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nonsensefromtheabyss · 11 months ago

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W.I.P Wednesday 1: The List

I don’t really know how big of a deal WIP Wednesday is on here, but it’s when my writing club used to be so I’ve decided I might as well start again! Maybe not every Wednesday, but I think it might be nice to share my thoughts instead of cannibalising them quietly. This week, I am doing that project list I mentioned before: Behold! Here are all the works I have on the schedule/drawing board at the moment.

HAZBIN HOTEL.

A Broken Record On Repeat In A Crowded Bar: a story about a brutally injured Alastor refusing to rely on his friends and toying with the boundaries of his deal. It also looks at everyone else’s perspectives post-extermination and features a lot of Charlie struggling with where she and her dreams stand in the new status quo. Quite dark, mostly character driven, will be 13 chapters long when done.

Still working on Chapter 5. Have been working on Chapter 5 for longer than I ever thought possible. Unfortunately my hours at work have increased which, along with a few changes in my personal life, means I’ve had less project time recently. It is hovering somewhere around 2/3s completed and I’m still hopeful to get it out this month. Overall, the whole project is sitting at around 60,000 words if I tally up all the chapter documents—not bad for an idea that started as a fucking oneshot!

I’ve also finally got a table that I can paint at, so I’m doing a painting of the Final Confrontation. No idea why; I sneezed and the sketch appeared. I have absolutely no faith that it’ll be finished by the time I upload that chapter, but sometimes we do these things for the journey. And the joy of painting. I’ve not had anywhere to paint for a year.

PROFESSOR LAYTON.

When The Dust Settles and Professor Layton And The Master’s Last Painting: post Unwound Future Sycamore and Layton team up to solve a case where the people have vanished from a bunch of paintings. At the same time, Layton is trying to uncover what his estranged brother has been doing for the past three years. Mystery elements, psychological elements, a complete disregard for reality; slightly darker than the game series, but only in the sense that I describe the violence. The prologue and first part of what’s planned to be a trilogy.

I actually don’t know if anyone here knows about these works; I wasn’t on tumblr when I started them. And I’ve been gone for… quite some time…

Basically, I got halfway through Chapter 15 and got really, really stuck—partly due to other things happening in my life at the time, and partly because it… wasn’t feeling right. To try and refresh myself with how we’d gotten to that point in the story, I read back through all my published Layton work and… was not inspired. I actually realised how much I disliked my early writing; I wasn’t using scenes or characters effectively, the threads for the mystery as a whole were either too obscure or flat out not there—I was displeased. Particularly because this is a project I get really excited about when I think about my plans for the series; all my work deserves my best effort, but this one in particular has a lot of potential to me that I don’t feel like I captured in my initial writings. Time to start fresh! Take another swing at it! I have a different method of working now, and I feel certain that this time I can capture my vision.

So, I finished my dissertation and cleared my first ever Big Project, and I had already started on the big rewrite… and then I fell down a hole into Hazbin Hotel. I cannot stress enough that Broken Record was supposed to be a oneshot. Finishing these two works is next on my list, this time I swear it. I already have the story divided up into chapter documents, and some have been fully reworked, It Is Happening. You still probably won’t see anything for a while yet, but if you’re one of my readers from before or on the off chance you’re curious now, feel free to pop up to chat about it!

RIDDLE SCHOOL.

Unnamed Project. I’m so fucking back. Some very lovely people said they’d be interested in seeing more from me in my Riddle V.I.Z.ion universe, and I accidentally fell in love with these characters all over again while completing that project. Yall convinced me and I am so very happy about that!

The work will be a collection of moments from the aliens’ lives, jumping around in time between past and present within the timeline and history I’ve given them. More detail into how they work together, what their home planet is like, what they actually got up to as V.I.Z.ion members, stuff like that! Basically an excuse for me to write more for them. At the minute, I have their timelines (collective and individual) plotted out in a document, and have selected sections of history I think would be interesting to explore, so I would say a rough plot is hesitantly in place!

Because it’s not going to be precisely linear (given that we already know where they end up, I don’t think there’s anything to be gained from sticking to the laws of time!) I’m thinking I can be a bit more flexible with myself in how I work on it. Which means I might try and fit it in around other projects as a little treat to refresh myself. If I think of it like Short Stories In A Shared Universe instead of Another Book, it feels manageable that I might add to it without disrupting my workflow, which means it hopefully won’t take another seven years (always a good thing!)

I’m also doing more art for Riddle V.I.Z.ion as well, fuck it. I had a vision (hah!) I saw the shipyard and the miserable campfire. I’ve never painted space before, but this seems a good enough reason to try. (I’ve painted the woods many, Many times.)

So, if you’re interested in this project while it’s still in the early stages, or you’ve read Riddle V.I.Z.ion and were interested in more, feel free to drop by and chat! Currently I’m stuck on a name; Puzzle Pieces has a certain appeal, but I think that would also be nice as a series title, and I think I’d like to keep the ‘Riddle’ naming theme for the main instalments. Riddle Classified? Riddle Planet? Riddle Logbook? Unauthorised Access feels nice in my head, but again with the lack of ‘Riddle’ continuity. Hm. I’ll keep at it. It’s the annoying moment where I realise that ‘Riddle V.I.Z.ion’ itself would have been the perfect title for this too!

DON’T HUG ME I’M SCARED.

Three Friends, Three Foes, Three Names They’ll Never Know: a series of drabbles about terrible things happening to the Three Guys. Very graphic and violent. Horror elements with a lot of gore.

Believe it or not, I actually have three more chapters I always meant to add to that story that just got pushed around in favour of other things. Always meant to get back around and finish them; as you can see, they’re on The List!

So, in short order, we have ‘The Yellow Guy Chapter (a nightmare about stairs)’, ‘The Bigger Boys Chapter (bestie you forgot about The Cycle)’, and the ‘Lore Chapter (contains nothing of use to anyone, is Not A Theory.)’ They’re all about 1/3 done; i dip into them whenever I feel like rewatching the series or writing psychological and physical horror without any embellishments. Not much to declare on this front but they will be done at some point.

RESIDENT EVIL: VILLAGE.

The Monsters You Told Your Children About: all the characters except for Mother Miranda are brought back to life by The Duke. Rose is declared a bio weapon by the BSAA and is taken into their custody. Thus begins a road trip where Ethan, with encouragement from The Duke, convinces the four most dangerous monsters he knows to help him rescue his baby. This story is basically fucked up found family with the mold acting as a Get Along shirt for everyone involved and The Duke eating popcorn.

Contrary to popular belief, this story isn’t dead! Much like Ethan himself, it is merely in a perpetual state of rotting, and that hasn’t kept it from coming back to kick me in the ass whenever I feel inspired to look at it again. Original projection length was stupidly optimistic—this thing needs to be more than 8 chapters long or it’s just going to be nonsense. It needs some structural revision in its planning department, which is why it went cold in the first place; few things more demoralising than realising you’ve lost inspiration and your basic building-blocks suck.

So! I’m keeping the same concept and ideas and just… reworking the elements to flow better as a narrative instead of just being a collection of things I immediately wanted coming out of the game. Of course, this should have been step one all those years ago, but I rather got ahead of myself.

CUPHEAD.

Untitled project. This was a curve ball to me. Divine inspiration to work out the perfect plot… for something I had wanted to write about in 2017. The devil works in mysterious ways and apparently She wants me to write more fic.

Following the Devil’s retreat, all the souls on the Inkwell Isles are released, and the Casino collapses into dust and rubble. The Casino, which I remind you, belongs once again to its original owner, the newly freed and magicless King Dice, who is not able to counter that degree of property damage. Mostly because even lawyers hate him.

Left with nothing to his name but his soul, King Dice, followed by his loyal court, embarks on a solemn quest: to punch his old boss in the fucking face.

(Featuring: bullying Saltbaker into opening a portal to Hell, Cagney running the woodland mafia, Spirited Away soul trains, and potion brewing with Elder Kettle (he’s being held at gun point.) Not show compliant, I have never watched it.)

I’m not thinking about this one too hard. I’m hoping if I stop looking at it, it’ll go away (it won’t.)

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inspireofffice · 1 year ago

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zepskies · 2 years ago

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Never Say Goodbye - Part 3

Pairing: Dean x Female Reader

Summary: The first time you and Dean sensed each other’s thoughts and feelings, you were just kids. It would take years to realize that you both were bonded for life, and even longer to finally meet. [Soulmate AU] (Rated M for eventual scenes – 18+)

Word Count: 4,500 Warnings: Language, fluff.

Part 3: Contact

As it turned out, your life started to get better after you missed that shift at the coffee shop.

Oh, you still got fired. But the experience of nearly getting splattered on the pavement by an oncoming truck gave you some unexpected clarity about your life.

Mainly, you needed to stop wasting it. You were tired of jobs that would pay your bills but not bring you closer to your career. And frivolous thoughts of coffee shop boys and…the hope of running into your soulmate.

Maybe one day, you could dare to hope, but from now on, you wouldn’t let it rule your thoughts. You wouldn’t hope too hard either.

It could save you from the disappointment of never hearing anyone’s thoughts but your own.

So you decided to check the University of South Dakota’s career board for jobs, and you discovered an opening in the history department! A research assistant for one of your favorite professors, who was writing their dissertation on the strange, superstitious, and sometimes down-right disgusting social practices of the Ancient Greeks (including bottling up the sweat of their best athletes, because they thought their musky body oils contained magical properties).

Since you were already majoring in history, you were a shoe-in for the job. And working directly with your professor gave you a great resource for future classes.

Four years later, you had earned your bachelor’s degree in History. You even decided to further your education when you were able to get a scholarship for graduate school.

Now you were just one semester away from finishing your master’s. You still worked in the history department, but you had been able to upgrade—to Executive Secretary to the Dean of Ancient Studies.

It sounded fancy, but really, you were a glorified slave. Or at least, your boss seemed to think so.

“I need you to cancel my meeting at two,” said Dr. Birch. She breezed into your tiny office without knocking, startling you from where you were hunched over your laptop.

“Good morning!” came your reflexive greeting, though it was a bit too loud and sharp. You internally winced at yourself and relaxed your posture, like a bird unruffling its feathers. “Cancel your meeting with Dr. Wells?”

Dr. Wells was a nice man, and an important one. He was the Head Dean of the entire History department. Technically, he was above Dr. Birch. It wasn’t a good look to blow him off, but you weren’t about to say so.

“Yes, I have an important lunch, and I already know it’s going to go overtime. Gary will understand,” she replied. She was looking at her phone rather than at you. For all she cared, you were just a calendar with hands.

Dr. Helen Birch was a brilliant woman. She’d published no less than five books, had won awards for her peer-reviewed articles, and she had been your academic advisor all through graduate school.

She could also rival Meryl Streep for “bitchy-ass boss” in The Devil Wears Prada.

“I also need you to grade the final exams for one of my classes,” she said. “Greek Studies this time.”

You held back a sigh. Again? I’ll never finish my own finals at this rate.

But what you said was, “Sure, I can do that. And I’ll email Dr. Wells to reschedule.”

“Yes, make sure it’s not on Thursday,” she said, brushing a finger through her thin blonde hair. “I have to leave early to get my roots touched up before I go away this weekend.”

“That’s fun,” you chatted while you revised Dr. Birch’s calendar on your computer (and sent an apology email to Dr. Wells). “Where to?”

“Oh, I have this tedious conference in Chicago. But then my boyfriend is taking me skiing in Breckenridge.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “I simply can’t wait. This semester has been a drain on my psyche, and just terrible for my migraines.”

With the email sent, you took a little breath and gathered some courage as you got up from your desk and gathered a handful of papers you had stapled together. It was a rough draft of your thesis, which was only a bit worse for wear (including a suspect coffee stain that you didn’t remember accidentally putting there).

“Actually, I was going to ask you if you got my email about my thesis. I just wanted to go over some of the feedback you gave me on the draft,” you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt.

Dr. Birch raised a brow. “What of it?”

“Well.” You showed her the front page, which was covered in red ink. “Mainly the part where you crossed out the first three pages and commented, ‘Missing the point.’”

She nodded. “Yes. I’m afraid I have nothing to add about that.”

Well, that didn’t exactly help you. The first three pages was your entire introduction to your thesis, “TV & Film: The Modern-Day Mythology of the Masses.”

You must’ve had a pitiful, lost look on your face, because Dr. Birch finally took pity on you. She sighed.

“You are a creative girl. I’ll give you that, but your degree is not in cinematography. You are a historian,” she said. “And while the ‘Well of Souls’ in Raiders of the Lost Ark may be based on a real historical place in Jerusalem, that does not mean Indiana Jones can, or should be described as a ‘religious experience.’”

My ten-year-old self would bed to differ, you wanted to retort, but you kept your mouth shut and lowered your eyes. Dr. Birch nodded to herself and was about to leave your office, until she stopped short and gave you her Amex card.

“Oh. And get me a coffee, would you, dear?”

The moment your day ended and you were able to get into your car, you let out a long sigh of relief. While you waited for your car to warm up, you massaged your hand, aching from grading papers for Dr. Birch’s class.

You rubbed your hands together, this time to warm them as the frigid air draining from the car still bit into your skin. A shudder tingled through your body, and not in a pleasant way. Honest to God, I hate the winter.

On reflex, you toyed with the silver ring on your right hand—your mom’s ring. It usually comforted you, but today, remembering her made your heart heavy. Because today was the anniversary.

You still remembered that snowy day when you were fourteen, could picture it so clearly, like a scene painted on glass.

With one last sigh, you fished out your phone to call your dad. It rang for a few seconds (it always took him an eternity to answer his phone, and it drove you crazy).

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dad,” you said.

“Hey. Just got off work?”

“Yeah, I’m headed back to Sioux Falls. Want to meet at home and go together, or do you just want to meet me at the cemetery?”

The other line was silent for a moment. Longer than you would’ve liked.

“You’re coming, right?” you pressed.

“Look, I’m gonna have to work late tonight,” Jack said. “Don’t wait up for me.”

“Really?” Your voice was terse. “It’s one day a year, Dad. You can’t even manage that?”

“I told you I’m working a case.” He sounded annoyed. You didn’t care.

You were pissed.

“Whatever,” you dismissed. But then, you realized you weren’t willing to let it go just yet. “You know, I just find it interesting. On her birthday, Christmas, today, somehow you just can’t be bothered to visit your wife.”

“Hey, drop it, all right?” your dad snapped back.

“Sure. It’s none of my business, I guess.”

“I don’t need your sarcasm either.”

You silently fumed, but you weren’t willing to hang up the phone first. You didn’t want to look petty, and apparently, neither did he. You both could be stubborn like that, sitting in a tense stretch of silence instead of just…

Instead of just, I don’t know what, you could admit, if only to yourself. Eventually, his voice reached your ears.

“I’ll go when I can,” he said.

“Fine.”

And you really did hang up this time.

What should’ve been an hour drive back into your hometown took almost two with the traffic.

Oh yeah, you still lived at home with your dad. It wasn’t ideal, especially with a long-ass commute every day. But unfortunately, being a full-time student with a part-time job didn’t give you the budget to have your own life.

At least you had your car—a dark blue Camaro your uncle had restored and gifted you for your twenty-first birthday. You didn’t talk to your Uncle Bobby as much as you would like. Between work and school and taking care of the house for you and your dad, you didn’t have much free time on your hands. You did see Bobby around town sometimes, and occasionally shared a beer with him when your demanding schedule allowed.

Your dad had never liked it, you hanging around your uncle. So you didn’t tell him.

That seemed to work out better for both of you.

In fact…

You reached for your phone again and found your uncle’s number.

“Stop badgering me, Rufus. I’m busy.”

Your lips curved into a grin. “Uncle Bobby?”

“Oh. Hi, darlin’. Sorry, thought you were some riff raff that keeps spammin’ me.”

“What did Rufus do now?” you asked.

“He knows,” Bobby said. The surly edge to his voice made you smile in amusement.

“What’re you doing later? Up for a beer?”

“Usually I’d take you up on that, but I’ve got some people coming in pretty soon.”

You scoffed. “You have people? What people?”

“You’re not the only number in my cell, you know,” he said dryly.

“What, you mean Rufus?” you teased.

“All right, now you’re just runnin’ up my minutes,” he said. “If you really want that beer, you’re welcome to swing by, if you want. I’ve got a stocked fridge full of cold ones.”

You laughed, then you considered his offer. Did you really want to go home and deal with your dad (whenever he bothered to come home)?

“Well, I’m going to the cemetery first, but I could maybe swing by after,” you replied.

“Right, that’s today, ain’t it?” Bobby said. “Give your mom my respects.”

A more genuine smile grew on your lips. “Thanks. Will do.”

