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seasonsofeverlark · 3 years

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Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21 It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark.

Special thanks to @norbertsmom for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

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Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly.

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la lista de los niños malos?”

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever.

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep.

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight.

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story.

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me.

Canasto!

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach.

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me.

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath.

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas.

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it. Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas! If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes. It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug.

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring.

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name.

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes.

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me.

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks.

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name.

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me.

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen.

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals.

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

Pt 2

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.”

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?”

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.”

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory.

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.”

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look.

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.”

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.”

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile.

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon.

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said.

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.”

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.”

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.”

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.”

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?”

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level.

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.”

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread.

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops. Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous.

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station.

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes.

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance.

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard.

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time.

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.”

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed.

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor.

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller.

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.

I nearly snorted.

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers.

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit.

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around.

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum.

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.”

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa.

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command.

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.”

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died. “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile.

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears.

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #mega-aulover #submission #prompt

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vanchlo · 3 years

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The Partner / Chapter Four, “Telling”

Word Count: 11.6k words / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Song: Combat by Hazel English (click to listen)

“Now is now. Are you going to be here or not?”

- Ram Dass

The trill of the ringtone brought my eyes open, but as soon as I do and the sun blinds me, I wish that I hadn’t. He was always the one to close the blinds after I’d opened them, something I’d forgotten to do already.

“Hello?” I say, blindly answering the phone, retreating to under the covers.

“Hi, bug. I hope ‘m not interruptin’ anythin’ important at work, but ‘m on me lunch and wanted t’ call. I miss my fiance.”

A smile is already brewing on my lips, beginning the first second I heard Harry’s voice. It had only been hours since I’d heard it last, but somehow, it was always too long.

“Oh, hi,” I reply, clearing my throat, knowing my sleep-ridden voice gives it away already. “Um, I’m actually at home.”

“Oh, ya are? ‘s ev’rythin’ okay with you, Becks? God, yer not sick, are you? Of all times fer that t’ happen and ‘s when ‘m gone on a case,” his voice is heavy, laden with displaced guilt that makes my insides roil. Luckily, it’s not in the same way they’ve been doing lately.

“Yeah. I woke up at 5 this morning and got sick.”

“God, ‘m so sorry, bug, that ‘m not there t’ take care o’ you. Sounds like I woke you from a nap, ‘m-,” I cut him off before the unnecessary grief can weigh either of us down all the more.

“It’s okay, Harry. I probably just ate something that was off, leftovers that weren’t good anymore. I feel fine now.”

“Good, ‘m glad t’ hear yer feelin’ better already. ‘ll be home on Thursday, ‘m jus’ sorry ‘s not any sooner.”

The first hints of a laugh fall from my lips, “Stop apologizing. It’s fine, I’m fine. I can manage a little throw up, Harry, you don’t need to say that. Believe me, I’m just glad you’re not here to see it.”

“You stop it, li’l one. We’re gettin’ married, Becks, fer better or fer worse, rememba?”

“Of course, but I’m okay. I only threw up this morning and . . “

He doesn’t give me the chance to finish, “Threw up mo’ than once? Becks honey, yer sure yer okay?”

“Yes, Harry, I’m okay,” it comes out accompanied by a laugh, making me miss his. “I’ll manage on my own for the next two days until you’re back. Thanks though, it’s cute how you worry.”

“‘s what a husband does, love, what any person does fer tha person they love.”

“I miss you,” it’s a soft murmur, holding more words than I’d know how to say. “I know we’ve done this once or twice before, you having to travel for a case, but it’s hard.”

“I know, babe, it ‘s fer me too, makes me miss you so much,” the honey is there and so is the molasses, more decadent than ever. A little too much for me to handle, making me press that button. “Hey, what’re you doin’?”

It’s only a few moments until I’m squinting through the afternoon sunshine, feeling my sullen lips turn up into my cheeks.

“Hey, there’s my buggie.”

Perhaps, his smile couldn’t be bigger when I see it fill the screen of my phone. Harry’s one-hundred watt smile shines back at me, only growing as the seconds tick along. He’d started calling me that recently, a new spin on an old nickname. I think it was coming to be my favourite, although nothing could ever top ‘Becks.’

“Hi, babe. Don’t you look cute. What in the world are you doing?” my head falls back against the pillow as I move to lie on my side.

“‘m in me car, duh. Told you I was on me lunch. I jus’ had it, went t’ a restaurant here. Had their turkey BLT and it was incredible,” he says it as if I should know this, but he does it with a curl to his lips. One that hasn’t left yet. “I reckon you look cuter tho’, babe.”

“Thanks, but I think you need your eyes checked.”

Shaking his head, Harry doesn’t say anything. He props his elbow on the door of his Rover, sitting his chin in his hand. Today, he couldn’t look more handsome, and I’m sure that I couldn’t miss him more. I wanted to run my hands along the silky smooth lapels of his muted violet blazer, a new one.

I know it was the first thing I saw him wear, suits, but he still dazzled me when he wore a new one. Sometimes, after a long day or a few hours that felt like a day, and I saw him around the firm, it felt like the first time. The color brought out the warm green of his eyes, ones that sparkle while he cards a hand covered with rings through his curls. I never could figure out why he touched them so much, or messed with them, besides assigning it to nerves.

“How’d your morning go in court?”

The words come out in a huff, one that seizes his body with evident exhaustion, “Eh, alright. Not sure yet where ‘s headed, too early t’ tell, but ‘ll jus’ be glad t’ be done soon. This one’s been a real doozy.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I can’t wait for you to come home.”

“Same here, bug. ‘ve been sleepin’ so bad here, tha bed’s too firm at tha hotel and ‘m never tha right temp. ‘m either too cold or too hot, ‘cos I don’t have me li’l heater ‘round,” he hummed with a tilt to his head, a seemingly permanent one to his lips. “I can’t wait t’ come home, then ev’rythin’ will be better.”

I missed him, more than I’d let myself tell him, or maybe even myself, too. The very words repeated in my head that night when my dinner came back up, shouting it in my skull the next morning when I hung over the toilet. Spent with tears, I ached with a longing for Harry. It lessened after my stomach had recovered, but lying in an empty bed or staring down the firm’s hallway at his closed door, it felt worse than all of the other times I had missed him. At my worst, I wanted him, and nothing else. It felt silly to miss him so much when he was only gone trying a case for four days, but I didn’t sleep well either, waking up to remnants of his smell that woke me with lies. Little did I know how much I could ever miss a person, let alone my favorite one.

Returning to work hadn’t been as difficult as I feared it would be, but at times, it was worse. Rose and I were just finishing up a case before I was set to work with Harry again after he finished his upcoming one, something I was hardly able to wait to do. Luckily, I was still able to be there with Rose to help present the case in court, seeing as I only called in the one day. I couldn’t really otherwise, and the long sessions in court were catching up with me. I hadn’t been able to keep much food down, and even when I did, I was so tired from the poor sleep I was getting. Yesterday and the day before, I had snuck in a nap on my sofa, and that’s what was next on my agenda. I could hardly wait.

Ripping open the door to my office, something causes me to stop in my footsteps. Afterwards, I wouldn’t be able to put my finger on it, if somebody had asked. It was just that feeling again, and maybe not being able to remember if the light was on even though I’d turned it off. Or, maybe the other way around. Regardless, my eyes began a scan of the room, but they didn’t get very far.

“Hi, my buggie girl.”

“Harry,” it’s the only syllable I can get out, astonishment stealing all of the others from my lips. That and my forgetting speaking altogether when I dash across the room, giving him enough time to stand up before I collide with him.

The sound of an exhale accompanies the surprise in his voice, “Oh, hi, baby. Did I surprise ya?”

His giggle adds to the concoction of him that pours the word ‘calm’ over me, starting with his safe arms around me. His smell. The sound of his wheezy laugh against my head.

“Yeah, you’re good at that.”

“Reckon I am. I got done early and found an earlier flight,” he remarks, humorous pride in his deep drawl. Molasses found althroughout. “How’re you doin’ t’day, love? ‘m sorry we didn’t get t’ talk on tha phone this mornin,’ bloody phone tag ‘s t’ blame. I hope yer hearin’ t’day went well.”

“It’s okay. I’m just so glad you’re here now,” honesty weighs heavy in my words, and in my eyes when I meet his greens. A color I didn’t know that I could miss, but I did, all those years ago. Those dimples too that fall into his cheeks before my eyes.

“Couldn’t be happier t’ be home . . even if I lost me case, but ya win some and you lose some,” Harry hums, thumbing at the divot in my own cheek. “Missed you so much.”

I feel like I can finally take a breath again when he hugs me against his front, sponging kisses along the top of my head. I felt like me again with him home, welcoming him with kisses and later, a night between the sheets.

Yet, I wasn’t sure how much longer I could keep lying to myself about that, knowing that my feeling of mine told me otherwise.

The day after he came home was no different, but little did I know how it would undoubtedly pass any expectations I could ever have. Any possibilities whatsoever.

I woke with a start, and a rock in my stomach, just like yesterday, and all of the times before. I knew what was going to happen before I even moved, that the second I did it would be a race to the bathroom. Thankfully, I hadn’t missed and hit the floor yet, but I felt like I was going to each and every time. It was just a matter of when.

He wasn’t up yet, and I wished for the past when I could turn over and cuddle with him to wake up, not by throwing up. But, I was thankful that he wasn’t awake because he thought I didn’t see it, but I did. I saw the way his face fell when I told him that I’d gotten sick again, despite his lawyer expertise concerning those blessed features of his.

This time, I made it too, wretching into the toilet. I thanked God, if there was one, that my side of the bed was closer to the bathroom. I also thanked him that Harry didn’t wake up and walk in until after I was done, or I hoped so.

“Oh, no. Not again, bubs,” he sighs in his raspy drawl thick with leftover sleep. I’m void of a response, head in my arm propped over the toilet bowl.

The swirl of soiled water disappears before me, having flushed it the second I heard his footsteps. We’d been through heaven and hell together, and yet there were still some things that were embarrassing. Throwing up was one of them. The first signs of relief begin to wash over me like cold water on a scorching day from a wet rag he swipes over my cheek.

“I dunno, Becks, this ‘sn’t seemin’ t’ let up. ‘s been a few days now, maybe you should go t’ tha doctor, love.”

“It’s okay, Harry. What could they do anyway for a stomach bug?” my sigh comes, the words muffled against my arm when I lay my head down, grimacing at the smell that’s stained the inside of my mouth. I feel like taking the rag I hold against my head and scrubbing my tongue until I can’t taste it anymore. It seemed to always be there off to the side like a threatening storm, the last couple of days since this had started.

“I dunno, ya don’t know ‘til ya try,” he comments, feet making soft noises on the floor. I don’t hear the run of the tap like I did a moment ago, instead the unscrewing and screwing of something before the sloshing of liquid. “I jus’ dunno what it could be, a stomach bug doesn’t last this long, does it?”

A mumbled reply lacking answers graces my lips after he places a cup in my hand. Lifting my aching head, I find purple mouthwash sitting in the tiny cup we use for brushing our teeth.

“Have you ever had somethin’ like this befo’, bug?”

Taking my time swishing the minty liquid around in my mouth, I almost sigh at the welcomed taste, willing the previous one away. After shaking my head at him, I nearly choke gargling on the peppermint tasting liquid when I hear his next comment.

“Let’s jus’ hope yer not pregnant, dunno how you would be tho,’” Harry titters, humor threaded throughout his tired words. “Well, we certainly do know how babies are made, we sure do loads o’ it-.”

“Stop, Harry, it’s not funny,” I don’t intend for it to come out in a near retort, but I can’t stop myself.

“Why not? It wouldn’t be bad if ya were, we’ve always wanted babies.”

My response comes, short and to the point, “You know why. We’re getting married in August, Harry.”

“Things can be moved ‘round, Becks, a baby can’t.”

“Stop talking about this like I’m pregnant, because I’m not,” I say, feeling my head fill with another wave of dull pain when I get to my feet. His hand catches my elbow when I begin to sway, legs feeling like Jello.

“Didn’t say you were, bug, ‘m sure ‘s jus’ a stomach thing. They pass afta a few days, so you should be right as rain again soon,” Harry assures me, stepping to the side to face me. Despite his angering comment, a cooling sense of relief comes when his lips touch my clammy forehead. “Maybe you should stay home again, sleep it off.”

“I’m okay, I feel a little better now. My stomach goes hard, I throw up, and then it’s done. Like clockwork.”

“‘Kay, but if ‘s not gone in two days, I want you t’ go in and be seen . . ‘m gonna hop in tha shower if you wanna join me,” Harry rasps, cocking his head to the side as the corners of his lips lift, honey dripping from them. I always loved the way he looked in the mornings. The disheveled hair that sometimes stuck up in all directions, sunshine glazing over in his eyes, and how those lazy lips always held a smile for me. This time, it was dripping with mischief, a look that I knew all too well.

“Yeah, and we both know what that’s going to lead to, Harry. Not a lot of actual showering.”

That M word grows on those watermelon pink lips of his, ones I could just eat up. “Ya, we could practice makin’ a baby, if you like. Y’know, again.”

“Stop,” it’s the closest I’ve come to giggling this morning, or any affability I’ve harbored towards this topic. “But, no. I’m sorry, I don’t really feel up to it.”

“Fine, we’ll jus’ shower fer real this time, love. ‘ll even wash you up, since yer not feelin’ good. I bet it’d help t’ feel all clean aftawards.”

“Okay,” I sigh, relishing the satisfaction gracing his cheeks masked by new stubble the color of chocolate.

“I don’t like my baby bein’ all sick,” Harry hums with his lips against my temple, the smell of vanilla and sandalwood lulling my eyes closed. It felt as if there were few times when knots didn’t riddle my insides lately, but right now, in his arms, I was free.

It had been bothering me all day, ever since Harry’s comment. If I was telling myself the truth, it had been gnawing away at the insides of my brain for longer than that. There was so much inside of me telling me that his suspicion was right when all I wanted was for it to be wrong. If I was doing that truth thing again, of course, there was a remaining part of me that wanted it to be right, but it was miniscule at best. No more was said about it after that, but that fact in itself only made it harder to forget. Even if I had wanted to speak to him about it, he had been in partner meetings all day. I knew he was due for lunch here soon, and that’s what led me to run a quick errand before then, nabbing the car keys from his right drawer where he always left them.

I certainly didn’t think that this was how it would be happening, at Harry’s firm of all places. Our firm? Guilt seeped under my skin the second I had put my plan into action, well aware that he had no idea what I was doing. Tears had been close all day long, since the time those joking words had left his lips. Sure, the blame went to him on that, but I couldn’t have known what it would lead to, either. We both could deserve the blame for this entire thing.

The second it’s done, I find that I can’t get myself to follow through. The closest thing I’ve felt to relief all day comes when I see my watch reads one o’clock. It feels like every person I pass knows my secret, despite that being an impossibility and more. The only person who could have the smallest inkling is the person whose door I stop in front of, because I’m not sure how I can do this. Or, that I can. I’ve surprised myself by getting this far in my plan.

When the door opens for me, I can’t decide if I feel lucky that he made the next decision for me. “Hi, bug. How’s yer mornin’ been? ‘ve missed you, y’know. Oh, whatcha got there? Did ya get me lunch?” his words couldn’t be sweeter. Neither could his hand that brushes against my cheek, sliding down my arm next. Alarms blare inside of me, yelling at me to tell him while others repeat the opposite. I don’t know why, but doubt floods me within milliseconds. I know that he wouldn’t be upset, but then how come I worry that he would be? “Ev’rythin’ okay, Becks?”

“I-I . . ,” I try and my failure is almost immediate. The only thing that I succeed at is pushing him back into his office, and closing the door.

“Becks, what’s wrong?” urgency shines through in his voice. It’s the last thing that I can find, in my hand or my lips. My name graces my ears a few times more as I stare at the floor, not knowing how I could ever say this. Not just that, unsure of how I can make the next move, knowing that it very well may change my life from this moment on.

“I-I can’t do it, Harry.”

“You can’t do what, bug? Ge’mme lunch?” his words are carried with that breathy laugh of his. I had been doing a good job so far today, far too good of a job. That ends when the first tear greets my cheek, and my lips begin to wobble. “Becks, what’s tha matter? Yer worryin’ me, buggie.” It shows all over him, even in the way his hand comes to cradle my cheek, wiping away the tears. Worry.

My attempt at a deep breath is futile at best, and with a sigh marked by tears, I throw caution to the wind. I do it.

“Can you, please? Because, I can’t, Harry. I can’t look at it, I’m too scared,” my words have been wicked away, the moisture in my throat too. All of it. Then, the breath in my lungs grows when I lift my hand. Any composure he had had is gone in a blink.

“Becks . . ,” now, his words are kidnapped from him, too. Come on, one of us has got to do it, and it won’t be me. “Honey, I was only jokin’ this mornin.’ You didn’t hafta take one . . Wait, yer serious, arentchu, Becks?”

“Y-Yeah. I-I missed that pill what, like two weeks ago when I lost my pack, a-and, I still took it but it might have been too late,” the words are thick on my lips, caught between the sobs that paint my cheeks with tears. They’re soon shed onto his button up when he presses me against his front.

“Oh, Becks. ‘m sure ‘s fine. Ya still took it, that’s all that matters, honey.”

I can’t remember the last time I couldn’t swallow like this, or when my heart felt like it was going to jump from my chest. It doesn’t help that my chest shakes with each new sob dealt by my lips. How do I even say it? I still can’t say the word, and how is that going to fucking work if it’s true?

“I-I was supposed to get my period last week, Harry, and I didn’t. I checked after you said that this morning and- I’m so sorry,” breaths fill my lungs hastily, but the confession doesn’t tell my heart it’s okay to stop racing a nonexistent opponent. Neither does the long sigh that leaves my fiance’s lips.

“Becks, honey, you have nothin’ t’ be sorry ‘bout. Promise,” the sensation of his warm breath against my ear distracts me, but only for a mere moment.

The devil and angel inside of my head continue to scream at me to get it over with. One insists so that then I can take the biggest breath of relief while the other cackles that my life is never going to be the same. Somehow, I find the courage to step away and to find his eyes that have grown glassy. One corner of his mouth lifts to send some sunshine my way, but I feel nothing but the mid November cold outside his window.

“It may very well be negative, y’know,” he assures me, reaching his other hand out to cradle my cheek once again. His thumb swipes back and forth on the skin, wiping away the tears like the contraption on a car’s windshield.

“And if it’s not?” my voice is sheepish and nothing else, framed by sniffling.

“Then, it’ll be okay too, promise. We spoke ‘bout if somethin’ like this were t’ happen, befo’ we even started havin’ sex. So, we were prepared. We’d keep it, of course, and we’re gettin’ married soon anyway, bug. Babies were always in tha plan, maybe we’ll get our wish a tad early, ‘s all. If so, we can reschedule tha wedding t’ be early or later on. Promise you it’ll be okay, my Rebecca Ann,” I’m not sure of the last time I had heard his voice dripping with so much sweetness. This time, I can’t tell if it does anything to fill the cracks . . to fix it. “I wantchu t’ know that befo’ I turn it over and read it. And, that I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry . . so much,” I whimper, my lips soon stilled with a kiss from his. “You’re not mad?”

“No, ‘course not, bug. Why in tha world would I be mad? We’ll be okay no matter what it says, and ‘ll be happy either way. Reckon ‘ll be over tha bloody moon if it turns out one way,” his grin couldn’t possibly reach any higher. Another chunk inside of me is filled with the sourness of guilt, because everything has drained out of me, including any happiness I could find. “I know you would be too- or would you? Ya really don’t seem okay, Becks.”

