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todoscript · 5 years ago

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lilies & lilacs pt. i

SUMMARY: A dilemma with his grand charity gala brings Todoroki Shouto, CEO of Todoroki Enterprises, at your humble flower shop’s doorstep.

pairing: ceo!todoroki shouto x florist!reader

genre: eventual smut. fluff. slow burn. no quirks au.

word count: 5.6k+

warnings: none in this part, but expect sexual content in the future.

author’s note: this has been rotting in my wips for a couple of months now, but i finally decided to post it with the decision of progressing the story into parts. thank you to the lovely rosie aka @shoutogepi for initially betareading this and keeping the hype up for the fic in our chats together (love you <333)! feedback is welcomed and before you ask, im opening a taglist for the next 2 parts so just ask if you wish to be included

The uneasy padding of her boss’ dress shoes across the floor of his office made the secretary restless. She knew the bad news she delivered would cause some displeasure to stir within him, but never would she expect his tough bearings to falter, his troubles conveyed in hasty steps and frayed skin skewing those handsome features.

During the past two years she’s worked for him, she always thought his expression was nearly unreadable. When it came to his high position, her boss was forward and direct at conducting business—calm, stoic, and a perfect representation of efficiency and strong work ethic in his field. So while she witnessed the man’s uncharacteristic distress before her eyes, she wasn’t sure how this could end well for her.

Sweat began beading her forehead at the tension creeping between each tap of his feet against the hardwood below, coming to an unnerving halt behind his desk. When her eyes found his, all she could gather in those gray and turquoise clouds was annoyance toward their current predicament.

“What do you mean we don’t have a florist booked yet?” he repeated the dilemma she relayed to him merely moments ago. Hearing the agitation in his voice caused a nervous gulp to drop in her throat. She clutched her clipboard firmly in her arms to keep herself anchored in the wake of her boss’ growing frustration. However, she was still unsure how to continue as the words remained sealed in her mouth.

“Well?” Noticing his secretary’s lack of response, he pushed forward, hands leaning against the edge of his mahogany desk. The woman urged herself to endure the obstacles by first breathing through her nose before swallowing the lump in her throat, responding quickly.

“Um, Mr. Todoroki, sir, it seems all the florists on our list have all been booked for other events for the rest of the month,” she said, but mentally scolded herself when she heard herself sputter in such an unprofessional manner. Despite that, she prayed the explanation was enough to sate even a fraction of her boss’ inner turmoil.

Shouto approached her answer with silence before that foreseeable sigh left his lips, spilling with exasperation. He turned, his back facing the secretary, gaze lined to the windows gracing him with sunlight behind his desk. Stuck in contemplation, he pinched the bridge of his nose, mouth pursed in a firm line.

Where am I going to find a florist in time for this damn charity gala? He internally griped, closing his eyes as if that would help him uncover the solution to this untimely mess.

His esteemed company, Todoroki Enterprises, had arranged a plan to hold a widely anticipated charity gala by the end of this month. The event was conducted to raise funds for all manners of different charities that would vary in the level of grandeur on display. And given that the organizing for the event would be under his very name, Shouto had the critical responsibility of ensuring nothing but peak quality to those that would attend.

His staff had long procured the venue and were managing the layout of the gala. They sought out some suitable entertainment, booked catering, and scheduled for the charity auctions and raffles to take place throughout the night. What was still needed were the decorations, and right now that was where they hit their deadend with no florist currently reserved.

And here’s the real kicker: the gala was two weeks away.

Two. Weeks.

How he allowed for such errors to occur was beyond him at this point. All that really mattered was that he found a way to correct those mistakes and fast.

As much as Shouto figured he could skip past the flowers and substitute them with some other kind of flashy decorations, he already had a clear idea of how he wanted the gala to look. The floral arrangements would compliment the theme of the event exceedingly well. Turning back on the plan would be an insult to everyone’s prepared attire for the evening, with the dress code already sent out to all the distinguished guests invited to this grandiose ball. No doubt in his mind, he needed that florist, and needed them stat.

Sure on his resolution, he finally shifted to face his secretary. The anxious expression plastered on her face greeted him, and at that, Shouto bit his lip. His guilt surfaced for allowing his emotions to affect his workspace. He knew better than to take out his frivolous thoughts on his staff, who very well had no control over the situation. So he eased the atmosphere, attempting to lift the tension surrounding his office in the dreary gray of his temper.

“Nishiyama, I’m sorry for my behavior just now,” he apologized. The secretary, in turn, was taken aback, eyes widened. Her anxiety slowly whittled away as she scampered to return his kind gesture.

“Oh no, sir, it’s fine! I’m sure you were just feeling stressed hearing the news. I surely would be if I were in your shoes.”

“No, it’s not. I was acting childish despite how much you and everyone have done so far for the event,” Shouto said, “I should be thankful for your time, considering you also have a family to take care of at home.”

While the woman stared at him, abashed by his sincerity, Shouto swiveled his chair around to take a seat. A much-needed seat to be entirely honest. His secretary was not kidding about how the bad news seemed to harrow some stress in his body. But, being accustomed to having this weight pushed on his shoulders from the very moment he was announced the head of the company many years ago, he more than anticipated the stress to come with the job.

Shouto spared his secretary one last glance before his eyes darted down between the important papers sprawled on his desk. “If that’s all the news we needed to address today then you’re dismissed, Nishiyama. Carry on with the rest of the organizing as planned,” he ordered. Nishiyama lowered her clipboard to her hip.

“R-Right. Thank you, sir.” She parted his presence with a curt bow. Shouto picked up on her heels clicking toward his office door until they suddenly stopped altogether, looking back at the man midway. “What about the florist, sir?” she asked, concerned at the unresolved predicament lingering in the air. Her question wasn’t met with an immediate reply, but Shouto eventually gave her an answer he deemed adequate of a response. His words were coated with as much reassurance as he could muster in this situation.

“Don’t worry, I’ll handle it myself.”

The task was easier said than done.

Usually, when it came to booking a florist for special occasions like this, you’d want to contact them months ahead of the scheduled date to ensure maximum efficiency and work out any problems that should arise. But there were only two weeks left until the awaited charity gala.

Shouto was certainly pushing his luck at this point and to a dangerous degree. If he didn’t find someone to arrange the flowers for the ball soon, the venue might be absent of all life and mood, essentially flopping from missing such a key element. Shouto could not allow for that to happen.

Given his word, he took it in his hands to rectify this mistake. For the entirety of the day, he sifted through the aforementioned list of florists his secretary had provided him—extended thanks to his team’s desperate search for more options.

All he had to do was narrow down the lineup. Unfortunately, those efforts may as well have been all for naught.

“Hello, is this Himawari’s Garden? I’d like to speak with the head florist there about arranging the flowers for a gala my company has been planning—”

“I’m terribly sorry, sir, but we’re currently busy preparing for a big wedding coming up next week. If you’d like, I can try and book our services for you toward the next month or so when we’ll be available?”

Shouto’s brows tightened during the exchange—a gesture he’d been repeating as of late while he dwindled the line of florists. If he kept it up, those wrinkles might be embedded into his skin permanently. He was at least grateful he managed to thwart the heavy breath of air that threatened to leave his lips and reveal his frustration to the woman on the phone.

“No, that’s fine. Thank you for your time.” With that, he hung up.

Shouto leaned back in his seat in exasperation, his weight pressed into the cushions as his eyes situated themselves toward the ceiling. The consistent taps of his fingers on his mahogany desk were all he heard amidst his deep contemplation. His eyes lidded shut in an attempt to seek a moment of refuge from the stress, but his conscience began eating at him.

Of course, what was he thinking? The beginnings of spring to late autumns were the mark of wedding season—the time where florists and other businesses specializing in decorative arrangements thrived and busied themselves with eager clients. Not only that, but it was also the month of June. The sixth month of the year was undoubtedly the most popular month among couples to hold their weddings, and he had witnessed this fact firsthand through his myriad of fruitless phone calls.

Shouto had thoroughly wrung through his rope and teetered on the edge of complete defeat. He sealed down his most recent loss at the hand of another busy floral business by striking a line across Himawari’s Garden on his list. At that, the total tallied to thirty whole flower shops. Thirty unsuccessful attempts.

That sigh he contained during the phone call found its way out of his throat in dramatic waves of displeasure

“You alright, sir?”

His administrative assistant, Midoriya Izuku, heard his huffs when he entered the threshold of Shouto’s office. He noted his boss’ hunched posture and the rare crease crinkled between his nose bridge, pressed against his hands that were clenched together above his desk.

“I’m guessing the new list of florists was also a no-go?”

Shouto didn’t offer any words, instead sliding said list—now fully crossed out—toward his assistant as his reply. Craning his head for a better look, Midoriya feigned a smile, not wanting to let the man’s defeat consume the mood entirely.

“Well... I suppose we shouldn’t be surprised… Wedding season is upon us after all.”

Oh yes, Midoriya. Shouto knew that very well. So much so that he sunk further into his desk at the reminder, head practically drooped with a gloomy rain cloud hovering atop him. The green-haired assistant fervently shook his head back-and-forth upon realizing his remark had thrown salt into his wound. “Oh, I-I mean... Don’t worry, sir! I’m sure we’ll still be able to sort out this problem in time before the gala!” he sputtered to help alleviate the despair that crept in, but it came to no avail according to his boss’ silent sulky demeanor. That was when Midoriya remembered the two cups of hot coffee held in each of his hands.

“Ah, right, I made you some coffee! I figured you could use one considering you’ve been cooped up in your office all day.” Setting one in front of him, Shouto perked up at the nutty aroma that slowly slipped into his senses. He eyed the fresh cup of coffee tentatively, the steam flitting above it in wisps.

Lifting the cup, the rich smell wafted further into his nostrils, imbuing him with that familiar peace he usually reveled in. On any ordinary day, he’d be accompanied by his classic roasted blend perched on his desk, with no problems threatening to disturb his peaceful routine. Not anything like today. Not anything like this dilemma of a desperate time crunch for a florist.

Perhaps that was what he needed. A filter of caffeine to wash away the ordeal like it was a bad morning plaguing him with baggy under-eyes and fatigue from a previous day of hard work. Though he’s sure not even caffeine could erase the headaches he developed throughout his day so far. If anything, indulgence would just make those headaches worse.

Nonetheless, he welcomed the smooth blend of flavors that ebbed down his throat through modest sips, rejuvenation quickly oozing in his veins. Headaches or not, the stimulation from the caffeine was essential if he wanted to combat the rest of the day with some drive.

“Thanks, Midoriya. I needed that,” Shouto acknowledged. He nodded at his assistant, who rubbed the back of his head modestly, saying how it was no problem at all, but the way his boss suddenly got up from his seat interrupted his words.

Shouto already felt the strong coffee going to work as his steps picked up in long strides around his desk that had the assistant’s brows knitting together, confused. “Where are you going, sir?” Midoriya asked, his voice sounding more distant to Shouto, who continued his way past him and toward the door.

“A quick drive,” was the blatant answer he gave. He downed the last of the cup before tossing it in the trash bin near the exit of his office. “Something to clear my head a bit. I’ll be back soon, but until then, keep reaching out to any businesses that could potentially be available to help us.”

“Yes, of course, sir! You can count on me!” Midoriya was prompt in replying. As expected, being Shouto’s right-hand man at the company.

With that, Shouto took to the parking lot below his building, twirling his keys over his index finger before hopping into his Mercedes and driving off.

The withering sunlight cast its glare over his car during his ride through the city. By now, the skies splayed vibrant red as the sun gandered above the horizon. He drove down the narrow and busy streets that kept the place bustling at these hours. It was likely the time when people finished up their workday and were eager to arrive home for much-needed rest.

During a particularly long wait at a red traffic light, he pondered over his predicament again. His thumb rapped against the steering wheel while he bit his bottom lip, that ugly feeling of regret seeping into his thoughts.

Maybe he placed too much faith in these flowers after all. Sure, he mentioned the vital role they played in aligning with the theme and complimenting the guests’ attires. But was it worth all the trouble he put his team through, searching through a throng of businesses already busy with their own events to organize? In a way, this could’ve been sorted out had he recognized the current times and planned accordingly to avoid the mess. But now they were trapped in this bind, crunching for anyone that could help them within only fourteen short days.

Just as he weighed the idea of calling Midoriya over the bluetooth in his car to drop the floral arrangements altogether, something caught his eye at the last second.

Shouto peered through his window, squinting at the corner, where he spotted a cart of flowers in front of a shop of some sort. His grip tightened around the leather of his steering wheel as he leaned in for a better look. Some kind of spark in him roused his anticipation the more he shifted forward in his seat, like the hope that was slowly fading inside was igniting once again.

Another inch further and he attained a better look of the shop. Its sign came into view just below the small boundary of his window—letters brushed in calligraphy on a long board of canvas with lilies painted on the edges that seamed together into a bouquet.

N… Neigh… Neighborhood Lily.

He deciphered the words, but didn’t give them much thought. All that enveloped his mind afterward was the fact the name wasn’t any of the list of thirty shops he phoned today. So the very moment the light overhead flickered to green, Shouto’s hold on the wheel tightened. His foot gradually stepped on the pedal with much more purpose.

He decided to take a brief detour from this casual little drive of his.

It was about six o’clock when you waved off your latest customer, who was leaving the shop with a basket of vibrant tulips swinging on their arm. The smile on their face was an adamant indication they were more than happy with their time here, something you always delighted in, being very passionate about your job as a florist.

“Thank you, and please come again!” The bell overhead gave a gracious chime at the customer’s departure.

With them gone, you drew your attention back to the flowers laid out on the small wooden table in the corner of the shop. Before the customer came in, you were at work arranging and crafting the blossoms you purchased from the flower market that morning into bouquets.

You’d be closing in about an hour and thirty minutes or so, but for now, you basked in the silence and the calming aroma of the flowers that surrounded you while you continued your work. A modest hum naturally sang past your lips and soothed its way into the shop that was devoid of all souls except yourself.

“Hm, you’re a pretty thing, aren’t you?” You made some small talk with the rose in your hand. It was a habit of yours to spill a few words out within your own little world, imagining the flowers were keeping you company whenever you were alone.

“And there, now you all look even prettier.” An adoring smile embellished your lips as you finished off another bouquet by tying it with a silk ribbon. Looking over the bundle one more time, you thoroughly admired the shades of pinks and reds that complimented each other in the ensemble.

Then two more bouquets down, and you already made a good amount of progress. You figured that if you kept up the pace, you’d likely finish the rest of the batch and have them ready for display tomorrow. But just as you clasped three more flowers in your hand, the bell atop the door chimed, alerting you to a new patron.

You nicked off a thorn from one of the stems before turning around and giving your attention to the visitor. When your eyes found their way to the shop’s entrance, you were surprised to meet a man of slicked white and red hair. The few strands that found their way out of the gel must have been tussled from a long day of work considering the fatigue plain on his handsome face.

Despite the few wrinkles here and there, his attire was still surprisingly pristine. He wore a simple yet compelling suit, the fit seeming tailored to the contours of his body that rendered you a tad speechless at how good he looked just standing there. The sight almost made you feel underdressed.

You hadn’t realized you were staring for longer than you deemed appropriate. You couldn’t help it, being that the stranger was a stark contrast to the regular customers you were used to. The fanciest you’ve encountered since you opened your shop were the young boys that rushed in with nicely fitted tops and jeans, frantically inquiring about what kinds of flowers were right to give to a girl for a date they had later that day. Not anything like attractive businessmen in immaculate suits and shining silver wristwatches that surely cost more than all the flowers you tended here.

Noticing you were gawking, you blinked thrice to knock yourself out of your trance and properly greet the man.

“H-Hello, welcome to Neighborhood Lily,” you said, mustering the politest tone you could give to make up for the awkward moment of wordless eye contact. You must have kept your eyes on him for what felt like a good five minutes at least. The man, in turn, acknowledged you with a small grin, much to your relief.

“How may I help you this evening?”

“I’m…” he hesitated, seeming wary of how he wanted to go about his next choice of words, “just looking for now,” he decided.

Not paying much mind to his hesitation, you nodded. “Oh, well, if you have any questions or need any help on anything, please let me know. I’ll just be around the corner!”

Allowing him to go about his business, you returned to your table of flowers and oversaw the blossoms again. However, it was difficult for you to busy yourself with the task at hand. The mere thought of the other presence in the shop was enough to hammer you out of your concentration.

He was already a compelling figure on his own, what with his good-looks accompanied by his classy ensemble that felt more than out of place here. But what you were especially curious about was what business he had at a humble flower shop like yours during this hour.

That curiosity led your eyes straying to the side, where you peeped the man walking through the small aisle of flowers. He examined the bouquets and vases on display, even showing interest in the more decorative pieces hung in pots from the ceiling.

You tried to determine what his motives were. He was showing some considerable intrigue at your arrangements, though perhaps it was pure admiration for your work, and you were letting your self-consciousness get to you.

Well, spying would just get you nowhere, you thought. One way or another, he’d answer your curiosity by either coming to you directly or leave the shop altogether. You had to admit you hoped more for the former.

Until then, you tore your gaze away and resumed gathering flowers in your hands. You assessed their compatibility with one another while you fiddled around with their placement in the bouquet. The white lilies and the blue lilacs went very well, along with another set of light violet lilacs you couldn’t help but string into the bundle. As a result, the beautiful balance of cool tones made for an exceptional well-made bouquet. You finished the piece with a matching white satin ribbon and then let the arranged flowers thrive inside a glass vase.

“Those are very pretty.”

Startled at the voice, you whipped your head around, hands braced behind you against the edge of the wooden table. Your untimely lack of words were a result from realizing the owner of the voice was closer than you anticipated.

The businessman went from lingering around the aisle of flowers in the middle of the shop, to appearing in your proximity.

“E-Excuse me?” you asked, wondering if you heard correctly to which he pointed at the bouquets laid finished on the table. “In fact, all the flowers here are exceptionally beautiful.” He gestured to the entirety of the shop. His eyes quickly roamed across all the decorative flourishes before they came back to you.

“You do excellent work here in your shop.”

Words coming from a man like him made you bashful. You subconsciously played with the hem of your apron, eyes drifting to anywhere but his face at the compliment. However, the sliver of heat fluttering to your cheeks didn’t go unnoticed by him.

“Oh, um, thank you. It’s nothing really, I’ve been arranging flowers for quite some time while at the last floristry I worked for so I have a fair amount of experience.”

After another second of fiddling with the fabric, your hands ended up falling to your sides. You sauntered toward one of the flower vases that were already set on display, dawdling around the conversation. His eyes followed you, watching you nurture the blossoms. “I opened this flower shop of mine just recently actually. Been getting a decent amount of business here and there, but I’m just glad that the people who’ve visited so far like my work,” you told him, twirling a strand of your hair. The pads of your other hand brushed against the soft, abundant petals of a yellow chrysanthemum.

The man observed your actions, analyzing your face. He distinguished the devotion hidden in your eyes as you looked upon the flower with a luster. Despite your humble character, it was more than clear to him you were very passionate about what you did, relishing in the ambiance and admiring the modest appearance of this little shop of yours, covered in the wonderful aroma of flowers.

You didn’t detect that deep breath of air he earnestly drew in as he stepped closer. So close that his proximity broke your stupor to meet his rigid expression.

“How would you feel about an… opportunity to let more of your work be known?”

“An opportunity?” you echoed. “Wait… do you maybe have a wed—”

“No,” he interjected, so abruptly that you couldn’t help but quirk a brow. Catching himself, he took a moment to clear his throat, mindful of his behavior. “I mean, it’s not a wedding. Rather, a charity gala that my company has been planning for some time.”

“A gala?” Your mouth worked faster than your mind, accidentally blurting out your thoughts. The astonishment was evident in your tone; it made the man question your reaction by leaning in.

“Yes, a gala,” he said again like you didn’t just hear his words from a foot away, without even realizing the lengths behind his baffling offer. “Is there something wrong about that?”

“N-No. It just wasn’t the kind of opportunity I expected it to be is all… A gala…” Your voice hushed around the utter of “gala”.

What the man presented so blatantly was unexpected to your ears. Galas meant a pompous party full of people decked in lavish attires, drinking quality champagne from tulip glasses. Sizing up the man again, you could only imagine this gala would only include the most important and wealthiest people in attendance.

You had to ask something, “Um, about this gala... How many people will be there?”

“Maybe about... five hundred or so? I’ll have to check in with my assistant to confirm the full count again.” He shrugged nonchalantly and yet on your end, hearing the number almost reduced your head to a dizzy mess.

Five hundred guests? It was a number you couldn’t fathom. You hadn’t even been booked for an occasion as ordinary as a baby shower, but this man wanted you to arrange flowers for his big charity gala?

As oddly enticing of a job it was to you, there had to be anyone else more experienced and capable for this.

“Sir, I’m not su—”

“The pay, of course, will be more than generous, and I’ll even provide you funding for any necessary materials for this project,” he chimed in before you could voice your protest. It was then that you began to distinguish something laced in his voice and exhibited on his face.

Desperation.

This man seemed desperate for some reason.

“May I ask when the event will take place?” Your arms crossed against your chest. A gulp formed in his throat at the question, unsure if he wanted to unveil the news or risk scaring you off. Either way, if you were working for him, you’d learn eventually. A sigh came out.

“Two weeks,” he answered.

Oh yeah, that explained it. It also answered any questions you had over the tension rigid in his shoulders. At this point, you were bound to join him in his stress because, goddamn, organizing a whole assembly of flowers for a grand ball within fourteen days? The idea was beyond daunting.

While you reflected on the intimidating pieces of information, he was gauging your reaction. Would you say yes? No? Laugh at the idea that he thought he could find a florist to work for him at such late notice? There were a slew of uncertainties twisting in his head—an act unbecoming of him, but you were his last hope. Whatever you responded with next would either be the nail in his coffin or the wings that made him soar.

You would be treading on uncharted waters at a chance like this, having never sailed anywhere beyond your little island of floristry where people came and went with your humble little arrangements. But you also thought of this as a daring opportunity to find new land. See what the world had in store for you outside of selling the general bouquets and vases you had on display. Plus, when would a chance like this ever come up again?

Though it meant encountering difficulties along the way, taking on such a big challenge right off the bat, you figured you’d be able to keep your boat afloat. You were also sure the journey toward bigger regions would be worth the struggle in the end.

“So do you have your answer?” he pressed forward when your silence became unbearable to his nerves. He thanked the fact that his voice managed to sound steady enough not to give himself away. Your arms remained crossed in front of you, your hand coming beneath your chin the only sign that you were taking his offer to heart. It kept the flickering flames of hope blazing inside him.

“I just want to ask you something,” you replied. He nodded, allowing you to continue.

“I know you’re under pressure with this gala coming up in only two weeks,” you began. Your arms unraveled, and your fingers ran to your apron again. You formed the next bit of words with uncertainty, “but are you sure I’m the right person for this job? I mean, I don’t have much to offer you in terms of skill other than what I have here.” You nudged at the range of your shop, plain as can be though with a generous amount of flourishes on display. Yet nothing you thought special enough to be graced by him and his grand proposal that evening.

“I just don’t want you to regret your decision.”

There was a pause of silence after that. The man seemed to give your words some thought—a quick reflection on the situation. You couldn’t decipher much in his face, but you happened to take some time to admire how pretty his eyes were. The individual blue and gray shades were mesmerizing to you, resembling glaciers glittering beneath the moon high in the north. Another detail you jotted in his long list of attractive features. Before you could marvel at them any further, he whisked your thoughts back to earth with his response.

“It’s true that I’m coming to you because I’m in need,” he admitted, hands slowly closing into fists like he was reluctant to confess this, “but from what I can see, I genuinely think you’re more than capable for this job. So yes, I’m very sure I won’t regret this decision.”

It was clear to you that he was sure on his stance. But to reinforce his statement, he bent his head low into a bow, weight added to his next words.

“Please be the florist for our gala.”

The gesture briefly overwhelmed you, not something you were expecting, but you managed to acknowledge it by returning the bow.

“I’ll be in your care then.”

With all things said, you were soon tidying up the exchange and trading business cards. Yours was a standard card with your number, name, and business attached with a picture of a lily printed across the paper. His, a premium slip of stainless steel engraved with his information and then some, the fancy card reflecting off the lights hanging from the ceiling. You read the name etched in ebony black over the gray material.

Todoroki Shouto — CEO

“You’ll likely receive a call from either one of my assistants or me within the next day or so about when to meet up to plan for the arrangements.” Shouto’s voice brought your head up from the card, where you watched him glide toward the door.

“R-Right, I’ll leave my cell on,” you stuttered. The fact that this whole exchange had just transpired was still kicking in for you.

Shouto nodded, extending a wave out that you mirrored while he opened the door to the shop, the bell chiming above him.

“I’ll see you then.”

After that, the resonating tinkles of the bell were the last you heard.

You stared at the entrance aimlessly, mouth gradually gaping open at the mere prospect that you were really about to arrange your flowers for a grand charity gala in two weeks!

A mixture of elation and jitters erupted in your body all at once, uncontained as you whipped your head around and strode across your shop in giddy steps. Your eyes lit up at the steel card gripped between your fingers, clenched so tightly like you were worried the card would turn to dust when you woke up from this dream. But at the wide smile that bloomed on your lips, you knew that this was reality. This man, Todoroki Shouto, was giving you the opportunity to have your true potential shown at this big gala.

Meanwhile, on his way back to his Mercedes, Shouto was clicking open his phone. The screen beamed at him in the low light of the evening turning to night while he punched a number from his contacts list. It took only the cusp of the second ring for the person on the other line to pick up his call.

“Midoriya, call off the search,” Shouto commanded into his phone. He rested his back on the door of his car, leaning against it with his phone still attached to his ear. His gaze found its way back to the flower shop he had just departed, eyeing the light emitting from the windows to the sign hanging above them. Grinning, he took in the sight of the flowers dancing in the wind around the shop’s vicinity before finding your silhouette standing in the benevolent light inside.

“We have our florist.”

#bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #bnha imagine #todoroki shouto x reader #mha x reader #bnha fic #todoroki fic #todoroki imagine

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spices-and-cherries · 4 years ago

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SFW alphabet for James Bond

As usual, I hope you guys enjoy this one! I have to say that I was more than a bit nervous about writing for James Bond just because of how hardcore the character is. He’s so different than either Benoit or Joe Bang that it’s a bit intimidating. So thank you to everyone who liked the last little headcanon I did for him!

Warnings: mentions of sexual activities and violence

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A= Affectionate (How affectionate are they?)

Due to his job, he really does try to be as affectionate as possible to make up for the lost time. He always has an arm around you or is following you around like some lost puppy. It’s cute at first, but then he starts getting in your way just to be a pest.