You hung up with him just as you got to the cemetery. It was hard not to feel melancholy here, especially in the winter. All the graves were lightly dusted with snow, and it felt like the world came to a quiet stillness here.

You bundled up with your scarf and gloves as you braced yourself for the cold, stepping out of the car. On your way in, you heard the rumble of a car going by. It was loud enough to make you turn your head and see a flash of black speeding away.

You shook your head. People drive like maniacs nowadays.

You were about to continue on your way towards your mom’s grave, when you finally heard it.

Say goodbyeee…never say goodbye-y-aaayy. Holdin’ on we gotta try, holdin’ on to never sayyy goodbyeee.~

Someone was warbling a Bon Jovi song in your mind, and it certainly wasn’t you.

But you did come to a dead stop in your path. Your eyes widened as shock claimed your heart and your brain. Soon enough though, your heart warmed as you became aware of something new. It was like a low hum at first, reverberating inside your chest.

You and me and my old friends, hopin’ it would neeever end. Say goodbye—

The singing continued, but all you could focus on was the thrumming in your skull, the thread of connection you could sense and feel inexplicably. You didn’t realize you were crying until you felt warmth trickling down your cold cheeks. Sniffling, you wiped your tears with the back of your hand and smiled tremulously.

You were finally feeling your soulmate.

Which meant, he was close by…and with that realization came an important question:

What the hell do I do now?

They were in South Dakota again.

Dean knew coming back here was…potentially dangerous. He hadn’t heard his soulmate’s thoughts in four years, since the last time he was in this state.

Truth be told, he hadn’t wanted to come here. After the last hunt though, he could use some R&R at Bobby’s for a couple of days.

This time Dean had his brother with him, albeit the circumstances weren’t…great. Their dad was missing, and Sam had lost his girlfriend in the process of trying to find him.

Sometimes, Dean really regretted going to find his brother at Stanford. Part of him thought, if he hadn’t hooked Sam into coming with him to try and find John, maybe Jessica Moore would still be alive.

A more selfish part of him (one he wouldn’t name) was glad to have Sam with him. Dean was actually having fun hunting with him. And maybe, Dean was having to get to know him again too.

“You think Bobby will have any intel on Dad?” Sam asked from the passenger seat of the Impala. They were about five minutes away from Singer Salvage, the old man’s tow business (and his house).

“Doubt it,” Dean replied, changing the radio station once Bon Jovi turned to REO Speedwagon. He could get down with some pop rock from Jovi, but REO was pushing it.

“Then why are we here?” Sam turned to him with a frown. “We just ganked a poltergeist in our old house and…we saw Mom. You think we should be wasting time right now?”

Dean’s lips pursed. Leaving their old house behind in Lawrence, Kansas was exactly why he needed a minute before jumping into the next case. As much as he wanted to find John, Dean just…he needed a minute to breathe.

Revisiting those old (painful) memories wasn’t easy for him. He wasn’t sure that Sam completely got that.

“Bobby’s got a stack of lore books to Kingdom Come. Who knows, he might have a way to help us find Dad,” he said.

Sam shot him an unimpressed look. “And if he doesn’t?”

Dean resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He got why Sam was so fired up. Really. The fact that the kid was having weird…premonition dreams about the near future was concerning. And he wanted to find the thing that killed Jess, that killed their mom, but this was clearly going to be a marathon. Not a sprint.

“In the meantime, we crack open a couple beers,” Dean said, “get one or two of free nights on actual beds, and then we’re on our way to the next gig. How’s that sound?”

Sam let out a sigh through his nose and faced the road ahead. They both knew he wasn’t happy. Dean couldn’t exactly blame him.

When they finally got to Bobby’s, the old man greeted them with a casual wave, beckoning them inside. He offered them the contents of his fridge—a few beers and a frozen lasagna defrosting in the fridge. Dean scoped it out while Sam dropped off his bag in the upstairs guest room.

“That for us?” Dean pointed to the lasagna with a grin. “Didn’t know we merited the red-carpet treatment.”

“’Cause it’s not just for you,” Bobby said dryly, then he hesitated. “...My niece might be swingin’ by later.”

Dean raised his brows in curiosity. “Didn’t know you had a niece.”

Or any family, for that matter. He knew the old man had a wife, once upon a time, but he assumed she’d passed away. No kids. Bobby had never talked about having an extended family. He didn’t have pictures on the walls, and the shelves only had books and locked boxes.

Bobby took a long sip of his beer after opening a bottle each for himself and Dean. He had one ready on the counter for Sam, who came into the kitchen looking tired. The kid hadn’t been sleeping well for the past few weeks, to say the least. Dean handed him the beer.

“I don’t see her much,” Bobby conceded.

“Why’s that?” Dean asked.

It took a moment for the other man to answer. Eventually, he was honest. “Well, she's grown. Going to school, got a job. But you could say I had a fallin’ out with her dad, a while back.”

“You have a brother?” Sam said.

“Brother-in-law,” Bobby corrected. He didn’t say anything more about it though. Sam and Dean shared a look that said they agreed: There’s something off there, but I’m not gonna pry.

“You still see her though?” Dean asked.

“Every now and then,” Bobby said, sipping at his beer again. “It’s a small town.”

That kind of pissed Dean off. Bobby was a good guy. He’d watched Sam and Dean a lot when they were kids, their dad on a hunt. He’d made sure they had decent food to eat, good movies to watch, and even played catch with Dean a time or two.

So what kind of assholes did Bobby have for family, that they couldn’t be bothered to check in on the old man every now and then? They must’ve been off living their lives, in their own little world. Must be nice.

Dean brought the bottle of Heineken to his lips, only to realize it was empty. Couldn’t have that, could we?

He went to the fridge and opened the cap, only to jump as the beer fizzed and leaked over his hands.

Damn it!

Bobby sighed. “And I just mopped the damn floor.”

“All right, Martha Stewart. Keep your slippers on,” Dean teased. “Sam, get me a paper towel.”

Bobby tried to get by him to get the mop, but beer was still dripping down Dean’s arm.

“Would you move to the sink, already?”

Sam finally cracked a small grin as Dean rolled his eyes. “Fine. Jesus. You’d think Miss America was comin’ into town.”

Damn it.

You heard him again. And this time, you could hear his voice, so you knew the thought belonged to a him. The voice was pleasantly deep, and annoyed. You actually felt his irritation and were able to recognize that the emotion didn’t belong to you.

Excitement bubbled in your throat, almost making it hard to breathe as you drove your car down the road. You had been too worked up to go see your mom, and technically you were supposed to head to your Uncle Bobby’s house, but this was too important.

You needed to figure out how to talk to him—your soulmate.

So you pulled over on the side of the road, and even turned the radio off. Okay, now what?

You didn’t know what you were supposed to do. They taught about this subject in school, sure, but that had been years ago! You’d spent the past six years filling your head with college and work and learning how to be an adult.

Okay, just breathe. You calmed down a bit with some deep breaths, and you closed your eyes. When you first heard your soulmate’s singing in your head, you remembered feeling warmth spread through your body, emanating from your chest. Then in your mind, you’d noticed a…a thread, of what could only be described as energy.

You felt it now. You could almost visualize it with your eyes closed. In your imagination, it was bright and beckoning. You focused on it, and it grew brighter, thrumming and soft.

You thought of what you wanted to say, and you tried it—sending your thoughts and your will through the connection.

Having a rough day?

Dean was still wiping beer off the floor in Bobby’s kitchen when he heard your voice ring through his mind.

Having a rough day?

His entire body tensed, and he paused with a ball of wet paper towel in his hand. Sam had taken the mop from Bobby and was about to finish off the floor, until he noticed Dean blanking.

“Dean?” he asked.

It shook Dean out of his shock, enough for him to look up at his brother. “Hmm?”

“What’s up? You were staring off into space.”

Dean feigned innocence. “Nothing.”

Sam’s brow rose, but he didn’t press the issue and went back to mopping. Dean took the opportunity to toss the wet paper towel in the garbage.

“I’m gonna hop in the shower,” he said, and made his swift exit to the bathroom upstairs, so quickly that he didn’t see Bobby watching Dean curiously from the living room.

“Don’t use up all the hot water!” Sam called after him.

Once again, Dean found himself locking the bathroom door and staring at himself in the mirror. His green eyes were conflicted as he tried to calm down. Maybe his heart was starting to beat a tick faster. Maybe a trickle of nervous sweat was making its way down his spine. Maybe he didn’t know what the hell to do.

His dad’s warning was still clear as a bell in his mind.

“Unless you’re prepared to hang up your gun, and stop hunting, don’t open that door.”

Dean knew why John had said it, and even agreed with him…at least, logically he did. His life was complicated, and insane, and bloody. How could he put someone else through what he went through? What he still went through every day? It wasn’t right.

But his chest was aching. He rubbed at it absently.

He could feel your worry again, he realized. You were anxious, probably waiting for him to respond. Dean could feel you. Having a rough day? you’d asked him.

So as usual, he made an impulsive choice.

You could say that, he carefully replied. He remembered the way your voice sounded, smooth and pleasant in his mind, and he couldn’t help smiling a little. But not for long, I’m thinkin’.

Your relief hit him in a slow, but powerful wave. It almost made him feel guilty for taking so long to answer.

Well, it’s not every day you hear someone else in your head. Maybe you’re going crazy.

She was teasing him. You were teasing him.

It brought an incredulous smile to Dean’s face. You’re one to talk. Maybe you’re just talkin’ to yourself right now.

Hmm. I don’t usually warble to Bon Jovi, but maybe you’re right.

A beat of surprise, another to remember what he and Sam had been listening to in the car earlier, and then embarrassment prickled at the back of his neck.

You heard that, huh? he asked wryly.

Maybe, you giggled. It was a cute sound, and it cut through some of his embarrassment. He wasn’t used to being put back a step by women. He was good at reading people’s body language, and usually it didn’t take him more than one look to figure out what a woman thought about him, and what they wanted to do with him.

So the fact that he couldn’t see you was a challenge. With that realization, a slow smile spread across his face. He was game for a challenge.

Well, I’m likin’ your voice so far, he said. Think I could get you to sing for me?

He felt you pause, a flutter of warmth through a tendril of shyness. I’ll leave the performing to you, Romeo.

Come on, it’s only fair.

Who said life is fair?

Dean sobered a bit at that. Ain’t that the truth.

Hmm, so you were having a rough day.

Make it a week, he said.

Yeah, I know the feeling…I wasn’t having a good day today either.

Dean sensed your melancholy and didn’t like the feeling. Well, now you’re talkin’ to me. So it should be smooth sailin’ from now on.

He could feel you brighten at that. It made warmth bloom once again inside his chest, especially because he sensed you were smiling—a bit shy, but genuine.

…What’s your name? he asked.

It took you a beat, but eventually you gave him your name. It wasn’t what he expected, but he liked it. Your name rolled through his thoughts, and he tested on his tongue.

What’s yours? you asked predictably. Somehow, Dean didn’t anticipate the follow-up.

Suddenly he realized exactly what he was doing: he was talking to you. (Something he’d told himself he wasn’t going to do.) Not to mention, he’d been locked in the bathroom for about ten minutes and hadn’t even showered yet. Pretty soon either Sam or Bobby was going to come knocking to see what the hell he was doing, so he might as well shower for real.

He answered you as he turned on the showerhead and started undressing. I’ll make a deal with you…if you can guess what I do for a living, I’ll come by and introduce myself in person.

Dean felt your shock, so he let you think as he stepped into the shower. Eventually you came back, annoyance coloring your emotions and your voice.

That’s stupid.

Dean smiled. Aw, come on. It’ll be fun.

For you!

Don’t you know, sometimes the best things in life come after some delayed gratification.

You paused for a moment, in which Dean didn’t know if you were in shock again, or just pissed. Maybe a combination of both.

Great, I got a comedian, you deadpanned. …You’re not a comedian, are you?

Sweetheart, I’m hilarious, Dean replied. But no. Good guess, though.

He sensed the equivalent of you rolling your eyes.

Just then, Sam knocked on the bathroom door.

“Hey, you better not use up all the hot water!”

“Twenty minutes of peace, Sammy. That’s all I ask,” Dean shot back. Sam made a sound of annoyance, but he went away, leaving Dean almost alone with his thoughts.

Look, I gotta go, he said regretfully. But I expect you to have some guesses cooked up by the time I get back from work.

You were still annoyed, but you begrudgingly agreed to his terms.

Fine. Just…don’t wander too far off. I can’t win the game if I can’t hear you.

Dean sensed your underlying worry, and your fear. You were afraid he was going to leave.

His heart softened. As a result, he ended up promising things he didn’t know if he meant.

Don’t worry. I’m not leaving town until you win, he said.

He felt your warm smile, along with your excitement.

Goodnight, sweetheart. We’ll talk soon.

Okay…goodnight.

He hung onto the feeling of your presence for a few seconds longer, before he let go of the connection. For now.

Dean caught himself smiling, but it quickly turned to a frown.

“Nobody should be waiting on men like us to come home bloody.”

When he once again remembered his dad’s warnings, that new warmth in his heart chilled, and it sunk like a stone. He leaned against the cool bathroom wall and pressed his forehead against the tile, while lukewarm water beat the side of his face and body.

Shit.

AN: Oh, Dean. What're we gonna do with you? lol

I hope you enjoyed Part 3! I promise they'll finally meet soon lol. What did you think of their first conversation?

To keep reading: Part 4

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duuhrayliegh · 4 years ago

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my hero - request

request: anon: hi could you write a sebastian x female reader fic where she suffers from anxiety and feels bad because of it but he comforts her and tells her there’s nothing wrong with her and how strong she is even though she has this disorder

pairing: sebastian stan x female!reader

warnings: self-esteem issues, anxiety, toxicity in the fandom, language?

a/n: hey nona! you weren’t super specific on what type of anxiety that you wanted to reader to have, so if this isn’t what you had in mind, lmk and i’ll write you another fic! other than that i hope you like it!

p.s.: my requests and tag lists are open!!

xoxo ray

check out my m.list

You and Seb met at a coffee shop in New York. It was totally cliche and seemed straight out of a storybook. You had somehow managed to spill coffee on that specimen of a man, and he was kind enough to let you pay for his dry cleaning. Your relationship didn’t grow until you ran into him again while you were at a bar with your friends. If he had any say in telling the story of how you met, he spotted you from across the smoky bar and he knew then and there that he had to get to know you. Truthfully, you liked his version, but the real one was just indescribable. It seemed, to you at least, that you were destined to be with this man. Seeing him twice in one week? Come on, that’s possible if you were in the small town you grew up in, but not New York.

You obviously had recognized him as an actor, but really you didn’t care. That’s what drew Sebastian to you in the first place. You treated him as if he was any other guy on the street, he was able to be a normal person around you. Now, two years later, you lounge on the couch of your apartment in LA that you shared with the man you love. He’s still auditioning for any role that catches his eye and you’re supporting him no matter what.

His fans for the most part adored you and your relationship with Sebastian. The fans who didn’t like you were your only issue with this whole affair, but they had nothing to do with Sebastian other than flood his socials with nasty messages about you. You weren’t perfect, that you knew all too well, and you tried to let the comments roll off your shoulders. Most of the time you were successful in your efforts, but other times they clung to your skin like an unwanted disease.

Sebastian was currently promoting his new project Endings, Beginnings. You were so unbelievably proud of Seb, he was doing something that made him happy. In this particular film, he was acting alongside Shailene Woodley, who was just amazing. Seb always came home gushing about the new inside jokes that they had come up with. One of your favorite things that Seb did with you was run lines. You liked having the inside scoop on his new works, but this one was harder for you. It had quite a few sex scenes between Seb’s character Frank and Shailene’s Daphne.

Not that it bothered you. Nope. Didn’t bother you. At all.

...mmm, okay maybe it bugged you a little. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust Sebastian, it was… well you couldn’t really describe what it was. Whatever the case may be, it was putting you deeper and deeper into a funk, one that you were having a hard time coming out of. And Seb’s fans who weren’t in your corner, weren’t really helping you any.

A few nights ago, Seb surprised you with a casual night out in LA. He texted you before he got home and told you that he was going to be taking you out. Did he give you a dress code for the evening? No, he did not (wonderful, thanks so much Seb). You decided to dress in a half business casual, half rail me when we get home outfit. You ended up wearing an adorable bustier top that was embroidered with pretty blue and pink flowers, a pair of destroyed jeans covered your legs. You finished it off with a pair of nude heels, when you looked in the mirror, you thought you looked hot as fuck. It was around seven when Seb picked you up, mouth hanging open, in awe of your outfit.

