#stepping back and releasing responsibility is somehow one of the hardest things I’ve ever done

[skippudippu]

me when grief is just love with nowhere to go

[closedmadness]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐀𝐓𝐄, 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄

summary: you and alec hated each other — or at least, pretended to in front of everyone. behind the scenes, however, you two are insanely in love with each other

pairings: alec lightwood x male reader

warnings → fluff & nsfw・swearing・fake arguments・make-out session・blowjob・anal penetration・slight possessive alec

a/n: please i didn’t mean for this to be short nsfw but my fingers moved on its own✋😭 it was supposed to be just cute, fluffy and sweet💀

“you can’t tell me that it wasn’t your fault we failed our mission today.” alec’s voice boomed in the institute as soon as all of you got home, irritation clear in his tone.

rolling your eyes, a sigh escaped your lips. you really don’t want to do this right now after that particularly bad, failed mission — a bunch of female mundanes swarmed over you while on duty, disturbing you and making you unable to guard over the demons that were wrecking havoc on that club itself. those females were a distraction; they wanted to get into your pants, thirty for some love from a incredibly good-looking man like you.

deciding not to deal with his crap as isabelle and jace scolded alec, you went to walk pass him before being stopped quickly with a grab on your arm. “i really don’t want to do this right now, lightwood.” you immediately said after turning around, refusing to let him talk first. “i feel responsible of this mission as much as it’s hard to believe that, and i don’t want you constantly nagging me about it.”

“as you should.” he retorts with the same cold, emotionless face he always plastered on. “and of course, i will nag you about it, it was an important mission! we got to kill those demons but we didn’t get to find out their intention.”

you scrunched your brows together, “why didn’t you ask any of them when those mundanes were crowding over me? i’m sure you had plenty of chances.” eyes glinting with suspicion, you stepped forward towards him. “or maybe you just didn’t want to do anything so you could frame me on the failed mission.” you accused.

alec’s brows furrowed and his lips curved upside down in a frown at that. he narrowed his eyes, offended and upset. “you’re accusing me now? great, (y/n)! of course, you would find a way to accuse me somehow!” he exclaimed sarcastically.

you scoff and rolled your eyes, done with his bullshit before storming off the heart of the institute towards your room.

“seriously, alec?” isabelle gives her brother a look, hands resting on her hips, but all the male lightwood did was glare at her and storm off as well.

she didn’t know why you and alec are always on each other’s throats; it’s almost as if you’d kill each other when left alone together, there isn’t even any clear reason you two should hate each other yet you still do. it’s probably because of the feud between maryse and your mother, but even then, she still did not understand. in her eyes, alec was longing for your touches and just you in general, yet he’s pushing you away. isabelle has been wanting the both of you to get along — though, it might be the hardest one to achieve.

jace and clary glanced at each other, knowing how she feels about this whole feud thing. “they’ll come around soon, izzy.” the former comforts, placing his hand on her shoulder.

“yeah, let’s just believe in them.” clary joins, taking up the space opposite jace. “you know what they say; the more you hate, the more you love. who knows? they might actually get along someday.” she tried her best to cheer up, which worked miraculously as isabelle reveals a smile.

perhaps, she should be patient as the universe works in its own wonderful ways. all these small, petty arguments are getting tiring and she just hopes something will change for the better.

walking down the hallway leading up to your room, alec looks around first cautiously and makes sure no one’s witnessing anything before eventually stopping in front of your door.

it was already unlocked, with you peeking from the tiny bit of space between, grinning up at him. alec smiled and assured you there was no one around, which made you open the door wide and pull him in. giggling together, he closed the door behind him and made sure to lock it as you captured his lips on yours, cupping his face with both hands.

he smiled into the kiss, moving to wrap his arms around your waist while yours wrapped around his neck, pulling each other close. feeling a gentle squeeze on your butt, you took that as a signal to jump and wrap your legs around him, alec not missing a beat to catch you. with lips still attached together, alec moved to sit on the bed, his hands beginning to roam around your body. breaking the kiss to catch your breath, he took it as an opportunity to run his lips and tongue across your neck, licking, sucking and biting. you moaned, tilting your head back to give him more access.

“alec...” you whimpered breathlessly as he sucked harshly on your skin, creating a pretty visible hickey. “they will- don’t make one where they can see it.” complaining, you slipped your fingers through his soft hair but didn’t stop him from continuing his work.

he hums, the vibration making you shiver. “you can always cover it, (y/n). i know you like it when i leave my mark on you.” he mumbled against your skin, tightening his hold. a moan once again leaves your lips when he bit on your sweet spot, the blissful sound making him groan and slip his hand in the back of your pants. “you know today was not your fault, right?” he suddenly whispers, staring into your (e/c) eyes that never failed to make him lost.

you stared back at his hazel eyes, nodding your head and resting your forehead against his. “of course, darling. i never meant anything i’ve said either.”

this is always what you did — argue, act like enemies, be nasty, throw insults at one another, speak with distaste in the front, but once behind the closed doors, you apologize to each other and make sure the other didn’t take it to their heart, as well as show love, so you’d be reassured of everything.

alec smiles, his eyes shining with admiration and love. oh, how angelic he looked with that smile of his. only you could see him so soft.

“truth is, i couldn’t ask the demons because i was focused on you.” he admitted, looking down for a second before returning his gaze on you. “those mundanes,” distaste filled his tone at the mention of those creature, “had no right to touch you like that. acting like you’d sleep with them, be their man.” his lips pouted at the thought as jealousy clouded his chest.

chuckling, you pecked his lips when found his jealousy cute. “alec, darling, you know i’m only gonna do that with you. i’m completely yours.” talking with a loving tone, your fingers played with his hair that always made him feel good.

alec smiled in fondness and gently pulled you by the back of your head, capturing your lips in yet another heated kiss. you bit on his bottom lip, erupting a groan from him as he pushed the jacket off of your shoulders, it falling on the floor along with your black shirt. alec only ever broke the kiss when he removed his jacket and shirt, and quickly smashed his lips back on yours, tongue slipping in smoothly and exploring your mouth, fighting against your own wet muscle for dominance.

he then flipped you both to lay your back on the soft mattress, never breaking the kiss as his hand ran across your chest and abs, tracing every bit of your body. you moaned into the kiss when he palmed your cock through the thick layer of pants.

“mhm, alec...” calling his name breathlessly, you unconsciously buckled your hips onto his hand, trying to get some sort of stimulation.

alec groaned in arousal at your reaction, quickly unzipping your pants and tugging it off of you along with your boxers. a cool of air hit your manhood as soon as it was released, making you shiver, eyes closing in response.

the lightwood took his time to admire you completely; your eyes glistening with lust, lips swollen from all the kissing, chest rising up and down with every breath you take, fully naked, presenting yourself to him without shame or hesitation. no matter how many times he looked at every part of you, you never ceased to take his breath away. it was sort of amusing, how even after all this time you still have him wrapped around your finger and willingly refusing to ever unwrap.

god, he’s so lucky to have you.

alec starts kissing your chest downwards slowly until it reached your hard erection, laying a peck on the tip which had you twitching. giving your tip a kitten lick, his hand pumped your cock painfully slow as you whimpered. he licked off the dripping precum before fully taking you in, the walls of his mouth rubbing against your shaft making you moan and throw your head back, eyes almost rolling to the back of your head. he didn’t stop until he took all the way in and starts to bob his head upwards and backwards, twirling his wet muscle skillfully on your shaft while doing so, keeping his gaze fixed on you.

you gripped the sheets tightly until your knuckles turned white, wave after wave of pleasure hitting you like a tsunami as an uncontrollable moans escaped your lips. “fuck, alec! t-that feels so good.” you praised, arching your back to get more stimulation.

alec kept you in place with his hands as he continued sucking you off, the bulge in his pants implying his intense arousal upon the delicious sight in front of him. his cock was painfully hard underneath that thick fabric.

saliva as well as your precum dripped his chin, but he couldn’t careless as he only wanted you to feel amazing. and indeed, you were feeling just that.

he could see your legs quiver in the corner of his eyes. you were close, he could feel it by your cock twitching and pulsating in his mouth. an all too familiar feeling builds in the pit of your stomach as tears blurred your vision, your mind reminding you how close you are to your climax. “ohhh, fuck! alec! i’m close- aghhh!”

“cum for me, (y/n).” alec speaks, and although it was muffled due to your cock still buried between his lips, you understood. he fastened his pace, slowly sending you over the edge until finally, you let out a loud moan of his name as white seeds shoots out from your cock in his mouth. your hips jerked while you ride out your orgasm, his lips still wrapped around the manhood in an attempt to swallow everything that spills out of it.

he then released your cock from his mouth with a loud ‘pop’ and hovered above your panting body again, capturing your lips in a gentle kiss. you could taste yourself along with his saliva as your wet muscles danced together lazily.

a shaky sigh leaves his lips after feeling how painfully hard he was and finally moved to remove the rest of his clothes, pants and boxers altogether — his hard-on springing up as he released a relieved sigh from the freeness. his pants were getting too tight with his as-hard-as-a-rock manhood inside.

“alec,” you breathlessly called, bringing your hands up to cup his face. “go ahead and put it in. i want you now.”

“but without preparation-”

“it will hurt, i know.” you cut him off, giving him an assuring look. “we did it yesterday, it’ll be okay. please, just fuck me right now,” you placed your lips just above his ear, “show me those mundanes aren’t better than you.”

“you really...” he growled. you really knew how to rile him up.

without a warning, he slammed his cock into you in just one go and ripped out a scream from your throat, eyes rolling to the back of your head from the sudden feeling of being filled with his thick shaft.

thrusting his hips, alec groaned at the warm feeling of your tight hole around him and kissed your collarbone to muffle his own noises while his ears are blessed with your constant whines, moans and whimpers.

“shit, ah! alec! more!” you desperately whined, hips moving on its own to meet with his rhythmic thrust.

“fuck, (y/n)...” he grunted right into your ear, making you shudder.

his pace was fast and rough as he fucked you mercilessly into the mattress while leaving hickeys everywhere he can, angling his thrust so he’d perfectly hit your prostate. “you’re only mine. no mundanes, or shadowhunters, or downworlders can get to lay their hands on you but me. i’m the only one who get to fuck you like this...” his words went straight to your already hard-enough cock, arousing you even further.

it’s always hot whenever alec gets possessive over you, and you loved that.

“oh my god, alec— right there!” you moaned, now tears rolling down your flushed cheeks. his thrust starts to get sloppy as both of you near the edge, you could feel his cock pulsing and twitching inside your hole.

it took three harsh and hard thrust to completely throw you off as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, loud moans that sounded almost like a scream erupting from your throat, back arching and body squirming underneath him as white loads shoots out again from your manhood, landing on your exposed chest and stomach, cumming hard. your walls tightened around him while you cum and that was enough for alec to spill his hot seed inside you, filling you up good like always.

pulling out, he collapsed on the bed beside you, catching your breath together and slowly calming down from your high. “great thing your room is soundproof.” alec comments, making you both chuckle.

“yeah, that’s one thing i love about this room.” you laughed and he did as well before pulling you so you could rest your head on his chest, listening to his even and rhythmic heartbeat.

cleaning up can wait tomorrow. for now, you two wanted to cuddle up with each other knowing there has to be a lot of pretending again.

jace, isabelle, clary and magnus all sat exasperated on the couch as they watch you and alec go back and fourth over the cup and valentine, both arguing and insulting each other for about an hour now.

it’s a usual day, with you and alec hating the other using the sharpness of your tongues, but they were getting tired of this constant bickering and slight sexual tension that always rose in the air.

magnus had just recently discovered your hatred for each other and at first he found it amusing, but that soon turned into boredom when it became an occasional sight for him. though, he can admit that your tongue is sharper than alec’s and he’s impressed by that.

“valentine is a shadowhunter, alright? he’d be able to get the cup from here.” you argued, giving the lightwood a pointed look.

alec folded his arms, “not if we guard it.”

you raised your brows and a ‘really?’ look crossed your face. “have you forgotten that he killed thousands of shadowhunters and downworlders, or did you become so old that your memory gaps is getting worse?” he shot you a death glare at that, not liking the tone you use on him.

“okay so,” clary stands up, “why don’t you both just calm down and figure this out in a friendly way?” you and alec snapped your gaze towards her, eyes practically sending daggers. she held her hands up, “or maybe not. but can’t you just... uh- not fight, for once?”

“not my problem he’s irritating.” you retorted with arms folded above your chest.

alec rolled his eyes, “well, not my problem either that he’s annoying.” he exclaimed while his index finger pointed at you.

“you two look like an old married couple.” isabelle comments with a teasing smirk dancing on her lips. you and alec froze in your places and looked at her with unreadable expression before turning back at each other.

it felt good hearing that, since you two are dating.

the conversation were interrupted when maryse approaches, her hands fiddling with each other and a nervous look on her face.

you sighed, stepping away to walk out, but maryse quickly stops you when you walked pass her. “stay, please. this involves you, too.” confusion laced your face at that, but didn’t say anything as you stepped back.

“i know that the feud between (y/n)’s mother and i have caused some troubles within you, and we’re very sorry for that. we decided... it’s better to forget what happened between us rather than drag it down and have it affect all of you.” she turned around and gestured for someone to come, your mother walking up to her, their hand intertwining in a friendly manner as smiles coated their faces.

surprise filled everyone’s face, brows raising. “wait, does this mean you two are friends now?” isabelle asked.

your mother smiled, nodding her head. “we had a genuine conversation last night and found out we had more similarities than we thought we would.”

jace, clary and isabelle smiled at one another while magnus sipped on his drink, feeling quite happy for them. this meant you and alec had no reason to hate each other.

“so this isn’t a joke? you’re not pretending?” you asked, suspicion on both yours and alec’s face. they shook their heads and smiled.

you stared at them before turning to alec who looked back at you, silently conversing.

finally, a sigh leaves his lips as you simultaneously looked at the two mothers with a smile. “that’s a great news, mother. i hope you have fun together.” he congratulates, smiling. “now, (y/n) and i have somewhere else to go. i assume there won’t be any missions for today.”

surprise looks coated everyone’s faces and their eyes almost popped out of their sockets when you intertwined your hand with his. you waved at them, alec beginning to drag you two away.

“hold on a second, where are you going? and what does that mean?” jace quickly asked, pointing at your intertwined hands after he stood up from the couch.

“isn’t it obvious?” alec gives him a look, “we’re going on a date. now, make an effort not to interrupt us.” he continued to pull you.

“have fun with mom, mrs. lightwood!” you said with a smile before disappearing out with alec.

everyone still looked shocked.

“well, that took a turn.” magnus smirked, drinking his tequila.

© prettymadness — all rights reserved. do not repost or translate without my permission. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[happyandticklish]

Don’t Ignore Me

Notes: For the ask by @dirtpie39, based off this comic. 

Summary: Izaya’s been avoiding Shizuo ever since the blond made a certain discovery about him, and chaos quickly ensues. 

Izaya was ignoring him.

It took Shizuo a couple fight-free days for him to realize it. After all, it wasn’t exactly like he was tracking the flea’s movements. Still, the city was small and drama was big, so it wasn’t unusual for the two to run into each other on a near daily basis. Usually this resulted in a full-blown fight or at the very least a round of petty insults and jabs. Now, though, whenever the two of them ran into each other, Izaya’s eyes would widen and he would bolt like a spooked deer.

For some reason, that pissed Shizuo off. Admittedly, most things pissed Shizuo off, but this especially. It wasn’t that he wanted the other to be constantly picking fights with him, but there was something comforting about the consistency of it. Now everything felt off-kilter, his days going by one after the other with not a grievance in sight.

He already had a pretty good idea why the other didn’t want to face him, too. The memory swirled in his mind, crystal clear despite a week having passed since then. He had been chasing Izaya as per usual (it was difficult to remember what specifically had pissed him off that day but he was sure he must have had a justified cause), when suddenly Izaya tripped on the pavement. Shizuo took the oppurtunity to grab him, but the second his hands made contact with his sides the other had let out an uncharacteristic squeak. Shizuo had been so shocked that he accidentally let the other get away.

Evidently, Izaya’s strategy was to simply avoid him until he forget all about the events of that day. Fat chance of that. The noise he had made then was already locked in Shizuo’s mind, the precursor to a round of new discoveries. Unfortunately, he hadn’t gotten a chance to see the other face to face since then and Shizuo was growing tired of it.

The next time he saw Izaya, he was turning a corner and nearly bumped into him. Their eyes locked. Izaya bolted. Unlike every other time, however, Shizuo grabbed the other’s wrist before he could scurry into a passing cab.

“Hey,” he growled, whirling Izaya around to face him. “What’s the big idea?”

Upon being faced with an angry Shizuo, Izaya’s first response was a dazzling grin and a noncommittal shrug. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. It’s not illegal to take a taxi, now, is it?”

“You know damn well what I’m talking about,” Shizuo insisted. He dragged the other towards an abandoned alleyway, a move that would have made most people nervous, but Izaya’s nerves were for an entirely different reason. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

Izaya stiffened, shifting his gaze to the left of him. “I’ve hardly been avoiding you. We’re not exactly friends, you know. How could I possibly ignore someone I have no social obligation to?”

“You show up in Ikebukuro, my city, you cause chaos and disruption everywhere you go, you deliberately mess with the lives of everyone you meet, and somehow you drag me into every shitty situation you create.” Shizuo ticked each issue off on one hand. “So I think I have a right to be a bit confused when you suddenly start acting like I don’t exist.”

“Do you want me to ruin your life?” Izaya asked irritably. “You never seemed all that pleased about it before.”

“I want to know why you can’t look me in the eyes right now,” Shizuo corrected. “I’m giving you the chance to tell me, but I can take a guess if you’d like.”

Shizuo heard Izaya’s audible intake of breath. He tugged on his wrist but Shizuo’s grip was firm. His voice was tense as he answered, “Would you like to inform me then, if you’re so sure of the reason for my supposed avoidance?”

“I think,” Shizuo said, quickly snatching up the other wrist before Izaya could do anything and pulling both arms above his head and against the brick wall. “That you don’t want me to take advantage of a certain discovery I made last week.”

Izaya shrunk back instinctively against the wall as Shizuo transferred his hold to just one hand. He held his chin high with fake confidence as he asked, “Oh? And just what discovery was that?”

“That you—” Shizuo poked a finger suddenly into his ribs, causing the other to jump involuntarily—“are ticklish.”

Slowly, a flush began to overtake Izaya’s features, his ears glowing a bright crimson. Izaya glanced away, trying to cover up his obvious embarrassment with nonchalance. “Really Shizu-chan? What are we, children?”

“You’re not denying it,” Shizuo pointed out, taking a finger and gently dragging it up the length of his side. “Are you ticklish, I-za-ya?”

Izaya’s breath hitched at the drawn-out syllables, trying desperately not to squirm under his touch. “O-Of course I’m not ticklish. That would be ridiculous.”

“It would be,” Shizuo agreed, not letting up but not growing any more aggressive than his current pace. Just the slow, dragging pressure of his finger, skimming over the thin material of his shirt. “I mean, the famed info broker, one of the most dangerous men in all of Ikebukuro, ticklish? Almost enough to make you laugh.”

Izaya was trying his hardest to do the exact opposite of that. “R-Right. So there’s really no need for you to—ah!”

He bit his lip as fingers curled softly at the edge of his underarms. “I wonder what would happen,” Shizuo mused, tapping a rhythm against his skin. “If I tickled you ever so slowly…right…here...?” As he spoke, he wiggled fingers into the sensitive hollow, Izaya’s shirt doing very little to protect him. “What would you do, hmm?”

To be fair to him, Izaya really did try his hardest not to give in. He squeezed his eyes shut, tensing every muscle in his body in an attempt to hide how much the other was getting to him. In the end though, the soft persistence of it all was too much for him and he broke, musical giggles spilling from his lips.

“S-Shihihizuo!” he protested, writhing under his touch. “C-C’mohohon!”

Shizuo’s heart melted at the sight. Originally, his plan had been to come in and destroy Izaya with his newfound information, but now…. Looking at him now, flushed and giggling under such a gentle touch, Shizuo found that the only word he could describe him with was pretty. Though the thought was strange when applied to Izaya, his enemy, his nemesis, a man he had despised since the early days of high school, he found that he didn’t care in that moment.

So instead of digging in, Shizuo continued to administer the light touches currently driving Izaya up the wall and producing those heart stopping giggles that Shizuo was quickly becoming addicted to. “What’s wrong? Does it tickle?”

“F-Fuhuhuhuck yohou!” Izaya spat, the venom stripped from his words when matched with the stupid grin on his face. “A-Ahahaha, nohoho! Pffft, shihihihit!”

His legs gave out when Shizuo moved down suddenly, the feather-like touch dancing all over his hips. Shizuo swept a knee under him, his presence now the only thing keeping Izaya from collapsing on the ground. “You know, I think I enjoy you like this—all helpless and laughing. Maybe I’ll have to do this again whenever you decide to cause trouble in the city.”

Izaya’s eyes widened. Being held down and tickled like this daily was a thought that sent butterflies aflutter in his stomach. His struggling increased and he squeezed his eyes shut to try to distract himself from the situation. “Stahahahap ihihihit, yohohou bruhuhute! J-Juhuhust Nahahahat thehehere!”

“Not here?” Shizuo questioned innocently, continuing to torment his hips. “Why? Is it a bad spot?”

“Yehehes—Ihihihi mehehehean nohoho—I mehehehean—shihihihit!”

“I’ll take that as a yes then.”

For the next couple of minutes Shizuo persisted with his gentle assault on his nerves, driving Izaya out of his mind with the overload of sensation. It took a while for Izaya to genuinely plead, as he continued to insult and jab at him all the while until Shizuo discovered that fluttering fingers under his chin made him positively shriek and the man’s sanity quickly dissolved from there.

“Ohohohokay, ohohohohokay, I’m tihihicklish, n-now stahahahap!” Izaya scrunched up his shoulders, frantically trying to catch the other man’s hands between them. “Plehehease!”

Shizuo did stop, eventually. What he did next, however, was lean down and quickly press his lips against the other’s, claiming his leftover giggles in his mouth. He couldn’t have said what possessed him to do it, only that when Izaya had uttered “Please” through laughter-filled lips he found that there was nothing else he could have done. The kiss lasted for a mere two seconds before he realized what he was doing and quickly stepped back, releasing the other.

Izaya was staring at him wide-eyed as he slowly regained his footing. Shizuo’s hand covered his mouth, his fingers brushing against the place on his mouth where Izaya’s lips had just been. A similar red hue colored both their faces as they each tried to figure out what the fuck had just happened.

“Shizu-chan—” Izaya started, narrowing his eyes, but the sound of the familiar nickname was too much and Shizuo quickly fled before the other could get a chance to ask him any questions. Heart racing, the bartender quickly returned home and tried to figure out what had prompted him to kiss the flea and why he sort of wanted to try it again.

That week, it was Shizuo’s turn to avoid him.

