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luxekook · 4 years

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RESPECT ✩ namgi

✩ as part of @btswritingcafe‘s mots: 7 collab ✩

✩ pairing: king namjoon x witch reader x king yoongi

✩ genre: soulmate au, fantasy au, angst, smut, fluff, a sprinkle of crack

✩ summary: in a land where the only openly acceptable magic is intrinsic soulmate bonds, what is a lowly witch to do when she is called upon by not just one king but two?

✩ word count: 7.1k

✩ warnings: 18+, cursing, magic, societal oppression, mention of snakes, reader has hella trust issues, begging, general cheesy fluff, smut [dom!reader, dom!namjoon, switch!yoongi, threesome (duh), throne sex (yuh), yoongi gets taken to paris and then the reader gets double teamed (aka double penetration)]

✩ beta’d by: the MAGNIFICENT phia @meowxyoong

✩ banner by: the ILLUSTRIOUS danica @dee-ehn

Magic danced at your fingertips as you summoned ingredients from the shelves behind you. You had been brewing this potion for hours - a tedious and tumultuous process that always accompanied the crafting of wolfsbane. It was a badly kept secret that you supplied the temporary suppressant along with a variety of other magical remedies, spells, and an occasional curse or two.

There were - of course - limits on what you would provide. You did not take too kindly to townspeople that asked for dark spells or soulmate switches. Your fellow magical and supernatural folk in the kingdom of Meridian were ostracized enough as it was by the majority of the wealthier classes. To add on to your bad reputation would be a foolish endeavor.

Magic - it seemed - was a poor man’s trade. Why would the rich deign to ask for help from lowly witches and warlocks when they had access to the best doctors, the furthest overseas markets, and the fattest bank accounts? The occasional upper class individual would stray from the norm and enter your shop, but that was a rarity. And thank god it was.

The rich and the royals often feared what they did not understand – whether it be foreign powers, lower class revolts, or magical beings. For centuries, supernaturals like yourself clung to the outer rim of the kingdom out of necessity. Some who were able to pass as human lived closer to the castle at the center of the kingdom; but, you had long since lost your cover, choosing to openly use your powers for good and for a source of income.

While the two current rulers had lifted the outright ban on supernaturals and magical beings a few years ago, centuries of prejudice and trepidation could not be quickly unlearned.

It always struck you as ironic how easily the magic of soulmates was accepted, but a simple spell of healing, for example, was not. Perhaps the acceptance of soulmate magic was out of the longevity of its presence or the necessity of its inevitability - perhaps a combination of the two. You were taught from a young age that soulmate bonds felt like a welcomed tether to another person - a connection celebrated and cherished. And, in most cases, that rang true.

However, you knew too much to hope for a soulmate of your own, having heard too many stories from your fellow magic wielders. You knew all too much about the severance of soulmate bonds and the pain that accompanied the process – the pain that never left.

Obviously, you were downright terrified of finding your soulmate and the almost certain rejection that would follow over the mere fact you were a witch. You would stick to your spells and your potions, thank you very much.

Giving the wolfsbane one final stir, you reached for the empty bottle next to your cauldron, only to be interrupted by a thumping knock on the thick wood of your front door. Sighing, you set down the bottle and doused the flames beneath your finished brew with a flick of your hand.

Turning to the door, you cast a quick reveal-spell at the dividing barrier between you and the newcomers. The magic dripped down the door, erasing it from your sight.

Kim Taehyung waited expectantly on the other side, body practically vibrating with anticipation. You rolled your eyes. That boy always carried way too much energy with him. He pounded again on your door. You smirked, it always seemed funny when visitors would continue to knock on what was - for you - an invisible barrier.

You waved the spell away with another wave of your palm. Pulling open the door, you failed to get a word in before you were swept into a giant hug. “(Y/n)!” Taehyung bellowed in your ear while he swung you around.

“Tae,” You wheezed, “Can’t. Breathe.”

The werewolf let you stand on your feet once more. “How is my favorite witch?” He asked, looking at you expectantly.

You sighed, chuckling slightly, “Tae, I’m the only witch you know besides Sinestra, and she scares you.”

Taehyung gasped, “She does not scare me! She’s just mean. She threatened to turn me into a cactus last time I went to her shop!” A pout formed on his face.

“Well,” You cannot resist teasing the boy, “She did say that you were being a prick.”

Taehyung shot you a playful glare and mumbled something about damned witches sticking together.

Deciding to let him off the hook, you headed back over to where the wolfsbane was left waiting to be bottled. “It just finished,” You told Taehyung as he trailed after you. “But, Taehyung, you really should just tell him.”

The reason that Taehyung repressed his wolf each month was none other than his soulmate - a human named Jimin. Tae was terrified of Jimin’s reaction to discovering his supernatural side. You thought his fear was justified, but you also figured that Jimin would be accepting of Tae just from how the werewolf described him.

Besides, it seemed inevitable that Jimin would catch on at some point. And Taehyung seemed to know that, too.

Tae’s shoulders sagged, “I know, (y/n). I’ll think about it.”

With that, you nodded and dropped the subject, pouring the portion of the potion Taehyung needed into a bottle. Capping it tightly, you handed it to him, “Here. Remember to take it with food this time, okay?”

He smiled widely, clutching the bottle close to his chest. “Thank you! I will, (y/n).” Pulling you into one more hug, Taehyung waltzed out the door with a wave.

You smiled wistfully at his departure. So full of life, that one was. You just knew that his soulmate would accept him. You also recognized that you were not like Taehyung. You weren’t as vibrant, as gentle, or as beautiful. Would your soulmate be able to look past all your magic and stay for you? You didn't think so.

Shaking yourself from your negative thoughts, you carefully bottle up the rest of the wolfsbane for your stores. Even though you had long since stopped charging Taehyung, there were other werewolves nearby that you sold the potion to for quite a pretty penny.

You had barely begun to shelve the bottles when another knock sounded at your door. Cracking a wry smile, you yanked the door open, “Tae, what did you forget to tell me this ti—”

The knock had not been from Taehyung. Instead, two palace guards stood there, shoulder to shoulder.

Oh, this was not good. Having any lingering association with the palace would hurt your business. It was always best to deal with potentially hazardous situations quickly. Pulling open the door wider, you stood with hands on your hips, facing the two intruders. They both gaped at you, and you arched an eyebrow at them. “Can I help you, boys?”

You took their continued silence as an opportunity to flick your eyes up and down each of the men before you.

The one on the right looked like he had just passed the guards’ test with his widened doe eyes and his flushed pink cheeks. The one on the left looked slightly older but no less youthful as he seemed to bounce on his toes with energy.

Seconds ticked by until - finally - the second guard exclaimed, “You’re (y/n)? The witch?”

“Last time I checked, yes,” You addressed the guard who had spoken. You dubbed him ‘Happy’. “Were you expecting me to look differently?”

“I heard that you were super old! Like over one hundred years old!” Doe-eyes unhelpfully answered before widening his eyes in panic, “Not that there’s anything wrong with being old! I mean, I love old people! But, not, like, romantically! I mean—”

Happy seemed to notice your mood darkening with each word his partner spewed out. Shoving the younger guard aside, Happy puffed out his chest and announced with pride, “We are members of the Royal Guard sent to escort you to the palace, Miss Witch.”

Doe-eyes nodded swiftly next to him, cowering slightly as you continued to glare at him.

“First of all, please never ever call me ‘Miss Witch’. My name is (y/n),” You uttered, completely unamused, “Second of all, what happens if I refuse your escort?”

The guards slid each other a look.

“Ah, I see,” You murmured, mood darkening even still, “Was there an implied ‘by any means necessary’ tacked on to the end of that sentence that I didn’t hear?”

“She’s a mind reader!” Doe-eyes gasped, leaping behind Happy and peering slightly around his shoulder at you.

You rolled your eyes at the sight of his quivering form, “Calm down, kid. I’m not into non-consensual mind reading.” Shooting the baffled duo a wink, you turned to open your door further. “Please, come in,” You insisted. It was obvious there was no avoiding your summons, but that did not mean your business would suffer.

“But our orders...” Happy failed to follow through with his attempted protest as he practically jumped past you into your little cottage. What an intense curiosity that one had, you mused. Meanwhile, the younger guard seemed more trepidatious, practically tiptoeing across the threshold and into your humble abode.

You shook your head at the way the two palace guards were quickly captivated by your gathered crystals, your worn spellbooks, and your wall of potion ingredients. Swiftly, you shelved the rest of the wolfsbane potion like you had tried to do before being interrupted.

Your clients would have to pick it up themselves. Scrawling a quick note to your fellow witch Sinestra about the recent events just in case, you vanish it to her with a snap of your fingers.

“Whoa,” Two awed voices sounded from behind you.

“It went ‘poof’!” Doe-eyes yelled, tugging on the sleeve of his fellow guard, “Did you see?”

“Do you want to go ‘poof’, too?” You smiled evilly, wiggling your fingers in his direction.

“Ah, hyung! She’s threatening me!”

“Get it together, bro,” Happy rolled his eyes. Turning to address you, he asked expectantly, “Ready to go now, (y/n)?”

“As I’ll ever be,” You muttered, grabbing your cloak from the rack by the door. Ushering the two men out before you, you quickly cast your protective charms on your home. Now, no one besides your most trusted clients should be able to enter.

Satisfied, you trailed behind the guards as they walked over to where their horses were tied to one of the many nearby trees surrounding your cottage. At least they didn't seem to be malicious in their intent. Their backs were to you, either a sign of trust or blatant stupidity. Only time would tell, you guessed.

"You'll ride with me," Happy smiled at you as he held his palm out for you to take. You shrugged, ignoring his hand to mount the horse on your own. "Alright then," The guard muttered as he seated himself behind you, "Let's go."

The journey towards the heart of the kingdom was not one you made often. It was only out of necessity that you sometimes ventured to the more expensive markets for key ingredients. The looming castle always stirred up inexplicable and foreign feelings of longing and fascination. You feared that actually entering it this time would be almost too overwhelming.

As the three of you made your way through the town you lived in, you received some tentative smiles and concerned looks from those in which you interacted with regularly. Visitors from the palace were rarities in these parts of the kingdom. You didn't blame people for being concerned by the guards’ appearance and by your departure with them.

The day wore on as you made your way through village after village, stopping only for a quick lunch. All too soon the palace appeared on the horizon. The looks you received from the townspeople were no longer cordial or concerned. They were full of suspicion and condescension.

You shrugged it off as best you could. You had bigger things to worry about - starting with whatever was waiting for you on the other side of the looming palace gates.

The large engraved metal doors swung open with your approach as Happy and Doe-eyes nodded to the guards posted there. Your breath caught in your throat. The castle was magnificent. The stone structure seemed to shine with a silvery sheen. Large stained glass windows gleamed from the many stories and towers adorning the palace. Vines wound their way up the walls despite the best efforts of the gardeners to stem their growth.

You stifled a laugh as one such gardener attempted to do so, but the vine refused to budge. Maybe there was some magic here after all.

Two other palace guards walked over to where the three of you had come to a stop inside the palace gates. Doe-eyes dismounted first and then offered a hand in your direction. This time, you decided to take the olive branch and accepted his assistance.

“Okay, ready?” Happy nodded at you and pointed towards the castle doors. “Let’s go. We don’t want to keep the kings waiting.”

“Oh, no,” You gasped, slapping a hand to your heart, “That would be a travesty.”

Doe-eye’s mouth quirked at the corners like he had stifled a laugh, while Happy spluttered something about respect. The short walk to the front entrance was much too short for your liking. You felt like you were walking to your doom - and maybe you were. The two guards had given you no clues as to the purpose of your summoning. That was such bullshit.

The heavy gold encrusted front doors creaked open as you approached. The foyer of the palace beckoned to you with that familiar pull. You sighed as you took in the expensive decor. From the shiny marble floors to the heavy purple drapery, you could see yourself living here all too easily. Why did you feel so called to this place? Well, you had always thought of yourself as a queen.

Laughing to yourself, you let yourself be ushered down an adjacent corridor to the right of the foyer. You barely noticed where you were headed since your attention lingered on the gorgeous paintings that lined the walls. You probably should have been more alert because you suddenly found yourself at the cusp of the throne room.

The second you entered the room your attention was captured by the two men lounging on elevated thrones at the focal point of the room. These must be the kings, you mused. You had never seen them in person before, but their reputations preceded them. Your magic surged as you neared the kings. Was there a threat nearby? You shift a glance throughout the wide hall.

Courtesans were scattered amidst large marble columns adorned with intertwining gold and silver accents. The majority of those gathered gaped at you in distaste, while a small handful simply spared a few curious glances. You couldn't spot a single person you knew in the bunch - not that you had expected to - nor could you find a source of outright danger.

Still, your magic thrummed louder within you as you continued on your way towards the kings.

Your heart sank. This was not a reaction based on imminent danger. No, you knew what this was; someone here was your soulmate. And, when your eyes finally landed on the two men who summoned you, you had to choke down the hysterical laugh that bubbled up inside you.

King Yoongi reclined lazily on his ornate silver and black onyx throne, his body lax but his eyes sharp. His laser-focused attention on you made your stomach flip. You held his gaze as best you could, taking in the delicate dark silk of his diamond encrusted tunic and the tousled auburn hair on which his silver crown resided. He was beautiful.

And he was your soulmate.

Could he feel the tether between you? Had he known about it somehow before you did? Was this why were you here?

Your eyes slid over to the right, unable to take the heat of King Yoongi’s gaze; King Namjoon’s curious eyes met yours. Unlike his partner, King Namjoon leaned forwards on his gold and emerald throne, avidly taking you in like you were a subject of study. And perhaps you were… You studied him right back. This king was no less intimidating in his scrutiny than the other. His elbows rested on his knees, his hands steepled in front of his face as he stared you down. The intelligence you saw within the depths of his brown eyes clued you in that this was a king that no one could fool.

And, since fate was clearly a bitch, he was your soulmate, too.

You came to a stop before the kings amidst the sea of murmuring courtiers. “Bow,” Doe-eyes whispered to you, urgently prodding you in the side with his hand. You only stood straighter. You bowed to no one, and you certainly would not bow to your soulmates - no matter their status.

“Leave us.” At King Namjoon’s command, the room emptied. Your two escorts remained behind you. “Hoseok, Jungkook, that includes you,” King Namjoon lifted his chin as he swished a hand in dismissal of the two guards.

“But, sire—”

King Yoongi spoke for the first time, effectively cutting Happy off, “Don’t worry, Hoseok. What can one little witch do to us?”

Oh, you could think of a lot of things. Your thoughts must have been written all over your face because King Namjoon glanced at you and immediately let out a deep chuckle.

Glaring at the two men before you, you decided that one way or another they would learn to respect you. The guards you now knew to be Hoseok and Jungkook exited the room, leaving you alone with the two kings - your two soulmates.

Now, it seemed that you were somehow in a staring contest with both of them at once. Fine, if they didn't want to talk, you would.

“So, nice weather we’re having, huh,” Your tone could not be any drier.

“Indeed,” King Namjoon quirked a half smile, and you realized you might be in over your head as his dimple made its first appearance.

You hated the whole power imbalance thing going on right now - the two of them sitting silently on an elevated platform lording over where you stood. Gathering all your dignity and lack thereof, you placed your hands on your ample hips and raised your eyebrows, “Well? Did you summon me just to stare?”

“No,” King Yoongi drawled, cupping his chin in his hand, “But you are quite delightful to look at, soulmate… That is, if this is your true form.”

You let the backhanded compliment simmer as King Namjoon chastised his partner, shooting him a warning look.

“Ah, yes,” You finally say, swiping at a nonexistent tear, “You’ve caught me. My true form is actually so old that it’s partially decomposed. Ah, silly me. I thought I would spare you from the grotesque monstrosity.”

King Namjoon burst into uproarious laughter. “Yoongi-ah,” He wheezed, “You’ve really met your match this time.”

Opposite him, King Yoongi scowled, “It was a fair question! The last witch that we summoned could shift into an owl.”

“You’ve met Helvetica?” You blinked, thinking of the only witch you knew with that ability, “She’s legendary.” Then, it registered. “Wait, what do you mean she was ‘the last witch you summoned’... Why have you been summoning witches left and right?”

“Isn’t it obvious now?” King Namjoon smiled, “We’ve been looking for you.”

“You see, (y/n),” King Yoongi purred your name, inciting a shiver down your spine, “Namjoon and I are also soulmates.” He gracefully shifted to his feet before walking down the few steps to where you still stood.

Circling you like a shark in water, King Yoongi continued, “But we had been feeling lonely despite our connection. We couldn't figure out why.”

“That’s right,” King Namjoon chimed in from his throne, “We tried everything to fill that void.”

“And we mean everything,” King Yoongi whispered in your ear, twirling a strand of your hair around his finger.

“We were quite desperate,” King Namjoon laughed lightly. He, too, rose to his feet and made his way to stand before you.

Your heart felt like it might beat out of your chest from the sheer sensation of being caught in between these two beautiful men. King Yoongi continued to play with your hair from his position behind you. King Namjoon’s heavy gaze pinned you in place with its wicked intent.

“Desperate enough to contact King Seokjin of Andolia and request that his top Seer be sent to us to do a reading.” King Yoongi’s words caused you to jolt back slightly in shock. Andolia was known to be a more liberal kingdom than yours. It was a kingdom of magic, of carnal pleasure, of beauty.

Plus, King Seokjin was practically famous for his good looks and for his love of otherworldly entertainment.

“You outsourced from Andolia? Couldn't you just have asked one of the Seers here in Meridian?” It seemed absurd to you that these two kings reached out to another land so unlike their own for assistance - especially when you knew of at least four Seers in your own land.

King Yoongi and King Namjoon exchanged a look. “The Seers in our kingdom weren't exactly forthcoming, (y/n).” The taller king in front of you withered under your responding glare.

Could they really blame the Seers for not coming forward to help the very kingdom that had rejected them for so long? You certainly didn't think so.

King Yoongi continued, “Well, King Seokjin sent us his personal Seer Moonbyul… And imagine our surprise when she took one look at us and laughed.”

“‘No wonder you’re lonely! You’re missing one,’” King Namjoon quoted the Seer’s past words with air quotes. You had to bite down a smile over the cuteness of his action. “And not just anyone… a witch no less!”

His tone was light, jovial. You couldn't tell his feelings on your magical status no matter how hard you searched his twinkling brown eyes. Turning slightly, you assessed the other king who looked no less unreadable.

Still staring at King Yoongi, you questioned, “Okay, so you knew your other soulmate was a witch, and you just decided to summon every witch in Meridian to check them out? Do you have any idea how much that would scare us?”

The shorter king had the decency to look a bit embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck in discomfort. “I guess we were too excited by the prospect of finding you.”

You fought down the hopeful feeling inside you. There was no way these two actually wanted to keep your bond to them, right? Not in this economy…

“I’m just going to be straight up with you.” You pulled away from their hold and paced away to climb up a couple steps so you were finally the same height. “I think you searched for me because you want to sever our bond.”

The two kings moved to interrupt you, but you just held a palm in the air, “No, let me finish. Look, I’ve already come to terms with the fact that my soulmate wouldn't want to be tied to a witch. And why should I even want to be with someone who doesn’t respect me or my craft?”

You lowered your palm, effectively lifting the unspoken silencing charm you had cast on them.

The first thing that King Yoongi said once he recovered his voice was: “Damn, that was sexy.”

And the second? “I would rather sever my left arm than sever our bond.”

“Well,” You blinked as King Namjoon nodded emphatically besides his partner, “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Please don’t write us off that easily, (y/n),” The taller king begged, “Don’t you feel it? The tether between the three of us? Can’t you see we were made for each other?”

Oh, you felt it. You felt the pull so deeply that you feared you might lose yourself within them.

But if the spark you felt for them was akin to a flame, you weren’t sure if you were the darkness longing to be brightened or the moth destined to be burned.

Would it be worth it to give up your current life to be with them? Could you leave Taehyung and your little cottage? Could you survive in a court that held no love for your kind?

Your prolonged hesitance clearly worried the two kings before you.

“What can we do to show you how much we want you here with us?” King Yoongi implored, his hand drifting out to clasp with King Namjoon’s.

Staring down at the unified front the kings presented, you realized that your soulmates could offer you so much if you let them. By accepting the bond, you could gain the ability to help others more broadly than just offering simple spells of assistance. You could feel safe and secure. And, you could even allow yourself to love and be loved.

“Hm,” You mused, “I think I need to take a seat.” You lounged on the very throne in which Yoongi had lazed just a half an hour prior.

“Just when I thought you couldn't get any more beautiful,” King Namjoon murmured as he stared up at you as you reclined on the silver and black throne.

King Yoongi hummed in agreement, “We’ll need to make hers resplendent just to even come close to her radiance.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” You lied, secretly basking in the warmth of their praises, “Would I really get my own throne? You’re not planning on shoving me in a far away tower?”

“We were fearful of this,” King Namjoon walked up to the foot of the throne with King Yoongi in tow. Pausing briefly, they both fell to their knees before you. King Namjoon continued, “We feared you would think the worst of us. And for good reason.”

King Yoongi’s gaze pleaded with yours as he explained his partner's words, “We grew up to be scared of magic. We were sheltered from it and were told falsehoods about its ‘malicious nature’. It wasn’t until a few years ago that we first travelled to Andolia and met King Seokjin that we realized how wrong we were.”

“We were ignorant,” King Namjoon said lowly, “We removed the outright ban on magic and supernaturals immediately, but unlearning such prejudiced ways has proven to be difficult for our kingdom.”

You took everything in. You did not doubt that they were being genuine; however, one thought still lingered in the back of your mind.

“If I stay here with you...” Both kings eagerly stared up at you and you rolled your eyes, “And I mean if I do, will you see me as an equal? Will you respect me as such?”

The kings exchanged a confused glance before replying that they already did. You weren’t convinced. You decided to lay everything on the table.

“Okay, but do you really respect me? Or do you just want to fuck me?”

“Do those have to be mutually exclusive?” King Yoongi asked, his hands clenched at his sides as if he was holding himself back from touching you.