B= Beginning (How would the relationship start?)

It probably started like any other of James’ flings with the ever iconic ‘Bond Girls’, but there was something about you that clicked differently. Maybe it was the way you carried yourself, or how you handled things or your constant back-and-forth banter. If you ask James when he fell in love, he wouldn’t know - perhaps when he first set eyes on you?

C= Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He enjoys it from time to time, but he’d rather spend that time doing more rigorous activities if you catch my drift. That being said, he’s more willing to cuddle after an especially harrowing mission.

D= Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

He’d like to eventually. He moves from place to place so much that it’s like he can’t afford to slow down.

While his cleaning is sub-par, his cooking is very good. Luckily, he’s tall enough that he can help you out when it’s time to dust or to grab things off of the upper shelves.

E= Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

You’d wake up and he’d just be gone. No note, no nothing. You’d probably figure that he was in a rush for a mission, but after a while, it didn’t seem like that anymore. You’ll eventually put two and two together.

F = Fiancé(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

He’s married to his job, so thoughts of domesticity are more like post-retirement plans than anything else. If he were to propose, it would be absolutely out of the blue and completely unplanned on his part.

G= Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Super gentle and understanding. He’s always very careful as so not to hurt you on accident. While you may not see it, others can tell from the look on James’ face when he’s around you that he would do anything just to see your smile.

He can also be pretty sensitive when it comes to emotions - it comes with his training. He’s figured out the signs and tells and know just what to do to make you feel better.

H= Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

He won’t admit it, but he likes back hugs a lot. Regular hugs are fine, but back hugs? Ethereal. It feels nice to be a receiver, even if it’s as simple as a hug.

I= I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

He won’t say it for a long time. He understands the risks his job has, and while at this point he’s too far gone with you, he unconsciously sees the L-word as a promise that he can’t necessarily keep.

J= Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

Maybe not so much jealous as he is possessive. He finds that someone is getting too close for comfort, he’ll butt into the conversation with some witty remark that will likely embarrass them. Then, James will keep you at his side for the rest of the evening, refusing to let you out of his sight.

K= Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

Sometimes they’re slow and sensual and other times, hungry. Either way, things are going to escalate pretty quickly. The first time you gave him a kiss on the cheek he almost took you right then and there. In all honesty, he’s too horny for casual kisses of affection.

L= Little ones (How are they around children?)

He doesn’t have much interest in kids and they often find him intimidating. But if one daring one asks for a piggy-back ride the whole lot will be climbing all over him within seconds. He likes to joke that he feels more tired after being around kids than his missions combined.

M= Mornings (How are mornings spent with them?)

Cuddles and sex.

N= Night (How are nights spent with them?)

Cuddles and sex.

O= Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

On the rare occasions that you have heart-to-heart talks, he’ll be somewhat more open about himself. He has so many walls up that he doesn’t even know that half of them exist. It’ll probably be after his retirement that he reveals everything (and even then, baby steps).

P= Patience (How easily angered are they?)

With you, he has all the patience in the world (unless you’re being a tease, in which case, watch out).

Q= Quizzes (Who much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

His memory is impeccable in every way. He’ll know things about you that you may not even know of yourself. In your opinion one of the sweetest things he’s ever done was buy a couch that you said you liked months ago and personally carried it to your flat.

R= Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

Every single time he returns to you after a mission and sees the look of relief, love, and happiness on your face.

S= Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Super protective and would rather be killed than to see you stub your toe twice on the same corner. Literally say goodbye to that coffee table, because it won’t be there the next day. He won’t let anything or anyone hurt you - if he can help it - and he will take every precaution to keep you out of enemy sight.

T= Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

At first, while they were glamourous, you weren’t getting the feeling that the time you spent together was actually a date. Turns out, when it comes to serious relationships, James has little experience to go off of. It will take him a while to start to understand that going on a date doesn’t always have to be full of diamonds and champagne.

U= Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

His abysmal communication skills. He’ll just leave and you won’t know if it was to the grocery store or on a mission. You cannot count the amount of times you had leftovers due to him just disappearing. You did bring it up with him at one point, though, and he has tried to be better about it.

V= Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks? Do your looks bother them?)

Because of his years on the job, he’s grown to have a certain amount of appreciation for the finer things in life when he has a choice. Why settle for less when he can easily buy the suits he wants to? That aside, he thinks you’re amazing no matter what you wear. If it’s for a fancy dinner party, James will have some fun picking the perfect ensemble for the evening if you’ll let him.

W= Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

When he’s on the job, he can’t always afford to think about himself, but when his life is in serious danger, your face always flashes before him. On the rare occasions that he can take a breather, your missing presence becomes much more apparent.

X= Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

If and when he can, James will bring back little souvenirs from the places he went during his mission. You now have an interesting assortment of little carved figures, shot glasses, and local candies (to name a few). He tries to get something different or unique every time. Once, someone broke the souvenir James had on him during a chase and sincerely regretted it moments after.

Y= Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

He wants someone who can hold their own. He enjoys be able to protect you, but he would be more comfortable knowing that you can fight. James isn’t a big fan of blind followers or yes-men. Think for yourself and be yourself (and have an eye for fashion if you can).

Z= Zzz (What is a sleep habit of theirs? Does it change around a partner?)

He’s a light sleeper - another thing that comes with the job - and that doesn’t change when he’s around you. In fact, it just might be worse because he won’t know what will happen now that he’s with you. Of course, it’s not all that bad because it gives him the opportunity to memorize your features or gather evidence of your snoring.

I have a couple more things planned for James Bond during the upcoming weekend and some more content for Joe Bang next week! Please feel free to send requests or comment! It’ll make my whole week! :)

- Simpy

#james bond x reader #james bond #x reader #sfw headcanons #imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #daniel craig #agent 007 #movie character #casino royale #quantum of solace #spectre #skyfall #established relationship #fluff

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wincore · 5 years ago

Text

sweet tooth | dong sicheng

pairing: vampire!sicheng x reader

words: 2.8k

summary: out of all the inconveniences a vampire boyfriend could pose, there’s about two tonight: a) him losing it at the next person who compliments his fangs, or b) you losing it at sicheng’s 100% blood alcohol content

genre: vampire!au, boyfriend!au, college!au, (tooth-rotting) fluff, comfort, humour

warning(s): mentions of blood, alcohol consumption, college halloween parties

song rec(s): candy - baekhyun // wish you were sober - conan gray

a/n: let’s pretend it’s halloween pls <3 also im sorry it’s so short and more drabble-ish but i wanted to write something gentle and comforting so!!! yeah ^^ also there is no plot. eep.

It’s two in the morning.

Or rather, it feels like two in the morning.

A frat party is a horrible substitute for an actual Halloween party. The alcohol content is through the roof and the number of pairs making out is enough to make you feel queasy. You never knew horror themes had the innate ability to make people so flagrantly horny—you’re half glad you’re not, god forbid, single. Most of your friends were too busy, however, to organize the close-knit party you usually have each year—so here you are, with an invitation from a friend of a friend (of a friend). Your boyfriend might be the only one feeling more out of place than you are.

You glance at Sicheng from the pool table, the cup frozen against his lips while his eyes scan the room from corner to corner. You don’t do crowds and neither does he; though he does have the unwitting ability to charm any crowd he’s in. You’re not quite sure if he’s still unaware of that.

You watch as a girl you can easily recognize from your campus approach him, all smiles and giggles. She says something and you scoff, almost completely certain about what it is she said.

Sicheng might be unaware of it—but you are, and painfully so.

She looks at him starry-eyed and the scent of rum wafting around her. A part of her jacket is off her shoulder, a faint blush covering her cheeks that you can spot even under the dim lights. She’s definitely flirting—you know that because rumours go around faster than assignments in this university. Choi Joohee has a very public, very open crush on your boyfriend.

It’s not like it bothers you. Not at all.

Just a little bit.

Jealousy has never been your thing and you’re half certain what you’re feeling isn’t even jealousy—just a taste of alcohol and the proximity of a Halloween house party.

Speaking of which, the only thing harrowing about this place is the amount of alcohol everyone seems to be consuming—including your boyfriend. Ten dragged Yukhei home a while ago and a part of you is still not confident enough to handle a boyfriend with very pointy fangs and midnight cravings for blood (or juice, as Ten disgustingly phrases it).

Sicheng nods along to something Joohee asks, an eyebrow raised quizzically on her and you assume he’s been zoning out the whole time. The urge to laugh surfaces and you swallow it whole. He’s so cute, even in this state. The lights dance across his face; candy blue, rich purple, saccharine red. The colours don’t help him stand any straighter, or slur his words any less.

You think it’s time to help your boyfriend out. However, the moment you walk through the swarms over to them, Joohee’s face sours. Of course, as the only competition (is it a competition if you’ve already won?) to the object of her affections, you don’t rank too high in her books. It made you a little upset at first, but you got used to it. (“She’ll get over it,” Sicheng had reassured several times. “Don’t worry.”)

People grow, and with that thought, you let it be.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Joohee tells Sicheng and walks away, like he’s supposed to follow her.

You roll your eyes and turn to Sicheng, who’s had a very delayed response to Joohee’s departure. His head is tilted to the side, eyes half-lidded and you’re almost afraid he’s going to drop to the floor right there and then. This is bad. The thing about vampires is that they absolutely should not, under any circumstance, have alcohol. Calling your boyfriend a lightweight is beyond an understatement.

“Sicheng,” you call softly.

He turns to you, taking a moment to process, before pulling his lips into a wide smile. His fangs poke out even when he presses his lips back together, a contemplatory look over him.

“I thought you left me here.” He forces a sardonic smile.

Drunk off his ass and Sicheng still manages to be annoyingly sarcastic.

You open your mouth and close it again. It’s not like you can chide him without letting your fondness show. The Adonis features that grace his face don’t help. Flushed all the way to the neck, a drunk Dong Sicheng is very rare. The last time this happened must have been at least two years ago (and though you weren’t there then, the way Ten and Kun freeze up at the slightest mention, you decided to not ask).

“Why did you drink?” you ask, huffing. “You can’t even smell alcohol.”

There’s a short pause.

“Because you were ignoring me,” he replies, leaning in.

Heat washes into your cheeks. You forgot how unrestrained he gets with alcohol in his system.

Sicheng seems to have enough consciousness left in him to feel somewhat embarrassed, standing up straight and fiddling with his thumbs. You slip your hand into his without delay and pull, trying your best to navigate through the crowd. Is an ordinary Halloween party too much to ask for? Just when you can finally spot the front door, Sicheng stops abruptly, making you stumble backwards into his chest. He smells like the old deodorant he’s been using for a year underneath the smell of beer and… is that blood?

“Where are we going?” he asks sharply.

“Home, Sicheng,” you whine. “You can stay in my bed.”

He stays rooted in place stubbornly, and you wonder what it is now. This is the time you have to wonder if you’re dating a (potentially) immortal creature or a recently birthed baby.

“We should enjoy more. You’ve hardly smiled the past few weeks,” he mutters.

Your heartbeat spikes for a moment, when he brushes the hair from your face. All this time and he hasn’t changed the words he offers to you in private, the care on his lips and fingertips. A room full of people who aren’t listening is the best place to talk.

The first time you saw Sicheng was in the middle of the night, in the dark hallway of your shared apartment building, blood staining his jaw from a bag he’d acquired from med student Wong Kunhang. (You’re very sure that’s illegal.)

Needless to say, you’d fainted immediately after. When you came to, you were met with a man with pretty eyes and fangs poking out his mouth and in a bed that wasn’t yours. There was no blood this time but you screamed anyway, cut off by the man’s hand over your mouth.

“Calm down,” he said, voice surprisingly deep. “It’s not like I’m going to kill you.”

“You were planning to kill me?” you asked, panicking.

“I just said I wouldn’t,” he replied quietly, eyes wide and almost as stressed as you are.

Sicheng heaves a sigh, massaging his forehead. You shake yourself off the memories, tugging at his shirt so you can sit somewhere at least. The alcohol must have numbed his ears too. The low R&B tunes make no sense on Halloween night; even less when they’re played a few bars above the acceptable volume. If you’re not out of here soon, you might lose your hearing altogether.

The couch is slightly less stinky than you would have expected. (You grimace as you think to the last time you were at a frat party and in particular, the vomit.) Beside you, Sicheng mumbles about something you’re not quite sure of, a quiet rant with one-track emotions. It makes you giggle and for a moment, you forget the predicament of being stuck with a drunk vampire boyfriend who has just finished teething.

“Hey, guys.”

You look up to see Jihoon, the very friend of a friend (of a friend) who had invited you to this mess. It’s not like you harbour ill feelings towards him; but the guy has approximately zero ability to read the room. It’s mostly funny.

Sicheng makes a vague gesture that you assume means ‘hello’, sitting up straight so he doesn't look noticeably tipsy. You make light conversation with Jihoon, Sicheng’s arm around your waist tightening reflexively. You don’t plan on party-hopping, no matter how much Jihoon urges the two of you—seriously, does he not see the look on Sicheng’s face? He looks more zombie than vampire.

“You know, you don’t actually have to wear costumes for this, right? We didn’t set a theme,” Jihoon remarks, tilting his head to face your boyfriend. “The fangs are really cool, though. Holy shit. Dude, they look so real.”

Sicheng’s lips twitch but he forces them into a smile, trying to move as far away from Jihoon as possible. The fangs are usually not out and about in the open, slightly retracted during the day. The night, however, keeps him on edge. Sicheng hates the spotlight that only ever shows up for the wrong reasons, and he’d much rather graduate without having to deal with horny vampire-lovers. (It’s not that sexy; and you know from experience.)

The way Sicheng looks makes you wonder how many people have pointed out the fangs tonight. You purse your lips to keep yourself from laughing.

“Thanks,” he responds, voice his usual deep baritone.

Jihoon leaves after being unable to draw any more conversation out of Sicheng, some peace gracing you despite everything.

If you ever write a book on how to deal with vampire boyfriends, the first rule would be to never kiss him at night. The fangs are not as withdrawn then and they hurt. (The second is, of course, to never let them get a whiff of alcohol.)

When Sicheng first kissed you, it was midnight and you were at the convenience store to buy a few lunchboxes and instant coffee mix. You’d yelped when his fang had pricked your lower lip, alarming the worker and around fifteen minutes of (dishonest) explanation later, the two of you had left without buying what you came for.

After fretting for a while, Sicheng had kissed you once more with careful consideration—till the damn fangs got in the way again. It was sweet for a moment—like candy—though, the metallic taste of blood had invaded it afterwards. No matter how awkward or painful it was, your elation outweighed the rest.

Kisses weren’t the only thing interrupted by fangs.

The turtlenecks and scarves certainly raised an eyebrow in your circle of friends. There was concern at first, then teasing and then a whole lot of inside jokes which made you want to smack each and every one of them. (“They’re hickeys, I swear, not vampire bites,” you had informed Ten. “Ew. I did not need to know that.” “Shut up.”)

Even so, Sicheng is warm—always has been, and not on the skin.

You feel pressure on your shoulder, his hair tickling your neck and you adjust yourself so it’s more comfortable.

“Tired?” you ask.

“Not at all.”

You shake your head at his lie. Gently pushing his head away, you get up from your seat and pull him up with all of your strength. Linking your arm through his, you smile at him when he raises an eyebrow. It’s time to get home, you’ve decided and these are times when one vote is enough.

When you reach the front door, stumbling out with your suddenly talkative boyfriend, the autumn breeze hits you. Under the moonlight, the rosy hue over his cheeks is clearer and even more so when he smiles.

“It’s like our first date,” he says.

You smile back at him.

“You were so embarrassing,” he adds.

Your smile drops and you smack his arm, eliciting a soft complaint from him.

Your first date was the only normal thing in this relationship—a date at the amusement park on Halloween, a bunch of kids mistaking your now boyfriend for Count Dracula and caramel popcorn smeared over your fingers.

Sicheng sighs, lowering his head to rest his forehead against your shoulder. The two of you stay like that for a moment or two, the party music finally fading and Sicheng’s warmth seeping into you. You fix the lapels of his jacket absentmindedly, fingers tracing over the material. His hands rest lightly against your back yet still secure.

A kitten lick at your neck jolts you back to reality. You gently push him by the shoulders, finding his fangs bared already. He stays unmoving for a few seconds before closing his mouth and going back to leaning against you, breath falling in waves against your neck.

“I’m not your juicebox, Sicheng,” you snap, frown deepening.

“But you have so much blood,” he mumbles, his forehead hot against your shoulder.

“Sicheng.”

He sobers up a little, pulling back with a stream of pouting apologies. You bite your lip to keep yourself from smiling. Despite everything, your boyfriend is such a child sometimes. There’s a short pause.

“But wait, don’t go biting someone else’s neck,” you quickly add, flustered.

Sicheng suppresses a smile.

“So I can have a little—”

“No.”

Sicheng pouts but agrees enough to follow you, the two of you moving soundlessly over the sidewalk. Being alone with him has always been easing; you don’t need a crowd for comfort.

With fingers interlaced, you walk alone with him as the orange street lights cast shadows on the buildings lined up. A few more blocks and you’ll reach your apartment, get to push Sicheng into bed and pray he doesn’t throw up at your front door—and yet still, you walk as slow as you can as if the autumn wind will be gone as quick as it arrived.

The number of people shrink the further you get from the party, and you heave a sigh of relief, glad to be away from, what you and your friends call, the rich neighbourhood. The familiar path to your apartment, no matter the pricing, has much better air to breathe in. It’s past midnight and yet, you can see the city lights in the distance, the ones that never sleep—for the living or the dead.

Something runs into your legs and you jump onto Sicheng, who in turn flinches away with a strangled yelp.

You look down to see a giant golden retriever in a white blanket which you assume is meant to be a ghost outfit. It wags its tail, sniffing around your boyfriend’s legs, making him giggle as he crouches down to pet the creature.

“I’m so sorry!”

You look up to find a young girl holding a pumpkin almost as large as her head, an apologetic look over her head. Some part of you is happy to see a costume, considering you were robbed of yours. (Sometimes you dream of matching costumes but again, the damn fangs.)

“Piri loves people, I’m so sorry if he bothered—oh hey dude, cool fangs.”

Sicheng offers the fakest smile ever, accompanied with a thumbs up gesture. You sigh, apologizing to the girl before parting ways.

“That’s the eighth time tonight,” Sicheng says, scowling almost. “I counted.”

You laugh, squeezing his hand. Calm, relaxed Dong Sicheng tends to lose it at repetitive comments with only three sips of beer.

When you reach the apartment building, clouds cover the moon and you draw your jacket closer to yourself. You think for a moment about the inevitability of time and whether you’re even allowed to fall in love this way. You push the thoughts aside almost inevitably. When the time comes, you will have a decision to make—and after everything, it is love which turns people.

For now, you can enjoy this Halloween night with your (literally) one-of-a-kind boyfriend.

You fumble around with the keys, Sicheng looking at you with sleepy eyes as he leans against the wall. He must be worn out from the alcohol by now.

“Hey,” he calls, the words more muffled than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, tugging him inside all the while maintaining your balance.

“You know my favourite blood type?” he continues.

You shake your head. “If you’re thinking of feeding, I’ll get some blood bags from Kunhang.”

Sicheng pouts. “You ruined the line.”

“Huh?”

“Yours. Yours is my favourite blood type.”

Despite the terrible execution of his so-called pick-up line, you find yourself shaking with laughter. You’re not sure if it’s the late night or the October air—the two of you share the silliest of laughter at the doorway to your apartment.

Within the moment itself, Sicheng leans in to kiss you and your hands move to run through his hair out of habit. The taste of beer and the prick of his fangs makes you pull away. You look at each other for a moment before you give in anyway and kiss him against the doorframe.

October ends with memories—your first date, Sicheng’s cooking disaster, and now this. It’s blissful for the few moments the two of you let it be. That is, until Sicheng opens his mouth.

“Oh, by the way, can you apologize to Ten for me? I think I bit him thinking it was you.”

“Sicheng, what the fuck?”

October ends with proximity, sweet as candy and warm as toast—stumbling into bed with all that and more.

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eventid1ngs · 4 years ago

Text

[ F e v e r . ]

A Post-Calamity Zelink Oneshot

Rating: T

Word count: 2500

Zelda blew out a breath that puffed her cheeks. She felt flushed and uncomfortable, and frankly, quite over the whole situation if she was being honest with herself. It hadn’t taken her long to decide that the Eldin Region, in its entirety, was her least favorite amongst the whole kingdom. At least the Gerudo’s persistent hot weather was of a drier character; the climate closer to Death Mountain was dreadfully humid and the princess was not enjoying it at all.

Quickly, she changed out of her travelling clothes and into more comfortable clothing suitable for sleeping. She did not have the energy to walk to the bathhouses to change, and Link had gone not too long ago to bathe, so Zelda took the liberty to change within the current privacy of their room at the Foothill Stable Inn.

Afterwards she lay on her side of the bed (Following a week or two of debilitating nightmares, Link had agreed to sleep nearer to her, for both her protection and her comfort. She hadn’t had a nightmare since), focusing on doing as little as possible so as to avoid using the energy she felt she didn’t have due to the heat. Rather idly, she scrolled through the Hyrule Compendium on the Sheikah slate, making mental notes of the missing entries.

Even breathing felt like a chore. Zelda missed the comforts of more temperate climates and looked forward to leaving the next morning now that her and the knight’s work there with the Gorons was complete.

A half hour or so passed before Link returned. Zelda jumped when the door opened, having been so absorbed in her reading material. Her eyes met the knight’s as he entered. He nodded to her and offered a small smile before closing the door behind him and motioning towards the mirror by the dresser. He wore a clean white shirt and short pants. His wild hair was wet from his bath.

Zelda continued to read as Link brushed his hair into a duly ponytail. He approached the bed.

“Will you be up for a while longer?” he asked.

“Yes, I would like to finish this book. I am almost at the end. It is quite fascinating! Did you know that…” But Link had stopped listening, not out of any disrespect but because of sheer exhaustion; that fight with the hinox brute earlier had left him more tired than he realized. As Zelda discussed the contents of her book, Link moved the candle from the nightstand on his side of the bed to the one on Zelda’s.

“...Amazing. There are so many things to learn about this Goddess-forsaken region.” The princess finally took a break from talking.

Her knight chuckled. “Goddess-forsaken?”

“I must admit to you, Link, that I have been most uncomfortable since our arrival here.” she explained, sitting up and leaning against the headboard. “Tease me if you must, but I am not at all accustomed to this climate and it does not suit me in the slightest.”

The other refrained from the teasing. “Can I do anything to make you more comfortable, princess? I could fetch you a cooling elixir.”

Zelda wanted to accept the offer, but shook her head. “No, I will be alright. You need your rest. I will be quiet now.”

“Being of service to you is not a bother--”

“Thank you.”

“...Do you need anything else, princess?”

“No. Thank you, Link.”

He nodded and proceeded to lie down, on top of the covers. His left hand rested on his stomach and the other above his head on the pillow. His typical sleeping position.

“Goodnight, princess.” he muttered, his eyes already closed.

“Goodnight, Link.”

Sometime later, after Zelda had finished her book, she sat it down on the nightstand and lay down on her side, facing the candle. She watched the flickering flame for a long, long while.

It was too hot. Too humid. And for the life of her, the princess was unable to fall asleep. She turned over, facing her knight. A weird sense of desperation came over her that she would not sleep at all that night and that have a terrible day tomorrow, and she wanted to wake Link so he could go and acquire a sleep tonic for her. But she couldn’t. She wouldn't.

So she just stared at Link, half comforted by the sight of him sleeping so soundly, half incredibly envious of the fact that he had already been sleeping for two or three hours and she hadn’t slept a wink.

Then she felt awkward, watching him like that.

Was it proper that she and Link shared a bed, if only to sleep? It hadn’t even crossed her mind before. She had been so immensely relieved to be cured of her nightmares that she hadn’t considered anything else. Besides, most evenings, both Link and Zelda were too exhausted from the various activities of the day to let their minds wander where they, perhaps, should not be. Everything was mechanical. And if otherwise, the two merely went over the next day’s plan on the Sheikah slate until they were too tired to continue.

The princess shuddered at the thought of her father finding out about the bedsharing, although, surely he knew somehow, from his place in the afterlife. It was a somewhat harrowing thought that Zelda pushed from her mind immediately.

But tonight, on account of her sleeplessness, her thoughts went somewhere it had only dared to graze over before.

She watched the slow rise and fall of the knight’s chest as he breathed. He snored softly, which was followed by a sort of contented moan that caused something in Zelda’s insides to stir. She had no explanation for that strange feeling, at the time.

She sighed. He is enjoying his sleep. Blessed be the Goddesses.

Suddenly, Link woke, and stared at Zelda with a confused expression and sleep-smeared eyes.

“...Princess? Are you alright?”

Zelda hesitated.

“What is wrong?”

“The mere fact that I bathed just a few hours ago and I already feel that I need to bathe again.”

Link scratched at his hair. His cheeks were visibly flushed. “It is hot in here.” he agreed, “I’ll open a window. Maybe some air flow will help.” He got up and did so. Before returning he acquired a looser, short sleeve shirt from his pack to replace the one he was wearing. He quickly switched the shirts with his back facing Zelda. She hadn’t been looking until one of his shoulder blades glinted in the candlelight and she glanced over a mere second too late to see anything else.

Did she want to see anything else? The sudden notion puzzled her.

When he turned, the two locked eyes.

“I’m sorry that you’re so uncomfortable, princess.” he said, approaching again. “Are you sure there isn't anything else that I can do to help?” He couldn’t stop the yawn that followed his offer.

“I just can’t sleep. Perhaps I will just try again tomorrow night when we’re back in Necluda.” She meant for this to be a joke but it came out more bitter than she had intended.

Link stared at her for a moment, thinking, before sitting crossed-legged on the bed and reaching for the Sheikah slate. It had been resting against the footboard. The bed dipped as the knight sat down and the princess had to readjust her own sitting position.

“...What are you doing?” she asked, curiously.

“Making note of something I just thought of.” was his answer. Zelda didn’t feel like prodding him to tell her what that something was, so she laid back down instead, feeling no less irritated. Link typed on the slate for less than a minute before setting it back down where had been and then lying down. He finally noticed Zelda glaring at him.

“What?”

“...Nothing.”

He wasn’t convinced, and they didn’t break eye contact. Finally, the princess’ expression softened.

“I was just thinking, Link…” she said quietly. “...and, please, be honest with me--”

“I’m always honest with you, princess.”

She paused, taken aback that he had interrupted her. He had never done that before. “...Just for the sake of my curiosity… Have you ever thought about… I mean… Have you ever wondered what we… If we…”

“Yes.”