“Oh my god. You look so beautiful, Y/N.” He opened the passenger door of his car after he hugged you, giving you a small peck on the lips. Sebastian drove you to a restaurant a block off of Thai Town called Home Restaurant.

“Babe, this place is so cute!” You squeezed Sebastian’s upper arm, jumping up and down beside him. “How’d you find this place?” Sebastian shook his head, smiling at you.

“I asked Shai, actually.” He rubbed his hand on the back of his neck, and your heart sank a little. Why did it do that? “She said that the paps hardly ever come around here.” He leaned down pressing a kiss to your temple. “I thought that draga mea deserved a quiet night out on the town.” His voice rasped as he spoke in his native tongue, making a shiver race down your spine.

“Well, tell her I said thank you.” You offered him a small smile. He wrapped his arm around your waist, drawing circles on the exposed skin above your jeans. He spoke with the hostess as your mind drifted away. You were pulled out of your thoughts when he guided you to your table. Sebastian sat across from you, staring deeply into your eyes. You brought your hand up to rest your chin on it, staring back at him. “How’s everything been going?” You were genuinely interested in the answer and it made your heart warm watching his face light up.

“It’s been going really well. Everyone we worked with was real nice, it made all the scenes more comfortable.” Seb’s eyebrows rose at the mention of the scenes and you knew which ones he was referring to.

“Oh, right.” You tried not to let your emotions show.

“Yeah, we’re about to start teasing some of them to promote the show.” Seb sighed at the thought of having to use social media, you shook your head at him.

“I’ll help you with it, you dork.” You laughed to hide your discomfort. “Which scene did they approve for the posts?” Sebastian began to speak when he was interrupted by your waitress. After the two of you ordered your food, the waitress returned with your drinks. Sebastian took a large gulp of his before answering your previous question.

“They want me to post the trailer and then the scene between Frank and Daphne at the bar.” You tried to think back to the script, remembering the context. Frank and Daphne were meeting after Daphne had gone out on a date with Jack. Daphne was claiming that she didn’t want to be a wedge in their friendship, then proceeded to make out with Frank. If you were recalling correctly, Frank and Daphne’s first sex scene followed soon after.

“Okay, we can do that. Do you have any behind the scene pictures you wanna post too?” Seb got out his phone, scrolling through his camera roll to see. He had several different photos of him with Jamie and then him with Shailene. He showed you his phone on a picture of Shailene leaned against him on a couch, her arm over his waist. A red filter colored the photo, you had to hand it to him, it was a good one to use. “We can post it whenever we get home, love.” Sebastian locked his phone and shoved it in his pocket, to focus solely on you.

“How has your day been, draga mea?” You bit your lip as you thought about what you’ve been doing. You’ve been working towards your Master’s, so your days have been filled with preparing for your dissertation. On top of that, you’ve become a bit of an influencer on different social media platforms. Really, you believe your popularity came from your relationship with Sebastian. You’ve been giving his fans the content that they’ve always wanted. Not only that, but you’re active with them.

“My day was good today. I had to edit a few papers from my other classmates but other than that I didn’t do much. I did make a few TikTok videos, but really today was a bit of a lounge day for me.” Seb smiled at you, proud of how hard you’ve been working.

“I should be getting a few days off soon, so we can relax together in the apartment, if you aren’t too busy with your classes.” He stretched his arm across the table, palm up waiting for your hand. Seb pulled your hand up to his mouth, placing a sloppy kiss onto the back of it. His eyes settled on you lovingly. To Sebastian, you were the greatest thing that had ever happened to him.

The two of you managed to finish your meal in peace. No fans came up to Sebastian asking for photos, no paparazzi swarms when you left, just a quiet meal for a normal couple in love. After you got home and you were snuggled in your pajamas alongside Sebastian in your comfortable bed, he handed you his phone to read over his post for his Instagram. The paragraph was sappy, about his time working with Drake, the director, and working with the rest of the cast. Seb always was a softy, never was able to hide it, especially in promo posts.

“It looks good to me. Are you going to post it now? Or wait until tomorrow morning?” Seb debated, he probably should wait and do it tomorrow, but he was most likely going to forget to do it. He clicked post, putting his phone on charge and snuggling into you.

“Thank you for always being there for me, Y/N.” He kissed your jawline, nuzzling his face into your neck. “It really means a lot to me, baby. I love you so much.” He wrapped both hands around your waist, pulling you to his front. You smiled wide, momentarily forgetting all of your troubles.

“I love you too, Seb.” You turned your head slightly, pressing a kiss against the corner of his mouth. “Now let’s get some sleep, love.” Little did you know that a single post could ruin all of the progress that you thought you had made.

*********************

You woke the next morning, alone in bed. You could hear pots clanging in the kitchen of your home, bringing a smile to your face. Before you left the safety of your bed, you checked your socials out of habit. You opened Instagram first, seeing an absurd amount of notifications this early in the morning. Your smile dropped as soon as you opened the first post. Comments on Sebastian’s post about Endings, Beginnings and his chemistry with Shailene weren’t entirely out of the ordinary. They were to be expected, they were playing parts in a love triangle. People were ‘shipping’ Shailene with Seb and Jamie, so that wasn’t too crazy.

What hurt you were the comments saying, “living for shailene and sebastian! she’s a much better match for him than y/n.”

“never thought that y/n girl was going to last, glad he’s going w shailene”

“shailene and seb supremacy”

“yes! i’ve always supported seb in everything he’s done, but i rlly questioned him when he got w that y/n girl. what was he thinking?!”

Tears gathered in your eyes as you continued scrolling. You never thought you and Sebastian never fit. You knew that people had issues with your relationship, but you never let it get in your head this bad. You checked your explore page, pictures of you and Sebastian from last night were riddling the page.

Your heart dropped.

There were pictures of the two of you from last night with parts of your body circled. The exposed skin above your waistband, the excess skin on your neck and arms. You don’t know where they got these pictures, but your stomach was steadily sinking with each picture you saw. The door of your room opened, revealing a smiley Sebastian with a plate full of eggs in one hand and a cup of orange juice in the other.

“Good morning, baby.” You quickly shoved your phone away from you, wiping your tears away from your eyes to meet his. His brows furrowed immediately. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” You snuffled quietly, before answering.

“Uh, nothing. I’m just so proud of you.” You smiled at him, not wanting to bring down his already happy mood with your problems. Was that entirely healthy? Probably not, but you were doing it anyway, consequences be damned.

“Oh, well you don’t have to cry for me, Y/N. Even if you’re proud.” He walked up to your side of the bed, placing the cup and plate on your nightstand. He brought his hand up to your cheeks, wiping away your tear streaks. “You know that I only like to see tears whenever it’s me causing you so much pleasure you beg me to stop.” He winked at you, smirking at your rising blush. To say that didn’t lift your spirits for about half a second would be a lie. Sebastian brought the plate to your lap, waiting for you to start eating. At this particular moment, after seeing all those horrible pictures of your body, your appetite had gone out the window, but he was so smiley.

“After you eat, I want ya to shower.” Sebastian’s hand came up to your jaw, cupping it as you used it to chew the eggs. “We’ve got a long day of lounging and enjoying each other's company ahead of us.” Sebastian stood from the bed, throwing a wink at you as he left the room dramatically. You stopped eating soon after he left, the food tasting like ash on your tongue. At some point, you got into the bathroom, staring at the reflection in the mirror.

Your phone was in your hand again. The pictures flooding your Twitter feed. Shaky breaths left your mouth as you watched your reflection tilt its head. Tears began gathering in your eyes as it felt like you weren’t in your own skin anymore. You had worked so hard to be comfortable in your own body.

It’s amazing how just one picture can ruin everything.

You leaned forward on the countertop, hands holding up your weight. You shifted towards the mirror, examining every miniscule detail that your eyes could see. Your lids came down quickly, tears dragging down your cheeks. You squeezed your eyes closed, shaking your head back and forth.

“You are not going to let this get to you.” You took a few deep breaths as you turned on the shower. Not wanting to be around the mirror anymore, you kept your bath short, talking to yourself the whole time. By the time you left the bathroom, it was steamed completely, you couldn’t see your reflection even if you wanted to.

“He loves you.” You had a mantra and you continued to repeat it as you walked into your shared closet. “He loves all of you.” You pulled one of his old t-shirts off a hanger. “Sebastian loves you.” A pair of your underwear and his loose boxers covered your lower half. “Sebastian loves all of you.” You shoved your feet into a pair of fuzzy pink socks, leaving the closet still muttering to yourself. You tucked your phone into your waistband after checking your socials again. You know you shouldn’t have, but there was some part of you that just wouldn’t let you not.

The same shit covered your For You page on TikTok. Videos from the trailer of Seb and Shailene and then videos of you and Seb, comparing the two relationships. “They do fit well together.” You thought to yourself. A part of you wondering why Seb was with you in the first place.

“Did you say something, love?” Sebastian looked at you from the couch. A blanket was strewn over his lower half, his upper body inviting, waiting for you to join him. His smile dropped when he took in your glassy eyes instead of your usual happy expression.

“Oh baby, what’s wrong?” He started towards you, eyes running over your body for any outward injuries. An understanding look crossed his face when he saw your phone clutched in your hand. “Y/N, talk to me, baby.” Sebastian’s hands rested on your shoulders, lightly caressing your biceps. You recoiled from his touch, feeling uncomfortable in your own body.

“Just some stuff that some fans posted.” Seb’s thumb traced just under your eye, wiping away the tears. He held his right hand out for your phone, to understand what you were talking about. His brows furrowed deeply as he scrolled, not fully processing how destructive his fans could be. Sebastian always believed that they were the best fucking people in the world. He knew that they could be mean, but this was something else.

“They don’t know what they’re talking about, Y/N.” Sebastian’s voice was firm. It was almost strong enough to cut through the fog invading your brain, but not quite. You had officially zoned out. Dead to the world. Lost in your own thoughts. No matter how destructive those thoughts may be.

Sebastian noticed that you were already too deep, having experienced this with you many times before. He was aware that you were self-conscious, insecure, however you want to describe it. Your anxiety always got worse when you were stressed. Prepping for your dissertation was definitely a stressful time. Add on top of that, Sebastian was constantly pulling you from your work for various reasons. Had he contributed to this? Scratch that thought, he didn’t have time for that. He needed to bring you back down to Earth, back to him.

“Y/N.” His hands hovered over your hips. “I’m going to touch you for a second.” He directed you to the couch, settling on the coffee table in front of you. His fingers lightly traced circles onto your knees, as he assessed how he should approach this.

“Y/N. Baby?” Sebastian hesitated before bringing his fingers up to your chin, not wanting you to react badly. “I’m right here, Y/N, it’s Sebastian.” His left hand hadn’t left your knee, continuing to trace small patterns into your skin, giving you something to ground yourself with. He watched you blink and swallow harshly, inhaling sharply before opening your mouth.

“Why are you with me?” Your chin trembled with unvoiced sobs. “You deserve the world, Seb. I’m not even--” Your sentence was cut off by a loud whimper causing tears to start streak down. Sebastian wasn’t sure if this was a situation where you wanted him to be involved, so he waited for a sign.

“I’m not even worth a glance from you.” Your hand came up to wipe at your runny nose. “They’re so right. You need to be with someone like Shailene.” A bitter sob racked your body, making your body fold in half. Sebastian caught you before you hurt yourself.

“Y/N. I love you.” He always heard you say that to yourself when you thought he wasn’t listening. He knew that you suffered from anxiety, so he was always watching. Always paying attention to your little cues. The little things that he could use to help you as much as he could. “I love all of you.” He held one of your hands, running his thumb over the back of it.

“I don’t care what they say, baby.” He lifted your face to his, steel blue eyes locking with your cloudy pair. “I picked you.” He pecked your right cheek. “I want you.” A peck to your left. “I want only you.” One to your forehead. “It’s always been you, Y/N.” Another on your chin. “I love all of you, Y/N.” Sebastian landed a final short kiss to your lips, lingering for only a second.

“I want you to understand something, Y/N.” His gaze never left you. “I’m not going anywhere.” His brows raised as he hardened his voice. “I’m especially not going anywhere at the behest of my fans. I love them to death, but they don’t get to decide who I love.” Sebastian shifted to sit next to you on the couch. “Is it okay if I put my arms around you?” All he got was a brief nod in return, which was expected.

“I’m yours, Y/N. As much as you’re mine.” His arms descended around you, wrapping you in a loving embrace. You turned to face him fully, bringing your own arms around his waist, shoving your head into his neck.

“I’m sorry you have to deal with all my shit, Seb.” Sebastian almost missed your comment because you spoke into his shoulder and through loud snuffles. He backed away to look you in the face.

“I signed up for this, Y/N. I’m here for whatever we go through.” He tucked a stray hair behind your ear. “We go through ‘your shit’ together, Y/N. This is a partnership, a two-way street.” He looked at the weak smile on your face, heart warming slightly at the sight. His face turned serious, casting a glance at your phone on the coffee table.

“How long have you been sitting on this?” He knew how quickly your mind could twist things, so he wasn’t sure what to expect. You bit your lip, not meeting his eyes anymore.

“Just since this morning.” He held you away from his body, watching your expression.

“Is this why you were crying earlier?” You gave him a meek nod in response. “Baby, I thought we talked about this. We have to talk to each other when we think we’re going to go into a funk.” The two of you had talked about it before, but you didn’t think this was going to be a funk.

“I should’ve been able to just shake this off because I know you love me and you won’t leave me because of something that some people on the Internet say.” The words left your mouth before you could process everything, your mind quick to defend itself.

“It’s okay, Y/N. You don’t always have to be able to shake something off. We just have to keep each other in the loop.” Sebastian looked over your tear-stained face, pressing a kiss to your forehead again. “Let’s ditch the phones today. Just spend the day in each other’s arms, how’s that sound?” You smiled softly, nodding at the man in front of you. He got up quickly hiding both of your phones in the kitchen somewhere.

This definitely wasn’t a solution to dealing with your anxiety, Sebastian knew that. It also wasn’t dealing with the toxic people on the Internet, but you didn’t need that right now. You needed to be immersed in an environment that accepted what you were going through without judgement, Sebastian could provide that. Seb hummed happily when you snuggled into his side under the covers on your couch while he searched for a movie. He kissed the top of your head and he felt you smile against his stomach.

“I’m proud of you, draga mea.” You turned to face him, a confused expression lacing your features.

“For what, Seb?” He stroked your face with a single finger, mapping out your features.

“I’m proud of how you handle yourself. I’m amazed at how strong you are, even when you think you’re not.” He leaned closer to you, whispering his next words. “You’re my hero.” One corner of your mouth twitched upwards, not wanting to accept it. You rolled your eyes playfully, settling back onto his stomach before speaking.

“I love you, Sebastian.”

“And I love you, Y/N.”

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revivedxfighter · 3 years ago

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Update

Hello, everyone.

It’s been a long time since I last posted here. I apologize for the long silence. Things have been hectic irl which I’ll summarize. I also want to share where I’ve been.

First of all, I have moved blogs some time ago. Originally, I planned to keep this blog as Harmony’s FF7 verse. However, I decided to move it as an AU on my current blog a little while ago. I was unhappy with being solely a FF7 OC and I wanted a change. So, I moved blogs to expand to other rpcs. Now, Harmony is primarily a horror rp OC with AUs in different fandoms including FF7, which is the same as the main verse of this blog.

I want to let you guys know that I’m still interested in writing with all of you and Harmony is still my muse. It’s just I am in a new blog, which I shared promos of occasionally. You can find me on ChronicParagon, which is this blog: Link

There were a lot of changes irl. I am a full-time epidemiologist specializing in infectious diseases and biosecurity. I am working to help protect communities from a certain virus, which I won’t name since it is potentially triggering. The job required me to move back south in early 2021 where I’ve been ever since. I got my master’s degree in spring 2020, but I went back to school for my doctorate degree. I’m finishing classes as a part-time student and soon about to start my dissertation after next year.

Work and school have affected my activity, but I am around on my active blog pretty often. Know that I miss all of you and if you want to write again, I am at Chronicparagon. Harmony is still here and so is her FF7, but there are also other options if you want to rp other verses. Existing relationships between muses can continue as well, or we can start over if you prefer that. You are all welcome to find me there and we can continue threads or start new ones.

I’ll have my discord below if you want to reach out to me there. All I ask is for you to tell me who you are on tumblr.

I will keep this blog up in case you want to continue threads and to archive Harmony FF7 verse information, which is still usable for my current blog. Please reach out to me on Chronicparagon or through discord if you have any questions or concerns.

Thank you all for the years of writing with me. You guys are awesome and that will never change. I hope to see you all again on my active blog. I’ll reblog the promo for it one more just in case.

You are all rock stars and I’m so grateful for each of you.

Discord is below.

