lighthouse that could guide her home so close yet so far locked behind a simple door. Knuckles met wood as Frankie hit the door once, and then another time, the muffled sobs turning into loud cries. Knees gave up, and her whole body crashed against the floor, arms wrapped around herself in a poor attempt to hold herself together. 

Layla leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes. Drowning out everything else, including Frankie’s sobs, the young wolf just listened to the heartbeat of the woman in the other room and the steady thumping. Since becoming a werewolf, it had been the way Layla connected with people. Knowing they had the same heartbeat as her. It gave her solace. Calmed her nerves. It was a way for her to relate and to still feel human. And it had been one of her favorite things to do when the two girls would just lay in bed and watch Netflix or talk or even just be still. Even as a human, Layla had fallen asleep to Frankie’s heartbeat more times than she could count. It’s why, when she had been living with Ariana, she would listen to Ari’s heart. To connect. But now that she was back with Frankie, she knew the rhythm like the back of her hand. Every missed heartbeat. Fast. Slow. And right now it’s all she wanted to hear. All she wanted to connect with. Not words. The meaning of the word sorry had lost its value with as many times as she had to apologize to people. And she knew one day, people wouldn’t listen anymore. It was human nature. Who would want to listen to someone say sorry a million times anyways?

As she listened, she got caught up in the steady pulsating, so much so that when Frankie began pounding on the door, it startled her, releasing the wolf. Feeling a slight shift in her body, she released a quick yelp at the pain. Chest heaving, she opened her eyes to find her hands had shifted, dawning fresh claws. The same ones that had killed a man only hours prior, and it angered her. The one thing that had brought her peace, and it was gone, because she couldn’t control what she was.

Climbing to her feet, Layla peered into the mirror seeing herself as dangerous and worthless. With her hands tightly balled into fists, she felt the razor sharp nails dig into her skin drawing blood. Between hearing how broken Frankie was and knowing what she had done, she couldn’t stand to see her reflection anymore and sent a fist as hard as she could into the mirror; glass shattering onto the sink and floor. Realizing what she had done, the teenager started crying again as fresh blood seeped from an injured paw. With her knees hitting the floor once more, she crumpled up wishing for her old life desperately, “I just want my old life back...I just want our life back...I didn’t mean to hurt him. I didn’t mean to…” 

The weeping and the need for air between each sob had made Frankie’s body fall almost into a rhythmically broken and sad tempo. Guilt was eating her, and had she been able to watch past the veil of her tears, she would’ve noticed any color swirling around herself had suddenly been drowned out by darkness, no color longer visible. It was painfully funny how all the feelings she had thought she’d never go through again after Layla had ran away were coming back, even more ruthlessly than before despite only being separated basically by 5 inches of wood. But could you blame the teens for feeling too much, too hard, and not realizing everything that the future had yet to show them?

The sound of broken glass took her out of her stasis, the realization of what it came from making Frankie’s head snap. Hands clawed at the knob as she desperately tried to get a hold of it and open the door, but was met with the subtle resistance the lock offered. “Layla-” Voice was high pitched and filled with panic, and fist met wood once, and twice, and more times than Frankie could remember. “Layla, please, let me in---” Everything she did felt like futile attempts at getting through to the young wolf, her words were useless and seemingly held no value to her girlfriend anymore. It didn’t matter how hard she tried, Layla’s voice was too soft for her to catch what she was saying, and all that did was turn her stomach even more. Slowly, her body gave in once more, except this time she wasn’t looking at the bathroom anymore, but instead rested against the door, her face wet, hands bruised and her heart completely broken.

Layla could barely look up at the door, when Frankie started begging for her to unlock it. Her mind was telling her one thing, but her heart was telling her another. She was shutting out the woman she loved, because her own brain had let the haunting thoughts of what could happen and what had happened, seep in, blocking out any logical reason to listen to anyone, including the woman desperately trying to get in. While her heart ached, something kind of fierce, in her chest. But she had somehow managed to calm down enough to let her heart win out over her head.

Pulling her paw to her chest, she used her good hand to reach forward and unlock the door, before sinking back down into herself. She wanted Frankie close. Wanted to smell her and feel her warmth and hear her heartbeat once more. She wanted to feel loved, but not out of what her head was saying was obligation. She wanted to drowned out the thoughts plaguing her weak mind and just love and be loved in return, but the looming thought of death and knowing what Frankie could see when she looked at Layla remained in the back of her mind, and she couldn’t shake the feeling of being judged by the one person who had never shown judgement towards her in the past.

Frankie wasn’t sure how much time had passed when she heard the door unlock. It could’ve been seconds, perhaps hours, but however long it had been, the tears flowing down her face hadn’t stopped at all, hazel orbs looking as empty as her soul and heart felt. When she moved to stand up, all her body groaned in what could only be described as a mix of exhaustion, pain, and sadness, but the young human paid no attention to it - whatever the human was feeling was once more pushed aside, the need to be next to Layla and cradle her against her chest bigger than anything. However, her hand stopped when it grabbed the knob. Opening the door meant there was no going back, and despite never having the intention to leave, entering the bathroom was a binding promise that no matter what happened next -more murders or worse- she’d stand by her side.

And the teenager was oddly in peace with that decision.

The creaking wood filled the silent apartment, and the first thing her eyes landed on was the broken glass mixed with blood that sat mainly on the sink, but that had still found its way all around the bathroom. She had heard it, but she still let a surprised gasp escape her lips, the first thing entering her mind being how she needed to clean that before Graham came back. But the mundane thoughts quickly left as she looked down at the broken girl, the aura swirling around her perfectly matching hers in color, except the werewolf’s still had the bright red spots in it. Stay away from the reds. Her whole chest clenched once more, but this time she didn’t allow her emotions to control her. She sank on her knees too, arms wrapping around the girl. “I’m sorry.” Frankie mumbled, and wasn’t completely sure if the apology was meant for Layla, for her grandma, or even for herself, but that didn’t take away how sorry she felt nonetheless. Arms tightened around her girlfriend, her chest pressed against her back and her face burrowed in her hair. “I’m here. It’s gonna be okay. We will make it okay.”

[tanadrin]

Reordberend

(part 29 of 30; first; previous; next)

Leofe woke perhaps an hour later; Katherine heard her roll over, then a groggy question emerged from the bed behind her.

“What are you doing?”

Katherine finished tying her hair back; it was shorter now, but still too long for this. But she didn’t have time to cut it. She felt with her fingers down the back of her neck, trying to figure out where to press the awl. It was a shitty substitute for a proper neural probe, but it was all she could find at short notice in the hall.

“I’m just--shit!” She pushed it home, and there was a dull thud inside her skull as the emergency reboot protocol started. She pulled her hand back; her fingertips were covered in blood. Nothing for that now, unfortunately. “Just rebooting my cybernetics.”

“Isn’t that a bad idea?”

“Yes. It’s a very bad idea. It’s the sort of thing you only do in life or death situations.” Katherine stood up, and went over to the door, where Hraefn’s shield was leaning against the wall, next to one of her hunting spears. Leofe’s eyes went wide.

“Katherine, what are you doing?”

“I’m going--I’m going after the dragon. I talked to Eadwig. The bird I gave him, do you remember? I took it from the corpse of the second dragon. It’s likely… it’s likely it was a lot less damaged than its brother. And I think, whatever it is, the dragon has some way of tracking it, and wants it back. I think whatever tracking device it has built into it was meant to help recover the memory core, and I think I fucked up by removing it. And I got people killed. And I’m so, so sorry Leofe. I want you to know that. And I want you to tell the others. I’m going to go down to the Lower Settlement, and take the bird back. Then I’m going to go find the dragon. If I can’t find a way to reattach it, I’ll just have to find a way to kill it.”

“Now wait, you can’t--” Leofe tried to sit up, and that’s when she realized Katherine had tied both her hands to the bedpost.

“I’m sorry. You can’t stop me. Stubborn, remember? You can yell, but I don’t think anyone will hear you from outside the hall. And by the time someone comes looking for you, I’ll be in the hills.”

Katherine hefted Hraefn’s shield, then picked up the spear. Leofe’s eyes were wide; funny, Katherine thought she’d be more pissed than surprised at this point. 

“Listen, you can’t--”

“Shh. Leofe. I caused this mess. I came here, I disrupted your people’s existence, I got some of them killed. Before anybody else dies, I have to do everything in my power to make that right.”

“You’ll be killed!”

Katherine looked down at the ground.

“Then I’ll be killed. But at least I tried. Please tell the others I’m sorry. If you can get a message to the outside world--have somebody tell my parents I’m sorry, too.”

“Katherine! Don’t you dare leave without untying me!”

Katherine pulled her hood close about her face, and strode out of the room.

“Katherine!”

* * *

She slipped out of High Settlement and made the two-hour walk to the Lower Settlement in the dark. Eadwig’s house was easy enough to find; the bird was still sitting on a workbench, next to his stoneworking tools. She slipped it into her pocket, and was gone before anyone noticed her. From there, it was another two hour walk back up the valley, and when she was almost at the place where the path turned off toward High Settlement, she turned left instead of right, and headed up into the hills.

It was only then, stepping off the road, that something turned over in her brain, the adrenaline began to fade or whatever, and she started to feel her hands shake. She really should have eaten breakfast. Her mother always said it was important. Don’t go to school without breakfast, dear. Don’t go slaying dragons on an empty stomach.

The little observer inside her head, the little voice that was always watching her actions and critiquing what she did and telling her what she could do better, was screaming at her now, asking her if she was crazy, if she was suicidal, if she was stupid. She ignored it. She might be crazy. She certainly didn’t want to die. There were, in fact, few things in this existence that scared her more than the possibility of it ending, of plunging headlong into the great void of nonexistence, of contemplating what it would be like to be one with Unbeing, to be not, to become nothing. There were times when the certain knowledge of her one day death filled her with an icy cold terror. Today wasn’t one of those days, which was funny. Because she was pretty sure she was going to die.

She should turn back. It was the only reasonable course of action. But the one thing that scared her more than dying at this point was what would happen to the others if she failed. If she couldn’t reattach the bird to the thing, or at least get her to recognize she had given it back, it might keep looking. It might stomp all up and down the Valleys, until it had ground every village to dust, and it might keep going until it broke down. And she couldn’t have that on her conscience. She couldn’t be the one that destroyed them.

So she kept climbing into the hills. As she climbed, she did her best to hack together a self-diagnostic. Already, her head was starting to hurt in an ominous way. But if she had any chance of surviving this, she needed every edge she could get, and barely-functioning cybernetics was better than nothing.