Your lips quirked, “I suppose not.”

“Thank the gods for that,” He growled, “I’ve been hard since you sat on my throne.” Both kings moved forward with clear sensual intent, but you sent a wave of magic forward - effectively halting their movements.

Their eyes blazed with desire for you that you were certain was mirrored in your own. You take in the magnificence of the sight before you. Your two powerful soulmates on their knees before you, desperate to touch you, to taste you. Your eyes traveled over the expanse of Namjoon’s shoulders to settle on his black velvet and gold choker. Then, you shift your gaze to Yoongi and his long ring adorned fingers, the smooth skin of his chest that peeked from the v-neck of his tunic.

They really were quite a pair. What in the universe had you done to be fated to such beauty? You guessed you probably shouldn’t question it.

Waving away the magical barrier between you, you began, “Earlier you asked what you could do to show that you want me here with you.”

“That’s right,” Yoongi rasped, his heated gaze locked with yours as he lightly trailed a finger up your calf. Beside him, Namjoon inclined his head in agreement before taking your hand in his.

Trying to ignore the rising tension, you forged onwards. It was important that you made these points before this went any further. “Well, I have some requirements.”

Namjoon cracked a smile, “I would be disappointed if you didn’t, my soul.”

Your cheeks warmed at the endearment but didn’t let it distract you. “I want to draft an ordinance that explicitly declares equity for those with magical and supernatural abilities.”

“Done.” Your soulmates agreed in unison.

You paused. That had been almost too easy… “And also an amendment stating that discrimination against said subjects will not be tolerated by any means.”

“Agreed.”

You were on a roll now. “I like practicing magic. It’s a part of me. I don’t want to have to hide it.”

Namjoon pressed a kiss to your palm, “We don’t want you to hide it.”

“Your magic is beautiful, (y/n),” Yoongi’s hand slid further up your leg, “You should never feel like you have to hide an intrinsic part of yourself - especially around us.”

Your body burned under their touch, but you still held back. Were they just going to agree to any old thing you threw at them? “I also want ten thousand Burmese pythons.”

That took them a second to process. “We can easily get you around six hundred, maybe seven?” Namjoon squinted as he seemed to calculate the math in his head, “I’ll have to talk to our allies about trading for the remaining amount.”

Spluttering out a laugh, you shook your head, “I was just kidding about the snakes, my gods. Although… now that i think about it, maybe one would be cool?”

Yoongi pressed a kiss to the inside of your thigh. When had he pushed your skirt up that high? “Anything for you, my queen.”

It was official. You were ruined.

Your soulmates had effectively stymied your doubts and quelled your fears, leaving you with only the intense desire to be with them.

And so you caved. “That just leaves one last stipulation... You say you want me, need me. Well then show me how badly you want me to be with you.”

The words barely left your mouth before they were on you. Yoongi pushed your legs further apart so that he could get closer to you. His hands slid around your waist, tugging your body flush against him, and he fused his mouth with yours.

You smiled into his kiss as you felt Namjoon sidle up to you and begin to place fevered kisses across your collarbone. A witch could get used to this, you thought as Yoongi’s tongue tentatively swiped across your lower lip. What a good boy he was to not take more than you offered.

Your hands tangled into Yoongi’s silky strands before they came to a halt at his crown. Carefully, you slid the crown off his head and onto yours. Pulling away from Yoongi’s mouth slightly, you murmured, “Well? How’s it look?”

“You look like our queen,” Namjoon whispered hoarsely as Yoongi just looked at you like he might devour you whole.

At Namjoon’s words, you turned to face him, hooked a finger around the choker adorning his neck, and tugged his mouth onto yours. His hand immediately flew up to cradle your cheek as he kissed you as if you might slip away from him if he stopped. You almost laughed at how obvious it was to you now that Namjoon was the more dominant of the two.

He had just mastered the art of patience amongst the other things you only hoped you could have the pleasure of discovering. His teeth playfully nipped at your bottom lip, and you returned the affection in kind.

Meanwhile, Yoongi refused to let you forget about him as he settled into his position of kneeling between your legs. His lips kissed and sucked at your neck while his fingers danced up your thighs, taunting you with their light touch.

You decided you had been teased enough. Tugging away from Namjoon and shifting Yoongi back from you slightly, you paused briefly to focus your magic and then snapped your fingers. Your dress and undergarments disappeared from your body and reappeared a few steps away folded neatly.

“Fuck, I love magic,” Yoongi breathed as he takes in your naked body for the first time.

Without hesitation, you hitch one leg over one of the ornate arms of the chair. “Well?” You arched a brow, looking over your two speechless soulmates, “Are you just going to stare? Or are you going to get naked?”

The speed at which they shed their clothes almost gave your magic a run for its money.

You marveled at the two men before you, their bodies chiseled, their cocks hard.

“How do you want us?” Yoongi asked, practically thrumming with anticipation.

You arched an eyebrow at Namjoon, “Is he always this eager?”

The taller man grinned, “Occasionally, but this level is rare form for him.”

Yoongi scowled, “Please, Joon, like you aren’t dying to sink your cock into our soulmate’s pretty little pussy.”

“Oh,” You sighed, “Someone has quite a mouth on them… Why don’t we put that to good use while Joon teaches you some discipline.”

Not even thrown off at the notion of being punished, Yoongi gladly sunk to his knees before you once more. Namjoon hesitated, and you quickly realized the problem. Summoning your magic, you materialized some water-based lubricant for him.

“Yeah,” Namjoon laughed, “Magic is a fucking beautiful thing.” Taking the lube from you, he leaned down to prep Yoongi. “Ready?” His deep voice sent shivers down your spine. Yoongi nodded.

“Gods yes,” You barely finished your thought before Yoongi buried his face between your legs, his mouth immediately kissing and exploring your pussy. The first stroke of his tongue tore a moan from you as your back arched into the cool metal behind you.

“(Y/n),” Namjoon growled, “Look at me, my soul. Watch me fuck our soulmate while he tastes you. I want you to feel each of my thrusts in every jolt of his tongue.”

Despite not being one to typically take orders, the heat of Namjoon’s words pulled your attention immediately and the sight before you made it stay. You watched enraptured as Namjoon slowly sank his cock into Yoongi’s ass.

Yoongi groaned and the vibrations sent another rush of arousal through you as he continued to greedily tease your clit with his tongue. Your hands dug into his auburn waves, pushing his face harder against your pussy.

Namjoon slid out of Yoongi and then drove back in. The visual of his hard cock pumping feverishly in and out of Yoongi’s pert ass was indescribable when every stroke caused Yoongi’s tongue to thrust inside you and his nose to nudge against your clit.

“How does she taste, Yoongi? Is she as sweet as she looks?”

You scowled at Namjoon for causing Yoongi to pause his worship in order to answer. “She tastes like the fucking sun, Namjoon.”

“Now, that doesn’t even make sense— Fuck,” You moaned as Yoongi’s mouth sucked hard on your clit, effectively shutting you up. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you felt the arousal build and build inside of you. Your legs shook as Yoongi sucked and hummed on your clit as Joon continued to pound into him.

Your eyes focused on the sharp movements of Namjoon’s hip and the flexing of his muscles as he alternated in thrusting and rolling his hips. Gods, you wanted those hips to drive that cock deep inside of you.

“Does this please you, my soul?” Namjoon growled, “Do you like watching me wreck Yoongi while he gives you pleasure?”

“Y-yes,” Your breath hitched as Yoongi teasingly nipped at your swollen bud. “But I want you to wreck me and then I want to wreck you both.”

Namjoon’s thrusts stuttered to a halt as your words connected. Yoongi tore his mouth from your folds. Placing your foot on his forehead, you gently pushed Yoongi back so you could stand, “I want both of you inside me.”

Panting, Yoongi gasped, “Please, please wreck us, my queen.” His lips shone with your essence and you swiped a finger along their seam. Bringing your finger up to Namjoon’s plush lips, you tilted your head with a sly smile, “Well? You wanted a taste, didn’t you?”

Without a pause, he took your finger into his mouth, his tongue curling around the digit, tasting you. His dark eyes remained on yours as he released your finger with a pop. “So fucking divine,” Namjoon groaned, his hands darting out to grab your hips, his hard cock pressing into your stomach.

Yoongi once again mirrored Joon’s actions from behind you. You could feel his hardness against your ass, and you couldn't help but to grind slowly into him. “(Y/n),” Yoongi moaned into your neck as his cock practically throbbed with need for relief.

Tugging Namjoon closer to you, you whispered, “My love, go sit on your throne.”

Your soulmate appeared confused but nonetheless did what you said. Pausing only briefly to admire the way Namjoon looked on his throne, you extracted yourself from Yoongi and sauntered over to stand over Joon.

“You know,” You murmured, grabbing his cock firmly, eliciting a gorgeous moan from the man, “I think I want to sit on your throne, too.” Your hand stroked him teasingly as his head leaned against the back of his throne.

“As you wish, my soul,” He rasped out, his thighs tensing.

With that, you knelt over him. Immediately, Namjoon’s hands rested on your ass and squeezed. “What a greedy boy,” You murmured, placing a soft kiss on his lips, “That’s for Yoongi, my love. Or is my pussy not enough for you?”

As you spoke, you slowly sunk down his thick cock inch by inch. And at the mention of his name, Yoongi practically shoved Namjoon’s hands off your ass and replaced them with his. Echoing your own words, he teased the younger king, “Yeah, Joonie, don’t be greedy.”

Namjoon shot the two of you a half-hearted glare, but before he could say a word, you clenched your walls around him. “F-fuck,” He moaned, his eyes squeezed tight, “You feel so good around my cock, so wet.”

You slid up and down his length, reveling in the building heat consuming you. From behind you, Yoongi slowly teased your other opening. The coolness of his finger assured you that he had done this before. His finger slid into my ass with ease, the lube no doubt helping with that. You both moaned.

“You like that, my queen?” Yoongi growled, beginning to push his finger in and out.

“Oh my gods, yes,” You felt wild from the sensation of being so full of your soulmates, but you couldn't help but want more. “Want your cock inside me, too, Yoongi.”

“Well, I can’t argue with that,” He responded, pulling his finger out of you. After a moment, you felt the gentle nudge of his cock head against your ass. You stilled your motions, bottoming out on Joon’s dick as you waited with anticipation of being stuffed full with both of them.

Slowly, inch by inch, Yoongi pushed into you. “Fuck,” He bit out, “Joon, I can feel you.”

You felt so satisfied as Yoongi’s hips pressed into you, his cock buried deep inside you.

Namjoon’s cock twitched inside you as he no doubt could feel Yoongi right back. “Please, my soul, I need to fuck you. Let us fuck you,” He begged, gazing down at you with pupils blown out wide.

“No,” You shook your head emphatically, “I’m going to fuck you.”

With that, you started riding Namjoon’s cock. Moving up and down his thick shaft, you guided Yoongi’s hands to your hips as he thrust in and out of you in time to your movements. Every time you sank down on Namjoon’s shaft, Yoongi thrust into your ass. It was exquisite.

You felt your orgasm coiling within you, burning brightly. You squeezed down, trying to prolong the sensation, rolling your hips.

“Godsdamn,” Yoongi moaned, “Your ass is so tight, my queen. I’m not going to last much longer.”

You shook your ass slightly just to tease him. Yoongi responded by biting your neck and muttering, “You’re such a witch.”

“You fucking know it,” You gasped out as Namjoon suddenly rolled your clit between his fingers. Pleasure shot through you as you writhed on top of them. Your walls clenched down as you hurtled towards bliss, your world going white.

You could feel both of them coming inside you, painting your walls. The heat of their releases only added to the intensity of your orgasm as you flew over the edge, milking them with every pulse of your pussy.

Slowly, you came down from your high, breathing hard. Collapsing against Joon’s chest, you nuzzled his neck.

You felt his chuckle before you heard it, “I think we tired her out, Yoongi.”

“Yes, I think so, Joon,” Yoongi replied, slowly pulling out of you, “Let’s get you cleaned up. We have a private hot spring just outside.”

Not one to be outdone, you straightened, hopping off Joon. Placing your hands on your hips, you leveled each of them with a devilish smile, “Hey, maybe I was pretending to be satisfied for your benefits, you old men.”

“Old!?” Yoongi bellowed, so easily riled up.

“Hmm,” Namjoon’s arms encircled you, hugging you to him. Bringing his mouth to your ear, he whispered, “You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you, my soul?”

“Undoubtedly,” You whispered back as Yoongi still fumes over being called old. Yeah, a witch could really get used to this.

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ana-recovery-positivity · 3 years

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hey im really struggling right now and your blog is very comforting so i wanted to talk to you. i was restricting a lot last summer-winter but i never got to be underweight and i mostly recovered without any official help. now im baisically average weight for my height and i eat pretty normally. but my thoughts are constantly telling me that id be prettier/better/more valid/etc. if i ate less and lost weight. and i feel guilty about eating almost every time i eat. my signals for when im hungry or full feel broken and im hungry almost all the time but feel bad after eating. i spend way too much time thinking about food and trying to decide what to eat. and i feel so negative about my appearance all the time. i dont think i have an ed and never would have been diagnosed anyway. but im still suffering so much because of these thoughts. do you have any advice?

basically, recovery means rewiring your brain and unlearning all the rules that the disordered thoughts have put in place. and, well, the first step of recovering from those thoughts/behaviours is acknowledging that it’s an issue and making the conscious decision to conquer it. so good news is, you’ve ticked off that box all on your own.

the first piece of advice i like to give is to reach out for support from someone in your life that you trust. even just talking about it and knowing that you have someone to lean on when it gets tough can make the whole process a lot easier, since being stuck in this situation is often a very lonely and isolating thing.

to break food rules, you can do it in small steps, like set a goal for yourself each day. for example, eat one fear food per day and as you get used to it add more. the more you break the same rule, the easier it will become each time, because only doing it once isn’t conquering the fear. another example would be to add one snack to your day, or up the portion size of one meal, and once again as you get used to it increase little by little.

my tips about regaining hunger cues are to try and stay in the moment while you’re eating. like, if you’re used to being on your phone or watching tv or anything like that, turning it all off and sitting with yourself while you’re eating could be beneficial. that’ll help you be more aware of how you’re feeling instead of sort of zoning out and suddenly having eating past the point of fullness. i also suggest you check in with yourself frequently before, during and after you eat to familiarize yourself with how going from hungry to full feels for you in steps and then being able to pick out the point where you actually feel satisfied.

as for trying to decide what to eat, sometimes there’s more than one food item that we’re craving but we feel like we can’t have all of them... but we can. there’s nothing wrong with choosing more than one thing if that’s what you want- even if they seem like an odd paring. that’s just another one of those arbitrary rules that the disordered thoughts made up, and another opportunity for you to go against them and free yourself from them. another reason why making a decision is sometimes hard is just because it feels like there are too many options. the thing is, you have to remember that all those options are still going to be there next time you have to decide. that means you can choose one thing this time, another the next, and so on. your choice isn’t set in stone forever, if that makes sense.

lastly, and probably the hardest part, is refuting the promises that the thoughts make of being prettier/more valid/etc if you listen to them. to put it simply, those are complete lies, and your worth is not based on your weight. you don’t look at your friends and base what you think of them on the way their body looks, so why would you deserve to be judged that way? instead, remember that your body is basically just a vessel for what you’re really made up of- your personality, your dreams, your memories, the qualities that your loved ones see in you. and also, remember that the most important thing about that vessel isn’t what it looks like, but what it does for you. it allows you to run, dance, travel, laugh, see the world.

i hope some of that was helpful <3 <3 <3

#ask #recovery #ed recovery tips

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ppatpranss · 4 years

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GAYA SA PELIKULA EP. 02 Review: Let’s talk about that dinner scene.

“May nahanap ka na bang mauuwian?”

I always have this kind of fear over a series that I already liked in the first episode: a fear that the second one will not live up to it, and so will the rest. But Gaya Sa Pelikula on its second episode did not disappoint, and instead set a whole new pace that further strengthens the story it wants to tell. In this episode, you get easy banters, hilarious make-believe and intriguing fantasies, heartwarming softness, a piercing tension at every turn, that very subtle buildup of romance, and of course, that wonderful conversation on the dining table.

Early warning that I have been gushing about the dinner scene since last night, so it will take up a lot of space in this review/discussion.

[WATCH EPISODE 02 HERE]

youtube

What sets Gaya apart

Every time I watch an episode of this show and would rewatch it, I am always overwhelmed with the amount of observations I am able to write down. There are a lot of elements that make this such a good watching experience, and all of those elements just naturally come together. By this, I mean that it does not rely solely on, say, just directing or writing or acting. All of these come together, and I appreciate that you can clearly see how well-thought out everything is.

Episode 02 is a lot more free-flowing and non-structured in my opinion. Transitions feel a lot smoother this time compared to the more scene-after-scene approach of the (no less incredible) pilot episode. Because of this, I actually feel like this point is the real beginning of the story – that this sets the tone for a lot of the future events that could possibly happen between Karl and Vlad, and the people in their lives.

Personally, this is what sets Gaya apart not just among the BL series, but also in Philippine TV in general. For the longest time, we got used to stagnant or repetitive conflicts. Sometimes all the drama are injected to overwhelm the audience. But this one takes its time well. This is a show that wants to bring its audience along its every journey.

Parallels, heartbreaks, buildups

The opening scene picks up where we left off, with Ate Judit now writing a check for Karl’s rent because Vlad will stay over. She reminds Karl that while she’s a cool sister, she won’t stand for her brother getting hurt again. With this, she specifically mentioned “a boy too sweet to swat a fly” who broke his brother’s heart before.

First of all, I’m getting a sudden whiplash whenever this is brought up because I know exactly who it is. Given the first encounter of Karl with Vlad, where he saw him drunkenly dancing to a song about intense heartbreak (again, stream tyl by kakie!), it must have been something truly painful. It doesn’t help as well that there is an obvious parallel going on here with the fact that the description also fits Karl. At one point, Vlad also tells him that he does not need to worry because he looks like someone who does not have a power to hurt him anyway. They are really setting us up as early as now for the heartache, no?

In the same way, I appreciate how this show inserts the sexual attraction also forming between the two of them. Sexual attraction is a part of romance. Gaya normalizes it and emphasizes that it is just natural. The couch scene was particularly genius because of the double meanings of Karl and Vlad’s exchange. But more than that, I like how it also unapologetically shows the physical component of that attraction by having Karl and Vlad sit close together. Vlad even has his arm around Karl. Even the fact that Karl stared at Vlad when he got out of the bathroom was a nice touch.

While the One More Chance dream fantasy was all sorts of hilarious and sexy, it is a testament to how Karl’s subconscious is already telling him something that he keeps on denying. I also like the nice touch there when Karl woke up, he was just disoriented that he had a dirty dream, but not disgusted by it (there are some series and dramas that do this). He is attracted to Vlad. However, for Karl to accept his feelings, it also means that he needs to accept his sexuality. A point which was discussed primarily in the scene before this – the conversation at the dining table.

The phenomenal dinner scene

I wish I am able to give justice to this scene through words, and I’ll try because we need to talk about it (or I need to talk about it). As a fan of films and TV series, I feel like conversations are the most difficult to bring to the surface. You need to keep the audience’s attention while also making sure that the depth is there. For me, what I always look for in conversation scenes are three things: (1) how normal these conversations would sound like as if you are overhearing them from the table next to you; (2) how a director captures the rawness of the exchange between the two actors; and (3) how natural would the delivery be of each line. I think the third point is very important. Some actors have this tendency to talk in a certain kind of perky tone that makes it sound superficial. Thank goodness, both Ian and Pao were really great in this scene.

Of course, the most well-known example for a good conversation scene is the entire Before trilogy – it remains the gold standard for exhibiting the power and the magic of conversations, of an entire film with just these two people talking and forming connections. While this dinner scene isn’t exactly a Before levels type of perfection, to me it was a perfect scene in the face of BL series and the Philippines TV landscape in general.

𝗚𝗮𝘆. 𝗕𝗮𝗸𝗹𝗮. 𝗕𝗮𝘆𝗼𝘁. 𝗕𝗮𝗱𝗶𝗻𝗴. 𝗝𝘂𝘀𝘁 𝘀𝗮𝘆 𝗶𝘁. 𝗜𝘁 𝗻𝗲𝗲𝗱𝘀 𝗻𝗼 𝗲𝘂𝗽𝗵𝗲𝗺𝗶𝘀𝗺. 𝗜𝘁’𝘀 𝗻𝗼𝘁 𝗮𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝘀𝘂𝗹𝘁.

One of the things best highlighted in this scene is when Karl did the gesture with his hand. That is unfortunately common in the Philippines, with people literally doing it to your face when they ask you. Or some of them done behind your back with matching giggling and knowing looks. I should know because I’ve seen it among my relatives when they try to refer to or describe a cousin or an uncle who is gay or might be gay. Karl was conditioned to think this way, and it’s no surprise that he would struggle to ask the question and get the word out. Meanwhile, Vlad is confident in his own skin. He doesn’t miss a beat and tries to get Karl to say the words in a way that both lectures him and encourages him.

This is what makes the scene purely amazing. It is confrontational, but it is not dramatic. It isn’t even preachy at all. It’s just a seemingly ordinary conversation between two people over a meal, trying to get to know and understand each other. You really got to hand it to Severo for constructing a dialogue this way because it also brings out both of Karl and Vlad’s current disposition. Moreover, this topic is a big deal and there are a lot of conversations that need to be had around it. But this scene easily summed it up around that one simple gesture. In less than a minute, it was able to tell you that being called gay, bakla, bayot, bading is not an insult. No grand monologue was needed.

Aside from that iconic exchange, I also loved the second part of it. It’s not going around much on Twitter so I can see some people reacting to the earlier exchange as if Karl was really just insulting Vlad. But the deal here is, Karl is also in the process of unlearning his bias and conditioning. He grew up in a household where his Dad would take digs against his gay uncle, Tito Santi. There’s even a hint of Tito Santi being physically hurt by his father if he’s “babakla-bakla” (basically another insulting way of saying lalambot-lambot). You can just imagine how difficult it must have been for him to grow up and feel like he needs to follow a certain path that his parents see for him.