Har# 0833

#ooc #psa #important

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seiya234 · 4 years ago

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who we are in the light

(is this what you wanted from life?)

---

Every day Acacia woke up first, made coffee for her and Reina, breakfast for the kids, and hopped into the shower while everyone ate. Then she and Reina switched out, and Acacia got the twins and Serge dressed and ready for school. As Reina was grabbing her suitcase and a road donut, Acacia was strapping Serge into his booster seat and trusting that the twins could manage their seatbelts on their own.

Acacia closed the door of the minivan, then turned to Reina, coming up the driver’s side, and said “Have a good day babe!” Reina responded by giving her a wet sloppy kiss, with a bit of tongue (the best kind) and finished with “You too love.”

As Reina got the minivan started, Acacia went back to the front door, climbing up the wooden steps to the trailer that her dad had put in, watching from the screen door as her family drove off.

(is this what you wanted from life?)

Somewhere out in Clackamas County her brother was brokering a peace between warring pixie tribes; Vivi and Lucy Ann were constantly posting updates in the “Hank Watching” group chat-

(is this what you wanted from life?)

Her sister was currently deep asleep back in Gravity Falls. She had come home at 2am, after a long night cult bashing with their uncle, and stayed up only long enough to text her siblings that she was stil alive before passing out-

(Is this what you wanted out of life?)

The only thing she had to do today, really, was get dinner ready before the kids and Reina came home, and clean up the living room, maybe start some laundry.

(is this what you wanted)

In her closet there was a whole rack of dress shirts and jackets and ties, gathering dust since it just didn’t make sense to dress up like she used to just to putter around the house and-

(is this what you wanted)

Motorcycle license in her wallet was still getting use but she had traded in the hot shit crotch rocket she had gotten on her 18th birthday for a stodgy Harley Davidson that had a sidecar for running groceries.

(is this what you)

Decorative swords and knives and maces all over her house, her and all the other teenage boys at the shitty fake blade booth at every Ren Faire, while the tiny box of real stuff she had sat unused in the closet, and-

(is this is this is this is this IS THIS)

Her chest hurt.

Acacia ignored it with the east of long practice, and instead of going inside, walked off the porch, and into her Hut.

(acacia loved her life. this was not what she had wanted out of life.)

There was no one wilder, no one more bold, no one more fearless, than the baddest bitch alive (self proclaimed) Acacia Ruth Polaris Pines.

Teachers hated her, kids loved her, fish feared her. In fourth grade she taught her her class how to knife fight using only plastic sporks. Seventh grade saw her ride her skateboard off the roof into the stock pond on the farm next door. Ninth grade and a small deal with her uncle left the water fountains tasting like either cream soda or broccoli water depending on the cloud cover above.

Her senior class prank was akin to a master’s thesis- no, a doctoral dissertation in shenanigans and tomfoolery. Boldly planned and executed by no one save her, it was a prank so epic that it survived in tale and song in the tri county area for centuries (and was eventually the subject of a small folklore chapbook about children’s culture in early post-Transcendence Oregon.)

Everything she did, she did big. She wore the smartest clothes, laughed the loudest laugh, ran the fastest lap. There were never any fights between the triplets about who was the leader and why was it Acacia because, well, of course it would be Acacia. Acacia thought of the best plans, told the best lies to get them out of trouble, and when all else failed, could get a laugh even out of Dad sometimes when they got caught.

She never got Hurt. That was key here: Acacia Pines did not get hurt.

Sure, of course she got hurt, Between all the pranking and laughing and dancing and climbing and exploring there were countless scrapes and cuts, bumps and bruises, even the occasional set of stitches or broken bone. But that? That was nothing.

She was Acacia Ruth Polaris Pines, and she was untouchable, unconquerable, confidence in spades. Nothing touched her. Nothing would ever touch her.

(”One day,” Willow had spat at her during a particularly nasty argument in freshman year of college, “you’re going to get Actually hurt and what then Acacia? How are you going to handle that?”

It wasn’t reading the future. Willow couldn’t read the future of course. But of the three of them, she was the best at reading the room.)

-----

She loses her eye.

She loses her eye when she’s 24 and she wrecks her car on a wet road and hits a tree (no)

She loses her eye when she’s 17 and she gets dared to mess with the eyewash machine in the Chemistry lab and it shoots rusty metal bits in her eye (no)

She loses her eye when she’s 19 and Stan’s past catches up to them (no)

She loses her eye when she’s 21 and she trips and through a series of unfortunate events lands eye-first on a metal straw (no)

She loses her eyes when she’s 22 and about to graduate college and her friends to decide to ‘summon’ a demon and she plays along because she knows better, she knows better, she knows better until there’s a knife in her eye and she doesn’t actually know better (no)

She-

Well. It doesn’t matter how Acacia Ruth Pines loses an eye. It just matters that she loses one. It just matters that she wakes up in a hospital bed, head aching, chest empty, and Reina at her bedside.

She knew they would be together forever. Reina knew they would be together forever. It was just the details they (Acacia) were trying to figure out.

Before the Loss there were talks of backpacking Europe, of going off grid for a few years, of getting a masters or a PhD or both.

Of enjoying their twenties, and their thirties, and hell, maybe even their fourties before they finally settled down, maybe had some kids, did that whole grown up thing.

She loses her eye, and every single part of her is shattered.

She loses her eye, and she hurts, she hurts, she hurts.

She loses her eye, and in these early post-Transcendence years there’s only so much Magic Technology can do.

She loses her eye and Uncle Dipper takes her gently aside one day and awkwardly explains that he can replace it but that she may not like the Cost, because niece of a demon or not, there is only so far Dipper can go before magic demands it’s price.

She loses her eye and yes on the surface everything is fine people have lost eyes for thousands of years but-

She loses her eye and Acacia Ruth Pines shatters, and the very first thing, in every reality she thinks to do is to grab on to a life preserver and

“Reina, will you marry me?”

----

Her first paintings of the day are commissions: paintings of people’s pets, of their boats and cars, and increasingly, of people themselves. That last one was Reina’s idea and it was brilliant because it turns out everyone who is everyone in the Bend micropolitan area has seized upon the importance of having An Artist paint them and their families in front of their McMansions.

She can do those in her sleep so these only take up an hour or two before she moves on.

The next paintings are things that are Sure Sellers. Landscapes for the galleries that go more Western art, Twee puppies and kittens for the galleries that wish they could be Thomas Kincaide, and unicorns for the convention scene. Boomers and Gen X, Acacia had found, really loved them some unicorn art, even though post-Transcendence it had been revealed that unicorns were actually massive assholes.

She hated painting these. Maybe others would think it would be the pictures of pets and cars and people, but those involved painting off reference or models. For those, Acacia could lose herself in the act of trying her best to replicate on canvas what she was seeing before her.

But for Sure Sellers, Acacia had to use her Imagination.... but for crap, just sheer, utter trite crap and she hated it but this one was the water bill, this one was a drop in the fund for Nito’s braces, this one would replace the dishwasher, this one-

She painted Sure Sellers until she felt the burn in her chest, the burn at these stupid fucking commissions, the burn at the world, and above all the burn at herself for being where she was doing what she was being small small so goddamn fucking small-

It was only then when she felt herself shaking with rage, that she became Whole again.

(She never remembered what she painted in those periods. Just that for a few hours, a few precious hours she was Acacia Ruth Polaris Pines again, young and free and confident and unbroken.

When she was done, when the kids and Reina were about to come home, when her bladder made itself known, when a hundred tiny things broke through her concentration, she simply cleaned up, and put the canvas into the special hammerspace closet that Uncle Dipper had made for her and out of sight, out of mind)

---

She loved being a stay at home mom.

Admittedly, the toddler years were rough. But toddlers are rough for everyone, not just her.

It helped that Josefa, Stan, and Serge were so utterly different than her lived experience as a sibling. They were all so very different from her, from Hank and Willow, hell even from what she remembered of Reina and her siblings growing up. They were blessedly their own people, and Acacia delighted in finding out who they were.

She halfheartedly cleaned, and eventually became a good cook if only out of self preservation, and once the kids were in school she had the whole day to paint. To Paint! Fantastic!

She never saw herself becoming a PTA mom, and she did not, because in no reality did Acacia Ruth Pines have the patience for that shit. But she taught a hundred after school art classes as an elementary school volunteer, was the crossing guard while the kids were at middle school, and when Serge joined band in eighth grade, Acacia not only joined the band booster, but she became the band booster President, and ensured that for the next thirty to forty years she would get hellos from her kids who stayed in the Tri-County area.

Reina, she knew, loved what Acacia did for their family. Loved that Acacia was close at home with her, with their children, with their extended family.

Acacia’s world was small. Smaller than Hank’s, smaller than Willow’s.

Smaller than she ever expected that it would be.

But it was enough . Her life was enough, and it was everything that she needed, and in this world Acacia Ruth was never hurt, never hurt, never again.

Never again.

(is this what you wanted from life?)

(yes)

(no)

(I-)

----

When Mom died, Josefa was the first to find the closet.

Inside were paintings. Hundreds upon hundreds of paintings.

The first one she pulled out made her irrationally angry. The next made her want to vomit. The third made her weirdly horny, which was not what she needed right now.

She looked at her brothers.

“Guys do-”

“Oh yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Josefa looked at the paintings, almost a century’s worth of output, paintings that even had some fresh paint because of course Mommy painted up until her death.

Every single one was a masterpiece. Every single one was abstract. Every single one was absolutely disturbing at an existential level.

Every one, Josefa knew, without having to be told, was the soul of Acacia Ruth Polaris Pines.

#transcendence au #seiya writes!

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inspireblog123 · 3 years ago

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rifki16 · 3 years ago

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How to Say Goodbye to a Toxic Environment

So, it has been three months since I was able to work on my thesis. Granted, during the last semester, I was caught up with my public policy class project that it practically made me begged for death itself. But, ever since the end of the fall semester, I still haven’t been able to finish my thesis.

And the pressure that I have on myself because of my procrastination is something that keeps compounding and made me stressed out even more. I actually like my thesis, unlike my undergrad final project; I’m writing about women participation in professional scientific field. My thesis supervisor is really nice to me, she understands the way I think. She knows which theories I should explore to understand the problem which I’m exploring rn — she actually introduced me to Bordeaux’s implementation in gender research. She also really cared so much about me that before I became AWOL for my thesis on November, she routinely checked up on me. These features are new to me as my undergrad final project supervisor never did those things to me.

So, you see, letting down such a good supervisor and a thesis which I have a great interest in are such a bad mark on me — a mark which I gave myself.

In the last session with my psychologist, I asked her, what’s really happening? Is it simply that I have anxiety? That as a child of domestic abuse, it’s just natural for me to fear a new chapter of life, and for me it’s my PhD study, as they are not planned and totally chaotic. Well, I don’t think that answers the fear and anxiety completely. I know where I want to take my PhD in. I’d like to take it at SOAS, London. I know which lecturers I need to get close with, professionally, so that they want to sponsor my dissertation. I know which non-Indonesian government scholarship that I can apply to, so that I can stay in London after I have my PhD. And if SOAS is not for me, I know where I can apply to, Université Paris 8. They have a great gender studies PhD programme. Granted, that I need to have my C2 DALF diploma and it’s so hard to get close to any professors of the university, but I still have a chance to get my PhD there. I know - I have planned it. And if my study or scholarship application gets rejected to all of the universities that I aim at, I can still just apply to be a consultant for an International NGO in Singapore or here while I’m preparing for my 2023 application.

So, if it’s not the anxiety? What is it then? Is it the low self worth that I have? Is it that I doubt my own ability that I may never get accepted for a PhD in any universities in the west which can provide a much freer environment for an academic field as diverse as development studies?

After a while, I postulated to my psychologist that it’s not that I feel accepted in this environment — with my lecturers and my fellow classmates, they always see me as this “leftist alien” — but it’s that I don’t know how to say goodbye to people who are toxic. When my grandma died, I couldn’t really process it well — I actually made a post about her here. All I could think was that she was a homophobe, racist, anti-semite. Why would I mourn over her? How could I ever say goodbye to such a heinous person? But I cried, when her corpse was buried, I cried.

So, that’s when my psychologist realised. This environment is very familiar to me. The academic environment of my master’s degree is as similar as my family’s. My parents never accept me unless I have good grades, they are homophobic, racist, anti-semite — just like my parents. As I’m finishing my master’s — with my thesis — how do I exactly say goodbye to my parents, to my academic environment?

I haven’t been processing the breakthrough well. I still haven’t been able to continue my thesis. And now I’m even more angst by my insecurity of not being able to get accepted at the universities which I like for my PhD.

I do hope that by this afternoon, I can continue writing it.

#mental health #gay life

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infinitestarsintheskye · 3 years ago

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A quick update at 10pm on a Sunday

Hello folks

You may have noticed I have been a lil more active recently and that’s cause ya gal handed in her FINAL MASTERS ESSAYS THIS WEEK 🥳🥳🥳🥳

Life for the past few months has consisted of a lot of the following things

Lots of reading. Lots of theatre. (Read Shakespeare 😂) Lots of time working in v pretty libraries.

Much of the same should follow in the next few months as I finish my degree and write my dissertation (which I am very excited about bc I am a HUGE FUCKING NERD)

I’m still mia from fic but hopefully now that uni has slowed down a bit the creative juices may start flowing in my brain once more.

I relied so much on this blog during the pandemic and during my year out from academia and I am so grateful for that escape, but I don’t think I will need to rely on it to that degree again. This community that I found myself in here really got me through the hardest year and a half and I am so happy and so glad to have been a part of this during that time. I always chose to write and come on here under my pseudonym because it felt like living an alternative life, being someone else for a while to escape the world. I’m happy to say that I quite like the world I live in now, and am feeling less and less need to escape it. For now, for here I will remain to be Skye for the time being. I like my little escape too much to give it up for now.

I hope you are all leading the happiness and most spectacular of lives, the one you want to be living. I finally feel like I’m almost there, and I hope you do too.

Lots of love

Skye :)

#skye rambles

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cosplayingwitch · 4 years ago

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Just the Beginning

Chapter Four/Five of my "Finding My Way Home" series.

Poe Dameron x Reader

Summary: in this imaginary world, the covid pandemic is over enough for the reader to finish her research, get her degree, and go out celebrating it. After an evening of drinking, the reader flashes back to how the two of you met.

Warnings: drinking and swearing

Prompt: Flashback

(not my photo, found on a google images search)

You’d done it. Your dissertation defense was successful. You could officially start calling yourself “Doctor”. Not that you really wanted to. A simple PhD at the end of your name would do nicely.

You called the only person you knew who would fully understand what this meant to you. The man who’d been by your side since the beginning. Poe Dameron. Your best friend.

“I DID IT!” You shouted into the phone when he answered.

“I KNEW IT! Congrats!” he yelled back at you.

Then a stunned silence hit you. You’d actually finished it. Your ultimate goal- achieved. “What now?”

Apparently you’d said that last part out loud, because Poe almost yelled at you,

“You go out and celebrate is what you do! It’ll be what, five hours for you to get back here? Just in time for the bars and stuff to open! I know you’d never been much for partying, but this is a special occasion.”

Poe already seemed to be planning something, but you didn’t mind. This was a special occasion.

So you headed out, to go see your best friend and probably go dancing and drinking.

Late that night, after drinking way too much and dancing with strangers until the place closed, you sat in your apartment with your best friend. In your drunken state, you asked Poe (who insisted on being the designated driver so you could celebrate as wild as you wanted) if he remembered how you met.

“Of course I do. It’s not every day someone meets their... best friend and hits it off immediately. Like we did.”

He almost slipped. He almost said that it’s not every day someone meets their soulmate. Or the love of their life. Not exactly something he was ready to admit to you.

Even if you both had your suspicions about the other. Neither of you were ready for the (remote) possibility of a rejection and subsequent implosion of your friendship.

A friendship that had begun about a decade earlier.

You had just walked into your first class on your first day of your undergrad. Still in that kind of high school-preppy kind of attitude, you have a whole color coded notebook-binder situation set up, waiting on the start of class. This was the class that cemented your path in life:

Intro to Anthropology.

See, to get into the archaeology classes you had to have this class first. And so here you were.

Poe, however, had a different idea of what the class was. He needed a humanities credit that wasn’t in the history department, so he decided to get it over with early. Intro to Anthropology was listed as a gen ed option, so here he was.

Unlike you, Poe did not show up with color coded systems 10 minutes early. He showed up five minutes late with what can only be described as crayons and printer paper to take notes. And sat directly next to you.

So how the hell did you end up being friends?

The first day of class left you with a lot of questions about him. And while he did eventually get himself more put together throughout the semester (an actual notebook, pens and pencils instead of crayons, etc.), you still had some questions and doubts about this guy. It wasn’t until the week before midterms that anything beyond greetings had gone on between you.