She needed three things, she decided. She needed a way to mute pain signals. A headache was fine. Even a bad one she could live with. But burns, broken bones, anything truly incapacitating, needed to be reduced or eliminated. She also needed to get every last ounce of strength out of her muscles, even if she risked damaging them. She knew if you pushed your muscles too hard you could damage them, and that could cause kidney failure, but it would take a lot longer for kidney failure to kill her than a laser borer, or getting crushed to death. And the other thing she needed was better reflexes. That was probably gonna be the least likely to get working, because it involved core neurological function, which seemed to be exactly the part of her neural lace that was most damaged. But she had to do her best.

Finally she cape to the top of a ridgeline, and leaned against an outcropping to catch her breath. Damn, she thought. I wonder what my friends would say if they could see me now. She’d like to think they’d think she was a badass. They’d probably side with Leofe, though. If anything, she probably looked a bit ridiculous in the heavy coat, with the hunting spear and the shield. Like a squat black shrub with delusions of martial grandeur. She made a mental note, for if she survived this. Tell Hraefn to make her a bitchin’ suit of armor. Something with pauldrons and spikes. Something you could airbrush onto the side of a van.

She thought of a large green pyramid on the ground. The emergency startup sequence for her prosthetics engaged, and her headache got a lot worse. She gritted her teeth. “Neural lace console mode,” she said. A flashing indicator appeared to the left of her vision, and a shimmering, ghostly outline of a keyboard in the air in front of her. She raised her hand and made typing motions.

God, she felt like a dumbass. At least none of the others could see her right now.

Katherine was no programmer, and she was no neurologist. She did remember a few commands from the user manual of the salvaged dragon. Dampening pain signals only took about a dozen keystrokes. A loud warning tone sounded in her ears--well, probably her auditory cortex--warning that what she was about to do overrode almost every safety built into the lace, and its warranty. She hit confirm. Then she did the same thing with the musculoskeletal support system. More loud, horrible warning tones, this time with messages that featured the word “DEATH” in flashing letters. Literally, neon-green flashing letters. Yes, yes. Get on with it. She tried get into the actual neurological support system, but this time a big yellow ACCESS DENIED message stopped her cold.

“What the fuck?”

User access to the neurological support system is denied. Please consult a medical professional if you desire to… god dammit. Okay, so that option was out. She had her wits. She had a weapon. She had a shield. And she had every last ounce of physical strength she’d be able to muster. God, she hoped it was enough.

* * *

An hour later, she crested another ridgeline, and she saw it, hunkered down in a hollow below her. The dragon.

She exhaled slowly. She wasn’t sure what she had imagined. Lying on the valley floor, half buried by the landslide, they had looked so mechanical. Inert. Obviously the work of human hands; and, if she was honest with herself, she had thought that the People’s insistence on calling them “dragons” was kind of stupid. But now she could see why they did. This thing--hunched on four enormous legs, curled around an enormous stone outcropping like a beast of mythology--did not look like a machine any longer. The hundreds of metal plates that formed its skin slid neatly over one another as its head swung one way and the other; the instruments and receivers along its back bristles, like spines or the outlines of skeletal wings, and, yes, there was a furious red glow from deep within its belly. It was enormous--easily two hundred meters long. It moved forward slowly, almost glacially, testing the ground with each foot.

Well then. Maybe she could sneak up on it. Niiiice and easy. After all, somebody had to do maintenance on this thing, right? It was designed with that in mind? Maybe it would let her climb right up on top of it, find a nice hatch she could pop open, and she could drop down inside, plug her brain into a control panel, and press the “off” button. Yeah. That sounded like a great plan.

Katherine took a step forward. She looked down. Something was glowing inside her coat. She pulled it out; it was the bird. The flaw in the middle, that seemed to be where the homing device was. It glowed with a sharp, almost radioactive blue light. Katherine looked down at the dragon.

Well, shit. Its head, if that was what you wanted to call it, was looking right at her. She slipped the bird back into her coat and picked up her spear. She waited to see what it would do next. Metal plates began to slide past each other, and something not unlike a maw began to gape. And there was a grim red light shining from within it.

“Ohhhh fuck fuck fuckfuckfuckfff-” Katherine took of sprinting down the ridgeline, as an enormous blast of something hit the spot where she had been standing a moment ago. There was a spray of rocks and dirt, and the force of the blast knocked her forward, but she did not fall. She glanced back over her shoulder, and caught a glimpse of glowing red rocks.

“Whyyy,” she screamed down at the beast. “WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT. I’m trying to give this BACK to you!” She fished around inside her coat, and then held up the bird, so it could see it.

“Here it is! Take it! Take it and go! Leave these nice people alone!”

The dragon looked at her dully. She had a thought, an insane one perhaps, but she was having an insane kind of morning. She stood up, reared back, and pitched the bird as hard as she could down toward the dragon. It arced through the air, and fell hilariously short, skipping down the slope until it came to rest about half way between her and it.

“There! All yours!” she yelled. The dragon did not look at it, though it glowed as brightly as before. It just started opening its maw again.

“God DAMMIT,” Katherine screamed. She jumped down the slope, just as the boring laser blasted another Katherine-sized hole in the landscape, and slid down the scree toward the bird. She stumbled, fell, rolled, and tried to stand before falling again. The dragon’s head was tracking her, but it was slow. She could hear the machinery inside it whirring from where she was. She finally got close enough to the bird to pick it up, and took of running parallel to the dragon again, hoping she could move faster than its head could turn. Another hideous glare lit up the landscape around her; another blast hurled fragments of rock into the air.

Katherine needed to think, and she couldn’t do that very well while running. And her headache was getting worse and worse and worse and the last thing she needed was a critical failure of her cybernetics while eighteen hundred tons of pain had her classified as Threat Numero Uno. There was a larger stone outcropping ahead; she skidded to a halt behind that, and considered her options.

One, try to get closer. Running directly at it was suicide, but if she could get on its back, she was pretty sure it could not reach her. Maybe then she could get inside. Maybe. Two, try to get away. Ha ha, fat chance, and that didn’t solve her original problem. Three, try to… she looked down at the spear in her hand. Poke it? She considered throwing it away, but she couldn’t bring herself to. God you’re an idiot, Katherine, she thought to herself.

She had to get closer. She glanced around the side of the outcropping. The dragon was opening its jaw again. She took off running. It was a good thing, too; the outcropping exploded into fragments and the borer tore into the side of the mountain like it wasn’t even there. Some big chunks of rock hit Katherine on the back and head while she ran, but they weren’t big enough to knock her down, and the pain suppression was doing its job.

Now she ran down the slope, at a forty-five degree angle toward the base of the monster. Its feet were massive, nearly the size of one of the houses in the village, and the nearest one began rising in the air as she approached, as the creature took another slow step toward her. Crunch. It smashed the earth flat below it as it came down, but Katherine saw what she needed in the glow of another laser blast: an access ladder, reaching down to ground level.

It took a good seven or eight seconds at least between laser blasts. If she could escape one more, she could probably run straight at it and close the distance in that time. She began running parallel to the thing again, this time in the opposite direction; it fired, she pivoted ninety degrees, and fell flat on her face.

She scrambled to her feet; its mouth was already open again. A wild, elemental terror filled her body, and she sprinted blindly; there was another explosion, and she felt something go into her right leg. She stumbled again, but did not fall; but now her right leg was only halfheartedly obeying her commands.

Nothing for it, she thought. Just fucking run.

She made it to the leg just as it was rising into the air again, and leapt up to grab the handhold; the dragon froze, its leg in the air, as if confused, and Katherine scrambled up onto the ladder, and started climbing as quickly as she could with her shield and spear. She remembered where the access hatch had been on the other one: middle of the back, high up, near where the neck met the shoulder-ish part. The dragon’s head swung right, then left; haha fucker, she thought. Can’t laser me now. What she had not counted on was that the motion of the thing’s body made it extremely difficult to keep her grip; even as she came to the almost-flat part of the back, she had to cling to the ladder to keep from being flung off.

Finally, she found the hatch and the access panel. She used the end of the spear to pop it open, and found the neural interface on the first try. Then she saw the readout on the panel.

THREAT ELIMINATION MODE ACTIVE - DO NOT ATTEMPT ACCESS

Katherine froze. She’d heard stories--back before these things were more strictly regulated--of security protocols that could fry neural laces, even induce crippling brain damage. It wasn’t hard, if you had complete, unfettered access to someone’s brain and you were an epic asshole, to do them real harm, or just straight up kill them. That kind of thing was usually banned now. But it hadn’t always been. Katherine frowned. She tapped the physical interface of the control panel.

“DO NOT ATTEMPT ACCESS!” flashed more brightly.

“Fuck you,” she whispered to herself. She tapped it again, to see if she could get some sort of override input to come up.

PROXIMITY DEFENSE SYSTEM ENGAGED

A smaller hatch opened nearby, and something popped up out of it. Something that looked suspiciously like a miniature version of a laser borer. It swiveled to face Katherine.

“Oh come on!”

She let go of her handhold, sliding back down the side of the dragon as a second laser sliced the air above her. The dragon bucked, and she went flying off the side. There was a crunch, and a sharp pain signal, quickly muted, in her left arm. She groaned, and rolled over; the shield was still strapped to it, but her left forearm was definitely broken. She looked down at her leg. Her calf was sliced open, a deep, jagged cut. Her spear had fallen to the ground perhaps twenty feet away, and the dragon was turning, slowly, to face her.

I tried, she thought to herself. I really tried. At least it will be a quick death. The bird will probably be destroyed. I don’t know what the dragon will do after that. And I don’t know what idiot designed this thing, and what stupid fucking regulatory agency got bribed to approve it, but perhaps maybe then it will back off. And I can’t say I didn’t try.

She swallowed a lump in her throat. Fuck, was this really how it was going to end? She had survived the water and the ice and the darkness and all the rest, just to die in a flash of fire? The jaws of the dragon opened; a red glow filled the air.

It wasn’t even really a conscious decision at this point. Pure instinct. She curled herself up behind her shield, and did her best to make herself as small as possible. There was a terrific noise, a sensation of terrible heat and then--nothing. She looked up. She was alive. She looked down at her shield. It was glowing red-hot in the middle, and there was an awful stench of burned meat where the back of her hand was touching it; she flung it away, and looked up at the dragon.

The mirror finish had reflected enough of the laser to score a deep gash in it, running from the side of its head, back through its shoulder, deep into the machinery of its belly. Its jaw was shattered, hanging limply, even as its head swung left and right, like it was trying to make sense of what had happened.

“FUCK YOU YOU OVERGROWN POSTHOLE DIGGER!” Katherine screamed. She ran over to her spear and snatched it up. She could see, as the beast moved now, the way the machinery in its belly held it up, pistons moving back and forth to balance it, what looked like a supply of hydraulic fluid to move its legs. Most of it was solid metal, nothing she could do anything about, but there was one spot, exposed by the blast of the laser, still glowing from its heat, where she could see what looked like an important tank of something made out of plastic. And maybe, just maybe, she could immobilize it if she could cut it open.

