#white people in the midwest didn’t like that we wouldn’t leave. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bradandchris · 4 months

Text

Well, that was that then. Brad had himself a New Years Resolution. His resolution was to not have a resolution for the year that was new in the moment where he was. That was on the beach in Santa Monica at the end of 2023.

While he was there staring into 2024, he was also giving up lent for lent, and trading in Columbus Day for an Akron knight. He would just need to convince Elton John to take a holiday to Ohio in October. It was a good thing leaves died pretty. He could use that to his advantage.

If that didn’t work out, Brad would try a different time of day. Akron Dawn for example could score an obvious sponsorship assuming people in Ohio did their dishes upon waking up. It sounded like something people in sensibly sized Midwest cities might do.

The notion never crossed his mind in Brad’s 22 years living in Los Angeles. Why would anyone born and bred in Southern California ground themselves where it could crack open and swallow you whole at any second? Midwestern sensibility just didn’t stack up here.

Akron was in Ohio right? Brad could never be sure even with a smart phone in his hand. Miss Information was everywhere and there were no places to hide. How would you know where to go anyway?

All the cities in Ohio looked exactly the same to Brad. You could be in Toledo or Cincinnati, and it wouldn’t make a lick of difference even if you were at the local library checking out books. As long as ‘Ohio’ was somewhere on your library card or drivers license, you were golden.

At least that’s what Brad imagined. The locals likely didn’t feel the same way.

On the eve of a change in one of many calendars used across the globe, Brad took a minute reflect upon what had yet to happen by asking questions in the present tense.

Did all the oceans in California look the same to people from Ohio? Those from the two bucks an eye state (post inflation), were human beings dealing with a relative relative spendy reality. That part was clear. The rest of it got fuzzy as he didn’t know anyone from Ohio he could ask.

Brad wasn’t sure how many oceans he was looking at in the first place. They all kinda mixed together with few if any official boundaries. To call the water in front of him by one name took it from Will Rogers in Cali all the way to Bondi in Australia, but it was hardly the same water. The whole thing read as a gross over generalization as everything Pacific.

Each day it was less and less surprising to Brad that more than 90% of the sea floor failed to be mapped. We as a species held not a clue as to what was down there yet some of us were already taking tours of outer space which was technically nothing itself. Was that not why we called it space?

Whatever.

Brad didn’t want to put too much into space tourism or an overrated holiday like NYE, or even Christmas for that matter…

Brad stopped himself there. If he took that thought any further he could start getting answers. That could take him into resolution territory where he resolved to not go yet already was.

The annual practice never played out well for Brad despite being out himself. While others made money Brad beat himself up. By the President’s Day circuit party he was always in a downward spiral. If Brad ever OD’d it would likely be there smack dab in the depths of the Southern California rainy season swallowed whole by the first round of judgement preliminaries for White Party in Palm Springs.

Seeing where he was, Brad pulled himself off the bitter party of one path to that of personal responsibility. No one besides himself stuck around any NYE resolution to ensure he followed through. It may be paid for but did it matter where the money came from? While the commitment was squarely his, it often turned out the enthusiasm was not.

Brad paused to fix the back of his swimmers. They began riding his youthful 22 year old butt muscles while doing all this thinking. Did he really workout every day just so his clothes could malfunction?

Maybe. He could def take the notion somewhere sexy. Too bad there wasn’t a pen and paper around. Was this why people wrote their name in the sand? That whole notion read downright silly standing so close to the world’s biggest eraser.

When all was said and done, the greatest part about having a perky butt wasn’t sex or attention. It was having a place to set things down where no pockets were available. Brad always offered the space to others where he could think enough to do so. Ironically, the last thing he wanted to be was an ass.

The notion spurred another thought. Brad would ask Chris to look for a date on his butt when he came back from the concession stand with lunch. All this male beauty comes with a shelf life apparently so his boyfriend should probably know when to stop eating it. To that, and out of respect for himself, he should probably check Chris’ butt too. Brad needed some action and the whole notion just brought forth was good enough to jumpstart a very fun afternoon.

These things only needed to be paper thin with two men in the equation. An impromptu hamster inspection of the men’s locker room at the local gay watering hole instigated a wild three way with Brad and Chris’s neighbor Luke just a few hours earlier. Unsurprisingly, not a single hamster turned up at the gym, but the whole debacle did put a new spin on wood shavings.

A rouge wave reached high enough to grab Brad’s attention and bring him back to the present tense. Brad looked at his phone but he didn’t have any gauge as to when he and his thinking drifted off. Well, at least he came around this time with his swimmers still on. He lost two pair just in the last 24 hours.

Now where was Chris with the food? Brad was craving curly fries and a big fat dill pickle.

8 notes · View notes

boognish-worshipper · 3 years

Text

ok so like i had this idea for a while n it took me MONTHS to finish bc i was nvr content w/ my writing n whatnot yadda yadda yadda anyway,, this is basically a what if thing about the triads shooting trevor in ludendorff n michael realizing how dumb he is

(my apologies that it’s so fuckin looooooong but I didn’t wanna leave it on a short note that felt incomplete. hope y’all like it !!!!! sorry for any grammatical errors or if the formatting’s funky)

Why didn’t he realize it sooner? Was he stupid? No, no. He was just blind. Blind for the past 10 years. Who knows. Maybe even longer than that. Fucking Michael. It always came back to that venomous shithead, constantly ruining everything for him. Did he just... forget? Was he so focused on that bloodsucker when he was “dying” in front of him he completely forgot Brad got shot first? That Brad died first? He didn’t even really think about him when shit went down. Or care much about Brad in general for that matter. The guy was a dick who just worked with other dicks back in the day, eventually joining their motley crew. A fading memory more than anything. His primary focus had always been Michael, who he thought was his right hand man. Trevor always knew that there was something different about him. As frustrating as Michael could be, it still didn’t change how he felt deep down. Michael wasn’t like the others. Or at least, that’s what he had thought. The night he found out that Michael’s lie ran deeper than he led on was one he wouldn’t forget.

He arrived at Michael’s house in a short amount of time. Hopping up the steps he made his presence known, standing in the entrance of the living room. He plopped down next to Michael, who scooted away from him slightly, still not ready for close contact from Trevor.

“Family ain’t back yet, huh?”

“Nope.”

“She’s a Goddamn fool, man.”

Trevor was never one to hide his jealousy towards Amanda. The two had been going at it for years, and it was always regarding Michael. Catty behavior between two people who had complicated relationships with the man, in their own unique ways. Amanda was scared of Trevor, but was never afraid of talking shit to his face. It was never any serious threats whenever they shot petty quips at one another anyway. She knew Trevor would never kill or harm her, all thanks to Michael, who spoke up again.

“Despite all the chaos of these last few weeks, I think I finally figured it out… I know, it sounds ridiculous-“

To Trevor, the thought wasn’t ridiculous. He knew Michael would never change. He would always be a killer, a man of action through and through. He was wasting away on a couch, rewatching classic Vinewood every night. To him, it only seemed right for Michael to keep taking scores.

“You’re back man!” He proclaimed, emphasizing his next line, “We are back!”

With excitement in his eyes, Trevor went on to boast about the little clique they had formed, and how they only needed to bust Brad out to fully reunite. Michael looked solemn, shaking his head slightly.

“That’s not it. I got money, it just makes you miserable-“ Now it was his turn to have excitement shine in his eyes.

“I wanna make movies.”

“Great. That’s great… and uh, so where exactly does this leave me in the second act of your life?”

He felt his stomach sink somewhat, regretting having asked that question. Michael would always tiptoe around it, avoiding the inevitable. But he couldn’t run from the past anymore. It would always catch up to him.

“This is not a game to me! Alright? This is a fuckin’ way of life.”

“I got a fuckin’ family!”

“Yeah, well, I got nothin’! No one gives a fuck about me!”

There was a pause. A hesitation. Amber eyes looked sorrowfully yet savagely into pale blue ones.

“I do.”

Something in Trevor snapped hearing those words. He couldn’t stand the audacity of Michael saying that to him. Because to him, Michael didn’t seem to give a fuck about what happened to Trevor. No matter how many times he lamented to him about everything he went through.

“Oh… Fuck you.”

Trevor rose from his seat, beginning to pace around the room, stabbing a finger in Michael’s direction. He did nothing but stare between his feet, not bothering to look up at Trevor.

“I saw your grave. I mourned you. And then it turns out that everything I fucking thought about you was wrong. Everything! You’re not dead, and you’re not a man.”

Michael shot up from his seat, cool demeanor abandoned in a fit of anger.

“Well, what the fuck are you?”

“I’m your fucking nightmare!”

“Yeah, enough with your Goddamn threats!”

Trevor did nothing but scoff at him, backing away like he was about to leave the room. Instead, some kind of alarm went off in his head, urging him to stay and ask the question he pushed far into the back of his mind. The inevitable was happening, and he couldn’t ignore the need to ask anymore. If Michael himself stood before him alive as ever, then who the fuck was in Michael Townley’s grave? Then suddenly, and ultimately, it clicked for him. Fucking Brad.

“You treacherous piece of shit! You’re fuckin’ dead! You’re fucking dead!”

As it clicked for Trevor, it clicked for Michael.

“Oh, fuck! Trevor! Hey, T!”

He peeled out of the driveway in Michael’s car. God, it smelled just like that fucking prick. It made him want to cry.

“Fuck!” He screamed out to no one in particular.

He slammed on the gas and wiped away any forming tears. His phone began to ring and he saw an all too familiar photo appear. Michael. What the fuck could he possibly say or want right now?

“Fuck you.” He spat out.

“Hey, come on. Where you going?”

“You know where I’m going, fuck you!”

The fucking nerve of him to ask that. What was wrong with him? The rest of the conversation wasn’t any better. It sounded like some stupid break up between two teens, as if Michael had cheated on him with some hooker instead of lying about the past decade or so.

“Trevor, come on!”

“Fuck you Michael! Soon enough, I will.”

He was on his way to the air field, and dialed up Ron as soon as he could. He needed to get out of here before Michael could stop him.

“Trevor? It’s great to uh..”

“Is there a plane I can use? Get me across country?”

“Sure! Sure. We got one fueled up for a trip south of the border.”

“I’m taking it.”

“Is everything okay, man?”

“Everything is not okay. Nothing has ever been okay but I’m going up there to see it for myself. I’m going to see an old friend alright? If you’re where I think you are buddy...”

Trevor gripped the steering wheel harder until his knuckles turned white. Tears stung his eyes, but he couldn’t bring himself to let it out.

“I don’t know why I didn’t see it. I guess.. I guess I didn’t want to. Fuck!”

He clutched his phone tightly as he spoke, cracking the already shattered screen more. His voice was faltering, and it became harder to speak clearly.

“Maybe I knew all along. I’m gonna find out for sure and I’m gonna... do something about it! God there was always something wrong with that job, what went down after I guess I-“

The tears made their way down his face. His voice trembled and threatened to crack.

“I guess I wanted to believe- Fucking.. Fucking flea circus!”

He couldn’t hold it in any longer. Too many things began to resurface. Seeing red, he just cried out to Ron, still on the phone patiently listening to him rant.

“Idiot! Idiot! Idiot!”

“I’m sorry Trevor...”

He slammed on the gas as he approached the airfield. Running over to the plane, he hopped in and began his journey to Ludendorff. As he left, storm clouds poured in and darkened the sky. A thick rain accompanied by the thunder and lighting combo shook the small plane he was in. He braced himself for the rest of the trip there and kept going.

Ludendorff was just like he remembered. Cold, empty, and super fucking depressing. Why was the midwest like this all the time? Sure, living it up in Sandy Shores wasn’t the most ideal but for fucks sake, at least it was warm. He pulled up to the cemetery shortly after landing, and hurried off to find that God forsaken grave. After glancing at each passing gravestone, there it was. The late great Michael Townley’s place of burial.

“Who you got in here..?”

He scoffed, knowing his answer.

“As if I need to ask...”

It took forever to reach the coffin. The wood was brittle, which meant it would be easy enough to pry open and see who was actually in Michael’s place. He had been so caught up in his digging he didn’t notice a set of steps coming at him.

“You’re wasting your time.”

Trevor was wasting his time? No, he was making perfectly good use of it. Michael was wasting his if anything. Flying all the way out here for what? No, don’t say it... Was it finally gonna happen? Was Michael waiting for the opportunity to finally take a pop at him and leave his carcass for good? To toss him right into the grave with Brad? He didn’t want to believe so but hey, it’s Michael. Who knows what he’ll do. He couldn’t bear to listen to another word that came out of his mouth, and knew he needed to get the jump on him.

“You reptilian motherfucker!”

How did it end up here? Why was he pointing a gun at Michael? What the fuck was he doing? He didn’t want to kill him. He never did, even if he had a million justifiable reasons to.

“I didn’t want it to have to come to this.”

There it was again. The fucking lying. That same exact fucking lying that got them here to begin with.

“Yes you did! You just don’t have the fucking balls to do it! But I do!”

But Trevor was also a hypocrite. He didn’t have it in him to ever go through with killing Michael. No matter what the son of a bitch did to him, he meant too much to Trevor for him to ever consider killing the man himself. He didn’t want to think about being the cause of him dying for good.

“I’ve got more to lose than you!”

“Never a truer word has been spoken, brother.”

He said that with as much malice as he could muster. Michael was the farthest fucking thing from being a brother. This was a man he had loved. Hell, still loved, despite it feeling more and more like a stranger before him with each encounter they had.

“Now.. pull the fucking trigger.”

The air was too still. It was choking him, making him feel frozen. Sure, weather played a part in the feeling but this... was different. His blood felt like ice. He couldn’t do it.

“You ain’t got the guts.”

Neither of them could do it. Even if he fired he knew he’d miss. Michael had the upper hand here.

“Take the fucking shot!”

Wait. Was Michael... crying? No. No way the great Michael fucking Townley was actually crying over this. That motherfucker. He’s such a fucking fraud. A coward. Always running. Running from Trevor, his past, his problems, his family and his fucking emotions.

His train of thought had been interrupted when he heard snow faintly crunching not too far from them.

“What was that?-“

A noise shot through the tense air that surrounded them. Woosh. Fuck. No. It couldn’t be- Ow. No. No fucking way. He looked down in awe and there it was, a distinct bullet hole, pierced through his torso. It nearly missed his heart, but was most certainly in a spot to do enough damage to him. He looked back up at Michael, mouth slightly agape leaking with the blood that began to pool in his mouth. Peaking behind him, he saw two figures lingering far behind. The fucking Triads. Of course, how could he forget? It’s not everyday you slam the head of a Chinese mobster’s son into a post. Fucking shit. If only he hadn’t messed with Tao…

He was fucked, and he didn’t know what to do. All he knew was that he felt himself wanting to collapse on the ground. Michael looked at him in pure disbelief, eyes wide enough to pop from his head. Normally Trevor would giggle at the sight, but any noise from him would be a gurgle of blood in place of it.

“…Trevor?”

That was enough to knock him to the ground.

“Mr. Phillips! Mr. Cheng wants a word with you!”

Michael whipped his head back, and began dragging the two of them to cover. Was that supposed to be a fucking warning shot?? The one who shot Trevor spoke in Chinese to the other gunman, then spoke in English to the duo.

“Phillips! You and your boyfriend cannot hide from us!”

Michael grabbed his gun and started firing back, clipping the two in the front instantly.

“Trevor… what the fuck did you get into?! What are they on about? I… I’m not…”

Trevor couldn’t speak. He could only murmur at the man beside him.

“Trevor, seriously, you better answer me because I’m pretty fucking lost here-“

He angrily turned his head back to find Trevor on the verge of slipping out of consciousness, his face dropping at what was before him.

“Ah, Trevor! Shit!”

Before Michael could help him out, a van burst through the gate to the left, and more yelling ensued.

“Get out the van! Go find them!”

Michael panicked, pushing his gun into Trevor’s limp hands so he could grab the dead Triad henchman’s sturdier gun. He fired and clipped a few more men, trying his best to keep an eye on Trevor. His breathing was shallow, and he attempted to prop himself up so he could fire at them too.

“Trevor, what the fuck is going on? Who are these guys?”

“It’s the fucking,” He winced, pushing himself onto his knees so he could grab the side of the grave they hid behind. He spit out some blood that leaked from his mouth, staining the snow beneath them.

“The God damn Chinese, sugar tits.”

“Why are they-“

“Ask questions later, I’m fucking bleeding out here.”

Trevor forced himself to fully stand, his legs wobbling slightly. He fired a few more rounds, face contorted in pain. Another bullet flew by him, grazing his side.

“Fuck! Ow!” He growled.

“T, what in the hell are you doing?! Get down!”

“Fuck off you fucking leech! I can-“ He spit out more blood.

“I can handle this myself!”

He groaned, keeping his aim as still as he possibly could, which wasn’t very still at all. Stubborn as ever, Trevor went in guns blazing. He used not only the gun Michael had forced into his hands, but also the one he had brought with him. Several more shots fired at him until he felt a hand yank him back to the ground. He fell with a slight thump, and pain jolted through him again.