Hence, when confronted by Vlad with the question, “Ikaw ba, bakla ka?” he was defensive. His tone shot up much higher than normal and was almost panicked. You can literally feel all of his guard come up. Vlad asked him why he was acting like he just accused him of a crime, and to his credit, Karl immediately apologized. But again, I just really understand Karl and I can’t wait for him to really see himself and get to know himself. There is so much about him that I am interested to learn and for him to learn as well about himself. I always see him as like a kid learning to take his first steps – he stumbles but tries to stand again even for just the sake of himself. His many mess-ups in life make his character compelling… and I guess this is just me on my #ProtectKarlAgenda.

Interestingly, as per Direk JP, above scene references an iconic scene from Jose Javier Reyes’ 1993 rom-com film MAY MINAMAHAL which, coincidentally, I just watched last month when I found its restored version on iWant. Amazing as well that the specific scene of them having a meal together was really my favourite from the film because it was a turning point for Carlitos (Aga Muhlach) and Monica (Aiko Melendez). It was when they finally start to get to know each other because for the longest time, they would just flirt in the cafeteria. It was a fitting reference because for Karl and Vlad, they are already starting to get to know each other by sharing even a small part of themselves. I also find it adorable watching Karl watch Vlad messily eat his food. I live for those small soft moments because it just seems so pure and innocent.

All in all, the dinner scene truly delivered. It was iconic and powerful. Major props to Gege and Direk JP, but also to both Ian and Pao. I loved how Pao was able to capture Karl’s reluctance and embarrassment, and Ian just exudes the confidence you need to see in Vlad. How can I describe this connection? Magnetic, I guess? They can easily throw these lines at each other, sustain the tension, and kind of just get lost in it. At every turn, Vlad has the power in this scene as he tries to pull Karl towards him, but also Karl stands on his own ground despite being unsure. I appreciate that about Karl – his life can be a mess, but he never really loses his sense of self and principles.

Finding a home

Aside from everything that happened in this episode, one of the things that I definitely loved is its subtle hint of these two people finding a home in each other. The most striking line for me, really, was when Karl asked Vlad, may nahanap ka na bang mauuwian? I like that this can translate to have you found a place to stay in? and have you found a place to go home to? The episode had such a great run in double meanings, and this one takes the cake more than anything. Karl was starting to feel guilty about kicking out Vlad, and it also happens that over his phone call with Tito Santi, he told him to always find a way to repay kindness with paying it forward to another person or to the community. Luckily, Vlad went back to his apartment to use the restroom.

When Vlad was about to leave, Karl called him back and asked, “Nag-dinner ka na ba?”

Vlad stayed for dinner.

When Vlad was done with dinner and was about to leave again, Karl stopped him and said, “Dito ka na lang matulog.”

Vlad stayed the night.

When Vlad was about to leave to come live with his ex-boyfriend after cooking breakfast as a thank-you, Karl offered him a place to stay, “Will you be my housemate?”

Vlad said yes and stayed.

Epilogue

In today’s epilogue, Karl is still seated on his side of the couch, but Vlad this time was standing at the back of the other side, leaning forward. A stuffed whale occupies the space beside Karl. Every now and then, the two of them would look at each other but it is Karl who would often glance back at Vlad – as to what his eyes are telling him, I don’t know. But if I am allowed to guess, perhaps he was trying to get him to sit beside him? Perhaps, as the closing note goes, there is always a space for Vlad there.

Comments; Ramblings

It’s only the second episode but Gaya is already sparking conversations and it does it in such an engaging way for its many fans. For me, this one really sets the foundation for what is yet to come for the story of Karl and Vlad. If anything, this episode emphasizes that struggle will always be a part of queer love, at least in our current socio-political climate. It isn’t just in regard to identity, but also with everything that comes with the acceptance of who you are by yourself and the Other.

For the pilot episode discussion, I talked about how there seems to be a running theme in this show about seeing – of looking at yourself, the other, or a beloved. This episode shows us Karl seeing Vlad; closely and slowly starting to unravel what it was about him that compels him. For Vlad’s part, I’m pretty sure he’s starting to see who Karl is, too. I feel like him feeling comfortable enough with the idea of staying in Karl’s place and actually living with him over the sem break is an indication of strangely feeling at ease (home?) with someone he just met.

The concept of persons as homes takes me back to a post from a Facebook page called Bibliophile, which was lifted from a poem written by Warsan Shire called ‘For Women Who Are Difficult to Love’: “You can’t make homes out of human beings. Someone should have already told you that.” This episode made me think a lot about that. On one hand, it feels romantic and uplifting to know that you have someone you can call your home, someone you can always return to as Yiu-fai put it in HAPPY TOGETHER [1997]. On the other hand, it feels scary because people change and if today the door and the windows are open, it might not be the same the next day. But I suppose I can feel hopeful for both Karl and Vlad. Perhaps, the door to Karl’s apartment will always be open for Vlad and the space beside the couch will always be reserved for him.

Gaya Sa Pelikula airs new episodes every Friday 8PM (Manila time) on Globe Studios’ Youtube channel.

GAYA SA PELIKULA Ep 01 Review [x]

#gaya sa pelikula #like in the movies #pangpang #ian pangilinan #paolo pangilinan #pinoy bl #filipino web series #filipino bl #boys love #juan miguel severo #jp habac #gsp review #owned

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gettin-bi-bi-bi · 4 years

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I’m the person who asked about switching labels. I want to stick with bi because I really, really don’t want to have to switch again because it’s scary and I just don’t like it. I want to stick with bisexual but I’m scared and I don’t know why. I’m afraid I’m making a bad decision or something or that I don’t know that bi is wrong but I know it’s not. Bi isn’t bad but why am I afraid of it?

Maybe there’s a some internalised biphobia playing into this. If you have fears such as being afraid you’re “not bi enough” or that you are somehow “doing bisexuality wrong” or “faking it” then that’s what we call internalised biphobia. I have some more advice on how to unlearn these kinds of thoughts here but keep in mind it’s a long process for some and that’s okay. But just because it’s scary doesn’t mean you should shy away from working on it. Even baby steps are getting you forward.

However, though internalised biphobia might play a part in this I increasingly get the feeling that you are just very stressed about the idea of being “wrong” about a label that you choose. I understand that this is scary but I’d really urge you to try and remind yourself that there is nothing bad or wrong about changing a label. No matter if you’ve used one for just a couple days or for many many years. I know people who identified as gay for decades until they realised they are actually bi. And vice versa.

I know it can be scary to “let go” of a label you grew fond of. And maybe there’s also the fear that you will have to come out again as something else than before - but please note that you don’t owe anyone to come out to them or to re-come out; you don’t have to explain to anyone why you changed your labels or even tell them that you did. Those labels are, at the core, just a tool for you to communicate something to the world. And whatever you want to communicate can change over time or depend on context.

And as I tried to tell you before: those labels that you listed can pretty much all exist in the same person. You can be all of those things at once if that feels right to you - nobody else gets to have a say in what label is right or wrong for you. For example, when I say “I am queer” that doesn’t mean I am suddenly not also bisexual. I identify with both words equally and it depends on the situation or context which word I use. I am technically also sapphic (I’m a woman attracted to women) but it’s not a label I actively use for myself. But I could if I wanted to and I’d still also be queer and bisexual. I don’t know how else to make it clear to you that identifying as bisexual does not mean you have to ditch every other word. They are all there for you to use as you please.

Though some people have a fluid sexuality and their orientation might actually change over time, I think what the situation is with you is that you are unhealthily afraid of doing something wrong. If you have other general issues with anxiety in your life, that might influence this sexuality-label-situation, too. So getting treatment for anxiety (if you think that’s applicaple here) could help to also calm down about this label anxiety in the long run.

You say you’re afraid of making “a bad decision”. Well, first of all: identifying as bisexual doesn’t have to be a permanent thing. It’s easily reversable because you can just decide to not identify with it anymore and that’s that. It’s not like a tattoo removal which costs money, time and pain. But secondly: I wouldn’t classify changing your label as “having made a mistake” but if you want to look at it like that then be aware that making mistakes isn’t the end of the world. It’s part of life to make false judgements sometimes, to pick the wrong option out of two, to do something you later regret. We don’t always have all the facts, so sometimes we make a wrong choice and later realise “whoops, that wasn’t quite right”. That is life, and part of personal growth is to learn to handle this and not to let it get us down; to accept that mistakes are human, and change is human - and it’s all not as scary as it may seem because in the overwhelming number of cases where someone’s made a mistake life just goes on and we get over it. That’s just some general life advice but it also applies in this specific case. Deciding to identify as bisexual now isn’t like the bomb defusal person accidentially cutting the wrong wire. It doesn’t have any long term implications and it’s not killing anyone if you realise in a year from now or in 10 years that another label seems more appealing.

Maddie

#Anonymous

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pynches · 5 years

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word count: 2310

tw: hypothermia, mentions of death (but no actual deaths no worries)

AO3

Adam Parrish couldn’t swim. His parents never taught him and he never bothered to teach himself. He didn’t have time to go swimming for fun anyway so it didn’t feel like a necessity to learn yet. Adam Parrish didn’t do things if they weren’t necessary.

That was his first regret when his body broke the surface of the ice-cold water that laid in Cabeswater. His second regret was never telling Ronan how he felt. His third regret was not eating that one pizza slice Gansey had offered him because it didn’t matter now anyway. He was sinking and there was nothing he could do.

His limbs were moving sluggishly through the water, his body weighed down by the clothes he wore. He tried to pull himself up as best as he could because giving up was not something he did. And yet, determined as he was, and always had been, he strayed further from the light of the sun shining down on the lake he had fallen in. He wasn’t sure if it was getting darker because he nearly reached the bottom or because he was losing consciousness.

Adam thought he could hear distant shouting, his name, over and over again, but the water distorted the sound. He should have felt scared, with death close enough to greet, but he felt oddly calm, the water swaying him away to a more peaceful place.

His eyes closed just as two arms wrapped around his body.

He woke to grass beneath his fingertips and his lungs filled with water.

“Parrish.”

Adam couldn’t open his eyes.

“Parrish, come on!”

Two hands were pressing on his chest. Another set of hands were closing his nose and opening his mouth.

He felt soft lips on his own, blowing air into his body.

“Adam!”

Water lurched out of him, nearly choking him in the process. He coughed until his throat was raw and he couldn’t see anything through the tears blurring his eyes.

There was a small hand pounding between his shoulder blades with just the right amount of force.

With shaking hands, Adam wiped the tears away, looking right into the worried faces of his friends surrounding him. Blue was next to him, tears rolling down her cheeks, Gansey was crouched down in front of him with a deep frown etched into his forehead, his hands nervously picking at each other.

Ronan was standing a bit further away but his skin was paler than usual, his chest heaving, his clothes drenched, hanging off his form limply. He was chewing his leather bracelets, a nervous habit he would probably never unlearn.

Adam wondered who had given him mouth to mouth.

“You scared us,” Gansey said unnecessarily. Adam touched his shoulder briefly to let him know that he was okay, he was too afraid his voice would betray him.

Gansey didn’t look convinced but he knew better than to argue with Adam. He just pulled him into a one-sided hug Adam returned and stood up.

“We need to get him somewhere warm,” Gansey said, his president voice on. “He’s shaking.”

“He nearly drowned himself in a lake, no shit he’s shaking,” Ronan finally spoke up. Adam didn’t know whether his heartbeat spiked from Ronan moving closer to him and crouching in front of him until they were eye-level or from almost dying. Ronan reached for the leather jacket that he had probably thrown somewhere before jumping after Adam and wrapped it around his shaking body. It smelled like Ronan, all leather and expensive perfume. Adam burrowed himself in it, seeking the more of the warmth it provided.

“I’ll take him to the Barns.”

Gansey started to protest but Blue shot him a glance Adam could feel even though it wasn’t directed at him.

“Are you sure?” Gansey asked, still unsure. Normally, Adam would have hated this, the overbearing behaviour, but now, confused and shivering from the cold that had settled in his bones, he felt a surge of love for his friend.

“The Barns sounds good,” Adam said, barely getting the word over his lips. He couldn’t feel them but he somehow managed to give sound to the words he was trying to utter and his friends were finally looking at him instead of each other.

Blue rubbed his back, Gansey bit his lip, and Ronan stretched out his hands. Adam took them.

Adam could feel his legs give out under him, the ground suddenly closing in on him. Two arms wrapped around him in a way that felt oddly familiar.

One arm remained around his middle while the other lifted his legs carefully. Suddenly he was buried against Ronan’s wet chest. Adam hoped the warmth that spread under the skin of his cheeks wasn’t starting to show.

Gansey and Blue trailed after them, Adam could feel their eyes on him.

“Should we take him to a hospital?” Blue asked quietly, Adam had to strain his ears to hear her.

“No hospital,” the other three said in unison. Gansey defeatedly, Ronan begrudgingly, Adam resolutely. They all had the same arguments before, they all knew the answer before the question was being asked.

“If it gets worse,” Gansey started but Ronan cut him off.

“Then I’ll force him.”

Adam was too weak to protest. The only thing he could focus on was the numbness in his fingers, the urging need to feel warmth seep through his skin.

They had learned about hypothermia in biology last year. From what he could tell his symptoms looked like a mild case but it would get worse if it wasn’t treated quickly.

Adam didn’t have time to deal with hypothermia, though. He had work in less than three hours and Latin homework that had to finished before tomorrow. Missing a shift or even one assignment left unfinished would have catastrophic consequences for him, for his future. But he couldn’t tell his friends that he was fine, there was no point in lying.

He didn’t have the energy to protest when he was lifted in the passenger seat of Ronan’s BMW. Especially not when he put the heater on full force and Adam couldn’t stop himself from relishing in the warmth. He stuck his shaking hands out to the heater and tried to ignore how Ronan’s gaze landed on them for a few seconds before driving off.

Adam must have missed what had transpired between the other members of his group because Gansey and Blue weren’t with them anymore.

Ronan noticed him looking to the backseat in the rearview mirror. “They took the Pig.”

Adam nodded and leaned his head back. He could feel Ronan’s worried glances every view seconds. He never put his foot off the gas pedal. They made it to the Barns in record time.

The car door opened on his side and Adam stumbled out, not waiting for Ronan to carry him again. He could walk himself and he managed, fuelled by his potent sense of pride. Ronan was still following him close by, though, his hand not quite touching his lower back, waiting for him to fall.

They made it through the door with a lot of stumbling on Adam’s part and grumbling on Ronan’s part. Adam was parked on the couch immediately, Ronan not quite running upstairs to fetch whatever would keep Adam warm.

His heart swelled a little at the concern Ronan showed. He buried himself further into the couch and closed his eyes, trusting Ronan to take care of him like he never trusted anyone before.

Ronan didn’t lie, but he was a master at keeping secrets and Adam used to be one of them. But that was before Adam’s eyes turned glassy and walked to the edge of the lake, staring into the water with a far off look Ronan recognised as scrying. It was before Adam took one step too far and tumbled into the lake headfirst. It was before he waited one second, two seconds, three seconds and realised Adam wasn’t coming up. It was before he threw off his leather jacket and jumped in after him, wrapping his arms around Adam’s limp body, dragging him to the grassy field and blew air into his mouth, his stomach turning in desperation. It was before coughed up water, finally opening his eyes, and Ronan realised he could have lost him.

He came back with every blanket he could find in his little house, his steps faltering when he found Adam on the couch, his mouth half-open, his eyes closed. It shouldn’t scare him this much to see Adam unconscious, he was probably asleep, but he couldn’t help himself from feeling Adam’s neck for a pulse and sighing in relief when he felt a steady heartbeat.

Ronan gathered the blankets and tucked Adam in, careful not to wake him. He then opted for making soup, an old recipe Aurora used to make when Ronan had the flu. He had to do something or he would go insane. The lifeless body of Adam still burned behind his eyes.

He took out his phone and sent off a quick message to Gansey, telling him Adam was alright and then called Boyd’s. There was no way Adam could work tonight.

Ronan was almost done with the soup when he saw Adam stir from the corner of his eyes. He poured the soup into a bowl and brought it to Adam. He ate it without protest.

Adam’s skin was whiter than usual, his freckles standing out more prominently. Ronan resisted the urge to trail them with his fingers.

“Thank you,” Adam said, his voice gravelly. Ronan didn’t know it was because of sleep or because of the water filling his lungs not an hour ago. He didn’t want to think about it. Adam was here, next to him and he was okay.

Ronan shrugged, trying to regain some of his dignity. “It’s just soup, Parrish.”

Adam chuckled, he sounded exhausted. “I meant for saving me.”

Ronan wasn’t sure what to say to that. He wanted to say that of course he would save Adam, he would put his own life on the line if that meant Adam could keep his eyes open for just another day. That he would jump after him any time in any given situation. That he couldn’t lose Adam, not him too. That it would kill him if Adam wasn’t there to call him a shitbag and smile at him, breaking every wall that he had put up. He wanted to say that nobody made him feel the way Adam did and that he would risk anything to keep that, to keep him as close as he would let him.

Ronan stayed quiet, Adam looked like he understood anyways.

Adam turned the tv on, filling the loaded silence with quirky voices Ronan didn’t even pretend to pay attention to.

Adam's hand was facing upwards, resting on the mountain of blankets around his body. Ronan contemplated holding it, feeling Adam’s fingers between his own, just as a reminder that he was alive, that he was still here next to Ronan.

He didn’t take Adam’s hand.

He asked himself why. Adam presented him with a chance and he didn’t take it because why? Because he was scared? He had been more scared of Adam forever vanishing in the depths of the lake. He had to make a choice. Take the risk or forever live with the consequence of not having just a second of courage.

He bumped his hand against Adam’s.

Adam turned to look at him, their hands still touching. Adam’s skin was getting warmer already. His hand was rough and calloused. Ronan’s heart was racing when he turned his own head. Adam’s eyes were soft and kind, nothing like the hardened version he usually wore. Ronan had seen those hardened eyes in his dreams more often than he liked to admit, telling him that he didn’t have a chance. Adam was dangerous sometimes, wrapped in barbed wire to protect himself from anyone who tried to get closer to him. But now, on the couch of the Barns, their bodies almost touching, the soft glow of the tv lighting their faces, he was letting his defences fall, urging Ronan to get closer.

Ronan slowly raised his hand, his eyes never moving away from Adam’s. He tangled their fingers together and Adam smiled, a little crookedly. Ronan brought his other hand up, gently trailing Adam’s bottom lip with his thumb. Adam leaned into it, his breath hitting Ronan’s hand.

“Can I?” Ronan asked, his voice a whisper.

Adam didn’t answer. Instead, he moved closer, tilting his head, his eyes closing.

Their first kiss was slow and careful. Soft pecks and lips barely moving against each other, too afraid to push further.

Their second kiss was languid, the feeling of the other’s lips too important to not fully take in. It was light touches, a hand trailing up the other’s side.

Their third kiss was deep and passionate. Hands clenched into shirts, Ronan’s hand in Adam’s hair, brushing through the locks like he had wanted to do ever since he saw him walking up the road leading to Aglionby. It was exploring each other’s mouths with their tongues. It was reaffirmation, Adam telling him he was still here and Ronan replying that he was not going anywhere.

Later, when they were both wrapped up in blankets, Adam’s head on Ronan’s chest, Ronan’s arms around him, Ronan finally let some tears fall. For what could have happened, for what he could have lost, for the relief he felt when Adam kissed his collarbone and told him to sleep.

The nightmares that plagued him this night would continue to plague him during many more but he woke with Adam in his arms, snoring softly in his ear and realised they would get through this. Together.

#trc #the raven cycle #trc fic #trc fanfic #trc fanfiction #the raven cycle fic #the raven cycle fanfic #the raven cycle fanfiction #pynch #pynch fic #pynch fanfic #pynch fanfiction #adam parrish #ronan lynch #adam x ronan #ronan x adam #mine

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vaingloriosa · 5 years

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If it's not too much of a bother can I ask what s/e//lfships-in-sp/a//nish did? I remember seeing her art around when I was into DBH for a bit. (Emphasis on was)

first off, congrats on getting off that dbh juice! very proud of you for leaving that part of your life behind. love that for u!!

i’ve actually been meaning to make a post like this. in order to fully answer your question, there has to be a little bit of vulnerability on my part. it’s something that has taken me awhile to process and heal (i’ve only talked to a handful of people about this) from but i am at a point where i think i am ready to talk about it. please note that i am only answering this for y’all to know the truth; this is not me trying to stir the pot and cause any drama. if you still follow her, i am not the all-knowing moral authority to tell you to stop following her but what i will say is to hear me out and reconsider who you give your support to.

there might be some things that i am missing because i don’t like remembering any of this but i will try my best. i will not be using any names in order to protect these people’s identities, even if some of these people did hurt me. again, i am not here to callout anybody, i am not here to say “officer! this person right here!” because this is not what this is all about. i am only here to give you my experience with SSIS (her username for short). also, i do not have screenshots, i deleted the server, and there is no evidence to support me. i didn’t want to keep such baggage around and wanted to just move on...and i hope you can trust me with what i am about to say.