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: the thread may stretch or tangle but it will never break, ch. 15

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī & Wēn Qíng, Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wēn Qíng, Wēn Níng | Wēn Qiónglín, Granny Wēn, Lán Yuàn | Lán Sīzhuī, Wēn Remnants, Wen Meilin (OC), Fourth Uncle, Lán Huàn | Lán Xīchén

Additional Tags: Pre-Slash, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Secrets, Crying, Masks, Soulmates, Truth, Self-Esteem Issues, Regret, It was supposed to be a one-shot, Fix-It, Eventual Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, wwx needs a hug, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Filial Piety, Handfasting, Phobias, Sleeping Together, Fear, Panic Attacks, Love Confessions, Getting Together, First Kiss, Kissing, Boys Kissing, Family, and they were married, Bathing/Washing, Hair Braiding, Hair Brushing, Feels, Sex Education, Implied Sexual Content, First Time, Aftercare, Morning After, Afterglow, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Torture, Scars, Eventual Happy Ending, Hand Jobs, Chronic Pain, Biting, Conversations

Summary: The conversation continues, and the Jiang siblings react.

Notes: This chapter was hard to write, but I finally got there! Lots of dialog, which had to be balanced. Updates are slow. Life is busy. Lots of responsibilities, and non-productive insomnia. Honestly, the most research I did for this chapter was on family and martial family names.

AO3 link

Chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14

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

Wei Ying’s words only seem to echo in the courtyard, their gravity giving them weight that feeds the illusion. The Jiang siblings stare at him, looking concerned but puzzled. 

“But you found her,” Jiang Wanyin says slowly. “She restored my core.”

“I never found her,” Wei Ying says, looking at his bowl on the table rather than his brother. “I didn’t know what to do, A-Cheng—you wanted to die!”

The words are said in a rush, with remembered grief. For once, Jiang Wanyin seems struck dumb, and Lan Wangji is glad of it—Wei Ying needs no interruptions. Already his posture is defensive. 

“I looked for a way. Went through Wen Qing’s whole library. And I found a theory.”

His voice breaks at the last word, and Lan Wangji squeezes his hand, letting Wei Ying know he is here for him. He knows this reminds his husband of the decision he made, to what for most would seem like an impossible choice. 

“A-Xian, what theory?”

Jiang Yanli, despite her makeup, looks wan and afraid. 

“In her papers. Treatments she’d theorized,” Wei Ying clarifies. “It was the only place I found any options. And I didn’t know what else to do.”

He’s stalling, but inadvertently drawing out the pain. Lan Wangji squeezes his hand again, unable to resist the urge to comfort him. 

Zidian sparks and Jiang Wanyin glares, his patience spent.

“What did you do?” he hisses. 

Lan Wangji is fairly certain they’ve already realized and are hoping they’re wrong. He rubs the back of Wei Ying’s hand with his thumb. 

“It was a theory about core transplants,” Wei Ying says. 

The shifting of emotions on Jiang Wanyin’s face makes his understanding clear. Jiang Yanli’s brows furrow, her expression one of confusion. 

“Tell me you didn’t,” he hissed. “Please tell me you didn’t.”

Wei Ying flinches—he can tell him no such thing, at least not without lying, because he did. Instead he silently holds his free wrist out to Jiang Wanyin, as he had only days before with Xichen, inviting him to see the truth himself. 

The Jiang sect leader recoils, physically leaving his seat and backing from the table, his face a mask of horror.

“No,” he whispers, his voice hoarse.

And so it is Jiang Yanli who reaches forward, sends her qi through Wei Ying’s meridians, and finds the emptiness where his core once sat. Lan Wangji can tell the moment she realizes, as tears spill over, cutting furrows in her makeup. 

Wei Ying immediately panics, pulling his hand from Lan Wangji’s grip, dabbing at her face with his sleeves.

“Shijie, you’ll ruin your dress. It’s okay, don’t cry.”

“It’s just a dress,” she says, her voice hitching. “And it’s not okay, Xianxian. Why didn’t you tell us? Why didn’t you let us help you? You’ve been suffering for so long and…”

She lets out a sob so deep it seems like it comes from her soul. Wei Ying lets out a little distressed noise, his hands fluttering helplessly, as though he wants to hug her but fears sullying her wedding dress. 

“Wei Wuxian, why?” Jiang Wanyin asks, his chest heaving as he fights his emotions. “I didn’t ask you to do that!”

He’s still standing backed away from the table, unwilling or unable to come closer. 

“You wanted to die,” Wei Ying says helplessly. “You said if you couldn’t avenge Lotus Pier alive or dead you’d rather be dead. You’re my brother—what else could I have done?”

Lan Wangji knows there is more, implied—after losing so much, how could Wei Ying stand to lose his brother? How much family could he stand to lose, losing his parents young, and then his entire martial family with the fall of Lotus Pier?

“I’d rather lose my golden core than that,” he finally whispers. “You could rebuild the sect with my core.”

“You could’ve rebuilt the sect with your core,” Jiang Wanyin retorts with a scowl.

Wei Ying smiles, but it’s a twisted, broken thing. 

“No. I’ve always been whatever the gentry decides I am: the worthless son of a servant overreaching, sect leader’s secret bastard, weapon of war, and now Yiling Laozu. No one would accept me rebuilding the Jiang sect, even without the demonic cultivation, A-Cheng. I’d be a usurper at best, never taken seriously.”

“You would’ve proved them all wrong!” Jiang Wanyin protests. 

Wei Ying shakes his head. 

“Nothing will ever be enough. I’d never be able to restore the Jiang sect to its full glory. Only you could do that, A-Cheng.”

“He is correct,” Lan Wangji interjects when it looks like Jiang Wanyin might argue over it. “They have never accepted him, even after he helped win the war. Wei Ying has never been thanked or shown respect, only belittled and vilified. He would never have been permitted to be sect leader.”

Jiang Wanyin frowns at that but doesn’t try to argue. He cannot deny the truth. 

“If they knew I took you to Wen Qing and you had died in her care, they’d say I killed you myself for power, that I worked with the Wens to destroy Lotus Pier, even. I’d have been executed, and shijie would be all alone and without a sect.”

There’s a touch of bitterness in his husband’s voice, and Lan Wangji touches his elbow, just to remind him he is there for him. 

“Lotus Pier was my fault, so I guess they’d be part right,” Wei Ying mutters, the naked grief in his voice heart-wrenching. 

Lan Wangji wonders if perhaps Wei Ying’s difficulty after the war was being in a place filled, at least metaphorically, with the ghosts of those for whose deaths he felt responsible. He had, by his own admission to Xichen, spent much of the time following the war drunk, until he liberated the work camp, using it as a way of coping with his trauma—from the fall of Lotus Pier, from the surgery, from Burial Mounds, from the resentful energy, from the war…  All of it. 

Perhaps rescuing these people has been his way of trying to even the scales on a debt that isn’t truly his. 

“A-Xian, it wasn’t your fault. They were always going to attack Lotus Pier,” Jiang Yanli protests. “A-Niang would never have tolerated a supervisory office in our home.”

She’s still crying, and Wei Ying mops at her face so her tears won’t ruin her dress. Her eyes seem to search his face, desperate for a sign he believes her. 

“It was never your fault,” she insists.

Wei Ying swallows hard. 

“Madam Yu said—”

“A-Niang was wrong,” Jiang Wanyin snarls. 

“And I know a-die told you to protect us, but who was going to protect you?” Jiang Yanli asks.

When he avoids her gaze, she reaches forward to cup his cheek. 

“We didn’t protect you. You’d been whipped with zidian and lost your home, too, but you’re the one who took care of us. No one took care of you, but you’re our brother, my sweet didi.”

Wei Ying’s breath hitches, and instinctively Lan Wangji pulls him close, holds him from behind gently, hopes he can take strength from the embrace. It’s not a full embrace, the position awkward, more of a press of chest against back, his hand a light pressure on his hip, but it seems to help, regardless. It takes a few moments for Wei Ying to compose himself enough that he is willing to release him, and during that time Lan Wangji avoids looking at his siblings, not wishing to see their reactions. 

A-Yuan is abruptly tugging on Wei Ying’s robes.

“A-Die sad? A-Die need a hug?”

Somehow Wei Ying manages a smile for the boy and pulls him up on his lap.

“Ah, my sweet son. That’s exactly what a-die needs.”

The child is happy to oblige, and then he lets Wen Ning take him back.

“You told him to call me guma, not shigu,” Jiang Yanli points out softly. “A-Cheng called him zhizi, not shizhi. And you told him to call A-Cheng shushu, not shishu. You know you’re our brother.”

She sounds almost forlorn, a sharp contrast from her fire when she claimed him as her didi on Phoenix Mountain to Jin Zixun.

Jiang Wanyin takes a step toward the table. 

“Lotus Pier is rebuilt, and so is the Jiang sect,” he interjects. “You’re coming back. I’m giving it back. We’ll undo it.”

The offer is startling, something Lan Wangji didn’t expect from him, and the soft gasp from Wei Ying tells him it is a surprise to him as well. Wei Ying shakes his head. 

“I don’t think it’s possible,” he says tiredly. 

“Why the hell not?!”

He seems almost affronted by the rejection. Lan Wangji can feel Wei Ying shiver, knows he’s struggling. His husband has had to have so many difficult conversations in quick succession, and this one is the hardest so far. And the offer to return the golden core seems to have thrown him. 

“Scarring,” Lan Wangji answers for him, remembering Wen Qing’s words. 

Silence reigns for a moment, the Jiang siblings looking upset, clearly wanting more detail. 

Wei Ying speaks haltingly, tells the tale he hasn’t told Lan Wangji, of being caught in the tea house in Yiling, of trying to escape, of Wen Zhuliu punching him right in the lower dantian, his stitches tearing at the impact. Of being beaten by Wen Chao’s men and burned by Wang Lingjiao.

“I had to get them to leave Yiling,” he said. “If they caught you coming down the mountain, it would’ve all been for nothing. I thought they’d toss me in a cell in Qishan. I didn’t expect Burial Mounds.”

Much of the rest of the story is the same as he told Xichen, this part having been omitted before likely to avoid having to talk about the Core-Melting Hand. This time, though, he also talks about the sword from the Xuanwu cave, the one filled with resentful energy, how it helped him survive Burial Mounds, that he crafted the seal from it during the war to help win it. Not, as the rumors suggested, from Xue Yang’s still-missing piece.

Much of this is new information to Lan Wangji, painting an even clearer picture of how incredibly impossible the odds were against Wei Ying’s survival. 

Wei Ying continues to dab at his sister’s face with his sleeve as he talks, keeping her makeup from running onto her dress as she cries. In the quiet that follows, her soft crying seems to echo in the courtyard.

A-Yuan vocalizes that she needs a hug, and Wen Ning murmurs softly about her special dress that needs to be kept clean. 

“Later,” Wen Ning says, and A-Yuan is assuaged. 

Jiang Wanyin has, during the course of the telling, returned to the table to sit heavily. The customary pinched expression normally on his face is gone, his anger drained away for the moment. 

“All those times I harassed you about your sword, about carrying it and polishing it,” Jiang Wanyin whispers, his voice choked. 

“It’s too heavy for me to wield for more than a minute or so,” Wei Ying says hollowly. “Even to polish it.”

He had taken joy in his cultivation and even having given it up willingly, Lan Wangji knows it’s still something that hurts him deeply. He himself remembers the joy of crossing swords with him on the rooftop, what feels like a lifetime ago now. Bittersweet, never to happen again. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Jiang Wanyin finally asks. “You convinced me to expel you from the sect, dammit. Why would you tell Lan Wangji and not us? After he wanted to take you back to Gusu for punishment!”

“He did not tell me until I discovered his golden core was missing,” Lan Wangji says.

Wei Ying is guiltless in that, and he will not let him be blamed. 

“I wished to take him to Gusu for protection and healing, not punishment,” he adds. 

Lan Wangji could see, throughout the war, that Wei Ying was suffering, that something was wrong, had wanted desperately to help him. He wonders if Jiang Wanyin is partly behind Wei Ying’s misconceptions about that, and tries not to be peeved—how much heartache could have been prevented? 

“Wei-g-gongzi did not intend to t-tell anyone,” Wen Ning contributes. 

His voice is sad, with a hint of disapproval for Wei Ying’s decision to withhold it. A-Yuan seems to decide he, too, needs a hug, throwing his arms around the fierce corpse’s neck. 

“Then how do you know?” Jiang Wanyin demands. 

“Wen Ning assisted Wen Qing with the core transplant,” Wei Ying says before Wen Ning can answer. “They were the only people who knew, until Lan Zhan found out.”

He does not, Lan Wangji notes, tell how, clearly sparing Wen Ning more ill-placed ire from Jiang Wanyin. It feels odd to be grateful his husband was injured, but without it, he might have walked away, down the mountain, ignorant of Wei Ying’s suffering. 

“Is that why you stayed, Lan-er-gongzi?”

Jiang Yanli’s gaze is level despite her tears, her eyes sharp, and Lan Wangji feels as though she is weighing him still. 

“En,” he answers simply. “I could only help him if I stayed.”

He had known for some time that his uncle was unlikely to help Wei Ying heal, that hiding him in Gusu would stifle him and destroy him just as it had destroyed his mother. Lan Wangji could continue to walk away, or he could stay. 

“And the marriage?”

Lan Wangji isn’t quite certain what she is asking—perhaps the reason he told Wei Ying of the handfasting?

“It could protect him, even if it was simply political.”

She smiles, but it’s tight. 

“No, I mean would you have told him, if you hadn’t learned?”

He doesn’t need time to consider the question; he assumed Wei Ying would reject him, as he had rejected the prospect of coming with him to Gusu. He had miscommunicated and misunderstood. 

“No,” he says, welcoming her judgment, as he judges himself. “I expected it would be a burden to him, unwelcome.”

Wei Ying startles at the admission, glancing at him. Lan Wangji hates that he sees guilt in his expression over the misunderstanding, runs his hand across his shoulder to comfort him. 

And realizes when his husband’s eyes go a little glassy that he’s run his hand over the hidden bite mark. 

How could he have thought this would be unwelcome?

Jiang Wanyin snorts, and Lan Wangji’s ears burn at the sense of being seen doing something illicit.

“The way he mooned over you? Talked about you all the time.”

He sounds long-suffering, as though Lan Wangji should have been aware of Wei Ying’s regard. Now, of course, he can see nothing else. But before...

“And then after the war, he didn’t,” Jiang Yanli murmurs.

After Wei Ying had survived Burial Mounds and come out scarred and afraid. 

“When I told him, Wei Ying tried to convince me he was unworthy,” Lan Wangji says. “I disagreed.”

Wei Ying tried to push him away before, when they were reunited after his disappearance, and Lan Wangji now knows it was out of a belief that he would somehow taint him.

“He feels himself unworthy of protection and love,” he adds.

A troubled look passes over Jiang Wanyin’s face, and Jiang Yanli just looks sad.

“That would be a-niang’s influence again,” she says softly. “A-Xian, we should have protected you better.”

Wei Ying shakes his head as though to deny their culpability, and she takes his hands. 

“No, A-Xian. She was wrong about your worth, and I hate that she cut you and A-Cheng down so much.”

Jiang Wanyin looks uncomfortable, and Lan Wangji doubts it’s because of his sister’s lack of filial piety. 

“She always compared me to you,” he grates after a moment. “I was never good enough, because you were better. And now you’ll always be better.”

Lan Wangji bristles on Wei Ying’s behalf, but his husband speaks first. 

“I didn’t do it to compete with you, A-Cheng,” Wei Ying says tiredly. “What the fuck was the point of competing when you were dying? I just wanted you to live.”

“And what about you?” Jiang Wanyin retorts. “What about your life? You think I want it to be a competition, you asshole? You told me to abandon you, but you wouldn’t tell me the truth! You keep trying to throw yourself away!”

Wei Ying cringes, and Lan Wangji returns to holding him, his own anger fizzling out as he recognizes the feelings behind Jiang Wanyin’s. 

“You didn’t expect to live this long, did you?” 

The Jiang sect leader’s tone implies it’s not really a question but a realization, and Wei Ying’s flinch implies he’s right. Lan Wangji can’t stop his hold from tightening on Wei Ying, Jiang Wanyin’s words making him feel ill. 

He has known his zhiji didn’t expect to live as long as he has, but neither of them has spoken of it. Wei Ying managed to survive Indoctrination and the Xuanwu, the fall of Lotus Pier and massacre of most of his adopted clan, the removal of his golden core, the fall and entrapment in Burial Mounds, the war… Lan Wangji hates that Jiang Wanyin is right in this, and hates even more that Wei Ying has faced so many situations that could have killed him. 

“You keep protecting other people, but you won’t let anyone protect you!”

Jiang Wanyin is practically panting in anger.

“You always need to be the hero, Wei Wuxian! But all the heroes die!”

He sounds dangerously close to tears, and his words send a jolt of dread through Lan Wangji—just the idea of Wei Ying dying sends his stomach plummeting. He can feel Wei Ying shiver against him. 

Jiang Yanli lets out a long breath, trying to compose herself. She gives Jiang Wanyin a warning look, and he scowls, looking away but clearly making an effort to calm down. 

“We can only move forward,” she says. “A-Xian will just need to learn to let us protect him.”

“He is learning,” Lan Wangji tells her. 

She manages a watery smile.

“When you’re hurt, it hurts us, Xianxian. Please let us help you.”

Wei Ying seems beyond words, and just nods. A tremor runs through him, and Lan Wangji knows he’s exhausted what energy he had left for the day with this conversation. His sister seems to sense this. 

“A-Xian, you look tired.”

Again, Wei Ying only nods, but Lan Wangji is of the opinion there should be no more secrets. 

“He was nearly possessed by a resentful spirit a few days ago,” he supplies. 

Jiang Yanli gasps, and he tries not to be pleased that she will want to fix this, too. It will strengthen her resolve. 

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying protests, but it seems more of a token protest. 

“Fortunately, xiongzhang was visiting. He calmed it with Liebing. There are now talismans where we sleep.”

“It tried while he was sleeping?” Jiang Cheng almost demands. “Is it still so dangerous there?!”

“I fought her,” Wei Ying murmurs, almost petulant. “She was liberated in the end.”

“Not the point, Wei Wuxian!”

“A-Cheng,” Jiang Yanli scolds. “We can talk about this later. I need to change so we can go with him and talk to Wen Qing. I expect she will have more to say about it, as well.”

“J-jiejie needs some items from the market, so we need to b-buy them before we go back,” Wen Ning offers.

Jiang Yanli nods firmly.

“Then we’ll meet you in the market. And then I’ll be finally able to get a hug from my zhizi.”

A-Yuan beams at her, already recognizing himself as her nephew, and she stands and shakes out her cloak to don it. Jiang Wanyin packs the tureen back in the basket.

“Get this idiot to eat the rest of his bowl,” he says gruffly. “He’s too fucking skinny.”

“A-Cheng, language,” Wei Ying says almost automatically. 

“Jiang-shushu said a bad word?” A-Yuan asks.

Jiang Wanyin looks almost panicked for a moment, then frowns.

“Yeah, yeah, Jiang-shushu said a bad word. Don’t be like Jiang-shushu.”

He gestures to the boy, who immediately climbs off Wen Ning’s lap and runs over, latching onto his leg, and he reaches down and rubs A-Yuan’s head affectionately. 

“Get your a-die to eat the rest of his soup before he goes shopping, okay?”

A-Yuan nods emphatically, happy to be given such a task, then rushes to his a-die’s side, climbing up onto the seat Jiang Yanli vacated.

Jiang Wanyin stares at Wei Ying for a long while. 

“We’ll fix this. We’ll figure something out,” he says heavily. “I owe you.”

Wei Ying shakes his head, obstinate. 

“You don’t. I owed the Jiang sect everything.”

That proclamation doesn’t seem to sit well with his brother, who scowls.

“No. No debts between family. It’s not a debt I owe, and you didn’t owe me your Golden Core. It’s what you deserve as my brother. I let Jin Guangshan’s stupid mind games get to me.”

Jiang Yanli, back in her cloak, her wedding robes and headdress hidden, approaches him and touches his elbow, murmurs his name. Jiang Wanyin glances at her, and nods, taking the basket from her. 

“We’re the Twin Heroes of Yunmeng, Wei Wuxian, and our sect motto is to attempt the impossible. We’ll find a way.”

Jiang Wanyin sweeps out of the courtyard with Jiang Yanli, and Lan Wangji can’t help but wonder if he spends his free time planning dramatic exits. 

Wei Ying releases a long breath, sagging against him the moment they’re gone. 

“Always needs to have the last word,” he murmurs. 

It’s almost a mirror of what Lan Wangji is thinking, and he can’t help a huff of amusement. Wei Ying turns to him with a tired smile.

“Aiya, all that was missing was a cape for him to swish dramatically.”

Lan Wangji has seen some of those capes, and can easily imagine such a thing. 

“Wei Ying also has a flair for the dramatic,” he comments.

“Yeah, but I have style,” he retorts with a snort. 

He turns to the soup, thankfully not needing prompting. Lan Wangji had expected it would have gone cold by now, but it’s still steaming. Likely the scent aroused Wei Ying’s hunger. He suspects the bowl has a talisman affixed to or carved onto the bottom, meant to keep the contents warm. Somewhat extravagant, but it allows his husband to enjoy hot soup even after all the arguing, so he is grateful for the forethought. 

They will have some time, he knows. Jiang Yanli’s robes are intricate and will need to be removed with care to avoid damage, and the headdress will also be complex to remove. She will need to wash the makeup from her face as well. 

Time enough for Wei Ying to finish eating, to dawdle a little while shopping to account for the exhaustion he undoubtedly feels, to take a breath before more difficult conversation. 

They have time, a gift Wei Ying apparently didn’t expect to have, and Lan Wangji will work to ensure he has much more. 

The Twin Prides, after all, now have the support of the Twin Jades.

[craykei]

I’ve written this because I no longer know where you are . And I know you won’t want to listen to me if I ever found you . So this will be here for you .. so fate can have something to lead you toward .

This is for the significant wonder :

It’s been years .  And my recollection of you fades with time . Not that it’s my intention to erase my own memory .. I won’t forget events in my timeline, or any important words you spoke to me . But I want to preserve a part of you in my mind . It’s long overdue that I strike what I’ve built .. and lock the image .  Of you .

Do you know who you are ?

You may have forgotten .  Because you’re different today . But you used to be somebody .. unbelievable .   You were a dream come true .  Everyday . And a hope never lost .  Anchored heavily and true . You were real . I knew of your depth .. yet I dared not tread beyond shallow water . Your welcome was a warmth .. That would easily subdue the air around me . And continue to envelop my spirit .

You had me absolutely yours . Did you ever know ?

Your words so pure, my heart would have stopped at your slightest verbal command Should you ever speak it done . And you would be the only divine being on the surface of this earth Who could accelerate my heart to race again .. With nothing more than a simple glance .