After class, he’d asked if you’d be able to help him study. He had, after all, seen your very organized nature. Luckily he’d caught you in a good mood, so you’d agreed to meet him in the library the next day. But it was under one condition- it was to be absolutely platonic, it would not evolve into a date under any circumstances. Poe agreed.

This study session in the library went wonderfully, both of you felt prepared for the test, and you ended up acing it (Poe, however, never told you the grade he had gotten on that test).

The study group, which really only consisted of the two of you, met for every test that semester. By the end, you both knew you were meant to be friends.

You broke from your flashback and thought- maybe we knew we were meant to be more? But stopped yourself from saying it.

Poe remembered things a little differently. His showing up to class wasn’t crayons and printer paper. It was loose leaf lined paper and a large, ‘my first pencil’, pencil. He’d forgotten he had an early class that morning, so those were the only options at the drugstore up the street (the only place to stop that’s open that early on a Monday and also on his way to class).

So, yeah, his first day was a comical disaster. But he fixed things and showed up to the next class on time and with proper supplies.

With midterms coming up and his notes a mess, Poe approached you about studying because he considered you to be the most organized person in the class, so he’d have the best chance of passing with your help. And the ‘completely platonic’ clause you insisted upon? Perfectly fine. He was never really been into super organized people- they tended to be control freaks.

But you were different, Poe could tell after your first meeting. So he started calling it your ‘study group’, even though it was only ever the two of you. And you met before every test (Professor Organa gave a lot of tests that semester).

By the end, he knew he would be friends with you for a long time yet.

Maybe eventually more than friends?

Poe snapped out of his flashback to stop himself. The agreement from the beginning was that this was completely platonic, and that’s how it would stay.

Then he heard it. You were coming out of your flashback too. And in your blackout drunk status, you blurted out to Poe that you loved him. And he told you he loved you too.

But she’s drunk, he thought. She doesn’t mean it. She’s drunk.

But you did, in fact, mean it.

You woke up the next day somewhere around noon with the worst possible hangover. Seriously, you thought, this was how you celebrated becoming an accomplished academic? By going out and partying like you were in your undergrad years again?

Poe laughed when you slowly made your way from your room in a bathrobe, slippers, and sunglasses. He’d been up for a couple hours at this point.

Actually, he never really slept. He couldn’t get over your drunken admission.

Constantly, he went back and forth between ‘she meant it, sometimes alcohol makes people admit things they never would when sober’ and ‘she was very, very drunk, it meant nothing’.

So he asked you a simple question.

“Hey, how much do you remember of last night?”

You decide to lie to him. You were so drunk you admitted your love for him. You couldn’t let this jeopardize anything.

“Almost nothing. That had to be one hell of a party, eh?”

But you did have a small gap in your memory- you didn’t remember him reciprocating the feeling.

Disappointed, Poe returned to his self-appointed task of making breakfast. With his limited cooking skills, that meant toaster waffles. Luckily he’d learned how to not burn them when you were still undergrads. That’d been a joke between the two of you for years, but neither of you had mentioned that for years.

“Hey! You better not burn my waffle!”

That’s all it took to send you both into laughing fits, just like old times before major jobs and fancy degrees.

Just two friends goofing around in their apartment.

But it couldn’t last much longer.

You’d be leaving in a couple weeks for your next big adventure, leaving Poe behind in the apartment, with his boring university library job, almost the same one he’d had since you two were master’s students together.

And as much as you didn’t want to leave him without telling him how you felt, you did.

#meras30daywritingchallenge #poe dameron x female reader #i love these idiots #not a happy ending #for now #i promise a happy ending for the series #ive already written it #flashback

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withhowsadsteps · 4 years ago

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the laptop stand / au!will scho

a/n: i'm back with something, hope you like it! this time it's au!will x reader, not tom. ps. i have NO clue if the term thesis is used in UK for bachelor's and master's degree or is it a dissertation?? Imma use thesis anyway because for me it's a more natural word choice

and i'm gonna apologize FOR ANY mistakes, it's late and i can't sleep so this is what i'm doing 🙃✌️

---

The exhaustion of the past week was clearly evident on the faces of the people studying in the university's library. The smell of fresh coffee someone just bought from the little cafe inside the library filled slowly but surely filled the air and woke her up from her daydream. She had been staring at this tall, handsome guy for at least 15 minutes. Not just because of his looks, but because he was using the book she needed the most for her thesis as a freaking laptop stand. She did not know how she could ask the guy to give her the book in the nicest and least intrusive way possible. She had asked the librarian if they had another copy, but the answer was no.

She slowly made her way towards him. The golden afternoon light hit his face from such an angle that made him look like a literal angel. His blue eyes seemed to shine like the clearest sea under the sunlight. Fuck. Her heart almost skipped a beat. His looks definitely worsened the situation a lot. He had airpods in his ears, so she also had to literally briefly touch him to get his attention. And so, she tapped his shoulder lightly. He took one of his airpods out of his ear and turned to look at her. She did not know, but the way the setting sun hit her face made his heart skip a beat too. The first thing that filled his mind was her beauty. "I'm so sorry I had to disturb you, but are you using that book for something else too or is it just your laptop stand?" she managed to say under his wandering gaze. Reluctantly he shook his head. "You can definitely have it, if you need it" he said and immidiately slipped the book from under the laptop and offered it to her. "Thank you, you just saved my thesis", she sighed, relieved. She thanked him once more and left him looking after her. Neither of them new, that this was not the last time they were going to meet. Turned out, he was a regular at the library. She never used to study at the library before, but she realized that it was easier to work on some of the sources she used for her thesis there. Some of the books were for in-house borrowing only anyway. So, she saw him around a lot. And he saw her. She had occupied his mind since the first day, but he was unsure if it was ok for him to ask her out. He decided to take it slowly. Each time he saw her, he choce a seat nearer and nearer until he was sitting across the table. She smiled at him but quickly turned her face towards the pile of books she had spread around her laptop. She had thrown her hair in a messy bun, but she managed to look very good nevertheless. She looked stressed, no makeup covering up the darkened circles under her eyes. He opened his own laptop and felt kind of out of place, since he only needed his laptop and one simple book. If only he could help her. After an hour or so, he decided it was time to go get a coffee. "I'm going to grab a coffee, is it too much if I ask you to keep an eye on my laptop? I'll grab you a coffee, too." he said to hear. At first she wasn't sure if he talked to her, but after looking at him and seeing him smiling, she nodded. "It's like you read my mind, I really need some caffeine" she laughed. When she finally got up to leave, she introduced herself and he introduced himself, too. William Schofield. The name sounded just as beautiful as he looked. They even exchanged numbers and from then on, they were inseparable.

After she finished her thesis, she did not need the library as much, but she still went there. Just because of Will. Couple of months had passed and she had developed a huge crush on the man. He studied both English literature and philosophy. He was extremely smart and made the butterflies in her stomach flap their wings wildly every time he opened his mouth to speak. He looked at her admiringly whenever she talked about her studies enthusiastically. Her love for her studies and career choice was contagious and motivated him in his studies even more. They completed each other without realizing it. Late nights studying at each other's homes became a thing, too. Sometimes they would take breaks and just talk about everything from literature to movies to their favorite flowers or even their childhoods. It was not too long before they started hanging out more and more and introduced each other to their other friends. Everyone could see that they were meant to be, but them.

One summer weekend, their separate friend groups merged together and rented a cabin somewhere near a lake. They enjoyed the warm summer sun and the cool water of the lake. She was sitting outside late in the evening, with a book in her hands. He watched her from the other side of the patio, smiling. His best friend, Tom, noticed this. "You should ask her out", he told Will, "everyone else can see how much you both love each other but you." he continued. But Will was afraid of losing her. Having her in his life, even if she was just a friend, was all he wanted. She changed his life for the better, she made him feel good.

After everyone else went to sleep that night, he came out of the room he shared with Tom. He noticed a familiar silhouette on the sofa of the living room area, still reading. He chuckled, holding a book of his own in his hands. "Can I join you?" he asked, while sitting down at the sofa. She just smiled at him and nodded. Somehow she managed to gather up some courage, and decided to lay down, laying her head on his lap. His hand that was not holding the book found their way to her hair and he let his fingers run through her hair, soothingly. And that is how they managed to express wordlessly their feelings towards each other. Early the next morning, sitting on the pier while the sunrise painted the sky with its colors, they shared their first kiss.

#1917 #1917 movie #au!1917 #creativepromptsforwriting #thanks creativepromptsforwriting for the inspiration!#will schofield #william schofield #will schofield x reader #george mackay #au!will schofield

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mommymooze · 5 years ago

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Sleep Doctor

Hubert X Reader. Warning: blood war violence, rudeness, bad dreams

You are often compared to Mercedes, both of you are talented in healing, as well as both of you have doting, motherly personalities. Both of you are nurturing, protective, supportive, bakers of treats, a trusted confidante.

There are differences of course. Her faith is in the goddess, yours is in the human spirit. Your reason magic is powerful as well. You don’t have a creepy brother, just a lazy sister. You cook delicious meals, you love brewing potions and concoctions. While she is laid back and chill, you are assertive and firm. You give advice and then enforce it.

Mercedes suggests that someone get more sleep, rest, take their time to recover. Maybe gently remind them after a few days if she stills sees dark circles under their eyes. You tell them they need more sleep and that you will be waiting for them at their room to make certain they sleep that night and perhaps the next two or three nights.

Linhardt enjoys sharing duties as the healer for the Black Eagles Strike force with you. His favorite taunt is to use your name as a threat. “If you do not rest that leg and let it heal, I will advise (y/n) of the situation.” Everyone is quite aware that Emperor Edelgard fully supports your extremely strict and regimented methods to ensure that the Strike Force is in tip top condition.

One of your pet peeves is finding injuries long after a battle is over. Linhardt will only leave his minor wounds untreated if he is too tired to get to it. Dorothea does very well seeking treatments promptly. Petra has a great understanding of the responsibility of your body being a temple and to keep it in constant repair. Bernadetta only hides injuries if she feels that she has made a mistake and tries to use it as self-punishment. Caspar is highly maintained and checked by Lin, so he’s in great shape. Emperor Edelgard is preened by the healers every time she returns, to make sure not the tiniest scratch is left unattended lest she get an infection. Ferdinand does frequent the healers, however he has been known to often get infections, not understanding the seriousness of the smaller, less important wounds he has received in the germ and disease filled conditions of war.

Then there is Hubert. He stands and gives reports to his Lady, while his own blood is pooling at his feet. His mindset is Duty Before All Else. Immediately upon arrival from a mission, he must report to Emperor Edelgard, then he may stop by the infirmary, but more likely will return to his tent or quarters and write his reports of the mission results.

At first you try reasoning with him. Advising him he is losing enough blood that by the time his report is finished his body is completely exsanguinated. You attempt to physically remove him from the Command tent and he strikes you with magic. Trial and error provides the answer for your most successful method of treating the irritatingly stubborn man. Healing him upon his arrival, during his report to the Emperor upon his return. The moment Hubert warps to her tent you are summoned from the infirmary. Your materials already await you in the command tent.

“Stand over here on these towels.” You order the dark mage.

“I must present my report…” Hubert angrily chastises you.

“I tire of my carpets being stained, do as she says.” Edelgard orders, he complies.

You remove his cape, cravat, and outer coat. You stand behind him as he is advising the Emperor of his latest completed duties in the never-ending effort to win the war for the Empire. You in turn untuck his white and red stained shirt from his pants and pull it up in the back clipping it out of your way. The blood has dried around his undershirt and you cut it loose from the stab wound that is just at the base of his rib cage, thankfully below his heart by a few inches. Had the assassin had a better angle, well, the Spymaster would not be with us right now.

Pressing a cloth that is thoroughly soaked in alcohol onto the wound to remoisten and allow removal of the remaining undershirt material as well as cleanse the wound preventing infection, you apply firm pressure into the hole and begin removing the soiled cloth from the deep stab wound as you hear him exclaim.

“…and then we proceeeeek!..Flames woman! Trying to finish the job!” The dark mage yells, his left arm coming back to smack you away as the burning sensation of the liquid goes deeper into his flesh.

You easily duck his attack as you remove the foreign materials, making certain the wound is absolutely clean. Minor deep healing spells take care of the immediate damage. There will still be bruising to his left kidney. You pull out needle and thread to pull the two sides of the wound back together, making it easier for the healing spells to take hold and lessen the scarring. That particular wound finished, it is not difficult to trace another slice into his flesh, this time blood is soaking into his shirt collar as he sustained a dagger’s blade to the side of his head just behind his ear. Head wounds bleed profusely, if they do not penetrate the skull they cause little problem as long as they are cleaned. A nice curved needle allows you to pick up the skin on each side to bring them back together again. A final healing spell there and the bleeding subsides.

Your hands glow lightly as they run along his body, searching for any additional injuries. The stubborn mule of a man certainly will not reveal any weak points. Two ribs on his left front are heavily bruised, healing spells correct that situation. Finding no other serious injuries, you return the cape and coat to Hubert, pat him on the shoulder, and proceed to the infirmary.

The trouble with being at war is that it is prohibitive to good sleep. There are quite a few members of the Strike Force that have issue with sleeping, some nights it is interrupted by dreams or memories of personally tragic events during the war, others cannot get to sleep in the first place, their minds tormenting them with frightening thoughts. While in Enbarr or at Garreg Mach, you are available to assist your fellow Strike Force members with issues of nightmares, night terrors or simply general insomnia. Your schedule is changed to accommodate the availability for such. You are available from sunset until 5 or 6am to assist with these issues. After that you return to your room to sleep until noon. The guards patrolling the areas are trained take notice if someone is calling out loudly in their sleep. There is also a physical sign, a request for assistance, by placing a red card slightly peeking past the bottom of the door, alerting them to retrieve you to the location for necessary assistance.

Your counsel at night is always kept between you and the patient. Having someone there to talk to is the best medicine for most parties. A trusted ear, a caring heart, letting them know they are not alone, simply being there is at times the answer to the current situation.

Hubert again, is the one most difficult to work with. His living space is highly covered in magic spells and sigils. The layout is such that if he is screaming in his bed it would not be heard through his closed door. He is not one to ask for help unless it is from complete desperation. Only by observing the reticent Spy Master can you tell that sleep has been evading him more than normal. His eyes are sunk further back into his skull, the blackness seems to surround his eyes. He taps his feet to keep his body moving, reminding himself to stay awake. This dedicated, enervated man is your most challenging patient by far. As today’s strategy meeting concludes, you request that he remain behind to discuss a matter with him and Emperor Edelgard.

“Hubert, when was the last time you slept.” You ask, hands on your hips.

“Three days ago. There is no time for sleep when you are running a war.” He answers.

“There is only so long before your body will take what it requires. The next battle is less than a week away. It is critical that you sleep now.” You plead, looking to Edelgard for support. “I agree. Hubert, pass along what duties you can and carve out time for sleep every day until the battle. Provide both of us a schedule of when you will set aside time for rest.”

Hubert stands, bowing to his Emperor and glaring at you sharply before he leaves the room.

You have found, through trial and error, ways of making him sleep. Forcing him into specific routines that subconsciously prepare him for sleep. Once he is in bed and relaxed usually a palm resting on the back of his hand is enough to make him lay still enough to drift off. Sometimes he is more agitated, so you will read to him dissertations regarding the history and foundation of white magic in a monotone voice. The text is very dry, of no interest to him, yet the words distract his thoughts enough, allowing sleep to take him.

Today was no such day. Overtired and restless he shifts in his bed anxiously.

“Tell me a story.” He finally requests.

“I did not think you a fan of fairy tales or knights.” You reply softly.

“You have a large family. Tell me a story of your youth.”

You begin to weave the tales of your younger days. The family going into the woods to pick buckets upon buckets of blueberries, your brothers getting distracted by seeing who could climb the highest in a tree, Mother panicking that they would fall and break their arms and legs. Scrubbing the purple from your siblings before getting them to bed then helping mother preserve the berries in wine bottles to enjoy during the winter. You are softly retelling these events until you realize he has fallen asleep.

It is not dark in the room, the curtains are pulled close to reduce the sunlight. You pull out a novel to read. Hubert is a quiet sleeper. He’s not like Caspar who crawls around and tangles himself in his sheets while he slumbers. You look up from your book as you see Hubert moving his feet, giving a weak kick. He is pulling his arms up to his chest and his face is drawn into a frown. You drop your book. Your hand brushes his cheek softly as you try to gently wake him from his nightmare.

“Hubert, I’m here for you. Everything is all right. Shhhh.” You softly whisper.