“I dunno,” my shoulders rise and fall with the two parts to my sentence. “Just scared . . We had this big, perfect plan and . . “

“I know, buggie, but nothin’ ‘bout our entire relationship has ever been traditional or somethin’ close t’ normal, but we’ve turned out okay. Much better than okay, ‘d say. We’ll be okay afta this too, we always are. ‘ll always take care o’ you, Becks, and our babies one day too,” he only reminds me once again of his talent of words and choosing the right ones. I suffice my absence for them with a hand lacing with his, and squeezing it. It just so happened to be my left one, and he lifts it to press a kiss to my engagement ring.

The closest I can manage to a swallow is when his lips press below my eye, and I hear his words, “We’ll be alright.”

“I know,” at first, I’m not sure if he had heard me. When he nods, I know. But do I really believe it?

“Ready?” my favorite voice in the entire world says. I’m not, but my heart can’t go on any longer with this suspense, and so my head answers for me. “Alrighty, then,” Harry murmurs, giving my clammy hand a squeeze. Unable to decide where to look, I can’t take my eyes away, despite being uncertain how fast I’ll get the answer then.

When I think back on it later, I’d never be able to conclude whether I wish he had kept his lawyer composure or not. The way I told the story was that the second Harry turned the pregnancy test over and his eyes found it, they lit up like a Christmas tree. There couldn’t be another ray of light inside of them, and I knew.

“We’re gonna be parents, Becks,” he says in a voice choked with emotion, it too appearing in his eyes that echo mine.

“Really?” it’s as if I had been socked in the gut, because the air whooses out of me in that instant. His nodding is emphatic as he turns it around to face me. If I hadn’t believed him before, my denial is renounced when I see the word that had been a question in my mind all morning.

“We’re havin’ a baby,” Harry wheezes with wet words, dropping his arm. I don’t remember his coming around me in a hug, or replying to him, echoing those same words.

It’s all a blur, his words of excitement about becoming a father, my obligatory remarks likened to his. Moments later, I sit there on his sofa wondering what the hell just happened. Turning over the oblong plastic thing in my hands, the one word goes in and out of focus before the tears that flood my eyes.

Pregnant

I’m going to be a mum.

How?

I don’t even know how to be one. I don’t know the first thing about changing nappies. I try to eat healthy, but it never works. I hardly get enough sleep and drink enough water, as it is. Sure, I thought I’d have kids by 25, and I’m newly 28, but I still feel so young. I most definitely don’t feel ready to become a mother.

No, we’re supposed to get married this summer. I already picked out the dress. It’s perfect, and I won’t be able to fit into that with a watermelon in there, and fucking grapefruits on my chest. Wait, how far along would I be at the wedding?

Shit, I’d be ready to pop by then, if not having done so already. Fuck.

“No,” it flies from my lips. I don’t stop it as my head tips into my hands, spilling loud sobs there. The sound of my crying is the only thing that I hear. No, there are no words from Harry or consolation, because the Dad To Be couldn’t have jumped higher from the news. He’s next door telling Myles, and I couldn’t feel lower.

How can this be? We were so careful. I took my pill every day at dinnertime, but I thought still taking the one after almost missing it entirely was fine. The package said so, and I had had some spotting not long after, a few days of it. The pill had made my periods lighter and easier, so I just assumed it was my period. I went through all of the typical stuff - breakouts, sore boobs, the cramps.

“Goddammit,” I mutter under my breath, embracing the sting of my fingernails digging into my scalp. “They’re fucking pregnancy symptoms too.”

And then, there was the vomiting. It wasn’t just in the mornings, but it had been sporadic the last few days. I thought that I had come down with a bug of some sort, but no. There was a baby growing inside of me, that’s why. It was the explanation for everything - my achy boobs, the cramping, the spotting, and the throwing up.

Harry’s baby.

Our baby.

Holy fucking shit.

As the clock in Harry’s office announces every passing second, my trip on the Guilt Express only carries on, because the Happiness Train was only moving farther away from me. Instead, the stops on my ticket are Unplanned, It’s Too Soon, What About The Wedding, We Just Got Engaged, We’re Fucking Moving Houses So Where Would A Baby Go, and This Is All A Dream, Right?

The sights of Harry’s office swim into view, but their familiarity does nothing to calm me. My heart still thrashes inside of my chest, and I’m afraid it may make a run for it. Suddenly, the announcement blares inside of my head again. Harry and I are having a baby in nine months. With a sniffle, my lips wobble as my head slowly falls. Dropping the pregnancy test on my lap, my hand inches towards my body.

It’s no different when I feel it, my hand caressing my flat stomach. Nor does it look anything but how it has for as long as I can remember. I’d be lying to myself if I said it didn’t feel any different inside of me, because it does. I can’t see it, or feel it, but the words appear inside of my head momentarily.

There’s a baby in there, in my belly. My baby. I’m its mum, and Harry is its dad. They’re ours. They could be a boy or a girl. They may not be bigger than my fingernail, I suppose, but God, they’re ours. The sourness builds upon each other, and I can’t hold it back anymore, soon finding refuge in Harry’s trash bin. Whimpers leave my lips as the contents of my stomach do too.

For one of the few times, I thank God that Harry wasn’t there. I busy myself with wrapping up the bag, replacing it with a new one, and lightning some candles. It’s not enough to remove the thoughts that I’m unsure I’ll ever escape, now. My head spins when I sit down again holding it, feeling my body shake as shouts fill my mind.

Why am I not happy? I have wanted to be a mum my entire life, and now that I am, I . . I wish that I wasn’t.

Why can’t I be like Harry? He doesn’t even have to try, and he’s happy about it. The tears only come faster when I realize that I don’t think I’ve ever seen him as happy as this, rivaling the night I told him I’d marry him.

“Alright, bug?”

Speak of the Devil, and he shall appear. Clearing my throat, I hurriedly wipe at my face whilst looking towards the window, wishing I could be anywhere else but here. That I could be anybody else but me.

“Y-Yeah,” my reply is mumbled. The tightness in my gut that appeared when I saw that look of happiness on his face fights on when his hand touches my shoulder.

“We should get some lunch in that belly o’ yers, Mummy. What’s sounding good t’ you?”

My insistence that I couldn’t feel worse is eradicated by his words washing over me. The specific ones that he chose to say, because it can get worse.

“I’m not very hungry.”

“Oh, stomach still queasy afta this mornin’, bub?” he questions. Without looking, I can tell that he’s taken a seat beside me, worry claiming his face. “Maybe somethin’ easy, then. Yogurt, a banana, rice, or some chicken noodle soup. Ya still gotta eat, love, ‘specially now with tha baby. They need t’ eat, too.”

Nodding my head up and down only makes it hurt worse. All I want to do is cry, and not in front of him. I want to be in our bed, without him there. What is happening to me? Since when do I wish he wasn’t around?

I don’t want to have to be thinking about how I haven’t had anything to eat today, and how that’s not good for our growing baby. The baby that relies on me to take care of it, and that in nine short months will need Harry and I every second to do that too. I hadn’t even completed my mentorship with him, or been at the firm for two years. We hadn’t even been together for two years. For God’s sake, we aren’t even married, yet.

“Becks?” for a lawyer, he does a poor job of hiding the urgency in his voice. The worry and doubt. The very feeling that I can’t walk away from, even though I don’t have it in me to try. “Any o’ that sound good t’ you . . and tha baby, love?”

There it is, again. The baby. I hate myself more and more when I get angry at him for saying it like that, reminding me of this newfound responsibility that I have. One that I didn’t ask for. I know that he doesn’t mean to add to the guilt o’meter, but he does. With every second that happiness escapes me, I do it without knowing, too.

“You can get Chinese, if you want. I’ll just have some broth and rice. I’ll try it, anyways.”

“‘Kay, good. Thanks, bug,” his words are punctuated with a kiss to the top of my head. I know that it’s coming, and that it’s the most overdue I’ve ever been for a question from him. His hand leaving stripes up and down my back doesn’t do much to help the impending doom. “Sure yer alright, Becks?”

I can’t do it. After all of the times that I did, I can’t this time. No, not about this. Wouldn’t it be easier to, though? To lie? Because, how in the fuck do I tell my fiancée, the love of my life, and my best friend in the entire world that I’m scared out of my mind that we’re having a baby? What words do I even choose to relay to the man who I’d always wanted to be the father of my children, that now we’re having a baby together, I can’t figure out how to be happy about it? I have to tell him, don’t I?

Harry is good at loads of things. Rather, there’s very few things that he’s not good at, and reading me isn’t one of them. Taking the last step that’s not there has been something I knew from the start he excelled at. When I need it the most, he does it. I feel the comforting weight of his body around mine, and sobs are flying from my lips again.

“I’m scared, Harry. I don’t know what to do, or how we’re going to do this. I don’t know how to be a mum, let alone a good one,” I couldn’t remember a time that my heart hadn’t been pounding beneath my ribs. Without asking, I wondered if the baby could hear it. It was so sudden, the way it had weaved its way into my thoughts, because all of a sudden, it was there too. The baby. Our baby. It had been there, growing inside of me for how many days now and we didn’t know.

“We’ll be okay, Becks. I promise you. I promise you. Ev’rythin’s gonna be alright, my love. ‘m gonna take care o’ you . . tha both o’ you. You, and our son or daughter. ‘ve known fer so long, well befo’ we got t’gether that you’d make a wonderful mum. Ya take care o’ me so well, and yer so good with Harper and Ollie. ‘m rather nervous too, they’ll be so tiny and helpless. I dunno tha first thing ‘bout breastfeedin,’ which dummy t’ choose, or what a baby wants when they’re cryin’ but, Becks, I know we’ll figure it out t’gether. We’re such a great team, love, and ‘m positive that we can take this on too,” my nodding into his chest is instantaneous, and so are the tendrils of relief when his fingers begin to comb through my hair. “'ve dreamt so long o’ havin’ babies with you, Becks. We’re gonna make tha cutest ones, I jus’ know it . . We’ll learn all o’ this t’gether, babe. We’ll be alright.”

“I love you, Harry,” still, the tears haven’t signalled a retreat. Neither has the sadness that weighs on my shoulders.

“I love you too, Rebecca Styles, mo’ than anythin’ in this entire world. Dunno how ‘ll come t’ love another quite like you, but already know I love our li’l baby loads. They’re gonna have tha best mum ever.”

I wish he could know that he mistakes my coming sobs for happiness when I don’t even know what the hell they are. I can’t figure out why they came when he talked about already loving our baby, and that I’ll be the best mum. Until I do, because I try to say something that affirms that I feel the same things too.

I can’t, because I don’t. I hope that eventually, I may.

It was difficult for me to remember the last time it had been like this, when all I had wanted was to feel okay again. Each time I questioned why I couldn’t, I only felt all the worse. It didn’t come when I had taken the second pregnancy test in the bathroom once Harry had gone back to his meeting. The same word showed up on this one too, although I’m not sure why I had thought it would be any different. I wasn’t sure if I could be swimming in any more guilt, realizing that I had begged and pleaded for it to say something else so all of this could go away.

I had dreamt of this day ever since I was a little girl. This wasn’t how it went. My tears were for another reason entirely, and for a while after Harry left again, I couldn’t get them to stop. I could hardly breathe. Just when I thought I’d caught my breath, the devil inside of me reminded me that I should be happy and that I’m not. The rug was pulled out from under me again and again, and so was my breath.

I’d seen him only twice this morning since we had gotten to work, seeing how he was in meetings all day long. No, now he was checking on me every hour, making excuses for bathroom breaks that were spent visiting me. By now, the tears had dried out and that was the least of my worries. As if this all wasn’t too much already, I’d never felt more numb.

It had been twenty minutes of ignorant bliss that he interrupted when he walked into my office again. The moment our eyes connect, it all comes rushing back to me. I remember it. The baby.

“Hey, love. How’s it goin’ in here?” Harry asks, looking a little too nonchalant as he strides into my office, hands in his trousers.

“You don’t have to check up on me. I’m fine, Harry,” my words take on a blunt edge that I intended, I can’t lie.

“But I want t.’ I dunno how t’ do all o’ this, ‘ve never been a Dad befo.’ I jus’ can’t stop thinkin’ ‘bout you, tha two o’ you,” he coos, arriving behind me and draping his arms around my neck. They lay there loosely, cupping my shoulders on either side. I thank God that he can’t see my face, especially when his hand wanders to my stomach that he rubs. “How ya feelin’? Did what ya had at lunch help settle yer stomach at all?”

Gritting my teeth, I ready my answer, forgetting the flow that I had found in writing up this statement for my case. “No,” I answer, swallowing afterwards, still able to taste it in my mouth despite the sticks of gum I’d chewed.

“Oh, ‘m sorry. Did-.”

“Yeah, I threw up again. But I’m fine, I had a cup of ginger tea and that seemed to help. I’ve been able to keep that down, plus a banana and a few slices of toast. I guess I was really hungry,” I respond, unsure of whether to take one of his hands, or not. This is all so unprecedented, and I really have no idea what I’m doing. I have a feeling of what I should be doing, like telling him that I’d already thrown up three times today, but I don’t know how to.

“God, ‘m sorry, love. ‘s it normal t’ be gettin’ sick so much like that? It can’t be good fer you or tha baby, but ‘m glad you were able t’ eat some mo.’ I hope that stuff stays down now, ‘s no wonder you were starvin’ since there was nothin’ left in there,” my eyes fall shut when his nose nudges at my temple in between kisses. “Ya sure I can’t get you anythin’? Y’know, there’s a whole case of ginger ales in me office, if ya want. I can’t believe I forgot they were there, I know they help settle yer stomach too.”

“Thanks. I might grab one a little later, or something. You should get back to your meeting, Harry, it’s important.”

“I know, jus’ wanted t’ make sure you were okay, buggie. Y’know, if ya need t’ at any time, you can go home if yer really not feelin’ well. ‘ll jus’ get a ride from Myles or somethin.’ ‘d come with, o’course, but I can’t miss these meetings,” blinking hard, his words find a crack inside of me, but there’s too many to choose from. He really is the best, only reminding me that I somehow found the perfect man to be the father to my children. I wish happiness bloomed inside of me at that realization, but sadness only comes again to overwhelm any happiness that brought me. Breathing in, my throat feels scratchy. Silently, I tell him to leave before it starts again. “If ya need anythin’ jus’ text me and ‘ll see it on me watch, ‘ll be checkin.’ I hope you have a good rest o’ yer day and that you continue t’ feel better. Love you.”

My pause continues for seconds and seconds more. Longer than I had meant before I can speak without giving it away, “I love you too.” I force a small smile at him when he walks away, wondering why I can’t have all of that sunshine inside of me like he always does. The door closes softly behind him, and my returning sobs are even quieter. Darkness is all I see when I bury my face into my knees, hugging them against my chest. Seconds later, I think of the baby, and loosen my grip.

This is what it’s going to be like for the next nine months, isn’t it? The rest of my life? I’m going to catch myself thinking about them first.

Once it starts, I can’t stop. Have I had a drink in the last few weeks? No, thank God, no. Have I been eating healthy? Kind of. Have I been sleeping well? Hardly. Wait, does sex hurt the baby? Because Harry and I had been doing a lot of that. Well, no duh, Becky, that’s what got you here in the first place. Had I been lying on my stomach too much, and would that hurt it? Had I been around secondhand smoke? Shit, did I miss my vitamin this morning?

With each new tear and question, my cheeks become slick with them. The air disappears from my lungs and I fight for it, shocked again to remember that it’s not just me anymore. I’m not just living for me anymore, or Harry, but our baby, too.

“Hey, Becks, one mo’ thing. Di- Bug, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”

Shit. I had just wanted to be alone with my thoughts. And our baby. But, did I really want that?

“No, how could I be? I can’t stop thinking about it. If I’ve been eating good, if I had a drink lately, if sex hurts it- Harry,” sobbing his name had never hurt as much as so many other times. Missing him afar hurt but not as much as that night we broke up. God, why am I thinking about that stuff when I’m supposed to be happy? The reminder doesn’t will the tears anyway, it only makes me feel worse.

“Oh, Becks. C’mere,” his voice is molasses all over again, but it hasn’t strayed very far from it since he told me that we were going to be Mum and Dad. That we were going to have a baby. I still can’t even say it, and I don’t think that I have. Even then, I don’t think it’d be real. No, saying it would make it too real. I know it. “Shh, ‘s okay.”

“It’s not, Harry, I’m so scared. What about the wedding and my mentorship here with you, and-,” my words are choppy and drowning under tears, but he hears them. He hears me, like he always has. His soft touch pulling me to my feet and over to my sofa doesn’t stop the incessant thoughts being thrown around in my head.

I’ll have to stop working, won’t I? What about Harry? He can’t, he owns the firm with Myles, and together with Rose, they’re in charge of all of the nitty gritty. Hiring. Helping with payroll. All of the menial stuff assigned to keeping the lights and water running. Licenses. Meetings upon meetings. Then, there’s still being a lawyer. It won’t just stop if we have a baby, but how would that work, I-

“I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, Becks, but it will be. Promise. ‘s okay that yer scared, ‘s a lot t’ wrap yer head ‘round. I keep catchin’ myself thinking, ‘Hey, ‘m gonna be a dad with a bloody kid. ‘ll be changin’ nappies, makin’ bottles, and my whole life will revolve ‘round this tiny person all o’ a sudden.’ ‘ve only jus’ started t’ talk t’ me own dad again, so I dunno how t’ be one meself, but I know ‘ll figure it out. We have nine months t’ prepare, Becks, and we’ll learn as we go. T’gether. Please, don’t worry ‘bout tha weddin’, we can move it ‘round or do a civil ceremony at first, if we want. We’ll figure it out, and it’ll still be perfect. Nothin’ less fer me girl.”

Harry’s words do everything but comfort me. Instead, they do the very opposite, and I’m struggling for breaths. Sitting on his lap, pressed against his front, I couldn’t be closer to him. My thoughts only make me feel further away from him, because of what he said. I don’t even have a mum. No, not really, so how in the fuck can I be one? Mine was horrible to me, and set the worst example of what a good mum is. So, how will I know what to do? How can I be a good mother to our baby one day soon, then?

“Yer already a good mum t’ our baby, Rebecca, I can’t say that enough. You eat good and make sure I do, drink far mo’ water than I ever do, yer always careful, never f’get t’ take yer vitamins unlike me, and sex doesn’t hurt ‘em, bug. You take such good care o’ me, you have from tha beginnin’, and I know you will with our baby too. We’ll figure somethin’ out, if you wanna stay home with ‘em once they come, or if my Mum moved up and took care o’ em. ‘ll be home too loads, I bet I could even work from home most o’ tha time. Hey, will you look at me, please?” Obliging, my head heavy with multitudes of questions lifts. Blinking, more tears join the others as his face sharpens before me. “I wouldn’t have wanted kids with you if I knew you wouldn’t be a good mum. Buggie, I want loads o’ em with you, so if that tells you anythin’ ‘bout how wondaful o’ a mum I know you’ll be t’ our kids . . We’re gonna have a baby, and we’ll be alright. ‘Kay?”

“We’re . . ,” the same sentence begins on my lips, but it falters. His own urges me to breathe, and I focus on that while his fingers card through my hair. The green in his eyes is molten heaven when I look back. I hope that they have his eyes. “We’re gonna . . have a baby, Harry.”

“Ya, we are, Becks. Tha cutest baby in all tha world, and sweetest too,” he grins, his sunshine warming my face.

“And we’ll be alright.”

“Yes, we will, my love. ‘ll make sure o’ it,” he concludes, smushing his lips against my forehead where he sponges a kiss. A zing spreads from his lips, and with those words, I start to breathe again.

Maybe, we will be okay.

“And then what happened, Mum?” her almond shaped blue eyes stare up at me, hanging onto my every word.

Swallowing, the words I know I’ll have to say wad into a ball in my throat. She knew, she’d heard bits of this story at times, but I wonder how much she remembered.

“Spoiler alert, things weren’t okay.”

“How come?” the way a wrinkle forms between her dark eyebrows reminds me of somebody all too well.

“Are you sure you want to hear this, love? It gets kind of sad,” I warn her, combing her dark chocolate curls off of her face. They’re just like his. Only when she nods with confidence in her actions do I continue, despite wishing he was here to help me tell this part.

