#now to wait another 3-4 weeks until i can scrape together another 10 passes to see how it screws me over next time

[thingswhatareawesome]

i hate you stellar warp, i hate you i hate you i hate you i fucking HATE you

[spookysmujer]

Cherry, O.Diaz

Summary: Oscar and Y/N have been casually hooking up for sometime now and when feelings get too involved, true colors come to show.

warnings: mentions of sex, angst

word count: 2.9k

A/N: sorry for the delay of content! Twin and I have been really cracking on an upcoming project she is working on. Y’all don’t even know the investment we have into it 🤣 This idea came to me, I’m emo for this angst shit + Spooky, strayed from my original plan but oh well. I notice y’all like the cute fluff fic with him, would you like to see more fluff with Oscar? Let me know! I’ll be getting to the Sad Eyes request soon 😘

If someone had told you you would be doing hook-ups with Spooky, you’d laugh at them. The two of you had known each other growing up in Freeridge, not close but also not strangers. He definitely flirted with you a lot. But nothing ever ensued, especially not after he was sent to Corcoran for 4 years.

It wasn’t until a few months after he got out that the two of you bumped into each other at the little corner liquor store. The devilishly handsome look he had on his face began the little thing you two have going on. No strings, just sex. And it’s gotten you two awfully close.

The clock on the nightstand blares 5:32am as you try to rub the sleep from your eyes, not that you got much anyways with recent activities. “Always running away before the sun comes up.” You hear the deep voice of the tattooed man next to you. A smirk creeps on your face as you stand to get dressed. You only get your undergarments on when he pulls you back down and lazily climbs on top of you.

“Com’n I’ve gotta go, I open today.”

You tell him as he kisses your neck, which always makes you weak. He ignores you for a bit but eventually rolls off of you, licking his lips with satisfaction.

He lays back and watches you put on your clothes, bummed that the weekend came and went by so quickly. Oscar likes having this little ruse between the two of you. It allows him to be satisfied and not have to deal with all the relationship shit, hynas be trippin’ and clingy as fuck with him.

“Come back tonight.” He calls out to you as you pull your hair into the bun and walk out of his room. You shake your head and laugh to yourself.

Friday and Saturday nights are usually designated for the tootin’ and bootin’ as Oscar likes to put it. It was good for you too. The stress of trying to keep up with bills and student loans has you working doubles almost 3 times a week. You definitely needed some kind of hobby, turns out sex is a great one.

“Fun night?” Your co-worker tells you as you two go through a 10 hour shift. You roll your eyes which are focused on the screen in front of you. But she doesn’t stop staring at you, waiting for an answer. After only being about to take so much daggers, you twist your chair to her and pull down your top a bit to show the hickies that scatter over your chest. Her cheeks tighten with a large smile. “Oh yeah, fun night.”

It wasn’t a secret that you and Oscar are sleeping together. Like everyone else’s business in Freeridge, people were aware the two of you shacking it up. “Man can’t keep his hands off ya!”

“He definitely likes to mark his territory for sure.” You reply as she has a giddy moment.

The work day goes by quickly thanks to working with your favorite co-worker. It’s open to close day for you and when the familiar red impala pulls into the parking lot, your body had a natural reaction to tingle. “Look what the cat dragged in and you telling me that y’all aren’t a thing? I don’t know what booty call comes to his booty calls work place to pick her up, I know I wouldn’t be doing all that just to get some.”

Oscar showing up definitely makes it look like it’s more than just casual sex, he says it’s because he’s a gentlemen at the very least. The same guy who will spank your ass raw and tell you keep your mouth shut.

After closing and walking your co-worker to her car and waving her by, you get into the car where a tank-top dressed Santo drags on a blunt. He puffs out the smoke before flicking it out of the window. You set your things at your feet, “Wasn’t expecting you to show up.”

“It’s how I know you’d come back tonight.” He puts his arm on the seat behind you. The look he gives you, a look with absolutely no effort, makes you shift in your seat. “What?”

He shakes his head, licking his lips and tilting his head for you to move closer. With a sigh, you scoot over right next to him. His other arm leans across him and settles his hand on your thigh. Oscar tilts his head down and plants an open mouth kiss on your neck, instinctively your head moves to the side. With his hand caressing your thigh, you totally forget you are in a public area. And you’re getting aroused quickly. When his hand starts to creep closer to your heat, you grab it and scoot away slightly. He looks up at you with a bothered face.

“We really gonna do it here?”

Oscar only shrugs and pushes you back to him with his arm draped on the seat. It’s like your body has no control to his touch. His lips press against yours, slow at first then more needy soon after. His free hand pulls your farther thigh to get you pressed more against him. And at this point, you’re horny and well, no one is around.

You release from the kiss to straddle his lap and pull off your top. He bites his lips seeing all the marks he had left on you from the weekend. A low moan sounds from him as he pushes his face into your chest, pressing hot kisses to the bruised skin. His teeth scrapes against your covered breast, while you unhook your bra.

“Hmmm, fine ass hyna. Nothin’ new.”

-

After the scandalous public car sex Oscar tells you he hopes to hear from you soon. With your flustered state, you drive home in a haze. Once you get home, you lean against your front door, still feeling the numbness on your lips from all the kissing. You didn’t know how you got to this point. The careless sex and the amount of it you’re having. You didn’t think how much further it could go.

“I’m telling you. He has claimed you and soon enough, without even knowing it? You’re his girlfriend and living in the Santo Trap house!”

Your younger sister tells you as the two of eat breakfast the next morning. She is constantly getting at you about how your friends with benefits situation will evolve to something more. More serious and more dangerous.

“For the last time, we agreed on just sex. Nothing more, nothing less.” You explain her to which she only rolls her eyes at you. “He leads the Santos. You think I wanna date someone like that?”

She scoffs, “But you fucking him? Spends the night? Picks you up? What about that time he dropped off your glasses? Hm? He knew you were going back to his place yet he drove and took his personal time to bring them to you. Keep lying to yourself but at this point, one of you is feeling something.”

She stands from the table and leaves you to finish up. You play around with your food and try to shake any ‘whatifs’ from your mind. Oscar didn’t seem like the type to care about the relationship part, just the sex.

As another work week had gone by, and multiple texts from Oscar asking if you were free to stop by but you kindly denied because of how tired you were. It’s Friday night and you’re contemplating whether to go over to his place or take the time to recuperate. You didn’t have much time to thoroughly think when your phone rings and Oscars name pops up.

“Well well well the devil himself.”

He chuckles into the speaker, “Hola Mami, whatchu doing?”

“Hm, trying to think if I have enough stamina to come over.” You roll over on your bed, “I could use some convincing.”

You can practically hear the smile in his voice, “The temptation mamas. How about we get some 40s and drive around for a bit?”

“Sure, I’ll be ready in 10.”

You didn’t think much of it, but some free drinks convinced you enough to go with.

Oscar picks you up soon after you change. You weren’t paying enough attention to notice the warmth of his cheeks along with his signature side smile as you get in. A brown paper bag sitting between you that carry the 40s and you’re off out of Freeridge. You have no idea where you’re headed but the scenery is nice as the dark night passes by.

Soon enough, you pull into a parking lot that sits in front of a beach. The moon shines against the water that looks like its out of a movie, he pulls out the drinks and hands one to you.

“How was work this week?”

“Long as hell.”

He wipes his chin, trying to loosen the restrain of his smile, “Had to be, dodged me all week long.” You look over to him, your smile forming as your shake your head at his comment.

“Well, I did say I could be convinced to go over you your place tonight but you wanted to come out here like we’re 18 or something.” Taking a long gulp from the bottle, you lick your lips.

He doesn’t say anything for a minute before striking up another conversation. To which leads you two talking for a while not even noticing the time go by. When you finally become aware at how much you’ve been talking, you look at the time on his stereo, 3AM blinks. You sigh as you set the empty bottle by your feet.

Oscar leads against the car door, watching you as you stretch and look out at the water.

You finally look over at him,“What?”

He looks away and smiles to himself, “I’m just trying to figure it out, that’s all.” You look at him confused considering there was no prior conversation.

“How you got me to take you here. I don’t take anyone here, I only brought mi hermano out here once. Y’know, deep convos and shit. Special place and all. So I’m tryna figure it out.”

As you pay attention to how he tells you this, your mind instantly goes back to the conversation you had with your sister that morning. How you told her that this thing is nothing but an itch to scratch. But now? You hear your sister saying, one of you is feeling something.

You clear your throat, sitting up straighter in your seat. “Um, maybe it’s on your bucketlist to get a hyna to have sex on the beach?” A chuckle escaping you but Oscar doesn’t react much to the joke.

He didn’t know where he was going with this. Hell, he never had a problem with the ladies, ever. Not in high school before he became the leader of the Santos and certainly not after. But most of the hynas he been with truly were a ‘toot it and boot it’ situation. And for the last few weeks, that’s all it had been with you. But as the week had passed by and you weren’t there, he started to think. To think about the what if’s: you not needing to sneak out for work or having real conversations about things like hopes and shit. Oscar realized that maybe he wanted more than just sex with you.

“Nah, sand gets everywhere. Y/N... this thing we got. I’ve been here before, sorry to say but a lot times and usually, they come and go but nena.. you really got me thinking about shit other than just sex.”

Usually, the confession of love for you would give you butterflies. But because of the life he led, it terrified you, “Oscar.. the thing we have, it’s good. It works for us both, I mean granted we lead two different lives... it fits in well. You were the one who dominantly established this was going to be no strings. Sounds like you are saying that’s what you want... strings?”

“What could be so wrong with that? Is it hard to believe a man like me could want that?”

You let of a breath, turning your body to him, “You lead a gang. A group of people who try to rid the streets of violence... with violence. Do you see how that’s fighting fire with fire?”

Oscar kisses his teeth and his body language changes in a snap. He is constantly being looked at like a big bad guy, when really he truly did care for his community. His way of life is a tricky one, sure. But people always looked at how he handled things rather than the fact that he handled them. And now with you using that as a reason for how a guy like him could want something like a real relationship, Spooky is peaking.

“Anyone ever tell you not to judge a book by its cover?” His voice snappy and dripping with venom. Your eyebrows furrow, head tilting like he just dissed you at prom or something.

“I usually don’t, but when the cover got bullet holes? I know it’s not the Bible I’m reading.” You snap back, not liking how he suddenly changed his demeanor. How he went from sappy to snappy in an moment. Typical Spooky, you thought.

Oscar only wipes his face, straightening in his seat and turning the key in the ignition. The impala roars to life and he switches the gear to reverse. Much like the ride to the beach, it’s quiet going back to the familiar hood. The atmosphere is cold and chilling. You have your arms crossed over your chest. This definitely not how you foresaw this night going.

As he pulls in front of your house, he still doesn’t say anything. You sit there for a moment and watch him, he grows impatient, waiting for you to get out, “Need me to open the door for you or something?”

The snap in his voice makes you scoff, “A gentlemen at the least would do it. You really gonna be like this? Because I don’t feel comfortable to make it more than what it is.”

Again no answer. With that NOT being said, you fly the door open and close it. You weren’t even given another second before he speeds off and away from your residence. With an audible groan, you march back into your house, cursing to yourself for getting involved with him.

-

The next couple of days went by as normal. You worked your shifts, went to the gym, spent a night out with your sister to whom you didn’t mention anything about the blow up between you and Oscar, dinner and repeat. But in the back of your mind, it gnawed. When you lay in bed getting ready to sleep and the little doors begin to open. What will I eat for lunch tomorrow? When is the electric bill due again? What is Oscar doing? That one comes up more than your usual wonders. There were a few times where you stare at your phone, finger hovering over his contact name but nothing.

As another weekend approached you thought about it again, you even made the effort to see him but when you drove by his place, seeing that his car wasn’t, you kept on driving.

“The fuck are you doing, Y/N?” You tell yourself as you sit in the parking lot of the beach you were at with him nearly a week ago. It’s a sad attempt to go crawling back, really. But when those thoughts crept up to you, you replayed the words you said to him. You spoke to him with such judgement, something you hate about others doing to yourself. Because you weren’t some random hyna. You do know him and truthfully he isn’t a bad person even labeled the elicit Spooky, gang leader of the Santos.

A sigh escapes you, the ring in your ear as you wait for him to pick up. Maybe after your failed attempts to make contact, he’d answer. But to avail.

“Hey, it’s Y/N. It’s been a week and we haven’t really talked or seen each other. I, uh, drove pass your place and you weren’t home and I wanted to call but figured you might have been busy,” You roll your eyes at yourself. “Anyways, I’m sorry for how I said things. Though I stand by what I said I could have been kinder with my words. I don’t like when people use my image to assume who I am. You aren’t the big bad wolf who blows the houses down, matter of fact you’re probably the one who picks up the houses after... um, so I’m sorry. With how I look at you, I thought being with him would be a mistake waiting to happen but if you think there could be something worth trying... maybe you can convince me. Call me back.”

Oscar listens to the voicemail as soon as he gets notified of it. He sits at the edge of the bed, elbows resting on his knees. The cold air hitting his bare back, he sighs.

He feels hands rub over his shoulders and onto his chest, a hot breath on his neck. “What’s the point of being in Sin City, if we aren’t constantly sinning?” Leti’s voice in his ear as she reaches to take his phone, tossing it aside. She scoots off the bed and pushes him back, climbing to straddle him.

Oscar begins to regret making this trip to Vegas as a means to get over you.

[damienthepious]

this has been a difficult week! also for the bouquet here whoops.

Going Through Changes, Ripping Out Pages (chapter 6)

[ch 1] [ch 2] [ch 3] [ch 4] [ch 5] [ao3] [ch 7] [ch 8] [ch 9] [ch 10] [???]

Fandom: The Penumbra Podcast

Relationship: Lord Arum/Sir Damien/Rilla

Characters: Lord Arum, Sir Damien, Rilla, The Keep

Additional Tags: Second Citadel, Lizard Kissin’ Tuesday, Established Relationship, (uhhhhh sorta), Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, (WE WILL GET THERE…… EVENTUALLY)

Summary: Lord Arum wakes to discover that some things have changed while he slept. Namely, there is a human in his bed.

Chapter Summary: There are some tried and true methods, when it comes to curse-breaking.

Chapter Notes: this chapter beat me up out by the dumpsters. but hey! happy LKT! ;3c

~

Arum brings them to his workshop. Rilla isn't sure if she should be more relieved or worried about that, but the fact that the room looks turned over is leaning her more towards the second option.

"Okay," she says slowly as he leans against one of the worktables (his own, she notes) and stares at the both of them with an edge of suspicion. "You want us to convince you. How exactly can we do that?"

"What will it take for you to believe us?" Damien echoes, his voice a little uneven.

Arum wrinkles his snout, but he doesn't quite look angry, now. Mostly he just looks uncomfortable.

He reaches and lifts one of her recorders from on top of a small pile of blueprints, scrawled over in his handwriting as well Rilla's, and he frowns lightly as he fiddles with the controls until he plays the entry he's apparently interested in.

Research log, Entry 4485. We're going to need to adjust the dosage slightly on the treatment regimen we've worked out for the Keep. Its reaction has been positive, and it certainly seems like we're making strides helping it recover from the long-term damage sustained from the Moonlit Hermit incident, but it's experiencing some side effects and I think we can work out a better ratio that should prevent the added drowsiness and pseudo-cramping while still helping to restore its structural awareness and reduce the internal scarring. I think our best bet is-

Arum stops the recording, still frowning, and then he meets Rilla's eyes.

"I thought you said that we solved the illness afflicting my Keep," he mutters, though he still doesn't sound angry.

"We did," she clarifies. "But by the time we did solve it, the Keep had been suffering from sleep deprivation - you had too, by the way - and a magically modified fungal infection so bad that it was nearly necrotic for something like two weeks at least. We figured out the problem, but that doesn't mean that the Keep didn't take some long-term damage in the meantime. And even after that-" she laughs, helplessly, "after that, the fear monster set the entire swamp off, so it's not like the poor thing got a break before you and Marc and it had to struggle through a full-blown assault."

"Marc," Arum hisses, looking away. "The Keep mentioned another… hrm."

"Is this… does this have any particular bearing on our current situation?" Damien asks, his tone very careful, and Arum sighs.

"The pieces of this obnoxious puzzle seem to be falling into place," he says slowly, grudgingly. "And the pieces seem to… corroborate a certain version of the events of the last year."

"A certain version?" Damien echoes, his hands clasping in front of his chest.

Arum sighs again, his snout wrinkling before he looks up towards them. "Your version. Which-" he waves a hand in front of himself when Rilla and Damien glance towards each other in surprise. "Do not misunderstand. Your story is still ridiculous, and I still do not understand, and everything you have so far claimed is decidedly in the realm of the impossible. But-" he grimaces, and then he reaches for the recorder again. "But I am… I am more aware than most," he grumbles, "that the impossible is perfectly within reach. For me, at the least."

He presses down the button, and a different entry plays. Rilla doesn't remember exactly when this one is from (she records her logs so thoroughly so she doesn't need to keep that information in her head, honestly), but she can hear from the very first word that she's completely exhausted in the recordin.

-ter version of the salve. The last three trials have completely tanked, and until I can get my hands on some mo-

She interrupts herself, the edges of a wide yawn crackling through on the tape.

- more, Saints. More of that specific subspecies of dayshade, which is a pain in the ass to source, I'm limited in the number of trials I can actually do. I've got maybe enough for… four more attempts? So I need to pick just four formulas to try and just hope that one of them-

A rustle and a gasp, and then Arum's low rumbling laughter on the recording.

Sneaking up on me again, Arum-

I do not think I could have approached you in any other way, Amaryllis. You have apparently been utterly single-minded on this task since sundown. You … you aren't avoiding sleep again, are you?

No. No, I just- lost track of the time. Is it actually that late?

If you go to sleep right now, you might just pass Damien as he wakes.

A laugh, Rilla's own this time, and then another rustle that ends in a soft hum.

So what are you doing awake, then?

Looking for you, of course.

Another laugh, bright and warm, and Arum looks away from the device with his frill flared high.

Arum-

Come to bed, little doctor. It is … it is never quite warm enough without you.

Alright, okay, okay you big- oh. Whoops. Experiment will continue tomorrow, I guess? End of log.

Arum clicks the button, preventing the device from playing the following log, and then he swallows and frowns even more deeply before he meets Rilla's eyes again.

"Evidence," he hisses. "Everywhere I look, every stone I turn. The pair of you have sunk your roots in here, however you've done it, and… and I know my own voice. I know- I can recognize-"

He snaps his teeth together, and then he exhales a hiss between them.

"I do not understand how. But the pair of you are apparently a part of this. Part of the life that this-" he pats his own chest, his lower hands with the dulled claws thumping off of his scales, "this version of myself has built, over the year that has been stolen from me. I cannot… I cannot imagine that the both of you are… are such impeccable liars as would be required for this to be…" he clenches his teeth, eyes flicking back and forth as he searches for the words.

"Arum," Damien murmurs, and the monster's frown eases, just barely.

"I am beginning to think," Arum says slowly, "that this curse was meant to harm you, just as much as it was meant to harm me."

Rilla can't help the relief, can't help the way her shoulders sag, and Damien clings to her arm. Arum watches them both, but- he doesn't seem surprised by their reaction.

"If- if that was the intent," Damien says breathlessly, "I think it is safe to say it quite succeeded."

"Hm," Arum says, and it sounds a little bit like an agreement.

Rilla, for her part, is running back through exactly what Arum just said, because-

"Wait. You said- curse?"

Arum's frill settles, and he turns, jerking his shoulder to motion the pair of them closer.

"You said before that you do not believe I have had any correspondence with the monster Senate since… since almost the time that I can remember currently. I've found some evidence to the contrary. Look."

He gestures, and Rilla looks past him to see the carefully reconstructed remains of the letter.

She steps closer, and Arum rattles uncomfortably as she and Damien read through what they can. Damien's breath goes sharp, and Rilla needs to read it three times, because she's almost too angry to internalize the words on the first two tries.

"You are going to destroy them," Damien echoes, his horror completely clear in his tone. "They thought- they wanted you to kill us. They thought that you would-"

"I nearly did," Arum murmurs, his tail flicking irritably. "They certainly wanted me to. Or, failing that, they believed that one of you would kill me. I find myself far less favorable towards that first idea now that I know I was being manipulated into it. I am the puppet of no creature, no matter how much of my mind has been scraped away."

"So you think-" Rilla cuts off, the anger flaring again. "So they cursed you. That's what you think this is?"

"That would not be unheard of, for a punishment laid down by the Senate," he murmurs, looking away.

"This… this is because of us, then," Damien says quietly, blankly. "It is our fault, that they have done this to you."

Rilla jerks her head to the side to look at Damien, biting his lip and pressing a hand over his heart in obvious despair, and she opens her mouth to deny it, but Arum gets there first.

"I would say, little knight, that if the Senate did this to me, it is their fault." He growls lightly, tapping his claws off the table beside the remains of the letter. "Besides, did we not just agree that this was meant to harm you as well? Now that we have at least some hint as to what has caused this debacle, we can begin to take steps towards reversing it."

"You have an idea, then?"

"I have several," he grumbles, and then his chest puffs up as he stands a bit straighter. "I have broken curses before. I will break this one as well," he says. "Keep. The scroll room."

The Keep obeys without a please this time, and as the portal is forming beside the monster he turns to Rilla again.

"If you and I… perform research together, as is apparent from… the majority of this room, and from your notes as well as my own… I will allow you to assist me."

Rilla snorts a laugh, and then she takes Damien's hand. "I'm not your assistant," she says quickly as they step past him through the portal. "And you aren't mine either," she clarifies when his expression goes sour behind them. "C'mon. Just show me which journals we're starting with and we'll compare notes in an hour."

~

Damien helps for a while, mostly just fetching books and running to the kitchen to grab water and a small meal for the three of them, and then assisting whenever Rilla asks, but she's not entirely surprised when she glances over to ask him to grab one of Vetch's older journals and she finds him completely passed out in the chair beside her own.

She manages a smile. This is the calmest she's seen him look all day.

Arum doesn't mention it, but he works more quietly after that. She pretends not to notice when she catches him staring at Damien in his sleep.

Eventually, she leans back in her seat with a long sigh, pushing her hair out of her face. They've hit on a few different curse-breaking methods that seem to come up repeatedly- one that Arum says he's used before is pretty straightforward, but unlikely to be useful to them in this case: killing the creature who created the curse. Usually, he says, that will solve the issue immediately, but there is a slim chance that it'll just leave the curse behind, depending on how it was created. Besides that, though, the chances of the four of them figuring out which member of the Senate created this curse and then actually getting close enough to kill them- well, it's a risky idea at the very least. Probably impossible, if she's being honest with herself.

Another potential solution that keeps coming up in Rilla's research is- well. Mostly it's just more fuel for the fire of Rilla's distaste for the way magic works. It sounds more like a bad joke than a real solution, but it does keep coming up, and… well…

"Do kisses actually break curses?" Rilla asks eventually, quietly, and she feels absolutely stupid, but she's been with Arum for long enough to know that if this question has a real answer, he would know it. "Or is that just another dumb misinterpretation-slash-mistranslation of some herbal component or something?"

"They-" he pauses, flicks his tongue, and his expression goes distinctly uncomfortable. "They have been known to. Historically. Though- though the magic is, of course-"

"Inconsistent," Rilla finishes with a frustrated sigh. "I know, I know. But-"

"It would not be… unheard of," he mumbles, looking decidedly away from her. "If… if a- a powerful sort of- of connection were involved."

Rilla grits her teeth, resisting the urge to groan. "So. True love."

"Ugh," the monster grumbles, and Rilla can't help but agree.

"Look, I know it's stupid, but so is magic and if there's even a possibility it might work-"

"Magic is not stupid," he spits, and her human insult sounds charmingly ridiculous in his voice. Like it always does. She tries not to think about that.

"Just inconsistent and almost deliberately contrary," she says, and then she glances towards Damien's still sleeping-slumped form and lowers her voice. "I just- I know it's a long shot. I know you barely believe us. I know it'll be-" painful, she doesn't say. "Awkward. But- if it works, then it's just a few seconds of- awkward and then you'll have the whole damn year back, right?"

"So you would like to… kiss." He pauses, his hands flexing and clenching. "To kiss me. That is what you are saying."

"I'm not saying I would like to," she corrects quickly, because the idea of Arum not knowing, not recognizing, not remembering while she puts her lips on him makes her feel- it makes her chest feel tight and awful and she thinks that she might want to just scream a bit, but- "I'm saying there's a slim, slim chance that it might just fix this, and I think it'd be stupid of us not to just test that incredibly low-risk theory and see what happens, if anything. And if it doesn't work-"

He stares at her, his frown turning nearly into a pout as she tries not to think about the curiosity in his eyes.

"If it doesn't work?"

"Then we…" she sighs. "Then we just keep looking for something else. No great loss beyond a couple of seconds of time."

That part feels like a lie. Rilla- Rilla always wants to kiss Arum. She loves kissing Arum, loves the way she can make him smile, make his whole frame soften so damn easily-

It feels like a pretty fucking substantial loss, though, to give a kiss to Arum while he barely even knows who she is.

But if there's even the slightest chance it might bring him back- Saints, she's starting to sound like Damien. She sucks in a breath to steady herself, then presses her own lips into a frown as she waits for Arum to respond.

His hands flex again, and then he seems to remember the coded journal in danger of his claws, and he sets the tome aside as a thin rattle whirs from his throat. He meets her eye- and then he glances away too quickly, snake-strike fast.

Rilla saw, though. She saw the look in his eyes. He's already made the decision.

"… very well," he says eventually, still not looking anywhere near her. "If… if you believe we might unravel this magic… if we are to each other what you say we are… that sort of magic is rather old, and rather… potent. I imagine this curse must be powerful, but…"

"You agree that there's a chance?"

"Slim," he hedges. "With magic, there is a chance of nearly anything. With magic as old as a curse-breaking kiss… a slim chance is still a chance, I suppose."

"Okay," Rilla says slowly. "So… so you're okay if we… try this?"

"I'm not going to get my hopes up," the monster mutters, and then he flicks his eyes up to meet her own. "But… yes. If there is a chance… yes."

Rilla clenches her fists hard at her side, trying and trying and trying not to think about the mingling hope and curiosity she can see the monster trying very clumsily to hide.

"Alright," she says, and then she takes another step closer to him. "Okay. If you're sure-"

"I'm not going to say it again, little human."

"I'm just gonna," she says by way of warning, and then before her hands can start actually shaking, she lifts them to cup his jaw, her heart stuttering when he stiffens at the contact. He swallows, his eyes widening as they flick between her own, and she gives a weak sort of smile. "Close your eyes?"

She's half expecting him to change his mind at that. Instead, he just watches her for another moment, his hands flexing at his sides, and then she feels him nod very slightly as he lets his eyes slip closed.

She could almost pretend, like this. While he isn't looking at her- she could almost pretend.

Almost.

She leans up, going on her toes so she can reach his mouth more easily, but when she's at the right level she pauses first.

"I… I know you don't want to hear this right now," she whispers, and Arum inhales sharply as her breath tickles his scales, "but I think- I feel like… maybe I should."

"What…" he keeps his eyes closed, his shoulders stiff. "Go on. Say what needs said and just-"

"I love you," she murmurs, and the shocked noise he makes is too much to stand, so she closes her own eyes as she lifts herself the last little bit to kiss him.

It feels exactly like a first kiss, which Rilla decides she should have expected. He feels stiff against her, he doesn't even raise his hands to hold her, he just- stands and gasps against her lips and allows her to hold his face with as much gentleness as she can muster.

His chest rumbles as her thumbs brush across his cheeks, as her mouth moves against him. She can tell that he's just as breathless as she is, and she feels burning and wild as she thinks, told you that you purr, you big liar.

Her eyes flutter open as she slowly pulls away. She exhales, one long sigh, and then she looks up into Arum's eyes.

Her heart stumbles, and then it sinks.

Arum's violet eyes are wide, and stunned, and wanting-

And still without a flicker of memory.

She tries to hide her- her disappointment, tries to hide the way her entire body feels suddenly cold and distant, but when she closes her eyes again she can hear the small noise the monster makes in response, and after a moment, two of his hands reach awkwardly to grip her own.

"I… Rilla…"

"Don't- don't call me that," she manages, and her voice sounds strange in her own ears. It's almost worse, hearing him try to say the wrong name so damn gently instead of just hissing at her. "You never call me that."

"I'm… I'm s-" he pauses, and she can feel his hands flexing uncomfortably against her own. "I do not know what to say. I thought- for a moment, I almost believed that perhaps-"

"Knew it was a ridiculous long shot. You said so yourself," she says, before he can finish the thought, and his hands drop away from her. She wants to grab his wrists and pull his arms around her, wants to run until her legs give out, wants to shove him and scream in his face, wants to kiss him again and again and again until she snaps this curse in half-

She opens her eyes, and turns away from Arum's confused, yearning face, back to the pile of books. She pulls one towards her, peeling it open with fingers that feel wooden and strange, and she forces herself to focus on the words in front of her.

"We'll keep trying," she says, and after a moment she sees him nod out of the corner of her eye.

They'll keep trying. Rilla will keep working. Until they fix this, until they get him back-

There's nothing else she can do.

[->]

[jilyyall]

Animal Magnetism Ch 3.

Edward Cullen was not a normal teenager; of that I was certain. But knowing that did nothing to stop the pull I felt towards him. And if what he was saying was any indication, he felt some strange pull towards me, too. It was like we were magnets struggling against hope to stay apart. I only wondered what would happen when we inevitably collided.

Chapter 3. Singularity. Fanfiction.net /  AO3 Intro/1/2/3/4/5/6/7/8/9/10/11/12/

I was already seated at my table in Biology when the bell rang, heart still racing, stomach and fists clenched with nerves. He hadn't been rude to me at all in the music room, hadn't looked angry or murderous in the slightest, but I couldn't erase the image of his eyes, predatory and black as pitch, on me in the cafeteria a week ago. I was terrified to spend an entire hour next to him, close enough to reach out and touch him.

What could I do but sit and endure it, though? Groaning, I put my head down on my folded arms and hid my face.

It wasn't long before students began to file into the room. I heard chairs scraping and bags dropping as people took their seats. I felt someone come and stand near me and knew it wasn't him, but Mike before he even spoke.

"You okay, Bella?"

"Yeah. I just have a headache," I told him, and turned my head still cradled in my arms to peer up at him with one squinting eye.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Do you want me to walk you to the nurse's office?" Ah, Mike, ever the helpful friend. Too bad that wasn't enough for him.

I paused before I could tell him no simply out of habit. Did I want to go to the nurse's office? Maybe I could play up my fictional headache enough that I could miss out on the entire hour, buy myself one more day.

Frowning, I shook my head. "No thanks, Mike. I'll be okay."

I wouldn't be a coward. I wouldn't just run and hide because I was scared of a boy I hadn't even had a proper conversation with yet. I couldn't even be sure that I saw what I thought I had back in the cafeteria last week. He was perfectly polite earlier, and had smiled at me more than once. Sure, they weren't the biggest, most genuine smiles, but you took what you could get.