Your beauty was a challenge to appreciate .. in truth it was a universe in itself . As it filled infinite dimensions .. composing an endless symphony . And its potential was far too immense to be held in the very world you lived in .

But I appointed myself to that solitary journey ..   And embarked on a chain of blissful discovery Of everything .   Everything inside of you .

And granted, if my heart took the greatest capacity of courage ..

Then maybe I’d know for sure If this is where I was truly meant to be .

Underneath the most stars I’d ever seen in my life . On a porch stairway foreign to me .. Sitting one step below, and an arm’s length away .. From the most beautiful girl .. ever to grace my life story .

We were there together .. and I was a nervous wreck . I couldn’t speak .  And I wouldn’t dare look your way . I was afraid my words would slip .. And I would tell you .. you’re beautiful . Then instantly end up despising myself for using such incompetent words . You had no idea .. It was the first time I’d ever experienced for myself .. The supreme elegance which moonlight has the power to reveal . In you .

I was no match for the velocity bound inside of me . It was inevitable that I would lose to it soon .. And something .  Just .. something .. would escape me .. And reach you . And you would finally know . That I loved you . … And it .. escaped . … My voice was a disaster when I said it . I was instantly overcome with embarrassment and a concave silence .. Awkwardness left me ready and waiting to stutter my next word .. Possibly an apology for my crude mannerism .. Or a chuckled diversion to typically break the tension .. I was at a most desperate and pitiful loss for action or dialogue . Until I looked up . And saw your face . You changed everything . It was the first time in the history of my existence That I stared into the eyes of my destiny . It was in that instance where time itself ..  had stopped . To let us live in that moment .  Just a little while longer . Your stare was strong .. piercing me and tearing me apart . You spoke to me very clearly .. only with those eyes . They reflected everything the sky had to offer . Even if my sense of hearing was immediately taken from me Right then and there .. It still could never stop me from understanding The response within your gaze . You loved me . And my heart soared ..  clear into the highest of heavens . You began to cry as you said it . And I shared that feeling with you .. We repeated ourselves over and over again .. Releasing an abundance of jailed emotion and destined words . I held you so close .. As if to cover and shield you from the world .. Bravely protecting you from all harm that exists . And that is what I did . From that night on . Thus began the birth of our relationship together . I loved every minute of it .

At times it was a struggle to find myself with you . But I hadn’t the slightest need to wonder why . An easy journey would lead me worthlessly elsewhere .. It made perfect sense to me .. that a girl of your value Could only be reachable beyond life’s most difficult obstacles . I worked my hardest .  Just to have that time by your side . All of what I owned could easily have been traded .. To acquire what I needed for you . Because you were appreciative . Of everything I did .  And everything I was . Do you remember .. I drove alone for seven hours .. No phone and no more than a few dozen dollars in my pocket .. Just to see you .. For an hour and a half . And it was seven more hours driving back home .. Lost in total happiness .. and weary swoon That I was able to feel your arms around me .. And your face burrowing softly against my chest . There was never a time where I was simply able to set my eyes on you .. Without being overcome with a heavy rain of joy .. From the thought that this lovely woman Of unimaginative elegance standing here before me .. Is truly mine to cherish . … We created a world together .. didn’t we . It seemed like the longest period in my life .. You and I were inseperable . Truly .. I loved you so . We achieved sweet perfection . Until the scale had to be balanced . I don’t know why we came to that point .. In which everything good began to slowly burn .. I’d always put myself up to be blamed .. for blaming you . But we both knew it wasn’t that simple .. Eventually .. I let go .. freeing my hold each day . Releasing you of that shield which protected your entire being .. And allowing the horrors you feared to swiftly reach you . You lowered yourself so much . Putting every ounce of pride away . Just to ask me to reconsider my departure . But I couldn’t . I was callous and cold . Steadfast and loyal to my decision . And I hated myself for a long time because of it . You experienced the worst disasters of your life . One .  After the other . And I was not there to help .. Because of my own horrible choice . You spiraled into a maze of despair, deception, and death . And your health unfortunately coincided with these dreadful events . The world around you blamed you for everything . And you could have easily turned the blame to me . But you didn’t .. You accepted it all didn’t you . I know you did . I just couldn’t believe that you still loved me that much . Literally .. you were the only person who’d ever told me You’d give your life for me .. And proved it . But you disappeared . Before I could find you to apologize .. You were gone . I searched non-stop for what seemed like forever . Only to find that we were no longer even on the same continent . You had been sent away . My hope . Had fled my being .  Only to be replaced by new fears . I had never known the feeling .. Of not being able to know for sure If the only person you care about in life .. is still living . I plunged into the deepest despondency I’d ever experienced . Possibly the only true depression I’d ever been bound within . It lasted for what seemed like a seperate lifetime .. Trudging through nights where I lay in utter silence Only to wake up to days where I quietly float through the hours . I hated myself .  And I hated everything . It was the last and only time I’d ever felt this way . As the months crept by ever so slowly .. I met someone who understood . Somebody who only wanted to help .  And she did .  Somewhat successfully . And I moved on . Meanwhile .. you were there .  Away and across the globe . Never had a way of contacting me whatsoever .. but you never lost any hope . Still just as in love .. and working diligently to somehow find your way back to me . The possibility that I’m still looking for you .. Was the strongest motivation that kept you going . But word somehow found its way to you . And you heard I moved on . And it killed you .

After another year .. you were finally able to come back . And you contacted me . Do you remember how thrilled I was ? I was so relieved to know you were still alive and well . Physically . But your heart had been broken .  And your spirits darkened . And you were hurting so much . I felt the sadness I’d caused you .. And even felt the happiness you still wanted for me . You never did give up on putting me first . And I hated how you were so perfect . Unreasonable to the core .  Yet unselfish by nature . I wanted to be like you in that sense . And I wanted to find a way to somehow see you happy again . You eventually moved on . Found somebody in an unexpected atmosphere .. And he did hold you dear . …… We never spoke more often than once every 4 months or so .. And I was always eager to hear your good news . I loved to hear how much you cared about him . And about how your family was doing so much better . It brought me so much happiness to listen to you share these things with me . We carried on this way for quite some time, didn’t we . Rarely ever talking to each other .. and always by total chance . You seemed to be slightly different .. But I always felt like .. the old you was in there somewhere . Until your relationship had failed . I’m so sorry . Please believe that it brought me no happiness to learn of your misfortune . You were mistreated terribly .. and for awhile you allowed yourself to be blamed . Just like always . Taking the nobility route . But you eventually took note of his error .. And you were able to realize your innocence in the matter . … That’s when you changed . … You no longer wished to speak to me . When I tried my best to talk to you .. I was only responded to with hostility .. And annoyance .  And cruelty . It was all so sudden . I surely could not understand why you had become so cold-hearted towards me . Out of everything I’d been through with you .. This was brand new . I contacted you to ask how you were doing .. And it only upset you . You spoke to me rashly and casually .. cursing and being coarse Like never before .. as if I was a nobody to you .. Or a nobody to everybody . I felt as if you had totally shifted .  And I was afraid to know the truth . You were like a completely different or rather, opposite person . Or maybe you just forgot .. who I used to be to you . This was the last time I’d spoken to you . …..   ….. And also .. a leading motivator in composing this letter of sorts . Believe me .. I will not act as though I truly understand you now . But I will also keep myself from being anymore of a bother to you . And I know I made you aware of that upon our last conversation . I just wanted to let you know .. I am finally ready to close this chapter in the book of my life . After everything we had been through .. which was indeed valuable .. I guess this is where our story ends . I just wanted you to have a final understanding toward my definition of our time together . I will not immortalize you in my mind as a terrible person . You will be one of the very few people I will forever remember . Please accept these parting words . You will always be inside my definition of ‘beautiful’ . Even though you may dislike me or no longer care for me .. There will always be a special place for you in my heart and memory . A place that has been crafted by you .. during the period in which we existed as one . You are loved .  By an entire world of people . Don’t ever doubt your worth .  You are absolutely priceless . Any man who does not see that .. is not even worthy of your eye contact . Your way to success clearly exists .  Please do not give up on yourself . Extraordinary things require hard work to reach .  And I learned that through you . Be honest with yourself .  You deserve the best of all things . Don’t ever be ashamed of your wonderful smile . And please don’t second-guess your beauty . Never allow yourself to be abused .. you must be treated as the queen you are . Aim beyond what you expect for yourself .  You’re far greater than that . I won’t be finding myself in your life any longer so I sure hope I’ve said all that’s necessary .  I’m sure I’ve covered all that I wanted to assess . I know this isn’t the best way to convey such strong emotion .. but if you’re meant to know these things, then I know you’ll find your way here naturally . And since you probably won’t want to talk to me .. I’ve left all of this here for you to read at your own pace .. if you choose to read it at all . Have a great life .. wherever you are .  And good luck with whatever you’re doing . I hope you’re well .. If there’s one mental picture to keep .. Let it be the moment we shared On the porch steps of your house . Underneath the most stars I’d ever seen in my entire life . Thank you for showing them to me . And thank you for teaching me to be a better person .

Thus concludes .. the story of us .

[hedwigstalons]

High Expectations - Ch13

Ok, art challenge officially flunked.  I managed 12 chapters though and as someone who did not art I think I’ve spent more time being creative over the course of this fic than I have in the last 20 years cumulatively.  I’m still going to keep drawing (I’m actually quite enjoying it) but the writing and sketching schedules are not aligning.

@willow-salix has been incredibly patient with me, it would probably be a very different (and much shorter) story without her.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Thirteen

Jeff had been surprised to get out of his meeting and find the memo on his desk.  He hadn’t known his eldest son was coming home so the request that he make it back in time for dinner was pleasant if unexpected.  It would be nice to have another adult in the house.  Maybe having Scott around for a few days would set a good example to Gordon and get him to buck his ideas up; his fourth son was still being a distinct trial on his patience. 

He entered the apartment to snippets of conversation and laughter that drifted down from the kitchen.  Scott’s clear voice carried strongly down the hallway and the sound of his eldest brought a smile to his face and he hurried through to see the son he now saw the least of. 

“Evening Gordon” a quick, curt greeting to one son before turning to the other, “Scott, this is a pleasant surprise, how come you’re here?”

“Hi Dad.  I just had some leave owing, I thought I’d come back and see you folks.  It is ok for me to stay isn’t it?”

“Course it is, Son, this is your home after all.”

“Thanks.  Dinner’s nearly ready, it needs another, what, ten minutes?”  Scott looked across at Gordon for confirmation and got a nod in return. 

“Great, I’ll just go get washed up.  Where’s Alan?” he asked, noting that the table had only been set for three.

“Senior science club.  You’d know that if you paid any attention to his schedule.”

The animosity radiated off of Gordon and Jeff noted the warning hand Scott placed on his younger brother’s arm, urging him to keep his cool.

“Fine. Well, I’ll be back in a few minutes boys.”

As Jeff exited the kitchen Scott turned to Gordon, still keeping hold of his arm.

“Look, I know things aren’t great between the pair of you…”

“Understatement” he was interrupted with a snort and an eye roll.

“...but please don’t make things any harder than they have to be.”

“Fine, I’ll be a good boy.”

“Gordon…!”

“Ok.  No arguing with the old man, I get it.  Now, can you let go of me please, I need to turn the stove off.”

Scott released his brother who turned back to the bubbling pans on the stove and put the finishing touches to the meal he was preparing.  They carried the plates and dishes over to the table between them and waited for their father to join them before starting.  The smells coming out of the pots were really quite tempting, it looked like Virgil was right when he said their brother had hidden talents.  The meat was grilled to perfection and the sauce was full of flavour.

“This is delicious Scott.” Jeff commented after spearing a piece of broccoli.  

“Actually, Gordon cooked, I just did what I was told.”

“Hmpf, at least one of you can follow instructions then.  Did you finish your personal statement Gordon?  I want to see it after dinner.”

Scott realised that the arguments clearly flowed both ways.  No wonder Gordon had been so miserable if every achievement was overlooked and every opportunity to take a dig at his failings was fully exploited.  With every passing minute they were in close proximity, and each sniping comment from their father, that fragile confidence he had bolstered was visibly leaching out of Gordon.  He noticed with concern that Gordon’s plate was still worryingly full.  How could a man that was meant to love his children equally be so complimentary to him in one breath and scathing to Gordon in the next?  He had always been prepared to excuse their father’s faults, the long hours of work and pushing responsibility onto himself and Virgil was an unfortunate consequence of a man trying to do his best for his family, but he couldn’t stay quiet over tonights’ injustice.  Placing down his fork he took a deep breath and prepared to enter the fray.

“Actually Dad, Gordon and I have been busy this afternoon.  It’s my fault he hasn’t done it.”  

“Well he can work on it after dinner then, the next college application cycle will be closing soon.  Perhaps you can give him some pointers.” 

“I’ll help Gordon with his application but it won’t be for college.” 

Jeff, sensing insubordination, narrowed his eyes.  He had come to expect it from Gordon but Scott had always followed his lead.  This new development was surprising.

“Well what else would he be applying for?” 

“WASP.”  It came out slightly louder than Scott intended causing the surrounding silence to deepen ominously.  He held his father’s gaze and set his jaw in determination.  He had committed to supporting Gordon and was prepared to make a stand.

“Not that nonsense again”  The rebuttal was swift and accompanied by the clatter of steel against crockery as the remains of the meal were abandoned.  Jeff’s anger rose swiftly at the mention of the aquanaut patrol.  “He’s too young and hardly has the right temperament to follow orders.  Even if they would accept him he would probably be court marshalled out within a month and I will not have that sort of shame brought on the family”

“He won’t be too young in February and he has exactly the right temperament to join as an officer.”

Now it was Gordon’s turn to be surprised.  He was grateful to Scott for his support in joining WASP but to hear his brother thought he should be an officer was a step further than he had ever considered.  He had been staying silent during the verbal tennis match between Scott and his father, trying his hardest not to inflame the situation.  Tensions around the table were escalating.  Scott had always deferred to their father previously but his time in the Air Force had him used to being in command and now it was like watching the alpha male and the young contender circling for dominance in the pack.  He wondered if the comment was deliberately designed to challenge their father or if Scott really meant it.

“Gordon?  An officer?  You cannot be serious about that.”  There was derision at the mere thought of Gordon taking a role of responsibility.

“I’m perfectly serious.  You never saw him at Marineville.  You never heard what his assessors said about him.  If he hadn’t had to withdraw from selection they were going to offer him a commission, they could see he was wasted in junior ranks and I have to say I agree with them.  WASP selection makes the Air Force tests look like a cake walk but Gordon was good out there.  If he wants to go into WASP then I for one will support him, it would be nice if you could support him too.”

“I think I know how best to support Gordon and that is in continuing his education, that’s if Gordon is even still eligible for college.”  Jeff reached into his jacket and drew out an envelope, it was addressed to Gordon and bore the marks of the California Department of Education.  He slid it across the table.  “This was in the mailbox downstairs.  I was hoping to talk to you about it privately, Gordon, and save you any embarrassment, but seeing as your brother is determined to play a part in your future we may as well discuss this now.  I can only assume there has been some error in the awarding of your high school diploma.” 

Scott looked at the envelope with some concern.  If Gordon really had flunked his diploma then becoming an officer was off the cards and even junior ranks looked doubtful.  WASP really could afford to take only the best and this could be a major stumbling block.  His younger sibling paused for a moment, trepidation etched across his features, before reaching out and picking up the letter. 

“Took them long enough, I’ve been waiting for this.”  There was something in his tone that Scott couldn’t quite place; more nervous anticipation than worry.

Gordon slit open the envelope slowly, as if not wanting to see what it contained despite having been expecting it.  A single sheet was carefully extracted and it only took Gordon a moment to read the short correspondence.

“Bastards.”  The exclamation was spat out as the page was thrown down in disgust.

Whatever reaction Scott and Jeff had been expecting it wasn’t this.  

“Gordon, what’s going on?” Scott butted in, cutting off their father from issuing a rebuke for foul language.

“They won’t change the topic.”

“Topic?”  Scott looked at his brother in confusion.

“Yeah” Gordon sighed heavily, too exhausted to maintain the mask he normally wore around his father. The anger in his features mixed with pain as the memories resurfaced.   “You wouldn’t have had to do this one back in Kansas but California have a unit on Modern American History and Dad here is a compulsory assignment.  I wrote and asked them to take it off the curriculum.”

“Why would you try and do that?  I know things aren’t great between you two at the moment but surely you don’t want to wipe Dad out the history books.”  He tried to place a reassuring hand on Gordon’s forearm but the limb was yanked out of his reach.

“This isn’t about Dad, it’s about ALAN!”  Gordon dropped his head into his hands, his elbows slamming painfully against the tabletop.  Grief and a sense of failure bubbled up inside him as he hid his face from twin questioning gazes.  He hated showing weakness, hated giving his father yet more ammunition to throw back against him, but the memories were too strong to repress.

“What the hell has Alan got to do with this.  Seriously Gordo, you aren’t making any sense.”  First it was about school, now it was about Alan.  Scott felt like he was trying to read a book with half the pages missing.  He was sure it made sense somehow but at the moment all he knew was that Gordon was clearly upset and hurting.

Jeff snorted, choosing to ignore the deep breathing as Gordon fought to maintain control.  “I dare say your brother will do a better job than you when the time comes.  From what I remember of that paper you barely scraped a pass grade.  It really says something about your abilities when you can screw up what should have been the easiest assignment of the lot.  It’s your own family for goodness sake.”

“Easy?”  The blonde head snapped up, locking eyes with his father and channeling the grief into anger.  “That was the hardest paper I’ve ever had to write in my life and it’s going to be ten times worse for Alan.  At least I wasn’t mentioned by name.” 

“Gordon, what’s going on?”  The rising flush of emotion to his brother’s cheeks filled Scott with concern.

“The paper, it’s not just about Dad, Mom’s in there too.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to have the worst moment of your entire life there in the set text for the whole class to see?  The avalanche, Mom dying, Alan surviving, it’s all there.  They didn’t even have the decency to put it in the main text either, it’s just a footnote like it isn’t really important.  Our Mom’s death is a fucking footnote and I didn’t want Alan to have to deal with it like I had to, it’s not like I’ll even be here to help him when the time comes.  Ever since Dad decided I was going to be packed off to college I’ve been trying to get it changed.”

“That...that sucks.”  Scott couldn’t even begin to imagine what it would be like to have to face their own personal tragedy in the classroom.  What it evidently had been like for Gordon.  “But Alan won’t be dealing with it alone, Dad will be here.”

“What, like he was here for me?  You and Virgil were better parents than Dad has ever been.  He only cares about the bottom line.  Make the grade and nothing else matters.”  The chair was shoved back angrily.

“Gordon, you should have told me.” Jeff cut in quietly, his face ashen at the sudden reminder of the tragedy that had ripped his wife away forever.  That Scott and Virgil were viewed akin to parents by the younger ones rather than just brothers was also a shock.  Had he really been so far removed from his family?  What else had he been blind to?  His eyes tracked backwards and forwards, trying to keep pace with Gordon who was now striding about erratically on the opposite side of the table in a display of energy Jeff suddenly realised had been absent for many weeks.

“I tried to but you weren’t exactly in a listening mood.  You were too busy bawling me out for getting suspended.” 

“You got suspended?”  How much had he missed out on in the last seven years?  If Gordon had ever confided this to Virgil his next younger brother had never shared the burden of knowledge.  The Gordon he had left behind may have been a bit of a pest at school with the occasional prank or missed homework but nothing that would warrant him getting suspended. 

“Guess some of my screw ups Dad didn’t even want to share with the family.  Yes Scott, I got suspended.  I...well...I got upset in class and some of the others kept going on about it and then one day I snapped.  Ended up breaking someone’s nose.  The Principal took it off my permanent record though when he found out what it was over.  I think he felt sorry for me.”

“So you tried to get the Department of Education to drop the topic.”

“Yes.” Gordon picked up the letter again, a look of disgust crossing his face.  “They won’t though.  They ‘thank me for my concerns and provide their strongest assurances of the factual accuracy of the text books’.  He’s got another year to go yet but when he gets there please look after Alan” this plea was directed straight at their father,  “cos I can’t if I’m at college and it’s going to be rough for him.”

Scott found the disgust mirrored in his own features, not just at the Education Board, but also for the actions of their father who had clearly skipped out on the emotional wellbeing side of parenting.  Gordon had faced the demons alone and was now doing his level best to protect Alan.

Any further discussions were cut short by the arrival home of that same small, blonde hurricane.

“Scott!  When did you get here?”  Alan launched himself across the room and draped himself around Scott’s neck, nearly strangling his older brother.  The new arrival seemed unperturbed by the obvious tensions around the table and Scott wondered just how normal it had become for the youngest to be surrounded by bad feelings and barely concealed arguments.   

“Hey, let a guy breathe.”  The clinging arms loosened slightly but weren’t released completely and Scott returned the hug.  “C’mon, we’ve finished here.  Do you need to eat?  Any homework due tomorrow?”  

A shake of the blonde head.  “You’re as bad as Gordon.  What is it with everyone checking up on my homework?”

As bad as Gordon, not as bad as Dad; Scott filed that away for the next time he spoke to Virgil.  He had been so happy to be free of the responsibilities of family that he had never really considered who had stepped up to take his place.   

“Well if you’re sure you’re good let’s go somewhere more comfortable, you’re pushing me off this chair.”

Jeff watched as Scott unhooked Alan’s arms and led the party through to the lounge.  Those were the questions he probably should have been asking as a father but hadn’t thought to.  Scott had stepped in first as though checking in on the youngster was the most natural thing in the world.  

All traces of the argument were put to one side for the sake of the youngest but the look Scott shot Jeff showed that the discussions were far from over.    

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Hurt, pt.5 (E.D.)

Summary: Three weeks later, Ethan and Y/N are in very different mindsets and while Grayson and Ethan had a heart to heart and promises were made, Grayson breaks a few

Warnings: ANGST, swearing, talk of depression, the end might be triggering and it contains depictions of blood

Word Count: 3000

Hurt - Series Masterlist

Ethan sat across from his therapist, glancing at her once or twice uncomfortably. His fingers grasped the leather chair with more force than necessary, his nails clawing at it unforgivably in a need of release - pent up anger and sadness mostly directed toward himself, it all needed a vent to come out.

“I called Grayson.” He sighed, looking down at his bouncing knees. He didn’t even realize he was doing it before, making a conscious decision to stop with the annoying habit.

“You came.” Ethan sprang to his feet, greeting his brother like an old friend. It’s been a while since they’ve hugged, let alone been civil to each other for any matter aside from work. Two months to be exact.

“Of course I did. Is she okay?” Grayson tapped his brother’s shoulder, relieved he had been on his mind long enough to make the list of people he’d call. While he had been extremely angry and disapproving of Ethan’s actions, Grayson still adored his brother more than anything. He just hoped he’d get back to some form of sanity where he could get to him.