The dark mage startles from his sleep, his eyes wide. He looks about the room finally realizing he is within his own bedchambers. He looks very distressed, his hands trembling. You instinctively pull him into a hug, holding him tight against your chest as you lay gently on him.

“Breathe, just breathe.” You urge him, taking long slow loud breaths to have him match yours.

It takes a while before he finally begins to relax again. You know you can’t stand hunched over him much longer, so you walk around the bed to lie next to him on top of the covers. You pull him to face you as you card your fingers through his hair and encourage him to relax. The exhaustion of his body takes over and he falls asleep again.

You awaken after a short nap due to movement under your arm. Opening your eyes you find Hubert looking back at you. Instinctively you slowly pull your arm from across his chest back to yourself.

“Did you rest well?” you whisper.

Hubert rolls onto his back. “Surprisingly, yes. My headache is gone.”

You quietly slide out of the bed, straightening your clothing. Making your way to the other side, you return the chair to its proper place and gather your things.

“Do you often accompany your patients in their beds?” Hubert asks, a slight sneer in his voice.

“Never.” You reply. “You are a…special case.” You reply, closing the door behind you.

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

The next day Hubert is much more coherent at the morning strategy meeting. Once the meeting adjournes, the Emperor requests that the two of you remain behind.

“I notice an improvement today.” Edelgard smiles at the Minister of the Imperial Household.

“Of course, My Lady. I refuse to disappoint you.” He respectfully bows.

“We are scheduled today from 10pm until 3am. Granted, 5 hours is not much for the average person, but to Hubert’s tortured soul it is quite the luxury.” You quip, causing Edelgard to giggle.

The dark mage scowls in your general direction. You both excuse yourselves as the Emperor has another appointment to attend. You join him as he heads toward his office.

“Was it so horrible to rest yesterday? Do you not feel some improvement?” You inquire.

“You were witness to my sleep. It is anything but restful.” He grumbles.

“Which is currently the point of my assisting you.” You respond in a logical manner.

“If there is nothing further you require, I have significantly less time to complete my duties. I bid you good day.” Hubert sniffs as he heads to his office.

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

You are waiting outside of Hubert’s quarters for his arrival. He arrives 15 minutes late. There is no apology for his tardiness. He completes his routine for preparing for bed and finally pulls his covers up to his chin, only to stare at you. You’ve brought knitting to keep you company, a quiet pastime.

“Do you need a diversion?” You ask softly.

“No.” He responds, continuing to stare daggers at you.

A few minutes later he decides to stare at the ceiling.

“Why do you do this?” Hubert wonders aloud.

“For your health of course. Sleep is extremely important. Your body needs the rest, so does your mind. It affects your nervous system, your immune system. All creatures need sleep.” You answer matter of factly patting the back of his hand.

“Why do you care?” he asks.

“I’ve come to know everyone very closely. You are my work family and my friends. I would be devastated should anyone die from something I can possibly prevent. Just as you protect us all from spies, assassinations, poisoning, and the like, I do the same protecting everyone from sickness, injuries, infections etcetera. There is only one Hubert Von Vestra. I would like to see him live past the end of the war. “

“Hmpf.” Is his only response.

Hubert closes his eyes as you quietly knit. His breathing slows as he drifts into the land of Nod. You silently slip from his room to check on the other occupants of the Imperial Palace to find that it is a rather quiet night and there are no disturbances amongst the Strike Force. You return to Hubert’s quarters to see him still resting, which is surprising. You know he is a light sleeper, however even if he woke up, he remained in bed. You count that as a victory. As 3am nears, you head out to retrieve a carafe and water, preparing coffee in his parlor just at the time he should awaken.

“One moment.” Is heard coming from the door to his bedroom. A few minutes later Hubert emerges from his bedroom dressed for work and looking shockingly more alert than you have seen him in the past two weeks.

“Thank you for doing this for yourself as well as for the rest of us. I will see you again this evening.” You articulated as you gather your personal items to leave. You swear you almost hear a soft ‘thank you.’ from Hubert as he locks his door and heads to his office.

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

Hubert is working until midnight tonight, never a regular schedule for himself, his duties rule his sleep schedule. You leave Ferdinand’s quarters in time to head to the kitchen and obtain a cup of coffee before you must meet with the dark mage. Ferdinand sleeps well most of the time, however as the war becomes more brutal and savage, he is plagued with nightmares more frequently. After you were called to his room this night, he finally agreed to take a small sleeping potion. The thought of dark circles under his bright and shining eyes is like having storm clouds blocking the sun. He is the source of the Strike Force’s positive energy. They need him brightly shining in the lead, a beacon of hope.

Your arrival at Hubert’s door is matched with his. His posture is much improved, not hunched over barely able to stand. He greets you with a nod and waves you into his quarters. You pat his shoulder as you walk past him. He prepares for bed and once he is under the covers calls you into his bedroom. He has already placed the chair in its normal spot, close to the head of his bed. Taking your seat you place your hand on top of his. His hand does not move.

“You keep touching me. Why do you do that?” Hubert asks, staring at the ceiling.

“It is another one of the basic needs of humans. Some need it more than others. Certainly you have observed in battle, when the Professor is encouraging Caspar in the middle of a fight, if Caspar receives a simple pat on the head, he can rush forth taking out several squads of enemies at an amazing pace. When Bernadetta is extremely anxious, sitting next to her with a leg or shoulder touching her, she visibly relaxes. Emperor Edelgard relaxes with gentle hugs. Ferdinand prefers a one armed hug when being comforted through a tough time. The professor responds to hand holding and shoulder touching. Dorothea gets herself anxious and worked up sometimes, then only a full squeezing hug can get her to settle enough to speak with her.

“I was not aware of such needs, nor of your detailed observations of our team members.”

“I must admit, you are my most difficult patient in this regard.” You smile softly.

“Explain.” He says flatly.

“Beyond contact with our Emperor, you do not touch others nor does anyone touch you.” You begin. “Even when contact with another is made, it is not skin to skin, always to clothing, always with gloves. Certainly your upbringing, family history, interpersonal relationships, work schedules, work agenda and severe lack of personal time factors into this.

When one is in the infirmary, healers constantly touch the patients. Verbal reassurance is good, physical touch is required, and is extremely reassuring. When a patient is unconscious, the body still reacts to touch. When Petra was heavily injured a few battles ago, Dorothea was there for hours holding her hand, stroking her cheek. The body does react, relaxes. Somewhere in her brain, she knows someone is there for her and she needs to get better in order to rejoin them. Unconscious patients still tense up, faces furrow. Touch causes them to relax, leading the body to focus on healing.

On the battlefield, I am shocked at the condition I have found a fallen person, yet they are still alive, simply because someone else is there with them, touching them, encouraging them to hang on to that precious thread of life for yet a moment longer. That comrade being there has performed a miracle. There is no other way to explain it. Reason magic is cast through verbal incantations, physical movement, mental intentions. Healing magic is through touch, with the exception of physic, because no rule is absolute. “

“Hmmm. Continue.” Hubert watches your face closely, turning his palm to yours, taking your smaller hand into his without thinking.

“Now my observation of you, Hubert. I have heard you say that you are unworthy of anyone being close to you based on your workings below the surface, your bloodstained hands, duties you have carried out in the darkness. I disagree. You are not to judge your own worthiness. Only others can perform that task. They will base it on their own life, experiences, beliefs, circumstances. If they cannot understand you and appreciate you for who you are, all of you, then perhaps they are not worthy of you. The Emperor knows you, knows what you do for her, suspects what is done outside of her vision, yet she is there for you, accepting you for who you are, as you are. Over these years of war, all of the members of our team have learned more about you, perhaps scratching beyond the surface of you, yet they are still here. They still support you, believe in you, rely on you. They find you worthy of their protection, their support. Tell me of one person in the Strike Force that has not helped you in a battle. I certainly can tell you about how many I have had to piece together after they shielded you from certain death. I have lost count of how many holes I have patched up on you are a result of your protecting each and every one of them.”

“Physical Attributes are difficult to overcome…” he argues.

You laugh at the thought. “Have you never heard that beauty is in the eye of the beholder? Beauty is found within? To me, my mother is the most beautiful woman in the world. Having so many children her stomach never went back to being flat and fashionable. She has spots on her face from being in the sun. Wrinkles in her hands from working them hard for many years. Her nose is crooked because she broke it as a child and never had it properly healed. Most people on the street would look at her as the typical matronly old woman, but to me she is more beautiful than any goddess, I would not change a thing. My sister was being courted by Bernard, her now husband. Bernard was awkward, tall and lanky. At first I noticed he was all knees and elbows, his teeth seemed to be too large for his mouth. But my sister loved him, and he loved her. When I last saw him, I saw a tall handsome man that would do anything for my sister, just looking at him you could tell he adores her. When he looks at my sister, his smile shines bright and I consider him beautiful inside and out. Ask Dorothea how far good looks will get you. She is a beautiful woman, however knows that beauty fades. She has found someone who loves her for her. That when she is old and wrinkled and gray, they will be there for her and she for them. “

“I have much to think about. Good night.” Hubert says softly closing his eyes.

You remain holding his hand until it relaxes which is not until he is in a deep sleep. He sleeps quietly and restfully. A very good rest for him indeed.

The next morning Hubert joins you in his parlor, sitting at the table with you as you silently enjoy the first cup of morning coffee together.

As you pour a refill, you finally break the silence. “Today we prepare, early tomorrow we leave for yet another battle. I know you will not sleep tonight, if you wish to try, even for an hour or two, I would be happy to help.”

Hubert briefly scowls then retracts it to a minor frown. “I can sleep on my own. I do not need you as a crutch.”

You place your hand atop his now white gloved hand. “I am not a crutch, I am an enforcer.” You smile.

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

You are too busy the night before leaving to think about Hubert. Ferdinand has a particularly strong night terror. Bernadetta had a major panic attack. Linhardt could not find a comfortable place to sleep, wandering and laying about all over the palace. You would find him in the middle of a pathway, taking him to a more secluded and safer place to sleep only for him to move to a different poor location for slumber. You finished bottling your last batch of healing potions and pots of salves for minor wounds and burns. You begin filling the wagon with as much bandages and bindings as you could stuff into it. You and the other healers riding in the wagon will take turns sleeping, resting now because once battle starts, you would not sleep for perhaps two days or more.

A few more days on the road, scouts have returned stating there is a small army preventing anyone from passing, apparently a mix of kingdom and church soldiers. A brief strategy meeting is held and soon the caravans realign, with the support teams like yours toward the rear. A few more hours at a slow pace as they advance to the enemy location. Now explosions are heard as the mages on both sides attack, the infantry running in behind the Cavalry and the fliers doing their best to snipe from the skies. Your group hurriedly throws together the medical tent, secures a location for water, sets up cots, supplies. Ready for patients, you head out toward the field of battle. Those that are no longer fit to fight are sent your direction. You assess their condition, stop severe bleeding and direct them to the correct tent location. You see a Meteor spell go off in the middle of the battle, sincerely hoping that is Dorothea and not the enemy that is the source. You watch Linhardt in the back lines, healing who he can, keeping them on their feet. You want to go out there and help, but you remain at your post.

The battle continues until sunset. You are surrounded by patients. Fortunately nobody in the Strike Force has serious injuries, or at least they have not yet made it to the medical tent. You finish cleaning the slicing wounds of a very young, perhaps 17 year old, soldier’s arms before sewing the sides of the wounds back together and then casting a healing spell on them to remove the final trace of any visible wound.

“(Y/n)” a deep voice comes from behind you.

“How are you doing Hubert? Is there somewhere I am needed?” You ask, looking absolutely exhausted.

“Do you have any healing spells left in you?” He asks, a frown on his brow.

“No, That was the last one.” You say, cleaning up your surgical tools. Before you look up, he takes hold of your arm and warps you to a tent.

“Now it is your turn. You are in desperate need of sleep. There are buckets and towels to wash up and your bags are there to change clothes.”

“I sleep in the medical tent in case they need me…” you state, confused by this.

“You are out of magic, let those that can heal remain. I will step outside, you will clean up and prepare for bed.” Hubert exits, closing the tent flap behind him.

In spite of the rudeness, it feels nice to wash the blood and grime off and change into clean dry clothing not soaked in someone else’s blood. Sleeping away from the injured is much much quieter, you think as you change into bedclothes and sit on the cot.

“Done.” You call out.

Hubert enters the tent, bringing a tin cup full of water as well as a waterskin. “You must drink this. You have not had a drink since the first patients came in.”

“I’ve been preoccupied.” You gratefully take the cup and drinking the entire contents quickly.

“Now rest. Go to sleep.” His voice is quite assertive.

“Stay with me a bit?” You plead.

“Demanding woman!” He huffs, pulling the chair next to the bed to sit close by.

“Is everyone okay? Have they been checked out?” you ask.

Hubert grumbles. “Of course they are. Many have been asleep for four hours or more. Now hush.”

You suddenly sit up. “Have I stolen your bed? I can’t do that to you.”

He hesitantly touches your shoulder. “You need to rest. Stop fighting me.”

You frown and lie back down. “Could you lie next to me for a bit? Its…chilly.” You begin scooting to one side of the cot, until it threatens to tip over from having the weight all on one side.

“You are relentless.” He frowns.

You nod and lift the cover for him to join you. He lies on his back, you on your side facing him. You lift his arm bringing it around your back as you place your head and arm on his chest. Without opening your eyes you tell him, “Yes this is necessary.” You settle in next to him and quickly relax, falling asleep.

#fe3h x reader #fe3h #hubert von vestra #fe16 #feth #Fire Emblem Three Houses

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jbbarnesnnoble · 5 years ago

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Hazy Horizons (Part Five)

Summary: In the wake of their lives being turned upside down and losing their son, Andy and Laurie Barber move to Maine, in search of starting over and starting a new family, by any means necessary

Features/Warnings: Dark!Fic; Dubcon/Noncon; Drugging; Manipulation; Smut; Breeding Kink; mentions of Lacatation Kink; Pregnancy Kink; Gaslighting

Series Warnings: Dubcon/Noncon; Manipulation; Breeding Kink; Drugging; Gaslighting

Pairing: Dark!Andy Barber/Reader/Dark!Laurie Barber

Notes: A glimpse into the thoughts of Laurie and Andy, two weeks after the doctor’s appointment

Another short part, think of it more as an interlude. I usually aim for 2k but fell short this time around. We get a glimpse into the thoughts of Laurie and Andy this part. Features some mild smut, nothing too heavy.

Please note, I likely will not be updating again until the New Year because my dissertation is due at the end of December!

Please bear in mind that this is/will be a dark fic. You’re responsible for the content you choose to read.

Word Count: 1411

Week Nine - Sunday - March

Laurie woke before you, the sunlight coming through the window, hitting you in a way that made you look angelic. And you were. You were their angel. The missing piece that made their family complete. She could hear Andy down in the kitchen, the bedroom door ajar. You were officially at the start of the third month, nine weeks. Three more weeks and you would be able to shout it from the rooftops. The two weeks since the appointment had been spent getting you to relax, a job Laurie took seriously.

You had started acclimating. You didn’t fight them anymore, not too much, anyway. Laurie reveled in your submission. You were more vocal, finally giving in and saying their names in bed. Laurie wasn’t stupid. She knew at some point you would lash out, that you would test the boundaries. Andy knew too, which was why precautionary measures were going to be coming into play. They had laid the groundwork with the name change, with conversations with neighbors. Everyone in town knew you were having their baby, and as far as they knew, it was your choice.

It was your choice, Laurie thought to herself. At any point before the night they finally had you, you could have rebuked their efforts at pursuing you. She knew you had to feel it too, the chemistry. You were too shy to make a move, so they did it for you.

Her hand found its way to your exposed tummy, gently rubbing circles with her thumb. Soon enough your bump would show. She could swear she could see the hint of it starting. Your breasts were tender, leading her and Andy to be more gentle with them. Laurie’s own breasts had begun to ache, a sign that their efforts were working. Your morning sickness was still bad, but it was manageable. She ensured your meals were healthy, but knew that Andy would sneak you some candy here and there, or a burger at lunch when she’d be out. She knew fatigue had begun to set in, especially with your complaints over your caffeine intake being reduced.

You began to stir beside her. A glance at the alarm clock on the nightstand told Laurie it was just past ten thirty in the morning, a late start for her, but worth it if it meant being in bed with you. You blinked as you opened your eyes, before stretching.

“Morning sleepy,” Laurie said. You mumbled something she couldn’t decipher. She leaned in, placing a soft kiss on your lips. You didn’t return it. Laurie was used to your stubborn nature. Occasionally, you’d return the kiss in the morning, but moments like that were rare. It was one of your last pillars of protest as you came to terms with how your life now was.