“I...what?”

“Of course I have, princess. I’m not dense.”

“I… I was not at all suggesting that you were! I’m just genuinely curious…” Zelda pressed her lips together. She hardly understood these words that were, frivolously, escaping her lips with her voice. And yet, somehow, Link understood? It couldn’t be a coincidence.

“Our questions will find their answers in due time, princess.”

“I know that. I have always been rather impatient, though, and I can’t help but wonder... But I apologize for this silly conversation. Please, go back to sleep. I have said too much.”

The moment of silence that followed, without any sort of closure from either party, proved to be far more uncomfortable than the hot weather.

The princess shut her eyes, feeling as if she had done something awful, and it took considerable effort on her part not to start crying. A line had been crossed and she wished that she could erase the past five minutes.

But Link moved beside her and before she had a chance to look at him and assess the situation, she felt his lips on hers.

It was soft.

Gentle.

Earnest.

Still, Zelda gasped from surprise. In doing so she opened her mouth slightly, which her knight took as an invitation.

Something was being set free. It was raw, unadulterated...wild. Something, perhaps, that had been waiting over a hundred years to come to the surface, having lay dormant all that time.

“Link, wait-- I-- There is so much more-- that I need to say--” But he was stealing away her breaths, and the words stopped materializing in her brain.

“Later.” he said. His lower lip dragged up her chin and briefly cupped hers before resuming the kiss.

“Oh-- I--”

He paused and they stared at each other for a few seconds. “...Do you want me to stop?”

“I… No--”

So he didn’t. Zelda sighed out the last bit of her resolve and allowed her mind to drift away amongst the sea of her inner consciousness.

His hands were on her; one on her hip and the other supporting her behind her back. She put her hands on either side of his face, daring to touch him for the first time. Their kisses became less tableau and more mindless; a feverish tangle of swollen lips and forceful breaths. They fell to the bed eventually and his mouth travelled from hers to along her jaw and then her ear.

She felt his warmth--impassionate and searing--seeping out from him, through his clothes and then through hers before entering her through the very pores of her skin.

...If she had been hot before, she was on fire now, having become one with the very pools of flame that flowed under the Great Eldin Bridge.

Link nuzzled against her neck, somehow finding new places to plant more kisses. Zelda felt that if this continued for much longer, she would surely implode.

“...We should stop…..” he said, his voice low near her ear. His breathing had syncopated with hers.

“Then stop...” was her response. It sounded like a dare.

“...Do you want me to stop, princess?”

The word princess made Zelda open her eyes. She stared at the textured beige ceiling above them as she tried to catch her breath. “...I’m afraid, Sir Link...that I simply don’t have the courage...to answer that question...as we are, now...”

At that, he retreated, removing his limbs from hers carefully. Zelda’s skin mourned the loss of his touch. She searched for his face but he refused to meet her eyes. She watched him swallow, hard. Her brain rebooted and had begun to replay what had just occurred over again in her mind like a slideshow. What...was happening? The princess tried to make logical sense of this new onset of feelings and emotions, but her body betrayed her with exhaustion and a yearning ache for more of his kisses.

“I’m sorry. That should not have happened.” Link said, finally, swallowing his breaths in vain attempt to calm himself down. “It is not my place to initiate such things. I’m ashamed of my behavior."

“But, Link--”

“I can’t share a bed with you anymore, princess. Please understand me. I… can’t.”

Zelda panicked, remembering the nightmares. “You can, and you must. Please! I need you to. You know this.”

He made no response. Instead, he got up with a vague gesture of distress.

“Wait--”

“I just need a few minutes to myself, princess. Please excuse me.”

Zelda nodded her permission and Link put on his cloak and boots before heading out into the night alone.

“It’s fine.” she reassured, a bit later, after he had returned.

“No. You barely opened a door and I shoved myself across the threshold. That is not fine, princess.”

“Maybe I wanted--” Zelda began, but she stilled her tongue.

Link stared, not realizing that he was holding his breath.

The princess swallowed her previous sentence. “...It’s my fault, then. For opening the door.” she said instead, feeling her heart sink, meanwhile.

That was not what her knight wanted to hear, either, and it was obvious in his expression.

“At any rate, I’m sorry...” he said, too late.

The princess was exasperated. The lack of sleep was making her eye sockets hurt. “Please don’t apologize for--”

“..For disturbing the peace between us.”

“--something that I started.” They had both spoken at the same time. There was a long, pregnant pause. It was then that they both realized that neither would be the same from that night on. Later that became a terrifying though exciting prospect; a new adventure to embark upon and a new world to explore but in that moment, it felt like both of them had lost something very precious and they felt its sudden absence very, very keenly, in their own ways.

“Link, let’s forget about this for right now. I am so very tired and I know that you are, too.” She patted his vacant spot on the bed. “Come and sleep.”

“I shouldn’t--”

“Come and sleep.” she repeated. It wasn’t a request.

He swallowed again. “Yes, princess.” He rejoined her on the bed, maintaining distance. They both lay down on their backs, both staring at the ceiling.

Zelda reached out and took Link’s hand. “I trust you, you understand that, right?” she said quietly. Her eyes were closed. “It is myself whom I do not trust just yet.”

“I understand.”

“Goodnight, Link.”

“Goodnight, princess.”

The night finally consumed the two--the Princess of Hyrule and her appointed knight--and they slept peacefully, long into the morning.

END.

#zelink #botw #fanfic #postcalamity #oneshot #for those of you who prefer to read on tumblr #i gotchu fam

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lucywritesreid · 5 years ago

Text

With Heaven Above You - Part 4

Summary: The team take a closer look at Reid’s findings to see if they can figure out where he might have been taken. Y/N feels tremendous guilt for putting him in this position, but finding something peculiar gives them their first clue…

Tags: @spacedikut @101donuts @rexorangecouny @l0ve-0f-my-life @yeah-just-ignore-me-thanks @awkwardnesshabitat @liaabsurd @reidsmyhusband-emilysmymistress

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.9k

Notes: Thank you so much again! Can’t believe all the nice comments I’ve had so far. Makes my heart swell 😊

Between the team the photograph must’ve been analysed a few thousand times. Each member kept requesting to look at it, picking it up and studying it under various light sources across the BAU. You had only looked at it the once. That was enough. The truth was that they weren’t going to find what they were looking for from the photo. It was just you taking off your microphone after the press conference. So it was highly likely that the unsub had been there, watching. JJ was making multiple phone calls to try and find the details of everyone who had signed up to be there. The truth was more harrowing. You knew that a mere 30 seconds after that picture was taken, Spencer had come over and given you a hug. A moment that you believed at the time to be private. But he had seen it. He had seen your Spencer. And he had taken him.

It was well into the night before any of you started to leave. Everyone had been running around, making phone calls, printing things off, going through case files. But you had just been sat at Spencer’s desk, curled up in his chair. You desperately were trying to think about what you could do. It was Emily who startled you out of your dream state.

“Hey, y/n, come crash with me tonight, okay? You need to try and get some sleep.”

You wanted to protest but it was no use. “Yeah, sure thing Em. Can we stop over at mine and grab a couple of things first?”

She looked a little hesitant at first. “Um, sure. But only quickly.”

From that moment on you acted without thought. It was as if a robot had taken over your body, moving your legs, walking you to the car. You couldn’t think about anything as you did it.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to get your things for you?” Emily’s voice made you jump. You hadn’t registered the entire car ride, and suddenly you were outside your apartment.

“No, but maybe come with me?” She nodded at the suggestion. You knew as soon as you walked in you were going to be wrapped up in all things him, and you weren’t sure if you could handle all the emotion.

Emily took your key from you and unlocked the door. She switched on the hall light and stepped into the apartment first, cautiously. You realised this wasn’t the first time Emily had walked into a home feeling unsettled, apprehensive. She knew just what it was like to come home and know that it wasn’t the way you left it. “I’m going to grab some of Reid’s case files to have a look at. You get what you need, take your time.”

“Thank you, Emily,” you tried to smile but your face couldn’t do it. You were so lucky to have such a wonderful friend, and one day you’d be able to show her just how much it meant to you. But not today.

You walked around uncertain, not sure what to look for. The sensible part of you was saying go pack a bag, get your things, and leave. You lingered in the living room for a few minutes, taking in all the things that reminded you of him. You saw the answering machine was flashing red. Was it really a good idea to check the message? It was probably something mundane, a cold caller. But there was a small possibility that it was him. Maybe an explanation? Your finger edged tentatively over the button. It took a few seconds before you pressed down and waited to hear what was coming next.

You’ve reached the home of Agent Y/F/N and Dr Spencer Reid, an all too familiar voice said, we can’t come to the phone right now because we’re probably fighting crime or playing chess. Leave a message after the beep!

What followed next was not what you expected. It was an almost silent message, but you could just about make out someone breathing. Some long, drawn out breathing. It lasted for about ten seconds and then the message cut out. Before you could call out a voice made you jump.

“When was that left?” Emily asked, suddenly behind you.

You squinted at the display on the machine. “This afternoon.”

“I’m going to forward this over to Garcia and see what she can get from it, you go and get the rest of your things.”

You nodded and walked into the bathroom. It was ridiculous to say that you could recognise Spencer’s breathing, but you were certain that wasn’t him on the tape. Which made it all the more unsettling as to who it actually was. Feeling tightness in your chest, you rushed over to the sink and turned on the cool water. You cupped your hands under the stream and splashed your face a few times, until the tight feeling went away. Get it together, y/n. You must do this. You need to focus.

After a few deep breaths you turned off the tap. You reached over to grab a towel from the radiator to dry your face when you saw a book lying on the bathroom floor. You crouched down to pick it up and admired it in your hands. The pages were all frayed and torn. It had been laid next to the radiator to dry after a night a few weeks ago.

“Hey! Y/N be careful, this is a first edition. I can’t take it back to the library covered in soap!”

“Listen Reid, you’re the one who decided to read during bath night. I can’t be liable for the damage that incurs.”

“Okay, fair point. But I thought you liked it when I read to you in Latin while you washed your hair? Weren’t you the one that said you wanted to learn a new language?”

“Yes Spence, a new language. A usable one. One that people still speak!”

“Statistically there are millions of people who can still read Latin. While it appears to be a dead language there is actually a large percentage of scholars and academics who use Latin in a variety of contexts… You always said you were interested in philosophy…”

“Yeah yeah, save me the lecture Dr Reid. You have until the bubbles run out to keep reading or else this book is going straight in the water…”

You were jolted out of your daydream by a knock on the door. “Y/N?” A concerned voice spoke up. “Are you okay in there?”

You quickly set the book back down and hurriedly grabbed your toothbrush and a hair tie. “Yeah Em, I’m coming now.” You made your way into the bedroom and grabbed a duffle bag. There was no thought to what you were packing, just random items that hopefully would make an outfit for the next day. You glanced over at Spencer’s pillow, his perfectly folded pyjamas, and decided to pack those as well.

It was truly painful to leave, but you knew it was for the best. By the time you made it to Emily’s it felt like it was almost morning. She poured you a large glass of wine and excused herself to go to bed, promising first that if you needed anything during the night to give her a call. You thanked her again and settled down on her sofa, wearing the buttoned-up pyjamas you’d taken from Spencer’s pillow. The glass of wine went down far too quickly, and you refilled it twice. Sleep was an impossibility at this point. You could already see morning light peaking through the gap in the curtains. That meant it wasn’t too long before you could go back to work and try and figure out what was next.

The truth was you already knew what you had to do. You were going to make another press conference, permission granted or not, and try and make yourself as appealing as possible. You were going to try and convince the career killer that the story would be far better if he took you as well as Reid. Imagine the headlines – two dead FBI agents, who were also in love! Caught in the crosshairs of the career killer! The best and most famous serial killer in the whole world! The papers would go wild for it. You knew deep down that the killer would, too. But it wasn’t going to play out that way. You were going to trade yourself for Spencer. Convince the killer it was you he really wanted. Tell him you’d give him whatever he wanted, help him put on a show. You’d let him kill you live on TV. You knew that you would do anything to get Spencer back.

You rehearsed your little inner monologue a few times. When you felt like you’d perfected it, you decided to try and think about something else for a few minutes. You remembered you’d taken the crossword puzzle book from Spencer’s desk. That would make a good distraction if he hadn’t finished them all already. You fumbled through the contents of your bag until you found it, along with a mechanical pencil. One of the corners had been turned over so you flicked the book open to that page.

Spencer had already started the crossword but hadn’t completed it. That confused you a little. It was very unlike him to leave a puzzle unfinished. You started to scan your eyes over the clues he had already filled in.

A six letter word for a season of the year synonymous with fall. Autumn. Easy. You glanced over to where Spencer had filled in the word. A-U-T-U-N-N. How had he managed to make that mistake? In all the years you knew him you hadn’t once seen a spelling error. You shrugged.

Next clue: Lion’s cry, four letters. Roar. Same again, you looked at where he’d filled it in. R-O-O-R. This couldn’t be a coincidence. You circled the incorrect letter, and the ‘n’ in autumn, and went back to the next clue.

A seven letter word for a pilot. Aviator. Spencer had filled in A-V-I-A-T-U-R. You circled the U.

Clearly reasoned, seven letters. Logical. Same spelling mistakes. L-O-J-I-C-A-L. That added a J.

Card game, five letters. Poker. P-O-K-A-R. A.

Woollen items, eight letters. Knitwear. K-N-T-T-W-E-A-R. T.

Organ of sight, 3 letters. Eye. E-Y-I. You circled and noted the I.

Desire to travel, ten letters. You had to look across at what Spencer had already written for this one. Wanderlust. But he’d spelt it W-A-N-D-E-L-R-U-S-T. Confused, you circled and noted the l and the R as they were both wrong.

He had only filled in one more clue. Calm-natured. Placid. But instead of a C, he’d written S. That left you with ten letters. You scrawled them down at the bottom of the page. N, O, U, J, A, T, I, L, R, S

N O U J A T I L R S.

What on Earth did that mean? You looked at it a few times through slightly blurry wine eyes. Why had he done this? You couldn’t quite understand what was going on. But there was something in you, a hunch, that he’d left this for you on purpose. Who else would piffle through his desk and take out a crossword book? There had to be some meaning to it. After exhausting yourself with possibilities, the tiredness took over, and you eventually fell asleep. You dreamt of those ten letters swirling around your head.

End of part 4.

#dr reid #dr spencer reid #dr reid x y/n #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fic #spencer reid #spencer reid fic #spencer reid imagines #spencer reid x reader #spencer x y/n

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thesbianxwaves · 4 years ago

Photo

~ Meet Waves ~

dominique provost-chalkley & they/them; genderqueer ‷ watch out , waverly “waves” bordeaux has crash-landed into roswell !! they look 27 years old and celebrate their birthday on may 8th. they are from weston, massachusetts, reside in lunar crescent and are currently working as the co-owner of teal pumpkin café. one thing you should know about them is they are proudly deaf and are currently on hiatus from their aspiring broadway career‷

Backstory TWs: Mentions of Chronic Illnesses & Medical Content

Waves was born two months prematurely and on Mother’s Day, 1994. Their mother refers to them as her “little miracle gift” because of this fact. Their original due date wasn’t until the end of July... In addition to being born prematurely, they were born with bilateral sensorineural hearing loss { profound in left ear, moderately-severe in right ear }, with bilateral clubfoot, and with a heart defect called Tetralogy of Fallot { TOF }.

They received the first of a series of open-heart surgeries to repair their heart defect when they were only 1 month old. The next surgery took place at 2 months. They also had surgery at 11 ½ months, 18 months, 3 years, and 5 ½ years. When it came to their clubfoot, their parents tried the bracing method; but they eventually underwent two surgeries to correct the positioning of their feet/ankles when they were 3 and then again when they were 4 years old. Because of this, they now wear sparkly AFO braces for support. They also still have lingering issues with foot/ankle instability and chronic pain.

Growing up, their parents spoke French at home as their father { Sébastien } was born and raised in Orleans and their mother { Amélie } was born and raised in the French countryside. They also have three older siblings, all of which were born in France. Their parents struggled to learn ASL to teach their daughter as their English had never been extraordinary strong; but the pair did their best best, teaching young Waves ASL, French, and English simultaneously. Despite ultimately being left-handed, they actually learned to sign as if their right hand was their dominant hand.

They received their first pair of assistive hearing devices at the age of 18 months. Their hearing aids were purple BTE { behind the ear } hearing aids with pink full shell earmolds. Every time they’d get a new pair of hearing aids, they’d stick with a similar color scheme; though once they were old enough and were able to communicate their desires, the earmolds were always sparkly purple but remained full shell in style.

Starting at age 6, they began attending speech therapy 3-4 times a week. Their speech therapist insisted they attend 5 times a week as they were delayed even beginning speech therapy due to health reasons; but their parents thought 5 times a week would be too much. They continued with speech therapy through the age of 19; though they went down to twice a week and then once a week and only through school as they got older. They actually never attended a formal preschool and instead was homeschooled by a private tutor who was a former teacher of the Deaf. They started kindergarten a year late at the age of 6 due to health reasons and frequent hospitalizations as a young child.

They never attended a mainstream school. Their parents wanted to give them the best chance for success; so they were enrolled in kindergarten at an elite primary school for the Deaf located in Boston. From there, they went on to attend the primary’s sister school—an elite secondary school for the Deaf. On their first day of kindergarten, their anxiety was so bad that their parents almost pulled them out of class. There was one boy called Dillon who came up to them, introduced himself, and commented on how much he liked their purple hearing aids and their matching { at the time } purple AFO braces. He was the only reason they got through their first day of school; and he stayed their best friend/platonic soulmate all the way through graduation day.

Everyone from their parents to their teachers { and even some of their doctors } encouraged young Waves to get involved in their school’s theatre program, believing their bright personality would truly shine on the stage as it was known to shine off stage. At first, they were skeptical of the theatre due to not liking the attention and the fact memorizing lines was quite difficult { which turned into their difficulty being further examined and an eventual diagnosis of dyslexia }; but after their breakout role as Molly in a production of Annie when they were 8 years old, they instantly became hooked on anything and everything theatre.

At the age of 11, they ended up needing two emergency open heart surgeries back-to-back. This led to them missing half a year of school. They almost needed to repeat the year; but thanks to a hired private tutor, they were able to catch up with their current grade level during their long recovery period. During this rough time, binge-watching musicals was the only thing that got them through. It was also during this time they first took an interest in baking as they’d been plagued with numerous food allergies/sensitivities/intolerances since they were a baby. Musicals and baking became their outlet.

Waves continued to be part of their school’s theatre program; and at the age of 15, they were given the opportunity to join the junior program of a theatre company in Boston called Deaf Atlantic Theatre Company { aka DATC }. This company was the New England chapter of an inclusive theatre company located in off Broadway in NYC that was known for having performances in both spoken English and ASL. Their breakout role with this company was as a lost child in a production of Peter Pan.

When it came time for college, the initial plan was to go to a university in London; however, due to health reasons { that ultimately led to a diagnosis of Mast Cell Activation Syndrome—MCAS }, their plans for London fell through. Fortunately, they’d been accepted into the infamous Gallaudet University as well. They ended up attending Gallaudet where duel majored in both Theatre and Environmental Science { the latter due always having had a strong appreciation for Mother Earth }.

Their junior year of university, they had the opportunity to study abroad in Greece. They jumped at this opportunity due to the fact their favorite musical, Mamma Mia!, made them want to go to Greece. They weren’t going to miss their chance to skip awkwardly down cobblestone pathways while sign singing and wearing well-worn overalls. It was the closest thing they’d gotten to getting to play their dream role of Sophie { for now }.

After graduation, the plan was for them to leave the New England chapter of DATC and join the off Broadway chapter in NYC. This would’ve been a huge break for them, especially since that company’s actors were often given the auditions with Broadway productions as well as different TV shows/movies filming in the boroughs. Their plans were put on an indefinite hiatus after a series of events that led to a need for placemaker placement surgery and a diagnosis of a heart condition called Long QT Syndrome. This diagnosis was the most harrowing thus far; and it led to the beginning of what could’ve easily been a very dark period in Waves’s life. The only reason it never led to that dark period was because one of their older siblings invited them to move out to Roswell, New Mexico for a change of scenery and some much needed R&R.

They moved to Roswell at the age of 23 and initially only planned on staying maybe a year. However, they stayed well passed that year. In their time in Roswell thus far, they’ve moved out of their sibling’s house and into their own place on Lunar Crescent where they now reside with their roommate/ASL interpreter and their hearing/medical alert service dog { a German Shepard named Atlas }. They’ve also opened a small vegan bakery café called the Teal Pumpkin Café that specializes in being allergy-friendly and accessible to all.

Their name sign is the sign for “long hair” done one handed and with that hand forming the “W” hand shape. This name sign was given to them during the first Deaf event they attended when they were 4 years old. The name sign came from the fact their hair was down to their butt by that age. They’ve always been known by the fact they have hair for days.

They are named after Sir Walter Scott’s Waverley Novels; though due to all the trauma surrounding their birth, neither of their parents realized the second ‘e’ was missing from ‘Waverley’ until several months later. And by then, their parents had fallen in love with the spelling ‘Waverly’ and just didn’t bother changing it.

They came out as queer at the age of 15 and as genderqueer { using the pronouns she/they } at the age of 22. They changed their preferred pronouns to they/she several months later. They always knew they had a much stronger preference to they/them pronouns over she/her pronouns; but it took them until their 25th birthday to be able to admit that to anyone and formally change their preferred pronouns to solely they/them. Despite their preference for they/them pronouns and their gender identity being genderqueer, they don’t have issue with being referred to as feminine titles such as daughter, sister, girlfriend, actress, etc. Titles such as girl, woman, and female are hit or miss. And when it comes to honorifics, they are only comfortable with Mx. as miss and ms. don’t sit well with them.

They are not formally trained when it comes to baking. Everything they know, they learned from growing up with a hired French chef. Initially, this chef was hired due to all of their food allergies and restrictions; but over the years, they began to learn from the chef... This is why their baking style is heavily French-inspired. Their cooking style, on the other hand, is a bit of everything.

The majority of their wardrobe comes from thrift, vintage, and charity shops as they wish to not give into the fast fashion industry. Only about 15% isn’t bought secondhand; and that’s because they believe it is important to support Deaf and disabled owned businesses as well. They collect both pins and beanies, the majority of which were purchased secondhand. Their favorite beanie is a thrifted mustard yellow one that a good friend of theirs embroidered “Waves” into the folded over bit. They also collect cool patterned socks; though hardly any of their socks are secondhand as socks are usually worn out before they can be given to thrift/vintage/charity shops.

They are an avid gardener due to the severity of several of their food allergies and a need to know exactly where their food comes from. Because of this, they have a decently sized greenhouse in their backyard as well as a hydroponic plant tower in their sunroom. They’ve taken to growing quite the assortment of produce; and as they hate to see any produce go to waste, they are known to donate any excess to local soup kitchens and homeless shelters. They are also known to dropping off baskets of fresh produce to their friends and neighbors.

They have a pretty big following on social media { mainly Instagram—their handle is thesbianwaves }; and they’ve taken to using their platform as a way of sharing their views on things like disability awareness/advocacy, deafness and ASL, queer pride, veganism, low-waste living, food allergies, and theatre/acting. They’re also rather well known throughout the Deaf community and the off Broadway acting community.

They’ve never learned how to ride a bike; and despite having others offer to teach them, they’re not entirely interested. They also don’t know how to swim. They do have some desire to learn to swim; but they’re kinda embarrassed to ask for lessons now that they’re a grown adult.

click here for full stats page

Wanted Connections { hit me up if you’re interested in plotting—we can plot on here or via discord }

Older Sibling(s)—between the ages of 31-40

Roommate/Interpreter

Ride or Die/Best Friend(s)

Childhood BFF Dillon

General Friends

Neighbors on Lunar Crescent

Employees at Teal Pumpkin Café

Café Regulars

Slow Burn/Future Love Interest

Doctors/Nurses

Extended Family Members

#roswellintro #{ intro - meet waves }#medical tw #chronic illness tw #this got a lot longer than i planned and i'm not sorry

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ashleyswrittenwords · 5 years ago

Text

Subtleties of a Suitor (Part 1 of 2)

Summary: Pre-calamity AU where Zelda’s powers awaken in time, but not everything is back to normal after Calamity Ganon is defeated.

Note: This is all @intangiblyyourswrites‘s fault. Also, the second part is NSFW -which also happens to be Kristie’s fault. Enjoy!

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

Scrawling ink coated the underside of her hand and left light imprints on the edge of the paper. That paper was bound within leather covers that rarely left the Princess’s desk. It was a journal of upmost confidence; containing her deepest secrets and cresting moments of happiness. The highs and lows of her life caught between compressed papyrus.

It was hardly secretive that her lows were concentrated in the years before, caught in the repetitive cycle of failing expectations that were handed down to her from birth. This desk and this journal were Princess Zelda’s small reprieve. Even going as far as referring to it as an old friend because it felt better to write with purpose than to speak nothings into a void.

My dearest friend,

A worry line creased her forehead. The nameless friend was so accustomed to moments of happiness nowadays, it felt alarming to her that she was writing with distress once more.

These days have been nothing short of harrowing. In my last letter, I was convinced that he finally understood my intentions after Calamity Ganon was sealed away. I thought-

She paused her pen strokes and glared at the page, willing herself to connect thoughts to words and words to paper.

We don’t meet anymore, we haven’t since before the monster was sealed away. Even though the night prior haunted my dreams for weeks following my expressed wishes to cease these small moments of privacy. No matter how sweet and innocent they could be. As you know, in my heart of hearts I can’t bind him to me when-

When Zelda could never be his. When, in times of great enlightenment and prosperity, their fates have crossed and her father now sees him only as a valuable combatant in his army. When destinies have been fulfilled and they were no use to one another.

They both knew this in the beginning, but with the veil of ignorance and Zelda’s everflowing failure, she was convinced they were fated to die with the kingdom. It was a simple case of action and reaction. If she didn’t unlock her sealing powers, then Calamity Ganon would not be defeated.

The knowledge most likely drew out their passion. Pages upon pages recounted shaky hands and blushing cheeks that glowed hot and bright against starry skies. A string of months where she felt more warm than she had ever been and more loved than she thought she deserved.

Then, a week after the Calamity, when Link was pressing her against the railing of an empty stairwell far from the celebratory festivities, she broke their kiss after her guilt grew too heavy for her chest to bear. Zelda will never be able to forget the unmasked hurt on his face as she thickly told him that they couldn’t do this anymore. Among it all, Zelda told him she loved him.