“She’s, uh, in there. They won’t let me see her. Which is for the best, really.” Ethan folded his arms over his chest, something to hide his shaky hands from Grayson. Being open and vulnerable about his state of mind has never been easy for Ethan. He had a tendency to bottle things up and explode like a ticking time bomb. But now that he’s seen the damage, he had to come clean.

“She’s also pregnant, I think. I’m not sure, I heard something.” He added, noticing Grayson’s dumbfounded look. Grayson looked like he needed a seat himself, struggling to decide whether or not to be happy about being an uncle or devastated the baby would be born in a broken marriage.

“I broke things off with Bianca. Think I might need an assistant again. And someone to cover for me at work because I…I’m going to check myself into a mental institution. Tonight. Now.” Ethan knew he was throwing too much new information at his brother, but he needed to bring him up to speed before he took the plunge. He had to know his Y/N would be taken care of properly in his name.

He wasn’t a fan of doctor Henstridge, but the man had a point. Y/N is in a horrible position now and the pregnancy makes it even harder. If he wants her safe, he needs to remove himself from the equation for a while. Just enough to heal himself. Just until he can start thinking straight and make good decisions for the future.

“I think I’m going to lose it.” Grayson reached for his inhaler, in need of a breath he couldn’t seem to find on his own as his heart beats wildly fast and his lungs constricted painfully.

“It’s bad, Gray. I can’t be a good dad or husband when I can’t even help myself. I’ll go, do the work and the moment I’m out I will grovel for forgiveness.” Ethan leaned into his seat, tears pooling in his brown eyes - the color Y/N never knew she could love so much or that she’d look for in every man’s eyes, but the shade was never quite right as it was in Ethan’s, undeniably more attractive and enticing than any other brown eyes she had ever seen.

“I’ll take her home with me. Clara will know what to do. They’ve always been close.” Grayson spoke slowly, unsure what to say about his brother’s decision to check into an institution. On one hand, Grayson admired his bravery, on the other, he feared it. The first time around, they had both been in the darkness. They had each other and somehow they made it through. But for Ethan, his proud brother, to decide he needs inpatient treatment? That was terrifying.

“If she asks, tell her I’m in Australia for business or something. Just don’t tell her the truth.” Ethan swiped his thumb under his nose, sniffling.

“Why? Why don’t you talk to her? Clear the air before disappearing for a minimum of two weeks?!” Grayson raised his voice which got him shushed by nurse Jackie immediately. He nodded as if to apologize, returning his attention to his broken brother.

“No.” Ethan was sure of his answer.

“What I did comes with consequences. I can’t just walk in there and tell her I’m a depressed fuck-up who left her for someone else who I knew wasn’t right for me all along. In fact, I wasn’t even going to leave her that day. I just wanted to tell her the truth. I wanted to be honest and tell her I love her more than anything but I thought I felt something real for someone else. I had no intention of acting on those feelings and I was going to tell her something wasn’t right with me, but she got so angry.” Ethan paused, his lips quivering. Hoping to hide his fallen defenses, he ran a hand over his chin, covering his mouth as he continued.

“She got angry and she didn’t want to listen. Then I got angry and I let her lash out and I let her walk away thinking she would be better off anyway. It’s still on me. I let her walk out. I wasn’t completely open with her. My choices hurt us and I refuse to use my depression as an excuse, a hook to draw her back in based on guilt and worry.” Ethan stood, walking over to the door that separated him from the love of his life who had fallen asleep with the help of a mild sedative, unaware of his unraveling in front of her room.

“If she ever takes me back, I don’t want it to be because I’m fucked in the head. I want it to be because I made some kind of a redeeming decision that had benefited her and our child.” Taking in a deep breath, he turned to Grayson.

“I love her more than anything. I’m not dragging her down with me. So you take care of her for me, okay?” Ethan smiled meekly as he stepped closer to his brother.

“And give her this when you deem she’s able to take it.” Ethan slipped a piece of paper in Grayson’s hand before turning around and walking out.

“It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.” Ethan’s voice breaks and his psychiatrist nods. She already saw progress in him, even if it’s been just three weeks. She believed her client would be okay eventually, that he’d heal. He would find a way to return to society in time.

“Everyone manages their depression differently. Some keep pretending nothing’s wrong and just go through the motions. Others manage to burn their life to the ground…some take other’s down with them. I’m proud of you and the decisions you’ve made. You were selfless, you cared. But you will need support to claw your way back up.”

Meanwhile, Grayson had done as Ethan asked. It wasn’t easy, but he had convinced Y/N she could trust him. She didn’t mention the possible pregnancy Ethan did, but it didn’t stop Grayson from acting like an overprotective proxy for Ethan.

That day, Grayson waited until morning for Y/N to wake up before coming into her room. She was awake and talking, a faint smile upon her lips and he knew she was doing better. She wasn’t well versed in faking emotion, one of the things he loved about his sister in law. She was always honest about her heart and Grayson always knew what to expect – no hidden motives, what you see is what you get.

“I was worried sick, but you seem to be doing well.” Grayson cleared his throat, eyeing the blonde man who was talking to her way too closely considering his position. This doctor had crossed boundaries and Grayson didn’t quite like it. There’s a reason ethics exists and there’s a pretty solid rule on having a professional relationship with your patients.

“Gray?!” She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her eyes wide and locked on the door behind her brother in law. It’s as if she was waiting for Ethan to come in after him, to ask her to talk to him or clear things. For some ungodly reason, Y/N spent the whole night dreaming of Ethan coming to her rescue. In her dreams it was all perfect as it used to be – her Ethan being as kind and as gentle as he was when they met, as adventurous and sweet as he was in their relationship, as loving and romantic as he was in their marriage. She missed that version of him terribly.

“I’ve been called as next of kin. Wanted to bring you home. Clara can’t wait to have your around more and the kids are already decorating the guest room.” Grayson smiled, stepping closer to her bed with a quick glance at the doctor who kept a close eye on him. It’s evident the doctor doesn’t trust him, probably assuming he’d just take her back to Ethan, the bad guy in his mind.

“Oh. I can’t. You know I can’t.” She heard her voice crack, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip as she tried to keep herself together. Going to Grayson’s meant seeing Ethan and she didn’t know if she wanted to. Her subconscious seemed to urge her to see him, but her conscious wanted her as far as possible. Her brain would remind her of the pain inflicted upon her by his careless words and traitorous actions and she was scared of feeing anymore of it. Love and hate are two sides of the same coin and while she was dancing on the line between the two, she preferred to hate him for what he had done. It’s much easier to hate him than love him, because if she loved him still, she’d have to hate herself. So, yes, to love herself, Y/N had to hate Ethan.

“He’s gone to Australia. You won’t even see him. He’ll be gone for a while.” Grayson reassured her, noticing her features fall but a curt nod followed.

“Great.” She piped up, turning to doctor Henstridge. “I supposed you can get me discharged then?” Her lips curled up at the corners, managing to get a prompt response.

“Yes, of course. We still have to talk about –“ Edward cleared his throat awkwardly as he glanced at her belly only to resume eye contact a moment later, “your, uh, situation.”

“Situation?” Grayson cocked his head to the side, hoping she’d tell him of her pregnancy. However, all she did is smile up at him – she wouldn’t lie to him, but she wouldn’t tell him anything just yet. It didn’t feel like the right time.

“All in good time, Gray.”

Grayson kept a close eye on Y/N, feeling his anxiety grow as he pulled his wife aside for a quick question.

“Did she tell you anything?” He spoke to Clara, but he didn’t even look her way. No. Grayson’s eyes have been trained on Y/N since he brought her home and while she spent most of her time with his kids or on that porch swing he and Ethan built for Clara in their house. Ethan had talked him into building a matching one on his porch as well, mostly because Y/N was the reading type and he insisted he wanted her to have a porch swing.

She would sneak a peek at her porch swing from across the river, back at the house she and Ethan designed themselves. It was on the same property as Grayson’s house, separated by a river and a small woodsy area, two minutes away and very visible from her current position. It looked the same, as if it wasn’t the place her hopes have burned to ashes.

“You really want to live in the middle of nowhere?” Ethan questioned, his arms tightly wrapped around her waist, securing her to his body as if she were a balloon and she could fly away from him any second now. She placed her hands on his arms, drawing in a deep breath as she stared at the old house that definitely needed fixing up and vision, but she had it. She knew that the house had potential even if it was a rubble. He didn’t know it then, but when they met, she could still see his rubble. Despite what he thinks, she loved the rubble and she loved every crack because she saw the potential beauty behind it. And she believed that in this moment, as they were talking about buying a huge property with his twin brother, that the potential beauty she saw had truly come to life.

“It’s big and Grayson could get the one on the other side and you’d still have your own place but also your brother whenever you wanted to.” She turned in his arms, wrapping her own around his neck loosely.

“I dream of us starting a big family on this property. I can see the porch swing you’d make Grayson build me, the bay windows, the swings we’d get for the kids and the trampoline because you want to have one despite your age.” She smiled as he chuckled, aware he’s on board with the plan.

“Little Ethan and Y/N running around, driving us nuts.” Ethan licked his lips, his eyes glued to hers as if there was nothing more important in the world but the way she made his heart beat whenever her eyes bore into his.

“I love the vision as long as I’m part of it.” He decided, leaning in to press his lips to hers.

She could almost taste his lips as the memory had faded, catching a sob in her throat before it sounded. Every moment spent together was now a painful memory. They are sharp, and cut right through her she thinks about their past. Even the sweet good moments they had are now turned into a knife that kills her already broken heart.

Ethan had pierced her soul; made her skeptical about people and love. And she can’t help but hate him. She fucking hates him for that, for turning her into this broken mess, and even if she never saw him again, his touch will be with her for years, or maybe for the rest of her life, who knows. But she will see him again. She felt it in her bones. After all, she was to bear his children and she had decided she wouldn’t hide it from him. He’s an asshole, but he deserves to know he’s going to be a father.

“I’m sure he’ll love you guys. I’m sure he’ll be a bit shocked about the numbers, but he always said he wanted three kids. I guess that’s going to be something he can cross off his bucket list now. Unless Bianca gives him more.” She sighed, shaking her head to stop the thoughts from overpowering her.

“I never expected to have three at once, but at least I can close shop after.” She chuckled, wiping a persistent tear off her cheek as she placed a palm over her lower abdomen, unaware she’s no longer alone.

“Three?” Grayson breathes out, holding onto the porch swing as he lowers himself on his knees, half out of his mind. That’s something he didn’t see coming. He expected one, but three? He wondered if Ethan knew. Or if he didn’t, would he have done the same if he did?

“Please don’t tell him. Let me.” Y/N turned to Grayson, her lips pressed together in a thin line as she pleaded.

“I won’t. But…you should know he and Bianca aren’t together and from what he last told me they never will be.” Grayson wanted to at least open the door for his brother to have a place to come home to once he returns. If he couldn’t tell her anything else, he’d do this for them both. A small act of kindness.

“Wha-what the hell do you mean by that? Because he told me he loves her.” Y/N stood, her insides shaking – from pain or anger? She couldn’t tell.

“He said he never wanted a divorce. He thought he felt something for her, but he said it was just the mist of their past clouding his judgment. He wouldn’t have acted upon his feelings, but you wouldn’t hear him out and you left him, serving him with papers a month later.” Grayson defended his brother only to receive a scoff in disbelief on Y/N’s side. She felt herself shake, certain she’s enraged this time around.

“I WOULDN’T LISTEN?” She was losing control once more, her head pounding. “HE TOLD ME HE LOVES SOMEONE ELSE AND THEN HE LET ME SIT IN AGONIZING SILENCE AS WE WATCHED YOUR KIDS!” It felt like her throat would be scratched raw by her shouting, but she could care less. She was brought back to the edge she thought she walked away from and it threatened to make her fall again.

“I can’t believe the crap that comes out of his mouth.” She giggled, but her giggle quickly turned to a sob as she clutched her stomach. She had to bite her lip to keep herself from crying out, doubling down.

“What’s happening right now?!” Grayson jumped back to his feet, his arms open to catch her if she falls. He couldn’t tell if this was a real emergency or her simply trying to find a way to process what he told her.

But Y/N didn’t even think about Ethan right now. She felt something warm…something liquid come out of her. She felt herself growing faint for when she opened her eyes, blood began to drop on the porch and she didn’t need to check to know where it’s coming from.

She didn’t hold back her tears any longer.

“I think I’m having a miscarriage.”

Tags: @melodiesforari @brittttneyyyy @beautorigin  @dolandolll @xalayx @godlydolans @heyits-claire @peacedolantwins @dolanstwintuesday @accalialionheart @ethanhes @lanadeldolans @ebbach-03 @dolangels  @xxaamzxx @cutestdolans @yaren-ates @dolansmith @vintagebitttch @primadolangirl @caqsicle @jjustjoy @justordinaryjen @graydolan12 @imaginashawnns @graysonslovie @fandomsfeministsandothershit @bdsmdolan @graysavant @ethanspillow @dopedoodes @anything-dolan  @sugarfootdolan @joyrivh​ @reblogserpent​ @jonesana​ 

[tessimagines]

Wash Me Clean // Thomas Shelby - Part Four

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x Reader

Summary: (Y/N)’s nursing skills come in handy when Martha Shelby’s conditions worsen.

Series masterlist is linked in my bio. 

Warnings: angst, death, sickness, swearing and shouting. Overall, a pretty heavy part. 

Word count: 3.2k

A/N: Hey guys! I’ve had plenty of messages asking when this part was going to be out so I hope you all enjoy it after your anticipation. It’s a pretty heavy one, so beware, but I am pretty happy with how it’s turned out. I’d love to hear what you guys think!

The knocking comes at midnight.

It’s frantic, each one rapidly following the other, clear desperateness on the other side of the door. Your thin white dressing gown clings to your skin as you open it, the brown eyes of an unfamiliar woman greeting you. She’s breathless and cuts off any sort of question before they can pass your lips.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N)?” She breathes, her husky voice matching the stern look of her face. “I’m Polly Gray, Tommy’s Aunt. You're needed.”

“Why? What am I needed for?”

“We don’t have time, I need you to come now.” She grabs your wrist in earnestness. You can tell by the look on her face that there is no refusing. Her word is final.

“Just let me get changed.”

“I told you, there is no time.” She notices the burgundy overcoat strung up on the coat hanger by the door and yanks it off. “Just put this on and shoes, we need to leave now.” 

You’re too startled to say anything and take the coat from her hands. You slip your shoes on and follow her out the door, Polly’s hand gripping your wrist and tugging you behind her. 

Making your way through the streets of Small Heath are a blur. The street is almost quiet in the dark of the night, but some figures still emerge from out of the fog. Drunken men, most of them. Each one of them darts in and out of the streets, a bottle of whisky in their hands and some old song from their childhood on their lips. None of them dare to touch Polly, and her grip on you seems to keep their prying hands off your own body too. 

By the time she pulls you into an unfamiliar house, you seem to have come out of your haze. It’s small and similar to the Shelby family home, parallel in the decor stationed around the room. Yet it somehow lacks the warmth you felt upon entering the Shelby family home for the first time. 

“Polly?” You hear him call. It sounds as though Thomas Shelby is half dead and alive, and when he descends the stairs, you see he looks it too.

“Yes, I’ve got her.” 

His hair and clothes are an unruly mess and his forehead is soaked with sweat. His eyes frantically look into your own, desperateness deep within them. 

“(Y/N),” It comes out in a rush, each sound of the word soaked in relief. He reaches out and grabs your arm, his emotions taking hold. He snaps his eyes down to where his touch meets yours and pulls his hand back. “Follow me.”

“Can someone please tell me what is going on?” You ask, frustrated. Thomas doesn’t answer until your on the next floor, standing outside a closed door. 

“My sister-in-law, Martha. John’s wife. She’s gotten really sick and we don’t know what to do.” He pulls a hand through his hair, his shirt now off-white with the colouring of sweat. 

“Is she through there?” You nod towards the door in front of you. Thomas only nods in response, a large release of breath coming out. 

You take a step towards the door, placing a hand on it’s worn golden handle. You allow a last deep breath to settle in your lungs before opening it up and stepping inside, the sound of Thomas’ steps behind you.

You are instantly met with the trademark smell of human pestilence, the sickly sweet smell of sweat rife in the air. A woman with hair of strawberry blonde lays weak on the bed. You can tell that her hair would once have been immensely bright, but in her weakened state, it has been made dull, lifeless and limp. The pillow she lays her head upon is stained with patches of blood, her body nothing but a delicate pile of bones wrapped in the sallowest of skin.

“Is this her?” A man from beside the woman gets up, John Shelby. He has the same blue eyes as his brother and sister, but these are framed by dark, dreary shadows. He doesn’t know you, and you can tell he hates the idea of a stranger so close to his sick and vulnerable wife.

Thomas only nods as you walk around the double bed, kneeling down beside Martha. You reach a hand up to her forehead. Before you even touch her skin you can feel the heat radiating off of it. Then she gives a shake, the stark difference of your cold fingertips on her skin chilling her right through to the bone.

“How long has she been coughing for?” You ask, taking the woman’s thin, fragile wrist in your hand. Her pulse is rapid, unmaintainable.

“A few weeks, at least,” John says, very clearly on edge. “And she’s been coughing up blood too.”

TB. Tuberculosis. Consumption. They have many names for it, but once it gets this far, it always ends the same. Martha Shelby won’t make it through the night. 

Thomas meets your eyes and you can see the question in them. But behind the question, you can see he already knows the answer. You nod and watch his jaw clench, his hand reaching up to his head.

You suck the air out of your mouth and look at the flame of the burning candle on Martha’s bedside table. You cannot cry. This is not the time to get emotional. 

By the time you open your mouth and speak again, your voice is the only stable thing in an otherwise chaotic room. “Open the window up halfway.”

Thomas immediately starts to walk towards it until John’s anguished voice erupts from behind you. “It’s fucking winter! She’ll freeze to death!”

“She needs fresh air!” You respond. “You need it too if you don’t want to get sick!” Thomas had already opened the small window across from the bed. The frigid air ruffles the champagne curtains as it wafts into the room.

“Tommy, get Polly to fetch some lukewarm water and a sponge. John, I need you to help me strip her down.” Thomas had already disappeared by the time John had helped you pull Martha into a sitting position. She wears a yellow-stained white shift, the lace-frilled collar holding splattered patches of blood. 

In the dim candlelight of the room, the sweat on her body glistens like stars in a pitch-black sky. Thomas had returned with Polly, brandishing a copper bowl filled with warm water and a sponge. She immediately passes it to you and steps back.

You let your eyes met Tommy’s for a final moment before plunging the sponge into the warm water. You twisted it, letting go of the excess water before pressing it into Martha’s forehead and trailing it across her face.

She lets rip a violent cough, thick white phlegm mixed with blood splattering on her bare chest. John holds her back, his face almost as white as hers in distress. You pull her hair back and rub a thumb along her right temple. “It’s alright, Martha, you're doing fine. My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N), I’m a nurse, okay? I’m a friend of Tommy’s.”

Martha seems to calm at your touch, some of her muscles loosening as you press the warm, wet sponge to her skin. Every breath is flimsy, a wheeze coating every inch of it. But she meets your eyes for the first time, tired green meeting a bright (e/c), and she nods. 

You continue to sponge her skin as she falls asleep in John’s arms.

John paces the second-floor landing, arms flying. “I don’t fucking understand!” He shouts, specks of spit flying out with every word. “You’re a nurse! You're supposed to heal her, bring her back! Not just wait around for her to fucking die!”

“John, she’s done the best that she can, as much as any doctor could do,” Thomas speaks to his younger brother. He is standing as close to you as he ever has before, his arm only an atoms width away from your side. You try not to think about it, and instead focus on the pacing Shelby in front of you.

“John, I know this is hard. But I’ve treated enough patients with consumption to know that Martha isn’t going to make it. It’s too severe, it’s weakened her too much.” 

John opens his mouth to shout again, but finds no words come out. In his falter, he pulls his hands to his head and crouches down on the floor in front of you. 

“Oh, fuck. The kids.” Was all he could get out. It was clear he was trying to hold back violent sobs. 

“It’s time for them to say goodbye to their mother. I’ve ventilated the room, so it should be safe for them to enter.” He was still crouched in the dim light of the second floor. “And John, I think you should say goodbye too.”

He says nothing as he gets up off the floor and walks over to another one of the doors on the landing. He hesitates in opening it, and instead violently pounds his fist against the oak timber. The shrill sound of frightened children sounds from inside and Tommy makes his way over to his brother, gripping his neck and pulling his face close to his own.

“Pull your fucking head in.” He mutters. You feel as though you should turn away and give them privacy, but your eyes are glued to their huddling forms. “I know this is hard, the hardest thing you have probably had to go through but this isn’t just about you. You’ve got kids in there who are going to lose a mother just as much as you are going to lose a wife. Now pull yourself together and let them say goodbye, John. They deserve that, eh?”

John’s jaw is clenched tight and the muscles in his face are stiff. He doesn’t say anything as Thomas lets go of him, but turns to open the door of his children’s bedrooms. He disappears behind it as Thomas turns back to you.

You don’t speak for a moment, silence clinging to the air like a waiting storm. Tommy has his hands on his hips, half of his shirt untucked and hanging past his pinstripe grey trousers. It is only then that his eyes settle on your body and he notices for the first time that night that you were only in your dressing gown, a burgundy coat hastily thrown over the top. 

“You’re in your dressing gown.” 

You take a glance down at yourself and remember the hurriedness that had seized Polly’s voice as she had dragged you from your house. “Polly was adamant there was no time to change.”

Thomas nods and another moment of silence passes between the two of you. When he speaks again his voice is sincere and light.

“Thank you.” 

He is looking right at you with those piercing blue eyes. It was only then that you felt he could see every inch of you, pass the solid exterior that you forced yourself to hold up. And for some reason, the thought didn’t scare you. You want him to see you, all of you, for what you really are.

“It’s my job.” You say as he takes a step closer to you. 

“Still. Thank you.”

He is only an inch away from you, his closeness prickling the hairs on your skin. They stand upright, alert, as you reach for his hand dangling by his side. He lets you pick it up and enclose it in your own, a comforting gesture in a house currently turning to shit. And you want to hold him, have him hold you too, until the sound of a bedroom door opening quickly pushes you apart.

John walks out with the youngest of his children, a boy no older than two and a half, sitting in his arms. The other three children walk out behind him, all their faces pale with fright. They’re confused, having just been told it is time to say goodbye to their mother. But for what? Where is she going?

You nod at him, watching as he leads them across the landing and into the other bedroom. Polly hugs him on her way out, closing the door behind them, allowing them the privacy of their last few moments with their mother they will ever have. 

“I’ll take them to our place after they say goodbye.” Her voice is husky. It is hard to tell if it is generally like that or only because of the current situation. “(Y/N), are you going to go home? I’m sure Tommy can walk you.” 

“It’s alright,” you quickly respond. “I should stay here, to check on her in the night. She might need to be sponged down again.”

Polly nods, turning to look at her nephew. “And you?”