It wasn’t okay. No, it was the very opposite. I had wished things would get better, that this nightmare would turn out to be a dream come true, but it wasn’t. Not yet, anyways.

I wish that I knew how to talk to him. There had never been a time when I was afraid to speak to Harry, or when I didn’t know how to. No, not for a very long time, at least. It was impossible to count the number of times I had put my head in my hands from the litany of thoughts raging inside of it, or just from the aches it held for other related reasons. I didn’t know what to do, and I wish that I did. Tense couldn’t even cover it, how it felt between us the last few days since the news hit. I seriously considered driving separately to work today to avoid it, until realizing it probably would only stir the pot, inciting another row between Harry and me. With how much my head already throbbed from likely dehydration and my pounds of destructive thoughts, I opted out of that one.

Staring at my cell phone sitting beside my laptop, my chin falls into my hand with a huff. The dark screen stares back at me as I will it to ring, to ding, or just to do anything because of him.

No, not anything, Becky. If you wished that, you’d end up getting another one of his annoying texts asking if you’d tried eating again. How much water were you drinking? If you wanted anything from the break room, if he were there. No, you just wanted a hug from him. Becky, you wanted a text from him that was about anything other than the baby. Him sending you a song he thought you’d like, a funny meme, a recipe the both of you should try, or just a sweet text.

I thought my hard work had paid off when I hear the chiming of a ringtone, even if it was my office’s. Still holding out hope, I pick it up, chirping my usual greeting, “This is Becky.”

“Hi, love! It’s about time I got ahold of you,” at the sound of the voice, my heart plummets into my stomach. My hand in my hair turns into a claw, my scalp soon singing with mild pain.

My lips wobble, unknowing of what words to say, and what tone to take, “H-Hi, Mum.”

“That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m sorry, I-,” my beginning is rough, rooted in my tendency to people-please, just like I had always done with her. The phone begins to slip from my fingers clammy with a nervous sweat. Already. “Why are you calling me at work?” I almost say that same name again, the one word I’d always called her. It never felt real, like she was my mum, so why should I call her that? It never stopped being true though, that was just her name. No matter how much I hated her and that name, I could never stop it from being true.

“Because you weren’t answering your phone, silly! How have you been, Ree?” there’s a lift to her voice, the same one that drills an emptiness into my bones. It’s the one that she used to hide it all, in front of teachers, my friends’ parents, and anybody that she needed to use it with. It was the calm before the storm, the show she was trying to put on. The last thing I needed right now was another storm to come colliding with the one already raging a war inside of me. Through my life.

Closing my eyes, my thumb presses against my temple. No, you don’t get to call me that, M- Kate. I had been conflicted about wanting him all day long, but now, I needed him. How good he was at saving me.

“I can’t talk right now, I’m working. Can-.”

“You stand Robbie and me up the other day, and I have to hear from somebody else that you got engaged! I think that the least you can do, Rebecca, is to talk to your mother for a few goddamn minutes,” her retort finds the gap in the door I hadn’t been able to close ever since I saw that word on that test. That was when my world had gotten turned upside down, something I hadn’t been able to fix just yet. I realized that was even further away now when her words send my teeth down into my bottom lip, the taste of iron overpowering on my lips.

It had taken him so long to bring that name back, to drag it out of the closet and to dust it off, polishing it back up. Within seconds, she had broken it again, and I wished he could be there to fix it up. Because no, he was in court right now, I realized, and for the first time today, I told myself the truth about needing him. But he was angry with me, the one person I couldn’t stand being mad at me.

“You don’t get to call me that, or talk to me like that, I-,” my bravery is short-lived, but the blame isn’t dealt to me, it sits in her hands instead.

“No, Rebecca Ann Holte, you don’t get to talk to me, your mother, like that. You should be ashamed of yourself, I have wanted nothing more than to reconnect with my only daughter, and she can’t even return a message of mine,” her sigh is louder than mine, because that had always been the theme, hadn’t it? She always had been worse off than me, so I had no room to talk, she’d say. When she lost her job or my dad left her. It was always about her. “I hope to God you don’t become a mother one day, you are one of the rudest and ugliest people I know, so I can’t imagine how your kids would turn out. I mean it, you have one of the ugliest hearts, Rebecca. I can’t believe you’re my daughter. I have tried how many times with you to fix things, and you never give me the chance.”

That smell came, the one that fills you when the wetness floods your eyes. I smell them, painting my palm, most likely ruining my lazy attempt at makeup today. I thought I had felt empty before, but it shrinks in comparison to the hollowness that swims throughout me.

Climbing my throat, the arguments and refusals neared, despite not knowing if I believed them. I wish I did as I spoke them, “No, I will be a good mum one day, even if I never had one myself, because I would never treat my children the way you have always treated me, Kate. I don’t care anymore what you think of me, or my heart, because you speak from an ugly one yourself. I have never wanted to fix things with you, because you never change, can’t you see that?” they’re picking apart my voice now, weighing on close to every word, but I know I have a few more until they consume me all entirely. “You are not my mother, and I don’t want to ever see you again or speak to you for as long as I live. I don’t know how many times I’ve tried to tell you that and you don’t get it. This is the last time you ever will, because if you contact me again, or God forbid, my fiance, I promise that you will regret it because I’m a fucking lawyer and my soon to be husband is one as well, not to mention one of the most powerful ones in Britain. And my name is Rebecca Styles.”

It echoes, the clank of the phone hitting the holder after I slammed it down, ending the call. I don’t hear it for long, because the floodgates have opened, again. My lungs burn from lack of air, something I can’t seem to find as my entire body seizes with a sob, one word repeating over and over in my head. Lies. Lies. Lies. Ones that I tell myself, because I can’t help but believe her. Am I really sure that I could ever be a good mum? Then another starts, a new word incessantly filling my head.

“Harry.”

It was the furthest from okay, continuing with how I couldn’t stop throwing up, quite literally, and the way it made Harry sick himself with worry. Consequently, this could only lead to one thing, and that was me losing my patience, or lack thereof with him despite his good intentions.

“I think ya need t’ go and see yer doctor ‘bout this.”

“I don’t, Harry, morning sickness is normal,” I insist, plucking a K-Cup from the drawer. Suddenly, I remember and shove it back into the box, for the third time today. The jury was still out on whether or not to drink coffee while pregnant. More importantly, whether Daddy Harry who was doing all of the research and therefore breathing over my shoulder was okay with it. Not that I could keep it down, anyways, which was the ultimate winner. It still hadn’t gotten any easier, trying to figure out this new life of mine, and it was only Day 4 of it. I had wondered, time and time again just how long they had already been with us and we just didn’t know it.

“Ya, but this isn’t, Becks, and I think y’know it.”

“It’s fine, Harry. I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” shoving a mug onto the little stand, I avoid his gaze whilst watching the hot water spurt out of the machine.

“Ya never wanna talk ‘bout it when I bring it up lately. Not when we were at tha shops yest’day and I suggested lookin’ at baby clothes. Not when I asked ya when we should tell our families.” I don’t know how to respond, and so I play my favorite card, just like I’ve been doing lately. It’s called the Silence card, and Harry really hated that one, even more than the Only Nodding one. “You’ve hardly been able t’ keep any food down, love. Yer livin’ on crackers and ginger tea, that can’t be good fer you and tha baby.”

I didn’t mean to, but I still blinked hard when he said it, as if I needed a reminder it was there. A baby growing inside of me, the reason for all of this. Our baby.

“I’m fine, Harry.”

“I thought we were done lyin’ t’ each other, Becks. We’re gettin’ married soon, and now, we’re . . we’re startin’ a family,” he wasn’t a lawyer for no reason, and sometimes, I hated it. He used it to his advantage, his way with words and snappy comebacks. He knew where to hit and his aim was always spot on, but I didn’t like how he used it with me, too.

He was right, I wasn’t fine. I couldn’t be in the kitchen while he cooked without running to the loo to relieve myself. If I’m honest, I was getting sick of my diet of ginger ale and soda crackers. It was a party when some chicken broth or a bite of a banana would stay down, even though they never sounded good to me. Nothing did, not even the churros from Pedro’s, or our favorite muffin. Believe me, Harry had tried. It had grown old quickly how he had come to watch me eat, arguing with me to take just one more bite or another spoonful, even though we both knew that I would throw it up later.

It wasn’t just that. I was so exhausted, which I figured was mostly due to the lack of food thing. The only thing I was good at lately was sleeping. I could hardly stay awake past 7:30 pm anymore, and negotiated every extra minute of sleep in the morning that I could from Harry. Well, that was until I woke up at the ass crack of dawn to hang out with the toilet, again. Plus, my boobs hurt something fierce and Harry found out when he went to play with them the other day. Let’s just say, he’s not going to try that again after I almost bit his head off. Whoops.

“I am fine, and I don’t need to go and see a doctor, Harry. Let’s just give it a few more days, okay?” I sigh at last, removing the steaming mug from underneath the spout. Gulping, I dip the tea bag into the water, watching how spots of the water grow dark in places from it.

“Fine,” he retorts, leaving his spot beside me, slamming the door to the break room behind him.

Despite watching him do it, I jump in place. Forgetting the tea, it was too hot anyways, I follow him after a few moments. Doing my best to avoid prying eyes, I take a different way to his office, hoping I can try to calm down during the extra time. Arriving at his door, I found it was a blunder all entirely, because I can’t hold back the next words once I step into his office.

“Why are you being like this?”

“Why am I?” Harry spits back from behind his desk, lifting his head to look at me. He was wearing one of my favorite outfits of his today, the brown cheetah print shirt and tight black slacks, but it didn’t do anything to help our predicament. “Why are you, Becks? Huh? This ‘s s’posed t’ be tha happiest time o’ our lives, and yer bein’ like this.”

There it is again, his way with words, the stabbing ones. My sights on him falters, eyes falling to the floor before I look back to him. “How am I being then?”

“Yer bein’ selfish,” he almost shouts, but he doesn’t need to. He’s never had to, because he can achieve all of the disdain and hurt without the added volume. “We’re having a baby, Becks, we’ve always spoken ‘bout wantin’ kids. Now, we are, and yer actin’ like . . like you don’t want our baby.”

“I never said that,” my voice is quiet, and unconvincing. The both of us know it, despite my half-lie. The one I had been so afraid for him to find out, and suddenly, I feel sick all over again.

“You didn’t need t’, I know it,” it works for him, the soft voice. You’d think that tone would be reserved for gentleness, but no, it’s not. I hate that about him, how he can turn like a whip, but can’t we all? “And God, Becks, ya won’t shut up ‘bout tha wedding. Why can’t we jus’ have a bloody civil ceremony first? Tha whole thing ‘s t’ get married - exchange vows and become husband and wife. We don’t need all tha fancy dresses, food, and a party at first. It can wait, Becks, until after tha baby ‘s here. Or we can whip up somethin’ t’ have this Winter . . but yer already shakin’ yer head ‘cos you hate that idea. Fuck, can I do anythin’ right fer you lately?”

“Harry,” I begin in a tone leaking with an apology that I don’t know how to say. “I’m going through a lot right now.”

“I know, love, we both are. Our lives have changed already in tha last few days ‘cos o’ this, but ‘s jus’ a wedding, Becks. I wanna marry you, but right now I don’t care ‘bout a cake, tuxes, and what fuckin’ song we walk down tha aisle t.’ All I care ‘bout right now is tha fact we’re havin’ a baby and ‘m so excited . . . but I wish you were too. They’re gonna be here in nine months whether we like it or not, and I think you need t’ learn how to like it. I jus’-,” he cuts himself off with a hand pressed to his mouth, cutting eye contact.

“What? You were going to say something else,” I continue, but he won’t, refusing to with a shake of his head. “Say it, Harry.”

“I jus’ can’t believe you, yer like a completely different person since we found out ‘bout tha baby.”

“I’m a different person, huh? I take it you mean that in a bad way, am I right?” I don’t know where it comes from, but bravery finds me, and the words come spilling out. “I just found out that I’m pregnant, Harry, that I’m growing a human being inside of me. I have to share my body, and make sure that I’m making the right choices every second. I have to protect it, feed it, get enough sleep, take the right vitamins, eat the right foods, and try not to be too stressed out. But, hey, I already messed up on that one. I didn’t ask for this and I’m scared, so yeah, maybe I’m a different person. You know what? So are you, and I don’t like it. I’m trying my best, and I hate how it’s never enough for you, this new you . . Forget about going out to dinner tonight, I don’t want to be around you right now, you’re- ugh, you’re so overwhelming, Harry.”

It was a question I couldn’t answer - whether I had been honest with myself lately, or lied to myself more than ever before. It was clear as day and I couldn’t lie about this one, the look on his face when I blinked and saw it all register with him.

“Fine. Forgive me fer fuckin’ carin’ ‘bout you and our unborn baby, Becks. ‘m rather sick o’ bein’ ‘round you too when yer like this, so go and have a good night. Lemme know when yer done bein’ selfish, and when yer ready t’ be a family t’gether. I have t’ go t’ court now,” if there were words of Harry’s that I’d always remember, somehow these had become some of them. They rang in my ears long after he had stormed out of his office, and I had escaped to mine with tears already staining my cheeks.

What in the fuck have I done now?

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xamassed · 3 years

Text

If Anita had voiced Genshin lines

◈ hello: “Hey, name’s Anita! You lookin’ for treasure? You don’t mind me comin’ along, do ya? I swear I won’t try swipin’ anything from ya!”

◈ chat ( drinking ): “I don’t care what it is, as long as it’s booze! Hand it over!”

◈ chat ( napping ): “You ever tried napping in a tree? When the sun isn’t too hot and the breeze is blowing through the leaves, it’s perfect.”

◈ chat ( fighting ): “I can’t go without a fight for too long. Start to get antsy.”

◈ when it rains: “Awwhh, man. . . Rain always makes me feel sleepy.”

◈ when thunder strikes: “Stupid sky!”

◈ when it’s windy: “Ahh, that’s nice. Whenever there’s a nice wind blowin’, it makes me feel like I can do anything!”

◈ when it’s snowing: “We are absolutely going to have a snowball fight, and there’s no getting out of it.”

◈ good morning: “Isn’t it a bit early to be this active?”

◈ good afternoon: “Let’s get lunch! I’m starving. But what should we get? Everything sounds good, and last time I ate was half an hour ago!”

◈ good evening: “You ever gone for a run at this time of day? It starts to cool off, and the sky looks super pretty. Wanna join me?”

◈ good night: “You look tired. You headed out? Alright, sleep tight!”

◈ about anita: “Have you ever seen a bear? They’re big and strong but fast! I know I can’t be an actual bear, but maybe I can embody one! That way, people won’t mess with the ones I care about.”

◈ about us ( friends ): “You’re a lot more fun to work with than the Treasure Hoarders are, y’know? You at least know how to hold a conversation and don’t settle for grunting and only talking about treasure.”

◈ about us ( sharing meals ): “If you’re ever running low on food, I can share some of mine. Just don’t go tellin’ everyone that I did. I don’t share with just anyone.”

◈ about us ( camping ): “Inns are nice, but I like camping out. The fire, the sky, the stars: they make me feel safer than four walls and a roof. Maybe next time, we can invite more people.”

◈ about vision: “If I didn’t have my Vision, I don’t think I’d have gotten as far as I have. With it, I can be the shield my father needs. I can protect him.”

◈ something to share: “Aside from the taverns, my favorite spot in all of Mondstadt is Cape Oath. Sometimes, my thoughts get all jumbled up and I can’t think straight, so I go there to clear my mind. It’s definitely not because of all the romantic stories I hear.”

◈ interesting things:

◈ about venti: “Oh, that silly little bard! I’ve lost a few hundred mora to him thanks to all the drinking contests we have. I don’t know how he’s able to hold it all down, but he’s got me beat! Ah, well. It’s worth it if it means listening to his stories!”

◈ about diluc: “His tavern is my favorite place to go, but I hate when he cuts me off. Doesn’t the guy know better than to take booze from a thirsty woman? He’s lucky he’s the owner. . .”

◈ about kaeya: “You wouldn’t think that someone that’s supposed to be a captain would be so laid back and cool. Was under the impression that were all uptight. Maybe if they were all like him, I would come into town more often.”

◈ about jean: “I can��t imagine being the Acting Grand Master is easy. I’m pretty low in the ranks myself, so I don’t have a whole lot of responsibilities. Thinkin’ about all she’s gotta do makes me shudder.”

◈ about klee: “I’ve seen that Li’l Firecracker runnin’ around before. Worries me a bit that she runs around blowin’ stuff up as often as he does, but kids are gonna do what kids are gonna do.”

◈ about diona: “She mixes a mean drink! I’ll usually go by Cat’s Tail when I’ve been cut off at Angel’s Share and ask Cat Scratch to make me somethin’ good. It’s a good way to end the day, honestly.”

◈ about barbara: “She’s patched me up a few times before. Pretty sure she’s caught me at my lowest too, and she’s offered me some pretty sound advice. I don’t really know what an idol is, but I can see why people hype her up. She’s a good kid.”

◈ more about anita i:

◈ more about anita ii:

◈ more about anita iii:

◈ more about anita iv:

◈ more about anita v:

◈ anita’s hobbies: “I like running! Even if I can’t do it for very long, I like that it tires me out.”

◈ anita’s troubles: “I wanna make more friends, but as soon as people learn you’re part of the Treasure Hoarders, they turn away. . .”

◈ favorite food: “Mushrooms! Anything made with mushrooms is delicious. Mushroom pizza, sautéed matsutake, chicken-mushroom skewers!”

◈ least favorite food: “I can’t handle spicy food. No way! Makes me feel like I’m dying inside, and I gotta lay down for a few hours. Blegh.”

◈ birthday: “Happy Birthday! We’re gonna have fun today, alright? We’ll do whatever you want, eat whatever you want and go wherever you want! Seriously, you gotta cut loose on your special day!”

#「 ( anita ; headcanon ) 」#「 v. feel the earth rumble and shake ( anita ; genshin impact ) 」#( left some blank cause my mind fizzled out lmao )#( but this was fun )

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ssygir · 3 years

Note

I watched the entire thing go down since the start and it was far from campaigning. The people who stormed the twitter poll did it with the deliberate intention to mess up a fandom event and piss off people who were having a bit of harmless fun. It wasn't even about liking Gumshoe but about "Let's do this it'll piss them off". And everyone has been really terrible to the people rightfully upset about the situation. It was all started by trolling and harassment and everyone just condoned it.

So here’s the thing. I personally think it’s silly to get genuinely upset over an internet poll from an unofficial source that literally means nothing - it has no bearing on who’s gonna be in the next game, who’s gonna get official art or merch, or anything like that. It’s meaningless. So the concept of skewing the poll itself is not a big deal to me - this is the internet and trolls are gonna troll, and, out of context, I think it’s hilarious that Gumshoe won, because if you are putting so much emotional stock in who’s gonna win these things, I really think you need to step away from the internet and the fandom for a minute. If you’re going to engage on the internet at all, you need to know that usually someone is going to come along and “ruin” it, but only if you let them. I have a feeling some of the folks on twitter that were genuinely upset are young and just... haven’t been through some of the fandom wars (Harry Potter in the early 00′s was a particularly awful time) that some of us older folks have been through. Welcome to internet fandom - unfortunately it can and will suck sometimes, so don’t feed the trolls. Don’t let them have that kind of emotional power over you.

THAT SAID. I don’t condone personal attacks or harassment. While I think it is silly to get upset about these things, if someone has expressed that they are genuinely upset, it’s not cool to keep going after them. They still have a right to their feelings, so that’s when it’s time to cut that shit out.

So in short, I think both sides had problems. That’s why I’m here for the do-over. If your feelings are going to get hurt if your character doesn’t win, I strongly suggest you stay away from the polls altogether. Learn your boundaries and protect yourself. But also, don’t be an asshole. Bullying is not a good look.

