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yeahimwiththeband · 2 years

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-> with the band chapter 10

tell the truth (part 2)

warning: romance, drugs, ptsd, drugs, anxiety, drugs. don’t do drugs, kids.

A/N: such a short chapter! izzy learns some things, and shares some things. the tour takes a dark turn.

word count: 3.3k

The co-op house party was boiling and Izzy never wanted it to end. They were in the back garden, and the sky above them was big and open and clear; Izzy could see the stars. Seth strummed Tara’s guitar and Mitch danced with Lydia under the wisteria.

Izzy knew they were supposed to leave for Chicago in the morning, just a few hours away. Chicago, then California, then Mexico and Peru. Izzy had never been out of the country. She imagined gardens with mango and papaya trees. She imagined staying with George on the beach, and hearing Harry’s voice as it had sounded the first time, everything back to normal.

“Have you ever tried them?” Olivia asked. The mysterious woman from the kitchen had followed them outside and was hovering beside Olivia.

“No,” Izzy said. “I haven’t tried any drugs. Except weed.”

“Sticking to what’s organic,” Seth said. “What comes from the earth. Like your boyfriend. I see the connection now.”

“Izzy seems all hard edges and practical, but she’s a gentle soul,” said Olivia. “She needs gentle things.”

Izzy asked where George was. She wanted to do whatever they were about to do with him; where was he? Where the fuck was he?

“He’s with Ryan,” Jess said. “Strategy session.”

“It’s not a strategy session,” Izzy said. “It’s past 3 in the morning.”

“Your vibration is getting higher,” the woman told Tara, holding her hand in front of her chest. The mystery woman was maybe 28, but seemed much older. She was wearing layered jersey fabrics and a bandana, giving 90s yoga teacher vibes. She and Seth seemed to know each other; she lived at the co-op. Izzy’s phone buzzed. “But you’re restless now,” she continued. Tara nodded.

Then the woman turned to Izzy.

“You are a child of light,” she said.

“Okay,” Izzy said. Tara giggled. The woman’s eyes crinkled as she smiled at her. Izzy felt like she was watching herself from a distance, looking into a parallel life: college, co-op housing, in person classes. The life she would have had if she had made just a few decisions differently. It didn’t feel like her real life—what she did here didn’t seem to matter to her, as much. She felt freer. The co-op belonged to another timeline.

“I like your bandana,” Izzy tried. She did love her bandana. She loved everything there. Was it possible to get high from second hand weed smoke?

“I like your boyfriend,” she said.

“Thank you,” Izzy said. “I manifested him.” She really felt like she did, sometimes. All her daydreams became a person.

“I can feel that,” the woman replied. “He doesn’t seem real. Are you going to try it too?”

“I don’t think Izzy wants that,” the Starer said.

“There’s a spot of darkness in you, right here,” she said, pressing into the space under Izzy’s rib cage. “Right there. You’re hiding something. Shame? Fear?” The woman could see right through her, like all the walls Izzy had built up around her were made of glass.

“Try what?” Izzy asked.

“Open your mouth,” the woman said. Izzy opened her mouth.

“You are hiding from the truth and in that hiding there is chaos. Just like your sister. But I think you’re through the worst of it. She isn’t, yet.” Izzy checked her phone: missed call from Meg. It was probably just a butt dial. Meg never called her.

“My sister…?” She asked the woman.

“Lydia. She is truly wise beyond her years,” the woman said.

Izzy closed her mouth. There was a pill on her tongue.

“I hope this helps you. Because you know it wasn’t your fault, the accident.” The pill in Izzy’s mouth had dissolved and the people in the room had changed. Izzy was standing in front of the same woman, but time had passed. She had told her about the accident.

The co-op’s garden seemed to fold up and out from itself, stretching over everything she knew.

Izzy stretched her hands out in front of her, squeezing and unsqueezing them. They were numb. Tara’s hand was on her back.

“Tell me the truth,” Izzy heard herself saying. “I only want the truth. I don’t want anything else I don’t understand. Where’s George?”

“Oooh, this is a fun game!” Lisa said.

“Truth or dare?” Jess said.

“Just truth,” Izzy replied.

“Sometimes I think I’m surrounded by children,” Olivia said. Izzy was surrounded by the band again, sitting around the coffee table in the co-op living room. She looked up and saw the flags strung from the ceiling flutter above her.

“I feel that,” Tara replied. “I’m sorry.”

“I love you. You’re not the one I meant,” she continued.

“I hate all the lies, too,” Tara said. “I wish I could tell the truth.”

“Tell me! Tell me the truth!” Izzy pleaded.

“You first,” Jess said.

“I’m not some fashion heiress,” Izzy said. “My mom owns one store. I’ve never even had a boyfriend, until now. I had all these plans and they got crushed.”

“Crushed by what?” Jess said, tenderness in her voice.

“I’ve never had a real boyfriend either,” Lisa cried. “Men hate me! Everyone thinks I’m a lesbian! Not that there’s anything wrong with being a lesbian.” Izzy couldn’t help but laugh, even in her daze she couldn’t believe it. This ugly shame she had been holding in… other people had it too?

“That’s not it,” Olivia said. “That’s not all of it. Tell the truth, Izzy! This is so fun!”

“Jess is in love with Harry,” Tara said.

“We’re almost broke,” Lisa said.

“Harry doesn’t love her back,” Olivia continued. “I’m sorry, Jess. Or he doesn’t, yet. And it’s not that you’re not worthy or something.”

Jess sighed. Izzy nodded, taking it all in. It wasn’t the truth she wanted, but Tara seemed liberated for saying it. Somehow, it was all things Izzy already knew.

“I’m worried Eddie won’t stay sober,” Olivia said.

“Me too,” Izzy said, suddenly worried. She didn’t know he had ever had a problem.

“He’s safer off the tour, don’t worry,” Tara said.

“I’m worried Harry’s music will die,” Jess said. Izzy hadn’t noticed she was there. “I’m worried he’ll quit the tour. Ryan is killing him. He’s saving us, and killing him.”

“I hate that we need him,” Tara said.

“Me too,” Olivia said. “It makes me feel like a fraud.”

“I’m so worried about the money,” Lisa said.

“I’m worried about Lydia,” Izzy said.

“Me too,” Jess said. “All the time. You don’t even know, Izzy. And I can’t tell you.”

Izzy felt the vines in the garden curl around her arms, pulling her into the earth. Lydia was beside her: she grabbed her hand. Mitch was on Lydia’s other side. The three of them held hands and sank into the grass together.

And she was back there. Back at the day after.

...

pov: you’re 18, just turned 18. your bags are packed for school. you just took the tags off your shower caddy. one bag is open, because you had to open it to get out a new pair of underwear and a new outfit. but you’re not at home. you sit on the floor of your cousin’s your cousin’s colourful bedroom that she painted with flowers all the way up to the ceiling with her mom, dotted with glow in the dark stars just now peeling off. your cousin sits across from you, head in her lap. her whole body shakes with sobs. you’re frozen with indecision, you don’t know what to do. you put some music on on your phone. Days Like These comes on and wraps around the both of you. the shaking slows. her dad isn’t home. you don’t know where he went. your parents are at the hospital. you were the one who had to take Lydia home. you can’t take the truth of what has happened, and Lydia is part of that inescapable truth. you turn the music up. you put a hand on her shoulder. you sit across from her and say nothing.

pov: all the bags to college are empty, turned upside down. clothes are all over your room. you had to go through them all to find something black for the funeral. you can’t look at the coffin at the funeral. you look at the grass, the trees. a willow rounds its shoulders over a bench, cloaking it in a curtain of its leaves. this is where you sit after the funeral, alone. your parents take Lydia and her dad back home. you want to cry where you are hidden, where no one can see you, where the rawness of your grief is hidden even from yourself. this is where you’ll sit again in a few weeks, for another funeral. and you’ll cry for everyone who left, and also for yourself, for what you’ve lost, and then in rage and shame for how guilty you feel thinking about yourself.

pov: you’re 19, driving Lydia to school, and she’s blasting a band you haven’t heard of, beach bunny or something. you guys barely talk on the drives but you share music. she sits in the passenger seat like a stone, not moving, so different than the kid who used to dance around the store. your knuckles are white on the wheel, driving the same street where the accident happened, and the entire way you urge yourself to talk to her, to ask her how she’s doing. but you don’t speak. you drop her off, then go to your morning class, then sit in the store and study for the afternoon while your mom is at work - she’s still trying to do the accounting firm and the store at this point - and then you close up, and pick up Lydia from school, and ask her how she is. she says she’s fine. she puts her music back on. she says nothing else. you say that your classes are hard and you feel like you’re failing one of them, like you don’t have enough time with the hours your mom wants you to put in at the store. you feel instantly terrible for complaining about your mom. lydia’s mouth is a hard line. she doesn’t trade any information back. you drop her off, make dinner, then do your assignments late into the night. your mom does the dishes robotically, missing her mom and her sister. you wake up, get in the car, and drive over to Lydia’s to pick her up for school. but she isn’t there. she’s gone, with a bag of her stuff. her dad sits on the steps, holding an envelope with To Dad written in Lydia’s beautiful cursive. that’s when Izzy checked her phone. 3 messages from 6 am.

i’m going with molly’s band, lauren’s older sister, doing their socials

i’m fine

you should come with me

izzy only saw the messages just then, when Lydia was already gone. she had sent them in the morning, when Izzy was doing inventory. “I failed her,” Izzy’s mom said when she found out. “My sister’s daughter.” that’s when she quit her job to manage the store full time, surrendering to her guilt. when Lydia came back six months later, she was more like the person she was when she was a child, before the accident. she wasn’t wearing black anymore. she came back just to maybe enrol in classes again, but she couldn’t stand her old room, the store where she had played with her mother. so she left again, this time with Jess Harper’s band. she had been on the road ever since. six years.

...

“Tell the truth!” Olivia said.

Izzy forgot where she was, then came back into the room. She was back in the co-op. She was trying to get away from her life, from what had happened, but the deeper she went into the tour, the closer she seemed to get to it, to the truth of what happened. Her hiding places here and there were the same; she was always brought back to the same spot.

“I can’t,” Izzy said.

“What’s going on?” Tara said.

“We’re doing an exorcism,” Olivia said.

Izzy wasn’t in the garden anymore. She was standing in the living room, on the coffee table, hair brushing the flags hanging from the ceiling. Both her hands were in Olivia’s.

Jess glared at her. “I’m serious,” Olivia said, answering the glare. “And I’d like a closed room for this, if that’s possible.”

“What did you guys take?” Harry asked. Harry had appeared below them. Izzy wasn’t sure if he was really there or not, or if he was just another face in the crowd at the arena, with her on stage at the microphone, her voice calling out for something that was gone. Her voice, that voice. She recognized the longing. Izzy remembered the first night on the tour: hearing him in the dark, like he was singing only to her, meeting George, waking up on the plane.

“Jess, honestly, just go back upstairs.” Tara said.

“Say it out loud,” Olivia said. “Say it out loud. Expel it.”

“I can’t,” Izzy said. That’s when she saw the mirror again. Far away, it felt like miles away, she saw Ryan bend over a mirror, using a credit card to form a smear of white powder into a fine line. He sorted it using a rolled up dollar bill. Jess followed, copying his movements. They were across the hallway in the kitchen. George danced madly around the kitchen table with Lydia and Lisa. His nose twitched.

Izzy watched blood run down Lisa’s upper lip; her nose was bleeding. It was cocaine. They had been on coke the whole tour. That’s why George wants to leave with me, Izzy realized. That’s why he wants to run away together.

“You have to tell us what happened,” Olivia said.

“Three years ago today, my aunt, Lydia’s mom, died in a car crash,” Izzy said. She felt the words fly out of her mouth faster and faster, like water through a crack in a dam. “I wanted to go to this restaurant for my birthday, and I never asked for anything much, so my mom agreed to take us after we went to the beach that morning. It was a drive—we had to drive to get there. She was so beautiful, my aunt. And I don’t mean the way she looked. She made everything beautiful. Lydia is her daughter 100%. She was so kind, and so incredibly smart—she knew everything about everything. All the constellations, the names of every plant and flower. She got a degree in astronomy. She worked at the university. She stayed close by: that was her compromise. She would stay close by and help her mom, my grandmother, run the store. So my mom could work somewhere else. And then she died. And my grandmother died of a heart attack two weeks after,” Izzy was aware that her face was wet. She explained that this is how she got stuck.

She cleared her throat and continued: “I didn’t know it would be more painful to watch my mom’s heart break than it was to feel my own break, but it was.”

Izzy had been on the stage, but she woke up in the grass, next to Harry, as she finished her last sentence. She was wearing his jacket. She drew it around her and put the sweater—that odd woman’s sweater—across Harry’s chest. Harry watched her intently.

“‘M sorry,” he said. He looked different, but familiar somehow. Izzy couldn’t place it. His voice was softer. “I’m sorry that happened to you. To you and Lydia.”

“Thanks, Harry.” Izzy said. In the face of tragedy, even the worst people could be kind.

“Wha’ else?” Harry said.

Izzy closed her eyes. She could hear the jangle of the car keys; she wanted to plug her ears.

“There’s more. That wasn’t the whole thing, was it?”

Izzy shook her head. Images from that morning played in her mind. She tried to stuff them down, but they wouldn’t go down.

“Tell me,” Harry said.

“I—I was supposed to drive. I was supposed to be the one driving. I had gotten my license the year before. I had been practicing for a year, a whole year. I knew the tricky intersection. We had just been on the beach and were supposed to go to the restaurant from there.”

Harry waited. Izzy saw a flash of Lydia’s glitter nail polish in that morning’s sunlight.

“But Lydia wanted to drive. She just got her learner’s permit and she was so proud. She loved tearing around the city with her friends, picking them all up and dropping them all off, me in the passenger’s seat, blasting music with all the windows down. She asked if she could drive.”

The wind blew leaves over them. They couldn’t hear the party anymore.

“And I let her. I let her drive.” Izzy could just barely get the words out. She was whispering.

Izzy saw Lydia’s 17 year old hand open in front of her, chipped glitter nail polish on from the pervious weekend glinting in the summer sunlight. She watched herself place the heavy car keychain in her palm. Lydia’s fingers closed around it before Izzy had even let it go.

“We were t-boned when she made a left turn, coming from the other way. The driver was checking his messages. I blacked out, but she was awake. I woke up in the hospital. It wasn’t her fault, but she thinks it’s her fault because I let her drive. And that’s why she ran away. And didn’t finish school and—”

“And you think it’s your fault because you let her drive.”

“I know it’s not her fault. She’s trying to fix my whole life by bringing me here but it should be the other way around. She got this insurance payout, from her mom, in her name, and I’m worried that she’s spending it all away. What will she do when the tour is over? If I had taken better care of her…”

“But it’s neither, Izzy. Neither of you is responsible. It’s just that other driver, if anyone. I think that if either of you were driving—anybody in the car—the same thing might have happened.” There was so much pain in that might; all the misery in her life hung upon it.

Izzy was watching herself from a distance. She saw Lydia skip toward the car, her mom clapping her hands together, saying “be careful. No music.” She just wanted to put her arms around herself, her and Lydia.

“The same thing would have happened. You said it was a long light, right?” Harry asked. He sounded far away. “So even if the other one had gotten there 30 seconds before or la’er, you would have still met that car when you got into the intersection.”

Izzy could see herself doing the best she could, sitting under that tree in the graveyard just days later. She had just been trying not to make her mom feel any worse, so she tried to cry alone. She didn’t want to burden anyone—it wasn’t that she was cold, refusing to reach out, refusing to take care of people. She was trying to help them, help them by not asking anything of them. Helping them in the best way she knew how. Maybe it wasn’t all her fault.

Izzy felt light, as if she were made of paper. She lifted her arms up and put them back down. She felt like she was floating above the grass. She turned; Harry was still there. Her vision was clearer, now. She could see the stars above her, too. Harry’s face came into focus, green eyes glinting hard through his thick lashes. She hadn’t really noticed them before.

“And you,” Izzy said. “I can see you.”

“Not really,” Harry said. “You’re so high.” He sounded tired.

“There’s more with you, too. What are you hiding?”

Harry took a deep breath and said nothing.

“I know we don’t get along, but you can talk to me,” Izzy continued.

“Magari,” Harry sighed. If only it were true.

“Who...?"

“Jess taught me. She said you taught her.”

“I really like Jess,” Izzy said. If this was an olive branch, Harry couldn’t wrap his hands around it.

Izzy tried again. “Tell me one truth. Anything.”

“One?”

“Anything.”

“I almost became an addict,” Harry said. “Early on. I was using pretty often.”

“Easy enough to do when you become famous that young. I’d be hard pressed to say that’s your fault.”

“Eddie is the one that pulled me out.”

“Eddie’s pretty great,” Izzy said.

“It’s easy to get addicted, Izzy. At first it’s a bump before each show...”

Everything Izzy knew about addiction, she knew from A Star is Born; she was lucky in that way. That movie, and now, maybe Lydia. “I’m not going to run away with George, Harry,” Izzy said. “I think I can help him. I’ve never... aside from tonight, I haven’t tried any of that stuff.”

“That’s good,” Harry said.

“I don’t think it’s your fault that you started using before,” Izzy said. “You were a kid.” She was surprised; he always seemed way too proud to come close to admitting any sort of vulnerability.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Tell me another truth.”

Harry laughed. “Another?”

“Anything,” Izzy said.

“Alright,” Harry said. His voice was lower, closer. “Only because you're out of your mind right now and won’t remember any of this tomorrow.”

He turned away from her momentarily. Izzy thought she saw his cheeks turn red.

“You going to tell me?” Izzy said.

He didn’t turn back.

“I’ve never been in love with anyone,” Izzy said. In a lower voice, she added: “At least not someone who loved me back.” She was thinking about Roger, and the sort of infatuation she had with him, which definitely wasn’t returned.

Harry turned back. His smile was gone.

“Wha' about George?” Harry asked. Izzy shook her head.

“Not yet, anyway. I really like him, though. And I think I can help him. Sometimes I wish I was more like Lydia,” Izzy said. “Taking everything so lightly. I don’t think she’s ever been in love either.”

Harry smiled painfully and stood up, leaving Izzy with his jacket. He explained that he was going back to the hotel, and Izzy said that she wanted to stay in the garden. She felt the vines twist around her arms again, and the stars above her were spinning. As Harry walked away, Izzy could see the tour ending. She could see herself renting an apartment with roommates, with another job that wasn’t at the store.

Izzy drew out her phone. Two more missed calls from Meg. She put the phone to her ear, and it was suddenly ringing to her home number, but she didn’t remember dialling. Her mom still had a landline.

Izzy left a message: “Hi mom. It’s me, Izzy. I’m with the band in Austin. It’s so beautiful here. We’re going to Chicago next, then California. I wanted you to know that I love you. And the accident isn’t your fault. It’s not your fault for going to the restaurant, for anything. I’m sorry I hid myself away after it happened. I didn’t want to burden you. I didn’t know how to help you. I’m sorry. Don’t worry about me. I’m happy now. I love you.”

Izzy felt herself floating up and away from the garden. She felt so serene. Unburdened. She fell asleep on the grass in that floating feeling, wisteria petals in her hair, smelling jasmine.

chapter11

#love on tour fanfic #love on tour fanfiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #love on tour au #harry styles au #harry styles imagine #anxiety #personal growth #trauma #angst #harry styles angst #don't do drugs kids #drugs are addictive #it's never worth it

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crispycostumes · 2 years

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and the third instalment in all our favourite show: i think too deeply about richard campbell gansey the third and his mint leaves. this will follow the same route as the others, and as such, it is a list (and pseudo-analysis) of every time mint is mentioned in conjunction with gansey in bllb (post 1 and post 2)

the first time is after noah has his freakout in the office of blue’s guidance counsellor and she goes to monmouth

“Blue arrived at Monmouth Manufacturing before anyone else. She knocked to be sure, and then let herself in. Immediately, she was enveloped with the comfortable scent of the room: the faded library-smell of old books, the cool odor of mint, the must-and-rust scent of century-old brick and ancient pipes, the note of funk from the heap of dirty laundry against the wall.”

(gansey’s home smells of mint, this still makes me sad)

the second time is after he and malory arrive at monmouth and they start talking about Iolo Goch and who he was to glendower

“He paused to locate a tiny microwave. He examined the interior of a mug before filling it. Pulling a mint leaf from his pocket to suck on, he spoke around it as the water heated. “Really, if Glendower were Robin Hood, Iolo Goch would have been … that other guy.””

(i think there is so many interpretations that could be made about this scene, it’s so interesting to see him do what we can establish is a nervous habit and coping mechanism for when he feels very anxious while talking about one of his favourite things) (something something actually finding glendower was his worst nightmare)

the third time is just a few paragraph after that when he finishes with the tea

“He turned, mug in hand, and suddenly they were an inch apart. She could smell the mint in his mouth. She saw his throat move as he swallowed.”

(once again, many interpretations. We know he chews absently when he’s immersed in something while anxious so it would make sense to assume that he chews quickly when he’s feeling very anxious about something. making a cup of tea in the microwave doesn’t take long. thoughts thoughts)

the fourth time is after noah has another freakout and blue pulls the plug on him

“Noah sat in the middle of the floor, papers all around him, a mint plant spilling dirt by his hand. He was all hunched over and shadowless, his form slight and streaky, barely visible at all. He was crying again.”

(notable about this is that it says A mint plant. not THE mint plant or GANSEY’S mint plant singular like it did in previous books. from this i think it’s safe to establish that there’s more than one mint plant in this room) (no im not ready to talk about noah yet okay)

the fifth time is after blue has her argument with orla about loving the raven boys

““You know what I think, Orla? I think you’re a big, fat bully —” Blue barreled right into Gansey, who had stepped inside the front hall. For a moment she smelled mint, felt the solidness of his chest, and then she wheeled back.”

(not very notable on its own, i know, but it adds to the immediate association these characters have between gansey and mint)

The sixth through ninth time is the car ride when he and blue talk about just wanting to pretend they could be together and kiss

““Blue,” he warned, but his voice was chaotic. This close, his throat was scented with mint and wool sweater and vinyl car seat, and Gansey, just Gansey.”

(gansey, just gansey, is so very closely tied with mint to the people who love him and who he loves in return)

““And then we never speak of it again,” Gansey said, mocking himself softly, and Blue was so glad of it, because she had played the words from that night over and over in her mind and wanted to know he had, too. Gently he tucked her hair behind her ears — this was a fool’s errand, because it had never been behind her ears to begin with and wouldn’t stay. But he did it again and again, and then he took out two mint leaves and put one in his mouth and one in hers.”

(oooh the things i could say about this miniscule part of this scene alone but let's keep it short, they’re doing something they promised both each other and themselves not to, they’re meeting in secret in the middle of the night, everything about this is something that would lead to gansey feeling an enormous amount of anxiety even if he feels happy to get to be with blue,, and then he’d probably feel guilty about the happiness and it would lead him to spiral into more mint) (and let’s not talk about how it was probably him trying to in some misguided way make her feel better about meeting in secret through doing and sharing something that he uses to cope when he feels bad and can’t talk about it)

“She rolled the mint leaf over and over her tongue. She felt shivery with cold or fatigue.”

“Now he exhaled, but he didn’t disagree. The clock in the Camaro didn’t work, but it had to be dangerously close to morning. They switched places; Blue curled again in his coat, feet up on the seat. As she tugged the collar up to cover her mouth and nose, she let herself imagine that this place was rightfully hers. That somehow Adam and Ronan already knew and were already okay with it. That her lips carried no threat. That Gansey was not going to die, that he wasn’t going to leave for Yale or Princeton, that all that mattered was that he had given her his coat with its wheatgrass and mint on the collar.”

(wheatgrass and mint, the smell that, to blue, IS gansey)

the tenth time is after they bring gwenllian back to fox way and leave her to live there.