SSIS and i were like two peas in a pod. when we found one another in the dbh fandom, i looked up to her. i thought she was one of the greatest artists in dbh and i felt so intimated by her. soon, i think she was the one contacted me and from there, it was like an instant click. we got to talking and it felt like we were friends for a long time. slowly, in private messages, SSIS and i were often vulnerable with one another. i talked about the things i have to face as a latina woman, and she talked about her own struggles. i thought i was being open and honest with another woman of color but it wasn’t until way later that i found out that she is a white woman. that is something to keep in mind as we go further down the line.

there were some things that she said about other people that felt like she was trying to persuade me from keeping my distance from. i will not name names of these blogs but they were also fairly popular in the dbh fandom and it felt strange the way she got so angry and heated over people i called my friends. sadly, i was influenced by her comments because i started to internalize her words and became weary of these people since she said that they, too, were secretly talking about her and had their own clique. this is something that has taken a lot to unlearn because words can hold a lot of weight. this really should’ve been my first warning, a red flag, but i kept being friends with SSIS because, well, i trusted her and i considered her a good friend of mine. i wanted to defend her honor, i wanted to stick up for her as she did for me. i thought she was on my side as i was hers.

then i created a server for my mutuals and followers.

things were going great, everyone was getting along, we were all making inside jokes, and just supporting one another. slowly, there were events that started to unfold that truly revealed the true nature of who SSIS is as a person. it started out with when there started to be an inner circle within my server. it was SSIS, three other dbh content creators, and another reader of mine. now, i loved that they slowly started to become really good friends with another. however, it slowly started to feel like they were becoming like an exclusive club where SSIS became the head person of the group. i had my suspicions confirmed when i saw that they created their own personal server which, again, it’s okay to make your own server when you have your own friends. but the thing is...they felt withdrawn from the rest of the group and me. it’s like they tried to distance themselves away from me and me only. now there’s another part that i really...don’t like talking about. this part...it’s something that i never fully...grasped. whenever i think about it, it makes me sick to my stomach. the one person that was a reader of mine is a minor and these four adults friended this minor. again, as long as you are respectful with one another, it’s okay to have a friendship. however, this friendship became a bit inappropriate when they were sharing NSFW content with the minor in the server. they even encouraged such behavior from them....and i remember having a talk with my mods of the server saying how that was super fucking odd and kind of disgusting. i didn’t even wanna know what was going in in that private server. this should’ve been the second red flag, but i gave the benefit of the doubt.

however, this wasn’t the penultimate thing.

you know by now that i am a vocal person when it comes to activism. i do not shy away from hot topics because i want people to be informed and be comfortable in the uncomfortable. some of my mutuals often asked me what i meant when i said “all white people” or when i said that white people are responsible for this and that and i was okay with answering these questions because, hey, you’re not gonna learn if you don’t ask questions. at first, i was willing to teach my white friends about some of the things that contribute to the oppression of people of color and what their white privilege meant but what i should’ve learned sooner rather than later was that i can’t always assume the role of teacher.

and there are some things that must come from a white person in order for them to recognize their privilege, realize their behavior, and come up with ways to do better, and put action towards that.

sometimes that’s better said than done. some of the white friends that i had in that server were kinda agitated by all my “accusations” of all white people but i kept reminding them that when i say that, i only mean this type or that type...but if the shoe fit? i could tell that SSIS was just not understanding any of that...but she never really said that. but here i thought she was a woman of color because she said that her specific group of spaniards faced oppression. i do want to say that it is partially my part for not putting two and two together that spaniards are europeans and are not considered people of color, no matter the region. however, the way she spoke of her struggles made me want to believe that she was. it’s a stupid reason, i will say that. even when typing this, i still can’t believe i thought she was a woman of color...and i want to try to make excuses but really, i should’ve been more informed. but the more i think about it, SSIS should’ve been the one to correct me, stop me, and tell me that she isn’t a woman of color, that she is european. you don’t lie about one’s identity like that just because you think being called a woman of color gets you some sort of clout. people think that being “hispanic” also covers spainards and i fell into that trap. SSIS shouldn’t have kept up the lie like that. that should’ve been the third red flag but i wanted to attribute that to them learning and growing.

the catalyst seemed to be when notre dame burned. an empty church building, mind you. the way that her and the rest of her group were viciously attacking my friends of the server for making jokes about it, forcing one to apologize for doing nothing wrong, and quite literally foaming at the mouth for some silly symbol of colonization by europeans...i was kind of taken aback by it. i remember being in the car with my sister and her boyfriend and reading the messages out loud and they started to laugh because c’mon! it was ridiculous that they were defending this building! this should’ve been my fourth red flag, but once again, i believe people can change.

it became quiet after that, real quiet. i know some of my mods decided to take a break from the server after such a heated argument that was initiated by SSIS. slowly but surely, the server started to pick up again and for that i was grateful that this didn’t completely severe any trust. though i did notice the absence of SSIS and her little friend group. it became more blatantly obvious that these people have separated themselves from us. the private conversation that i still held with SSIS slowed down to more sporadic messages. however, i still supported her and her art. i donated money to her, i even offered to help her buy a website for her art and merch. the support from those friends dwindled down but i continued to support their content no matter what. i wanted to let them know that even though we may have some differences, we can overcome these challenges and support one another.

gosh, sorry, i started...getting teary eyed from remembering this because it comes to show that internet friends...you don’t always truly know them.

i’m not 100% sure when this started to occur, whether it was before the big fight or afterwards but i slowly started to realize that these people were not my friends. as y’all are aware, i started to have a steady disinterest in dbh and often was vocal about that. given that, everyone is allowed to criticize media so my opinions are my own. i was trying to fight for a better community for the dbh fandom, i was trying to fight for my voice and my fellow stans of color to have their voices and stories heard. i believe that SSIS was on my side because she, too, agreed with me for wanting a better fandom where fans of color are taken seriously and are recognized. i thought she was willing to fight for me because she, too, was disappointed that nothing ever come about my rants and awareness. however, that wasn’t the same tune she and her friends were singing. when i brought up racism in fandom and transformative fanworks, i was met by such a response by one white author (who has her own story with me, but i am not sure if i should talk about but she apparently tried to get in contact with me to apologize but as of today, i still haven’t heard from her) who said that it was up to me to create the content that i want to see...and that is a very racist thing to say. the responsibility shouldn’t fall on me or on the shoulders of my fellow people of color. i could go off on a tangent but...lemme bring this back to what i wanted to say.

when that decline started to happen, i was becoming more and more aware that two people from this inner circle, SSIS and that other white author, were making vague tweets about me. they, too, also started to make vague posts about me as well. they started talking so...horribly about me and the things i felt so passionately about...that these things hurt like hell. fuck, crying again...um, i don’t remember specific wordings but i do remember that they were specifically about me...and they were posting that while i was still following them. that’s what hurt the most...because they knew i was going to read these tweets and these posts...so i talked it over with my mods, cried a bit about it, and they held my hand while i unfollowed them quietly from twitter, tumblr, and instagram. even despite it all, i was so....it was hard to unfollow them. i don’t know why...they hurt me so why did i feel like i was betraying them? i unfollowed everyone from that friend group except for the reader of mine because i gave him the benefit of the doubt, i wanted to believe that he was merely influenced by them to do things he was against, and i hoped that he, too, would recognize what they were doing was wrong.

then it happened. all hell broke lose.

it started with the white author who posted a public message on the general server channel that i would’ve rather have had her sent that personally to me than just having this out in the open for everyone to see. since this isn’t about her, i will save my commentary and just say that it was kinda hurtful to read.

then, i guess that white author gave the confidence of SSIS who dropped a very long and personal message on the server that was one of the most vile, vicious, and racist things i have ever read in my entire life. she began the message with “now that you unfollowed me on twitter, i can really tell you what’s on my mind” and typed up one of the most ugliest and most wicked messages...i wish i knew what it all said but i remember reading it....and crying. it broke my heart knowing that this woman, someone i considered my friend, someone i trusted, someone that i shared a lot of vulnerable shit with, someone that i thought i looked up to...someone i cared for....harbored such hatred towards me. slowly i began to see that she kept up a front with me, kept those feelings at bay, and waited until i slipped or something so that she had an excuse to air out what she thought was “dirty laundry”. to this day, it’s one of the most traumatic things that has ever happened to me.

after that happened, i deleted the server as it served as a reminder of what transpired. i apologized to everyone on my server though there wasn’t anything on my part to apologize for but i felt like i had to. all of last year was one of the most difficult years i have ever been through because it made me second guess myself, my abilities, and i became incredibly weary of white women (even more so than before). i lost any motivation to write, i lost any creative spark i had before that time, and just...completely became a shell of myself. it sounds so dramatic and silly of me...but it felt like i was in some sort of weird sad episode where i couldn’t control my impulses. i deleted a lot of my work, i deleted a lot of my content from my blog, even content i was proud of. even outside of the internet, i was...withdrawn. i tried to throw myself into working but i didn’t even have that drive to do that. i wanted to get over it so badly because i didn’t want to give up like that. i became withdrawn from others, i closed myself from speaking up about what happened because it hurt to open up a huge wound like that. plus, i couldn’t really talk about this with my family or my other friends because it’s like “hey, this one internet friend that i had turned out to be a racist snake” like it sounds wild to be upset about that. it felt silly to me because my gosh, this is the internet! nothing is real! everything is so...trivial. but what happened with SSIS last year is something that i haven’t 100% healed from but i have come a long way since april of 2019 and i am proud of myself despite how it doesn’t feel like i have healed much. also i don’t remember most of 2019 if we are being honest. however, just a few days ago i got a notification from a tweet she had tagged me in but instead of panicking, i kinda laughed? about it? rolled my eyes? that’s growth, babeyy!

if you are a follower of hers, you do what you want with this information. like i said before, i am not going to tell you what to do. you are the one to ultimately make that decision. whether you decide to send screenshots to her of this ask, whether you choose to defend her honor in my inbox, call me a liar, block her, idc but whatever you do, please don’t send her hate anons or hateful asks...i do not endorse that behavior whatsoever. thank y’all for hearing me out

#ask #this took me an hour to write lmaoo #and only two times i cried? lemme hit this big blunt for this big w #Anonymous

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ladyofpurple · 5 years

Text

here it is: the post Literally no one was waiting for. i'd put it under a read more thing but i'm on mobile and can't be assed to get out of bed so fuck it. we air our dirty laundry on main for the world to see like men.

so waaay back in february or something, i started seeing a psychologist again. i'd been seeing a psychologist for a while last year, but she had a private practice and got too expensive over time, so i had to stop. now, however, i finally got a referral to the public mental health offices in my county. which is nice, because norway has this neat thing that means when you go to the doctor, public health care facilities, refill prescriptions for medications you have to take daily, etc, the money you spend on those things gets recorded and after you've spent like $260, you get a free card that gets logged into your medical records and you don't have to pay for any of those things for the rest of the year.

anyway, i mentioned a couple of years back that i finally got put on antidepressants for the first time. they helped a lot, but then i just... stopped taking them. there wasn't a reason, really. i just forgot to take them one week when i was stuck in bed with a headcold, and then it was hard to get back in the habit again. i tried to get back on them off and on for a long time, but i'd inevitably just forget again. until, like, i wanna say november/early december last year? i started taking them again. there were still some slip-ups every now and then, but for the most part i took them almost every day. any gaps were no longer than two, maybe three days at the most, and those gaps were maybe once a month or so on average. averages aren't really useful in this context, but i hope you get the idea.

anyway, i finally convinced my doctor that, no, seriously, i really need to see a psychologist, i've always needed to see psychologists my whole life, seeing psychologists help me, i can't afford a private psychologist so i need a public one, and after a lot of begging and insisting on my end and a lot of hemming and hawing on her end she finally agreed to refer me. except she forgot to actually send the email she'd been typing in front of me, and then she quit, so there was a lot of confusion and time spent sorting things out until i got my first appointment.

i didn't like my psychologist at first. she was way older than i'm usually comfortable with (that's a personal me-problem that i know is irrational, and i'm not gonna go into the why but yes i'm working on it), and very blunt in an exasperated sort of way. she made me angry sometimes. she made me feel like i wasn't trying hard enough. but she helped me get shit done, so i guess she was doing something right.

in june she called in a psychiatrist to help adjust my medications, so i started taking zoloft in addition to the other medication (remeron, aka mirtazapine) that i was already taking. the mirtazapine was helping with my depression, but my anxiety was still pretty bad. the zoloft helped.

by my second appointment with my psychologist, she asked me whether i could have adhd, or if there was a history of it in my family. now, i have a lot of family with adhd (how closely related we are by blood is a bit of a mystery to me, my family tree is more like an overgrown hedge and who knows who fits where), and my grandma used to joke that the women in our family "all have a little bit of that adhd brain in us", but as far as i knew, nobody in my immediate, direct bloodline had such a diagnosis. i had my suspicions about myself, of course — i knew that not every focus or attention related problem necessarily has a specific attention disorder source, but i also knew that what i was experiencing couldn't be "normal," in the sense that if i walked into a room with 100 people in it, 86 of those people wouldn't necessarily look at a list of my symptoms and go "oh same hat." i've had add on my about me for a while now. maybe that was silly of me; i hadn't been diagnosed with it, and what i knew about the specifics of it were picked up piecemeal off the internet. you know, that super-reliable place where everyone is honest and factual all the time?

anyway, this began the process of investigating the merits of such a potential diagnosis. research was begun. questionnaires were taken. my mom was invited to one of my sessions, in which she revealed that, oh yeah, bee tee dubs, she's always suspected i have adhd. did she mention that she has also apparently always suspected ocd and that i'm autistic? no? whoops, well, she has now.

end of june i was referred to the neuropsychologist devision of the public health care place. over the course of a little over 6 weeks i went in for 2 interviews, in which i answered several questionnaires, talked about my life and childhood and traumas and what my mom had told me about her pregnancy and labor, every possible symptom i'd ever had, and was sent home with even *more* questionnaries. in addition to these, i went in for two rounds of "testing," in which i was tested on my memory, pattern recognition, reaction time, impulse control, and probably a dozen other things. i was nervous. it was exhausting. i wanted answers but was terrified of what those answers would be.

end of august, my mom came with me for the big reveal. and guess what? she was right. primary diagnosis: adhd, special emphasis on the attention deficit part. bonus diagnosis: asperger syndrome. surprise! i'm autistic, i guess.

it was hard to come to terms with. which sounds really silly, since i wouldn't have even been taking those tests if i didn't think the outcome was a possibility. and it's not like the diagnoses were surprising either. the adhd part was easier to accept, mostly because i already felt pretty confident i had it. but the asperger diagnosis was harder. having to unlearn all those ingrained ableist stereotypes and social stigmas is hard, especially when you had some you didn't even realize were there. it's very surreal to think a thought and be like "no, wait, i do that. that joke is about me." it's a very surreal and slightly upsetting experience to realize how biased you are as general rule, but especially about a facet of your own identity you weren't aware of. and the feeling of everything and nothing changing all at once. i've always been like this. a doctor telling me i have two cognitive/developmental disabilities isn't an event that magically gave me these disabilities. my brain has always worked like this. the only difference between me now and me a year ago is that i have an official, medical reason for Why now.

that's another thing: coming to terms with the idea of being "developmentally disabled." it's not like i'm suddenly a different person — i have to constantly remind myself that my brain has always been like this. but having a piece of paper confirming that i am legally entitled to special allowances in the workplace or at school because i have not one, but two "disabilities" is absolutely buckwild to me.

it makes me reevaluate my life and my past. how many situations did i make worse because i did not have the capacity or knowledge about how my own brain works to self-reflect? was i high-functioning in the past because life was simpler? was it because i subconsciously had a better handle on what works for me and what doesn't, and somewhere along the way i lost that? or was it simply because i didn't have the option to be anything other than high-functioning? it's confusing.

i also lost my spot at college. i can still reapply next year if i want, but at least now i know why i was failing out lmao

anyway, by my birthday in september we started the process of adjusting my medication again. upping my zoloft, getting me off remeron, and as of 6 weeks ago or so, beginning ritalin.

it was a rocky start, but i'm up to 60mg now. two pills in the morning, one in the afternoon. i have a goddamn alarm for 8am every day, even weekends. my sleeping is still wonky, but at least im genuinely tired by 8pm every night. the psychiatrist still wants me to try melatonin for a month (even though i told her multiple times it has never worked for me, and my problem has never been "i'm not sleepy enough"), so i'm on a whopping 2mg of melatonin for the next 30 days. norwegians are fucking WEIRD about melatonin, don't even get me started.

a slightly unexpected side-effect (on my end) of these medication changes: remeron made me gain weight. like, a lot of weight. and i was constantly hungry all the time, overeating to ridiculous amounts. why did nobody ever tell me that weight gain and metabolism changes are a side-effect of anti-depressants? i was more active this summer than i'd been in, like, three years and i just got fatter. which was incomvenient because i kept outgrowing my clothes. anyway, a side effect of ritalin is a loss of appetite and general weight loss. the combination of regularly taking ritalin and dropping remeron entirely? i eat a fraction of what i used to before, i've almost entirely stopped snacking, and i've lost 15 lbs in less than a month. i've already noticed my face is slightly slimmer now. maybe by christmas i'll be able to fit into my old tshirts again.

anyway, my psychologist quit, so i have a new one now. i've only seen her a few times, but she's veeeery different from my old one. i can't decide if i like her or not.

in the middle of all this, i've been going to the social security office as well to kind of get some of my own money, possibly help me get a job at some point in the future. my caseworker is super nice. if she's over 30 i'd be shocked. i relate to her really well, she's very helpful and understanding, and she's very patient with me and my bullshit. she's the kind of person where if we met at a party or something we could probably hang out.

anyway, she's helped me get out of the house sometimes. she introduced me to this youth club volunteer group thing called the fountain house, designed for young people who've dealt with or are currently dealing with mental illnesses and such. i hung out there yesterday and the day before and did some basic office work. it's nice. and then there's a work placement place that can either give you a job on site in one of their four departments, or help you get a job at an actual business elsewhere with more support and leniency than you might get if they just hired you off the street. i'd start in their second hand store. they clean and restore all donations they recieve, and they're super fucking cheap. i treated myself to my literal lifelong dream of owning a vintage typewriter (!!!!!) yesterday, because it's almost christmas and goddammit, i've been doing so much shit the past couple of months i deserve it. do i have space for it? not really. do i have a plan on what to use it for? no. was it heavy and miserable trekking through the snow and rain yesterday back and forth? was it worth the backache in the morning? fuck yeah it was.

a fucking lot of things are happening all at once. diagnoses, medications, lifestyle changes, work placement, social clubs, dealing with bureaucracies on all sides just so i can feel like a person again, not to mention juggling hobbies like writing and drawing and maintaining my irl friendships. i'm getting as many balls rolling as i can while i have the opportunity and mental/emotional capacity to, but i'm worried i'll burn out again. i'm stabilizing and slowly building my life back up, but jesus christ it would suck if this stupid house of cards collapsed again. but i'm tentatively optimistic. who knows, maybe it's not to late to course-correct my mistakes.

so long story short, that's why i've barely been active on tumblr for months. that's why i haven't been writing, drawing, or reading fic. it's coming along, but it's slow.

i guess the most important thing is that it's coming along at all.

#the tmi nobody asked for and will probably never read — you're welcome #Lady of Purple's slice of life #mental illness #medication #adhd #autism #personal

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halogensleep · 6 years

Text

the weary road (that leads me back to you)

On the long and weary road towards glory and all the obstacles that get in the way, Becky finally realises that maybe the traveller she walked with along the path was the real victory all along. (fifteen-thousand words, give or take)

The news came in the early hours of morning, or at least it tried.

The phone rang and Becky ignored it on the first occasion, instead she tossed her hip over and snuggled a pile of blankets where a long, lithe body once used to lay beside her. The second time it rang, she rubbed her bleary eyes in exasperation and peered at the bright screen, just about registering the ungodly time and who exactly was calling. She clicked the phone to silent and placed it back down, partly because she was tired, and partly because there was never any good news to be discovered from work phone calls that came in the wee hours of morning.

Despite her best efforts to fall back asleep, the worry began to eat at her. She rolled on her back and gave in to the universe, snatching the phone off the nightstand with one hand while she pushed herself upright with the other. She clicked Shane’s name in her contacts and counted the rings as the phone tried to connect.

It only took one and a bit before her boss was on the phone.

“Your match tomorrow with Charlotte for the championship is off,” Shane cleared his throat as if he had been crying, or maybe just trying his hardest not to. “You’re going to be facing Carmella instead.”

“Care to fill in the blanks?” Becky grumbled with sleep lingering in her voice.

“No,” Shane said, aloof. “I think that’s for Charlotte to explain.”

“Is everything alright?” Becky mumbled in confusion.

“You should call her in the morning.” Shane left it at that.

***

Orlando, Florida. It was a place filled with two types of people, the young and the old, exclusively. People at the beginning of their lives, and people at the end. That was the natural order of things. That was how the beaches were filled, the coffee shops, the shopping malls, even down to the elevators whizzing up and down the endless condominium buildings that hugged the city.

It made no sense in her mind how one moment Charlotte could be part of the latter, and now, gut wrenchingly, in the blink of an eye, the former. That was what the doctors had to say about it, or so Becky had heard through the grapevine. It had been two weeks and still, she did not know how to pick up the phone first.

She had finished the house show in Atlanta and headed straight for the airport with the intention of flying back to Los Angeles, somewhat determined to make the most of her three days off before she headed to television on Tuesday. The belt had been dropped to Carmella at the pay-per-view two weeks previously, and despite her best efforts, in the deepest part of her stomach where the muscles wrapped around secrets like spiderwebs, Becky was grateful regardless of the circumstances that she didn’t have to drop the title to Charlotte as originally planned.

She didn’t know how to make sense of that realisation, it was one that shocked and horrified her in equal measure, had her chewing the inside of her mouth in confusion and repulsion whenever she thought about it too hard. That wasn’t how good people felt or thought, and she didn’t want to contemplate what the alternative meant.

She finally came to the conclusion, sat in an empty airport lounge of all places, that it was simply because her body just refused the idea of putting Charlotte over anymore than she had already done. It was an automatic response. An instinctive defense. The early days of her career was spent putting the Nature Girl over and the thought of dropping the belt so Charlotte could become the most decorated female Superstar of all time? It didn’t sit well with her.

The small fact of their on-again-off-again relationship and all the unresolved feelings that went hand in hand might have had something to do with it too, maybe.

Becky tried not to think too hard about the contradiction that was her feelings, or that with each passing day it became increasingly unlikely she would ever get to step in a ring again with the big blonde nuclear bomb, or that the one person she desperately wanted to talk to about how devastating and confusing it all felt was the only person she couldn’t pick up the phone to.

Becky just sighed and gave in to the universe once more. The Delta counter was trod back to, the customer care lady was argued with for a bit, and after a little back and forth, the flight was changed. The next thing Becky knew, it was two in the morning and the wheels were touching down at Orlando International Airport.