“Okay, asshole,” she said to herself. “One last go.” She broke into a run straight toward the dragon. Its head swung in an arc directly down toward her, as if trying to flatten her into the stones; she turned, avoided it, but her foot caught a rock and she stumbled--but did not fall. As she came up underneath it, it began to move its legs apart, bringing its body down as if to flatten her; but this worked to Katherine’s favor, dropping her target until it was almost directly above her head. She leapt directly up, using every ounce of her cybernetically enhanced strength, and drove the spear home as hard as it could. For a brief moment, she thought it would bounce harmlessly off; but it caught some imperfection in the molded surface, and sank deep inside. The pressurized tank exploded, and a reeking, slick, chemical solution gushed out, drenching her from head to toe.

She fell to the ground, as the dragon loomed over her, and staggered. Something was terribly wrong now; her eyes were burning, and her nose, and the headache from her neural lace felt like it was going split her skull open. She watched the dragon flail for a moment, then slow--then still.

Oh God, she thought. Was it enough? Is it over? Are they safe?

[seromreven]

title: care and protection.

anonymous requested: “Request for the boys calming down a fem!reader at a social event and protecting her when they see her ex who didn’t treat her very nicely? Thank you”

warnings: violence and abuse!

author’s note: back on requests, y’all

---

1965,

The light was bright and blinding. You were lost, and the panic came over you like a jackhammer beating down hard on your ribcage, trying to make entry into your rabid beating heart. You had gone to this grand affair with four men, The Beatles- your best friends. The event wasn’t focused on them for once and, yet, the moment they stepped in through the door they were whisked away to unknown places. It was more than you could handle. You couldn’t bare social gatherings. It made you feel choked and cramped. You clutched at the fabric covering your chest and looked around in a hopeless attempt to find the boys, or at least find one of them! But it was useless! The gaping maw of people dressed in suits and dresses had swallowed them up and you were alone.

Or not completely so; much to your distress and fear. You spied Jack, an ex of yours (it hadn’t ended well), over at a row of tables filled to the edges with champagne glasses and hors d'œuvres. You fell a harsh chill go down your back as he turned and his pale, cold, eyes landed on you. A sly smirk crept to his place and with long wide steps he made it to you. He grasped your hand and placed a hard kiss to its back; you desperately wanted to pull it away, to run away and escape but you were caught- like a deer in front sharp headlights a dark winter night. “Please,” the word came out as a whimper. “Please, leave me be,” you shook as he finally let go of your hand; his smirk only seemed to grow in size. 

“Why, I’m only here to say hello, dear,” he looked around the room triumphantly. “You here alone?” You swallowed hard at the thought and quickly shook your head, words having failed you completely. He looked at you pitying and if you had any courage to do so, you would have slapped him. “Well, I don’t see anybody else with you,” he moved a hand to slightly caress your shoulder, and you shot back, bumping into the hard edge of a table and heard the glasses on it quake but not fall. You heard a loud yell somewhere far off but neither you nor Jack seemed to pay it much mind- you were far too frightened than to do anything else but stare wide-eyed at your ex while he seemed exultant- moving in on your like a cat would a mouse. His hand came hard around your wrist and gave it a tuck, “come with me,” he sneered. But before anything else was done, his hand suddenly vanished from your wrist and he landed on the floor on his side with a yell. 

“Leave her alone, you fucker!”

Your heart jumped at the voice and you felt tears push their way forward and down your hot cheeks. It was John! He stood with his fists raised and a snarl showing off his teeth. Paul appeared next to him, having run out from somewhere in the crowd. He yelled out to you, his eyes filled with concern, and you rushed to wrap your arms around him, still shaking from your scare. You muttered thank yous into his shirt, staining it with your tears. 

Soon you heard John yell again at Jack who laid whimpering and moaning on the hardwood flooring. “You broke my mouth, you scouse fuck!” You heard Jack’s voice clear as day but all else you couldn’t focus on as the words were ever growing and joined by insults. John sounded ever the more furious as he continued yelling down at Jack and was soon joined by what you recognised as George. And just as you were wondering about Ringo, you felt the cool metal of rings on your bare shoulder guide your and Paul out of the room. You didn’t dare to look up from Paul’s shoulder as you were moved out into the cold open night. You finally willed yourself away from Paul’s comfort as they sat you down on a bench- you shivered, this time from the cold autumn night but it was noticed quickly by the men who both wrapped their tuxedo jackets around you and your shaking shoulders. “Thank you,” you managed to get out with a sniffle. They patted your hands from either side of you where they sat; “it’ll be okay. You’ll be okay,” Ringo said with great gentleness and ease and comforted you as Paul kissed the top of your head. 

You were soon joined by the rest of the band. John looked worse for wear but made no comment of it as he rushed to kneel in front of you- looking for any damages. You assured him that you were unharmed and repeated the words giving to you by Ringo as you glanced up to George behind the singer- his arms crossed and eyes worried. You know the words rang true. You would be all right, you had your boys.

[futurewriter2000]

Choose hate?

Through my years of living on this Earth, I have, as an 19 year old student in high school, realized, I believe, more than a 45 year old man or woman ever have.

I shouldn't have realized those things. I am only 19 years old. But I did and I learned many moral and right teachings of life.

It cannot be explained because people hate. People hate no matter what you write and if I write what I want, there will be so many misunderstood comments. Because here's the thing. When I read this book, this amazing book published somewhere around 1950s I believe, this was what was written :

"Communication is in the same class with the elixir of life and the philosopher's stone. It just isn't. You can't explain yourself to anybody. Never in this world. Or why you do something. Or what makes you tick. You can't ever point to something that happened to you and say- There! That's me. Right in therr. See? Now do you understand? Because nobody's going to. " - William Goldman

But here's the problem. We try. We try so hard to explain ourselves to people that we don't even see how much energy we put in it. It exhausts us almost to the max.

And then we are hated. Hated for trying. Hated for trying to bring out our truest selves. Whoever we are or at least trying to be, we are hated.

And in my whole 19 year old life I have been so disgusted by the hate people give. Not only to people but to animals, nature, beliefs etc.

And sometimes even if it is to someone who has done another wrong. A big amount of wrong that makes you furious and you go: "I hope he dies a horrible death."

Why would you want him dead? What would that do good to you? Who will fix the wrongdoing of that another person?

We have been thought when we do something wrong, we are punished. Is death really a punishment? Is it? Old people crave death when they are stuck on the bed with nothing but tubes and diapers and already grieving people surrounding them. Bad people are terrfied of death. Some, some not. Hitler commited a suicide. Why? Ask yourself why did he do it? Was it because he craved death at 56 of age?

No,it's becuase when you're at your lowest, you look for death as a salvation for your problem. Death? It's beautiful. You're not that person anymore. You're gone. And if I use the same example what were jews and victims of Hitler's horror left with? - Hate. Hate towards him. Does he care? No. He's dead. Whether if it's in "heaven" or "hell" or whether if he was recairnated into a plant or an ant. Do people know? No.

When we are left with hate, what do we do with it? We put it on anybody who is close to us. Strangers? Acqaintances? Colleagues? Friends? Significant other? Family? Children?

We hold the hate inside and don't know where to put it, whom ti give it too. Because we don't want it. When we hate ourselves, it's easier to distract yourself on pointing flaws in somebody else.

"She's fat."

"Ugly bitch."

"Whore."

"Pervert."

"Faggot."

"Retard."

And what saddens me is that all of those are words with a meaning. Those aren't just insults, they are words with a meaning.

Worse part of this is, we use it on our own friends as a joke, as a greeting- and it has affected us and our way of speaking. We cuss and talk like those are the only words in our vocabulary. Why?

"She is overweight."

"Unattractive female dog."

"Prostitute."

"Deviant."

"Gay man."

"A sick person."

The synonims. You read the first ones, you know they are insults. You read the synonims, the tone is different.

So yes, the need to call somebody names is an urge when you are furious, hateful but know that you're not only insulting them, you're insulting those people who are those.

Is being overweight a bad thing? It's not heathy, that's all. And sometimes not even that. Perfect body, hiding your flaws, everything you have ever read about loving yourself. Even those quotes. If they are cheesy and lame and unoriginal, they are still true. People are different. Their metabolism is different. The construction of their bones can be strong or weak. Genetics is a thing. Dietary problems are a thing. It's not only unhealthy, for some people having the perfect body is unhealthy.

I don't understand. The way people use words to verbally assult other people. "You fucking pig." Pigs are smart. One of the smartest animals in the animal kingdom. And yeah, you can say that as a way to tell a disgusting person off or or tell it as bullying. Which is a thing not only in high schools, not only in work places and not only on the streets as you walk by but everywhere. Everywhere is happening the same thing. Hate.

So you can say awful about the people who murdered, raped, caused genocides, bombed etc. but when you spread hate like that, you're the one who is creating them.

Yes, I cuss. Yes, I hate. It's the nature of all beings. But there is a fine line of hating and terror.

People do it all the time. Terrorize other people because they want to be respected and praised. Because they don:t want to feel the way they do. And I pity those people for they can't see the other side of the solution.

Yes, it's sweet to taste but is it reliving you or is it making you crave for more?

I have been thought how to hate. Maybe not directly but it was there.

"You can't associate with the Serbian people." - "Why?" - "They killed our people in Srebrnica."

You mean I can't associate with the Serb who was not even born in 1995. Hate the person who wasn't the part of the massacre? I can't be friends? Be in love? Be all the things that are out of my controls? Just hate them?

"Never give a homeless man money. He'll just spend it on the alcohol or drugs. They are all frauds. He should go work instead. A person who needs money will work. "

Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he'll buy himself food. Maybe he can't get a job. Medically. Maybe from the background of which he was a victim. All in the maybe.

"Don't dance with him." - "Why?" - "Are you blind or are you just pretending?"

Honestly, for someone who saw their own mother being terrorized by my father, who was good looking and still is, can say that character is the only beauty I seek for in my partner. Always.

"She's dumb. She keeps failing the tests."

Why? Lazy? Easy-going? Always sleeps? Or is it undiscovered learning disability? Or mental torturing problems at home? Or any other mental sickness?

How can you be so sure on who is what? How can you hate on someone by looking on them? You psychic? You God? No. So stop pretending like you are. Stop spreading hate because you can't stand the hate inside of you. The more you mix the shit, the more it smells.

It's not just the hate on coloured people tho I honestly don't see the difference between the meaning white and black as they are only different colours but still colours.

Colour, religion, beliefs, background, looks, disability, language barrier, accent, body shape, hair colour and even a birth mark on the wrong part of your body. Everything is hated.

It's like a sick joke. How can people not see it? - "There is only one race in the world. The human race." - my sociology teacher

I bleed. You bleed. I knife you, you die. Is money gonna save you? Will the word "bitch" save you? Will your pride? Your ego? Your all so high reputation? Or is it a doctor? Who could have been a homeless person you were so terrified of giving your money to because either you needed it more than him to buy cigars or alcohol or whatever you landed your eyes on. Well, he starved and froze to death. So he is not near.