“I’ll stay here too.” When he sees her raised eyebrows, he quickly adds, “for John.”

“Sure you will,” Polly says, descending the stairs beside you. “Thank you for what you’ve done, (Y/N).”

Tommy pours the tea into two porcelain teacups, the bitter aroma of the English Breakfast tea filling up the small, compact kitchen. He places the delicate silver spoon into each of them, mixing the sugar until all of it dissolves. With an air of intent concentration, he picks up both of the floral-painted teacups by their saucers and carries them over to the small table where you sit, taking a seat across from you.

“I’m not an expert tea maker, so I apologize before you drink it,” he says, a tired smile on his lips. The stress of the night had left dark bags under his eyes and his skin increasingly sallow. You supposed that your appearance mirrored his, fatigue visible in every pore of your skin. 

“I’m sure it can’t be that bad,” you say, lifting the teacup and bringing it to your lips. It only needs to sit on your tongue for a fraction of a second before your face involuntarily scrunches up at the overpowering bitterness.

“Do you take it back now?” He adds, noting the expression on your face. You laugh before a snort erupts from your nose, instantly widening the smile on his face. Then you’re both laughing, eyes glistening in the light from the gas lantern between you. 

“It’s... bitter.” Tommy takes a sip of his own before he turns back to you, his eyes crinkling at the unpleasant sharpness of the tea. He swallows it and nods.

“I see what you mean.”

The two of you just sit there, smiling at each other, taking refuge in this small pleasant moment against the other not-so-pleasant ones tonight. But then his face changes, and he lets something slip from his lips that he hasn’t spoken about since he left France.

“I watched so many men die of consumption in the war, so many mates.” His eyes are on the red tea in his cup, watching the wisps of steam float up into the air. “I thought I would grow used to it. But that smell that always comes with it... every time it brings it all back.”

He looks up from his tea to your face once again, noting the understanding in it. “I’ve tended enough patients with it, but yet that smell always gets me.”

Tommy notices your hand resting on the table and reaches out to grab it. His touch is delicate and soft, hardly the demanding man that everyone seems to know. You turn your hand in his, gripping it, letting him know that the touch is welcome. 

“There is something you put in that first letter you sent me,” you say, holding his hand. His eyes move up to your face and he waits for you to continue. “You said that I probably wouldn’t remember you, that you were just another soldier to me. You were wrong. As soon as my landlady handed me that letter and said it was from a man named Thomas Shelby, I remembered. I couldn’t get out of that room quick enough to open it.”

He’s silent, motionless. You want him to say something but it’s clear that he doesn’t know how to respond. So you continue, eyes still focused on his face. “You see, I could never forget those blue eyes.”

This time, he smiles. It’s faint but still there, no matter how hard he tries to suppress it. You feel a lightness spark in your chest when you catch it and then your hand grips his just a little bit tighter. If it wasn’t for the table keeping you apart, you might not have helped leaning over and kissing him. 

“Come on, I’ll get you a blanket and you can sleep on the sofa.” He stands up, lifting his hand up out of yours and placing them on his hips. He hasn’t bothered to tuck his shirt in and it still hangs half in and out. The sleeves of his shirt are rolled up, exposing the skin of his forearms. 

You nod, following after him as he walks out of the room. He walks over to a cabinet, opens it up and pulls out an old patchwork quilt. It smells faintly musky but you hardly mind, taking it from his arms. He pulls a second, thinner blanket out, this one plain white and leads you over to the drawing-room. 

You roll your blanket out on the settee before taking your coat off and hanging it over the end. You hesitate before untying the rope of your dressing gown, not sure if it would be appropriate to stand before him only in your nightshirt. But by this time, surely all formality has been thrown out the window.

After taking it off, you turn to him again. You notice him look at your nightshirt before quickly forcing his eyes back up to your face again. He has laid the blanket out on the floor next to the settee, his make-shift bed looking anything but comfortable. 

“You can’t sleep on the floor,” you state, crossing your arms over your chest. He shrugs, pulling a spare cushion from the sofa and placing it down on the foot of the blanket.

“I don’t have much choice. I doubt the both of us would fit on that sofa, eh?”

You get under the quilt on the sofa, watching as he does the same on his make-shift bed. He doesn’t bother changing his clothes and instead just hops in with his dirty shirt and trousers on. 

A moment passes in the dark of the room, only a single slit of moonlight trickles in from the gap in the blinds across from you. You hear another cough come from upstairs, followed by a scuffle of footsteps. 

When he speaks, it’s almost a whisper. “Goodnight, (Y/N).”

You can make out the outline of his face so close to your own. He cannot be comfortable, laying there on the floor, you think. “Goodnight, Tommy.”

And you shut your eyes, waiting for the sleep that you know will never come. 

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[nekoabiwrites]

Comfort in Music

Another prompt thing for @thesquirtlesquadwrites! This time, instead of a particular sentence prompt, we decided to just use an AU prompt and this one was Soulmate AU where your soulmate(s) can hear what music you hear.

Once again, my titles suck... And this idea with these exact songs mentioned has been in my head for like... almost two years now and I’m so happy to have written it out!

Read the rest of the fics here on the masterlist for this prompt: https://thesquirtlesquadwrites.tumblr.com/post/187333342346/soulmate-au-hearing-the-music-your-soulmates

AU: College AU Pairing: LAMP Words: 3269 Warnings: Many awkward and bad things happen to Virgil, mention of depression and insomnia, mention of car crashes, very lightly implied use of self harm, very lightly implied thoughts of death (The last three are from the song used). Anything else, please let me know.

Summary: Virgil is having a very very bad day and uses music to cope. But, he underestimates just what would happen when they all heard it.

---

Today had been pure hell for Virgil.

Firstly, he’d had an awful night’s sleep. His insomnia had hit hard the night before as well as this one, leaving him painfully awake at what he could only guess to be close to 6am. Not only that, but he’d been having a really bad down period with his depression and it was only adding to his mood, if he could even describe the lack of feeling as a ‘mood’ – one of his housemate’s would definitely say it counted. Eventually, he’d been granted some reprieve from it, but had then slept through his alarm, making him late for his 10am class. He’d had to walk in during a particularly quiet part of the class too, heaving breaths being awkwardly supressed as Virgil had ran all the way there.

“Nice of you to join us, Virgil.” His teacher had quipped jokingly. Several of the class had smirked, snorted or smiled in response, which had Virgil’s stomach dropping and his mind screeching. He’d taken his seat quickly and kept his head down for the entire lesson.

Then the teacher had thrown them a surprise quiz. Virgil was wholly unprepared for it and fought to control his anxiety. He was able to get through it. It was thankfully short and actually fairly easy.

Of course, the rule of three had to be completed. His English teacher just had to add that extra layer of insult to it all. Virgil had been called upon by the teacher, completely without warning. He had no time to prepare himself for it. He’d been unable to answer, instead just using a string of filler words and incomplete stutters. When his teacher had given him a look that just screamed disappointed and several other students glanced in his direction, Virgil felt like he might just break down into tears then and there with how bad he felt.

They were eventually let free. Virgil couldn’t decide whether being out first or lingering back to leave last would help him. He fretted about it for a moment but ended up just heading out in the pack of students as they all left. After getting out of the building, Virgil diverted away from the rest of his class and moved towards the opposite side of campus. He didn’t have another class for a couple of hours and knew he still had some assignments to work on, so he decided to attempt something akin to productivity in the campus library.

In the quiet building, Virgil realised that he just didn’t have the focus for anything remotely productive. He spent the two hours staring at the document, trying his hardest to read it and add to it in a meaningful way. All he ended up being able to do was add a couple hundred words, none of which he wasn’t happy with.

Then came his next class. With one of the worst surprises of the day.

“It is time for you all to split into groups to work on a short presentation about…” Virgil stopped listening after that. He knew practically no one in this class, everyone else seemed to have at least one friend in here and – to top it off – he was going to have to present something with these strangers?! His mind was racing once more. Then, he finally clocked back into the teacher’s instructions.

“So, these are the groups I’ve picked.” She clicked to the next slide to show all of their names grouped up.

Virgil almost succumbed to his panic right then and there. But, the rest of the lesson went by quickly. The group wasn’t so bad, they were just as awkward as him, and the presentations were thankfully short. He didn’t have to do much. By the time he left, Virgil was ready to grab a drink from the campus shop on his way out to the house.

The universe wasn’t done with him yet.

Just as Virgil got out of the building, his foot caught on the heel of his other and he went down onto the concrete. In front of all of his classmates. And the incoming students. And several faculty. And a visiting tour group. He hissed silently in pain as he stood up, thanking the couple of people who went to help him to his feet. His cheeks were burning with embarrassment. But then he tried to casually walk away.

A sharp sting of pain came from his knee and Virgil winced involuntarily. He moved to the side of the door, assuring everyone who asked him if he was okay that he was, and checked his knee. It was grazed and pretty badly too. It was bleeding a little, but it was nothing he hadn’t seen before.

“Fuck these jeans.” He muttered to himself, looking at the wound that was perfectly shaped to the hole in his jeans. After letting his body get accustomed to the pain, Virgil headed towards the shop. He prayed silently that any interaction he would have in there would go well, and it did. Except he was stopped multiple times before he got there by people asking if he was okay. Each time that question was asked, Virgil was closer and closer to losing it. Tears pricked the back of his eyes. This day could not get worse.

Then his drink practically exploded on him as he opened it.

Virgil thanked every deity he could that he was down away from campus and that no one was around. A couple of silent tears slid down his cheeks as everything that had been piling up all day was starting to weigh him down a little too much. He just wanted to go home, curl up in his blankets and sleep. Just sleep forever.

In order to do that, however, Virgil had to walk back to the house he shared with some other students. There was only one thing that was going to hold him together until he got there.

Virgil quickly pulled out his headphones, plugged them into his phone and scrolled to find his playlist. He’d always had this playlist, ever since he’d gotten this phone. It was what he needed for days like this, for days when everything in the world was too much and he just couldn’t handle it, for days when…

He tapped the playlist titled ‘When The Depression Hits’ with a wry smile at the title. The volume was turned up to its loudest and Virgil let the music wash over him. The slow introduction of the song ‘Justified’ had him breathing in deep and breathing out slow. Sure, it may be bad for him to listen to stuff like this so loud, but it was the only thing keeping him from breaking down right now. Ever so slowly, Virgil began his walk home.

Several songs passed by as he wandered the pavements he’d walked along so many times. All of them fit his mood so perfectly. Each one of them had at least some lyrics that resonated with his current state so fantastically, summed up everything he wanted to scream to the sky but he just couldn’t find the words for. Somehow, all of the loud guitar and piercing vocals calmed Virgil. It didn’t get rid of the voice screaming at him, it didn’t make him feel better about all the things that had happened. It just calmed him enough to keep him from crying openly.

He was just turning into the larger street that his veered off from when he paused at the edge of it to scroll for a particular song. When he found it, Virgil hesitated for a second.

‘What if they can…’ He thought to himself. Virgil physically shook his head to rid himself of the thought, ‘No, they can’t. It’s fine. Probably busy doing their own things…’

Virgil hit play before another thought could cross his mind and stop him.

“I’m wide awake and so alive. Ringing like a bell…”

The song began and Virgil immediately felt a ball of tension in his stomach. He continued on his journey, speeding up a little.

He knew this was stupid. To listen to a song that hurt him a little, that gave him thoughts that he was ashamed to admit he thought. Virgil knew they’d all be disappointed in him for it, but this song was his emotional release.

When the chorus hit, Virgil couldn’t help but mouth the words alongside the singer.

“I wanna feel a car crash. I wanna feel a capsize. I wanna feel a bomb drop, the earth stop, til I’m satisfied. I wanna feel a car crash. ‘Cause I’m dying on the inside. I wanna let go and know that, I’ll be alright. Alright.”

To Virgil, that was his emotional release. That was what he wanted to happen. He wanted all of those things. Just to know he could feel. That slight sting in his knee was reminding him that he was really a human, really alive. That he could feel things. That he wasn’t hollow and empty.

Virgil set the song to repeat itself continuously. He began singing quietly under his breath, each and every word piercing his soul and mind.

The view of the front door of his rented house had Virgil digging his phone out from his bag. He turned the music off and slid his headphones from their place over his ears. He dropped both of them into his bag while he dug around for his key.

It took a single step into the house for Virgil to be accosted by something just the tiniest bit shorter than himself. He’d not even been able to pull his key out of the lock.

After getting over the shock, Virgil looked down ever so slightly to see the soft brown hair of his housemate who’d buried his head against Virgil’s chest. “Uh, Patton? Could I… close the door?”

Patton pulled away with a soft pout and a concerned look in his furrowed eyebrows and large eyes behind even larger glasses. Virgil felt his every move being scrutinized. That wasn’t normally Patton’s thing. But it seemed to be just how today was going. Things that didn’t normally happen happening to Virgil just to make his day more and more uncomfortable and upsetting. His mind ran wild with assumptions and ideas that Virgil had somehow upset his usually smiley housemate.

However, all of that was dispersed once Virgil had shut the door and taken off his shoes – which had been rubbing at his heels too as their insides had been peeling off for months now, only adding to Virgil’s pain. Patton had immediately thrown himself back into Virgil, cuddling up close. Only then did Patton’s eyebrows return to their natural position and he relaxed.

Virgil was a little confused. He returned the hug and the two of them sat there on the stairs in the embrace for a moment. Virgil even closed his eyes, relaxing into the warmth of Patton’s hug.

All of his housemates had agreed that Patton’s arms and hugs had some kind of magical relaxing healing power – well, he and one other had agreed, their final housemate had then begun a lecture on the scientific benefits of physical comfort.

Speaking of, a familiar clearing of the throat had Virgil’s eyes snapping open to look up into yet more eyes behind glasses. He went to apologise, but the other cut him off.

“I think we are all expected upstairs, Patton.”

Patton immediately shot up, “Oh, Logan! Right! I forgot!” He then grasped Virgil’s arm and dragged him upstairs, the movement being a little difficult for the one being hauled along behind as he had to keep up with Patton’s fast pace.

Virgil followed his housemate through the hallway, expecting to be taken to Patton’s room. But, then they passed that door and went into Virgil’s.

The injured student was finally let go and he stood in the doorway for a moment, while Patton moved to take up a space on the end of his bed.

Virgil’s room had always had soft purple string lights surrounding his room and all of them were on currently, even though it was still light outside. The blinds had been pulled all the way down and candles had been lit, all of them sitting around his TV in a decorative manner. Speaking of, the TV in question was already showing a shot from his favourite movie, clearly having been paused where he last left it off. When Virgil looked back over to the bed, he noticed that it was absolutely covered in pillows and blankets and duvets and soft toys. Some of the blankets had even been pinned to the walls, creating a bit of a blanket fort vibe. One of the large plastic containers Virgil had used to move his stuff in was sat in between the edge of the bed and the chest of drawers where the TV sat, taking up most of that thin space. And, sat already in the corner, was his final housemate, who had a controller in his hand.

A gentle hand grasped his wrist and Virgil found himself being coaxed – by Patton – towards the bed. Virgil crawled up onto it a little clumsily, trying not to disturb the state of the pillows. Instinctively, his other housemate moved his arm, an obvious invitation for Virgil to rest himself against him, which he did cautiously. The raised arm came to rest around his back, holding Virgil securely with its strength.

Patton cuddled up on the other side of Virgil. He began to quietly ramble, dispersing the remaining silence in the room that wasn’t already gone by the whirring of Virgil’s game console that was whirring away below the TV, as the movie was rewinded back the beginning, “Isn’t this so cool? Roman came up with this and set it all up, saying we could all use a hangout night. I could only help by carrying all the blankets and pillows in so Ro could set them all up perfectly like this. We all know I’m terrible at all this careful stuff, so I turned on the lights and left to help Lo!”

Virgil shot a quick glance up at Roman, who had a very small prideful smile on his lips at Patton’s praise. He could see that Roman was seemingly biting at the inside of his mouth, a small thing he did to keep himself from talking when it was necessary. Virgil was about to call him out on it, but Patton continued.

“Oh, and Logan did all of the snacks! He thought about what we had, what we didn’t, what each of us likes! Then he went out and got all the stuff we needed and the drinks too! I helped carry them back, though. There’s so much and it’s all so good!”

Just then, Virgil noticed that Logan had slipped silently into the room and was placing down bowls of snacks. In opposition to Roman’s smile, Logan’s cheeks had flushed a soft pink at Patton’s kind words.

“And I suggested watching movies! I thought it would be nice, we haven’t done it in a while! We all picked a movie each and we decided to have your favourite one to start, because you weren’t able to be here to pick because of classes. I hope that’s okay, Virgil!”

Virgil had long since given up holding tears back. He buried his face in Roman’s chest to avoid showing that tears were rolling down his cheeks. Thankfully, none of them said anything about it. The only acknowledgement they gave were physical ones. Roman’s arm tightened for a moment, and Patton squeezed him tighter too; simple actions that let Virgil know they cared. Logan, after placing their respective cups and drinks down and taking a seat on the bed himself, reached past Patton and grabbed a hold of Virgil’s hand gently.

Roman started the movie and placed the controller down, freeing up a hand that was quickly grabbed by Patton. Virgil was surrounded by arms and warmth and love, and it broke him. He sobbed silently, his body quivering and shaking as he tried to not let out a sound.

He knew they’d have heard it when he was walking home. They were his soulmates after all. Of course, they’d hear his music. That was how it worked. It was how they’d all found each other in the first place.

Roman listening to the same section of a song from the musical he’d been cast in to get the lyrics down had led all three of them to seeing said musical and approaching Roman at the end of the show. Though, of course, life wasn’t going to be so easy on them all, and they just had to go and see it on different nights, confusing Roman. It was so unlikely to have multiple soulmates, yet it seemed like he did have them. He’d never met any of the three who’d approached him, so it was highly unlikely they would be playing a prank on him… He had a lot to think about.

Patton listened to children singing nursery rhymes frequently due to his volunteering at the university’s child care centre. This had Virgil passing by with the hopes he could maybe get an idea of who it could be. When he saw Logan, Roman and Patton exiting one day, all smiling in their own ways, Virgil had written it off and barely thought about it. He didn’t even consider that the three of them were soulmates, let alone his. But the three of them had found each other.

And then the trio had needed a fourth person to live in their house with them. They put out a call on the university facebook page and – by some miracle of self-confidence – Virgil had answered. Things had been easy going for the first few weeks; Virgil found out that the three of them were soulmates and he was the odd one out, nothing really new there for him. But then, the oddest thing happened when Virgil skipped out on watching a movie. He’d decided to try and drown out the sound of his housemates bonding with his own music. And then Roman had burst through his door and picked Virgil from his chair into a spinning, spine-crushing hug.

It took some explanation and several assurances that they were not confused nor playing a cruel and unusual joke on him, but Virgil had – eventually - accepted that he’d been rooming with his soulmates this whole time. And everything fell into place. Things became easier, calmer, nicer.

Virgil had opened up to them a little. He explained to them that he was sorry about the almost constant music from him but that it was a form of comfort, that he had playlists and songs for almost every mood. He’d shown them, and played, his entire depression playlist one day.

Back in the present, Virgil let out a snort of a laugh as he remembered that. Once again, his soulmates didn’t acknowledge it, knowing that if they did, it would only make things worse. They all knew to wait for Virgil to open up to them about it, if he ever wanted to. Virgil moved his face from Roman’s chest, turning so he could see the screen. He used his free hand to wipe away from of the tears before he relaxed fully. He was already feeling far better. It wasn’t a cure-all, everything wasn’t magically fine, but it was better and that was all Virgil could ask for.

---

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[elceeu2morrow]

NEW DIRECTION Louis Tomlinson on why he’s not ready to make up with Zayn Malik and how fatherhood made him grow-up fast

Beth Neil  2 Feb 2020, 0:01  Updated: 2 Feb 2020, 3:06

Back then he didn���t appear to be a natural frontman. He wasn’t one to hog the spotlight, nor did he seem remotely interested in competing with the magnetism of Harry or the vocal range of Zayn.

“There were times I struggled to find my place in the band,” Louis admits today.

But it’s often the quiet ones you’ve got to look out for.

Behind the scenes he was very much centre stage: Louis was the mouthpiece, constantly fighting the boys’ corner and acting as chief negotiator between band and management.

“Being from Doncaster,” he says, “I’ve never had a problem with telling anyone ‘no’.”

On top of this (and perhaps most significantly), in the six years that the band were together after finishing third on The X Factor in 2010, Louis diligently racked up more songwriting credits than any of the others, hinting that a hard-working and ambitious young artist lurked beneath the surface.

Indeed, while he might be the last of the band to release a solo album (four years after they announced their hiatus, breaking several million hearts in the process), the result suggests that Louis, having held his nerve and bided his time, might just prove to be the dark horse.

“There was a while when I was worried I was getting left behind – some of the boys are on to their second album now,” he says, taking a draw onthe first of several cigarettes. “At times, I’ve been swimming against the tide, working out who I am. I was trying to find a way back into the industry, thinking of it mathematically rather than going off feeling and emotion.”

He’s referring to collaborations with Bebe Rexha and Steve Aoki in 2016 and 2017 respectively, which, although successful, weren’t where his heart lay. With Kill My Mind – the exhilarating ’90s-inspired opening track of the album Walls – he sets his stall out with a clear departure from anything he’s done before.

Walls is about regret, reflection and ultimately, hope, and feels like Louis, who sings in his still-broad Doncaster accent, has finally found his voice.

“I’ve always wanted to be autobiographical and honest. And in the last six months the songs I’ve written and recorded are of a better standard because there’s an honesty there,” he says.

Honesty certainly characterises the album, sometimes devastatingly so. There’s no escaping the fact that Louis, 28, has faced unimaginable pain over the last few years.

First losing his mum Johannah Deakin, known as Jay, in December 2016 to leukaemia, and then his sister Félicité, who died last year aged 18 following an accidental drug overdose.

The lyrics to Two Of Us, written about his mum, include intimate details about Louis’ experience with grief.

“It wasn’t until after I’d written it that I realised how much vulnerability I’d put in there,” he says. “When I first performed it… I had fans coming up to me in tears telling me their stories, and that’s not something I’ve ever had before. And to do it on that level about something so delicate… It was really cool to take something so dark and make people feel like that.

“I had to get a song like that off my chest. It was difficult writing about things that felt trivial compared to what was going on in my life. There was, I think, a necessity to write that song before I could move on creatively.”

Understandably, Louis won’t talk specifically about Félicité. But when asked about how grief has shaped him both as a man and an artist, he pays tribute to Jay.

“I think it’s a credit to how my mum brought me up that I have a resilience,” he says. “There’s nothing I want less than to have people feel sorry for me, so having that mentality has helped me through the hardest of times.

"I’ve also felt a real support system through my fans. I’d always felt it on a lower level, but when it’s something so impactful and life-defining, I really did feel it from them.”

Days after Jay’s death, Louis appeared live on The X Factor to perform Just Hold On with Aoki.