"Well, at least you've got Cullen for a lab partner," Mike said ruefully, his tone not quite matching the words he'd clearly meant to be helpful. I realized he was still upset that Edward Cullen had apparently been looking at me at lunch. "He won't talk your ear off."

"That's good. I could use some peace and quiet," I said.

Luckily, Mike seemed to catch my not-so-subtle hint. He nodded, smiled, then patted my back in a bolstering gesture and took his usual seat in the front of the room next to Lee. I bent down to pull my notebook out of my bag, flipped it open to a fresh page, and began to doodle.

I heard the chair next to me scrape the floor, heard a body settle into it, felt his presence impossibly close to me. It took everything in me, but I managed to keep my focus on my notebook, and not look up at him.

"Hello again, Bella."

My gaze snapped up, straight to his. The melodic nature of his voice was irresistible, such that I stood no chance of ignoring him.

"My name is Edward Cullen," he said with a wry smile, as if he knew that I already knew his name, though he hadn't told me before. "I'm sorry we didn't get a chance to meet last week. I was ill."

For several seconds, I could only stare at him. When I was finally able to open my mouth, I couldn't control myself. "Did you get contacts?"

His eyes were the color of molten gold. Back in the music room, all I had noticed was that they weren't full of murder, but now I could see how light and beautiful they were.

"No," he said, the barest hint of a bemused smile on his lips.

"But your eyes…" I stammered, and my head shook back and forth of its own accord. "They were black. Last week at lunch."

"Yes. My eyes shift in color sometimes. It's… hereditary," he said, chuckling slightly like it was nothing. "When I'm not feeling well, they darken. All of my siblings share the same strange trait."

I didn't believe him, not really. But what could I say?

"Is your head feeling alright?" He asked.

"Yes," I said, confused. He hadn't been here when I'd lied to Mike about my headache. Unless… I shook my head. "Why?"

He frowned, and I saw frustration creeping into his expression. "You had your head down when I walked in. I thought maybe you weren't feeling well."

But I was drawing in my notebook when he walked in. Mike had been the one to see me with my head down. Suspicious, my eyes narrowed on him just as Mr. Banner walked in wheeling a cart full of microscopes and slides.

"Can I get a volunteer to help hand out our equipment for the day?" Mr. Banner called from the front of the room.

Edward and I just kept staring at each other – I couldn't break his gaze – until Mike put a microscope on our table rather more roughly than I thought strictly necessary. Edward smirked briefly, a flash of amusement, and averted his eyes to reposition the microscope between us. I looked down at my notebook once again, waiting until Mr. Banner began to explain the lab to look up again. It was one I'd already done back in Phoenix, and Edward knew all of the answers even quicker than I did, so we were finished before any of the other tables had correctly identified a single slide. It took us less than two minutes.

"Do you play the piano?" He asked quietly after a moment.

I turned my head to stare at him. "Um. No. I don't."

"Oh." His brow furrowed in frustration and I frowned, confused until I realized he was probably wondering what I was doing in the music room earlier.

"My mom tried to get me to learn," I offered, "when I was a kid. It didn't work out."

"I see," he said, nodding. Then, "Would you like to learn?"

I stared at him for a long moment, trying to figure out what he meant. Was he offering to teach me? Or just asking a question?

"Um. I don't know. Maybe someday," I shrugged uncomfortably. "Maybe it's something I wish I would have stuck with."

"Why didn't you?" he asked, his eyes blazing with frustrated curiosity.

"Well, I was eight I think, and we were living in Reno at the time. I obviously wasn't very good at it," I said truthfully. Back then, I only wanted to do the things that came easily to me. Like reading. I still liked reading, but I was getting better at getting out of my comfort zone. Marginally better. "And I wasn't improving very quickly, so I just stopped."

"You lived in Nevada." He seemed surprised.

"For a couple years. Then California. Florida. We were in Phoenix last," I said. All warm, all sunny, all beautiful. Nothing like here.

"Why did you move to Forks?" Edward asked, seeming to be on the same wavelength.

"My parents got back together." I shook my head and took a deep breath, unable to look away from him. "I'm supposed to be happy about it, and I am, you know? It's great that my mom and dad are finally together… I've never really been able to see it before… I was just a baby when my mom and I left. It's just…"

I trailed off with a sigh and a halfhearted shrug.

"You miss your friends," Edward supplied with an understanding nod. "Of course."

"Yeah."

"Do you have a boyfriend, Bella?" he asked.

I stared at him, open-mouthed until I remembered what Jessica had said last week. He's totally gorgeous, but he won't date anyone. There was no way he was interested in me. He was just curious, I reminded myself. A strange, curious boy.

"No," I finally said.

"Anyone you wished would be your boyfriend?" he prompted.

"N-no," I forced out, heart hammering. "Do you have a girlfriend?"

I meant it as a joke, or maybe to flip the tables on him and make him feel uncomfortable. It didn't occur to me until the words were out that it may have sounded flirtatious. Edward smiled, and shook his head.

"No, Bella," he said in that quiet, musical tone of his. "I don't have a girlfriend."

We fell into silence as Mr. Banner came around to check up on us, surprised to see that we had finished so quickly and gotten everything correct. He walked away to check in with the rest of the class and I turned back to the doodles in my notebook.

"Am I annoying you?" Edward asked suddenly.

"No," I said. "It's just a lot of questions. I'm not… used to it."

"I apologize, Bella," he said with a smile. "I just find you very difficult to read."

"You must be good at reading people, then," I said with a grimace. He'd certainly picked up on why I didn't want to be here pretty quickly, and hadn't seemed to assume I was trying to flirt with him just now.

Edward flashed another privately amused smile and inclined his head. "Usually."

I turned my gaze to the front of the room when Mr. Banner called the class to order and tried to pay attention to the lesson he presented explaining the lab Edward and I had just flown through. I found it difficult, however, to keep my mind from wandering to the conversation we had just had. It was only a week ago he'd looked at me with such undisguised rage, but only moments ago, he'd seemed so genuinely interested. And now, he was leaning into the aisle, as far away from me as he could possibly get without leaving his seat.

When the bell rang, Edward was standing, books in hand, and was out the door before the chime had even finished. I watched his back until he slipped out the door, then let out a long breath. Hadn't Mike said Cullen won't talk your ear off before class started? I shook my head. I had never been asked so many questions in one sitting before.

The week that followed was much the same. The days passed without event until lunch, when Jessica would nudge me and gesture as subtly as she was able towards the table in the corner. Every day, it was just Edward Cullen staring at me. He wouldn't bother to look away when our eyes met, but neither did he smile or wave; he always just continued to look at me until I forced myself to look away.

Every time Mike and I walked into Biology, Edward was already there sitting at our table. Mike would frown and walk to his seat when I took mine. As soon as the day's lesson was complete and we had time to ourselves, the inquisition would begin: did I play any sports? What were my friends like back in Phoenix? What were some things I liked to do when I got together with my friends? Did I miss the sun? Did I mind the rain?

It was dizzying, and I was more than a little mystified by his curiosity, but I answered all of his questions. And then, the moment the bell rang, he was gone again without a parting word. I just didn't understand what game he was playing.

The Wednesday morning of my third week in Forks, I pulled into the school parking lot much earlier than I meant to. When Renee was driving me to school, it was always a struggle to get her out the door on time and we usually pulled up right before the first bell rang. Ever since my parents had given me the truck, though, I'd been timing my arrival for about fifteen minutes before the first bell.

That morning, I was talking to Madison on the phone, and Charlie had already left for the police station and Renee had headed into town to sign the lease for her art studio. Alone in the house and distracted on the phone, I'd been practically on autopilot, dressing, eating my breakfast, and heading out without even paying attention to the time.

There were only a few cars in the lot when I parked, and no one standing around outside, so I stayed in my car and let Madison finish talking about her latest date with Conner. Finally, just as she was winding down, the parking lot started to fill up. A glance at the flickering clock on the dashboard told me that first period would begin in ten minutes. Restless, I got out of the car, my phone pressed between my ear and my shoulder, and headed around to the back of my truck, fumbling with the strap of my bookbag. For once, it wasn't raining, though the heavy grey clouds promised rain to come later in the day.

"He asked me to be his girlfriend," Madison was saying. "Obviously, I said yes."

"Wow, that's great, Mads," I said, sparing a greeting nod for Mike, who was waving me down from under the metal awning in front of the office. I looked around to see if any of our other friends were here yet. All I saw, though, was Edward Cullen standing near a silver Volvo a few spots away from me. He was looking at me with that same neutral expression he always had at lunch. I didn't even needed Jessica to point it out to me anymore, though she did so every day without fail.

I averted my gaze, pretending to be fascinated by the drawstring of my jacket.

"Bella?" Madison said.

"Sorry, what?" I said, realizing that she'd been talking while I was zoned out staring at Edward.

"I was saying how I wish he had worked up the nerve to ask me out before you moved away. I wish I could tell you all about it in person," she said.

"Oh, yeah," I said, distracted by the feeling that he was still watching me. I looked up again and saw that I was right. I was trying to work up the strength to look away, but I was transfixed by the force of his gaze, so I saw when his expression shifted to one of horror.

Then I heard the tires squealing. Turning, I saw a blue minivan skidding on a patch of ice headed straight for the back of my truck, right where I was standing.

Oh, shit, I thought, but I didn't have time to actually articulate the thought. I wasn't going to have time to move out of the way.

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you're about to die. All I saw was Edward, every time I'd ever caught him looking at me, every little half smirk that had quirked his mouth, the odd way he sometimes looked at me, like he was trying to see inside my head, whenever he asked me a question.

Something hit me in the side hard, knocking me to the ground and stealing my breath. My head hit the asphalt with a sharp crack just as the van hit my truck with the sickening crunch of metal on metal. Two strong and slender pale white hands stood out in a large fresh dent in the side of the blue minivan. It hadn't hit me yet, but it was still coming, the tires still squealing.

A familiar voice cursed imaginatively, barely more than a whisper in my ear. He swung me then, with one hand like I was nothing but a ragdoll. The other hand caught the van and lifted the front of it a full six inches off the ground. My feet dragged on the asphalt until they hit the rear hubcap of the tan car next to mine. There was a jarring thud as the wheels of the van settled right where my legs had just been.

There was silence, deafening silence, for a split second when it was over. Then, everyone started to scream. It was the low, insistent voice in my ear that caught my attention, though.

"Bella, are you okay?"

Edward Cullen was leaning over me, his face mere inches from mine, his hand holding me in place next to him so I couldn't try to get up. I stared up at him, and saw nothing but concern in his eyes.

"How did you get here so fast?" was all I could think to say. I heard footsteps as everyone rushed towards us, but we were completely enclosed on all sides as the tan car next to my truck had been knocked forward by the force of the collision and struck the front end of my truck.

He looked bemused, but I could see the farce in his expression now. He shook his head. "I was standing right next to you, Bella."

The lie was so smooth that I would have believed him if I hadn't been looking right at him a second before it happened.

"No, you were next to your car," I insisted, trying to shove his hand away so that I could sit up, but it was like he was made of stone; he didn't budge. "How did you do that?"

"Bella, I was standing right next to you," he said again, moving his hand so that I could sit up if I wanted, but he looked ready to push me back down if I tried to stand, so I stayed where I was. "I was going to ask if you had any trouble with the Biology homework."

Ignoring how absurd the idea of Edward Cullen talking to me about homework was, I shook my head, and winced at the sharp pain.

"How did you stop the van?" I whispered. There were people all around us; I didn't think they could possibly hear us through the pandemonium, but I didn't want to risk it and get him in trouble.

His face went carefully blank and he looked away. Suddenly, my cellphone was in his hand, the screen cracked from when I must have dropped it. "I think your friend is concerned for you."

"Bella? Oh my God, Bella! What's going on?" I could barely make out her words as Edward held my phone out to me, but the edge of hysteria in her voice was obvious.

"I'm okay, Madison," I mumbled, taking the phone from him. "But, um, I'm gonna have to call you back later."

"Bella! What just happened?" I heard her say, but I was already ending the call.

Edward was still watching me closely. I didn't know what he saw in my face, but whatever it was must have convinced him that I wasn't going to let this drop. He frowned and sighed. "Please, Bella," he murmured as people started trying to move the van.

"Fine," I said. "But you owe me an explanation."

"Fine," he snapped and leaned back as far away from me as he could in our little cage of crushed vehicles.

The nearly half hour it took for the paramedics and several teachers to move the van enough to get to us passed in utter silence as Edward took it upon himself to pretend I didn't exist. I spent the time inspecting the scene around me. There was a large dent in the side of the van that perfectly matched the size and shape of Edward's hands, but it was the tan car next to me that fascinated me more. There, in the passenger door, was an even bigger dent that looked, to me, like it might be from someone bracing their shoulders against it. Perhaps when he had been lifting the van so that it wouldn't crush my legs? The dent certainly wasn't caused by the van itself.

I looked around, expecting to see Edward still pretending I wasn't sitting less than a foot from him, and jumped. He was watching me again with a distrustful frown.

"I won't say anything," I whispered just as the adults created a big enough gap between the front of the van and the back of my truck. "I just want to know the truth."

All I saw before paramedics flooded us was disbelief on his face, and that now-familiar curious frustration.

Edward, of course, talked his way out of a stretcher. I didn't have the same luck, considering Edward told the paramedics that I had hit my head pretty hard on the asphalt. They wheeled me in alongside Tyler Crowley, who had been driving the van and lost control on a patch of ice. His windows had shattered from the force of the impact and he had a myriad of shallow slices all over his face and hands. It would likely take a while for nurses to extract every little shard of glass from his flesh.

To my horror, both Renee and Charlie met me at the hospital.

"Oh my God, Bella!" Renee cried out.

"Bella!" Charlie shouted.

"I'm fine!" I assured them quickly as I was wheeled past them into an examination room. I was sure I looked a lot worse than I actually felt, thanks to the neck brace the paramedics had put me in, much to my chagrin.

The nurses had barely left the room when the door opened again and a doctor walked in. He was young with sleek, gleaming hair so blond it was almost white and his skin was paler even than mine. He was absolutely breathtakingly beautiful. I could have guessed who he was even before I saw his strange, amber eyes though he didn't look nearly old enough to be the father of a teenager, much less five of them.

"Hello, Bella. I'm Dr. Cullen," he said in a soft, smooth, soothing melody.

"I figured," I muttered, averting my gaze.

"I'm sorry?" he said, pausing at the foot of the bed the nurses had transferred me to.

"Nothing," I said, flushing and shaking my head.

Edward, I was certain, would have asked me to explain myself, curious and demanding as he was. His father, however, nodded, and walked forward.

"I hear you took a nasty fall," Dr. Cullen said. "You hit your head?"

"Yes," I said sullenly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Your son has a big mouth."

Dr. Cullen's lips quirked up in a small amused smile, but he didn't otherwise acknowledge my quip.

"I'm going to check for a concussion," he informed me, gently lifting my chin with one hand as he reached into the pocket of his jacket for a flashlight. He shone the light in my eyes and had me stare at the finger he held up as he looked me over. He inspected the tender spot on my head and frowned when I flinched.

"Pain?" he asked.

"Not so bad," I said with a shrug. I had suffered worse. Mom had briefly put me in soccer as a kid. I'd somehow managed to clobber myself in the head with my own cleat. That was definitely more painful than this.

"Well, you don't have a concussion," he said, smiling when I nodded because I already knew that. "You should take some Tylenol when you get home, though, to help with the pain."

"I can't go back to school?" I said, frowning. I didn't particularly want to go home and deal with my frantic, hovering mother.

"Tomorrow, but I advise you to take today to recover," Dr. Cullen said. When I only frowned even more despondently, he smiled at me again. "If it makes it any better, Mr. Crowley will be out for the rest of the week."

"That does help. Some," I mumbled.

When Dr. Cullen glanced at something over my head, I turned to see Edward standing in the doorway.

"What's the verdict?" he asked. His tone was off, like he already knew the answer and was only asking as a formality, or for my benefit.

"No concussion," I grumbled, but he looked only at his father.

"She's fine," Dr. Cullen assured his son.

"Can I talk to you?" I said, narrowing my eyes on Edward. He frowned and sighed. I thought he was about to refuse, but his father had already stepped to the door.

"I'll go speak to your parents," he told me, then glanced at his son and laid a hand on his shoulder as he passed him.

Annoyed, Edward glared at his father's back as Dr. Cullen walked swiftly towards the waiting room. He took several steps forward and then stopped in the middle of the room, glaring at me.

"What?" he demanded harshly.

My heart rate kicked up in response to his hostility, but I wasn't going to back down so soon. Edward could be intimidating, but I knew now that he didn't want anything bad to happen to me, not after all the effort he'd put into keeping me alive today. And he came to the examination room to check up on me, after all. He certainly wasn't about to hurt me.

"It's later," I told him.

He kept his mouth shut in an obstinate scowl. For a long moment, all we did was stare at each other expectantly. He was expecting, I was sure, for me to yield and stop demanding an explanation, and I was expecting him to cave and speak. After a full minute of silence, it became clear to me that neither of us would leave satisfied.

Closing my eyes, I sighed. "Look, I told you I wasn't going to tell anybody. I meant it. I'm not going to say anything. But I have to know what happened."

"I don't know what to tell you, Bella," he spat out through gritted teeth.

"Like I said before. I just want the truth," I said.

"You think I lifted a van with one hand?" His tone was infuriatingly condescending and I felt my face begin to flush as my rage built.

I frown at him, and felt my chin jut out stubbornly. "You also crossed the lot faster than humanly possible, and I saw you push the van away from me."

"I didn't," he insisted, and I could hear the anger simmering in his voice. "I just pushed you aside and we both were lucky with the rest."

"Fine. You don't want to tell me the truth? Fine! Just don't lie to me!" I snapped, shoving at my disorderly hair and standing. Lightheaded from the sudden change, I stumbled.

Edward caught me by the elbow, steadied me, and then released me quickly.

"I'm fine!" I snapped again and brushed past him.

"Bella," Edward said when I reached the door. I paused, but he didn't speak until I turned to look at him. His beautiful face was completely blank. "Perhaps it would be better all around if we just didn't speak at all."

Stung, and feeling foolish for it, I blinked at him, and then scowled and stomped away towards the waiting room without responding. We weren't friends, I knew that, but I had to admit to myself that I was just beginning to enjoy his attention.

ffn / AO3

[napofamikrokosmos]

It Follows: Birthday Part 1 - Kim Seokjin

Inspiration: It Follows - Waterparks

Release Date: 3 December 2019. 10 am EST (4 December 2019. 12 am KST)

Genre: Song Fic, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: It’s sad at some parts but otherwise no

Word Count: 1.8k

Synopsis: You and Jin spent years believing your love for each other would never be returned

A/N: Part 2 comes out tonight at Midnight at exactly 12 am EST

HAPPY BIRTHDAY, JIN!

"I'll hide my life savings. In my jacket pocket. A simple sighting will do. I've been playing. The same old chords. Until they start to sound out of tune"

You and Seokjin had known each other long before he knew the trappings of fame. What started as a childhood friendship slowly blossomed into something more. It was painfully slow. Neither of you acting on your feelings, afraid to acknowledge the idea. Many years were spent with the other watching as you each loved other people, with fear that they could be the one.

Even before you were old enough to understand what love was you knew how you felt about Jin, was more than friendship. Jin knew that his emotions would never let him feel as strongly for anyone else as he felt for you. Yet it was like a cycle for the two of you, a cycle of pain and heartbreak. Always finding comfort in the other only to push them to the side when a new person came along.

Jin had to watch you be with guys he knew were never good enough for you. He would always watch you fall apart over boys who didn't know how to treat a girl. It was like an endless cycle. Nights spent comforting you after another guy screwed you over, only for him to choke before he can confess. It was always too late when he gathered the courage.

You stayed by Jin's side every time he ranted about how he found out another girl was just using him. Your heart would always sink at the sight of him hurt or upset. Many nights you spent in his bed, afraid to leave him alone when he was vulnerable. During those nights, rarely did you ever get to sleep. You always find yourself whispering your feelings to his sleeping form. Then morning would come and you'd forget your words at the sight of him.

It felt like you'd both been saving up your love like it was a currency. Never spend too much of it at once on someone. Deep in your heart, you had locked away the truest form of love. 

To everyone around you, they could see how in love you guys were. The only ones who were oblivious to it were you and Jin. All he hoped for was for you to realise that other guys weren't worth your time and they'd never treat you the way you should be. All you hoped for was that he'd stop letting himself get played by girls who only wanted him for his fame.

Not only was it painful for you two, but it was also frustrating for your friends. The rest of the boys were starting to feel bad for their Hyung and his hesitance to confess to you. Your friends were starting to grow restless after years of watching you choose him over everything else.

"I'll hide the things that pain me. In my jacket pocket. And bid the quiet adieu. I've been waiting. Around for nothing. Killing off the 'something to do's"

Seokjin would never admit it but he disliked every guy you'd ever introduced to him. At first, he didn't understand why. Most of the time it was clear they did care about you, and that there were no negative intentions. Yet just the sight of you with someone else was like a stab through the chest. The thought of someone else possibly making you happier than he could, would make his heartache. Jin was too kind to ever make it known. He always buried the pain and covered it up with his jokes and the facade that was his playful personality, especially around you.

Your hope of ever being with Jin would always disappear bit by bit with every new girlfriend you met. Trying your best to be nice to them even when you could see right through their act. Faking a laugh at a joke they told nodding with a tight-lipped smile at any question they asked you. You always tried your best not to make your distaste obvious, for Jin's sake. Every time you saw them together you'd feel your heartbreak even more. It was starting to get pointless waiting around for him to put your heart back together.

As the years went on you drowned your emotions, mostly frustration, into your career. As BTS' fame and popularity grew Jin started focusing more on perfecting himself as a performer. Unintentionally pushing each other away, spending less time together. Watching each other thrive from a distance. 

Weeks passed, then the weeks turned into months. Those months became a year. And that year became multiple. The last time you had seen each other, you were just getting ready to start your new job, and BTS was just starting to become more popular. That was years ago, but when you saw Jin he looked exactly as you remembered him.

Neither of you had time for relationships like you'd had in your younger years. You could both vividly remember the last time the other had been with someone. How badly they'd ended, and how you sought out each other’s comfort. The last time you'd seen each other you barely had time to speak to each other properly.

Despite not speaking to each other in a while, you and Jin still slipped into conversation as if it was natural. You both sat across each other in a cafe in Seoul, during a less busy time of the day. It was the rare moment where your free days had aligned and you and Jin agreed to meet.

"This city is insidious. I'm sitting here delirious. I'm not scared of anything. The city is insidious. I'm sitting here delirious. I'm not scared, no I'm not"

"I've missed you. I've missed this" You smiled as you looked at him, sitting across from you "It's nice seeing you here in front of me as Kim Seokjin my best friend. Not through a screen as Worldwide Handsome Jin of BTS" Best friend, the phrase didn't feel like a good enough title. Every part of you was deafeningly loud with the words, my only love. 

Seokjin laughed shyly before returning the smile "I've missed you too, I've missed my best friend. I'm so proud of you" that's what he said out loud. However the voice in his head was screaming, the love of my life.

At that moment your eyes met his and something clicked. Jin's expression changed as he looked at you, almost as if he could hear your consciousness yelling. You felt your breath get caught in your throat, almost choking on air.

"There's something I need t-" You both spoke at the same time, before cutting yourselves off at the same time. Laughing quietly you turned away from him and tucked your hair behind your ear "Sorry, please go ahead" you mumbled

"I think with my heart. And love with my head. Do you see the problem here? You rip me to shreds. I think with my heart. You fuck with my head. Do you see the problem here?. You rip me to shreds. So tear into me"

It took you slightly by surprise when Seokjin placed his hand on top of yours. He took your hand, slowly and gently rubbing circles into your skin. You blinked a few times looking at your hand in his, before looking at him again. His expression was soft, his eyes stared at you with nothing but adoration.

He took a breath before he finally spoke "I love you. I always have" his voice was quiet, clearly nervous "I spent my whole life knowing I was in love with you. I was just afraid of messing everything up and losing you. Now I know how dumb I was. Ever since I realised how I felt you never left my mind. I thought I could get over it by being with other people, but then I'd see you with a new guy and I'd realise it was only you who I wanted to be with. You've never left my mind, ever since the day we met. I love you and all I've ever wanted was to be with you"

Your mouth hung open slightly as you processed Jin's words. After a moment you laughed shyly and looked away from him. Shutting your eyes for a moment it was your turn to take a breath.

"Please say something" Jin begged quietly

You couldn't you didn't know what to say. All these years you'd spent burying your feelings believing Jin would never feel the same. Only to learn that he'd felt the same way your whole lives. How were you supposed to respond to that? What was he even expecting you to say?

After what felt like forever, Jin couldn't take your silence anymore, and the unchanged expression on your face "This was a mistake" he roughly pulled his hand away from yours. "Maybe I was wrong, I'm sorry for wasting your time"

He got up to leave, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. You finally brought yourself back to reality just as he walked out the door.

"Jin" you sighed softly to yourself "Jin!" you ran after him

He stopped walking and turned around, looking at you blankly. Any semblance of his previous adoration had disappeared. "I don't need you to explain yourself. I think we should just forget this ever happened" he started to walk away again

You threw yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his waist burying your face into his back "Please! Don't leave! Just listen to me!" You mumbled against the fabric of his hoodie "I love you too. I swear I do. I just didn't know what to say. My whole life I believed I'd be better off with someone else cause I couldn't risk losing you. I love you, I just never thought you felt the same. Please don't leave me!" you felt the tears forming in your eyes "I love you, please, don't leave" you held onto him tighter

Jin was silent for a moment before he sighed, gently releasing himself from your arms. He looked at you and you saw that he was crying too. "I'm not leaving you" he finally said, cupping your cheek and wiping your tears away with his thumb. "I love you"

Leaning in his lips finally met yours. All the years of doubt faded away. All your buried emotions were ignited again. Your lips fit together perfectly, as you melted into each other. Feeling your heartbeat faster. Warmth and comfort flooding through your entire body. 

"Kiss me like nobody would. When I was 15. I've spent some years rewinding. But I'm still just me. Kiss me like nobody would. When I was 15. I don't invite the head rush. But it follows me"

[ms31x129]

Abandoned Son

MSR/angst   Pre-Season 10, some IWTB  

Having his name officially cleared, working on a case putting his talent to work on something substantial and not squirreled away in his office den had invigorated Mulder. Scully wanted to be pleased that he’d shaved and gotten dressed properly. Standing before her was the Mulder she fell in love with and she was scared - would he want to return to the FBI? And if he did would he expect her to follow?

Somehow, someone had pulled some strings 3 years ago and Dana Scully was able to come out of hiding and re-establish herself. She’d not chosen the FBI instead she’d chosen the road not taken - going back to her roots in medicine.

Mulder had supported her 100% although he had questioned her multiple times about her choice of pediatrics. Maybe he was right she’d chosen the specialty to help other couples children when she couldn’t help her own. Still, it felt right and if she didn’t feel that spark of excitement anymore - like solving cases with Mulder - she was fairly content.

Except this case was not what she wanted to work on. Missing people and a pedophile priest wanting what? Redemption? Psychic abilities aside she wasn’t in the mood for any of this, the seedy part of life she’d left behind. At some point Scully began to wonder, was Mulder pulling away from her or was she pushing him away? Why wasn’t she enough for him? And did she have a right to feel that way?

The case spiraled into an unexpected harvesting of organs, Mulder missing, then finding her car had plummeted down a hillside. With Skinner’s help they stopped the criminals and saved one victim. Mulder wasn’t as lucky he ended up injured with a Grade 2 concussion, 4 broken ribs, near hypothermia and numerous scrapes and bruises. And there it was, Mulder in the hospital again, sleeping now and her keeping watch from the plastic chair in the waiting room across the hall drinking stale hospital coffee. Skinner had stayed, silently lending his support with his presence until she heard her mother’s voice, “Dana? How is Fox?”

That was all it took for the damn to burst, Skinner quietly leaving the room. “Oh, mom…” Margaret Scully sat and took her daughter in her arms letting her cry. Scully composes herself and after a few minutes and took the Kleenex her mother hands her. “Why mom, why does this keep happening…. I thought this was all behind us.”

“Dana? There’s more going on than just Fox being injured isn’t there?” Scully nods and starts to speak.

Mrs. Scully looks at her daughter with tenderness, but also resignation she knows what she is about to say will not be what her daughter would want to hear. It had taken a lot of forgiveness on her part to accept Dana’s decision to give William - her grandchild - away and their relationship as mother and daughter is forever changed, but healing.

“Dana when I married your father I knew the type of man he was. Perhaps I didn’t fully comprehend what being a Navy wife entailed, but I loved him. Even when he was miles away, that was his job - what he’d chose to do for a career and he was good at his job.” Mrs. Scully covered Dana’s hands with her own.

“And Dana from what you’ve told me Fox has a talent for solving crimes. I experienced his fight first to find you and then you put that thing in your neck because you trust him - and love him. Is it fair for you to expect him to sit in that house alone while you’re at work? Shouldn’t he be doing what he’s good at?”

Scully spoke so softly Mrs. Scully didn’t hear her. “What Dana?” Scully took a long shuddering breath. “If I’m not enough for him, if the life we have together … I, I have to let him go. Oh mom, I just don’t know if I can be supportive if he chooses the FBI.”

Mother and daughter were interrupted by a nurse. “Dr. Scully? Mr. Mulder is awake and asking for you.” Margaret Scully stood and took a step toward the door. “I’ll go check on Fox if you need to freshen up a bit.” A moment or two passed before Scully stood as she was passing Mulder’s room she saw her mother through the glass with a gentle look on her face speaking to Mulder as she touched his cheek.

Mulder healed physically, Scully performed the final surgery on Christian and Mulder was true to his word. They got away - just the two of them. Unfortunately the beginning of the end had already begun for them.

Two weeks in the Bahamas. Walking through the hot sands of the beach holding hands. Swimming, boating in the blue waters of the ocean. Sharing exotic fruits and icy alcoholic beverages - making love everywhere over and over. The little paper umbrellas became their signal, Scully had started twirling hers and licking her lips while sliding her hand up Mulder’s leg and whispering suggestively all the things she would like to do to him. Scully might be fanning herself of running an ice cube across her chest and Mulder would begin opening and shutting that little fan before running his tongue along her neck and tasting the salt of her sweat. He would then take her lips in a kiss more intoxicating than the drink she’d just consumed.

Back at the unremarkable house things seemed better for a while until the day she came home and Mulder was gone. He hadn’t called her or left a note. When she got up the next morning he was asleep on the couch. Scully decided not to wake him, got ready for work, she paused at the couch bent over and ran her finger-tips through Mulder’s hair. She finally leaned over to kiss his cheek before leaving for work.