“Gansey put a mint leaf in his mouth; it was impossible to not think of the night before, when he’d put one in hers. “She stays here, for now. That wasn’t me, that was Persephone. I offered to fix the first floor of Monmouth. That might still end up being what happens.””

(yes i know this has more romance than anxiety but bear with me. he’s still in an anxious and uncomfortable situation he doesn’t feel in control over. he’s worried and scared. also the car ride and his feelings for blue (even though she makes him quiet) would probably lead to him feeling guilty and etc since he’s keeping things from his friends and lying to them)

the eleventh and last time in bllb is when he and blue are hugging after she starts to cry when calla and the others leave to go get maura from the cave

“He pulled back, wincing through pins and needles, and gave her a mint leaf before sitting back against the bed frame beside her.”

(“he could not tell who was comforting who” so what does he do when blue is feeling anxious and afraid and he’s not good with words or comfort? he does the only thing he knows how, the only thing that he knows would help comfort him in times like these, he doesn’t leave her and he gives her a mint leaf)

#i want to give him a hug #my anxiety can sometimes feel like a restless buzzing in my chest and/or in my limbs #i wonder if it’s the same for him #i wonder if that’s a part of why he does it #consuming a repellant for something he knows isn’t there but irrationally fears the same #getting the mint inside his chest to soothe some irrational compulsive thought #oh my god why do i do this to myself #anyways yeah gansey’s intrinsic smell to people who love him being mint still makes me want to scream #the mint saga #i want my one singular follower to know that i am doing this for them #yes i will shut up now #trc #the raven cycle #bllb #richard campbell gansey iii #gansey

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blackwidowyael · 3 years

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One of those days

Hey y'all! I just received my first request from @thoughfulmilkshakeface, and here it is, hope you all enjoy! psa I am taking requests, mainly Natasha/Yelena/Wanda centric, and I dont do reader inserts or anything too smutty so feel free to leave smth in ma inbox ;)

Natasha has bad days. Clint knows this, and he also knows that the bad days will pass, making space for the good ones, where they can go out to the movies, or grab lunch, or take Lucky to play ball in the park without the change of routine sending her reeling.

It is these days that he treasures the most, when he can pretend, even if it is only briefly, that they are just another normal couple, with normal problems like squabbles over who’s turn it is to take out the trash or clean up after the dog.

Today is not one of those days.

Clint can tell from the moment they wake up. He cracks open an eye just in time to see the flash of metal handcuffs disappearing into Natasha’s nightstand.

The handcuffs rarely make an appearance anymore, and only on those nights where she is filled with an anxious restlessness, a sense of uneasiness that only the cool slicing of the metal can satiate.

She never talks about it, refuses to acknowledge that they still have a lingering control over her that she can’t quite shake. Clint understands what it is like to feel that lack of autonomy, and never pushes her to stop.

Lucky knows that Natasha has bad days as well. She stumbles past where he is eagerly awaiting breakfast, straight to the gym without so much as a glance in his direction. It is like she is barely even there.

Clint drags himself into the kitchen, narrowly avoiding hitting Lucky in the face as he reaches down to pat him through a haze of sleep. He fills Lucky’s bowl, and slides two pop tarts onto a plate. A smile almost reaches his face as he thinks about the plan Nat concocted to sneak them past the addicted demi-God upstairs.

And they wait for the last member of their family to return. Sometimes, an hour in the gym is enough to shake whatever demons were haunting her away and she returns more present, having slipped out of whatever funk she is in.

Today is not one of those days.

They watch the clock as the hands trail round the hour, and into the next. Lucky whines, pressing himself against Clint’s leg. He is weirdly intuitive, can always tell when something’s not right. Almost two hours have passed. Natasha’s coffee has grown cold in the pot.

“I guess you’re right, bud,” Clint sighs, rubbing Lucky behind the ears. “I’ll go check on her.”

At first, he thinks the gym is empty. Music blares out of the speakers as he scans every corner.

He finds her huddled in a crack between the wall and a punching bag. From her vantage point, she has a clear view of the entire gym, but she doesn’t even blink as he settles down in front of her.

Nat’s eyes are glassy, unfocused. Clint waves a hand in front of her face, trying to get her attention. He is wary of touching her when she’s like this, but he really needs to get her to the apartment. Clint can see the blood leaking through her pointe shoes, feet white with the ribbons tight enough to cut off her circulation. Slowly he loops one arm around her shoulders, the other under her knees, narrating as he does so.

No matter what, Clint wants her to feel at least some semblance of control.

“Alright, Tash, back to the apartment. I got you, it’s okay.” He glances at her briefly, to see if he has gotten a response, but she has retreated so far into herself that she can’t hear him. Dissociated, the part of his mind that has attended many therapy sessions with her, supplies.

She has frozen by the time he tries to deposit her on the couch. Eventually, he just sits down with her draped over his lap, hoping that the feel of him breathing would help to ground her. He thinks back to the day before, trying to remember what could have triggered it. Nothing springs to mind, although new triggers still pop up now and then. Maybe something from a mission?

Lucky worries when he sees Natasha like this. It makes Clint sad, and then neither of them will take him to the park. He leaps onto the couch, burying his muzzle in Natasha’s face and showering her with kisses. Suddenly, she stirs, breath shuddering in her chest.

“Nat, you’re okay, you’re safe. We’re in the apartment.”

One hand comes up, shielding her face, while she desperately tries to wriggle out of Clint’s lap. Her breath is beginning to come faster as she squirms, unable to escape Lucky’s slobbery hold.

“Natasha, it’s just Lucky, you’re okay.”

“Clint?”

“Yeah. Can you breathe with me?”

She can’t.

She can feel her breath whistling in her chest, coming faster and faster and despite this feel the lack of oxygen in her brain. Lightheaded. She doesn’t think her legs would support her right now if she tried to run.

Run away from all of this. All these emotions, clawing at her chest and anxiety buzzing in her brain and tingling on her skin and she can't breathe, she can’t-

Breathe.

One fist gripping Clint’s shirt, the soft fabric grounding, while simultaneously keeping herself as far away from him as possible, curled on the opposite side of the couch.

Through the icy panic, she tries to focus on his chest. Watching it rise and fall. She manages to take gulps of air to match, feeling the fog slowly evaporating around her.

“Idiot dog,” she mutters, pushing Lucky away from her.

The buzzing panic leaves her as quickly as it arrives, leaving her drained. The world is far too bright, too sharp, now.

Clint is watching as she tries to collect herself. Natasha feels her mask slamming into place, protecting her from the world and hiding her humiliation. She’s not sure how she got to the couch, but she can feel the concern and smothering pity rolling off of Clint in waves and she hates it.

She just wants to be alone, until she can forget again.

“Nat-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Clint presses his lips together. This repression shit can’t be healthy, but he knows better than anyone that there’s no point trying to make Natasha talk when she doesn't want to.

“Fine. We don’t have to talk. Can I at least look at your feet?”

Natasha glances down. Her feet are waxy, apart from the red marks made by the ribbons chafing. Blood has congealed around the box of the shoe, spattering its way up the shank.

“I can do it myself, Clint,”

“Natasha, I swear to God.” Clint pushes her back down as she tries to stand, going into the kitchen to grab the first aid box.

Carefully, he unties the ribbons, prying the shoes off her feet. The blood is sticky, and it takes a while for him to get them off without ripping the skin further.

Eventually, both shoes are discarded and he gets a proper look at her.

“Nat, what happened?”

Clint had hoped it would be an easy fix, just a couple of blisters, but apparently it wasn’t one of those days, and nothing was easy. Hundreds of shards of glass are embedded in the soles of Natasha’s feet, and when he looks back to her shoes, he can see more littering the soles.

He gets to work, painstakingly removing each shard and cleaning the cuts, before covering them in adhesive bandage. Questions can come later, when Nat is not still partially dissociated on the couch with a vase’s worth of glass in her feet. Lucky watches, resting his head on Natasha’s lap. This time, she doesn’t push him away, running her fingers through his fur.

“I needed to know that I hadn’t got soft.”

The words echo in the silence, although they were barely audible. Clint carefully schools his expression, keeping his posture open and relaxed.

“And dancing with glass in your shoes proves that how?”

“We used to do it,” Natasha pauses, staring intently at a spot on Lucky’s back, “before.”

Clint nods in understanding. It doesn’t surprise him, seems very on-brand given the sparse details she had shared over the years.

“You haven’t gotten soft, Tash. Why would you think that?”

“But I have,” she presses, leaning forward, “I see it all the time. They told me I could never form attachments, that it would make me weak. And I can’t do the missions I did before,”

“Can’t or won’t? You didn’t have any choice over taking missions, Tash. Just because SHIELD does things differently doesn’t mean you’re any less of an agent.”

“They’re in my head all the time,” Natasha admits. “I can hear them. Telling me I’m sloppy. Weak. They would be so angry if they could see me now. I just. I just needed to feel like I was,”

She breaks off, staring at her hands.

“Like what?” Clint prompts gently.

“Made of marble. That’s what they used to say to me.”

“They’re not here now, Nat. We are. Your family. You don’t need to be all perfect and tough around us.”

Nat shakes her head in exasperation, eyes roaming around the room as she searches for an explanation.

“But I still want them to be proud of me. It’s fucked up. I’m fucked up. They took everything from me and I still want to make them proud.”

“They tortured you, Natasha. They raised you, that’s not just going to go away. You’re not under their control anymore. I just want you, whatever that is.”

Suddenly, she can’t stand this conversation anymore, ignoring her protesting feet as she stalks into the kitchen. Clint follows, Lucky not far behind.

“Love is for children.”

“It doesn’t have to be.”

Natasha huffs out a laugh, turning away to reach a mug. “You’d have to be stupid to want me.”

“I guess I really am an idiot then.” Clint reaches out, tugging on her arm until she is facing him.

“Lucky too,” he adds as the dog jumps up, pawing Natasha’s legs.

“Idiot dog.” A tiny smile graces the corner of her mouth.

“You’re more than just an incredible agent, Tash. You’re my best friend, my family. I love you.”

She ducks her head, staring at their intertwined fingers.

“I love you too, idiot.”

Clint grins. It was one of those days.

#natasha and clint #clintasha #natasha romonova #clint barton #lucky the pizza dog #angst #hurt/comfort #fanwork #fanfic #marvel #mcu women #mcu #black widow #hawkeye #red room #natashas fucked up #but arent they all

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mrvltwimagines · 4 years

Text

Thinking Thin

SPENCER REID X READER

SUMMARY: You knew you couldn’t hide your habits forever, you just hoped you could’ve hid them a bit longer.

WARNINGS: Eating Disorders, Low Self-Esteem, Self Degradation

WORD COUNT: 4k

I knew that what I was thinking was just my mental illness talking. While looking at my body in the mirror, I knew that the words I was thinking about what I saw were words only I thought about myself, but it didn’t stop me from thinking them and believing them.

Pulling my t-shirt up a little higher, I felt a sense of dread come over myself when I take in my overall form. My stomach still hung a bit, and from a side view even tight pants couldn’t stop the protruding shape of it. I wanted to cry. I wanted to physically cut the fat off of myself. How humiliating it felt to be fat when I worked in the field that I do, surrounded by beautiful people. How did the team not look at me and doubt my work? How did they feel so comfortable trusting me with their life when I don’t even have my own put together? I sighed as I pulled my shirt back down and tucked it back into my slacks. After throwing a cardigan on to help me cover up a bit more, I was out the door and on my way to work.

The second I walked out of the elevator and towards the bullpen, I could feel my anxiety rising. I had joined the BAU team close to a year ago. I was close with them all, comfortable on an emotional level with each of them, but when it came to my insecurities and every day struggles to just stay alive or even just eat a meal, they were oblivious. So when I was having a bad day like today, my anxiety sat a little higher on my scale and I could only hope that I could keep it low key.

“Good morning, y/n,” JJ sweetly greeted me as I set my bag down. She was sitting on Reid’s desk, him in his chair and Derek standing next to them. I blushed at the attention I got as they followed JJ’s eye-line, and offered back a similar greeting before taking a seat and letting out a sigh.

“Rough morning, princess?” Derek chuckled. I wanted to say yes, but I knew the question was generic and made more for the purpose of humor.

“Just feel like I’m always tired nowadays. As much as I hate to say it, it’s like I need cases to keep me alert and busy,” I offered back. It wasn’t a lie, I was tired. It might have to do with the little food intake, or the restless sleep, but what they don’t know doesn’t hurt. I did feel more alert when working a case, but that’s to be understood since every case is dealing with murderers. If I wasn’t alert, it’d be a bit questionable.

“Well you are in luck then, missy. Hotch wants us all in the conference room, we have a new case,” Garcia chimed in, speed walking past the four of us and towards the conference room. I watched the others stand up and begin to follow her, but the second I stood up I felt the dizziness set in and stopped myself from moving for a second, needing the support of my desk to not topple over. The dizziness subsided and I cleared my eyesight before standing up straight and trying to blow off what just happened. I looked around to see if anyone caught that, my heartbeat picking up a bit when I made direct eye contact with Spencer right before he disappeared into the conference room. The panicked feeling in my chest grew as I walked towards the room. I could only hope he either saw the end of what just happened, or that he was just curiously looking around and looked at me the same time I looked at him. I didn’t have much time to think before entering the room where everyone was already seated, quickly making my way to my own seat in between Emily and Derek.

“Alright team, last night in Washington, a third hiker was found with a limb missing,” Garcia started, flashing pictures of the newest and previous other victims with different body parts missing from each of them. Beginning to brainstorm with the team, my thought process was somewhere else. I really tried to stay with them, and to throw in my own insights, but it was hard when trying to avoid eye contact with Spencer when I could feel his gaze on me a lot of the time. What was he thinking?

Soon enough Hotch announced that we’ll be flying out in thirty minutes, and everyone started to separate to go grab their to-go bags and finish up any last minute tasks. As I walked out of the conference room, I jumped a bit at Reid standing up straight and pushing off of the railing right outside the door.

“Jesus Spence, are you trying to kill me?” I chuckled, throwing a hand over my heart to be dramatic. My heart was actually beating fast, only continuing its pace once I made direct eye contact with him. He offered a shy smile, tucking his hands into his pockets.

“Sorry, I truly didn’t mean to scare you,” he chuckled, “I just wanted to check in with you, see if you were feeling alright?”

“Oh yeah, like I said earlier, just a bit tired.”

“You looked like you were on the verge of passing out right before we went into the conference room. Are you sure you’re alright? Are you feeling sick?” He pushed on. My cheeks went red knowing he had witnessed my dizziness spell earlier. My mind whirled with all my potential answers, but I just couldn’t think of a good one.

“Oh no, I’m not sick. I’m fine, I promise,” I tried to sound confident in my answer, waving him off while beginning to walk by him. I jumped a bit at the feeling of his hand gently wrapping around my forearm, stopping me from walking away.

“I’ve noticed you have moments like what I saw earlier a lot recently. You know you can talk to me about anything, what’s going on?” My eyes widened a bit at how observant he’s been. Of course he wouldn’t forget what he’s seen considering his ability to memorize literally everything, but I didn’t expect him to notice me as much as he has.

“I-“ my mouth clamped shut at the sound of Hotch calling everyone to start to head out. I took the distraction to pull my arm away from Spencer and speed walk to my desk, grabbing my bag and following the others to the elevator. I begged myself not to turn around and look at Spencer, but it was inevitable when hopping into the elevator and facing the doors to see him joining the rest of us. He wasn’t looking at me, and I let out a deep breath. I knew the conversation wasn’t over. I knew he was not making a scene for the sake of my privacy, which I’m thankful for, but I just never wanted this conversation to pick back up.

* * *

The second we got to Washington and split up, any previous thoughts were thrown to the curb and our attention was fully on the case. Hotch, Reid and I made our way into the police station, and the chief of police was quick to fill us in on everything he knew about the case. Thanking him, we were quick to be left on our own to try and figure things out.

The day went by quickly, everyone joining back at the station around 8pm with more and more information, getting us closer to figuring out the unsub. Spencer’s been watching me a bit, and I could tell he had something to say every time I declined wanting anything to eat and instead settling with drinking more coffee. To settle his mind a bit, I made sure to eat a small vending machine granola bar within his eyesight hoping he would be satisfied seeing me eat something. Before we knew it, it was 11pm and we were all exhausted, ready to head to the hotel for the night and pick back up in the morning.

“Alright, we have four rooms. Who wants to board with who?” Hotch asks as we’re packing up our things. This happens every time, and most of the time Spencer and I would share a room, but sometimes Derek and him would go with each other and I’d get a room by myself considering Rossi and Hotch usually go in one and JJ and Emily would share another.

“I’ll board with y/n,” Spencer called out quickly. Everyone else figured their situation after that, but my mind was racing and my stomach was sinking.

I knew there would be a day where hiding my habits would become a bit harder, I just didn’t want to believe that today might be the day that they may become exposed to someone else. I haven’t lost nearly enough weight for the team to notice, and I’ve been doing extremely well at keeping this personal matter at bay. I’ve never had to talk about any of this with everyone, so it’s a dreadful thought that in just under ten minutes there’s the potential that i’m going to have to try an figure out how to hide what’s going on to the extreme or end up telling Spencer what’s truly going on.

The thought of him knowing sent a buzz throughout my body. My mind told me it’s pathetic that I restrict so heavily, and to still be as fat as I am. Would he even believe me if I told him I have an eating disorder while looking like I do? Most days I want to laugh at myself for having an eating disorder and still being so heavy, and I know that Spencer is nowhere near as cruel as my own mind, but what if he doesn’t take it seriously? Would that hurt more than the constant nagging in my brain and pain throughout my body?

The car came to a stop and we all began to go our separate ways. Spencer grabbed our key from Hotch, and I slowly followed behind his tensed form. He didn’t say anything to me the entire elevator ride up. I could feel him side eyeing me and my cheeks burned red.

I was expecting him to say something the second we got into our room, but he didn’t. Instead he simply announced that he was going to shower, and left me alone in the room. A sigh of relief left my lips before my mind went straight to overthinking. What if he just genuinely doesn’t care and he was simply “checking” on me earlier to at least acknowledge what he saw? What if he’s simply going to ignore it? Isn’t that what I want? Why do I feel so upset that he’s not asking me more questions, when i’ve been pushing so hard for him not to?

My mind felt like mush. I didn’t struggle like this everyday. Most days went on like normal. I’d wake up, drink coffee, head to work and just immerse myself into whatever project is going on so I didn’t have to think about food. Most days I’d eat at least one meal, two if I got a considerate amount of exercise in. I won’t deny that i’ve lost weight, but it just wasn’t enough, and that was proven by the fact that no one else seemed to notice either. No one on the team ever judged me for my weight, and I know they all loved me for who I am and not what I look like, but it’s hard not to compare myself when on the same team as women that look like JJ and Emily. They were skinny and pretty, men loved to stare at them, while I was always overlooked and ignored. I thought maybe, just maybe, if I lost some weight and tried a little harder, I might feel a bit more loved. And that’s where I felt conflicted. What I’m doing is unhealthy. I know that much, but I couldn’t just stop. It’s become an addiction of mine to really push myself and see how low of a calorie intake I can have each day while still feeling normal. It’s addicting to have control over this when everything else in my life feels so out of reach.

“y/n?” my head snapped towards the bathroom door, seeing Spencer leaning against the frame. I didn’t realize I had sat down on the end of one of the beds, or that I had just been staring at the wall the entire time. His hair was wet, and he was dressed in a pair of pajama pants and a plain t-shirt. He looked so beautiful, too beautiful to want to be around someone like me.

“What’s going on?” he asked. I’d be stupid to assume that he can’t read me like a book, but I knew that saying anything along the lines of “nothing” wouldn’t be a suitable answer for him.

“I’m just tired.”

“Don’t give me that again, y/n,” he sighed frustratingly and I could feel my heart wrench. Was I annoying him?

“You’ve changed in the past few months. I never see you eat, you’re experiencing dizzy spells, and don’t think I don’t notice how you either avoid your reflection in any reflecting surface or you simply grimace at what you’re seeing. Tell me what’s going on, and don’t lie to me.”

I shook my head, willing myself to stop the tears that were forming and so badly wanted to stream down my face. I quickly turned my head to the opposite side of the room from him, feeling as if I might implode if I made eye contact with him.

“I’m just tired, Spence. Can we please just leave it at that?” I asked. I didn’t mean to sound so weak, I wanted to sound confident as to not add to his suspicions, but I messed that up too.

“I’m not going to leave it at that. Do you think i’m stupid, y/n?” this time I couldn’t help but look at him. His voice carried anger and frustration, and it made a ball of guilt and shame expand in my chest. He held eye contact with me before sighing and pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Of course I don’t think your stu-”

“You must if you don’t think i’ve caught on to what you’re doing to yourself. You’ve lost a good amount of weight within the past few months, you’re not eating, you keep getting dizzy, your moods are constantly changing, and again - I see the way you look at yourself. Now are you going to talk to me or am I just stuck here keeping these assumptions to myself and letting you hurt yourself?”

My eyes widened at hearing all the things he’s noticed. I was definitely the stupid one for assuming he wouldn’t notice. He was staring me down. I tried to hold eye contact but couldn’t.

“I’m sorry,” I spit out. I don’t know what exactly I was apologizing for, but I know I felt guilty. I felt defeated and sad that while I was hurting myself, I was also making Spencer experience it along side with me unknowingly.

“I don’t want you to apologize to me!” His exclamation was the final straw to get the tears running down my face. Could I possibly make this any worse? He clearly knows what going on, and I’m only making him more frustrated the longer I continue to not talk about it, but it was still so embarrassing. I didn’t want to talk out loud about this issue, almost like I felt I didn’t deserve to.

“I want you to tell me you have an eating disorder. I want you to confide in me like I do with you all the time for my problems! I want to hear whats going on in your big, stubborn brain to make you think what you’re doing to yourself is okay!” he approached continued while approaching me. I still sat on the edge of the bed, and he stood right in front of me. I couldn’t help the slight jump at the feeling of his hands gently caressing each side of my face, tilting my head up, forcing me to make eye contact with him.

“I hate how I look,” I softly spoke through tears, “I’m surrounded by beautiful people and I can’t help the embarrassment that floods through me on the daily because I will never be worthy of anyones time. I have rolls and a stomach that hangs over, and I can’t wear shorts or skirts without my thighs chafing and sometimes even my jeans grow holes because they can’t take the tension of having so much fat rub together,” I could feel my regret bubble up with every word I was saying, knowing that whether it be tonight or tomorrow or the day after that, I will regret having talked about any of this out loud, but I can’t stop myself now. It’s been bubbling up in my system for too long.

“I can’t imagine being in a relationship with anyone looking the way I do. I can’t imagine anyone would find me attractive, let alone sexy. I can’t look at myself in the mirror, especially naked, how could I expect anyone else to want to? So i’m trying to lose weight. It might not be the best way, but it’s working. It’s working and it might have some negative side affects, but i need it to work, Spence. I can’t keep looking like this,” now I was frustrated crying. So frustrated that I look the way I do. Frustrated that i’ve never been skinny in my entire life, and that even as a kid I was ridiculed for my weight. Frustrated that what i’m saying won’t make sense to a lot of people, but for me it’s my entire existence. My days revolve around this happening to me, and to others they still just see a fat person.

Spencers grip tightened a bit when I tried to pull away. His thumbs had been slowly helping wipe away the tears that didn’t seem to want to stop. For someone who claims so much that they didn’t want anyone to find out, I sure did feel all too relieved that the secret was out. I didn’t know what I wanted out of this, but by the look on Spencers’ face, at least I knew I have someone that loves and cares for me even while dealing with such a difficult thing.

Without saying anything, he pulls me into his chest. My tears were beginning to subside, but the ache in my chest was still persistent.