“You crazy bastard! We’re getting the fuck out of here, but that can’t exactly be accomplished if you’re dead!”

“Oh please! You already want me dead you fat fucking snake!” He wheezed out.

“Jesus Christ- Trevor. I already told you-“

“Shit, Mikey-”

Before either one could do anything about it, a Triad that had snuck up on them pistol whipped Michael in the back of the head. Trevor scrambled backwards and attempted to get on his feet, but to no avail. In a last minute effort, he lifted Michael’s gun and fired. For someone who was labeled a lousy shot by his partner, he felt that Michael would’ve been proud of his aim at that moment in time. A clean shot, right between the fucker’s eyes. He grinned slightly, adrenaline still coursing through him. He barked out a laugh, forgetting how much of a chore it was to allow any noise to escape him. It caused him to break into a coughing fit, spitting up more blood onto the snow. He looked from the small circle of blood that formed in front of him, back to Michael’s limp body. He shoved him slightly, trying to nudge him back into consciousness.

“Mikey. Michael. Get up. We gotta go like you said-“

He heard another van pull up. Then another. Fuck.

“You gotta be shitting me..”

Trevor, disregarding his wounds weakening him to the point his vision grew spotty, swapped his handgun for the gun Michael grabbed. He tried his best to prop the other man up against a grave, well out of the Triad’s line of sight. He pushed through any pain he felt, still riding his adrenaline high, wiping the rest of them out one by one. He rushed back over to Michael, who was stirring awake.

“Michael, for fucks sake get up already! Jesus I’m still fucking bleeding and I have to save your ass right now? Come on!”

He was finally able to stand, and Trevor slung Michael’s arm around his shoulder, helping him regain his balance. They helped one another walk through the mess of snow, blood, and bodies to get to the rental car, which surprisingly was still in alright shape. Across the train tracks, one more van started to pull up, right before the nightly train passed through town.

“Haha! Thank you train for being useful this time!”

He forgot how much it hurt to laugh, clutching his side and muttering curses under his breath as the two raced over to the car. Michael hopped in the driver’s seat after placing Trevor in the passenger’s side. Trevor’s adrenaline rush began to die down along with the rest of him. Michael raced out of the cemetery, narrowly escaping the left over henchmen. Glancing over at Trevor, he realized how shit of a shape he was in. Despite not living in North Yankton in close to 10 years, he still remembered where all the nearby hospitals were. It wasn’t ideal, considering what they were doing up there and who they were and what not, but it was better than having Trevor die on the spot.

“Hey, don’t you fucking die on me right now buddy. There’s no way you ain’t surviving the shit show we just went through, which only happened thanks to you.”

Trevor asked himself why Michael was still giving him snide remarks about his unruliness. He figured now wasn’t the time to really argue, but still tried nonetheless.

“You… fuckin’ snake.. you think you’re so..”

“I’m so what Trevor? No you know what- Don’t speak right now, but try to stay awake, please?”

“Mmph..”

The ride out of Ludendorff was quiet. The radio was off, and neither one chose to speak. Michael of course was driven mad by the silence.

“…Look. Trevor I- I fucked up. There’s nothing I can do now to fix it, no matter how many times I apologize. But you do- You do know that I cared about you then, and I care about you now…”

Trevor did nothing but grunt in response, eyelids heavy. Michael sighed.

“We’re almost to a hospital. They’ll fix you up good, and- and you’re gonna be fine. You ain’t dying on me yet. I mean- you’ve survived worse? You.. I…”

He huffed out a breath, gripping the steering wheel tight. The rest of the ride was silent, save for Michael making sure Trevor was still alive and conscious. They made it to the hospital, with Michael carrying him fireman style, seeing as Trevor was very lanky compared to him. He called out for someone to help, using his gift of lying to say that Trevor was just shot by a random mugger, so the report back wouldn’t seem too suspicious. He patiently waited for word back from a doctor, eventually seeing someone come to him with a clip board.

“Are you… Franklin?”

Michael had been smart enough to give them both fake names, but he just blurted out the first two names that came to mind. Right now, he went by Franklin, and for all they knew Trevor was Lamar.

“Yes, that’s me.”

“Your friend is in critical condition, but you got him here just in time. Any later and he wouldn’t have made it.”

The last sentence caused Michael’s ears to ring.

“He’s going to be out of surgery soon, the bullet wound was pretty deep.” The doctor narrowed their eyes slightly, getting ready to write the report down.

“You said that he was mugged?”

“Yeah. The guy fired at him and ran off. Didn’t get a good look at his face.”

“Hmm… well alright. I’ll let you know when your friend is ready for visitors.”

The rest of the night was painfully slow. By the time Trevor was out of surgery, he was still hopped up on morphine, allowing him to rest properly for the first time in forever. Michael sheepishly walked in, careful not to be too loud. He made his way over to Trevor’s side, sitting in the seat next to his bed. He hadn’t seen Trevor look so content like that in so long. Not since... those days. He spoke to himself, seeing as Trevor was fast asleep.

“You worry me so much you dumbfuck… why do you pull the shit you pull? I mean.. shit. I… I love you, man. I do. But what if you died without ever hearing that from me again? Is that the reason why you get like this? Shit. Right. I’m such a fucking idiot.”

Besides everything about Ludendorff, it angered Trevor to his core that Michael could never admit he loved Trevor unless he was drunk or alone. In this instance, he technically was. Trevor was peacefully dreaming, while Michael felt restless. He proceeded to fumble around for his cellphone to reach out to Franklin, who had been wondering what happened to them. He knew Franklin would probably be up anyway.

Yo Mike, where u at? Trevor too, Lamar n I gotta do one last job wit him.

Currently in North Yankton kid. Trev found out about Brad. Some Chinese gangsters rolled on us, T got shot. Be home soon hopefully.

Oh shit. Stay safe out there homie. See u soon ig.

Michael let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, looking back up at Trevor. He tried to think about what he would do next. Knowing that visiting hours were limited, he felt a twinge of guilt knowing he’d have to leave Trevor alone for a night after what happened. But it was late, and he couldn’t stay there overnight. He figured he’d have to bunk in some cheap motel for the time being. Just until Trevor and him were ready to leave North Yankton. He spoke to the doctor from before to let them know he would come back the next morning. When he arrived at the nearest shit motel, he still couldn’t find it in him to sleep. He was tired, sure, but his mind wouldn’t allow him to drift off. Even if he did, he would find himself jolting awake, the scene of Trevor getting shot playing over and over in his head. He’d almost been responsible for Trevor’s death once, he couldn’t let it happen for real. What would he do anyway if he did die? He quickly brushed the thought off, not wanting to consider the possibilities.

He returned to the hospital the next morning, half awake from the lack of sleep. Visiting hours were early, and he wanted to get them both out of here as fast as he could. Walking to Trevor’s room, he saw the man sitting upright looking out the window. North Yankton may have been cold as a bitch, but from time to time it had real pretty sunrises. He knocked lightly on the door, and Trevor turned to face him.

“Hey, T…”

He couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“I thought you left.”

“Visiting hours are limited, T. You should know that by now.”

He didn’t say anything in response, facing back towards the window instead. Michael sat down in one of the chairs across from him.

“You.. you worried me. I thought-“

“You thought what, cupcake? That I’d just die on the spot, and you could just leave my dead body there-“

“Trevor! For the last time that wasn’t my fucking plan!”

Their voices steadily increased above the normal level it should’ve been for a hospital setting.

“Then why did you have a fucking gun, huh Mikey?”

“I could ask the same for you!”

“Oh of course, turn the situation onto me again-“

“You brought a gun for what, Trevor?!”

“That’s not the issue at hand here!”

“Yes it is!”

A voice chimed into their argument.

“Excuse me. You,” A nurse who walked in pointed at Trevor.

“You need to rest. And sir, I’m not sure who you are, but if you want to stay as a visitor I suggest you lower your voice and behave.”

The two men looked at each other angrily before sitting back down. The nurse exited, most likely wanting to return later so Michael could discuss discharging him. Silence filled the room briefly.

“T… I meant what I said.” His voice had dropped to a whisper.

Trevor didn’t look him in the eye. His arms were crossed, and he just looked out the window.

“I could’ve lost you.”

The other man still said nothing.

“I could’ve lost you and you would’ve died not knowing I..” He trailed off.

Trevor turned back to look at Michael while speaking.

“Knowing what? You hiding something else from me, porkchop?”

“I…”

“Spit it the fuck out Mikey or I swear to God-“

“I love you.”

His felt his stomach twist uncomfortably, and his hands became clammy. He finally forced the words out, sober.

“I love you.” He repeated, shutting his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Trevor while saying it. He chose to look at his feet instead.

“I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner. And I just.. kept thinking that you could’ve died not hearing that from me ever again.”

He didn’t notice it at first, but tears brimmed his eyes. Trevor’s scowl fell and his face softened.

“What?” Was all he could choke out.

“Don’t.. don’t make me say it again.” He said, face flushing red.

“You..” Trevor didn’t finish his sentence. He shuddered in his seat, ready to cry himself. He buried his face in his hands, muffling something incoherent.

“What?”

He lifted his head up, tears streaking his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, Michael.”

“Sorry for what?”

“For.. being like this.”

Trevor was a lot of things. You couldn’t just describe him in only one word. Michael tried sifting through the options of what he meant.

“I pushed you so hard back then I.. I thought I was losing you. I didn’t want to. All it did was make you want to leave even more.” Trevor kept sniffling.

“Trev…”

“Why Michael? Why do you do this to me?”

He wanted to ask him “Do what?”, but they both knew the answer. Michael never let his feelings be more than surface level. He was repressed and Trevor hated it. Trevor continued to cry, and the tears that Michael held in spilled.

“Hey.. don’t… don’t apologize, T. Please.”

“I..” He hiccuped.

“I’ve loved you for so long. Why couldn’t you have done the same?”

Michael kept his head down. He didn’t want to see the heartbroken expression on Trevor’s face. It only made him feel worse.

“You left me.”

“I didn’t want to.”

“But you still did. Telling me that doesn’t change anything. You became another person in my life that I loved and then you left. Same as always for me.”

Everything Trevor loved was always out of his reach. Flying, his mother, Michael, Patricia… He could go on. Nothing was ever gonna be permanent for him.

“But I’m here for you now, T. I’m not going anywhere.”

He finally looked up to see Trevor’s sad eyes burning a hole right through him. His silence told him it’d be a long while before he could believe his words.

“Now.. uh. Let’s get the fuck outta this place.”

It didn’t take long for Trevor to be discharged. The doctors had told him he should stay for another day or so, but only got an irritated response from Trevor. Figuring the duo wouldn’t budge on wanting to leave, he was signed off for clearance. They eventually found the plane Trevor flew in on, and made their way out of the state. Neither one knew if this would change anything between them, but Trevor felt more at ease around him. It would still take time and effort for any left over wounds to heal, but for right now, Trevor was content.

#gta v #michael/trevor #trikey #fanfic #this is my first fic #i’ve never done this before #i really hope you guys like this despite how fucking long it is #sorry for any errors #or typos

37 notes · View notes

thiswasinevitableid · 2 years

Note

i can't remember if this is a duplicate or not but #59 ot4 nsfw for the winter fills?

Nope, not a duplicate! Here you go!

59. this year my family has decided we’re celebrating the holidays on a cruise and you’re the cute bartender who teases me for mourning the lack of snow OT4 NSFW

Mele Kalikimaka is the thing to say

On a bright Hawaiian Christmas day

That's the island greeting that we send to you

From the land where palm trees sway…

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Joseph points up at the speaker, the one nestled behind a fake fern.

“The carols? Oh yeah. But, uh, between you and me, they’re better than the top forty playlists we get the rest of the year.” The bartender, Barclay, smiles and picks up his glass, “another gin and tonic?”

“Yes, please.” Normally he wouldn’t have a second, but normally there isn’t a six foot two guy with broad shoulders, gorgeous brown eyes, and a great ass that he only gets to see if he turns to retrieve something from the shelf above the bar. “You know, the carols feel almost incongruous. I mean, there’s no chilly air, no lit up houses, there isn't even any snow. How can it be the holidays without snow?”

“Last time I checked, winter in the bay area never has snow.”

“I’m from the midwest. I only moved to San Francisco last year. For, um, for work.”

Barclay sets the fresh drink in front of him. His smile is teasing, and instead of going back to cleaning glasses he leans on the bar with a teasing smile, “y’know, most people who miss the snow pick Alaskan cruises, not Mexican ones.”

“I didn’t pick. My sister begged me to come after her in-laws booked this and her husband had to work on a massive project at the last minute. I couldn’t leave her and my niece to fend for themselves.”

“In-laws that bad?”

“They’re the kind of people who like gated communities because of the invisible ‘whites only’ sign.”

“Eeesh, no wonder you’re chilling at a bar at eleven p.m. Next drink’s on the house.” He winks, stands to serve a pair of customers who plop down at the far end of the bar. Joseph assumes that’s the end of their conversation, but Barclay keeps coming back to chat. He learns they’re both die-hard Agent X fans and that bartending is far from his only job on the ship (the line they're on boasts "uncrowded ships" which also means chronic short-staffing). He also learns that if he glances down for too long, he can make out the very promising shape of his dick through his jeans.

Still, duty calls, and it’s rude to hit on people who are stuck at work.

“I, um, I should go. I promised Lily I’d let her vent to me before bed and she doesn’t stay up much past midnight. I had a wonderful time talking with you.” He counts out bills and slides them across the bar.

“Same here.” Barclay sets his fingers lightly atop Joseph’s hand before it retreats, lowers his voice, “if, uh, you want me to show you a different kind of wonderful time, I usually get back to my room by three. 105, lower deck.”

Joseph runs his thumb along his palm with a flirtatious smile, “I’ll see you at three.”

—-------------------------------------------------------

“The worst part is, it’s not even snowing! At least when it’s freezing cold I have an excuse for why I’m huddled up on my own and not joining them for whatever horrendous outing they’re going on.” Indrid bites a maraschino cherry with a miserable sigh, “I never thought I’d long for cold weather.”

“Could always say you’re seasick.” Duck offers, checking the clock and praying no one else comes in and interrupts them.

“True, though I do want to do some of the activities on the schedule. And perhaps visit this bar again.” He grins and Duck smiles right back.

Kepler is smaller than the average cruise ship, designed for people who want all the amenities of a luxury cruise without the riff-raff but are too cheap or scared to buy their own boat. Sometimes, they drag their less well-off family along for the ride. Duck would lay every last cent in the tip jar that the guy on the stool is such a case; the silver hair, the eyebrow piercing, the fact there’s ink-stains under his fingers.

Duck’s had plenty of fun taking those outsiders back to his cabin, but Indrid blows them all out of the water. He’s an amalgam of every hot art burn-out Duck fucked in bathrooms at tiny-ass music venues, as cute as he is weird (like a bug someone might keep as a pet). Duck’s more than happy to talk with him–his family sounds legitimately shitty, which explains why he’s at the bar at one a.m–but the more he flirts, the more Indrid smiles.

“‘Ey ‘Uck.”

He looks over as the guy sticks out his tongue to display the cherry stem he just tied in a knot.

Fuck it, he can close a little early, no one else has come to the upper bar in over an hour.

“Mighty impressive, sugar. Makes me wonder what else that tongue is good for.”

“I’m happy to offer a, ah, demonstration.” Indrid settles his arms on the bar, leaning forward, and Duck dares a kiss. He gets a pleased sigh in reply, followed by Indrid trying to climb over the shiny wood to join him.

“Gimme two seconds, darlin. Then I’ll make you forget all about missin’ the snow.”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------

Joseph slips up the stairs a little after seven; Barclay needs his sleep, and so he dressed with lights off and gave him a soft kiss goodbye. If he goes straight to breakfast on the lower level, he’ll have plausible deniability for why he’s out and about (until Lily notices he’s in the same close as yesterday).

A plastic clatter followed by “damn” draws his attention, and he picks up the phone that’s just fallen at his feet. He looks up to find another man almost at the top of the stairs.

“Good morning, Indrid.”

“Hello. May I have my phone back?”

Joseph climbs the remaining steps and passes it over. From the state of his hair and the fresh hickeys peeking from his collar, Joseph’s guessing Indrid was up to the same thing he was last night.

Meals on the Kepler are buffet or fast casual for all but dinner, when guests are seated at tables with other passengers. Indrid’s family and Joseph’s have been paired off, which means there’s actually someone who wants to talk with Joseph about mothman while they eat their shrimp scampi. That Indrid resembles the guys Joseph thought himself too nerdy to ask out adds a spark to their conversations that he enjoys.

“Would you like to grab breakfast with me? Could give us both a cover story, if you need one.”

“Hmm? Oh yes, of course. I, ah apologies” he frowns at his screen, then pockets it again, “I’ve been trying to puzzle out the drunk text my brother sent at four in the morning but I give up. Shall we?”