He was clearly in pieces and it was hard enough just watching, but somehow he held it together, presumably thanks again to that resilience.

“Sometimes it’s fight or flight,” Louis explains. “And the way I was brought up and because of where I’m from, I only see one option in that situation. I also wanted to put myself second and do it for my mum.

"That moment was bigger than me and it was actually incredibly liberating. It used every bit of strength and power and I look back on that performance as one of the proudest moments of my career.”

He says he tends not to suppress emotion and is able to share his darkest points with those he’s closest to.

But as the eldest of Jay’s seven children (five girls and two boys), he also feels a huge weight of responsibility towards his younger siblings and hasn’t had any professional therapy himself.

“No, no, nothing like that. That might be down to a bit of Northern pride, but I have a lot of responsibility on my shoulders and that drives me. I’ve got siblings who look up to me and I’ve got my grandparents as well. So all those things keep my head screwed on.

“My mum had a massive influence on me and I lived with a lot of sisters in the house, so I do find it easier to speak about my emotions. But I’m also from Doncaster, where to be a guy is to be tough and traditional and I feel like [there are] times where pride kicks in and I just say I’m all right.

"I’m lucky that I’ve got good people around me who I can trust and who I can be completely vulnerable with and say how I feel. Nine times out of 10, I don’t bottle things up. I wear my heart on my sleeve.”

[below the cut is the rest of the unedited article - including Eleanor, Freddie, 1D]

His model, blogger and politics graduate girlfriend Eleanor Calder, 27, who Louis first got together with back in 2010 during the last week of The X Factor (“before it got manic”) has been a crucial part of the stability he’s needed through such sadness.

“She’s been amazing. With any monumental time in your life you need people who understand and love you. She makes my life easier.”

In 2015 they split up for nearly two years during which time Louis became a dad to Freddie, now four, following a brief fling with LA stylist Briana Jungwirth.

The track Too Young is almost an apology to Eleanor for that period (“I’m sorry I hurt you, darling… I cut you off cos I didn’t know no better”), but Louis says the time apart taught him some tough lessons and has made them stronger.

“I think we both agree that we needed [that break]. I was too immature for a relationship of that seriousness. But I had to learn that and be an idiot first.

“A lot of young men won’t understand until they have hindsight. The responsibility of meeting someone you could spend the rest of your life with at 18 is too much for most immature men. I was very immature at that → age and didn’t understand the feelings or importance.”

He and Eleanor guard their privacy ferociously and very deliberately haven’t made themselves a public couple. They don’t go to places where they’ll get papped or post pictures of each other on social media.

“Me and Eleanor have been together ages and I don’t have a lot of private photos for myself,” he says. “Even on a night out there’ll be some f**ker taking my picture and it goes everywhere.

"So those moments to ourselves are special. It’s the same way I look at Freddie. Do I wanna show him off and tell the world how amazing he is? Yes, of course I do! But I know he’s amazing and he knows that and that’s what matters.”

He dotes on Freddie (“I cherish my time with my boy”) but admits the unplanned pregnancy was a wake-up call.

“Yeah, it was unexpected and I had to grow up very quickly. It was another one of them moments – being faced with the reality of a situation and having to step up. It was a very maturing time in my life.

“And, again, I’ve kind of got between two headspaces. I’m the responsible dad and brother some days and other days I’m still the reckless idiot chav I used to be. I’m still trying to work out a happy medium.”

Absolutely no one could have predicted the global phenomenon that 1D became, least of all Louis, Liam, Zayn, Niall and Harry themselves.

They sold 20 million albums worldwide, earning over £40million each, but the pressures of fame were, at times, intolerable. Louis says they were only able to keep their heads screwed on because they had each other.

“You can never be prepared for that. It was such a head f**k. But we grounded each other so the minute one of us acted like a d**khead one of the others would say: ‘Stop being a d**khead’. I see people in this job surrounding themselves with superiority and they lose the concept of the real world.”

He remembers doing a shoot with the band for Pepsi over in the States with American footballer Drew Brees.

“This guy was like a god and we were insignificant when he was around, which we understood. But I’ve never seen anything like it. Every sentence that came out of his mouth he’d have an audience of hangers-on in hysterics.

"These people were so far up his arse and he didn’t have one good joke. He had no banter! I still hang around with my boys from Doncaster and I hear real stories all the time, which helps me understand the world that unfortunately I don’t get to see. Having empathy with people and a connection with the world is imperative for any songwriter.”

Harry Styles recently said that he never touched drugs during his time in the band (although he’s made up for that since), because he didn’t want to “mess it up”. Louis smiles as he confides that he can’t say the same.

“All I’ll say is that I did my fair share and enjoyed my time in the band. It’s right what Harry said and it was smart of him, but I definitely had a lot of fun in the band. I was always aware of how amazing the opportunity was, but also enjoying the moment for what it was. I lived like anyone else my age – the difference was that I was in One Direction.”

He’s in touch with Harry, Niall and Liam “sporadically” (we’ll come to Zayn shortly), but they’re all on very different paths for now.

“If we all went to a pub tomorrow it’d be like we’d never left. The enormity of what happened in One Direction creates a massive bond and we’ll always have that.

"There have been times when we’ve done each other’s heads in. There might be something I say in an interview that bugs Liam or vice versa, but we all know what each other is like and we can call each other up and say sorry for being a d**k. We’re like brothers.”

But that’s not necessarily the case with Zayn, who quit in 2015 and with whom Louis has had a turbulent relationship since. He was hurt when Zayn was the only one not to turn up at the X Factor studio to support him through his performance after Jay’s death, despite promising to be there.

Then there’s Zayn’s apparent repeated digs. In one interview he branded 1D’s music “generic as f**k”. There’s a difference between making a break from the past and dismissing it completely, and it’s a line Zayn perhaps hasn’t always managed to walk.

“Hmm,” agrees Louis, cautiously. “Other than maybe Niall, there is no one who is prouder of the band and the songs we created than me. But while what I did with One Direction is relevant, it doesn’t define who I am and I don’t struggle to make that dissociation.”

Does he think some of what Zayn has said has been disrespectful?

“Yeah, I do. But I can understand it. We have a lot of situations where we’re sat in interviews and if you’re in a certain mood you might run your mouth. The older you get the more you can tell if these things actually carry any malice or if they’re just a prod in the back. That’s life, innit? Sometimes people chat s**t and that’s the reality.”

He’s not ruling out resolving their differences in the future, but there’s no olive branch on the horizon.

“No, but I’ve not actively tried. We’ve all got a lot on our plates and there might be a day where I wake up and think: ‘OK, I want to right that wrong’, but not yet.”

After being in his company for a while, it’s not hard to see why Louis was 1D’s driving force backstage. He’s thoughtful, articulate, open and self-aware, but there’s a steeliness to him and the requisite pop-star swagger, which doesn’t seem to spill over into arrogance.

He’s based in LA these days, to stay close to Freddie, but “Donny” will always be home. He says comparing the two places is “literally chalk and cheese” and it’s taken him time to “come round” to living in the States.

“It’s taken a while to get used to spending so much time there. I feel like I’m very British at heart.”

And that is reflected in his music, which is heavily influenced by the Arctic Monkeys, The Smiths and Oasis. In fact, the title track and latest single Walls sounds so similar to Oasis B-side and fans’ favourite Acquiesce that Louis’ manager flagged it as a potential issue.

“These kinds of things happen. There are only so many melodies you can write and if you listen to a band all the time like I do with Oasis…”

Anyway, says Louis. He had to make a choice.

“I was ready to risk it, but everyone said we should get in touch with Noel [Gallagher] so we did. Often the industry, and especially Noel’s world, can be a bit snobby and say: ‘F**k you you’re not using this song’. But he was really cool about it, signed it off no problem and although I’m sure he’s not happy about this, I f**king am, I’ve got a writing credit from Noel Gallagher on my album. That is some sick s**t so I’m buzzing.”

Is he nervous about going it alone? “I think I’ve got a good record so I’m confident. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t little bit nervous – there’s three and half years work gone into it so there’s a level of anticipation.”

The most overwhelming emotion though, is relief.

“Because it’s taken such a long time. I’m excited to go on to the next phase of my career.”

Louis Tomlinson’s new album Walls is out now.

[itsallabigmess]

Breathe Gentle

A/N: I had a really sweet dream with Jinyoung. And it had such a rom-com vibe I decided to share with you guys.

I probably should have done some research to describe some parts at the beginning of the story but since it is based on a dream, I did not worry about making it a 100% realistic. 

I hope you guys like it. Please let me know if you do.

A.

You should have stayed home. That’s what your brain kept telling you all the way from your apartment to the subway. You’ve been feeling sick since last Friday. At first, you thought it was just a flu that would go away with the vitamins and tons of water. But another week started and there you were: feverish, nauseated, and dragging your body through the busy streets of your neighborhood. Even if you knew you should be in bed. Or maybe go to a hospital.

But you were too stubborn.

Waking up a bit late, you fixed yourself as quick as you could, caring only to look decent enough to not be annoyed by unsolicited comments made by your coworkers. But after receiving a few crooked looks before entering the metro car, using your phone’s camera to check yourself, you gasped to the sight of your ill features.

You loosened your hair, hoping its waves would give you some cover and reached for the necessaire inside your bag, wanting to apply some color your cheeks and lips. But as the car started moving, it was hard to even keep your own balance, a new wave of nausea hitting your body. And two stations later you were stumbling against the people in front of you.

Getting some air, that’s what you thought would make you feel a bit better. But the vertiginous feeling stopped you from finding a way out. And before your body hit the floor, everything became black.

The white ceiling was the first thing you noticed when you woke up. A woman voice soon getting your attention. You were in a hospital bed, a woman wearing a white coat standing by your side, making notes on a metal clipboard.

“You fainted a few minutes ago. There was a little cut on your forehead, but it was treated before you even got here.” the doctor explained after introducing herself and letting you know where you were, only noticing the pain on the right side of your head once she mentioned the wound. “Your blood pressure is a bit lower than it should and now that you are awake, we’re going to run some tests. Have you been feeling sick for how long?”

“Since Friday morning, I guess,” you felt your throat burning as if you had thrown up. And considering you were not wearing your own clothes you assumed you did. “I thought it was just the flu.”

“Most likely it is,” the doctor said, “But let’s see if the tests confirm if it’s nothing more serious.”

“I’m sorry, doctor, but how many tests, and how much will it cost me?” you asked, worried that all your saving would go down the drain just because your body decided to sabotage you.

“I’ve been told your boyfriend is already taking care of it,” the doctor said with a reassurance smile. “A nurse will come to collect you in a minute.”

“…Boyfriend?”

The tests showed you were dehydrated thanks to the flu, and the falling on the ground caused a small concussion. You would have the spend the rest of the day in observation and with no other sings appeared, you would be released the next morning. But neither of those things explained the fact that you had, apparently, a boyfriend.

When the nurse told she would let him know he could finally see you, you started to freak out. Your last relationship had ended up in bad terms. What once was something close to love turned into something violent and after struggling you finally was able to be completely free of him. It’s been months since you’ve even heard your name. And now the possibility of having the one who hurt you the most in front of you again unbalanced every single fiber of your being.

But instead of your undesirable ex, the man that entered your room was a complete stranger.

Except that you knew him. Not personally, you never exchanged words, even though you had exchanged looks. He was the cute guy that always caught your attention on the subway. Sometimes you would see him when you were already on your way to work, him entering a couple of stations after yours. And sometimes you would leave work and he would already be there, reading a book or checking his phone. Somewhere in between, he caught you staring at him. You turned away, feeling your face burn. But then you dared to glance at him again and there he was, smiling at you.

After that day you started to look for him every trip you did to work. It became a weird addiction, this little game you would do with yourself. The days you would see him from afar, you would start imagining who he was, what he liked... If you would ever have the courage to approach him, give him your number. And the days he noticed you, you felt too embarrassed to look back. But while you kept your eyes down and bite the inside of your cheeks, you fed your ego with the thought of him wondering the same things about you.

Those days were your favorite days, you figured. No matter how silly it felt.

He stepped inside the room slowly, careful, his face a bit red, curiously holding your bag on his hands. “Hi,” he said shyly, voice sounding a bit deeper than you expected. “How are you feeling?”

“Confused,” a short laugh came out with your admission, the dark-haired man repeating the action.

“I’m sorry. I saw you at the station,” he started explaining. “I was about to get in the car when you stubbled against me. You looked really bad,” he said, staring at his own foot for a second “I tried to catch you before you felt but I wasn’t close enough,” you frowned at how apologetic he sounded as if you hurting yourself was his fault.

“So, you brought me here.”

“Actually, I called for the ambulance. And I… came… with you,” he said slowly, observing your reaction, but you kept your expressions at ease, waiting for him to give you more details of what happened while you were blacked out. “I’m sorry, I checked inside your bag. They needed your health insurance information, but I couldn’t find any. So, I gave them mine.”

“Can I have it back?” you asked, nodding at his hands “My bag, I mean.”

“Yes, sorry,” he rushed to you, red turning red again, a nice contrast to his dark eyes and hair.

“You told them you were my boyfriend,” it was your time to feel the warmth on your cheeks, eyes deviating of his, pretending to check if everything was okay inside your bag. He was a stranger still, but somehow, after all the trouble he went through with no need, it was hard not to give him at least part of your trust.

“It was the only way they would let come.”

“But why? I mean, you didn’t need to come. And you didn’t need to do any of this.”

“I felt like I should,” he said, his hands sliding inside his pants’ pockets. “Felt like the right thing to do.”

“Thank you,” you said gently, both of you smiling softly at each other until you felt your heart beating faster than it should, looking down for a minute. “You know, I still don’t know your name.”

“God, I’m sorry!” he scratched the back of his neck. “I’m Jinyoung. Park Jinyoung.”

“It’s nice to meet you. Even in these weird circumstances,” you waved your hand, making a circle around you, giggling at how ridiculous it all seemed.

“I should have asked you for your phone the first time I saw you,” Jinyoung confessed, his lips twitching up and you felt your heart jump. “I should be going, and you need to rest. But can I check on you again tomorrow?”

You gave him your phone number before Jinyoung left and after you called your job and explained what happened you kept the device close to you, checking it constantly. Everything seemed so surreal you were starting to think once you fell asleep you would find out everything was nothing but a dream. Of all the ways you have fantasized about talking to him, the one you were now was definitely not on the list. And still, you could not be more grateful that you had Jinyoung as your unexpected savior, even if just for one day.  

He texted you in the evening, to see how you were doing and you kept talking for a while until you started to fall asleep. The next day he was by your side again, arriving at your room a few minutes before your discharge papers were signed.

“You really don’t need to do this!” you insisted when Jinyoung offered to follow you home once he learned that was no one to make you company. Not that it mattered. Jinyoung had taken you as his full responsibility and would not be satisfied until he made sure you were safe and sound inside your own place.

The doctor had recommended you rest for more a few days before returning to your normal routine and that alone seemed to be the hardest task you ever received. Once you two were inside of your apartment you started to think of how everything needed to be cleaned up. Jinyoung already witnessed you falling with your face to the ground. He didn’t need to think you kept some dirty habits.

“What are you doing?” he asked, watching as you started to fix some pillows on your couch and collect the cups you left at the coffee table, rushing to the kitchen to wash them. “You need to rest!”

“I just need to clean this up first.”

“Why don’t I do this,” he held your wrists gently, pulling you away from the kitchen. “And you go take a shower.”

“Jinyoung…”

“I can also make some breakfast. Hospital food is never good.”

“Why are you being so nice to me?” you asked, eying the grip he still had on you, keeping your arms between you two.

“Because I want to,” he said simply, as if was not a big deal “Now go.”

Jinyoung did make your breakfast, the surrealism of it all being left behind as soon as you opened the bathroom door. You sat at the small round table, buttered toasts with eggs and juice served for the both of you. Was it too soon to say you were in love?

“You really don’t have anyone to make you company?” he asked.

“Are you really that worried about me?”

“Is that so hard to believe?”

“Can you not answer my question with another question?” you chuckled, slapping his arm gently.

“Yes, I am worried about you,” Jinyoung sighed, looking at you with unexpected tenderness. Not that anything over the past twenty-four hours had been expected. “I guess I nurtured a silent crush on you. And seeing you falling on the ground and then bleeding really frightened me.”

“Oh God,” you whined, hiding your face in your palms, imagining how ridiculous you must have looked. “How can you still have a crush on me after seeing all that?”

“You threw up on my shoes and here I am making you breakfast,” he shrugged, and you almost jumped in your chair, gasping at the new piece of information he had just given to you. Jinyoung laughed, his hand fondling your arm gently. “So, I’m very confident that I still have a crush on you.”

“And I don’t think I can ever look at you again,” your voice sounded muffled through your fingers, face being hidden again with your palms again, as you felt mortified.

“You are cute.”

You took a deep breath and looked at him between your fingers, Jinyoung’s gentle expressions putting you at ease. “I don’t even know how to start to thank you for all of this.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jinyoung said, sliding his touch from your arm until he reached your hand, holding it gently. “You could have called the cops on me and treated me like a weirdo but instead, here we are.”

“Well, I was also developing a silent crush on you,” you declared, locking your eyes with his, ignoring all the embarrassment you were still feeling on your core.

“I would ask you on a date, but you still need to rest,” Jinyoung said, turning your palm up over the table, playing with your fingers. “But how would you feel if I offered to make you dinner tonight?”

“I would feel incredibly and unnecessarily spoiled,” you said, raising a brow.

“I take it as a yes, then,” he smirked, giving a kiss to your palm.

“Are you always like this?” you asked, heart fluttered with all the amorous attention he was so willingly ready to give you.

Jinyoung smiled, leaning closer to you to give a kiss on your cheek, the touch leaving your skin tingling. “I can be worse.”

[7deadlycinderellas]

if the summer of our lives could just come again, ch3

AO3 link

 Davos

Leaving Shireen again is the hardest thing he’s ever done.

Waking up in bed with Marya had been surreal enough, it had seemed decades since he had seen her. Going through the keep to encounter all seven of his sons, even Dale, too, had felt nearly like a dream. They’d come to visit, he remembered suddenly. Steffon’s name-day had just passed.

That whole day, he had tried to enjoy it.

When the older boys began to leave, is when he had to set his plan in motion.

Faking summons from Stannis was easy enough, turns out he had been planning to send for him soon anyway. Getting to Dragonstone was also shockingly easy.

Stannis had been his usual self, gruff and straight-forward. He had asked him to help him go over changes to shipping schedules what the effects of the late summer droughts on the tides. It had ended far too slowly.

Then on his way out, he had heard a small laugh.

“I’m supposed to be in lessons, but I had to come see you Onion Knight!”

Shireen was as small as she had been, her arms and legs had not yet begun to lengthen. Her face still bore the roundness of youth, her blue eyes shining.

Davos’s heart seizes as he allows himself to hug her tightly, without breaking. “Not having anymore dragon-dreams are you child?” he asks, remembering the nightmares that had plagued her.

Shireen looks confused. The comet, Davos remembers, her nightmares had begun with the coming of the comet.

“I haven’t dreamed of any dragons, I wish I did though, it sounds more exciting than the boat dreams I’ve had lately.”

He leaves her with just that single hug, trying his best to banish the image in his head of her burning.

Returning home, Davos recalls that Maester Cressen had once suggested betrothing Shireen to Robyn Arryn and sending her to the Eyrie, but Stannis hadn’t agreed.

Davos couldn’t imagine marrying Shireen off to that sickly, ill-tempered boy, but he wondered if he could somehow convince Stannis to let her be fostered somewhere else.

Renly, it hits Davos suddenly. Stannis’s brother had no children, but the court at Storm’s End was always bright and lively, fitting with it’s Lord’s showy and dramatic personality. And perhaps with his daughter so near, Stannis might not wish to lay siege to it.

It ended up, in the end, not truly being difficult at all.

“Storm’s End is the Baratheon ancestral home, it would be good for Shireen to see it. And I think having her around might put some responsibility into your brother, being that he currently has no heirs.”

Stannis’s eyes are hard to read, part distaste, part uncertainty.

“Last he saw her, Renly said she was ugly.”

Davos laughs softly in derision.

“Your brother may be thoughtless, but he isn’t needlessly cruel. Shireen may not be a great beauty, but she is a sweet, good child with a fine mind. She will win Renly over as easy as she won me over.”

He tries not to sound desperate, but Stannis is already speaking of the mystics, and he knows Melisandre may soon come to him.

And Stannis agrees, and Davos feels like maybe he’s won this time. That maybe they will win this time.

A week later, the agreement had been pounded out. Davos wonders if perhaps Renly simply saw a way to one-up his brother, but if it ends with Shireen safe, then it’s good either way.

Stannis asks him to accompany her. He would have offered anyway.

“Where are we going now, Onion Knight?” She asks him.

“We’re going on a quest.”

“Me too?”

“Well we’re going to need someone to read me all the books about all the old quests, so I know how I’m doing it right.”

There’s a touch of disappointment on her face. He takes her by the hand to help her into the wheelhouse.

“I have to go and rescue someone, then we have to ride north and try to stop some monsters.”

“Who are you rescuing? A princess in a tower?”

Davos laughs. Shireen did often have an affinity for the trapped princesses.

“A prince perhaps, though he would likely spit if he heard me call him that. I need to help him get back to his princess.”

Shireen wrinkles her nose.

“Not Prince Joffrey right?”

Davos can’t even imagine a laugh here. If half the stories he’s heard are true, the crown prince was more likely to need people rescued from him.

“No, this boy doesn’t even know what he is yet. But he will rise to greatness anyway. I’d like you to meet him someday, he’s one of your cousin’s actually.”

“What’s his name?”

“Gendry”.

He could remember the boy before, in his cell hopeless and ashamed. He could remember the man he became, who had wanted to help people even before learning he was of noble blood. Davos had believed Danaerys had intended to legitimize him for his heroism during the battle against the dead. She hadn’t had the chance. And part of Davos wondered if he would have even wanted that.

“Why does he need to be rescued?”

Davos sighs deeply.

“Because some people with a lot of power will want to hurt him, and he can’t save himself from where he is.”

A bastard boy on the streets of Flea Bottom. He was beholden to his apprenticeship unless released, and any route out of the city would be fraught with danger. Bandits, pirates, men who might try and sell him, all the worse if anyone got a good look and maybe figured out who he was. Ned Stark had figured out the Queen’s secret easily enough, but it would be a falsehood to say no one in King’s Landing ever questioned her fair haired children before.

“Do you know how you’re going to rescue him?”

That makes Davos smile.

“Do you remember why I told you your father cut off the tips of my fingers before knighting me?”

“Because you were a smuggler?”

“Which means I am excellent at getting things out of places and getting them where they aren’t supposed to be without being found out.”

He put his fingers to his lips to remind Shireen that she shouldn’t tell this to anyone, then taps her on the nose and shuts the door and moves to mount his horse so that they could leave.

He hopes he’s right.