That's how life works. Whether you spread hate, more hate grows inside and around you. Whether thats from people or life itself.

But love and peace, forgivness, generousity... When is the thought of that? When a bad day goes by and you curse it, you decide to hate it? Why not think of what good can you do to turn it to its contrast?

Funny thing is that you're not the only one going through it but we do sure love to feel like we are the only ones. Like the world has turned its back on us. The world doesn't have a back. It's a weird rock floating in a space, which nobody knows what that is. Like the sun. Sun is a rock that is on fire.

Why bug ourselves with questions and problems we have no solutions for? Why don't you do what you love? It's not impossible, you've just been thought that. But look how many other people proved you wrong. Television is now normal. Radio is normal. To us. To the ones who were born with it. To people decades ago? Nah. People did the impossible all throughout the history. Not because of spreading the hate, telling people off, insulting them verbally or physicaly cuz that doesn't help. It's becuase they threw their hate aside and decided on something much more lighter. Hope. Dreams. Ambition. Goals.

So, I'm 19 years old. I am overweight. I cuss. I don't believe in God but I'm a born Muslim with a Buddha statue in my room. My English is better than my mothertongue. My best friend is a Serb. I listen to also black people music even if I'm a white person. I sing to it to it. I'm still a virgin. I am not ashamed of who I am.

I know the why and you don't. So go ahead, judge me hate me. It's easy. Decide to hate but know that I don't give a shit. I'm going to listen Your Peace by Jacquees, talk to my Buddha and change into my shorts to show off my thick thighs during the winter. I think I'm going to turn into a hippie as well.

Peace and love.

[lowtldes]

you were trouble by design - f!deputy/jacob seed

a little fic from my mob au

words: 5.9k

warnings/tags: swearing, mentions of violence, angst (this ship is probably doomed to fail), emotionally charged frisking

also on ao3

-

Apartments. 08:00. Come alone.

“Asshole,” Rook mutters, anxiously checking her phone for the sixth time to make sure she’s not hallucinating. The text message is there, clear as day, glaring up at her from the cracked screen of her phone.

She rubs her thumb across the little text bubble, as if she can wipe away the words like they’re a smudge on her screen. Sure, she can just delete the message, delete the entire conversation, delete his goddamn contact, but if Rook’s being honest with herself, she’s stalling.

Rook plans to throw the whole phone away, she does. Really. She does.

It’s just that she might have a little trouble letting go of ten months of working undercover as security for the Seed Family. What if she gets some useful information, right? What if she needs to contact any of the Seeds for some kind of deal?

As if any of the Seeds or their underlings would ever speak to her without shooting first.

Then why has Jacob fucking Seed summoned her to the Seed family’s apartments? More importantly, why did she actually come?

It’s not like she’s been hitting the Bliss or anything, no, anyone who worked under Jacob’s command was forbidden from indulging in Faith’s product. I guess I’m just out of my fucking mind.

Rook gets out of her car with a sigh and crosses the street, finishing her coffee with a few greedy gulps before tossing the cup into the overflowing garbage can on the sidewalk.

The two guards outside the building give her the stink eye, knowing exactly who she is. Jacob’s ex-second-in-command. A traitor. An undercover cop. A snake in the garden.

“I’m here to see Jacob,” Rook says firmly. She’s not gonna let a couple of disposables intimidate her. “He wanted to see me.”

“You’re not welcome here no more, sinner,” one of them spits, then literally spits on the ground in front of her.

“Check with one of the Chosen,” Rook glares. “Feeney or Lonny or whoever the fuck they hired to replace me. I’m getting into this building, whether you like it or not.”

 The guard glares right back at her, and the two of them are caught in a staring match, waiting to see who cracks first. It’s one of Rook’s vacation days and it’s too goddamn early to deal with this bullshit, but she’s gonna stand out here all fucking day if she has to wait for this guy to crack.

“Uh, hey,” the other guard says, clearing his throat. “I think Jacob did send word down the line that he was expecting someone—”

“He didn’t,” the guard stuck in her staring contest hisses, “don’t be a fucking coward. We can’t let her through.”

Rook unlocks her phone without breaking eye contact, she knows she’s left his text on as the first thing on her screen. She holds it up, flashing the screen. “He sent this to me. Last night. Who do you think he’s gonna have words with if he finds out I wasn’t let into the building?”

“Okay, okay, we really should—”

“She’s a traitor, and she’s not authorized.” The guard’s eye twitches. He seems to be turning red. “We’re not letting her in—”

“How ‘bout I call him?” Rook says breezily, muscle memory helping her tap away to her phone app without looking. “I’m sure Jacob will want to talk—”

“Let her through!” The other guard caves, nudging the reluctant guard hard on the shoulder and stepping aside for Rook. “Just. Just go. If you’re really not allowed inside, Jacob will shoot you himself, right? Go on in.”

Fuck. He might have just called me over here to shoot me in the head.

“Thanks,” Rook deadpans. She steps past the guards, right through the doors to the lobby with a sigh, trying to calm her anxious thoughts. Anxious as they are, they make sense. Why the fuck did she come here without back up, without telling anybody?

Guess it’s harder than she thought to weasel Jacob’s authority out of her head.

One of the elevators arrive just a second after she hits the button. Rook stands in front as the ding! tells her the doors are opening. It’s on its way up, coming from the basement levels. As the door opens, Rook finds herself dreading who she’s gonna see inside the elevator. Don’t be a Seed don’t be a Seed don’t be a Seed.

The doors open, and the first thing she’s hit by is the familiar mingling scents of whiskey and blood, along with JOHN SEED in bold black ink.

“Well, well. Look who it fucking is.”

Rook sighs and steps into the elevator. She keeps her distance. “Hi, Lonny. Gonna kill me?”

Lonny’s lips curl into a sneer, then he relaxes, leaning back against the wall of the elevator and drumming his gloved—bloodstained gloved fingers against his thighs. The doors close, and Rook does her best to not shift uncomfortably in the presence of her ex-coworker-slash-homicidal-friend.

“Nah,” he says casually, but his fingers twitch. He wants to strangle the life out of her, she knows. “Figured you’d be dead already if we wanted it. No use getting this elevator all bloody over something John won’t give me the order for.”

“Aw, thanks,” Rook says dryly. “I didn’t know you could be so sentimental.”

Rook moves to press the button for the Seeds’ floor, only to see that the button’s already lit.

“Gonna pay the big bad wolf a visit?” Lonny asks, tone dripping with malice.

“Yep,” Rook sighs, rolling her eyes at Lonny’s nickname for Jacob. What she says next slips out before she even notices she’s speaking again. Old habits. “What about you, Lon? Reporting your business in the basement back to John?”

“Don’t do that,” Lonny hisses, standing up straight now. He glares daggers at her. “Don’t you fuckin’ pretend we’re still friendly, ‘cause we’re not. That’s on you.”

Rook grimaces, biting down on her tongue. She only nods in return, because she knows that if she speaks again she’ll probably make things worse.

Like a fucking godsend, the elevator slows to a halt. Over Lonny’s death glares, the elevator dings! and the doors slide open. Lonny swings one hand forward, gesturing for her to step out first. Somehow, the nicety of it stings.

Rook steps out and turns the corner, knowing the floorplan by heart. She hears Lonny saunter out after her, walking in the other direction, towards the entrance to John’s penthouse.

“You better watch your back, Deputy,” Lonny’s voice echoes down the hall. “You never know who might wanna crack open that thick skull of yours after you showed your true nature.”

Rook tries her best not to dwell on whether or not that was a threat or a warning.

 -

 Jacob opens the door after her first knock. Rook’s hand is still floating where the door used to be, curled into a fist as if she’s ready to rap her knuckles on Jacob’s chin.

“You’re late,” is all he says, warm breath fanning across her raised fist. He steps away from the doorway, swinging the door open wider and jerking his head in motion for her to enter.

Rook glances her phone. 08:01.

“The meatheads outside the building held me up,” she replies, stepping into Jacob’s studio.

Jacob has the smallest apartment out of all the siblings. It’s still the biggest fucking studio apartment she’s ever been in, but she knows Joseph’s has a walk-in closet and guest room, Faith’s got a massive penthouse, and John has a fucking swimming pool in his massive penthouse.

Jacob is just as dramatic as the rest of his family, but he’s always preferred simpler things. Rook and Lonny used to joke about how Jacob probably wouldn’t mind living in some tiny downtown studio with moldy walls and a broken fridge if John had no say in his family’s living situations.

Jacob quietly shuts the door and crosses his arms, scrutinizing Rook with narrowed eyes. Rook swallows hard, nervous about this whole damn thing, but she narrows her eyes right back at Jacob, refusing to crack under his cold gaze.

He looks like shit. Well, he almost always looks like shit—bloodstained and faded shirts, the scarring, the sleepless nights purpling beneath his eyes—but this time around it’s worse than usual. Reminds her of times he’d get into arguments with Joseph, or the one time John was kidnapped by Pagan Min to shake them.

She looks away from him for a moment, eyes darting across the studio to the balcony where she knows an ashtray sits on a small metal table. There are still thin wisps of smoke rising from it. She knew it, she could smell it on him from here. He’s been smoking again. He only smokes when he’s really stuck on something.

The circles around his eyes are more pronounced, even more like bruises than they usually are. There’s a cut high on his neck, just beneath his beard, dark red splotches of dried blood soaking through gauze. She recognizes the grey shirt he’s wearing, the pattern of old, faded blood splattered across the right shoulder. Pagan Min’s blood, if she remembers correctly.

She still remembers the massacre. Only You, Jacob’s fucking calling card, playing softly in the background. Bodies strewn about. The smell of gunpowder and blood in the air. Pink suit crumpled in Jacob’s fist. Jacob beating the blond bastard within an inch of his life. Rook’s own strength useless in trying to pull Jacob off the other crime lord. John, bruised but whole, rope burn around his inked wrists, shrugging Lonny off and trying to help Rook calm Jacob.

Jacob, stop it! We can’t have another war on our hands.

He took you, John.

And now he’s almost dead. He’s atoned. Let him go.

It’s only after John’s reasoning does Jacob surrender into Rook’s hold. Whenever she looks back at that night, some fucked up part of her thinks it was almost an embrace.

There’s a new shade of red painted across the chest of his shirt. A dark, vibrant red. Dry, but new. The smears look like fingerprints, like someone was grabbing desperately at him. Was it the same person who gave him that cut on his neck? Just another day in the life.

“What are you thinking?” Jacob asks, oh so casually, dragging her thoughts back into the present.

“You look like shit.”

“Always the charmer.”

“Could say the same about you,” Rook shrugs, shoving her hands into her pockets to stop from fidgeting. “Now what the hell did you call me here for?”