As soon as the door latched Mulder’s eyes opened and he got up and headed for the shower. When Scully got home at Noon it looked like a cyclone had went through the house. File boxes everywhere, papers haphazardly refiled some strewn about. What was he looking for?  She slowly walked into the office, Mulder’s pc screen displaying the website adopted.com. She felt like she’d been punched as she sank into his chair and quickly looked at his browser history.

The states rules and regulations on adoption. Some websites about private adoption. The hours for the County Clerk’s office.

She finds him in the bedroom more File boxes littered the room. Mulder didn’t look at her, “Where is it, Scully?”

“Where’s what, Mulder? What are you looking for?” She needs him to say it - out loud would make it real.

“We don’t talk about him, Scully…why?” Mulder looks up at her, his eyes haunted.

“I, I … I just can’t Mulder. It’s too painful for me.” Scully feels the tears ready to fall.

“What about me, Scully? I had so little time…”

“Don’t do this Mulder… don’t do this to me… to us.”

Mulder stands and starts pacing, he stops in front of her. “I want my son, Scully. I want our son.” Scully’s mouth opens, but Mulder cuts her off. “I need his birth certificate to file a petition. A petition with the state to unseal the private adoption and I need to know who helped you facilitate it.”

“Mulder… it’s impossible.” Mulder finally grasps Scully by the upper arms and gives her just the tiniest of shakes. “Nothing is impossible, Scully - he should be with US - his father and his mother. I know you don’t believe in what I learned at Mount Weather… he should be with us at the end - or not. It’s not too late.”

Scully walks out of the room, a few minutes pass and she returns with the birth certificate. Wordlessly she hands it to Mulder. He looks down at it a smile gracing his face and he kisses her gently. “I’ll be back Scully with the paperwork we’ll need to fill out. The county clerk just needs proof, before anything else can proceed.”

Scully sinks to the bed, listening as Mulder’s steps echo down the stairs and across the living room. The front door opens and shuts… she is sobbing into her hands by the time she hears the car moving down the dirt driveway. She’d been so afraid of this day coming, she’d prayed it never would. Everything, everything they’d built together. Whatever peace she’d managed to achieve over her decision … it’s over now. She knows it deep in her soul.

She lays down and cries herself to sleep. She startles awake her nightmare fading and looks at the clock- 7pm. The window is open and she hears the frogs and insects starting their nightly symphony. Scully rubs her forehead, gets up and goes into the bathroom.

She finds Mulder at the kitchen table, the Birth Certificate in front of him and another form. She knows what it says. As she gets closer Mulder is holding a snapshot of William. She remembers Frohike down on the floor with the camera and William learning how to perform the baby version of a push up. It had been one of her favorite photos.

Mulder’s voice when he spoke was angry, accusatory, “Why didn’t you tell me, Scully?” The words are trapped in her throat. Mulder stands suddenly the chair tipping backward and crashing to the floor, Mulder has the paper in his hand and is waving it in front of her, she takes a step back and then another. Mulder advances on her until her back hits the wall, her palms end up resting on his chest. Usually her touch calms him, arouses him, but now it seems to inflame him.

“How could you, Scully?”

“It was the only way to be sure. The only way to make the adoption completely unbreakable, and untraceable.” She whispers her answer.

Mulder slams his hand against the wall beside her head. Anger fuels his voice and tears begin coursing down his face. “I DIDN’T abandon MY SON! GODDAMMIT, SCULLY!” Mulder slams the wall one more time, Scully cringes instinctively, before storming across the room throwing the paper back onto the kitchen table and picking up William’s picture his fingers tenderly tracing the image forever frozen in ink on paper. “You did this. You gave away our son…You gave away my son.”

Mulder collapses to the floor on his knees he looks up, Scully remembers doing the same thing after finding Mulder’s body and realizing her only hope for saving him was gone. “My son… William!… oh god… I want my son…” Scully can’t bear to listen to Mulder’s agony any longer. She walks slowly past him and the table with the document staring accusingly up at her.

Termination of Parental Rights - Granted Father - Fox William Mulder Allegation: Abandonment

Scully packs an overnight case, she should have told Mulder all the details regarding the adoption. How in order to make it airtight she had to have Mulder’s parental rights terminated legally.  Maybe she hoped to never have the conversation, maybe she harbored a little anger that Mulder wasn’t there to stop her. She hadn’t even been the one to break the news to him, like a coward she’d allowed Skinner to be the one to tell Mulder.

Will Mulder listen to her now?

Mulder is still huddled on the floor when Scully comes down the stairs. She kneels beside him and drapes her body over him, her cheek against his back and he shudders, but doesn’t protest her touch. Scully is transported to another time - another night when they were in this same position, Mulder battling induced demons of the mind while cancer was her own.

“Mulder? I need to explain. Will you let me?” Scully can feel him shaking his head no. “Okay, I’m not going to give up. I should have told you everything and I will. I just need you to give me a chance.”

“I just can’t… hear … not now, Scully.” Mulder mumbles his reply into the floor. Scully sits back on her heels, but keeps a physical connection by rubbing circles on Mulder’s back. “Okay… I think it might be for the best if I spend the night at my mom’s - Mulder… is that what you need?”

“I need William… my  son … “ Mulder breath hitches and the sobs begin anew, “Please, Scully I can’t … talk … look at you right now…”

Scully slowly stands and collects her suitcase along the way, fighting her own tears she opens the door. Her hand is still on the knob, she hates leaving him like this, Scully knows she has to try one more time. “Mulder…?” No response no acknowledgement. “Okay then…” Stepping across the threshold Scully pulls the door shut and places her palm flat on the wood “I love you, Mulder,” she whispers.

Mulder unfolds himself and rolls onto his side. The sounds of a car door shutting and tires on dirt float to him. One part of him wants to get up and run after her - stop her - this woman he’s been in love with for almost half his life.

The other part is crashing, feelings - past and present - experiences rising up all around him. He’s drowning in sadness. He’s drowning in the pain of unrealized dreams. He closes his eyes and he’s drowning in pain from all the torture at the hands of his enemies on the ship. Pain. Needles and blades. The whir of a drill, screaming until his voice was hoarse - seeing the saw blade lower until it splits his sternum - his own warm blood spraying into his mouth, nose and eyes.

Nooooo….. Nooooo…… Stop…… Scu-lly……

Mulder can no longer suppress those feelings, sounds and images assaulting him and they rise up - a tidal wave of emotions that pull him under into the darkness of his own eidetic memory….

The End….

Note: This idea came from a discussion with other fans about how long Mulder and Scully had been separated when we saw them in MS1 for the first time. What if it had been several years instead of months? I hate they were apart to start with and what exactly put them on that path something much more personal to both of them might have triggered it and this fic was born.

*Many many thanks to the awesome @cultureisdarkbeer who waded through my horrible grammar and tenses and making great suggestions . Any remaining errors found are all mine. P.S. I know she’s diligently working on the next chapters of Rooted in Friendship - I know I can’t wait!

[coneygoil]

The House We Built Together, part 10

Two young Vikings. An arranged marriage. Hiccup always wanted to win the girl of his dreams, but not like this. Now he and Astrid must learn to live together and maybe one day, learn to love…

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 

Writer’s note: Overwhelming thank you to Stef (@chiefhiccstrid) for always being there to brainstorm and talk through ideas with me! I appreciate her SO MUCH! <3

He was awake at his desk again. Astrid had pieced together the daily events that seemed to drive Hiccup to restlessness during the night. They’d gravitate too near to some form of physically closeness during the day. Like, the day Astrid allowed Hiccup to see her state of undress. His pencil had scratched furiously that evening, grating on her nerves and she’d yelled at him to stop. Hiccup was abashed the next morning and kept apologizing until Astrid pushed him out the door for work.

She’d kissed him earlier today – her simple proof that she was on his side. A gesture that spoke more than any words could. Astrid knew that was the exact reason he was playing insomniac once more.

Astrid threw the furs off, swinging her legs around. If they both were to get any sleep, she’d give something Hiccup had secretly been longing for. He didn’t know that she knew. The warmth of his hand had hover over her side for several nights in the weeks following their wedding, but Hiccup never dared to touch her. His respect to wait upon her permission was enduring. It was also frustrating as all get out.

“Hiccup,” her drowsy, slightly gravelly, voice drifted over his shoulder.

Hiccup’s hand froze. His shoulders tensed knowing his sketching had woken her once more. Astrid slid the pencil from his grip and set it on the freshly sketched parchment.

“Astrid-“ he mumbled as she pulled him by the elbow, but Astrid shook her head, dreading the apologizes that were about to tip off his tongue.

She led him to the bed, crawling onto her side. Hiccup got the hint, not protesting or laying on the remorse as he climbed under the furs along with her. Astrid filled her lungs, building up the courage to step across this new boundary. Once she gave him this, there was no turning back.

Before Hiccup could settle in on his designated side of the bed, Astrid found his left hand – the hand that reached out to her but languished in attempt. Her heart thudded as loud as Hiccup’s shuddered breathing. She rolled onto her left side, placing his hand onto the dip of her waist.

His fingers were rigid on the fabric of her nightgown. It seemed like an eternity before his digits relaxed and the palm of his hand met the curve of her waist.

Astrid wasn’t used to being touched – not like this. She was never one to daydream about a boy taking her into his arms and kissing her softly in the moonlight. She didn’t have time for that nonsense with the hardships of Viking life and training for war. But the weight of Hiccup’s hand upon her waist was nice. It was also nice to be wanted for more than being another warrior on the battlefield.

As her body became heavy and sleep washed over her, Astrid reasoned in her drowsy state of mind that she could get used to this.

***

The muttonhead was staring at her.

Astrid’s grip on the ax handle tightened, whitening her knuckles. How could Snotlout have the gall to gawk disgustingly at her after he roughed-up her husband the day before? On top of that, they were in the middle of training to fight a Deadly Nadder! Indignation roiled in her veins. The more he stared, the hotter her blood climbed.

She wasn’t sure what Snotlout thought he’d accomplish by planting the doubt in Hiccup’s mind. Did he think Hiccup would demand an immediate annulment and Astrid would come running to him? The very thought was absurd, but Snotlout’s thought process was somewhere between his eyes and his nose.

The staring just wouldn’t let up.

“Shouldn’t you be paying attention to the Deadly Nadder that’s trying to kill us?”

“How can I when I’m blinded by your hotness, Astrid? Get it? The sun is hot and it blinds you.” Snotlout snickered at his own stupid comparison.

If it weren’t for the life or death situation they were in, Astrid would have yakked directly on Snotlout’s boots. The sound of the Nadder’s footsteps were still a way’s off. Globber’s yelling echoed through the walls of the training maze for them to get moving, but Astrid ignored the order.

“Stop oogling, Snotlout.”

“Aw, c’mon, babe.”

Astrid clinched her jaw and her body stiffened. She stood from her crouched position by the temporary wooden wall and stalked up to Snotlout with fire in her eyes. She snatched the front of his shirt, and Snotlout yelped at the tug of his chest hair in her grip.

“Number one: staring at anyone like you’re doing is rude and disgusting! Number two: I’m married to Hiccup and that makes me automatically off limits!” She leaned in closer, making Snotlout whimper as she yanked at his chest hairs in the mercy of her hold.

“I know what you did to Hiccup,” she hissed. “If you ever lay a finger on him again, you’ll have to answer to me.” She raised her axe dangerously close to his face. Snotlout’s eyes darted alarmingly from her burning gaze to the glint of the blade. “Do I make myself clear, Jorgensen?”

Snotlout nodded plenty as another tiny, frightened yelp escaped him.

The booming of massive feet and scraping of claws on rock drew closer. Astrid pushed Snotlout against the wooden wall, and stalked away with renewed vigor to fight the dragon searching for them.

***

It was a silly thing, really. To daydream of soft caresses and lips colliding, but that’s where Astrid’s thoughts had been for three whole days.

She doesn’t recollect much from the kiss she’d laid on her husband. She reacted before she’s given herself a chance to realize what she was doing. It was all a blur save for the warmth of his lips on hers that she compared to a toasty drink in the middle of winter.

She may not have recalled much from the kiss they shared, but the weight of Hiccup’s hand was scorched onto the skin of her waist. She’d laid there for several minutes as his stiff digits relaxed into a comfortable hold. It was nice – a little too nice – and the sensation had stayed there ever since.

The warrior part of her scoffed at such trivial notions. She was a shieldmaiden of Midgard and had vowed to protect her homeland from vile, destructive beasts. She should crave the hardness of the ax handle more than the softness of a touch.

As the days ticked by, Astrid couldn’t shake the need. And as blunt as she could be at times, she now felt a sense of embarrassment to seek out such needs. It was easier to use Hiccup’s doubts and pining for an excuse to bestow physical affection. Her own needs and longings were creeping up on her and she didn’t know how to express them.

Would she be thought of as a weaker version of herself if she wished for a peck on the cheek or a warm hand to take hers? Her parents weren’t exactly the best example of a romantic relationship. But every now and then, out of the corner of her eye, she’d spy her father’s hand grace her mother’s lower back, or her mother steal a kiss when her father set off in search of the dragon’s nest.

Astrid could live with the small gestures of affection. After three days of convincing herself that it was okay, she took action.

Hiccup had resigned to his designated side of the bed. He hadn’t dared to reach out for her, even with hesitant fingers. He was, at least, in bed instead of scratching away at his desk.

It didn’t seem like he was going to make a move anytime soon. With her back to him, Astrid scooted over just a tad. Maybe getting closer would give Hiccup a hint that he still had her permission. Barely a few seconds passed when she felt the bed stuffings shift. She waited with a held breath, but no hand cupped her side.

Astrid chanced a glance over her shoulder to find Hiccup had moved away from her instead of closer. Her jaw clinched. Maybe that hint wasn’t clear enough. She had only scooted over a fraction.

Astrid pushed herself over with her feet, a little too quickly into the space Hiccup had warmed already. The curve of her backend bumped Hiccup’s knee. Before Astrid could knew it, there was a loud thud and the weight of Hiccup had disappeared on the bed.

She froze, her cheeks instantly warming. It took her a moment to push away the embarrassment and she sat up to look over the edge of the bed. In the dark, she could see the outline of him rubbing his backside.

“You know, if you wanted some more space on the bed, you could have just asked,” Hiccup remarked.

“I was trying to-“ give you a hint, Astrid finished in her head. Her whole face was engulfed in flames and she was thankful for the darkness in the room.

“Trying to what?” Hiccup inquired as he got to his feet.

She wanted to scream it out to him, but voicing her wants was too much for her. She could battle dragons all day long with the courage of ten Vikings, but telling her own husband she wanted to cuddle threw that courage out the window. She started moving back to her side of the bed. “Never mind. Are you okay?”

Hiccup crawled under the furs again. “I’m fine.”

They settled back down for a normal night of occupying the edges of the bed. Astrid squeezed her eyes tight as she blew out a frustrated sigh through her nose, berating herself for being that silly lovestruck girl she was not.

 @martabm90 @justatranquilcloud @saieras

[blankdblank]

Hobbit Soulmate Pt 16

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 - Pt 9 - Pt 10 - Pt 11 - Pt 12 - Pt 13 - Pt 14 - Pt 15 -

Tags –

All –

@himoverflowers, @theincaprincess, @aspiringtranslator, @sweeticedtea, @ggbbhehe4455, @thegreyberet, @patanghill17, @jesgisborne, @curvestrology, @alishlieb, @jogregor, @armitageadoration, @fizzyxcustard, @here2have-fun, @lilith15000, @marvels-ghost, @catthefearless, @imjusthereforthereads, @c-s-stars

X all Rich. A - @abiwim, @deepestfirefun, @thestorybookmistress

Hobbit – Soulmate - @evyiione​, @deepestfirefun, @rhaenaatargaryen

@obnoxious-in-pink,

…

Under your covers you woke to the sound of your alarm alone in your bed still smelling of Richard from the night before. “Breakfast is nearly done, Darling.”

A withheld groan tried to escape you when you climbed to your feet. Sluggishly you brushed your teeth and hair, washing your face before stripping and pulling on fresh layers up to your same jeans and sweater from the day before hoping to keep Richard’s scent with you to keep you calm. Your bag and violin were already by the door leaving you to just take your place at the counter to find it with a full meal prepped for you with a fresh warm cup of tea. “I thought a big breakfast might help.”

You smiled at him, “Thank you.”

Setting the now empty skillet aside you took a sip of your tea as he said, “I um, I was wondering about the plate in the fridge. It’s empty.”

“Oh.” You lowered your cup and sighed when the door was open revealing your plate from your toast the morning prior. “It’s from yesterday. I must have put it there by mistake.” Gently you added it into the sink and moved back to your plate saying, “I gotta buy some stools or something. Sorry.”

He shook his head, “Don’t be. Honestly I never even bought the table for my place, Dad just sent it over one day when Chris said I was eating over the sink.” You chuckled weakly starting on the meal, “I was wondering. After school if you’re not tired we could go see a flic. Toy Soldiers, or even Shakespeare in Love, if you’re in the mood for a romance, haven’t seen that one yet.”

With a smirk at him you nodded, “Ya, I can come back, drop the stuff off. We can go to the one by the mall, I would have to stop at a shop after. Got told I need a little black dress for school.”

“Oh?” he smirked and nodded, “Not a problem. They throwing a party?”

“It’s a group project, I have a rehearsal for His Girl Friday.”

“Ooh, that’s a great one. Just a snippet or the full play adaptation?”

“Um, It’s part of the final grade, we split into groups, it’s a 30 minute conversion of classic films. I was the only girl so I get to play Hildy.”

Richard chuckled, “Is it just an in class presentation, or after school?”

“Oh, if you wanted to see it it’s on Wednesday, they are letting family in, I’m certain you can come too. They wanted it on the stage, so it’s sets, costumes, makeup, full thing.”

Richard wet his lips, “Was um, Lee in your group?”

You shook your head, “No, he got pulled into Casablanca’s group, did his last week. I got asked to be in, how do I word it, they’re really talented, just not fully into it until they’re in costume. So it was a bunch of lazy rehearsals then couple weeks back I helped them find their suits and then they all just fell into it flawlessly. Usually I got paired with Lee, so it’s a nice change.”

“That’s good. That you’re happy with it, I mean.”

You grinned at him, “Who knows, after our movie date you could possibly help me find some stools.”

“I would love to.” The plates were cleared and with another warm kiss after helping you into your coat you were off to school. Leaving him to his script with a notepad with directions to a few places nearby he might need along with a set of keys for him.

Down the steps you trotted and sighed seeing Jordan limping his way towards you, thankfully the streets were crowded at this hour enabling you to slip through to the subway without him.

All day you felt the weight of uncertain eyes on you wondering if they should ask why Lee wasn’t there but at least through the teachers by the end of the day everyone knew he would be back in a week just leaving the awkward stares at the bandage on your arm when you rolled up your sleeve. Stirring up curiosity to know just how injured you were under that baggy sweater of yours.

.

Breakfast wasn’t hard and after you’d gone, without an interest in rehearsing just yet he cleaned up after breakfast. Once that was done he glanced around peeking into each room seeing the little bits you had added here and there stirring a grin onto his face remembering this was how his first home had been. Sparse and organized how he liked it to ease his lonely days a bit smoother. In the bedroom next he remade the bed and eyed his out of place suitcase, two weeks wasn’t long but at least in your closet the empty shelves and cubbies on the right proved to have more than enough space for him.

All set out of his bag he pushed the suitcase under the racks to the left to be out of the way once he added his toiletries bag into the bathroom. A glance back into the bedroom brought the light he’d forgotten to shut off to his attention. Into the doorway he entered again reaching up for the string only to see a brightly colored container in a mostly closed drawer on your side under your partially open sock drawer.

Curiously he crouched down easing it open, wiggling the stubborn drawer to do so until the box of gloves, a strand of condoms, lube and a strap on were plainly in front of him. “Why does she have a strap on?”

A flurry of daydreams flooded into his mind, he’d known of the toys with suction cups for self pleasure and others that vibrated, but to have a fully harnessed strap on absolutely perplexed him. You had never mentioned dating women or even being sexually attracted to them, he shuddered at the thought your old neighbor could have left them behind. Leaving just the hope you were holding it for someone, who, he had no idea. But as he closed the drawer again and shut off the light on his path to his script to distract himself he remembered Chris’ tipsy confession exactly, ‘She said she fucked her ex.’

Shaking his head he stretched out on your couch focusing on the words until the alarm he set went off signaling his time to get ready for you. Your first date together, even with errands after, still was a date and he would treat it as such.

He didn’t pack anything fancy and by the chill on the windows he skipped his dress shirt for his best sweater over the jeans he knew you loved pretending the stolen grazes on his ass and thighs were all accidental. A teasing game but he loved the smirk and slight blush on your cheeks when you thought you got away with your little game, especially that nip at your lip and shift of your hair and lean to brush your hip against his hand on ‘accident’ signaling him to join you. With the toy far from his mind he grabbed his script again to fill your travel time home.

..

The final bell rang and out the front door you strolled with two of your group partners who gave the final nods of approval at the design of the dress you would look for on their way to the town cars waiting for them. When you left their sides however you felt a familiar presence at your side. Jordan sighed picking up his pace to keep up with you, “Have you heard from Lee?”

“He’s in a boot, broken ribs, scrapes and bruises mostly and out for the week. Why are you bothering me about this?”

Jordan, “He won’t take my calls.”

“Probably sleeping.” Onto the subway he followed you wondering why you’d gotten off at Lee’s stop. In your last class you had been given a packet with what he’d missed and they had passed it onto you unfortunately.

Jordan, “You’re going to Lee’s?”

“Dropping off some schoolwork. Don’t you have anything to do instead of follow us around?”

“I have a job.” You glanced at him, “It’s only part time. They wouldn’t give me any more hours.”

“Get a hobby.” You stated before spotting William signaling your trot over calling his name earning you a curious smile. “Hey, teachers asked me to pass this off to Lee.”

Will nodded, “Got it.” Then spotted Jordan and darted off around the corner to his house after giving the ex a scowl. In Jordan’s distraction you managed to slip away back to your apartment where you eased inside quietly hearing Richard rehearsing still.

A grin spread onto your face as you eased in hearing the end of his monologue only to see his stunned expression when you read out the next part from memory making him smile. “You know this one?”

You nodded, “Mrs Henderson loved it. Told me it was her favorite to see live. Used to read it to her when she had her fits to calm her down.”

He chuckled and set the script aside moving closer to claim a kiss, coating you in a gentle waft of his cologne showing he’s primped for you, further proven by his nicer sweater over his jeans. “Ready for our date?”

You nodded, “You look nice, primping for little me.”

He chuckled stealing another kiss to purr against your lips after, “There is no way I’m going out looking like a slob on your arm.” Kissing you again breaking your chance to roll your eyes. Pulling back he pulled on his coat guiding you back to the door where once it was locked his hand folded into yours.

Down the steps you trotted beside him and stole a glance up at him on the last flight, “I um.” He glanced at you with a soft grin, “I sort of have to tell you something.”

“Oh?”

You nodded and wet your lips, “Ya, Lee’s ex has sort of been following us around. So, ya, we might have an awkward shadow for a bit.”

Moving closer he kissed your forehead, “Well they haven’t done anything worse than linger around?”

You shook your head, “Just being annoying really. Lee being in bed rest doesn’t help.”

“Well, hopefully since I’m here they’ll go away.”

“Or try to hit on you.”

Outside again you led Richard through the cold back to the subway where you spotted Jordan smirking in his limp closer to you after he’d left your front stoop in irritation that he’d missed you. Looking you over in the crowd he asked, “Jaqi, thought you were in for the night, big plans?”

With a sigh you replied, “Sort of. Go find something to do Jordan.”

The name made Richard blink in confusion as it rang a stunning bell. “Jordan. Lee’s ex Jordan?” His eyes scanned over the young man just barely taller than you but broader and far more muscular, “Why the fuck would he pick him over Jaqi?”

A grin eased across Jordan’s face when in boarding the freshly arrived train he saw your hand locked with the tall man beside you and asked, “And just where did you find this fine piece for yourself. Much better than the bit in the zoo.” He sat on the bench on front of yours turned around with a grin asking Richard, “I’m Jordan, what’s your name?”

Flatly Richard held his straight face answering, “Richard.”

In a glance at you he asked again, “British, ooh. No wonder. Might have to make a trip of my own to England, clearly they must be falling from trees if you’ve managed to find two to come out to see you.”

“Jordan, what do you want? I told you to leave me out of this.”

He waved his hand, “We’re friends, come on.”

You scoffed, “Friends, really now? Someone needs to buy a dictionary.”

For a few minutes you sat tolerating him you signaled Richard that this was your stop you both stood at the stopping of the car though in Jordan’s slow rise his hand reached out grabbing Richard’s sleeve making you both pause. “So Richard, if you get tired of whatever Jaqi has planned-,”

Richard cut him off lowly saying after tugging his sleeve free from his grip, “Let me say this first. I’ve heard from Jaqi about you and Lee. And honestly I was expecting someone, far more, tempting. Now we’re getting off this train and if you follow us or Jaqi again you’ll have more than that split lip.” Sharply he turned with his hand on your lower back while Jordan slumped back into his seat watching the doors shut between you.

At your side he eased his arm tighter around your back smirking in your rise up to kiss his cheek and soft, “Thank you.”

His lips met your forehead and he replied with a spreading smirk, “So, that’s the Jordan.”

You nodded feeling as if stones were filling your stomach, “Yup.”

He glanced at you, “Jordan is quite the ambiguous name.”

You nodded, “Yes it is.”

He chuckled lowly, “I understand why you didn’t say who he left you for.”

“Not mine to share.” He nodded, “I didn’t-,”

He leaned over to kiss your forehead again, “I understand. If I do get to meet the illustrious Lee I’ll keep it to myself.”

You couldn’t help but smirk, “You just had to add the tempting part?”

He nodded smirking deeper, “Yes. I did. Clearly a vast decline in taste.”

Leaning more against his side he chuckled at your soft giggle under your breath. Thinking to himself how it all clicked, clearly the toy wasn’t yours, and Chris most likely had no clue just how dead on to the truth he had been saying you had fucked your ex. And for all the guys in the world that would be irritated or jealous he couldn’t be, and whatever you had experimented with this jerk of an ex didn’t matter as it clearly made sense that after what Richard had done you would want to be the one in charge.

Cuddling closer he looked over the crowded mall lot you were passing through up to the movie theater on the side. “Romance of humor?”

“Up to you.”

In a purr after a kiss on your cheek he said, “I think Romance.” Making you giggle as he kissed your cheek again. Tickets and snacks later you were walking up the steps to the seats you picked to be nestled under his arm with another stolen kiss. The full film he was content enjoying it with you leaning against his chest and side holding you sweetly between kisses to the top of your forehead.

.

The crowds buzzed and through them you wove hand in hand to the dress shop where he grinned fully assisting you in choosing the final dress. Then made a stop into the video shop for your nights in and Richard’s distractions. After which you caught a tempting scent and asked, “Did you want a pretzel?”

He nodded, “If you’d like one.”

With a chuckle he joined you in line accepting the pretzel you had offered him while taking your own for the walk out to the streets again. Joking and giggling you made it back to the subway to head to the same shop you had bought the fancy table at. “Now, stools.” You said leading the path inside leaving him still grinning at the brush of your fingers along the side of his thigh.

Each piece you looked at you couldn’t help but blush at Richard’s gaze still being on you, “You’re supposed to be looking at the furniture.”

He chuckled leaning in to steal a kiss on your lips, “I am imagining you on them Darling while watching your reactions to them. So far you don’t seem to like any enough to take them home.”

His eyes turned back to the furniture while his hand eased out of sight over your hip with fingers curling to brush along the curve of your thigh just under your ass in a fake lean in to inspect another piece making you giggle and steal another peck on his cheek.

Twin mango colored stools with plush padding and dark legs drew your eye and Richard chuckled after you had paid for them, holding the pair of them, one in each arm for the short trip back to the apartment where you helped him carry one up the steps and unlocked the door to help him in. Locking up behind you your next stop was in the kitchen where you set the pair down and grinned.

A squeak left you at his lifting you onto the one closest him in his chuckle in easing closer to you between your thighs to purr, “Just the right height Darling.”

Your hand gripped the open flap on his coat and he leaned into the kiss you started growing fiery fast. Not wanting to push things too fast he drew back looking over your films and guided you back to bed and put on your choice for the night, changing into some sweats pretending he didn’t see you sneak the strip of condoms out of the drawer on your way to the bed to join him. Chuckling lowly he wrapped his arms around you holding you between his legs leaning against the pile of pillows propping him up.

Slowly he traced his fingers over your stomach under your brushed up tank top and as your fingers began to rake over his thighs a smirk eased onto his lips, but soon dropped at his lean down to kiss the nape of your neck in a slow trail of his fingers to your waistband. Arching back against his chest you relaxed fully while his free hand trailed where it may and the other drew growing moans from you. In a reach back you eased your fingers through his hair feeling his stubble and lips brushing against your skin. In the lulling euphoria of your first climax you heard him purr by your ear, “Now Darling, you just relax.”

He eased you out of his lap to straddle your leg easing your shorts down before sliding down to bring you to the edge again, gripping your hips the nearer you got, struggling not to grin at your fingers combing through his hair stirring pleased hums from him only aiding in tipping you over the edge. Your second moment relaxing ended with his brow rising at your lean over to claim one of the hidden packets you tore open making him chuckle and slide higher. A brush of his sweats down later he eased inside you trying not to finish at your settling around him. Slow and steady thrusts filled you deeply.

A single shift of your hips brought back his smirk at the gasping moan it stirred urging his hand to your hip holding you right there as he purred, “Right there, Love.” Trailing his lips along your neck in his deliberate deep thrusts while his hand snaked under your back and into your hair guiding your arch a bit more until he heard the soft whimper knowing you were getting closer fully aligned for your pleasure. Warmly it washed over you and the tightening around him your climax spurred on urged his own.

Once out his lips found yours again at the smoothing of your hand over his cheek, and the easing of it up into his hair stirred a low hum from hum as he settled above you deepening the kiss while you wrapped around him steadily drawing him into another round. Back between his legs you were held for the rest of the movie, most of which you had slept through after the amorous bout after his low apologies once again on his hurting you silenced by another fiery kiss from you.

.

Sunrise filled the room slowly and Richard felt the sinking of the mattress beside him in your kneeling above him. A sleepy grin eased onto his face purring, “Morning Darling.” He turned his head seeing the time marking his missing making you breakfast again.

“I made breakfast. Sorry not to wake you, but I’m on my way to being almost late.” Your lips met his and he hummed lowly in the tender moment. Opening his eyes again he caught your puzzling expression that dropped at your next peck. Barely an inch from his lips you rushed out, “Love you.” Pecking him on the lips again before your attempt to pull away.

“Hey, Hey.” His hand grabbed your thigh helping you settle on his lap stealing another warm kiss ending with his purred, “I love you.” Those words easing a creeping blush and smile onto your face after your embarrassing squeak making him chuckle and ask, “Night in tonight?”

“Yup.”

His arms loosened after another kiss and his hand patted your ass, “Off to school now Love.” He winked at you making your blush deepen, “I’ll be thinking of you.”