Laurie’s hand brushed against your core, left bare with the absence of panties beneath your nightgown. You gasped at the contact, giving Laurie an opportunity to deepen the kiss. She knew your weaknesses, she knew your body, perhaps even better than you did. She could feel your core dampen as she pressed a finger into you. Your brain may not have been on board but your body most certainly was as you ground down on her hand, trying to increase the friction.

Laurie pulled away from the kiss, trailing her lips down your neck as she pressed a second finger into you. She heard footsteps in the hallway as Andy walked toward the room. She could hear his intake of breath before the sound of his sweatpants being removed. She pulled her fingers away, drawing a whine from your lips. Shame flooded your face. She could see the conflict written across it.

“My girls are starting on the main course already, hm?” Andy asked from the doorway, his voice thick with arousal as he moved toward the bed. Laurie glanced at him, a smirk on her face. She knew breakfast would go cold, but something told her, her husband wouldn’t mind that.

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Andy took a deep breath as he took in your relaxed form. He and Laurie had worked you over, making you climax several times before either of them finished once. It was part of their enjoyment, watching you fall apart over and over at their hands. Laurie was preparing a bath for the three of you, breakfast long since forgotten. He didn’t mind, not at all. Especially when he got to start the day off like this.

He couldn’t help but think of the renovations that were starting on the house, the secret room that was being added so prying little eyes didn’t stumble upon things they weren’t meant to, connected to the master bedroom through a hidden door. A nanny would be essential by then. They had no intention of stopping you from working, no, you had worked hard to be where you are. But they would have no problem reminding you of your place. With them, beneath them, writhing in pleasure because of them.

The house was already big, with a huge yard. It was made for a big family, extended or otherwise. You had purchased the smaller side, designed for one or two people. The three of you would stay at the lakehouse for part of the summer. It was close enough that Andy could make the drive in to work if his physical presence was required. It would allow the heavier work to be done on the house. It was still months away, but he couldn’t help the absolute glee he felt at his and Laurie’s plans falling into place so perfectly.

He had done the research, found you while they were house hunting. It was what drew them to the house. You were perfect for them. You trusted so easily. They adored you from the start. Their angel, their miracle personified, the answer to their prayers after the hellacious hand life had dealt them.

You shifted beside him, looking at him with an indecipherable look. You caught him off guard when you initiated a kiss. He allowed it, deepening the kiss as he heard Laurie re-enter the room. He wasn’t stupid. He knew what you were doing. It would be a long while before you truly accepted your place, before you truly realized you were exactly where you belonged. But in the moment, he let himself enjoy it.

“The bath is ready, then I think it’s time for a late breakfast,” Laurie said, a soft smile on her face. You pulled away from Andy and stood, making your way to the bathroom with Andy trailing behind. Laurie helped you into the massive bathtub before joining you, Andy not far behind. He smiled at the scene before him. Once you truly accepted your place, it would be true perfection.

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After a bath and breakfast, you found yourself staring out a window into the yard. Andy had re-made everything, breakfast having gone cold. As it was, he was clearing the walk from the snow that had fallen overnight. You enjoyed the look of snow, but hated the work that came with shoveling it. Andy had purchased a brand new snowblower before winter started and was making use of it, helping a neighbor with their walk.

Laurie flitted around the kitchen, preparing hot chocolate. You glanced her way every now and then. You scolded yourself when a smile rose on your lips as you took in the moment, a feeling of warmth overtaking you. It was getting harder to remember that they were the enemy. Harder to remember that they had essentially kidnapped you, that they had forced you to have their child.

They had mastered the art of manipulation. They had cut off all avenues of escape for you. Hell, they had even gotten to your family. You were well and truly trapped. The easiest routes to escape had long since closed.

You argued with yourself daily. Was it really so bad? They treated you well. But it wasn’t your choice. It wasn’t. Choice had been stolen from you. It scared you, the fact that you were becoming okay with that. What did it say about you that you were starting to bend to the will of your captors? Your thoughts cycled like that, full of the doubt and anger that had been plaguing you for weeks. You watched as snowflakes danced outside the window, losing yourself in your thoughts all over again.

#defending jacob fic #andy barber fic #dark!andy barber #andy barber #laurie barber #andy barber/reader/laurie barber #dark!fic #dark!laurie barber #dark!defending jacob #andy barber/reader #laurie barber/reader #andy barber x reader x laurie barber

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artificialqueens · 5 years ago

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Not Nineteen Forever (20) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex) - Ortega

a/n: hey hey! thank u so much if u gave a lil note or sent a bit of love my way for ch19. it was really my fav to write so far so i’m so glad it resonated with at least somebody!! there is only one more chapter to this whole fic after this and i’m emosh. after the rollercoaster ride we’ve all been on, i hope u enjoy this fun lil chapter as much as i loved writing it!

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: Brooke, Nina, Silky and Vanjie were locked in the library, and Brooke and Vanessa finally talked things out like adults.

this chapter: exams are over, dissertations are submitted, degree classifications are being allocated and the girls are nervously waiting for adult life to hit them like a freight train. what better way to avoid thinking about responsibilities than to go to the beach?

***

The day had started, as most of Scarlet’s days often do, with a message to the group chat.

Well, no, that was a bit of a lie. Scarlet’s day had started with her making breakfast, talking to her Mums over facetime as she ate it, and reassuring them that no, she hadn’t found out her degree classification yet and when she did they’d be the first to know. It was hard beginning each day with her heart in her mouth, frantically checking her phone to see if the website had been updated and then trying to relax when she found out it hadn’t been. Scarlet tried not to think too much about it, post-Uni life that is, but with each passing day it became an unignorable fact that she had to face. Graduation season was a mere month away and Scarlet didn’t want to face it but she had to, because the reality was that Scarlet didn’t know what she wanted to do with her life. Not a single clue. Gone were the days of six-year-old Scarlet, who spent the mornings being an actress with a short break at lunchtime to develop her career in the veterinary sector and finishing the day off creating new play-dough recipes for her Michelin-star restaurant. High school had been so good at pushing everyone into a university-shaped mold but now that Scarlet had completed her three years there she felt a little like the aquarium fish in Finding Nemo once they had escaped their glass box: stuck in a plastic bag bubble, thrown out into the vast, unexplored ocean, and simply asking herself now what? Really, what could she do with a Philosophy degree? Everyone asked her the same question when she’d been making her UCAS choices and now here she was asking herself the same thing. She wished she could remember what 18-year-old Scarlet had replied. Her Mums had been surprisingly supportive of the whole endeavour, but then again they had probably been happy to have their pouty, whining teenage daughter out of the house. Funny how times change, Scarlet thought to herself as she squeezed a generous dollop of washing-up liquid onto the sponge and dunked her empty plate into the hot water she’d filled the sink with. Her Mums had just been on the phone encouraging Scarlet to move back home while she decided on what to do next. It was tempting, but the prospect of being back in the country all isolated and away from her friends and Yvie and the exciting busy-ness of the city didn’t exactly fill Scarlet with glee.

Hearing her phone buzz against the counter, Scarlet almost smashed her newly-dried plate in her haste to read the notification just in case it was an email about her classification. It wasn’t. It was, however, a message from the girls. Nina, to be precise.

Kim Kardashian-West: GUYS it’s meant to be the SUNNIEST day today and Monet’s flat are all going to the beach!!! we should all go too!

Scarlet frowned, looking at the decidedly grey sky. It didn’t exactly inspire much hope.

Yvie’s bitch: Are you sure you’re reading the forecast for today? It looks a bit grey outside xxxx

Kim Kardashian-West: Scarlet I’m a primary teacher. A basic knowledge of the days of the week are kind of an entry level requirement

cursed SatNav voice: Am I FUCK going to sit freezing my ass off on the sand watching the rain piss down all around me!!

cursed SatNav voice: If i wanted to get soaked I would just call Brooke xoxo

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: No.

cursed SatNav voice: Ain’t that right @Brooke Lynn Hytes

Maple Syrup: you know it bby xoxo

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: Hell. I’m in hell.

Scarlet snorted a laugh. Akeria could well have been joking or deadly serious. Looking up and out of the tiny little window that was positioned beside the sink, Scarlet swore she could see a small ray of sunshine fighting through the clouds. She tilted her head, considering Nina’s offer.

Okay Then: yes i am absolutely down to get blackout day drunk today

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: Bitch it’s 11am who hurt you

Okay Then: listen this is perhaps the only time of our lives where we have literally no responsibilities at all. i’m getting drunk

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: I sent off nine masters’ applications yesterday.

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: No responsibilities my ass

Okay Then: well as huge as it is, i’m sure even it could use a little sun xo

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: WHY ARE YOU HOES ALL SO SENSIBLE AND GLOOMY? I’M WITH PLASTIQUE LET’S GO GET DRUNK

Maple Syrup: Ooooh now you mention it a fruity cider would go down so well right now

Yvie’s bitch: Yeah go on then, I’m down!! Xxxxxxx

Scarlet’s bitch: Scarlet it’s literally 13 degrees outside you’re insane

Scarlet’s bitch: but admittedly you are also my girlfriend who i love very much

large incongruous silkworm spiced praline: EW

Scarlet’s bitch: so if you’re down i’m down

Akeria Sainsbury’s Bag for Life: UGH fine i’ll go if all you idiots are too

Kim Kardashian-West: AAAH you guys this makes me so HAPPY!!!

Kim Kardashian-West: We only need Vanjie for a full house

Maple Syrup: Vanjie if you come I’ll let you suck my dick

cursed SatNav voice: How big is it

Maple Syrup: 2.75 inches when fully erect

Maple Syrup: Invisible to the human eye when flaccid

cursed SatNav voice: Hard pass

Scarlet’s bitch: Jesus Harvey Christ

cursed SatNav voice: But you bitches convinced me so i’m in

It turned out that most of the girls were still in their pyjamas, much like Scarlet, so they were given an hour to shower and make their way there. They were lucky that the city sat on the coast, and although much of the coastline was dedicated to harbours and pebble beaches there was one little beautiful strip of sand that lay about a half-hour bus ride out to the suburbs. Yvie and Brooke were getting a lift from Plastique and so they offered the last seat to Scarlet, but Scarlet didn’t want to take the girls out of their way. Besides, the sun was peeking out a little stronger now, and if it was to fully appear then it would be perfect weather for earphones, a summer playlist, and looking out of a bus window pretending she was in a music video.

Stepping outside of her flat, Scarlet was glad she’d ended up choosing dungaree shorts and a plain white t-shirt. It was definitely warmer than it looked, and she had to sweep her hair up into a ponytail to stop her neck getting too hot. She stopped off at the corner shop for a four-pack of cider (Brooke’s message had made her want some) and then walked over to the bus stop, where she managed to get one after not too long of a wait and sat on the top deck, letting the growing rays of sun fry her through the window. Once she was off the bus, she checked her phone for the meetup point. Nina, Monet and her flatmates were sat on the sand “around 10 metres in front of the chippy. But Monet has no concept of measurement so it’s anyone’s guess, really.”. Scarlet didn’t mind a small walk to find them. The promenade was packed with people all dressed in Summer clothes, the pavement giving off that smell of hot gravel which always reminded Scarlet of hot days and happy memories. The platinum-white sun cast its rays over the deep blue of the sea so that little diamonds sparkled against the waves, all tumbling over each other lazily and every so often giving a satisfying crash which mingled with the sounds of dogs barking and children giving happy cries. Scarlet found the chip shop but couldn’t see the girls amongst the mass of bodies laid out on the golden sand, so she shot Nina a text. As she waited for a reply, Scarlet took a deep breath and was hit with the unmistakable smell of the sea and chippy batter combining at once. She was a Winter person- she preferred frosty mornings and dark twinkly nights and getting cosy with a searing hot coffee and her duvet, but she loved how happy Summer seemed to make everyone, the sense of community that came with a hot, sunny day. Once Nina had given the other landmark of “there’s a guy with an inflatable sofa to our immediate right”, Scarlet managed to find the girls with no trouble and she was soon dashing towards them excitedly and letting out an embarrassingly childish squeal as she reached Nina and crashed into her in a hug.

“Scarlet!” she greeted her cheerfully, much of her face obscured by a huge floppy woven sunhat. Breaking out of the hug, she turned to address Monet’s flatmates. “Guys, you remember Scarlet, right?”

There was a chorus of welcoming noises as the other girls greeted her, some more distractedly than others. Cracker was busy rubbing her arm with a thick streak of white sunblock which seemed to have the same consistency as double cream, Bob was laid out against a bright pink beach towel with a set of huge sunglasses over her eyes, and Monique was trying her best to remove the cork from a bottle of cava. Monet was by Nina’s side, her head resting against her girlfriend’s shoulder as she stretched her legs out and buried her feet in the sand.

“Hey, congrats for finishing uni, Miss Scarlet,” Monet smiled at her, Scarlet smiling back despite the fact she was being reminded of adult life hurtling towards her like a bullet train.

“Thanks! Congrats to you both too. How does it feel to have an actual certified genius for a girlfriend?”

“Like I’m horrifically inferior and will never amount to anything.”

“Shut up!” Nina battered her on the arm, outraged as Monet and Scarlet shared a laugh. Nina had received a mark of 95 on her dissertation, a number that the girls had considered impossible to attain at university, but Nina had managed it. It was quite revolutionary as far as undergrad research went; a study into how well-prepared teachers felt to support transgender children in schools, with recommendations as to how to do just that within its conclusion and a call for councils to give further money and resources to the cause. “Your diss was amazing as well.”

“Yeah, what do you mean that more research into ability groupings in maths isn’t groundbreaking?” Monet rolled her eyes, laughing again as Nina protested.

“Who knew so much effort went into a primary teaching degree? I always thought your dissertation would be to…I don’t know, write a children’s book, or make a picture out of pasta spirals and glitter, or create a nursery rhyme or something,” Cracker piped up, Bob giving a snort beside her. Monet looked ready to defend her degree angrily when Nina sat up straight and fixed Cracker with an intrigued look.

“Oh, a nursery rhyme? Like…there was a young girl named Cracker, who was an incredible slacker. Her degree was dumb, so she tried to make fun, of her friends who decided to smack her.”

Scarlet let out a screech, as did Monique and Bob. Cracker could only burst out laughing and throw her hands up in defeat as Monet grabbed Nina’s face and pressed an emphatic kiss to her girlfriend’s cheek.

“Oh my fucking God, babe, I love you so much,” she laughed, wiping away a tear of mirth from her eye.

“Love you too!” Nina smiled happily, just as Monique finally got the cork out of the bottle with a satisfying, hollow pop.

“Aw, you hoes got champagne on arrival? How fancy.”

The girls turned around at the familiar voice to find Silky, Akeria and Vanjie all making their way towards them from the promenade. Excited again, Scarlet ran to hug them, namely Vanjie who she hadn’t seen since their final exam. They hadn’t spent too much time together but it had been enough time for Vanessa to elaborate on the story she’d told the girls in the group chat of how she, Silky, Brooke and Nina had all somehow been locked in the library overnight. Scarlet knew that had had something to do with the fact that she and Brooke were friends again. She didn’t know whether they’d fucked their frustrations out or actually talked like adults, but whatever they’d done Scarlet was glad about it. Whether or not they were reconnecting with a view to getting back together or not, Vanessa and Brooke were back to flirting on the group chat like high schoolers, and all was back to normal.

“Right, who’s wanting some of this? I’m not sure I got enough for everyone, though,” Monique asked loudly. Scarlet didn’t miss the way Vanessa stayed silent as the other girls clamoured for some fizz. She knew Vanjie had broken things off with Monique, whatever “things” were, and Scarlet somehow didn’t think she was enjoying being on the other side of a breakup much either.

“Did you even bring cups?” Bob asked, sitting up and quirking an eyebrow at her flatmate. Monique groaned.

“Ah, fuck, cups.”

“You absolute idiot sandwich,” Cracker rolled her eyes at her. Her eyes darted quickly to Vanessa before she stood up and grabbed her purse from her backpack. “C’mon. I’ll come to the shops with you and we can get some.”

The two girls walked away as Silky, Akeria and Vanessa all laid out what looked to be a duvet cover that they’d brought with them in lieu of a towel or blanket. Scarlet didn’t even think to question it. She knew it had been Silky’s idea without needing to ask.

“I feel like a dick,” Vanessa jerked a thumb towards Monique’s retreating frame.

“Don’t,” Monet and Bob said in unison, Nina letting out a small laugh.

“Y’all are The Shining levels of creepy,” Akeria frowned, digging out three huge bottles of beer from a shopping bag and giving one to each of her flatmates.