Even as she stood around while the taxi driver fought with his trunk to fit all of her bags in, Becky still didn’t know how to pick up the phone, how to process that this was all happening.

It was the thought of Charlotte looking sick that did it, the thought of those big, powerful shoulders that could launch women twice her size up in the air now withered and frail. Her cornflower blue eyes becoming permanently bloodshot and slightly grey. Then there was her spine, undoubtedly her best work, the muscles either side thick and perfect for drawing fingers along in the early hours of morning when the world was quiet and everything was alright. Becky didn’t want to imagine her stooped over with all of the dips of her vertebrae on show, but that was exactly how she pictured her. And it terrified the parts of herself that she had thought were ironclad and impenetrable.

The more she dwelled, the more horrifying it all became. And that was how she passed the time as the car pulled through the city towards Charlotte’s place. One moment picturing her dying, the next, infuriated that she was forced to suffer it.

When the taxi driver finally found the apartment building that contained the best and worst memories of Becky’s life, she had him drive around the block at least four times just so she could straighten out in her head the things she would say. It dawned on her that considering it was three-thirty in the morning she should probably have the decency to start with, ‘Sorry for waking you up.’ The thought made her crack a smirk, which in turn only made her more guilty.

“Are you ready?” The taxi-driver pulled in beside the building. “It’s very late, I would like to soon go home.” His English was slightly broken.

“I’m thinking the same thing, Mohamed.”

“Well, where is home for you?” He looked at his watch and pushed out a sigh, slightly frustrated with the woman in his back seat.

“Dublin, Ireland?”

“I can’t drive you there. Too much water.”

“Fair point,” Becky agreed with a slight nod. “Los Angeles?” She half-joked.

“I have a cousin in Los Angeles. Very nice weather.”

“Mhm,” Becky nodded.

“Too far to travel though, nice weather here too when there is no hurricanes. Maybe you should take chance?” He glanced at the apartment building. “Hurricane season not for another two months?”

Becky offered a rueful smile. It was always hurricane season when her and Charlotte were in the same room. That was the way they operated, violent and cataclysmic like a storm that stamped out anything in their paths, each other too - most of the time.

She relented with a sigh and grabbed her purse, resolute and ready to get this all over with.

“Thanks for the ride,” she said, pushing a generous tip in his hand.

“I’ll keep the car running for a few minutes,” Mohamed nodded to himself and pocketed the tip. “Just in case you change mind. I take you back to airport.”

“Thanks,” Becky sighed with relief and got out of the car.

At least she had a getaway plan if the hurricane currently asleep upstairs did blow her way. Or, worst case scenario—depending on how angry Charlotte felt about being woken up—a tag-team partner if Mohamed knew what was good for him.

Becky wrestled her bags into the foyer, then the elevator. She hit the floor and the car moved too slowly for her liking, the incessant buzz of the fluorescent light in the ceiling did nothing to soothe her last frayed nerve. Ten months and maintenance still hadn’t fixed it. She would write a strongly worded letter in the morning, or at least she thought to herself before remembering she was no longer on the bills. Strange how easy it was too forget but not entirely unanticipated, she knew she hadn’t quite unlearned how to be Charlotte’s partner just yet. Even with months of silence between them, it was still so easy to care beneath her supposed hatred.

When the elevator finally came to a rest and the metal doors opened, Becky blinked and seriously thought about checking to see if Mohamed was still out front. Her feelings were becoming less complicated by the second, the urge to be Charlotte’s worried girlfriend all the more palpable. She didn’t know how to manage any of it. Of course she knew it would happen, that she would cave, that she would feel too much and want to be all the things she couldn’t, but it didn’t make the realisation any easier to swallow.

She walked the cream painted hallway towards the door at the end of the corridor, and if she had anticipated having a moment to collect herself before she rang the bell, she was mistaken. She had barely set her bags down on the floor before the front door swung open with gust.

“Oh,” Charlotte stalled and pulled her headphones down, her expression becoming confused. “What are you doing here?”

Becky blinked and didn’t know how to process what was in front of her. Charlotte was stood in workout gear, a pair of yoga pants and a zip up Nike jacket that was still in the process of being pulled on. The thick muscles in her shoulders were safe and intact, as was everything else by the quick once over of Becky’s eyes. She breathed a sigh of relief and didn’t know what to say.

“Becks,” Charlotte leaned forward with a small smile and lowered her voice. “My apartment. You’re here. What’s going on?”

“You’re dying,” Becky blinked a few times and her expression became sharper the more she thought about the audacity of it. “You’re supposed to be dying and you’re going for a light jog at three-thirty in the morning!” She snapped.

“Well thank you for reminding me, I almost forgot.” Charlotte gave a slight sarcastic nod. “Sorry to spoil your big ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ moment but I couldn’t sleep and I felt like doing circuits.” She shrugged.

“Circuits?!” Becky balked and ushered her in. “You’re ridiculous, you’re so ridiculous it is beyond belief!” She dragged her bags inside and glared at her ex-girlfriend. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.” She shook her head and closed the front door.

“That is rich coming from the woman who hasn’t picked up the phone in two weeks!” Her stare became intense.

“Oh don’t you dare,” Becky wanted to shove her. “I had to find out from the company that you’re sick, can you even begin to imagine—”

“Did you seriously fly across the country to chew me out over this?” Charlotte raised an impressed brow, her lips forming into a tight smirk.

Less than a minute together and they were already back in the swing of things. It irritated the part of Becky’s brain that wanted an adjustment period, craved for it even. But, apparently, in the most abstract sense of the word, there was still an affinity between them. Go figure, she chewed on it bitterly.

“I…” Becky became stuck and slightly guilty. “I’m not sure. I haven’t figured it out yet.” She hung her leather jacket on the peg and strolled into the kitchen.

“Hey, no-no-no!” Charlotte huffed and was quick on her tail through the hallway. “You’re not staying, no way!”

“Oh be consistent!” Becky bristled and grabbed a mug out of the cupboard. “Is it my ‘The Fault In Our Stars’ fantasy or yours? Can’t even make myself a cup of tea without you assuming I’m moving in to nurse you off the end of the mortal coil. You do realise I’ve been travelling through the night? My mouth is drier than a sandpaper arsehole.”

Charlotte laughed, which was an unexpectedly bold move. Becky lowered her chin and shook her head slightly as she stuck the kettle on, aware that none of this was going to plan.

“I guess it’s good to see you,” Charlotte ruefully smiled. “Outside of a professional capacity, I mean.”

“You too.”

Charlotte tilted her head. “If that’s your way of saying you missed me…”

“It’s my way of saying it’s good to see you too,” The Man said a little more sternly on the matter, not ready to admit such bold things.

“Well alright,” Charlotte said quietly, her smile barely dampening. “You must have been pretty worried to fly out here on your weekend off?”

“Not really,” Becky lied and grabbed the kettle as it began to steam. “You having one?” She nodded to the box of tea bags on the counter.

“Four sugars, milky.”

“You’ll get two sugars and a dash of milk, and you’ll be grateful for it.” Becky shot her a disbelieving look, suddenly more irritated by her determination to ruin the classic cup of tea than her impending mortality. “Four sugars.” She complained with a shocked shake of the head. “Absolute shame of my life.”

“I see you’re still just as dramatic.” Charlotte rolled her eyes and sat at the breakfast bar.

“Rich, coming from you.” Becky eyed her and quietly dumped three sugars in the drink as a compromise. “So when are you getting a second opinion? Have you talked to specialists?” She pushed a mug of tea that was far too milky for her own sensibility across the breakfast bar.

Charlotte blew it and then slurped too loudly. “Been there, done that.” She offered a half-smile. “This train only has one stop left, kid.”

“Fine, a third opinion?” Becky tried again.

“Are you serious?”

“Deadly.”

“That’s not cute.”

“I didn’t mean it like—” Becky stopped and grinded her jaw. “Please, just go and get a third opinion? If it’s a money thing—” She already knew it wasn’t. “I’ll pay.”

“Let me think about it,” Charlotte softly lied, and Becky knew as much too from the telltale wrinkle of her nose. “I watched your match with Carmella the other weekend by the way, it wasn’t half bad.” The subject was promptly changed.

“Would have been a better match with you. The girl doesn’t have a moonsault in her even if I flipped her off the top turnbuckle myself,” Becky managed a compliment, her heart strings pulling a bit.

“If I could have lied for a few more days and made the match I would have.” Charlotte nodded regretfully. “The company paid for the second opinion. When the bad news came back they vetoed the whole match, but you already know that part.” She pushed a slow, small smile.

“Bastards, the lot of them.” Becky shook her head. “God forbid you take a hit to the head and then what? You die a little bit faster? You’re a big girl, you should get to make your own decisions.” She stood straighter.

“Thank you, I think?” Charlotte raised an eyebrow.

“Sorry if that was a little too pointed.”

“Well for what it’s worth, I’m sorry this thing is going to kill me long before you do. I know it’s been a goal of yours for quite some time.”

“Shut up.”

“Touched a nerve?” Charlotte smirked.

“A year ago we were backflipping through tables from the top of a cage and I don’t think I’ve ever felt so alive, just the two of us.” Becky huffed in exasperation, eyes stinging and voice beginning to wobble. “For a hot minute I was glad I didn’t have to drop my title to you, and, well, now?” The words wouldn’t come. She looked at the cupboards, then looked at the ceiling, drumming her fingers across her lips. “Sorry,” she whispered.

There it was, Becky realised as the horrible, aching sting in her throat had to be pushed down and ignored. The truth. The premeditated grief. The realisation that all of those times they fought, argued, hated each other, and earned bruises the hard way around, those were the best days of their lives.

And even though they pretended like they knew it at the time - they never did. It was all pretense and posture, for Becky, at least.

Instead it took a cross-country pilgrimage at three-thirty in the morning to see a woman she swore she’d never love again for as long as she lived to realise just how lovely and wonderful it all was, that maybe, perhaps, those days were the real victory all along.

“Hey you,” Charlotte hushed and waved her hand slightly. “It’s all good, if we’re being completely honest with each other, well, I’m pretty screwed up about the whole thing too.” Her expression became heavy, that permanent, slight smile petering into a downcast look. “But, we’ll always have Evolution, and that should count for something, right?” She tried to seem upbeat.

“I really don’t want you to die,” Becky blurted dumbly with a devastated look. “Out of the top five rudest things you’ve ever done, that would take up at least three spaces on the list.”

“I always was the first to leave a party, babe.” She tempered into a sigh. “No point in crying about it now.”

Becky struggled to think of something equally profound to say in turn. “I don’t know what parties you’ve been going to without me then but it usually takes four of us to drag you away from a cheese fondue pot to go home. Try to make sense with your analogies, please.” She bristled.

“You’re so stupid,” Charlotte said quietly with the most heart-eyed, loving expression.

“Mhm.” Becky nodded and ignored the urge to fall into the same old trap. “So, how long?” She didn’t want to know but felt as though she should ask.

“A man usually has to buy me dinner first before I start answering questions like that…” Charlotte peered at her mug and swirled the drink slightly.

“So it’s worse than I think it is?”

“Well, define how bad you think it is?”

“Three years?” Becky became bird-mouthed.

Charlotte didn’t reply.

“Two years, then?” It earned no response. “How long are we talking?” Becky’s voice became quiet and furious.

It felt as though all of it were Charlotte’s fault, as if she was decidedly doing this to her. The selfishness of her feelings didn’t go amiss but Becky was stuck and drowning in them regardless. She was so close to escaping Charlotte, so close to being free of loving her, or so she thought. Then the big blonde idiot had to go and do this.

Becky just hung her head and felt her chest shudder.

“That doesn’t matter,” Charlotte whispered and set down her drink with a quirk of her lips. “Go and put your sweatpants on, we’re going downstairs to the gym.” She sighed, resolute.

“No, we’re not. It’s nearly four in the morning and I only slept an hour on the plane.” Becky grimaced.

“Worried the dying lady will still kick your ass?”

“Well what’s the point in worrying over the truth?” Becky managed a compliment.

“Well shucks,” Charlotte gently shoved her shoulder. “I didn’t know you remembered how to be nice, it’s very attractive on you.”

Becky just smirked and shook her head in disbelief.

“Hurry up, sweatpants on and sneakers too. I want at least two dozen burpees before I go back to bed.” Charlotte stretched out her arms.

“God I hate you,” Becky murmured.

She got up and strolled back towards her bags in the hallway where her sweats were no doubt balled up in the last case she would think to look in.

“Hate you too.” She heard Charlotte softly mutter.

Again, it earned a small smirk and a shake of the head.

…

The plan, if ever there was one, was to stay for maybe a day and no longer. Becky only realised how badly she screwed the whole thing up once Monday morning rolled around and it was time to fly back home ready for television.

The weekend had been filled with a few work out sessions, a couple of arguments, one or two honest declarations of their feelings, and a dash of relief that Charlotte’s health wasn’t failing just yet, or at least on the surface of things.

There were approximately three kisses over the weekend, two of which followed quickly after one another during a late-night argument that came to blows. The other one was softer and more embarrassing, needy even. It came after two glasses of wine the night before last, which was apparently all it took to make Becky forget how to maintain her steely composure.

Charlotte had kissed her back gently, warm hands either side of her face and those long eyelashes fluttering incessantly as if she had never laid eyes on another woman before. Despite how much she wanted to keep going, Becky drew a line. She knew it was a bad idea. Charlotte graciously let sleeping dogs lie and didn’t push the matter in the slightest.

In hindsight, Becky realised she should have perhaps thought a bit less hard about it all. The fact she managed to not fall back into bed with her ex was becoming all the less victorious by the passing minute now she was packing up the leave.

Charlotte popped her head around the guest bedroom door and distracted Becky from her thoughts.

“Hurry up. I’ll give you a ride to the airport,” she offered.

“Nah,” Becky replied and zipped up the case. “I don’t need you to do that, it’s alright.” She huffed and hauled the luggage off the bed onto its squeaky wheels.

“I know but I want to,” Charlotte simpered into a warm smile, her fingers drumming the door frame. “We can get coffee on the way? I’ll even let you get a triple shot and I won’t give you a hard time about it. Scouts honour,” she raised three fingers in the air.

“That does sound lovely, actually.” Becky smiled and blew a strand of ginger hair out of her eyes. “Kombucha for you if memory still serves correct?”

“Mmm, double-chocolate frapp with whipped cream and extra drizzle.” A hungry, anticipatory smirk formed at the corner of her lips. “Maybe even a donut. We’ll see what the morning brings.”

“It’s certainly an interesting way to spend a day’s worth of calories, I’ll give you that.” Becky became slightly impressed.

“Gotta enjoy that stuff while I still can.” Charlotte grinned and turned on her feet. “I’ll start taking your bags to the car, don’t be long please…”

“Sure,” Becky muttered and scratched her head, her heart hurting with the reminder that she wouldn’t be around forever.

…

Becky had been drip fed the truth over the course of the day.

Charlotte had been called on six separate occasions over the last month to arrange her retirement announcement and the calls had gone unresponded, which in fairness to her, might have just about been the most utilitarian response possible under the circumstances. Charlotte wasn’t going willingly, not without a damn good fight. Becky expected about as much.

‘They want me to do the honours and give you the chop.’ Becky rewrote the text message at least half-a-dozen times over lunch after she had received the news. ‘Any particular thoughts or feelings?’ She thumbed afterwards.

‘Don’t cross them, do what you have to do.’ Charlotte replied tersely, and that was that.

News had broke about her health on blogging platforms the night before, or at least a version of it that was mostly speculation and rumour. Either way, the world had became aware something was wrong and it made them realise almost overnight just how much they missed and wanted their Queen.

For the first time in longer than Becky could remember, the crowd chanted for Charlotte and they did not stop. She just stood there with the microphone hanging in her hand, blinking and taking it all in. Cheers and woos swarmed together like a cacophony that grew so loud it could be heard for miles. There was no end it sight. The crowd were unrelenting. Each time Becky thought the noise might die down, another chant rippled and swept through the audience.

Becky inhaled a deep breath and lifted the microphone to her lips. It earned brief, interested pull of silence from the crowd.

“As most of you know Charlotte Flair has been absent from Smackdown since she was pulled from Elimination Chamber due to health reasons.” Becky began, her voice echoing around the arena.

She looked at the camera man with his lens peeking through the ropes, well aware that Charlotte was out there, somewhere, watching all of this go down. The thought didn’t sit well with her, there was something too cowardly about retiring her like this.

“I once told you all that there is nothing in this world that I love more than slapping the head off Charlotte Flair—” She realised too late that she just couldn’t do it. Becky hesitated and ruefully smiled, deciding to change tact. “I have no doubt in my mind that The Queen will be back soon enough, and if you’re out there watching, Charlotte Flair, you better believe that I’ll be right here waiting to slap the head off you! Because our story?” Becky nodded sternly and leaned forward to the camera while the crowd went up with excitement. “It isn’t finished yet.”

The telling off once she got backstage would be unreal, The Man already knew it. The shadow rules of this business were simple ones: do your job well, let others do theirs, and never break face in front of the audience. It dawned on Becky that she was failing at all three, simultaneously.

“Until you and I get the chance to dance in this ring again, Charlotte Flair, I need someone to occupy myself with in the meantime...” Becky stared menacingly into the camera, determined to make this look as close to a planned promo as possible. “And who better than the woman who stole my title at Elimination Chamber!” Becky gave her best work, her shoulders and chest puffed out with hubris as she turned to the titantron. “Carmella, you better sleep with one eye open because you’re about to learn the hard way that The Man always comes around, and this time, Carmella, I am coming for you!” Becky scowled and dropped the microphone, clambering out of the ropes to walk the ramp.

By her own estimations, she could have thought of a neater way to end the segment. The confused, sporadic cheers of the audience seemed to agree with the initial self-assessment too.

It dawned on Becky as she made it halfway up the ramp that if she had just stayed in the ring, stoic, pensive, allowing an air of anticipatory silence to fall over the arena, the creative team might have been forced to send Carmella out to answer the threat. It might have even been a way to expedite the process of getting her title back. There was no such thing as true altruism in this world, Nietzsche once said that. Becky thought there might be some truth to it, because even now, sticking her neck on the line, trying to do the decent thing, her own self-interests still brewed beneath her other more noble reasons.

All things considered it was probably for the best she didn’t rock the boat more than she already had done, the thought dawned on her as displeased men in suits murmured their frustrations and watched the replay backstage.

“Big trouble!” Shane McMahon caught her out the corner of his eye and pointed his finger at the little monitor. “You have no idea how much hot water you’re in!”

“You should have asked Ric to do it,” Becky shrugged and didn’t know what else to say.

“I think that might just be about the most selfish thing I have ever heard in my entire life. Shame on you.”

“Fair point,” Becky agreed quietly. “I’m sorry, I wish I had an explanation but I just couldn’t do it to her.” She was at a loss for words.

“The whole picture will leak soon and it won’t be pretty.” Shane chewed and shook his head. “We were trying to get ahead of this whole thing for her. We wanted to contain it. You might walk out of here tonight in her good favors for not ripping the bandaid off but let me tell you something…” He lightly prodded her shoulder. “Loving someone—and I mean really loving someone—is about doing what is best for them no matter how much it might sting.”

Becky inhaled and felt herself swell with emotions too big for her body. “If I had gone out there and told the world she won’t fight again? Well.” She nibbled the inside of her cheek, exasperated and unsure of how to explain those delicate feelings. “I might have had to start believing it myself, Shane. And I’m not ready to do that, not even a little bit.” Becky managed.

Apparently, her self-interests and desire to be noble weren’t the only driving factors. It was fear too, overwhelming fear, terrifying fear, unfair fear, utterly desiccating fear that she would never wrangle for glory with the big blonde idiot again. They were too young to bear the troubles of old women.

“The doctors will never clear her to compete again,” Shane softened a bit into something that resembled sympathy.

“Doesn’t matter, it’s still wrong what you’re all doing to her. That girl has some fight left in her yet, I’m sorry but that’s just my take on it.” Becky shrugged defensively. “If she wants to go out in a blaze of glory then we should give her that much.”

“Maybe asking you to do it wasn’t the brightest idea...” Shane relented. “If you need some time off to deal with all of this…”

“That is the last thing I need.”

“Then tell me what you do need?”

“A title match.”

“You just went rogue on national television and you think I’m in the mood to hand you a title match?” Shane lowered his brow. “Two weeks, you’re taking some time off.”

“You’re sidelining me?”

“I’m telling you to let this die down because the suits upstairs are not going to be happy,” Shane warned. “Call it whatever you like, I don’t give a shit. What I care about is you coming back to work ready to do your job.”

“Can’t you at least put me on the tour?” Becky pouted. “You said the other day that the company needed a bigger pull to fill the house shows, right? I could do that. It would be like a paid vacation.”

Shane sighed, his eyebrows doing the thing. “Let me think about it!” He became exasperated, scratching his head and already aware it wasn’t a good idea.

It wasn’t a good idea, Becky already knew that too. There were few things in this world that seemed less appealing than being sandwiched on an overnight coach across Europe next to Samoa Joe and Rusev, but it was better than the thought of staying at home and letting the small matter of Charlotte Flair devour her alive.

The Smackdown tour would be good for her in that regard, give her some time to escape her problems and focus on more productive things. Hopefully, Shane would come to the same conclusion too.

…

If she had anticipated that the Atlantic Ocean would be big enough to put some space between herself and Charlotte Flair, then she was well and truly mistaken.

“So where exactly are you, again?” Charlotte hummed on the other end of the phone.

Becky rubbed her eyes and thought about it for longer than a second. “Hamburg,” she replied with a sigh and peered out the window of the hotel to the greyish, choppy river that seemed to cradle the entire city. “Where are you tonight?” Becky asked and flopped down on the springy bed.

There was a moment of hesitation.

“The gym,” Charlotte casually lied, her voice straining a bit.

“The one at the hospital or the morgue?” Becky asked quite seriously.

“Hilarious, but yes I’m at the hospital.”

“I can come?” Becky offered instantly and sat up.

“And ruin my street cred? No thank you.”

It wasn’t an easy realisation to swallow but the thought of seeing Charlotte in a hospital bed was unfathomable, and the fact the offer was declined relieved Becky to no end. She sighed and leaned back against the headboard, trying to put it out of her mind.