“I hate to see you treating yourself like this,” he gently started, each word creating a small vibration on my cheek from the rumbling of his chest as he spoke, “You are so strong. You’ve been dealing with this without talking to anyone? How- how you even began to form these opinions and see yourself like this is a mystery to me, but y/n, you are so so beautiful. I don’t know how else to say that. You are so bright and warm, and you help bring everyone to a better place just by being present. It fucking kills me to hear you say these things about yourself, but I get me just calling you beautiful isn’t going to magically fix things.” I could tell he was thinking as he paused after that last second, “I want to help you. I miss your smiles, i miss going out to grab food with you as a small escape from cases. I miss joking around with you, and not constantly being afraid of watching you to make sure you don’t pass out. I know there’s a certain control factor in what you’re doing, but i want to help you get control on things in a healthier way. I don’t know what else to say other than i want to help you. I don’t want to watch you hurt anymore.”

Silence fell over the room after that. My thoughts were all over the place, and I know his were too. He slowly pulled away from me, bringing his hands back up to my face, forcing me to make eye contact with him again.

“I like the control. I can’t let myself go back to before if i still look like this,” I whispered out.

“I can’t let you continue this, y/n. I can’t sit around knowing you’ve gone hours without eating and that you’re constantly having inner turmoil telling you you’re worth so little. You’re so important. No matter what you look like, you are and always will be so important. You’re beautiful, and smart, and you are just... so important,” he responded, “you don’t deserve all the bad you’re putting yourself through. There’s so many other things that you can gain control over, but hurting yourself like this should not be one of them. I don’t know what or how to help you, that’s what i need you to tell me. What can i do for you? What do you need from me? because you’d be stupid to think that tomorrow once we wake up and get back to working the case that i’m just going to forget all of this. This will be on my mind until you get your life back.”

I couldn’t stop myself from crying again. A warmth spread throughout my body, hearing him being so supportive and the furthest from annoyed or frustrated like i thought anyone would’ve been was soothing my heart and mind. There’s clearly no coming back from this. Spencer knew my darkest secret and he’s here telling me he wants to help. This is my chance to help myself, and i’d be more than stupid not to do it.

“I just need support. I need help. I still so badly want to lose weight, but i need help working through my disordered eating mindset and i don’t know if i can do that on my own. I just... need help,” I couldn’t think of what else i could say, but i could tell by the slow nodding and the small smile that was forming on his face that he knew what i was implying.

“I’m so proud of you, just know that. I’m proud that you talked to me and let me know what’s going on your mind. I’m all yours, y/n. I’ll always be by your side and willing to help, you just have to let me.”

I nodded to which he slowly bent down a bit and kissed my forehead. I was beyond relieved that the conversation had died down. I was relieved that someone else knew what was going on in my mind and that i wasn’t alone anymore.

“Now go get your pajamas on. We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I don’t want you to be too sleep deprived.” he smiled.

Even though there were two beds, it was figured by the both of us that only one was going to be used. Once I got out of the bathroom dressed in my pajamas, Spencer was quick to pull the blankets back next to where he was laying and indicate for me to hop in next to him. I settled down, his arms gently pulling me closer to him, and i rested my head on his chest.

“Thank you Spence, for everything. I don’t know what i would do without you,” I admitted after he turned out the lights and we were both settled and about to fall asleep.

“I love you, y/n,” he whispered, kissing the top of my head. I lifted my body enough to look at him to ensure he was meaning it the way i thought he was, and the look on his face solidified that it was.

“I love you more, Spence.”

#spencer x reader #spencer x you #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader angst #spencer reid x reader eating disorder #spencer reid imagine #criminal minds angst #criminal minds imagine

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tiaragqueen · 4 years

Text

What I Want To Hear

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Villain! Shinsou Hitoshi x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,1k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, possessiveness, murder, death

[Edited]

***

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Baby, you understand me now if sometimes you see that I'm mad. Don't you know no one alive can always be an angel? When everything goes wrong, you see some bad.” - Don’t Let Me Be Misunderstood [Nina Simone]

You knew there was something wrong with you when you felt nothing over your friend’s death. No, perhaps nothing was too strong of a word. You definitely felt sad, but it was too far down, too familiar, and too frequent until you could only gaze emptily at her photo on the TV. The reporter relayed the news of her suicide – at least, that was what the police concluded based on how she ‘willingly’ jumped over the bridge and fell to the gushing river – with professional coldness.

But you knew better than to trust their judgment because it wasn’t true at all. She was brainwashed to plunge into her demise, and who else in this country that possessed brainwashing quirk if not the infamous Shinsou Hitoshi?

Funny how the police didn’t even think about suspecting him or even got suspicious with his sudden absence. Then again, it was proof of how sly he could be when he wasn’t trying to attract attention.

And it was funny, in a somewhat ironic way, that he was doing this just to grab your attention.

Your phone buzzed beside you, the number that had been haunting you like the monster under your bed lit up the display. What a coincidence; just as you were pinning all the recent ‘suicides’ to him, the said man decided to call you. You contemplated the possibility of him being a secret psychic but decided that it was too farfetched and too frightening. Merely imagining the crimes he would’ve committed beyond people's comprehension sent a chill down your spine, one that you hadn’t felt ever since you rejected him and cut off any contact.

One hand hovering over the quivering device, you pondered if it was worth accepting the call. You could almost hear his deep voice, mocking the futility of your predicament and luring you into his grasp. And honestly, after everything you’d watched these past few days, you thought you deserved at least a little bit of a rest.

But, of course, Shinsou was relentless. He would stop at nothing to get whatever he wanted, even if it meant causing a few casualties along the way. The end always justified the means, after all.

“Are you watching the news right now?” Your correct assumption and his fake questioning tone brought you no relief whatsoever, only accelerating your thumping heart. You didn’t respond, but he must’ve known that you were indeed watching because he soon continued. “What do you think?”

“… I think you’re sick.” you finally replied after seconds of recollection and controlling your voice. You didn’t want to give him another display of weakness, not after you called him on one restless midnight and berated him for his blatant disregard of human lives.

“That again?” Shinsou sneered, and you wondered how good it’d feel to strangle him. Your hands twitched, itching to wrap them around his slender neck. Though, knowing him, he probably thought you were being kinky instead. You shuddered when the image of his sultry smirk flashed on your mind. “Oh, dear. You should be more creative with your insults if you want me to stop.”

“But you’re not going to stop, are you?” You didn’t know why you were him asking that. It was rhetorical, anyway, and the answer was simply too obvious. “Not until I have nobody else with me.”

“There!” he suddenly exclaimed as if he’d been waiting for you to say that. “I was beginning to think that maybe you were really dense, after all, especially after your bold action at that time.” He chuckled, the mockery as clear as the sight of your friend’s body being carried on a stretcher.

You gritted your teeth, aware of what he was referring to. “You’re not my parents! You have no right to tell me what to do!” you screamed to the line, ignoring the logical part of your brain that begged you to not fall victim into his provocation.

And you wished you would’ve listened before you let anger clouded your judgment.

“Ah, you’re right.” Shinsou sighed, and you sensed danger crashed on to your shoulders like a meteor. “How could I forget about them? I’m such a forgetful person…” Another tired sigh drifted into your keen ears as though weary of his own self. “Thanks for reminding me, [Name]. I’ll be sure to visit them later.”

Your throat felt constricted, and it took all of your strength to utter a single word; a word that halted the time and bestowed upon you a fragile hope. “Wait.”

Shinsou was quiet, but you knew he was listening. He was always listening, whether you wanted it or not. That was what initially attracted you to him; how he hung on to every word you spouted despite his apathetic face. When other people would’ve been bored and moved on to a more interesting subject, he urged you to continue instead. The amount of attention you got from him – how intense his lidded eyes against your sparkling ones – was flattering, and you hoped he was the one for you.

However, being a naïve young woman you were, you’d made a mistake of believing every single lie that left his enticing lips. You’d made a mistake of believing that he could be your one and only boyfriend, probably even soulmate because everything looked so easy in movies. How quickly the girl got the boy after a single conversation. How love seemed to fix and justify everything even the most questionable acts. How the misunderstood boy immediately became attached to the girl because she showed him kindness that he never got to experience in his life, or hadn’t received in such a long time.

It looked so easy, you forgot that reality was much different than movies. It was more real, more painful, and more severe.

“Yes…? Do you want to say something, [Name]?” he inquired once a moment had passed since you spoke. Opening your mouth, you whispered.

“… I’m sorry.”

The line went mute, and for a split second, you feared he might’ve hung up. However, a pungent – and slightly relieved, if you discerned deeper – chuckle diminished any doubt and anxiety that bubbled on your chest.

“Now that’s what I want to hear.”

Definite silence greeted you this time, and you slowly lowered your phone. Looking at the clock that ticked off the last hour of your finite freedom, the tears you’d been holding in fear of vulnerability finally trickled down your cheeks.

You kept weeping and weeping until the tears had long run out and you were left curling pathetically on the floor. Even when the front door opened and you perceived a hand stroking your back in a mock attempt of consolation, you refused to look up.

Regardless, it didn’t hinder him from greeting you as though you’d been anticipating his arrival.

“Hello, [Name].”

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itsbajabitch · 4 years

Text

You're my favorite thing to watch (Abed x Annie oneshot)

NOTES: So I like the concept of Annie not being skinny and basically just wanted more fat Annie content and was thinking about how I imagine Annie might remember the Abed insult episode stuff (S2E7 “Aerodynamics of Gender”) when they’re dating and get worried that he’s noticing all these ‘flaws’ about her, but never tell her. I imagine this is like season 4ish. There is discussion of body image and insecurity and that kind of thing but nothing graphic or detailed, it’s just a cute Annie x Abed comfort fic. Thank you to @s1owdanc32death for helping me get unstuck on the ending! Sorry if there’s weird grammar or formatting stuff, thats not my forte. Enjoy!

...

It was another movie night in the Trobedison household.

I was perched on the arm of Abed’s chair and Troy sat in his own chair while we watched the Dark Knight Rises. This was a good day, or at least it should have been. Nothing bad happened, I had classes, study group and now I was in the comfort of my own home with my boyfriend and our best friend watching a movie. This should be enough to keep me happy.

It was one of those days though. A day where I felt restless and am hyper-aware of my body. A day where as soon as I woke up the feeling of hunger in my stomach awoke the part of me that makes each bite of toast at breakfast a battle and makes getting dressed take double the normal amount of time because I don’t like the way my body looks in anything. The kind of day that makes trying to sit through a conversation in the cafeteria so panic-inducing that I excuse myself to the library for some paper I have to work on. I know I can’t punish myself for having days like this, it's a part of the recovery process but that doesn’t make it any easier.

And I know Abed can tell something is up, he’s been giving me looks all day, private check-ins. Each time I give him a smile and try to project some semblance of happy and normalcy. I don’t know how to explain that today some of, okay a lot of, my anxiety is Abed related. I don’t know how to have that conversation so I close my eyes tight in an attempt to center myself and when I reopen them I fix my eyes on the screen and try to focus on the movie.

This plan instantly backfires.

On screen Anne Hathaway is in a skin-tight black bodysuit prowling around Gotham and immediately the comparisons and the insults come racing through my mind.

Abed had mentioned wanting to go to a convention together someday, what if he wanted me to dress like that, to be the Selina opposite his Bruce. What would he think seeing my body like that, completely on display with no cardigans or layers to shield me. I can hear it in my head, a ruthless cataloging of all my flaws in his cool monotone. Ever since Shirley, Britta and I used Abed as an insult wielding machine I’ve been thinking of all the things he might notice about me, but not say. It was getting better but then we started dating and I noticed myself thinking about it more and more until today and it’s like a damn broke and everytime I so much as breathe I’m imagining Abed picking apart my every imperfection. And it’s not fair. It’s not fair to myself or to Abed because he’s never done anything in our relationship to make me feel ugly or scrutinized but I can’t stop thinking about it and I don’t know how to stop and I’m to scared to talk to him about it and oh god what if I ruin the best relationship I’ve ever had because I can’t stop obsessing….

“Annie?”

I move suddenly and my eyes jump back to focus. The movie is paused. I feel Abed’s hand on my back and realize Troy and him are both looking at me, concern etched on their faces. I straighten myself and start to sit up off the chair. “Gosh, sorry I just zoned out. I’m not feeling great. I think I’m going to lie down, but you guys should finish the movie. I’ll catch up later when I’m not so out of it” I say, trying to keep my tone even and not look so suspicious as I avoid eye contact and head towards my room.

As soon as the door closes I curl up on my bed and surround myself with my stuffies, clutching one to my chest. I feel like a kid again. I feel like it's high school and I’m spinning out of control using anything I can to try and get that control back. It’s really hard in moments like these to remind myself that I have grown and adapted and I don’t need that kind of control anymore. I sit up and force myself to do a deep breathing exercise. I’m focusing on counting each intake of breath, each hold, and each exhale.

Time passes and I start to feel a little better, more grounded. My phone buzzes on the nightstand and I reach over to check it.

A text from Abed, “water, tea, or special drink?”

I smile and think for a moment before typing my response, “tea” and then, “thank you”

Barely a minute later there is a soft knock on my door and I look up to see Abed entering with two mugs, one gently steaming the other likely his special drink. He sets my mug on a coaster on my nightstand then turns to me,

“Do you want me to stay?”

I nod and start to move over all my stuffies so he can sit beside me. As Abed settles in next to me I grab my mug, blowing lightly before I sip.

“Did you guys finish the movie?” I ask, still looking at my mug.

“No, we decided to pause and wait to finish it another night with you” he answers, no hint of annoyance in his voice.

��We might need to start at the beginning”, I reply sheepishly, “I kind of zoned out”.

“Are you feeling better?” he asks and I finally turn towards him,

“I’m starting to. Thank you for this” I add, gesturing to the tea.

“Of course” he says looking at me contentedly.

I turn to set my mug back on its coaster, “I want to talk about something, but I’m pretty embarrassed and I don’t know exactly how to say it so is it okay if I just start talking and you listen for a bit?”

Abed nods. I take a deep breath and face him.

“So I’ve been anxious lately, while more than usual, and it was really bad today and I guess I’ve just been really self conscious and stressing about how I look and that kind of thing except that now I’m worrying about how you think I look and I know it was a while ago, but I keep thinking about that time Britta and Shirley and I used you as some kind of take down machine, which I’m still sorry for doing that to you, but I can’t stop thinking about all the things you’ve noticed about me and didn’t say because you were being nice like do you really think that my laugh sounds like a piglet or do you think my face is too round or not symmetrical or notice that my clothes don’t always fit right and I know won’t look like Anne Hathaway in a catsuit and I…”

“Annie”

Abed’s voice pulled me back from my rapidly derailing train of thought speech.

Sorry I murmured

“Thank you for sharing that with me. You’re right, I do notice a lot of things about you that I don’t say out loud, but it's not the way you think”

“What do you mean?” I ask trying to regain my breathe

“You’re my favorite thing to watch Annie. You read about 1 page every four minutes when you're studying, that's faster than the national average, and it's faster for non academic reading plus your forehead scrunches when you have to reread a passage. I notice which cardigan you wear most often and the different outfit combinations you favor. I don’t tell people these things because most people find it uncomfortable to be watched that closely, but I can’t help but watch you Annie. And I do notice your body. How soft you feel pressed against me when we watch movies or sometimes the light catches your face and it's so perfect I wish I had a camera on me to try and capture it.”

I couldn’t help but smile. When Abed talks like that, so straightforward and sure, it’s hard to doubt what he’s saying, to not accept it as fact. I leaned forward to embrace him, but he stopped me holding me up instead and I looked up, finding his eyes staring back at mine.

“I am attracted to you, all of you, and I’m sorry if I don’t always verbalize that”.

He held my gaze for a long moment

My eyes watered and he loosened his hold allowing me to rest my head against his chest and wrapping my arms around him

“Thank you” I murmured, not moving my face from against his body. A moment later I part slightly to look back up at him

“I’m attracted to you too”

A smile spreads over his lips and i can’t help but mirror it

We both let ourselves fall back onto the bed, lying down I nestle close to him

“For the record I think you’d make a great Catwoman, catsuit and all”

I hit his arm playfully in response

“I’m serious. I’d never make you cosplay in something that made you feel uncomfortable, but it's all about commitment and character. We both know I don’t look like Batman, but when I put on the costume I commit so it works and Annie you’re so committed to everything you do so you’d be great. You as a Catwoman, hot. hot hot hot”

I grin again, pressing a kiss against his cheek then I whisper into his ear

“Maybe for your birthday”

#abed x annie #annie x abed #annie edison #abed nadir #community #comfort #annie is not skinny #oneshot

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athingthatwantsvirginia · 4 years

Text

A Dash of Morticia

PART THIRTY-SEVEN OF THE DO YOU SEE HER FACE? SERIES

Pairing: Jess Mariano x Original Character (Ella Stevens)

Warnings: discussions of anxiety/panic attacks please read with caution, yelling, mentions of familial abuse, plentiful pop culture references

Word Count: 5K

Summary: After an argument with Jess, Ella storms out of the apartment.

A/N: The descriptions of panic attacks in this chapter and in this fic are based on research and my own experiences. Everyone is different. If you need to talk, I am always here. I just felt Gilmore Girls always kind of ignored Jess’s trauma, and the after-effects it would have had on him.

A few stray streaks of blue paint had dried on her forearms, but Ella was eager to get home and had done a haphazard job of washing up after class. She had sent the kids home with their final projects, the extra time at the end of the day used for free painting time. It was bittersweet to say goodbye to the kids she had spent all three months with, exploring all different mediums through the summer art program at the college. But she was glad to be only two weeks away from the beginning of her final year of grad school. The end of her time as a student was so close, she could almost taste it. Still, though, she found it hard to believe at some point her life wouldn’t be dictated by study guides and test scores.

Her keys stuck slightly in the lock, as they always did, as she entered the apartment. The clock read half past six already; Ella had been too caught up clearing out her room at the college to leave anywhere near on time. The walk home had been calming, the sky just beginning to turn a pinkish orange hue. Her heart was light as she set her keys on the counter and bag on the coat rack. Jess sat on the couch with the third draft of his book in his hands, a crease of concentration between his brows and a red pen in his hand. He hadn’t looked up at the sound of her coming in, but she wasn’t surprised. Lately, he had been totally absorbed in his work.

Over the course of the summer, she had watched his nerves growing over the new project. Though she did her best, she found it hard to understand why. He had already sent preliminary published copies out to certain vendors, and most responses were enthusiastic. The more she found him startling awake in the middle of the night, or snapping at herself or their friends over the smallest things, or growing quiet at things he would normally have spoken to her for hours about, the more she suspected his behavior had little to do with the book. Even when he wasn’t working on his writing, he was stand-offish. Distant. It was though he was somewhere else. A place which made his hands shake and his eyes dart around anxiously.

She chewed at her thumb nail as she approached the couch. The longer she felt out of the sync with him, the more frustrated she grew. If it had been anybody else, she would have told him off months ago. But she knew she needed to be patient. Each time she felt the old, familiar anger rise in her throat, she reminded herself of where they had come from and the way he always listened. But she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit her faith in his ability to recognize what had been going on with him for more than just the past few months was wavering.

Letting out a small sigh, she plopped down on the couch next to him and ran her nail-bitten fingers through the ends of his hair, her hand on the back of his neck.

“Hey, cutie,” she said quietly.

Still, he didn’t look over at her. But he let a small smile cross his lips. “Hey.”

“We got Thai last week, so do you wanna get Chinese or Mexican tonight?” she asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not that hungry.”

Ella furrowed her brows and scoffed in disbelief. “But we always get takeout on Friday. It’s universal law!”

“Well, you pick,” he said, underlining something on the page.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she took a long pause and a deep breath. “Jess, just take a break. You’ll make yourself nauseous reading it over and over again.”

“You’re one to talk,” he shot back distractedly.

“At least look at me,” she continued, insistent.

He heaved a sigh and finally tore his eyes away from the words. He smacked his lips together and raised his eyebrows expectantly as he faced her. “I’m looking at you.”

Ella took a look back at him. She just couldn’t help it as she rolled her eyes and stood up from the couch. “God, you’re such a dick sometimes.”

“Great, so I guess we’re fighting now?” he asked, tossing the manuscript on the coffee table in annoyance.

Ella turned back to him before she could make it to the bedroom, crossing her arms over her floral t-shirt. She huffed out a breath. “Yeah, I guess if that’s what it takes to get you to talk to me.”

“Okay, Norma Desmond, since apparently we’re acting like we don’t talk to each other every day, what do you wanna talk about?” He shot her a thin, sardonic smile. “You wanna talk about how you’re allowed to get invested in your work but for some reason I’m not?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. For a moment, she thought about apologizing and letting it go. But, then, she realized she didn’t know what she would be apologizing for. The gnawing hunger in her stomach after a long day of work did nothing to help her mood, either. She’d come home excited, ready for some dinner and to celebrate her last day of summer camp. And Jess had played the part of the storm cloud over her head once again. She’d had enough of it.

“Y’know what?” she wagered.

“What?”

“You don’t get to do this,” she said, shaking her head. “You don’t get to act like you wouldn’t feel the same way if I was doing this. If I was barely saying a word and being a jackass to everyone and having nightmares almost every single night!”

Jess ran a hand over his mouth and rose from his seat. “Oh, I don’t get to, huh?”

“No, you don’t!” she said, voice raised. “This thing of ours is a two-way street! You can’t shut me out like this!”

He sighed. “Eleanor-”

“Stop it, Jess. Just stop bullshitting me. Just tell me what’s really going on.”

“Look, I’m sorry if this book thing is bothering you, but I-”

“It’s not about the book!” she yelled, cutting him off and throwing her hands at her side in anger. “I know publishing a book takes time, okay? Hell, I’ve edited the book twice already! But something is up with you! Something’s been up with you for months! Just spit it the fuck out!”

“Nothing is up with me!” he countered, matching her volume. His brow was heavy with agitation. “I’m just trying to get the damn book published! What can’t you understand about that?!”

She shook her head again. “I am so sick of you making excuses, Jess! Just tell me! If you tell me, I can help you, alright?”

Something passed across his face and Ella could practically see the walls go up around his heart. “You are so much like Luke sometimes.”

“What are you talking about?” she asked, exhausted and dejected.

“Maybe I don’t have a problem, maybe you have a problem,” he said, crossing his own arms defiantly. “Maybe all of this is just so you can ignore how upset you are about what happened at Adam’s graduation.”

Ella almost took a physical step back, surprised at the accusation. “I’m not upset about that.”

“Really?” he scoffed. “Have you called your brother since then? Or Lane? Or anyone in Stars Hollow? Or have you just been too busy here trying to create problems to solve instead of the ones you already have? I mean, just look at your hands! You’ve barely got any nails left!”

“Stop trying to change the fucking subject!” she spat out, a bite growing in her voice. “What the hell are you so afraid of? Why can’t you just tell me what’s wrong so we can figure it out?”

“I’m not a project!” Jess shouted. “You can’t fix me, Eleanor!”

“I’m not trying to fix you, Jess! I’m trying to figure out what’s wrong...I’m trying to get you to talk to me before I wake up one morning and you’re gone!”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. They stood across from each other, the coffee table in between. Outside, the light continued to wane. Jess’s face flushed in embarrassment and anger.

“That was five years ago! I was a kid! My dad showed up after-”

“I know!” she shrieked. “I know! Believe me, I know! You were upset, so that made it okay for you to leave me without saying a fucking word, I know!”

“That’s not what I said!” Jess matched her volume, breathing hard.

“You didn’t have to!” she shot back. “And maybe I wouldn’t have to worry about it if you weren’t pulling your Holden Caulfield bullshit again, but you are! This is just like it was then! But, guess what? I’ve been trying so hard, but I can’t deal with it anymore! I’m not doing it again!”

His eyes darkened and a frown deepened on his face as she stormed towards the door. “Where are you going?!”