I was under the impression he understood. Father offered Link a promotion and he didn’t even wait a day to think about it. The next evening another man was waiting by my door and of course it shocked me. A part of me wanted to be belligerent when Link hadn’t bothered to ask, another part was more than understanding. But now?

Now I’m rethinking everything.

It started two weeks ago.

The court was lively. Since Calamity Ganon’s appearance and subsequent defeat, Hyrule Castle had its fair share of celebrations. Three months later, the Zora was being hosted within its walls. Without looming dread over her head, Princess Zelda found herself in more social circles. The Zoran princess and Champion, Mipha, became an especially close contact. As opposing as the two princesses were, they had cultivated a solid friendship. Zelda assisted Mipha with fitting into Hylian customs and Mipha was a fantastic listener.

“Link hasn’t said anything about it to me,” Mipha said gently, swinging her little brother in her arms. Prince Sidon made a disgruntled noise and reached out towards Zelda once more.

The small prince smoothed the trouble in her brow as she heaved him in her arms. “Well maybe it’s for the best. We should both move on.”

They were taking turns about the court, trying to spend the dying summer days. Sidon giggled and reached out to his sister.. Mipha seemed to be debating what to say before opting for nothing at all and looked across the room. Her Hylian companion followed her gaze to find Link communing with her father and few other Zora. It was typical for him to parade around the Hero of Hyrule as if he were some trophy.

“I don’t know, Zelda,” Mipha softly said beside her. A joke from Link made the group laugh and suddenly the blond caught her eye. As if stung, Zelda looked at the marble tiles in front of her. She scorned herself when her mind would drift from the fact that he wasn’t wearing his Champion’s Tunic. “His burden is lifted, yes, but it’s not like him to so easily let go of someone.”

When Zelda didn’t respond, Mipha tried to reassure her. “I could be wrong. If anything, we can refer to Lady Urbosa.”

As they walked, they soon found themselves amongst a throng of Zoran and Hylian ladies who began to gossip about the affluential bachelors in the room. Although she was physically there with polite smiles galore, her head was miles from the court. There was something about wealth they were talking about when all went silent.

“Master Link!” a woman exclaimed, “What a pleasant surprise!”

Suddenly, Zelda was back with slight vertigo. The group moved from her and began asking a dizzying amount of questions.

“Tell us, how frightful was that monster?”

An excited Zoran was nearing jumping out of her draped fabrics. “Heavens! Recall to us how you slayed the dreadful Calamity Ganon, please sir.”

“Oh goodness, Catherine, not with my weak nerves.”

Why hadn’t they asked Zelda those questions? She was there too!

The man seemed caught up in the storm of women and it occurred to Zelda that she had the opportunity to slip away amongst the chaos. Right when she discreetly bid Mipha goodbye, Link began speaking.

“You’re all too kind. I’m afraid I’m not a very good storyteller,” he wore a graceful smile, but she could see the anxiety behind his eyes. She knew him. Then, she saw the skies in his eyes and any desire to leave dissipated. “I can tell you that Princess Zelda saved my life.”

All eyes fell on her and she felt the acute urge to stare at her feet. Her voice sounded foreign, “You say the most fantastic hyperboles, Captain.”

Those were the first words she has said to him beyond common pleasantries in three months.

“I assure you that there was no embellishment in the slightest.” Link was looking at her along with the rest of the ladies.

“Ah, well,” Zelda trailed off, “It was only fair when you saved mine.”

That caused a sea of hushed whispers around them. The woman that separated them spoke up excitedly, “Will you allow us a story or two, sir?”

“My apologies, I should be off to the barracks right now,” Link said, meeting her again. “I came to bid Her Highness goodbye.”

Another wave of whispers as the woman between them shuffled off quickly. Confusion ebbed at the Princess, but refined manners kept it at bay. Link reached out to her and she instinctively offered her hand, but his fingers grazed the underside of her forearm, the tips of his glove brushing down its length before finally clasping her palm. As he bent down low, he held her gaze, and it felt like they were the only people in the room. Warm lips pressed a long, searing kiss to her hand, and it revived the sensation of those same lips drifting up the inside of her thighs.

He pulled back, “You look lovely this evening, Princess. I hope we cross paths again.”

Zelda’s lips drew tight together and she nodded chastely, not trusting her voice to speak. Footsteps on marbled signified his leave and she looked at Mipha, who stared back with bewilderment. The two princesses thought the same question.

What was that?

Her ink quill scratched against the paper from added pressure, she readjusted her grip.

I thought about it for the rest of the evening. That one moment dredged up emotions I spent weeks burying. Logically, I had chalked it up to basic biology; chemicals in my brain that were ultimately a hindrance to my responsibilities. For a few hours, that had worked until I found out that that night would be the first of many where he would bid me goodnight.

The next day was no better because Father decided he was honored enough to dine with us.

“I’m so glad you can join us, Captain!” King Rhoam boisterously said. “There is a seat next to Princess Zelda.”

The woman stared holes into her empty plate as the chair beside her grated against the floor. When her father coughed to clear his throat she glanced up, “Isn’t it nice that he has joined us, Zelda?”

“Oh, yes,” she smiled tightly, hardly meeting their eyes. “It’s good to see you, Link.”

Her hands folded tightly in her lap. Zelda didn’t hear him reply, so she assumed he demonstrated his signature nod. Perhaps he didn’t want to be there either. Before the Calamity, he was never permitted to sit at the royal table, much less next to the princess. He was a simple soldier then, she reminded herself, someone with promise. Princess Zelda assumed this was another way for her father to show off the Hero of Hyrule to the lords and ladies at the table.

The thought made her bite the inside of her cheek. Didn’t he deserve better? Had he been asked what he wanted?

Supper crawled by painfully. Typically, she didn’t mind if someone sat by her but she hadn’t realized how common it was to brush arms with a neighbor. Each time they touched, she’d involuntarily flinch away. Sometimes he would mumble his apologies that were a little too close to her ear.

Like all things, the torture ceased and as Zelda was about to excuse herself, dessert was announced.

“Where are you off to?” Link said, watching as she was already half-risen from her chair.

The Princess swallowed her curses. “I’m excusing myself,” she lilted, not quite leveling with him. “A lady should keep her figure.”

It was a bold-faced lie. She knew that he knew she loved sweets and would easily endure three courses of her most hated dishes to reach them. Zelda dared him to say anything. The door to the kitchen swung open and revealed several servants. Her father suddenly eyed her oddly, “Are you not planning to stay? I requested fruitcake for this evening on your behalf.”

Oh.

Link looked away as she flopped back in her seat. Despite the rolling in her stomach, her cheeks flared in embarrassment and she rushed to say, “Thank you, Father.”

As much as Zelda wished it would, the issue hadn’t immediately folded. When a large cake was placed on the table, she had the full intention of taking the slice to her room under the guise of studying a fallen Guardian’s laser module. It would be an easy solution to this problem. The cake knife was in her field of view and she went for it, only for another’s to brush her hand away.

With accusation in her eyes, Zelda watched the smallest smile - almost unnoticeable - cross Link’s face.

“What are you doing?” she said under her breath, glancing around the table to assure no one was watching. It hadn’t seemed to be the case, but this was exactly what she didn’t want. The Princess knew this court and though they’re opinion of her had shifted, the lords and ladies would cling to any rumor no matter how innocent his actions were.

His eyes were carefully guarded and if he had been anyone else, she would have been offended by how large the slice of fruitcake was when he set it on her plate . Right when she moved to stand, he caught her with his words.

“Who is it that has you caring about the way you look?”

At the head of the table, King Rhoam was laughing at something an advisor said. By now, it would look uncouth to leave the table mid-course. With a heavy breath, Princess Zelda pulled her chair in and spread her napkin over her skirts. The cake was layered with lemon icing, which would usually make her exponentially excited. Her lips upturned into a soft frown. He shouldn’t ask questions like that. It wasn’t fair.

Annoyance surged into her chest. “Does it matter?”

He was quiet for a moment and conversations from others dominated the air between them. The fruitcake tasted stale in her mouth.

“Yes.”

She wasn’t looking at him - she couldn’t. A stirring feeling lodged itself in her throat and threatened to bring about everything she tried to undo. Memories of laughing so hard in Hyrule Field, doubled over in her saddle from something ridiculous he had said; learning in that moment that he looked at her like she was the moon on a cloudless night; his hands twirling her into a circle besides a campfire to the sound of her humming ballroom tunes.

He had asked me if I fell out of love with him or he had hurt me in some way. I hadn’t and I wasn’t then and I am not now. It wasn’t just about me, but him as well. If it came out to the court, to the public, that we were having an affair, of course I would be criticized. My character put into question and subsequently tarnished for as long as it stayed in the minds of my peers, but nothing would happen to my title. I would still be the Princess of Hyrule.

Link would be scrutinized and his reputation ruined. He could be subject to expellment and be banished from the castle or Castle Town entirely. That was a fear I had harbored and for me to perpetuate our relationship for selfish indulgence… that isn’t love. At least, not a love he deserved.

Daintily, Zelda set her fork beside her plate and partially turned to him. The man had been expecting her as if this was any ordinary conversation, his fork pressing down the spongy dessert instead of eating it.

“Only because you care so much,” she uttered with a stiff back. “The royal family of Labrynna will be hosted in Hyrule Castle in just a few days. I haven’t seen their prince since I was a child.”

His expression hadn’t changed, but he ceased his movements with the fork. Guilt pricked at the edge of her consciousness. Link placed his fork on his plate and reached up. Immediately, her faced flushed hotly and felt his coarse fingertips brushed her cheek. There wasn’t any movement to indicate that she would pull away from his touch.

Then, he smirked. “There was cream on your face.”

It was like he didn’t care! I was mortified.

Her ink pen ran underneath the last word several times to create a line deep enough to bleed onto the next page. The worry line on her forehead had creased deeper as she recounted the events that had happened.

I should have made it clear to him after dessert was over, but when we were taking leave, Father got caught up in a conversation with him. I couldn’t confront him at that point and when Link came to my door again to say goodnight, I shouldn’t have opened it. And when I did, I should have told him: Link, this is inappropriate and I’ve told you that I didn’t want this to continue. Especially in front of my father, no less!

But I didn’t.

Zelda’s face burned and she couldn’t get herself to write down that she might have liked it. She was someone who was both stubborn inside and out, and even her feelings wouldn’t leave with tumultuous effort on Zelda’s part. What was she supposed to say? That she really does miss him and that every second around him chipped deeper in the hole he left?

It was rude. Irresponsible. Ungentlemanly and without regards to propriety. OR my feelings for that matter! What if the way I felt about him is different? Three months is a long time.

And then she remembered his self-satisfied smirk when her face was hot under his hand. Her handwriting grew more frantic against the paper and she had to consciously apply less pressure before the quill-tip punctured through the surface.

Her mind shifted to the days after.

Labrynna was hosted in Hyrule Castle amongst continued celebrations of Hyrule’s success. Their King and Queen were welcomed with open arms, overwhelmed by the jubilations of Hyrulean citizens. Along with them was their son and daughter: Prince Tyrion and Princess Aurra.

Prince Tyrion had written to Zelda several times after the Calamity about their shared childhood, a time she hadn’t remembered at all herself and referred to Impa more than once to verify his stories and to write back to adequately pretend she had. The Labrynnian princess was someone Zelda wasn’t aware of whatsoever and even her father had leaned in during the processions to ask of her name.

Aurra, however, was acutely aware of Zelda. More importantly, she knew of the Hylian Champion who slew a monstrous being of myths.

Not long after making her introductions to Princess Zelda and King Rhoam, she skipped to who was at King Rhoams side and curtsied. Before Zelda could see Link’s reaction, Prince Tyrion took up her view. She offered the appropriate pleasantries and allowed him to take her hand, but she didn’t miss when Link took Princess Aurra’s.

She made note that he didn’t bring it to his lips.

Through the day, she didn’t wander from Prince Tyrion’s side. He was an interesting man; well read and well traveled. She found him to be a fantastic conversationalist nor was she blind to his charm. Dark eyes paired with brunet hair that was shorn close to his ears, which were notably shorter than any Hylian’s - a common trait amongst his people.

However, he was also arrogant.

As King Rhoam led the party through the castle grounds, a level above the barracks and training grounds, Tyrion spoke up.

“You know, Your Majesty, I am well trained in the arts of combat,” he said with a slight smile.

Rhoam raised a brow, turning slightly to face his daughter and the Prince. Two men sparred below, each clash of their swords echoing off the walls. The King of Labrynna nodded in affirmation, a certain pride in his face. “Yes, it’s custom for our prodigy to learn the blade from young ages. Tyrion has a special affinity to it.”

“Fascinating. I hope to see your skill during your stay, young man.”

“Well,” the smile of the Prince’s face and he gestured to Link behind him. “I would be honored to spar with the Hero of Hyrule.”

Princess Aurra stopped her chattering with Link and grabbed the sleeve of his blue tunic, “Oh, brother, you will surely lose. Isn’t that right, Link?”

Zelda swallowed, suddenly uncomfortable with her familiarity with him after only hours. Even more was how unbothered he was by it.

“It surely would be quite the duel,” Rhoam mused, “As long as it has your approval, Captain.”

Link nodded Tyrion’s way, graciously, “The honor would be all mine, Your Highness.”

He said it to the Prince, but his eyes meandered to Zelda’s.

The preparation took an hour and by the time Princess took her seat overlooking the training grounds, the sun casted a golden glow over them. King Rhoam was incredibly eager for the duel, shooting secret smiles at his daughter as the two men shook hands below.

It was clear who would win to the Princess, Link was at the top of his class even before he became her attendant. She scolded herself, though, and told herself that she shouldn’t underestimate Prince Tyrion so soon.

Dimly, she could hear the two opponents giving their regards to one another. The Prince had changed into an elaborately designed sparring outfit that appeared to have leather padding laced at his forearms. Link, however, changed only into Hylian trousers.

Princess Aurra hummed next to Zelda, “Is that the magical sword? It looks normal to me.”

It wasn’t as he had chosen a Knight’s Broadsword to match Tyrion’s.

“It isn’t the Master Sword. We returned it to the pedestal after felling Calamity Ganon.”

Aurra blinked, “Together?”

Zelda politely nodded. That sword was an extension of Link and she remembered comforting him after he realized its purpose was served. The night of, she felt his tears through her nightgown and told him he was more than his destiny - they both were.

After Link gave his regards to King Rhoam and Princess Zelda, a man who had sparred prior held an arm out and shouted to begin the duel.

“Oh, how exciting!” Aurra squealed.

The two men circled each other like vultures. Prince Tyrion was the first to push forward, a simple feint that Link sidestepped. He was testing the waters. Then, the Prince leapt forward and went for his opponent’s side, who parried without losing ground. There were several short exchanges of the Hero being passive, while Tyrion was assertive.

Before Zelda knew it, she was gripping the sides of her chair as they danced. Tyrion was grinning wildly at his stoic opponent. He hadn’t been bluffing earlier, he was skilled. The Hylian Princess had seened Link spar time and time again, never did it take so long for him to disarm his opponent in some manner. The sun beat down on them, creating glistening sweat on their skin that bled darkly through their clothes.

Suddenly, Tyrion had space for a large horizontal slash before Link could recover from a parry. Zelda let out a yelp and watched him duck into a lateral roll, regaining his senses and plenty of ground between them.

Tyrion harked out a laugh, “You are brilliant, sir!”

They were panting now and the comment brought a sideways smile to Link’s lips. “I appreciate the regard, Your Highness. You’re a remarkable swordsman.”

They took a moment to breathe and Link did the unthinkable. His Champion tunic was discarded easily to the ground and Zelda held her breath when his eyes found hers on the perch where she sat.

Princess Aurra gasped softly. Zelda didn’t blame her. Hard lines on his stomach were only more prominent in the sun and his chest heaved with his hard breaths. The lack of coverage revealed the flex of his arm as he readjusted his grip on the blade.

It wasn’t an oddity that he was now half naked. Tyrion had long let the strings that laced the neckline of his tunic loosen, leaving a large portion of his chest exposed. Considering that they were already in the heat of midsummer, the sight of shirtless men should be expected at this end of the castle. But Link, well, he was always different.

The Prince of Labrynna lunged forward with a grunt, thrusting his blade out. Where Tryion was tactful, almost mechanical, in his movements, Link was fluid. He took his opponents strikes like water, flowing into the gaps of his defenses and reevaluating in a moment’s notice. It truly was an art in Zelda’s eyes, a very dangerous art.

Much different than anything Tyrion had done, he brought his blade upward in a sideways slashing arch with a loud shout. Princess Zelda’s heart surged in her chest. Link grit his teeth and threw his weight back into a flip, landing on his feet.

Surprise registered in Tyrion’s eyes and couldn’t recover fast enough when Link brought his blade against the hilt of His Highness’s broadsword. The blade was sent skidding along the dirt.

“Ah,” Tyrion brought his hand up to further demonstrate his lack of weapon. “I yield.”

It was then that Zelda realized she was holding her breath. Her father and his guests had all stood and applauded, so she followed suit.

“Good show!” Aurra leaned on the stone wall. “Very well done!”

The two men clasped hands again with a few words of respect. The Hylian princess watched a short regaling and found an opportunity to slip away from the processions without another glance at the arena.

#wow look at allllll those words #loz #zelink #zelda #link #zelink fanfiction #fanfiction #loz fanfiction #legend of zelda #ashleyswrittenwords #subtleties of a suitor

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chickensarentcheap · 4 years ago

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 14

Warnings: possible body dysmorphia, mentions of past trauma and abuse

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

Author’s Note: I have a serious case of extremely low self esteem (thanks anon hate!) and I can’t promise when the next chapter will be out. I’m hoping within the next few days. Fingers crossed! So I’d post the one I was holding ‘hostage’.

“I’m not too sure about this, Des,” Esme grumbles from behind a change room door in Bloomingdales.

It’s the last stop of the afternoon before a well deserved lunch; highly praised Thai food at a restaurant near Rockefeller that Desi had to book weeks in advance. It’s been years since she’d been THAT engrossed in a shopping trip; her feet aching and her cheeks hurting from laughing so much and dozens of bags in her possession. For twelve years she’s been caught up in her role as a mother; putting her own needs and wants on the back burner in favour of always making sure the kids never went without. Even with a ridiculous amount of money in the bank, she’d never concentrated on herself; perfectly content with her quiet and unassuming life in Australia, living rather simply and not needing much more than shorts, t-shirts, a small selection of bathing suits and a handful of jeans. It feels strange to be out in something other than her normal and preferred attire; used to choosing comfort over actual style and doing little more than throwing her hair up into a ponytail or messy bun. It had been nice to experience all of that again and had found herself most missing those younger days. When she’d pass the time with hours of window shopping and mindless browsing; daydreaming about all of the designer clothes and shoes and handbags she’d one day purchase if she ever won the lottery. But back then, it had been just that: daydreaming. And she can’t help but feel slightly guilty for splurging and buying things just for the sake of having them; outfits she may likely never wear and will hang in the closet with their original price tags still attached.

It’s hard to break free of that line of thinking; easily remembering the hard times when there’d been hardly any food in the cupboards and there’d been real worry about whether the utilities would be shut off or not. When Millie was still growing inside of her and she’d been trying to adjust to her new life in a new country; living with a man she barely knew but she already was already falling madly and crazily in love with. Materialistic things have never truly mattered; never heartbroken when she couldn’t afford brand new clothes or when their little apartment was filled with mismatched second hand furniture. Despite the financial concerns, they’d been truly happy. Engrossed in a ‘honeymoon stage’ of unbridled passion and lust; finding themselves thoroughly exploring and enjoying one another’s bodies while getting to know each other. It hadn’t been the most conventional of lifestyles; two broken people finding solace and healing in one another in Dhaka, an unplanned pregnancy, and quick and hasty cohabitation. And there’d been hard times; little quirks and hangs up the other had that annoyed them, heated arguments over stupid things, lingering trauma and plenty of nightmares thanks to their harrowing experience in Bangladesh. But somehow they’d made it work; a temperamental and moody Australian and a feisty and over emotional American. Falling in love despite their often enormous differences and making something so beautiful and lasting out of almost nothing.

“I don't know if this dress is my thing,” she frets, and smooths her hands down the side of the ridiculously expensive dress. It’s far more than she’d ever imagined paying for a single piece of clothing; immediately checking the price tag and having a small coronary when Desi had shoved the garment in her direction. Money is of no concern; in a thousand lifetimes the personal bank account will never run dry, nor will there never be a steady flow of impressive income coming in. But it just isn’t who she is; a woman with her wardrobe filled with designer apparel, far more comfortable in sweats from Target and one of her husband’s ratty t-shirts. “I’m just not too sure about it.”

“What is there NOT to be sure about?” Her friend’s voice filters in from the waiting area. “It’s Herve Leger. One of his best pieces yet. And it’s fabulous and it will look even more fabulous on you.”

“It’s too short,” she laments, and tries in vain to pull the hem down closer to her knees. “I don’t have the legs for this.”

“You don’t need legs for days to slay in that dress. And Big E, I’ve seen you in shorts. I know you’ve got killer stems. You can definitely pull this off. You’re worrying over nothing.”

“But it’s too tight. Way too tight.”

Desi sighs in exasperation. “It’s supposed to be tight. It’s a bandage dress.”

“It shows my rolls.”

“Excuse you? WHAT roles? Like you have rolls. Bitch, please.”

“I’ve had seven kids. Believe me, I have rolls. I’m twenty pounds heavier than when I first met Tyler. Twenty-two, actually.”

“And does he give a shit? No. I bet he likes the curves. I don’t see him complaining. Or looking at other women. He only has eyes for you.”

“Most biased man on earth,” she mutters, and studies her form from all sides. Easily remembering what her body had looked like almost thirteen years ago; thin and toned and extremely fit. A far cry from the ‘softness’ she possesses now; dips and valleys and curves where none had ever existed before.

“Isn’t his opinion the only one that really matters? Doesn’t he find you a straight up hottie?”

“That is not the point. He could be just trying to spare my feelings, you know.”

Desi gives a derisive snort. “Isn’t he still tripping over himself trying to get into her pants every available chance he gets? Quit your bitching. You’ve got a beautiful man that worships at the temple of YOU. Now get out here and let me see you.”

“Rolls, Desi. I have rolls.”

“Bullshit. And even if you did, that dress is like a corset. All the different bands built in? They hold everything. And I doubt you have anything to hold in the first place. Don’t make me break down the door and drag you out here. I am not above creating a scene. You should know this by now.”

“Don’t you dare go full queen diva on me.”

“Oh, I will. I will kick that door in and drag your tiny ass on out here for the world to see. Desmond Brownell does not play games. He’s on a mission. And his mission is to see you in that Herve Leger. Don’t make me pull a mommy move. Don’t make me count to three.”

“I tend to go with five, but…”

“Five then. Don’t make me go that direction. Because it will not end well for you. Or me. There’ll be tears. And not on my part. And most likely security guards tossing us both out on our asses. So we do this either the easy way or the hard way. And believe me, you don’t want the hard way.”

Sighing heavily, she smooths down the back and sides of the dress and once more tries to pull the bottom closer to her knees. To no avail. It is so far out of her comfort zone; a woman that insists on always covering her bathing suit with a t-shirt and refuses to remove it. “I am going to sneak into your house at night and kill you in your sleep,” she declares, as she undoes the hook latch on the door and swings it open. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Keep your eyes closed. Until I tell you to open them.”

“I can’t believe YOU don’t realize that you’re a bonafide MILF. Even if it’s not for you, how bad could it be?”

“Ever seen a sausage when you try and stuff too much into the casing?”

“Have you ever talked to a shrink? You do not look the way you think you look. What DO you see when you look in the damn mirror?”

“I see gray hair, wrinkles, and stretch marks. I see frumpy and plain and boring and just…” sighing, she steps into the middle of the waiting area and frowns at her reflection being cast in several different mirrors. “...old. I see old.”

“I think you’ve done lost your damn mind. Shred brains cell with every baby you had. Because you sure as hell don’t look old. Not even close. Can I look yet?”

“Do you want to be traumatized?”

“Do you WANT me to beat your ass? Tell on you? I’ll tell your hubby. Don’t underestimate me. Then both of us will get on your ass and then what?”

“He’s hardly a good judge. He’d tell me I look good in a garbage bag. He is proof that love IS blind.”

“He is proof that there’s good men out there. Good loyal, faithful men. That love every inch of their woman. Inside and out. You know how lucky you are? To have someone like that? Do you see anyone strong enough to drag him off? I’m sure he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“If the thirsty housewives back home and the new neighbour had their way, he’d be getting all kinds of ass. All kinds of variety.”

“What new neighbour?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over lunch. But yeah, he’s got a harem of women that would love for him to be tapping it.”

“But he loves tapping YOUR ass. And only your ass. Does he have a brother? Have I ever asked that? A gay brother by chance? Or a gay friend? Bi friend? Help me out here.”

“No brothers. No siblings at all. No gay friends. Not that I know of. But you know who WOULD have a gay friend? My sister in law.”

“I thought he didn’t have siblings?”

“Not Tyler. My sister’s wife. Shaena. She’d for sure have gay friends. And hot ones. You’ve met her.”

“Both her and your sister are fine as hell. I wouldn’t mind getting in the middle of THAT. Hook a brother up. Make it happen. I’ll be at your little Aussie Christmas. Score me a date for then. In the meantime, can I open my eyes now? Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

“As long as you promise you won’t laugh.”

“I am calling you a psychiatrist. You need help.”

“Fine,” she turns her back towards her friends, hands perched upon her hips. “ Look. But no smart ass comments and no laughing. My confidence can’t take it.”

“Your confidence needs a serious makeover. Now let me see.”

She watches through the mirror as his eyes flutter opening; slowly widening as far as they possibly can, followed by a dramatic collapse back into his seat and a hand placed over his heart.

“Fuck…” she grimaces. “...that bad?”

“That bad? That GOOD. Desmond Brownell approves. You look…” he gives two chef’s kisses. “...delicious. I’d bang you. And I have high standards.”

“I’ve seen some of your dates. Your standards are questionable at best.”

“You wound me, Big E. Mortally wound me. That…” he nods in her direction. “...was made for you. Your body is tighter and hotter than you obviously realize. Curves like a back road. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t think it’s too much? Or should I say, too little? I am forty-one.”

“Who gives a shit? You look amazing.”

“I’ve had seven kids.”

“Especially amazing for someone that’s popped out that many crotch goblins. Sold. The dress is sold. This isn’t up for debate.”

“I can’t buy something like this. It’s just...not me.”

“It damn well is YOU. I’ll buy it for you. A little extra Christmas gift.”

“A thousand dollar dress is hardly a little Christmas gift. And it’s a little pricey, don’t you think? For fabric?”