“Playing tough with the nurses are you?” Becky mused.

“Something like that, sure.”

“You doing okay though?”

“Oh, other than being stuck on a drip? Grand.”

Becky rolled her eyes. “You don’t get to use that word. It’s cultural appropriation,” she smirked into the receiver.

“Well alright,” Charlotte’s voice went quiet, and Becky could tell she was smiling. “Who are you fighting tonight?” She spoke again.

“Asuka, the same answer I’ve given you every night this week.”

“You should use the moonsault.” There were beepy, clinical, hospital sounding noises in the background. “I’m still working on the company for a final farewell match. It would cheer me up in the meantime.”

“I have my own moves,” Becky insisted, a little irritated by the suggestion of putting the Queen over anymore than she already had done. “Why don’t you just focus on not ending up in a chiller before I make it back home?” Charlotte chuckled at that.

“Do what you think is best and I’ll keep an eye on Twitter in case you change your mind. I need to go anyway, call you later?”

“Mhm, sure,” Becky agreed and tried not to be annoyed. “I’ll come and see you when I’m home.”

“I’m already in the hospital, do you have to make me feel worse?” Becky smirked at the cheekiness of it. “I’ll call you later, go be a Superstar.”

“See you,” Becky smiled and hung up.

…

“So, where are you tonight?”

Becky flopped down on the edge of the bath and thought about it, the thin hotel towel wrapped around her steaming, damp skin.

The phone had rang while she was still in the shower. The water was cut off, the hand jammed around the curtain, the counter slapped in search of her cellphone, and instead of letting it go to voicemail like a reasonable person, Becky clambered out with soap still in her eyes and took the phone call.

“Prague,” Becky remembered with a smile. “You would like it here.”

“Eh, I’ve been before. It was too cold.”

“I don’t remember us coming here before?” Becky furrowed her brow.

“You know I have a life beyond you, right?”

“Mhm, whatever you say.”

“Did I catch you in the middle of something by the way?” Charlotte was polite about it.

The water dripped off the end of Becky’s nose, off her shoulders, ran in cool dribbles along her spine that made her shiver. “No,” she lied and wiped her forehead. “I was about to call you too.”

“Missed me then?”

“Something like that.”

“Is this us officially on warm terms?”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“How far would you go?” Becky could almost hear the furrow of Charlotte’s brow.

“Well, I wouldn’t mind beating you up in a ring one last time.” Becky grinned at the thought. “Could possibly entertain the idea of going for dinner afterwards if you’re getting your wallet out.”

“Hey, Becky?” It was nervous, remorseful, a confession of her guilt that Charlotte needed removed but didn’t know how to ask. “Thank you, by the way. You know, for not retiring me on Smackdown.”

“If they ask me to do it again I won’t say no,” Becky became slightly stern.

“I know.”

“Good. You heard anything from them?”

“I’m working Shane for one last title match. Either he’s entertaining the idea or just pretending to so that I stop calling his secretary.”

“Now that would be one hell of way to go.” Becky mused with a smile. “Plus, if you get your eighth title then that means, what? I only have to earn another three to knock you off the top spot?” She counted her current six titles on her fingers. “It’s doable. I could be a nine-time world champion.”

“Yeah, yeah. When are you coming home anyway? Feels like you’ve been on the road forever.” It had only been two weeks, but Becky was inclined to agree.

“Thursday. What about you?” Becky leaned forward.

“Got out of hospital last night. I’m currently on my sofa eating leftovers, there’s also a huge cat on my balcony and I don’t know if it’s just the pain medication but I’m inclined to let him in so we can share.”

“Well, I best be going. I wouldn’t want to spoil your jam-packed evening.” Becky chuckled.

“So you’re not going to mention that you used the moonsault in Hamburg?” Charlotte pointed out expectantly. “The GIFs were all over Twitter. I thought we were building up to that?” She chewed a mouthful of food.

Becky closed her eyes in frustration. She wished, just for once, that Charlotte could let her do something nice without it being some grand gesture. It wasn’t a tribute. It wasn’t anything particularly meaningful. Charlotte had asked her to do it, and so she did. It was as simple as that.

“I did the moonsault in Hamburg. There, are you happy now?” Becky nibbled.

“It’s not much but I’ll try to lock the Dis-arm-her in next time I see the outpatient nurse. I can’t promise a GIF will end up on Twitter, though.” Charlotte joked.

“You’re an idiot,” Becky whispered, her voice tender and filled with fondness. “See you around.”

…

“I thought you were flying straight into LAX?” Charlotte answered the phone in surprise. “You should be in the air for what? At least another four hours?”

“Yeah, I know.” Becky sighed. “I had to take a connecting flight, and, well, long story short my connection got cancelled. I thought I’d give you a call while I’m in the cab.”

“Stuck anywhere nice?” Charlotte tried to cheer her up.

Becky looked out of the taxi window, a small smirk forming into her cheeks.

“Not really, no.” The city rose up quickly, the tall highrises hanging over like giants with their heads in the evening clouds. “I had a look on the Marriott app and they’re booked up for the night, I’m heading to a right dive instead.” The exhaustion from travelling made her accent a bit thicker than normal.

“Well.” Charlotte gave a long, thoughtful pause. “You’ve been on the road for two weeks, right? One more night isn’t so bad. You’ll be in Los Angeles by tomorrow afternoon, tops,” she reminded.

“Any news from Shane?” Becky enquired. It had been a week since their last conversation on the matter without any update since.

“Not much. I’ll tell you when I see you,” Charlotte said, aloof. “God knows when that will be, though.”

“Why? You busy?”

“Oh between stealing the neighbour’s cat and working on my lats? Rushed off my feet.” Charlotte joked. “You on the other hand? Television has sucked without you. They’ll need you on the live show to pick things up.”

“You’re probably not wrong there,” Becky mused as her cab pulled slowly along the street and came to a stop. “I’ve just got to the place, wanna stay on the phone?” She balanced it between her ear and her shoulder as she got out of the car.

“Sure, why not.”

The sound of metal things being rifled with in the kitchen stung the static. Becky instinctively pulled her ear away from the sharpness of the noise.

“What are you doing?” She furrowed her brow.

“Getting ready for dinner,” Charlotte replied, absent-minded.

“Oh, well if you’re expecting company…”

“I’m not, I’m just getting ready for dinner. Well, if I can find something to cook that is.”

“Order something on Postmates?” Becky suggested, wrestling her bag out of the boot and on to the pavement. “You like Pad Thai, get that.” She wheeled the luggage into the building.

“Yeah but I’m not sure Mister Bojangles would like Pad Thai.”

“Tell me you didn’t name the cat?” Becky became exasperated, if not slightly amused.

“It suits him, though.”

“Mister Bojangles??” Becky couldn’t quite believe it.

“Listen, I’ve had a lot of time on my hands.”

“Oh I can see that, Cat-nabber!”

“You would like him, he’s mean just like you.”

“Ah,” Becky smiled as the elevator doors dinged open. “So that’s what this is all about.” She dragged her bags inside.

“What?” She almost heard Charlotte wiggle her brows.

“You. You missing me so much you stole and anthropomorphised a cat.” Becky insisted and tucked the phone between her chin and shoulder, slightly unsure if she had pronounced the word correctly. “Listen, whatever helps you sleep at night but I’m fairly certain the HOA is going to have some strong words when they find out about this.”

“I’ve only borrowed him,” Charlotte emphasised with a severe tone. “He goes home every night. You only have to see how much weight he’s gained to figure that out.”

“Great, so now you’re giving the cat diabetes too?”

“Can you not?” Charlotte whined, seeing the funny side a little bit. “You have to be nice to me, I’m sick.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, alright.” Charlotte backed away from the point. “He’s on the counter being cute, do you want to see a picture?”

“I would rather stick my head in an oven.” Becky didn’t skip a beat as the elevator doors opened again.

“But his little paws are so tiny and warm,” Charlotte cooed over her stolen cat. “And his little swishy tail—” She couldn’t even form an end to the statement, her voice trailing into a long, crooning noise.

“The neighbour probably knows where he ventures off too.” Becky comforted herself aloud, wandering down the hallway past different doors with her cases in tow.

“If she does then she hasn’t came by. Probably too scared of me.”

“Who isn’t?” Becky grinned and stopped in front of the right door. “You hit like a truck, anyone with basic cable knows that.” She gave three concise knocks against the wood.

“Becky, can you hold on? I think someone is as at my door.”

“Probably Postmates,” Becky whispered.

When the door opened, Charlotte was not shocked in the slightest. She stood there with a wry, pleased smile worked into her cheeks and a freshly-mashed cup of tea in her other hand. She exhaled and continued to hold the phone to her ear.

“The Postmates lady looks a lot like you,” she whispered, a tiny grin forming.

Becky smiled and nodded a bit, chewing her lip for a moment. “I picked up extra hours,” she reasoned with a shrug and lifted the brown takeout bag that needed warming.

“Hi,” Charlotte blinked and didn’t know what to do with her arms.

“Hey love,” Becky put her phone away. “Room for a little one?” She looked herself up and down.

“Good job I was prepared,” Charlotte lifted the perfectly made mug of tea. “One sugar, a dash of milk, and I put the sheets you like on the spare bed.”

“Wait,” Becky became irritated. “You knew I was coming?”

“Wait.” Charlotte furrowed her brow in confusion and handed her the cup of tea. “You didn’t know I knew you were coming? I thought that was the joke. Like, we were pretending that you were in a different city but we both knew you were on your way here?”

“Oh for fucksake,” Becky bristled under her breath.

“Did I ruin your surprise?” Charlotte became sympathetic, or at least tried to be in between spells of laughter. She followed inside as Becky bustled past her. “It’s alright, we can fix it!” Becky ignored her all the way into the living room. “You go back outside. Here! Take Mister Bojangles with you!” Charlotte grabbed the fat, hulking, disinterested cat from the counter and offered him forward.

“What the fuck is that thing!” Becky span around and couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Mister Bojangles!” Charlotte became offended on the cat’s behalf.

Charlotte nuzzled him close, her lips pecking his soft little head—which was the only part of his body that could be considered relatively small, at all. She bounced him slightly and the cat was totally disinterested, his eyes blinking slowly and not moving from the Irish woman in front of him.

“That cat looks like it ate all of the other cats in order to assert dominance.” Becky blinked and couldn’t quite believe what she was seeing, still. “What an absolute unit.”

“I know,” Charlotte grinned, absolutely in love with the newest ginger acquisition to her life.

The cat was so big that it spilled over her arms, his tail swishing and thudding her shoulder, his chest rumbling with a deep purr. Of course, Charlotte had to fall in love with this one. He was by far the fattest cat that Becky had ever seen in her life, most probably the grumpiest too.

“I don’t think I’ve ever loved anything as much as I love this cat.” Charlotte bounced him carefully, her voice tight and filled with seriousness.

“Well considering we were together for three years I won’t pretend that doesn’t slightly hurt,” Becky said as she removed her jacket.

“You wanna hold him?”

“I came to see you, not—” She refused to entertain the idea of calling him that name. “Can you send him home? Just, for a little bit? It’s been over a month and I missed you.” Becky whined.

“Holy shit.” Charlotte stepped backwards slightly. “You actually said it.”

“Said what?”

“That you missed me.”

“Did not!” Becky glared, embarrassed.

“Yes you did!” Charlotte marched to her balcony doors and set the chubby ball of grumpiness down. “I’ll see you later,” she kissed her fingers and pressed them to the top of his ginger head. “And as for you—” She turned around and pointed at Becky. “You missed me.” She smirked.

“Did you ever actually doubt it?” Becky scoffed.

“Well, you seemed pretty determined during the break up.”

“That was ages ago.”

“You said you never wanted to speak to me again.”

“Who doesn’t say that during a break up—”

“And that if I were on fire you wouldn’t piss on me to put it out, you tweeted that less than three months ago.” Charlotte reminded.

“Well of course I would never piss on you.” Becky folded her arms, prepared to die on that hill. “Well, maybe if it was a sex-related thing, but I’d have to really think on it.”

“God that’s disgusting.” Charlotte shrivelled.

“I know,” Becky sighed. “But you’re dying and if it was on your bucket list I would take one for the team.”

“Stop talking.”

“Alright.” Becky blinked. “Too far?”

“So far that the line may as well be back in Prague, Becky.” Charlotte glared.

“Right, understood.” The Man nodded. “Well, I have to be in Los Angeles by tomorrow night and I know I’m making a meal out of this, but, I missed you. I wanted to see you. So, if there’s enough room in this apartment for the three of us.” She glanced at the monstrous hulk of a cat that refused to go home. “Then I want to be here and, well, not miss you anymore—”

Charlotte kissed her, her hands finding either side of Becky’s face. It knocked The Man off balance. The blush in her cheeks was barely pink with it’s newness, but Charlotte kissed it anyway. Becky nearly spoke, nearly halted it, but then her lips were taken up with decided interest again. Charlotte kissed her again. Then kissed her some more.

Becky just stood there, lips barely parted, not sure whether she wanted to continue or stop. It was a bad, terrible, horrific idea. She knew that. But then her body took over, and apparently her mouth and hands didn’t care for bad ideas or premeditated grief because before she knew it her fingers were in Charlotte’s hair, her teeth were nibbling that plump bottom lip, her forearms were stretching and wrapping around the back of her shoulders, weighing them up, feeling them out, making them her own again.

“Sorry,” Charlotte whispered and rested against Becky’s nose. “It’s just, you’re going tomorrow and I needed to get that out of the way.” She patted her cheek.

“We’re not getting back together,” Becky swallowed hard, completely determined about it.

“I know that,” Charlotte ruefully smiled. “And it doesn’t have to be that.”

“Well, alright.” Becky nodded, her breath stilting. “Again then?” Her eyes tinged with a little desperation.

…

In true them-fashion, there was a quietness that existed for the three weeks since the last visit with the exception of the occasional, sporadic phone call.

The last one, a week ago approximately, was upbeat and congratulatory.

Charlotte had called to congratulate her on the Money In The Bank win, they had talked a little bit, and Becky couldn’t help but gloat that once she beat Carmella she would be tied with Charlotte and Trish Stratus as the most decorated female Superstar of all time. The three of them, up there together. Charlotte seemed pleased by the thought too. That was the state of things the last time they spoke, warm and decent.

If anything, the sporadicness of the contact between them was comforting. It was a way of proving to herself that she had resolved her issues of codependency, that she didn’t need Charlotte, and, that, ultimately, she would be just fine when she was gone for good. She never felt as certain about the last part as she would like to be, but she always forgave herself when the thought occurred.

Though, out of all of her thoughts concerning Charlotte Flair it was overnight visit that was perhaps thought about a bit too frequently. The easiness of the kiss. The comfort of touching her shoulders, of resting her arms against the sturdiness of them. The familiar, homely feeling of curling up on the sofa with Charlotte tucked around her while they talked about nothing important. Becky filled the blank moments of her day with the memory of all of it.

It was the thing she found herself stuck in thought about as the door to the changing room was abruptly knocked.

“Becks?” Shane’s voice called between the cracked door of the locker room. “Can you come out here?”

“Be there in a sec,” Becky finished lacing her boots.

“It’s urgent.” Shane hurried her.

Becky walked out and found her boss stood in the empty hallway, his expression heavy and filled with bad news. He dug his hands in his pockets and nodded his head, answering a question that hadn’t even formed on Becky’s lips yet.

“The news has leaked then?” She felt her stomach become pitless. “How much has gotten out?”

“All of it,” Shane said with a troubled, heavy sigh. “She took a bad turn last night and went to the hospital, it’s all over the internet. She was released this morning. She’s already on her way here to make an announcement tonight but…” His voice tapered, unsure of what to say and what not to say. “She was given some rough news, Becks.”

“Hospital?” Becky backtracked and shook her head in surprise. “She didn’t say anything to me about that. She would have at least texted?” It didn’t make sense.

“I got off the phone with Ric just now, a year is now looking more like six months. The tumour is pressing against—”

“Stop,” Becky felt the vomit start to slosh at the thought of clinical words and timelines. “I don’t need to know any of that stuff. I don’t want to know any of that stuff. Just, don’t.” She nibbled her lips.

“Well, we’re putting together a plan for tonight. After she’s made her announcement, you’re going to walk out to the ring and have your moment with her. Carmella will come out as champion to shake Charlotte’s hand, and together you’re going to knock her down and cash the Money In The Bank contract.” Shane reeled it all off too fast. “We’re going to try and give her one last big moment, if she’s up to it.”

Becky perked up slightly, a small smile forming in her cheeks. “You know, I don’t think I’ll ever do anything quite as grand in my life as winning a seventh championship with Charlotte Flair there to be a part of it.” Becky nodded, absolutely in love with the idea. “That will definitely be a special way to end our story together…”

Shane seemed pensive for a moment, his expression tightening sympathetically.

“Well.” He started and stopped. “We want you to cash your contract and give the pinfall to Charlotte and let her walk out of here tonight the most decorated Women’s champion of all time. She’ll vacate the title immediately, of course...” Becky felt her expression become ashen. “And you, well, you’ll pick the title up next month when you and Carmella duke it out for the vacant title! Happy ending for everyone!”

“You want to give her my Money In The Bank contract?” Becky blinked and chewed her cheek, suddenly furious and too proud to admit it. “How are you going to possibly make that work? It’s my contract, it’s non-transferable. It makes no sense in kayfabe.” Becky grew flustered.

“It doesn’t have to make sense in kayfabe, Becky. Your stories are so intrinsically tied together. This is you, The Man, honouring The Woman—”

“You don’t have to explain.” Becky raised her hand with a short nod. “I get it, it’s fine, and of course I want to do this for her.” It wasn’t the truth at all, and that fact made her feel guiltier than she knew she could be.

“Well, it’s settled then.” Shane quirked a small, apologetic smile and set his hand on her shoulder. “Try not to be down about this. One day, you’re going to look back on this moment and I promise it will be greatest thing you ever did.”

“Mhm,” Becky mumbled and nodded.

It wouldn’t be. She knew it, and she hated herself for it. This was not how good people felt. This was not the emotional inner-workings of decent, kind, honourable people. She loved Charlotte, loved her even when she was hating her, loved her even when it wasn’t convenient, loved her even when she was stabbing her in the back, loved her even when she was being stabbed in turn.

But she loved this life, this job, this glory, so much more.

…

Just like that, she became sick.

It didn’t make sense in Becky’s mind, because three weeks ago there was a cat the size of a small vehicle being hoisted and cradled in her arms, and her shoulders were thick and fit for purpose, and everything was alright, at least on the surface of things.

Becky watched her through a crack in the stage curtains with almost a childlike sense of fear. Charlotte was stood there waiting for them to call her on stage, or rather, she was leaning against a strategically placed object that was keeping her tired body propped up. She was laughing and talking to people, shaking hands, maintaining appearances so that no one had to feel uncomfortable by her failing health, even though they didn’t deserve that sort of priority. Becky could tell she was tired, more tired than she had ever seen her before.

She had been warned by Google that this would happen, that the turn would be sudden and abrupt.

“Well hello to you too,” Charlotte noticed her looking.

Becky swallowed and emerged from behind the curtain. She straightened herself and stuck her hands in her pockets, unable to hide the look of concern from her face. The people in the hallway seemed to disappear with immediacy, clearing like a dwindling smog so the two could speak with a certain level of privacy.

“Hey love,” Becky forced a small smile.

“You’re going to have to come here.” Charlotte made it clear she wasn’t moving, that she wasn’t going to entertain anyone’s pity by demonstrating her failing balance. “I’m saving myself for the ring,” she joked.

“That bad?” Becky wandered over to her.

“It will get better, just a little numbness,” Charlotte lied with a small, reassuring smile. “You look pretty.” She smoothed a weft of gingery hair. “The black jacket suits you.”

“What are you going to say out there?” Becky let her fiddle with the leather lapels of her jacket. “Or are you just going to wing it?”

“Ask me what I’m going to do when Carmella comes out to the ring, that’s a way better question.” Charlotte lightly scolded.

“Alright,” Becky rolled her eyes and entertained it. “Let me guess? Are we setting up for double chops?”

“Of course!” Charlotte beamed excitedly, and like a switch had been clicked inside of her she was no longer sick. “Can you set me up for a moonsault?”

“Shane will shit a brick, do not do that.” Becky glared and folded her arms. “A few chops, let me do the heavy work, and then you take the pinfall. That’s what we all agreed…”

“One last moonsault.” Charlotte smiled and leaned forward, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Give me one for the road?”

“Fine.” Becky closed her eyes and gave in.

“I’m sorry they’re giving me your Money In The Bank—”

“Shut up,” Becky raised her hand and forced a smile, opening her eyes again. “It was my idea.” She didn’t want there to be any guilt about it.

“No it wasn’t.”

“Alright, it wasn’t. But I want you to have it.”

“No you don’t.”

“Alright, I don’t.” Becky smiled slightly and found a nugget of truth within herself. “But I am warming up to the idea,” she said sincerely. “You’re going out in a blaze of glory and that’s it’s all any of us can ever hope for. I’m happy for you.”

“Wow, this is really it?” Charlotte swallowed hard and looked around. “This is how it ends?”

“Not by a long shot.” Becky didn’t skip a beat. “This is how it all starts, Charlotte. This is how it starts for a little girl who is sat at home somewhere watching this tonight, and she’ll watch you take that belt and sling it up above your head and she’ll believe, just for a second, that superheroes exist.” She prodded Charlotte’s shoulder lightly. “This is how it begins for the next era that we’re going to hand the torch too, and you? By god, you’re about to go and light the fuse.”

The house lights dimmed and the crowd started to chant so loud that it beat the walls like a wardrum. They stood there, completely silent with one another and yet saying everything that needed to be said. Charlotte nodded and wiped a single tear that hadn’t yet formed. Becky swallowed the ache in her throat.

“Go be a Superstar,” Becky smiled ruefully and nodded to ringside.