As Joseph eats his toast and pours coffee into his system, Indrid crunches a bowl of Lucky Charms and picks up his phone.

“Can you decipher this word?”

Joseph looks at the message, “Going by the key’s he’d probably have hit if he was drunk…something about a silver fox and a Hawaiian shirt.”

“I am even more glad than usual I spent the night elsewhere.” Indrid rests his chin in his hand, “you know, you still owe me a continuation of your mothman theory.”

“...You really want to hear it? It’s involved.”

“You were very patient with my babbling about the finer points of tattoo styles.”

“It was fascinating. Right, so, the TNT plant sighting…”

—--------------------------------------------------------------------

Duck is in a better mood than a drunk sorority girl on the first day of spring break; he’s gotten laid the last two nights, this morning he wasn’t in a rush so he and Indrid could have breakfast together, and today is one of his favorite outings: snorkeling. He felt a little weird telling Indrid that he was in charge of the outdoor activities as well as the odd bartending shift, but the other man had immediately asked him to say more.

He almost asked Indrid to come, but he was so excited about the nature drawing expedition Juno’s leading Duck couldn’t bear the thought of tempting him away from it. The group passes as his collection of tourists are getting on their flippers, and Indrid blows him a kiss. Duck catches it and winks. Fuck the guy is cute.

Speaking of cute…

“Second flipper annnnd there we go. You’re all set, my little lake monster.” The guest who looks like a fucking movie star finishes helping his niece (Duck only knows this because the guy was quick to correct all the people telling him what a good dad he was) get her gear on. He’s not wearing any himself, chooses instead to wade into the water and watch her as she kicks about the lagoon. As he turns, Duck spots two scars on his chest; one of his people, it seems. And conveniently standing in a spot that lets Duck monitor all his charges if he joins him.

“Not much for swimming?”

The man smiles politely, the expression warming as his eyes glide from Duck’s arms down to his belly, “Not really. I like it fine, but I promised my sister I’d watch Elise closely, and I can’t do that with my head under water.”

“Can still enjoy the view up here.” Duck looks out at the bright blue expanse.

Blue eyes stay on him, “Yes, I really can.”

They chat about Duck’s other adventures on the cruise for a time. Then the man, Joe, takes a step to his left to adjust his balance and yelps as sand kicks up around them.

“Don’t worry, just a ray. See?” Duck points as a grey shape flaps away.

“Wow. I, I’ve never seen one in the wild. Not a lot of them in the great lakes.” He relaxes back, brushing into Duck in the process, “sorry, open water makes me jumpy.”

“Don’t worry” Duck sets a hand on his lower back, “be right here in case the fish get any ideas.”

“Very noble.” Joe replies dryly before setting their shoulders together.

—------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Indrid is hiding from his brother in the cafe near the stairs to the crew; being rebuffed by a friendly former defense contractor has turned Apollo in a seething ball of rage and Indrid would like his carefully done drawings to survive the evening. The twinkle of the aqua Christmas tree and the dull crooning of carols is a welcome respite from the sulking.

A laugh, as absurd as a bird of paradise and twice as bright, echos from the hall below him. He peers over the railing to see Duck with his arms around Joseph, growling and giggling in his ear as he opens the door to his cabin.

As tempting as putting his ear to the door once it closes might be, he’d like both men to continue speaking to him. Perhaps Duck will let his southern manners slip enough to tell Indrid what Joseph is like in bed while Indrid’s head is between his legs.

“Hey, uh, Indrid? Mind testing out a recipe for me?” Barclay, the baker (and, according to Joseph, bartender) who’s as delicious as the sugar cookies he keeps slipping Indrid, sets a mug down in front of him, “I remember you said you love eggnog, so I wanna see how mine stacks up.”

Indrid sips and moans, “Like I’m sitting under Christmas lights by a roaring fire.”

“Guess I have a winner then. Although, uh, I’ve been mixing up a few different ones in my room. You wanna come, uh, sample them for me?”

“Why, Barclay” Indrid flutters his eyelashes, “are you trying to use eggnog to lure me away and sully my purity.”

Barclay traces the luna moth on Indrid’s forearm, “What if I am, little moth?”

“Then you’d better get to it.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------

“Mind if I join you?” Joseph sets his towel on the lounger nearest the hot tub.

“Not at all.” Indrid’s red glasses are tipped up his forehead, “what brings you here at one a.m?”

“The exhaustion of explaining to Lily’s in-laws that Elise being bilingual will not, in fact, ‘confuse’ her.” Joseph slides into the water with a groan of relief.

“Gracious.”

“Hiding from your brother?”

“Yes. He finally got Vincent back to our room, so I’m exiled until morning.” He reclines, the underwater lights throwing colors along the planes and angles of his body, “perhaps I’ll sleep under one of the Christmas trees.”

“We’d have to put wrapping paper on you first. Or some ribbons. You know, so you match the decor.”

“And not at all because you like the idea of tying me up with pretty red bows?”

Joseph scoots closer, “No, that’s not really something I’m interested in doing to you.”

“And what are you interested in?” Indrid purrs, trailing his fingers up his chest. His seductive veneer cracks when Joseph straddles him, his eyes wide and smile twitching strangely.

“Is this okay?”

“Yes, yesyes I just…I didn’t think you’d be interested. I mean, Duck and Barclay make sense, they’re gorgeous like you, you have excellent taste by the way but I, I’m not quite as, you know.”

His heart aches as he bends to kiss a curve along Indrid’s cheek, “Indrid…”

“Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy flirting with you-”

“So you were playing footsie under the dinner table.”

“Not the first few times; I’m just a bit clumsy.” Indrid grins up at him, “but after that, yes.” He moans when Joseph sucks lightly on a faded hickey, “Joseph, please”

“Do you” Joseph kisses his collarbone, “honestly think my excellent taste doesn’t extend to you?” He nips his neck, “have you forgotten both Duck and Barclay think you’re incredible?” Grinding his hips produces a high, needy groan from the man beneath him.

“We have to find some privacy.” Indrid pants.

“You’re right. Come on, let’s go.”

They splash and scramble up, drying themselves in a hurry and slip-sliding across the empty, shining floors.

“Wait, shit, I share my room with Lily and Elise. And yours is a no-go.”

“Come now, sweetheart, surely you can think of something.” Indrid clings to and paws at him as he scans the dark hallways, “give me that pin, this one on your jacket.”

Indrid hands it over and Joseph drops to his knees at the service door of the closed cafe. A few jiggles of the lock later, the door swings open.

“Oh that is very attractiveAH!” Indrid quietly cackles as Joseph drags him inside and pushes him down onto the nearest rug. He’s a hungry kisser, lapping at his lips and moaning whenever their tongues meet.

The other door swinging open makes them both scramble gracelessly to hide behind the counter.

“Dr Harris Bonkers, you in here buddy?” A familiar baritone whispers out.

“I can check the back if you can search the trees out here. Aubrey said he likes to hide under ‘em.” Ducks’ footfalls come closer.

Beeblybeep

“Looks like she found him!”

“Thank fuck, hate for the poor little fella to…get…we got a leak or somethin’ because there’s a wet spot on the floor.”

Joseph winces as he speaks up, “That was, um, was us.”

Duck rounds the counter and laughs, “Damn, you fellas were so horny you broke in here to fuck?”

“Our options were limited.” Indrid waves as Barclay peers over the counter.

“Kinda hurt you didn’t consider my room.” The cook teases.

“We didn’t want to be presumptuous.” Joseph stands, but Indrid waits until Duck helps him up and then cuddles up to him.

“I don’t suppose we could presume now?”

Duck chuckles and kisses him, “Hell yeah you can. Actually, hold on a sec.” He waves Barclay over to one of the tables to whisper, then turns back, “okay, we’re gonna use Barclay's room. Are, uh, are you two okay bein’ blindfolded?”

“Yes.” Joseph says instantly. Indrid thinks for a moment, then nods.

They close their eyes once they reach the cabin door, staying put as Barclay wraps a tie around each of their heads. He’s relaxing already, letting Duck guide him into the room and onto the bed. Barclay must do the same to Indrid, because the mattress dips to his left and then spindly arms are around him.

“Damn, sugar, can’t even go a few seconds without someone payin attention to you?”

“I can, but I don’t want to.” He kisses Joseph's throat, which is almost enough to distract him from the snip-snip of scissors.

“What are you doing?”

“Barclay’s gettin a little surprise ready for y’all.” A hand runs up his calf and, from the little squeak in his ear, Indrid’s as well, “my job is to get you ready. Though, uh, you’re already most of the way there, ‘Drid.”

“You try to not get hard with Joseph in your lap.”

“Don’t intend to.” Duck carefully rolls him onto his stomach, “but I gotta make sure you stay, uh, at attention.”

“H-OH, oh my what do you have planned?”

“Somethin that means you’re wearing that ring on your cute little dick for awhile.” There’s a pop and a crinkle of foil, then a finger teases his ass, “this okay, Joe?”

“Yes” He squeezes the pillow with a delighted groan as Duck pushes inside.

“Told you he liked it.” Barclay chimes from somewhere by the T.V, “got wetter from me being balls deep in his ass than from anything else.”

“Jesuschrist.” He rolls his hips as Duck gingerly works him open, the second finger joining the first right as warmth engulfs the left side of his body. Indrid’s cock ruts against his thigh and whimpers fill his ear.

“Be patient, darlin; you cum too fast, you won’t get to feel what this” he drags Indrid’s fingers across Joseph’s folds, “feels like on your dick.”

“Fuck, if, if this what I think it is, please hurry up.” He pushes his hips back, urging Duck to add another finger.

“Never thought a fella as buttoned-up as you could be so fuckin kinky.” The third finger pushes in, Duck fucking him with more force and scissoriing him open. There’s a kiss on the base of his beck and he turns his head to capture Duck’s mouth properly before letting him pull back.

“Okay, ready.” Barclay joins them, must pull Indrid onto his back, the thinner man whining about the loss of Joseph’s body heat. There’s a messy kiss and then, “don’t worry, little moth, gonna be plenty warm in a minute.”

“C’mere handsome.” Duck helps him to his knees and guides him until he’s straddling Indrid’s hips, “think a smart fella like you knows where this is goin.”

He grins Duck’s way as he sinks onto Indrid’s cock.

“AHhhhhnnyes” fingers dig into his hips, “ohgodyoufeelsogood, so good.”

“So do you.” He adds a slight bounce to his movements, loving the way Indrid moans at each one.

A beard tickles his shoulder, “Hey babe.”

“Hi, big guy.” He parts his lips, certain Barclay will kiss him (Barclay kisses more than anyone else he’s ever taken to bed). It’s a languid, delicious kiss, and for a moment everyone and everything else melts away. Then Duck pinches Indrid’s chest and he yelps, making the rest of them laugh.

“Bend forward.” Barclay growls.

Joseph obeys, focuses on kissing Indrid’s face and lips as the thick head of Barclay’s cock presses into him. The cook grunts with every thrust, hands replacing Indrid’s on his thighs.

“Fuck, babe, your ass was made for this. Shoulda, fuck, shoulda put on a ring too because I;m gonna cum so fucking fastfuck.” He bottoms out, then drags Joseph upright to fuck up into him with ecstatic groans.

“Guess I better get to it then.” Duck’s voice is close, and his position becomes clear when there’s a muffled “mmph” from Indrid followed by the obscene, slick sound of Duck grinding on his face.

“Lucky.” Joseph pants, cock throbbing and the contrast between Indrid’s erratic, bucking thrusts and Barclays determined, deep ones.

“Don’t worry baby, plenty of that sweet mouth for all of us.” Rough fingers rub along his dick just the way he showed Barclay that first night, “fuck, love how bounce when I jerk you off, can see this whole fucking perfect body tensing and it’s so fucking hot.”

He moans, rolls his hips in time with Barclay’s thrusts, “C-can I cum or will that ruin the plan.”

“Cum whenever you want, just know I’m not gonna stop until I do too.”

“Kinda, fuck ‘Drid right there, kinda wanna hear how he gets when he’s sensitive” Duck growls something else and Indrid moans, “taking two dicks don’t make him scream, we gotta work out what will.”

That thought does it, his whole body shaking as he moans out a thank you. He braces on Indrid’s body as Barclay thuds into him over and over again, the cooks orgasm following on the heels of his own. Kisses pepper his back as the blindfold is ripped away and he’s pulled off Indrid’s cock.

A high, muffled whine and Duck cooing, “hush now sugar, we’ll take care of you.”

“Fuck yeah we will.” Barclay removes the condom, pulls off the ring, and grips Indrid’s cock, stroking it roughly while pointing it at Joseph’s chest. Joseph relaxes against him, murmuring about how he’s doing so well, treating Indrid so sweetly, before cum splatters up his chest.

“Fuck” Duck’s hand thwacks into the wall, ripples visible in his thighs as they shake. Joseph is going to re-coat them in kisses before this trip is through.

Duck climbs off Indrid, eases away the blindfold so brown eyes blink in the dim light.

“Mmmmm, that, that was exquisi–when did you do all this?”

Joseph follows his gaze, laughs when he sees the paper snowflakes hung around the room, made pleasingly icy by the twinkle lights and accented with silver tinsel.

Duck blushes, shrugs, “Y’all both said you missed snow. In a way. So, uh, Barclay and I talked and thought it’d be fun to make our own little snowy spot.”

“Live up to what you were missing?” Barclay cuddles up in Joseph's arms as Indrid wiggles between the cook and Duck.

Joseph kisses his cheek, “I’ve seen a lot of snowy days in my time, big guy. This is better than all of them put together.”

#indruck #sternclay #inclay #agent stern/indrid cold #duck newton/agent stern #trans agent stern #trans duck newton #winter fills #OT4: Government Men and Their Cryptid Boyfriends

18 notes · View notes

slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

Death by a Thousand Cuts - j. debrusk

Trying to venture into some new territory, let me know what you think! Title’s from the Taylor Swift song. 4.8k of post-breakup Jake DeBrusk angst, as always, I love hearing feedback! I read all the tags, so feel free to reblog, pop into my inbox, anything!

Wine pairing from someone with zero authority on the subject: a full-bodied Syrah - smooth, fruity, the kind of wine I’d want to drink if I was sad.

My heart, my hips, my body, my love/Trying to find a part of me you didn’t touch

Shadi threw back another shot, wincing as the vodka burned down her throat. Clara rubbed her back sympathetically. “Better?” She shrugged. Alcohol was great for forgetting things, but there were some wounds too fresh and too deep for even a Sazerac to cure. And her wounds were named Jake DeBrusk.

Jake had been her everything, still was her everything, and the idea that she was somehow now in charge of forgetting everything they had shared was more than she could bear. Breakups weren’t something Shadi took lightly, and especially when she had spent the past year falling more in love with him with each breath she took. Forgetting more than a year’s worth of early-morning conversations in his bed, Jake’s hand gently brushing back her hair before kissing her temple and going out to the kitchen to start the coffee pot. Shadi couldn’t start her day without coffee. A year’s worth of games, up in the box with the other WAGs and down in the tunnel, their lips crashing together in the euphoria of a post-win high. A year’s worth of vacations, to Edmonton to visit his family and Dallas to see hers, laying on the white sand beaches of Tahiti in the summer. A year’s worth of falling asleep to him tracing lines between the freckles on her bare back in the glow of the post-sex fog. It wasn’t like she was going to forget any of it anytime soon. And if Shadi was being honest with herself, it wasn’t like she wanted to.

---

Shadi met Jake just after moving into her new apartment with Clara, her best friend from BC, when they decided to celebrate their newfound jobs and independence with a bar crawl. As luck would have it, they never actually made it past the first one. Clara had just finished up her first week as a tenth grade English teacher, and Shadi had the weekend to relax before her marketing analytics post started on Monday.

She wasn't going out to meet someone, not really, but if there was someone attractive enough and charming enough she wasn’t absolutely opposed to spending the night in a bed that wasn’t her own. Shadi sat at the bar, responding to a few texts and sipping her drink as she waited for Clara to return from the bathroom. She wasn’t paying enough attention to her surroundings to notice someone sidle up next to her, getting a little too close for comfort. “Hey,” he said loudly, startling her. Shadi looked up — way up, he was at least six or seven inches taller than her 5’5 — to the stranger’s face, flashing a tight smile. She didn’t know any women who particularly liked to be accosted in the middle of a drink.

“Hey,” she said.

He inched closer. “I’m Darren, nice to meet you.”

As much as she’d really just like to be able to tell the guy to fuck all the way off, Shadi hated that it was a far better decision for her safety and security to just try and tacitly go along with it. Let him down easy.

“Shadi,” she responded.

He whistled, and she internally cringed, trying as subtly as she could to look towards the bathrooms and trying to spot Clara. More than once, they had pretended to be a couple at bars to get each other out of situations exactly like this one. “Shadi,” he said, testing out the name. “What is that? Arabic? Indian?”