“Honey, you really need to get out of Target and up your shopping game. I know how much money you all have, I know you can afford it. I know you could probably afford this whole store. And then some.”

“It isn’t about money. It’s about me. And being out of my comfort zone. I don’t dress like this. I live on the beach. In Australia. We wear shorts and tanks and never wear shoes. Where the hell would I wear this?”

“Date night.”

“Like we have places I could wear this to. I mean, I guess we could go to Cairns. I’ve seen women in some pretty expensive clothes there. I could always talk him into a weekend away. It wouldn’t be hard. And we are going to Santorini in April.”

“That’d be perfect for Santorini. Hell, just wear it in the house. In the bedroom. Just to spice things up a bit. I’m sure he doesn’t see you dressed up very often.”

“Try like never,” Esme laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I DO wear makeup when we go out. And cute little sundresses.”

“What about when you got married?”

“I wore something off the clearance rack at a bridal store in Sydney. Cost a hundred bucks. It was nothing fancy.”

“But you wore a little tiara and veil and all that, right?”

“It wasn’t that kind of wedding. I was five months pregnant with Millie. It was a little wedding chapel. We had six guests. It wasn’t fancy.”

“E, you’ve been robbed. You need that bride moment. What about the first time?”

“Las Vegas. Even more casual. Zero out of five stars. Would not recommend.”

“Oh no, honey. No. That’s wrong. So wrong. You deserve so much better. You deserve a big day. You deserve to be a bride. A REAL bride. Poofy white dress, little bling in your hair, fancy little shoes…”

“Seven kids and I’m going to wear white? I think not.”

“I’m having a serious talk with that man of yours. Vow renewals are a thing you know.”

“He’s brought it up. A couple of times. Which is weird, because I never thought he’d ever think of something like that. This is Tyler we’re talking about. This is a man that can kill people with his bare hands. Who has his own brand of romance. Which I love, by the way. But it’s very odd he’d bring up something like that. Getting married again.”

“Maybe he wants to see you all done up. Looking like a bride.”

“Trust me, Des. Tyler doesn’t care about that stuff. That isn’t him.”

“Maybe he’s come to care about that stuff. Maybe he’s getting a softer side to him. Or, his soft side is getting even more soft.”

“Don’t ever tell him that. He’d kill YOU with his bare hands. Do you really think I should get this dress?”

“I think you’d be stupid not to. And you, are NOT a stupid woman. Treat yourself. You deserve it.”

“You know what? I do. I DO deserve it. And I think he’ll really like it. Maybe I’ll even give him a little sneak peek later. You know, to judge his reaction to it.”

“Oh I think I know what his reaction is going to be. Don’t wear any underwear. Just let him yank the dress up and have his way with you.”

“Maybe you know him better than I realize,” Esme laughs. “Fine. I’ll buy it. But if he hates it, I am totally throwing you under the bus.”

“Alright...alright…” Desi holds his hands up in surrender. “...I’ll take one for the team. Now get your little ass in there and get changed. This big man needs to eat.”

*****

“So this neighbour you mentioned,” Desi says, as he nods his appreciation at the hostess who seats them at their table, then gallantly pulls Esme’s chair out and waits for her to sit. “What’s that about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Natalie. She just moved in a few doors down. Her and her little girl.”

“Are you talking about the blond that has the goddamn gall to wear real fur?” Desi slides into the seat across from her. “The one that needs a chisel to take off her makeup at the end of the night?”

“That’s her. The one who looks like Sephora threw up on her face. Too bad you can’t apply makeup on the inside to make something more attractive. Because she is a real peach.”

“Bottle of your best house red,” Desi requests, and then flips open the leather bound menu placed in front of him. “How’d you meet her?”

“Well, it turns out she doesn’t just have the gall to wear real fur. She also has the gall to go after married men. And in this case, MY man.”

“Uh oh. Something tells me this didn’t end well.”

“I’m very protective of what’s mine. Maybe some people would call it possessive.”

“I definitely would call it that. Not that I blame you. I’d be the same way. Hell, I’d probably never let him leave the damn house.”

“I know what a good thing I have. I know how hot my husband is. I’ve seen him naked. Many times. What’s underneath? Even better than what’s on top. And what’s on top? That’s really damn good, know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean. And I’m just saying, I wouldn’t protest if you sent me nudes of him. Our little secret.”

“My husband IS hot. And he’s beautiful and he’s amazing and he’s this walking study in masculinity. But he’s just that. MY husband. I don’t share. With anyone.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve spent three years begging you just to let me cop a feel.”

“So I don’t appreciate some thirsty female from five doors down, honing in my territory. No one is pissing in my front yard. No one. And it’s not just that I’m possessive and there’s no way in hell I’m sharing great dick, but Tyler isn’t like that. He doesn’t do shit like that. He is a lot of things, but a cheater is not one of them. That is one thing I’ve never had to worry about. He is loyal. Fiercely loyal. And he’s had his chances. If he wanted to stray, he would have. Easily.”

“Never struck me as the type who would. He’s way too in love with you. Way too faithful. I see the way he looks at you. Stars and hearts in his eyes. He definitely thinks rainbows and butterflies fly out your ass. So this Natalie…”

“They met at the park. He took Tanner there; after their morning out. And this Natalie was there. Tyler made small talk. And small talk is even exaggerating. Tyler doesn’t do small talk. Any talk, for that matter.”

Desi nods in agreement. “Took me damn near a whole weekend just to get him to say two words. That voice though? Woody. Instant.”

“Well I guess Natalie took his small talk for something else entirely. Which I don’t get, because Tyler is civil, at best. He’s just not a people person. He tries. But you know what he’s like. How he comes across. He’s very rough around the edges and doesn’t take shit and doesn’t care for formalities. He’s a man of very few words. Whatever words he said, she read way too much into. She showed up at the house. Looking for him.”

Desi looks up from his menu, a scowl forming on his face. “She did not.”

“Oh, she very much did. And get this. She made him cookies.”

“What kind of cookies?”

Esme stares at him pointedly.

“I like details. I’m detail oriented. I can’t help it.”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

“The most traitorous cookie out of them all. For shame. I’m disappointed. If you want a man to climb in your bed, you don’t lead with oatmeal raisin. Please tell me your man don’t like that shit.”

“Rest assured, he hates them and your opinion and lust for him can stay intact. But you can believe that? She came calling on my husband. She brought him cookies. And I’m pretty sure if he’d been home, she would have offered him HER cookie.”

“Probably just as nasty as the ones she makes. Probably got cobwebs and dust bunnies and all that shit. Maybe even a barbed wire fence blocking the entrance. So what happened?”

“Well, she got the cold shoulder and snarkiness from Millie first.”

“That’s my girl.”

“And then I talked to her and she was bitchy and off hand and she’s lucky I didn’t throat punch her. She had all kinds of snarky things to say. About my name, about my appearance, about having so many kids. I let her know that I wasn’t having any of her shit. That I was onto her. I told her I didn’t know what kind of married men she was used to, but my husband isn’t one of them. That he wasn’t...and never would be...interested.”

“And?”

“And she left. We fed the cookies to the dogs. Or tried to. Even they didn’t like them. Man’s best friend, indeed.”

A waitress brings the wine; cheerfully introducing herself before taking their orders. Desi waits until she leaves before uncorking the bottle and filling both glasses. Offering a toast to a warm and safe Christmas holiday and the perks and perils of love and friendships. And they’re in the middle of sharing stories of his last trip to Australia -his encounters with the both the ‘friendly neighbourhood Aussies’ and the wildlife that so freely roams and enjoys their stretch of land- when her cell phone loudly vibrates within the confines of her purse. Had Tyler not been out with all of the children and it not been a common thing to often run into some kind of issues with handling so many bodies, she would have just ignored it. And she wishes she had; frowning at the number splashed across the screen and then dropping the phone back into her bag.

“Your mom again?”

Nodding, she takes a swallow of wine. “Third time already today. Only four or five more to go. Maybe she’ll even make it an even dozen before sundown.”

“Can she not read the signs? It’s quite obvious you don’t want to speak to her. What’s her issue?”

“It’s probably easier to ask ‘what isn’t her issue?’. There’s many. So very, very, VERY many.”

“I already know about what she was like you when were growing up. I’m surprised you turned out as normal and sane as you are. It’s more than that?”

“So much more, Des. Where do you want me to start?”

“Start with the biggest one. Or most recent.”

“She hates Tyler. With the passion of a thousand fiery suns. The seventh layer of hell? I don’t think that even burns as hot as her hate for him.”

“Why? He’s a good guy. Treats you right, loves his kids. Will fight like hell to protect what’s us. Die for it, even. What’s to hate?”

“So you know how Tyler and I met. The whole ‘pretend husband and wife’ thing.”

“Yeah, to find Ovi and save him. What about it?”

“Well you also know what happened. During those five days in Dhaka. Between Tyler and I. Believe me when I say that I’m not normally like that. Spend nearly a week banging a guy I barely know. Unprotected, at that. And at the risk of too much information, Tyler was only the third guy I’d ever been with. Sexually speaking. So what happened between us? Totally uncharacteristic for me. It was unconventional. How we met. But, it worked out. We wanted more. We wanted to get to know each other. See if we could make something out of nothing. And we did. We made a life. A beautiful life. And seven little human beings.”

“And she’s got a problem with that because…?”

“After what happened on the bridge, I decided to stay. At the hospital he was flown to in Mumbai. It was touch and go and he didn’t have anyone else and if he wasn’t going to make it, I didn’t want him to be alone. He deserved better than that. And a week later they brought him out of the medically induced coma and he was breathing on his own and he woke up and he was so happy to see me. You should have seen how he smiled at me, Des. He has a beautiful smile. But that? That smile he gave when he realized I was real and I was actually sitting there? By his bed? I had never seen anything like that and I’ve never seen anything like it since. He was happy and relieved and he wanted me there. He even said he was scared to close his eyes at night because he was afraid I wouldn’t be there when he woke up.”

“He was already head over heels for ya. Guess that was his way of telling you.”

“When the hospital said they were shipping him to another back in Australia, he asked if I would go with him. By then I was already invested. I mean, it was three weeks later and I’d already spent time helping him feed himself and getting him on his feet and to the bathroom and taking him to in-patient physio and all of that. I was already in love with him. Of course I was going to Australia. It was never in doubt.”

“And let me guess, it ruffled your mother’s feathers.”

Nodding, Esme takes a long sip of wine. “She wasn’t in control. Of me. And she couldn’t stand it. Neither she or my brothers no longer had in any say in how I was going to live my life. The Esme they knew? She died on that bridge. Or maybe she was left behind. I had a chance. To make a new life for myself. And I took it. I went to Australia and I decided that was where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with HIM. So I took what money we had and I got us an apartment and he put me in charge of handling everything; medical decisions, financial stuff. And then, I found out I was having Millie. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a huge surprise because what do you expect when you spend five days having totally unprotected sex? And I told Tyler and I gave him a choice. If he didn’t want me or the baby, I’d walk away and I’d go home and I’d never contact him again. I told him I didn’t expect anything from him. And I didn’t want him feeling obligated to me or the baby.”

“That must have went over well.”

“Well, needless to say, he wanted the baby. And me. So I stuck around. I was by his side through his whole hospital stay and through all the therapy and his stint in rehab and then we settled down in our new life. And we got married and had Millie. My family? They couldn’t stand it. They couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t accept HIM.”

“All because you decided to make a new life for yourself?”

“That was it. Tyler became public enemy number one. My mom convinced everyone that he stole me away. That he was manipulative and abusive and that I was scared to leave him.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Right? Tyler is so far from manipulative or abusive. He lived that life. He was on the receiving end of that. And he’s tried his hardest not to walk in his father’s footsteps. And believe me, he’s nothing like his old man. Not in the slightest. But no matter how much or how hard I argue, she doesn’t listen to me. She sees him as this horrible person. That took her baby girl away. And when he had the nerve to stick up for me? Against her and my brothers? That made things worse! You think they would have been happy. I found this amazing man who’s totally in love with me; who sees past all my bullshit and my ugly parts. That should have been enough for them. A guy that’s made me the centre of his universe. Who makes me happy and who I love more than I ever thought I COULD love someone. Who helped me make seven incredible little human beings. Why isn’t any of that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Desi says. “I wish I did. I wish I had the answers. ALL the answers.”

“Yet they practically idolize Mark. It makes no sense. They knew what he was like. They knew he was abusive. And they enabled him. They gaslighted me just as much as he did. And I would have left a thousand times over had they not constantly pressured me into giving him another chance. Had they not convinced me that everything was my fault. My mom stayed friends with him. Right up until he died. What kind of sick person does that? Stays friends with their own kid’s abuser?”

“You hit the nail on the head. A sick one.”

“Constantly kissing his ass and making him out to be some kind of white knight yet having all this shit to say about Tyler. They hate him because he refuses to be like them. Because he stands up to them. Because for once, someone loves me enough to have my back. That’s it. That’s why they hate him. And the things they’ve said? Especially since finding out he’s a mercenary? Constantly wishing death on him? Saying him dying would be the best thing to happen to me and the kids? Who says things like that? I almost lost Addie because of her. I came back from Ireland because I found out I was pregnant and my mom got on her bullshit and I almost lost my baby. Tyler came all the way back just to make sure I was okay. He wouldn’t have done it if he’s even a fraction as evil as they claim he is.”

“You realize it that isn’t really about him, right? That it’s all them. Because they don’t have that control. Over you.”

“I thought it would be all over and done with when we kicked my brother to the curb. I thought once he and Tyler had it out and Tyler kicked the shit out of him, that would be it. That we’d never hear from any of them again. You know how peaceful it’s been? Five years of no phone calls, no text messages, no emails. Five years of pure bliss. And now this…” she nods down at the purse sitting in her lap. “...her on my ass every day, multiple times a day. Isn’t it enough that I acknowledge that the kids received their Christmas gifts? That I showed appreciation and I said they’d send thank you cards? You think that would be enough. Our lives have been so good. Quiet and happy and peaceful. And it’s like she knows that. It’s like she knows how good things are and just has to screw it all up.”

“Normally I say just ignore them. Just wash toxic people out of your life and keep them out of your life. But if she’s as determined as she is, it’s only going to get worse. She won’t stop trying to get a hold of you. And as hard as it’ll be to talk to her, that might be the only way to get her to stop. Let her know. Say ‘thanks, but no thanks’.”

“I can not allow her back into my life. OUR lives. I can’t allow any of them back in. I will NOT have my kids surrounded by that ugliness. I will not have people around them that talk shit about their father. Because you know what? I know he’s not perfect. I know he has his issues. He’s the first one to admit it. But he is an amazing dad and he is totally devoted to those kids and they love him beyond all comprehension. And I won’t allow people to talk about him like that. I won’t allow them to break my kids’ hearts…” her voice cracks with emotion, and she takes a swallow of wine to clear away the lump sitting square in her throat. “....I won’t let anyone talk about Tyler like that. He’s not a perfect man, but he’s a good man. And he loves me and he loves his kids. He saved me, Des. In every way a person can be saved. And I won’t let anyone disrespect him like that.”

“Tell them that. Tell them EXACTLY that.”

“I have. I have said it until I was practically blue in the face. They don’t care. They say I’m ‘defending my abuser’. In what alternate universe is he considered an abuser? He has never...ever...raised a hand to me. He’s always said he’d kill himself before he ever let things get that out of control. That he’d never be able to live with himself if he even thought about hurting me like that. And maybe in a way, I DO understand some of the way they think. He’s lived a hard life. A violent life. First the military, then as a mercenary. Yes, he’s killed people. With his bare hands. But he’s never done it because he wanted to. Or because he enjoyed it. He did it because he HAD to. Because it was either him or them. He is not a monster. Regardless of what they think. Or even he thinks sometimes.”

“You’ve never been scared of him?”

“Never. And you know what? If he WANTED to, he could do some serious damage to me. He could kill me. No question about it. But that thought has never, ever crossed my mind. I’ve never been afraid of him. Not even at his worst. When he went back to drinking all the time and abusing the pain meds and we fought constantly. And yeah, there were times he DID lose it. Where he put a fist through the wall or grabbed me trying to stop me from walking away or trying to calm me down and talk some sense into me. But I’ve never been scared of him. Because even at his worst, I knew he loved me. I knew none of his issues were about me. That was him and his brain and not knowing how to cope. And they just don’t get it. They think he’s somehow frightened me into sticking around. That he’s been forcing me to have children. Because it somehow keeps me around.”

“Sounds more like they have the issues. Not you guys.” Desi reaches for the bottle of wine, refilling both their glasses.

“We’re not perfect. And Lord knows we have had some really shitty times. Where we didn’t think we were going to make it. But you know what? We did. We fixed our shit and we made things work. We both busted our asses to change. And he still busts his ass every day to make up for all the bad. We work at it, Des. Every day we work at it. Because we love each other and we both know what it's like to be from a broken home. And we won’t do that to our kids. We won’t let them grow up like that. So we work at it. And it hasn’t been easy. But there’s been more great times than bad times.”

“You two are strong. What you got is strong. No one can deny that. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.”

“I will not let my family ruin us. They tried. And in Colorado, they almost succeeded. But we got away. We moved back home. Our REAL home. And we never looked back. I won’t let them destroy things for us. Not when we’ve worked so hard to get where we are.”

“You’re going to have to deal with her, Esme. She isn’t going to go away. Not from what I’ve seen.”

“And I will. I WILL talk to her. After Christmas. I just want to get through the holiday. I just want things to be happy and peaceful. Especially for the kids. I don’t want anyone ruining Christmas for them. Once it’s over and things calm down, I WILL talk to her. But right now? I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“It’s all going to be alright,” Desi assures her, and reaches across the table to give her hand a comforting squeeze. “Everything’s going to work out.”

“Tyler isn’t perfect. He’s the first one to admit that. In the same way I’m not. But you know what? We’re perfect for each other. And in the end, that’s all that matters.”

*****

When she arrives home she finds the three littlest fast asleep; tightly snuggled together on the area rug in front of the Christmas tree and covered by the knitted throw usually draped over the back of the sofa. Saju and Mac nap close by; curled up together in front of the front of the fireplace and merely blinking their eyes in a form of acknowledging her presence. She can hear Millie and Alannah upstairs; giggling and chattering, their feet stomping overhead as they play a dance game on the XBox. The three oldest boys are out in the backyard; laughter drifting inside as they hide behind ‘fortress’ walls and lob snowballs at one another. It's rare to see the three of them enjoying time together. Tanner normally not comfortable with the more raucous play and choosing quiet time; up in his room reading a book or writing stories or building intricate lego scenes in front of the fireplace.

She stands in the sunroom and watches them; smiling at how jovial and lighthearted they are. Their faces bright and happy; no cares in the world aside from the balls of snow and ice being tossed in their direction. Despite everything they’d been through, they’re spirits so brilliant and bubbly, continuing to love the world and everyone in it. Tanner and TJ (along with Millie) are able to remember the more difficult times in Colorado and being whisked to Mumbai under false pretenses; told they were going on a family vacation only to be sent back to Australia without either parent and then told their father very well might never come home. They still talk about it from time to time; how scary it had been to be away from both mom AND dad and how worried they’d been when they thought their daddy may never make it back to them. They’re able to vividly recall visiting him in the hospital; the scars and bruises on his face that had been in various stages of healing, the sling keeping his badly wounded and surgically repaired shoulder in place, the ‘cage’ that had encased his right thigh, the tremendous amount of weight and muscle he had lost. It HAD been traumatic; more than two months without their father under the same roof and seeing him so wounded and vulnerable.

They’d needed their own therapy; the trauma manifesting itself through moments of rage and aggression and troubles sleeping at night. A child psychologist recommended to them by Doctor Klein had done them all a world of good; disguising therapy with music and play and helping them express their emotions and their fears. And within six months they were back to their old selves; grades climbing and their social skills improving, the rage and aggression diminishing. It still haunts them from time to time; a fear that returns whenever daddy has to leave home for work. But for the most part they’ve healed exceptionally well; full of energy and light and humour and possessing enormous amounts of compassion and empathy.

She finds Tyler in the main floor office; a central area of the main floor that had been the previous owner’s sewing and craft room. It’s close enough to keep an ear out for the kids; able to hear them both inside and out. And a security system enables him to keep an eye on any area of the house; live images cast back to the flat screen television mounted on the wall above the desk. Five years years ago she would have called him paranoid for insisting on such measures. Overprotective, even. But that was until someone had gotten close enough to Addie to steal a stuffed animal right out of her crib. Had the culprit wanted her, she would have been long gone in the middle of the night. And they most likely never would have seen her again. The terror of that night is still very real; the thought of someone reaching across her tiny body to take something so simple in the course of sending a very clear message.

After that, Esme had vowed to never call him paranoid or overprotective again. Evil had gotten too close. WAY too close. And she now understands his fierce and rabid determination to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe.

She watches him from the doorway; intently working at the computer. Admiring the glasses perched upon his face and the lines of his profile; the strong, stubbled jaw and the curve of his lips and the bump in the bridge of his nose. The scars that had long ago become part of him. Marring the left side of his forehead and by his left eye; old wounds that he’d possessed when they’d first met. A handful of others have been added since then. The edge of a metal shovel cutting wide and deep; the scar travelling from the very corner of his right eye and up his forehead and snaking up into his hairline. And the ones left behind from Nathan. The one above his eyebrow thin and faint, the one below his eye much wider and jagged and stretching all the way to his temple. That one had been the worst; deep enough for the knife blade to hit bone and cause irreparable damage to nerves and muscle. And while most would see them as blemishes and flaws, she sees it as adding to his beauty; souvenirs of not only a hard and dangerous life, but of survival.

“Hey,” she greets as she wanders into the room. “What’cha doing, handsome?”

“Just some shit that came up. I would have ignored it, but…”

She stands at the back of his chair. Fingers and thumbs rubbing at tense shoulder muscles before wrapping both arms around his neck; leaning over him and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, followed by his temple. “Everything alright?”

“Koen ran into some issues. On the job he took. Not going as smooth as we’d hoped it would. Just had to send him some extra cash. And put him in contact with someone who could get him some extra gear.”

“He’s alright though? He’s not in any trouble?”

“He’s fine. Nothing he can’t handle. I know I said I wouldn’t bother with work stuff until we go back home, but…”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. It’s the nature of the beast. It isn't the most predictable of careers. I’m glad to see you survived your day out with the spawn. Is your sanity still intact?”

“What was left of it. I don’t know how much I had to begin with.”

“I also noticed all seven AND Alannah made it back. Success.”

“They were good. No trouble. They all behaved themselves. Shockingly.”

“Your feral offspring all behaving at once? Hell must have frozen over.”

He gives a small chuckle, then turns his face into her and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. A frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to look at her.

“What’s that look for?”

“Why do you still have your hat on? It’s fucking boiling in here.”

“It’s part of my surprise. I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” A slow grin begins to spread across his face. “I’ve already seen you naked. Many times. Not that it’s not awesome each time it happens. I’m not complaining.”

“As much as I’d love to just drop my clothes right here and rock your world, it’s something else. I did something. While I was out.”

“New ink?”

“Nope.”

“You got something pierced, didn’t you. Something naughty. Something very naughty.”

“You wish. Those days are long behind me. But it is a surprise. And I want you to promise you won’t freak out. When you see it.”

“How bad is it? Usually when you tell me not to freak out, it’s pretty fucking bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just...surprising. You ready?”

“Is it a good thing I’m already sitting down?”

“It’s probably for the best. Turn your chair towards me and close your eyes.”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…”

“What the hell have you done?”

“Just do it. Humour me. Please.”

“Fine.” Turning his back towards the computer, he closes his eyes. “This isn’t where you tell me you want to try pegging is it? Because I thought I’ve already made it perfectly clear that there is no fucking chance of that happening. EVER.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s nothing sexual. Get your mind out the gutter, sheesh.”

“I’m sorry, have we met? It permanently lives in the gutter.”

“Never mind viagra. Maybe they can give you something to calm your dick down.”

“You’d miss it. Don’t deny it. It would hurt you just as much as it would hurt me. Are we going to do this surprise sometime today or…?”

Removing the knit beanie from her head, she tosses it out the desk and then runs her fingers through her hair. She feels naked and exposed; the dark tresses that had once reached the middle of her back now shorn and styled into a side parted, sleek bob that skims her earlobes. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“I promise I won’t lose my shit.”

“Okay...open them...but remember, no freaking out.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is. If it’s nothing dirty or kinky or piercing of some kind…” His eyes flutter open, then slowly widen as the reality of what’s before him sets in.

“You hate it don’t you.”

“I don’t hate it. I just...wow...that’s...NOT what I was expecting.”

“You do, don’t you. Hate it. I knew you would. You always hate when I do something with my hair. Like when I decided to get bangs.”

“In all fairness, I didn’t hate them. I just wasn’t a fan.”

“But you HATE this? This haircut. You hate it being so short, don’t you.”

“Actually…” he slides the chair closer to her and lays his hands on her hips. “...I love it.”

“Yeah?” A smile replaces the nervous frown. “Really?”

“Really. I wouldn’t lie to you, Me. That’s not who I am. Not anymore, anyway.”

“You sure you like it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I think you look beautiful. It suits you. You got this cute, tiny little face. Your hair shows it off. I really do love it. You look amazing.”

Placing her hands on the sides of his face, she leans down to kiss him. “It was time for a change. Something different. Something I didn’t have to spend hours on when we go out. You’re sure? One hundred percent? You really do love it?”

“I do. You look beautiful.” Laying a palm on the back of her head, he pulls her down into a kiss. And she laughs into his mouth when his free hand latches onto her hip and she loses her balance and topples into him. “You’re beautiful, Me. Always.”

“I really was worried you wouldn’t like it,” she says, as she settles herself sideways on his thighs. “So you’ve made my day. My year, actually.”

“It suits you. You look amazing, baby. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Speaking of making my year, I’m about to make yours.”

“We’re talking about butt stuff, aren’t we.”

“No!” she laughs, and playfully tousles his hair. “I mean, maybe later. When the kids are out.”

“Where are they going? You banishing them to the backyard?”

“Desi offered to take them.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one. Even Alannah. He’s going to take them out for dinner and to Central Park. To see Santa and the reindeer. Maybe do some skating. And then, he’s going to take them to his place. They’re going to have a camp out. In the living room.”

“So we get the house to ourselves? All night?”

“All night,” she confirms. “And well into the morning. You know what that means?”

“Butt stuff.”

She sighs in exasperation. “I means you don’t have to wait until New Years Eve for wild and crazy AND noisy sex with your wife.”

“We might have to tone down the noise. The kids will be right next door. They could still hear us.”