“I don’t know! Maybe to California!” she growled, tugging on her converse and throwing her bag over her shoulder again. “When you’re ready to grow the fuck up and be honest with me, then call me! If not, then just leave me the fuck alone! You’ve been getting pretty good at that recently!”

The door shut with a hard slam! behind her before Jess had a chance to respond. As soon as she was out of sight, his chest became tight. Out of breath, he felt his heart beating hard against his ribs. He almost ran after her, but he chose to relish in his anger at her instead. Clenching and unclenching his fists, he struggled to decide what to do with himself. After a moment, he looked down off the balcony and saw her car was gone. Satisfied at the low chance of running into her on the way out, he grabbed his keys and stomped out of the apartment, a five-dollar bill burning a hole in his pocket. A pack of cigarettes from the corner store was the only concrete thing on his mind.

. . .

Thumbing through Mabel’s copy of A Streetcar Named Desire, Ella tried to quiet the restless buzzing of her nerves. Almost two whole days without a call. Not that she’d expected him to come grovelling to her, begging for forgiveness. But she hadn’t expected to stay at Mabel’s the entire weekend. The air was balmy and the sky was full of thunderheads, but no raindrops had yet fallen. There was the constant threat of a summer thunderstorm, but it hadn’t yet come. She was sprawled across the light pink couch, doing her best to concentrate on the words in front of her.

Outside the window, she caught a flash of lightning out of the corner of her eye. A rumble rolled through the air, vibrating the ground. Ella sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose for a moment and staring up over at the vintage French ad hung up behind the couch. The apartment was beautiful; decked out in feminie floral patterns and extravagant accents. Mabel had welcomed Ella with open arms, even after Ella insisted she would just find a motel or something. Or perhaps go back to her and Jess’s apartment. But the idea of stepping foot through the door without Jess calling her made her blood boil. She could no longer feign ignorance, especially when she knew something was wrong. Tough love. That’s what she told herself. He just needed a dose of it, along with a bit of his own medicine.

His words echoed in her head. It was true, she hadn’t called anyone in Stars Hollow since the graduation. She didn’t care to. The thought of ever visiting the town again made her stomach do a flip, as did the thought of seeing her father once more. She had hardly had time to decipher what her actual feelings were, between the summer camp job and her worry over Jess. She only knew they were unpleasant, and she didn’t much care to dwell on them. Was it worth it to think about it more? Was she just projecting? Certainly she wasn’t. Something was up with Jess. It had been for a while and there was no denying it. But she couldn’t shake the pit of guilt in her stomach. Part of her knew he was right; at least somewhat. It would all have been better if she had been able to talk it out with Jess, if they were able to press pause on the fight somehow and just be best friends. But they couldn’t. It was the hardest part of being away from him, and it made her feel even more bitter.

Everything would be so much easier if he didn’t loom so large in her heart. She would care less about her constant, sinking worry about him leaving. About him realizing he wasn’t happy and taking off for somewhere new without a word. Or any other consequence of whatever his recent problem had been. His inability to open up to her as he once had. An amorphous, nondescript fear which was recently always whispering in the back of her mind. Having the time to ruminate on her thoughts for such long periods of alone time, with Mabel off at work, seemed to only be making her feel more conflicted. And Ella was aware actors sometimes had erratic hours, but Mabel had been at Sunday night rehearsal for five hours.

Her sketchbook had not seen such angry, horrifying drawings in a significant number of months. At times, the thought that this was the fight which would break them up crept into her mind. Surely he would be able to find someone less quarrelsome, who would be more patient for him. She wasn’t it.

The sound of her cell phone broke through her train of furious and fearful thoughts. She jumped slightly, startled at the noise. She put the book aside without saving the page; it was no use trying to read. Her heart jumped into her throat for a moment, wondering if Jess had somehow managed to call her just as she was thinking about him. But when she made it to the kitchen table and looked at the screen, she deflated. It was Matthew.

“Hello?” she answered, hand on one hip of her faded blue dress, borrowed from Mabel. Mabel was taller than her, and the dress hung loosely on her frame. The only clothes she’d brought with her were the ones on her back as she left the apartment, now stale and stuffed into her purse.

“Ella? Are you still at Mabel’s?” Matthew asked, voice with a slight, frantic edge.

She furrowed her brows. “Yeah? Why?”

“Look, Jess said you guys are fighting. So, I don’t know and I...can you get over here?” Matthew said, struggling to get the words out.

Ella felt her nerves beginning to course through her veins. “What’s wrong?”

He sighed through the receiver. “We were at Truncheon having a few drinks. Everything was normal. But then Jess started getting really upset and now he’s saying he can’t breathe and he’s shaking like crazy. But he won’t let us take him to the ER or anything, and-”

“Okay, just hang on. I’ll be there in ten minutes. Try to get him to drink some water and tell him I’m coming,” Ella instructed him, phone between her ear and her shoulder as she slipped her shoes on and grabbed her bag.

“Is he okay? He said he was fine, but-”

“Yes, Matthew. He’s fine. Just don’t panic and keep him calm until I get there,” she continued hastily, locking Mabel’s door and shutting it behind her. She’d have to shoot Mabel a text as soon as she got off the phone. She was just starting to pick up on the slight slur in Matthew’s words. He could handle his alcohol much better than Chris or Jess could, but she still felt herself doubting whether Matthew was capable of helping Jess through a panic attack at all if both of them were plastered.

“I’ll try,” Matthew said, noncommittal, before bidding her goodbye and hanging up.

Her face was set in determination as she rushed down the stairs of the apartment building, texting as she went. As she hurried out the front door and tried not to let her car keys slip through her fingers, she felt the first drops of rain finally falling.

. . .

The drizzle had turned to a downpour by the time Ella made it to Truncheon, nearly tripping on the sidewalk in her worn converse as she ran from her car to the front door. She was met with the aged, familiar smell of the main room as she entered, immediately heading for the stairs. Her steps were heavy and she was damp and out of breath when she made it to the door of the apartment. She didn’t bother knocking. Instantly, she saw both Chris and Matthew huddled together across the living room, casting nervous glances at Jess, who sat on the couch with his hand on his chest. Several empty green beer bottles sat on the coffee table, glowing lowly in the yellowish light of the lamps. A full glass of water, untouched, also sat on the table directly in front of Jess. Ella shook her head softly and clicked her tongue in concern, throwing her bag down by the door and going to Jess.

His eyes were glassy, and she saw a couple tear tracks shining on his stubbly cheeks. The words tumbled from his mouth in short, panting bursts. “Elle...you...we’re fighting...don’t-”

“Hey, Mariano, don’t worry about it, okay?” she said, offering him a small smile. She sat down on the couch next to him, so close their knees were almost brushing each other. She kept her tone and face even as she looked over her shoulder at Chris and Matthew. “How long has he been like this?”

Chris blinked at her hard a couple of times before processing her question. He squinted down at his watch. “About twenty minutes. Maybe more.”

Ella nodded, facing Jess again. She could smell the scent of beer wafting off of him. It was the drunkest she had seen him in a long time. “Okay, that means the worst is probably over. And you’ll be fine in just a few minutes.”

He shook his head, hands trembling violently. Chills rolled through his body, making him shake more. The palms of his hands were slick with sweat. His chest was tight and painful, and there was a wild fear in the back of his mind that he was having a heart attack. He had never had a panic attack which felt so intense before. Intoxication certainly wasn’t helping. When it first started, he had truly wondered if he was about to die.

“I…” he began, swallowing harshly, “I told them...not to call you...I-I don’t…”

“Cutie, don’t worry, okay?” she repeated, soothing and slow. “Can I touch you?”

“Y-yeah,” he replied after a moment, shaking so bad his teeth were nearly chattering.

Her kind smile grew a little as she cupped his face with her hands, wiping his tears with the pads of her thumbs. “Hey, just listen to me. Everything is fine. You are wasted. And you’re having a panic attack. But everything’s okay. You are okay. All you have to do is breathe, Jess.”

“I can’t-”

Before he could continue, she shifted her hands from his face to his wrists. Gently, she brought his hands to her chest and began breathing, long and slow, just as she had at the courthouse months earlier. He began to mimic the rise and fall of her chest as soon as he recognized her movements.

“Breathe with me, honey,” she said. Then, she began counting in fives as she inhaled and exhaled. She could feel Jess’s tremors with his hands in her grasp.

About five minutes of breathing, and the fire in his lungs finally began to burn out. He was still having trouble catching himself and his breath, but the tears had stopped. He did his best to choke out even words.

“I’m fine, Elle,” he said.

“You sure?” she asked, releasing his wrists.

His gaze was wavering, but he nodded and sniffled, running a hand over his mouth. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Good. You did so good, James Dean,” she murmured, leaning in with her hands on either side of his face again, pressing a long kiss to his forehead. She smoothed circles over his back as he turned forwards again, finally taking a few sips of water. From their spot across the room, Matthew and Chris still looked unsure, nervous. Ella shot them another smile. “Everything’s fine, guys. Thank you for calling me.”

“And here’s hoping you’re both too drunk to remember this tomorrow,” Jess muttered, downing the rest of his water and staring down at the carpet with a flush of embarrassment reddening his cheeks.

Matthew only shrugged sheepishly.

“Oh, I definitely am,” Chris said, nodding. His eyes were bloodshot against his pale skin, and he had a goofy grin on his lips.

Ella rolled her eyes. “Shocker.”

Breathing a sigh, Jess rubbed drunkenly at his eyes with the heels of his hands.

After another moment of slightly awkward silence, she rose from her seat and held a hand out to Jess. “Let’s go home.”

Jess bit at his bottom lip, his mind swimming. “Really?”

“Really.”

. . .

In the morning, rain was still pattering steadily on the roof of the apartment building. Drops raced down the window in the bedroom, glistening with muddled gray light from the cloudy sky. The constant shower warmed Ella’s ears, mixing with the whisper of her name, as she crawled out of her dreamy sleep. For a moment, her heart sank into her stomach. She wondered briefly if Jess was waking her up because of another nightmare, another panic attack. But her fear dissipated as she cracked her eyes open, blinking a few times, and saw Jess sitting upright on the side of the bed, facing her.

He didn’t look particularly rested, but his brown eyes were clear with sobriety, if red. She could see the slightly greenish tint of his skin. The severity of his hangover didn’t surprise her. After practically dragging him up the stairs, he’d collapsed on the bed before she could shove any pills down his throat. The best she could do was prop him on his side, pillows in a protective wall behind his back as he snored. The recovery position. She remembered it from the times he’d put her to bed.

“Hey,” he said quietly as she finally awoke.

She cleared her throat, sitting up against the headboard. “Hi.”

Licking his lips, Jess brought one nervous hand out from behind his back. In it, he held a bouquet of dark purple tulips. Slowly, she took them, raising a doubtful eyebrow. It was still pretty early, and she wondered if the sun had even been up whenever he’d gone out to buy them for her.

“There’s thirteen,” Jess said as she inspected the flowers. “For good luck.”

She laughed half-heartedly. “Thank you,” she said, taking one last look at them before placing them on the nightstand beside her. “Pretty Nora Ephron. Even for you.”

“Look,” Jess began, glancing away from her with shame. Her voice didn’t have any anger, but also held no amusement. She sounded tired in a way that struck him and made even more guilt weigh on his shoulders. “I’m really sorry. About all of it. I know I’ve been kind of a wackjob. I’ve been freaking out and having those nightmares and-”

“That’s not anything you need to be sorry for,” Ella interjected, tone firm but not unpleasant. Her face was stoic as she waited for him to continue, raking her fingers through her hair.

He swallowed thickly, then went on. “And I’ve been shutting you out and...I’m sorry I didn’t call. I started to about a million times, but I just...I didn’t want you...to be disappointed in me. Though I know you already are. I wasn’t ready to...have to hear it.”

She felt slightly taken aback. Such naked, plain speech seemed like a rarity for Jess. Usually, his inner world was cloaked in metaphor and wit as a makeshift mask. But, in the gloomy light of the morning, she was seeing him just as he was. And, this time, he was actively deciding to show her.

“Jess, I’m not…” she paused for a moment to take a deep breath and collect her words, “I’m not disappointed in you. Not even a little bit. I’m just...I’m so worried about you. And it’s fucking...it’s just so fucking difficult to have to sit back and watch you...put yourself through something you don’t have to be going through alone.”

“I know,” he said solemnly, nodding.

“And I know I push you. I mean, I’ve pretty much always pushed everyone. I’m sorry I’m not patient enough with you sometimes,” she said, biting at the inside of her cheek. “But, seriously, Mariano, I feel like I kept quiet as long as I could on this one.”

Jess let a small, fond smirk pass over his lips. “I know, Stevens. It’s not your fault. I didn’t mean to...sometimes it’s just hard for me to actually listen when you’re telling me something I don’t wanna hear.”

She matched his smile. “Well, that’s because you’re a jackass.”

He shrugged. “I’ve made my peace with it.”

Ella chuckled in response, smoothing her hands over the gray quilt which still covered her lower half. “As valiant of an effort as the flowers and the apology were, Jess, I’m still more interested in what’s wrong. Whatever it is...it’s okay. Just...please tell me.”

Nodding again, Jess ran a hand over his mouth. He brought his legs up from the side of the bed and sat cross-legged in front of her, their knees only inches apart. “Ever since Doula was born...I just can’t stop thinking about my mom and...everything that happened in New York. I mean, when Liz was pregnant it wasn’t great. But since we met Doula? Since I actually got to see her...it’s just been so much worse. When I think about her having to...fight with a stepdad, or get left with some stranger across the hall, or wander the library alone all day while Liz goes off to work or God knows where else…”

Ella placed a hand on the knee of his jeans as he paused. He bit down hard on his lip again. He didn’t feel as though he deserved that kind of affection from her after what had happened over the past few days. But he swallowed down the nerves which rose in his throat and continued.

“I just keep remembering and thinking about it and...I can’t get it to stop sometimes. And now I’m even remembering in my sleep...I’m remembering so clearly. It’s like...there’s never gonna be an end. I’m never gonna actually get away from it all,” he explained sheepishly, fighting the lump in his throat and the way the tips of his ears burned.

“Hey, James Dean,” she said, and he finally looked up to meet her eyes again. “You did get away from it. You did. I know it doesn’t feel like that sometimes, but you did. No matter how bad you’re feeling, you’re safe now. We’re both safe now.”

He scoffed out a doubtful, tearful laugh, but managed to keep himself together. Sometimes, the simplest reminders hit him the hardest, shocked him the most.

“And we can figure this out, okay?” Ella continued earnestly. “I know you still don’t have insurance, but this is a big city. There’s bound to be some kind of free service somewhere. And even if we can’t find anything right away, I’m always here. You can talk to me. Whatever it is. Whenever it is. I’m not gonna be as good as an actual counselor, but I’ll do my best until we can find you one. I’ll do some research.”

“Okay.”

“Seriously, Jess,” she said sternly. “I need you to hear me on this. I want you to talk to me. Nothing you could say would disappoint me, or anything like that. I mean, I know you got attacked by a swan. What could be more embarrassing than that?”

He rolled his eyes, shaking his head a little, though he couldn’t hide his amusement. “My God, every chance you can get...”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” she said. “But it’s just too easy sometimes.”

“Says the girl who once took a bite out of a decorative apple.”

“Says the boy who took a whole month to figure out how to pull a coin out of my ear,” she retorted.

Then, with a moment of giggles exchanged between them, Jess’s expression shifted back to one of sincerity. “I’m sorry, Elle.”

“It’s okay,” she replied easily. “I’m sorry, too. I know it’s not like it was in high school. I know you’re not gonna leave. I trust you. Sometimes...I just get so caught up and I don’t...sometimes I forget who we are now and I go back to being the little girl whose mom died overnight and whose dad never calls.”

Jess tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear with an affectionate gaze. “But, hey, she turned out to be the next Georgia O’Keefe. With a dash of Morticia Addams.”

Ella shrugged. “Her boyfriend exaggerates, but she’s trying.”

“Thank you,” he said after a comfortable beat of silence. “For last night and...pretty much everything else since the day we met.”

She snorted a laugh at his hyperbole, rolling her eyes. “Don’t mention it.”

#jess mariano #jess #mariano #gilmore girls #gilmore #gilmore girls fanfiction #jess mariano fanfiction #jess mariano imagines #jess mariano x oc fanfiction #jess mariano x oc #gilmore girls au #gilmore girls oc #jess mariano au

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pinayelf · 5 years

Text

An Unexpected Morning

Pairing: Cullen x Imryll Lavellan Rating: T Summary: Where being too stubborn to rest ends in first kisses and confessions. Note: This is a re-write of "A Little Bit of Healing". The concept is the same, it's about my Immy’s first kiss with Cullen because I headcanon it differently than it happens in the game. However, the first fic was written before I'd fully fleshed Imryll out, so this one is closer to her voice and personality.

Imryll was rarely up before sunrise. If she were, it’s because she couldn’t sleep. A sunless sky usually drove weariness to her bones, but not that particular morning.

She loaded her medical basket with bandages, some health poultices and freshly-made salves. She made her way across the courtyard, dewy grass crunching beneath her slippers. It’s chillier in the morning, she realized, chastising herself for not bringing her shawl.

The infirmary would be quiet at this hour, but instead, it emanated sounds of commotion and an orange glow from lanterns. Imryll pushed the heavy door forward and was met with a buzzing crowd of healers and wounded soldiers.

A full infirmary always brought a wave of anxiety to Imryll. It was a silly thought - but that anxiety was rooted in guilt that it was her fault these soldiers were injured. Logically, they knew of the dangers when enlisting, and logically they knew what fighting for the Inquisition entailed.

And there was Cullen, who'd taken a terrible blow at the Shrine of Dumat.

That specific worry etched a special kind of fear in her chest, one she didn't want to think on yet.

If he had died from his injuries she would know by now, right?

But alas. The mind sometimes was a terrible thing.

And with that, Imryll somehow felt her presence was required there. The surgeon, Fiona’s healers and Vivienne had all assured her the day before that all she needed to do was rest. But she’s slept for a day straight now. The glugginess from sleep and anxiety only rendered her restless.

Imryll made her way through the maze of healers and volunteers, scoping the first floor for the surgeon. Surely, she’d need help. Imryll glanced at the rows of bedrolls placed on either side of the room, wincing at the sight of exhausted and injured people and pretending she wasn't seeking out Cullen. Haven’s fall had been worse, but the sight of it all twisted into guilt in her stomach.

With no sign of the surgeon (or Cullen) on the first floor, she made her way up the stairs, nearly bumping into a frazzled young Circle mage carrying a tray of antiseptic.

The second floor seemed quieter, Imryll thought, as she softened her footsteps. Usually, the second floor was reserved for those in critical condition, or any that needed overnight watch. The quiet gave her hope that nobody was gravely injured.

She moved to open the door, when the sound of a conversation stopped her in her tracks.

“You must rest. Your troops will survive one day with a substitute.”

“Lieutenant Yvonne is down there with a sprained knee. It’ll have to be her substitute, Corinth, and I admire the lad, but he’s not very-”

“Oh for Maker’s sake, Cullen,” Cassandra huffed, “They won’t all fall over the mountain if you’re not there.”

So he was all right, thank Mythal. Imryll felt her heart thud.

“It’s not just the troops. The Shrine of Dumat mission has left a hefty stack of unfinished reports,” Cullen argued.

Imryll heard Cassandra huff again.

“I think Leliana will understand that you can barely stand from your injuries.”

“It’s just bruised ribs! I have no fracture!”

“That’s because one of the healers managed to fix it before it became one!”

“I’m sure if I just sit down in my office-”

“Oh forget this,” Cassandra groaned, “I’m getting the surgeon to tell you exactly what you need to do, and maybe you’ll listen to her.”

Imryll quickly backed from the door as Cassandra’s footsteps approached. The door swung open as Imryll pressed herself against the wall behind it, praying to go unnoticed.

“Inquisitor?”

Imryll sucked in a breath.

So that didn’t work.

“I was worried about all the extra hours the healers are putting in,” she replied, stepping forward. She feigned stretching her neck to peek behind the door to see…

“There’s nothing to be worried about, Josephine heard your concerns and made sure they’re being paid extra for the work,” Cassandra replied.

“Ahh,” Imryll said, shuffling her feet, “Um. But an extra hand is always needed. I’ll be willing.”

Cassandra shrugged.

“You’ve hardly been back from the mission, I assure you that you can rest. We have it handled.”

Imryll bit her lip.

“I’m rested, it’s just that, I feel I should be here, helping. It’d be good for the soldiers to see their Inquisitor lending a hand.”

“Just as stubborn as him,” Cassandra chuckled.

Imryll felt her cheeks redden.

“Huh?”

Cassandra shrugged off her amused look.

“Nothing,” she attempted to say plainly, “You know what? Maybe you can talk some sense into Cullen over there. But seeing as neither of you want to rest after a harrowing mission, I doubt you’d get anywhere.”

Before Imryll could respond, Cassandra jogged down the stairs. She sighed, straightened the basket in her hand and for a moment contemplated to follow Cassandra downstairs.

But...Cullen.

That damn shemlen.

She knocked softly against the ajar door.

“Who is it?” a weary voice asked.

She took a deep breath.

“Imryll.”

“Oh,” Cullen said, a sudden change in tone, “Come in, please.”

Imryll pushed the door open, revealing Cullen sitting on a bedroll in the corner. He looked worse for wear, but infinitely better than how she’d last seen him on the way back. His torso had been bandaged, his face littered with fading bruises. His curly hair fell in messy wisps against his face.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

He attempted to straighten himself against the wall, wincing as he pushed himself to sit properly.

“I’m all right,” he replied, tightness in his voice. “You should be resting.”

Imryll stepped forward approached him, asking for silent permission to. He nodded.

“I’ve rested enough, I think,” she said, placing the basket on the foot of his bedroll. “I want to help.”

Cullen suppressed a groan before turning to face her.

“You don’t need to,” he said, failing at hiding the pain, “I can sit up.”

He winced again from his second attempt at pushing himself upright.

“Cullen,” she continued, “You were badly injured. You were so pale on the way back from the Shrine of Dumat.”

“Nothing I can’t shake off,” he insisted, “Perhaps I can’t do drills but I can finish reports. I don’t want to be without use, I can’t just-”

“Cullen.”

He fell quiet and caught her eye. Something in his face softened.

“If you don’t rest and take care of your injury, it’ll get worse,” she said, “And then you’ll really be of no use.”

“I-,” he began, before finally letting himself fall back against his pillow. He read her face, seriousness of her concern finally dawning on him.

“Truthfully, I’m in a lot of pain,” he admitted, breathing heavily.

Imryll patted the empty space by his side.

“May I sit here?”

Cullen shifted his position to face her.

“Of course,” he said eagerly.

Imryll watched Cullen’s cheeks flush as she sat down.

“If you would like, I can help ease the pain,” she suggested, “The injury will get better with rest and salves, but temporary pain relief could be good.”

“How?” Cullen asked, struggling to lift himself by his elbows.

“I could do a healing spell if it’s all right with you,” she said.

“You d-don’t need to,” he said, “It’s a lot to ask.”

“It’s not. I want to,” she replied, turning red at her own words. She looked down at her hand, realizing how close it was to his.

A quiet moment passed before Cullen finally said, “All right.”

Imryll shot him a warm smile that he returned. It did nothing to slow down her racing heart.

"I'm sorry, but you'd have to sit up a bit," she instructed.

"Oh, of course," Cullen replied, slowly lifting himself up on his elbows again.

"Is this good?" he asked. His eyes were fixed on her's.

Imryll gulped silently.

"Yes."

She lifted her hands, suddenly conscious about how sweaty her palms have become.

"I'll just have to peel the top part of the bandages," she informed, hesitating for a moment.

She looked up to find Cullen's breathless gaze on her.

"Cullen?"

His entire face reddened.

"Oh, I apologize. Y-yes, go ahead."

Imryll carefully unwrapped the first layer, taking care in watching for blood that'd stuck to Cullen's skin. There was a nervous silence between them, punctuated by the sound of Cullen's soft breathing.