Now she visibly cringed, raising her eyebrows. Great, he’s racist as well as a creep. “Neither. I’m Persian.”

“Cool, super cool,” he said, nodding. “So, Shadi, what brings you here?”

“Starting a new job next week,” she said, looking back down at her phone, trying to give him just enough information to keep him from being pissed at her.

Darren finished his drink. “That’s cool, yeah. Good for you. I work in finance. High-level account managing and stuff. It’s a lot of responsibility, but I like the challenge.” Great, add finance bro to the list of reasons why I’ll never go home with this guy, Shadi thought.

“Nice,” Shadi said, looking away and taking a sip of her drink and trying her damndest to make it clear she wasn’t interested.

Darren moved even closer, his hand now resting on her waist as Shadi leaned as far away from him as she could while still staying on her seat, looking frantically around for Clara, or anyone, to bail her out. “You come here with anyone?”

“Uh, yeah,” Shadi said nervously, eyes still sweeping the room. “My boyfriend should be around here somewhere.” Darren didn’t need to know she didn’t have a boyfriend, and as much as she hated that men like him were more likely to leave her alone if they thought she was spoken for than if she told him herself she wasn’t interested, it was the best thing she could do in the moment.

Darren took a cursory glance around the room. “I don’t see anyone coming,” he noted. “You sure about that, Shadi?

“Yes,” she squeaked, as his hand tightened around her waist and she froze like a deer in headlights, too stiff to flag down the bartender.

“It’s polite to look at people when they’re talking to you, or did they not teach that where you’re from?”

Shaking, she turned back to look at him. “I’m from Texas,” she spat.

“I think we could really have some fun together, if you’d just stop being so uptight we could really—” Darren didn’t get the chance to finish his sentence, his arm being forcefully removed from her waist. She swung around, meeting the eyes of her unknown savior, who was too busy glaring at the man across from her to even meet her eyes.

“Seems like you’re having a hard time taking no for an answer,” he said.

Darren looked up, rubbing his wrist from where it had been in a vice grip only moments before. “You the boyfriend?”

The other man didn’t even flinch. “Yeah, I’m the boyfriend. Even if I wasn’t, she clearly doesn’t want anything to do with you, but she’s just too polite to tell you to fuck off. Luckily,” he smirked. “I’m not.”

Darren rolled his eyes, grabbing his half-empty glass and inching away from the bar. “Whatever. Wouldn’t have been worth it anyways.”

Shadi collapsed into her hands as soon as he was out of earshot, breathing shakily. The stranger reached out tentatively, rubbing her shoulder to comfort her. “You okay?”

She leaned back, taking another drink and nodding. “Yeah, yeah. I’ll be okay, it’s not like it’s the first time this has happened. He just really didn’t want to leave me alone and I couldn’t find my friend and he didn’t seem to be getting the message that I wasn’t interested.”

He grimaced. “On behalf of my entire gender, I apologize for all the shitty men you have ever had to encounter.”

“Thank you,” she said, laughing slightly and setting her glass back down on the bar. “And thanks for stepping in, you really didn’t have to.”

He shook his head. “I just did what any decent guy would do. I’ve got a sister, girls deserve to feel safe in bars.”

“Regardless,” she added, “I appreciated it. And just so you know,” she said, pausing, “you don’t have to worry about an actual boyfriend coming around. I’ve just found it’s the easiest way for guys to leave me alone.” Shadi surprised herself; she wasn’t normally this bold.

He dipped his head. “Good to know. Probably should properly introduce myself, then. Jake DeBrusk,” he said, sticking his hand out.

“Shadi Azizi.” She shook it, smirking slightly as she took a sip of her drink. “I know.”

He smiled bashfully, scratching his head. “Hockey fan?”

She nodded. “I’ll go to Bruins games when I can make it, but I’m from Dallas, so…” she shrugged.

“You’ve already sold your soul to the Stars,” Jake finished.

Shadi laughed. “Yep. You can take the girl out of Texas, but you can’t take the Texas out of the girl.”

Jake eyed her glass, seeing that she was nearly finished. “Can I get you another?” Shadi nodded after a moment. “Sure.” He caught the bartender’s eye. “What are you drinking?” “Whiskey on the rocks.” Jake leaned back on his stool, clutching his hands over his chest. “A woman after my own heart.”

---

Three months later, it was November, and Shadi was in Jake’s kitchen, doling out Chinese takeout onto two plates. “Beer?” she asked over the counter, to where Jake was flopped on the couch, flipping through channels in hopes of finding something mildly interesting to watch.

“Yes please,” he shot back. He had just gotten back from a road trip that afternoon, eleven days in the Midwest, and there were few things he wanted more than to be back in Shadi’s arms. They had started a sort of unspoken tradition; Shadi had taken to spending the night whenever Jake came back from a road trip, and he wasn’t about to start complaining. He loved his job and he loved his team, but after a week or two of being around them practically 24/7, he didn’t want to waste any time getting back to her.

Shadi padded back towards the living room, sliding a plate of lo mein and fried rice over to Jake, who leaned in and kissed her shoulder. “Thanks, babe,” he said, putting the remote down. “Parks and Rec good with you?”

She nodded, mouth full. “Doesn’t take much to convince me. I’d kill a man for Leslie Knope.”

Jake laughed. Shadi looked over at him, one eyebrow raised. “You think I’m joking?”

He held his free hand up in mock surrender, the other balancing his plate on the arm of the couch. “I should have known better. Will you ever forgive me?”

“Maybe,” Shadi said, scrunching up her nose. “I think I can find it somewhere deep in the recesses of my cold, dead heart.”

Things between Jake and Shadi had gotten pretty serious pretty quickly, certainly more quickly than Jake was expecting. But, as he was realizing, that wasn’t exactly a bad thing. The scene was definitely more domestic than he was used to; it wasn’t unusual for him and Shadi to join some of their friends or the team for a night out at the bars or clubs, but it was just as common to have an evening in. It was nice, being together like this. Domesticity was never something that was quite his style, but as he thought, looking over at Shadi, who was entirely engrossed in Leslie’s valiant attempts to control a town hall meeting, maybe it could become his style.

You said it was a great love, one for the ages/But if the story’s over, why am I still writing pages?

It was the end of January, and Shadi was in Edmonton. Jake had told her about Boston’s bye week about two months earlier, the plan having originally been to drive up to New Hampshire for a week of camping in White Mountain. But then Jake had been selected for the All-Star Team, much to his surprise — not Shadi’s, who had been convinced he’d be picked practically since the season started — and their schedule had been turned on its head. He had decided that it would make more sense to visit his family. Shadi didn’t complain; she had just started to get used to Boston winters, and wasn’t confident in her ability to go a week in a tent in the middle of January.

What surprised her, though, was when he invited her to come with him. She had never met his parents in person before. Over FaceTime, sure, but it wasn’t the same. Jake was initially very shy about extending the invitation, almost as if he wasn’t sure if that was something she wanted or was ready for. His concern was sweet, but Shadi was more touched that he had asked her to come in the first place, and put in her request for vacation time that night.

The flight wasn’t much over six hours, a short layover in Montréal and one connection later and they landed in Edmonton. Shadi met up with Jake just outside of passport control, pulling her pea coat tightly around herself. “Ooh,” she said, breathing out shakily. “Bit chilly here, no?”

Jake laughed. Oh, if only she knew. “Wait till you get outside, babe. It’s January in the middle of Alberta.”

“How bad can it get?” Shadi asked naively. Pretty bad, as she found out the moment they stepped outside the terminal into the freezing air. She was suddenly very grateful her parka was in her bag, a Patagonia jacket that had been one of her first big purchases when she moved to Boston. Jake was having a very good fun time poking fun at her in the three minutes it took for his parents to pull up.

“Aww, is my Texas girl cold? Is she having trouble dealing with real weather?”

Shadi glared at him. “Shut up.”

His parents were incredible, kind and welcoming from the moment they picked them up at the airport. They drove them back to Jake’s childhood home, where his sister greeted her with a hug. She had visited Boston a few weeks prior, her and Shadi immediately getting along thanks to their shared taste in coffee orders and music. They had swapped Spotify playlists more than one time since her visit.

The week she spent in Edmonton was amazing. Even though she may have been a little bit apprehensive from the start, all of her worries were just distant memories by the time they had to get back on the plane. She had always been good with parents; whether it was her best friend or her boyfriend, they had always liked her. Making a good impression and being unfailingly respectful, especially to her elders, was a value that had been instilled in her from a young age. She had brought a tin of qurabiya on the plane as a gift for them, after a half-dozen Google searches to make sure she could bring them across the border and a twenty minute long phone call with her mom to make sure she was using the right type of almonds. They loved them, and seeing the tin already empty on the third day of her trip filled her heart.

“She’s really good for you, you know,” his mom said, as he was packing his suitcase for the flight back. “You’re still you, fun and spontaneous and caring. But you’re a more mature, thoughtful version of yourself. And I think that’s thanks to Shadi.”

Jake blushed, shoving his toothbrush in his toiletry bag. “She is. She’s great, Mom. We have so much fun together, and she really does bring out the best in me.” He paused for a moment. “I think I’m in love with her.”

His mom raised her eyebrows, not surprised and certainly not disappointed, but a little astonished that he had realized himself what she saw from the moment they had landed in Canada. She had just been waiting for him to admit it. “You do?” she asked, a hint of a smile on her face.

He nodded, more sure this time. “I’m in love with her, Mom.”

Quiet my fears with the touch of your hand/Paper cut stings from our paper-thin plans

“You doing okay, babe?” Clara asked gently, one hand on Shadi’s back as she nursed her third beer of the night. Shadi reached up to try and wipe away her tears. Thank God she hadn’t worn any mascara. She nodded, trying to flash her best friend a smile, but it didn’t meet her eyes.

Shadi hadn’t ever been the kind of person to put up walls. That was Jake’s thing. But she was a great actress, and if Clara hadn’t known her as well as she did, she wouldn’t have been able to call her on it.

“Bullshit, Shadi. You’re not fine and I know it. You know it.” God, Clara could read her like a book. It wasn’t okay, she wasn’t okay, and she sure as hell wasn’t over him. She didn’t know when she would be over him. If ever.

They said that Rome wasn’t built in a day, but it burned in one. If Rome was a metaphor for their relationship, Shadi would say there’s never been a more accurate phrase. All it took was five minutes for Jake to break her heart, for the world they had built together to come crumbling apart around her. As much as she hated it, there was still a part of her that couldn’t help but try to look back on that night. Shadi almost called bullshit on him the moment he said he was breaking up with her, because he had never even brought it up before, and that’s not something you just drop on someone like he did, right? But she didn’t, she hadn’t gotten closure and hadn’t gotten a reason, an actual reason, and so any curly hair she saw out of the corner of her eye that night she kept hoping was Jake’s, and any cocky smile from some guy trying to buy her a drink — she’d let them, for the free alcohol, but they never got a conversation out of her — she kept wishing was his.

---

It was September, and Shadi felt like she was walking on air. She and Jake had celebrated their one year anniversary a month ago, and things couldn’t be going better. Training camp for the new season had started, which had begun to take up more of his time than she maybe would have liked, but she was dealing with it. They both were. It was like Shadi had told him two months into their relationship, and countless times since: she knew what she was signing up for, knew that sometimes she would have to take a backseat to hockey, and she was okay with that. Having Jake some of the time was better than not having him at all.

So when Jake had texted her that morning, asking if she was free to come over that night, she thought nothing of it. Well, scratch that, she thought a lot of it. It had been about two weeks since they had had a proper date night; while she loved him sneaking into her apartment to sleep for a few hours before he had to get up or meeting in the mornings for coffee and bagels, they were in desperate need of some alone time. Jake hadn’t exactly been distant since their anniversary, but it had definitely seemed like something was on his mind. And when she asked Clara, or her older sister Yasmin, or Hannah, her best friend in Houston, they all said the same thing. If nothing seemed like it was going wrong, but he was seeming distant, but they were still communicating, then there was really only one possibility, at least according to them. He was going to propose.

So Shadi took a little longer in front of the mirror, put on her good jeans instead of just a pair of sweats, ran a comb through her hair. She grabbed her car keys, locking the door to her apartment and nervously pressing on the elevator button. Why was she nervous? She was in love with Jake. She saw a future with him, a future together. If tonight was going to be the start of forever, there was nothing to be afraid of. I wonder what Jake’s doing now, Shadi thought. Was he waiting for her on the couch? Trying to cook pasta, the only dinner he could reliably make without burning? Pacing back and forth in his room, turning over the ring box in his hand? The ring. What did it look like? Did he buy it new, or was it a family heirloom? Did he ask any of the guys on the team for tips, or did — Stop it, Shadi reminded herself. He doesn’t have to be proposing. We do nights in almost every week. Maybe he just wants to watch a movie. But in the back of her mind, as she pulled out of the parking garage, was the possibility that she was about to walk into one of the most important nights of her life. And it was, but not in the way she thought. Not in the way she wanted.

Jake’s place was only ten minutes away from hers; before she even knew it, she was killing the engine and walking up the stairs to his door. She tapped her knuckles against the wood. It was barely ten seconds before Jake opened it up, smiling at her. “Hey, thanks for coming over,” he said, leading her into the living room and pressing a kiss against her cheek, lingering a little longer than usual

Shadi knew something was off even as they sat on the couch thirty minutes later, Star Wars playing on the screen in front of them. If she was being honest, she knew something was wrong from the moment she got there. Jake was acting stuff, not distant, but almost confused. LIke he had something on his mind that he couldn’t quite spit out. And it didn’t seem like a proposal. “Alright,” Shadi said, huffing and propping herself up on one arm to face Jake. “What’s up.”

To his credit, he didn’t mince words, didn’t play dumb. He knew better than to insult her intelligence like that, and she knew better than to believe him. “You noticed, huh?”

She rolled her eyes. “I love you for a lot of reasons, J, but you really do have a terrible poker face.”

Jake sighed, running a hand through his hair, leaving a piece hanging in front of his eye. “Alright,” he said, in that kind of I-know-what-I-need-to-say-but-I-don’t-want-to-say-it tone, the one that she wasn’t expecting. The one that never means good news. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking on my life, our lives over the past thirteen months we’ve been together, and I’ve loved every minute of the time that we’ve spent together.” Okay, Shadi furrowed her brows, where’s he going with this? “I’ve also been doing a lot of thinking about my priorities in life, where they are right now and where I think they should be. And I’ve realized that,” he swallowed, “I’m at a place in my life where I need to be focusing on hockey.” Oh no. “And I don’t think I’m in a position where I can have a relationship and be as invested in my career as I need to be.” Oh God.

Shadi sat up, stunned. “Are you...Are you breaking up with me?”

Jake nodded his head jerkily. “And I want you to know that I don’t regret anything about our relationship. I don’t have anything bad to say about you, or the time we’ve spent together, or anything. I just don’t think I’m able to give you, or our relationship, the attention it deserves. You deserve someone who’s going to be able to dedicate a hundred percent to you, and as much as I wish I could, I don’t think I’m that person.”

“So, you’re saying I’m a distraction?” Shadi asked slowly, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, tangling his fingers in his curls. “Fuck. No. That’s not it. I just don’t know if I’m in a place where I’m able to juggle two things that are so important, and that I want to dedicate this much time to.”

She scoffed. “Are you really trying to pull the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ line with me, DeBrusk?” That stung. She never called him by his last name, not even when they started dating. It was J, or babe, or even Jake if she was particularly annoyed, but never just DeBrusk.

“Would it make you feel better if I was?”

Shadi shook her head. “It’s worse. Don’t you know that it’s worse? Because then there’s not anything I feel like I could have done differently. Nothing I could have done to change your mind.” Her eyes drifted down to her right hand, where the gorgeous pearl ring Jake had gotten her for their anniversary just a month prior sat on her ring finger. “You said you were going to marry me one day,” Shadi said, sliding her fingertips down to the band and gently twisting it off. Her hand felt bare, even though it had only been there for a month. Jake’s breath caught in his throat. Never make a promise you can’t keep.

Saying goodbye is death by a thousand cuts

God, sometimes Shadi just felt so fucking stupid. She almost felt naive, shortsighted from not listening to her friends in Boston, or people back home who warned her about Jake.“You know his reputation. You know how hockey players are” Shadi couldn’t count the number of times people had told her that, and the number of times she hadn’t listened. “He doesn’t stick with any one girl.” “I know you like him, but he’s only going to break your heart.” But the thing was, he hadn’t. Jake had made it clear, straight from the start of their relationship, that they were exclusive, and he backed it up. She wore his jersey to games, went as his date to all the Bruins fundraisers, and took the week off to come with him when he was selected for the All-Star Game. Jake knew his reputation better than anyone, and that’s why he was so committed to making sure she knew that he wasn’t the kind of guy everyone kept trying to peg him as. And Shadi had never felt so much pride then when she was able to turn around, prove them wrong, and say: “You see? He’s never done anything to hurt me, and he’s not about to start now.”