It’s only been a week since she last saw that piercing gaze. So much has changed in a week, including her tolerance for Jacob’s intensity. It’s either she’s imagining something different in the weight of his gaze, or she’s no longer accustomed to it.

Whatever it is, her skin crawls all the same.

She’s just waiting for a gun to be drawn at her, a knife pointed at her throat, a punch in the fucking face—anything. Anything that’ll fucking make sense. After her cover was blown, she wasn’t able to see or speak to Jacob before she had to bail. There was no closure. Now here she is, a week later, basically letting herself be trapped in a room with big bad Jacob Seed, waiting for some kind of vengeance.

She never bought into Eden’s Gate, into the shit Joseph Seed preached, but deep down she regrets the attachments she had for some people—Faith, Lonny, Jacob—she regrets her betrayal just because of them. She knew better than to like these people, but she did anyway, and now she’s here.

Maybe the reason she came here without a second thought was that she sought penance. Maybe she wants to atone. What better way to make up for betraying people she foolishly grew to care about than to let Jacob himself cull her?

But Jacob doesn’t move. He doesn’t draw a weapon. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t fucking breathe.

“Wanted your opinion on something,” Jacob says slowly, as if he’s testing the words.

Rook blinks. “You wanted… my opinion on something.”

“Come on,” Jacob nods, and jerks his head for her to follow. He walks over past the kitchenette, socked feet padding softly on the marble floor, towards the large desk by the window.

Rook’s head is spinning. She doesn’t know how she actually decides to follow him. She could have floated all the way to the desk for all she knows, but suddenly she’s there, looking over the papers and blueprints scattered around the table while Jacob stands close enough to be practically breathing down her neck.

“I don’t work for you anymore, Jacob.”

He ignores her. “After that shit with Pagan Min went down, we need to secure another trade deal, new alliances. Joseph doesn’t like it, but John and Faith agree that we should look to other gangs.”

Rook chews on her lip. She squints at the papers, then glances back up to see that Jacob’s already looking at her. “Not a bad idea. Who do you have in mind?”

“The Highwaymen.”

“The twins? They’re a couple of loose cannons. That’s not gonna last.”

“True. Vaas Montenegro?”

Rook snorts. “Even more of a loose cannon. Plus, he’s in the middle of a power struggle with his sister. Citra. I don’t think it’ll do you any good working with either of them.”

Jacob juts out his bottom lip, making a show of thinking. “Hm. The Van Der Linde MC.”

“The motorcycle club?” Rook scoffs, shaking her head. “Sure, if you want them to bleed us dry. We both know John’s a good talker, an even better negotiator. But I’ve investigated them before—I’ve met Dutch Van Der Linde and Hosea Matthews. You can’t trust a single word that comes out of their mouths.”

“Heard they’re a little unstable at the moment,” Jacob shrugs, icy blue eyes lighting up, leaning closer to her. “I’ve got intel that some jackass named Micah Bell has joined them, and it’s stirred some shit up within their ranks.”

“That doesn’t matter. We can’t trust them.”

Jacob’s serious façade suddenly melts into a grin, razor fucking sharp. Rook’s suddenly all too aware of how close he is.

“What?” She asks, swallowing hard. “What is it?”

“You still give a shit,” he says, voice low. Almost a purr. “You said ‘we.’”

Shit. Shit. Wasn’t even thinking. Rook steps back, shaking her head, a sudden panic spiking her pulse. “No. No, no, no. I didn’t. I don’t. That was—that was just out of habit.”

Jacob takes another step closer, looming over her, dog tags swishing on his chest like a pendulum. “You wanna know why I brought you here?” He scoffs. “Shit, I was surprised that you even showed up.”

“You brought me here for some kind of revenge, I’m guessing,” Rook says, mouth suddenly dry. She takes another step back, desperate for space. “You’re pissed, I get it.”

Jacob just follows her step, he’s no longer grinning. Instead, he looks at her curiously. “Why did you show up, huh? You wanted to see what would happen? Old habits, maybe? Still got it stuck in your head, fuckin’ autopilot for you? I call, you come—no questions, no second thought, is that it?”

“Jacob—”

“Or are you here for more undercover work?” Jacob continues, tone mocking, face twisted into a sneer. “You wearing a wire? Can all your little cop friends hear me, see me?”

“I’m not—I’m not wearing a wire,” Rook says. Her back hits something—the kitchen counter. He’s got her cornered. “Why did you tell me to come here? To see how much dirt I got on you and your family? Not enough, since you’re all still here and not behind bars. You don’t need to bother with me—”

“I wanted you here to see how much of it was a fucking lie.”

Rook blinks. “Excuse me?”

“Been thinkin’ a lot since you left us.” Jacob leans forward, hands bracing the edge of the counter at her sides—caging her in. “Wanted to see if I was right. Wanted to see if you actually cared.”

Rook sucks in a breath, looking anywhere but at the prying, eviscerating look in Jacob’s blue, blue eyes. “What does it matter?”

She can hear a knuckle crack as Jacob tightens his grip on the countertop’s edge, the pads of his fingers squeaking against the black marbled granite. Voice so low, so husky, it’s a goddamn crime. “It matters.”

“I don’t care about what your brother preaches. I never did,” Rook says firmly, quietly. “I never cared about Eden’s Gate. I never gave a shit about your family’s plans.”

“Seemed to care quite a bit whenever you helped me map out our attacks, our culling. Seemed to care about what happens to all of us,” Jacob near whispers, leaning down so close that she can feel his breath hot on her face. “Just now—you warned me against all those potential deals. Like you said, you don’t work for us anymore. So what made you give a shit about that, huh? Enlighten me, Deputy.”

He spits Deputy like it’s venom in his mouth, unable to hide the hurt in his voice, in his eyes.

“Look. The time I spent here—I made mistakes,” Rook begins, standing up straighter, head held high. Holding her fucking ground. He’s trying to pull the intimidation act on her, but Rook isn’t going to let him. “I don’t give two shits about the Project.”

Jacob remains unfazed. He doesn’t look very happy about that admission, but he still looks expectant. Head tilted down to look at her, cold blue eyes watching her intently. Leaning in so close that Rook can see every detail, every scar on his face. The crow’s feet, the frown lines, the dark circles from the demons in his sleep. The old, barely-there scars of chemical burn across his cheeks. Small, silvered cuts from when he served. The newer scars—the split brow and slash above his beard from bad deals, the long, pinkened gash going down his cheekbone from Eli Palmer.

It’s a strange thing, to know so much about a person and then pretend you never knew them at all.

“Cat got your tongue?” Jacob breathes. She’s been staring for too long. “C’mon, you got something to say, don’t ya? It’s written all over your face.”

“Fuck you.”

“I know you. Don’t you forget that,” Jacob sneers, contempt jumping out in the form of a curled lip, bone white teeth. “I thought a lot would change about you after you dropped the act, but you’ve still got the same quirks, the same look in your eye. You’re still a goddamn open book.”

“I don’t care about Eden’s Gate.”

“You care about something, that’s for sure.”

Might as well just let the chips fall, right? She came here for some kind of closure, didn’t she? Might as well just vent about all the shit she’s been keeping cooped up. Jacob’s always been a good listener, if he decides to grant you the time of day, that is.

Fuck it.

“I made the mistake of caring about people,” Rook hisses. “People I shouldn’t have, people who don’t deserve it. I fucked up, I gave a shit about what happens to Faith, what happens to Lonny—sometimes I even cared about what happens to your goddamn brothers.” Rook juts out her index finger, driving it right past Jacob’s dog tags and into the meat of his chest. “But I guess my biggest, unholy, grandiose fuck up of all fuck ups,” she jabs her pointer finger at him again, and god, she hopes she leaves a bruise, “is giving a shit about what happens to you.”

Jacob Seed, the goddamn sword of the Eden’s Gate Mob. Criminal. Hunter. Weapons-dealer. Killer. Brainwasher with a fondness for old music. Fucking monster.

Rook saw it all, Rook saw the worst of it. What does that say about her, her self-preservation? She was here to observe and report. Here to ruin him and his family.

And what did she end up doing? She ended up caring.

You fucking idiot, she thinks to herself as she stares down Jacob goddamn Seed.

Jacob draws back, not dropping his arms from trapping her by the counter, but he puts some breathing room between them again. His brow twitches, mouth curling into something that almost looks like disdain. But Rook knows him well enough to know that whenever he makes that face, the root of it is usually uncertainty.

“That’s cute,” he scoffs, sounding a little hoarse. “You rehearse that with your people back at the precinct?”

“Nobody knows I’m here.”

He frowns down at her, eyes narrowed, a how stupid do you think I am? kind of look.

“I don’t know what you want from me,” Rook says with a bitter laugh, shaking her head. “I’m not working you. I’m not wearing a wire or anything. I—fuck—I’m technically on vacation. What the fuck am I doing here?”

Jacob doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, doesn’t do anything except watch her with a guarded expression.

Rook waits a moment, for any kind of response, a kind fuck off, but instead gets nothing. The silence is like a weight on her chest, about to crush through bone. It’s too early for this shit. She pushes one of Jacob’s hands off the counter, a light slap to his scarred forearm, and sidesteps away when he drops his arm.

“I think it’s best for everyone if you don’t contact me again,” Rook says, trying to keep her voice even. She brushes past him, shoes quietly tapping on the marble floor as she heads for the door.

She makes it four steps before Jacob grabs her wrist, the warmth of his palm burning into her skin, tugging slightly to stop her from moving further.

“We’re not done here,” he grates, a sour expression on his face.

Rook spins around to face him, at her wit’s end, and shoves him once with her free hand. “Quit playing games, Jacob. I’ve got better fucking things to do.”

Jacob doesn’t let go of her wrist, the pressure of his grip near bruising. His frown deepens, Adam’s apple bobbing. There’s a far, far away look in his eyes. “You lied.”

“I was doing my job,” Rook says quietly. Badly, she wants to say, I was doing my job badly.

“And now?” Jacob asks, voice softer than she’s ever heard it. His other hand rises to hold her chin, gently tipping her head up to look at him. He sounds like he’s swallowed a mouthful of gravel, low voice scratched up in his throat. “How much of what you said is true? Say it again. Look me in the fucking eye.”

Rook can hear her pulse thundering in her ears. Ten months—ten fucking months of working for the Seeds, of seeing Jacob all hours of the day every day, and they barely touched that entire time. A professional distance always kept between them despite whatever the fuck was going on with the tension that grew steadily each day. The most they ever touched before this was probably when she was holding him in place after the shit with Pagan Min, and before that it would barely be a brush of hands, a gaze that lingers for a little too long. That was always the extent of it.

So this? Standing way too close for the second—no, third time in one day—in one morning? Calloused hand braceleting her wrist, thumb pressed against her chin and knuckles gently grazing her throat?

This is too much. Rook’s gonna fucking lose it. This thing that grew slow and steady between them for the better part of a year—Rook was ready to just ignore it. She’s been ignoring it. And now it’s about to snap. Pop like a fucking bubble.