On your feet you nodded through a smirk, glancing at the blankets tenting on his lap, “Yes you will.”

In a peek down he chuckled and grinned up at you watching you head out before plopping down on his back to the sound of the door locking behind you freeing him to whisper, “Oh fuck I love you.” Sitting up again he rose to his feet thinking of whatever he had to relax, “Nope, I’m gonna wait.” Pulling on a fresh pair of briefs and his sweats, tossing his old briefs into your hamper and his sweater on over to head to the kitchen to eat the breakfast you made him with a wide grin as he planned the meal he was going to fix for you.

Pt 17

[raywritesthings]

WIP game

Hi everyone! So as part of my effort to better update readers on my ongoing writing projects as well as a sort of gift to you all (just had my own birthday this last week), I thought I’d do a WIP game. The only problem is, most WIP games are for one or two WIPs, which I have...more than that.

So, I’ve decided to post the first snippet of every single one of my WIPs (multichapter-wise anyway) and let you, my readers/followers, decide what to ask based on what you read! Each snippet will be numbered, so just send the number and whatever you want to ask about it. Hopefully this will be fun. Here goes:

1. On the island, split second decisions had been the difference between life and death, and there had never been time to worry about the moral implications. That had always come later. But Oliver already hated himself for what he was about to do. There was only one way off this roof that would ensure his safety and his identity. One way to survive.

2.  Laurel tried not to pace behind Curtis’ back as she watched him work on the device Cisco had made her only a year ago. Since that initial model, it had undergone various updates, but this was to be the most experimental. It also counted the most; Oliver continued to writhe on the exam table in unimaginable pain. If this didn’t work, they’d lose him for good, and Laurel was never going to be ready for that to happen.

3.  The city was as quiet as it ever was when they exited out the back of the base to where Oliver had parked his car. It was large and black with a pair of shovels thrown in the trunk still caked in dirt. The dirt over her grave. Laurel shivered.

4. After five long years away and all the time he had had for regrets and thinking about how he wanted to make amends, Oliver knew exactly where he needed to be when he returned to Starling City. He didn’t get the chance to act on that plan until Tommy asked him what he had missed most on their driving tour of the city. “Laurel.” His best friend barked a laugh and scratched at his ear. “Yeah, uh, problem with that plan. Laurel’s not here anymore.”

5. “I’ll be heading out early tomorrow to meet with Oliver and the others, so I should get some sleep. Goodnight, mom.” Laurel Lance did not know it, but those were to be the last words she would say on her Earth for a long time.

6. She woke up. That was the easy part. Tired and sore, a little weak, but alive. She woke up. Oliver was there just as he had been when she’d started to feel herself slip away. He had tears in his eyes. Laurel tried to reach out a hand, but the best she could do was sort of turn her arm over palm-up. “Hey.” He smiled, just a stretch of the lips, and he echoed her with a soft, “Hey. How are you feeling?” “Tired. I’m not out of the woods yet, I guess.” “Well, the doctors think that we’re past the worst of it. You’re stable.” His eyes were still sad. Something was wrong.

7. 1994 She wondered some nights where the time went. It seemed like only an eye blink had passed from the day she’d first arrived in Starling City to the day she co-owned a home; three bed, two bath, and a husband and two children that filled it. It felt like a dream sometimes, a not quite real thing.

8. It was an otherwise unremarkable day. The Doctor and Martha had ended up a few years into her personal future, which he ordinarily tried to avoid. But lizards were notoriously difficult to schedule, particularly when it came to their hatchlings. They’d been on the chase all afternoon, on foot for most of it. As time had quickly begun to run out, however, he’d flagged down a taxi.

9.  Donna Noble was going to die. Not even forty, jobless, unmarried. Exactly the failure her mum had said she was going to be. She wasn’t single, but of course she doubted her mum would count an alien boyfriend as a success. At least she was going down in the TARDIS. She’d decided to spend the rest of her life traveling in this box, but she hadn’t thought that would come true so soon.

10. It took quite a bit of convincing to get Donna’s mother to let them all in the house. Even just to open the door a crack so they could try to convince her. “I mean, what even are they?” She hissed through the gap. “They’re the Ood, and they’re nice,” Donna said. “Seriously, that can feel a bit hard to find sometimes. Might as well appreciate it.” “Hold on, what do you mean hard to find?” The Doctor turned to regard Donna now instead. “I’m the first alien you ever met, and I’m nice.”

11. Jenny saw the gun and didn’t even think twice. It wasn’t the soldier’s instinct that overtook her in that moment, but something stronger. “No!” She pushed herself in front of her dad just as the shot rang out, and something impacted her chest. Jenny staggered, her mouth falling open. All that training and conditioning in her head since the minute she’d been born, and none of it had prepared her for this. She felt herself fall, but never hit the ground. Someone had caught her. It was her dad.

12.  When Donna found herself alive again in the proper universe, she was more than a little disoriented. Some bug was on the ground that she both did and didn’t recognize, and the fortune teller woman who had started this whole mess fled before Donna could do much more than demand, “What the hell is that?”

13. The Gryffindor and Ravenclaw third years sat nervous and excited at their desks, waiting for the start of class. Their latest Defense Against the Dark Arts professor had told them today was to be a practical lesson unlike any they’d ever had before. “It’s no good just knowing what the Unforgivables are,” the grizzled ex-Auror had stated, pacing the aisles with a wooden thump to every step. “You need to be ready for what you’ll be up against. You need to feel just how hard of a fight it will be. And no curse is harder to fight than the Imperius.”

14.  It was fast approaching Christmas at Grimmauld Place, and Harry was only belatedly taking the time to notice. While the first portion of the holidays had been consumed by fear and guilt after the attack on Mr. Weasley, and then fear and guilt for his own possible possession, he could now finally start to relax thanks to his friends knocking some sense back into him. Well, it was Ginny who had really done most of the work on that; he’d been both surprised at how easily she’d managed to allay his worries, yet also ashamed that he’d completely disregarded her ability to do so until she’d forcibly reminded him.

15. Harry wasn’t even aware of climbing the stairs to the seventh floor. All he could concentrate on was the pounding in his skull courtesy of yet another useless Occlumency lesson. He grunted the password at the Fat Lady’s portrait and stumbled into Gryffindor common room. The fire was already burning low, and the room appeared empty. He’d been hoping to find Hermione downstairs in order to beg to take a look at her Charms essay that was due tomorrow which he hadn’t even started yet. Picturing her scandalized look at the idea, however, Harry thought it was probably good she wasn’t here. He dragged his feet over to the armchairs near the fire. Ron was likely waiting to see he got back from Snape’s dungeon, but Harry knew if he went up to his bed he wouldn’t be able to force himself to do his homework in time for class. He was about to drop into his favorite armchair when a quiet, “Hey, Harry,” had him jumping and whirling around.

So that’s it (that’s a lie, actually, but some of my WIPs are only tiny, incoherent and out of order snippets so there wasn’t enough to scrape together for this post). Hopefully one or multiple catch your interest, and feel free to ask any and all questions because my ask box is wide open!

[superprincesspea]

Knock, Chapter 15

You’d been waiting for this moment but that didn’t mean you were prepared for it.

Simon/You

Warnings: Birth/Labour

Chapter 1    Chapter 2    Chapter 3    Chapter 4    Chapter 5  

Chapter 6    Chapter 7    Chapter 8    Chapter 9    Chapter 10

Chapter 11   Chapter 12   Chapter 13  Chapter 14

So, I accidentally deleted this chapter. This is just me reposting it. Nothing has changed! <3 

It had only been a couple of hours since you’d told Simon that you wanted to leave the Sanctuary and as the evening had deepened into night neither of you had mentioned it again.

Now you were climbing into bed and adjusting a hundred different pillows in an effort to make yourself comfortable while Simon relaxed on his back, carefree and unweighted by pregnancy. You envied him of that. Of all the things your body had craved since you’d beome pregnant you think you craved lying comfortably the most. Sleep was almost impossible at this point and you supposed it wouldn’t get any better once the baby had arrived.

As you reach to switch off the lamp a lazy tightening of pressure rolls across your stomach before wrapping around your back and fading away. You’re so used to the aches and cramps of being heavily pregnant that you barely register the pain and if you did, you wouldn’t think anything of it.

When the second pain arrives you’re lying down, your eyes firmly shut, leaving nothing to distract you from the pressure as it builds and recedes.

By the third your heart begins to race while two words scream across your subconscious like a battle cry. IT’S TIME, IT’S TIME!

Still, despite the alarm sounding in your head you remain paralysed, barely breathing as you wait to see if it happens again.

Part of you, and maybe it’s wishful thinking, has decided that this is a false alarm and you’ll be waking up in the morning rolling your eyes. But deep down, the other part of you, knows this is it. Ready or not, and right now you’re leaning towards not. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t want a few more weeks but you suppose that doesn’t matter now.   

You lie there for what feels like hours, although time has a strange way of moving in the dark. All you can be sure of is that Simon is one hell of a snorer when he sleeps on his back and by the time you decide to wake him, your contractions are starting to catch up with the rhythm of his snorting.

You flick on your bedside lamp but he remains undisturbed leaving you to envy his peacefulness and almost feel bad at the prospect of waking him. Almost. Afterall, you’re the one doing all the hard word. All he has to do is watch.

“I think this is it,” you say and he grumbles something, his lips slapping together before he rolls away.

“Simon,” you nudge him, your voice a little louder and this seems to get his attention. He rolls back to face you, heavy lids peeling open from a deep sleep.

“It’s happening,” you repeat before heaving yourself from the bed and bracing your hands on the headboard as yet another contraction snakes across your belly.

The pain has already started to become less bearable and you wish you could ignore the niggling voice in your head which keeps reminding you, it's only going to get worse.

At the sight of you hunched over the headboard Simon’s eyes spring fully open, realisation finally setting into his sleepyhead.

“It’s time!” he says, rolling from the bed with so much uncoordinated vigour that his legs tangle in the sheets, sending him falling to the floor but not without hitting his head on the nightstand as he goes.

You roll your eyes, deciding this was why women gave birth and not men. When he stands up, there’s blood pouring from a gash above his eyebrow but as usual he’s more worried about you.

“What should I do?” he shouts, panic making his eyes wide.

Surprisingly you feel a wave of calm. You always knew this was going to happen, you’d spent months thinking about it. Now you just had to do it. In a way it would be a relief to have it over with. Just one contraction at a time, you remind yourself and when another rolls across your stomach you shut your eyes, floating in some far off place until you can open them again.

“Your head,” you say to Simon, who’s standing uselessly by the bed and somehow hasn’t even seemed to notice the blood he’s dripping onto the sheets.

You motion for him to follow you to the kitchenette where you find a clean towel to stem the bleeding.

“I should be taking care of you,” he grumbles when you push him into a chair and press the towel to his head.

“You do… usually.”

“If I could take some of the pain I would,” he tells you before taking your hand and brushing a kiss against your knuckles. It seems like such a cheesy thing for a man to say but with Simon you know he means it.

Still, you can’t help but tease him a little anyway. “You couldn’t even get out of the bed without cracking your head open.”

Simon chuckles, taking the towel from you hand and holding it for himself. “Then tell me what to do. You’re the boss.”

You know your labour could last for hours, maybe even days but you’re clinging onto hope that things are progressing quickly. “Wake Doctor Carson. I’ll feel better once I’ve been looked at.”

“Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own for a few minutes?” Simon asks, his eyes skirting over the room like it's suddenly a death trap.

“It's either that or you deliver the baby…” you point out and his face blanches.

“I’ll be back,” he says, leaving the door wide open as he runs down the hall wearing nothing but his briefs and a bloodied towel.

You want to laugh but another contraction arrives and stupidly you regret letting Simon leave you here even if its only for a few minutes.

///

Now its several hours later. Simon’s head has three fresh stitches and the Sanctuary is awake, everyone waiting on the news of your baby’s arrival. Although it's starting to feel like it might never be over.

Simon and Carson haven’t left your side, both of them patiently watching as you pace the hallway like a wounded animal. The endless motion had been helping you, giving you something to focus on but it’s not enough anymore.

The pain is now beyond unbearable and the time between contractions has dwindled to nothing more than a heartbeat. When they come now you feel like you’re being slowly ripped apart and it might sound dramatic but you want to die. Dying would be far easier and a sweet release from the endless torture of labour .

“I can’t take it anymore!” you screech, slowly edging to your room and feeling a gush of warmth as your waters finally give way, adding an extra level of discomfort to the situation.

“You can do!” Simon encourages, taking your hand to help you walk.

Usually you relish his touch and the way his long fingers completely encompass yours but not right now. Today you want to ball your fist, rear it back and punch him directly in the face. If only he could feel a small part of what you’re feeling, he wouldn’t be so optimistic.  

“I hate you,” you hiss, snatching your hand from his before kneeling besides the bed and hunching over the mattress.

Simon isn’t fazed by your outburst. He quietly takes a kneel besides you, one hand kneading pressure on your lower back, the other scraping the matted hair from your brow.

“I love you,” he whispers but his words are lost as you begin to make a noise that resembles a cow being dragged to the slaughter.

“I think it might be time to push,” Carson says and you don’t care if he’s got his head where the sun doesn’t shine. You don’t care about anything but getting the baby out of you.

You follow his instructions, pushing hard and long with every contraction. You push until your hands have nearly torn the sheets apart and your head is dripping with sweat. You’re never truly knew what it meant to feel exhausted until right now. It’s like you’ve been running a marathon and now you’re being asked to climb a mountain.

You can’t see the worry on Carson’s face but you can hear it in his voice. “We might have to try another position,” he says and you sob, feeling defeated.

“If you have to choose, I want you to choose the baby,” you whimper, licking your lips for moisture.

Simon’s face looks even whiter than it did when you went into labour. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think like that.”

You can’t help it, you don’t even have the strength to stand and you’re like a rag doll as Simon and Carson hook their hands under your arms and pull you onto the bed.

When you’d pictured your labour, you’d imagined one bead of sweat dripping a pristine path down your forehead, followed by one long hollywood push as your baby came bounding into the world. The reality is so far removed that you wonder why any woman would do it twice and for the first time in a long time you want your mum.

“I think we’re gonna need to use forceps,” Carson says as gently as he can and truthfully the idea of forceps had scared the crap out of you before but the pain has made you fearless.

“Just do whatever it takes,” you shout through gritted teeth and what happens next is a steam of events you’d rather not endure with your eyes open, so you close them, praying for an outer body experience.

“Push,” Carson says and you pull strength from a well you didn’t know existed, bearing down and pushing so hard you feel your head might burst.

“Keep going!” Carson commands and you scream like you’re being murdered, determination aiding your struggle, your hands biting into your thighs.

Then, suddenly, in the passing of a single moment, it’s over with.

A newborn cry fills the room, echoing down the hallway to wash away your screams. The relief is immediate, the euphoria greater than anything you’ve ever experienced.

“It’s a girl!” Someone shouts but you’re lost to exhaustion, your head falling back into the pillows.

Somewhere in the background you’re vaguely aware of Simon cutting the cord and Carson rubbing the baby with a towel, all of them quietly congratulating each other. But the reward is yours and you’re overcome with a indescribably sense of pride. You did it. She’s here and you did it.

“She’s beautiful,” Simon whispers as he places a bundle of towel and baby on your chest.

Your shaky hands cradle her, your weary eyes desperate for that first precious glance. Her face his scrunched up, her tongue rooting for milk and even though she’s looking more like an alien than a baby she seems so familiar to you. When her eyes slowly blink open they remind you of Simon, the soft downy hair on her head is the same shade as yours and there’s something about her chubby cheeks that makes you think of your Grandfather.

“Hello,” you say, letting her tiny fingers wrap around yours and feeling your heart swell with love.

“I’m so proud of you,” Simon says and when you look at him he’s got a dopey smile plastered across his face even if he is still a little pale, still a little shell shocked. You guess he’s wearing the exact same expression you are right now.

You might have carried her for nine months and spent an entire day in labour but somehow you can’t quite believe she’s here. And she’s yours. Ten fingers, ten toes, perfect.

Most women would be thinking about dressing their baby in its first outfit, finally settling on a name and showing them off but you’re thinking about the conversation you had with Simon before she arrived.

You feel overwhelmed with responsibility to this tiny life and you’ve fought hard to bring her into the world. You’re not going to give up now. You’re not going to keep her where she isn’t safe. When you’re rested, you’re going to leave the Sanctuary. You want to take her somewhere she can be free, somewhere she can play and laugh and not worry about strangers creeping in the night.

“Let’s call her Sylvie, after my mom,” you say and Simon doesn’t protest.

He kisses the top of your head and whispers, “you’re the boss.”

You hope he means it, you hope he really will do whatever you want because if he doesn’t you’ll be leaving him too.

[foodhackery]

Sub Rolls

Some people, like my wife, could be happy never eating another sandwich.  Me, I love sandwiches so much, that it’s hard to imagine what life would be without them.  I don’t crave 3-Michelin-star food.  I dream of what can be done with good fillings and condiments stuffed artfully within good bread.  I love breakfast sandwiches, from Hardees or Biscuitville biscuits to bodega-style egg and cheese on a roll.  I love the fare of my childhood, PB&J or bologna or sliced canned meat between two slices of white bread.  I of course love hamburgers, chuckwagons, patty melts, tuna melts, hot brown sandwiches, croque monsieurs, and oh-my-god the corned beef and pastrami with slaw and Russian dressing on rye from the now closed Artie’s Deli on Manhattan’s Upper West Side.

But the sandwiches I love most are sub-style, those beautifully architected ensembles of meat, cheese, veggies, and sauce on a sandwich roll longer than it is wide.  Whether it’s a  Bánh mì, a Cubano, a Po Boy, a Philly Cheese Steak, a French Dip, a meatball sub, or a good old fashioned Italian hoagie, I love them all.  (My favorite sandwich of all time might very well be the Italian sub from La Villa Delicatessan in Willow Glen, California.)

The foundation of a good sub-style sandwich is the roll.  And unfortunately, appropriate rolls are hard to find.  Supermarkets these days tend to have very good artisanal bread.  These breads are delicious, but more often than not have crust and crumb that’s too chewy for a sandwich where you want a harmonious balance between all ingredients versus the bread dominating.  Needless to say, the stuff from the big commercial bakeries sold in plastic bags can’t hold a light to the bread used by great sandwich shops.

Which means that if you want really, really good sub rolls appropriate for your homemade Cubano or Po Boy, you’re probably going to have to make your own.  I’ve been experimenting with recipes to try to find something that’s close to the sub roll of my dreams, one with a golden brown crust, deep yeasty flavor, and an elastic but soft crumb that has enough structure to hold up under heavy ingredient load, but that doesn’t require so much force to take a bite of that you have the sandwich payload squeezing out of the back.  After lots of experimentation, I think that I’ve found it.

As with any recipe, this one has some essential elements:

It is 65% hydration.  In other words, the water added is 65% the weight of the flour.  This seems to give me the right balance between tenderness and structure.  With sufficient kneading, this dough is also very easy to handle.

It uses an 18-24 hour poolish for flavor.

It uses both amylase and diastatic malt powder to help with rise, flavor, softness, and staling.

It uses a bit of vegetable shortening to enrich the bread.

It is kneaded for what most home bakers would consider a long time (15 minutes or more) to develop the dough’s gluten structure.

This recipe makes 1.1kg of dough that I split into 6 or 7 rolls.  It scales up or down pretty easily.  (If you’re going to scale by just multiplying all of the weights by a constant scaling factor, make sure to scale both the poolish and the dough by the same factor, otherwise you will not end up with 65% hydration.)  The rolls will easily keep a week in a plastic bag.  

In my opinion, these rolls are easy to make.  They require a bit of time to make, but not a lot of actual work.  With the poolish, which is almost zero effort, you get those rich flavors and aromas associated with long fermentation times.  Which means that you can do your bulk and final fermentations really fast if you have a warm and humid environment.  

My rhythm when I make these is: start the poolish on Friday morning.  On Saturday morning, I throw together the dough and let it knead in a stand mixer while I’m doing chores.  Once kneaded, I throw the dough into an 85F 100% RH combi oven for an hour to bulk ferment.  While I wait, I read the news, watch videos, or catch up on e-mail.  I then shape the loaves and pop them back in the oven for a final one hour proof, and do some more chores, work, goof off, or make breakfast for the family.  I then heat up the oven and bake the loaves for 15 minutes and then rest for 20.  Et voila.  I have outstanding sub rolls before lunch on Saturday that I can bag and use throughout the week for no more than 30 minutes of actual work.

Ingredients

Poolish

150 g bread flour

150 g water

2 g yeast

Dough

450 g bread flour

240 g of room temperature water (75-85 degrees)

12 g salt

9 g yeast

12 g diastatic malt powder

4 g amylase

100 g vegetable shortening

For the poolish, mix flour, water, and yeast in a small container.  I use 1 quart plastic take out containers for this.  Place a lid on the container and the container in a warm place for 18-24 hours.  At the end of the fermentation period, the poolish will have more than doubled in size and very much alive.

For the dough, combine the flour, salt, yeast, malt powder, and amylase in the bowl of a stand mixer.  Mix with a dough hook for a few seconds to combine.  Add all of the poolish and the water. Mix until everything is combined and the dough has pulled together into a coherent, shaggy mass.  You might need to scrape down the side of your mixer bowl a few times to get everything integrated.

Add vegetable shortening, and knead for 15 minutes.  At the end of the kneading, you are looking for a very smooth dough that isn’t sticking to the side of the bowl and that is very stretchy.  It should pass the window pane test if you are so inclined.

Turn the dough out into a greased pan and place somewhere warm and damp to proof.  I put mine uncovered into an 85F, 100% relative humidity combi oven.  If you don’t have a combi oven or a proofing cabinet, you can cover your container with a damp towel and put it some place that’s relatively warm.  Proof until doubled in size, which should take 1-2 hours depending on your conditions.  (Warmer and higher humidity will result in a faster proof.  I wouldn’t recommend proofing faster than 1 hour.)

Turn the proofed dough out onto a floured work surface and divide into 6-7 pieces.  6 pieces ought to be approximately 190g each, and 7 will be approximately 160g each.  Now, this bit is a bit difficult to explain without pictures, so you might want to find a video online to see this in action.  Press each ball of dough into an oblong circle or rectangle.  Tightly roll the flattened dough to form a cylinder about 6-7 inches long.  Pinch the seams shut.  Starting with your hands at the center of each cylinder, roll the cylinders out while moving your hands toward the ends.  You’re trying to lengthen the cylinders to 10-11 inches, keeping them a uniform diameter throughout.  (These are not baguettes where you want tapered ends.)

Transfer the formed loaves to a lined sheet pan.  You can use parchment as your liner.  I like these Silpats designed for bread and pastry.  Dust with flour, semolina, or corn meal depending on your taste.  Place back in your warm, humid place and proof until doubled.

Pre-heat your convection oven to 375F (or 400F if you don’t have convection).  If your oven has a relative humidity feature or can inject steam, get the oven compartment as close to 100% relative humidity as you can muster.  If you don’t have a fancy oven, you can put a cast iron pan into the oven as you preheat, and then toss some ice cubes into it right after you put the bread in.  Slash the loaves down their full length with a lame or a super sharp knife.  Put the bread in the oven, and bake for 15 minutes until deep golden brown and a thermometer registers 200F when poked into the center of a loaf.

Remove from oven and allow to cool on a rack for at least 20 minutes.  

[eccacia]

wonderful you came by [part 16]

Summary: Caitlin’s a no-nonsense science major. Barry’s the quintessential charming star athlete. When they’re paired off and forced to interact in class, Caitlin’s determined to resist his charms, but Barry’s also pretty determined to get under her skin… It all boils down to a battle between head and heart, and Caitlin’s not one to give in to her heart so easily. [College AU]

Read Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, or read on ff.net

Rating: T

Notes: I know it’s been five months, but… Look! An update! Sorry I’ve been gone awhile. This chapter was tough, life’s been tough, being newly unemployed is tough, etc. etc. Anyway, I miss you all. This is more of a friendship chapter, since I want to wrap up all the loose ends and lay the groundwork for the last plot point. After this, I’m estimating we have 1-2 more chapters to go and then an epilogue (AAAAH! Can you believe it?!) so I hope you’ll stick around. :)

Some shout-outs: To Gaby, as always, for the encouragement, and in celebration of our three-year long friendship on this site. To @panalegs27, for the unwavering enthusiastic support and the messages that make me smile. To @purpleyin, who, to my great surprise and delight, left a review on all my stories and on every chapter in this fic (!!!). To Random Lurker, for leaving such a sweet review; it made my terrible day better. And, last but not the least, to Of Pencils and Penguins (formerly The Pickle System), who beta-read this chapter in a flash (pun fully intended)—he fixed all the pesky grammatical errors, cleaned up my dialogue, and pointed out the scenes that needed tweaking or rewriting. I can’t thank you enough. This chapter won’t be what it is without your help. :)

Disclaimer: Nope, I don’t own The Flash.

Barry parted ways with her outside of her dorm, and as she moved from the open, starry night to the closed, fluorescent-lit hallways of the building to her dark, unoccupied room, unease replaced the earlier sense of lightness she’d felt. She’d been harboring this sense of unease since her fight with Felicity yesterday, but her anxiety about the orals and about Barry had dominated such a large portion of her emotional landscape that this unease had receded into the background.

But now, faced with a Felicity-less room, which had been voided of the sounds of their easy companionship—the scrape of the wheels of her chair against the floor, the quick, light tapping of her fingers on her laptop, the rip of Swiss Miss packets at the end of a long day—Caitlin felt the unease return with a vengeance.

She slumped into her chair. How was it that she managed to push two people who were important to her away in the space of a week? For someone who’d always thought of herself as self-sufficient and fiercely independent, she was realizing how emotionally affected she could be when the relationships in her life went awry.

Well, at least she knew Felicity better than she did Barry. She knew, for instance, that her friend dealt with her hurt by avoiding its cause, and that while she was in this avoidance phase, it was best to give her space. But she also knew that approaching her first was already winning half the battle. So it boiled down to timing—intuiting when enough time had passed since the avoidance started, and intuiting when the best time was to approach her.

It was, she supposed, the same way Felicity would tiptoe around her when she was deep in work mode, hazarding guesses at the best time to disturb her. She had guessed wrong yesterday—had prodded her at the wrong time, in the wrong way—and much to her shame, she had exploded.

She grimaced. She could call Oliver right now to ask if he’d seen her, but she was already so tired. There’d been more emotions packed into this day than she’d had in her entire twenty-something years of existence, and even if some of those emotions were pleasant, she still felt incredibly drained.

Tomorrow, then, she thought, crawling into her bed. She’d apologize tomorrow.

The next day, Caitlin set about to look for her friend in all her usual haunts, but as expected, she couldn’t find her in any of them. She texted Cisco on the off-chance that he’d seen her, but he merely replied with, “? u can call her? and aren’t u roommates” and, a few seconds later, “OH wait r u fighting :( idk where she is bt i hope u make up soon”.

So she had no choice but to give Oliver a call, which, in the first place, had been the most logical thing to do.

…But also the most awkward, because she and Oliver weren’t exactly on calling terms. There was also the fact that she had been staunchly against them when Felicity had really started liking him. Sure, she’d been the one to dare her to talk to him, but she’d done it because she’d believed that her friend had more common sense than to fall for the shallowest rich boy on campus, and because she didn’t think that Felicity was Oliver’s type.

Needless to say, Felicity did not have as much common sense as she’d expected, and Oliver turned out to be decent under his party-boy exterior. While she was right in guessing that Felicity wasn’t his type, she hadn’t guessed that he’d fall for her anyway. He’d liked Felicity so much that, upon sensing Caitlin’s unspoken antagonism, sought to prove all her previous notions of him wrong—he cleaned up his act, stopped flirting with every leggy girl he came across, and stopped hanging out with the shadier cliques in the popular crowd—until she finally came to accept them together.

Still, that didn’t mean they would be besties, or that they’d take to each other the same way Felicity had taken to Digg and Barry and Tommy and the rest of Oliver’s friends. They were content to regard each other with civility.

Which brought her back to her current dilemma: She and Oliver were civil, but not on calling terms.

She sighed. Well, it wasn’t like she had much of a choice. They would have to be on calling terms now if they both cared about Felicity.

Having decided on her course of action, she sent him a short text to ask when he was free to take a call. His answer was immediate: “Now is good.” He picked up on the first ring.

“Hey. You’re looking for Felicity?” he said.

Well, if there was one thing Caitlin respected him for, it was his propensity for cutting right to the chase.

“Yes,” she said. “Did she stay over at your place?”

“Yeah,” he said. “But she left for class this morning, and she hasn’t been back yet. I thought she’d headed to the dorm.”

Caitlin frowned. “Well… she’s definitely not here.”

“Oh.” There was a pause. “She’s… been really down the past few days,” he ventured tentatively. “Said something about this being a replay of sophomore year, but didn’t go into the specifics.”

“Oh,” she said.

“Care to elaborate?” His tone was careful. “I mean, when my girlfriend and one of my best friends share a bottle of Smirnoff from my bar because of the same person, I feel like I deserve an explanation from the said person.”

Caitlin winced. “Can said person just buy you another bottle of Smirnoff instead?”

“Nice try,” he said wryly. “Spare me the details with Barry, I know way too much already. I just want to hear about the whole… sophomore year thing. If… that’s okay. She—she usually tells me everything, and I can’t—I don’t know how to talk to her if she doesn’t—talk. To me.”

When he said those last two sentences, Oliver sounded as if he was having a nail extracted for every word he spoke. She could almost see his grimace deepening the more he talked. Strangely enough, it comforted her, because this was something she could identify with. He was nearly as emotionally stunted as she was, stripped of that glamorous façade, and she imagined that she had the same expression that he had now whenever she talked about her feelings. Granted, this was the same reason they couldn’t be friends, and were instead friends with people like Felicity and Barry who were so open about their feelings that they were practically begging to be taken advantage of, but still. This kind of kinship was also comforting. Painfully awkward, but comforting.

So Caitlin took a deep breath and proceeded to tell him about sophomore year—the year they had their first real fight as friends.

It happened towards the end of their first term as sophomores. She’d been swamped with so many requirements and had been putting so much pressure on herself that she’d turned down all of Felicity’s invitations to parties, dinners, and even their hallowed Sunday lunches. Sometimes she didn’t even bother to acknowledge her in the room, because she didn’t want a break in her concentration. This went on for a month, until Felicity gave up trying to talk to her altogether. She avoided all their usual haunts and materialized in their room only to sleep. It was a miserable few months for both of them (and for Cisco, who’d shuttled back and forth between them), and it went on for as long as it did because, ironically, it had been easier to keep snubbing each other than to break their deadlock.

“Eventually, I just swallowed my pride and just went up to her during lunch. And even before I said anything, she burst out crying and hugged me,” Caitlin said.

He chuckled. “That sounds like her.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” she said. She decided to leave out the embarrassingly sappy things they told each other that time, like when Felicity told her, in between hiccups, You know, real talk—I’d get over a breakup with a guy faster than a breakup with you. Like, a friend break-up. Because guys are so… replaceable, you know? And there’s only one of you, and… where’ll I ever find another Caitlin Snow?