…

The celtic music hit, and the roof of the arena blew damn-near clean off. The crowds were out of their seats, yes chants going up like a battle cry. Becky postured dourly at the titantron and willed herself not to get emotional as she began the slow, solemn walk towards the ring with the briefcase in hand.

She savoured the moment as she clambered through the middle rope on to the canvas, aware that this was it, the very last time she would stand toe-to-toe with The Queen. Charlotte nodded, her eyes pearling slightly, her lips tight and twitching with emotion.

“Charlotte Flair,” The Man’s voice was loud and stern into her microphone. “I have one thing to say to you…”

There was a long pause, the two of them staring at one another for what felt like an eternity. On a good night, the crowd chanted. On a great night, there were moments of apprehensive silence that were so quiet a pin drop could be heard in the arena. Tonight was setting up to be great, they stood eye-to-eye in the ring, and the audience barely breathed in anticipation of what would happen next.

Becky leaned forward into the mic, her throat throttled and her voice cracking. “Thank you, Charlotte!” She burst.

The hug was so hard that it had them both wobbling against one another, and it took everything Becky had not to shatter and sob. This ring, this sacred, holy place where the best years of their lives been entwined for the history books, was now the last sentinel to which they said their goodbyes to another in this form. The audience, they were there too, crying with them, but for all intents and purposes it was just the pair of them and this ring that had cradled them from infancy to stardom.

Carmella’s music hit.

“You ready for this, Champ?” Becky whispered.

Charlotte sighed quietly and gave a small nod. “Let’s do this.”

Becky stepped aside to let Carmella speak, though she didn’t and couldn’t listen to a word that was being said. All she could hear was the blood pumping around her ears. She closed her eyes and opened them again, and when she looked back to Charlotte, she etched the sight into her memory, determined to remember her like this, always.

Becky hit Carmella from behind with the microphone, and to her credit, Carmella sold it brilliantly. The Staten Island Princess crashed to the canvas in a daze, lying there with a small, invisible smile on her face that they were able to do this for Charlotte.

“Charlotte,” Becky spoke into the microphone and turned to face her. “The Man and The Woman, one last dance for old time’s sake. What do you say?” She nodded down to Carmella.

Charlotte just grinned and got to work.

They hauled Carmella up, chopped her a bit, slung her into the ropes, and unbelievably, Charlotte slung her up on her shoulders and crashed her on to the canvas. Becky couldn’t believe what she was seeing, her eyes refused it. Half an hour ago she was backstage fashioning leaning posts out of unassuming objects and now she was alive, more alive than she had been in months.

“Get me on the top rope,” Charlotte grunted quietly.

In her mind’s eye, Becky could already see Shane backstage fuming out of his ears as she helped Charlotte set up the moonsault. She held out her hand for Charlotte to use as leverage, her legs wobbling a bit as she stood on the top turnbuckle.

There was a long pause that left everyone breathless.

And then, she leaped.

Becky watched her somersault in the air and land belly to belly with Carmella. She pushed her briefcase into the referee’s hands and cashed in the contract, not a bone of indignation left within her. She pointed to Charlotte, then back at the suitcase, gesturing between the two wildly so the audience understood what was about to happen. The contract was being cashed in so that Charlotte could have a final title reign.

“Thank you, Becky! Thank you, Charlotte!” The crowd roared and alternated between the two as the referee signalled for a title match to be called.

Then, the plan went awry.

Becky watched Charlotte get up from the canvas, heaving and nodding at the audience. Her finger pointing to a prone Carmella that she could easily pin if she wanted to. That was the statement, Becky realised. Charlotte was telling the world that she was capable of doing it, still, and that if she wanted to pin the champion and take the belt she could do it in a heartbeat.

“Hurry up,” Carmella muttered tight-lipped, pretending to be hurt and dazed. She cracked open an eyelid and stared at Becky. “Someone needs to pin me, this is taking too long.” She bristled.

Charlotte suddenly turned and found The Man, her eyes filled with resolution and clarity.

“Pin her,” Charlotte nodded down at Carmella.

“Charlotte—”

“Just shut up and pin her,” Charlotte demanded with a severe nod and the crowd grew fervent and excited, unsure which one would do the deed. “Let’s walk this one out together, seven-time champions.” She nodded again.

There would be meetings over this, the closed door kind that usually ended with someone being fired. Becky knew it, and still, she dove and raised Carmella’s knee.

“I am not taking the fall for this with you two,” Carmella warned quietly as the referee began the count.

“Here is your winner! And the new Smackdown Women’s Champion, Becky Lynch!” The announcer called.

Becky stumbled to her feet and slung the belt over her head, tears and sweat rolling down her cheeks, heaving and shocked. A hand firmly grabbed her wrist, she looked to her side and watched Charlotte, with the most heart-eyed and proud expression on her face, raise her arm in the air.

“Thank you, Charlotte!” The crowd bellowed.

Becky felt her heart hum with the same sentiment too.

They walked it out together, arms slung over each other’s shoulders, seven digits raised up into the air for the joint seven-time world champions.

“I love you,” Becky whispered and chewed her lip.

“I know,” Charlotte smiled.

…

“So, where are you tonight?” Charlotte answered the call.

“Dallas,” Becky replied, her eyes fixed on the white and blue belt at the side of her that had been won a month ago. “Asuka is challenging for the belt. Creative still aren’t happy but I’ve heard through the grapevine I’m going to retain.”

“You better,” Charlotte warned and slurred slightly. “No point on winning the thing if you can’t hold on to it.”

“Shane still mad with you over everything?” Becky winced.

“Furious. My dad is too, still. I think I’m now two pallbearers short.” Her voice tapered into a cough.

“If it comes down to it I will drag you down that aisle all by myself.”

“Well if you wanted to marry me you only had to ask.”

“Mhm.” She couldn’t even imagine what their marital life would look like. “Third time's the charm, they say that right?”

“About weddings? Not in Texas they don’t.”

“Where are you tonight?” Becky had detected the exhaustion in her voice and knew the answer already.

“The gym,” Charlotte lied.

“You’ve been going to the gym a lot lately.” Becky thought about the four hospital visits in the last month, and those were just the ones she knew about. “Should I be worried?”

“No,” Charlotte said decidedly. “I’ll be out tomorrow morning, I’m just here for the free jello. I might not have time to get the quinoa you like so you’ll have to suffer through without—”

“We can cancel, it’s not a problem,” Becky interrupted.

“Don’t you dare.”

“Well, alright.”

“I have to go but I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“That you will.” Becky smiled. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

…

The door opened with less gust this time, and for a moment she didn’t recognise the woman on the other side.

Charlotte lifted an amused brow. “Whatever it is you’re selling, I’m not interested—”

“Double-chocolate frapp with whipped cream and extra drizzle?” Becky lifted the drink and shook it slightly. “Yeah, thought you might be. Go put a cup of tea on before I turn to dust.” She dragged her suitcase inside with a smirk.

Charlotte did her best not to limp or hunch forward as she walked, and that was by far the worst, most terrible, most awful thing. Becky stood there and knew that the charade was for her benefit so that she didn’t feel uncomfortable. She kicked off her shoes and swallowed it like a rock in her throat.

“See you’ve still got company,” Becky mentioned as she caught sight of the big ginger ball of misery on the counter. “Looks like he’s lost weight,” she lied and scratched his ear.

Charlotte chuckled slightly and propped herself against the counter.

“He slept here nearly every night last week. I didn’t think anything of it, but then I saw the lost cat poster in the foyer and had to send him home.” She pouted.

“It’s not too late you know. You, Mister Bojangles, and I? Well. We could just pack our things and runoff into the sunset.” Becky joked and sat at the breakfast bar.

“Has Shane spoke to you?” Charlotte promptly asked.

Becky watched her turn around and mash the tea, she slumped on the stool and tried to recall her last encounter with the boss.

“Last Wednesday. It was brief, he’s still angry about everything.” The Man sighed and rubbed her head.

“Well for what it’s worth I’m really grateful you didn’t go through with it,” Charlotte chirped and poured the milk.

“Go through with what?”

“Retiring me on television.” Charlotte nodded and set the mugs on the breakfast bar, forgetting herself for a moment.

Becky felt the colour drain from her face. She swallowed hard and chewed the inside of her cheek, unsure and conflicted on whether to mention the memory lapse. Charlotte just stood there and smiled strangely, nodding down expectantly at the mug of tea that Becky was ignoring.

“Oh,” Charlotte’s eyes widened with realisation as it dawned on her. “Sorry—” There was an immediate, painful look of embarrassment.

“Please don’t be,” Becky shot forward and grabbed her hand. “Honestly, it’s alright. It’s not your fault, please don’t be sorry.”

Charlotte chewed her lips in humiliation, still. “You know the worst thing about this isn’t forgetting things.” She lowered her chin. “It’s remembering stuff you didn’t know you could remember, that you don’t want to remember.” She managed a tight, uncomfortable laugh.

“Well if you feel inclined as to share with the group I would love to know what it is that keeps Charlotte Flair awake at night,” Becky prodded with a small, reassuring smile.

“I don’t, if that’s okay?” Charlotte seemed pensive.

“So it’s us related then?”

“Something like that.”

“It was never a forever break up, just a see you later.”

“I know,” Charlotte smiled. “At least we got around to hello again, didn’t we?”

“We did,” Becky agreed, determined to cheer her up. “I brought my work out gear. Wanna go and beat me on the treadmill?” Becky offered with a wry smirk. “I’ll even let you piss about with my incline button.”

Charlotte’s smile dampened.

“I’m pretty tired.” She tried not to seem too torn up about it. “Maybe tomorrow?”

“Oh… sure, no problem. C’mere,” Becky leaned forward and gave her a chaste kiss, her heart hurting a bit. “Want to curl up on the sofa and make out instead?”

“Mhm,” Charlotte pushed forward, smiling into another kiss with a decisive nod. “This I can do.”

…

“Why hello there! This is seven-time world champion, Becky Lynch, calling to speak to seven-time world champion, Charlotte Flair! Is she there?” The Man sing-songed down the phone.

“Oh! You’re calling for seven-time world champion, Charlotte Flair? This is she!” The chirpiness was met with abundant chirpiness. “How are you? Where are you today?” Charlotte giggled.

“Stood outside your front door if you feel so inclined as to let me in.” Becky scratched her head and looked around the hallway. “Did a show in Fort Lauderdale last night, thought I’d come see you for a day or two. I missed my girl.”

“Oh,” Charlotte’s voice tapered into an awkward, heavy pause. “I’m, er, I’m not at home. I’m, somewhere else—” It was implied, but not directly said.

“Where are you?” The chipper, happy tone was dropped with immediacy.

“I’m at the gym.”

Becky blinked and stuck her hand out to lean against the wall.

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“It was just a little fall, no big deal.”

“You fell?” Becky grew nervous. “What happened? I’m on my way now. What’s the room number at the hospital? Wait.” She became flustered. “Do you want anything bringing? Toiletries? A knife?”

“Why would I need a knife?”

“Better to have one and not need it than need one and not have it.”

“If this is you trying to make this conversation less awkward… it’s working.”

“Thanks, what a relief.” Becky sighed. “I’ll get my things together, text me your room number—”

“Becks, er, I’m sorry.” Charlotte paused guiltily. “Would you mind not coming?”

“What?” Becky halted in her footsteps.

“Remember when you said you wouldn’t nurse me off the end of the mortal coil?”

“Charlotte…” Pain tinged Becky’s voice.

“Please, don’t come.” The matter was settled with an air of certainty. “Go be a Superstar, Becks. I didn’t give you that title just to bring it around here for show and tell hour,” she whispered with fondness and love in her voice. “Go. And don’t feel guilty about it.”

“I’ll come see you when you get out, okay?”

“Alright,” Charlotte sighed. “I love you.”

“You too.” Becky hung up and immediately regretted not saying it properly.

…

Through sporadic phone calls, there was a pretense that was able to be kept between them. It was a kayfabe of sorts. Becky decided it was the primary reason why she wasn’t allowed to visit, and truth be told, in the most aching parts of herself, she was somewhat grateful. When the phone rang, despite the occasional slur of her words, or misfire of her memory, they were able to pretend just for a little while that everything was alright and would continue to be alright.

Tonight, the phone rang and startled her out of bed.

It was that awkward hour that was simultaneously too late and too early for there to be any good news on the end of the line. Becky looked at the clock and then looked at her buzzing phone, working up the courage to pick up the call.

“Hello?” Becky croaked with sleep still in her voice, pulling the blankets up her chest. “Is Charlotte okay? What happened?”

“Oh, did I wake you?” Charlotte was polite about it.

“Oh for fucksake!” Becky sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, relieved and simultaneously infuriated. “I thought—” She didn’t want to admit exactly what it was that had occurred to her.

“Nope, still alive and kicking.” The Queen stumbled over her words. “Do you know what I just remembered?”

“I don’t. It better be good,” Becky grumbled and nuzzled back into the warmth of her pillow, the blankets fought with a little bit out of frustration.

“When I was six years old, a mall Santa Claus asked me what I wanted for Christmas...” Charlotte started, mumbling a bit beneath her breath as she also dug out a comfortable position.

There was a deep sigh, and then nothing.

“Go on,” Becky urged. “You were saying?”

“What?” Charlotte forgot her point.

“You were six years old and there was a shopping mall Santa?” Becky reminded. “He asked you what you wanted for Christmas?”

“Oh, yes! I told him I wanted lovely things and a new pair of rollerskates.” Charlotte perked up and yawned. “What did you want for Christmas when you were a little girl?”

Becky thought about it for a moment, aware she had to be up for work in less than two hours. She rolled on her spine and closed her eyes, letting the frustration of it all slide.

“I wanted an Action Man—” Specifically, the one with the orange jumpsuit and special edition accessories, the memory made her smile but she didn’t get that deep into it. “Mum said that was a toy for boys and so I got a Baby Anabelle instead.” She remembered the faint feeling of disappointment.

“What else did you get that year?” Charlotte interrogated.

“I don’t remember, why are you asking me this?”

“Not enough time,” Charlotte mumbled.

“You’re not making sense, love, you should get some rest.” Becky’s voice fractured with tiredness. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

“No! There’s—” It was halted with irritation, with anger, with utter frustration as if she couldn’t explain what she meant. Charlotte sighed and softened her tone. “There isn’t much time. If we can’t talk at four in the morning about what we got for Christmas in 1993, then when can we?”

“That might be the most poetic thing you’ve ever said.”

“Thanks,” Charlotte yawned again.

“Let me think about it and come back to you with a decisive list. I can make some phone calls when I’m a bit more alert. Sound reasonable to you?”

Charlotte would forget about it all in a matter of hours, if not minutes. Becky had become an expert at waiting it out and placating her sometimes-girlfriend in the meantime.

“I miss Mister Bojangles,” Charlotte mumbled and began to drift asleep. “You think he’s okay?”

“He’s alright, love, don’t you worry about that.”

“Okay,” Charlotte hummed tiredly. “Good night.”

“Good night.”

…

There eventually came a point where, sometimes, on the days that she was brave enough to resist, the phone calls went unanswered.

The phone would ring, and she would see Charlotte’s name flash on the screen, and her heart stung with the knowledge that the woman on the end of the call wasn’t really Charlotte in any sort of objective capacity at all anymore. Rather, it was a collection of her memories. It was sometimes an unintelligible train of her deepest thoughts. It was becoming less and less lucid and coherent by the day. It was, for all intents and purposes, her mind beginning to circle and fold in on itself.

There was something violently voyeuristic about bearing witness to it.

Today, Becky missed her more than she had missed her in a long time. When the phone call came, she wasn’t brave enough to let it ring out.

“Hello?” Becky answered and darted inside the living room, her voice tight with hope. “Charlotte?”

“Beautiful girl,” Charlotte mumbled. “Do you know what I can taste in the back of my mouth right now?”

“Go on, tell me,” Becky grinned and wiped a tear off her cheek as she sat on the sofa, relieved and heartbroken by the sound of her voice.

“Confit duck, burned and charred.”

“Our second anniversary, I remember that.” Becky smiled. “I accidentally left the oven on while we were doing other things…”

“I remember the other things we did that night.” Becky imagined the weak grin.

“I’m sure you do.” It made her laugh fondly, remembering it too. “It was black by the time I got it out. I was heartbroken but you ate three servings to cheer me up. Said it was delicious, best meal of your life.”

“I lied.”

“I know, sorry you’re still tasting it now.”

“Becky?” Charlotte’s voice tinged with a sudden sort of guilt. “Do you forgive me?”

“For what?”

There was a pregnant pause.

“For taking your dream.” It was said with such profound sadness.

There it was. Becky was hit with the memories of all the times she had to make herself tiny so Charlotte could be big.

She clenched her eyes and breathed sharply through her nose, stuck in the regret of it all, stuck in her hubris, stuck in all the reasons why the relationship ended that all seemed so silly now in hindsight.

“There is nothing to forgive, love, it was just the way things had to go.” Becky absolved the guilty conscience. “Look at me now. I got it all in the end, didn’t I?”

“Mmhm,” Charlotte murmured. “Well I forgive you too.”

“What do you forgive me for?” Becky became a little uncertain.

“Whatever it is you need to be forgiven for. One day, when you think of something… if you worry that you didn’t get to ask.”

“Thanks, I’ll remember that.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Becky didn’t even hesitate.

…

“Sugar!” Becky answered the phone chirpier than usual. “Oh, honey-honey!”

There was no response, just a silent heavy pause on the other end of the line. Then, she heard the distinct, troubled sigh of a man’s voice.

Becky dropped the dishes and clutched the edge of the sink, steadying her breaths and closing her eyes, trying to gather herself together. She prayed to whatever god that might be up there that this was the pre-phone call, the warning, the heads up to get on a plane and figure the rest out later.

“Is there time?” Becky managed.

“Don’t pack, don’t mess around, just grab your coat and get on the next flight,” Ric urged. “She told me not to call you when the time came but… just come, please.”

…

“You brought a fucking cat??” Ric glared at the end of the hall.

“Blame your daughter,” Becky mumbled and carried the fat, displeased ginger cat under her arm along the hallway.

Despite his advice, she took her chances and made one quick detour on the way to the hospital. The cat was spotted on the pavement outside the building and promptly chased through the shrubs, and eventually, a few claw marks later, he was caught and crammed into the back of the waiting taxi.

“Is she awake?” Becky nodded to the closed room, the jostled between her arms a bit. “Does she know what’s going on?”

“She’s in and out,” Ric replied and rubbed his chin. “They don’t know how long. They keep saying it will happen soon.”

“You should get something to drink. I’ll be here, I’ll get you if anything changes.”

“She is not going to be happy when she sees you.” He shook his head, doubting whether this was the right decision. “She made me promise—” He drummed his fingers across his lips, shaking his head.

“It was for my sake.” Becky sighed and had known it for quite some time. “So that I wouldn’t feel guilty for not wanting to see her like this. She did it for me.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Ric tried not to bristle too hard.

Becky sighed and didn’t know how to absolve her guilt.

“It was all for me.” Her brow furrowed hard with the realisation. “I know that now, but I guess it’s a little too late.”

“There’s no such things as too late, not if you really mean it.” Ric looked at the ceiling, then looked at the floor, trying his hardest not to be mad.

“I don’t know how to ask for her forgive me.”

“You were always going to love the job more.” Ric sighed. “She knew it and she chose to love you anyway, regardless. It’s all water under the bridge now, Rebecca.”

“If I could go back and do it all again differently…”

“Well you can’t.”

“I’m still sorry, though.”

“Stop wasting time and go be with her.” Ric nodded, his hands finding either side of her shoulders. “Please, even if you don’t mean it, can you just tell her…” He shook his head and couldn’t quite finish the sentence, his lips wobbling a bit. “Just tell her whatever it is she would want to hear from you.”

“She’s heard it all already,” Becky patted his hand. “But I’ll tell her again, just to be sure.”

…

Becky curled up in one armpit. Mister Bojangles took residency in the other. It was cool, the air conditioner a little too over eager in its efforts. Becky cuddled a little bit closer to the human radiator, quiet and unmoving in the center of the bed.

Charlotte stirred slightly.

“Tell me how it ended?” She mumbled with closed eyes.

“How what ended, love?”

“The story,” Charlotte murmured. “Our story. The one we used to tell each other. I don’t remember it.”

Becky propped herself up and kissed the side of her temple, then the bridge of her nose. Charlotte managed a small, barely-there smile.

“Seven-time champions.” Becky started and stopped, her voice wavering a bit as she recalled a fairytale they once made up together as rookies during a long drive to Memphis. “We would have had our last match together for an eighth championship, a tie-breaker. We always said I would win but that doesn’t matter now because we would have gone home together. That was the most important part of the story.”

“Becks,” Charlotte drifted, her brow furrowing slightly. “I loved you the best.”

“You did,” Becky reassured with a deep, troubled sigh. “You won at loving me.”

“It wasn’t easy.”

“We got there the hard way around.”

“You loved me back a bit, sometimes.”

“I’ll love you better the next time around, when we’re both ladybugs,” Becky promised with a kiss to her knuckles.

“Becks—” There was a deep, laboured breath. “Always double bow your shoelaces.”

“That better not be your last words to me,” Becky said a little too sternly.

“Double bow them.” She made less and less sense. “Water the tulips, but not too much.”

Becky flopped back down and nuzzled her close. “Fine, but I want you to know that I’m skipping over this part in the memoir.” The silliness made her smile. “Would you mind not going just yet?”

“Okay.”

“Good girl,” Becky tucked herself in the space between her jaw and throat, cheek pressing against the warmth of her collarbone. “I love you, thank you for sticking around.”

“The tulips, water them.”

“I will,” Becky promised.

...

Two weeks passed, or so the calendar assured her.

There was no sleep to be found. There was no desire to eat. All that existed in her tiny world was the warmth found beneath the pile of blankets, all while the world carried on outside, mocking her grief, almost.

Once in a while, she made it downstairs to the kitchen for a cup of tea and a stretch of the spine. Then, the stairs were clambered and the sheets dove between for a few more hours of disassociation. It wasn’t productive. Becky didn’t need it to be. Charlotte was gone, and that was that.

The doorbell rang and disturbed her depression.