 Sansa

Sansa carries Lady through the hallway and into her chambers. When she turns, she notices Arya sitting on her bed and yelps, dropping Lady to the floor. The wolf, now the size of a regular wolf, gives her a look of disgust, and pads off, taking a step onto the trunk at the end of Sansa’s bed and climbing up to curl up and fall asleep.

Arya cocks an eyebrow.

“I thought you had more nerve than that.”

“What are you doing here?” Sansa asks her, slipping off her shoes and stockings.

“Can I stay with you tonight? I had a bad nightmare last night.”

Sansa sighs, slipping one hand up to undo the ties at the top of her gown.

“Can you help me undo my straps?”

Arya reaches out and yanks the strings, loosening them. Sansa slips out of her gown and into her nightshift with ease before speaking again.

“Should I even ask which one?”

There were so many to choose from that they were both having. The Long Night nightmares, the watching Father get beheaded again nightmares, the ones where going through the anomaly just put them straight back in Hell (Ramsey for Sansa, Harrenhall for Arya).

“The one about Hardhorne. I think I had it because Jon left yesterday.”

Damn. Neither of them had been at Hardhorne, but Jon’s stories were so vivid and descriptive. The piles of bodies being climbed by walkers before they too rose, the people who ran straight into the water, clawing their way towards the boats trying to run. They had both had this one too.

Arya distracts herself by petting Lady.

“You really shouldn’t carry her everywhere now, she’s getting too big.”

“I’ll carry her for as long as I can. It will make me stronger.”

“She’s going to be bigger than you soon.”

“Then maybe someday she’ll carry me instead.”

Arya is quiet after that, and pulls off the cloak she’d thrown over her night shift in case one of the servants came by. She leaves it on the trunk next to Lady.

“Bran told me the Reeds should be here sometime tomorrow.” Sansa tells her as she crawls under her furs.

Arya bites her lip.

“That means we’re going to have to tell everyone tomorrow.”

Sansa laughs hollowly.

“Jon was hard enough...I can’t imagine how we’re going to tell Robb or Mother.”

Arya feels her stomach tighten. She could barely look at Gray Wind when he followed along with Robb after having seen what had become of them before.

“I can’t believe you managed to have the eloquence to tell what we know to Tyrion in just a single letter.”

“Well it was pretty rambling and confusing. I told you, I told him I saw things in visions. That King Robert was in danger, that people would look more closely at Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella. Not to trust a damn thing Littlefinger says. More politics, fewer ice zombies. Besides, I had that trump card to make sure he paid my words due.”

Arya frowns.

“I saw you give him the letter when he was leaving with Jon. What on earth did you tell him?”

She hadn’t been close enough to hear their conversation, But whatever Sansa had whispered in the Imp’s ear had affected him enough that his eyes had gone wide and he’d stood in the same spot, seemingly dazed until Uncle Benjen had prodded him and he’d tucked the letter into his satchel and rejoined everyone.

“I told him the name of his first wife.”

Arya’s surprised.

“I never knew he was married before you.”

“Most people don’t. No one outside his family should know anything about it. That’s why it worked.”

“What happened?”

Sansa smiles grimly.

“It’s not my story to tell. The only reason I think he even told me was because we were in the crypts sure we were going to die that night. Airing our sins and all that.”

Arya rolls over to face her.

“I guess I just don’t really understand your relationship with him. I couldn’t imagine you being so close to someone you were forced to marry.”

Sansa laughs. It is somewhat ludicrous, and her thirteen year old self would have screamed in horror had she known.

“He was forced into it as much as I was, and he was always kind to me. Beyond that, he tried to protect me, to make me feel better about things that happened. Though of course there was no way he could.”

Sansa turns suddenly pensive.

“And I got a front seat to exactly what his family thinks of him. Jamie aside, the rest of the Lannisters seemed to delight in tormenting him as much as they did tormenting than me. And it made me so incredibly angry. He once told me that people were going to spend a lot of time underestimating me, and that ended up being incredibly true too.”

There’s a long silence after, and Sansa really doesn’t want to have to talk about this anymore.

“Get some sleep Arya. Tomorrow’s going to be rough enough as it is.”

Laying all the way back down, she feels Arya shift beside her.

“Uhh, fair warning? I’ve been told I’m an angry cuddler.”

Sansa’s eyes pop back open.

What on earth was an angry cuddler?

She finds out the next morning when Arya has managed to migrate halfway down the bed and wrap both her arms so tightly around one of Sansa’s legs that she’s woken with the limb heavy and prickly, and entirely unable to stand up.

 Bran

Bran wakes, his stomach already in knots.

He gazes out the window, noting the clear skies. He notices Summer isn’t sleeping underneath like he usually did, perhaps he had an early start.

He manages to dress himself, though he only has one pair of breeches that have been cut to fit over his cast. His boot takes the longest, but he laces it up tightly before reaching for the heavy metal crutches Mikken had made for him when it became clear that he was not up for staying in bed until his leg healed.

Hobbling on the crutches had been hard to learn. The splinted wrist was one thing, but he could hardly admit that it had been near on a decade since he had walked properly at all.

So at least he had an excuse for his staggering.

In the hallway, he bumps into Arya, who’s rubbing the back of her head.

“What happened?”

“Sansa pulled my hair until I woke up and let her leg go.”

He’s not going to question that.

Rather than join the rest of the family at breakfast, Bran has Arya slip in and grab them a platter of oatcakes with honey and sliced apples.

“Where are we going?” Arya asks.

“The stables.”

She makes a face.

“They won’t let you ride with the cast.”

“I’m not going to ride,” Bran tells her, “I’m going to see Willas.”

Arya’s stares at him confused for a moment before it hits her.

“Oh, Hodor.”

“That’s not his name,” Bran says roughly. “So I won’t call him that. He died protecting me, that’s the least I can do. Especially since the other is my fault.”

Arya is quiet most of their slow walk out to the stable. Bran has never been overly forthcoming about what exactly happened to everyone north of the Wall.

When they reach the stables Willas is finishing up with the morning chores. The other grooms have already gone down to breakfast, leaving the three of them alone.

“Hodor,” he says, upon seeing them.

“Have breakfast with us,” Bran says, and Arya offers him the platter.

The three of them sit and eat their cakes in silence. Arya licking a bit of honey off her thumb and Bran leaning over to steal one of her apples.

When they’re finished, Willas stands, and with a “Hodor,” leaves them to haul water for the troughs.

Bran chews thoughtfully on his last bite while Arya wipes off the tray.

Arya finally fixes Bran with a gaze while he chews.

“You’ve been weird since you told us the Reeds were probably going to arrive today, so what is it?”

Bran doesn’t say anything, and avoids her eyes.

“Come on, out with it. Sansa said Meera left almost immediately when you two returned to Winterfell, and you didn’t even mention her again. When you lead us down to the Neck, she didn’t even look at you. What in seven hells happened?”

“Nothing. And that was the problem. We were north for, gods it must have been two or three years. Meera helped keep us safe, she hunted to keep us fed. Underneath that tree, she did her best to keep me sane even though she seemed completely lost after Jojen died. After...Everything that had happened to us, everything I had felt...I suddenly didn’t care. I would have died a hundred times over without her, it didn’t matter“

He’s quiet for a long time.

“I remember, the way Meera was looking at me, before I touched the weirwood tree to see what happened at the Tower of Joy. If she had looked at me like that before...I probably would have died of a heart attack. That’s what she said before she left, was that Brandon Stark died in that cave.”

“Well you didn’t, and you’re alive again,” Arya tells him. “So quit acting like you did die. We all get second chances now, that’s sort of the point isn’t it?”

“All three of them have cause to hate me.”

“Well they definitely will if you stay this way when they all show up. So come on, and lets try and prepare.”

She helps him get back onto his crutches and they hobble back to the keep to try and head off the storm.

 Jojen

Jojen Reed was not used to being confused. His prophetic dreams aside, he had always been clever, and good at his lessons. Feeling completely in over his head was not something he was used to.

But two weeks before when he had woken to his older sister running into his room and hugging him tightly he had been completely at a loss for words. Normally, he would have thought she was ill, but when she dragged him down to breakfast, their Father had been in a similar state. Both of them had looked incredibly tired, but somehow energized, with wild looks in their eyes, babbling on about things that didn’t make any sense.

Then they sat down, and tried to tell him, and it made even less sense.

And even after they had left Greywater Watch, it hadn’t stopped.

He wakes the last day of their travels with a feeling of creeping dread in his gut.

And for the first since she lost her mind, Meera seems as unsure as him.

They’re packing up camp, Father leading the horses to water when he finally brings it up.

“You seem anxious. You and Father were so sure we had to go north to Winterfell when we left, now it seems like you don’t want to.”

Meera laughs.

“We were both so sure we had to go north before. And look how that turned out.”

Jojen doesn’t really know what to say to that. She’d told him he had died on the journey before, which explained her exuberant reaction to seeing him again, but it didn’t really explain her despair. True, she had also mentioned that his body had immediately exploded, but still…

“I know you were probably upset that I died…”

“It wasn’t just you,” she cuts him off. “Everyone. The last time I left home, everyone around me ended up dying, you were just the first. We were under there for over a year, I didn’t even know why anymore, but I trusted the Children of the forest. Then the Night King found us and attacked, and they all died. All of that history, and they died. Then Summer died protecting us, and Hodor died so we could get away, and we ran. “

They’ve finished the packs, and so Meera just pokes at the ground with a stick when she finally continues.

“We got back to Winterfell, and it turned out even Rickon and Osha had died after we left them. I wanted to go home, but I didn’t feel like I could. I went to talk to Bran, and it was like he was gone too. Whatever the Raven did to him in that cave, his body was still alive, but what made him him was gone. He was little more than a shell.”

Father returns to the clearing, leading the horses. They begin loading the packs onto them, when Meera continues. Her voice goes quiet, with a tone in it Jojen’s not sure he’s ever heard come from her before.

“I thought what the two of us had gone through- as hard as it had been, I thought it was special. I thought it was important. I don’t know anymore, I still don’t know if it was worth it. The end of the world still came after all. I don’t know what I’ll do if we get to Winterfell and Bran is still...that thing.”

Jojen can’t really say anything to soothe his sister’s words, so he just listens. He supposes that must do some good too.

They ride for a bit in silence. They’re not far, could reach the keep by mid-day easily. Jojen can still feel Meera sitting stiffly in the saddle. They could have taken a third horse, but neither of them are good riders, having not had much way to practice, given that horses don’t suit bogs well.

As the day goes on, he suddenly feels Meera go still.

“Either of you hear that?” She asks, eyes staring straight off into the trees. When neither him nor Father reaction, she slides off the horse, and grasps her spear.

They aren’t far from Winter Town, it could just be another traveler or someone out hunting, but Meera’s muscles are pulled taut as though she expects this to end in a fight.

She’s still, still as a rock upon a cliff, when the leaves of the underbrush shift and a figure emerges from them.

Jojen feels his heart quicken when he realizes the figure is a wolf.

Meera, on the other hand, softens.

“Summer?” She calls out, in an unsure voice.

Both Jojen and their father watch as Meera kneels in the road, and the wolf approaches her slowly, carefully. Jojen watches in amazement as the beast rests it’s muzzle on top of her knees, and she reaches to rub the top of it’s head.

“You did everything you could,” She assures the wolf, “You were your best, you did your best.”

[tea-at-221]

I was listening to oldies and then this happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

John isn't quite sure he can trust his ears. He's only just shut the door of 221 behind him and already he can hear the music from upstairs. He looks up the stairs, intrigued, but the door is shut.

He catches movement out of the corner of his eye: Mrs. Hudson has heard him come in--somehow--and is gaping at him with an expression that John imagines mirrors his own. She's holding a forgotten feather duster in one hand.

Wordlessly he points up the stairs and raises his eyebrows.

Mrs. Hudson's expression wavers from bewilderment to a fond smile in response.

"Has he done this before?" John yells.

Mrs. Hudson shakes her head and raises her hands to indicate, of course, that she has known Sherlock for years and still has no idea what he does. Then she backs up and closes her door, but not before he catches something that looks suspiciously like a wink being thrown at him.

John can't help how his smile grows as he mounts the 17 steps to their flat. At least he's relatively certain that the musical racket means that Sherlock is in a good mood.

He opens the door and stands on the threshold, his smile holding steady as he observes Sherlock dancing quite enthusiastically. To American music from the 50's.

"You broke my will, but what a thrill...."

Sherlock spotted him almost right away, and gave him an amused grin that said he knew John was catching him doing something frivolous and ridiculous, and that was exactly the point. He was dressed casually in dark jeans and--yes, oddly enough--a faded band t-shirt from some old group John had unsurprisingly never heard of.

Things had been quite different since John had moved back into Baker Street. For one thing, Sherlock was more relaxed these days--playful even; he dressed casually most days, especially on the weekends. Also, he had taken on the role of co-caretaker of Rosie without the slightest nudge from John (who hadn't even dreamed of asking so much from his friend).

And this moment highlighted another new development which kept surprising John whenever he had occasion to notice it: Sherlock had held himself stiffly ever since they'd first met, but now it was as though he had stopped bracing for some inevitable impact. The tension had melted from his frame and he was all loose, easy grace--especially right now as he shimmied goofily over to John. He grabbed the doctor's hand and spun him around into the sitting room, hooking the edge of the front door with one foot and giving it enough of a push that it swung shut securely behind them.

"I laughed at love cause I thought it was funny

But you came along and moved me honey

I've changed my mind

This love is fine

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"

Sherlock twirled John out and pulled him in again, then again out and spun him around under his arm--lanky git (John made sure it was plenty evident that he was rolling his eyes). His too-tall friend mouthed the lyrics in an exaggerated, animated manner, laughing at John even as he did so. When they were facing each other again, still dancing, John chuckled but narrowed his eyes a bit to indicate that he found this behavior surprising and maybe even alarming enough to have his flatmate committed.

Sherlock pretended not to understand even though the two could interpret each other's subtlest expressions quite well by this point. They'd been past the point of needing to explain themselves for years, as a matter of fact.

"Well, I want to love you like a lover should

You're fine, so kind

Got to tell this world that you're mine, mine, mine, mine...."

John took Sherlock's stock advice and covertly glanced around the room. Understanding dawned when he spied a package torn open on the table Sherlock utilized as a desk, Harry's handwriting clearly visible on the front.

Harry had been sober for a few months now. She was clearly trying her hardest this time, and though it was difficult to feel optimistic without also feeling a bit heartbroken, John had a good feeling about it. And now his dorky sister's sentimental side was showing: during the brief time in their early teens when the two had gotten on well (prior to Harry coming out to their folks), the siblings had often bopped around to the oldies when they were alone and bored. They had unabashedly enjoyed Jerry Lee Lewis, Elvis, The Everly Brothers, Ritchie Valens, The Temptations, and countless others from the 50's and 60's. Evidently she had burned him a CD to remind him of those days, and Sherlock--who still had absolutely no respect for personal property and obviously never would--had beaten him to it. He also without a doubt did not need the meaning of the gift spelled out.

"Well kiss me baby

Mmmm feels good

Let me love you like a lover should

You're fine, so kind

I'm gonna tell this world that you're mine mine mine mine...."

John took in the moment, watching Sherlock dance. An overwhelming wave of warmth rose in his chest suddenly as it occurred to him that, for the first time, he was right where he should be. Harry's recovery was part of it. Rosie was part of it. And Sherlock--the two of them being back at 221b together--well. That was the biggest part. Now he was here, goofing around fondly with a man who had vehemently spurned the notion of romantic entanglement for the whole of his life thus far. A man who had orchestrated this moment of realization for John's benefit, 100% cognizant of the message he was sending and of the fact that his partner-in-crime-solving--not such an idiot after all--would see his intentions clearly.

"Goodness, gracious, great balls of fire!"

The song came to an end. Ray Charles' "I Got a Woman" immediately picked up in its place but Sherlock released his hands, still laughing, and said something about wine as he headed to the kitchen.

John turned the volume on the music down ever-so-slightly and followed. He came to stand behind Sherlock and watched him pour a glass of white wine for each of them.

"Rosie's staying on with your parents for the weekend then, I take it."

"Yes. They begged to keep her." Sherlock turned and handed him his glass, and all at once the light went out of his expression as a hint of guilt appeared in his eyes.

His very, very blue eyes. John swallowed, though he'd yet to take a sip from his glass.

"I hope that was okay," Sherlock said sheepishly. "I should have asked."

John smiled slowly, and Sherlock looked puzzled at his friend's evident pleasure. He had failed to let John make the executive parenting decisions, and as far as he understood it that was a bit not good.

John shrugged, a brief little lift and fall of his shoulders. He rocked back on his heels and raised his glass toward Sherlock as if toasting him. "Not at all, actually. I mean...." John paused, and they stared at each other for a moment. "You're...sort of like her other parent, right? It's...fine." The blond flushed slightly and rubbed the back of his neck. He suddenly seemed to remember his drink, and he took a swig.

Sherlock continued to stare for a moment, something quiet and understated playing out in his eyes and around the corners of his mouth. "I...am?"

John smiled, baffled. "Of course?" Then, taken aback, "We'd be lost without you." His smile faded as Sherlock continued to need a moment to absorb that. He looked down at the floor, gathered himself, and then met Sherlock's eyes again. With gravity, but also with a tight chest. "Hell with it. That's not really what I meant to say. I mean that I...I, would be lost without you." He swallowed again, suddenly. "Sherlock."

Abruptly, Sherlock reanimated and downed half his glass. He set the rest on the counter behind him, distracted. "John...."

"Yes...?"

"Put your glass down," Sherlock said solemnly.

John had long since passed the point of questioning Sherlock's demands; it was useless to deny him, and honestly he never wanted to. He set his glass on the table behind him, gaze fixed on Sherlock.

"So...you're okay with my role in your daughter's life."

John nodded, not sure he could or should speak.

Sherlock stepped minutely closer. "And... my role? You're happy with that?"

A pause. "Could be better," John murmured, his voice huskier than he would have liked.

"Better...how?"

Those pale eyes, flickering back and forth as they studied his own.

John's left hand had reached out before he was even aware of having the intention to move. It settled gently in the slight curve of Sherlock's waist, and John's thumb stroked over the thin t-shirt reverently. Sherlock looked pained. He didn't seem to be breathing.

John pulled, and Sherlock shuffled closer. Close enough that John was able to brush the tip of his nose against the other man's. His heart was pounding; he felt almost ill with adrenaline, but it was so late in the game. So very, very late.

"You could kiss me," he whispered, and looked up from beneath his lashes at the taller man, who he could see was trembling and regarding him with a mix of desperation and fear. "You could..." he lifted up just a bit on his toes, his lips brushing Sherlock's, "never stop kissing me."

Sherlock released a shaky, almost explosive breath and grabbed John's collar, pulling him to his tip-toes to press their lips together. After an intense, shiver-inducing moment, he pulled back a fraction for a breath, then met John's lips once more.

John clutched him tightly and very gently sucked at Sherlock's bottom lip, and then the top. Sherlock hummed.

"Yes?" John whispered, a tiny smile curling his lips.

"Yes, John." Sherlock's hands came up to frame his face. "Yes anything. Yes always, please."

And then they resumed with the never stopping.

[the-bounce-back]

BEING IN CONTROL OF NOT BEING IN CONTROL

To say these past couple months have been and will always be remembered as the most emotionally, mentally and physically draining time of my life would be the understatement of the millennium. Note that I say this confidently, without even having experienced childbirth, planned a wedding, or organised a drama-free group holiday where everyone is actually happy yet.

Those things seem like light work compared to what I’ve been doing and feeling lately. A girl is tired.

For those of you that don’t know me, these past couple months have basically consisted of me dramatically exiting my former workplace, getting and accepting my dream job, planning my move from Nottingham to London with zero time to spare and somehow tying up all loose ends/getting closure before leaving. This might not sound like a big deal, but I guarantee you that most would have crumbled if they knew how many minuscule things had to fall into place for this to work out. Like a game of Tetris... except sh*t, depressing and with no console to dash across the room in frustration.

But we pulled through! My mate Vanessa and I managed to sort everything out in the end, and I’m finally moving down at the end of this week. And on Monday, I finally start my new job. Mad.

Now that I’ve finally had some time to relax and reflect, I admit that the way I handled the stress during this time was absolutely shambolic. I suffer from moderate anxiety - meaning that I am generally able to cope, but that overwhelming situations can make it more severe-  and I hate not being in control of a situation. I rely heavily on organising and planning complex situations - such as this move - and I immediately feel uneasy when I don’t know what’s going on or when things don’t go to plan.

In my defence, loving being in control of things runs in my family. My mum will remind me of birthdays or events like a week before they even arrive (and another reminder on the day for good measure), and my grandmother is an event planning/organising guru - never missing a single detail. A million questions get asked so not a single piece of information goes unacknowledged.

The thing is, these aren’t even bad traits to have - quite the contrary. But - when you take a control freak and add a pinch of anxiety, a dash of hypertension, a sprinkle of cheeky panic attacks and finish it all off with a big, fat, unpredictable mess of that needs to be organised and that keeps on changing - it’s not surprising that you end up with a huge sh*t show.

However, somewhere along the way - probably on my thousandth meltdown - I got exhausted from being so tightly wound all the time. I’m still unsure what the hell happened. Maybe I finally snapped and actually am in serious need of help - but recently, I don’t let anything worry me anymore. If you can relate to spending most of your life obsessing, worrying and having crippling anxiety over outcomes to events that haven’t even happened yet, maybe you can understand how oddly peaceful and calm I’ve been feeling lately. It’s a weird and unfamiliar feeling, but I like it so far.

I literally just stopped worrying. That’s it. That’s the secret. Thanks for reading.

I’m kidding. Telling people to “stop worrying” should be considered an act of terrorism, along with telling people to “stop being depressed” and saying “Rah, that’s mad” when they open up to you.

I really wish I had a step-by-step guide to magically reduce everyone’s stress-levels and anxiety that I could share here, but I feel that a lot of reasons for stress or lack of control of a situation vastly differ, and definitely require situation-specific methods of coping. However, you might find it helpful to consider these few points next time you feel overwhelmed and like you’ve lost control of a situation that keeps escalating:

Identify what exactly is worrying you about not being in control.

That is, besides the obvious reason that you’re not in control. Why does it bother you that you don’t know exactly what is going to happen? Where does your desperate need for comfort in unpredictability stem from?

For me, this is definitely the hardest part. Being brutally self-confrontational about things like this often uncover a much deeper underlying issue that might be triggering to think about. (Unfortunately, it is a vital part of understanding and knowing yourself - you might want to consider going to counselling to be able to work through the issues. I’ll be doing a post about this at some stage as well). This is the hardest part of the process - once you have at least a vague understanding of the underlying issue, the rest of it should be a lot easier.

Understand that you choose how to react to situations.

You may have read before that although we can’t dictate how we feel, we can decide our reaction to our feelings. This has become so abundantly clear to me lately that I even feel silly for ever letting myself cry and get stressed out over things.