She didn’t think Oliver would respond favorably to that.

After their tearful reunion, though, they’d implicitly agreed never to talk about that time again. It seemed they both knew that the smooth continuation of their friendship hinged on completely burying that hatchet. So Felicity continued to tiptoe around her when she was busy, and continued to clam up when she was hurt. Maybe that was why she thought that her recent blow-up was an echo of sophomore year.

“She’s in Jitters, by the way,” Oliver said. “She told me not to tell you, but I don’t like seeing her miserable, and I don’t think I’m the person to cheer her up.”

“Oh,” she said. “Um, thanks.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… go talk to her. And make sure that she doesn’t steal too many drinks from my bar.”

Her lips lifted into a small smile. “The former, I can promise. The latter, not so much.”

. . .

In a way, it made sense that Felicity was at Jitters. Since she knew that Caitlin was avoiding Barry, and that Barry frequented Jitters, then she must have thought that there was a good chance that Caitlin would also avoid Jitters.

It didn’t take long to spot Felicity’s messy high ponytail in the crowd, and she was so deeply absorbed in her work that she didn’t even feel her approach.

“Hey,” Caitlin said, touching her shoulder, and Felicity immediately startled in her seat.

“Oh my God! Don’t scare me like th—”

When she saw it was her, though, she schooled her expression into a neutral one. The change was so dramatic that it unnerved her.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you.” God, she was terrible at this. “Can I… Is this seat taken?”

“No.”

This was agonizing. Any dim hope she’d harbored of this being like their first make-up was quashed.

“Felicity,” she said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you like that.”

Silence. And then, “Okay.”

“Okay as in…?”

She shrugged. “It’s fine.”

It was decidedly not fine. Felicity was not as adept at hiding her emotions as she thought, because Caitlin could see her trying to hide them. “Felicity…”

Silence. And then, softly, “I’ve been tiptoeing around you for years, did you know that?” she said. “No, wait—you probably never noticed, but I’ve been doing it since we started rooming together. Since our first year. When things would get busy—for both of us, not just for you—you would transform into this ticking time bomb. One wrong move on my part, and you’d explode.”

Caitlin sat very still. “I… never knew,” she said. “It’s just…”

She trailed off. She was about to say that it was a bad habit she’d picked up from her father, who’d regarded disturbances—a category which even his young, too-inquisitive daughter and his flaky wife fell into—with murderous intent, so everyone had always adjusted to him without question or complaint. But this sounded like an excuse, and in a rare flash of human insight, Caitlin saw that an excuse wouldn’t save their friendship.

So she held her tongue.

Felicity continued, “Every time you get like that, I have to worry about how to get you to eat and function like a normal human being without risking our friendship. Do you know how tiring that gets?”

Caitlin exhaled. “I’m sorry,” she said again. “I never meant you to feel like…” She paused to gather the right words. “Like I’d only be friends with you if you never made me mad.”

“Yeah, but that’s how you come off sometimes,” Felicity said. “Would it hurt to say, ‘Hey, Felicity, I’m really stressed and I don’t want to talk about it now’? It’s not hard. I mean, I let you know when I’m about to binge-code so you’d know better than to expect me to clean my part of the room for the rest of the week.”

“Or shower, for that matter,” Caitlin couldn’t help saying. When she realized her misstep she quickly amended it with, “Sorry—”

“God, not relevant, Cait,” Felicity said.

“Sorry,” Caitlin said. She’d unknowingly slipped back into their usual easy banter at the worst possible time. “Sorry.”

Her friend’s expression was now shuttered, and Caitlin had the sinking feeling that she’d blown her attempt at reconciliation.

The silence stretched between them.

“Felicity,” she finally said, unable to bear it, “I’m sorry, I really am. Please don’t shut me out.”

“Oh, you mean like what you do to me?”

Caitlin winced. The accusation rang so true that it hurt. The silence grew more and more tense the longer those words hung in the air, and she frantically reached for something appropriate to say.

“I… It… was wrong of me… to do that to you,” she said quietly. “You didn’t deserve any of it.” A pause. “I’ve been an asshole friend. I’m sorry.”

Felicity fiddled with the keys of her laptop. She gave no indication of having heard her.

A crazy sense of desperation seized her. She felt like she would do anything—anything—to get Felicity to talk to her, anything to draw her out of that damning silence… It made her more painfully aware that this was the same emotional distress she put Felicity (and Barry, for that matter) through whenever she gave her the cold shoulder. She would never do this again, she thought vehemently. She would never make her friends—her best friend—feel this shitty ever again, if said best friend would still care to talk to her. No wonder Felicity had burst out crying last time the moment she approached… Any move to break this kind of silence would have brought on waves of delirious relief.

Felicity continued fiddling with her keys. She uncrossed her legs. She leaned back against her chair. She let out a breath, and since it was so quiet between them, Caitlin could tell that this breath was a beat longer than was normal.

Felicity seemed to be on the verge of speaking. Caitlin braced herself.

“You’re not an asshole friend,” she finally said. She still wasn’t looking at her, but at least she was talking to her. She was talking to her. “You just… revert to assholic behavior when stressed.”

Caitlin held her breath. That was it. That was Felicity’s olive branch. She would have sagged in her seat from sheer relief, but she had to play this right.

“Assholic behavior,” she said carefully.

“What, you’re not used to Feliciticisms yet?” her friend said, finally looking at her. A small smile stretched across her face.

Caitlin blinked. She smiled. Definitely a good sign. Definitely a sign to play along, to ease back into the usual banter of their friendship. “I still can’t figure out how you say that,” she said. “Felicisms would have been a lot easier on the tongue.”

“Yes, but I’m a Felicity, not a Felici,” she said. “Although, come to think of it, Felici sounds a lot chicer.”

“True.” Caitlin paused and took a risk. “Probably why it doesn’t suit you.”

“Hey. You were the one who proposed Felicism.”

She tried to contain her smile. “Because it would be easier to pronounce, not because you look like a Felici.”

“Same banana.”

“No, they’re not. And for the record, there are more than 1,000 discovered varieties of bananas in the world.”

“Okay, just, no,” Felicity said. “How do you even know stuff like that?”

“The same way you know who invented ramen.”

“Technically, Momofuku Ando invented instant noodles, not…” She trailed off. “…Right. Point taken.”

Caitlin nodded. “The internet is a dark place.”

“Ah, yes. Two young, impressionable women frequenting websites with lurid pictures of bananas and noodles—positively scandalous.”

They shared a smile.

“Just… give me that heads-up, okay?” Felicity said, sobering. “So I know how to help you. Like how you fix my bed and buy me takeout when I’m binge-coding, or how you let me interrupt you to whine about how hard troubleshooting a faulty segment is. Even if you have zero idea of what I’m talking about.”

“Okay,” Caitlin said. She would’ve agreed to anything at this point. “I can’t promise I’ll always be able to do it, but I’ll try. I’ll really try.”

“You better,” Felicity said, grinning. “We’ve been friends for almost seven years. I’d say it merits some amount of trying.”

“Well, seven years is only slightly longer than some marriages, after all. I can manage more than some amount of trying.”

Felicity’s smile softened. “So. Friends?”

“Friends,” she affirmed. “Seven years and counting.” She paused. “I think we’re supposed to hug at this point, but can I just give you a mental hug? I’ve reached my sappiness limit for the day.”

Felicity laughed. “Mental hug accepted. I knew there was something weird about you today.”

“Well, I was apologizing to you. I had to summon the appropriate amount of sappiness.”

“Have you been manipulating me with sappiness?”

“I wouldn’t call it manipulation,” Caitlin said primly. “It’s more like scheduling sappiness usage for a rainy day.”

“By scheduling sappiness,” Felicity said, her smile turning wicked, “do you also mean the Saturday night you spent with a certain Bartholomew Henry Allen under the stars?”

“That was an unscheduled and unintentional leakage of sappiness,” Caitlin said. “And how much do you already know, anyway?”

“Only that you kissed,” Felicity said with feigned nonchalance. “No big deal. It was only your first kiss, after all, which you kept a secret for almost a week from your best friend, your companion since girlhood, the sister of your heart—”

“Are you done with the melodramatics?” she said dryly.

“—oh, wait, I’ll have to call Cisco and Jax,” Felicity said, pulling her phone out. “They need to hear this. It’s more time-efficient, too, since you’ll only have to tell the story once.”

“Time-efficient,” Caitlin repeated. “You’re talking to me about time efficiency.”

“Yeah. What, think I haven’t learned a thing or two about your reasoning after seven years of being the foremost Caitlin Snow scholar? Although,” she mused, “it looks like I’ll soon have to relinquish that title soon, since a certain Barry Allen is proving to be a quick study—”

“Felicity, you’re rambling,” Caitlin said.

“That was hardly—oh, fine, calling them…”

“Can you tell them that we’ll meet in front of the library instead?” Caitlin said, casting a furtive glance around them. “Jitters is kind of—”

“His turf, right,” Felicity said. “Got it.” She tucked her phone between her ear and shoulder, and slipped her laptop into her bag. “Hey Cisco, any chance you’re free now…?”

. . .

“Ola, ladies,” Cisco said, making his way to their table with his usual grin. Even from afar, they heard him coming by the tinkle of the many keychains he’d hung all over his backpack. “Glad to see you two have reconciled. I thought I’d have to be your messenger again or something.”

“Yeah, well,” Felicity said. “Signs of maturity, I guess.”

“Boring,” Cisco said. “In a good way, I mean. No one needs drama all the time, am I right?”

“You sure? Because Caitlin has a lot of drama to tell.”

“Oooh, saucy. You sure are getting a lot of drama lately, come to think of it,” Cisco said. “Where was all this in high school? And in the last, I don’t know, two years in college—”

“I don’t know, Cisco, I don’t think one can space out the dramatic events in one’s life—”

“Rhetorical question, chica,” he said breezily, waving a hand. “I’m sure you know what that is—”

“What’s up, guys?” Jax said, sliding into the seat beside Cisco. He pocketed his phone and dropped his duffel bag to the ground. “Is this an update on Barry or what?”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “somewhat.”

“I am so excited,” Felicity said. “I can’t wait to hear your version of the kiss.”

“THE KISS?!” Cisco gaped. “Whoa, okay, slow down, this is too much—”

“I… haven’t even started yet…”

“Her version?” Jax interjected, looking at Felicity. “What other version is there?”

“Dude,” Cisco said. “I can’t believe that’s what you fixated on.”

“I heard it first from Barry,” Felicity said, waving a hand. “Anyway, long story, and not exactly relevant—”

“Not exactly rele—Felicity, what was his version?” Caitlin said suddenly. “What did he tell you?”

“Oh, pretty vague stuff,” she said. “Mostly it was about you breaking his heart.”

Cisco blinked. “Is it just me, or are things moving way too fast?”

“Last I heard you weren’t even sure if he liked you,” Jax said, also confused, “and now you already broke up? And if you”—he gestured to Felicity—“and Barry’re tight, why didn’t you just ask him for advice, instead of asking us?”

“Well,” Felicity mused, “a little Smirnoff goes a long way in solidifying friendships…”

“She and Barry shared a bottle of vodka between them the other night,” Caitlin clarified. “Well, technically, it was Oliver’s vodka, but anyway.”

“Dang,” Jax said. “Any chance I can get an invite to one of those in the future?”

“Yeah, it’d be nice to hang out at Oliver’s pad again,” Cisco said wistfully. “That sound system is to die for…”

“Wait,” Felicity said suddenly, turning to her, “that’s how you knew where to find me—you called Oliver and Oliver told you, that traitor—”

“Yes?” Caitlin said. “You thought I just guessed?”

“Well, I didn’t really—okay, never mind, we’re getting way off topic. So, Cait, tell us what happened last Saturday.”

“We all saw the sing-off,” Cisco said smugly. “And boy, you owe me big time for that—”

“It would’ve been better if you’d given me more drinks,” she muttered. “No chance kissing him if I’d passed out.”

Cisco ignored her. “—and we saw you slow-dancing to that weird Despacito remix,” he said. “Well, Felicity and I did. Jax probably didn’t.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yeah, to fill you in, they slow-danced to a Despacito remix.”

He gave Cisco a withering look. “Yeah, I grasped the concept, thanks.”

“You’re caught up, then,” Caitlin said, pleased. “So after the slow-dancing, we went up to the balcony—”

“The one for VIPs?” Jax said.

“Yes, the one for VIPs,” she said. “Anyway, I was slightly tipsy. As a result of faulty judgment, I leaned in to kiss him. I quickly realized it was a mistake, so I left and ignored him for a week. But we made up again just yesterday, so everything’s fine now.”

Silence.

“You know, you gotta brush up on your storytelling skills,” Cisco said.

“For a moment there I thought I was listening to a weather report,” Jax said.

“Well,” Caitlin bristled, “it’s not exactly something I want to recount in detail, so—”

“How did it happen? How did you let it happen? What did you feel?” Cisco insisted, accompanying his words with hand gestures. “What did he do? What did he say? What did you say? What were you thinking?”

“As I’ve already mentioned, I wasn’t thinking—”

“Okay, I think we’re overwhelming her,” Felicity said. “Cisco, ask her something again, only one question at a time.”

“Oh! Oh! I’ll start with this one,” Cisco said. “I have a feeling I’m going to regret asking this, but I am way curious, so here goes.” He took a deep breath. “Was there tongue?”

Caitlin squirmed. “Oh my God—”

“OH MY GOD,” Cisco said. “OH MY GOD, THERE WAS, WASN’T THERE?”

“OH MY GOD,” Felicity said. “THERE WAS, CISCO, THERE WAS—”

“…The hell is going on?” Jax said. “She hasn’t answered the question yet—”

“If you’re fluent in Caitlin,” Felicity explained, “you’d know that if it isn’t a direct no, then it’s a definite yes.”

“Huh,” Jax said.

“Damn,” Cisco said to Caitlin admiringly. “So you’ve finally lost your tongue-ginity. Welcome to the club.”

Jax scrunched his brow. “I never signed up for that.”

“Did we ever make that a thing?” Felicity said. “I don’t think we ever made that a thing…”

“We totally did. We made it a thing in high school, when I was with Kendra, remember? After we made out in the—”

“Okay, stop,” Felicity said. “I vaguely remember you breaking down that make-out scene, and I don’t want to remember more.”

“I second the motion,” Caitlin said.

“Third,” Jax piped up.

“Fine, this is Caitlin’s show anyway,” Cisco said good-naturedly. “It’s your turn to give us details.”

“No.”

They were all unfazed. “Did he lean in first?” Felicity said. “Or did you?”

Caitlin paused to consider it. “I’m not sure,” she said. “I think we—it was done at the same time.”

“And it lasted for some time,” Cisco prompted, “since there was tongue.”

“Well, it wasn’t unpleasant,” she hedged, “so we were there for some time, but I was the one who put an end to it.”

“Okay, let me get this straight,” Jax said. “You guys made out and you were really into it, but for some reason, you walked away and ignored him after that.”

“…It doesn’t sound very nice if you put it that way, but yes, basically…”

“What made you ignore him?” Felicity said. Caitlin recognized this voice—it was the one her friend used when she wanted to steer the discussion into a more serious direction. “I’d always assumed that he said something stupid, but…”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “he mentioned that we’ve only known each other two weeks.”

“Which is true,” Cisco said.

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Still, I lost it. I just didn’t think that it was possible—for me, at least—to like someone in such a short time. I was scared of it, of myself, so… I ran away. Ignored him. Pretended like ignoring him could reset me to before I met him.”

There was a pause as the statement hung in the air. It was perhaps the most honest she’d been since last week’s debacle, and they seemed to feel it, too.

“Okay, since things are getting serious,” Cisco said, standing up, “anyone want some food? Nachos, maybe?”

“Dude,” Jax said. “Way to ruin a moment—”

“No, I’m pretty sure Cait doesn’t want to talk about her feelings on an empty stomach,” he said, grinning at her. “Just like how you won’t study chemistry on an empty stomach.”

Caitlin smiled. “It’s fine, Jax. Nachos with beef and bacon bits please.”

“And extra cheese,” Felicity piped in.

“And Diet Coke with no ice,” Caitlin said.

“Same, but with ice and no straw for me,” Felicity said. “Save the environment and all.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know the drill,” Cisco said. “Hey, man, how about you?”

Jax looked at them. “You guys are hella weird.”

“But?” Cisco prompted cheekily.

He shrugged. “You’re not bad.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Barry does this thing where I’m not sure if he’s complimenting or insulting me,” Caitlin said. “Is that an athlete thing?”

“Way to stereotype us,” Jax said. “And I’m pretty sure that’s called a backhanded compliment.”

Caitlin snapped her fingers. “I knew there was a word for it…”

Cisco went to buy their snacks, and when he came back, the conversation—even with nachos and the best of intentions (particularly Felicity’s)—didn’t quite stay on track. It was, as usual, one-part insight and three-parts insanity, but Caitlin didn’t mind. It was good to be in their company again.

When Monday came around, Caitlin had the uncanny feeling, as she walked out of her dorm, that she was being stared at.

It wasn’t something she realized right away. After all, she’d spent most of her formative years in a state of near-invisibility. The only exception to that was when teachers announced the highest score in class (which, in science subjects, would almost invariably be her) and she would, for a few minutes, be the spotlight of the everyone’s awe and envy. But after class, she drew no more stares, elicited no more whispers. Smart wasn’t as valuable a currency as pretty or sporty was in high school, and she was perfectly content with that, as she never had to expend energy with the sort of self-conscious thinking that came with assuming that her peers were interested in her.

But today, something strange happened. As she walked down the near-deserted hallway of her dorm—it was still early, and the lone souls who were already awake walked around like zombies in their bubbles of half-sleep—she registered the sound of voices in the early morning hush. Out of idle curiosity, she looked around until she found the source of the whisperings—a group of five freshmen, two of whom quickly turned away when her gaze settled on them.

She blinked, wondering if she’d imagined it, and then concluded that she must have. Freshmen, she thought, were especially prone to sticking in groups like that and over-sharing noisily, in hopes that it might translate into friendship.

But then it happened again. When she passed by two more groups of girls outside the dorm and sensed the tickle of whispers in her wake, she wondered if maybe her intuition was right. It was disturbing to suspect that one was the topic of someone else’s conversation without knowing what, exactly, was being said, and without having the means to confront them about it.

So it was when, upon reaching the foyer and seeing Eliza and Bette deep in conversation before abruptly falling quiet when she approached, she narrowed her eyes and said, “Not you, too.”

Bette raised a brow. “Hi, Caitlin.”

Eliza said, “Good morning to you too, sunshine.”

Caitlin sighed and took her seat across them. With a cursory look, she ascertained that three of the boys from her block were there—no sign of Hartley yet—along with two other people from Applied Chemistry (or was it Chemical Engineering? She could never really keep track). Most of them were half-asleep, using their backpacks to pillow their faces from the cool granite surface of the tables.

“Sorry,” she sighed. “I’ve been having this strange sensation this morning that people have been talking about me. Paranoid, I know—”

Eliza and Bette exchanged glances. Like she and Felicity, the two had been friends for so long that they seemed to be able to communicate just by looking at each other.

Caitlin was immediately suspicious. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Eliza said innocently.

“That look you just shared. It’s suspicious.”

Bette, who was usually quiet and stoic—even more than she was, probably because she was always with the animated Eliza—said, amused, “Aren’t we allowed to look at each other?”

“I think we’re allowed to a few secrets,” Eliza added with a sly smile, “since you’ve obviously been keeping yours.”

Caitlin paused. She knew that these girls meant well—they had a pleasant relationship formed on the basis of their being stranded together in a testosterone-dominated course—but she wasn’t comfortable divulging her feelings to them in the way she had with Felicity, Cisco, and Jax. They were the kind of friends she’d complain on coursework with, not the ones she’d have a heart-to-heart with.

She said cautiously, “If this was about the sing-off…”

“Oh, the sing-off was last week’s news,” Eliza said.

“It’s already been dissected to death while you weren’t around,” Bette said, with an apologetic smile. “It’s common knowledge now that you’re Barry Allen’s new girl.”

Caitlin blinked, feeling strangely violated—or rather erased—by the term. “Okay, no,” she said. “First of all, I am not ‘Barry Allen’s new girl.’ I’m me. I’m still the same Caitlin Snow majoring in Molecular Biology with you.”

“Right, of course,” Eliza said, smiling at her while propping her face up in cupped hands. “But it’s already pretty obvious to everyone that you two are a thing.”

“We’re not…” Caitlin trailed off when she realized she didn’t have anything to say to that, because what were they? They hadn’t gone out on a date yet, so they weren’t dating, but they weren’t a thing, either. Or… were they? In the first place, why in the world did people invent a term as vague as ‘a thing’ anyway? What spectrum of togetherness did ‘a thing’ encompass? And why was it that even before she and Barry had defined what they were to themselves, other people were already clamoring to define their relationship with nosy collective authority? Couldn’t they just mind their own business and leave a budding romantic relationship unlabeled?

Caitlin resisted the urge to press a hand to her temple. She couldn’t deal with this. It was too early in the morning to puzzle out the confusing semantics of human romantic entanglements.

Instead, she said, “Never mind.  Second of all, last week’s news? Was there news this week involving him and me that I, of all people, wouldn’t know of?”

“Oh, I’m sure you know this,” Eliza said, giving her an enigmatic look. Caitlin felt like that look was her cue to spill what she apparently knew, but since she didn’t know anything, she remained quiet.

“If you’ll remember,” Eliza went on, when her pause became awkward, “there was a commotion last night at the dorm. Specifically, outside our wing.”

“What commotion?” Caitlin said, furrowing her brow.

Now, Eliza and Bette exchanged looks that were as bewildered as hers.

“You mean you really didn’t hear the commotion?” Bette said.

“No,” Caitlin said. “Should I have?”

“Oh my God, she has no idea,” Eliza said. “One of the hottest guys on campus is courting her—”

“Courting—of all the sheer nonsense—”

“—and she doesn’t have a clue,” Eliza finished.

“That is ridiculous,” she said. “I don’t know what commotion you’re talking about, but he’s not courting me. All I know is that he left a note on my window with ‘Good morning’ written on it.”

That was the abbreviated version. The full version was as follows:

Good morning :) I know, I know, when I walked you back, you said one week of no texts or calls or voicemails, but I’m pretty sure you didn’t say anything about sticky notes on windows. I’m kind of a pain in the ass, as you can see, aside from being a mildly annoying campus cutie and an insatiable hug monster (only for your hugs, though). Just so you know what you might be getting into. Anyway, I lost my main point for this note sometime after the smiley. I think I was supposed to write a poem, but I got sidetracked, and now I don’t have enough space. Well, I’ll find my main point tomorrow. In the meantime, ‘I miss you’ is probably enough. Can’t wait for Saturday. – Barry

“Mmm,” Bette said. “So you’re telling me that clambering up two floors of the girls’ dorms in the middle of the night, with a bouquet of flowers, a gift, and a note in hand, doesn’t qualify as courting?”

“A bouquet of flowers? How is that even—”

“At first I thought it was Cisco,” Eliza said, “because he visits your room sometimes, right, and he always makes so much noise. But when I opened my window to tell him to tone it down, guess who I saw instead?”

“Oh, by the way, here you go,” Bette said, pulling a single, long-stemmed rose from her backpack and handing it to a dazed Caitlin. “Half of the flowers were crushed during his climb,” she added, by way of explanation. “The others that weren’t crushed lost too many petals. This was the only proper rose left.” She pushed a box towards her. “Also, a gift from him. Said it was fragile.”

“He was supposed to sneak the stuff into your room,” Eliza said, “but he didn’t know that your window would be locked. Obviously he didn’t think things through.”

“Yeah, he also wrote his note on the wrong side of the post-it. We had to give him tape so he could stick the written portion against the glass facing your bed,” Bette said.

“Oh, and to clarify, we”—Eliza said, gesturing to the two of them—“weren’t the ones who gave him tape. Someone from the room below did.”

“It became a sort of group effort,” Bette said.

“Although his best friend—can’t remember her name, the one who wrote that article about sexism on campus—”

“Iris West,” Bette said.

“Right, her. She clearly didn’t support it,” Eliza said. “Stormed out of the dorm when she caught wind of what was happening just to tell him that he was an idiot.”

“She wasn’t yelling, but it was so quiet out there that people could hear what she was saying, anyway.”

“Good thing our dorm mom sleeps like a log.”

“Yeah, and good thing everyone loves Barry, so no one’ll tell on him…”

“It’s really strange that you didn’t hear anything,” Bette said, looking puzzled. “He made so much noise.”

It wasn’t all that strange. She and Felicity slept through the commotion courtesy of the remaining contents of the Smirnoff that she’d brought back from her drinking session with Barry.

“Hello, ladies,” came a voice that Caitlin knew all too well. “Finally got to interrogate her, huh? Do I finally get my—is that a rose? Why the hell do you have a rose?”

“Language, Hartley,” Bette said. “As you can see, the subject is still in shock.”

“The rose is from Allen, isn’t it?” Hartley said, scoffing. “Jesus, how predictable. Even I can tell you aren’t the roses kind.”

“Thank you for your valuable input, Hartley,” Eliza said. “Why don’t you run along now and compare notes with Barry, since you’re such an expert on Caitlin’s botanical preferences?”

“Dial down the bitchiness, sweetheart,” Hartley said. “It’s not even nine yet.”

“The rose isn’t the worst of it, really,” Bette said.

“Oh?” Hartley said gleefully, smirking and pulling up a chair from the other table, seeing as Caitlin’s backpack was still occupying the space beside her. “Do tell. Does the worst of it have something to do with this box?”

Caitlin finally snapped out of the daze she was in. She was having difficulty processing all… this. She needed another coffee. Maybe three. “I’m having difficulty imagining how he moved from the staircase to the window holding all this…”

“He had the bouquet in his mouth,” Eliza said.

Hartley’s brows shot up. “What,” he said, “the fuck?”

“What he said,” Caitlin muttered.

“She was kidding,” Bette said, giving Eliza a stern look. “He had a canvas bag.”

Eliza laughed. “Fine, but you have to admit you can totally imagine it.”

Hartley rolled his eyes. “I actually find it more unlikely that he had the foresight to bring a bag.”

“Well, are you going to open it?” Eliza said, gesturing to the box. “Bette and I have been dying to see what’s inside.”

Caitlin gave them a look, and Eliza said, “Hey, you can’t blame us. We’ve been safekeeping it for the last seven hours.”

“This really is beneath me,” Hartley said casually, “but I am curious to see what sort of disgustingly sentimental gift he got you. Gifts are a reflection of the giver, as someone once said. Can’t remember who it was, though…”

“You know, you can admit you’re curious without having to insult anyone,” Caitlin said.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he smirked. “Well? Are you opening it or not? We don’t have all day, Frosty.”

Caitlin sighed and relented, if only out of weariness. She opened the box without ceremony—there was no wrapper so she simply had to lift the flap—and peered inside. Three other heads neared to peer in, too.

It was a cactus.

On the flap, it said, I already got the roses when I saw this, but this is way better. You’re more of a cactus person, I think. ;) – Barry

Hartley barked a laugh. “I take it back. Allen is a fucking genius.”

“I don’t know,” Bette said dubiously. “It sounds like an insult.”

“It’s definitely an insult,” Eliza said. “You’re more of a cactus person—does that mean you have the qualities of a cactus?”

“He’s not wrong,” Hartley said. “Caitlin’s botanical identity aside, though,” he added, “everyone still owes me money, because she obviously accepted his advances…”

Caitlin, on her part, had already tuned them out. Barry Allen was a hopeless romantic and a complete idiot, and he also possibly had a screw or two loose, but he meant well, and he really and truly seemed to like her, and he was…

He was hers to like back.

Still, he had to stop climbing walls in the middle of the night to give her… whatever else he was planning on giving her. She had no clue about what courtship entailed, but she was sure that it didn’t have to be as life-threatening as he made it seem.

Caitlin didn’t think to approach him right away about this, though, because she didn’t think he’d be sending any more gifts her way. She thought he would have desisted with the flowers and the cacti, opting to leave only sticky notes instead.

She was wrong.

Well, not exactly. The next day, she did receive another note on her window, but she also received a heart-shaped box of chocolates and another cactus (both delivered by Cisco). This was puzzling, because she had no use whatsoever for a heart-shaped box, and she had no strong feelings about chocolates. Not that she didn’t like chocolates, per se; she’d just never particularly craved for them or sought them out. She didn’t want them to go to waste, though, so she ate two or three pieces before welcoming Cisco and Jax to finish up the rest.

This, surely, she thought, would be the end of it. Surely he knew that giving her gifts every single day until Saturday, for no particular reason and with no particular occasion, was an absurd and costly enterprise.

But she was wrong again. On Wednesday, she received the requisite note on her window and a teddy bear named Beary—See what I did there? ;) he’d said in his note—sporting a cactus pin. (She must’ve forgotten to lock her window last night after Cisco and Jax had left, so he was able to slip them onto her bedside table.) Now, if the chocolates were mildly puzzling, the teddy bear was downright bewildering, because she had given up stuffed animals altogether at the age of five, when her father had introduced her to illustrated encyclopedias. If she had no use for a teddy bear back at five years old, she had even less use of it now at twenty-one. She was aware that it was common for other couples to give each other stuffed animals, but that was other couples. For some reason, other couples found it cute to give their significant others a reminder of a more infantile period in their lives. Or perhaps the intention was for the recipient to endow the inanimate object with some of the partner’s qualities, so that it could serve as a reminder of the partner when he or she was away…

This was all just conjecture, of course. She’d never quite understood it. Even now that she herself was the recipient of a stuffed animal, she still didn’t understand what she was supposed to do with it.

To be fair, Barry didn’t know that she didn’t particularly care for chocolates or for stuffed animals. But perhaps that was the point—he didn’t know what she liked, and had simply assumed she would enjoy this standard romantic fanfare.

This brought to mind something Hartley had said the other day, about gifts being a reflection of the giver. Irritating as he was, she had to agree with his assessment: These gifts were less a reflection of her than they were a reflection of Barry. They conveyed the sincerity of his intentions well enough, but they also conveyed a startling lack of knowledge of who she was.

Well, not exactly. She did enjoy the sticky notes, and the cactus symbolized an inside joke that only the two of them shared and understood. Everything else, though, puzzled her.

She didn’t want to discard them, because that would mean discarding Barry’s feelings, too. (And, on an aside, Beary seemed to grow cuter the longer she looked at it [him?], which made her more reluctant to discard it [him?]. She made a mental note to Google the evolutionary value of cuteness even in lifeless objects.) But at the same time, the sole function of the rose, the chocolates, and the bear was to convey Barry’s intentions, which had been fulfilled the moment she’d received the gifts. Ergo, she no longer had any use for them. Was she obliged to keep these things around as relics of his affection for her? Then again, she knew that he liked her anyway, so why did she need all these things to remind her of it?