But she couldn’t, not anymore. She couldn’t, because they all had been right and he had broken his promises and her heart and now she was crying in a bar with her best friend on a Friday night and had no clue how to get a grip of her feelings. She pounded back another beer, barely even stopping to swallow before ordering a fourth round. Or was it a fifth? She didn’t know, and at that point, she really didn’t care.

I get drunk, but it's not enough/’Cause the morning comes and you're not my baby

Sometime past one but before her next door neighbor’s chihuahua always started barking at two, Shadi stumbled into her apartment. She unstrapped her heels and placed them haphazardly by the door as she walked down to the bathroom, reaching around the cupboard for her toothpaste. Teeth were brushed and flossed, and she had shed nearly all of her clothes by the time she reached her bed. She grabbed the nearest sweatshirt to pull over her body as makeshift pajamas, only half paying attention. Shadi was too tired to look too closely; if she had, she would have noticed that it was a Bruins hoodie, the very first one Jake had ever given to her, a month and a half into their relationship.

It seemed like Shadi had barely drifted off to sleep when she was woken up by the sound of frantic knocks on her door. Her first thought was something was wrong with Clara, who lived down the hall, that she wasn’t feeling well or needed to be talked out of texting her ex-girlfriend. It had happened before. But then she realized that Clara would have called first. Then her thought was a fire somewhere, but she didn’t smell smoke and her alarm hadn’t gone off. The knocking persisted. “Okay, okay, I’m coming. You’re going to wake up the whole building,” Shadi grumbled, throwing back the covers and padding out to the living room, pants be damned.

She tried to wipe the sleep out of her eyes, the harsh light of the hallway fluorescents the first thing she noticed as the door swung open. The second thing was the person standing in front of it. It was Jake. His hand was frozen in the air, like he was about to knock for a fourth time if she hadn’t answered. “What are you doing here?” she whispered, her voice small. She didn’t trust it to speak any louder.

Jake’s breath hitched as he noticed what she was wearing. His sweatshirt. He stuffed his hand into his jeans pocket, pulling out her pearl ring. The same one she had taken off the day he left, the same one he had given her when his thoughts of the future were filled with big houses and weddings and kids’ birthday parties. He held it out to her. “I had to see you.”

#hockey imagine #hockey smut #nhl imagine #nhl smut #jake debrusk #boston bruins #hockey #hockey imagines #hockey writing #nhl #nhl imagines #nhl writing

75 notes · View notes

deancas-fanfiction · 3 years

Text

Hardest Part is Letting Go

Part 3/7

Pairing: Dean Winchester/Castiel

Fic Summary: Upon his diagnosis of a terminal illness, Dean vows to spend the rest of his short life with Cas by his side, completing his bucket list while learning what it really means to live and love.

Chapter Summary: Dean and Cas cross another item off Dean's bucket list by embarking on a road trip for Sam's law school graduation.

Part 1 Part 2

available on ao3

“Can you believe it? Sam Winchester: attorney at law.” Dean mused.

“Or Sam Winchester, Esquire.” Cas offered.

Dean snorted and shook his head, throwing another flannel in his suitcase. “He’s a big fancy lawyer now. My baby brother is all grown up.”

“Well, he is twenty-seven. I imagine he’s been ‘all grown up’ for some time now,” Cas joked.

“Yeah, I suppose when he married Jess that ship kind of sailed, huh?”

“I suppose.” Cas agreed with a faint smile. He zipped his suitcase and sat on their bed, watching Dean throw another wrinkled shirt in his bag. “Are you really not going to fold that?”

Dean rolled his eyes. “Cas. It’s a t-shirt. I think it will be fine.”

“What about your nice shirt for his graduation?” He eyed Dean and took in the way he avoided meeting his eyes. “Please tell me you’re packing a nice shirt for his graduation.”

“It’s a graduation ceremony, Cas! I don’t need a suit. Remember his college graduation? Most people were dressed casually.”

“And remember when Jess booked us all a reservation at that French restaurant afterward? The host made you go home and change because you didn’t meet the dress code. Besides, I’m willing to bet Jess will make another fancy reservation for celebrations after the ceremony.”

“Okay, okay. I’ll bring a nice button-down. But I’m not wearing a suit,” He warned.

Cas held his hands up in mock surrender. “I would never dream of making you wear one.”

Dean threw the nearest button-down on the top of his suitcase and began zipping it up. He only paused when he heard Cas wince.

“It’s going to wrinkle, Dean!”

Dean stepped back and scratched his jaw, letting out a sigh. “Okay, new plan: I’ll leave the room and make us some dinner. This allows you to completely repack my suitcase the way you like, and I won’t even complain about it.”

Cas grinned, happy with the outcome. “Deal!”

Dean kissed the top of his head and left the room, mumbling something about how a few wrinkles wouldn’t hurt anyone, which Cas pointedly chose to ignore. He then dumped out the contents of Dean’s suitcase and methodically began folding and repacking the luggage.

As predicted, autumn was fleeting and quickly turned into a cold and brutal winter. It was only early December, but the wind was biting and the snow ruthless. When Dean and Cas learned that Sam was graduating from law school a semester early, they were ecstatic. Mostly because Sam was the male equivalent of Elle Woods by graduating from law school top of his class, but also because they get to trade the incessant cold of Kansas for the sunny warmth of California.

The timing of his graduation was perfect, actually. Dean’s symptoms remained stagnant for the last two months and were completely manageable with the help of his medications. If Sam hadn’t taken those extra summer classes the last two years, he would actually be graduating in May and Cas wasn’t so sure if Dean could make that cross-country trek six months from now. But he pushed that thought from his mind and returned to the task at hand.

They originally planned on flying to California for the graduation, but then Cas had a stroke of genius. Remembering item six on Dean’s list, he suggested turning it into a road trip. For as long as Cas has known him, Dean dreamed of road tripping along the historic Route 66, which begins in Chicago and ends in Los Angeles; and suddenly all of the pieces fit into place. They would join Route 66 in Oklahoma, just four hours away from Lawrence. Then they’d follow the route all the way to L.A., arriving just in time for Sam’s graduation from UCLA. After he proposed the idea, Dean was completely on board and already mapping out the best stops for pie and burgers along the way.

Cas finished with Dean’s suitcase and quickly returned his attention back to his own bag. He double-checked he had everything packed, including a small wooden box hidden at the bottom with a certain piece of jewelry inside. Satisfied with the completion of his mental checklist, Cas zipped the bags and followed the scent of dinner to the kitchen.

-----

“Dean.” Cas groaned, his voice rough and gravelly from sleep. “Must we leave at such an obscene hour?”

Dean chuckled and shut his car door. “According to the schedule that you made, we need to drive about twelve hours today to make it on time. I’m just following your orders, babe.”

“The sun isn’t even up yet,” Cas whined, slumping in the seat.

“Here, this will help.” Dean handed him a large thermos with coffee and started the engine. The engine purred beneath him and Dean couldn’t help but let out a quiet sigh. It always felt so good to get behind the wheel of his baby. He put the car into gear and pulled out of their driveway, heading towards the open road.

He glanced over at Cas as he took a large gulp of coffee. His hair was sticking out in all directions, making it clear Cas didn’t even attempt to smooth it down today. He smiled at the grumpy expression on Cas’s face and turned his attention back to the road, drumming his fingers on the wheel.

The first hour of the drive was quiet. They headed south to hop onto Route 66 in Oklahoma. While they weren’t making the official Route 66 trek by beginning in Chicago, Dean was completely fine with that. He’d spent most of his life in the Midwest, he didn’t need to backtrack just to see the flat landscape he was already familiar with. The radio was playing softly as Dean and Cas both took the time to wake up for the day. As Cas pointed out, it was still dark so there were few cars on the road. It was actually a rather peaceful start to the day.

As soft colors began to replace the dark sky, Cas’s mood began to turn around as the caffeine entered his system. He hummed along with the radio and watched the snow-covered trees quickly pass by. The pastel pinks and oranges from the rising sun reflected off the white snow, creating a warm glow. At that thought, he turned and leaned his back against the passenger door so he was facing Dean.

“You know, at first I was disappointed with the timing of the road trip. I didn’t think the drive would be very picturesque in December. I always thought fall or summer would be the opportune time to go.” He paused, looking back out the window. “But this is actually really nice. Everything is so still and quiet.”

“Well, by the time we get farther west it will feel like summer anyway. So, we’ll get a little bit of both.”

“That’s true,” Cas mused. “We should have done a road trip like this a long time ago.”

“We were always too busy with life. You had summers off, but that’s when the shop got the busiest for me. We just never made the time to slow down and experience things like this.” Dean observed. “Not that being so busy was a bad thing. We both loved our jobs, but we always said, ‘there will be a better time’ or ‘maybe next year.’ But now…well we don’t really have that privilege, do we?”

“I suppose not,” Cas sighed sadly.

“On a positive note, I’m glad that now we’re making the time for things like this.”

“Me, too.” He murmured, attempting a smile.

“Hey,” Dean said softly. “Stop that.”

“Sorry, I don’t like thinking about how we can no longer make long-term plans.”

“Then don’t think about it.”

“You know it’s not that easy.”

“Yeah, yeah I get it. But right now, I’m here, okay?” Dean tore a hand away from the steering wheel and intertwined it with Cas’s. “Focus on that. When your mind starts wandering to those thoughts, shut it down and focus on the now. Because these moments right here, these are the ones I want you to look back on and I only want you to remember how happy we are. I don’t want this last year tainted with sadness. Can you do that for me?”

Cas nodded and squeezed Dean’s hand. The gesture said more than he could vocalize at the moment. Cas had never cared for anyone as much he does for Dean. He always thought that finding Dean and experiencing that all-consuming, world-shattering love with him was like some kind of reward for surviving the first shitty eighteen years of his life. But now that Cas knows their time together is limited, he can’t help but feel like the punchline to some kind of cosmic joke.

He shook his head and slowly exhaled, turning his attention on Dean’s advice to focus on the positives. Dean is next to him right now and that’s all that matters. He has his left hand draped on the steering wheel with his right intertwined with Cas’s; and despite the heavy conversation, he still has a genuine smile on his face. It’s the kind of smile that lights up his whole face, giving him a youthful glow regardless of the crinkles at the corners of his eyes. Cas returned his smile with a genuine one this time.

“We’re doing this all wrong, you know.” Cas states, changing the subject.

“Doing what wrong?” Dan asks quizzically.

“Your bucket list item. It said, ‘road trip with a kickass playlist.’ We’re currently road-tripping listening to a subpar radio station. Not really the same thing.”

“No,” He agreed. “I suppose it isn’t the same thing. Grab a tape out of the glove box, will ya?”

“I know you have very strict rules which state that the driver picks the music, but you’ll have to make an exception for this one instance.” Cas held up a cassette tape he dug out of his own jacket pocket which read ‘Dean’s Top 13 Zepp Traxx.’

Dean grinned. “That is always an exception. Pop it in.”

He inserted the tape into the player and turned the volume up a little higher. The opening notes to Immigrant Song played out and Cas settled into his seat, letting the music wash over him.

“Remember when I gave this to you?” Dean baited.

“We were fighting,” Cas laughed.

“Over something stupid.”

“Big surprise there.”

“God, I don’t even remember what the fight was about anymore.”

“I do. You –” Cas caught himself off. “You know what, it doesn’t matter.”

“Good save, Cas.”

Cas smirked. “You hadn’t talked to me all day. I was reading in the living room and you stomped in, dropped it on my lap and just walked away.”

“This was early in our relationship. I was bad at communicating! This was the best way I could tell you I was an idiot and that I was sorry.”

“Well, it obviously worked. I went for a drive and listened to it. I forgave you by the time this first song was over.”

“It’s only a two-minute song, Cas.”

“Exactly my point. I never have much resolve when it comes to staying mad at you, do I?”

“I suppose not,” Dean acknowledged. “Besides, that was a pretty romantic move on my part.”

“Yes, it was. If I hadn’t already been so in love with you at that point, I’m sure the mixtape would have sealed that deal.”

“So, what you’re saying is I should have made you a mixtape right after I met you?”

“I’m pretty sure from the moment I met you, I knew you were someone special, Dean.”

Dean flushed at that statement and he felt the tips of his ears turn pink. At this point in their relationship, he’d grown accustomed to how forward Cas can be, but it still has quite an impact on him. “Yeah, I thought the same about you,” He murmured.

Cas beamed at him, showing the whites of his teeth and leaned over to plant a quick kiss on his cheek. At that exact moment, the song ended and switched into Good Times Bad Times. Dean cranked it up and sang loudly along with Cas.

I know what it means to be alone

I sure do wish I was at home

I don't care what the neighbors say

I'm gonna love you each and every day

You can feel the beat within my heart

Realize, sweet babe, we ain't ever gonna part

Yeah, this moment here is the exact reason he put this item on his bucket list.

In no time, they were cruising on Route 66 heading west towards New Mexico, their destination for the night. When they stopped to grab gas and snacks a few miles back, Cas grabbed a handful of Route 66 brochures and had been thoughtfully studying them ever since.

“Anything good?” Dean asked, rather amused at his boyfriend’s total infatuation with the tourist gimmick.

“Did you know that Route 66 was commissioned in 1926 but wasn’t fully paved until 1938? Then in 1985, it was decertified a U.S. highway. Originally it was 2,448 miles in 1926 but now it totals 2,278 miles from beginning to end.”

Dean hummed in response, not daring to interrupt Cas. He learned it’s best to let Cas get it out of his system.

“You know, there’s a place called ‘Cadillac Ranch’ in Texas. We could stop there! We’re pretty close.” He chirped, bringing Dean’s attention back to the conversation.

“A Cadillac ranch?” Dean grimaced. “What is that?”

“It’s a public art sculpture of ten Cadillac’s buried nose-first in the ground.” Cas paused for a moment. “Actually, that doesn’t sound very appealing at all.”

Dean chuckled. “Thank God. I was wondering how I was going to talk you out of it.”

“Are there any stops along the way you want to make?”

“Cas, I’m in this for the driving and for the company. I don’t need to stop at niche tourist stops unless it’s something you really want to do.”

“I just want to make sure you get the full road trip experience!”

“To me, the full road trip experience is exactly what we got going: good music, good conversation, and my car. I don’t need anything else; I promise.”

“If you say so,” Cas’s lips turned up at the corner, in a smile that Dean recognized as pure contentment.

The rest of their drive sped by as they joked, sang along to the music, and reminisced as songs played that reminded them of different points in their lives. Soon enough, they were pulling into Santa Rosa, New Mexico where they decided to call it for a night. They found a mediocre chain hotel with vacancy and pulled off the road. At that point they had been in the car for a little over twelve hours and were in desperate need of some space to stretch out. Driving long distances used to be much easier. Now Dean’s joints popped as he stepped out of the Impala and his legs felt uncomfortably stiff.

Dean checked them in as Cas went to grab dinner. The original plan was to grab food and drinks to celebrate a successful first day, but Dean could feel the exhaustion weighing him down. So, Cas volunteered to pick up takeout instead. After throwing his and Cas’s bags down on the floor, Dean collapsed on the bed. Instantly he longed for his memory foam as the springs of the cheap mattress poked against his back. Truthfully, he wasn’t sure it would be a big enough problem to keep him awake as he was so damn tired.

As he was beginning to nod off, he heard the door to the room click open and was met with the intoxicating smell of greasy takeout.

“Honey, I’m home!” Cas greeted cheerfully. “And I brought pie.”

Dean shot up from his spot on the bed and kissed Cas in thanks. “God, I love you.”

“Are you talking to me or the food?”

“Why not both?” He asked, his mouth already full of fries.

“Touché.” Cas laughed and began digging in as well. He joined Dean on the bed, with their knees touching as he flipped on the television and found a movie for them to watch. They ate in a peaceful quiet, both engrossed in the movie.

Once the food was gone and the slices of pie were eaten, they both began tiredly stripping down to their boxers.

Dean watched with a different form of hunger in his eyes as Cas undressed.

“I can feel you watching me.” He chided, bending over to put his discarded clothes back in his bag.

“Of course, I am. I have a sexy boyfriend who is undressing right in front of me,” He murmured, wrapping his arms around Cas. Cas leaned back into the touch, letting out a soft sigh. Dean began peppering kisses along Cas’s jaw, pausing only to suck on the sensitive spot below his ear. Cas let out a quiet whimper at that and closed his eyes. Dean continued kissing down his neck to his shoulders when he paused to fight a yawn breaking to the surface.

Cas laughed and the tension immediately lifted. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”

“I don’t wanna,” Dean grumbled. Yet he allowed himself to be pulled to bed anyway.

“You can have your way with me tomorrow, I promise. But for now, sleep.”

Dean hummed and pulled Cas’s arm around his waist, so they were spooning. All previous annoyances about the crappy mattress were pushed from his head and quickly replaced with thoughts of Cas as he felt a soft kiss press to the back of his neck. With that, he allowed himself to lose consciousness and fall into a deep, happy sleep.