Imryll wondered if he could hear her heartbeat.

Finally, she'd unwrapped enough to expose the large bruise on his chest - all deep blacks and blues. Imryll shook away the memory of seeing Cullen's chest plate indented after he was knocked back.

The healer who'd initially patched him up managed well. But still she could imagine the kind of pain a bruise so several could cause, if Cullen's ragged breathing was any indication.

"I'll be as gentle as possible, all right?"

"I trust you," Cullen stated.

Imryll pressed her palms softly against his chest. He let out a soft gasp at the initial contact. Then, Imryll closed her eyes and channeled the magic at her core until the cool, light feeling of the healing spell surged through her veins, making its way to her palms and onto Cullen's chest.

She felt him relax and release a sigh of relief. Imryll pushed the remaining wisps of the spell forward until the last traces of the cool light left her body. She opened her eyes, to find Cullen, staring in awe, his amber eyes wet.

"Are you all right?"

Cullen was now able to push himself upright with ease, tension gone from his body.

"More than all right," he said, gaze soft and thankful. Imryll looked down to see that the deep blacks and blues of the giant bruise had faded slightly.

"I'm glad," Imryll replied, realizing the proximity of their faces.

"That was amazing," Cullen said, voice a quiet whisper.

"Was nothing but a simple spell," Imryll said, watching Cullen's eyes travel down to her lips. Somehow, gravity, or something else pulled her closer.

"You're amazing," he continued.

The way he looked at her was dizzying - lighting a flame of need in her belly. Imryll let gravity take her until Cullen was out of focus and their lips pressed together.

Oh.

Cullen pulled back for a moment, the remorse in his eyes threatening to break Imryll's heart.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have-"

"Don't be," she quickly intervened, "I want to."

Something sparked in Cullen's eyes before kissing her again, this time with less hesitation.

Imryll sighed at the feeling of his warm lips against her's, reciprocating his kiss.

She pressed herself closer, but careful to not irritate his bruise, and he responded by snaking an arm around her waist. They felt sturdy, strong and warm.

She reached to cup his face and tilted her head to deepen the kiss. She felt him moan against her mouth as she gently nibbled at his bottom lip. Then, his hands trailed up at the small of back and softly up her spine. It sent a warmth down her stomach, making her sigh into their languid kisses.

She could see the brightness of the sun rising through her closed eyes, aware how the light from the window now bathed them. When Cullen wrapped his other arm around her, she let herself melt against him, relishing the feeling of his warm body against her.

She wondered how far she'd let herself get lost in this shemlen's arms when a cough from behind suddenly pulled them apart.

They turned to find Cassandra and the surgeon, looking petrified, at the doorway.

"I apologize, your worship, commander," the surgeon said in a panic and raced back downstairs.

Cassandra stared at them for a moment before managing to say "I uh, apologize greatly for the intrusion."

She quickly turned on her heel to leave, but not before Imryll caught a glimpse of satisfaction on her face. Cassandra softly shut the door, leaving them alone once more.

She turned to face Cullen again. His eyes twinkled at the sight of her.

"T-that was nice," he managed, arms still wrapped around her. Imryll did not want him to let go.

"It was," she replied, smile spreading slowly across her face.

They pressed their foreheads together, locking eyes before laughing softly.

"I wanted that for so long," Cullen confessed, his hand gently playing with strands of her hair, "Imryll...I…"

Hesitation flickered in his eyes - but quickly turned into determination.

"I love you."

Imryll was sure had she been standing, her knees would have given in.

She'd daydreamed of this, more times than she'd like to admit and in every one of those daydreams she'd managed to say something. But there they were bathed in moonlight, rather than sat at a corner in an infirmary.

She was rendered speechless, eyes wide, as worry began to etch itself in Cullen's face.

Say something.

Perhaps her already unplanned morning was symbolic.

"I love you too," she replied, heart racing so fast she was nearly breathless.

The utter joy that shone through Cullen's smile was brighter than the sunrise enveloping them.

Their lips met in another kiss, somehow sweeter than the one before.

#cullen rutherford #cullavellan #cullen x inquisitor #inquisitor lavellan #cullenmance #imryll lavellan #cullen x imryll #my fics #this is so corny fjidjivfd

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do-not-call-me-meathead · 5 years

Text

aposiopesis (part 7)

My Orphan Black fic on AO3

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6

@agoddamnsupernova

Cosima felt restless at the Rabbit Hole. She received phone call after phone call from Delphine, but she declined every time. She knew that it wasn’t the blonde’s fault that Siobhan was dead, but she couldn’t help but still be furious at the woman. She wondered if there would have been something they could have done if Delphine had just been honest with everyone. She wondered if they could have saved her.

Siobhan.

(Besides, she also felt guilty. About Sarah and her unresolved feelings for the punk. She wondered if this was cheating.)

She wished she could have been at the funeral. She wished she could have been at the wake. She wished she could be holding hands with Sarah and reassuring her that everything was going to be okay. (And deep down, she needed reassurances too).

When she joined a group video call with Sarah, she wasn’t expecting more bad news. She hadn’t expected Helena to have been kidnapped or Gracie somehow being involved. She had hoped that with the release of all the Neolution shit to the public, they would have a chance to breathe. To cope. To heal.

Sarah sounded stressed, alert, and angry. She had already lost her mother. She couldn’t lose her twin too.

............

The plan was almost too insane, even for Cosima. Sarah was a talented con-artist, but Cosima couldn’t imagine that she could convince Mathieson that she was Rachel for that long of a period. She wanted to believe that everything was going to be okay but...

The waiting was the worst part. Her head swarmed with worst-case scenarios. She knew there was nothing she could do, but she felt like she was twiddling her thumbs while Sarah was risking her life. She just needed everyone to come back out alive.

She called Sarah shortly before she had to become Rachel Duncan. She sounded angry and frustrated as she talked about what she would do to John Mathieson if she could. Cosima tried to divert the conversation. She didn’t want that to be their last conversation if… something happened.

"Everyone’s riskin’ their lives for me."

“Actually, it’s technically for Helena, but sure. People love you, Sarah.”

She paused for a second. "I think Beth would do this. I hear her voice when I talk."

Cosima didn’t quite know what she meant by that, but it concerned her. “Sarah, you’re going to be alright. You’re going to grab our Sestra and get the hell out of there.”

"If we don’t get out, save the babies. Come back for them. Don’t let them grow up like we did, yeah?”

Cosima shuddered. This almost felt like a goodbye and she cringed that she moved their conversation to this horrifying point.

“Of course we will, Sarah, but you’ll save them.”

"Take Charlotte in, I dunno. Tell her our stories. Tell Kira--” her voice broke, “tell Kira about survival and love. Don’t let Cal take her away. She needs you all. She has to learn that sometimes, runnin’ ain’t the answer."

“God, please, Sar. Don’t talk like this. It’s going to all be fine.”

She heard Sarah force a chuckle and said, "Cheers, my favorite optimist." She hung up.

Cosima didn’t try to read that far into Sarah’s small speech as she waited for news on the mission with Felix, Delphine, Alison, Kira, Charlotte, and Donnie. They surrounded the phone, hoping for a call from Scott or Art or Sarah to tell them that everything was fine.

Occasionally, Alison would anxiously stand up and offer to get people food and water and would ramble about what it would be like to have two babies in her house. No one told her to stop. Or to continue. Everyone else just sat in silence, clinging near to each other, ready for the news that they could all breathe again.

Donnie kept trying to comfort his wife. She would accept his embrace only to quickly move away so that she could continue to pace and talk. He watched her carefully, ready to help her if she falls apart.

Cosima kept her head rested on Delphine’s shoulder. Delphine was calm in this situation. If she was terrified, she kept it all on the inside so that she could be there for Cosima. The dreaded scientist loved the blonde for that. She even forgot all about her misguided anger toward her. In those long moments, they were in love.

Kira, who knew vaguely about what was going on (Sarah told her about having to save Helena from bad people at Neolution), was sitting on Felix’s lap, her head laying gently on his chest. His legs were moving up and down with anxiety, but Kira didn’t seem to mind.

When they got the call, everyone jumped. It was Felix who answered, and after a few seconds, tears were running down his face ambiguously. Despite all of their angry pleas for him to tell them what was going on, he continued to talk to whoever was on the phone until they hung up.

Cosima felt like she was on the edge of a cliff, barely breathing. She knew she wouldn’t be able to breathe until she knew Sarah was alright.

Felix put his phone down and smiled. “That was Sarah. Everyone’s okay. They’re on the way to the hospital. Helena gave birth to two beautiful boys. They want us to meet them there.”

The cheers only lasted a few seconds; they were itching to see their family. They all ran to Alison’s minivan and chatted almost excitedly about what Helena’s sons would look like and act like and become.

Art, Scott, and Hell Wizard were there in the waiting room when they arrived, buzzing with cheer and hope. After hugs were spread around by all, Art tried to explain what happened. Helena killing Coady. Surviving guards and Enger. Sarah killing John Mathieson. Helena giving birth.

“The doctors tried to check Sarah out, but she didn’t let them, of course. Had to make sure that Helena and the babies were alright.” Art chuckled and added, “I can’t even tell the babies apart and I helped deliver them.”

One by one, they visited the two sets of twins. Both Helena and Sarah looked exhausted, but they couldn’t stop talking to each new visitor. Cosima noticed Helena’s motherly glow. But more than that, she noticed the shadow behind Sarah’s smile.

Sarah killed someone.

No one talked about it. Referenced it. Maybe even thought about it besides Cosima. She knew it was out of self defense, but she couldn’t imagine doing the act. Ever. She couldn’t imagine how the punk was feeling. She wanted to hold her until she felt alright.

“Sestra crazy-hairs, want to hold my baby?” Helena asked the scientist as she held out one of the sleeping babies as Alison and Sarah ogled the other baby.

“Oh, um,” Cosima was never really that comfortable with babies. Kira and Charlotte were about her maximum threshold. “I don’t--”

“Please,” Helena muttered with a tired smile. “I would like my babies to know all my sestras. They will not make same mistakes I did.”

“That won’t happen, meathead. Cos, I can help you if you’d like.”

Cosima nodded vehemently and Sarah grinned. She gently picked up the baby (as Helena stated, “do not call me this,”) with the orange booties and held him as she walked over to Cosima. It all looked so natural to Sarah as she held the baby in her arms. Like he belonged there.

“Look, he’s sleepin’. Not so scary, yeah?”

Cosima blushed slightly. “Obvs. I’m not scared, it's just like... memento mori, I guess.”

Sarah rolled her eyes. “No more bloody science.”

“No, not science, Sarah. Not really. It’s a latin phrase. But you’re right. It’s not the place.”

“Don’t try to distract me with your brilliance, Cos. C’mon. He won’t bite. Not till he’s teethin’, at least.”

Alison mumbled in the background, “let’s hope they don’t have their mother’s hunger.”

Cosima lowered her voice so only Sarah could listen. “I’m afraid to drop him.”

Sarah moved closer to the scientist and said, “you won’t drop him. He’s your nephew, Niehaus. Precious cargo. You won’t. Hold your hands like this.”

Cosima tried to copy Sarah’s movements. She wasn’t quite comfortable, but Sarah placed the little human in her arms anyway. He weighed less than she had expected a baby to weigh. He barely even moved a muscle in her arms. She thought it was almost like he didn’t mind being there. But still, she didn’t like it.

“Don’t worry,” Sarah reassured her as Cosima passed her the baby back. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Yes, you will love it,” Helena agreed with a stiff head nod. “As much as you love the science.”

Cosima chuckled and looked at her family. Helena might have been right. She already did love them more than science.

.........................

Cosima flopped onto the bed and felt her head spin. The day seemed to ebb and flow with the change of time. Some moments felt excruciatingly slow, others felt like they were the speed of light. She almost jumped into a mind fuck about the non-existence of linear time when she felt a hand on her arm.

“You look happy,” Delphine commented as she laid down next to her and closed the space between them.

“It’s over, you know? Like actually. I mean, we have work to do with getting this cure to the other Ledas, but… I mean we can breathe.”

Delphine hummed in agreement. “End of an era, time to move on. A change of scene, yes?”

“I guess so. It means we can also be a family. Everyone can raise their kids in peace. Also, holy crap Helena’s a mom.”

Laughter flooded out of the blonde’s mouth. “She is. She will be a good one, I think. She has Alison and Sarah as good examples and help. They will be okay.”

“They all seem like natural mothers. And to me… babies are… uncomfortable. They’re so young and innocent. I mean, I can’t even talk about science with them yet.”

“But one day they will be old enough. Hopefully, Orange and Purple will have names by then.”

Cosima grinned. “Don’t you like the names? It’s like, non-traditional.”

Delphine smiled gently and told her, “You do love them. You just don’t like how vulnerable they are. That's what scares you."

Cosima nodded and wondered how Delphine could see straight through her sometimes. “It’s like… there’s no control. Anything can happen.”

“There are things out of your control, ma chérie. Death, life, love. This is something you can’t force. Which is why… I do not push you.”

Cosima inhaled deeply. The last thing she wanted was for this conversation to go this way. She was almost positive that she wanted to be with Delphine, but there was a sliver of doubt. Doubt seeded in the strong and confusing feelings she felt for Sarah.

Cosima kissed her. It felt good. She was used to her lips, her taste, her heat. She didn’t burn like Sarah. It was calm and comforting. Passionate but logical. Nothing like how it was with Sarah.

Holding Sarah. Touching Sarah. Kissing Sarah. It felt like being on fire.

“I love you, Delphine. I do. It’s just… I still need a few things to figure out, alright? In the meantime, can’t we just kiss a little?”

Delphine grinned. “We can always do a little more than a little.”

...................

Helena moved into Alison’s garage (Cosima even thought that Alison and Donnie were secretly thrilled to have her there). She and the babies seemed to fit in with the Hendrix’s. Besides, with all the attention Alison and Donnie gave the twins, it already seemed like raising them would be a joint effort.

Felix went to New York with plenty of success, leaving Sarah and Kira home with the possibility of them selling Siobhan’s house. Sarah had kept away most of the time from the family and clone club. Shortly after the birth of Helena’s twins, it became obvious that Sarah wasn’t okay. The happiness that the war was over quickly ran out and reality stepped in. They had to keep living with all the terrible things that they had gone through. They had to live with what they had to do to survive.

She became touchy at any mention of anyone helping her. Even with trying to get her GED. Those were practically the only moments that Cosima got to spend with her. Through video chat and studying.

Not that Cosima could really blame her. They hadn’t seriously spoken since their strange nights together in Sarah's bed. There was still something there, something unspoken between them, but neither of them talked about it. Especially with Delphine being there in the picture.

When Cosima moved into Delphine’s apartment, Sarah pulled away even farther. Charlotte split her time between Art’s and Cosima’s. The scientist might have not been great with babies, but her bond to her genetic identical was unmistakable. Delphine wasn’t too happy that her tiny apartment was now being shared with more than one person, though she had told Cosima her restlessness resided in the fact that there was not enough room in the apartment. Delphine offered to find a new place to live, but that conversation terrified Cosima.

Felix had called her the day before he was going to return home from New York.

"How’s Sarah?" He asked her as if he thought they were constantly communicating.

“I’m not sure,” Cosima confessed as she headed for a different bedroom so that they could talk privately. “We don't… she’s avoiding me. Avoiding everyone.”

Felix breathed out, sounding stressed. "I’m worried. This is what she’s like before she runs."

“You think she’ll run?”

"I think she wants to. We gotta convince her not to. This is her home."

She said she would try, but to be honest, she was terrified to have a real conversation with her. She was afraid she would just admit something she still didn't understand. She was afraid she would admit that there were some moments where she still just wanted to kiss her.

Felix’s words about her messing with Sarah replayed in her mind. It took everything to not say something. To Sarah or even Delphine. She thought staying away from Sarah would be good for both of them. But she knew she couldn’t avoid her any longer.

Cosima stared at the ‘For Sale’ sign in front of the house that Cosima had loved, even if she hadn’t spent much time there. This is what she’s like before she runs. Cosima shivered. She couldn’t imagine her life without the punk.

It was Kira who opened the door and immediately embraced her. Cosima held her and squeezed her tightly. She felt like she hadn’t seen her in such a long while. It made her feel guilty.

“Hey, monkey. Whatcha up to?”

Kira shrugged with a kind of sadness that Cosima hadn’t been expecting. “Packing mostly. Mum’s in the shower, but she’ll be out in a second. C’mon inside.”

There were boxes everywhere when Cosima entered the house. She gulped. This is what she’s like before she runs.

“Kira, are you excited to see all your cousins at the baby shower tomorrow?” Cosima asked and sat down on the couch with the young girl.

Kira nodded vigorously. “I can’t wait to go to Auntie Alison’s. Mum doesn’t really… go out. Art sometimes brings over Charlotte and sometimes Auntie Alison comes over but… mum’s really lonely.”

Cosima chewed on her lip. She felt like this was her fault. She knew this was her fault. She thought the separation would be good. That they’d be able to one day come together without any feelings.

“Kira, I should have come over more often. I’ll do that now, okay?”

The young girl shrugged and looked down at her feet. “It doesn’t matter. We’re leaving soon.”

This is what she’s like before she runs.

“How soon?”

“I don’t know. Mum wants to leave.”

“Do you?”

Kira shook her head. “But I want her to be happy. She’s not… I can feel her. Something’s wrong. With you too, Auntie Cosima.”

Cosima tilted her head. “What?”

“There’s something missing,” Kira explained and rested her head on Cosima’s lap. “You miss my mum and she misses you.”

“Cosima?” Sarah called out as she stood on the stairs wearing only a tank top and short shorts, her hair dripping slowly onto the hardwood floors. “What the bloody hell are you doin’ here?”

Cosima immediately stood up. Sarah looked pale, skinny, hollow. This wasn’t new for the punk, but it worried the scientist that she was still like this, even after everything was over.

“I wanted to see both of you. I--what are you bringing to Alison’s tomorrow?”

Sarah almost smirked. “She told me to just bring the alcohol. ‘Parently I’m not even allowed near the kitchen.”

“Alison’ll want to do all the cooking anyway,” Cosima chuckled awkwardly. “I one time made a cheese dip and she flipped. But hey, man, at least we don’t have to cook. You won’t have that much time with your test tomorrow anyway. Do you want to study--?”

“Actually, we gotta do some packin’. So, if you don’t mind…”

“Oh,” Cosima muttered, realizing that Sarah was trying to get her out of the house. “Yeah, of course. Don’t want to distract you. But um, I’ll see you guys tomorrow, yeah? Maybe Helena’s come up with some names.”

Sarah nodded and then began to walk back upstairs. Obviously, Cosima wasn’t welcome. Which didn’t surprise the scientist since she was the one who abandoned Sarah so that she could continue to love Delphine.

..............

Sarah didn’t smile. There were moments where she tried, when she pretended, but she couldn’t fool Cosima. Actually, she couldn’t fool anyone. It was almost as if everyone had reached their threshold with staying silent about her. There was so much worry, so much concern.

She heard Sarah and Alison talk about Helena and the twins, but Sarah looked lost in the conversation.

Art was probably the brave one. “How are you doing, Sestra?”

“I’m good.”

“No, you’re not.”

He broke the silence and everyone sighed from relief. Sarah looked frustrated, annoyed, maybe even a little angry.

“Well, what is this we hear about a 'For Sale' sign on the front lawn?” Alison asked her with more guts that Cosima would have expected.

Sarah groaned. “You know that we were thinking about that.”

The soccer mom narrowed her eyes at the punk. “Playdates, the kids. Gemma, Kira, Charlotte, Maya, they’re all bonding. They like each other.” Donnie tried to butt in with saying his wife’s name, but she ignored him. “You know they’re having fun. What? What? This is what we fought for, right? To be sisters? It’s a good thing.”

Cosima knew that was a big deal for Alison to say something like that. She knew that the soccer mom cared about the other sestras, but at the beginning, she knew that Alison didn’t want to be a part of it all. She didn’t want to know her clones. They were all nuisances in her life. But now, she loved them. She wanted to be with them. It broke Cosima’s heart.

Sarah looked torn between emotions. “Yeah, it’s good. We just need a change. Freedom looks different to everyone.”

Alison sighed sympathetically. “Honey, we feel your loss. But Kira has cousins now.”

Rage flooded Sarah’s face and Cosima knew she was going to blow. “She has a stable home in the house where her grandmother was shot dead! Alison, take a bloody cue for once!” Her loud words echoed through the walls and she frowned as she saw Alison’s reaction. She lowered her voice and looked upset with herself. “Sorry.”

She got up and left the room. Alison mouthed that she was sorry to the rest of the group, but no one blamed her. Someone needed to say something. Even if it was kind of harsh.

Cosima barely thought about it. She followed Sarah outside and found her brooding on a chair. She wanted to wrap her arms around her, hold her tight, beg her to stay and believe in herself again. Believe in Cosima.

But she didn’t do any of that.

“Is it cool if I chill with you?”

Sarah barely reacted.

Alison came out, apologetic. Sarah reacted, apologetic. Helena joined them, worried. Sarah reacted, trying to hang on.

“I didn’t go to my test,” Sarah confessed after a few moments. Cosima wanted to tell her that it was alright, that she could try again, but Sarah surprisingly continued. “That’s good, innit? Lyin’ to my own kid. Same shit.” Her voice broke and tears flooded her eyes. Cosima wanted to hold her. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I carry around all these mistakes… I don’t know how to be happy.” She was crying and her voice was shaking. Cosima just wanted-- “There’s no one left to fight, and I’m still a shit mum.”

Cosima wanted to argue with her. Tell her that she was wrong. Tell her that she was a good mom and that they’d be there for her. Love her. Help her.

Alison beat her to it. “You know the other day, Gemma was driving me so crazy. I screamed at her, I said, ‘If you don’t clean up your room, I am going to string you up by your thumbs and stuff your dirty damn sock balls in your mouth.’ And I meant it. I scared her.”

And before she knew it, Helena started talking too. “Every time I look, the baby’s eating sand. I turn around, sand. Where does this sand come from? I don’t know. So, I let them eat it.”

“What?” Alison asked as everyone else laughed at Helena’s confession.

Finally, Cosima added, “Did you guys see how panicked I got when Felix handed me the baby earlier? Like, I am just not maternal at all. And that makes me wonder, like, am I selfish or am I scared? You know? We’re all scared, Sarah.”

“Yes, and we all make mistakes.”

Alison muttered, “God, I was a drug dealer, for pete’s sake.”

As they laughed at that horrible memory (Cosima specifically thought about having to pretend to be Alison because she had messed up with her bag of pills), Felix waltzed into the backyard with an unmistakable cheeky grin.

“Don’t you all look cozy. Well, that’s good. ‘Cause I got something for all of you.”

Everyone tried to look at the paper he was holding dramatically to his chest.

“What’s that?”

Felix smirked. “See for yourself.”

Cosima thought that her eyes had suddenly failed her. Or that she was imagining this. She never ever thought she would have this.

“Holy shit, is that a complete list of the Leda sisters?” Cosima asked him.

“Yeah,” Felix told her with confidence.

“Where did you get this?”

“Uh, I’ve got a good guess,” Sarah murmured as the realization hit Cosima. Rachel.

“Oxana Petrov, Colista Popoudokis, this is musical histories, physicians, contacts, addresses. This is everything we need to cure the Ledas.”

Sarah muttered, “Christ, that’s 274 of us.”

They all took a few minutes to let that all sink in. For years they had to battle for their freedom. These hundreds of people would never have any clue what they did for them. What they would do for them.

After a few seconds, Helena pulled out a notebook of some sort. Sarah recognized it as her memoirs.

“I finished my book,” Helena announced with a proud smile. “It’s a story about my sestras. I call it Orphan Black."

No one really knew how to react to that. Cosima shared questioning laughs with Sarah, though she did like the title. They were all orphans, though, not so much anymore.