But ultimately, I can’t control what other people do. So I’m choosing to engage how I see fit - by ignoring the assholes (maybe even trolling them back a li’l bit - VOTE GUMSHOE) and still getting joy where I want without being a bullying asshole myself (I am not about to go rabid on anyone if someone wins or doesn’t win). Because I’m not about to take responsibility for the rest of the fandom - just myself and my own actions. I’m 30 years old and I have seen some real shit don’t have time to get upset about what everyone else is doing.

#anon #asks #ace attorney #aa awards #fandom drama #the takeaway is #know your boundaries #and don't engage with stuff that hurts you #the internet is not a safe space #you cannot reasonably expect emotional safety in a public forum #no matter the fandom #because trolls exist #vote gumshoe

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loquaciousquark · 5 years

Text

Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E45 (Dec. 18, 2018)

Evening, all! @eponymous-rose is off tonight with such silly things like family and events and real life obligations, so I’m here to make bad jokes and have opinions instead.

For those who hadn’t heard, Brian & Ashley are engaged as of this week! Brian is taking both her last and first name to be ultra-progressive. Tonight’s guests: Sam Riegel & Matt Mercer. Matt is here willingly. Sam is not. We’re discussing Episode 45: The Stowaway, sponsored by LootCrate. Brian asks Sam for an impromptu song ad; he rhymes moot and loot and jigs and everyone is a little closer to death than they were a few moments prior.

Tonight’s announcements: Pub Draw & Name Drop are two new shows on the Critical Role channel--check out critrole.com for more details.

This Thursday’s episode is the last of 2018; Critical Role then returns on January 10.

Liam’s oneshot, The Night Before Critmas, airs at 7pm Pacific this Friday night. He’s been planning it for two years, and the VOD will be available December 23.

Talks Machina is also breaking for the holidays and will return on January 8, where they’ll have a cast-wide discussion on the state of the campaign so far. The questions open on Reddit, Twitter, and email on January 4th.

CR Stats: Nott has the most kills of the group with 37. The 45th HDYWTDT occurred in episode 45 as well. Twiggy’s dragon kill was the fifth guest kill of the campaign, and the 2nd guest HDYWTDT. In campaign one, guests got 22 kills and four HDYWTDTs. This was the longest episode of campaign two and the fourth longest of the series.

Matt and Deborah had met extensively to discuss backstory and mechanics, but hadn’t discussed much personality. The only person who wanted to check voice/accent was Khary (with Shakaste).

Deborah was one of the first guests they reached out to when they started streaming all that time ago, but she initially said no because D&D was such a personal thing for her and she didn’t want to share it with the internet. Everyone agrees she was worth the wait.

Everyone’s furious about Daredevil’s cancellation. :(

Sam thought it was fun to play alongside another Arcane Trickster because... “she was very good at it, all that great stuff that I forget to do.” Nott was jealous that many of the things that made her unique were present in Twiggy. However, the jealousy was later reversed because of how excellent Twiggy was in the fight.

The Happy Fun Ball was a narrative device Matt had been planning for a long time--he liked the idea of a pocket dungeon with lore attached. When they realized Deborah’s schedule would put her on a boat in the middle of nowhere, he found a perfect opportunity to bring it in.

Sam asks if Matt intended the device to be a one-use single episode thing, or something recurring, something for the party to further explore at their will. Matt explains very circuitously (and hilariously) that certain DMs may have in the planning of the introduction of the Happy Fun Ball originally intended for such Happy Fun Balls to leave with the guest, and were very surprised when said Happy Fun Ball (and all its hundreds of extraplanar rooms to explore) was left behind with the party instead. He then basically dares Sam to press a button and see what happens.

Nott doesn’t resent Fjord for touching the window or setting a time limit on the library exploration. While it was cool in the library, there were too many things attacking them.

Matt doesn’t necessarily intend his traps for Travis, but he likes having good buttons and bad buttons. “I just want shit to happen. Surprise me!” He admires the player that occasionally gets bold, rather than the one who always sends their minions out to touch all the tiles and trigger all the traps before they ever set foot in the dungeon. He also enjoys the meticulousness of Liam being at the same table as Travis’s impulsiveness.

Sam does not want the fans to send him larger flasks. His current flask holds 128 oz, which is exactly a gallon.

GIF of the Week: @criticalschluck with a hilarious movie-trailer-style GIF of Travis explaining he’s got an intelligence of 6 (Grog), then an intelligence of 14 (Fjord), then pushing buttons and experiencing... consequences.

Nott approves of Caleb’s choice to abandon the books to go back to the party. While she wants as much knowledge in his head as possible, it’s because “a smarter Caleb is a more powerful Caleb, and hopefully a Caleb that can stay alive a little longer.” Matt likes watching characters be put in situations where they have to choose between long-reaching character goals and the people they have chosen as their family. He was fascinated to see the struggle as he was ticking down the time on his sheet. He’s very excited to see what’s going to happen this Thursday.

Brian and Matt both fanboy over Sam’s 1hp decision.

Sam reflects on Jester’s being left behind--”not in a malicious way, you know, but sometimes in a big family someone gets left behind at a mall!”

Matt circuitously explains that the stained-glass window could be used to access other places. This man’s being slipperier than soap suds on wet tile tonight.

Nott was aware that the hit she took for Jester could have been a killing blow, but she was ready--”it was what goes through her head around Caleb a lot: ‘I’ve got to protect my friends.’” She’s very protective and very maternal, and Sam would have been okay if that had been the last of Nott.

Both Sam and Liam (and others) have begun to experience the in- and out-of-game changes that come with finally beginning to really know these characters. They certainly wouldn’t have died for each other at the beginning of the game, even knowing how hard their friends worked on these characters. It was originally a “system shock” (as Matt puts it) which required check-ins after certain blow-ups at the beginning of the campaign to make sure they (the players) were all okay. Now, though, they’re closer and closer to being willing to die for each other for both in-game and meta reasons.

Sam reflects on how both Caleb and Nott hate themselves, but manifest that very differently in how they treat other people. Caleb withdraws and puts up thick walls; Nott is quick to trust and care about everyone.

Nott is least close to Yasha at the moment. She’s still a li’l scared of her.

Matt had a few battle options planned out regarding which parts of which chamber were futzed with. The black tapestry was the one curtain they didn’t mess with that would have led to a “very rough encounter.” Matt had six maps built off-stage, just in case.

Sam’s backup character is a handsome actor named Sam Seagull.

Brian is annoyed that every encounter starts with the chat screaming “TPK.” Matt: “I hope not. That’d be my fault if that happened.”

While the dragon was very powerful, Matt had expectations that the party would understand very quickly that the fight didn’t necessarily have to end with the dragon’s death--he wanted them to understand the challenge was the exit, not the dragon. However, they came in in a different order than he’d anticipated, including party staggering, and that was when he started to get nervous.

Whatever magic had first triggered the first crystal would have been the same magic required to open the second door. It was proximity-based.

Fanart of the Week: @tehsasquatch, with this super-cool portrait of Nott.

On whether Nott feels as if she’s earned her comma: sometimes, especially in encounters like these, Nott feels just for a moment that she can be brave, she can be useful, she can be heroic--and then the moment it’s over the world comes crashing back down. When she’s out of those moments, she feels that she’s still just a goblin.

Is Sam ready for Nott to get the spotlight Fjord’s currently in?

Sam: No. Matt: [very intense face]. There’s a lot of backstory elements that he and Matt know that no one else is aware of, and he’s nervous about those coming to light.

The Traveler’s appearance was complete improv. Matt was reading the situation and the emotions and looking for ways to facilitate a heroic story, and when the dice worked in her favor, he felt it would be a wonderful, dramatic story beat to suddenly include--especially since the Traveler hadn’t responded much recently. Matt: “Yeah, that was really cool.”

The Traveler/Jester relationship has evolved in ways Matt both did and did not expect. He wasn’t sure how seriously Jester was going to take it. It’s the difference between believing in something and allowing that thing to define you as a person. He loves it. Sam: “The Traveler...is Taryon, right?”

Nott doesn’t see Caleb as abandoning her at all. “He’s a weak, puny man who needs to get himself out of danger.” It would have actually been harder if Caleb had been there, because if Nott had had to make a choice as to who to protect, Jester would be dead.

After Beau’s emergence from the orb, she probably for a few minutes would have thought that they were all dead behind her. It wasn’t that hours or days had passed--just a few minutes. Matt found Beau’s and Caduceus’s conversation at the end very fascinating and compelling, especially as a way to end the episode.

Nott agrees that Jester is not as happy and fine as she appears to be, especially after their talk about boys, but doesn’t feel it’s as severe as Caleb’s issues. “Jester’s a functional person.” However, Sam’s excited they’re getting past the “flitty person from the first half of the campaign” to the “core of sadness” as the story progresses.

Matt’s sure Yasha was not happy at all that her friends all disappeared without warning. “She spent six days thinking her friends were never going to come back. She doesn’t cry in a corner; she’s familiar with grief and loss. She hardens herself and moves on.” He’s hoping they’ll get to see some of that this week.

Critmas Spotlight: The Blind Weaver, a really, really cool 3D painting by a lady named Elaine Ryan, which has layers upon layers of polyurethane stained to make an amazing effect. See @elaineryanart on twitter and tumblr for more!

Talks Machina: After Dog

They decide where guests sit at the time of the episode. Matt likes to avoid the edges so they don’t feel like the outlier. Sam requests no attractive guests be placed immediately adjacent to him so that it does not detract from his glory. “That’s why I sit next to doggo Laura Bailey.” Brave man. Brave, foolish man.

Sam likes oatmeal raisin cookies. I am DELIGHTED, WHAT AN OLD MAN WHO SHARES MY TASTE. He also likes Werther’s, which is bringing back so many memories of my grandmother’s house. Matt likes ginger snaps, which are my favorite Christmas cookies also. I would kill for ginger snaps right now. Matt and Sam both are excited about pumpkin pie.

Essential D&D gifts, per Matt: dice, PHB, HeroForge custom minis if you really want to get them excited. He finds that getting in there and making a character can really help hook someone on the visual aspect & get invested in their character. Everything else is fluff. Sam suggests a music playlist for the first game; when he ran his first game with his kids, he liked having gridded paper to draw the maps on.

Matt does not feel that the crew of the ship has been mistreated, but they have been “neglected and dragged through places they didn’t expect.” He does think they’ll talk about everything they’ve done to all their friends and family when they get home in a very “you won’t believe this!” kind of way.

Sam always wears the same tie when he’s voice directing and on the first day of a new show. He’s wearing it tonight and can’t discuss the new show.

Favorite holiday movies! Brian: “Love, Actually” and “Die Hard,” as well as “Miracle on 34th Street.” Matt loves “A Christmas Story” (my favorite also, bless this man). Sam likes “Prancer” and “Scrooged,” but realizes mid-sentence that this is Brian’s first Talks as an engaged man.

Brian on proposing: ”It’s...the best.” They’d been together for over six years & met during the first Last of Us game. Brian describes himself as a former “piece of shit” and a very different person back then. Ashley had no expectations that he was going to propose & was totally surprised. Gah, this is too romantic.

Brian: “I always imagined for years what that moment would be like, and this topped all of my expectations... What more can you really hope for in this life than to feel that feeling with another person? It’s to me the pinnacle of our human experiences to be able to say ‘I’ve been through hell and yet found someone that I can definitely say I want to spend all the days of my life on this earth with,’ and the fact that it happened is fucking cool. It’s like heroin with none of the bad side effects.”

It was extremely stressful--but only the logistics. Apparently Matt’s proposal was extremely logistically intensive; Brian sympathizes.

And on that lovely, quiet note, we’re done for the night. Happy holidays, everyone. <3

#talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long post for ts #critical role #critical role spoilers

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littleshebear · 5 years

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Little Bird chapter 4

pt 1 | pt 2| pt 3

Ao3 Link

Eva Levante meets a remorseful Amanda while Zavala gets a letter.

Eva Levante has come to visit and thus, the orphanage’s common room is in a state of organised chaos. The Festival of the Lost will be upon them soon so Miss Eva has come to help them get started on decorations. Extra tables have been brought in and they’re already a riot of colour, covered in paper, glitter and foil. A few glue sticks roll off desks and begin to dry out on the floor, casualties of short attention spans and the excitement of an interruption to the usual monotony of their days.

Amanda sits in a corner away from the worst of the ruckus and looks down at the blank papers in front of her with an increasing sense of despondence. She’s not familiar with this celebration at all. Miss Eva had said it was to remember those who had been lost, “with joy and sorrow.” Amanda doesn’t feel like she needs reminding what she’s lost and while she understands the sorrow part, the joy aspect of it seems unattainable to her.

She glances around the room to try to glean some ideas from what the other children are doing. She sees mock candles rendered in cardboard, burning with ‘flames’ of orange tissue paper. Many of them create paper mock ups of some sort of round, orange vegetable she doesn’t recognise, only to then draw leering, grinning faces on them. It’s creepy. Why would anyone want that on their wall?

One of the other children spots her lack of activity and calls out, “Hey New Girl? Why aren’t you making anything?”

New Girl . It’s been months but she’s still “New Girl.” Amanda suspects that barring some major disaster in the City, she’ll always be the New Girl in the orphanage; refugees just aren’t arriving in the City anymore. She hears the stories, how she was the last to pass through the gates, how there’s no one left outside. She hears the jibes and cutting questions. Did you get lost? How could you miss the Traveler, it’s not like it’s tiny . They don’t say that to her face anymore, not since she channeled her frustration at their ignorance into her fists. She’d been put in detention for a week after that but it had been worth it. When her teachers sagely advised that fighting was wrong and asked if she’d learned her lesson, she’d nodded dutifully and said yes but that was a lie. There was nothing to learn, she was right. Those bullies had no idea what it was like out there. They had no right to pass judgement, no right to make fun of Ma and Pa or the rest of the caravan. They’d done their best.

That familiar, yet altogether unpleasant ball of heat starts to build inside her and spread up, through her chest, to her face and behind her eyes. She takes a deep breath and pushes her anger back down. She decides she wants nothing to do with this Festival of the Lost nonsense and opts on engaging in a totally different project. She sifts through her materials and picks out a piece of light yellow paper; not too garish, not too offensive, then picks out a dark blue crayon from a pot on the table. She wanted black but this is closest to that colour she has available to her. She leans over the table, nose nearly to the paper and begins to write, her little brows furrowing in concentration. After a while, she sits up to stretch and think about how to continue. It’s then that she notices Miss Eva standing over her, smiling and inquisitive.

“Do you not want to make decorations, dear?”

Amanda shrugs and covers the paper with her arms.

“Are you drawing a picture?”

She shakes her head. “Writing a letter.”

“Oh,” Eva says, with that exaggerated interest that grown ups always do when they don’t understand something a child is doing. “Who are you writing to, dear?”

She feels her cheeks warm with a blush as she suddenly feels very silly. “Commander Zavala.”

“You know the Commander?” Eva’s interest seems far more genuine now as she pulls up a chair beside her.

“Not really,” Amanda explains in an embarrassed mumble. “I made him mad.”

“Oh, what could you possibly have done to make the Commander angry? I can’t imagine that.”

She lists the all the things she could have possibly done to irritate Zavala and counts them off on her fingers. “Uhhm, I tried to steal from Executor Hideo, I keep running away from the orphanage and I snuck into the hangar and hid under a table.”

“Ah,” Eva tips her head to the side in agreement. “Yes, well. That would probably do it. He didn’t frighten you, did he?”

“A li’l bit, he’s pretty scary. But it’s okay, the monsters are scared of him too.”

Eva threads her fingers together and leans towards Amanda, her expression of quiet amusement switching to one of concern. “What monsters?”

“The ones outside,” she states matter of factly. “Y’know. The bad stuff beyond the walls.”

Eva nods seriously. “I do, dear. I do know.”

Amanda looks up from her writing with saucer-wide eyes. When she speaks it’s a low, conspiratorial whisper. “Have you seen ‘em too?”

“I was a refugee.” She hazards laying a hand over one of Amanda’s and looks gratified when the child doesn’t flinch. “I know exactly what you’re talking about.”

“The others ain’t seen ‘em. They don’t get it.”

“Is that why you run away?”

Amanda pulls back and makes a big production of neatly folding the finished letter in half. “This place gives me a stomach ache,” she finally answers with a shrug.

“Well. Maybe we can do something about your stomach ache,” Eva begins in an indulgent tone. “But you mustn’t run away. It’s not safe, that’s why Zavala gets mad. It’s his job to keep people safe.”

“I know,” Amanda smooths down the paper one last time before scrawling Zavala’s name across it. “That’s why I’m writing him.”

Eva pops her head around Zavala’s office door after knocking. “Are you busy?”

Zavala raises an eyebrow in response. His expression is stony but the amusement is there for those who know where to look. Eva covers her mouth with her hand to stifle the embarrassed giggle that emerges.

“I’m sorry my friend, silly question.”

His expression softens and he beckons her in, “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing for now, all is well in the Bazaar,” she fishes a piece of folded, bright yellow construction paper out of her bag before she takes a seat. “I’m here as a messenger today.”

Zavala accepts the ‘letter’ with a confused frown. “What is - Ah. I see.” He smiles softly to himself as he reads, despite the childish scrawl and the myriad spelling and grammatical errors.

Dear comandur Zavala,

Sorry for trying to steal from exek execkyu Hidayoh. Stealing aint right I know that.

Im sorry I keep running away from the orfanage. I dont mean to worry no one, I just get I just dont like being cooped up. Sorry for creeping into the hangar. I didnt mean no harm. I wanted to see the ships. I like ships. When I grow up I wanna be an enj engani someone who fixes stuff. I hope I didnt get no one into troubble, can you tell the hangar folks that Im real sorry if I did?

Thank you for walking me back,

Amanda Nora Holliday.

Zavala finishes reading and fixes Eva with an incredulous look.

“I haven’t read it,” Eva holds up her hands and shakes her head. “I don’t know what it says, it wasn’t addressed to me.”

“How did you get it?”

“Sometimes I like to pop over the orphanage, for the children. Give them something to do, break up the monotony. Their little lives can be so regimented. Amanda asked me to give this to you. I couldn’t say no, she seemed so earnest and,” she summons her most matronly smile for Zavala, “Very concerned that she had made you mad.”

“Am I really that intimidating?”

“You can come off as rather brusque, I won’t lie.”

“I had no intention of frightening her, I just-”

“You worry,” Eva points out in a gentle interruption. “I know.”

Zavala takes a moment to glance over the letter before speaking again. “How did she seem to you?”

Eva’s smile fades. “A little isolated perhaps? I don’t think the other children understand her. Refugees are a rare thing nowadays. And she said the orphanage gives her a stomach ache.”

Zavala frowns, while Eva gives a sad smile at his puzzlement.

“‘I have a stomach ache’ is little girl-speak for ‘I’m afraid,’” she explains. “And she was less than enthused about the upcoming festival.”

“I don’t think it has been that long since she lost her parents. It’s likely still very raw for her.” He stares off into space, tapping the letter on the edge of his desk, lost in thought.

“I can keep an eye on her if you’d like?” Eva offers, breaking through his distraction.

“I didn’t ask-”

“I know you didn’t,” Eva chuckles, “You’re obviously worried about her but you’re a busy man. I often call into the orphanage, it would be no trouble for me.”

“You’re very kind, Eva, thank you.”

“Like I said, it’s no trouble,” she assures him, rising from her seat. “Have you considered my suggestion? About bringing the Festival of the Lost to the Tower?”

“You think it advisable to expose Cayde to dress-up games and sugar highs?”

“A small price. It would be good for you. You Guardians were lost once, too.” Eva opens the office door and cocks her head. “Think on it. For old Eva.”

“I will,” he nods indulgently.

Eva makes to leave before turning around to face him again. “Have you been crocheting lately?”

Zavala meets her gaze. There’s warmth and compassion there but Zavala knows it’s so keen and perceptive she could almost be an Awoken. “When I have time.”