Author’s Note: Surprise, I decided to post the chapter two days early! Originally I planned on the whole road trip and Sam's graduation taking place in one chapter but it's turning out to be much longer than I anticipated. So I'll be breaking it up over the next chapter or two.

I also decided to change Sam's law school from Stanford to UCLA for the purpose of the road trip because Stanford would have been another 5 hours from L.A. and this just made it less complicated. Next chapter you can expect some smut, more road-tripping shenanigans and Sam! Please let me know what you think so far!

#destiel #deancas #destiel fanfiction #Destiel fanfic #destiel fluff #dean and cas #fanfiction #dean winchester #castiel #angst #deans top 13 zepp traxx #read on ao3 #supernatural fanfiction

7 notes · View notes

zamoimagines · 4 years

Text

Someone Else’s Baby

Word count: 1,807

Pairings: Venable x reader, Reader x OC

Chapters: 1, 2

Summary: Things between you and Venable had ended rocky. When Venable realizes that she’s still in love with you, she travels to find you to make things right. You’ve moved on with someone else. Mina is determined to win you back and give you the love you deserve.

A/N: Here you guys go! It’s been a long wait, but here’s chapter two! Sorry that it’s short but I have a lot more to write up. Enjoy! I hope you guys like it!

A loud crack of thunder rumbled outside of the airport. Most of the other travelers looked nervous, but Wilhelmina wasn’t too worried about the weather. As long as she could get back to sunny Los Angeles and never come to this state again, she was happy to travel in any weather. She turned the page of the book she was reading before the intercom blared a voice from overhead.

“Ladies and gentlemen, we are experiencing quite some severe weather up in the skies. All flights to Philadelphia, New York, and Los Angeles have been canceled until further notice. Please visit one of our customer service desks to reschedule your flight.”

Everyone around her began to groan and mumble. Wilhelmina’s eyes widened at the sudden news. There was absolutely no way that she was going to be stuck here. Frantically, she reached for her cell phone and called Jeff’s number. When the line connected, she could hear hooting and hollering in the background of the call.

“Miss Venable! What the fuck is up, man!” Jeff cried out.

Wilhelmina rolled her eyes. They must’ve gotten another shipment of coke while she was gone.

“Mr. Pfister, I need a private jet sent to me as soon as possible.”

“Hey! Mutt, Venable’s heading back!”

“YAY!” Mutt yelled into the phone. Venable took the phone away from her ear for a moment so she wouldn’t go deaf.

“Let us talk to Y/N! We wanna know how you wooed her back!” Jeff added.

“She isn’t with me-”

“That’s okay, we’ll talk to her when you guys get back!”

“No, that’s not what I meant-”

“We’ve got a whole wedding to plan, Jeff! We have to come up with a color scheme!” Mutt said with a slurred voice.

“Gentlemen!” Venable shouted into the phone. The people around her stared at her in confusion. All she could do was scowl and turn away from the looks she was being given.

“I’m coming back by myself. She’s moved on.”

The other end of the phone call was completely silent. Venable could feel the tears welling up in her eyes.

“If you could just send the jet for me, it would be greatly appreciated. I would like to come home.”

“I thought you had a flight back?” Jeff muttered.

“My flight has been canceled, Mr. Pfister, and I need to be back in my office today.”

“CANCELED?! IT’S FATE!” Mutt yelled once again. She could hear Jeff excitedly laughing as well.

“Miss Venable! Don’t you see it! The universe is fucking telling you to go after her!”

“That’s definitely not what a canceled flight means.”

“Venable, I gotta give it to you straight; Before you met Y/N, you always had a stick up your ass. You never had any fun, you were always working, and I don’t think I ever saw you smile.”

“Yeah, you were a complete bitch!”

“Mutt, shut up!”

All their talk wasn’t making her feel any better. She only felt worse about herself. A single tear rolled down her cheek before she quickly wiped it away.

“What are you trying to say, Mr. Pfister?”

“I’m saying that Y/N completed you. You were so happy, and so in love! You can’t just let it all slip away because you guys had a falling out.”

“What does that have anything to do with my travel back home?”

“That’s the thing, Venable. You’re not coming back home.”

Venable’s heart raced in her chest. They were most definitely trying to torture her, in no way was this any helpful.

“You’re not serious,” Venable growled.

“Actually, I am! You have another two weeks in the Midwest, missy. I’ll call the hotel and tell them that you’re extending your stay.”

“Mr. Pfister, wait-”

“We’ll send some money to your account for food and shit.”

“GOOD LUCK VENABLE!!!” Mutt screamed into the phone. Before Venable could protest, the two hung up on her.

------

After the phone call, Venable had stopped by her hotel to drop off her things. She couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around her room and wallowing, so instead, she changed blouse and high waisted pants. Her hair was tied up in a bun; she could care less about the way she looked. Though, with the extra money, she figured it would be good to get out to the grocery store and get little things to eat while her bosses were tormenting her.

Midwestern grocery stores weren’t nearly as packed as the ones she’d gone to in Los Angeles. In fact, the little building she decided to go into barely had any customers. She could get used to staying here. Wilhelmina skimmed at the aisles and tried hard to find something to get her by. She mindlessly filled her cart with random items as she continued throughout the store. For a moment, she paused to look down at everything in the basket.

Raisin bran, a couple of cans of soup, and a bottle of red wine. She sighed heavily. Even her shopping cart was depressing. How was she even going to try to eat anything? Her heart was so broken that it was taking all of her energy to get out and even be here. What would Y/N say…

What was so much better about that blonde? Y/N had never mentioned finding a single blonde attractive as long as Mina had known her. Yes, the new woman was peppy… and positive, kind, and she had a very warm smile. But wasn’t that off-putting? Wilhelmina had never seen someone so happy. What the hell was wrong with her?

She was thrown from her thoughts as she felt her cart crash into something. Mina had run her cart into the wall of the bakery. She groaned in embarrassment. Her thoughts were getting the best of her.

“Oh! Hey there!” a familiar voice called out.

Why was that voice so recognizable? It was a little too bubbly. When Wilhelmina glanced up, she felt a fire brewing in the pit of her stomach.

There was the exact woman she’d been thinking about. She couldn’t even remember her name.

“Please don’t come over here, please don’t see me..” Mina thought to herself. It was too late, the blonde was already making her way over.

“Miss V! I didn’t think I’d see you here!” she exclaimed.

Wilhelmina gripped the handle of the cart so tight that her knuckles turned white.

“Hello… Kara.”

“It’s Keri!” she replied with a giggle. “You’re too funny! Y/N told me you were a hoot.”

“Did she now,” Venable replied in a short tone.

“Love the outfit, by the way. Not a lot of people can pull off that much purple, but you look great in it!”

She was so nice to her. What a fucking bitch.

“Thanks,” Mina replied. She didn’t really care if she sounded genuine. “If you’ll excuse me, I really have to get going-“

“Wait! What are you still doing here?” Keri cocked an eyebrow. “I thought you were leaving yesterday?”

So full of questions. What did Y/N see in her?

“My flight was canceled. Now, I really am a very busy woman-“

“What a coincidence! I cannot believe this, you have to come to the little get together we’re throwing tomorrow night! Here,” Keri had this glimmer in her eyes as if she was doing something good. She quickly pulled out a pen from her purse and yanked on Venable’s hand. The fire in her stomach was growing into a volcanic eruption.

“I’m gonna give you my number. Text me in an hour… Let’s make it a surprise for Y/N!” Keri exclaimed as she wrote into Mina’s skin. “Seriously, she would love to see you. Even if you can’t stay for long, it would mean the world to her if you came.”

As much as Keri was a villain in Mina’s eyes, this was an opportunity that quite frankly had been handed to her. So much could go wrong… What if Y/N didn’t want to see her? Venable couldn’t stand getting her heartbroken again. If she could just tell Y/N the way she felt… that would be all that mattered. At least she would know.

“I… I’ll have to see if I can make it.”

“For sure! Just let me know. It was good to see you, Miss V!”

Keri turned on her heel and was instantly gone. How the fuck did she walk that fast?

Wilhelmina gazed down at the phone number on her hand. She couldn’t find the nerve to be mad at Keri any longer. This was her chance. Perhaps the world was giving her a sign of hope. She never really believed in fate, but this felt different. Her chest felt tight with anxiety.

Venable picked up a few more snacks before heading to the checkout. She was so antsy that she threw random items that she didn’t even think about into her shopping basket. The redhead quickly purchased her things before making her way back to the rental car Mr. Pfister had gotten for her.

The rain pelted against the windshield, echoing loudly from inside. Wilhelmina couldn’t even turn on the car. She stared blankly out of the window. Was this even a good idea? What if she just got rejected once again?

But… What if she won Y/N back?”

“If there’s a god,” Mina began, closing her eyes and leaning her head toward the sky in the sunroof, “Tell me what to do.”

The winds roared outside as the rain came down even harder. Venable’s eyes opened softly. In front of her was Keri, walking out with her groceries. Something was stirring inside of Mina though she wasn’t sure what it was.

Almost without thinking, Mina picked up her phone and dialed the number on her hand. She stared at where Keri was to ensure that the woman was genuine about inviting her. To her surprise, the blonde answered.

“Hello?”

“Keri? This is Wilhelmina Venable.”

“Oh! Hey, what’s up?”

“I…” she hesitated. What else did she have to lose?

“I looked at my schedule… I believe I’ll be able to make it to your event.”

A squeal could be heard on the other end. Venable winced at such a high pitched sound.

“That’s amazing! Oh, Y/N is gonna be so excited! Keep your phone on you, I’ll send you the address and everything through text. This is gonna be great!”

“I’ll make sure to be there.”

“Ugh, you are too cool, Miss V! Oh! The party’s dressy, but casual! We can go shopping if you want-“

“That won’t be necessary, but I appreciate the offer.”

“Of course! See you tomorrow night!”

Venable could hear the sound of a click. There was no turning back now. And the most ironic thing?

She needed a damn dress.

REQUEST MORE FICS HERE!

#Wilhelmina venable #venable x reader #ahs #ahs imagine #American horror story #american horror story imagine #venable #Wilhelmina Venable x reader #apocalypse #apocalypse imagine #ahs apocalypse #ahs apocalypse imagine #Sarah paulson #Sarah Paulson x reader #hope ya'll like it!

132 notes · View notes

afy2018 · 3 years

Text

Golden Memories & Glocks Ch. 1

Root wished she had kissed Sam. She wished she had hugged her- but Sameen would have pushed her away. There were many things she wished she had done before they parted ways. As their war seemingly came to a bloody end, Root thought of things she hadn’t thought about since her first contact with Harold’s creation. One thing Root didn’t know was how the Machine knew everything, but she also really didn’t have time to think about it; that day was just one surprise after another.

After parting ways with Sameen, she had to look after Finch and get him to where he was needed next. Root really did not want to leave Sam; not again, especially in another firefight, but whatever the Machine wanted Root was compelled to follow.

After racing away from the compiled enemies set upon them by their favorite opponent - Samaritan-, the Machine sent them down the hidden path; the only safe route for their dying AI. Root remembered the beeping that interrupted the previous message from the Machine. She warned her about a split second decision to save Harold. Root dodged in front of her bespectacled friend, swerving the car for extra measure. There was a crash from the now spider cracked windshield and a short THUNK as the bullet cut through the passenger door and out of the car.

Before she could even comprehend what had just happened, Root glanced at herself, relieved until a large stain began to spread across her stomach. Next was the sharp pain from her insides being torn from the bullet that had gouged through her abdomen. It felt like an unimaginable searing wound - even when compared to the caged surgery by Control and getting shot in the shoulder by Shaw - that poured through her nerves and made her muscles simultaneously weaken and tense up. It was all a blur as blood soaked her once pristine shirt with every furious pump of her panicked heart. She felt a deep set alarm wash over her as dark spots popped in her vision, clouding her eyes and turning the world into a washed out smear of blacks and dull colors. A cold sweat broke out over her forehead; her grip loosened on the wheel and her body shook and shivered. Harold grabbed at her, but he was being pulled away. She swayed her head to glance at him as hands and fingers prodded her. The medics forced her head back to the center and shined a light in her eyes. They pressed against her wrist and throat with their gloved fingers.

Everything flashed to black as a finger pressed into her abdomen. A streak of torturous pain electrocuted her spine, forcing her into the dark.

~~~~~~~~~~

Now her abdomen hurt more than ever. She just wanted to stab herself to remove whatever it was to relieve her pain. Her eyes slowly opened to a bright world. She seethed and sat up a bit, collapsing back into the thin pillow. Root glanced around the pristine white and light grey room. She must have been in a hospital. She really hated this place, even at first glance; Root despised hospitals so much that she thought she actually hated them more than Martine.

She looked around the room, spotting a tan brunette resting her torso on the bed while she sat uncomfortably slumped over in the armchair. Her sleek hair was pulled back into a messy ponytail. Root pushed the stray strands back from Shaw’s face, tenderly tucking them behind her ear.

Root forgot just how beautiful Sameen looked when she slept. Her features were soft and vulnerable, yet she still looked beautiful and strong; almost untouchable. Root smiled and continued to brush her hair from her face, threading her fingers through her scalp until Sameen’s eyes fluttered open. She stretched and looked up at Root. Her face was neutral but her eyes were worried.

“Hey,” She yawned.

“Good morning, Sameen.” Root smiled back.

“How are you feeling?”

“Wow, what’s this caring thing about?”

“I…” Shaw began, looking down. “I’m not going to brush this aside.” Root placed her hand on Sam’s jaw, tilting her head back up. “I was really worried about you. When John got the call that you were badly injured, I thought I would have to say goodbye to you. Or that I’d be too late to say it.”

“Sameen.” Root whispered, stroking her jaw.

“I just…” Shaw began, letting out a short sigh, “I was scared for you.”

Root nodded and took Shaw’s hand, pressing it against her lips. Sameen watched her, feeling an apprehensive ball work its way into the pit of her stomach as she spotted tears in Root’s eyes.

“I need to go help Finch and John.” She whispered, getting up. “Get better, Samantha.”

Sameen went to the restroom before going to help the others. As she looked in the mirror, Shaw realized that she was crying; red tracks trickled down her face. Sameen grabbed a paper towel to soak in the frozen water from the faucet and pressed it against her face. She didn’t know why she was crying - or why Root caused it - but now Sameen was in a restroom crying over something good. Shaw quickly wiped away her tears and left to help John and Harold. When she turned on her earpiece, she heard Fusco first.

“Hey, how is she?” He asked.

“Lionel, ugh, who let him on?”

“Nice to hear you too, Princess.”

“Call me Princess again, I dare you.” She joked.

“Just tell us how she is.”

“She’s in a lot of pain, she didn’t say, but I could tell. She’ll be okay. Anyway, where do you need me?”

~~~~~~~~~~

They were lost too soon; the two people Root cared about almost as much as she cared about Sameen were gone and now it was just the three of them. Shaw was getting Bear from Fusco, who was now leaving to take care of his family. Root had placed a deposit of $90 a day to feed into his bank account and placed similar amounts to go to herself and Sameen.

Though that was the future, Root was now focused on the past as she gazed down at her friend’s gravestone. She crouched down and placed a bouquet of flowers on his grave. The white blue and red petals brightened up the still fresh granite that carried his engraved name, this time with his actual date of death on it.

“How touching.” She heard Sameen say.

“I can’t believe he’s gone.” Root sighed, getting back up and shoving her hands in her pockets.

Shaw snaked her arm around Root’s waist and nodded. “I did bring a friend.”

Root turned to look at the dog and knelt down, stroking his back. “Hey, Bear.”

The dog licked her cheek and rested his head against her shoulder. Root continued to pet him, wrapping her arms around his warm body. She began to cry softly, realizing that she’d never get to see her closest friend again. Shaw knelt down with her and placed her hand on her back. Root let out a shuddering sigh and got up. Wiping some tears from her girlfriend’s cheek, Sameen kissed her jaw and began to meander to John’s grave in the veterans section.

“You know, I was almost buried here,” Shaw confessed.

“You technically were.”

“No, I meant before that.” She began, earning a quizzical look from Root. “Once I left the army, I had no one. My parents were dead and my other family was now seen as the enemy here. I was seen as the enemy here. I was poor and living with 5 other people in a tiny apartment in the Bronx. I was so scared, more scared than when I was getting shot at by terrorists. With night terrors and slight PTSD, I thought I would go insane,” Shaw explained as they came upon Reese’s grave. “I was so close to pulling the trigger so I wouldn’t have to deal with that kind of life.”

“What changed your mind?”

“Control and the government.”

“Oh.”

“They distracted me and saved me from myself. As much as I hate Control, I have to thank her for allowing me to be here today.” Shaw explained. She unhooked Bear’s leash as she watched him sniff and poke at John’s grave, resting in front of it. Shaw felt herself getting emotional- even with her limited range-, but tried to hide it. “We are the survivors of a war only we will remember.”