She frowned. She was trapped in a symbolic deadlock. Clearly when she confessed to him she didn’t foresee that things would become this complicated—and this when they weren’t even ‘a thing’ yet…

She sat back to view the gifts on her now-crowded bedside table and considered her situation. The most obvious course of action was to tell him to stop giving her gifts, but she could already tell that it would hurt him. But she also couldn’t think of a nice way to say it. The truth—“Please stop giving me gifts, I appreciate the sentiment but I find them useless” was too harsh, while a white lie like “I don’t have space to put them anymore” was too unconvincing. She could give him a list of what she liked, but she didn’t want to make it seem like she was asking for more gifts. Then again, she could inform him that she simply didn’t make a fuss about gifts, but clearly he made a fuss about gifts, so…

Great, she was back to her earlier deadlock.

Maybe it was time to call a friend. Felicity might know what to do. And, even if she didn’t, she might know how to soften a sentence like “Please stop giving me gifts, I appreciate the sentiment but I find them useless.”

Right, talk to Felicity it was, then.

. . .

On her way out of her room, though, something unusual happened: She bumped into Iris West.

The fact that Iris was here on her floor was already unusual in itself. Iris lived two or three floors above her, and she didn’t seem to have close friends residing on the second floor, so Caitlin had never actually seen her in this hallway.

The second unusual thing was that Iris was alone. Caitlin may have only glimpsed her on campus a few times, but she had no recollection of Iris being alone—she was always either surrounded by her friends from the school paper, or she was with a tall, clean-looking guy—her boyfriend, presumably.

The third unusual thing was that Iris was walking towards her now. Caitlin resisted the urge to look behind her to see if Iris was walking towards someone else, and instead she pasted on a tentative smile, the sort she reserved for people with whom she knew only vaguely, and so wasn’t sure if she should greet or not. If the person noticed the smile and greeted her, she’d return the greeting with relief. But if the person didn’t notice the smile, then she’d look like an idiot, but not as big an idiot as she would have had she uttered an ignored ‘Hi’.

Iris, as it turned out, returned her smile. “Hi, Caitlin,” she said, slowing when she reached her.

A greeting and a slowing down. Clearly she was about to engage her in conversation, but what did Iris have to talk with her about? Did Barry send her to deliver a package, or to do some reconnaissance? But if she was going to do reconnaissance, wouldn’t it be wiser to approach someone closer to her, like Felicity?

“Hi?” Caitlin said.

“I’m glad I caught you on your way out,” she said. “I would’ve messaged you first, but Facebook says you haven’t been online in three days, so…”

“Sorry,” Caitlin said. “I don’t go online often.”

“No, no, don’t apologize,” she said. “I mean, I’m the one asking for your time. Not because I’m spying on you for Barry or anything,” she added hastily. “I just wanted to talk, that’s all. If you’re busy, though, I could—”

“I’m not,” Caitlin said. Her curiosity was sufficiently peaked. “My next class is in two hours. What did you want to talk about?”

“Great,” Iris said. “Could we… talk somewhere more private, like your room? Or my room’s fine, too. Gossip spreads pretty fast around here.”

“My room’s nearer,” Caitlin said. “It’s a bit of a mess, though. Well, Felicity’s side is a bit of a mess, so we could stay on my side…”

They both headed back to her room, and while Caitlin felt like the silence was awkward, Iris seemed completely at ease. She did look out of place in the shabby dorm room—with her red chiffon top, black leather skirt, and knee-high black boots, she looked like she’d stepped out of the pages of Vogue rather than a classroom—but she carried herself with the relaxed confidence of a person who made and followed her own rules.

“I know this is weird,” Iris said, “but Barry has also been acting weird lately, so I felt like I had to do something.”

“Weird, how?” Caitlin said, silently asking Felicity’s permission to borrow her chair. She pulled it up beside hers in front of her desk. She gestured for Iris to sit. “I haven’t known him long, but this”—she pointed to the items on her bedside table—“doesn’t seem too uncharacteristic of him.”

“Yeah, well, that’s true,” Iris said, sitting. From the direction of her gaze, Caitlin noticed the way Iris catalogued details carefully with her gaze: She scanned the usual school supplies on Caitlin’s desk (a plain white mug for writing materials, another one for highlighters, and a tray for bond paper), glanced at the stack of printed journal articles with notes and post-its, and lingered on the books on her shelf—The Double Helix by James Watson, Rosalind Franklin: The Dark Lady of DNA by Brenda Maddox, What Is Life? by Erwin Schrödinger, Einstein’s Dreams by Alan Lightman, and The Man Who Mistook His Wife for a Hat and Other Clinical Tales by Oliver Sacks—all with yellowed pages. Those books were the only memorabilia she kept on her desk.

“Why do I feel,” Caitlin ventured when Iris reached the end of her quick survey, “that you’re already mentally writing profile of me?”

She was aiming to sound amused, and she supposed it succeeded, because Iris gave her a sheepish smile. “Sorry,” she said. “Guilty as charged. Had to convince myself that I’m doing the right thing, and after seeing this”—she gestured to her Spartan desk and the books on display—“and that”—she gestured to her cluttered bedside table—“I’m pretty convinced. I’m guessing—no, I’m one hundred percent sure that you’re not the romantic type.”

“Not at all,” Caitlin said. And then, upon realizing that Iris might report all this to Barry, she added, “I do appreciate the sentiment, though.”

“Right,” Iris said, “but not the gifts.”

“Well…”

“Here’s the thing,” Iris said, sensing her hesitation. “I thought about talking to you back when he pulled that crazy stunt in the middle of the night, but for once, I stopped myself from meddling. Which is difficult for me, since I meddle in other people’s business for a living,” she added with a self-deprecating smile. “But I managed. ‘How bad can it be?’ I thought. ‘Who knows, maybe she likes flowers.’ When he gave you the chocolates, I thought, ‘Okay, fine, maybe she likes chocolates, too. Flowers are tricky, but chocolates are pretty safe. A lot of people are nuts for chocolates.’”

Caitlin was about to say that was nuts for neither flowers nor chocolates, but Iris seemed to be on a roll, so she let her continue.

“But when he gave you that teddy bear”—she gave the poor innocent Beary a dirty look—“and named it after him, that was the last straw. I said to him”—she made the phone gesture with her hand and brought it to her ear—“‘You gave her a teddy bear? Are you crazy? Do you even know if she likes teddy bears?’ and he was like, ‘But teddy bears are cute! Who doesn’t like teddy bears?’ and I was like, ‘Barry, if Eddie’—Eddie’s my boyfriend—‘gave me a teddy bear, I’d either donate it to charity or tell him to return it to the fricking store. Honestly, how old do you think she is? Five?’”

At this, Caitlin couldn’t help smiling. She was starting to like Iris. Iris made sense. “My sentiments, exactly.”

“Shit, I knew it,” Iris sighed. “I should’ve stopped him earlier, but it’s too late now. There’s no stopping him once he gets into planning. Although if it’s any consolation, he hasn’t gone this all-out since… Well, since. And there isn’t even any occasion. Can you imagine what sort of production number he’ll come up with if there is an occasion?”

“I’d really rather not,” Caitlin said, wincing. “If it’s going to involve a grand public display of affection, it’s going to be a nightmare.”

“Not a fan of PDA, huh?” Iris said. “This must be really uncomfortable for you. I mean, people have been talking nonstop about what he’s doing. I’ve lost count of how many times someone came up to me to ask about”—here she made quotation marks in the air—“‘Barry’s new girl.’”

Caitlin must have made a face, because Iris nodded sympathetically and said, “Yeah, I know.  I was ‘Eddie’s new girl’ for some time, too, although for some reason he was never ‘Iris’s new guy.’ Ingrained sexism, that’s what it is. Really subtle, too, and harder to root out, but since women empowerment is having a moment—right, I’m ranting. Sorry. Bad habit.”

“It’s fine,” she said. “I’m used to ramblers.”

“Ranters,” Iris corrected with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to be lumped in the same category as Barry. At least I don’t lose my main point while talking.”

Caitlin smiled. “He is prone to that.”

“Don’t I know it. Sometimes I just tune out until like, three hundred words later, when he finds it again. Come to think of it, I shouldn’t have tuned him out when he was spouting all those nonsense ideas… I might’ve been able to stop him from doing all this…”

“Is there really no way to ask him to stop with the gifts?” Caitlin said tentatively. “The sticky notes are okay, just not… this production number, as you called it.”

Iris paused. “I could try to talk to him again,” she said. “And anyway, isn’t he supposed to be giving you space?”

“Yes, well. Obviously he failed. I even have less literal space in my room now.”

Iris laughed. “That’s true.”

They fell into a brief, comfortable silence.

“Hey, Caitlin,” Iris eventually said, “thanks for being honest. I know it sounds like I’m selling my best friend out, but it’s just, he really likes you, and I don’t want him to screw himself over. He can be really eager, you know? When he’s excited he just jumps into things without thinking. Loses all sense of timing and subtlety, too.”

Iris paused as if debating whether or not to continue, but before Caitlin could come up with a response to fill in the silence, she went on. “His mom and dad were also really big on romance,” she said. “We grew up watching them trying to out-surprise each other on their anniversary and on Valentine’s Day. It was crazy, the things his dad did. Once, he decorated their whole house with flowers, because his mom absolutely adored flowers. This other time, he ordered chocolates from France, Sweden, Belgium—you know, places where those fancy chocolates come from—and made it look like a chocolate buffet from around the world. His mom was like that, too. She used to throw him these themed surprise parties. There was one party where she invited everyone—his former patients, his students, his colleagues from the hospital, his colleagues from whatever medical association he was part of—and she had someone from each group give him a toast. He was so teary-eyed at the end that he couldn’t give a proper thank-you speech.” Iris sighed. “His parents had something really special, you know? Even my dad thought so. Everyone who knew them thought so. The happiest couple in the world, people would call them.”

Caitlin absorbed all this in silence. “He does look like someone who grew up surrounded by that kind of love,” she murmured.

“Yeah,” Iris said, smiling. “He was such a happy kid. Still is, actually. And I think—and this is pure speculation,” she added, “but I think that more than having a great career, more than being rich or famous or successful, more than anything, really, Barry wants what his parents had. I’m not telling you should fulfil that,” she added quickly. “I just want you to understand where he’s coming from.”

“I understand,” she said slowly. “This is a lot to take in, though. I’m the antithesis of that picture of his parents you just described, as you can see.”

Iris laughed. “Yeah, that’s pretty clear to me. And honestly, I don’t think he’ll want you any other way. Just give him time to adjust.”

“Alright,” she said. ��Thank you for… talking to me. To be honest, I wasn’t sure how to proceed with all this.”

“Oh, no problem,” Iris said, waving a hand. “If you need help with Barry—or anything, really—you can message me any time.” She stood up. “Anyway, I should go. You have class, right?”

“In an hour, yes,” Caitlin said, accompanying her to the door.

“Hey, maybe in the future, we could do a double date or something,” Iris said. “You and Barry and me and Eddie. I’ll take you to all the best hole-in-the-wall places. A lot of the owners know me already, so I get discounts, too. It’ll be fun. What do you think?”

Caitlin blinked. “Okay,” she said.

“Great,” Iris smiled and squeezed her arm. Caitlin tried not to shy away from it. “I’ll go talk to Barry before he brews tomorrow’s disaster. See you around, Caitlin.”

When she left, Caitlin returned to her desk. Well. That was strange, but not entirely unwelcome, especially since Iris herself had offered to talk to Barry. She also found herself relieved that she could get along with Iris. She wasn’t exactly the friendliest of people, but Iris had enough friendly in her for the two of them.

“Now,” Caitlin muttered, staring at Beary’s placid smiling face, “what to do with you? You’re going to want to stick around, huh? A real nuisance you are, just like your namesake…”

She stopped abruptly when she realized that she was talking to an inanimate object, and then squinted warily at Beary. She was beginning to be gripped by this whole stuffed-animal craze, and she wasn’t sure what she felt about that…

. . .

“Cait? Hey Cait, bananas!”

Caitlin looked up from her laptop. “What? What’s happening?”

“Ha, got you to look!” Felicity grinned triumphantly. “You ready to sleep? I’m going to kill the lights now.”

Caitlin gave her friend an odd look, but, being used to such antics (or Felicitisms), she merely saved her file and slipped her laptop onto her table. “Yeah, sure.”

The lights went out. Felicity shuffled to her bed, and Caitlin heard her fold her glasses and place them on her bedside table with a soft thunk.

A few moments later, Caitlin ventured, “Hey. Are you sleepy?”

“No, not really.” Felicity turned to face her. Her face was blurry in the moonlight. “Are you?”

“No.” She paused. “Can I ask you something?”

“Yeah, okay. Shoot.”

“Remember that story I told you, the one Iris told about Barry’s parents?”

“Mmm. What about it?”

“It bothers me.”

“Why?”

Caitlin curled further into her side. Had she been talking to Felicity during the day, with Cisco and Jax with them, she might not have said this out loud. But now, wrapped up in her blanket and enveloped by the warm, inviting darkness of their room, filled with the well-worn and well-loved things they had shared for over two years, Caitlin felt brave enough to be vulnerable.

“He wants a happy ending,” she said. “I’m clearly not his happy ending. He needs someone who can match his… exuberance, I guess. His generosity. Someone who’ll give him what his parents had. I don’t think I can. I don’t think I’m capable of it.”

“You don’t know that,” Felicity said. “You haven’t even started dating yet.”

“I think that’s the point. We haven’t started dating yet and we’re already incompatible,” she said. “At first, I thought admitting my feelings was a bad idea because I didn’t want to get hurt, but now I think it’s a bad idea because I don’t want him to get hurt. I don’t want to disappoint him.”

“Ah,” Felicity said. “So you don’t think you’re good enough for him?”

“Well,” Caitlin exhaled, “more like I’m not right enough for him.”

“Yeah, I get that. I still feel that way with Oliver sometimes, you know.”

“You do?”

“Yeah. Well, we haven’t been together for long, but still. I was terrified, remember? And you were terrified for me, too. Told me that if I had any common sense, I’d walk away from him right this instant, before things got too serious.”

Caitlin smiled. “Fortunately for Oliver, you had zero common sense.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Sometimes, when I’m with him and I’m feeling really happy, I get hit by sheer panic. Like, I start thinking, It’s impossible for anyone to be this happy. He’s going to cheat on me one day, or else he’ll get bored with me and break up with me… Oh my God, if he does, I’ll never find someone like him again, I’ll never be this happy again… and so on.”

“You still think about that?” Caitlin said, incredulous. “Have you seen the way Oliver looks at you? When you’re in the room he literally cannot focus on anything else.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said, with a modest shrug, “but I guess sometimes we sabotage our own happiness.”

Caitlin moved to lie on her back. “I think I’ve felt what you’ve felt with Oliver,” she said quietly. “I just feel… so light with Barry. Or happy, I suppose. I’m not sure. But I know that when I’m with him, I don’t want the moment to end. And when I saw him with Patty—I told you about that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“When I saw him with Patty, I was devastated. But there was this small part of me that was almost… gleeful about it. It’s hard to explain, but that part of me seemed to be saying, You knew this would happen. You were right, he’ll never like you. Good thing you didn’t get too attached.”

“Yeah, I get that,” Felicity said. “Sometimes I hear that voice in my head, too.”

“Why does it do that?” Caitlin said, confusion and frustration seeping into her tone. “Why does our mind do that? Why is it that when we’re happy, our first instinct is to be skeptical of happiness?”

Felicity was quiet for a moment. “Maybe our mind is trying to protect us from getting hurt,” she said. “Maybe we only open a little part of ourselves up to happiness so that when it leaves, it doesn’t take all of us with it.”

Her words sank into the darkness of the room.

“Or, wait, no,” Felicity said. “If Oliver… breaks up with me, yeah, I’ll be devastated, and I’ll probably cry for days, and the part of me that was only me around him will be gone. But I don’t think that means I’m less of a person if he leaves. I won’t be left with like, only a few pieces of my heart or something. Pretty sure I’m stronger than that.”

“You definitely are.”

“Thanks,” her friend said, smiling. “So I guess what I’m trying to say is... we try to protect ourselves from that one painful moment we think we won’t be strong enough to withstand. For me it’s Oliver breaking up with me for whatever reason. For you it’s disappointing Barry. And we sort of obsess over it, that painful moment, because we want to do anything to prevent it. And when we do that we forget to enjoy whatever’s happening now. Or that even if that moment does happen, we can and will survive it.”

“Like having tunnel vision,” Caitlin murmured. “Being scared of the pain is like having tunnel vision. You stop seeing possibilities around you.”

“Yeah,” Felicity said. “Yeah, something like that.”

“You’re saying that I should give this thing with Barry a real chance, aren’t you?”

Felicity grinned. “I’m saying that, or you are?”

“Touché.”

“I’m not saying it’ll be easy,” she said. “You guys have a lot to talk about. I mean, flowers and chocolates and teddy bears are sweet, but they’re just not your thing.”

“So I heard. Apparently it’s common knowledge for everyone besides him.”

“You’ll think of something,” Felicity said. “I think he’s just excited now so he can’t think straight, but he means well. He really wants to make you happy.”

“I suppose so.”

“And if he can’t see you behind all those romantic notions of his, believe me, I’ll be the first one to tell you to stop trying.”

Caitlin gave her friend a smile. “Thanks.”

There was a lull in the conversation.

“Think we should go to sleep now?”

“Yeah, we probably should,” Felicity said, pulling her blankets to her chin. “Oh, before I forget, Oliver says thanks for the Smirnoff.”

“Tell him he’s welcome.”

“You traitors,” Felicity yawned. “Scheming behind my back.”

“Good night to you too, Felicity.”

Her friend smiled and buried her face in her pillow. “Good night, Cait.”

[ghostsandskulls68]

The Adventures of Red & Jesse- Chapter 5

Hello! Back again with another chapter for y’all! Hope you guys enjoy!

Characters: Red (OC), Negan, Simon, Dwight

Summary: Red begins his training and duties as Negan’s helper at Sanctuary. A week passes and Negan decides its time to go on an inspection run.

A New Beginning-Ch. 5: Initiation, Part 2 (The Fighter)

-Red returns to his room. He sits and lays back on the bed, Negan's words still ringing in his head.-

Negan: (Get nice and rested...cause tomorrow I'm gonna put you through the wringer.)

Red: The wringer, huh? Looks like he's gonna get tough on me...I’m actually kind of nervous. (Takes a deep breath and exhales)

-Red relaxes on the bed and closes his eyes. The hours pass. He’s awoken by the sound of heavy knocking on his door. A voice calls out.-

Negan: (from the outside) Rise-N-Shine boy! Time to get started!

-Red sits up and walks to the door. Negan flashes a smile at him and chuckles.-

Negan: Ho ho! Dressed to go already? Good. Grab your blades. Let’s get started.

-Red nods and obediently grabs his pouches. They walk out back to the warehouse where Negan puts Red through vigorous physical tests ranging from simple push-ups and sit-ups to sparring with other Saviors. The first day turned into three days. The days turned into a week. Each day Red would get up and push himself to his limits and afterwards, he would spar with several other Saviors who took a quick liking to him. Today he was standing toe to toe with Dwight, who swings at Red. Red dodges him and catches Dwight off guard with a right hook. Dwight retaliates and hits Red on the right side of his face, cutting his cheek. A little blood runs down. Red loved it. Felt just like home again.-

Red: (spits) Nice one, Spearhead. Thought I felt it tickle.

Dwight: Don’t mock me with your nicknames, kid!

-They resume fighting. Other men yell and clamor as Negan stands in the distance, watching and grinning wide. Red punches Dwight two more times before he counterattacks and punches Red two hard times in the stomach. Red falls down on one knee. The men yell loudly.-

Dwight: What’s it take for you to (kicks Red hard) STAY DOWN...huh?!

Red: (groans) Fuck...what’re you? Size 10? 11?

-Dwight gets ready to kick him again but Red catches his ankle and flips him on his back. He climbs on top and hits him twice in the stomach just as he did to Red earlier. As he does, one of the men walks in and begins to count down. Dwight struggles to get up but Red pins him down.-

Savior: 1...2...3...4...

Dwight: I can still...(strains) Fuck!

Savior: 5...6...7...8...

Red: (Please stay down this time...I’m runnin’ on fumes...)

Savior: ...9...10!! D’s out! Red wins!!

-The men cheer loudly. Red sighs in relief and let’s go of Dwight. He tries to help him to his feet but Dwight pushes his hand away.-

Dwight: I don’t need your help!

Red: Damn. Sore loser.

-Dwight stands up and grabs his shirt. The men pat him on the back and talk to Red a little before Negan walks forward, tapping his bat against the fence.-

Negan: You get better every day! I like your progress!

-He grabs Red’s face and looks at his scrapes and bruises.-

Negan: Got ya pretty good didn’t he? (Chuckles) C’mon. Let’s get ya down to Carson.

-Red grabs his shirt and walks with Negan down to Dr. Carson. They walk inside and Red sits on the table.-

Negan: You know the deal, Doc. Get him cleaned up, blah, blah, blah, send him back when he’s done.

-Negan walks out and Carson walks to Red.-

Dr. Carson: Well what’s the damage this time?

Red: Oh you know...the usual face lacerations, one on the right side is pretty deep but good.

Dr. Carson: How you have been in here almost everyday for a week is beyond me.

Red: Sorry, Doc. Just comes with the territory. OW!

Dr. Carson: Sorry...just so it doesn’t get infected. (Places a bandage on Red’s face) And good as...well...

Red: It’s alright. My face is gonna be purple for a while.

-As Red stands up, Dwight walks in.-

Dwight: Doctor, I....oh.

Red: Don’t worry, Spearhead. I was just leaving.

Dwight: (grits his teeth) What’d I say about calling me that?

Dr. Carson: Easy, D. C’mon.

-Red slyly grins and walks out of the room. He walks upstairs to Negan’s room. He opens the door and walks to the man sitting at his couch.-

Negan: Well that was an impressive cage-match. Did you always know how to fight like that?

Red: Kind of. My uncle ran a boxing club years ago...plus got into a lot of trouble in high-school because these guys kept fucking with me and my family.

Negan: I understand. (Grins and stands up) So...are you feeling sore? After the week I’ve put you through?

Red: I feel...rejuvenated. And loose...like I feel like a new person.

Negan: A new person eh? Heh heh...well...there’s one little thing I have to ask you as a “new person”...and I don’t want an answer right away...just something for you to roll around in your head...

Red: Y-yes sir. Ask me anything.

Negan: (his face turns into a cold stare) Who are you?

Red: I’m R-

Negan: NOT...right now...like I said...think it over a little bit.

Red: A-Alright.

Negan: Now! Let’s go...you and I are goin’ on a little field trip. You ready to learn more about us?

Red: Yes sir. I am.

Negan: Good. Meet me down at the docks in 15 minutes.

Red: Yes sir.

-Red stands and exits the room. He walks downstairs toward the docks area. He waits by a black truck for a few minutes before Negan comes along, talking to a man no older than him. They walk to Red.-

Negan: Lets get movin’...oh! (Looks to the man) Simon, this is Red. (Looks to Red) Red, this is Simon.

-The two shake hands.-

Negan: Simon’s my right-hand man. If you need anything and I’m nowhere, he’s your guy.

Red: Hello sir.

Simon: Oh Negan’s been talking up a storm about you. (Looks at the bandage on Red’s face) Says you have a knack for bare knuckle boxing.

Red: Well I don’t like to brag...(grins)

Negan: Hahaha...oh I think Mr. Red is gonna fit in just fine. Well now...(Looks to Red again) You and I are gonna follow Simon here to one of the newer outposts and do some inspections. Get it nice and ready to be occupied. Think you can handle it?

Red: You got it.

Negan: Heh...good. (Opens the truck door) Climb in.

-Red gets inside the truck and Negan starts the engine. Simon gets in his truck and they drive off toward the outpost. Red looks out of the window, scanning the area, Negan smiles having seen him. After a while, they arrive at a crude bunker-like building. Simon exits the truck. Negan and Red follow suit.-

Simon: We have some guys coming tomorrow with supplies. Today I was just going to clean up around here...(Looks to Red) You think you can handle helping me out?

Red: Mr. Simon, cleaning Walkers is second-nature to me.

Simon: We’re not just lookin’ for Walkers...we’re checking for EVERYTHING...Walkers, animals...squatters...anything.

Red: I understand.

-Simon walks ahead and opens the main door, Negan and Red close behind him. Simon takes a flashlight and goes left and Negan follows. Red hears a crash.-

Red: I’m going right...

Negan: No! Stick together...it’ll be-...

-Negan turns around and sees Red has gone on his own.-

Negan: Fuck.

-He turns around and pursues Red. Meanwhile, Red makes his way down the dark hallways, slowly walking forward.-

Red: (Damn...should’ve brought a light...)

-He extends a hand until he feels the wall and filled it until he feels a door and turns the handle. He walks into the dark room and feels for a switch for the light. He flips it and is tackled to the ground by an unknown man who pins him down.-

Man: Who the hell are you?!

Red: I could...(strains)...ASK...you the same!

Man: How’d you find this place?! How many of you are there?!

Red: This is a bunker...I was just inspecting it to be functional again. I’m alone.

-As he finishes, Negan calls down the hallway.-

Negan: (Distantly) Red! Where are you, boy?!

Man: (glares down at Red) Liar! Now I gotta kill all of you.

Red: Well so much for the element of surprise...

-Red suddenly jerks his body side to side to make the man lose his balance. As he does, Red kicks him off and punches the man in his face a few times. The man rushes Red once more, knocking him into a metal wall. In the hallway, Negan hears the echo and calls to Simon.-

Negan: Simon! Red’s in trouble! This way!

-Negan sprints down the hall toward the sound and Simon follows.-

Negan: (Dammit kid...I’m comin’!)

[End]

@jessegoesrawr1000times @jdmfanfiction @i-am-negan-trash @negans-network @the-negan-fic-club

[hollywoodx4]

Sticking With the Schuylers (49)

It’s here, I finished! Thanks for your patience, this one is an emotional burden, and honestly took a lot of time. But hello to all of  the new readers! I’ve been watching the notifications (thanks for liking, by the way) so thankful that you guys have given this long ass story a chance. This series is my entire heart, so thank you. I appreciate every like, comment...everything. 

1  2  3  4   5   6   7   8   9   10   1112   I  13  14   15   16   17   18A  18B   18C  I 19   20   21   22   23   24   25  26   27  28   29   I  30  31  32 33 34  35  36  37 38  39 40  41  42 I 43  44  B  45 46  47 48

Tagging: @linsnavi  @workworkbae​ @adothoe @oosnavi​

Warnings: This story is pretty heavy on mentions of both physical and emotional abuse.

“Schuyler Liar? A look into the life, love, and lies of America’s middle daughter.”

Social media was buzzing with a flurry of mixed emotions when James Reynolds, political hopeful, admitted the rekindling of his relationship with Elizabeth Schuyler. The two had called it quits in March based on terms James “couldn’t and still can’t understand.” In September, in flooded news of a new romance for the middle Schuyler. And in November, those rumors were confirmed. From there, Shuyler’s social media has been dotted with photos of herself and Alexander Hamilton, a fellow student at Columbia University. But even these photos, beautifully presented have raised a lot of speculation. The main question? Is Elizabeth Schuyler really dating this poise-less immigrant? Sources have been back and forth on this argument from the day Eliza herself confirmed it. And Mystery Man? His private Instagram has recently been made public, his follower count raising by the thousands.

               But is this all just a publicity stunt? Reynolds says yes. According to an anonymous source, the two have started dating again. And Hamilton? A front. But other sources say that these allegations are also false. And at the center of it all? A red-handed Schuyler, caught in the act of serial dating. All three parties refused to comment on these accusations, Reynolds offering only “If it’s true, if she’s dating someone else, I don’t know what I’ll do. That would break me, I think.”

               What do you think? We think that someone has some major explaining to do.

___

               Madness is a murky pond; stagnant and still, a breeding ground for new life that isn’t quite wanted. The lurking of bacteria within that pond presents itself as a tightened stomach, nerves that roll and flip and eat at the soul. It’s the disguise of something simple that sparks the nerves, paranoia consuming the murky waters until they bubble over with the addition of new rainfall. But this is rain that falls heavy, with gale-force winds and storms that shake the land around her. This madness is a pond wracked by fallen branches. It’s a rain that will not cleanse.

               Eliza spends a majority of her time in a state of busyness; the winter has brought along a lot of busywork she isn’t prepared for. The holiday season, and then Alex’s birthday, had come and gone so quickly that her course work piled up. Now, she sits on it-or, within the depths of it. With a full backburner of work, Eliza finds herself in a state of uncommon disarray; her hair in a messy bun, the canvas bag she uses to tote things back and forth now cluttered with a collection of her week’s discarded items. Empty gum wrappers crinkle as she gets out a book, the floor receiving a coating of glitter from an art project she’d lead in an Early Childhood class. Among these things, charcoals and pens that have lost half their volume, shortened by a newfound flaring of emotions she’s unable to convey through any other means.

               Then, the white journal that Lisa had given her. She’d been asked to use it frequently, with assignments and with the use of another outlet. It’s supposed to help, to clear her mind and give her something to keep herself busy, and grounded to reality. So far, her work had spanned from a quote written in neat handwriting over the front cover (which she’d spent far longer on than necessary) to the first page, which she’d covered in Polaroid photos and similarly picturesque captions. Everything reads sweet, docile. She uses pastel pens and watercolor paints in this book, which she’d presented proudly to Lisa the next session.

               “It looks very well put-together.” She’d turned the journal over in her magenta manicured hands, considering it with a nod and half of a smile before returning it to Eliza’s waiting hands. “Soon, we’ll work on pulling you away from that.”

               Lisa does a lot of half-smiling in the weeks that pass; Eliza’s journal does not get filled, nor does what has been put inside encompass a stitch of her therapist’s expectations. Each week she presents it like a master chef showing off his greatest dish, and each week Lisa nods. She takes notes. She fills up the legal pad she’d opened when they’d first started working together and immediately opens a new one. Her hand can’t seem to stop during their sessions, where Eliza fills Lisa in on her week in broken up fragments, bits and pieces she tosses in to fill the awkward silence.

               “Are you ready to talk about the journaling?”

               Eliza shakes her head.

               “I’m working on it.”

                 Thursday morning has Alexander practically bursting through the door of Starbucks, scanning the tables and couches until he finds her in the back, scribbling in a white book in an enclosed area of the room. He ducks past a line that swivels out the door, grabbing the espresso-laden drink John had made ahead before sinking into the seat across from his girlfriend.

               Eliza doesn’t look up. Her eyes are glued to her book, her hand frozen in time. He clears his throat. She takes in a soft breath, just enough of a clue for Alexander to know that she hasn’t died right there on the unsteady corner table. He presses, saying her name again in a soft and gentle sort of tone before her head snaps up from her work. Eliza’s hands are shaking when she brushes the loose strands of hair from her face, combing it between her fingers before her long, dark locks fall over one shoulder. She tips her head in the opposite direction, leaning over the table for a kiss.

               “How’s work?”