“We’re not black,” Alison mentioned, causing everyone to laugh even harder and facepalm because of course, Alison would say that.

“Shut up,” Helena eventually commanded, tired of everyone’s shit. “Listen, I will translate from Ukrainian.” She opened the book and began to read. “‘My story is an embroidery with many beginnings and no end. But I will start with the thread of my sestra, Sarah, who stepped off a train one day and met herself…’”

Helena continued into all hours of the night. The sestras all listened intently, laughing, crying, holding each other during reminders of all the terrifying shit they had to go through. Some things even Cosima didn’t know about, especially the moments between Sarah and Helena.

She squeezed Sarah’s hand. She didn’t know when they joined hands or how it occurred, but she refused to let go, even when Helena fell asleep reading and everyone else besides the two of them were snoring.

“There’s no way I’m sleepin’ on a chair outside,” Sarah grumbled as she tried to push her twin off of her legs.

“It’s sweet,” Cosima commented brightly as she looked around at the sestras. “This is peace, Sarah.” She paused as the two of them stared into each other’s eyes as they did months ago on the bed in the Rabbit Hole. “I’m sorry for… abandoning you in the last couple of weeks. It’s like, totally not fair.”

Sarah looked down at Helena’s bushy hair and started playing with it, avoiding the scientist’s stare. “I get it, Cos. You’re busy. And… I’ve made things weird. Kissin’ you and… wantin’..." she trailed off before she continued, “I know you’re with Delphine and I’m happy for you.”

Cosima felt her heart drop. “I want to be completely honest with you, Sarah, because I think we both deserve that. And I know what I’m going to say probably won't make much sense but… I love Delphine, I do. But you? Sarah. The connection, it’s… you’re different to me. I don't know how to explain it.”

Sarah nodded, not looking thrilled or upset. “I get it. M’not lookin’ for anything, yeah? You don’t… I’ll be fine.”

Cosima nodded and tried to believe it. “Look, all I know is that I need you in my life. I need you like… like I need the sun, okay? You are so important to me. I just… need to figure out the rest.”

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be here.”

Cosima’s heart lurched and she almost jumped from her seat with excitement. “So you’re staying?”

Sarah looked all around at her sleeping sestras (and brother) and said, “How could I leave all of this?”

Cosima grinned. “You have no idea how happy that makes me.”

“Well, I am fun to have around. Always cheery,” Sarah replied sarcastically.

Cosima snorted. “You’re becoming delirious. Go to sleep.”

“Tell me a story?”

Cosima smiled. “Hmmm. How about the story of Cupid and Psyche?"

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

Thanks for reading! Let me know what you think and let me know if you want to be tagged!

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

Text

Fuze/Wolf oneshot in which Wolf can’t sleep and Fuze assists. (Rating G/T, emotional hurt/comfort + fluff, ~2.7k words) - written for @viral-marketer!! ♥♥ Thank you for the commission and I’m very happy you enjoyed this piece :) I’ll link more information on Wolf as soon as it’s available, and you can find my commission info here!

Sudden panic makes Wolf’s stomach drop. It’s as if she’s lost a limb, like the time a firecracker exploded in her hand because she didn’t realise the fuse actually took to the pitiful flame from her dying lighter and she couldn’t feel her fingers for ten minutes, like getting up too fast and almost blacking out. Like the time -

There’s no necessity to finish that thought, the memory burns white hot in her mind as it is, every time they’re on a mission, every time she shrinks away from a loud, unexpected noise, every time it happens with Boomer out of her sight. Just like now.

Her weapon falls to the ground with a clatter she barely hears as she dives head first into rubble, hitting her elbows on collapsed pieces of concrete, attempting to push past the debris, force her way through the entryway which is no more after part of the abandoned building collapsed to block it completely, trapping Wolf on this side and -

And Boomer on the other.

There are voices she doesn’t acknowledge, a hand on her upper arm she shakes off violently, and by now she’s drenched in sweat, frantic and desperate, claws at the obstacle hard enough to break a nail or two even through the gloves, hardly noticing the pain over the screeching in her head – it’s her own voice screaming at her, telling her she’s too late, she’s not going to make it, and it only ceases once an iron grip yanks her back, a tall figure towering over her and regarding her with concern.

“It’s alright, Grays”, Montagne informs her quietly yet doesn’t let her arm go, probably recognises the deafening static in her head, louder than the radio chatter, louder even than the pounding staccato of her heart. “Tina got him. Calm down.”

A myriad of questions pop up simultaneously but she gives the mountain of a man the benefit of the doubt, listens to comms for a moment and finds his words confirmed: the operators on the other side of the building sound carefree, relieved, someone mentions excited tail wagging and yes, Montagne speaks the truth. They just finished their mission successfully, the explosion separating her and Boomer marking the tail end of the fight.

Slowly, reality creeps back in, makes her feel the ground under her feet keenly as if it was something she’d been missing for the last week. Her breath evens out after a few deep inhales and eventually, Montagne lets her go with a reassuring nod, after which she looks around the room to gather her bearings. The sideglances she earns make her face flush and shame pool in her stomach – she must’ve been obvious in her panic, possibly pathetic in her flailing, certainly not behaving like a professional at all, but the noise and not being able to see her dog and the memories -

“Don’t worry about it, happens to all of us.” Montagne’s soothing baritone is doing wonders for her nerves. “You did well regardless.”

And the way he pats her shoulder stays with her until they’ve left the building, a reminder that people place their trust in her and she hasn’t let them down, a gesture she appreciates fiercely. She was focused when it counted, certainly assisting the organised assault, with Boomer even saving Blackbeard’s life at some point with his quick reflexes and instant reaction to her monosyllabic command. She did well indeed.

But she finds no rest until she spots Fuze, him of all people, carrying the energetic bundle of joy in his arms and struggling to hold on as Boomer tries to flail out of his grasp, eventually succeeding and rushing over to Wolf’s side for much-deserved ear scratches and praise.

“Your stupid mutt almost jumped out of the window when he saw you”, the Uzbek grumbles. It’s very clearly an invitation, a familiar song and dance they perform regularly, usually centred around Boomer – it started when Fuze first met her, not an hour after she arrived in Hereford, his first words being: I don’t like dogs. He might’ve claimed so but showcased very obviously that he does like bickering with a tiny American woman and thus Boomer has become a fantastic conversation starter between the two of them, with Fuze complaining about perfectly normal dog behaviour and Wolf enlightening him on this fact, and it usually ends in pancake recipes or the correct way to hide a body.

Normally, Wolf would gladly accept this invitation, but with her thoughts still in disarray, pulse too quick and fingers shaking, all she does is hug her dog and bury her face in his fur, seeking solace as well as support. He’s alive. He’s well. He made it.

It’s the mantra she repeats to herself all the way back to base.

That evening, she tidies up her kitchen. Not that it was necessary, not really, but taking out all the glassware and ceramics, lining them up on the counter and her table only to put them back in different places as if they were playing musical chairs soothes her, oddly enough. Cleaning isn’t a chore she enjoys and yet she dusts all the shelves, mops her entire flat and eventually catches herself eyeing the furniture in her bedroom, wondering whether she could rearrange it somehow to give it a new look and, most importantly, a new feel.

This is when she understands what she’s doing.

It doesn’t stop her, or else she wouldn’t choose to cook for herself after a day as stressful and exhausting like the one she had, and definitely not a recipe which requires her to chop a ridiculous amount of vegetables. She keeps herself busy. Not only that, she carries her phone around with her and makes it blare her favourite music, upbeat melodies accompanying the sizzling in the pan and tricking her into singing or humming along. When she eats, she does so in front of the TV, Boomer curled up next to her on the couch and doing what she’s desperately trying to avoid: sleeping.

Eyelids heavy, she forces herself to follow a generic action film, then another, playing around on her phone in the meantime, the stimulation keeping her distracted up to the point where she nearly dozes off despite the noise and flickering lights.

She’s scared, she realises belatedly. But she knows one person who can help.

Sometimes, Fuze can’t sleep either, though his condition sounds less like self-imposed insomnia and more like something out of his control, and maybe, just maybe, today is one of those days. Thumb hovering over the screen, she hesitates, mulls her decision over but eventually presses down, trepidation settling in her chest. She neither wants to be a bother nor come off as needy, but Fuze has never objected to her random messages, never once voiced any protest about early morning photos of sunrises or useless trivia she found online and, as she’s come to understand, lack of protest implies approval – at least with the Uzbek.

Communicating with him has been… strenuous at times. Anxiety and taciturnity usually don’t mix well and in the beginning, Fuze’s unflappable demeanour intimidated her immensely, but something pulled her towards the quiet man nonetheless, convinced her to keep trying. Being part of his friend group was the first step, allowing her to hover in his vicinity and direct questions at him now and then, though his monosyllabic replies briefly demotivated her. Glaz came to her rescue, however, by pointing out Fuze rarely even acknowledges others, let alone offer to do favours. And Wolf looked down at the phone Fuze voluntarily fixed after she’d dropped it the previous week; he didn’t require any prompting, merely overheard her mention it to Kapkan (who’d been enthusiastically petting Boomer, it seems the Russian really appreciates other hunters) and wordlessly held out his hand.

Over time, she’s come to realise that the silences between them are of a comfortable quality and the longer she watches him, the better she understands. Whenever anyone sits in his vicinity who’s too loud or whom he doesn’t like, he changes seats. If someone attempts to rope him into a conversation while he’s working, he lets them know not to bother him. His bluntness, too, was daunting – what if she incurred his ire herself? But despite her regularly barging in to ask him something while his clever fingers are tinkering away, he never turns her down, never once rebuked her.

And this is why she messages him, a simple: do you know the earliest man-made sonic boom?

She knows he enjoys fun facts like this, especially when it’s one he can figure out by himself. After pressing send, she stupidly waits and stares at the indicator telling her whether he’s received and read her question for entirely too long before deciding to relocate. Maybe she could go for a walk with Boomer, yet when she gets up and stretches her aching limbs, remnants of the bomb disposal mission they completed much too early in the day for her comfort, the animal by her side makes no move to follow her. Compassionate, dark eyes glance at her in defiance and Boomer makes himself as heavy as possible when she tries to pick him up. It’s his way of telling her it’s long past her usual bed time.

A small buzz catches her attention and she wakes up her phone to check Fuze’s answer, a simple, sincere: Let me think.

Wolf feels her lips stretch, her chest lighten, her restlessness diminish just knowing that he’s up, that he’s definitely thinking of her, holding his device in his steady fingers and pondering her prompt earnestly because it’s what he does. He’s always taken her seriously, it’s one of his traits she appreciates the most – not only is he honest, he also humours her whenever possible.

Spontaneously changing her plans, she gets ready for bed instead of forcing herself to stay up, going through her routine with a spring in her step and excitedly glancing at her phone repeatedly. It wouldn’t be the first time for her to text Fuze until she dozed off with it in her hand and more often than not, her sleep ended up uninterrupted as a result. She suddenly looks forward to diving under her covers and once she does, Boomer trots over now that the threat of her dragging him outside has vanished.

When instead of a soft vibration, the beginning chords of Rasputin begin to play (and whenever she hears it, she remembers Fuze’s adorable blush and mock indignation when she informed him of his new personalised ring tone), she jumps but accepts the call while snuggling deeper under her blankets.

“It’s a whip crack”, Fuze’s calm voice speaks into her ear, sparking a comfortable shudder running down her spine. “Isn’t it?”

“Did you look it up?” She knows he didn’t. He might be prideful but not arrogant, feels no need to appear smarter before her than he is.

“No. But it’s too loud and produces sound even in the air, so it’s not the end hitting the ground which causes the noise.”

“You’re right that it’s a sonic boom, but it’s not the earliest.”

She can almost hear his vague frustration and suppresses a giggle when she’s met with silence for a minute while he clearly racks his brain for the actual answer. There’s defeat underlining his words when he finally admits: “I give up. I don’t know.”

“It’s part of Glaz’ breakfast”, she hints and buries one of her hands in Boomer’s soft fur.

Another minute of silence. “Cornflakes?”

“Yes! Crunchy food breaks faster than the speed of sound. So if he ever chews again with his mouth open, tell him to turn down his sonic booms.”

Fuze snorts, audibly amused. “Tell that to your mutt. Sounds like he lives up to his name whenever he chomps on his dry food.”

They chat a little more, inconsequential and idle banter but Wolf eventually realises she hasn’t been this relaxed all day, never allowed her thoughts to wander for fear of where they’d land. But like this, surrounded by the safety of her home, listening to the even breaths of her dog and Fuze’s dry humour, it’s hard to imagine a world not filled with bliss and tranquillity.

“You should sleep, Grayson. It’s late enough”, Fuze reminds her after a lull in conversation.

“And what about you?”

“I’ll sleep too. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Wait”, she cuts in before he can end the call. Getting used to his direct style of communication was a process and she had to witness Fuze hanging up on people mid-sentence if he deemed their talk finished before realising that he extended her every courtesy in their calls. Words tingle on her tongue and uncertainty paralyses her momentarily but she’d somehow feel dishonest if she kept quiet about this. “I – had a flashback. Earlier today. Almost a panic attack. Did you hear -”

“Yes”, comes the instant reply and it’s obvious he’s been waiting for her to mention it – he wouldn’t done so himself, wouldn’t have wanted to make her feel weak. “Are you alright now?” She makes a soft affirmative noise and glances over at Boomer whose twitching paws indicate that he’s dreaming. “I’m worried.”

The admission makes her heart skip a beat, even though he’s probably referring to her work. Has to be. “Don’t be, I’ll get the job done no matter what.”

“I’m not worried about that, I know you’d never let any of us down.” The way he dismisses the implication of her potentially failing any of her colleagues causes pride and affection to bloom in her chest. There’s no room for doubt in his statement and she’s immensely grateful for the faith he places in her. “I’m worried about you. You can’t save everyone, you know. And you can’t let this fact weigh you down. I know you’re used to getting overlooked but you’re damn good at what you do – don’t let your past rule over your future. You might miss out on opportunities along the way.”

She knows what he’s referring to. After a long day, they sat alone in the workshop, Fuze’s project forgotten on the table between them, atmosphere serene and facilitating honesty – she admitted to being afraid of getting close to anyone in Rainbow. She talked about Nitro, about the helplessness she felt upon having to watch him die, and about the random visions of anyone she liked getting killed on a mission. About how she tries not to let this influence her behaviour; she still seeks people out, opens up to them, listens raptly. But the underlying fear is always there.

“Yeah”, she agrees quietly. “I’ll try.” It’s all she can promise him.

The next day is of a comfortingly different quality, allowing for genuine laughs, and is much more lenient with someone who only caught a few hours of sleep. She does chuckle at Fuze’s bleary face when they see each other for the first time, but it gets stuck in her throat when he wordlessly pulls her into a hug out of the blue. The embrace doesn’t last long but coming from him, it leaves her reeling nonetheless, unfocused for the first few hours and… dreamy. The feeling of his arms around her never really goes away.

At some point, Glaz joins her, notices her dazed expression and asks: “Bad sleep?” Following her tired nod, he adds: “I figured. I heard Shuhrat’s phone go off last night.”

“Oh, did he forget to mute it?”

The Russian sends her an odd look. “He never puts it on silence when he sleeps, in fact I think he even turns up the volume. And you’re the only one who messages him in the middle of the night. Otherwise he’d sleep like a baby.”

And oh. That’s -

It’s impossible, there have been so many nights which they texted away, yet she neglected to ask for details on his alleged insomnia, and this means -

She completely misses whatever it is he tells her next, merely nods along as her thoughts are going haywire until she eventually rudely interrupts him: “Sorry, I gotta go.” And as she gets up and hurries over to where she suspects the Uzbek to be, she remembers Fuze’s words from the night before.

He’s not an opportunity she’d ever forgive herself for missing out on.

#rainbow six siege #fuze #wolf #fuze/wolf #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #basking in fuze's presence sounds pretty great to be honest #also late night texting is adorable to me

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medusa-says-imagines · 6 years

Text

Finding You Part 1- Baron Corbin

Disclaimer: This is my first time writing anything with an A/B/O dynamic at all, and I’ve added my own spin of sorts to things to make it my own. This will be a multipart series. This does not contain smut, and I don’t know if it will later down the road.

The buzz of the back stage area was making my skin crawl. I’ve never been one to handle crowds very well. It’s something that I’ve struggled with since high school. Odd huh? A person who performs in front of thousands of people on a weekly basis has social anxiety… Well it’s true, and I hate it.

I already had my match for the night, and no matter which corner I turned there was always a group there talking loudly and goofing around. I just wanted some quiet. That’s all I wanted. My adrenaline was driving me crazy, and mixed with my anxiety it was not a good situation. I needed to calm down, but I didn’t want to take my medication while at work, even though the higher ups are aware of that, and don’t care as long as I’m not on my medication while in a match due to personal safety, and the safety of the person I’m in the ring with. Which is funny since we literally beat each other up for a living.

The only problem with that was, is that my medication is in the locker room, and I didn’t want all of the girls to know… I didn’t want anyone to know really. I eventually decided that I needed my medication, and rushed to the locker room, ignoring the curious glances from the girls as I rushed to my bag, and pulled out my pills with shaky hands, not caring who saw.

I grabbed my bag, and just tried to find some quiet place to relax until I hitched a ride to the hotel and to the next town. There was no way I was driving like this, but that wasn’t my concern right now, Raw still had another couple hours left, so that gives me plenty of time.

Life on the road was never easy for an Omega who didn’t have mate, especially a female who is high strung and gets overwhelmed by too many loud sounds, but we really don’t need to talk about that right now. I found a quiet room, completely abandoned, and I sighed in relief. If need be, I could always just stay an extra night and just fly out early in the morning… I have plenty saved up to do that.

I have no idea why I was reacting this way… usually I was able to push out the chaos going on around me and just take it easy, but that wasn’t the case tonight. It was no where near my time of the month, that just came and went, so that wasn’t it… Unless…

No that couldn’t be.

The rarity of me finding my mate nowadays is super rare. Decades ago majority of young parents tried a movement that swept the nation to alter their genes that would prevent them and their children from succumbing to their other side, essentially turning themselves into betas… not as strong as the alphas… not as adaptable as the omegas to others needs… but no where near as unruly as either of the two. My parents were naturalists and did not agree with the treatment, so here I am, and it’s too late to get the treatment. The government banned it twenty years ago since it had it’s major unpredictable side effects.

Of course them being naturalists had it’s downfall. We were always moving from camp to camp, my father never submitting his will to another alpha, so we would be forced to leave eventually, because my father would cause problems. Of course I was a bratty child who spoke up about this all the time because I was foolish and didn’t know my place… well father would put me in my place. Of course I thought this was normal until we went to one camp where one of their elders mentioned to me that it wasn’t normal for fathers to hit their daughters. Not even normal for an alpha to hit their packmates.

When I brought that up… it was hell. Especially when I became of age and left the nomadic life behind… well kind of. At least now I have a permanent home of sorts to return to. Once I escaped my father’s clutches I did indeed learn that most naturalists were like that… beating their kids… or even moving from camp to camp. That was just my father.

The door to my little haven burst open, and I yelped in surprise, drawing my knees to my chest in defense. Yeah. Growing up the way I did really fucked me up. “Shit.” Someone said. I looked up with wide frightful eyes, the medication not having a chance to fully kick in yet. There stood a man… a very tall man… with countless tattoos… with his hair covered by a beanie. I knew his face from the other show that our company produces, but I’ve never met him.

I realized now why there were so many strangers around. They were starting to swap people in an out between the companies. “You.” I whispered, feeling the longing return. The overwhelming desire to curl up in his lap making me stress out, not able to sit comfortably, but rather restless.

“Yo! Corbin!” someone shouted. I jumped at the sudden sound, whimpering, and the man stepped closer to me, almost as if it was his very instinct to protect me, feeling my distress… because who knew… he probably did. I didn’t know what it was like to be an alpha. “What are you-“ someone said. Baron let out a growl at the person, and he moved slightly, and I saw that it was Seth. He was a nice guy. Always looked out for me when crowds would get too rowdy. “Easy man. What are you…” Seth asked confused. Apparently this wasn’t his normal behavior. Huh. So he felt it too. Not just me. Seth peaked around, and he smiled when he saw me, a look of realization flashing across his features.

“Relax, Baron. Congrats. I won’t hurt her. I’m usually the one who helps her when she’s like this. No wonder why you were so twitchy tonight. Kept reminding me of her. Now I know why.” Seth said grinning. “Hey ‘Mara.” He said, waving at me. I gave him a slight smile, before I turned back in on myself.

I heard the boys talking about something, but eventually it went silent, and the door shut, causing me to look up. Baron stood there, leaning against the wall, with his arms crossed over his chest, and gave me a thoughtful look. “You’re calmer than before. Not as shaky.” He said, raising his own hand to demonstrate. I nodded my head in response, not finding my voice.

“Seth told me that sometimes you get really anxious, and that you have medication to help. Did you take it?” he asked. I nodded again, feeling the effects of the medication swirl around my blood stream. He sighed, and sank down to the floor. “Shit, I’m sorry, Amara. You were probably oversensitive from me being in the building.” He said.

I blankly stared at him. “You’re not… You’re not mad? Calling me a freak? That I’m weak? A disgrace?” I asked, finding my voice.

His eyes widened at my words, and he rapidly shook his head, “Absolutely not, Amara. God, what happened to y-“

“Not now please. I’ll tell you… but just not now.” I said, looking down at my fingers, finding my nails suddenly very interesting all of a sudden.

“Seth told me that he usually helps you when you’re like this…” he said. Standing up, and crossed the small room, kneeling down to my huddled form. He gently raised his hand, and brushed my damp hair out of my face. I leaned into his touch, and if I was in my right mind I would be completely embarrassed by my own actions. “That you can’t drive… you’re out of it… need help with basic things.” He said.

“M’not usually like this.” I said, sighing, closing my eyes, letting myself feel weak.

“Yeah, just let me take care of you in the meantime.” Baron said, sliding his arms underneath legs and my back. My hands clutched my bag, and I held onto that tightly. “Sh, we’ll talk later, okay? Do you have anything at the hotel? I have to get my bag, and then we can be on our way.” He said.

“Yeah, in my room.” I said.

He nodded his head, and then walked out of the room with me in his arms, making sure to take care of me the entire night.

#baron corbin #baron corbin alpha #baron corbin abo #baron corbon werewolf #baron corbin werewolf #baron corbin imagine #baron corbin fluff #WWE oneshots #wwe imagines #wwe request

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qqueenofhades · 6 years

Note

Hello, wondering if you could indulge us all from the grave and compose a little something that speaks to one or all of the concepts of control, respect, and non-verbal communication as it relates to Garcy. I keep thinking about the significance of Wyatt's 'leash' line, Lucy's Wife Nod, Flynn really being Lucy's Creature to Call at this point. Thank you from my place in Garcy Hell.

well, I would be remiss not to mention that @extasiswings wrote an absolutely delicious bit on this very theme (power and control). but because I’m Weak AF for this, have some more. Also a bit from @althoughsolemn‘s other prompt: “or, also Garcy: Lucy feeling hemmed in and Claustrophobic in the bunker, and Flynn trying to talk her through….. visualizations or something, bc he’s got to have tools for staying sane(ish) + not overwhelmed in all the many strange and unpleasant situations he’s been stuck in. I’m just amazed that Lucy hasn’t been voicing unpleasant feelings about being stuck in what amounts to a civilized cave. with excursions only via a dangerous time travelling tin can.”

It’s past midnight and the bunker is almost quiet, except for the constant hum of machinery and the buzz of circulation fans, the distant whir and clunk of the charging Lifeboat, and the drone of the refrigerator. That last noise almost sounds faintly homey, among the sterile steel and harsh fluorescents. The bunker was crowded when there were six people living in it, and now that two more have moved in, “tight fit” is an understatement. Lucy can’t get away, can’t have space, can’t find a moment alone, can’t turn around without seeing Wyatt, Jessica, or Wyatt and Jessica. Can’t get away except in a time-traveling tin can with high risk of violent death or historical catastrophe. She – can’t – breathe.