“That’s a fair point. So noisy is out. But wild and crazy are definitely in.”

Tyler grins. “I can do wild and crazy.”

“Oh, I know you can. You’re a master at it. A master at anything sexual, now that I think about it. Man, did I ever luck out. Landing you.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m the lucky one. Girl like you putting up with my shit? You’re one in a million, babe. No doubt about it.”

“I love you,” she says, pressing a kiss to his ear and then nuzzling his temple with the tip of her nose. “More than you could ever know. And thank you. For being you. And for loving me the way you do.”

Smiling, he turns his face into hers and places his lips to her brow; a hand coming up to comb through her hair, palm settling on the nape of her neck. “You’ve made it pretty damn easy.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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utterlyinevitable · 5 years ago

Text

Trials & Tribulations (CH. 4)

Me Without You

Chapter 1: Afterwards Chapter 2: The Next 4 Days Chapter 3: It All Falls Down

Love Interests: Ethan Ramsey, Bryce Lahela Word Count: 3.3k Warning: angst, adult themes, possible destructive mental health triggers Summary: Have you ever been so out of touch with your emotions that you constantly make choices? Yeah… That’s what Becca’s doing.

________________________________________

For almost two weeks Becca left him texts and voicemails at various times of the day - anything she could think of to reach him. She needed an explanation. Things were good, she thought. Why would he up and leave without saying a word? Weren’t they in a better place now? Why did he go?

They’d slept together a few days ago, breaking down every sacred barrier of professionalism they’ve erected since Miami. It was an initial shock for them to be on the same team come the fall but they could work though it. They were stronger than this. They’ve been through so many secrets together how could they not?

By day 9 Becca had long left the shock of abandonment behind and just needed to hear his voice, rationale be damned. His voicemail lulled her to sleep most nights when Rafael couldn’t come over to help numb the pain. The short curt message was so distinctly him;

“Dr. Ethan Ramsey. Leave a voicemail or call 911 if it’s an emergency.”

She’d always hung up right before the beep. Becca was embarrassed by how many times she called each day yet was more embarrassed to have him hear the desperation in her voice. As silly as she felt, it’s like a piece of her had gone missing. Eight weeks was a long time to pine after someone who ran away. More like an entire year… She had him once, why was he pushing her away again?

After catching him leaving their apartment that fateful morning after her ethics hearing, Elijah and Sienna held onto Becca’s deepest secret. They saw no need to start drama within their group after everything that has happened, especially for one briefly passionate weekend.

However short-lived, it was the most freeing three days of Rebecca Lao’s life. It felt right, he felt right. Why doesn’t he feel the same way?

Ugh I can’t keep thinking of him.

Becca pushed him to the back of her mind every single time he popped into it, forcing herself to focus on her patients and the little distraction known as her friends. Dr. Rebecca Lao was determined to move on, her completely decimated heart be damned.

***

At 1:12PM on that ninth afternoon Becca snuck back to the locker room and sent him another text,

Please let me know you’re okay.

She huffed as she shoved her phone deep into her coat pocket, ready to go on lunch and wallow in her misery.

For the last seven days Becca hadn’t worn a lick of makeup. She couldn’t bring herself to keep up appearances. Anyone could see the cracks through her painted face, so what’s the point in putting all the effort into it? She wore the bags under her eyes proudly a reminder that, albeit everything, she’s still alive and capable of thriving. Her greasy brown hair was pulled back in a haphazard bun and baby strands flying carelessly around her forehead, she hadn’t felt like washing it in a few days. Her eyes were dull. Nothing really sparked the fire in them anymore. No one was pushing her to reach past her potential anymore.

I can’t wait to spend all day in bed tomorrow. Maybe I’ll actually take a relaxing bath…

“Ah, Dr. Lao!” she heard the chipper and lively voice of Naveen call a few feet ahead of her. She looked up from her fixated gaze on the stark white linoleum and to the old doctor bounding happily towards her with his cane. “How are you?”

“I’m fine, thank you for asking,” she responded trying not to meet his inquisitive eyes. “How have you been?”

The question was simple enough. It was obligatory small talk in most circles however here and now they held a deeper meaning. Rebecca couldn’t have been the only one taking His departure roughly.

“Hanging in there,” he told her honestly with newly darkened eyes, and she gave him a sad smile back. Naveen extended an olive branch to the only other person that would understand, “Would you care to join me for lunch?”

“I’d like that, yeah.”

“Wonderful,” he beamed “I’ll meet you in the atrium in 15 minutes?”

Beca forced a small smile, “It’s a date.”

Naveen and Becca sat at a table at one of his favorite local Indian restaurants near the hospital. During the fifteen minute drive over, the man raved about the chutney and how the family-run establishment was one of the only ones with a proper heat meter - “not like conservative dishes you’d find at chains”.

The two pleasantly spoke of their last few days as if they were two lifelong friends despite only knowing one another for a few months. Once the waiter brought over their meals she finally let herself ask the question causing hives at the back of her neck, “Have you heard from him?”

Naveen moved the rice around his plate to mix with his lamb curry and took a deep breath; he knew this was coming.

“He sent me an email once he got there,” he said as evenly as he could manage. “I’m sure he’s fine. Ethan’s tough.” Naveen wished he could ease the woes he’s seen pass the young resident’s features ever since that day of the announcement. But his loyalty towards his makeshift son outweighed conflict in his heart. There was a reason Ethan didn’t tell her and I must respect it. However misplaced. With a slight smile he tried to reassure her instead, “Surely enough, no matter his rank, he would have taken control and whipped everyone into shape. He’ll be back home to us soon enough.”

Email? She didn’t think of that… God, He is an old man.

Her attention was fixed on the salad in front of her, pushing the leaves one over the other. “I jus -” There were so many questions she needed answers to. If anyone knew Him well enough to help her speculate his motives it would be his most dearest friend. Her voice was small as she continued, “Why didn’t he tell me?” It took a lot of strength to keep her voice from cracking.

Her stormy eyes finally lifted to meet warm brown. The deep marks of age on his dark brown features arched downwards in sympathy. He set his fork down by his plate and dabbed the corners of his mouth, preparing to ease the mind of this doleful girl.

“He told me he applied the moment he quit but didn’t expect to hear back. It was a wishful thought; he never would be able to stay retired long. We have that in common, him and I. As for why he didn’t tell you I can only speculate.” The older doctor tried to keep his features impartial and failed. “The boy has a one track mind sometimes; when he puts his mind to it nothing will stop him until he’s reached the desired outcome.”

She’s seen Him exhibit that kind of behavior before and gave Naveen a sad smile back in recognition.

Naveen reached across the table to cover her hand with his. “He’s been through a lot in life and hasn’t always been the best with feelings. But when you know him long enough, and get to know his expressions, it’s easy to see something...” the Chief of Medicine chose his words carefully, “intimate has become of you two.”

Normally Becca would have scoffed at the insinuation, but now she just couldn’t bring herself to react. Naveen’s words were settling in - she knew He had scars from his childhood that he didn’t dare talk about. She knew He was closed off and an acquired taste. And she knew Naveen was half-right.

Sadly she replied, “I don’t think there’s anything between us.”

Naveen didn’t want to argue, he could see through the broken girl in front of him and his heart ached for them both.

Rightfully he changed the subject, “Are you working on any exciting cases?”

“Not as exciting as they are unfortunate,” she shrugged, picking at the salad. “I have a young girl with leukemia and a patient on dialysis with pneumonia. I’m not sure either of them will pull through.”

“If you need any help, I’m only a page away.” His gaze cascaded a sense of comforting warmth over her. “You’re not just my grandmentee, you’re family.”

She was happy to have Naveen in her corner but couldn’t help wondering if the offer was conditionally tied to him.

“Thank you.”

“Thank you for joining me,” Naveen acknowledged, “I say we make this a routine thing!”

For the first time in a long time the corners of her lips perked up, “I’d like that.”

That evening she sent him an email;

Hey,

I know you’re kicking ass down there (you know I mean the outbreak, please don’t punch anyone!), but I hope you’re being safe. I had lunch with Naveen today, he’s really worried about you. We miss you. Please please please let us know you’re okay. I’m still mad at you for leaving but I’ll forgive you if you just please talk to me. If I did something wrong, I’m sorry. I just want to know that you’re alive and well. Even if you don’t want to talk to me, please keep Naveen updated.

See you soon,

R x

***

“Roo-mie Bar Crawl. Roo-mie Bar Crawl.” Sienna chanted from the middle of their living room. The gang was all dressed up and ready to let loose after a really harrowing week on the job.

Becca hadn’t contacted Him since that first and last email three days ago. She made her peace with it. After days of trying, a deep conversation with Naveen, and receiving absolutely nothing in return for her efforts, she settled on the assumption that He was ghosting her. Her heart ached but she didn’t want to let the heartbreak consume her. Instead she’d find other distractions.

Those distractions came in the form of Rafael, Bryce, and Sienna. Each friend mended a different part of her tattered heart. Sienna took care of her by way of baked goods, forcing her to talk about her feelings and retail therapy - Becca needed a bit of mothering in these last few days, especially since she didn’t have a close relationship with her birth mother. Bryce was her feel-good companion, he’d take her out for a drink or an excursion, anything he could possibly do to have her smile reach her eyes once again. Lastly, Rafael helped take care of her intimately - although he’s been M.I.A. the last week…

The group congregated in their shared living room, ready to go. Becca sat on the sofa next to Bryce as he helped lace up her heels. Sienna chanted once again and everyone cheered a response. Once more Elijah listed off items and everyone patted their pockets and their bags. Phone? Check. Wallet? Check. ID? Check.

“Is Raf not coming?” Becca asked as they paraded through the hallway.

“No, he’s got plans with his girlfriend,” Jackie said matter-of-factly.

Becca's footsteps fell behind her friend ever so slightly. What!?

“Really? When’d that happen?”

Jackie retorted like it wasn’t the most important bit of information, “I don’t know, recently?”

“She’s his childhood sweetheart,” Kyra piped in. “Just moved back and they’ve been on a few dates. Very romantic.”

Becca bit her lip, “Yeah… good for them.”

There were so many questions racing through her mind. They had just slept together for the fifth and seemingly final time less than 2 weeks ago. Was Becca the other woman? No matter the questions there’s just one thing Becca couldn’t shake;

I’ve gone and thrown myself at another man who doesn’t want me.

She was determined to have a good time regardless of the mountain of rejection forming at her core. Good thing alcohol’s the best medicine… She was prepared to spend the next few hours looming in her chaos, choosing reckless behavior instead of facing her feelings.

***

The group pregamed at Donohues for happy hour, choosing to spend their most coherent of hours in a familiar place. They downed 2-for-1 tequila shots each and played a round of darts until the board began to move. Becca did all she could to keep from staring at the empty far corner of the bar. Every time she did she took another shot.

Then the residents made their way to a dive bar for cheap drinks. It was a small hole-in-the-wall place with not enough space for the large group. Bryce and Kyra went in to grab the first and only round bringing it out to the side of the building where everyone else was waiting. The sun had now fully set and the group was getting cold. To warm up Jackie suggested they chugged.

Fifteen minutes later they ended up at a sports bar and grabbed some quick grub. Elijah was drawn to the TV playing a game Becca couldn’t care less about. Her and Bryce shared a plate of nachos and a double cheeseburger with onion rings. Sienna gave a side eye at how close her two friends were becoming. After the third bar the group started to fan out, Aurora and Kyra headed home needing a solid seven hours of sleep to be functional.

Feeling the buzz and forgetting about Raf, they powered on! On their way to the club the group passed an Irish pub with music blasting. They accepted the inevitable detour and danced in the middle of the floor to the house fiddle band. Everyone had one drink before Sienna, Jackie and Elijah bowed out afterwards overcome with exhaustion.

The last two troops gave one another a devious smirk and headed to the club arm in arm.

Bryce and Becca held off on drinks feeling full of life from the last few rounds and put off by the elite pricing. He grabbed her hand and led her onto the technicolor floor. They danced and danced to song after song. Occasionally she’d turn around and he'd hold her flush to his chest. The sensation releasing copious amounts of serotonin and oxytocin.

At one point she was sandwiched between Bryce and another hopeless stranger. It seemed the two men wanted to outlast the other. She found the determined glimmer in her friend’s eye so amusing. Becca turned away from the poor stranger and back to Bryce, the two men calling a silent truce. He raised his eyebrows and she mouthed “stay”. He moved in closer and kissed her temple causing the nameless hopeful to storm away.

They stayed. They danced. They drank.

Bryce leaned over to speak into her ear, “That guys totally checking you out.”

She cocked her head to see a dark skinned stranger in well-tailored clothes eyeing them.

“Maybe he’s checking you out,” she sneered.

Bryce’s contagious and magnificent smile lit up his face, “He’s definitely trying to figure out if we’re together.”

She made a show of rolling her eyes.

Pointing over his shoulder he said, “I’m gonna go get us another round.”

The mystery stranger used that as an opportunity.

“Hey,” his tenor voice smooth and unconflicted.

The stranger wasn’t much taller than Becca. He had dark olive skin, enchanting amber eyes, a buzz cut which is so different from her type - she liked a man with locks she could latch on to. His shallow beard accented his chiseled jaw. He wore a navy blue v-neck that drew the attention to the defined muscles beneath. He was a small man compared to those she surrounded herself with, and was a stark contrast to what she was attracted to. And maybe, just maybe he could help her forget for a minute.

“Hey,” Becca said back, scanning the crowd over the man’s shoulder for Bryce’s return.

Before she knew it she was bumped in the back and tumbling towards the handsome stranger. Bryce was the culprit walking hand in hand with another girl he picked up at the bar as he shot his friend an encouraging wink.

The stranger nodded over to Bryce’s retreating form, “Looks like you’ve been dumped.”

“I’ve been abandoned by my friend,” she clarified. Becca’s eyes locked with the olive strangers and shrugged, “Guess I’m in the market for some company.”

He raised his eyebrows and they both moved to close the distance, letting the air around them take control. His thin hand moved to her waist while one of hers laid to rest on his taut forearm. They moved in unison. She kissed the stranger fiercely for what felt like hours in the middle of the club, their tongues battling for dominance. His left hand trailed up to her hair and the right settled on the skin at the small of her back to keep her flush to him. When they came up for air he asked Becca to go home with him.

Without hesitation she said she’d meet him at the bar in five.

Sitting in the dirty bathroom she couldn’t believe what she was doing. She was intoxicated, alone and willing to go home with just about anyone that would give her the time of day? No. She was stronger than this. She shouldn’t succumb to this. She wasn’t desperate enough to do this.

But the alcohol took over.

She regretted the decision immediately.

After all this time she never expected a response.

First with a text, Are you ok?

Why now? She thought as she stood in the dingy bathroom watching the notification flash over her lockscreen.

She fled.

Becca shoved her phone deep in her pocket and retreated back to the commotion as fast she could. She scanned the room briefly looking for Bryce but spotted the stranger moving onto his next conquest. She reached the base of the stairs, her phone incessantly vibrating. She pulled it out to see the same message sent a second time. Against her better judgment she typed back;

Not at all.

Within seconds, flashing across the phone screen was the name she longed for.

Incoming: Ethan Ramsey

She didn’t have a chance to say anything as she made her way outdoors before he asked in a low and stoic voice, “Where are you?”

“Where are you?”

“Rebecca…”

She wanted to hang up so badly. But his voice… How she missed his voice. And he was there. He sees her messages - he called because he cares. Well that’s what she told herself. Why else would he finally respond after all these days?

Her words were caught in her throat - she had so many things she wanted to say to him - to ask him, but nothing came out. She was rendered mute between the embarrassment and opportunity.

“Becca are you still there?”

She had to open and close her mouth a few times before the words manifested on her tongue. “Right where… you left me,” she whispered more to herself than anything.

He left. He left me.

The two ex-lovers were silent, the load of everything she’s had to bottle up finally taking its toll and Becca started to sob. All of the feelings she’d tried to box away and shrug off came crashing down. Ethan Ramsey broke her heart. He let her into his world outside of Edenbrook and vice versa. She let herself fall for him and it became detrimental, a derailment to every hope she started residency with.

Another person she considered close had betrayed her.

Another man had disappointed and abandoned her.

Becca never talked much about her past, gently refusing to confront the heartache her father caused her, what Landry had done to her, how Rafael avoided her and how her idol, her mentor and lover abandoned her. The culmination broke her.

She dropped to the curb, her vision impared by her tears. She let her face fall in her left hand and clutched the phone in her right to her ear. One word kept running through her mind as she completely fell apart on a dim Boston street at an ungodly hour of the evening, praying that the son-of-a-bitch on the other end of the line would put her at ease;

Pathetic.

“Bec-”

She hung up the phone.

________________________________________

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamreads @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @perriewinklenerdie @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations @heauxplesslydevoted @schnitzelbutterfingers @purpledragonturtles @ramseyandrys @ermidc @mrsdrakewalkerblog @doilooklikeiknow @overwhelminglyaquarius @drethanramslay

#open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart #choices fanfic #choices oph2 #ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey x mc #bryce lahela x mc #bryce lahela #oph #oph ff #ff

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tricktster · 6 years ago

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Honestly, I cannot say enough about my german study abroad program, in no small part because the people i met through it were the wildest bunch i have ever met. We had:

Me, a cursed American stumbling through increasingly unlikely and unfortunate situations, including:

getting arrested and hauled off in a cop car for the serious crime of not transcribing the five digit number printed on the back of my bus ticket onto the front of my bus ticket

slipping on dog poop on a crowded street while running late for class (leading a number of tourists to run over and photograph me in my undignified heap on the cobblestones) only to suffer one final indignity when i had to leave my poop shoe out in the hall outside the classroom, and subsequently discovered after class that it had been (correctly) identified as garbage by the custodian, and had been disposed of

spending the entire month of November with essentially no money after a bank error caused me to be cut off from my US checking account, thereby forcing me to figure out how to survive by my wits alone in a series of schemes, cons, and 1€ sausages

burning my thumb so badly on an oven in an attempt to make the world’s worst stuffing for the world’s saddest expat thanksgiving that my friends all had an intervention where they gave me a single black glove to wear because it was grossing them all out.

Enough about me. There were also my closest friends:

L , a horrendously wealthy New Englander who would drop lines in her stories like “so we were all smoking opium in my parents library,” and, “so every time my room gets too dirty, i just move to the next one down until the whole wing is filthy.” In spite of everything I’ve just said, she was also a genuinely good and incredibly fearless person who would throw fists without hesitation if she thought anyone was insulting her friends. She had a weird sexual relationship with her obscenely wealthy family friend in Frankfurt, which the rest of us suspected maybe been part of a business deal that their parents arranged at birth. It was better than Game of Thrones, honestly.

Y, a four foot tall Puerto Rican that I met when we were both walking down the street kind of near each other and some wild impulse called me to say to her, without so much as an introduction, “Yeah, you walk pretty cool, but if you wanna walk REAL cool, you gotta do it like thissssss,” while kinda lunging around. Just as inexplicably, she chose to continue talking to me, and several months later the two of us ended up making a harrowing 2:00 am escape from the private bar of a frat house that we had suddenly noticed had an awful lot of Nazi memorabilia on the walls for a frat located in a country that had criminalized the display of Nazi symbols. “Why are you leaving?” The frat-nazis complained as we bolted. “You will come back tomorrow afternoon for the barbecue, ja?” “Ahahhahaha nein fucking way, motherfucker,” Y muttered under her breath as we smiled and nodded politely all the way out the private garden, through the enormous iron gates, and out into the night. Once we were in the clear, we stared at each other, shaken, until Y broke the silence. “Welp. Those guys were Nazis. That actually just happened. I can’t.... man, I dunno, i’m still processing, let’s just go get some fucking falafel.”

We did.

S, the Australian, who one time invited me over to her apartment, opened the fridge, grabbed a plate of cheese, shoved it under my nose while going “HERE SMELL THIS!” and while i lurched away, gagging, cheerfully added “IT’S REALLY FOUL, RIGHT? ONE OF THE WOST THINGS I’VE EVER SMELLED!!” She was also absolutely obsessed with High School Musical, and was very disappointed every time the Americans shattered one of her illusions about the US public school system.

K, the girl from New Zealand, who had broken up with her serious boyfriend shortly before leaving for Germany, causing her to mourn his loss every time she got drunk by describing his penis with increasingly strange metaphors, such as “like a big wax candle but part of it’s gone,” and “like one leg off a spider.”

So, i had a pretty solid crew of five big weirdos. But there were, naturally, more people than the five of us in our program. For example:

R, from Minnesota, who dressed like she was about 72 and glared at anyone who was laughing too loudly near her because “i just don’t think jokes are funny.” More importantly, she would post facebook videos of herself reciting, entirely sincerely and in a steady monotone, the worst fucking poems that I have ever heard. She posted them under a pen name that was along the same lines as “the lyrical falcon.” She was in a feud with not one but two poetry clubs at her christian college, and while she never admitted this, all evidence suggested that it was because they both kicked her out. She was the Tommy Wisseau of poems. They were so bad they looped back around to good. Also, one time on the train she told me that she liked to think that she was a very good kisser because she played the french horn so she had strong mouth muscles. when i finally recovered from the mortal blow that she just delivered my soul, I asked her if she blew into people when she kissed them, and she got so insulted that she blocked me from her facebook poetry page. let me back in, R. please, if you’re reading this, let me back in.

They’re good poems, R.

Zoolander, from Pennsylvania, who was so, so handsome, but so, so, so dumb. One time he told me about this dream he had, and it was just an entire episode of Dexter’s lab. No changes or anything, he just... dreamed that he was watching that episode, and then the whole thing played in his head until it was done. He said it was the best dream he’d ever had. I once watched him pick up the same coin off the street four times because he couldn’t figure out that his pocket had a hole in it. When he noticed me, he said excitedly “Somebody left money everywhere!”

Juan, who constantly confused all the kids from Spain who went up to talk to him in their native tongue, only to discover that he was a very sarcastic man from Liverpool who didn’t speak a word of Spanish and was sick of everyone trying to bond with him. He only liked the Americans, because that’s where the tv show Family Guy was from, and only the Americans liked him, because we tend to like surly british assholes for basically no reason. At the end of the program while we were all saying our goodbyes, he came up to me, looking really upset. “I can’t believe it,” He said, uncharacteristically serious. “I can’t believe it’s all over and i’ll never...” He looked like he was about to cry.

“Oh, dude, we can keep in touch on facebook or something?” I fumbled. He blinked.

“What? No, no, ugh, it’s just the last day of the program and I’ve LOST MY FOOKIN SCARF!” he roared.

God, I know this is weird, but I still really miss that guy.

The Croatian: There was a dude from Croatia in my apartment building who outright refused to tell me his name, because, “It’s an embarrassing word in English. You’d laugh.” I badgered him for five months, until finally, his defenses down, after many earnest promises that no matter what his name was, I would not laugh, he relented.

“My name is Tin.” He said sheepishly.

His name was fucking Tin.

Beardy, Beardo, Redbeard, and Weirdbeard: four drastically different young men from all across our beautiful planet who had one thing in common: thinking that they’d try out a beard while they were abroad. We always admired them from a distance, and compared their beards’ various unique and bad properties, until one day Beardy (who was australian and had developed a sort of flesh colored goatee) walked up to S, his countryman, in a club. “DO YOU WANT TO DANCE?” he yelled, trying to get her attention, but she was in a dance-off with K, and didn’t notice, so he tapped her shoulder. She whirled around, startled, and upon recognizing him, said without thinking, “OH, HI BEARDY!”

The song faded out.

Beardy stared at S.

“...Did you just call me ‘Beardy?’” he asked quietly. S looked like a deer in the headlights. She glanced towards me, hoping for an out, but I, dear reader, was laughing too hard to be of any use.

“You did,” he went on, “you called me ‘Beardy!’ Why!?”

“Cuz of your beard, probably. That’s a better name for you than Josh.” Zoolander interjected from out of nowhere, strolling out of the club, a beautiful woman on each arm.

“My name isn’t Josh...” Beardy tried to call after him.

“Who’s name isn’t Josh? Oh! Beardy!” A drunk K could be heard deducing from the back of the room.

He shaved it a week later, but the damage was done. He was Beardy for the rest of the semester.

When I look back on that period of my life now, I can’t help but reflect - with the clarity one only gets from experience - that my time in Germany was not as weird as I thought it was at the time. I lacked the perspective to see that it was all, actually, absolutely bonkers batshit nuts. It was some sitcom shit.

All in all, I highly recommend it.

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cover2covermom · 5 years ago

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Goodbye April & hello May!

I can see the light at the end of the tunnel & I’m running toward it…

April seemed to drag on despite the days flying by. Does that even make sense? Like I’ve mentioned before, my days are filled with homeschooling, home projects, mask making, and reading. I’ve been doing my best to fill my hours to ease the COVID-19 anxiety.

I received the notification that I will be returning to work next week, which was welcome news. I’m ready to get back a little bit of normalcy in my life. Thankfully, our library system is reopening in phases. Our first phase will be employees only (3-5 employees in the building at one time) and offering curb-side service to our patrons. As of now, we will not open our doors to the public until June 1st at the earliest. At that point in time, we will be limiting the number of patrons allowed in the building. It is definitely going to be a learning curve to see what my new work normal is going to entail. I’m looking forward to adapting & rising to the occasion.

» Be Not Far From Me by Mindy McGinnis

As per usual, Mindy McGinnis puts out another harrowing YA book. I love survival stories, so I enjoyed this story about a girl that has gotten lost in the woods. Be Not Far From Me was uncomfortable to read at certain points.

» Here in the Real World by Sara Pennypacker

*3.5 Stars*

This was a sweet story about two kids that form a friendship while hanging around an abandoned lot. The first half of this book didn’t grab me and moved far too slowly. I enjoyed the second half of this book a lot better than the first half.

» Keeper of Lost Cities (Keeper of the Lost Cities #1) by Shannon Messenger

An awesome MG fantasy! I cannot wait to continue on with this series. I’d recommend this to fans of Harry Potter.

» Separation Anxiety by Laura Zigman

*2.75 Stars*

I read this for one of my book clubs. I think the author was attempting to write a book that would charm readers with eccentric characters & a humorous plotline, but don’t think it delivered. Instead of being funny, the story felt odd & forced.

» A Wolf Called Wander by Rosanne Parry

I think the author did a tremendous job writing a book from a wolf’s perspective. You can tell the author did extensive research into wolves & their behaviors. While I think this animal perspective was very well done, I didn’t think the plotline was all that entertaining.

» The Wonderful Wizard of Oz (Oz #1) by L. Frank Baum

I’ve decided to challenge myself to read more children’s classics in 2020. To kick start this challenge, I started with The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. This was a delightful read! I was surprised to learn that the slippers were actually silver instead of ruby red… mind blown!