 “I fucked up,” Rook murmurs, feeling like she’s burning up. It’s like looking into the fucking sun. His gaze is too close, too intense, but Rook can’t tear her eyes away no matter how much she wants to. “I ended up caring. About you.”

Jacob inhales shakily, face shuttering as his grip tightens around her wrist. He leans in closer, tilting down down down until Rook ends up leaning towards him, against the thumb pressing into her chin, meeting him halfway when he presses his forehead against hers. Rook, quietly freaking out, feels herself lean into him with a heavy sigh.

Forehead touches are the Seed Family’s trademark. Rook’s never been on the receiving end of a Seed forehead touch, it being reserved for the Family and the Family only, but she’s seen them in action. An intense, familial bond displayed in a single touch between bowed heads, usually initiated by Joseph Seed.

This feels entirely different. Neither of them are pulling back. Jacob presses his forehead into hers, the warmth of his skin burning into her own, feeling almost feverish. That’s what this is—a fever dream. Rook lets Jacob tilt her head up higher, noses bumping, facial hair tickling her skin. Jacob looks down at her lips, his eyes hooded.

“What are you doing,” she whispers. A question spoken like a statement, a statement that’s secretly an order, a demand. Do something.

“You betrayed us,” Jacob rasps, his breath hot on her face. He relieves the pressure off her chin, then his thumb treks up, coming to rest on the center of her bottom lip, pressing lightly. He starts to lightly trace the length of her lip. So slow, so enthralled, as if he’s trying to memorize the very feel of it.

Rook has never seen Jacob Seed gentle. It might just be the strangest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

He stops, pulls back ever so slightly so that their faces are no longer touching. Close, too close, but just enough space left between them for Rook to get her thoughts in order. His thumb leaves her lips and he drags his hand down to cage around her throat, closing around her neck just shy of uncomfortable.

“You betrayed us,” he says again, more like a growl this time, like he’s trying to reason with himself. He glares down at her, pupils dilated, but anger renewed. “A goddamn cop. How the fuck am I supposed to trust that there isn’t anyone else listening in right now?”

“What if—” Rook pauses, her mind screaming at her to get out now. To go right out the door and never come back. There’s still time, she hasn’t damned herself yet.

Jacob leans closer, watching, waiting. Rook swallows hard, feels Jacob’s thumb roll over her throat.

“What if I could prove it to you?” She pulls her wrist out of Jacob’s grasp and holds his forearm with both hands, distantly realizing that this is the first time she’s touched the scars there, that Jacob never lets anyone this close to his scars.

“How?” Jacob’s voice so low, so hoarse, it almost makes her knees weak. His eyes dart down to her hands around his arm, his scars, then back at her face, scrutinizing. He gives her throat an apprehensive little squeeze. A warning, but she’s not sure what for.

Rook slides her hands down his arm to hold his wrist. A moment passes, every other sound drowned out by the thundering of her blood rushing through her ears. Thud and thud and thud.

Then Rook pulls Jacob’s hand close, pressing his palm flat against her chest, foolishly, right over her rabbit heart. “Check me for a wire.”

Jacob makes a gutted, breathless sound as his head sways close, nose brushing hers. “That’s how it’s gonna be, huh?”

“Go ahead. Check me.” Whose conviction would Jacob fully trust but his own, after all?

Jacob lets out a quiet scoff and releases her neck, the air in the room suddenly feeling so much colder compared to the warmth of his hand. He grips her shoulder, holding her steady, then starts to roam her chest with his other hand. Tracing her collarbones over the fabric of her shirt, outrageously skipping over her breasts through a modesty she didn’t know was possible from him, and settles high above her navel, tracing circles over her ribcage.

“You know,” Rook breathes, “wires would typically be worn under the shirt.”

“You’re playing with fuckin’ fire, Deputy,” Jacob warns, fingers digging into her shoulder.

Working around the Seeds for ten months, Rook’s been cut, punched, and fucking shot at. Yeah, she’s playing with fire, but it’s just another hazard to the long list. Maybe she wouldn’t mind getting a little burned.

Jacob’s already left his scars, deep beneath her skin, right to the marrow. Like the old third-degree burns on Jacob’s skin. Rook’s never gonna get him out.

So she does the only thing her Jacob-drunk mind can think of and lets him right in.

It’s like kissing a statue at first—Jacob freezing up the moment she grabs him by the shirt and reaches up to press her lips against his. Hands bunching the chain of his dog tags, the bloodstained fabric of his shirt. Clutching right where those smeared handprints are of his most recent punching bag.

He only reacts when Rook takes his bottom lip between her teeth and bites. The nip of teeth is like a jumpstart of electricity. Jacob groans and opens his mouth to her, hands suddenly bracing her arms at each side and guiding her around, back to the spot against the kitchen counter he’d trapped her by before.

They both have the same idea, because the second Rook starts to lift herself up onto the counter, Jacob’s hoisting her up onto the countertop like she weighs nothing. Once Rook is settled, barely seated on the edge and locking her legs around Jacob’s waist, Jacob dutifully returns to the task she had assigned him.

Rook’s supposed to be out buying a new phone or catching up with Hudson over a cup of coffee. Or, considering the time and day, she should still be fucking sleeping right now. Yet here she is, about to hit second-base with Jacob fucking Seed.

Jacob’s hands snake underneath her shirt, drawing a small gasp out of Rook when he drags his warm, warm hands across her stomach, pinching the skin of her waist. Jacob kisses her hard, exploring every bit of her mouth with his tongue, his facial hair scraping against her face. Rook leans in closer, tangling her fingers in his hair, kissing back with vigor, teeth clashing, lips bruising.

“Don’t think you’re wearing a wire,” Jacob hums against her face, voice low and hoarse, peppering light kisses across her cheek, down her jaw.

“Really?” Rook says, gasping when he cups her breasts, a thumb flicking over one of her nipples through her bra.

“Can’t fuckin’ trust you still, though,” Jacob mutters. His hands snake around her back and unhook her bra. “So I should be thorough.”

Then there’s a knock. Knuckles rapping impatiently on Jacob’s door. Voices on the other side, muffled and close.

“Shit,” Jacob hisses. He extracts his hands from her beneath her shirt and rests them on her denim-clad thighs, gripping tight as he leans his forehead against hers again, eyes shut. “What’s today?”

Rook cradles his face in her hands, feeling the fuzz of his beard against her palms. She whispers, “Sunday.”

“Shit.”

The knocking starts again. This time louder, sharper. A fist pounding against the door.

“Jacob! Wake up! Stop moping about the traitor, we’re going to be late for Joseph’s mass.”

“John, be nicer.” The next words are spoken quieter, but now that Jacob and Rook are silent and listening, it’s not quiet enough. “She obviously has him going through something. It affected all of us differently.”

Rook bites her lip hard, trying to stifle the ridiculous urge to giggle—to fucking giggle.

“We’re going to be late, Faith. We’re never late.”

“Fine. You’re right.”

“JACOB!” More knocking. “It’s 8:53, get up!”

God, Rook almost forgot how insistent John can be.

Jacob tears away from Rook with a sound that’s closer to a snarl than a sigh. He strides over to his door and cracks it open, using his body to block his siblings’ view of the apartment’s interior. Rook sighs quietly and hops off the counter, reaching behind to redo the clasp on her bra.

“Go already,” Jacob grumbles to them, curt, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Are you—”

“Wait in the goddamn car,” he says and shuts the door.

Jacob stands facing the door, listening to Faith and John mutter to each other and leave. When he’s sure they’ve gone, he steps away from the door and slowly turns around.

Rook smooths down her shirt and combs her hair with her fingers, doing her best to look like Jacob wasn’t just running his hands all over her.

“I like you here,” Jacob says. He frowns, fists clenched at his sides, like he didn’t mean to say that.

Rook barks out a laugh, a bitter sound. “You should have said that months ago.”

“Would this shit have turned out differently if I did?”

“Probably not.”

Jacob nods, lips pressed into a thin line, a muscle tensing in his jaw.

They stand there for a while, just staring, holding back words that would make this worse. Jacob is the first to break eye contact, shaking his head and taking a step towards his boots resting by the door. He shucks them on, swipes his gun and keys off the counter, tucks the gun into his waistband behind him, and grabs his military jacket of a nearby chair.

“Come on,” he says gruffly, shrugging the jacket on and opening the door again. He jerks his head in motion for her to go out first. “You’re taking the stairs.”

“You know it’s not a secret I’m here, right?” Rook snorts, walking out the door. She waits for Jacob to exit and lock his door before continuing down the hall. “The guards outside know. Lonny knows. Which means John probably knows, or will know. And Faith just knows everything. Joseph too.”

“I know,” Jacob mutters, keeping a good distance between them as they walk. It’s painfully familiar. They stop in front of the staircase landing. “Just don’t want them to bother me about yo—this yet.”

Rook glances at the stairs, then back to Jacob, who’s standing so much closer again. She smacks her lips. She doesn’t know what to say. She knows what she wants to say. “Jacob—”

Cold eyes flash. “Don’t.”

Rook nods, exhaling shakily, and steps back. She turns around and starts down the stairs, pretending that everything is okay. She reaches the bottom of the flight and stops when Jacob speaks again, rough voice projected slightly by the acoustics of the stairwell.

“Don’t come back.”

Rook frowns up at him, white knuckling the railing. “I won’t. Don’t contact me. This can’t happen again.”

Jacob nods stiffly, expression unreadable. “This can’t happen again.”

And then he leaves, disappearing around the corner towards the elevators.

Rook makes it down three floors before she stops, falls back to sit on the steps, and tries to banish the hollow feeling in her chest.

It’s for the best.

[theresnoturningback]

First Kiss

[Kind of requested by @randomfandom-bs] Summary: After the rescue from the boat, Aasim goes back on a solo mission to find Ruby who has somehow fallen behind. A/N: It took me so long to write this angsty work, because everytime I sat down to write, I’d cry my heart out. Angst is not relaly my forte, that’s why I’m practicing more. Please, don’t hate me and please be kind with your words. I ended up sensitive after writing this. Also big thanks to K who helped me with the proof reading and editing. Love you so much!! Word Count: 4805

They were getting close. Louis and Aasim helped a limping Omar who was too in pain to walk on his own.

  Their eagerness to reach Ericson’s was far more powerful than any other encouraging speech Aasim could have come up with at the moment.

  It’s not like he wanted to talk anyway. And judging by Omar’s constant wincing, he didn't want to open his mouth, either

  And Louis; as much as he’d love to forget the past for one second by coming up with a witty observation or a dumb joke, he just couldn’t.

  The minutes they spent running away from the boat in flames were the longest of their lives.

  The three of them were all alone, with only each other as company in their silent journey.

  They didn’t know anything about their friends. No signs of Clementine, AJ or Violet.