I get it, though. Certain situations hit so hard that it feels like kicking off is the only way to react to it. For example - we found an amazing flat a while back that would’ve been perfect. The location was amazing, it had a beautiful view, great room sizes… all of that. I really started envisioning my life there and planning how I was going to arrange my bedroom, my route to work, what gym to join, and so on an so forth. Long story short - the agency turned out to be scam after we did some research, so we ended up not being able to take it.

The thing is, when I think about it now and write about it it’s embarrassingly clear that it wasn’t really that deep. The appropriate response would have been to take the L quietly, let go of all the plans I had made and continue on with the flat search, with confidence that we would eventually find something. But oh no - because things weren’t going to plan, I really felt like I had to go all out with the theatrics. I cried on the phone to my mum, kept staring at the pictures of the bedroom I had gotten so excited to design and spent numerous hours in bed staring at the ceiling, feeling sorry for myself (I was jobless. Don’t you dare judge me).

The point is that although it felt like the only way to react at the time, in truth I made the conscious decision to react to the problem in such a tragic and embarrassing manner. If I had the chance to go back to the situation knowing what I know now, I would have decided to force that flat out of my mind, and use the hours I wasted having a self-induced nervous breakdown proactively doing some more flat hunting. At least I can comfort myself with knowing that I’ll never let myself dwell on things that can’t be changed ever again.

Ask yourself if worrying is going to change the outcome.

Is giving yourself hypertension, losing sleep and obsessing about the potential outcomes while you’re waiting to see how the situation pans out going to magically change the final result?

Spoiler alert: No. It doesn’t.

Don’t get me wrong, wondering what’s going to happen next and mentally preparing a backup plan if worst comes to worst isn’t the issue here. The problem is unnecessarily placing yourself under a lot of additional pressure for literally no reason whatsoever. As mentioned above, you can either choose to let your emotions get the best of you, or you can choose to acknowledge your emotions and then put them to the side while you’re trying to figure out the solution. Which brings me to the next point...

Ask yourself if there is any action you can take to affect the outcome in your favour.

When you assess the situation, analyse whether there is anything concrete you can do that will/can give you the desired outcome.

If there is - brilliant. Proceed with figuring out the specifics of this, remembering to be level-headed, logical and calm. Do said thing. Win. Be great.

If not - refer back to previous points again, and wait to see how the situation pans out. Hopefully, when the outcome becomes clear, there will be something within your power to do!

Honourable mention: find ways to laugh about the situation.

You’ve probably heard the saying “A problem shared is a problem halved”. This is extremely true in this case - taking all the stress and pressure and having a one hour rant about it in therapy really helped me find an outlet for how I was feeling, and hearing from someone on the outside of my life that I’m not crazy for having meltdowns was extremely comforting.

However, as much as therapy aided me in normalising my thoughts and emotions, I’m so grateful that I was not alone in this situation and could laugh about it with somebody else. The amount of times I’d call Vanessa on the brink of tears from stress and end up spending an hour just busting up about how messy the situation was and how absurd everything was is actually mad. As you might have realised from my style of writing about my problems - making jokes and being sarcastic really helps me to cope with a lot of hard things going on in my life. Being able to look back on a situation after it’s done and see the funny side is great, but being able to see the hilarity of the sh*t when you’re neck deep in it is even better. Furthermore… laughter literally releases endorphins and has a healing effect on your body, so why wouldn’t you want to laugh instead of being on the brink of a self-induced stroke?

Hopefully there is at least something here that can help you have a more stress-free existence, regardless of the unpredictable turns life has a tendency to terrorise us with at times. Of course, as touched on earlier - learning how to cope with hard situations is usually just the tip of the iceberg. Taking time to understand why you feel so anxious about not having control is imperative for your self-development and improvement.

Anyway. I, for one, refuse to let this calmness and level of being unbothered leave my life again. Consider this post a piece of advice that I’ve *actually* applied to myself.

At least it’s a step in the right direction.

Love,

Liv

[xreaderfic-land]

Uphill Battles Jason Todd (Red Hood) X Reader

Word Count: 2,287

Warnings: Language

----    ----    -----    -----

Rain tapped against the window filling the silence that stretched between them. Both wanted to break the fragile silence, but neither was rushing to do so, both unsure of exactly what to say. 

Y/N sat on the bed and stared at the floor as her emotions swelled and quieted like an ocean’s waves. Tears continued to burn the back of her throat threatening to blur her vision more than it already was the longer she sat there.

Bittersweet memories replayed in her mind, reminding her again and again why her choice to stay was only hurting her.

A clock in the distance ticked away, it’s sound seemingly too loud but proving a point all the same. Y/N bit her lip until she tasted blood as her chest tightened painfully. As each heartbeat passed the abyss that separated Y/N from Jason seemed to only widen, filling up with everything they didn’t say or do

Y/N closed her eyes inhaling shakily before her body moved, not allowing her to hesitate or rethink her actions. Rising off the bed Y/N reopened her eyes to lock with the door; looking at Jason would weaken if not break her resolve.

As Y/N’s hand wrapped around the door knob and she pulled it open a sliver Jason’s low, almost cautious voice shattered the quiet.

“Where are you going?”

Y/N was sure her tears would have brimmed over if her body hadn’t suddenly gone so numb, but it had. Y/N felt an emptiness taking over her entire body; she knew the pain would come soon and she’d break apart, but she couldn’t here.

Not in front of him.

Y/N knew Jason would either try to soothe her or leave her to her own devices until she reclaimed her stability; that’s how he was. A man unsure of how to process emotion or properly convey it, which considering their current situation was a big deal, but that was Jason Todd.

Y/N sighed heavily, she was emotionally and mentally spent. Never turning from the doorway Y/N only cut Jason a glance over her shoulder; green eyes filled with such dejection Jason had to force his expression to remain blank.

Jason was good at that, pretending to not care and keep people at arm’s length. It was a defense mechanism he’d picked up to keep people from getting too close, not wanting to feel loss or pain ever again. After he’d come back to life he’d felt like everyone had abandoned him.

Jason was all too aware that getting too close or showing too much emotion could lead down a road that was shrouded in obscurity. He craved human interaction like a bad drug but hesitated to except it, almost like a recovering addict would their favorite fix.

Y/N also happened to be the hardest person to ignore and therefore made overlooking his craving even more challenging. Y/N was everything he wanted but everything that scared him all at once. She was wrapped in a beautiful body that he had every inch of locked to memory. He cared about Y/N more than he knew how to express and that’s the only reason he’d spoken.

He didn’t want to see her leave, yet at the same time he wondered if it were better…for her at least.

Jason rooted himself against the wall to make space between them, but honestly it was to keep himself from touching her. Jason never knew how to say what he felt other than to physically try to convey it to her.

Jason had felt his stomach fill with dread when Y/N walked to the door. Seeing her in such pain killed him yet Jason didn’t have any idea how to voice his internal turmoil.

 “I can’t do this anymore, Jason.” Y/N’s voice sounded as drained as she looked, exhaustion riddling her.

 Jason’s lips downturned slightly, the action unseen as Y/N tuned to rest her forehead against the door.

 “Do what?” Jason’s voice faltered.

 Jason tried to hide his flickering moment of desperation, he didn’t want to her to leave.Y/N cut oddly hard eyes to Jason before they softened as sadness became raw in them once more.

 “I can’t keep loving you Jason.” Y/N’s words shook with unshed tears as they tainted the air. “I can’t keep loving someone that will never love me back, but I do. I love you more than I can stand it and I know it’s not healthy. I know it’s not sane, but I do and that’s why I have to leave. I’ve tried, I really have but I know you will never change.”

 Y/N laughed weakly, “I won’t beg you to love me because then it wouldn’t be real love. I mean, I know everyone says people change but it’s a lie. People don’t change; the only change that happens is the reality of who that person is coming to the surface. I won’t make this any bigger than it already is, I’ll just leave and you won’t have to deal with me ever again.”

 Y/N opened the door more widely, “Good-“

 “I don’t want you to leave Y/N-“

 “Don’t. Don’t you fucking dare.” Y/N whipped around tears running down her cheeks as she pointed at him.

 Jason held his blank mask in place even as it shook to fall away. Y/E/C clashed against blue-green as the two searched each other’s gazes.

 Y/N’s voice came out defeated and low, “Just…don’t Jason. Don’t pretend-“

 “I am not pretending.” Jason’s voice became out almost feral, “I told you from-no, you knew, from the very beginning that I had no idea how to be in a relationship. I can’t express my feelings to you because…”

 “Because of what Jason? What is it that has you, so tongue tied?”

 Jason felt his control slipping and the words came out before he could even stop himself, “Because you’ll be the death of me!”

 Y/N’s eyes widened visibly her mouth opening with no words coming out.

 Jason cut his eyes away from her, “I can’t stand the idea of watching you leave but at the same time I know it’d more than likely be better for you.” Jason pushed a frustrated hand through his hair, “I can’t give you flowers and hearts, because I don’t know how Y/N.”

With those last words it felt like their sudden outbursts had never happened as the room echoed with quiet once more.

 It was like running in circles when they argued, the familiar silences and bouts of emotion were so reoccurring you could map out exactly what would happen. Though, this was the first time Y/N had been able to crack past Jason’s hard walls enough to peek inside at the man she’d fallen in love with.

 “I never asked for hearts and flowers Jason I just wanted you, for once in your life, to be honest with me.”

“I’ve never lied to you,” Jason gripped his little ounce of remaining bravery and looked into Y/E/C eyes.

 Y/N sighed, “No, but you never were completely honest with me either.”

 “What’s that supposed to mean?” Jason hissed.

 Y/N inhaled shakily, “I am going to ask you something just once and your response depends very much on the outcome of me leaving or dipping further into insanity for you.”

 Jason’s frame went rigid.

 “Did you ever, or do you even care about me?”

 Jason stared into eerily steady Y/E/C eyes. Y/N and Jason lost track of time as they stood there in epic silence before Y/N forced herself to except his reply, or lack thereof.

Turning painfully to the door once more Y/N’s foot hovered out the doorway freezing in midair at Jason’s whispered words.

 “I don’t care about you Y/N-“

 Y/N whipped back into the room with such speed Jason didn’t realize it until his head snapped sideways.

The slap echoed off the walls in the apartment like thunder as Y/N’s hand floated in the air as Jason’s head was snapped to the side, his expression full of surprise.

Y/N’s chest heaved as she slowly registered the sting in her hand before hot tears and screams filled the air.

 “You self-centered fucking prick! Five fucking years I gave to you! Five Jason! I never asked for anything and you stand there like some fucking asshole that hides behind a mask out of fear!” Y/N pointed a finger “You are a coward-“

 Jason’s head snapped around just as fast as it’d been knocked sideways, blue-green eyes so filled with anger Y/N’s words skid to a stop. Stepping forward Jason barely registered himself attempting to stop Y/N from retreating on instinct.

 Y/N backed up until her knees hit the bedside making her fall back onto the soft mattress with Jason never hesitating to crowd her personal space. Leaning forward Jason firmly but not painfully pinned down Y/N’s wrists as his heated eyes glared down into her defiant Y/E/C ones.

 Swallowing Jason did his best to not let his voice shake.

 “Let’s get a few things straightened out. First, I know very damn well how long we’ve been together Y/N and I know that you’ve done a lot for me or rather us. Secondly, I am not a fucking coward. You know full well that to be a damned lie when you, for a moment, consider why I am so against getting close to you or anyone for that damn matter. I have lost so much Y/N and the idea that after years of being cautious of letting people get too close you danced into my life stripping me bare at your feet.”

 Jason inhaled shakily, “Five years and you are the closet I’ve ever let anyone and that scares the fucking shit out of me. Knowing that at any second you could walk out without so much as a glance back kills me because I’d have to lose someone again.”

 Jason’s eyes slid shut, “I know you’ve stretched yourself to the breaking point when it comes to patience with me, I know that better than you are aware and I don’t blame you if you still left after this. But let it be known Y/N this is who I am, I don’t want you to leave me but I have no reason to make you stay either. I never just cared about you Y/N, I love you like I loved my family and that has me scared out of my fucking mind.”

 Y/N to stared at the raw pain etching Jason’s face as he hovered over her. Slowly Jason drug in a shaky breath as he forced himself to release Y/N and slid into a standing position once more.

Y/N stared at Jason’s rigid body with wide eyes, her brain still trying to process his words. Jason moved himself back against his former position at the wall with eyes downcast.

Crossing his arms across his chest to somehow ground himself to the room he waited for Y/N to get up and leave. He tried to mentally prepare himself to watch Y/N rip his heart out and walk out with it in her carry-on bag. Jason had finally slammed into a wall and had bared his soul to Y/N as a last-ditch effort to give himself closure.

 Jason heard the bed sheets shuffle, but his eyes were glued to the floor, Y/N had the ball fully in her court.

 “Did…Did you just say you loved me?”

 Jason’s body tensed at her gently spoken words like they’d burned him.

 “Jason.”

Y/N’s more firm tone pleaded for some sort of response, but all she got was Jason slowly rising his head to look at her, his mask fully back in place.

 Even with his blank mask in place Y/N was usually able to read Jason’s eyes even if it took some effort, but not in that moment. Jason’s eyes were wide open windows holding back the response he wanted to give but failed to trust his voice with.

 Y/N couldn’t remember how to breathe as things slowly started to sink in, “Holy-“

 Y/N was thankful she was still sitting on the bed because she was sure she’d have hit the floor as her words died.

Jason’s jaw was tight, unsure if Y/N’s actions meant she was staying or if she just needed time to recover before leaving.

 “How long?”

 Jason’s brows lifted, “How long what?”

 “How long have you…”

 Jason caught her meaning but never answered; he didn’t see how that was an important piece of information.

 Y/N watched as Jason stared out their bedroom window, his jaw was set tightly all the while a muscle worked wildly away. Swallowing in attempt to destroy the dryness in her throat Y/N decided that Jason’s first ever emotional response had been short lived. Looking down at her jean clad thighs the internal war that ragged on continually had her back at square one.

Another long bout of silence came as Y/N found herself having an internal war of reasoning.

 “I have conditions.”

 Jason’s eyes snapped up at Y/N’s whispered words. The harsh seriousness Jason found in her eyes had him holding his breath.

 “I can’t keep being the only one putting in the effort. I need you to meet me halfway. I need you to trust me enough to let me in.” Y/N pushed a tired hand through her hair “I just…you have to work with me Jay.”

 Jason silently nodded.

 “No. I need to hear the words.”

 Jay swallowed thickly while uncrossing his arms, “Okay.”

 Y/N smiled through her tears while reaching toward him. It wasn’t long before Jason was kneeling before her his head in her lap as they held each other.

 This is where they would continue their uphill war, but this time it would be them against the world.

[sunriseoverseauniverse-blog]

The world just chewed her up

And spat her out. 

I always get myself into these situations

I’m just being honest here 

It’s a classic feeling signature and behaviour of mine 

No thanks to any of the people who twisted the knife

Yup, thats you grandma, and whoever ( the fuck ) else 

Ooops using that fucking g word again 

Trying to transfer the blame on someone else 

My poetry is starting to suck 

Cause it’s really just nicely placed words 

Venting my timely swings 

Into dark places...

Calling it:

I’ve had a full on fortnight 

Sick, work, new job, money stress

Child not drinking or sleeping stress

All the usual suspects for an exhausted parent 

Wait what the fuck I’m not a parent? 

It’s really taxing being the one hearing the toddlers cries 

Knowing that you aren’t the one with the milk tap breasts 

The smells, genealogy and presence of their mother 

That would calm that crying child in an instant...

Who is the only one they will eat for, drink for, sleep for... just about

I am a good stand in mother 

But imagine having that much presence in another child’s life 

Taking the pressure of trying to fill their needs 

When you aren’t the one who was biologically tuned to do so

I love what I do 

I really do and I would take this shit any day over any other work

But when they are crying for mum 

Well, I’m just not their mum. 

It’s okay

It just takes time to form bonds right?

If it didn’t it wouldn’t be right

You can’t hurry love... understanding... feeling comfortable with someone

Children need the love

Parents need the space from loving 

Nanny’s need.... 

A BIG FUCK OFF COFFEE OKAY

Like, today would have been good.  It used to be my little fluffy comforter, coffee 

It still is my trusted friend 

In small doses 

I’m basically Lor 

I like to believe I live in stars hollow.

We made a breakthrough today together

Me & the wee one year old cherub I care for 

She is such a strong stubborn self lead little cherub 

She just makes these screechy noises at me, trying to tell me stuff 

I put her in the car, drove to the beach and around for ages 

And then, holy shit, she fell asleep and STAYED asleep for 40 minutes 

It was a christmas fucking miracle 

It is the first fortnight I’ve been working 

But some of those days have been mentally challenging 

I came home with tears of joy whatever I don’t know 

Tears of endurance of frustration of inadequacy for not having the right nipples

Tears about money stuff 

Getting through 

Feeling like I have some worth

Paying for my own health care appointments  Whatever other plans I have made 

Fighting back the tears 

Again 

The stress of all this change 

Feeling for me 

Cause it’s my job too 

Can be full on, it seems 

Lucy ran through the house with muddy paws this arvo 

It was the icing on the cake 

The cherry 

Sarcastic but really she is my

Cherry

She came into my room just now 

To give me a little snuggle 

Probably saying mama thing I hate it when you cry 

It’s cool baby badger 

Crying is one of the many ways to release 

I read a cool article on it today about the healing power 

Of babies crying in the arms of a caring loving adult 

It’s a healthy response 

It is made to be held, seen, heard, recognised as valid 

If your baby needs to cry, let it cry in your arms 

It’s perfectly fucking healthy to cry 

It’s WAY better if it can be done with someones presence 

And I mean, just their conscious presence, approving, accepting 

Being here with you 

Especially for children 

But I just do it alone mostly

Cause people tend to freak out with the water worx 

Probably scared of their own displays of feelings 

I’m used to it I’ve been doing it for years 

I even used to tie up the door to the bathroom 

Where I would be crying 

From a very young age 

Because we don’t have locks in our house 

Because I was raised without being allowed valid boundaries 

Lol fight me 

I’m just being honest 

Act like you got some sense

I’m sorry Mrs Jackson 

I am for real 

Okay there’s my humour coming back 

I’m glad to be free to speak 

That’s why I write things 

I don’t care if anyone reads 

But maybe they will and it will mean something 

That’s cool too 

The universe is a funky little pumpkn

Especially with the platform of technology 

I can reference shit with an inbuilt link 

Would have been handy for my essays back in the day 

Look I just want to be able to meet my needs

Like every human should be able to do 

That’s why I want to care for children 

Help them get their needs met 

I honestly get it, parenting is FULL ON 

I get why kids grow up without their needs being met 

Because not every one can mind read or translate screeching 

But I feel like I’ve been raised to figure out how to MEET NEEDS

My own, and then others, children, whoever I can influence 

In fulfilling ways really 

I guess that’s the goal 

To lead 

Be my own 

Wahine Toa 

Filling my needs has meant money 

Which has been a tool which I cast out of my shed 

From a very young twisted age 

When I was made to feel ashamed 

For having money and choosing how to spend it

Thanks again to the dicks that taught me this 

Is she still bitter about this or? 

Lol, jokes make it better for five seconds 

The story is long but in short basically I fucked it all up 

When I bit my brothers ass cause he stole my toy 

Which, yeah, fair enough, I fuck shit up if things are unfairly taken from me

Then my grandma who is dead now ( cool ) had forsaken me 

Then would refuse to treat me well for the rest of my life 

Neglect me and shit, ridicule me and instil the classic shame 

For being my great self ya know 

Barbaric really 

Then write me poetry about how creative I am

Like, bitch please 

You can’t unfuck with my life now you realised it was a dick move 

Those bridges are burnt bitch 

Wow, vent vent vent 

Has to be said? Mmmm maybe in a less cunty way but that aint me today

So yeah money is a thing I am learning 

Thanks to the past conditioning 

It’s a universal blockage so I’m not half surprised 

I would really love it in my life 

So I can love and care for myself 

So I don’t have to depend on people who can’t do that for me 

Let alone, themselves right!?

Think we’re all learning this right?

So how do you learn to do money?

Well... find the energy that attracts it instead of repels it

Learn to use it wisely for future benefits 

Learn to keep the river flowing constant abundance in and out 

To you and through you 

Hibernate in the winter, keep like squirrels collecting them nuts 

Not just for the now time, for the winter

But if you collect too many and leave them to rot that’s not a flowing river 

So it’s about learning the skills, how to use the tool for abundance 

The dance with life we all are worthy of 

How have I committed to this? 

#1: Decide to stop doing shitty stressful jobs that don’t fulfil me and provide for me in equal abundance of energy exchanges, preferably looking for work with perks that I love and with downsides that I am not too bothered by. 

( I decided upon home based one on one childcare because it’s a nurturing job for me and for the world in order to help people and help myself thrive )

#2: TRAIN OR GET EXPERIENCE OR PREFERABLY BOTH.

(I did my qualification in Nannying, it took 6 months and it was free, it was one of the best most nourishing fulfilling loving moments of my life so far, thank you)

#3: Get your foot in the door. 

( for me, this meant, get an in between starting job which paved my way in order to look forward to and manifest the perfect job to begin my career with )

( it was part time, it was full on, it was amazing because it gave me experience and a reference, it was fun, it had some perks, it also sucked sometimes but it was the perfect launching point... ) 

#4: Get through the period of time where you may not be earning or you may be earning very little, before you find the perfect work conditions that give you what you are so worth earning in exchange in order to sustain and fulfil your life. 

( yup, currently amidst this point, it is hard so hard at times for me, it is mentally consuming and emotionally breaking but it is the deep lesson about the squirrels collecting nuts for the winter... you need not so much that they will rot, you need just enough to get you through without meaning a period of starvation or you need to hiberate like bears. you just have to do whatever you can to get through this phase... its okay to ask for help, just ask people who you can trust to actually care about you and love you and support you, not people who have shown you that it’s conditional or that they actually can’t do this for you )

#5: Eventually, you will be in a cycle of river flowing freely and replenishing you all the time and life giving energy in abundance to you and through you. This is the place we all want to be with our work where we love what we do even on the hardest worst days and we are fulfilled with abundance in all areas of our lives, especially given equally abundant exchange of money to provide for our lives and our desires. 

( I have found the job, the conditons are right, I am working through the moments of stress and I am most of all waiting on those steady free flowing river pay checks of abundance... don’t get me wrong, I also need to learn how to be best with my nuts so that is the next step. I just so hope I can do so this time around because I don’t want to go through periods of starvation of my needs when it is so taxing and mentally emotionally crappy... I suppose though all of those pent up feelings had to come out somehow because I wouldn’t have ever had money blocks if they didn’t exist. Purging the blockages from your system is all part of the transformation here. So, I guess, I’m glad to be deep in full learning ) 

I just wish to feel better

To rewrite the feelings signatures that were assigned to me 

When I was just a young zero years baby 

So I guess the path is set... 

I’d like to see my needs met.