» SHOUT by Laurie Halse Anderson

This is a must read for fans of Laurie Halse Anderson’s Speak. While you don’t HAVE to read Speak to read SHOUT, I feel like it makes a bigger impact if you read Speak prior to this. If you didn’t know, SHOUT is Anderson’s memoir told in verse.

» Loveboat, Taipei (Loveboat, Taipei #1) by Abigail Hing Wen

*4.5 Stars*

This is a guilty pleasure type of read. Actually, it reminded me a bit of Crazy Rich Asians a bit. It is a tad racy for a YA book… So I’d probably recommend for older YA readers that are 16+

» Exile (Keeper of the Lost Cities #2) by Shannon Messenger

I am LOVING this MG fantasy series. While these books are a bit chunky, don’t let the page count deter you. I flew through the first two books in this series this month. Also, I’m happy to report that this second installment does NOT suffer from “second book syndrome.”

» Nooks & Crannies by Jessica Lawson

Nooks & Crannies is an excellent MG historical mystery. Some of the elements of this story gave me Matilda mixed with A Series of Unfortunate Events vibes. The audiobook is well narrated.

» The Penderwicks (The Penderwicks #1) by Jeanne Birdsall

This is the perfect book to pick up during the summer months. It really gave me modern Little Women crossed with The Secret Garden vibes. The ending was so heartwarming it almost brought me to tears.

Goodreads Challenge Update: 46 books!

*I know it says 47, but I finished The Last (Endling #1) on May 1st*

March 2020 Reading & Blogging Wrap-Up

April 2020 TBR

Childhood Classics 2020: TBR

Most Anticipated Books of 2020 (May – December)

Mini Book Reviews: April 2020 – Part 1

Mini Book Reviews: April 2020 – Part 2

If you were ever curious what a bookworm’s quarantine stress shopping spree looks like, here you go…

» The Guinevere Deception (Camelot Rising #1) by Kiersten White

There was nothing in the world as magical and terrifying as a girl.

Princess Guinevere has come to Camelot to wed a stranger: the charismatic King Arthur. With magic clawing at the kingdom’s borders, the great wizard Merlin conjured a solution–send in Guinevere to be Arthur’s wife . . . and his protector from those who want to see the young king’s idyllic city fail. The catch? Guinevere’s real name–and her true identity–is a secret. She is a changeling, a girl who has given up everything to protect Camelot.

To keep Arthur safe, Guinevere must navigate a court in which the old–including Arthur’s own family–demand things continue as they have been, and the new–those drawn by the dream of Camelot–fight for a better way to live. And always, in the green hearts of forests and the black depths of lakes, magic lies in wait to reclaim the land. Arthur’s knights believe they are strong enough to face any threat, but Guinevere knows it will take more than swords to keep Camelot free.

Deadly jousts, duplicitous knights, and forbidden romances are nothing compared to the greatest threat of all: the girl with the long black hair, riding on horseback through the dark woods toward Arthur. Because when your whole existence is a lie, how can you trust even yourself?

» Song for a Whale by Lynne Kelly

The story of a deaf girl’s connection to a whale whose song can’t be heard by his species, and the journey she takes to help him.

From fixing the class computer to repairing old radios, twelve-year-old Iris is a tech genius. But she’s the only deaf person in her school, so people often treat her like she’s not very smart. If you’ve ever felt like no one was listening to you, then you know how hard that can be.

When she learns about Blue 55, a real whale who is unable to speak to other whales, Iris understands how he must feel. Then she has an idea: she should invent a way to “sing” to him! But he’s three thousand miles away. How will she play her song for him?

» Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik

Miryem is the daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders, but her father’s inability to collect his debts has left his family on the edge of poverty–until Miryem takes matters into her own hands. Hardening her heart, the young woman sets out to claim what is owed and soon gains a reputation for being able to turn silver into gold.

When an ill-advised boast draws the attention of the king of the Staryk–grim fey creatures who seem more ice than flesh–Miryem’s fate, and that of two kingdoms, will be forever altered. Set an impossible challenge by the nameless king, Miryem unwittingly spins a web that draws in a peasant girl, Wanda, and the unhappy daughter of a local lord who plots to wed his child to the dashing young tsar.

But Tsar Mirnatius is not what he seems. And the secret he hides threatens to consume the lands of humans and Staryk alike. Torn between deadly choices, Miryem and her two unlikely allies embark on a desperate quest that will take them to the limits of sacrifice, power, and love.

Channeling the vibrant heart of myth and fairy tale, Spinning Silver weaves a multilayered, magical tapestry that readers will want to return to again and again.

» Girls Like Us by Randi Pink

Set in the summer of 1972, this moving YA historical novel is narrated by teen girls from different backgrounds with one thing in common: Each girl is dealing with pregnancy. Four teenage girls. Four different stories. What they all have in common is that they’re dealing with unplanned pregnancies.

In rural Georgia, Izella is wise beyond her years, but burdened with the responsibility of her older sister, Ola, who has found out she’s pregnant. Their young neighbor, Missippi, is also pregnant, but doesn’t fully understand the extent of her predicament. When her father sends her to Chicago to give birth, she meets the final narrator, Susan, who is white and the daughter of an anti-choice senator.

Randi Pink masterfully weaves four lives into a larger story – as timely as ever – about a woman’s right to choose her future.

» The Island of the Sea Women by Lisa See

Set on the Korean island of Jeju, The Island of Sea Women follows Mi-ja and Young-sook, two girls from very different backgrounds, as they begin working in the sea with their village’s all-female diving collective. Over many decades—through the Japanese colonialism of the 1930s and 1940s, World War II, the Korean War, and the era of cellphones and wet suits for the women divers—Mi-ja and Young-sook develop the closest of bonds. Nevertheless, their differences are impossible to ignore: Mi-ja is the daughter of a Japanese collaborator, forever marking her, and Young-sook was born into a long line of haenyeo and will inherit her mother’s position leading the divers. After hundreds of dives and years of friendship, forces outside their control will push their relationship to the breaking point.

This beautiful, thoughtful novel illuminates a unique and unforgettable culture, one where the women are in charge, engaging in dangerous physical work, and the men take care of the children. A classic Lisa See story—one of women’s friendships and the larger forces that shape them—The Island of Sea Women introduces readers to the fierce female divers of Jeju Island and the dramatic history that shaped their lives.

» The Weight of Our Sky by Hanna Alkaf

A music-loving teen with OCD does everything she can to find her way back to her mother during the historic race riots in 1969 Kuala Lumpur, Malaysia, in this heart-pounding literary debut.

Melati Ahmad looks like your typical moviegoing, Beatles-obsessed sixteen-year-old. Unlike most other sixteen-year-olds though, Mel also believes that she harbors a djinn inside her, one who threatens her with horrific images of her mother’s death unless she adheres to an elaborate ritual of counting and tapping to keep him satisfied.

But there are things that Melati can’t protect her mother from. On the evening of May 13th, 1969, racial tensions in her home city of Kuala Lumpur boil over. The Chinese and Malays are at war, and Mel and her mother become separated by a city in flames.

With a 24-hour curfew in place and all lines of communication down, it will take the help of a Chinese boy named Vincent and all of the courage and grit in Melati’s arsenal to overcome the violence on the streets, her own prejudices, and her djinn’s surging power to make it back to the one person she can’t risk losing.

» Escape from Aleppo by N.H. Senzai

Nadia’s family is forced to flee their home in Aleppo, Syria, when the Arab Spring sparks a civil war in this timely coming-of-age novel from award-winning author N.H. Senzai.

Silver and gold balloons. A birthday cake covered in pink roses. A new dress.

Nadia stands at the center of attention in her parents’ elegant dining room. This is the best day of my life, she thinks. Everyone is about to sing “Happy Birthday,” when her uncle calls from the living room, “Baba, brothers, you need to see this.” Reluctantly, she follows her family into the other room. On TV, a reporter stands near an overturned vegetable cart on a dusty street. Beside it is a mound of smoldering ashes. The reporter explains that a vegetable vendor in the city of Tunis burned himself alive, protesting corrupt government officials who have been harassing his business. Nadia frowns.

It is December 17, 2010: Nadia’s twelfth birthday and the beginning of the Arab Spring. Soon anti-government protests erupt across the Middle East and, one by one, countries are thrown into turmoil. As civil war flares in Syria and bombs fall across Nadia’s home city of Aleppo, her family decides to flee to safety. Inspired by current events, this novel sheds light on the complicated situation in Syria that has led to an international refugee crisis, and tells the story of one girl’s journey to safety.

» The Two Princesses of Bamarre (The Two Princesses of Bamarre #1) by Gail Carson Levine

Twelve-year-old Addie admires her older sister Meryl, who aspires to rid the kingdom of Bamarre of gryphons, specters, and ogres. Addie, on the other hand, is fearful even of spiders and depends on Meryl for courage and protection. Waving her sword Bloodbiter, the older girl declaims in the garden from the heroic epic of Drualt to a thrilled audience of Addie, their governess, and the young sorcerer Rhys.

But when Meryl falls ill with the dreaded Gray Death, Addie must gather her courage and set off alone on a quest to find the cure and save her beloved sister. Addie takes the seven-league boots and magic spyglass left to her by her mother and the enchanted tablecloth and cloak given to her by Rhys – along with a shy declaration of his love. She prevails in encounters with tricky specters (spiders too) and outwits a wickedly personable dragon in adventures touched with romance and a bittersweet ending.

» The Lost Kingdom of Bamarre (The Two Princesses of Bamarre 0.5) by Gail Carson Levine

In this compelling and thought-provoking fantasy set in the world of The Two Princesses of Bamarre, Newbery Honor-winning author Gail Carson Levine introduces a spirited heroine who must overcome deeply rooted prejudice—including her own—to heal her broken country.

Peregrine strives to be the Latki ideal—and to impress her parents: affectionate Lord Tove, who despises only the Bamarre, and stern Lady Klausine. Perry runs the fastest, speaks her mind, and doesn’t give much thought to the castle’s Bamarre servants, who she knows to be weak and cowardly. The Lakti always wage war, and the battlefield will give her the chance to show her valor.

But just as she’s about to join her father on the front lines, she is visited by the fairy Halina, who reveals that Perry isn’t Latki-born. She is a Bamarre. The fairy issues a daunting challenge: against the Lakti might, free her people from tyranny.

» A Crack in the Sea by H.M. Bouwman

An enchanting historical fantasy adventure perfect for fans of Thanhha Lai’s Newbery Honor-winning Inside Out and Back Again No one comes to the Second World on purpose. The doorway between worlds opens only when least expected. The Raft King is desperate to change that by finding the doorway that will finally take him and the people of Raftworld back home. To do it, he needs Pip, a young boy with an incredible gift—he can speak to fish; and the Raft King is not above kidnapping to get what he wants. Pip’s sister Kinchen, though, is determined to rescue her brother and foil the Raft King’s plans. This is but the first of three extraordinary stories that collide on the high seas of the Second World. The second story takes us back to the beginning: Venus and Swimmer are twins captured aboard a slave ship bound for Jamaica in 1781. They save themselves and others from a life of enslavement with a risky, magical plan—one that leads them from the shark-infested waters of the first world to the second. Pip and Kinchen will hear all about them before their own story is said and done. So will Thanh and his sister Sang, who we meet in 1976 on a small boat as they try to escape post-war Vietnam. But after a storm and a pirate attack, they’re not sure they’ll ever see shore again. What brings these three sets of siblings together on an adventure of a lifetime is a little magic, helpful sea monsters and that very special portal, A Crack in the Sea.

» The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

A bizarre chain of events begins when sixteen unlikely people gather for the reading of Samuel W. Westing’s will. And though no one knows why the eccentric, game-loving millionaire has chosen a virtual stranger—and a possible murderer—to inherit his vast fortune, one thing’s for sure: Sam Westing may be dead … but that won’t stop him from playing one last game!

» Ballet Shoes (Shoes #1) by Noel Streatfeild

Pauline, Petrova and Posy are orphans determined to help out their new family by joining the Children’s Academy of Dancing and Stage Training. But when they vow to make a name for themselves, they have no idea it’s going to be such hard work! They launch themselves into the world of show business, complete with working papers, the glare of the spotlight, and practice, practice, practice! Pauline is destined for the movies. Posy is a born dancer. But practical Petrova finds she’d rather pilot a plane than perform a pirouette. Each girl must find the courage to follow her dream.

» Wishtree by Katherine Applegate

Trees can’t tell jokes, but they can certainly tell stories. . . .

Red is an oak tree who is many rings old. Red is the neighborhood “wishtree”—people write their wishes on pieces of cloth and tie them to Red’s branches. Along with her crow friend Bongo and other animals who seek refuge in Red’s hollows, this “wishtree” watches over the neighborhood.

You might say Red has seen it all. Until a new family moves in. Not everyone is welcoming, and Red’s experiences as a wishtree are more important than ever.

» The Library of Ever (The Library of Ever #1) by Zeno Alexander

With her parents off traveling the globe, Lenora is bored, bored, bored–until she discovers a secret doorway in the library and becomes its newly appointed Fourth Assistant Apprentice Librarian.

In her new job, Lenora finds herself helping future civilizations figure out the date, relocates lost penguins, uncovers the city with the longest name on Earth, and more in a quest to help patrons. But there are sinister forces at work that want to destroy all knowledge. To save the library, Lenora will have to test her limits and uncover secrets hidden among its shelves.

» Chains (Seeds of America #1) by Laurie Halse Anderson

As the Revolutionary War begins, thirteen-year-old Isabel wages her own fight…for freedom. Promised freedom upon the death of their owner, she and her sister, Ruth, in a cruel twist of fate become the property of a malicious New York City couple, the Locktons, who have no sympathy for the American Revolution and even less for Ruth and Isabel. When Isabel meets Curzon, a slave with ties to the Patriots, he encourages her to spy on her owners, who know details of British plans for invasion. She is reluctant at first, but when the unthinkable happens to Ruth, Isabel realizes her loyalty is available to the bidder who can provide her with freedom.

From acclaimed author Laurie Halse Anderson comes this compelling, impeccably researched novel that shows the lengths we can go to cast off our chains, both physical and spiritual.

» The Girl Who Drank the Moon by Kelly Barnhill

Every year, the people of the Protectorate leave a baby as an offering to the witch who lives in the forest. They hope this sacrifice will keep her from terrorizing their town. But the witch in the forest, Xan, is kind and gentle. She shares her home with a wise Swamp Monster named Glerk and a Perfectly Tiny Dragon, Fyrian. Xan rescues the abandoned children and deliver them to welcoming families on the other side of the forest, nourishing the babies with starlight on the journey.

One year, Xan accidentally feeds a baby moonlight instead of starlight, filling the ordinary child with extraordinary magic. Xan decides she must raise this enmagicked girl, whom she calls Luna, as her own. To keep young Luna safe from her own unwieldy power, Xan locks her magic deep inside her. When Luna approaches her thirteenth birthday, her magic begins to emerge on schedule–but Xan is far away. Meanwhile, a young man from the Protectorate is determined to free his people by killing the witch. Soon, it is up to Luna to protect those who have protected her–even if it means the end of the loving, safe world she’s always known.

The acclaimed author of The Witch’s Boy has created another epic coming-of-age fairy tale destined to become a modern classic.

Which books did you read in April?

Have you read any of the books I read or hauled this month? If so, what did you think?

Did you buy any books? If so, which ones?

Comment below & let me know 🙂

April 2020 Reading & Blogging Wrap-Up + Book Haul #BookBlogger #Bookworm #Bibliophile #BookHaul #Reading #Books #WrapUp Goodbye April & hello May! I can see the light at the end of the tunnel & I'm running toward it...

#Bibliophile #book blog #book blogger #Book Chat #Book Haul #Book Nerd #Book Talk #Book Worm #Bookish #Books #Bookworm #Reading #Wrap Up

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millieswickedbooks · 6 years ago

Text

the somewhat tragic story of georgie’s savior - chapter three

CHAPTER THREE: bowers, burgers and b-what in the actual fuck is happening?

(3/?)

previous chapter || masterlist || next chapter >>

pairing: Loser’s Club x black!OC (platonic), Pennywise x black!OC (NOT ROMANTIC AT ALL)

WARNINGS: PENNYWISE, the Bowers’ gang, racism, racial slurs, LGBT+ related slurs, sexual harassment, harassment, bullying, DESCRIPTIVE CHILD ABUSE, bruises, wounds, blood, puke, some disgusting food description, snakes, chase scene, nightmares, swearing

word count: 7,955

~~~~~

EXTENDED WARNING:

THIS CHAPTER WILL HAVE A SCENE THAT DESCRIBES CHILD ABUSE

SLIGHT SPOILER: IT WILL BEGIN WHEN JORDYN GETS HOME

!!! PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION !!!

~~~~~

☹

Previously:

After taking a peek into her mind, and saw it as a gold mine of fears. Behind the ‘brave’ act this girl put up was a messed up, scared little girl. What if making her even more scared, made her taste even better? IT laughed, knowing that he would have a lot of fun with her. She had no idea that that summer, which was rapidly approaching, would be a memorable yet harrowing one.

☹

Eight months later…

THE BELL HAD JUST RUNG meaning that Hell would let its tortured souls have a three-month break. That’s right; school is out. Summer has officially begun and the halls are now flooded with hundreds of loud and excited teenagers, who have been waiting for this day since the first day of school. One of those hundreds people being Jordyn.

Jordyn sighed as she walked through the crowded and loud hall, immediately getting irritated with the fact that she has only been out in the hall for five seconds and she has already bumped into six people. She never used her locker throughout the school year so she was able to skip that hassle walk right to the doors.

She walked out and felt the sun on her skin, and she sort of basked in it. She sighed and remembered that today, she would be babysitting Bill. She scanned the yard full of kids, searching for him and his friends, which she knew he would be with. After walking a bit, she managed to find Bill and she made her way over to him. And she was correct, he was accompanied by Stan, Richie, and Eddie. They were standing near the trash can, their bags empty and in the middle of a conversation so they didn’t notice her coming towards them.

“Is that how you wanna spend your summer?” Jordyn heard Eddie ask, who was looking at Richie. “Inside an arcade?” She remembered Richie talking about this new game he wanted to beat really badly. What was it called again? Oh. Street Fighter!

Jordyn wasn’t a big fan of video games but she listened to Richie talk on and on about them because she knew he was very passionate about them and she simply amazed at how much he liked them.

“Beats spending it inside your mother, oooh!” Richie quickly retorted and he lifted his hand up to accept a high-five from Stan, to which the unamused Stan quickly rejected by grabbing Richie’s arm and bringing it down. Jordyn rolled her eyes at Richie’s comment, silently laughing on the inside but she would never admit that.

“What if we go to the Quarry?” Stan suggested.

“G-guys, we were g-going to th-the woods tomorrow, r-rem-remember?” Bill said. The boys nodded, remembering that they promised Bill they would join him in the hunt to find the animal that attacked Georgie. It was silent for a moment and at that very moment, Jordyn had finally reached the boys, who still hadn’t noticed her.

“Hey guys,” she announced herself, causing all four of the boys to turn and look at her. They all smiled when they realized it was Jordyn.

“Hey, J-Jordyn,” Bill said, happy to see his brother’s savior. Ever since she had saved Georgie and been babysitting him and Georgie, he had grown very fond of the girl. Despite the fact that he hated the idea of having a babysitter at his age, he couldn’t hate Jordyn. He loved having her around, she made him feel as if he had a friend over instead of babysitting him and his brother.

Jordyn smiled at him and then at the other three boys, who, in return, murmured ‘hi’ s, and she wondered why they were acting so off. She soon realized that Eddie, Richie, Stan, and now Bill, were staring at her body. She blushed, tucking a strand of her curly hair behind her hair, feeling slightly self-conscious.

Today, she decided to actually clean up a little bit, make herself more presentable. She was wearing a white crop top that showed off her stomach and a light blue denim jacket. She paired it with a light blue denim mini-skirt that complimented her long, dark legs and a pair of black converse. In the boys’ eyes, the top… really— really— complimented her chest.

Eddie was slightly blushing at being caught staring there while Stan’s eyes were definitely checking out her legs. Bill’s eyes were wide, just taking her appearance and Richie just whistled. The boys, deep down, were still shocked that after all this time, a cute sophomore like Jordyn would even hang out with them. To them, Jordyn was absolutely gorgeous, and the fact that she had such a big heart and saved Georgie, only augmented her looks. Richie was the first to speak up about her attire.

“Damn, Jordyn! Remind me why do you hide that hot bod every day again?” Richie joked, winking at her. Jordyn just rolled her eyes at him, smiling slightly, ignoring his comment.

“Got any plans for later on today?” She asked, knowing that she would stick with them for the entire afternoon until the curfew, because of babysitting duties and whatnot.

“Nothing really but tomorrow we will be taking a nice trip down to the forest for our regularly scheduled hunt–!” Richie started to explain but he never finished because he was abruptly interrupted by Eddie.

“Beep beep Richie!” Stan quickly told him but it was too late. They all stared at Jordyn, knowing what she was about to say.

They knew she would end up going with them tomorrow because she would have to watch Bill, but they knew Jordyn was super against hunting for the animal that attacked her and Georgie.

She never really talked about what happened that day in full detail, even though just about everyone knew she could recite the whole thing as if it happened yesterday. The four boys knew the whole ordeal was mostly likely traumatizing all together, so they never mentioned the hunting in front of her. They watched as Jordyn’s face went from confused and curious to conflicted in a matter of seconds and they all felt bad, thinking they had reopened old wounds for her.

She knew Bill was almost hell-bent on catching this ‘animal’ he thought attacked Georgie and it worried her. He told her that she had inspired him, he wanted to save other people like she did with Georgie. But he wanted a bigger impact, he wanted to stop animal altogether so the kids wouldn’t stop going missing by the dozens like they were at the moment. He wanted to catch the animal so they could live in Derry in peace. Jordyn tried to change his mind and warn him as much as possible how fucking dangerous that shit was but Bill is stubborn as hell.

She worried that whatever the thing she saw in the sewer or at the hospital would end up getting him or one of his friends and she would be at fault, it’s her lie. It would cost them their life.

The clown-thing eyes flashed in her mind and she shuddered.

“Are you guys seriously going after that animal?” Jordyn asked, knowing very well that she would not like the answer to her question. The boys nodded slowly and she sighed, knowing she wouldn’t be able to convince them not to. “Ugh, you guys are so infuriating. But there’s nothing I can do. Make sure you all have weapons and calamine.”

The boys felt relieved at her reaction and a smile was plastered on Bill’s face. He was happy to have Jordyn on board.

“Guys, look…” Eddie said, looking off to the side. “Betty Ripsom’s mom.” They all turned in the direction where he was looking and Jordyn saw a distressed pale, white lady in a light green dress. Her hair was dark and curly and she had tears brimming her eyes as she frantically looked for any sign of her missing daughter, like as if the girl would be here.

The sight made Jordyn’s heart feel like it was breaking. She felt for the woman, the loss of a child must be… unbearable. And right behind the mother was two police officers, one being Henry Bowers’ father.

She got shivers down her spine as she made eye contact with the man. He glared at her, his eyes trying to project how much he hated the girl. She quickly looked away, turning back to the group.

“Is she really expecting to see her coming out of school?” Stan asked, confused by Betty’s mother’s actions.

“Stan, the lady is desperate. Just look at her… imagine being in her shoes. I’d be looking just about anywhere too if I was her,” Jordyn explained, trying to get Stanley to understand. The boy nodded at her, now getting why the lady was acting so weird.

“But still, it’s not like Betty Ripsom has been hiding in HomeEc for the last three weeks,” Eddie said, still not getting why the mother choose probably the least likely place to search for her missing daughter.

“Do you think they’ll actually find her?” Stan asked genuinely and Jordyn wanted to nod and be optimistic but something deep down told her “absolutely not” .

“Sure,” Richie replied. “In a ditch, all decomposed, covered in worms and maggots, smelling like Eddie’s mom’s underwear,” he finished, trying to lighten the mood, in such a bad way. Jordyn grimaced at the joke and at the godforsaken image that just came to life in her mind.

“Shut up, that’s fricking disgusting…” Eddie retaliated, making a face at Richie’s inappropriate comment.

“Okay, enough talk about missing kids,” Jordyn broke in, not wanting to talk about the topic anymore since it increased the guilt she held within her. “It’s totally killing my summer vibe right now. Since you guys aren’t going anywhere right now, how about burgers? On me?”

“On y-you?” Bill asked, knowing that that would be a lot of money.

“Yeah, your dad paid me extra because I successfully taught Georgie how to divide, I did all your chores, and I cleaned the bathroom,” Jordyn recounted. “Annddd I found $20 on my way to lunch today!” She happily finished, pulling the $20 out of her pocket, to show the boy she wasn’t lying.

The boys looked shocked and smiled at her, all happy about going out to eat. As she tried to put the bill back in her pocket, it slipped from her hands and fell to the ground… next to a $10 bill! Damn, this day got eighty times better.

“Holy shit, a $10 bill! Now we’re getting dessert! Let’s go and actually talk about how tomorrow is gonna go down. Just because I’m allowing you to go doesn’t mean we’re gonna go in all willy-nilly and fuck around in the woods,” Jordyn informed the boys in what she liked to call her ‘Mom Voice’, as she shoved the cash into her pocket and turned around to begin walking away from the school.

Stan, Bill, Richie, and Eddie stood there, still shocked that she just found more money but they soon began to walk with her. Bill and Eddie sped up to walk in front of Jordyn, while Richie and Stan stayed behind her.

“I’m glad Jordyn’s actually coming with us for once. You know, Jordyn, the forest isn’t that bad. There’s nothing better than having your shoes smell like lake water and having a poison ivy rash on your ankles and knees,” Richie joked, nudging her shoulder.

“Poison ivy is my favorite!” Jordyn sarcastically confessed, joining in on the joke almost at once. “Thank God I was actually invited this time, it’s been my lifelong dream to rub poison ivy on every inch of my hot bod while you guys watch me.”

Jordyn never really thought herself to be a hilarious person like Richie but she knew she could be funny at times, so she felt kind of embarrassed when she expected to hear a couple of laughs or another joke in response from Richie but she heard none of that. Instead, all she heard was a couple of grunts and the sound of a body hitting the ground.

She turned around to see what happened and saw that Richie and Stan were currently on the floor and in front of her, and quite close to her might she add, was the one and only Demon Bowers. And he was smirking evilly at her.