               “Good, I wish I could go in and finish filing those papers though.”

“Does your boss have another stupid, weird task for you to do today? Dusting the ceilings of his office, getting his mail from the P.O box?”  Alex turns his head slightly, subconsciously.

“Liza, it’s Thursday…I have off. We always meet here on Thursdays because of that, before my 7 a.m?”

“You’re right,” She shakes her head. “This whole change of schedule thing is really killing me, I only knew what day it was when I had to say it during morning lesson.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t stay over last night; our whole electric bill problem? Insane. They had to take the phone from me. Apparently I’m not as calm under pressure as Laff is.”

“You? Stressed? Never.”

She laughs, then, tucks her hair behind her ear again. There’s a crack; somewhere, within the smile that’s not quite hers and the shaking hands that bring a hot cup to peach colored lips. She’s not present in the writing upon it-Soy caramel latte, espresso- that’s not quite right, or in the way that her feet swing slightly under the table. He reaches over to take one of her hands, hold it in his.

“Eliza,” He can only say her name at first, stuck between her eyes and the half of her smile with a gentle sort of unease, one that hits him with only the smallest wave of rolling-stomach nerves. “Are you alright?”

One hand squeezes his. The other cups his face, thumb rolling off of freshly trimmed stubble that bristles as she touches it. She brings her lips to his cheek, lets them linger before releasing herself. There is just enough space between her lip and his cheek for air to pass through, and she speaks to him in a reserved, dulcet sort of tone before kissing him one last time.

“I’m fine.”

His nerves had always been overactive anyway.

                  Emptiness would have been a better companion than this-hell, it had been for a very long time. The more time she spends with Lisa, and on her work, the more she feels the progression of the inevitable collapse. She had been warned. Multiple times, Lisa had taken stock of their conversations and attempted to bring up the change in emotions that would come with the sudden release of what she’d been repressing. Eliza had brushed it off, told Alex and Angelica and Peggy to ignore the words. She’s always been the face of positivity. In a storm, she’s that first heart-stopping breakthrough of a lighthouse’s illuminating guidance.

               She doesn’t feel much like a lighthouse anymore.

               With each passing day; with the conversation crawling deeper, and the darkness cracking through its long-housed hiding place, Eliza feels like she’d like to hide as well. So she does. She fills her schedule with meaningless tasks, highlighted and underlined as if their significance is related to anything but her gradually fraying mental state. There is suddenly too much, yet not enough. Not enough work, not enough of a responsibility outside of herself to maintain. But this state of being is different, trapped between the living and the successful and those just barely scraping by. On any given day these feelings create a dissonance that wracks Eliza’s body with sickness and sucks away the hope. The confidence of success; of receiving a good grade, or reading a positive article written about her (finally, because these are now dwindling), makes her heart soar. But in that same note, that same day, the churning storm that hovers over her soul continues its darkness, takes that lightness and positivity away in one greedy draining of shining water from her shoreline.

               “I need you to think about this for a moment, Eliza.”

               She runs a lot; three miles, then five, and suddenly her feet are pounding against concrete and her heart against her chest and the ten mile mark rolls around and finally, finally, she can’t feel a single thing except the exhaustion that weighs on her bones and the sweat that drips down her nose. It cakes her face in moisture that blends itself with the salt-ridden drops that come from her eyes, osmosis implementing a perfect disguise. There’s a track her feet beat along the pavement; the heat of her frustration could melt the perfection of that shoveled, blackened tar, create craters of catharsis that don’t quite reach high enough into her mind to ebb her issues completely. There aren’t enough hours in the snow-ridden days, aren’t enough degrees on the thermometer to cure everything. She runs anyway. She runs until her cheeks are bitten red with cold, until the snow has penetrated black sneakers and wool-thick socks.

               It feels amazing in the moment. In the moment, with the span of a sparsely populated Central Park is lain out in front of her, Eliza is able  to clear everything else away. There is nothing but the bitter air and her hot breath, rhythmic and visible against the continually grey sky. At first, it’s as if every blog she’d been combing through held a truth comparable to her own; running truly is the best therapy, the curative she’d been looking for all along. It’s a stronger prescription than a silly white journal, or even the sketchbook under her mattress. For Eliza, running is the best therapy until her feet no longer hit the pavement.

               Everything shatters when she enters her apartment again, strips off her sweat-ridden clothes and lets her body adjust to one simultaneous temperature. Without the biting wind or the surroundings of the busy city to distract her, the perfect solution she’d read and prescribed herself to so intensely becomes nothing but an illusion. There is no change in her soul, which is riddled with a hot-breath-in-February swirling, a smoke-and-mirrors game just teasingly perfect enough to hold an addictive property. When she’s home, when her feet are given their long begged-for respite, Eliza wants nothing more than to beat them up again. A shockwave of pain begins to pound up her leg, to knees that pinch and pop in protest. Her soul begs her to continue anyway, to carry on this bodily abuse if only for the temporary relief of her soul.

…

               “I have something to tell you.” Eliza’s soft hum is her response, and she stirs the pot on the stove in concentration. The strain in Angelica’s voice is evident, yet hidden. The wood flooring knocks beneath what Eliza envisions as her sister shifting her weight from foot to foot, focused-or hesitating. She guesses the latter when Angelica lets out a long, drawn-out sigh.

               “You know I love you more than anything else.”

               “Yeah…”

               “And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what,”

               “Did John propose? Because I know you weren’t into that idea but if he did,” She can feel the roll of Angelica’s eyes before she sees it, stops herself mid-sentence and turns back to her work. There is an air about the room, an air between them that Eliza cannot decipher. It is not the golden, shimmering playfulness they’d had as kids, or when Peggy is with them and they’re hit with the freedom to spend the day together. It isn’t the air of purple guidance, a soothing lavender brushing against her porcelain skin when Eliza wasn’t sure if she was going to get into Columbia. It isn’t even the placid sort of mocha, comfort and a coffee shop warmth in just being together. This is something new altogether, a flickering orange that stops and starts itself as Angelica moves herself to stand next to Eliza at the counter. It moves up and down that orange spectrum just slightly as Angelica fidgets; taps her foot, puts a hand on the knob of the stove. It’s in her breathing, slightly irregular, and the press of her darker hand against her middle sister’s.

               “Back in September, I applied for an intensive study abroad program in England. It would mean that I could get my double major completely done instead of having to come back to Columbia next year. I could be in a law firm at the start of next year. I could be heading protests, working with the Association for Women’s Rights in Development. Do you know how many job opportunities are right in this city, how many lives I could change?”

               “So you applied.”

               “I got in.” She nearly whispers the words, as if they are a secret so precious that she must keep them close to her chest. She breathes in, a great upheaval of emotions, before a wide and exuberant grin shift her mature, more collected features. It is a resounding firework of bliss and unfiltered pride that buries itself into Eliza’s stomach, and she begs her own lips to turn up in a congratulations she can barely manage.

               “I’m so happy for you,” this is honest. Her mind repeats the words, holds on to them as her older sister runs through the details with a fine-toothed comb, explaining the process of application and sorting through the emotions that had been running through her head.

               “When I got that letter, I just-I didn’t want to tell you. I didn’t know what to do. It’s been a crazy month going back and forth, and John wasn’t happy with me for a really long time. But this is so important to him, and Peggy agreed that it wasn’t fair that you didn’t know, and,”

               “Wait, Peggy knows?”

               “Yeah…yeah, I told her when the letter came in, back when I told mom and dad and they were being crabby about my going across the country with John, as if we haven’t been dating our entire lives.”

               “Oh.” It’s all she can muster. She turns back to the stove, where the soup has begun to bubble up rapidly from the lack of attention she has paid it. Eliza turns the burner down, focuses the turn of her stomach and the prickling of tensed nerves on the stirring of the liquids in the pot.  She pictures her oldest sister, her source of guidance, spending a semester away from her in England. The grin that had encompassed her face, the one that had seemed so different on her typically composed features that would be a common occurrence at Oxford. John had always wanted this, Angelica had pretended not to. Eliza feels the tears before they come, attempts to blink them away.

               It seems silly to cry over something as simple as this; Angelica deserves this happiness, this time apart from the chaos that is erupting. And Eliza is nothing but willing to give it all to her. If it had been her choice, if Angelica had come to her first, she would have sent her on that plane instantly. No matter what. There is a piece of her that realizes that. Angelica moves to hold her, to turn off the burner and wrap her in her arms.

When they were younger, when Eliza was scared or hurt or unable to sleep, she’d crawl under the duvet in Angelica’s room. Her older sister would brush her fingers through her silky hair, press their faces close together and hum words of encouragement through the light innocence of a child’s voice speaking a mother’s words. This feels no different; her tears, although they are few from what she can feel, soak through the shoulder of Angelica’s soft purple work blouse. The material is butter in Eliza’s hands, where she keeps them wrapped tight around her sister’s waist. She longs for the darkened silence of her childhood bedroom, where Angelica had been able to keep her safe from everything with just her words. And then, her weakness snaps with the resistance of a rubber band. Heat encompasses the muscles that had relaxed and numbed with sadness. She pushes herself from Angelica’s embrace, her eyes engulfed with the clouds of a storm.

“Why am I the last person you told?”

“Betsy,”

“No, really. Why? Because it’s not like I’m the last place you’ve visited in a day. You got accepted last month. You’ve been hiding this from me for that long. And not everyone, just me.”

“Eliza, you know it’s harder with you. You’re…it’s different. I can’t just up and leave you, I’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

“Why, because I’m fragile? Because I’m broken? I’m not a child anymore, Angelica. I’m doing perfectly fine, and you would know that if you spent more time talking to me than at me. I’m not just some project you can throw yourself into because you’re looking for someone to fix. I’m fine, and I’m tired of being treated like I’m not.”

Angelica, wounded from the verbal bullets her red-eyed sister had aimed her way, takes a step back. She gathers her coat, laces her boots, and stands by the door without a single word. She shakes her head, multiple times, as if the motion is settling the jumbled mass of thoughts and emotions that have clouded her usual judgement. The calm, collected state is gone from her mind, replaced with a form of despair as she looks upon her sister’s cracked frame, which is held together by arms that hug herself tight.

“I’ll call you later.” Angelica’s voice is soft, cracking as she closes the apartment door behind her. And when she does call, over and over, Eliza does not answer.

…

               “Breakthroughs don’t just happen with the bare minimum of work. If you choose to ignore this, the loneliness? It’ll only get worse.”

               …

               Monday brings a missed class, Wednesday a canceled date night. By the time Friday rolls around, Eliza claims sickness and burrows herself in a pile of blankets and tea. She attempts to read, but the words on the page dance and rearrange themselves into situations she remembers only in the faint hours of the night, when there is nothing else to distract her. She watches reality television that holds none of her interest, watching beautifully made-up girls try on wedding dresses and fight with their bridal parties over the pros and cons. First there is a low, one that picks at her brain and forces her to place her head upon these bodies, imagine herself in such a state of bliss. But each time she gets close enough to feeling the light that would allow, it disappears.

               The effects of her current state of emotion are instantaneous, and frightening. Eliza lingers in a limbo between them all with no control, begging her brain for release from the heinous behavior she no longer has the will to contain. She will not answer Angelica’s phone calls. She considers skipping brunch. The thought of socialization hangs heavily, exhaustingly over her head. And when she attempts to write in her white journal, it only intensifies.

               She begins with something simple; his name. She writes it over and over, until her hand has memorized the pattern she had known so well. She presses hard with her pen, then soft. She uses writing delicate as spring, with curly letters and hearts, and next to it places the stark contrast of capital letters and roughly pressed ink. She researches, looks up the origin of his name and laughs when it tells her the meaning ‘to overthrow.’ She’s sure the truth is just a coincidence, that the action of taking over her mind isn’t caused by some stupid website on the internet with little historical citation. Her mind must be playing tricks to consider the fact that this one word is exactly what is happening. But then, Reynolds; a powerful ruler.

               She gives up on her little white journal.

               She shuts herself further into her burrow.

               It is a reluctant Sunday brunch, one which she barely remembers through the closed pieces of her mind and the pushing of her fork over another beautifully done vegetarian dish. Her father prods her, reminds her of the chef’s kindness in remembering her dietary choices after all of these years. It is Peggy who drowns the potatoes and tofu in Sriracha and blocks her nose, playfully mocks her sister’s choice over steak and chicken. Eliza holds herself well enough to bring some of the shining light into the photographs they’re asked to take.

               She falls asleep almost instantly when she gets back to her apartment.

               There isn’t enough time in the day to sleep anymore, not when her dreams are restless, filled with dark hands that press themselves too tight, suffocate her until she wakes in choking agony.

…

               “It is not your fault. You did not choose for this to happen.”

               On Monday, after a full week and a half without seeing Eliza, Alexander picks at the spare key dangling from his keyring. He holds it during class, lets it make indents in his palm until he is sure they will be permanent. Her name rings through his mind for the entirety of the day, until he feels a strong and bubbling nausea rise to his throat.

               He excuses himself from his class half an hour early. He makes it to her apartment in record time.

               She isn’t anywhere to be found, and at first he is thankful; maybe she’s in class, or with Angelica. Maybe she’d decided to take the unseasonably warm day to roam the city instead. But the slight differences within his once home are evident, calling him to search further than the kitchen. There are dishes in the sink, a dishwasher full of dirty ones that hadn’t been run yet. There aren’t any blankets on the couch, but a line of teacups take over the coffee table. The floor crunches with a layer of salty outdoor debris, its origin made clear by the shoes that litter every corner except the empty basket they are supposed to be in. Every blanket in the apartment; the one that used to be on the couch, and the armchair, and even one of his own fleece touristy blanket-they’re all discarded on her bed, crafted into a cocoon worn and wrinkled with use. Laundry litters the floor there, too, as if everything she had said to him about discarding his clothes in the bathroom had been a joke.

               The bathroom-when he approaches the door, there is a light shining through its narrow crack. There is no sound; not from the outside, and not after his entrance is announced with the creak of its hinges. He notices her instantly, the way she sits in the middle of the tiled flooring. She is surrounded by papers, papers covered in blacks and blues that have transferred to her arm. From the tips of her fingers to her elbow she is covered in paint, the substance drying and caking itself, consuming. Her head is bent, legs spread as her body stretches over another recently blank canvas. She paints this one a brilliantly crafted grayscale, one that begins with a single speck of white in the center. From there it is a spiral, a blend of darkness that leads to complete black, darker than night and lining the canvas. It traps the brilliance of the white inside of its spiral, keeps it prisoner within itself. Eliza’s brush moves with delicate, shaking strokes as she perfects the lines  , concentrates and hides behind the thin veil of the unruly waves of her hair.

               He is silent. For a moment, he watches her focus, although he is sure by the slow and unnatural rhythm of her breathing that her focus is drawn to something other than acrylic paints and the storm cloud of paints that decorate her arms. Her silence is broken by a minute sound, a sniff that barely reaches the motion of her body. It is enough; enough to bring him next to her on the floor, the bitter cold of the tile seeping through his jeans. Alexander’s voice is just above a whisper when he holds his hand out, asks if he can use the warmth of his touch to break through the numb, unresponsive state she had holed herself up in.

               When his warmth reaches her back, when his hand rubs small circles and his voice takes the place of the stagnant silence she had been living in for a week, her head falls to the floor. His heart, which had all but stopped upon seeing her so still and silent, cracks and throbs as Eliza’s body shakes. She presses one hand to the floor, hitting the brilliance of her painting without noticing, and uses the last ounce of her strength to pull herself into his lap. One cheek presses into his jeans, which are just beginning to lose the chill of the outside air. He uses both hands to support her now, one on her back and the other in her hair, on her waist. He presses her as close to him as he can, feels the feeble weight of her body lose the last ounce of its strength.

               He does not say anything.

               He doesn’t have to.

               For that singular moment, Eliza presses play on her life.

               Alexander transfers her to her bed, presses a kiss to her forehead and promises to return. He cleans the teacups, washes the dishes and starts the dishwasher. He folds the laundry stuck stagnant in the dryer. He cleans the paintbrushes in the sink, watches the water go from clear to murky black and back again. By the time is done, and he pulls the covers back from her bed, Eliza is asleep in the deconstructed cocoon. Alexander lays beside her, and draws her closer.

               Eliza, for the first time in a week and a half, sleeps through the night.

               “Breakthroughs don’t happen in a night. They take patience, time…they take a hell of a lot of work. But if that work is put in, if pain is felt for just a moment, your life could change.

               Take this journal; I need you to remember, Eliza. I need you to feel.”

[samtheflamingomain]

to care is human

Warning: gruesome descriptions of suicide methods.

So last night I tried to kill myself. Sometimes I wake up knowing it'll be that kind of day, sometimes it creeps up on me. This time was different.

I usually drink a shitload, eat a bunch of sleeping pills and then put a bag over my head and a belt around my neck. It's almost worked a few times, but I usually wake up with a hole in the bag and a terrible headache.

I can't really do that anymore; I can tell it's causing actual brain damage, and I also don't have more than a few sleeping pills at any given time because my psychiatrist instructed the pharmacy to give me my meds weekly.

I was alright until around 4 when I realized I'd be drinking and that it would make a solid week in a row of drinking. Add in the fact that I just put $1200 of cat surgery on my credit card, and by the time I was gulping down an entire bottle of wine in an hour, I couldn't stop thinking about all the things that stress me out. I have no money. I hate working. I have no parents. I can’t stop drinking. I have to start working more hours.

I didn't wait long enough after the wine before going to the bar. It was another few beers before it hit me HARD. It takes A LOT for me to feel drunk; I've gotten used to drinking 10 beers to feel tipsy, so I was surprised to be genuinely drunk. Wanting that to continue, I kept at ‘er.

This is a pretty odd story, and I don't remember everything that happened but here's a self-indulgently-long description of it anyway:

I go to the bar after the wine and have about 8 beers (they have a non-standard "mini-pitcher" you can buy, maybe the equivalent of like 3.5 beers?) and I'm talking to another regular who's been trying to get rid of her last kitten for a while. I've always loved this kitten and have considered taking him in for a while now.

So Fran says, "Hey, wanna come over and see him?" and drunk me was like "Fuck yeah, kitties!"

We take a cab to her place, I ogle some felines, then had to walk home. I'm guessing I left her place at around midnight. Why am I guessing? Wellll...

My phone was dead, as I discovered trying to figure out how to get home from her place. I had no idea where I was.

I live at the edge of a very large neighbourhood with a lot of winding, twisting roads. I walked for hours in the freezing cold, crying, stumbling over drunk. I remember laying in grass at some point(s?) and also concrete.

And I remember far too vividly crawling from the sidewalk out to the road and laying down.

I laid there for what felt like hours, screaming at approaching vehicles, "FUCKING KILL ME!" as I bawled my eyes out. None did. Obviously.

I remember distinctly being stood up by a paramedic and escorted into an ambulance. The first thing I said was, "Great, another $40 I can't afford."

I was barely able to give the paramedics answers. I don't remember getting out or how I ended up sleeping on a hospital bed in the mental illness waiting area.

I was woken up at 4 in the morning by a crisis worker. She said "sounds like you had a bad night?" No fuckin shit.

Well, I'm not new to this rodeo. I don't remember much of what was said, but she discharged me as soon as we were done. I have a horrible, infected scrape on my hand that is putting me out of commission at work for at least a week. I can hardly move my hand or lift anything. They tell me to go to a walk-in-clinic.

Buses don't start till 7 on weekends, so I went for my phone to call an Uber. And that’s when I discovered a shitty Android-shaped hole in my pocket.

That's right, for those of you keeping score at home, that's two, count 'em, TWO phones I've lost in the last 4 months! How will he lose the next one??? Vote NOW!!

Anyway, I call a cab from the hospital, get home at around 5, message my coworkers that I can't come in to work, then pass out till 10, the exact time I was supposed to start work. I fire up the ole' Book of Faces and find that the shift has been covered.

I go buy a new phone and (attempt) to go to a clinic for my hand. Literally every clinic in this city is closed because of the stupid long weekend. I was exhausted so I didn't bother going back to the hospital for a scrape.

Then something weird happened. I realized that people actually care. Let me explain.

I fucked up the schedule at work this week by having to take my cat to the vet on Tuesday. I felt HORRIBLE about missing another shift, especially two in one week, and especially because this time it was my own damn fault.

It gets worse. When I was told that the shift had been covered, I wasn't told that it was being covered by Rob, who closed last night (a 4-12 shift). Running on 3 hours of sleep, he came in at 10 and is still there now. He'll be there till 12 again.

So now I feel even more horrible. Dude is working 22 hours in 2 days because of me*.

*Not quite - I'll get to that in a bit.

Without a phone to call my best friend, I felt very lonely when I got home from the hospital. I was still able to talk to my other friend from the States, though, and this is an important difference.

When I try to kill myself and tell Connor after the fact, he rarely reacts. (If I'm on the phone threatening to do it he's much more involved and often talks me down). But with Danny instead, who was extremely worried, I finally felt like someone actually cared after the fact. 

Everyone will care before because death is scary. Few people care after because living is boring.

Danny wasn't the only one. I didn't realize it at the time because I was still a little out of it but when I told my coworker I wouldn't be able to come in, I told her why. I didn't mean to.

She was so understanding about it, told me not to worry, that I could come in for free food if I wanted.

Then, as I began posting on Facebook about my lovely evening, another coworker messaged me - Rob, the one who is a working machine and could probably work 24/7 if necessary. He said he was on a break at Tim Horton's and I should join him.

Kind of worried at this point; I've bailed on 2 shifts in one week, he's got seniority and I singlehandedly* forced him to work a close-to-open-to-close. *Not really. Again, in a minute. Be patient.

To my surprise we just talked, about what happened, about work, about life. At the end of his break he says to come hang out at work.

The concept of "hanging out" coming together with the concept of "work" had never really made much sense to me because I hate working. But I realized that I hate working, not the work itself, not the place and not the people.

So I go to work and... hang out. I try helping when I can but quickly realize my hand is going to be a problem, probably for a very long time. I can't lift much with it and I have a very limited range of motion; it wasn't just due to the scrape, it was also because I'd used it to break a fall. It's not the worst thing, but it does affect nearly every aspect of making pizzas.

Anyway, I shoot the shit with Alycia and Rob and Lily and nobody's mad at me and the store's a mess but it doesn't matter. *And that's when I'm told that 4 people are out of town, and the other morning person wouldn't message back or pick up the phone all day.* It wasn't completely my fault, so I felt a little better.

Then a few things happened.

First, Anthony showed up for his shift at 4. I really like Anthony: he's a hard worker, nice, funny and a little awkward in the same way that I am. Unfortunately, he only works one night a week, and I've only worked with him twice. He talks with Rob as they count the till and I assume Rob's telling him the reason the dough still hasn't been finished at 4pm (me).

Well, he didn't. I take my glove and bandage off my hand to redo it and he goes "Damn, what happened?" I say, "From last night."

"What happened last night?" 

I kind of stare at him for a minute. "Didn't Rob tell you?"

"No, what?"

"I tried to kill myself."

His face falls. I can tell he's starting to wear his awkward face. Many people react differently to this news based on relationship level and experience. When I told Danny, one of my closest friends, he was worried and upset. When I told Anthony, a work acquaintance I barely knew, he had a few moments of awkward "No, hey, that's no good, don't do that" before he suddenly opened his arms for a hug.

I'm a bad hugger. I usually just stand there as the other person does all the hugging. This is because my parents would only ever hug me when they were done yelling at me and had forced me to apologize for something I hadn’t done wrong.

I hugged him back, and I almost started crying. It was the first real hug I'd gotten probably in my entire life. By 'real' I mean for the hugger. He did the socially obligatory thing of pretending suicide isn't as serious as it is before he couldn't keep the charade up. That part of the reaction wasn't real. The hug was real.

Anyway. As Anthony arrives, Alycia leaves. As she's waiting by the door for her ride, she says lots of stuff people say to the suicidal, and also indicates that her boyfriend and herself have had their share of mental illness.

Then she tells me that her second cousin commited suicide. She says he did it because he thought no one would care. "It was sixteen years ago and the family has never been the same. People care. We would all care."

I'd heard it a thousand times before but never really believed it, either because it was being said by someone who probably wouldn't care after a week, or because it's said by someone who is socially obliged to at least pretend to care, so I assume they are just pretending.

But between Danny, a close friend but whom I've never met in person, and my coworkers, who, until now, I wouldn't have called friends at all, I feel like I've "realized" that people really do care.

Something I've never really felt before. Thanks, parents.

Anyway, long story, I know, but a happy-ish ending? Who knows. Still pretty fucking depressed but not suicidal. I don’t know if this will prevent me from trying again, but it might, and that’s better than nothing.

Stay Greater.

[lastbluetardis]

Perfect Match (20/22)

This was inspired by this post about soulmates, and after @quite-right-too requested someone write it. I am going to try and write a little bit of this every week and track them through childhood and into teenage years and eventual adulthood.

Thank you very much to @chocolatequeennk​​ for listening to me pitch ideas and for offering her opinions and ideas.

Ten x Rose, Soulmates AU

Chapter Rating: Explicit (one scene about half way in)

James grew up hearing the legends of soulmates. How two—or three or four or however many—people could find each other by writing messages to each other on their skin, and he spent much of his time imagining himself with a soulmate, someone who would be his perfect match.

AO3 | TSP | FF

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Part 16 | Part 17 | Part 18 | Part 19 | Part 20 | Part 21 | Part 22

James’s panting breath tickled against her neck, sending delicious shivers down her spine. Rose could feel his heartbeat thumping against her back, spooned as they were, and she wriggled closer to his warmth, feeling pleasantly drowsy with the sudden rush of endorphins brought on by their lazy morning lovemaking.

Now that they’d finally leapt over that last hurdle of intimacy, they couldn’t seem to get enough of each other.

“I don’t know how I’ll ever let you leave our bed,” Rose murmured, grimacing slightly when she felt him slip out of her. “I love making love with you.”

James hummed happily and brushed his lips across shoulder.

“So do I.” He continued planting soft kisses to whatever patch of skin he could reach until a low gurgling noise soon interrupted them.

“And as much as I’d love to stay in bed with you all day,” James lamented, “I’m starved.”

Rose giggled and kicked her legs free of their blankets before standing on slightly unsteady legs.

“Right, I’m going to shower,” she said, and she suppressed a shudder of desire when she saw how dark his eyes had gotten as they trailed across her naked body. “Oi. Quit ogling. Food. Breakfast. Go make.”

James growled and bounced out of bed after her, and pulled her tight along the length of his body. Rose was pleasantly surprised when she felt him twitching in renewed interest against her hip. Insatiable.

“Food can wait,” he mumbled, crashing his lips to hers in a heated kiss, so very different from the ones he’d woken her up with. “Got a nice, new, big shower. We ought to test it out together, don’t you think?”

“Nutter,” Rose said fondly, gasping when he bit down on the sensitive skin at the join of her neck and shoulder.

“Your nutter,” he said distractedly as he continued to scrape his teeth against her skin. “Another first for us to tick off the list: showering together.”

oOoOo

Over the next few weeks, when James and Rose weren’t exploring their newfound intimacy, they were continuing to shop for various accessories to make their flat homier. They found curtains and decorations and smaller shelving units to help de-clutter the rooms in the flat, and with every passing day, it became more and more like home. And finally, the end of August came, and it was time for school to start.

“Ready for your first day of classes, love?” James asked as he poured them both tea.

“Yep,” she said, but James could hear the nerves in her voice.

“You’ll be brilliant,” James assured, plopping down in his seat. He reached out and covered her foot with his.

“Any last-minute advice?” she asked weakly.

“Be yourself, use office hours,” James said, ticking them off on his fingers. “Oh! Find a buddy or two in all of your classes. Forming a study group will help you all succeed in the class. School is much more fun when you surround yourself with people who are invested in learning, and not in just getting good grades. And honestly, the first few days, you don’t do much.”

Rose nodded and swiped her thumb across the lip of her mug.

A half hour later, she was walking hand in hand with James across campus to her first class of the day, a composition and rhetoric class.

“Don’t be nervous,” he said, squeezing her hand. He brought their hands to his lips and brushed soft kisses across her knuckles. “You’re brilliant. Let’s meet for lunch once you’re done for the day. There’s a little café on the science side of campus. We can make that our lunchtime hangout spot, if you want?”

Rose giggled at James, knowing he was rambling to help calm her worries, and she appreciated that.

Though it turns out, she had no reason to worry. She took a shine to university life, like James knew she would, and quickly made friends with half of her classmates, also like James knew she would. Nobody could meet Rose Tyler and not immediately be smitten, and he was smugly proud that this woman was destined for him, out of everyone else in the universe.

The first half of the semester flew by, and Rose was quite ready for the midterm break. She used the extended weekend to catch up on sleep and a few projects she had been neglecting, and she wished James could have done the same. But because he didn’t take classes, he didn’t follow the same academic calendar she did, and he continued to pull long hours in his lab.

There were often days where the only time Rose saw him was when they were in bed together, and even then, it’s hard to socialize with a sleeping person. He made it a point to keep the weekends lab-free, though, and even if he had work to do, he did it in the flat. Rose was thankful for those hours on the weekends she could spend with him.

One morning in the middle of October, Rose crept down the stairs as quietly as she could. James was still asleep, and after his restlessness last night, she was loath to wake him. He’d come to bed after midnight, and his tossing and turning kept her up for most of the night too.

He’d also awoken her with a strangled sob before he rolled over to cuddle her. She’d thought she was about to cry for him when he buried his face into her neck and held her close as he breathed raggedly against her skin. But when she’d asked if he wanted to talk about it, he sniffled and whispered, “It’s just a dream,” and continued spooning her until he fell back to sleep.

He’d slept more peacefully after that, but Rose was utterly exhausted, despite the late hour of the morning. She knew James had to be even worse off; his sleeping patterns had become wild and unpredictable since school started, and she worried he wasn’t getting enough rest.

Rose yawned widely as she scooped coffee grounds into the coffee maker, then turned around to start on breakfast. She quickly whipped up pancakes, a favorite of James’s when he wasn’t in a good mood, and fried up some eggs to go with it.

Breakfast and coffee were eventually ready, but James was still asleep. She bit her lip and cast a glance up the stairs. Should she wake him? He really ought to eat something. He’d written to her last night that he would be home late, and she should eat without him, and she knew his dinner most likely consisted of a package of crisps left over from his lunch. If that.

Rose sighed heavily. It was killing her to see James working himself ragged, and she felt so helpless. She wanted so badly to go back to that youthful, carefree boy who stayed up late just so he could talk with her for a few minutes longer.

She grabbed a banana and sliced it up, putting most of it on a plate, but arranging some of the pieces into a smiley face onto one of the pancakes. She then rifled through their cabinets until she found a tray, and she loaded it up with food and their coffee before she walked up the stairs.

She heard the toilet flush as she reached for the bedroom door, and she was glad at least that she wasn’t about to wake him. She walked into the room and set their breakfast on the bedside table as she walked into their en suite. James looked a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and had dark bags under them, and his chin was covered in stubble. But he managed a smile for her when he caught sight of her.