“At least I’m not alone.” Root smiled. After another few moments of silence passed, she asked, “So, what now?”

“I don’t know.”

“We really should talk about it.”

“I know.” They glanced at one another for a moment before Shaw continued. “I guess we should still hide, at least for a year while all of this calms down. I honestly thought we’d all be in the ground, but surviving has really changed my plan.”

“Would we have been buried together?” Root joked.

“I don’t know, probably.” She shrugged, walking back to their car. “What else should we plan for?”

“A new place to live maybe?”

“Like where?”

“Somewhere safer. I was thinking out of state.”

“West coast, because I will not live in the South or the Midwest.”

“I agree. Gay doesn’t really fly there the same way it does on the coast.”

“So where were you thinking?”

“Honestly, California.” Root suggested, opening Shaw’s door.

“California?”

“If we move to Silicon Valley, I could probably get a job?”

“What about your resume?”

“I could hack my identity like old times?”

Shaw smirked and buckled up as Root drove to the old protected apartment.

“Maybe, but California is extremely expensive and our 180 bucks a day isn’t enough. And to be honest, I really like it here.”

“Really?”

“I also know that we need to watch over Fusco. We owe it to him after dragging him into this mess, and I think he’ll need friends.”

“I thought you didn’t like him?”

“He’s annoying, but he’s grown on me. Besides, we do need to watch him and any old enemies who try to come after us.”

“Now that we’ve won, there’s somewhere I’ve always wanted to go.”

“Where?”

“Saint Barts.”

“Saint Barts? Yeah, why not. Maybe after a while, you know, lay low for now.”

“Of course.” Root smiled, “I’ll see what the Machine wants us to do.”

“Tell her I do not want to work in a fucking mall again.”

#sameen shaw #Samantha Groves #root #shaw x root #rootandshaw #root x shaw #POI #Person of interest

7 notes · View notes

bulletballetarchive1 · 3 years

Text

💍 Rings 💍

SO, this started off as something I wrote in third person. Then, because I was showing it to English Professors I rewrote it in 1st person. Which was my first time writing anything in this narrative. The only other thing I want to point out is that rather than New York, I placed The Littlejohn Family in the Midwest because I hoped the locality would better resonate with the audience. And with that said here we go!!

. . . . . . . . . . . . I have found that with my increasing age, those around me expect me to be a walking contradiction. Of course, they would never say this out loud, but I have watched as young women wait with bated breath anticipating for words of wisdom to emerge from my lips. I have also watched as some of these very same women then expressed surprise - astonishment even, that I am capable of recalling years long behind me.

The ability to recall my days spent within the walls of Julienne have brought on many gazes of wonder. But nothing brings forth an abundance of questions more than the fact that I can recall my grandfather with the same clarity.

Even as I keep to myself, the sight of menthol cigarettes neatly packaged and placed atop shelves reminds me of billowing smoke drifting through his dining room. A place I spent much of my childhood studying in.

Then, there are times when my heart swells with warmth when I see men like my husband conceal his silver locks with a flat, rounded cap. Unless Granddaddy was working in the barbershop or, if he was within the sanctity of his own home, a hat would always stay perched on his head. Yes, it was his trademark.

But, even among the woolen flat caps, the menthols, and the strong Southern twang revealing his Alabama roots, one of the things that I will always closely associate with my grandfather would be his rings. Grandaddy possessed so many rings, but I was not given permission to do anything except look on. Once, great admiration had been tied to my yearnful gazes. However when Ms. Bedel moved in, my days of secretly caressing thick, metallic gold ended. Like granddaddy, she too, is a person I will never forget.

In our early days together, my grandfather’s lover told me that she was not my mother and in that very same breath, her eyes narrowed as she further asserted she would never be my mother. Despite this, she fulfilled the needs my seven year old counterpart required when it came to maternal care.

Ms. Bedel, in my eyes, was a woman who was never truly appreciated by those around her. I know that she certainly wouldn't have been by today’s standards, either. Because even in my time as a child in 1961, there were whispers of how she was too strict. Too reflective of the period that cultivated her.

Her full name was “Lucille Tallulah Masters-Bedel.” At the time, I did not know how a person could have two last names, but later I would find that ‘Bedel’ came from her deceased husband. This was not necessary for me to know at the age of seven.

During my adolescence, a child was to stay in a child’s place: seen, not heard. Boundaries that children manage to cross today were intolerable in my time.

Being the ever obedient child I was, I never thought of doing anything other than what I was told. Appreciation factored into my blind ignorance and how could it not? Ms. Bedel was the one who bathed me at the end of each day. De-tangled my hair. Ensured I clasped my hands together and told God of my utmost gratitude each night. But even with this said, I have no doubt in my mind that each day I spent with Ms. Bedel, the more she came to love me.

My belief would be silently proven in how she provided me with the loveliest dresses. She made sure Granddaddy would use his hard-earned money so that I remained a well-groomed girl, decent for both neighbors and distant cousins to lay their eyes upon if they happened to see me run errands. I can even remember believing Ms. Bedel once purchased me the dress of my dreams.

It was all white with a delicately laced-collar. Lilac flowers in bloom decorated the fabric gorgeously. With my anklet socks and patent leather shoes, the pious women of the community would coo over me, sweetening my self-image by calling me names such as baby doll.

There came a point in which I had the honor of being among Ms. Bedel’s jewelry. That evening I was almost trembling in her lap. Watching intently as Ms. Bedel clutched onto a small key and inserted it into the jewelry box slot I could feel my heart pounding. With a turn the box was open and treasures were revealed right before my eyes.

As I had mentioned, I was an obedient child. If someone said, “don’t do that,” I would not engage in whatever was before me. If somebody said, “don’t speak,” I would never open my mouth. So being given permission to trace rings and necklaces and earrings with my little fingertips filled me with the utmost delight.

While basking in this privilege, I realized there existed differences between a man’s ring and a woman’s.

Granddaddy’s rings were thick accessories of solid colors, more often than not the dimmest shades of silver and gold. It was almost as if they were old decorations that lost what could once make them shine. There were a few bumps and prongs, but frankly, there is nothing else I can say that compares them to the mesmerizing jewels in Ms. Bedel’s prized jewelry box.

“Where do these come from?” I couldn’t help but ask. “Child, everything you see before you has a story.” I thought I would learn about the source of the beautiful little rocks in Ms. Bedel’s necklace, or where on earth the little diamonds in her rings came from. I was too ignorant to recognize the wistfulness that hung in my elder’s voice. “During the Harlem Renaissance, I held a man named Aliki Eliopoulos in the palm of my hand. He was bronze, Greek, and we thought we could make it through the odds.” The brief huff that blew from Ms. Bedel’s nostrils was strong: “one night, he found me after the curtains closed and he presented this. This necklace is dear to me…I suppose because I never quite knew where Aliki went.” Pointing out another piece of jewelry was not needed as Ms. Bedel rose whatever called to her the most.

“This engagement ring - not a wedding ring - engagement, was given to me by my first husband. To accept it would mean I would make a vow for him. He knew of my past, and knew that even if I couldn’t right my wrongs, I could try to start over with his name.”

Again, she expanded her chest with her second mighty huff. During that moment I wondered, how can this woman seem so disillusioned yet keep each belonging? Belongings that provide her with such unpleasant memories? Where does the hatred end and the sentiment begin?

“True love is a concept,” Ms. Bedel said, the resentment never leaving her tongue. “The idea of that sort of thing existing is new, too. People don’t realize that...but Delores.”

“Ma’am?” I replied. For no particular reason, I was stricken with fear in how she said my name. All I had known was that she said it with such sharpness that surely my own faults were on the verge of being mentioned - whatever those faults may have been.

“Do not follow in my footsteps.”

I believe Ms. Bedel was sixty-six at this time. The same age I am now. Ironically

enough, I feel I can understand her without even having the full pieces of her story. My grandfather was a lover of women who were respectable and clean. Women who would not taint his image by being well-known throughout the city for scandalous tales.

I will never say that Ms. Bedel was not a woman who presented herself with high caliber. She sang opera long before becoming involved with my grandfather. She possessed clothes in her closet that continued bearing their tags. Perhaps it was loneliness that brought my grandfather to her, but that I do not know for certain. All I know is that at the end of the day, Granddaddy felt Ms. Bedel would be the most appropriate woman to guide me through my adolescence.

Still, to think back on the many statements - the way her eyes fixed on me, lets me know she was not a pinnacle of virtuous deeds throughout her life.

However, at that particular moment as a child, all I knew was that I disliked the heavy silence her statement brought. It became my intention to steer away from talk of vows and purity so as I refocused on the piled riches, I noticed an emerald glistening among gold and rubies. The longer I stared into it, the more I noticed that it had lighter streaks. Appearing and disappearing depending on my movement. It was like thunder and lightning had been coursing within it. “Ms. Bedel...where did that ring come from?” I asked. “This -” she lifted it, studied it. “This belonged to my mother.” “Did her husband give it to her, too?”

“My mother was never married.” With that unpleasant remark came another pause that I felt lasted forever. When Ms. Bedel spoke again: it was clear and amazingly without strain, “she hailed from a place in the South that was so unimportant that it can’t even be defined by a name.” She paused, asking me: “Do you know what slave labor is?”

Even in my discomfort, I nodded. “What is it then?” Ms. Bedel did not believe I had a wealth of knowledge. I knew it just from the strength of her gaze. Timid, my fingers slid against the hardwood of her dresser. Not knowing any better, I began recalling how at the age of five Granddaddy decided it was time I learn how Africans - not even colored people, but Africans - were chained like dogs and brought to America. After that, they were bound to pick cotton all day under the sun. That was slave labor, my young mind decided.

“What Africans had to do...” I answered, just barely connecting my gaze with her own. “No.” My idea was correct, but wrong. “My mother may not have been picking cotton, but she did live under those horrid conditions. After I was born, my mother bundled me up and took me with her as she journeyed North. Of course, being a colored woman, she didn’t have the luxury of driving or possessing a fortune to get her there in an instant. She worked as a maid here and there until she reached New York...and there was one woman before that.” She paused, “We were in Kentucky…” Ms. Bedel refrained from speaking yet again, hissing: “I hate Kentucky...and I will never forget that woman as long as I live...she,” Ms. Bedel’s lips were curling, “she was downright nasty. “That woman sat so high on her horse, that she had my mother feeding her baby through her teat.” My face was surely pulling in disgust. I did not understand what was said just the right amount to be puzzled, but I understood enough to be both bewildered and uncomfortable. “From time to time, my mother would take little things from her house. Sugar, flour. Things that wouldn’t be missed. But before we left Kentucky and never looked back, my mother thought she deserved something more in return, and this ring was it. And after my mother passed on, this has been with me ever since…” Suddenly Ms. Bedel took on a soft and tender tone, it was as if she placed her past behind her. “Try it on.” Not only was I soothed by a far more preferable tone, but I was also elated. Yes, it felt as though I was ascending to new heights. My high emotions would soon leave as the ring was placed on my finger, limp. “Oh…” Ms. Bedel’s lips pushed out, sympathetic. “It’s too big for you…” “My fingers are too little…” I felt like I was an infant, helpless and insignificant. “Maybe.” Ms. Bedel took my hand into her own, covering it in love. “One day you’ll grow into it.” It was not shortly after this, but in gradual due time that when preparing me for an outing, Ms. Bedel would retrieve one of the necklaces from her sacred box and fasten it around my neck. In some cases, it was to enhance my church dress, or to simply show I was a colored girl of high esteem as she and I walked to a show downtown. Each time this was to occur Granddaddy would part his lips, sneering that Ms. Bedel was making me into a ‘fast’ girl. Originally, his disdain was ignorable. As the sole man in the house, if Ms. Bedel disagreed - and I, as a result, found a voice to also disagree: I could exit the house, beautiful.

Unfortunately, the days of the feminine rule Ms. Bedel and I shared left when cousin

Winston moved in. Although Winston and Granddaddy were separated by generations, their “masculinity” gave them a higher sort of power. If Granddaddy thought I was fast and if Winston thought I was fast, then it was so. From that point on, shiny gems would never again be around my neck.

I did not like this change. Prior to my aunt placing Winston in Granddaddy’s custody, I would receive comments from adults of how “lonesome” I must have been as an only child. I never thought I could be lonely, not when I had Granddaddy and Ms. Bedel’s company. In addition, I was also quite aware of the luck I possessed, because never did there come a time when I argued about what belonged to who. While the alterations that occurred in my childhood home were minimal at best with Winston’s arrival, they were quite jarring all the same. Breakfast was smaller, lunch and dinner too. I also had to be tolerant - patient - when Winston sat by my side, giving his own outlandish variations to the personalities of my beloved dolls. His rough housing even led to the tearing of Marilyn! And even though tears fell on my pillow that night by sunrise, I forgave him. One of the most noticeable changes was in how Ms. Bedel began to seldom speak to me. I thought it would be wise if I did not speak to her, as I acknowledged not just her body language but the dryness of her voice. The change that occurred was not my fault. Ms. Bedel simply detested my cousin.

In her eyes however, I was different. Different in the sense that when she met my grandfather, she met me too, and therefore knew what would come if she decided to move in. Winston was unlike me, not just due to gender or behavior, but because she never agreed to provide for him. Still, I did not know this. Instead, there were many days where I wondered if I had done something to evoke her coldness, but in truth I just didn't know of the hostile conversations taking place between the adults of the household. Some of my days were better than others, but the moment I made my greatest mistake came from one of my worst. I returned home with low spirits after school. It did not matter that it was Friday as the memory of Lucinda Carter’s wrongdoing remained fresh in my heart and mind. I will admit that in my childhood I more often than not felt an intense desire to be accepted by my peers. I was well-aware I had been viewed as the perfect, ideal child by my elders, but to those in my classroom I was thought of as little more than an old woman, masquerading as a child. During the occasional moments they were willing to overlook my small, shifting eyes and unusual silence, I was filled with jubilance. With the little friends I had, I joyously followed to play Duck, Duck, Goose. With Lucinda circling us, I could feel the tension build. Each moment was thrilling. No one knew who the Goose would be, and I even speculated that it may be Thomas or Claude who would chase us around the courtyard. I did not expect Lucinda’s palm to fling into my face as she declared I was the wild goose. And what a fool I was, trying to rationalize the assault. I understood it was a part of the game. But I knew that with the way Lucinda usually treated me, it could not have been a giddy mistake. Still, I did not say anything to the teachers. Tears no longer slid down my cheeks by the time I climbed the concrete steps of my home. At that point, I began to think of the things that made me happy, and in that moment it occurred to me the last time I felt at peace was when I was among Ms. Bedel’s treasures. This is what brought me to her side, rather than confiding to my grandfather of the humiliation that occurred to me on this day. “Ms. Bedel,” I began meek and soft, “can I see your diamonds?" My first crime of that day was not realizing how Winston was among her. I was not aware Winston’s eye size doubled at the sound of diamonds. “Yes you may.” All I knew was that Ms. Bedel looked greatly unhappy that I approached her, “but put everything back as found. Do you hear me? Everything, Delores." “Yes ma’am.” And with that, I was on my way, embarking on my second sin. After retrieving the jewelry box I navigated to the private sanctuary of my bedroom, shutting the door. Any other time I would not have done this, but it felt relieving to know that I was keeping to myself. Alone. Laid out on my wooden panels, I observed every pearl, opal, and amber gem. In this solace, I could not wait until I had my own collection of jewels to possess when womanhood approached, for surely everyday would be spent in happiness. “Delores!” The sound of Ms. Bedel’s voice ripped me from my adult fantasies. Before I could rise to my feet and ask ‘ma’am?’ she opened my door, scolding me once more: “you better keep this door open, young lady. I don’t know who you think you are, secluding yourself away from the world! You are seven years old!” She did not have to curse at me as I hear some mothers do their children. She did not have to strike me as a reminder that she and my grandfather’s words were the law. I already felt the harsh sting of shame and humiliation coursing through me, and so although she did not keep watch on me with a critical gaze after ensuring I kept my door open: when she told me to put everything back, I did so - with the belief I had gathered everything. It was my fear of further disappointing her that ruined my judgment.

Saturday was fine, Sunday was as well as we attended church like a prim and proper family. It is horrible to reflect on the change that came a mere few hours after our worship.

“Ever since you took that boy in he’s been nothin’ but trouble! He wasn’t even sick on Tuesday, he was connin’ you!” This was not an argument that could be ignored. It was clear as the siren of an ambulance: both Winston and I could hear the clashing of our guardians echo through the walls. Ms. Bedel’s fury summoned Winston to crouch outside our elder’s bedroom. I was tempted to steer him away and convince him to mind his business until all was calm, but I was also taken by the enragement. “I didn’t know you was a doctor!” “I was with him that entire day!” Ms. Bedel shouted, “I could see him running and jumping and just actin’ a fool! Maybe if you weren’t trying to keep up with these young men out here-” “Woman!” I jumped at Granddaddy’s raised voice, “You don’t know a THING you talkin’ ‘bout!”