She didn’t have any time to react to his presence because she was quickly shoved to the side by him and she stumbled into someone’s arms. A pair of lanky arms. She looked around and saw Henry standing in front of Richie and Stan’s fallen bodies, behind Eddie and Bill, who had just turned around after hearing the commotion, Belch was behind Eddie and Victor standing near Stan’s head. Meaning that there’s only one answer to who was holding her. Jordyn tensed up as the arms wrapped tighter around her waist, bringing her closer to his body.

“You wanted to rub what exactly all over your hot bod?” Patrick asked, his menacing smirk making her feel dirty all over.

“Get off of me–” Jordyn spit out but Patrick interrupted her, his hot breath making her gag.

“I have a couple of ideas in mind of what you can do to that hot body. All of them involving me,” He suggested disgustingly, leaning down to smell her conditioned curly hair and her perfume. His pupils were blown wide with lust as he stared at her. Jordyn struggled against his hold but his grip became painful and she had to stop, a whimper of pain escaping her throat.

Stan, Richie, Eddie, and Bill were all watching them from their own various troubling positions and they all felt sick to their stomachs at Patrick’s comments. Richie on the other hand, felt as if he couldn’t just stand there and watch that happen. Bowers and his dickheads could harass him and his friends all they wanted but he drew the line at Jordyn. He went to stand up but Bowers pushed him back down.

“Don’t even try it,” Henry warned him, somehow making Richie hate him even more. Beside them, Victor saw Stan trying to reach for his fallen kippah and he quickly grabbed it, waving it out of reach for the Jewish boy.

“Give that back!” Stan pleaded angrily, looking irritated as he tried to reach for it from the ground but, no, Victor was just having too much fun. Of course he wasn’t going to give that stupid hat back to that stupid kid.

“No, I’d much rather play frisbee,” Victor commented bluntly, giving Stan a rude look as he flung the kippah onto the moving bus that just drove down the road and past them.

‘What a fucking dick,’ Jordyn thought. The blond boy was probably proud of himself as he walked away, smirking his whole way towards the parking lot.

Belch then decided it was his time to shine as he burped right into Eddie’s face, causing the boy to gag. Jordyn tried to get out of Patrick’s grip once again, feeling the need to defend the younger boys swell in her chest.

Bill watched as she failed once again. He too was disgusted at how Patrick was acting towards Jordyn and he was about to go do something when Henry began to walk away from the group, bumping roughly into Bill’s shoulder to get past him.

Patrick got to pinch Jordyn’s arm, causing her to yelp, and inhaled her scent before letting her go, following Henry and Belch. Jordyn shivered as the tall boy winked at her while checking her out and licking his lips. She now regretted putting on the outfit.

Bill was fed up. And he was about to say something. While Richie helped Stan get up behind them, Bill spoke up.

“Y-you s-s-s-su-su-suck, Bowers!”

“Shut up, Billy!” Eddie frantically blurted out, not wanting any more trouble with the rather terrifying older boys. Yet the three boys turned around upon hearing the stuttering boy’s insult, all three of them actually surprise the boy had the balls to stand up to them, but they made sure not to show it on their faces.

“Y-you s-s-suh-suh-say something? B-B-B-Buh-Buh-Billy?” Henry falsely-stuttered out, mocking Bill’s disorder. Belch and Patrick both found this highly amusing, both of them laughing. This angered Jordyn to end. She wanted to rip a chunk of the boy’s ugly, greasy ass mullet out his mostly likely dandruff-and-lice-infected scalp. He continued his taunting.

“You,” and then he turned towards Jordyn, “and you, got free rides because of Stuttering Billy’s brother. You guys had so much attention on yourselves, if anyone laid a hand on any of you, especially you, Miss Savior of Derry, the town would riot. But guess what,” As Henry got closer to Bill, Jordyn was subconsciously getting closer too. She didn’t like where this was going. “Free rides over.”

Henry had taken another step closer to Bill and Jordyn had finally decided enough was enough. In a quick movement, Jordyn stood in front of Bill, shoving Henry back. He stumbled back a little bit and it took a while to process what just happened. Once he realized what had happened, he moved forward, his hand raised in a fist, aiming at Jordyn. Richie and Bill went to grab Jordyn, to move her out of the way of Henry’s wrath. But before the hit could land, Jordyn called out.

“Your father’s right there!” She had no idea why she felt the need to say that but it obviously worked since that triggered something in the mullet boy, making him freeze.

Silence fell over the two groups. Patrick and Belch looked at Jordyn, in shock and waiting, not knowing what to expect was going to happen next. Meanwhile, Eddie, Richie, Stan and Bill were confused as to what Jordyn was planning, yet they knew whatever she was doing was working. Henry looked over at his father and something like fear flashed before his eyes. She continued. “I wonder how he would feel about you putting your hands on the oldest Denbrough’s son. At school. Where everyone was watching.”

Henry looked torn. He didn’t know how Jordyn had figured his fear of his father but he wanted to kill her for it. But he knew she was right, there would be hell to pay at home if he did anything to them out here in here in open. The boy huffed angrily.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” the boy tried to quickly cover up and Jordyn almost smiled. “But I sure do know that he would love to watch me beat you to a pulp. He might care for those f*rries but not for you, n*gger. This summer is gonna be a hurt train, for you and your f*ggot friends. Don’t think that hanging out with them will save you. Watch your back.”

And with that, the three bullies walked away, going towards their car and speeding off down the road, most likely on their way to find a new victim to harass and assault.

Jordyn, Eddie, Bill, Richie, and Stan stood there, subconsciously huddling together as they watched their tormentors drive off and then everyone kind of let out a breath they didn’t know they were holding in.

“I wish he’d go missing,” Richie spoke up from her left and Jordyn sighed, feeling the same way.

“Yeah, so does every child in this fucking town,” she commented, rolling her eyes as she adjusted herself, feeling appetite vanish after dealing with Patrick’s grubby hands. She absolutely despised the boy.

“He’s probably the one doing it,” Eddie claimed, looking at the group and Jordyn shook her head, knowing that his dumbass wouldn’t be able to hide all those bodies.

“Whatever, let’s go, I’m starving,” Jordyn murmured, knowing the boys could hear her and began to walk away from the scene. Even though she lied to them, she hoped maybe smelling the food or seeing it would reawaken the dead appetite within her. She didn’t need to look back to know her boys were following behind, them not wanting to be there anymore either, thanks to Bowers.

☹

They stopped at Georgie’s elementary school before going out to eat, picking up Georgie who was waiting for them. His face lit up when he caught sight of Jordyn and her friends. His happiness brought joy to her heart. He ran over and hugged her tightly and took her hand as they began to walk away from the school. She didn’t think the boy could get any happier but then she told him that they were going out to eat and it was like watching a ball of energy burst into flames.

Once the group got to the diner, everything was fine. Like Jordyn had hoped, the sight of food brought the joy back into the group that had been snatched away and stomped on by the Bowers and his minions.

They all ate burgers and drank their milkshakes happily, cracking jokes here and there, laughing loudly and enjoying each others company.

They were so distracted enjoying each other’s company that no one saw the red balloon just outside the window a few feet behind them.

☹

After hanging out with her boys for a while around town—thank god it was Bowers-free—and then dropping Richie, Stan and Eddie off at their homes, Jordyn had gone with Bill and Georgie to their house. She wanted to hang out at the Denbrough’s house for a bit until the curfew came around, which was usually when Mr. and Mrs. Denbrough came home and when she was able to go home. She hugged Bill, kissed Georgie’s forehead and bid the family adieu as she made her way home.

When Jordyn had gotten home, she didn’t like the feeling of dread that filled her stomach, making it feel heavier than it already was with the burger she had eaten earlier. Had she done something wrong? Curfew didn’t start until a couple of minutes from now…

She shook her head, walking up her porch and into her house, quietly shutting the door behind her. The room was dark so she had to be careful so she wouldn’t bump into anything. But what she wasn’t expecting was the loud voice of her father screeching at her.

“Where the FUCK have you been?!” Isaiah roared out in anger at his daughter, which caused Jordyn to flinch so hard, she fell backwards in utter shock and fear, bumping into something on the way down. The sound of something crashing and breaking accompanies the light being turned on, finally allowing Jordyn to see.

And the sight caused her muscles to contract in fear. Her father was standing a couple of feet away, seething with rage. She turned to see what she had bumped into and she felt her heart drop. She had accidentally bumped into the end table, which knocked the picture of her father and her mother hugging and smiling at the camera over. The glass was cracked and some parts of it even fell out, glass all haphazardly splayed all over the ground beside the end table. Also, the golden frame was broken, which was a frame that Mama had gotten custom-made for that picture.

Jordyn looked over and saw her father looking over at the broken picture and she closed her eyes, trying to prepare herself for what was about to happen as the fear settled deep within her gut.

“Jordyn, Jordyn, Jordyn…” Isaiah started in a low voice and Jordyn cringed, knowing exactly what she was in for. ”First you come home late, nearly past curfew might I add and now… you… you fucking broke your mother’s frame? Is that correct? Because if it isn't, please correct me.”

“Dad–” Jordyn began, trying to get her apology out, knowing that explaining she hadn’t meant to break it wouldn’t work with him. But Isaiah was not having any of it.

“DID I SAY YOU COULD SPEAK?! HUH?! DID I SAY THAT, LIL’ BITCH?!” Isaiah bellowed at her, running at her and grabbing her forcefully by her biceps. He had a bruising grip on her arms as he shook her violently. Jordyn brought her forearms up, her hands feebly in front of her face as a way to protect her in some way. She was cowering, turning her face away from Isaiah’s mouth, not wanting to feel the brute intensity of hate that was coming out of her father’s mouth head-on.

“Dad, I did'n–” She tried to explain, looking forward at her father, deciding to abandon the ‘just take the blame and apologize’ route. She wanted to get away from him as fast as possible. But Isaiah cut her off once again, this time he brought his hand down on her face, slapping her hard.

Jordyn didn’t feel the slap at first—since he hit her that hard—she just suddenly realized she wasn’t looking at him anymore. After a couple of seconds of Jordyn blinking, trying to focus her blurry eyesight, she felt her cheek get warm as the blood rushed to the spot he had hit. The stinging sensation was very much present there in the cheek as she heard her father bellow at her once again.

“SHUT YOUR FUCKING MOUTH! I bet you were out there with those little white boys doing God knows fucking what. Is that why you’re always late, you fucking slut?” Isaiah accused and Jordyn shook her head, tears rapidly falling down her cheeks. “Because you’re letting those boys use you and when one is done with you, they pass you on to the other one? Is that what you do out there, get passed around like some fucking sex doll all fucking day?!”

“No Dad, they’re just my friends! I swear!”

“You lying fucking bitch… and after all that sinning you doin’, you have the audacity to come show your face here and you barely get here and you’re already fucking this place up like you do with every-fucking-thing!” Isaiah screamed right into Jordyn’s face, spit landing on her cheek and chin. She cringed again and tried to get out his painful grip but he wasn’t letting up. “You ruin everything, you hear me?! EVERYTHING! You ruined your body, you ruined your mother, you ruined our marriage, you ruin everything!”

Isaiah punched Jordyn in the jaw, causing her to fall back just by the sheer force of the punch. Isaiah was a large man, he was 6’4 and one-hundred-ninety-one pounds of pure muscle. Jordyn, on the other hand, was 5’3 and weighed one-hundred-eight pounds. And she certainly didn’t work out.

From her position on the ground, Jordyn saw her father raise his leg and she winced, as she laid there as the man repeatedly kicked her stomach.

Unbeknownst to the father and the child, a pair of glowing yellow eyes watched from the corners of the room. IT stood there, watching the father as he grabbed the girl’s hair and drag her as she screamed and cried out in pain. He had a huge smirk on his face as he watched the abuse unfold right before his very eyes.

‘Interesting…’ He thought to himself as he sniffed the air, the fear and pain in the air caused him to let out a groan in satisfaction. ‘This is good.’

☹

Jordyn sat in the bathroom, dabbing the small and scattered wounds on her right shoulder and arm with warm water. At some point during the beating, Isaiah pushed her and she fell out the glass from the broken picture frame.

After she pulled several pieces of glass out, she rinsed the cuts with mild soap and warm water and was now trying to get the bleeding to stop by applying pressure over several areas at the same time. It was working but slowly.

Jordyn sighed as she looked at the bruise on her jaw in the mirror and she rolled her eyes, already trying to come up with her excuse. She sighed and painfully stood up, her ribs protesting highly at the movement.

She didn’t need to lift her shirt up to know that there was a bruise there but she did anyway. And ‘lo and behold, thereupon her brown skin, was an enormous bruise from Isaiah’s kicks. While flashbacks played in her head of her father’s abuse, Jordyn shivered in fear.

The feeling of tears rolling down her cheeks is what snapped her out of her trance.

Jordyn stared at herself as she watched the tears that were falling down her face. She felt something stirring deep within her and she couldn’t understand it at first. But she soon recognized it was anger. She was angry, so angry she could feel her hands shaking, her jaw clenching and her chest, neck, and ears getting warm with the flush that was creeping up to them. The longer she stared, the angrier she got. Angry with herself. For allowing her father to make her cry. She knew he couldn’t exactly see her but this to her, still felt he was winning in a sick way.

“Stop,” Jordyn told herself in a shaky voice as she kept glaring at herself in the mirror, irately wiping the tears away. “Stop fucking crying.”

Another tear slipped out and Jordyn swiftly wiped it away just like had done with the others. She shook her head and took a deep breath, pushing her sadness deep down her like she always did after these things. She bottled it all up, not wanting to deal with her… issues or feelings afterwards.

Jordyn decided to distract herself by fixing her hair for sleep since she was already in the bathroom. She dampened her hair and proceeded to use a comb to detangle it with some Detangle Aid!—she always used to see her mom use it for her hair and Jordyn was fascinated by her mother’s lacquered, kinky hair, so she would always buy it for herself.

After successfully detangling her hair, she parted into sections and beginning to do four dutch braids.

With aching arms muscles—and aching everywhere else—and now sporting four neat and firm dutch braids on her head—she does this nearly every night, it would be shocking if she wasn’t a pro at braiding—Jordyn silently walked out of the bathroom. She tip-toed to the kitchen downstairs, not wanting to wake her father and have to endure what she just went through once again. Once was already way more than enough.

She grabbed the frozen peas from the freezer and made her way upstairs to her room, stopping in the hallway closet to get a small towel as well.

Once she was inside her room, Jordyn gently closed the door behind her and sighed, as she changed out of her clothes carefully, not wanting to irritate her ribs further. She threw on a light gray top and some black plaid pajama shorts and turned on her fan and walked over to her bed and carefully tucked herself in.

Once she was comfortable—well, as comfortable as one could after what just happened to her—under her warm and heavy comforter, Jordyn laid the peas on the towel and put it on her stomach, the weight of the peas on her tender bruise hurt, producing a gasp of pain from her. But the coldness sent shivers down her spine. She knew by morning the peas would be melted and would’ve soaked her shirt so that's why she got the towel.

Jordyn was very exhausted so it didn’t take her long to fall asleep, which she did happily, she was tired of many things, like tired of being awake. She was tired of living in this house, tired of dealing with her father’s anger issues, tired of missing her mother, tired of dealing with Bowers and his goons, tired of this childhood she was forced to live in. She was tired of Derry.

She was tired of living.

So Jordyn closed her eyes, letting all the tiredness drift her off into unconsciousness, praying that whoever was above would have some mercy on her soul and grant her wish of not waking up the next morning.

Not so surprisingly, Jordyn wasn’t lying about being tired at all, because she was so tired, she didn’t even see the red balloon just outside of her window.

☹

The smell of syrupy pancakes and eggs almost immediately woke Jordyn up. She sat up in her bed, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and saw that it was morning already, so she should probably get ready to go hunting with Bill and others soon.

But after getting another waft of that delicious food, she couldn’t even stop herself from getting up and out of bed and walking to the kitchen. When she got downstairs she froze at the sight. Her father was wearing an apron and cooking. Something that he doesn’t do—well not anymore, since her mother went missing.

Jordyn felt uneasy suddenly, not understanding what was going on but what she does understand is everything in her body screaming her to GET AWAY but she doesn't understand why it's telling her that. It all seems so nice though. It was just like old times, when her Mom was still there.

“Hi, sweetheart, you sleep well?” Isaiah asked as he continued to cook the eggs on the hot pan. He didn’t need to look at her for her to hear the smile in his voice, the smile she missed seeing so deeply—he doesn’t do it anymore.

“Yeah, I did, Isa–Dad,” Jordyn corrected herself as she looked at her father, cooking just like old times. She couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on her face if she wanted to.

“Why don’t you sit down and wait for breakfast, yeah? I’m almost done,” Her father told her and Jordyn scrunched her eyebrows in confusion; he hasn’t turned to look at her, how can he see that she is standing? Her father spoke up once again. “I said sit down.”

His voice made her hair stand on end as she was taken back to times she didn’t want to remember. She quickly sat down at the table to upset him any further.

As she sat there, she heard a noise from her right and she looked over, seeing… something… scurry out of sight into a rather large hole in their dining room. Since when were there holes or animals in their house? She heard something else make some noise from her left and she turned to look and she couldn’t explain what she saw before it ran off. It was long, slimy-looking, bleeding and… decaying. Jordyn could see the stain it left behind from its slimy skin—actually everything it had touched was turning a blotchy gray-black color. It was spreading throughout the room.

‘Wait…’ Jordyn thought to herself as she soon realized that everything was too bright and… saturated. It was starting to give her a headache.

“Dad… do we have animals in the house?” Jordyn found herself asking as she rubbed her eyes, trying to have her eyes adjust to the unusual brightness.

“Yeah, I bought something earlier today, decided you would totally want to see it,” Her father informed her as his whole body twitched, his eyes never leaving the now burning food in front of him. Jordyn still hadn’t seen his face yet.

“Dad, why is it loose in the house? What is it?” Jordyn questioned her father further, eyes wide as the rot neared the kitchen further and further. It had absorbed just about everything but the room they were currently in but it was getting there steadily.

Jordyn watched as chunks of their decayed house began to fall apart from behind her. She tried to get up but she found rope wrapped around her arms, legs, and torso, holding her down and not letting her get up from her chair. She felt her breath become more rapid and she struggled to get out, everything becoming too scary and confusing for her to handle.

She heard the creature scurrying around once again and she flinched at the sound—it was getting closer.

“Don’t worry about that, how’s your food, darling?” Her father asked her and she looked down in front of her and saw what her father had cooked. She gagged at the sight.

It was a huge plate of what Jordyn could only make out as puke and undigested food. And it had fucking giant maggots wiggling around in it. There was hair, bloody toenails, mold, bloody eyeballs, and what looked like octopus legs all wiggling around on the plate, causing everything to make a wet, squelch-y noise. And not to mention that all over were just-hatched baby chicks and they were squealing and squawking loudly and painfully, but that all ended when blood suddenly came pouring out of their tiny eyes and mouths. The birds, now dead, slouched forward and their blood began to mix into the rest of the disgusting mush on the plate.

And to top it off, it smelled like straight horse-shit and it was making Jordyn was gagging so hard that her throat hurt.

“Dad…” She managed to spit out in a whimper but her father cut her off.

“JORDYN!” He roared out and Jordyn flinched, trying to hide but she was still tied to the chair. The rope was now painfully tighter and Jordyn could feel her skin nearly splitting from how tight it was now. She let out a whine of pain as the room suddenly got dark. The decay had reached them, it had engulfed the whole house, everything, absolutely everything.

Jordyn heard her father breathing heavy and she looked over to see him looking right at her. And she couldn’t believe what she was looking at.

Her father’s eyes were black. Like all black. Like ‘demonic possession’ black. And he has these red lines painted on his face, coming out of the corners of his mouth and going up to his eyes, over them and just a couple inches above his eyebrows.

‘Where have I seen that before?’ Jordyn thought to herself, her eyebrows scrunching up in confusion as she looked at her father with wide, scared eyes. But before Jordyn could think further, her father spoke up once again, but it was different this time. Jordyn didn’t know what exactly was happening but she could hear his voice as it neared the end of his sentence. It became all distorted and weird, his voice becoming something else… something so familiar.

Jordyn gasped as she slowly began to figure out who was standing before her, and it wasn’t her father like she had thought it was. Was it that fucking thing from the sewers?

“You have been causing such a ruckus out of this stupid pet thing, you haven’t even said hi to your mother who has been sitting beside you this entire time, now go on, say hi Jojo-Bear,” Not-father told her as his face began to warp and… melt?

‘Mom?’ Jordyn thought to herself. She wanted to turn and look but everything in her told her not to.

‘It’s fucking a trick,’ she thought to herself. ‘The clown is doing this to you, so wake up! It’s a fucking dream!’

“Jordyn…” She heard from beside her and she gasped at the sound of her mother’s voice, so clear and so close to her. Was she really there? Jordyn, after fighting with herself, sucked in a breath and turned around and she immediately regretted it.

Beside Jordyn was her mother, so the thing was not lying but it was different. Her eyes were gouged out with blood spilling out of the holes in her head and her skin was decomposed, her skin blue and gray and her mouth black like tar.

“ WAKE UP! ” Her mother screeched out, her voice loud and powerful, like a sonic boom that gave Jordyn a sense of control of this situation. Her mouth was opened and Jordyn could see the creature that was crawling around the house in there, just sitting in her mother’s mouth and threatening her with its glowing yellow eyes.

But Jordyn knew better. This isn’t real.

And just as the creature jumped out to attack her, Jordyn closed her eyes and simply told herself; ‘Wake up.’

And she did. But not it was not where she expected.

☹

Jordyn gasped as she sat up, not feeling her comfortable bed under her body. She was covered in a cold sweat as she looked around and realized that she, in fact, wasn’t in bed, or her room, or even her house. She was outside, literally. She was laying in the middle of the road and it was dark. She looked down and saw the pajamas she had put on before she went to bed and she had a throbbing pain all over her body.

‘My bruises…’ She thought to herself as she carefully stood up, looking around to see where she was and to figure out exactly how she got there.

‘Did I sleepwalk? I must’ve. There’s no other way I would’ve gotten here if it wasn’t that… That’s weird though. I’ve never sleepwalked before…’ Jordyn thought to herself as she rubbed her arms up and down her bare arms. Couldn’t she have grabbed a coat first before she sleepwalked all the way out here?

While she was looking around she saw a house that she realized looked familiar and she felt grateful to at least be in Derry. She walked over to a street sign, one she had to get closer to read since the darkness was shrouding it almost completely. Once she was close enough, she read the words; ‘Jackson St.’ and she couldn’t stop the gasp that she let out.

She was in fucking Jackson Street? That was at least a good mile from her house. She looked to her left and saw the dreaded sewer opening from eight fucking months ago. The one where that clown thing came out of and snatched Georgie’s arm clean off. She took a couple of steps back from it but it was hard because of this darkness…

Then suddenly, the darkness surrounding her made her hair stand on edge as she realized two things; One, she was out past curfew. If the cops caught her, she would be so ridiculously fucked. Two, the sound of giggling coming from the—the fucking sewer, of fucking course—a couple of feet behind in front of her made her realizeshe wasn’t alone.

Jordyn didn’t even dare look into the sewer to see what was waiting for her. She knew it was that fucking clown. He got into her head and she knows it. Is IT the reason why she is out here? Was IT in her house?

“Jordyn…” His voice completely derailed her anxious thinking. His voice alone sent shivers down her spine. He wasn’t done tormenting her. She was frozen with fear.

“Little baby Jo is scared of the dark isn’t she? Don’t know what could be hiding in there right?” IT commented, his voice now behind her and she didn’t hesitate to book it the fuck out of there, her legs finally deciding to be useful at the moment. She was running as fast as fucking possible in the direction of her house but she had a wholemile left—all she did in Track was the one-hundred meter.

“Im’ma coming Jojie, you can’t escape me!” IT taunted her, and she couldn’t stop the tears from pouring out of her eyes as she ran. When will IT leave her alone… She didn’t think she could continue on like this forever. Despite how fast she was going, the cold air roaring in her ears.

“Stay here and play Jo! You wanna go back home? You wanna go to the house where your father beats you?” IT jibed at her and Jordyn was so shocked at the fact that that thing was in her house she tripped, falling onto the ground hard. “You know you don’t wanna go there, so come with me, where we all float!”

Jordyn tried getting up but she was so out of breath, she thought she would pass out before she could do anything, let alone get up from the ground. She looked down to see what she tripped over and couldn’t even believe what she was looking at.

She had tripped over a turtle.

Like a real-life turtle. Like a living, breathing turtle. A reptile. Literally just standing on the road.

And it was staring at her. Like its’ beady little eyes were staring at her. And she knew it was looking at her because she could… feel it staring at her. Like as if this turtle was somehow staring right into her soul.

Jordyn felt as if she was malfunctioning. Given any other circumstance Jordyn probably would’ve laugh so hard at the weird situation she was in, she probably would’ve ended up crying and pissing herself at the same. But at the moment, Jordyn simply couldn’t wrap her mind around what was happening. Like she simply couldn’t understand the fact that a turtle that small caused her to fall and that she didn’t completely crush it with how recklessly she was running.

‘Running…?’ Jordyn thought to herself, wondering what she was doing before she got here when she remembered the fucking clown.

Jordyn quickly snapped out of the weird trance she was in when she remembered exactly why she was there. She stood up quickly as she looked around for anything, anything that gave away that IT was near but when she saw that the coast was clear, she booked it to her house.

She had already ran a considerable amount when the clown was chasing her so when her house came into view, she nearly collapsed with relief—which was something she never thought she would do since it is her house after all.

She bounded up the steps of her porch and quickly came in, happy that the door was left unlocked. She carefully ran up the steps of the stairs and locked herself in her bedroom.

Jordyn tried to stay up to maybe be able to defend herself if whatever the fuck that thing is came to torment her again but it was 3:47 a.m. and her exhaustion was winning. She convinced herself that IT went to go torment some other innocent child or hopefully get some rest—if whatever the fuck that is even needs it—and she drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

Little did know, right on her porch was the tiny turtle from earlier, standing in front of her house protectively.

The clown, on the other hand, was seething. That fucking turtle had decided to get off its’ lazy ass for once and do something, and completely ruined his plans for Jordyn tonight.

IT wouldn’t have really minded with any other random child but there was something about Jordyn that… IT needed. IT needed to have her. And now was when the turtle decided it would intervene. But he knew why. It’s because the turtle knows something about her, that something is what IT craves about her.

‘The turtle won’t always be there to protect her, ’ IT thought to himself as he slinked away into the shadows, his glowing yellow eyes looking at Jordyn’s house, taking in the decor of the house. It would be a place he would be spending a lot of time in so might as well memorize its features by heart. ‘And when he isn’t there… then she will be mine.’

☹

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