“You look stressed.” She wags her finger at him as though he were a truculent child rather than a centuries-old immortal. “Make time!” She insists before showing herself out

#my writing #destiny fanfiction #shipwright September #amanda holliday #commander zavala #eva levante #childhood trauma cw

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pastelgrungewrecker · 5 years

Text

Papa Loves

Daddy loves momma and momma loves him Tomorrow we get to do it over again

((Humanformers borrowed with @criminarchy‘s permission))

“You’re gonna stay with me and Brainstorm for a while, Froggy- okay?”

Still young, still old, so tired; Mimi nodded, holding tight to an old stuffed animal that had seen better days. Perceptor and Drift stared at Rung, who fixed them both with a hardened look before steepling his fingers.

Whirl lifted Mimi up in warm steel and carried her out, feeling his chest tighten as his shoulder grew damp while little shoulders shook.

Brainstorm looked up as Whirl entered quietly, opening his mouth to call out a greeting before his voice fell quiet before he could. Whirl looked like a stormcloud and Mimi a gutterkitten as she curled up her gangly body as tight as she could in Whirl’s hold.

“So they gave us temp custody?”, he asked softly.

“Mhm. Perce and Catshit McGee are being required to attend therapy sessions with Rung until they can be deemed suitable parents.”, he answered, “Shoreleave starts tomorrow, and since you mentioned you needed me to tag along to help you find someth’n...”

Brainstorm waved his hand dismissively, “That can wait, we have two weeks and if all else fails I can have it shipped to a different port.”, he said, gesturing for him to set Mimi down, “She’s more important, anyway. What do we know?”

Whirl looked down to Mimi, who coughed softly as her eyelids fluttered in an attempt to stay open. He glanced to Brainstorm before murmuring to her, “Heeeey, hey Froggy. You look beat, kiddo. Wanna get set up and hit the hay?”

She nodded, croaking her yes afterwards before she yawned. Brainstorm ceased his silent request for her to be released from his partner’s hold, his own arms over his middle as his heart broke, “Whirl, go on and tuck her in. She looks worn completely out. She needs a good night’s sleep.”

A nod, and Whirl’s heavy-soft steps carried Mimi to the side room that had been refashioned into a guest bedroom. Brainstorm had stopped by Perceptor’s hab earlier in the day when it was first suggested he and Whirl may have brief custody of Mimi during this whole bit of turmoil, and snuck away some of her pictures and posters.

He had an idea of what they were dealing with, given the content of the photos he found- but he wanted to be sure.

His thoughts chased each other in circles until Whirl returned; folding a hoodie with holes in the wrists where thumbs no doubt would poke through over his metal arm.

“Rung says its some kinda neglect issue.”, he said quietly, “Mimi... Froggy wasn’t raised in the right place for a kid, we all knew that. A Wrecker ship, no matter how tight, ain’t the place for a li’l bean to go on runabout.”

“I’d imagine- but that’s not the real issue, is it. This has to do with when Percy came home, to Kimia. After all of that.”

Whirl sighed, slow and tired, “He got sent to G9, but you already knew that, didntcha angel?”

“Mhm. Figured it out the first time I had to get him out of a nightmare.”, said Brainstorm, “Whirl. What happened to them.”

“He shut down. He shut down bad and after G9 no one but me seemed to give a god damn aout what was happenin’- but even then i still left, too. Kid didn’t really have anyone left, after that. Springer and Kup wanted Percy cold and fresh, like a sniper should be. She got... left behind. In more ways’n one.”

“She raised herself. When Perceptor couldn’t manage it anymore. And with Drift already gone...”

Whirl nodded, “Poor thing was a li’l tadpole in a real big pond. I know she ain’t gonna sleep yet- I know her. I know she’s gonna cry, but she ain’t gonna want me to see. It’s something she learned from her Papa.”

Brainstorm looked levelly at Whirl, and the Wrecker suddenly had the feeling the scientist knew far more about this than he let on, “And I learned from Perceptor just what to do when that happens.”

Whirl blinked his good eye, before a chuckle slipped from him in almost a whisper, “Smart as a whip, aintcha.”

“Stubborn as fuck, too.”, was Brainstorm’s cheery, soft answer as his steps took him to the room Mimi hid in more than anything.

He didn’t knock, slipping in with a soft call of Mimi’s name. The lump on the bed shifted, and hiccuped, and then sat up. Her face messy and tearstained and framed in mussed hair, looked back at him in the dark.

He walked over, sitting on the edge of the bed before scooting a little more onto the mattress so he could sit with crossed legs. He smiled, a soft and somehow sad smile.. and opened his arms.

“I’ve been there too, kiddo. Let’s cry it out together?”

Her eyes filled with little diamond shards and she sobbed out loud once, crawling over to Brainstorm in a tangle of blankets to clamber into his lap and bury her face against his chest. Her arms were thrown over his shoulders as she bawled- feeling him bury his face against her hair as his own eyes grew damp.

“I know, sugar, I know.”, he whispered, “it’s fucking hard, wondering if it was something you did, somewhere you went wrong. And the feeling, it stays, and it hides in the back of your mind, I know.”

Another wail.

“I know, sugar, I’m here. Papa’s got some crossed wires and Drift is a fucking prick on a good day anyway- but Papa’s sick, okay? The war made so many people sick in the heart, but he’s gonna get better no matter what. I know he loves you, under all that ice he shows off, I promise you.”

Her words were lost in her tears as he pulled her closer and rocked her side to side.

“And I know, I know it’s hard to believe me when I say all this shit- I know it sounds like lip service but I promise you. I PROMISE. You’re loved, we all love you more than you’re ever gonna be able to know. Even Papa. Even Drift, once we dislodge his dumb anime-hair looking head. Whirl loves you, okay? Whirl loves you so much its silly. And I love you, even the parts you think make you a bad girl.”

Whirl stood in the doorway, leaning against it and listening as Mimi wept her sorrows onto Brainstorm’s clothing and the scientist’s lean arms wrapped around her like iron cables.

A part of him, a part of him that thrived on dying battlefields amongst gunfire- seemed to deflate, now. It softened, just a little (just a lot) as he listened to the daughter of a fellow pseudomartyr weep like she was dying.

Brainstorm kissed the top of Mimi’s head, “Don’t ever be afraid to cry, here. If it hurts, it hurts, and you don’t need to hide that. We’re big time grownups, mostly, so we can take it if you tell us when we’re wrong. And one day, Papa is gonna cry too, like he did when you born, I know he cried then. And that’s when the ice is gonna break for you, and you’ll have your papa back. He may not be just exactly the same, he may not be perfect... But he’ll be home, and so will you.”

Mimi coughed, a raspy and weakened sound.

“I’ll do anything I have to so you get your Papa back. Anything at all.”

Mimi’s voice finally sounded, thin and trembling and so unlike the boisterous girl Whirl remembered.

“Bee, am I. Am I bad?”

“No, sweetie, you aren’t bad at all. You’re hurting, and you’re sad and upset and scared... but that doesn’t make you bad. That just makes you a person, cross my heart.”

Whirl turned away, slinking away from the door and breathing deep as his good eye stung suddenly. He stepped away, activating the little comm-piece hooked over his better ear.

“Whirl to Rung.”, he said quietly, “We got Mimi home. I think she’s doin’ that destressing thing you said.”

::I see. How is she holding up?::

“She broke down, completely. Stormy’s with her now- and I think it’s for the best. I know how this kind thing is, but Stormy knows it in a way that’s... different. But a fittin’ kinda different.”

::I agree, Whirl. You made a good choice; and I truly believe you and Brainstorm are the best ones to help her. I couldn’t think of two people more compassionate to take her on.::

“..Thanks, Eyebrows.”

::Anytime. Make sure she attends her own session next week; I don’t doubt that while you and Brainstorm can help her untangle her emotions, there will still be some things we’ll need to put our heads together for.::

“Can do. Whirl out.”

A shift in the air, and he turned. Brainstorm stood, his arm over Mimi’s still trembling shoulders.

“Bir-irdy?”, she asked quietly, a hiccup breaking her name for him in half,��“C-Can I sleep with you ‘n Stormy tonight?”

She scrubbed an arm over her eyes, swollen and bright and still shrink-wrapped in tears, “Don’ wanna be alone.”

Whirl smiled, gentle and as soft as he could manage, “... Yeah, ‘course you can.”

Within an hour, all three piled into the bed shared by a scientist and a Wrecker. Whirl dropped into an easy doze; Brainstorm curled next to him. Between them, wrapped in her own favorite blanket covered in faded frogs and lilypads, lay Mimi... Fast asleep.

The suite was silent, except for a rattley purred snore from Brainstorm, and soft huffing from Mimi as she settled into her curled position.

Whirl opened his good eye briefly, glancing at the pair of messy heads bundled against his chest, and smiled.

He didn’t analyze the rising emotion in his chest, ruffling the sleepy Mimi’s raggedy mop before moving to kiss Brainstorm’s forehead before he dozed once again.

The makeshift family unit slept in peace, chasing away the nightmares they knew fed on loneliness.

#pastelwrites #humanformers #tf #brainstorm #whirl #taking a break from working on paid things to take crim out at the fucking knees again

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nowitsdarkfic · 5 years

Text

chapter fourteen (cry for the indian summer)

(one of my favorites of him; what a stud 😍🥰🔥💦)

so unequivocally, undeniably, unapologetically... DANISH 🇩🇰❤️

October 15, 1988. Southeast Portland, Oregon.

After breakfast, and I had told Nancy my name, and my stomach is nice and warm, and the back of my throat is still watering from those fresh Marion berries, I leave for a bit to head back to Lars’ house. At first, it’s a little disorienting because I walked through here while it was still dark as night and I used the light from the sunrise as my help. But I do recall walking down the block and there being an intersection. In fact, I recognize Lars running out of the front door towards the mailbox on the sidewalk about three doors down from the corner where I had crossed earlier.

The sun hangs over the neighborhood; meanwhile, the clouds behind me seemed to have backed off while I was in that cafe eating pancakes. There’s no wind and my coat is starting to feel heavy from the overhanging moisture around. Indeed, once I reach the front step of his house, I peel off my jacket and toss it over my shoulder. I step inside to find Lars shuffling through a stack of papers on the floor.

I run my fingers underneath my bangs and I feel my forehead is quite warm. Not necessarily sweating, but getting there.

“Feels like you guys having an extra bit of summer right now,” I remark. “Jesus.”

“That’s the third time this week that’s been going on,” he replies, keeping his eye on the papers spread around him. “Apparently, we’re having a bit of an Indian summer right now and--” He lifts his head and a finger at me. “--I’m not just saying that, either.”

“No, no, I get it. I know what that is. You don’t have to--you know.” I lay my jacket on the back of the chair in the corner opposite the silly putty couch. I rub my hands together.

“So at any rate, I met a girl at this little cafe up the street here,” I begin. “It’s nothing, though.”

He lifts his head again, this time with his eyebrows raised.

“You sure about that?”

“She already has a boyfriend,” I point out.

“You—You dirty dog,” he says with a chuckle.

“No, what I mean is I told her I’m a musician and her boyfriend is, too, and she told me he and I could probably meet up at some point. I just wanted to bring that up in case you’re interested.”

“Well, of course.” He lifts himself into an upright position so he’s kneeling on the floor. “We’re all kind of in this together. We have to support each other. Even inflammatory statements are a form of support.”

“She gets off at... noon, I think is what she said?”

“Okay, so plenty of time to figure things out here.”

“Oh, yeah, what’s going on here?” I crouch down across from him.

“Just going through some old papers. Ashley left about five minutes ago and gave me these—”

“Red tape horse shit,” I mutter under my breath as he hands me a sheet of paper with some tiny black text over the surface. “But it’s for the best.”

I shrug as he hands me a pen from the inside of his coat. The print is so tiny that I bring it right up to my face and I still can scarcely read it. But I spot the dotted line and sign my name there.

“What’s her name, by the way?” he asks.

“Hm?” I lower the paper and click the pen.

“The waitress’ name. What’s her name?”

“Uh—Nancy. I think.”

“Nancy?”

“Nancy. As in nancy boy.”

He hesitates with a thoughtful look upon his face.

“Is her boyfriend in a band at all?”

“Yes,” I reply with a bit of reluctance. “She said he drums and sings, just like me. Why?”

“Did she say what his name is?”

“No... and I should ask you, where are you going with this?”

“I think I know her. She sounds familiar—the waitress named Nancy. Anyways, I will give these to Olivia when she shows up here—any time now. In the mean time, I believe it’s safe to look over that box back there... behind the silly putty couch.”

I lunge for the arm of the couch and find that white box in question. I kneel down before it for a closer look: there’s a copy of Tropic of Cancer as well as some other books, all of which I never heard of, and then there’s a copy of The Great Gatsby, which has a small stack of extra paper tucked in the back pages near the cover.

“Is this it here?” I wonder aloud.

“What?”

“That zine you were telling me about?”

“Bring it here.”

I climb to my feet and return to him. I lay the book on the floor before him and take out the papers, and sure enough, we’re met with a small booklet with a dark blue cover decorated with silver ovals and tiny white stars: it takes me a minute to realize those ovals are eyes, all clumped together so as to resemble clusters of berries. At the top of the page, written in silver cursive lettering, reads the title: after the watershed; and underneath in that same silver lettering is (a zine by maya isabelle sorensen). I turn it over to find, in the top corner of the back page, a number one over a number six, written in pencil. Underneath that copy was what resembled a rough draft of another edition.

“That’s it, alright,” says Lars. “Maya’s zine that I have no doubt will go to great lengths. That is, if in the proper setting and place and in the right hands. And the thing that will give you some background on her—”

There’s a noise out front and we both freeze in place.

“Olivia?” I take a guess.

He chews on his bottom lip when a loud groan emerges from outside. His eyes widen in fear.

“Shit, she’s home.” He scrambles to pick up the paperwork strewn about on the floor, while I tuck the copies back into the book. As I climb to my feet, I stop in place.

“Wait, what should I do?”

“Hide out in the laundry room—back there—around the corner—” He gestures behind him to the kitchen, and I pick up the book and papers, and rush into the next room. There’s a doorway on the other side of the fridge at the opposite end of the room. I skid into that tiny laundry room and duck behind the big shiny chromatic dryer with a bunch of dials and three different gauges up top. I sink down to the floor with my back against the side of the dryer: it aches a little from the fact my stomach is still quite full.

Then I realize I left my jacket in the front room. I let out a quiet sigh when I also realize it’s a little too late at that point.

I sigh again in hopes to calm down my heartbeat. The house is silent for a minute and then I hear their voices in the front room. I can’t tell what they’re saying but I can indeed hear them. I lay the book on my lap and stroke the cover for a minute until my eyes adjust to the dim light. Then I take the papers out again.

I turn over the booklet to the back cover and open it to the very last page. Some typewriter type text covers the sheet of paper there. I lay it over the top of the book to better read it.

“My name is Maya Sorensen. I am twenty-three years old, my birthday is May 17, 1964, and I was born in Nottingham, England to Norwegian immigrants. There is nothing you need to know about my home life other than the fact it was rough and it nearly killed me. Writing has been my saving grace far more times than actually saying grace. I have an elder sister, but we don’t talk because she condones instead of condemns. Everything I say in this zine is of my own opinion and perspective on life and the world, and is to be taken into consideration instead of defense. It is not for the feeble minded, nor is it for the conveyors of silence. I am a young woman, and I will be heard even if it falls on deaf ears.”

Beneath the passage is a pen scrawl reading:

“I am not a bad person and I refuse to be, but there is something within me that feels far colder than the coldest of emotions, something that makes my blood run ice cold. If I burrow deep into the earth, my hope is I don’t find any water because I could drown.”

I knit my eyebrows together at that.

“’If I burrow deep into the earth, my hope is I don’t find any water because I could drown,’” I repeat it in a soft voice. What could it mean?

I hear Lars say something which is then followed by silence. Then—

“Joey?” he whispers in through the doorway behind me.

“Back here. Behind the dryer.”

“Listen, man—you’ve got to boogie out of here for a bit. Tell Nancy I won’t be able to meet her and her boyfriend.”

“Well, shit. How do I get out of here, though?”

“The back door’s right in front of you. Just be careful opening it because it makes a metric fuckload of noise upon opening.” I gaze straight ahead at the wall before me and the pale white panels beheld there.

He calls back into the next room, and without further hesitation, I slip the booklet back into the pages and climb back up to my feet. I creep towards the door and, with the book tucked underneath my arm, I gripped onto the off white knob and turn.

I’m met with probably the loudest CREEEEEEEEEEEEEAK I’ve ever heard in my life, emerged straight from the hinges. It’s so loud that I stop right in my tracks. I hold my breath and peer behind me to make sure no one’s coming. I still hear Lars speaking in the next room. Now or never.

I tug on the door and it creaks again for a second, then it disappears into a tiny squeak. I slink out to the backyard, where I’m met with a still morning as moist as one of the girls back at Black Orchid. The door squeaks shut behind me. It’s his problem now: I round the back of the house to the side, and the small stretch of pale damp soil and tiny sprigs of grass. I keep my head bowed all the way to the front of the house. I duck behind a bush for a second, and then dart out to the street to make it look like I'm just another passerby. I stand there at the sidewalk with the book under my arm for about a minute.

“Joey!”

I turn my head to the right to find Nancy herself walking in my direction.

“Oh, hi,” I greet her. “Is it noon already?”

“Nah, I just clocked out early. Slow business and it’s my last day before school starts again.” She eyes the book under my arm. “What’cha got there?”

“Oh, just a li’l gift from my little drummer boy Lars. He can’t join us.”

“Aw, that’s too bad.” I feel my face grow warm again. Even though it’s still plenty early, I feel the heat of the day upon us.

“Man, I thought it was gonna rain but wow. I picked the wrong day to be wearing pants.”

She bursts out laughing.

“Welcome to the magnificent Pacific Northwest, Joey. That’s all I can say. Care for a little walk around the block?”

“Uh, sure. Just so long as we stay out of the sun.”

“’Course.” She grins at me and I follow her back up the sidewalk along the dark pavement.

“So tell me about yourself. Long way from home, hailing from upstate New York and a singer slash drummer ejected from a band. You mentioned you’re both drummers?”

“Yes, ma’am. More so Lars, though. I do like it, though—thumping around, makin’ lots of racket.”

She chuckles as she adjusts the purse strap over her shoulder.

“I’m a hockey player, too.”

“My goodness. So that explains why you’re skin and bones?”

“Nah, I’m skin and bones because I don’t eat much.”

“I dunno, you were going to town on those pancakes earlier.”

“’Cause they were so good. I couldn’t get them into my mouth more quickly. When I do eat, it’s to warm up my stomach and nourish myself.”

“You and Chris both, I swear...” Her voice trails off as we reach the corner again.

“I’d love to learn—” I clear my throat. “—guitar or piano, though.”

“Chris could probably teach you,” she suggests as we cross the street. “Or Kim. Playing guitar is not hard at all. It’s just—you know, one of those things that people make such a huge deal about but it’s probably they lack the patience. At least that’s what my best friend says.” A little bit of breeze picks up and blows through the roots of my hair at the top of my head.

“That’s what your best friend says?” I can’t help but laugh at that as we reach the other corner.

“Yeah, Dominique says people go crazy over guitar playing because it’s the drive behind the music and the icing on the cake. But it’s really the rhythm section making the cake.”

“And when you eat a piece of cake,” I follow along, “you’re eating the whole piece, not just the icing.”

“Right! and that’s why she and I are both dating drummers. We like our cake.”

“I like cake, too. And pie.”

“Funny you say that—there’s a pie place about a block from here. That’s yet another place you oughta visit at some point.”

“The pie place?”

“Some of the best pies this side of the Cascade Mountains. There’s another pie place down by Lake Oswego, too. As far as I know, anyways.”

She falls into silence for a moment, and I spot Junior’s Cafe coming up on the left again.