Lucy gets up and paces a restless circuit around the kitchen table, trying to undo the sickly, creeping knot of anxiety and breathlessness in her chest. Going back to her room and tossing and turning, or evading Jiya’s attempts to see if she wants to talk about it, sounds like hell. She wants to climb out of her own skin, she needs to get out of this glorified coffin, she needs to feel steady, she needs for this to stop. Or just to run on a treadmill until she wears herself out, but a treadmill sounds even worse. Never going anywhere, never stopping, just –

“Can’t sleep?”

The voice from the door makes her jump a foot, banging her hip on the table, and she whirls around to see Garcia Flynn in a black T-shirt and pajama pants. It is almost incongruous that he could wear something so ordinary; it’s like seeing a stormtrooper in shirtsleeves. He raises one eyebrow as if to apologize for startling her, but doesn’t presume to come in until she gives half a nod, permitting him into her territory. The last thing she wants is to share space again, but it’s different with Flynn. It isn’t like having someone take it up, but extend it. The two of them throwing up a barrier, keeping the rest of the world out. She gets why he’s utterly done with it most of the time. It’s getting on her damn nerves too.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Flynn says. “Rufus snores.”

Lucy’s fairly sure Rufus doesn’t snore, not least because it’s hard for him to nod off to sleep with Garcia goddamn Flynn in the other bed (as they have been shuffled into being roommates in order to let Wyatt and Jessica share). Though Rufus likes Flynn marginally better than he used to, so there’s that. There’s another moment as they eye each other, and then Lucy nods again, beckoning him closer. She likes it, she can’t deny. The way they move toward each other, or he does, but following her cues and her command so minutely, with a fine-tuned sense that goes beyond the ordinary. She says it, or sometimes just thinks it, and he does as asked. Her promise is that she won’t abuse that power, and his is that he won’t abuse her trust. They’ve never said so. They just know.

“It’s… this,” Lucy says. “I’m just… so tired of living here. I want to have a real home again. I want to see the sun. I feel like a rotting fungus.”

She fully expects Flynn to come back with some crack about how he spent twelve years in Azka… sorry, solitary, but he doesn’t. He cocks his head, still regarding her, then moves to sit at the table, and after a moment, she does the same. “You get used to it,” he says. “Living this way.”

His voice is oddly matter-of-fact, neither gloating or arrogant or rubbing it into her face that he knows so much more about the war that both of them are fighting. She hesitates, then sits. They look at each other, taking in the paleness and the weariness and the weight of the world on the other’s shoulders, and then, impulsively, Lucy holds out her hand. Glances at him, and waits.

Flynn delicately puts his big hand into hers, almost covering it with his roughened fingers. He grips hard, as if to remind her that he will keep the walls far enough away for her to breathe. “I’m sorry about Jessica,” he says, at long last. “Having her here, I mean. That can’t be easy.”

Lucy does not want to sit here and talk about Jessica Logan, when – much as she likes the woman, truly respects her, wants nothing but her happiness – she can’t get away from her by daylight. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine.” Flynn glances at her under his eyelashes. “You can say it.”

Lucy lets out a long, shaking breath. She feels like a terrible person, but it’s only him, and if nothing else, the two of them are long past judging the other for sins. “No,” she says quietly. “It’s killing me.”

Flynn’s hand tightens on hers again. There’s nothing but the hum and the buzz and the whisper of passing time (it never stops, does it? It never stops). Then she makes a small gesture, beckoning to him, and he gets up and helps her to her feet, gentlemanly and gentle. It sticks in her throat, and just then, if Wyatt gets to have his wife here, Lucy could do with having a husband. Even just for a moment. Just for once.

“Garcia,” she says, half-breathily, his first name catching on her tongue. It’s not the first time, but it’s still new.

He looks at her in surprise. “Lucy?”

She draws a shallow, shaky breath and lifts her chin. “Kiss me.”

Both of his eyebrows fly up at that. He stares at her as if to ask if this is a test of his loyalty, the knight questing off after the Grail – and yet, he doesn’t actually openly say anything. She’s asked. Doesn’t abuse the power. He doesn’t abuse the trust. That’s the deal.

Slowly, very slowly, Flynn steps closer. Raises both hands and cups her face, forcing her to practically stand on her tiptoes. Then he lowers his head, almost clumsily, and kisses her. On the forehead. It’s a very sweet thing to do, really. Just not what she wanted at all.

Lucy reaches up and grabs his forearms, feeling the tension in them. Their faces are still close. Her tone roughens a bit. “Kiss me properly.”

Flynn looks at her as if to remind her that anyone could walk in. Obviously they could. There are too many fucking people in this bunker and Lucy Preston is sick of all but one of them. He pauses, wets his lips. “Lucy – ”

“You’re supposed to follow my orders. Remember?”

A half-smile and a head shake, as if they both know that this is not what Denise had in mind. But nonetheless, he doesn’t deny it. Wraps one arm around her waist, cups the other hand alongside her face, and lifts her up with a hard jerk, pulling her against him. She opens her mouth just in time, and the next moment, it’s – it’s altogether too much, it’s like the clouds breaking and the storm finally thundering down, the moment when the sullen stickiness is swept away and the rain races up like a galloping horse across the prairie. She keeps her eyes closed. Her hand cups the unshaven dark scratch of his stubble. Her feet leave the floor. They turn on the spot, slowly, slowly, entangled.

At last, slowly, Flynn puts her down. Lets go of her slowly, one finger at a time. The walls have retreated to a safe distance. The silence rings.

Lucy gives him half a nod. Telling him that she can take it from here.

He gives half a nod back, turns on his heel with admirable composure – at least, perhaps, until she cannot see his face – and goes.

#lucy x flynn #garcy #garcy ff #anonymous #ask

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lena-in-a-red-dress · 7 years

Text

The Start of a Beautiful Friendship

This was part of a series of GuardianCorp moments I’m drafting, as an attempt to rewrite the start of S3 to show where some moments of natural ship development could have happened, but I’m splitting it out here to be a friendship piece because it was just a really nice moment of Lena and James just sharing space and breaking the ice, so to speak.

—-

There were things about Lena Luthor that surprised James.

Like the way she sat in on conference calls, silent save for the scratching of pen on paper as she took notes until the call ended and she peppered him with sharp questions he mostly knew the answer to.

Or when he saw her ask Eve a favor. An actual favor, not just an order disguised as a casual suggestion.

“When you have time, would you mind getting me the minutes for the last three years’ board meetings?” He heard Lena ask, her voice low. “It’s absolutely not urgent, just when you get a moment?”

Asked like that, he could hardly blame Eve for dropping everything and getting the minutes to her within the hour.

Or the night he came in late after an uneventful Guardian run, itching to take out some of his restless energy to find Lena seated out on the balcony with a wireless lamp and a sea of papers spread out in front of her, weighted down in piles under various objects she’d found around the office– his collectors baseball, a pencil cup, and most oddly, tumblers filled with chocolate candy.

With her hair down, there was something utterly human in the way Lena blindly reached for one of the cups, snagging a couple pieces of candy. He knocked on the open terrace door to avoid startling her, but the sound made her jump anyway.

The smile that greeted James upon recognition eased some of the tension in his shoulders, and he strolled casually to join her.

“I have to say,” Lena began lightly, her voice carrying in the breeze, “Cat Grant has excellent taste. In both views and chocolate.”

“What, you’re telling me L-Corp’s executive suite doesn’t have a bucket of chocolate hidden on its drink cart?” James eased himself down onto the cushion next to her.

“It will now,” Lena countered. “Here I was, using it to store ice, like a chump.”

Her laugh lilted on the night breeze, soft and open. Leaning forward, she consolidated two piles to free up one glass, which she took with her as she reclined into the pillows behind her. She tilted the glass towards James, and he scooped out a handful of treats.

They munched together in silence, gazing out across the city.

“What has you here so late?” he asked finally.

“Going over minutes. And my notes. And my notes of my notes.” She gestured vaguely towards one end of the table where a notepad sat, packed with dense lines of flowing script. “Those are the questions I plan to ask you tomorrow.”

“You could ask me now.”

Lena waved him off, reaching back into the cup and plucking out a green piece. “There’s no need to waste anyone else’s night.”

James grinned. “It’s not a waste if I’m offering.”

Lena regarded him for a long moment, before popping the green candy in her mouth and reaching over to snag the pad off the table. As she flipped through, James tried not to be impressed by the level of detail he spotted in pieces– the name of an old acquisition he’d not given a second thought to, a conflict of interest with a board member who had retired not long after audit spotted the contention… it went on and on, but to his surprise, Lena closed the pad once more and set it down in her lap.

“Can I ask you a question?” She asked in a low voice. Her fingers smoothed over the pressed pages of her pad.

James watched her. “I think that was the plan.”

“No, I mean… I find myself in a difficult position. About Kara.”

Lifting his chin, James carefully worked to keep his expression unchanged. This was not the conversation he’d expected to have tonight.

“She’s been more alert in recent weeks, and has gotten better at showing up for staff meetings, but she’s still sporadically absent. No one seems to know where she disappears to, she’s chronically late, leaves early… no one seems to bat an eye, which tells me it’s been going on for some time and yet there’s not a single reprimand in her file.”

James waited, hesitant to say anything until he knew exactly where she was going with it. “I hesitate to address it if it’s just part of her grieving, but ignoring it could open us up to accusations of favoritism, which will only reflect poorly on her career.”

James nodded. Okay. This, he could do– if he tread carefully.

“I had the same concerns you did when U was promoted,” James fibbed, “but ultimately I gave Kara the same trust that Cat did, and she hasn’t let me down yet. She usually lets me know where she is, if she can, and whatever her methods, wherever she goes, she’s come back with some amazing stories from it.”

“And your other employees don’t chafe under the knowledge they’re not afforded the same trust?”

James lifted one shoulder. “In a way, they are. We trust them to be on time and put in a full day’s work. If a supervisor feels that policy is being abused, they can discuss it and see what’s going on. Sometimes it’s a sick kid, sometimes it’s anxiety or depression. And sometimes, it’s just following a hunch.”

Watching Lena, James could tell she wasn’t entirely convinced. Having worked with her this long, and seeing the easy way she treated her employees with respect, he sincerely doubted she was a slave driver at L-Corp, which meant the problem wasn’t with CatCo’s policy, or even the choice James had made in regards to Kara– it was Kara herself, and what her absences truly meant.

James wasn’t going to touch that with a ten foot pole.

“If you want, I can have her notify you instead–”

“No,” Lena returned quickly. “No, let’s not change anything. I trust your judgement.”

An unexpected swell of pride filled his chest at her words, and he hid it with a nod. “Okay. Anything else you wanted to ask?”

Lena blinked, refocusing on the pad in front of her. “Right, of course.”

This time, she flipped to the exact page she wanted and immediately launched into it. “I wanted to discuss Mr. Bainbridge. He was on the board when CatCo acquired the Tannen Paper company to supply the southeast distribution center. I met Mr. Bainbridge at a charity gala a few years ago, and I remember he mentioned having recently purchased stock in Tannen…”

They worked until the first lightening of the morning sky, shocking James with the lateness of the hour and how much energy he still had. As Lena gathered her array of piles, James shot her a grin.

“Can I interest you in breakfast, Miss Luthor?”

Green eyes shone up at him from over a warm grin. “I think you can stoop to calling me Lena, don’t you?”

James nodded. For the first time since CatCo’s acquisition, he felt completely at ease. Not only that, he found himself wanting to know more about his new boss, reluctant to quit her company even after their long night.

Perhaps that’s how the Luthors won people over– with all-nighters and chocolate candies in a scotch glass.

“All right then, Lena,” he replied amicably. “How about it?”

Somehow, her smile warmed even further. “If there’s Noonan’s sticky bun in it for me, I’m all yours.”

James nodded. “And I can see why Kara likes you so much. You speak her language.”

“Oh god, not fluently,” Lena grimaced. “I mean, what does that girl have against kale? It’s good for you!”

“You should see the faces she makes when I bring in my wheatgrass shakes…”

Talking about Kara was easy, and the easiness continued over breakfast as talk eventually turned to Metropolis. It was the first time since Lucy left that James had someone who missed the restaurants he did, and knew the parks he used to photograph. He enjoyed himself, and he enjoyed the way Lena was quick to laugh.

More and more, she was nothing like he’d assumed she’d be.

“We still have a few hours before that call with London,” James said as they re-emerged from Noonan’s. Just enough time to freshen up, change clothes, maybe even catch a power nap.

“I have to say, Lena,” he continued, “I had my doubts when word came down about the merger. But I’m glad I was wrong. I enjoyed the night, even if it was spent at the office.”

“Likewise.”

Lena smiled up at him, only looking away when her phone started to buzz in her hand. She glanced at the screen and laughed at the name that popped up on the screen.

“Think her ears were burning?”

“More like she smelled the sticky buns,” James replied. “Catch you at the office.”

Lena nodded, already lifting the phone to her ear. “Hey,” Lena greeted. “Yes, I’m already outside– what? No, I didn’t spend the entire night at the office… Okay, fine, I did, but Kara, you do realize I now run two multi-billion dollar companies, right?”

James watched her go, listening to the dwindling sound of Lena’s half of the conversation. Yeah. They were in good hands.

#i wrote dis #lena luthor #james olsen #start of a beautiful friendship #because i like lena with her hair down and i bet james would too

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sweetnestor · 7 years

Text

Stone Cold | december pt. 3

university au + platonic + romantic + angst, teamiplier + jack

sequel to: Story of Another Us | also on ao3 | previous chapter

Bella’s song choice: No More Sad Songs by Little Mix

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my own snoring. I turned over in the bed, nearly forgetting that I slept in Jack’s room. I sat up, realizing that the green man was nowhere to be seen. When I pulled up my phone to check the time, I saw at text from him.

“Didn’t want to wake you, so I took the bus to school! I’ll text you when I’m out!”

Thoughtful.

It was half past eleven. I actually managed to sleep without waking up throughout the night, a rare occurrence. It’s even more rare when I know I have a guest coming over the next day. I rolled out of bed, knowing that he was going to show up at one point or another. I put my unwashed hair in a ponytail, then I did my makeup. Sure, Ethan and I would be hanging out here, but I wanted to look nice regardless.

Although, in the middle of my routine, it occurred to me that Ethan never specifically said what time he would be showing up. All he said was that he was going to be coming over. I contoured stressfully. I highlighted urgently. I had to skip winged eyeliner because my hands started shaking. By the time I finished, I heard a knock on the door. I almost relaxed, until I remembered that Jack wasn’t here to answer the door for me.

It’s not Ethan, a voice in my head warned. You’re probably getting evicted. Or it’s the scary mailman. Or maybe it’s a stalker.

I slowed my steps to the door, my heart palpitating. Just before I could panic, my phone buzzed in my hand. I sighed when Ethan confirmed through text that he was at the door. I had kept him waiting for a bit while I had that internal crisis. Oops.

When I opened the door, I didn’t expect to be greeted by a dog. Specifically, Chica. I gasped in shock, which made Ethan smile and Chica wag her tail.

“Beeka!” I exclaimed. “What are you doing here?”

I stepped aside to let them in, and then I attacked Chica with cuddles. I was so pleasantly surprised to see her after so long, I could have bawled my eyes out. I didn’t even care that she licked my face just after doing my makeup, I was completely over the moon.

“I heard somewhere that you missed her,” Ethan explained as he squatted to our level on the floor. “And she missed you too.”

“Aww,” I cooed, hugging the sweet dog. “I can’t believe you did this!”

As happy as I was too see her again, a certain thought plagued the back of my head. It was enough to make my heightened mood falter a little bit.

“Does Mark know… does he know where you took his child?” I asked.

Ethan hesitated, which only worsened my mood. “I'm supposed to take her to the field at YTU for a walk. And he's supposed to meet me there later.”

“Ethan,” I said urgently.

“And that's why,” he continued, “I came here first. I wanted to see if you wanted to come with me.”

“That would require having to see Mark,” I pointed out. That also brought forth the fact that I was still salty with my ex-boyfriend, which made the air a little awkward.

“No,” Ethan said after the moment passed. “You don't have to stay long if you don't want to. I know things are, uh, weird with you guys. I just… I-I mean, I… I wanted to see you for a little bit. A-And so did Chica! I mean, look at her.”

She was on her back, her dopey face making my heart go soft. I made eye contact with Ethan, whose face also made my heart soften up.

“Alright, then. Do you wanna go now?”

Ethan's face lit up. “Yeah! I can drive!”

That sent my mind to dark, scary places. I was never not driving. How could I just… not drive?

“Um, how about I meet you there?” I offered. “I mean, I'm gonna have to take Jack home later, like when you're in class or something… so like…”

“Oh, okay. I'll, uh, see you there. You know where the field is, right?”

Nope. “Yeah! I'll find you guys!”

Thankfully, we got there around the same time, so nobody got lost. I had never been to the “football” field at YTU before, so I was having some major butterflies and chest pains. All I knew was that it was as big as a football field, despite that the university didn’t have an official team. Or any sports team, besides dance. It was a place I've never been to before with my ex-boyfriend's dog and the guy I now wanted to be my boyfriend. It was sending my anxiety down to the pits of hell.

There was one class out on the opposite end of the field when we got there. Despite the cold, bitter weather, my palms and the back of my neck were were sweating. But I got to hold the leash as we walked Chica, so that helped subside the general anxiety.

“Do you like the campus?” I asked, my voice shaking slightly.

“Yeah, it's amazing,” Ethan replied. “Now I know where all our pay cuts went to.”

I chuckled. “Well, you're not wrong.”

“I really wanted to get a dorm here, but I guess if you can't afford a single one then you're randomly assigned a roommate,” he explained. “And I really didn't want that.”

“Oh yeah, I know what you mean. That's what made me get my own apartment.”

We talked while walking around the field. Things got easier the longer we were there. The butterflies came and went, making me unable to tell if it was the normal butterflies or not.

“I still can’t believe you snuck her to my house,” I said, looking down at Chica.

“Well, you told me you missed her,” Ethan said, “and I just assumed you’d want to see her again… without having to see Mark.”

Considerate.

“That would be correct. Drunk Bella did one good thing for me.”

He chuckled. “When were you drunk?”

I hesitated. I didn’t want him to think I was some raging alcoholic, or that I was out partying every weekend. Oh god, this was bad. I couldn’t lie to him.

“Come on, what were you doing, Bella?” he playfully teased, poking my shoulder.

“Um… when we were talking after your stream on Saturday,” I admitted. “Had some whiskey. It was… lit.”

“Was this the same night you and Jack ate those peppers?”

Oh god, he thinks I’m dating Jack. No, no, I’m single and sad even though I didn’t want to be. Even though I rejected Ethan a couple of weeks back, I still wanted to date him. But he probably thought we were out here just as friends.

“Yeah,” I said. “Uh, you know: Just little things with your roommate.”

“Oh, I didn’t know you guys lived together.”

Well, now I’m just digging myself deeper. Now I had to use logic to calm myself down.

“He stays at my place during the semester,” I explained nervously. “I have an extra room… and uh, technically Mark was the one who pretty much made him stay with me.”

“Oh wait!” Ethan exclaimed, palming his forehead. “Jack did mention that! He told me that…” He paused, almost like he was choosing his words carefully. “He said that… Mark didn’t like you guys living together, like, while you guys were dating.”

I looked down at the grass, my heart palpitating at that memory. Yes, palpitating. Usually, I block panic attacks out of my head from how traumatic they are, but the one caused by that argument was harder to suppress. I chewed the inside of my cheek before speaking again.

“He got… jealous,” I told Ethan, deciding to be honest. “I don’t have many friends at all. Jack was the first friend I made in a long while, and we got close pretty fast. That happened mainly because back in like, January, Mark suggested that Jack should live with me for the semester. Then he got upset, and we argued, and I had a pretty bad panic attack. But uh, me and Jack are still friends so that’s all that matters to me.”

The silence between us got nerve wracking pretty quickly. Surely Ethan was going to be on Mark’s side about this. Frankly, I didn’t want to hear it.

“But anyway, I don’t wanna rant too much about my ex,” I said, glossing over the subject.

“Mark made you have a panic attack?” Ethan asked. “That’s a little fucked up.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It was shitty, but we got over it.” And then a few months later, he left me.

It felt weird talking about my ex to Ethan, who now worked for him. It was even weirder now that his feelings were out and about. I had to talk about other things now, and only one particular thing came to mind.

“You, uh, you said you have ADHD?” I asked, hoping I didn't hit a nerve. “Or, uh, you told me you understood having a mental illness…”

“Yeah,” he replied, yet it didn't feel like the mood darkened. “Since I was a kid. It was pretty bad. Or, it is pretty bad.”

Is this how normal people felt when they pestered mentally ill people with invasive questions? I didn't want to be annoying, but I was curious. I wanted to know more about his condition, especially if we were eventually going to start seeing each other. I wanted to know how it would affect us, like my anxiety would.

“I don't wanna be nosy o-or invasive-” I began.

“You can ask me anything,” Ethan said.

I quietly sighed in relief. “So you said it is pretty bad. Have you never been treated for it?”

“Yeah, I used to be on medication when I was in high school. But the side effects changed my personality so much that it wasn't worth it for me,” he explained. “I felt like a completely different person, and I didn't like it. Now, I'm finding other ways to deal with it.”

I know the feeling of medication. Granted, I was only on it for six days, but I did feel plenty of drastic changes.

“Can I ask about your anxiety?” Ethan suddenly prompted.

The shift was unexpected, but I nodded. Here we go.

“Do specific things make you anxious?”

“You want a list?” I asked in response.

He chuckled. “Why not?”

Oh god, he's serious. I hesitated, trying to shake it off with a laugh. He should know, it would explain a lot of my behavior.

“I-It just sounds really dumb when I say any of it out loud,” I explained sheepishly.

“Aww no,” he consoled. “Hey, look. I have days where I can't form a coherent sentence. Sometimes I put my phone down for two minutes and I'll forget where I've put it. Sometimes I just really, really want to sleep, but my mind is so restless that it doesn't let me. And… what was I talking about?”

I was touched that he shared all of that so easily. I couldn't help but smile. “Specific triggers and quirks about our disorders,” I reminded him.

“Right…” He looked at me, returning the smile. “Now it's your turn.”

“Okay.” I took a deep breath. “I'm absolutely terrified of answering the phone. I exclusively text and email, or whatever doesn’t require speaking. I can't be in crowded spaces or parties, especially by myself. In class, I either sit in the back or close to the wall, and I don't know why, I just have to. And… I have a huge laundry list of triggers...”

“Wait, parties?” Ethan repeated. “But you went to homecoming.”

“Yeah, I had tequila to help me cope with that. And I don't like having to drink in order to cope with social situations, so I don't go out.”

He hummed. “That's why you were so talkative.”

I blushed at the memory, even though it was still kind of blurry. “Oh god, if I said anything too personal or embarrassing… Oh god, I'm so sorry.”

Ethan smiled wider. “It's okay. It was nice to talk to someone, especially because I was - or, still am - new here. It was fun.”

Still embarrassing. Still made me want to die inside. That was also the second time I mentioned drinking to cope, so now he definitely thought I was some unstable alcoholic.

“Well, I'm glad my drunk self provided some entertainment for you,” I told him.

“Are you nervous right now?” he asked.

There's this weird thing where I'll be anxious about something, but I would ignore it and let it sit in the back of my head. Then, when it's pointed out, it would come back a bit more intense than it already was. So when Ethan inadvertently made me think about the bad case of nerves I was experiencing, I hesitated and looked at him with urgent eyes.

“That's a yes,” he assumed. “Oh no, did I do something?”

“No, no, no, no!” I quickly said. “No, it's not you, it's just - fuck, can we sit down?”