Becky slung herself out of bed and marched downstairs. To compound the misery, she noticed her smeared mascara as she passed the mirror in the hall. There was something violently intimate about the thought of another person aware she had been crying, or at least trying her hardest not to.

When she opened the door, a delivery man was there to greet her.

“Becky Lynch?” He glanced up from his little tablet. “Can you sign here?”

“I didn’t order anything.”

“Nobody is saying you did. I just have a parcel for you?” He quirked a confused expression, lifting the brown package in his hand. “I can take it back if you don’t want to accept it?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.” She snatched the little pen out of his hand and scrawled on the tablet screen. “Thanks, you can go now.” She snatched the parcel and slammed the door.

Becky breathed a deep sigh of relief once the world was shut out once again. In the corner of her eye, Mister Bojangles sat on the staircase, his eyes filled with a faint sort of disapproval.

“What?” She balked at the slow-blinking animal. “I don’t know if stealing and transporting a cat over state lines is a felony and I don’t feel like losing my residency status. Can’t be having people knowing I’m harbering you!” She rolled her eyes and trod into the living room.

She caught sight of the handwriting on the parcel halfway to the kitchen.

Her entire body stopped.

She would recognise that long, cursive scrawl anywhere.

“Of course you’re sending me presents from the grave,” she mumbled to herself and tore open the brown parcel paper.

A 1993 mint-condition Action Man. Not just any Action Man, but the electronic version that came with two fully-functional walkie-talkies and a special edition ray-gun.

Becky chewed teeth marks into her bottom lip, carefully turning the boxed toy over in her hands. She noticed the small note that had fluttered on to the floor and picked it up from between her feet.

“You deserve everything you’ve ever wanted.” The note simply read.

…

She didn’t attend the ten-bell salute.

It was noticed, talked about sympathetically, her reasons speculated on.

…

She didn’t attend the Hall of Fame induction.

It was noticed, angered over, raged about by people who had never met either of them.

…

She didn’t attend the first inaugural competition that was setup in her name.

It was expected, predicted even, there were quiet ripples of disapproval everywhere.

…

The afternoon of her retirement match, a final title challenge, one of the younger journalists brought it all up regardless of Charlotte Flair being on the permanent list of things The Man would never talk about.

It was bolshy.

Becky respected a little bolshiness.

“My grief is mine,” Becky commented thoughtfully. “It’s mine, and it’s messy, and it’s my real life. It’s not something that I wanted to become a part of kayfabe or used as a storyline tactic, or something that I wanted dissecting on the internet by strangers. One day, sure, maybe it will end up in the book, but it will be my story to tell and nobody else’s.”

“What was one of the last things she said to you?” The journalist grew a bit too nosey.

“To always double bow my shoelaces.” Becky nodded down to her double bowed boots dutifully. “She felt quite strongly on the matter.” It amused him.

The note, the real last words, they would never be shared with anyone.

Not for all the glory in the world.

…

If the world needed a symptom that she cared then she didn’t let them down in the end.

Her retirement match drew to its final moments.

Becky clambered to the top of the ropes.

The moonsault was magnificent.

And in that regard, in some small way that would be long forgotten by the history books, they rose from the canvas as eight-time world champions...

Together.

#charlynch #charlynch fanfiction #charlotte x becky #becky x charlotte #charlynch story #charlynch love #charlynch gay feelings #tw death #tw hurt/comfort #lesbian love story #lesbian story #lesbian love #wlw story #wlw fanfiction #lesbian fanfiction #wlw love story #sorry im burying your gays but i really wanted to write the saddest story in the fandom

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kiruuuuu · 6 years

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Bandit/Vigil oneshot in which Vigil recuperates and Bandit is detrimental? (Rating M, angst, hurt/comfort, mentions of torture, ~3.9k words) - written for @blitznbandit as a Christmas present 💞💞 I didn’t mean for it to get this dark but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless. Best wishes and Merry Christmas! :)

He returns fragmented. Having lost pieces along the way, parts of him damaged, he’s less than before. Less human, less capable, less trusting. A few chunks were beaten out of him, knocking others loose in the process and therefore he’s hesitant to ask for help in patching the holes, in case someone isn’t careful enough and makes it worse.

Though it doesn’t feel as if it could get any worse.

Visual representations of his state adorn him, discolouration of skin, tears, cuts, attempts at extracting the highly sought-after information through his outer shell though they didn’t manage to pull it out of his flesh. They tried, however. Most of it is unnatural, he supposes, frightful even, renders him fragile-looking when his mind has never been as stony as it is now. He won’t break, might splinter and chip in places, but he won’t shatter. He hasn’t so far. He’s not going to now.

Dokkaebi cries. She just stands before him and lets tear after tear roll over her cheeks, unsuccessfully trying to muffle her sobs and he’s lost, misplaced his script on what to do now, how to react, and there’s no teleprompter or anyone taking charge, so they stand there: Dokkaebi crying and him fighting one of the waves bringing blurriness and further detachment which have become so intimately familiar to him by now. The whole scene might as well be a video on a screen, despite the fact that the wet ground smells of grass and cool air surrounds him.

The scenery changes, someone pulls the slim woman away and another silhouette by his side gently leads him across a canvas of places, all of them unreal and not registering in his head though less shrill than the sterile, smelly white ones in which he spent … an undetermined amount of time. He doesn’t know which day it is.

Voices underwater pose questions his subconscious knows the answer to and therefore he’s able to keep up a semblance of normalcy while his thoughts repeat the endless litany of wanting to sleep. Wanting to go home. Wanting to feel safe again. Wanting to remember what it’s like to feel. At certain points, there’s absence of sound and it makes him itchy, raises his alertness without contributing to clearing his mind and thus leaves him skittish, so it’s no surprise than he flinches violently at a small touch. He’s up on his feet immediately, turned towards his threat who isn’t a threat at all, he knows this person, can conjure up their image in his head yet couldn’t tell who it is or from where he knows them. Relaxing is hard when he’s not sure of the identity of this person, but the guy in scrubs – it’s a doctor – no, it’s Doc – says his name, Gilles, and it could be someone or it could be no one.

His fight response has been triggered and so his system is painfully vigilant even when he’s suddenly sitting down again and he idly wonders whether he’ll ever feel like anyone at all again.

He’s a foreign body, bumbling uselessly and getting in people’s way while they, somehow, he has no idea how, go about their lives. Imitating them is impossible as simple interactions drain him to a worrying degree, so treating his own existence as an inevitable misfortune with which all of them are stuck seems to be the only alternative. If speaking wasn’t such a chore, he’d apologise the whole day. Keeping out of sight and turning himself invisible is his preferred course of action even if it means some people startle at him walking into their peripheral vision as if he was a ghost.

By now, he’s begun to sort experiences into boxes. Not being able to trust his own memory is at best unpleasant and at worst wholly disorienting and disturbing, so he endeavours to fill the gaps and shave off excess. Some of it undeniably happened as he’s carrying the proof on his body, even if he doesn’t recall a blowtorch, while other details are strikingly vivid yet make no sense. He was held underground, not in a forest and still, he feels thick, wet leaves caress his skin and branches snap under his sole. No, there were no windows nor any indication as to his location, the photos show him what he might’ve seen in a film once yet nothing he recognises. But he drowned. In the dry cellar, forbidden to wash himself, every drop sacred, he could’ve drowned. It certainly felt like it and the cruel irony of wanting to drink it all, the knowledge it won’t kill him didn’t make it better. He’s started exclusively taking baths. He doesn’t like the feel of water on his face.

Compartmentalising helps, albeit it’s a double-edged sword as it further alienates him from those who appear to need him most. The causality of it is puzzling as he’s fine by himself yet it’s others who seek him out nonetheless, require assurances and an affirmation that they’re doing all they can. They’re the ones needing a pat on the back but he unlearned it all, so all he earns is concern at his empty stares. He begins avoiding them, the only exception being Blackbeard – the American’s voice is unimpeded by his silence, penetrates the sound barrier erected in self-defence and fills his head with words, phrases, ideas which resonate with something forgotten inside him. Blackbeard is familiar and calming and no one would guess he’s talking to a husk with how animatedly he gestures and slowly, slowly, his utterances begin to develop meaning.

Vigil starts healing. It’s a multi-faceted process and accompanied by a significant amount of itching, both outside and inside. His senses return to him in a more conscious fashion than simply identifying potential dangers in his vicinity and his body’s ability to obey improves though it’s still held back by overpowering fatigue; at least there are no more dizzy spells or involuntary movements. Not as many anyway. The variety of injuries invite him to scratch, especially the blisters and the scabs, the freshly opened ones – usually a result of carelessness or a motion too extreme – send out white hot, pulsing signals impossible to ignore. He becomes intimately familiar with every visible piece of writing in Doc’s office as he reads it over and over and over again. Reading anything other than single words and simple sentences is too much.

His sleep is restless and the source of most of his frustration as the exhaustion turning him sluggish and numbing his limbs is omnipresent yet relief unattainable. Sometimes, he wants to scream and thrash, pound the mattress with his fists because it’s so unfair, he’s tired, it’s dark, why won’t it work, why won’t it work why won’t it work why won’t it work why won’t it work – furious, he feels pressure on his eyes and gets up, resists the urge to put his fist through something and walks until he’s light-headed, tries push-ups on his elbows, feels stitches and bandages pull on his skin. And even when darkness does envelop him, brilliant dreams ensure he wakes up sweat-soaked and gasping for air.

He dreams of him. And in a way it’s more terrifying than just re-living memories.

Before he – before it all happened, he caught the eye of a predator. Felt slitted pupils lazily glide over to him, unfocused and slow as he poses no threat, was unhurriedly yet thoroughly studied and classified as easy prey. To this day, he’s unsure what made him stand out, which of his eccentricities painted a large target on his back causing claws to bury themselves in his vulnerable torso. He was hunted down and slain for sport, he assumes, incapable of defending himself; only then the dangerous creature did develop an appetite after all. Devoured whole, Vigil cowered, obeyed, surrendered.

His memories convince him that he enjoyed it. Basked in the unexpected attention, revelled in a deluge of foreign sensations, released tension under experienced fingertips ghosting over him. Every single instance lasted at least an hour and he thought each the last one, anticipated being deprived of this… this frenzied feeding sooner rather than later, yet repetition tricked his mind into believing it’d become a habit. In a way, he wasn’t wrong: it was a regular occurrence, the intervals shrinking continuously until he couldn’t reasonably predict the next one anymore, merely waited for it to happen excitedly.

The anticipation has vanished completely now. It’s been replaced by a stoic dread he insistently denies and the pleasant memories are sullied by his dreams. He would prefer to limit his nightly terrors to the faceless monsters who – who did all this to him, who altered his very being, yet they’re not the ones holding him down, kicking and slapping, trying to force him to betray the very organisation which eventually came to his rescue. It’s not them. It’s him.

Training is hell, icy fire licking the insides of his lungs, inflamed muscles hindering his every move. He needs to, needs to catch up on all he missed after having spent too much time idling fruitlessly, hoping moronically for everything to sort itself out somehow, as if there was a spirit for broken minds who could mend them with a flick of its wrist. If such a thing exists, it must be very busy.

No one can help him but himself, especially not the woman he’s meant to trust and tell everything that happened. She’s trying to be comforting and soft but comes across as otherworldly, shapeless and inconsequential – time and time again she brings up topics Vigil feels are entirely irrelevant and meets his badly suppressed anger with pretentious understanding, advises inane exercises he refuses to do in his spare time and hovers just around the edge of actually reaching him. Blackbeard breaks through nonchalantly, acts as if nothing has changed while picking up bits and pieces, distractedly putting them back where they belong without mentioning it. Vigil much prefers his company.

In time, Dokkaebi finds it in herself to grow cold as well, shield herself and meet his downcast gaze and inaudible words with her usual boisterous behaviour, complaining about him taking too long with everything, eating, walking, healing, and her impatience and lack of compassion help him redefine himself as more than just a victim. He remains an operator, abilities tried and tested, and therefore expecting him to function as one is reasonable; he needs to pull himself together. So he trains. And keeps failing.

The whole atmosphere shifts as soon as he enters the room. Silently, he moves and manages to steal Vigil’s breath despite his casual demeanour, causes an adrenaline rush unlike any other he’s recently felt. He’s trapped, alone, for the first time sharing space with him on his own since he came back and it’s terrifying. Golden brown eyes petrify him, lock him into place and there’s no doubt he’s here for Vigil. Probably feels like he’s given him enough time to recuperate, now he’ll demand his share once more, sink his teeth deep and leave him behind bleeding. So far, he’s kept his distance, didn’t even grace his mark with a single glance. For what felt like weeks.

Vigil needs something to do, mind aflutter in panic, and despite every cell in his body urging him to escape, slip away and hope he won’t pursue, he decides to be proactive. To him, it feels like the first choice he’s made in a while. Lying down on the nearest bench panders to his persistent fatigue and yet it hinders him not at this moment for the heady rush of danger encompassing him counteracts his usual exhaustion. “Spot me”, he demands and wraps his fingers around the cool metal bar above him.

The hairs on the back of his neck rise proportionally to how near he is and when Bandit comes to a halt right behind him, he nearly trembles. They study each other motionlessly and for an eternity, Bandit looking down, Vigil looking up. “You’re too weak”, an accented voice informs him though hands contradict it, reach out, ready to support if necessary. Vigil averts his gaze and lifts the weight, brings it into the correct position and lets the familiar feel calm him – this, he knows how to do.

“I’m not”, he protests because he can and couldn’t tell when he last said no to anyone. Repetition and concentration both put his thoughts to rest and occupy him, render him complacent as he watches two pairs of hands rise and fall gently, one of them radiating volatile energy, threatening to turn on him any second, cover his eyes, punch his throat, hold his mouth and nose shut.

He’s scared.

And then something does go wrong, a sharp pain pierces his consciousness and reflective silver fills his vision; the bar came to a stop alarmingly close to his face, mere centimetres from possibly finishing what was started a while ago. His head wound still isn’t healed fully. Dumbly, he stares at it as if mere thought could make it vanish, then capable arms work to return the weight to its rightful place. And he tells him in a judging tone: “Don’t overexert yourself.” Before Vigil can even consider talking back, more words are tacked onto the presumptuous statement: “Start easy. You’re not used to it anymore.”

And this is when it tilts over. His rage is partially unfounded, Bandit has no control over his dreams, can’t influence what his dream self does yet is solely responsible for staying away all this time – his actions, or rather the lack thereof, cut deeper than Vigil was aware, fuelled an underlying self-consciousness and insecurity. He felt discarded, unworthy, and now that he’s in better physical shape Bandit seeks him out again? Hardly a coincidence. He must’ve enjoyed how submissive Vigil was, how responsive, but felt no urge to to accept the responsibility which comes with commitment. Where were you?, Vigil wants to spit in his face, Where were you when I needed you most? I’m no toy. I’m not at your mercy. I’m not to be abandoned like this.

His fury both causes accusations to bubble up in him and holds his tongue, a learned reflex to any extreme emotion. He’s long cut off the spikes in his moods, mellowed them out so no extremes happen, keeps it all safe and sound in the middle. Sitting up, he notices his hands shaking. He’s not afraid of him anymore, somehow knows Bandit will never go as far as his projection did repeatedly, not when he’s this passive, this passionless about him. All that time he always set aside seemed to have been a lie, a convenience. He was a fool to believe it to be more.

“I missed you.”

Resisting the impulse to spew I was right here is difficult but possible. Instead, he allows a question to see the light of day which has been eating away at him for a while. “Why me?” He’s long ceased to pose it in relation to tragedies, long accepted the fact he will never know the answer. Coincidences are free of judgement, his place of birth pure chance, his capture an unfortunate event – none of it specifically geared towards breaking his spirit by a higher power or the universe itself. However, this time it might yield an answer. He sincerely hopes it does, yet with every passing second in which Bandit mutely regards him with an unreadable expression, the probability decreases. “You can have anyone.”

“But I don’t want anyone.”

The message is clear though its origin nebulous. But why. Why me. Upset, confused and upset over his confusion, he attempts to flee the conversation, extract himself as he’s unsure how to face this man, how to deal with his own emotions. Getting past Bandit proves impossible though, the slim figure is an unsurmountable obstacle, soft eyes fixing him in place and a tentatively outstretched hand has him flinch first, then accept the touch of a palm on his elbow, travelling up until it comes into contact with his still discoloured jaw. Turning away is futile, fingers wrap around his own and then a body moulds itself around him despite his resistance. He’s suffocating, refuses to breathe in this wild scent of blood, sweat and hunger, realises too late he smells the same.

Bandit waits until his thrashing has subsided, patiently holds on as if he knew what he was doing. Eventually, exhaustion drives Vigil into the arms of his hunter and he relents at the cost of his sanity, dignity, sense of self-worth. Accepting warmth and human contact is surprisingly arduous but the pay-off staggering: he thaws, he melts, he dissolves under gentle hands, in a loose embrace, and its realness leaves him reeling. Logic tells him he possesses the same body heat, must feel nice to Bandit or else he would’ve withdrawn already, yet the idea of him feeling as good as Bandit does to him now is unimaginable. He needs more.

A quiet plea is met with hesitation at first, but when he emphasises it, Bandit nods. “Let’s go then”, he says, voice shaky.

Before even any fabric is shed, Vigil starts to struggle. His side is still sensitive, so he forcibly removes Bandit’s hand when it brushes over it, he doesn’t enjoy the feel of the tongue on his collarbone and pushes his head away, yanks at clothing to keep the German half off him. Though it’s thrilling and the low pulsing need permeating his being is the sharpest feeling he’s had for a while, he’s worried about showing his mutilated body, about evoking disgust instead of lust, about memories of sadistic grins and fire and needles and fists and water taking control of him. His subconscious fear manifests in the turning away of his head, in refusal to make eye contact, in jerks and light kicks and shoving.

“Do you want me to stop?”, Bandit asks and kisses the hand he caught as if it hadn’t tried to pull on his hair. No judgement in his inquiry, strangely enough. He would actually stop. There is no doubt.

A violent shudder seizes his body and he couldn’t tell whether it’s born from pleasure or dismay. The lips are ticklish and he doesn’t think he’d survive it if Bandit rejected him. “No.” He surprises himself with the response; the safer option would be to give up, not even allowing for the chance to harm himself further by ruining the one hopeful thing in his life at the moment, yet the drive to feel human again is too powerful.

So Bandit continues, undeterred by the resistance he faces and – it’s different to the times before, softer, more patient. At first it seems as if he, too, believes Vigil to be fragile and therefore takes certain precautions, isn’t as rough as he was previously, but the more time passes the more one undeniable truth crystallises and makes Vigil’s heart come alive: Bandit isn’t treating him like something delicate. He’s treating him like something precious.

His caresses don’t shy away from faded bruises or bandages, touches actively follow scarring unless Vigil displays discomfort, and though he’s careful, he’s far from tentative – repeatedly, he unintentionally causes stabs of pain hindering Vigil’s attempts to wholly give himself up and revel in the familiar affections. In response, Vigil lashes out on a small scale, bites a little too hard, scratches instead of stroking skin, and never once earns any form of protest. Bandit allows him to fight back mostly symbolically, something he was never able to do in the hands of his captors. He loses his inhibitions and wonders why it feels so good to inflict pain, ponders whether it’s linked to Bandit not paying him any attention while his mind was heavily impeded, when it hits him out of the blue.

A kiss to the top of his head makes him smile, stretches his lips all by itself. During a small break, he marvels at Bandit’s body. He even takes the initiative at some point and is rewarded with an almost enamoured gaze in return which drags something in his chest to the surface; something he was sure to have lost. They draw meaningless patterns on skin lazily, let their whims decide on what they do, and it’s peaceful.

Vigil feels like himself again. Not entirely, he hasn’t reverted back to his old self, that would be nothing short of a miracle, but his sense of self has returned – he is Chul Kyung Hwa, he is Vigil, he is part of the White Tigers and Rainbow and right now, he is here because he wants to be. And he will not let misfortune define him.

A careless remark, nothing more, Blackbeard’s usual dry humour showcased in a blunt comment and yet its utter lack of respect is scandalising and amusing enough for Vigil to laugh. Not a loud, full-bellied laugh which could hope to compete with the American’s, no, a quiet chuckle rather but an expression of entertainment nonetheless. They’re eating together and Vigil is picky, has traded parts of it with his teammate and others, approaching them first. Bending his mouth around pleasantries remains a feat he has yet to master but even so, it’s met with genuine friendliness and relief he generously overlooks.

Dokkaebi picks up on it immediately, abandoning her conversation to grace him with a meaningful smirk. “You just laughed”, she states triumphantly as if it was her own achievement.

Days ago, he wouldn’t have replied but he’s come to realise once more that he likes her, enjoys her company. Looking back, he feels bad about not reassuring her the day he returned, piling on to her already overwhelming grief. He admits: “I feel better.”

She nods; it must be glaringly obvious. “Must be contagious, even Dom smiled at me earlier.”

“Is that noteworthy?”

“He’s had it rough too.” His expression must display some of his disbelief for Dokkaebi explains herself: “He was with us the entire time we tried to find you, probably put in more hours than even Craig. And then, when you got rescued, you… I don’t know what you were on, I wasn’t there. But you were terrified of him – of them all, but him the most. I think it hurt him. Doc told him to stay away from you for a while, just in case.”

Dreams tightly intertwined with memories, forming an entirely unfair and inaccurate hybrid which painted Bandit in a much harsher light than he deserved. He never was a predator, Vigil never his prey, and while he was indeed devoured, it was preceded by awkward half-conversations and uncertain gestures; the time they spent together valuable to both of them. He’s been unjust.

“But he seems better now, and so do you. Maybe you should talk to him.”

“Yes”, Vigil agrees readily, startling her into silence. “Maybe I should.”

When Bandit and he finally make eye contact across the room after a lot of furtive glances, Vigil presents him with a tentative smile. And is not at all prepared for the wide one he’s granted in return.

#rainbow six siege #bandit #vigil #bandit/vigil #fanfic #oneshot #I do hope you still like this ship #writing this was a lot of fun actually #I will make bb being unable to talk quietly canon

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