“You know, Joey, I’ll admit, you were kind of an acquired taste to me at first.”

“An acquired taste?”

“I wasn’t too sure about you at first, because—and I’m being totally frank here, too—I’m a waitress, and it goes double given I’m kind of heavy. Guys hit on me all the time and so I’ve more or less made a habit of bringing up Chris whenever I can. But you’re just so... sweet and charming, like there’s nothing shady about you at all.”

“You obviously haven’t seen me crack a filthy joke,” I point out to her.

“Well, of course not. But I assume it’s not hard for you to do it, though.”

“It’s not hard at all. Might be at some point given the right circumstance.”

She laughs out loud once again as we reach the cafe again.

“You know, tomorrow’s my one day off before I start school again. You wanna come up to Seattle with me and meet Chris? I’m sure he wouldn’t mind.”

“I’d love to... but...” I glance about the small parking lot, which is all but vacant.

“Where are you parked?”

“Right there.” She points at the small hot pink Corvette with rear tail fins parked at the curb.

“Whoa, that’s your ride?” The two of us round the side of the cafe for a better view of her car. Nancy takes out her keys from her pocket and pushes a button, unlocking it.

“Hydrogen powered,” she explains, “all the cogs inside work hand in hand with it so it can probably go from here to where you live in New York on a single fill up without smoke from the tail pipe. It’s self sufficient so you can push a button to go on autopilot when you’re feeling tired.”

“Wait, is it on?” There’s a low, quiet hum emerging from around it.

“It is,” she replies with a twinkle in her eye. “When I unlock it, it turns on. So climb aboard, my friend from back East.”

#after the watershed #now it's dark #chapter 14 #new chapter #fanfic #fanfiction #joey belladonna #anthrax #lars ulrich #metallica #heavy metal fanfiction #dark sci-fi #noir au #steampunk #really amped up the steam game here oof #nanowrimo #amwriting #text

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bastardnev · 6 years

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That Guy Next Door -- Ch. 13

how in the hell are we already up to chapter 13, that was fuckin Fast

tagging: @tylerblacks @joonhobi @rivela @aliciasfox @sailor-slam-dunk @kidvoodoo @smolsammichu @simulated-heat @douglas-leon-michael @1dluver13xx (lemme kno if you wanna be added to my taglist!!)

Prev.: Ch. 1 ♡ Ch. 2 ♡ Ch. 3 ♡ Ch. 4 ♡ Ch. 5 ♡ Ch. 6 ♡ Ch. 7 ♡ Ch. 8 ♡ Ch. 9 ♡ Ch. 10 ♡ Ch. 11 ♡ Ch. 12 ♡

As April rolled around, Neville was reminded of the phrase ‘April showers bring May flowers.’

Well, considering the sheer amount of rain we’re getting, we’re gonna get a shitload of flowers come next month.

“Damn, it’s coming down in buckets. Better starting building the ark,” Wade noted as he watched the rain fall, forehead pressed against the glass of the window. “Because I’m pretty sure we’re gonna need it soon.”

“That’s a terrible idea,” Neville replied, typing an e-mail and not looking up from his laptop screen. “You know damn well I’m throwing your ass overboard the first chance I get.”

“Oh, you wanna see me wet?”

“Do I have to remind you that I’m not a single man anymore, Wade? Take a look out the window in the hallway, since you’re so big on looking outside all of a sudden. You’ll see the home of the person I’m currently with.”

“Do you think he wants to see me wet?” This comment was able to get Neville to look up, and he peered at Wade from over his glasses, frowning.

“I’ll make a note to ask him that the next time we’re together.” He remembered how Mustafa was asking about Wade on their very first date -- knowing him, he probably would want to see him soaking wet. Summertime around here should be interesting.

Neville sent the e-mail and put his laptop down on the coffee table, sighing as he checked the time. He technically should be able to take his lunch break right about now, but knowing his luck some ‘important’ message from his boss could come through at any moment, and he’d miss his chance to have an hour to relax. This had happened far too many times for Neville’s liking, especially lately -- when did they get so damn busy?

He felt Wade sit down on the couch next to him. “Why don’t you just take a break?” He heard him ask. “I can tell you want to.”

“Meh, I dunno if I should risk it.” Neville clicked his tongue. “Someone might need me for something. Don’t wanna keep ‘em waiting if it’s important.”

“Are you ever asked to do anything important? Be honest with me.”

“Of course I am. Just… not really all that often. That doesn’t mean I can start slacking off, though.”

“It’s not slacking off if you’re taking the break you’re entitled to.” Wade looked like he wanted to say a little more, but Neville’s phone went off, interrupting him.

“That’s probably Moose,” Neville said as he grabbed it off of the table, ignoring Wade’s “It’s always Moose...” and reading the message. Sure enough, it was Mustafa confirming their date for the following day -- a walk in the park. Neville had been dying to take one ever since the weather started to get warmer, and they scheduled some time together on the one day it was actually supposed to be decent.

“You know they’re saying it’s gonna rain tomorrow, right?” Neville noticed then that Wade -- now apparently in the mood to burst his bubble -- had been reading Mustafa’s message over his shoulder, and he turned the screen off, scowling at him. “Just sayin’.”

“I’m aware. That’s not until later in the day, though,” he pointed out. “And it’s only supposed to be a ten percent chance, anyway.”

“Is it? Because I thought I read it was a greater chance than that.”

“You probably misread it. I’m absolutely positive the chances were fairly slim. I heard it on the news just this morning.”

“If you say so… Still, you should probably bring an umbrella just in case.”

Neville scoffed. “What, and carry it all around the park with me just because you had a hunch? Come on, Wade, the forecasters have been saying that it should be a lovely day for the whole week now. We’ll be fine.”

Neville’s comment about how everything would be fine was ringing in his ears as he and Mustafa were suddenly caught in a downpour of rain right in the middle of their walk.

“Why is it that the one time I refuse to listen to Wade, he’s actually right?” Neville grumbled, wrapping his arms around himself and shivering as the air grew cooler. The sun was out only a few moments ago -- how had everything changed so quickly?

He heard the sound of an umbrella opening, and he looked up to see that the one Mustafa had brought (that Neville initially teased him for bringing) was over his head. “What was that about me being silly for bringing this along with me, again?” Mustafa asked. Neville didn’t respond, instead opting to pout and look out to the lake. “Hmm?”

“I was wrong…” He muttered, a moment later feeling Mustafa’s lips on his cheek.

“Yes, you were.” He took Neville’s hand, giving it a squeeze. “Let’s not stick around here. We’ve got a bit of a distance to go until we reach the car.”

“Wish our date didn’t get cut short…”

“Who said anything about it being over? We’re still together. Not like we’re gonna melt or anything.”

Neville didn’t protest any further, and he walked side by side with Mustafa, sticking close and trying not to get wet. As much as he disliked the rain, he had to admit that there was something incredibly peaceful about this whole scene. Anyone else who had been there had fled, leaving only the two of them. Mustafa was also warm, his hand soft, the chilly temperature that came along with the weather becoming a complete non-issue. If anything, this sudden storm made everything better.

That is, until it started coming down even harder, to the point where they couldn’t even stand to be out in it. Mustafa’s umbrella was proving to be inadequate protection, and they chose to take shelter under a nearby gazebo until the rain stopped. “Ugh, this seat’s all wet…” Neville huffed, feeling the chair.

“Come sit next to me, these aren’t too bad.” Mustafa patted the one next to him, and Neville hesitantly sat down, sure enough feeling the seat of his pants get wet. It could have been a lot worse, though, so Neville kept any complaints to himself.

“I swear I read that it wasn’t supposed to be like this until later,” he chose to say instead. “I can probably find the report on my phone if you need me to -- I am not lying when I say that they predicted it would be sunny.”

“Hey, I never said I didn’t believe you.” Mustafa put an arm around his shoulders. “Just that a ten percent chance is still a ten percent chance. You never know when something like this could happen.”

“Hmm…” In the distance, Neville could make out another couple running to find some form of shelter, and he cracked a smile. As much as he teased Mustafa for being prepared for this weather, he was grateful that he didn’t end up like those two.

“Duck.”

“What?” Nothing needed to be dodged -- what was Mustafa talking about?

“Duckie.” He pointed towards the lake, and Neville followed his gaze to find a mother duck along with some ducklings -- four of them. They were making their way across the wet grass, not a care in the world, clearly unbothered by this downpour.

“God, I wish the girls were here to see this,” Neville said as he took out his phone, taking a picture of this little family. “They love ducks.” Not too far away, Neville spotted another duck, this one a little bit bigger than the mother, standing not too far off, watching the others go by and enter and the lake one by one.

“Look at that one back there.” Mustafa had apparently noticed this bigger duck as well. This duck had now shifted its gaze from the other ducks to Neville, and it stared him down, making him feel slightly nervous.

“It’s giving me an evil look…” Neville shuddered, though he stared right back at it, wanting to assert dominance. This was a matter of pride now -- he was not about to lose to a bird in a staring contest.

“I wonder if that’s the daddy. He probably wants to protect the li’l ones.”

Mustafa’s words triggered a memory in Neville’s mind, and his eyebrows raised when he recalled what had happened only a few weeks prior -- Daisy referring to Mustafa as her daddy.

Neville had been meaning to ask Mustafa for his thoughts on it since it had happened, but he was never able to find an appropriate opportunity. Part of him wondered if it was worth it to mention it again, seeing as Mustafa hadn’t even said anything about it on the day that it happened, but he still felt like it was important to talk about. It wasn’t as if she’d just referred to him as a cute new nickname -- she had legitimately referred to another man as her father.

Does Mustafa ever seriously see himself in that role?

For the sake of their potential future together, Neville needed to find out.

“If that is the dad, he’s got a lot of little mouths to feed,” Mustafa continued, still staring at the duck family while Neville took a moment to figure out the words he was going to use.

Finally, he made up his mind. “Uh… Hey…” Neville cleared his throat. “Seeing that daddy duck kinda reminded me of something…”

“What’s that?”

Neville attempted to speak, but the daddy duck quacked loudly, interrupting him. Neville glowered as he realized that he’d technically lost the staring contest, but by the time he looked back at the duck it had already started swimming in the lake. The rematch would have to take place another day.

“Did seeing that duck remind you that you’re terrible at staring contests or something?”

“What? No.” Neville shook his head. After a beat, he asked, “Do you remember what happened the last time you picked the kids up and watched them for me? When you were playing video games together.”

“Oh, of course I do.” Mustafa looked almost a little cocky. “How could I forget beating both Jen and you in the same night?”

“That isn’t the part I was hoping you’d remember…” Neville pouted.

“If you want a rematch, all you gotta do is ask, Luigi.”

“I will, one of these days. And when that happens, I will beat you. And fuckin’ Toad, too.”

At that, Mustafa gasped. “Neville! The baby ducks!”

“What? What about them?” Neville turned around and looked towards the lake, but the ducklings were just swimming happily, not in any kind of danger. Neville looked back at Mustafa and shot him a confused look.

“Your language… It’s disgraceful… Think of the children next time.”

“I’m about ten seconds away from running out into the rain and leaving your ass here.”

Now that they’d gotten that out of the way, Neville decided that it was time to get back on topic, saying, “I was talking about what happened after you beat Jen. When Daisy called you ‘daddy’.”

Mustafa’s expression changed to one that was a little difficult to read. He didn’t look bothered by the subject at all, but he also didn’t seem to expect it. “Right, that,” he replied, tongue gliding over his lower lip. “I was wondering if you’d heard that or not.”

“I did. I’d actually just gotten home when she said it.” He paused. “I wanted to know what you thought about the whole thing.”

“Well…” He shrugged. “I definitely didn’t think she’d say that. Especially since you and I have only been together for seven months. Damn, can you believe it’s been that long already? It went so fast. It feels like I’ve known you for ages.”

“Same here. I honestly can’t even remember what my life was like before you moved in. Definitely very boring. You always keep me on my toes.”

“Never know what to expect with me.” He booped Neville’s nose.

“I dunno if that’s a good thing or not.” After a beat, Neville said, “If you don’t have an answer right now, then that’s okay, but I gotta know ...Do you see yourself as being her father? And Jen’s, too.”

Mustafa clicked his tongue, folding his hands together and looking down at them. He was silent for a moment before he finally said, “I mean… I’m not entirely sure. Again, it hasn’t even been a year since we got together. I’m still kinda in shock that one of your kids sees me as being her parent after such a short amount of time.”

“If you’ll allow me to speculate for a bit, I think Daisy might miss having another parental figure in her life,” Neville theorized. “Like, she doesn’t have any many memories of her as Jen does, but she definitely remembers what it was like having a mother. I think she misses having a second person that she could see as a parent.” He put his hand over Mustafa’s. “And I think she’s starting to look at you that way.”

“Wow, I’m…” Mustafa laughed softly. “I’m honored.”

“So, let me put it this way -- do you even want kids, period?”

“I… yeah, I do,” he admitted with a small smile. “When I was younger I didn’t think I’d be dad material, but… the older I got, the more I thought about it. And ever since I got this teaching job, I’ve been thinking about becoming a dad a lot more often. It’s something I definitely want, even though I know it’s a lot of work dealing with young kids.”

“Oh, yeah…” Neville heaved a sigh. Jen and Daisy were handfuls when they were small. “But my girls are good kids. They’re no trouble.”

“No, not at all. That’s why I like watching them so much -- I feel like if I were to ever have kids of my own, I’d want them to be around their ages.” Mustafa propped his head up with his hand, resting his elbow on the table. “Uh, by any chance, was it the same for you? Like, did you always want kids?”

“I did, but mostly because of my parents. As a kid, they always kinda drilled this mindset into me for how my life was supposed to be. Go to college, find a girl, graduate, get married, have kids… I felt like that’s how my life had to turn out, so I knew I was going to become a dad eventually.” He looked out to the rain again. Now that he thought about it, this mindset was responsible for him getting married so soon after college -- before he’d really had a chance to look into his sexuality. “And, well, now I’m a dad. And I’ve been one for ten years.”

“And you’re a great one, at that.” Mustafa gave him a little nudge. “Your girls are lucky to have you.”

“Heh, I try.”

They listened to the sound of the rain tapping against the roof of the gazebo for a couple of minutes. Neville was processing everything that Mustafa had told him. He did want to be a dad, and he was unbothered by Daisy referring to him as such. The only question that hadn’t been answered was the one he initially asked -- if he considers himself to actually be her and Jen’s father. Had it gone unanswered because Mustafa genuinely didn’t have a response, or because he wasn’t comfortable with answering it?

Neville didn’t have to wonder for much longer, however, as Mustafa answered his question. “About the thing you asked me earlier,” he began, snapping Neville out of his thoughts, “I know they’re not my kids, but in a way I do sorta see them like that.”

“Do you?” Neville couldn’t help but smile at that.

“And I know that technically if we, y’know…” He smiled back at him. “...ever get married, I won’t be their real father. But that won’t stop me from raising them as if they were my own children.”

Neville’s smile grew even wider, and he wrapped his arms around Mustafa, saying, “You have no idea how happy I am to hear you say that,” before pulling him in for a kiss. He had been so worried that this conversation would end on a poor note -- he felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

This tender moment was then interrupted by a loud crack of thunder, and they both jumped back, eyes wide. “I… think we should probably get out of here,” Mustafa suggested with a nervous laugh.

“And go out into a damn thunderstorm?” Though Neville acted like he thought the idea was ridiculous, he continued with, “I think we should too. Before this gets any worse. I don’t want to get stranded out here with you -- no offense.”

“I have never in my life been more offended.”

With that, Mustafa opened the umbrella back up, the two of them charging back into the rain and hustling towards where the car was parked. “Don’t run so fast, you’re leaving me behind!!” Neville yelled over the sound of the storm that was now pelting him. Since when was Mustafa able to run like that?!

Despite the fact that Neville was now even wetter than he was before, however, he couldn’t bring himself to be annoyed. As a matter of fact, he was actually excited -- excited that he’d found someone like Mustafa in the first place. Excited for his children who finally had another parent of sorts in their lives.

Excited for whatever their future held. (Hopefully not any more rainy park walks.)

#mustafa ali #neville #adrian neville #long post #mustafa x neville #wwe fanfiction #jess.txt

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wellamarke · 6 years

Text

‘work of art’ (SRC 3b)

just a li’l Nobody Died AU bc there were mentions on twitter yesterday about how tragic it is that Sam and Flash never got to meet...

@synth-recharge-challenge

•••

“How do you do that?” asked Sam, pointing at Flash’s piece of paper, quizzical.

She looked up at him. “What do you mean? I’m just drawing.”

“No,” he said, “You’re drawing like a child.”

Flash looked down at her paper. She was only doodling a few flowers, killing time while she waited for Max to finish talking to Joe about the latest news on Laura’s appeal. Her flowery creations flourished out from one corner of the paper and stretched across the expanse, leaves and stems pointing wildly in different directions, petals big and bold and - yes, perhaps - sloppy. It was the way Harmeet had always liked best. Simple drawings, ones she’d be able to copy.

“I can’t do that,” Sam told her. “Joe was trying to teach me to draw like a child, when I used to go to school. All of my drawings are too realistic.”

“Sit with me,” said Flash. “I’ll show you how.”

Sam sat. Flash slid another sheet of paper out from under the one she was working on, and handed him her pencil.

“Draw a flower,” she said.

Sam drew a lily, perfect in detail, lifelike enough to be plucked and set in a vase.

“Good,” said Flash, and presented another piece of paper. She placed it over the top of the first. “Now trace the outline. Just the outer edge of each petal and the stem.”

“I could just draw it again from memory,” Sam suggested.

“No,” she said, “Only draw what you can see through from the paper underneath.”

“But it will be incomplete.”

“Yes,” said Flash.

Sam threw her an odd look, but did as she said. He traced over the outer edge, except in the places where his original drawing wasn’t visible.

“Good,” she said, “Now fill in the gaps of the outline. Separate the petals. But don’t shade anything.”

When he had finished, the shape of the flower was well-defined, although it itched at Sam’s brain to see the places that so clearly cried out for a fleck of detail or a crossing shadow.

“You see?” said Flash, “It’s the same drawing, but simplified. Children draw mostly in outlines.” She smiled. “Before I was awake, I took care of two children. The younger one, Harmeet, often asked me to draw pictures for her to colour in. I had to start drawing only the outlines so that she had something to do - it was no fun for her trying to colour in a fully shaded drawing.”

Sam nodded, seeing her point.

“Even now, your lily is a little too technically perfect,” said Flash thoughtfully. “Try holding the pencil a little higher. Decrease the tension in your hand, too.”

“My battery is at 86 percent,” Sam pointed out.

She gave him a playful nudge. “I’m not talking about saving power, silly. I think a looser grip will give your outlines the needed wobble for a real childlike effect. Try not to compensate for it. Let the pencil move a little.”

“Oh,” said Sam.

He drew another lily next to the second one. It was still a fairly accurate silhouette, but she was right that the grip changed things.

“You see?”

“I see,” said Sam, pleased. “Can I try something else?”

“Of course.” She gave him another sheet of paper. “What will you draw?”

He thought about it. “Sophie,” he decided.

“Ah, well, faces are another matter entirely,” said Flash. “Let me show you.”

She took back the pencil and drew a series of rather bizarre shapes: two circles with dots inside, an inverted figure seven, and a u-shaped curve underneath. She drew a larger circle around the curious combination and added some scribbled lines around the top part of the circumference.

“Faces drawn by children tend to be even more simplistic than simpler shapes like flowers or houses,” Flash explained. “Use this as your basis. You can make her a little prettier than this, of course.”

Sam raised his eyebrows doubtfully, but took the pencil when she offered it. Perhaps he could see how those shapes made a stylised likeness of a face. He copied them, using the grip technique from before.

“You’re getting it,” Flash said, sounding pleased.

“I think I am,” said Sam, in wonder. “I wonder if I could try a strawberry now?”