Aasim’s only consolation was the idea of finding them at Ericson’s all safe and sound, and the only way to get that certainty was to keep walking until they reach home.

‘There’s no place like home’ He reminded himself everytime he thought he was about to collapse.

  Soon enough, they reached to the familiar traps that lead to the high walls that surrounded their school.

  Up in the watchtower, Willy waved at them and hurried down to open the gates for his incoming friends.

  Louis helped Omar sit down in one of the benches, before plopping himself down next to him and rested his head on his forearms.

  As drained as Aasim was, he didn’t allow himself to sit or stand still.

‘Willy, give them some water, I’m going to get Ruby so she can patch them up’

  Before Aasim could run off, Willy grabbed his arm and gave him a silent look.

Aasim could read the worry in his eyes.

‘Where is Ruby, Willy’ He asked, anxiety building up again.

‘I’m all alone in here, Ruby-

‘She wasn’t on the boat, where is she?’ Aasim insisted

‘I don’t know, she should have been here by now, but nobody else has arrived so far’

‘When was the last time you saw her?’

‘B-by the hay, before Clem and the others got into the boat’

‘Shit’ Aasim shook his head ‘You mean she’s still out there?  That was hours ago!’ The volume in his voice made Willy take a step back.

‘We need to wait for the rest to come back. I’m sure she’s with them, man’ Omar said as an failed attempt to calm his friend down.

‘We can’t fucking wait!’ Aasim yelled, tired of everyone’s passiveness ‘Louis could die if ...a-and Ruby could be in serious danger all by herself…We need to get her back’

Words came out of his mouth with difficulty as he spoke, but he didn’t care. It was an urgent matter and his friends needed tot wake up.

  When he got no response from any of them, he ran off towards the school, desperately looking for something, anything he could use to defend himself that was better than the small knife he was carrying.

‘Let me go with you. I’m tired of waiting’

  Aasim shook his head and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘I need you to take care of them and be alert. Protect the school. Can I count on you?’

Willy nodded and Aasim walked away without further words.

  Though tired and hurting, he walked decisively towards the forest in search for his friend.

  He needed to find her, or he would lose his mind. Many doubts assaulted his mind as he continued walking.

What if she was hurt?, or worse,

What if he never found her?

  She was the only one who could truly help their friends and if she was really gone, then all hope was gone with her.

  He shook his questions off, refusing to believe such ugly fate for her.

‘Ruby knows how to defend herself’ He thought, trying to reassure himself, wiping sweat and frustration tears off his face-

  All through his hurried walk, he felt observed. He knew there was something following him, but everytime he turned around and observed his surroundings, he found nothing besides trees and leaves. He began thinking maybe it was a squirrel or a rabbit scuttling away as he made his way through the forest, but he never stopped feeling like he wasn’t alone.

  The shot of adrenaline he got after he left the school was starting to wear off and he suddenly felt every possible physical discomfort at once. He sat on the ground with a tired groan, never letting go of his bow. Right as he was starting to get comfortable, the sound of rattling leaves in the distance startled him and made him turn around and shoot an arrow without thinking twice.

‘Lord Almighty!’ A voice cried from the shadows. Aasim immediately recognized the distinctive intonation and ran towards its source as fast as the arrow he shot moments earlier.

  When he found his friend hidden in the darkness, he couldn’t contain his joy.

‘Ruby!’ He smiled, relieved he didn’t hurt her. He wanted to hug her tight and kiss her, so he could truly convince himself he wasn’t dreaming, but before he could even think of walking closer to her, he got punched in the arm.

‘You could have killed me!’

  Aasim didn’t mind the violence or the set of curse words that followed her scold. He knew he had it coming.

  Ruby felt silent as he took a moment to really see her under the poor moonlight. Her tired eyes glared at him. She was dirty, furious and just as exhausted as him. Maybe even more, judging by her unusual heavy breathing.

  She truly was much stronger that she ever let on. Aasim embraced her, feeling a kind of bliss he hadn’t felt in a long time.

‘I’m sorry about the arrow...I just’ He tried talking through his happy tears ‘I’m just so happy I found you safe and sound’

  He tightened his grip around her without noticing and all he got in response was a muffled whimper.

  He looked at her as she flinched out of his arms. His worry grew when her guilty eyes met his.

‘Ruby, what’s wrong?’ He asked as softly as he could.

‘I…’ She hesitated ‘I don’t think I’m safe at all…’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I got bit’ She confessed quietly, looking at her feet.

‘What?’ He breathed

‘A walker bit my arm while I was trying to distract the people guarding the entrance of the boat, so the others could get in and-’

‘How, how didn’t you see it coming? Fuck, Ruby, how could you be so…?’ Aasim ranted  angrily as the girl shed her first tears in front of him.

  The boy was too busy cursing at everything and everyone to notice the frightened girl before him.

‘I was too focused on not being seen and the walker came out of nowhere and I couldn’t get the motherfucker off in time’ She explained. The boy still couldn’t believe it. There was a lot to process in such a little time, but it would be easier to believe all she was saying if he had solid evidence.

‘Show me’ He demanded.

  Ruby shook her head, instinctively covering up her forearm with her left hand

‘No, Aasim, you don’t need to-’

‘Show me, now.’ He insisted with impatience in his voice. He frowned as she painfully lifted up her torn up sleeve. Deep down he knew he didn’t want to see it. He wanted her to tell him she was just joking, but he knew she would never joke with something as serious as that.

  His heart sunk when she revealed a noticeable set of teeth marks darkening her skin. A chunk of her forearm was missing.

  Ruby winced when he examined the open wound closely. The color had changed from a healthy pink to a yellowish green, due to the infection now running in her blood.

‘Not so hard’ She mumbled at the verge of tears. He was only checking the tension of her skin, but to her, it felt like he was burning her with his fingertips.

‘Can you…?’ He looked up, only to find Ruby already shaking her head. She knew exactly what he was thinking.

‘Even if I tried, cutting my arm wouldn’t help. It’s been too long. I already feel weak, I’m not sure but I think I started a fever, too’

  Aasim reached to feel her forehead. His hand almost burned against her skin.

‘How long...until…’

‘I don’t know’ She shrugged ‘It could be a couple minutes, or a couple hours...There’s not really a way of knowin’...All I know is there’s nothing I can do, I’m going to-’

Her quickened breathing soon turned into hyperventilation as she finally surrendered to panic.

  Her sorrow started to spread outside her, reaching his friend who was watching her cry her heart out without knowing what to do.

  He didn’t give it much thought and embraced the girl to contain her as she kept weeping against his chest.

‘You’ll be alright’ He whispered.

‘I don’t want to die, Aasim, I don’t want to go’ She begged, clinging to him as if some kind of force was pulling her away from him.

‘We need to go back, I’m sure we can find something there that will bring you back to health’

‘Nothing can fix me up, it’s too late for me’ she sniffled ‘ I ain’t comin’ back. I don’t want to be there when I turn. I don’t want to scare or bite anybody’ She looked at Aasim straight in his eyes ‘You best leave me here’

‘What? No!’

‘It’s for the best, trust me’

‘Are you serious? Letting you turn into a walker?’

‘You need to go’ Ruby insisted ‘Just...let nature run its course’

‘Do you really want to be one of...them?’

  The shake of her head confused him even more.

‘I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to turn into anything but it’s gonna happen no matter what I do’

‘You’re not thinking this through’

‘I also don’t want you to kill me before my time. It’s not your burden to bear’

‘What kind of person do you think I am? Aasim exclaimed. Killing her wasn’t an option to him and he started to believe maybe she really thought of every possible option available.

  Her tearful eyes blinked at him, evidencing her silent resignation.

  Aasim tried not to cry in front of her, but it was almost impossible at that point.

‘It’s for the best’ She insisted, quietly, trying to convince herself of her fate and her inability to change it.

‘There’s still so much...I can- You can’t die yet, you hear me? You won’t-’

  She lifted her left hand to fix his hair. A sad smile adorned her face as Aasim continued crying.

  His heart was pounding fast. It was different from the last time they were alone together, though. Knowing she wasn’t going to be around anymore only made it worse.

  He wanted to say all the things he had kept in secret all those years, but she beat him to the punch.

‘If only I knew I would end up like this...I would have used my free time a little better...’

  Aasim frowned. Her words caught him off guard.

‘W-what do you mean?’

  A soft stroke in his cheek made him close his eyes, giving in completely to her caring touch. His heart raced even faster now. It was starting to feel like the last time, only ten times more intense. He wasn’t imagining anything. She was there for real, being her most tender and sincere self.

  In any other scenario, he would have been thrilled to be this close to her in the middle of the forest, but reality was different and as he realized the cruelty of life, he couldn’t stop his tears from flowing.

  He couldn’t believe he was losing her right as he got a real chance to let her know how important she was to him; tell her about the countless sleepless nights he spent trying to understand his feelings for her and the many lines he dedicated to her in the dead of the night.

  Now, the future he would often envision was lacking its bright light.

  He opened his mouth to say something in response to her display of affection, but all his thoughts were grim and she didn’t deserve any more hopelessness, so he decided to stay silent and show back his love in another manner.

  Ruby’s hand rested on his chest as he kissed her forehead. She suddenly felt the world was spinning around her. Her eyes closed slowly as her head nodded against the boy.

‘Careful’ He helped her sit down.

‘I got a little sleepy’ She said with a drowsy smile, trying to stop her own body from trembling.

  He let her lean on him, passing one arm over her shoulder. The night was at its darkest point. The air was cold and reeked of death. He could only imagine how scared she was.

  Despite everything, her smile remained. At least he was there.

‘I don’t know if you know this, but-’ She coughed ‘I used to have a crush on you’

  He never knew

‘Really?’ He breathed, blushing in the dark as he felt her nodding against his chest ‘I never noticed’

‘It was silly at first. It started when I first got here. I was a mess and you would never say a word. I guess I wanted to be like you but I couldn’t keep quiet if it killed me and the other boys would always make me so angry all the time’ Aasim chuckled at the memory, as she continued talking ‘I still find it cool, that you are like that-I still like you, you’re the only person I’ve ever liked...you know, in a special way’

  Aasim took a couple of seconds to process Ruby’s words. Maybe she was delirious, but he wasn’t asking for clarification in a moment like that. Instead, he took a chance and reciprocated her feelings.

‘I’ve always liked you for your energy, from the little feisty girl I met years ago, to the driven woman you are now. I have to admit, sometimes, I wish I could have gone and punch a couple of teachers like you did in some occasions’

  Ruby looked up, while he mindlessly played with her hair and spoke casually about his feelings towards her. She wanted to ask if he was serious, but his gentle touch was evidence enough.

  A sense of safety surrounded her, making her forget these were her last moments.

‘Well ain’t you cute’ She whispered with some difficulty, forcing a grin through her stinging pain.

‘It was a long time ago’ He shrugged.