We stopped in our tracks and sat on the grass. Chica graciously lied between us, and I was even more grateful that she was here. The more I pet her and looked at her happy face, the quicker the nerves came down.

“Are you okay?” Ethan asked cautiously. “Do you need anything?”

I shook my head, trying to slow my breathing. My head was spinning. “I just, it's that… I get anxious over everything.” I started to ramble. “Like, I can't answer the phone, or the door… I can't go to the store without crying in the car for fifteen minutes before going inside. I'm nervous about every little thing, so this… it's nothing you did or said. Sometimes I can't tell what's normal nerves or irrational nerves. But, on the bright side, I'm not having a panic attack.” I said all of this very quickly and breathlessly.

He was nodding at every word. “Okay… so you're fine?”

“I will be. I'm so sorry.”

“It's okay, you can't really help it. Right?”

Exactly. I can't help it, this is just how it is. It's what we have to deal with.

I nodded, feeling the sense of self-loathing. I couldn't just have a simple walk with a cute guy and a cute dog, could I? “Can I ask you another question about your ADHD?”

“Sure.”

“Do you ever hate it?”

He paused for a moment. I could tell he was looking at me, but I didn't return the gaze. “I have my moments, or days, where it really fucking sucks. I used to resent it when I was younger. But now, I think it… adds a little spark to my personality. Like, if there was a cure for it, I wouldn't take it, because it's helped shape me into who I am now. And… I like who I am.”

This isn't relatable anymore. In fact, I wanted to cry, but I couldn't do it in front of him. I just focused on petting Chica.

“I wish I could be like that,” I admitted. I could have explained more about how much I hated having anxiety disorder, and how much it's taken away from me. But this time with Ethan was supposed to be fun and happy, and I already ruined it.

Ethan was about to say something else, had he not heard his name called from a distance away. He turned, and well… I should have left a while ago. Or maybe I shouldn’t have come at all.

“Shit,” I whispered as I saw Mark walking towards us.

We both stood up, and I quickly gave the leash to Ethan. My life was flashing before my eyes, I just couldn’t look like it. My eyes stayed on the top of Chica’s head.

“Hey,” Ethan greeted, sounding cautious. “When did you get here?”

“Just now,” Mark replied. “What’s going on here? You guys know each other?”

“Y-Yeah. We’re friends.” He sounded nervous.

“I told him the other day how much I missed Chica,” I added, suddenly looking up. “He invited me out here.”

Mark nodded once. I could be super paranoid, but I felt bad vibes. My anxiety was suddenly replaced with defense.

“How long has this been going on?” he asked.

“‘Why? Is there a problem?” I said back.

He scoffed. “Well, my friend and my ex-girlfriend apparently know each other. I’m guessing you guys started talking after Ethan moved here… did no one care to think how I’d feel about that?”

“I’m sorry,” Ethan said, looking down.

My defense and anger only went up. I wanted to protect him. I glared at Mark.

“I hang out with Jack, are you going to yell at him again?” I asked spitefully.

“Well, how do you think I should react to this?” His deep voice was intimidating, but somehow I stood my ground.

“I think what I do in my spare time and what Ethan does in his spare time shouldn’t concern you,” I snarked.

Mark narrowed his eyes. “Ethan, can you take Chica to my car?”

He passed his keys over to the silent boy next to me. I felt awful that Mark was probably going to give him shit about this later. I wanted to protect him from that. I wanted to take all the shit for him.

“What are you doing, Bella?” Mark asked when Ethan was out of earshot.

I folded my arms and gave him a look. “Nothing. What do you think I’m doing?”

“I don’t know. Since when do you talk to my editor?”

“Since I was sitting alone at homecoming and he didn’t know anybody, so we kept each other company!” I stepped closer to Mark, holding up an angry finger. “I swear to god, if you give Ethan a hard time about this - if you start treating him the way you did to Matt and Ryan-”

“I’m not-”

“So help me god-”

“I’m not going to yell at him!” Mark snapped. “Just… why do you always end up taking my friends?”

I shrugged, still exasperated. “You’re friends with decent people! And I’m not in any place to pass of friendship right now. It’s not my fault Ethan’s a sweetheart!”

Mark didn’t like those words apparently. “Yeah? Are you telling him all your deep dark secrets as well?”

“It always goes back to that, doesn’t it?” I asked. I wanted to pull my hair out. How dare he throw that in my face.

“You’re not the only one who was hurting in our relationship, Bella.”

“Well, you dropped me unexpectedly and then found someone new, so if you wanna talk about pain…” I paused to let out a spiteful laugh. “You made me feel like everything was going to be okay. You made me feel safe and secure… so much, that I actually thought about a future with you.”

“You had a shitty way of showing it,” Mark said resentfully. “I was giving everything I had to be there for you. I was fighting for you, for us! But every time I took one step forward, you took ten steps back! Then you decided to put all of your trust into someone who wasn’t me, your boyfriend! It was like you stopped trying to trust me, so I stopped trying too.”

“Then you found stable little Amy,” I grumbled.

“Okay, you know what?” His voice raised. “Everyone’s got their problems! At least stable little Amy doesn’t sit there and play the victim! It’s a two way street, and you weren’t giving anything anymore! With or without Amy, you left me with no choice!”

“You don’t think I wasn’t trying?” I shot back, tears welling up in my eyes. “You were the first person who had gotten through to me in a long time, you think I didn’t appreciate that? You think I wasn’t fighting with myself not to run away? God, I loved you with every fiber of my being! We hit a bump in the road, it happens! We had plenty of time to grow! I had plenty of time to grow, and you knew that! At least I thought you did…”

Mark was shaking his head, and then he looked down. “If you had said any of this sooner… any kind of inkling that showed you were still in this… things would have been so different. Maybe we would have had our future.”

I thought I would have been a crying, panicky mess after that conversation. Instead, I was just… sad. We could have been together for a lot longer than nine months. I wanted that. I was so much happier with him. I had it so good, how could I just let it go?

Maybe I should have tried harder to fight with myself. But I still couldn’t understand why he had wanted to stay with me. Despite how painful it was, it made more logical sense in my head for Mark to leave with someone normal. Just as I had thought, he got tired of me and left.

Here I was now, having an interest in Ethan. Who’s to say that it won’t be the same pattern? I’ll close myself off, he’ll find someone new, and then he’ll forget about me. Having that happen once was enough to fuck me up for life. Just thinking about falling for Ethan only for him to find someone new made me want to be sick. I couldn’t have that happen to me again. Did I have to cut him off now to save us both the headache? How could I trust him?

Once I was home with Jack, I decided against both telling him what happened, and texting Ethan. At this point, though, Jack could tell when something was wrong. Being the friend he is, he asked what was wrong.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “Stupid stuff.”

“If it’s bothering you, it’s not stupid,” Jack told me.

My patience was wearing thin. “Well, I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Was it Ethan? Did he do something?”

“Can you leave me alone?” I snapped. “I said I don’t wanna talk about it!”

I went to my room, trying not to feel guilty over the stunned look on his face. I just wanted to be alone, since that was how I was going to end up living my life. If I stayed alive that long, at least…

At one point, Ethan texted me. The plan was to ignore every interaction of his, but I grabbed my phone like it was a lifeline as soon as it dinged. It was a tough habit to break.

“Hey, Jack told me you were upset. Everything okay?”

Not what I wanted to talk about. Not what I needed. Not talking to you anymore.

My phone dinged again.

“Did I say something wrong? Did Mark do something? I’m sorry either way.”

I shoved my phone into my nightstand drawer and slammed it shut. I was so overwhelmed, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I sat on the floor and leaned against my bed, running my fingers through my hair. I was in a constant state of tension. Mark pissed me off, made me sad, and reminded me why I wasn’t meant to have anything good. Ethan, on the other hand, was pulling me out of the dark. Or, trying to. But I couldn’t let him. He deserved better than that.

Now he was teaming up with Jack to, what? Keep track of me? Why would they do that? Sure, I tried to commit suicide, but I was fine now! I couldn’t have them worrying about me! They didn’t deserve that, they’re better off without me.

Eventually, I heard a knock on my door. I didn’t answer, but Jack entered somewhat urgently anyway. I heard him sigh when he saw me sat on the floor. No, mijo, I’m not dead. Not physically at least.

“You don’t have to say anything,” he told me as he sat next to me. “I was just told that you weren’t answering your texts. I got a little worried.”

I sighed in return. I wasn’t going to kill myself as long as he was in my life. But I couldn’t tell him about the thoughts circling my head. I couldn’t have him worry about me just before he leaves for the holidays.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said quietly. “I didn’t mean to… be like that.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t mean to pry,” he said. “But whatever it was, just know you can talk to me. You can talk to me, Bella. I mean it.”

“I know. Thank you.” I rested my head on his shoulder.

As the week progressed, I signed up for spring classes. I had to remind myself of my followers, who were the reason why I decided to go to YouTube University in the first place. They got me to where I was, they helped pull me out of my dark hole at times. I had to remember them. I wasn’t completely alone.

There was still a part of me that felt like I wasn’t going to make it to spring time. But there was another part that had to because I signed up for classes at uni. That was a reason to hold on, right?

If Jack wasn’t leaving to patch things up with Signe, I’d ask him to stay with me. Or maybe, if he wasn’t leaving at all, I wouldn’t be feeling like this. I couldn’t tell if I was growing dependent on him or if I actually wanted his help. Somehow, I managed to keep on a strong face when I dropped him off at the airport that Friday, and even when I felt the crushing solitude.

Last time I sent him home, I didn’t feel as alone. At the time, I had Mark, and while I wasn’t exactly okay, I had a small shred of hope that I would be. I had a sense of determination. I was almost ready to overcome everything. I finally felt like I had a purpose, and he helped me see that purpose.

But now I was wondering why I ever felt like that in the first place. It felt like a myth, like a completely different person living a different life. It was all meant to fall apart at the end, though. Mark said he was going to leave me with or without Amy. He was probably meant to be with her, given how happy they looked, how happy he looked. I couldn’t have prevented that, even if I tried.

I wasn’t really heartbroken anymore. I wasn’t really angry either. Once I was alone in my apartment, it all just slipped away. I felt empty, and it wasn’t necessarily because of the breakup. My mind was too clogged up to pinpoint the reason for this. Usually, I would have Helena help me figure this out, but her office was closed for the holidays. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have the energy to schedule an appointment with her.

By the time I plucked up the courage to talk to Ethan again, he was already leaving for the holidays. He would be in Maine for Christmas, and then return to Los Angeles for New Year’s. I asked him if Mark gave him a hard time after what happened on the field, and he said no. I figured he only said that to get me out of his hair, so I left it at that.

The only thing I could do to distract myself was to make videos. My makeup tutorials around this time of year were mostly dark themed. My “tradition” of coping with not having a Christmas was just to make my makeup as dark as possible. I never called it a “tradition,” though, my followers did, and they looked forward to it. I ranted about bisexual visibility or something and called it a day.

On Christmas Eve, I didn’t get out of bed. My mind was reliving old memories of going to my grandparents’ house and having pozole. We would open presents at midnight. I was a happy child, so I’ve been told. I couldn’t remember that feeling anymore. I couldn’t remember when my parents didn’t hate me. I could barely remember the last Christmas I had.

Every year since I cut off my family, I told myself I would forget about the holidays. But when Christmas was advertised all over the place, it was hard. It was hard to forget the people I grew up with, the people who grew to hate me. I didn’t mean to be a useless pile of crap this year, it just happened on its own.

Feeling useless led to feeling hopeless. Being alone gave my mind plenty of time to wander off and spiral. My hopelessness made that mind-numbing fog intensify so much that the glowing emergency exit sign shone brighter. It was the only thing I could see in this haze. Just like last time…

“I don’t wanna die,” I whispered, my throat sore. It was probably from the dehydration.

I had lost track of the days right after Christmas. All I knew was that it wasn’t the new year just yet. Jack had texted me a few times since he left, which is what made me say those words. I still had him, even if he was far away. That was a reason to stay.

“Can’t die,” I whispered, reaching for my phone. I unlocked it and saw the date.

New Year’s Eve.

Next thing I knew, I was popping a Xanax (or two) and texting Aria, asking about her evening plans. When she told me she was in town and planning to party the night away with Sophie, I rolled myself out of bed. I had to get ready. This was going to be the biggest distraction. Maybe I should have done this last time.

_______

next fic: You Look Happier

#crankgameplays x oc #ethan nestor x reader #jacksepticeye x oc #markiplier x oc #sc fic #sweetheart writes #one more fic left in the series #and then its dead and gone forever :p #i am excite are u excite

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thursdayplaid · 7 years

Note

For the fic request: Sportacus finds out one of the kids is being bullied by someone at school.

My first Lazytown fanfic!

Please keep in mind that I asked for prompts to get a handle on characters and to practice in the world of Lazytown. Hopefully its enjoyable, if not I welcome any sort of constructive criticism and guidance. Also, I really like the idea of elves having characteristics that are different than humans and so I played with that a bit. Maybe it worked? Also its not betaed because a) time, and b) I don’t know any Lazytown betas yet.

álfatrú(belief in elves)

summary: Sportacus finds out Ziggy has been bullied and tries to give him some level of comfort.

words: 2322

Sportacus had always been restless. When Sportacus was younger, Pabbi hadconsidered him in that brusque way of his, patted his head and told him he wasjust his own sort of person. He hadliked the idea of being his own sort of person. It sounded promising, it sounded special, it sounded like the beginningof an adventure. Here he was now, in themiddle of his adventure and still restless.

It was an etched in part of him, like his Name, like thesame old instinct that made Sportacus tread careful at crossroads. Asecond skeleton he wore under his skin, a second set of ears attuned to hear, asecond set of nerves singing with electricity. It gave him the need to keep watch over thecity that he’d adopted and that had adopted him, an anxiety to be activelyavailable. For children, absence andomission could be as harmful as open malice. The children of Lazytown just wanted attention, just wanted someone tolisten to them. The knowledge set himorbiting Lazytown in his airship, telescope out.

There was faint vibration against his chest, just someone invague distress, not quite someone in trouble. His crystal hummed and buzzed from time to time, like when Robbie wassuffering from insomnia, or when Trixie’s mother felt lonely, so today wasn’t anydifferent until he spotted two boys pushing and tugging on the familiar shapeof Ziggy. They had him by the cape likea baby bird by the wing and were dragging him backwards up a hill. No sooner had Sportacus recognized what was happening,processed it, he found he’s already leapt from the airship, his teeth bared.

Sportacus wasn’t quite sure how he got there, other than hegot there fast, but the damage seemed already done. Ziggy lay crumpled on the ground, and the twoboys stood over him with his cape in their hands. His body felt steaming with temper, he couldfeel the heavy knit in his brow. He felthis ears twitch hard under his cap as they tried to lay back against hishead. It took real effort not to bearhis fangs at them. The boys were beingcruel, but they were still children. Hetried to remember that. He tried reallyhard.

“Give me that,” he ordered, hand out. His voice sounded like flint, like the crackof glaciers. There had to be a way tosoften it, but he couldn’t think of anything but the soft sound of Ziggy’stears and the horrible nonsense certainty that the boys had torn off Ziggy’swings. It made him equal measures illand furious for all he knew little human boys didn’t have wings.

The boys tossed the cape at him and fled. Despite his anger, no amount of fury could causehim to chase after the boys and leave Ziggy, the youngest of his charges. He had the boys’ scent now, he could findthem when he was in control of himself.

“Ziggy,” Sportacus said, drowning in a wave of helplessnessthat surge over his anger. He croucheddown next to Ziggy, placing his hand on the boy’s back. “Ziggy, they’re gone now.”

As though the boy had been holding onto his dignity in frontof the bullies, the boy began weeping in earnest, his small body limp. Sportacus closed his owned eyes against thestinging wetness that formed there. After he had so utterly failed the boy, he didn’t need to make it abouthim by crying too. If he needed it, he’dcry later.

Through sobs Ziggy, sat up, pressed his face to Sportacus’side, and told him the story. Those boyshad been targeting him for weeks, an eternity for a child. They told him heroes didn’t exist, that he’dnever be one, that the world was dark and horrible and soon would be coming forhim. Maybe not that last one in so manywords, but his brother who had the skill and experience to maintain severaltowns often ran into that philosophy. That because the world had been cruel to one person, the whole world wascruel, and everyone should suffer with them.

He almost asked the boy why he hadn’t told him, but thatfelt entirely the wrong question for his little friend. “I wish you had told someone so that youwouldn’t have felt so alone, Ziggy. Youcan tell me about things like this, I’ll listen to you.”

“I thought your crystal would let you know and you’d comesave me.” He tucked his head down, shiftinghis shoulders in that way he had as though trying to distract from his face.

Sportacus had to close his eyes against the accusation thatwasn’t an accusation, the question Ziggy was too sweet to lay at a hero’sfeet. “I’m so sorry, Ziggy.”

“Did I do something wrong? Did I not need help and just did something wrong?”

“I do not think it means you do not need help, Ziggy,”Sportacus said. He took deep breaths,pulling with his diaphragm like he had been swimming to control his breathing,his tone, to keep his hands from making fists. “I think it only means the crystal believes it is a trouble that youcould fix on your own.”

He looked at Ziggy holding his cape in his hands, and feltsuch an exquisite pain it felt as though a hatchet had entered his side and hehad to brace himself against the wave of anger that surged up to overtakehim. Ziggy didn’t need his anger rightnow. That anger wasn’t for Ziggy anyway,it was for Sportacus, born hydralike out of a fear that he might fail Ziggy andan anger someone would threaten someone under his protection. At the heart of the matter both feelings wereunderstandable, but about himself and what he wanted. He could go be angry when Ziggy didn’t have ause for him anymore.

When Ziggy’s silence persisted, Sportacus leaned toward himagain. “That doesn’t mean I don’t wantto help you, Ziggy, whether or not you needme. I want you to be safe and happybecause I care about you.”

Ziggy made a little hmph-ing sound.

“You are my friend, Ziggy. And you are special, not just special to me.”

He could the hope begin to reignite in Ziggy’s eyes.

“What makes me special?” Ziggy asked, looking up at him.

As it sometimes did, the desire to respond absolutely correctly almost overpoweredhim. It felt as though whole worlds heldin the balance of what he said next. Hewished his Pabbi was there to advise him in that brusque, affectionate way ofhis, or even Ithro who was a little bossy, but seemed to have a magic touch forthese sorts of situations. It was justhim though, and he had to answer.

“You remember, Ziggy,” Sportacus told him, and hoped heunderstood. “When the other childrenforget, or are distracted by things that are not important or not good forthem, you remember. When you havelearned a truth it is yours forever. Itis a great gift, to hold a truth like a star inside you and never lose it.”

Ziggy’s eyes grew large, as large as they ever got. “Really?”

“Ziggy, when have I ever lied to you?”

The boy looked down again at the torn cape, red and limp inSportacus’ hand. He offered it without aword and the boy took it, considering it. “Grownups don’t call it lying when they do it.”

Pressing his lips together, Sportacus waited for the wave ofsomething too biased (frustration, ire, disappointment, disbelief at the poorhandling the children received habitually by the adults in their life) topass. “Maybe not, but a mistruth is amistruth and it leads to mistrust. I maynot tell you everything, Ziggy, but everything I tell you is true. I trust you with the truth and you deserve itfrom me. You’ll always deserve the truthfrom me.”

“I guess you do,” Ziggy allowed, thoughtful.

“I guess you do,”Sportacus corrected, tilting toward him to bump his shoulder and tap theirheads together gently in a way that definitely wasn’t scent marking. The boy wasn’t his pup, he had no businessmarking him anyway. Never mind when theyfirst met the boy had smelled so young, like milk from his breakfast andsunshine and enthusiasm underneath the choke of refined sugar sticking to him. It had made all the predisposition of hispeople come alive in a surge of protective instinct and natural affection. Ziggy wasn’t a baby, but some part of himkept an eye on him as though the boy was. Except when it counted apparently.

Tears spent, Ziggy took a few deep breaths against his side.

“I’m sorry they tore your cape, Ziggy,” he said for lack ofanything else. Feeling a compulsion tospeak since he was too afraid to move.

“It’s okay. I guessif I’m not a hero anyway. If I was Icould have stopped them.”

His heart jolted loose in his chest. His respect for his Pabbi, which had alwaysbeen healthy enough to survive the winter, grew even larger. Something had to be done.

“I want to tell you something important, Ziggy. It’s not a secret, but I think the people whoknow it don’t talk about it wait until someone is ready before telling them.”

“It is like a secret!” Ziggy said, the old enthusiasmcreeping back again. “Is it magic?”

Sportacus laughed. “Iguess it is. Just probably not in theway you’re thinking. Being strong, orreally, really fast, those things don’t make you a hero, not a real hero. What makes you a hero is the ability to helppeople be better, be stronger on the inside. Because a hero can’t always be there to protect someone from everything,even if they want to with all their heart.” He felt himself get a little wet behind the eyes, but shook it off. It was good for the children to see him crysometimes so they knew it was okay, but this didn’t feel like the rightmoment. “A good hero is supposed to helppeople be strong on their own so whatever happens they will be alright.”

“Like you then?” Ziggy looked up at him so earnestly. “You taught be how to be brave one step at atime, a-and you taught me that I can try my best, a-and that I can help myfriends!”

This time when Sportacus laughed it was a little wet. “Yeah, like that.” He swallowed, composedhimself. “Do you understand why thosebullies were mean to you?”

Ziggy’s face scrunched up, and he sat back so his back wasstraight. “Because they were mean boys.”

“Yes, and what they did was wrong. That’s not why they did it though, no one isjust one thing. People act that waybecause something is wrong in their life. Sometimes it’s because they’re afraid and they think if they makesomeone else afraid too it will make them bigger than someone’s fear. And sometimes they do it because someone theycare about acts that way and they want that person to like them more. Sometimes it’s even because they wantfriends, and they don’t know how to make them, and so it makes them jealous andangry at people who are happy and have things they like and care about.”

Face creased in thought, Ziggy seemed to consider this,seemed to roll it around in his brain as he came to terms with it.

“For someone like that, if a hero was really strong and justcame in and beat them up it wouldn’t teach them anything,” Sportacus said toconvince himself as much as Ziggy. “Itwould make them feel even angrier and more scared. It is hard because everyone has a right todefend themselves and say no, but a hero coming in and hurting them, thisdoesn’t change anyone’s mind. It onlybreaks them or makes them harder and both of these things are wrong.”

“So they were mean to be because they were mad I’m happy andhave friends?”

“Probably. It’s notanything you did wrong or should be ashamed of, they just tried to make itsound the way to justify what they did. You’re not to blame for what happened, you didn’t do anything to attracttheir attention, it was just sad chance.”

“So I should just be their friend?” Ziggy looked up at him.

Sportacus leaned back, trying to think about how to saythis. “Not right now. You shouldn’t ever put yourself in a positionwhere someone might hurt you or take advantage of you, and you have a right toleave if you find yourself in a position like that on accident. I want you to be safe, Ziggy. Both inside and out. Right now they’re too unkind. I’ll make sure there’s someone with enoughtraining and knowledge to talk to them and help them make better choices.”

“Okay,” Ziggy said with total faith in him and Sportacuscouldn’t help it. He leaned in, knockinghis forehead against the side of Ziggy’s head and left a quick swipe of his ownscent across the boy’s hair. It settledpart of the restlessness in him that his friend (pup) was safe and marked aspart of his clan. It took him back tohis own youth when his grandmother would hold up him and Ithro one at a time,rubbing her forehead against theirs before they left for the day.

“Okay,” Sportacus mirrored. “Now, why don’t we see if we can get that fixed?”

“That’s okay,” Ziggy smiled up at him. “I don’t think I need it. Not right now.”

#lazytown #lazytown fanfic #ziggy #sportacus #tw bullying #bullying #its my first try #sorry if he doesn't work

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