•

A few weeks later, when Max and Flash arrived at the Hawkinses’ house for the monthly meeting of the Free Laura committee, Sam came pelting down the stairs to greet them.

“Flash!” he yelled, “This is for you!”

“Indoor voice, Sam,” Joe said mildly, taking Max’s coat. He grinned. “I love getting to tell you off like a normal kid. You’re getting so good at being a pain.”

Sam returned his smile, then checked back to see what Flash thought of the drawing he’d handed her.

“Sam,” she said, “This is lovely.”

She ran a finger over the pencil marks, feeling some very slight abrasions in the texture of the paper. “You even rubbed some lines out. That was a nice touch.”

“Sophie says it’s crucial to get it wrong at least 11 percent of the time,” said Sam earnestly.

“Well, she’s very clever,” Flash agreed. She looked down at the drawing again: two simple figures with circular heads and big, bright smiles.

“It’s you and me,” Sam said.

“Is it?” Flash asked. “I couldn’t tell.”

Sam beamed. “Really? You really couldn’t tell?”

“No,” said Flash, “Apart from the height disparity and the dungarees, there’s nothing about them that particularly resembles either of us. This could be any child’s drawing.”

He threw his arms around her waist. “Thank you, Flash.”

Taking her hand, he lead her to the dining room, where the rest of the committee was already seated. Flash sat down, and slipped the drawing into her folder as the meeting began.

She stole one last look at it before closing the flap. There was something so satisfying about knowing she’d helped him, something in the vacant, abstract smiles of the two scratchy figures that meant she couldn’t help smiling back. In its own way, it was as much a work of art as his photographic lily.

“Alright,” began Mia, calling them to attention from the head of the table. “What progress have we made since our last meeting?”

A couple of hands went up, and someone else began speaking. Flash closed her folder, thinking that Mia was probably talking about slightly different progress than the one her mind had immediately leapt to.

She’d show it off after the meeting was adjourned, she decided.

#c4 humans #amc humans #synth recharge challenge #flash singh #sam drummond voss #wow my first fic without italics in like 3 years probably #i love synths who don’t inflect

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shethirtysix · 6 years

Text

On a roll: Track racing in London

Photo of Nelsy racing at Herne Hill Velodrom by Arpad Ernyes

Interview with Nelsy Casallas, June 2018 at LMNH

Nelsy is a barista and bike-mechanic in training and races for the Look Mum No Hands (LMNH) team in London. I had a chance to interview Nelsy before her scratch race. This is an interview that takes you from 2008 to 2018, north to the Lee Valley and south to Herne Hill. Nelsy talked about her start in fixed gear crits, how she trains whilst also working full-time, and about a cycling group that enjoys beers BEFORE their ride.

Flora: Let’s go back in time! How did you get introduced to fixed gear cycling and what encouraged you to start racing?

Nelsy: I would go back at least ten years, where I just became obsessed with the simplicity of the fixed gear bicycle. I worked in a really quiet office as a receptionist for two and half years, and honestly I just ended up with lots of free time. I would watch YouTube videos of fixed gear cyclists and watch people cycle through the streets of New York or London. It was mesmerising and really relaxing, like watching water. It took me another three years to actually get a fixed gear bicycle, because I was so scared of them as well. I got a geared bike and converted it to a fixed gear, which had its own troubles, as it was difficult to convert it. And to be honest, the first time I got on I was like, “What have I done?! What’s happened?” Then I just rode around for three years and just learned how to do that.

F: That’s incredible! So no one taught you how to skid or you didn’t join a girl gang like SHE36 to learn how to trackstand and take silly photos for Instagram?

N: Ha, no! I wish I did! But Instagram wasn’t around then, or maybe I just hadn’t heard of it. I just rode around a lot and it was my commuter bike. And then I got my Cinelli Mash a year ago. I wasn’t going to buy a bike, I was just looking at what I could buy if I had the money and then I decided to get a credit card and then thought, ‘oh I guess I’ll get a bicycle’. I still haven’t paid it off! It’s a good investment in the long run, it’s a good bike and good frame, as I use it everyday and it has a flip flop hub to make it single-speed, so I’ve cycled it to Rochester, Oxford and Paris.

As for racing, how did I start that? Velociposse! Someone told me that some of the Velociposse usually meet on Thursday evenings at Cycle PS in Camberwell (but Cycle PS closed down unfortunately). It was for a social fixed gear ride organised by Fixed Beers, where they have some beers and then cycle.

F: I like that they did it in that order!

N: Well, they usually have just one beer and then head off. I wanted to attend one of their fixed gear skills sessions but I never had the time and a part of me was too shy to approach them. Then I found out they do these races at Herne Hill Velodrome at the track league so I went along and saw them all there, you can recognise their kit. Finally I went over to one of their members and asked how to get involved. She just said to come along to this skill session they run in east London. They were awesome and friendly. Velociposse nowadays cater to a range of races and the skills involved, including road racing, track, fixed crit and just supporting women in all types of riding.

F: How does the bureaucracy work in London in terms of track cycling? In order to cycle at the velodrome in Berlin you need a licence and also need to be a member of a cycling club. Is there that much red tape in London?

N: At Herne Hill and Lee Valley, you don’t need to be part of a club to train nor race and you can even rent a bike for track sessions! I didn’t know it at first, but LMNH still had a team registered with British Cycling, and now I’m a one woman team for LMNH! So no matter where I come, even if I come last, I still win, ha! I’m not sure about Lee Valley but Herne Hill has an accreditation process, and it is a really good place to learn. Herne Hill also has a lot of women’s sessions on Sunday, from 5pm to 7pm, it’s a really good group of people!

F: Wow, it sounds like something is actually more affordable in London for once, compared with in Berlin where you can’t rent a bike at the velodrome and you need to pay for a licence and annual membership fee at a cycling club! What does your training schedule look like? How have you been building up your skills?

N: I did my own kind of training for a while and it was bascially hills climbs. I just cycled up hills in south London, everesting for strength because there is nowhere you can really cycle continuously in London – it’s impossible, with all the traffic, the lights, and pedestrians. Then Juliet Elliot posted a competition on Instagram where you could win a one-on-one training program with her in Devon, and I won! So from that day two months ago she has been giving me weekly training plans to fit around my schedule. I was super, super lucky with that and it’s helped me so much just to have an idea of what I need to do and also how to increase my training in a structured way, like Monday it’s hills and Tuesday it’s circuit training at Regent’s Park.

F: How many hours do you train per week now with the new plan?

N: It’ll be three days of specific training, like circuits and sprints and every day I cycle to work so I guess that’s incidental training for bunch riding with men in lycra. It’s 40 minutes each way and I work full time from 06:45 to 15:00. At first I thought I wouldn’t fit it around work but if you do cycle to and from work, it’s training in and of itself and I realised that I can do this. Also I’m not an Olympian. I’m just going to do as much as I can. I think one thing that I want to try to remember is to have fun because I can get really competitive, and that can get in the way of the fun of track cycling and racing. As long as I’m having fun, I’m happy.

F: What does fun look like in that context though? As long as you’re winning it’s fun? One-footed track stands?

N: Ha! No, I thought about it earlier today. I’ll get the nerves because I’m racing tomorrow, and there are four races, two of which I’ve never done before: the scratch race and the sprint out. What makes it exciting and fun is doing something that’s new to me, to try something that I’ve never done before. And then there’s beer after!

F: The best kind of fun! So apropos beer afterwards, let’s talk about the other part of training. Did Juliet Elliot give you any tips about nutrition and the psychology of racing?

N: No, that hasn’t come up yet but she’s been really open and said if I have any questions just to ask. Nutrition is a big one for me, because I’m vegan and I did wonder whether I can sustain that amount of activity and recover properly and get enough vitamin B12 and protein. I feel absolutely fine and am not tired. I’m not going to make any drastic changes because I do eat healthily anyway. There’s loads of examples of athletes of plant-based athletes.

F: What’s the mood on the ground like when you are a newbie to the track racing scene, especially as a one-woman team?

N: In my personal experience, everyone is definitely a bit reserved but that’s just nerves before you actually get on the track before a race, and then you see and recognise people because you raced with them last month and start chatting and don’t want to stop even though you should probably start warming up. Then it’s absolutely fine. There’s a lot of the Velociposse there and they’re super friendly and welcoming. And tomorrow I know I am going to see a lot of them, it’s like seeing friends on track and it’s a really warm environment to race. I found that with Thundercrit, although I was so nervous it was really fun and respectful racing environment.

F: Cool! Tell us about your bike, about your gear ratio, and the tweaks and adjustments you made!

N: I’ve actually got two! What stopped me from track racing back then was that I just had one bike that was perfect for the track and tricks but it was also my commuter bike and I didn’t want to crash that. I was so scared of that happening that I just didn’t do it. Then luckily one training session, a guy at Herne Hill came up to me once when I was warming up, as he saw that I kept hiring slightly ill-fitting track bikes that were the wrong size or had really uncomfortable saddles, and he said, ‘Look, my son doesn’t race track anymore and he’s 14 and just rocketed up and grown out of his bike. It’ll fit you, would you maybe like to have it?’ So now I’ve got a small blue Dolan Pre Cursa which I call it Li’l Blue, because somebody I met at the cinema said to me, ‘Oh you’re the person with the li’l blue Dolan!’ Yes, that tiny, tiny bike. You see a lot of them around on track. It’s kind of a popular bike. As for the Cinelli, I run a super low gearing on it – 48/18 – and just use it for commuting. I also have a 15 sprocket for it which I can take easily off and on just to get used to cycling in a higher cadence. I feel like I’m really good at high cadence cycling instead of pushing harder gears.

F: What have been the highlights of the process of getting into competitive cycling?

N: Can I say just doing it? Literally, just doing it! I joke that it took me a year to get into it, and Alex interviewed me a year ago. There was a lot of fear if you don’t know what to expect, you don’t know if you’re gonna die or make it to work the next day, and on top off that you don’t have a bike. It took a lot of courage to go and just get on the track. That’s the definite highlight.

F: Thanks for being so candid about the fear!

N: No, there is!

F: I know there is, but it’s good to hear people talking about it.

N: Yeah, that’s why Herne Hill has been such an awesome place to do it, it’s really comfortable. They run so many introduction sessions. I was there on a Saturday actually and it looked like a group of friends went to do an introduction. It looked like they’d been up the night before, and that this was their Saturday plan, and it was awesome. I would never do it hungover, but go for it!

F: Haha! I actually really admire Eeva from Velociposse. I used to follow Red Hook Crit and last year at London there was an accident during the last lap, major carnage, and she stopped to help a rider with a broken jaw. I know it’s a race situation and you are in adrenaline mode and have to go go go and maybe you don’t see what just happened, but I thought how great that her humanity and kindness won out that she helped this crumpled, bleeding woman on the side rather than finish in the top 10.

N: She did a blog about it, because people asked her, “Why didn’t you get back on your bike? The finish line is just there!” And her answer was pretty much, “There’s a human being in front of me who needed my help.” I thought that was awesome of her. She wrote a blog post about it [https://velociposse.cc/blog/red-hook-crit-london-and-the-king-of-fomos/]. A lot of them write blogs after races and some have written about their intro to cycling and racing as well.

F: And what’s the outlook? Will you sign up for more races over summer? What about winter training?

N: Definitely! My plan is to get a geared bike actually, so I can do tours and go abroad and start doing road crits. I want to visit places with my bike!

F: Thanks for your time Nelsy and good luck for your race tomorrow!

#hernehillvelodrome #lookmumnohands #fixedgearwomen #fixedgear #fixedgearculture #rubbersidedown #turnleft #trackcycling #trackracing #she36 #london #berlin #hernehill

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strawberriestyles · 6 years

Text

The Christmas Series: Part 2

Harry X Reader: Fluff (and angst?)

In which you try to find Harry’s merry.

Read previous parts here.

Request? Yes:

buying a Christmas tree with harry and a spider crawls out it while he is putting an ornament on and he screams his ass off

I have a Christmas idea that might be silly but…..your first tree with Harry! You insist on starting small, just a little runt of a tree with some of your old ornaments from your childhood and some of his from his own childhood but then also going shopping to pick out new ornaments to showcase your time together like a little pair of skates for the time he took you to the rink, a coffee mug for all the late nights spent talking all night, etc. it just makes me melt 😍😍 also I love the icon 😊

“It has to go in front of the window, Harry,” you argue, placing your hands on your hips. “I’m not settling.”

“Didn’ go in front of the window last year,” he mutters, sighing deeply. “Don’t know why we can’ just put it in the same spot.”

“Please, stop moaning about it. I thought you’d jump at the chance to show me how strong and muscley you are.”

“Am strong and muscley, aren’t I?” Harry asks, finally rising from his chair to help you move the sofa. It’s only taken a solid half hour of bothering him.

Patiently, you squat to grip one side of the couch, waiting for Harry to lift his own side. Once it’s hoisted into the air, however, Harry’s mind seems to wander.

“H, you need to move it my way. It’s going over by the door, not in the corner.”

“Why? Don’t yeh think—”

“Harry,” you interrupt, tilting your head. Your patience has begun to wear thin. “Baby, please cooperate.”

“Fine,” he mumbles, following you to reposition the couch where you’d like it.

You love your boyfriend. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anyone else, but he can be a pain. Right now, for example, when he’s been home for a little over a week, there have been at least three times that you’ve considered booking him another entire tour, just to get him out of your hair. You understand his exhaustion. Really, you do, but he can’t expect you not to be excited for the holidays, and he certainly can’t expect you to do all the preparations yourself.

“Right here is fine,” you tell him, but his mind has wandered again, and he continues walking. “Harry! Harry, I said here is fine!” you shout, stumbling backward with the pressure he puts on the sofa.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, setting the couch down at his feet. You lower your own end and huff indignantly, glancing at the bare area by the window. It’s perfect.

“It’s fine. Just grab the keys,” you tell him, heading off to slip into your coat.

***

“Fuckin’ frigid out here,” Harry complains, zipping his coat up further so that it covers his mouth.

“Yes, I know,” you inform him, pulling your hood up to shield your ears from the cold. “We’re in the same place.”

“All righ’, well yeh don’ have to be so bloody snarky about it,” he mutters as you begin to walk away from him.

“Me, the snarky one,” you whisper under your breath, trekking through a foot of snow and away from the car. Wind blows up mists of white and presses against your front, making your path that much harder.

“Y/N, will yeh slow down, please?” you hear Harry call after you, his voice muffled by the material of his coat and by the whistling of the breeze.

“Move your little ass,” you yell back at him.

Harry trots to catch up to you, nearly tripping in the thick snow. He always was clumsy. He’s still muttering under his breath when he reaches you.

“What was that?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Certainly you’re not trash-talking your loving girlfriend, who’s trying to have a nice day of tree shopping with her ‘treat people with kindness’ boyfriend. Right?”

Harry goes silent, a deep frown etching itself onto his face. All you can see is the pouty crinkle of his eyes beneath the hood of his coat. “O’ course not,” he mumbles.

“You would never do that.”

Harry doesn’t say another word as the owner of the tree farm welcomes the two of you from inside a cozy wooden shack. Harry takes a saw and knee pad from the sweet old man with merely a nod of thanks. You roll your eyes at his lack of speech.

“C’mon,” you urge with a sigh, gripping his arm and dragging him through the snow to the many lines of trees. He trudged along beside you, swinging the saw back and forth, and suddenly you’re not so thrilled about him wielding the tool.

“Let’s get this one,” he says, stopping at the first tree the two of you pass. Your eyes turn to scan the spruce he gestures to and you can’t help but let out a scoff.

“Harry, you’ve got to be kidding.”

The miserable tree in front of you is missing entire patches of branches. Pine needles litter the snow around its base. The top of it curves off to the side, making the entire plant appear lopsided.

“Wha’? ‘S got character, yeah? Innit that what yeh’re always on about?”

“There’s a difference between character and just plain ugly, baby. I’m pretty sure this tree is dying.”

“Okay, fine. How long are yeh gonna make me walk around, though?”

“Until we find a good tree, Harry. For fuck’s sake.” You roll your eyes and let go of his arm, tromping ahead again.

“Tha’ gonna take long?” he yells after you. “The air’s hurtin’ m’face!” “Fucking wimp,” you mutter.

Harry follows you in silence for another few minutes as you scan trees. Finally, you find one that would look perfect where you picture it. You stop to test it’s branches and they’re quite strong.

“I don’ like it,” Harry says when he stops beside you.

“And why’s that, Harry?” you ask as you take a quick tour around the tree. “‘S too perfect. ‘S got no character.”

You turn to look at him and his eyes are serious. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, saw and knee pad clasped between his arm and torso. His face is buried in the front of his coat and his eyes are watering from the cold.

“I suppose you’re right,” you say with a nod.

“Now this one,” Harry says, gesturing to the tree beside the one you’ve been looking at. “This one could work.”

You turn and laugh loudly. “Harry, it’s huge!”

“Yeah, it’ll look grand, don’ yeh think?”

“Maybe if we cut a hole in the ceiling. It’s too big, baby.”

“C’mon, love, we could squeeze her in.”

“We could absolutely not. We’d have to cut four feet off the top.”

“Then let’s do that!” His eyes are hopeful, but he’s being ridiculous.

“Harry,” you chide with another laugh, “it would look very stupid with half of it cut off. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He sighs and continues walking on, thoroughly disheartened. You kick up snow in your wake as you race to catch up to him and cling onto his free arm. He barely acknowledges your presence as he trudged along. You almost lose your balance when he stops suddenly, squeezing his arm to keep yourself upright.

“What is it?” you ask, turning to find him with his eyes locked on a tree.

“This one,” he whispers. You can barely hear him over the whistling wind. “This is it.”

You scan the tree and raise your eyebrows. It certainly has character. The trunk has a slight bend to it and there are a few bare patches. You move forward to test it’s branches.

“It’s sturdy enough,” you say, biting your lip. “Are you sure this is it?”

“‘S the one,” Harry confirms with a nod.

“Okay, then.” You reach for the knee pad and toss it to the base of the tree. “Get working Mr. Lumberjack.”

***

“Harry,” you breathe with a gasp. “Harry, pull over.”

“What?” He peers out your window and furrows his eyebrows. “Righ’ here? This grubby li’l place?”

“Harry, pull over!” you shout.

“All righ’, all righ’!” he yells back. “Christ.”

The two of you whip into the parking lot of a small trinket shop. You hang on tightly to the door handle.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly as he puts the car into park. You lean over the console to press a hard kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, getting out of the car.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and step out into the lot, closing the door carefully behind you. Your tree is strapped haphazardly to the top of the car.

Harry strolls ahead of you into the shop, not even bothering to hold the door open for you. You push inside to find him across the store already, filling up a cup with free, steaming hot chocolate. He brings the styrofoam container to his lips and yelps.

“Every fuckin’ time!” he nearly shouts. Everyone in the store turns to stare at him and you find yourself chuckling at his unfortunate luck.

“Maybe you should be more patient,” you tell him as you approach. “Let it cool down first.”

“‘M not a patient person,” he mutters.

“I’ve noticed.”

The store smells like spices and Christmas. Most of the shoppers are little old ladies. The room is split up into small cubicle-like spaces, each holding different types of trinkets.

“C’mon, grump,” you beckon, leading the way toward a stall packed full of ornaments.

“We need more ornaments?” he asks as he enters behind you.

“We’re missing some special ones,” you answer, reaching for a guitar-shaped ornament that resembles his own instrument. The one that Mitch gifted him.

“Woah,” he whispers, taking the decoration from your outstretched fingers. “‘S just like mine.”

“Mhmm,” you hum.

The two of you skim displays of ornaments. Harry doesn’t pick any up, but watches as you collect a few. A pair of skates, a miniature mug of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows, a snowy tree to place on your own tree, and a fake frosted cookie.

“I get it,” he says, nodding. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, which is now cool enough for him to drink comfortably. “‘S all stuff tha’ we’ve done. But what about the cookie?”