“Well, we’re right! You were friends with benefits, everyone knew that. It’s not Monique’s fault she caught feels but it sure as hell ain’t yours either,” Bob shrugged, ever the blunt but honest friend.

“So what is going on with you and Brooke now?” Monet asked, leaning forward and propping herself up on her elbows. Vanessa fixed her with an unimpressed look.

“Gee Monet, whatever happened to so how’ve you guys been, or how was exams, or literally any other small talk?”

“Yeah, and whatever happened to it’s none of our business?” Nina side-eyed her girlfriend disapprovingly.

“Well, girl! We’ve been in dissertation hell for a month and a half. Shit kinda got boring,” Monet shrugged semi-apologetically. “Anyway Vanjie, Monique’s away and Brooke’s not here yet and I doubt you want to talk about it when either of those two are here in front of you? And I’ve been trying to grill Neens about it but she keeps using lame excuses like we shouldn’t be getting involved and shouldn’t you be thinking about your classroom, so c’mon, bitch, spill.”

Vanessa smiled slightly, gesturing as if it was obvious. “Well, she knows I love her. And she loves me.”

Monet let out an “aaw!” at the same time Akeria let out an “ugh”. Vanjie ignored them both and continued.

“But she hurt me, so I ain’t lettin’ her get back in my good books that easy. Of course I wanna be with her, more than anything else in the world, but we need to get that trust back before I even entertain the idea.”

“So have you…y’know…had any kinky, passionate reunion sex yet?” Monet winked at her. Vanessa looked at her flatmates, a humoured smile playing on her lips.

“Akeria’s threatened to kick me out the flat if I even so much as think about it.”

The girls howled with laughter as Akeria tried to suppress a smile. “She thinks I’m joking.”

“I really don’t,” Vanjie raised her eyebrows at her, Akeria playfully shoving her onto the fluffy sand beside her and causing her to get it all up her side. “God fucking damnit, now I don’t even get to look nice when she arrives.”

“Oh, here she comes now, actually,” Silky said, nonplussed. Vanessa scowled at her.

“Quit playin’.”

Scarlet followed Silky’s gaze. “No, Vanj, she actually is.”

As Vanessa muttered a shit, Scarlet waved excitedly at Plastique, Brooke and Yvie, smiling when the latter pulled a goofy face and waved back. Plastique seemed to be carrying something huge and wooden underneath her arm.

“Lord Jesus, what the hell is she doing,” Silky shook her head as the girls came closer into view. Scarlet jumped up happily to hug her girlfriend, Brooke muttered a soft hey as she sat down next to Vanjie and hugged her, and Plastique, after she’d greeted the others, unfolded a multicoloured striped deckchair.

“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” Scarlet let out a laugh, unsure whether to be impressed or exasperated by Plastique’s levels of extra.

“What?! It’s a sunny day, we’re at the beach, this is literally what deckchairs are for! Have fun getting sand in every possible orifice, losers,” she stuck out her tongue at them as she sat back and gave a happy sigh.

“Ariel not joining us today?” Nina asked.

“Nah, she’s gone home to see her parents. Why the hell you’d want to go home now when you could be dragging out your last month of uni life is totally beyond me, but hey.”

Yvie gave a deep laugh. “Plastique, your family have a townhouse in London, a chalet in Chamonix with membership to a private ski resort, and a literal penthouse in Dubai with an outdoor pool on a balcony. Why the fuck are you here?”

The girls all exploded with laughter, even Plastique conceding with a smile and a self-aware shrug that she was a rich bitch.

“Hey, I’m moving back in after graduation and won’t see you guys for ages, let me enjoy your shitty company.”

“You could fly us all out,” Brooke smiled hopefully, cracking the top off her bottle of cider with her keys.

“Yeah, lemme borrow twenty grand off my Mum real quick,” Plastique snorted sardonically.

Bob reached across to Monique’s cava, giving a small sip. “I’m moving home too. Gotta save money.”

“At least you both know what you’re doing,” Scarlet rolled her eyes, trying not to sound too bitter and accidentally just coming out with the verbal equivalent of black coffee. Luckily, Brooke held out her bottle and nodded emphatically.

“We can’t all have Akeria’s serial-killer levels of ambition or just walk into a job like Monet and Nina.”

“Hey! It’s a probationary year that we could literally fail if we screw up, stop thinking we have things easy,” Nina protested.

“How could you possibly fail being a teacher unless you literally boot a child in the face?” Yvie laughed in disbelief. Seeing Monet and Nina gearing themselves up for a verbal sparring match, she gesticulated wildly. “I’m kidding, ladies, I’m kidding! You work very hard and kids are little shits and you don’t get paid enough. Happy?”

“Very,” Monet rolled her eyes, accepting the cava that Bob held out to her and taking a swig before passing it to Nina.

“What’re you guys doing after uni?” Bob asked, then instantly cringed hearing the groans she got in response. “Sorry, sorry, I forgot that question is basically Satan incarnate.”

“Well, I applied to a bunch of newspapers. But the journalism industry is a shitshow anyway, so fuck knows what I’m doing or if they’ll even accept me,” Silky sighed. Her mood was decidedly flat. It was rare for her to be anything other than high-energy, volume turned all the way up to 100.

“Well, your classification might help!” Bob said comfortingly. Scarlet looked at Silky to gauge her reaction. She didn’t know if she’d been given hers yet, but the girl’s embarrassed face soon gave her an answer.

“Well I got a 2:2, so. Probably not,” she shrugged, Bob trying to backtrack apologetically. Scarlet felt bad for Silky. There was nothing wrong with a 2:2 and a degree was still a degree, but she knew how much Silky believed that despite her grades not being great, she’d still pull it out of the bag in the end, maybe manage one essay that pulled her marks up. Even though the girls were all still proud of her, it was another thing for her to let herself down.

“We’re still proud of you, Silky. You worked fucking hard and you got your degree, and that’s something to celebrate,” Nina smiled affirmingly, holding the cava out for Silky to drink. She smiled gratefully at the girls around her before accepting.

“Thanks, ladies,” she said quietly, before taking a swig. The cava seemed to return Silky back to normal, and she cried out after drinking. “An’ besides! 2:1s are boring anyway. Go hard or go home, bitch, and I’m goin’ the fuck home!”

The girls indulged Silky in a laugh. They sat for a while, chatting easily and passing the bottle of cava around, the lack of cups now not so much of a problem as it had seemed previously.

“Hey, anyone want a paddle?” Brooke asked suddenly. Scarlet gave a snort of outrage.

“You’re insane. That water’s got to be minus five.”

“Oh, come on! It’ll be fun! Vanj?” Brooke asked, her voice hopeful. Vanessa shrugged easily, casting the girl a quick smile and then dragging Akeria and Silky to their feet.

“To be fair, I am getting really warm. Getting my feet cold might be nice,” Nina reasoned out loud. Monet jumped up with her cheerfully. “Yvie, you coming?”

“Nah. Think I’ll stay here with my girl,” Yvie squeezed Scarlet’s hand, Scarlet smiling back at her happily.

“Awww, Yvie! You’re too cute,” Plastique cried sarcastically from her deckchair, the other girls laughing. She was too busy sunbathing to paddle, but Bob decided she’d follow Monet’s lead and join the others in the water. Scarlet laughed as she watched her friends tear down to the sea like children, the white spray flying into the air as they all hit the water at once.

“We’re friends with actual kids,” Yvie laughed, Scarlet nodding in agreement.

“God, we really are,” she smiled affectionately, watching Akeria take a step into the sea then jump back as if it was made of molten lava and not freezing cold water. Just as the girls had left, Scarlet became aware of two sets of footsteps approaching behind them. It was Cracker and Monique, back from the shops with a plastic bag twirling around Monique’s hand.

“Hey,” Scarlet greeted them cheerfully, then added, by way of explanation, “They’ve gone into the sea.”

“Oh, fun!” Cracker beamed. Monique picked up the bottle of cava and rolled her eyes. There was a shot-sized dribble at the bottom.

“You sons of bitches are nothing if not predictable,” she laughed, fishing a brand new bottle out of the plastic bag along with a set of cups. Yvie held her hands out apologetically and Monique shook her head, letting her know all was forgiven. Scarlet looked out to the water again. Bob had Monet on her back and Vanessa was leaping on Brooke’s, Brooke unable to catch her from the amount she was laughing. It looked as if they were about to do some sort of race or fight. Vanessa finally got onto Brooke’s back, her arms looping around her shoulders like a bush baby.

“So. That’s that then,” Monique gave a little sigh as she looked out to sea. Scarlet did a double-take as she looked at her. Her expression was mostly hidden behind her huge mirrored sunglasses, but Scarlet could see the small frown on her face. She knew who her gaze had fallen on. Scarlet felt bad for the girl.

“Hey, don’t take it personally. Vanjie thought you were great, she really did. She told me all the time,” Scarlet said reassuringly, Monique giving her a little smile of gratitude. “You know that way when you’re still hung up on someone you love. That’s all it is.”

Monique rubbed her arms, wrapping them around herself in a hug. “My own damn fault for catchin’ feelings.”

“Happens to the best of us, girl,” Yvie piped up. Cracker smiled at the pair of them gratefully, squeezing Monique’s shoulder supportively.

“We’ve been trying to tell her that.”

Monique laughed suddenly as she saw Silky chasing the girls with a huge, slimy-looking clump of seaweed she’d fished out of the water. The smile remained on her face as her laughter died down and she looked at Scarlet and Yvie inquisitively. “Brooke’s gonna treat her nice, right?”

Scarlet thought about Brooke’s helplessness after her and Akeria’s birthday weekend, her heartbroken confession of love in the toilets of the grubby karaoke bar. She watched how tightly Brooke was holding Vanessa on her back, as if to let go of her would be a crime. Scarlet smiled at Monique. “She will. I know she will.”

Seemingly satisfied, Monique kicked her sandals off and turned to Cracker. “You wanna go paddle?”

“Girl, I thought you’d never ask.”

Scarlet was satisfied staying with Yvie on the sand. They turned to Plastique only to find her napping in her deckchair, her skin beginning to take on an ever-so-slightly pink hue. Deciding to avoid Plastique’s potential wrath if they woke her up, Monique and Cracker dashed down to the ocean to join the other girls. Scarlet sat quietly with Yvie for a moment, taking in the scene of their friends all clowning around in the water.

“You still looking for jobs?” Yvie asked her. Scarlet sighed. She didn’t mind talking about post-uni life with Yvie, didn’t mind being honest about how scared and unsure she was with the person who loved her and she loved back.

“Yeah. It’s hard applying without my classification, though. And, I guess, even harder when you’ve got no idea what the hell you want to do with your life.”

Scarlet gave a self-deprecating laugh which Yvie gently joined in with. Yvie laced her fingers around Scarlet’s and gave her hand a squeeze. “You’ll figure it out, babe. There’s no time pressure on these things.”

“I know. It’s just hard when…hell, you’ve got Monet and Nina about to start their entire careers. I mean they’ll be in charge of a whole class of kids. Akeria knows what she wants to do and she’ll get there. Hell, even if Silky’s classification wasn’t as good as she wanted it, journalism is at least something she wants to go into. And Vanjie’s decided on events management. You know you want to at least do something with criminology,” Scarlet sighed, suddenly feeling so small. “It’s so hard trying to figure out what you want to do with your life when everyone around you seems to know. How the hell are you meant to know yourself?”

“Listen,” Yvie brought her thumb up to stroke Scarlet’s knuckle, calming her instantly by about 80%. “The great thing about your life is that…it’s yours. Nobody else’s. Just yours. Say you decide on a job and you hate it. Do you think you have to stay because the pay’s good and it’s something steady? No! You leave, because you can get another job. You don’t like it? You change. You want to go back to uni to doss about for another year? Do it! There is no rule to life that says you need to live it a certain way. And fuck yes, it’s scary! I’m scared! I don’t know if I’ll like any of the jobs I’m applying for, they could be so different in reality to what they are on paper. But you know I’ll support you whatever you decide.”

Scarlet’s voice was quiet as she watched the waves crash around her friends. “I just don’t want to disappoint my parents.”

“Scarlet, your parents love you unconditionally. And I’ll say it again- it’s your life. Yours. Not theirs. You can do whatever the hell you want to.”

Scarlet nodded, Yvie’s words a small comfort to her in the world that now seemed so big and scary. Yvie’s voice was quieter as she spoke again. “So…you’re going to live back home once all this is over?”

“I guess so. I don’t really want to, but I don’t want to live alone either. And it’ll help me save money, although if I don’t have a job I guess there’s not much money to save,” Scarlet snorted a laugh. She didn’t want to think about any of this, but Yvie was asking her so she gave an honest answer. Scarlet didn’t miss the way her girlfriend fell silent, nodding her head, a sad little frown on her face. She didn’t want to move away from Yvie. She didn’t want to return home. Yvie was her home.

Suddenly there came a splash from the water and Scarlet’s gaze was jolted away from her girlfriend and down to the sea. Silky had somehow fallen into the water and the girls were all howling with mirth as she screeched and tried to splash them all. Scarlet couldn’t help but join in with the laughter as she watched Akeria help fish Silky out of the water, the girl sitting in the wet sand and laughing so loudly that Scarlet could hear it even from farther up the beach. As Scarlet composed herself and her laughter died down, she turned to see Yvie looking at her, a dopey little smile on her face.

“What?” Scarlet laughed, touching her hair self-consciously. Yvie looked down at the sand, then back up to meet her eyes.

“Move in with me. After we graduate.”

Scarlet’s eyes grew suddenly wide in shock. Yvie was still holding her hand and Scarlet’s grip on hers had tightened. “Really?”

Yvie’s face was earnest, and Scarlet could see her gulp as she nodded quickly. She took a little gasp of air before explaining herself. “I mean, we both already basically live together. You’re at mine so often anyway, we know what we’re like to live with. We’ve not spent more than a full week apart since…fuck, I don’t know. I would do long distance for you, Scarlet, but I don’t want to. I want to go to IKEA and build flat pack furniture and make slow cooker casseroles and fucking…pay council tax with you. I hope you don’t…think I’m being too intense. Jesus, we’ve not even been together a year, fuck, sorry, this was a shit idea-”

“Well when you know, you know, right?” Scarlet smiled at her girlfriend, squeezing her hand. Yvie smiled back at her, reassured and happy, and Scarlet could hear the seagulls in the air and the crash of the waves and the laughter of their friends. She wouldn’t have had any other soundtrack to accompany the moment. “Yes. I’m in. Let’s get a flat together. Just the two of us. I don’t know what the fuck I want to do with my life, but I know it’s going to be a lot easier if I’m doing it with you.”

Relieved, Yvie leaned in and met Scarlet’s lips, kissing her once, twice, three times before pulling away and squeezing her hand. They met each other’s eyes and smiled, breathlessly giggling a little. Deciding to move in together didn’t seem to be the huge, relationship-changing milestone that society had hyped it up to be. It made sense to Scarlet: they loved each other, enjoyed the other’s company, they’d practically lived together for the past however-many-months. Okay, they hadn’t really hit any real speed bumps in their relationship really, but Scarlet trusted Yvie and she trusted herself. They were a team, two puzzle pieces that fit together. Whatever the crazy, scary, mixed-up adult world had in store for them after graduation, they would face it together.

Just then, Scarlet’s phone vibrated. She picked it up from its place underneath a carefully-folded corner of her towel. Opening it and reading the email, her heart dropped.

“Oh my God,” she said, her heart thudding uncontrollably.

“What’s the matter?”

“My classification’s through.”

Scarlet’s fingers were shaking and her palms were sweating as she frantically logged onto the uni’s intranet.

“Breathe. Just breathe. It’ll be fine,” Yvie reassured her, but Scarlet could feel her blood racing in her veins. She didn’t want to look. She did want to look. As the page loaded, she squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing had ever seemed so catastrophically life-defining before. The page loaded, Scarlet blinked, then she screamed. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Plastique flinch in her deckchair. Yvie’s face was expectant. Scarlet could hardly get the words out.

“A FIRST, I GOT A FUCKING FIRST!” she screeched, Yvie practically tackling her into the sand as she hugged her. Scarlet felt like her heart was about to burst. The three years had all been worth it and she felt like the biggest weight and worry in the world was finally lifted off of her. This was, admittedly, contrasted with the feeling of Plastique piling herself on top of the two girls, screaming excitedly the whole time. Scarlet suddenly batted them off of her, grabbing their hands and tugging them towards the shore.

“I wanna run into the sea! Can we run into the sea and tell the girls?”

Nodding excitedly, the three friends tore towards the coastline screeching like banshees. Scarlet could feel the wind in her hair, the sun beating down on her, and the sand shifting underneath her feet with every step she took.

She had never felt so conscious of her own mortality and yet as if she could live forever all at once.

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