“I’ve made us breakfast,” Rose said, reaching for his hand as he picked up his toothbrush. “Come. Have breakfast in bed with me. We’ve not done that in a while.”

“I’m not all that hungry.”

“You have to eat, love,” she reprimanded. “Please? Because I know you probably haven’t had anything more substantial than the dinner we made the night before last.”

His guilty expression did nothing to ease her concerns. She reached out and touched his cheek.

“Please eat with me, love?” she asked.

James sighed and leaned into her hand. He turned his head to press a kiss to her palm and whispered, “Okay.”

They crawled back into bed and settled the platter of food across their laps. James immediately went for the coffee, and sat back against their pillows as he cradled the mug in his hands.

“More than coffee,” Rose chastised gently, nudging a pancake his way. “Look, it’s happy to see you.”

James’s face relaxed into a genuine smile that sent Rose’s heart fluttering in her chest. He scooted closer to her and tucked his arm around her waist as he cut up his pancake, making the perfect bite of banana, pancake, and eggs.

He hummed appreciatively as he chewed and said, “These are great. Thanks, love.”

He scarfed down the smiley pancake with enthusiasm, and continued sipping at his coffee as he picked at the rest of their food. Rose was so pleased when he’d managed to stuff down two pancakes, half of his eggs, and all of the banana, and her eyes prickled that she was excited for such a thing.

“Please promise me you’ll try and take better care of yourself,” Rose asked, resting her head against his shoulder.

“What do you mean?”

“You’re hardly eating,” Rose whispered. She rubbed at her stinging nose as tears filled her eyes. “You’re not sleeping.”

“I’m just busy, love,” James soothed. “You know how hectic school is.”

“I’m really worried about you,” she admitted, looking up at him.

James caught sight of her tears, and his brow furrowed. He kissed her forehead and murmured, “I’m okay, love. Really. This past month has been really busy. Things will slow down once the deadline for this grant passes.”

“Can you promise me you’ll try to look after yourself better?” Rose asked again, cuddling into his side.

“I promise.” He set his empty coffee cup on their tray, and moved the tray to the bedside table to better hold her. “I don’t think I’ve said it, but thank you for taking such good care of me.”

Rose hugged him tight and murmured, “Of course, my James. That’s what you do for someone you love.”

Admittedly, James’s schedule did die down a little after October seventeenth passed, and his grant proposal was submitted. He came home that night looking so relieved, and Rose was overjoyed when he told her he was taking the rest of the week off to recharge before getting back to his lab work.

They took that time to be with each other, and they explored more of the city that was their home. When James woke Rose up early on Saturday morning to tell her he had a great day planned for them, Rose was so happy to see a spark of excitement in his eyes, that she let herself be tugged into their car as he drove an hour south.

He took them to an autumn festival in a tiny town in the country, much to Rose’s delight, and they wandered around pumpkin patches, drank mulled wine, and raced each other through a corn maze. Rose had more fun than she’d had in a while, and it was nice to see James so relaxed and carefree.

“Did you have fun?” he asked as he loaded the pumpkins they’d painted into the boot of the car.

“I did. Thank you for today.” She stretched up and placed a kiss on his pink cheek.

“Sorry I’ve been kind of distant lately,” he said, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. “I’m still trying to figure out time management. Always been sort of rubbish at that.”

“I know you’re busy, and working hard. I’ll take any time you can give me.”

He smiled in gratitude, and caught her lips between his.

oOoOo

Rose awoke before James, as was becoming more typical of late. Despite his assurances that his schedule would be less hectic once he submitted his grant proposal, he was still in the same habits as before. He came to bed later and awoke up earlier and holed himself away in their home office on most weekends, and Rose was worried he was running himself into exhaustion.

She sighed and rolled closer to him. She rested her head onto his pillow, so close to his face that she nearly went cross-eyes trying to trace his freckles. She closed her eyes and rested her forehead against his and lay her palm on his chest.

He sighed in his sleep, and wriggled closer to her. She smiled and kissed his nose, knowing he would soon be waking.

Rose lightly scratched at the hair on his chest, delighting in his deep, rumbling groan. She bit her lip against a grin and let her fingers wander down his chest to the flat planes of his stomach, before she discreetly traced her fingers across the front of his boxers, where he was already half hard.

His sharp inhale of breath told him that he was finally awake, and very aware of her touch. She pressed a quick kiss to his lips before her lips followed the trail her hand had made. She tossed the blankets to his feet as she scraped her teeth across the tips of his hipbones, peaking out as they were from the waistband of his pants.

“Rose,” he groaned as she continued to palm him through is pants.

“Shh, just relax and enjoy.”

She carefully tugged him out of the front slit in his boxers, and licked a slow line from the base of his cock to the tip. His hips jerked up sharply.

“Bloody hell, Rose!”

“Relax and enjoy,” she repeated, draping her arm across his waist to hold him steady.

She stroked him leisurely and pressed gentle kisses to his erection until his muscles unclenched and he relaxed into the mattress.

She laved her tongue across him once again, and he hummed loudly in pleasure, which choked off into a moan when she sucked the tip of him into her mouth. She savored him, and cradled him delicately on her tongue as she slowly took him deeper into her mouth, stopping just before he could bump the back of her throat. She wrung her fingers around the base of him to stroke the part of him she couldn’t reach as she pulled off him, applying light suction as she went.

“Shit, Rose,” he groaned brokenly. His thighs tensed and trembled against his urge to thrust up into her mouth, and he tried to force his muscles to relax, as she’d told him to, so he could enjoy what she was doing.

Rose, meanwhile, saw his aborted attempts to thrust up, and took that as a signal to increase her pace. She focused on the tip of him, and swirled her tongue around him, tasting the tang of the fluid he was leaking.

“Gonna come,” he grunted in warning a few moments later, clenching and unclenching his hands into their sheets.

Rose hummed around him and reached out blindly for his hand. He took it clumsily and lost the battle with his hips. He thrust up once as his fingers tightened around hers. Rose looked up at him, wanting to see him come, loving when she could uninterruptedly watch him.

He sucked in a breath, and Rose drummed her tongue against the head of his cock as her mouth was filled with his release. He arched his back, digging his head into his pillow as he struggled to keep his hips from thrusting further into her mouth as he lost himself to his pleasure. He panted and moaned and whimpered her name as Rose swallowed him down.

His body went limp and boneless, and he was silent save for his ragged breathing. She felt him start to soften in her mouth, and she pulled off of him to crawl up the length of his body.

She settled herself into his awaiting arms, and was rather pleased with his flushed and heaving chest and the relaxed look of pleasure still lingering on his face.

“Happy Birthday, my love,” Rose murmured, pressing a kiss to his chest.

“Thank you,” he whispered hoarsely, hugging her close as he let his fingertips trail down to her knickers.

But to James’s surprise, she snatched his hand away and hugged it to her chest.

“You don’t want me to return the favor?” James asked.

“It’s your birthday,” she said. “Besides, I’m on my period.”

“Again?”

Rose swatted his chest. “Funny thing, it happens every month, love.”

“You didn’t answer my question. If you want, I’ll still reciprocate. Well, perhaps not with my mouth, but I honestly don’t mind with my fingers, and…”

“Thanks,” Rose murmured, happy that he even offered. “But I’m quite all right. Not really in the mood today.”

“All right, if you’re sure,” James murmured, nuzzling into her neck.

“Want your birthday gift now or later?” Rose asked, stroking his hair away from her nose.

“Oh, I thought you’d already given me my present,” James said, and Rose could hear the grin in his voice.

“Consider that part one.” She leaned over and rummaged through her bedside table and grabbed a small package.

James sat up, and Rose followed. He accepted the gift gratefully and started to tug off the wrapping paper, which revealed a small white box. He lifted the lid and his lungs hitched when he saw a familiar pocket watch nestled in the black velvet.

“Rose, is this…?”

“I had it repaired for you,” Rose murmured, watching as James took the pocket watch and turned it around in his fingers.

His thumb brushed across the newly-restored hinge, and he flicked it open to reveal the first watch face, and he flipped it to reveal the second, both in perfect working order.

“I saw it when we were in San Francisco,” Rose said. “I hoped you don’t mind I took it.”

“Not at all,” James murmured. “I just figured Dad had it. Thank you.”

Rose smiled, glad he seemed to like her gift. She pressed a kiss to his knuckles and said, “Right! What does the birthday boy want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes?” he asked eagerly.

Rose rolled her eyes. “You know, I never thought a sweet breakfast food would be at all appetizing until I met you.”

“They are the epitome of breakfast foods, Rose,” he said seriously.

“Maybe across the pond,” Rose scoffed, poking his chest. “All right, pancakes it is. Chocolate chip?”

He grinned and nodded, and he went off to shower as Rose prepared his birthday breakfast.

Rose had just put his plate of food on the dining table, when James walked in holding his phone out in front of him.

“Say hi to Rose!” he said, and he flipped his phone around so Rose could see Robert’s face.

“Hi, Dad!” She skipped up to James’s side so James could speak to his dad too, and so she could get a better look at Robert. But she did a double take when she saw him. They’d only seen him two months ago, when they made dinner for him, Jackie, and Mickey as thanks for helping them move, but in that time, he’d noticeably picked up a bit of weight. His face was round and pink, and though Rose couldn’t see anything past his shoulders, she imagined his gut had expanded too. And he looked absolutely exhausted. Rose wanted to cry when she saw him, and she wanted to hop on a plane to Scotland and take care of him.

“Blimey, Dad, you might want to consider laying off the muffins, eh?”

Rose elbowed him sharply in the gut. “Rude!” she hissed.

Robert chuckled wryly and said, “No, no, he’s right. I have put on a few pounds.”

“Are you all right?” Rose asked softly, scanning her eyes across his face critically.

His smile stiffened, and he said, “Oh, don’t worry about me! This is James’s day!”

“Dad,” Rose chastised softly, and his smile slipped.

Rose felt James stiffen beside her, and she glanced up at him. Worry had his brow pinched in a tight furrow, and the hand holding his phone was starting to shake.

“Dad, what’s wrong?” he asked.

“I thought I’d be doing all right here,” Robert murmured. “You know, at least I’m not five thousand miles away from family. But I still…” He sniffed sharply, and Rose’s heart broke when she saw his shining eyes. “No matter! It’s all an adjustment. Finding the new normal, eh?”

“What have you been doing with yourself, if not working?” James asked.

“Oh, nothing really,” Robert said. “Volunteering at the homeless shelter more. Fixing up a few things ‘round the house. You know. Boring stuff. Gonna look for a job soon. Get something squared away for next semester, hopefully. If not, next year. It’ll be good to keep busy, and I’ve missed teaching.”

“You know,” Rose said carefully, “there are loads of good schools in and around London you could work at.”

“Yeah,” James said, picking up her idea. “You don’t have to stay in Scotland by yourself. Move closer to us. Give us someone to visit now and then who isn’t Rose’s mum.”

Rose stuck her tongue out at him before turning her attentions back to Robert.

“We’d love to see more of you,” Rose said softly. “We miss you.”

Robert was blinking rapidly, and Rose felt her own eyes prickling with tears when she saw his.

“I miss you, too,” he said raggedly, rubbing his hands across his face. “God, this is pathetic, eh? Old man moving closer to his grown son because he’s lonely.”

“It’s not pathetic,” Rose choked out, and she felt James’s hand clench around her own. “And you’re not old. We’re worried about you.”

Robert chuckled self-deprecatingly. “Thanks, darling.”

“Please think about it,” Rose asked.

“I will,” Robert promised, smiling gently. “But enough about me. How are you two?”

oOoOo

“How’s this one look?” Rose asked, dragging him to another tree.

James shrugged, not really looking at it. “A tree’s a tree. Let’s just pick one and leave.”

Rose’s face fell, and James cursed himself. This was their first Christmas together; he ought to be more enthusiastic. Getting a tree was the height of tradition, but he wasn’t feeling all that festive.

“Sorry, love,” he said breezily, pecking a kiss to her forehead. “It’s the cold talking. I’d much rather be at home and in bed with you. That’d get us warm quite quickly, eh?”

He waggled his eyebrows, but Rose didn’t smile at his attempt to make light of the situation.

“I really am sorry,” he whispered. He turned towards the tree and inspected it closely. It was about his height, good shape, but there was a bit of a thin spot in the back. “Nah, this one’s no good.” He looked around the lot, quickly scanning and analyzing their choice of trees. “How about this one?”

Rose let herself be pulled along at a fast jog, and her giggles eased James’s guilt. Even if he wasn’t in the mood, he sure as hell wasn’t spoiling this for Rose. Too much of this year had already been spoiled.

They inspected another four trees, and just when James’s patience was about to run out again, they both decided on a tree.

Getting it home was a laugh, and they were both covered in pine needles and sap by the time it was sitting in its stand in their living room. Boxes of new decorations and some donated ones from Robert were strewn across the floor, and Rose grinned happily at James.

“Y’know, I never had a real tree before,” she said, hugging his arm to his chest.

He frowned and blinked down at her. “No?”

“Nope. Live trees are expensive. And you have to get one every year. Mum wanted to use that money on other things.”

James sighed and tugged his arm away from her chest to wrap it around her shoulders, even more determined to make this Christmas the best bloody Christmas Rose had ever had.

But as the days ticked closer to the twenty-fifth, James’s mood was frostier than even the weather. They weren’t having Christmas at his home in Scotland, for the first time in his memory. And while he was glad he wouldn’t have to face a week in a house full of relatives who would probably all be looking at him and his dad pityingly, he couldn’t help but feel the loss of his most beloved Christmas tradition.

Robert had accepted a job offer from one of Oxford’s satellite universities, and had spent most of December moving to a flat forty miles south of James and Rose’s home. That was where they were going to be having Christmas dinner, with Jackie, Mickey, and Rita-Ann as well.

And meanwhile, James tried to be happy and excited about the holiday season, but found himself falling short on many occasions.

“I’m so sorry,” James whispered miserably on Christmas Eve after Rose brought him a plate of Christmas biscuits she’d made herself when he told her he didn’t feel like baking. “It’s just… All of last year, I was celebrating my lasts with you until we could finally be together and celebrate holidays together. And all the while they were my lasts with my mum as well. And now that we can celebrate our firsts, I’m not in the mood, but I should be, because we can only have one series of firsts, and I’m mucking it all up!”

“You’re not mucking anything up,” Rose assured, wrapping him into a tight hug. “This year has been more difficult than we planned. You’re still grieving and healing, and that’s all right.”

“I am mucking it up,” James mumbled into her shoulder. “I want to be happy with you. I am happy with you!”

“I know you are, love,” Rose whispered, stroking her fingers softly through his hair. “But it’s okay to let yourself be sad, too. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling. I lost my dad, but I don’t remember him. And while I miss him, I don’t have any memories to miss. But you… you had twenty-three years with your mum. That’s not going to go away overnight.”

“I wish I could erase this whole year,” James mused quietly, “and start again. I’ll move out of Boston and come to Scotland, and wait there until your birthday. I shouldn’t’ve gone to stay with my parents! If I’d just come back to the UK, my mum would be here!”

“No, James, don’t do that to yourself,” Rose said, her heart breaking. “Don’t do that. You’ll drive yourself mad.”

“Can’t get any madder,” he muttered to her shirt.

“Don’t play the what-if game,” she said firmly. “The past is the past. We can’t change it, so there is no use in dwelling in it.”

He sighed heavily, and kept his nose buried in her neck, taking comfort in her warmth and scent.

She pressed her lips to the side of his head and cradled his neck, her heart breaking for him. He’d been trying so hard to make this Christmas wonderful for them, but Rose could tell he wasn’t in the Christmas spirit.

“Have you considered seeing someone?” Rose asked quietly.

“Well,” he drawled, and Rose sighed in frustration as he tried to use humor to get himself out of this serious conversation. “I’m kind of already soulmated. Not sure if she’s agreeable to an open relationship.”

“I’m serious, James,” she insisted, pulling back to try and catch his gaze. “You should try speaking to someone about how you’re feeling.”

“I talk to you,” he argued, furrowing his brow.

“But I still don’t think you tell me everything,” Rose said, and she covered his lips with her fingers when he tried to protest. “I really think you should talk to someone. I’m trying my best to help you, but I can only do so much.”

“You’ve been wonderful,” James said softly, pressing a kiss to her fingers. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if this had happened before I met you. I think I would’ve broken the rule and gone to see you, even if you weren’t eighteen.”

Rose sighed. While she usually loved his stubbornness, she was tired of having to fight him on this particular conversation.

“At least keep it in mind?” she asked, reaching up to cradle his cheeks in her palms.

“I promise,” he said, turning his head to press a kiss to her palm. “Now, time for bed, I think. Can’t be here when Santa comes, it’ll ruin the magic.”

Rose rolled her eyes, not entirely convinced that he was taking her and her suggestion seriously, but let herself be tugged to their bedroom.

The next morning found them sitting together in their pjs in front of their Christmas tree, about to exchange gifts.

“You first,” James said eagerly, handing her a heavy box.

Rose delicately set it in her lap—heavy meant expensive or breakable—and she carefully unwrapped her gift.

“Oh, wow!”

Rose finished ripping off the wrapping paper to reveal a box with a picture of a camera on it. She chucked aside the paper and lifted the box, scanning an eager eye over the model and the features of her new camera.

“You like it?” James asked softly.

“Oh, I love it!” Rose exclaimed, still looking at the camera. She had absolutely loved the photography class she had taken, and she had signed up for another one for the spring semester. She was excited to use a camera of her own, rather than loan one out from the school. She set the box down and turned to James. “Thank you.”

She wrapped her hand around his neck and tugged him in for a kiss, hoping he knew how grateful she was for the gift. He hummed into the kiss before breaking it, and resting his forehead against hers.

“Your turn,” she whispered, handing him a thin, square package.

He took it eagerly and ripped it open, revealing a sketchpad. His lungs hitched as he chucked the wrapping paper aside and opened it to the first page.

My James,

This year was harder than we ever predicted, and I am so proud of you, and so glad to call you my soulmate. There is so much beauty in the world, though nothing will ever be more beautiful than my time spent with you.

Always yours,

Rose

James’s hands shook as he flipped through the pages, all of them filled with her drawings, and he was taken aback by how many were of him, or of the past eight months of their lives together. Some of the drawings were quick sketches, others were detailed and fully-colored. But they were all perfect.

“I started making that for you last January,” Rose murmured, crawling to sit beside him. She rested her cheek on his shoulder and watched him skim through the sketchbook.

James felt tears clog his throat as he looked at her drawings, particularly the ones of him. The care and precision in these pictures made it so obvious they were drawn by someone that loved him deeply.

He inhaled raggedly and set the sketchbook aside in favor of pulling her into his lap.

“Thank you,” he croaked, burying his face in her neck as he wrapped his arms tight around her. “Thank you so much, Rose. They’re absolutely beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like them,” she murmured, hugging him close.

“I always love seeing what you’ve drawn,” he whispered, pressing light kisses to her shoulder. “You are the most creative, talented, beautiful…”

He trailed off, hoping she knew how proud and in awe of her he was, and how thankful he was that she was his soulmate.

oOoOo

Rose wandered around the campus with her camera in hand. It had snowed the night before, and everything was covered in glittering white powder, and she used it as an opportunity to play with her new camera, as well as explore areas of the school she didn’t visit as much. She was currently hiking up the steps of one of the theater buildings to get a reprieve from the cold.

She stepped inside, shivering as her nose, cheeks, and ears tingled at the warm air in the building. She carefully tucked her camera into the travel bag and meandered through the halls. Posters advertising the spring play were already up, and she made a mental note of the date, hoping James could find an evening he wasn’t busy to join her at a performance.

She descended a staircase into the basement level, and found an old piano sitting at the end of the hall. It looked worn and rickety, and Rose idly brushed her fingers over the keys, surprised but pleased when the old instrument worked.

She tapped out a small jingle from a television commercial she had stuck in her head, and winced a bit when she heard how out-of-tune the instrument was.

“Do you play?”

Rose jumped at the sound of a low voice. She spun around and saw a man in jeans and a jumper smirking at her.

“S-sorry,” Rose said, her cheeks burning. “I was just wandering around. Am I not allowed to be here?”

The boy shook his head and grinned. “Nah, students are generally allowed anywhere. If a door is unlocked, there’s a good chance it’s open to anyone. I’ve never seen you around here, though. Are you a theater student?”

Rose shook her head. “No. Art.”

“And do you play?” the boy asked, nodding to the piano.

“I did,” Rose said. “Haven’t played all semester. I forgot how much I missed it.”

The boy looked her up and down, and said, “Come with me.”

Rose bit her lip as she hesitated.

“I’m not planning on attacking you or anything,” he said wryly. “But there’s a better piano in the practice room. If you’re interested?”

Rose looked him up and down, before she nodded and followed him.

“I’m Murray, by the way,” he said as he led her down the hall.

“Rose.”

“Hello, Rose. What year are you, if I might ask?”

“It’s my first year,” Rose said. “You?”

“Third,” he replied. “I’m due to graduate this spring. Ah, here we are!”

Murray gestured into the room, where another old piano sat at the front.

“The pianos we use for concerts and such are much grander than these rickety old ones,” he said with a wink.

Rose couldn’t help but snort, and she let herself be led to the instrument. She experimentally pressed on a few keys, and released a breath when she realized it was still perfectly tuned, despite its obvious age and use.

“Feel free to play a bit,” Murray said, tugging out the bench.

Rose raised her eyebrow.

“Okay, what are you playing at?” Rose demanded, crossing her arms across her chest.

He furrowed his brows. “Nothing. You said you liked to play, but haven’t in a while, and this instrument is better than that piece of shite down the hall.”

Rose continued glaring at him, and smirked in triumph when his cheeks turned red.

“I’m actually part of the orchestra group on campus,” he admitted. “The only pianist in the group. Our director is getting worried because so far, we don’t have any underclassmen to replace me. I heard someone playing—quite well, honestly, despite the horrid tuning on that old thing—and well…”

“You decided on an impromptu audition?” Rose teased, relaxing her tense posture as she sat down on the bench. She delicately touched the keys, not playing them, but simply feeling the cool, smooth keys beneath her fingertips. She hadn’t touched a piano since she’d finished school last spring, and she found herself itching to get back into it.

“Go on,” Murray encouraged. “Just a little tune?”

Rose rolled her eyes, and tried to ignore the fact that someone was watching her, as she played a medley of Disney songs she’d had memorized since she was fourteen.

“I’m a bit rusty,” Rose apologized when her fingers fumbled on a few notes.

“Nothing a bit of practice can’t clean off,” Murray said, beaming at her. “That’s lovely. So, might you be interested in joining the orchestra?”

“Dunno,” Rose said honestly. “Never thought about it.”

“Tell you what,” he said. “We practice every Tuesday and Thursday night in this room. Stop by if you’re interested, and you can test the waters and see if you might want to join.”

Rose nodded, and stood from the bench.

“Right,” he said cheerfully. “Well, seeing as I’m full of propositions today, can I take you to lunch some time?”

Rose balked, and crossed her arms across her chest.

“I’m soulmated,” she said coolly. She liked Murray, and she really hoped he was one of those blokes that would be able to accept her unavailability with grace.

“Ah, rotten luck,” he said good-naturedly. “Oh, well. In any case, it was nice to make your acquaintance, Rose! Perhaps I’ll see you this Tuesday? 7pm.”

Rose shrugged, despite the pit of longing in her belly. She followed him out of the room and bade him goodbye as she started walking back home.

She thought about Murray’s invitation all weekend, until finally on Tuesday morning, she told James, “I won’t be home for dinner tonight. I’m considering joining the orchestra, and one of the senior members invited me to practice with the group tonight to test it out.”

“That’s great!” James said enthusiastically. “I think you’ll really like that!”

She did really like it. Playing the piano came back to her quickly, much to her delight, and she was so happy to be playing the instrument once more.

The director of the orchestra was overjoyed to see her, too, and while she wasn’t officially part of the orchestra yet, and wouldn’t be until the next school year, he enthusiastically welcomed Rose to all of their practice sessions so she would be able to hit the ground running.

She felt a little guilty, though, that she was leaving James alone two nights a week, but he vehemently reassured her that he could fend for himself just fine.

And while he missed her very much on the nights she was practicing with the orchestra, James was so pleased she’d found an activity that brought her so much joy. Besides, he told himself, now I won’t have to feel guilty for staying late at the office.

He was working hard on his research, but he’d lost his interest in it almost from the moment he’d started it. And it frustrated him to no end, because he genuinely liked what he was doing, but his increasing levels of apathy were making it hard for him to concentrate.

He scrubbed a weary hand across his face as he flipped back to the beginning of the journal article he was supposed to be reading, cursing himself when he realized he’d zoned out for the third time and hadn’t absorbed any of the information.

“Why don’t you call it a night, James?” his advisor suggested as he walked past James’s office and saw him with his head in his hands. “Lord knows you pull more hours than any of us. Go on. Go home to Rose.”

“She’s at orchestra,” he said distractedly, rubbing his finger into his burning eyes.

“Then go and surprise her with dessert or something for when she gets home,” his supervisor said firmly. “The article will be here for you tomorrow. Go on. You’re one of our best students, James; I don’t want to see you burn out.”

James sighed, and reluctantly tucked the article into his desk drawer.

“Good lad,” his advisor said. “Say hi to Rose. And goodnight, James. See you tomorrow.”

James packed up his things and made the quick walk home.

Their semesters were flying by quickly, with Rose utterly loving school, and James utterly dreading it. It was getting harder for him to get himself into his lab in the mornings, and he hated himself for it. This was what he’d wanted his whole life, and if he wasn’t careful, he could muck up the future of his academic career.

Rose tried to cheer him up as best she could, and she continued urging him to talk to a counselor, but there was only so much she could do when he vehemently denied that he needed help.

“I just need to keep busy!” he insisted.

And as April twenty-fifth—the anniversary of his mother’s death—drew nearer, he was getting more and more manic.

He took that day off, and snapped at Rose to go to her classes when she offered to stay home with him. He wanted to rip his hair out when he saw her jump and blink back tears.

What a fucking mess, he groaned when Rose locked the front door behind her on her way to class.

It was Rose’s long day, too. She would be in photography lab all afternoon, and then she had orchestra practice tonight as well. James desperately wanted to call her and ask her to cancel the rest of her day so he wouldn’t be alone, but he dismissed that idea immediately. No need to ruin her day, too. Especially not after she had offered this morning and he had so vehemently refused.

He instead grabbed his keys and made the drive to his dad’s house, knowing he would probably need the support today, too.

oOoOo

Nineteen perfect roses for my perfect Rose on her nineteenth birthday. A very happy birthday to you, my love, and to many more to come. I love you. James. Rose grinned at the card, and at the vase full of roses sitting at her place on the dining table. “Are you going to keep buying me as many roses as I am years old.”

“Might do,” he teased, pressing an enthusiastic kiss to her lips with an over-the-top sucking noise.

“They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

“So, what shall we do today?” he asked eagerly, rubbing his hands together. “Sky’s the limit. Just tell me, and we’ll do it. We could explore the city. Visit a museum. Go on a hike.”

“I think I want to stay in, if that’s all right?” Rose asked.

James wrinkled his nose. “Stay in? That’s boring!”

“It’s what I want to do,” she said firmly. James had been in a mood for about a week now. Well, in more of a mood than normal. She knew the anniversary of his mum’s death had been hard for him; it had been hard for her too. Not only was she still grieving that she would never meet his mother, but she was grieving for him, and how hurt he still was. A quiet day in, just her and him and no schoolwork was what she was desperately craving.

“Fine,” he sighed, and he finished up her birthday breakfast.

However, a quiet day in wasn’t as peaceful as Rose would have wanted. James was restless, and he kept offering to take her out on the town almost every hour. She was about to accept just to get him to stop asking.

Instead, she stayed silent, and tried to relax against him as they started a new Netflix series together.

She was near tears that night when James moaned, once again, that she had picked the most boring things to do on her birthday.

“So hanging out with me is boring, is it?” she finally snapped, upending the basket of clean laundry onto their bed so they could fold it.

“Don’t be stupid,” he scoffed.

“Don’t call me that,” she snarled, clenching her hands into fists. “I wanted a nice, relaxing day with you! I so rarely have those anymore! You’ve been overworking yourself all year!”

“Oh, well I’m sorry that getting a doctorate degree is more work than you thought it would be! I’m sorry my education is getting in the way of the life you envisioned for us!” he spat harshly, strangling the mismatched pair of socks he had in his hands.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” she cried, frustrated to the point of tears. “You’re working yourself too hard, James! And you’re ignoring the fact that you’ve been depressed for the last twelve months!”

“I am not depressed,” James said through clenched teeth, “I’m busy! There’s a difference!”

“Don’t you dare do this! Not again, I’m sick of it! You’re obviously not all right, so stop trying to convince me that you are!” Rose said hotly. “We promised not to lie to each other, James.”

“I’m fine,” he said through clenched teeth, folding a t-shirt with more force than necessary. “Just leave it!”

Rose huffed out a frustrated breath as she shook her head and stalked out of the bedroom.

James squeezed his hands into a tight fist. All he wanted was to let Rose have a happy birthday. It was all mucked up last year, and he’d be damned if it got ruined this year too. But how was he supposed to give her the best birthday he could when she wouldn’t let him do anything?!

Rose came back into their room a few minutes with an empty duffle bag in her hands. James watched with a growing pit in his stomach as she shoved random articles of clothes into the bag.

“Rose, what are you doing?” he asked, his fear and exasperation making the question sound like a demand.

“Packing,” she said shortly.

“I can see that,” he snapped. “Why?”

“I’m so tired, James,” she said wearily, and James’s heart stuttered when he heard her voice crack with tears. “I’m tired of trying to get you to talk to me, to anyone, about your depression. I’m tired of listening to you tell me you’re fine when you’re obviously not. I’m tired of pretending that it doesn’t hurt when you pull away from me, or deny that you need help. I’m just… tired.”

“You’re leaving?” he whispered through the lump in his throat.

“I’m going to visit my mum for a little bit. I mean, it is my birthday.” She chuckled weakly and swiped at her teary eyes. “I think she ought to be part of this day too. And… And I think we need a little time apart. Take a breather. I won’t talk with you when we’re both this angry.”

James’s knees shook and his ears rang as Rose zipped up her bag.

“Rose, please.”

“I want you to really think about the direction you want our relationship to take,” she murmured. “I love you. God, I love you so much, James. But you’re breaking my heart every time you try to convince me and yourself that you’re okay.”

“Please don’t go,” he begged hoarsely. “Please? I’m sorry. I’ll talk to someone, I promise.”

Rose shook her head sadly. “You don’t mean that. And if I stay, we’ll be having the same argument next week. And I can’t do this again.”

“Please,” he choked out.

“It’s just for a little while,” she assured. “We both need time to cool down and think. I love you more than anything. Remember that, my James.”

She leaned up and pressed her lips to his cheek and walked out of their bedroom.

James watched numbly as she walked away from him, and he heard the front door open and close. He peeked through the window and saw her get into a taxi that drove away into the night.