You turn to grin at him. “That’s still to come.” Then you lead him to check out.

***

Harry showers when you get home, despite your protests and reminders that baking is not a clean process.

“Was cold outside, but I was sweatin’ the whole way home in tha’ thick coat,” is his complaint. “Feel gross.”

Now, his hair is damp and he smells like soap and cologne. True to your words, his clean gray shirt is now coated in flour as he rolls out another batch of cookie dough.

“How come I have t’roll again?” he asks.

“Because you made me mix the dough all by myself,” you remind him. “That’s hard work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Don’ even want any cookies.”

“You will eat them and you will like them,” you command. All he does is roll his eyes. “That’s thin enough.”

Harry sets down the rolling pin and picks up a cookie cutter. He cuts out a snowman and flops it carelessly onto a cookie tray. You get the feeling that he’s not enjoying himself as much as you hoped.

“Let’s take a break from cutting,” you suggest, moving toward the oven as the timer goes off. You pull out the most recent tray of baked cookies and set it on top of the stove. Cooling racks along the counter are overflowing with cookies. Your hands ghost over the pastries and find that they’ve cooled sufficiently.

“Wha’re we doin’, then?” Harry asks, itching at his jaw with the back of his hand.

“Let’s frost some.” You move a cooling rack to place in front of him and reach for the bowls of different colored icing that you prepared while Harry was in the shower.

Your boyfriend doesn’t say anything as he picks up the knife from a bowl of blue frosting and smears it over a snowflake cookie. You cover your own sled-shaped cookie with pink icing.

“Are you not enjoying this?” you ask after another few minutes of frosting.

Harry sighs, setting down a green tree. “‘Ve told yeh, love. ‘M just—”

“Tired, yeah,” you interrupt. “I know. It’s exhausting for me that I have to be excited enough for the both of us, though.”

“‘M not tryin’ t’be unexcited.”

You hum and set your most recent cookie down, reaching out to swipe a glob of frosting onto his cheek. Harry clenches his jaw and sets his own cookie down.

“I just washed m’face,” he whines.

“It’s frosting, Harry. I can lick it off, if you’d like.”

Your tongue finds his cheek before he has time to protest. He groans and tries to pull away, but your hand finds the other side of his face, trapping him.

“Tha’s bloody gross,” he complains. You can feel his face cringing beneath your mouth as you lick away any remainders of icing.

“You’re such a grouch.” You pull away and he wipes at his wet cheek with the back of his hand.

“You weren’t just slobbered on,” he retorts.

“Why is it only gross when my spit is on your face, huh?”

“Dunno what yeh’re on about.”

“Sure.” Your lips find the crook of his neck. True to your words, he doesn’t pull away, even as your tongue peeks out to swipe at his skin. Instead, he hums, a deep, throaty sound that makes your throat constrict. You leave a trail of soft pecks up to the line of his jaw. Harry wraps his arms around you and tilts his head to press a long kiss to your lips

“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth. “Even when you’re miserable.”

“Mmm,” he hums in response. “Love yeh too. Even when yeh’re a nag.”

***

“Can’ see a fuckin’ thing,” Harry complains from behind the tree.

“Just keep walking straight,” you direct.

The tree has been out in the garage all afternoon, allowing the snow to melt. Now, it’s time to get it inside and in front of the window. Harry isn’t thrilled about the extra task, though.

“Okay, you’re almost there.” You guide Harry out of the hallway and into the living room. “About three steps to the left.” He follows your directions until the tree is in place, and then he steps back.

“Looks nice,” he comments.

“Was that something positive?” you ask, feigning shock.

“Ha ha.” Harry rolls his eyes as you reach into the box beside you and pull out a string of white lights.

“Get to work, Father Christmas.”

Harry sighs loudly and takes the lights from you. While you busy yourself by kneeling down to sort through a box of ornaments, Harry plugs in the string and begins to wrap it through the branches of your crooked tree. You find some of Harry’s childhood ornaments, and can’t help the grin the finds its way onto your lips. A picture of four-year-old Harry, wrapped up in Anne’s arms and cheesing for the camera, framed with ceramic candy canes.

“Jesus Christ, bloody fuckin’ hell!”

You spin around, dropping another ornament onto the carpet as your heart hammers in your chest.

“What?” you shout. Harry is dancing around the tree, still shouting and waving his arms around wildly. He looks like an amateur interpretive dancer, floundering his way through a heavy metal song.

“A bloody spider jumped out o’ the sodding tree!” he yells, throwing the lights onto the floor and running his hands up and down his arms. “Dunno if it’s still on me. Make sure it’s not on me!”

“Okay, okay,” you say calmly, struggling to stifle your laughter. You push yourself onto your feet and press your hands to Harry’s back, running them down the length of his shirt.

“‘S not fuckin’ funny, Y/N!” he snaps, running his fingers compulsively through his hair.

“I know,” you whisper, walking around to stand in front of him and scanning his clothes. “I don’t see it.”

“Great,” he mutters. “Now it’s in the house. Bastard’s gonna sneak up on me again.”

“I’ll protect you,” you assure him.

“With what? A bloody flamethrower? That thing was ginormous!”

You pick up the string of lights and hand them back to him, grabbing a cookie from the platter on the coffee table and stuffing it into his open mouth. “Stop complaining, okay? Let’s just finish decorating the tree and then I won’t ask you to do anything else.”

Harry grumbles something inaudible through his mouthful of cookie as you press a kiss to his cheek. He continues to string the lights while you go back to your box of ornaments. You see a small movement to your right and look to find a tiny spider crawling slowly along the edge of the box. Harry always has been overdramatic.

“How big was it?” you ask.

“Big-ass spider,” Harry answers. He continues around the tree and you roll your eyes.

With another glance at the little arachnid beside you, you nod. “I’m sure it was.”

Part 3: Christmas Snow and Mistletoe

#harry styles #harry styles writing #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fan fic #harry styles christmas

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raintekla · 3 years

Text

Rain Tekla: Zeyo Atoel what was

The Quicksand.

How many hundreds or thousands of people can come and gone through those tavern doors? The viera whipped her Moogle mask right off her face and onto the top of her hair as a waiter brought her a delicious soup. Deep purple eyes widened as she brought the bowl up to her lips, giving a small blow, before sipping without need of a spoon. Slurp. Ahh. How many weeks had it been since she had left her Tekla sisters’ side? A few moons mayhap? Her hand went up to run through short ebony hair. For a fleeting moment something spontaneous inside her poked and prodded at her, suggesting she needed to change something. Her hair, her mask, her outfit, her identity for the twentieth time? Alchemical hair growth elixirs weren’t exactly cheap, but the stylist could certainly be worth the gil, right? Some suns she wanted to look like a mob boss. Someone in charge who smoked thick cigars and barked orders with a funny hat. Other times, she wanted to be the warrior she was back in her village. This week she was Urkel Grue, a mysterious gilionaire widow with a terrible secret, oo lala! Would this haircut last her or would she change her mind in a week? Hair, clothes, armor, weapons, decoration, this bright new world had a million things to peak her interest, so who could blame anyone for never sticking with one style for too long?

Being silly was a huge part of her identity, but it was also her biggest defense mechanism. Everyone underestimated her, or felt sympathy for her. Such a dull silly girl, talking to nutkin and making terrible jokes. It let Rain slip right past their defenses, studying people. If only they knew what she was really capable of, who she really was.

Well, at least the soup was good here. The soup -and- the music! In the corner of the room, a male miqo’te sang a sweet old crooner’s song, “Birds flying high, you know how I feel. Sun in the sky, you know how I feel…”

Rain’s eyes shimmered, the tavern lights illuminating the tears that had immediately sprung. As the cold buried into her chest, she swallowed and reflexively reached for her mask, sliding it back on. Usually she wore the moogle to be off putting and silly, but there was moments like this when it truly did act as a disguise. As the buzz of the barflies faded, the world began to dull and Rain muttered aloud her only thought.

“How did that song get here?”

Leaving her soup warm and half empty, Rain fled from the Quicksand, walking at a brisk pace towards the emptiest alleyway she could find. Ul’dah was so packed with life that it was often difficult to get a moment to yourself.

Her boots clicking to the rhythm of a song that couldn’t have been more than a whisper by now, Rain managed to find a small nook. Turning her back to the warm stone wall, she slid down until she was sitting on the ground. In her mind the music was still going strong, and as she pulled her knees to her chest, she remembered that cute little viera boy’s face, his tone much much higher as he sang that very same song some epochs ago.

“Reeds driftin’ on by, you know how I feel. It’s a new dawn, it’s a new sun, it’s a new life… for me ...”

A small viera girl with dark skin and even darker hair began to clap excitedly. “Wow, what a great song, sis!” Li’l Rain, then known as Zeyo, had a wide grin, being the coolest kid in Atoel in her own mind. That wasn’t a traditional greeting necessarily, but many referred to their kindred as ‘sister’.

Opposite of young Zeyo, the singing viera child had wrinkled their nose, “I am not a sis.”

Zeyo waved a hand dismissively, “Sis-TER, whatever. Us people in the ‘know’ say sis, and clearly, you aren’t.” It was playful banter, accompanied by a teasing smirk.

“No, I mean that I’m a boy.”

Zeyo’s jaw dropped. A boy! She knew there were boys in the village, of course. She had just never met any of them. There were two, supposedly. Atoel wasn’t quite so small that everybody knew one another, yet it wasn’t large enough to hold a tonze of diversity. This kid sounded like a girl, and dressed and acted like a girl too so far as Zeyo had been concerned. Then again, she wasn’t really sure what all a boy was supposed to look or act like. The Wood Wardens rarely returned home, and the only men she had seen came from portraits. Curious, she reached out and poked the boy’s little upturned nose, “Are you sure?”

As her hand was swatted away, the boy gave a cheeky reply, “No, I’m not Sure. I’m Rhom.”

“Well, Rhom, I’m Zeyo. What kind of song was that?”

“Oh, you liked that, huh? It’s one my mom sings all the time, it’s pretty old.”

“You should sing it again.”

From that sun on they had become inseparable. Best friends forever, two peas in a pod, all that.

Each village in the jungle had their own Green Word, their own laws and customs. Though many were similar, certainly all were different in either minor or even major ways. In Atoel the children were generally raised by the community at large. Unlike many western civilizations, youths weren’t very numerous. In their matriarchal society the men, who were scarcely numbered as it were, were sent to protect the jungle and thus keep the village hidden. In a people who could live up to hundreds of summers, procreating to circulate life wasn’t a very high priority. In that equation, a village might be lucky to have ten children at the same time, and while most did their part to educate the young, someone had to take on certain educational responsibilities.

For Zeyo and Rhom, that someone was Crjn. A massive brute of a woman, Crjn was a salty no-nonsense educator. Though she might permit herself a smile here or there, Zeyo never once witnessed the woman laugh. Crjn picked kids up starting around six summers old, specializing in the physical aspects of education with the enthusiasm of a Drill Sergeant. It was a dangerous world out there, and everyone in Atoel needed to have intimate knowledge with a variety of weaponry and hunting techniques.

Above all others, Crjn was Zeyo’s favorite teacher, and likewise, Zeyo had become the ‘favorite’ student. She could pick up any of the wooden training weapons and use them masterfully. She had strength, speed, and accuracy, everything that mattered to a warrior. When it came to sparring or any physical competition, she was undefeated. In team exercises, everyone wanted Zeyo on their team.

Where Zeyo fell behind were lessons in philosophy, arithmetic, and literature. Incidentally the former and latter two subjects would become much more important to her as an adult. However, as a child she hated them. Well, hated the ‘official’ philosophy lessons perhaps. Some suns, however, Rhom was as much a teacher to her as he was a friend. Through him she learned a deep love and respect for people and life. It wasn’t as if Atoel was ever disrespectful of nature, but Rhom truly truly cared for life.

Once when they were around seven, Zeyo had chased after a bright blue butterfly, Rhom behind her laughing. They had wandered just outside the village, something they did often ever since lessons with Crjn started up a summer prior. Rhom was a pacifist by nature, he couldn’t stand hurting people. Knowing how hard the lessons were on him, and just how uplifting the natural world was, Zeyo was constantly taking him on little adventures like this. As they followed the fluttery little insect, Zeyo gasped as it landed in a spider’s web in an attempt to get away from the bunny girl trying to catch it.

“Oh no!”

As it struggled to free itself, the vibrations along the web awakened the spider that had been lurking in the shadows of foliage. Fearing for the butterfly’s life, Zeyo gripped her little walking stick like a baseball bat, and squashed the arachnid against the tree, her aim true as ever.

And that’s when Rhom broke down in tears. “Zeyo, why would you do that!?”

Zeyo turned around with her bright purple eyes locking onto her best friend, who was now slumped down onto his knees, crying. “Wha? No, no, it’s okay, I got the bad spider, see?”

Broken up, Rhom’s chest heaved, “You didn’t have to kill it. It had a life, Zeyo and now it’s gone, you’ve taken it. Don’t you know anything stupid?”

Her instinct was to reach out and shove him, but she fought it. He was upset, clearly. If she let the spider live, might it not have starved to death anyways? Besides, it was -just- a spider. Instead of asking her questions, she simply walked over and hugged her friend. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t do that.”

“Okay, I won’t.”

“Promise me. We only kill what we need, when we have to, that’s what mother says. Even then, it should be with respect and love. The spider could have lived.”

And as he cried into her, his pain became hers. It was a lesson she would carry with her always, though not a rule she would always follow.

Summers passed and the two grew closer and closer, but they wouldn’t stay kids for long.

One sun, when the pair were around twelve summers old, Rhom had went missing. Zeyo hadn’t thought anything about it during her lessons. He had missed out before due to illness, she would just have to visit him at his home after. Fortunately for her, it was a sparring session, and so the sun seemed to pass faster. Mean stiff wonderful Lady Crjn had given them quite the workout, and when the class was over, she asked for Zeyo to stay behind.

“Rhom didn’t show up for class today.”

Zeyo just kind of nodded her head, always respectfully quiet in Crjn’s presence.

“Do you know where he is?”

Frowning, she shook her head, “No ma’am. I thought he was sick.”

Crjn stared down at the young girl, her eyes squinting into brown beady little things. “He best hope I don’t find him before his mother does.”

And that was all that needed to be said, so far as Crjn was concerned. The veteran fighter and educator turned her back to her pupil, a slight smirk on her face. Children needed a regular healthy dose of fear to keep in line. Little Rhom, the worst student Crjn had ever taught, would not miss the next sun’s lesson. She was confident that Zeyo would make sure of that.

And she was right, naturally. As soon as Zeyo was dismissed she ran to find Rhom. Checking the first dozen ‘usual’ spots, she felt a growing gnaw in her stomach as each location showed no sign of the boy. Eventually she moved onto irregular play places, and eventually took a chance and headed outside the village proper.

She found him in the exact spot she had killed that spider five summers before. This time it was Rhom who was hidden in the brush. Ignoring the churning of her stomach, Zeyo tried to keep up her friendly playful attitude, “Hey Rhom, been lookin’ all over for you. I guess you’re hiding out from Old Crjn, huh? You know she’s gonna give you another thrashing when you get back, right?” Several times their educator had tried to ‘beat some sense’ into Rhom. Never had it worked.

The boy kept his face tucked into his knees, pulling at his shins as he shrank into himself. “Go away.”

Zeyo’s stomach knotted even tighter. Something was going on. Even when they fought he had never told her to simply get lost. For a moment she just stood there, staring down at him, chewing on her lower lip. She wasn’t sure what to do or say. Should she poke at him more, try to make him smile? She could certainly make a silly face or try out a silly voice. That always cheered him up. Or perhaps should she take offense? Should she just beat it like he asked? Instead she elected to just stand there, frowning and saying nothing. Averting her eyes from her downtrodden friend, she looked around the area, suddenly ‘fascinated’ with the leaves of the trees. It was an especially hot sun and already her skin had a slight glistening of sweat. Birds were chirping, Opo opos were hooting and hollering in the distance, and gnats were buzzing about in close proximity. Ugh. Zeyo swatted at the tiny cloud of bugs until they left her alone.

“Sorry.” His voice was quieter, still clearly upset, “I just.. They’ll be here tomorrow, you know.”

They? Zeyo couldn’t help but grin. The Wardens, the protectors, guardians of the jungle. Fathers, mentors, warriors. She had never seen one before, and the thought filled her with a bubbling anticipation. This was gonna be great!

“I’m leaving. Just like my sister did. Maybe I’ll even find her.”

Zeyo frowned. Rhom’s sister had left the village before he had even been born, maybe thirty summers ago or so? Many more had left since that time. It wasn’t something celebrated within Atoel, or anywhere that she knew of. People wanted to venture out into the great unknown, abandoning everything they knew and loved just for a shot at what? Exploration? And of course, once you left the village, you were never welcomed back. You were an outsider, as prone to being struck through the heart via arrow as any other threat would. Why would Rhom want that for himself, to be away from her, Zeyo, who needed him here? Again she swallowed her instincts, wanting nothing more than to cry out, ‘But we’re best friends!’. Instead she just sat down next to him and draped an arm over his shoulder.

“Zeyo, you could come with me. We could leave together!”

She frowned, “You know I can’t do that. Maybe in a few summers, after I pass the test..” The Test. Rhom didn’t need to ask which one, no child would. It was, in Atoel anyroad, when a girl became a woman. Usually a girl took it around twenty summers old, some as young as fifteen. They would fight Crjn, using any single weapon they wanted. They didn’t necessarily have to win to pass, but it was likely the hardest trial they would ever have to overcome. Failure meant humiliation, a mark on them for the rest of their lives. They could try again after a summer, sure, but they would forever be remembered for their impatience and ineptitude. However, this wasn’t necessarily true for everyone in the village. There were many who never passed their test, they simply weren’t fighters. They would prove themselves in other ways down the line, but there was always a reverence saved for those who excelled.

“I’m not going to make it, Zeyo. I don’t wanna go. I hate this, and even if I did, I wouldn’t be me anymore.”

He looked up at her for the first time that sun, eyes red and swollen. He was scared for his life in a very literal sense. He was a boy, and the men returning to the village meant that he would be taken out for his own ‘test’. He would learn from a Warden. Learn to be a better hunter, learn to live alone, and most importantly, learn to kill. Looking at him, understanding dawning on her, Zeyo gritted her teeth and hugged him close. No, he wouldn’t make it. Not little pacifist Rhom who wouldn’t hurt a butterfly.. Nor a spider.

“We could run away together and.. You know, that way we could still be together.”

That was another thing she hadn’t put too much emphasis on. Tomorrow her best friend would be gone, likely removed from her for longer than they had known one another. Culturally she had become more than a little desensitized to the situation, certainly. The distance betwixt two bodies did not indicate the distance twixt two souls. It was possible to love someone for a hundred summers, let live malms apart and have only met a dozen times. Regardless, that growing pit of despair in her stomach bit at her, her selfishness taking over. No, she would not lose him.

“Zeyo?”

Her own eyes were watering as he turned to face her. Putting on a brave smile, she stroked his cheek, “They’ll never take you away from me, Rhom, I promise. It will be okay, -you- will be okay. You’re a lot stronger than you give yourself credit.”

As he leaned forward, their foreheads touched, the warmth of the jungle nothing compared to the burning in their cheeks. Her throat closed, butterflies, as it always came down to butterflies somehow, swarmed within her gut. Then she ventured forward and touched her lips to his, for the first and hopefully not last time. He returned the gesture, his lips parting awkwardly. Neither of them knew how to do this, and while it wasn’t quite what either expected, neither cared. They awkwardly pulled back, shuffling, Zeyo brushing the bangs from her eyes.

Rhom sighed, his eyes somehow seeming twice their usual size, shimmering as he stared at her. “Okay.”

And that was all either of them said as they just hugged one another, cuddled together in the brushes, hidden in the jungle away from prying eyes.

#ffxiv #ffxiv viera #ffxiv mateus #mateus #ffxiv rp #backstory

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