‘I wish we could have talked about this sooner’ She confessed ‘Imagine how different this would have been if we…’

  She forgot what she was saying when she looked up and found him starting at her lovingly. She knew what he had in mind and just as he leaned closer, she flinched and quickly scooted away from him.

‘I don’t want you to end up like this’ She covered her wounded arm, fear running cold in her veins.

  He was hurt, not by her rejective attitude, but her fear. He wanted to make her feel better, but didn’t know how.

  He apologized, extending his hand to her. When he got no answer, he crawled closer and held her left hand.

‘I’m sorry if I was too invasive’

‘I didn’t mean to, I just- I really don’t want to hurt you’

‘You couldn’t…’

  Ruby let go of his hand and traced his mouth with her thumb- Aasim listened to her soft plea.

‘Promise me. I need to be sure you won’t get...this if we kiss’

‘I don’t think it works like that’ He chuckled. She kept serious and as soon as he read her expression, he corrected himself ‘I promise’

  There was no way to know for sure if he was lying.

  Not even he knew if that was a possibility.

  At this point, he didn’t care.

  Maybe she wanted him to kiss her despite her biggest fears.

  Maybe he could kiss her fears away..

  She believed so as their lips met. For one second, she forgot about the world ending, at least for her.

  Their first kiss burned in their mouths while a mixture of newfound feelings and sensations filled their minds.

  She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face in his chest, still not believing what happened.

  She didn’t care about the pain anymore. She only cared about the moment she just had with Aasim and how happy he made her feel, even if it was for a couple of minutes.

  She made a mental list of all the things she’d give just to be like that with him for as long as they wanted.

  But time was running low quickly. She felt weaker by the minute.

  She tried to pull away from Aasim, but he knew what would happen if he let her go.

  He tightened his grip as she tried to struggle.

‘Come on, now...’ She sighed ‘You have to let me go, it could happen anytime and I don’t want you near enough to hurt you’

‘I’m not leaving you’ He insisted ‘You’re not dying alone’

  She wanted to yell at him to leave her alone, but she knew well she would only be wasting her last bit of energy.

  Instead, she stopped struggling and went back to her quiet begging. He couldn’t understand her, but decided to let her go.

‘Thank you’ She smiled and kissed his cheek ‘For bein' here’

  Right as she finished her sentence, her smile faded as her vision was covered by a fog-like whiteness. She felt her own voice echoing Aasim’s name as she slipped out of consciousness.

He watched in panic as she collapsed against him.

  Trying to regain his strength, he cradled her, hoping she’d wake up soon. She never responded to her name, no matter how many times Aasim called. Eventually, he stopped insisting.

  He laid her on the ground, making sure she was comfortable in her deep sleep, and lay down beside her for a while, silently considering his options and all the possible consequences to his actions as he admired the beautiful starry night above them. It reminded him of the particular shine in Ruby’s eyes every time she talked about her plants or the animals she used to have as pets when she was little.

  A smile flourished among these melancholic thoughts.

  He looked over at her, realizing for the first time her eyes might not open ever again and the breathtaking glimmer in her look was now a thing of the past; something he would treasure as one of his most precious memories from now on.

  Only then he realized how much he would miss her.

  Struggling with the panic building up inside him, he decided to check her vitals, just like she taught him once.

  She was hardly breathing, the beat of her heart was getting slower and slower as minutes passed.

  Helpless, he brushed a strand of her fire-red hair while fighting back tears.

  He glanced at her arm. Most of the skin around the wound was now blackened and decaying due to the severe infection.

  He looked around them. Someone had to be around. He refused to believe this was the end. Someone would eventually come over and save them both.

  But that didn’t happen. No matter how long he waited, he was alone in this. Nobody came to their rescue and Ruby was still unconscious next to him.

  He finally gave in to his despair. The cursing became recurring and loud. Nobody was really there to see him break down, anyways.

  His tears fell on Ruby’s jacket as he leaned over. She was dying before his eyes and there was nothing he could do to save her. He shook his head, refusing to believe that with the last drop of hope he still had.

  There were still so many unsaid things he would have loved to share with her; so many gifts, so many experiences he never go to give her. And all because she was bitten while trying to save him.

  Aasim dried his tears with his sleeve and held her hand.

‘I love you, Ruby’ He kissed her forehead before he realized he was already saying his goodbyes ‘Thank you for keeping us alive for so long’

  Deep down, he knew she couldn’t hear him, no matter how much he wanted to reach out to her, wherever she was. He uttered no further words. Instead, he watched in silence as her once pink cheeks gradually turned into a sickly yellow and then a lifeless gray.

  He soon realized she had stopped breathing.

  When he finally came to terms with the fact that she was gone for good, he stood up and wiped the last few tears off his face . With his bow in one hand and an arrow in the other, he walked a little farther from Ruby, waiting for the inevitable.

  About ten feet away, he heard the distinct groan of a recently turned walker. He didn’t turn around, he didn’t want to shoot her, even when he knew that wasn’t really her. Not anymore.

  She never wanted to die.

  She never wanted to turn.

  It would be cruel of him to let her wander the forest like that.

  He turned around and tensed his bow.

  He wanted to apologize to her. He knew all that wasn’t fair. Life was brutal. Especially when it decided to give Ruby a premature death, and especially when it decided to give him the opportunity to meet and love Ruby only to take her away from him just as he was finally going to be loved back.

  He aimed directly at her.

  Life was unfair to them both. Death was cruel, too. 

“Why did it have to be her? Why not take me, instead?”

  He let her walk closer to him before he shot his arrow straight in her right eye.

  Her body fell to the ground slowly, her left hand reaching out to him in a last attempt to get him, although Aasim read that as her last attempt to stay among the living.

  He dropped his bow and ran closer to her lifeless body. Once it finally stopped moving, he turned it over to retrieve his arrow as it was is routine when killing walkers.

  He grabbed the arrow, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull it out.

  His stomach couldn’t handle it. He stepped back hastily, retching. He fell on his knees, feeling sick of himself.

  Even when it was all over, he still felt like the worst person alive.

  He fell to his side and curled up, unable to contain himself, mourning in long wails, feeling almost as if his own soul was escaping his body.

  Nobody was coming to help.

  Hope was already lost.

  He remembered the small knife he had in his back pocket and took it out to examine it while toying with the idea of quitting the losing game he dared to call life.

  He sighed deeply, and closing his eyes, he placed the sharp blade against his neck.

  He couldn’t. He didn’t have the guts- or at least that’s what he kept repeating over and over while his agitated chest kept making him cry out of sheer panic. Right as he was about to push the knife against his skin, he heard his name loud and clear.

  He looked over at Ruby’s body, but it was right as he had left it. Instead, he was lifted up by two people.

  On his right, there was a guy he had never seen before. On his left, Clementine.

‘Let’s take you back’ She said, taking the knife from his hands and putting it away.

Aasim shook his head violently , trying to speak through his tears.

‘What’s the matter?’ The stranger asked Clementine in a soft voice, but she was just as lost.

  Aasim tried again, but AJ spoke first when he walked a little farther.

‘Ruby…?’

  Clementine walked closer to where AJ was to confirm the little boy’s suspicions.

  In the faint first morning light, they could clearly see it was indeed Ruby’s corpse, turned into a walker, with an arrow in her eye.

‘What the fuck happened here?’ Clementine asked, turning to Aasim, who was too ashamed to look at her in the eyes.

‘I couldn’t save her. She got bit and I couldn’t save-’

‘We can ask all the questions later, we need to help him soon, he’s clearly not okay’ The stranger interceded.

’N-No!’ Aasim cried ‘ We have to get her back. She can’t be-she can’t stay here. We need to bury her, we need to take her home, we-’ Clementine interrupted his rambling with a tight hug.

‘We’re not leaving her here. She going home with us’ She reassured him.

  After a while, they got everything ready and headed back to the school.

  The welcome was warm until everyone saw what Clementine, James and AJ brought along with them.

‘Ruby’ Willy whispered, watching in disbelief as James and Aasim walked inside, carrying her body.

  The atmosphere turned tense with the general shocked silence.

  Aasim walked away from the small crowd without saying a word. Nobody stopped him as he grabbed the shovel and started digging next to Ms. Martin’s grave.

  His pacing showed his determination to make it as deep as he could. He felt as if he might break down again if he ever stopped.

‘Here’ Clementine interrupted his train of thought ‘Let me help...you need to rest’ She took the shovel from his hands. Aasim walked inside the greenhouse. He looked around, looking for anything alive that could serve as an ornament to Ruby’s grave.

  She would have wanted it to look pretty.

  He was too focused on a pot with tiny white flowers, when a knock on the door startled him. He turned around to see Louis on the doorway, looking devastated.

‘Come in’ Aasim said, leaving the small pot back on the table. Louis walked in, and before Aasim could say anything, he was a being hugged again.

  Louis wasn’t attempting to give his friend comfort. He was looking for consolation himself and from Louis’ silent tears, Aasim realized he was not the only one hurting from Ruby’s parting. The two of them stood in the middle of the greenhouse, crying into each other’s shoulders the loss of their dear friend, until Clementine announced quietly that it was time for the burial.

  Louis walked out, but Clementine stood in Aasim’s way just as he was heading out.

‘Back there, when we found you guys, you had this in your hand’ She pulled out his knife out of her pócket ‘Can I ask-?’

‘No’ Aasim interrupted ‘No, please don’t ask’

‘I hate to be that person, but you realize that killing yourself wouldn’t have fixed anything? We would have lost you, too…’

‘I understand’ He looked away, clearly uncomfortable with Clementine’s little lecture.

‘I mean, this is not over yet, and we already lost Ruby-’

‘I know. Clementine. I was there’ He snapped at her, walking out.

  Right outside, Tenn was putting a flower crown on Ruby’s head. Violet held the crying boy as she said a few last words in her memory while James refilled the grave with dirt.

  Aasim kept quiet the whole time. He felt like staying silent for the rest of his life.

  After everyone left, he sat in front of the grave to plant the little flowers he had found earlier.

‘I’m going to miss her’ Willy mumbled as he sat next to him ‘I can’t believe it...First Mitch and then, Ruby…’ A hopeless sigh escaped his mouth. Aasim looked over just to find a broken little boy. He believed Willy had adopted many personality traits from Mitch, but only then he realized how much he truly took after him. Rough on the outside, but forever a lost boy on the inside.

‘Willy…I’m sorry’ He wanted to explain more about how it all went down, but couldn’t find the words. Losing Mitch had already been a tough blow on him. Now, he lost the only mother figure he could clearly remember  ‘I’m sorry I couldn’t bring her back alive’

‘Just...promise me you wont die soon?’ He said, sniffling. Aasim looked at him as the boy faced him to insist ‘Promise?’

  He passed one arm over his shoulder and cuddled him.

‘I promise I won’t die soon’ He muttered.