Hearing the heavy thud of Ms. Bedel’s feet, I wondered what if the door swung open and the nosiness of Winston and I would be displayed before her eyes. Surely we could never live it down.

“Look -- damn you Amos, look!” However, she did not open the door. Ms. Bedel was elsewhere in the bedroom, and I could only assume she took a stance by the dresser. “My ring is gone! I know that he took it and he sold it to some...some-”

“Some what?” Grandaddy snapped.

“Some hustler!”

My knowledge of the streets were limited, but I knew the title she used for Winston was not right. “You should have seen him - the way he was looking when Didi had mentioned I had diamonds. I could just about read his mind!”

“He’s nine years old, who does he know? If he took it, he prolly gave it to some lil’ girl!”

“Amos! Why are you defending that heathenistic-”

“Shut up!”

“No good-”

“Dammit woman, I said shut your mouth!”

“Ungodly grandson of yours!”

There came a sharp sound. The sound of skin hitting skin. It was stronger than how Lucinda hit me, that I knew.

However, this was not a new sound for Winston. In contrast to his excited face, I was cringing as if I personally witnessed Granddaddy’s powerful strike.

“You hard headed woman.” He hissed, “y’ain’t gonna keep standing here and keep callin’ my grandson outta his name. Y’got one more time t’do that and I’ma drag you outta here. Keep on talkin’ about some itty bitty ring. Keep on.”

“It was my mother’s.” “Your mama was the thief you’re makin’ my grandson out to be. Your mama wasn’t nobody.”

At that point, Winston was stretching his legs and placing his palm against the door knob. I decided that if Winston would get himself in trouble for getting into the adult’s business, so be it, but I personally would have no part in it. But the truth of the matter is, by not prying I spared myself from the sight of my grandfather - a man who was more commonly stern whilst simultaneously doting, in a state far different than what I was accustomed to. I knew he was in the wrong - he was terrifying me, just to overhear him in this private moment. But what would I do if I looked at him? Caught him in whatever dominant position he stood in? Then, I heard Ms. Bedel weep.

“I hate you.” As she continued to weep, my heart broke. “You old bastard - what makes you think that I have to be with you? I don’t have to be with you. I accepted your granddaughter, willingly, I never had to do that for you. Then you put that grandson on me, and...and I’m too damn old to be going through burdens like you! Get away from me! Go on!” Don’t go… I can recall thinking, I can recall wanting to act out: to cry and scream, but instead I was biting at my bottom lip, thinking: Don’t go. I felt shame at that point, too. Incredibly small, irrelevant. A burden. Now, I was willing to peep through the door like Winston, treated to the sight of Ms. Bedel moving faster than I had ever seen her. Apathetic and rough, she tossed the jewelry box on the bed, grasped at her coats, blouses, and furs.

“Where do you think you’re goin’?” Granddaddy had the audacity to ask, as if he had not personally told her to remove herself.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?!” I did not know where the ring of Ms. Bedel’s mother had been. Truly, I thought it was in the box as it needed to be. The truth of the matter was that it was under my bed, somehow knocked there by my little feet as I spent my Friday evening admiring it all. But never would I have stolen from a woman I respected. At this moment, I did not think of my own potential mistakes, but I did think about letting my tears fall and what it would have been like if I rushed into Granddaddy’s bedroom, asking him if she could stay. “Move, move!” My surely disastrous idea never came to be as Winston grabbed my shoulders the same time Ms. Bedel’s feet came our way. Before I knew it, we were scurrying like small, brown mice to my bedroom. It was very likely Ms. Bedel saw it, but hadn’t possessed enough care to say anything.

“When y’find that damn thing,” Granddaddy followed her, not caring about our wide eyes. “You can’t never come back here. Never!”

“I don’t plan on it, Amos!”

Ms. Bedel would only return to Granddaddy in the pursuit of her fine china. Shortly afterwards, I believe she left Dayton to return to New York.

This would be the first memory that brought me pain and discomfort: something I could not dwell on because it was too harsh. At some point, my grandfather realized that the woman he loved was forever gone, because he would issue cold gazes to Winston. Asserting that if he took her ring, he should speak up. Each time, Winston claimed innocence.

As the months came and went, so did the severity of the emotional wounds of that day. Never would we forget the disaster, but we had to shoulder it and proceed on with our life. Though, one day, I would find something shiny below my bed. Like a calling, the light green streaks requested for my attention in an abyss of darkness. As I cupped it and brought it to light: that fateful day would hit me all over again.

Needless to say, as a teenager I spent many of my days wishing to turn back time. I wished that I could have considered that maybe it was I who made a mistake. Then, I would run to my bedroom, I would search up and down until I found that emerald ring and both of my guardians would enter a state of calmness. This was my fantasy. But silent, I would keep this ring. Though I would never wear it. Not even as eleven became thirteen. Or thirteen became sixteen. Or sixteen became eighteen.

Always, this ring was to be hidden. Forever my secret.

Even now, it is in my own jewelry box. And though Ms. Bedel’s mother stole it - and I in a way inherited this ring through the tradition of ‘stealing’ it, have never worn it. It has always felt taboo. Instead, what I do is keep it safe.

I am blessed to remember things as well as I do, yet precise memory can be a curse.

#long post tw #stories.#memories.

3 notes · View notes

omoi-no-hoka · 4 years

Text

Rural Life and Mental Health in Japan as a Gaijin

Heads up: This is a very long, personal post about mental health and the stresses of living in rural Japan as a foreigner. If it’s not what you’re looking for in this blog, please feel free not to read it. If you can’t tell by the gif above, this isn’t going to be a very positive post because I’m not in a very positive mood.

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

It’s been just shy of five and a half years since I moved to Hokkaido, the northernmost island/prefecture in Japan. In many ways, it’s similar to the American Midwest, which is the region I’m originally from. It’s big on agriculture, it’s got lots of nature and rural areas, winters are long and nasty, and the people have a warmth that make up for the cold snow and ice outside. Heck, even a lot of the flora and fauna are the same.

I think of my current city as my “Japanese hometown” because it was where I stayed during my first trip to Japan and it’s where my hostparents from that time are. I love it here like I love my country bumpkin village of 2,800 back in the states.

But after a little over two years of living and working in this city, I think I need out. I am...tired of it in many ways.

特別扱い Tokubetsu Atsukai, “Special Treatment”

Prior to living in this city, I lived in Sapporo, which has a population of 2 million. There, no one batted an eye at a foreigner walking the streets. A lot of them were surprised that i could use Japanese, but a good few people were used to gaijin that could use nihongo and read kanji.

But in my current city, I have experienced all of the following things, some of which on a daily basis.

DISCLAIMER: I have also had a LOT of very positive experiences with the people of this city. Most of my experiences have been positive or neutral, but a good 40% have been as described below.

Everywhere I go, I am openly stared at. Gawked at, at times. (I am your standard-looking, standard-dressed, slightly overweight white girl. No visible tattoos, piercings, vibrant hair color, or otherwise attention-grabbing aspects about me other than the fact that i am clearly not Japanese.)

I am often spoken to like I am mentally disabled, or if I am with a Japanese person, they will refuse to speak to me and instead speak to my Japanese companion.

I have entered restaurants on my own and had waitstaff make a big “X” with their arms and say “No English” immediately upon seeing my non-Japanese face.

I have had waiting taxi drivers drive off instead of allow a troublesome foreigner into their car.

I have sat down alone at a bar and had the Japanese people beside me openly gossip about me with the assumption that I could not understand them.

When searching for apartments when I moved to this city, I was denied 75% of my picks because they have a “no gaijin” rule. Despite the fact that I can speak and read, that I have a good job and valid visa, and that I have already lived here 3 years without a single late rent payment or complaint against me.

I have built up casual relationships with employees at grocery stores, etc. I frequent, and they have asked me for my contact info because, in their own words, “I’ve always wanted a gaijin for a friend!” In Japan, every girl wants a token gaijin friend instead of a token gay friend.

I have gone on dates with Japanese men who clearly just wanted a white girl to hang on their arm like a piece of swag and insist on taking me to a pasta place because “You must prefer western food to Japanese food” or insisting that I dye my hair blonder to look more foreign.

I am just...so very tired of this 特別扱い (special treatment).

I don’t want to call it 差別 (prejudice) because, the majority of the time, Japanese people think they are doing me a kindness by speaking slowly and simply, or by telling me as soon as possible that they cannot help me in English, etc. While a couple of the above experiences are straight up racism (I’m looking at you, asshole taxi drivers and landlords), most of them are a misguided form of “omotenashi,” a.k.a. Japanese hospitality.

So I try very hard not to let it get to me, because I know that they don’t wish ill upon me. But I’ve worked so goddamn hard to learn this language and speak it well, and it is so frustrating for the people around me to assume that I can’t do what has been my freaking life goal. Or having people assume I can’t understand slightly difficult words and dumb down their language (Even colleagues I’ve worked with for two years now!). In the middle of a conversation they’ll say things like, “It’s hard to deal with that level of animosity--oh wait, omoi-no-hoka-san, sorry, ‘animosity’ means ‘dislike.’”

They mean it in a helpful way, but it just comes across as very condescending and I end up thinking, Oh, so they think my Japanese proficiency is so low i can’t understand that word. Which sends me into doubt over whether my language skills are actually that deficient, or whether I am speaking in a way that makes myself look at bad at Japanese.

The Effects of 特別扱い (Special Treatment)

It’s been gradual, but over the past two years, I have found myself withdrawing from the outside world. I got bad at replying to friend’s messages. I started making excuses to avoid meeting up and hanging out. I would buy all the groceries i needed to last me through the weekend on Friday after work and not emerge until Monday morning to go back to work. Even though I really love the outdoors and used to spend entire days just riding my bike along the river trails here.

...But in the past few months I’ve become unable to answer even close friends’ phone calls and messages. And I’ve even had a hard time phoning my parents, which is crazy because ever since I left home for uni I’ve called my mom on a daily basis. When I think about stepping outside of my apartment, no matter the reason or destination, I am gripped by a dread so strong I nearly throw up. I have gone a couple weekends without food because it would require me leaving my apartment to buy some, or paying for very expensive delivery which also means interacting with whoever is bringing me that food.

I’ve had a stressful summer and fall at work, and that undoubtedly has contributed to my current anxiety overload. But things have settled down at work for the past month now, and not only have I been given an award that only 2% of employees get globally, recently I have been in talks to take on what is very nearly a dream position for me within the company that is a BIG step up career-wise. I have great bosses who recognize my efforts, who listen to what I have to say, and do what they can to help when I tell them I’m in over my head.

But I have had several days where I have woken up, gotten ready for work, and just frozen at my apartment door, too sick at the thought of going outside. And yet, I can’t stand the thought of calling in sick because I feel chronic, self-imposed guilt when I take a day off, no matter the reason. So I call in to work and tell them I have a stomachache and will be in once it’s gone, (which isn’t an absolute lie), and then drag myself into work within a couple hours.

And once I enter the office, do the obligatory bow and apology for being late and causing inconveniences, the dread and anxiety vanish and I am fine until it is time for me to go outside to return home.

This makes me think that work is not a main stressor right now. It doesn’t matter if I’m going to the convenience store or the grocery store or work or anywhere. I think the constant being stared at everywhere I go has gradually accumulated to become a nasty form of social anxiety. I used to have panic attacks in middle school and high school due to home life, but since removing myself from that environment they’ve gone away. I’ve always been a socially-reserved person who shies away from the spotlight, and despite telling myself a thousand times, “Let them look at you--you’re just being you and they’re being them and that’s OKAY,” I just can’t brush it off. I have very, very seriously considered dyeing my hair from its natural brown to black in an effort to blend in, if only slightly. Which is laughable, but that’s just how much it bothers me to stand out.

But the event that really sounded the alarm for me was when my best friend of 10 years, a Japanese girl whom I met by chance my freshman year of uni, who was my roommate for 4 years of uni, who let me sleep on her living room floor here in Japan for 3 months until my work visa came through, who has been with me through thick and thin, sent me a message asking when she could drop off a souvenir for me and

I couldn’t bring myself to reply to her text.

That was when I very clearly knew that I was too deep in this funk to get myself out on my own, and I had to figure out how to get help.

Frankly, despite having struggled with panic attacks and anxiety in the past, I have never sought professional help. Until now, I never felt that my symptoms were so bad that they warranted medication. But the fact that i can’t contact my mother or my best friend, that I would rather not eat anything for two days instead of go outside, means that snorting essential oils and rubbing rose quartz against my temples or whatever isn’t going to be enough.

Mental Health Views in Japan

It’s not exactly a secret that the approach to mental health in Japan is “sweep it under the rug.” You do not talk about it. You may go to a doctor and receive medication, but you do not get counseling, because that involves talking about it. You do not tell your friends. You do not tell your family. You DEFINITELY do not tell your coworkers.

I saw my boss, T, fall into a very similar spiral to my own this summer. Stomach aches in the morning, coming in late, making excuses to get out of outings outside of work, not replying to messages, not sleeping well. And then one day he just vanished. Didn’t show up one Monday.

T wouldn’t respond to our messages so we had to contact his mother to get a hold of him. And once she had confirmed that she had spoken to him and scolded him for being “selfish” by skipping work, my coworkers were satisfied because, in their words, “Now that we know he’s still alive, we don’t have to worry.”

Honestly, that was one of the most fucked up reactions to any situation I have ever seen. I was shocked, because these coworkers truly cared for him, but their mutual reaction to this was to just...let him languish.

T announced to a select number of supervisors/colleagues that he had been diagnosed with general anxiety disorder and would be stepping down from his position. He said that he had been diagnosed years ago, but had not disclosed it because he knew that he would never be promoted if anyone knew.

And that’s one of the big reasons that no one wants to talk about their mental illness here. In Japan, having a mental illness is a shameful thing. It shows that you’re weak, that you can’t keep up with everyone else, that you are flawed in a way that will adversely affect those around you at one point or another.

But my company really is a great company and the people in charge are progressive. T has a lot of great skills and experience, and they didn’t want to let him go. So they told him that they would find someone to fill his current role, but once he had rested and gotten better, they wanted him to come back and do a position that he used to do, one that he really shined in and enjoyed. And that is where he’s at now, and he’s doing much better for it.

So, having seen all of this unfold mere months ago, I grappled with how much I should tell my employers. The talk of this new and big position in Tokyo was underway, yet I knew that I wouldn’t be able to handle it unless I got better.

So I bit the bullet, and on the night that I couldn’t respond to my best friend’s text, I sent my boss a message, explaining my symptoms, how long they’d been going on, what I thought the causes were, and that I wanted to take the morning off to see a doctor about it sometime that week.

And I was really shocked by his reply.

This boss is the guy that filled T’s position, and i didn’t know him that well yet. As it turns out, he used to be a counselor before he joined this company. He told me that I could go to the doctor whenever I wanted, but that he also wanted to talk in person about this the next day.

The next day he called me into the conference room with one other manager, a guy I really trust and like. When T vanished, shit really hit the fan at the office and it was basically this manager and me keeping us afloat for the first couple weeks, so we’ve got a lot of camaraderie going. They asked me to talk more about what was going on, why I was feeling all this anxiety, etc.

And it was during this conversation that I saw the division between the traditional Japanese views of mental health and modern views of mental health.

When I explained to them both why I wanted to see a doctor and try medication, their reactions were mixed. My boss, the former counselor, said that if I thought it was best, trying out medication for a few weeks was a good idea.

The manager looked doubtful and said, “But do you really think that going to a doctor and getting pills from him will fix everything? If you’re diagnosed, what will your colleagues think? I thought you wanted that promotion.”

In that moment i felt intense fear and regret, as well as hurt. T had said that he had withheld his diagnosis for this very reason. A part of me had wanted to think it was paranoia on his part, but now I realized that he had been right to keep it a secret. This manager, whom I knew very well and trusted deeply, clearly was of the opinion that a diagnosis/medication = evidence of weakness.

So I ended up lying and telling them, “I’ll go to the doctor just to get some sleeping pills.” (I’ve been waking up every hour on the hour for a couple months now.) Sleeping pills aren’t frowned upon in Japan and the manager was pleased with this decision.

And after that manager left, I told my boss the truth, that i would be getting anti-anxiety meds as well because I really thought it was necessary, and that I would appreciate him not disclosing it unless he was required to, which he agreed to.

Seeing a Psychiatrist in Japan

So now i had to find a psychiatrist and make an appointment. A Google search provided me horrors. Below is an excerpt of a Google review of a certain mental health clinic in my city, and the record of the exchange between the doctor and reviewer (patient). I’m not going to translate it all because it’s long, but these are some highlights of the doctor’s words directly to the patient.

“You can’t sleep? I can’t sleep either. What, do you want some pills for it?”

“You can’t expect me to believe what a patient says.”

(After he made the patient cry) “You are being so difficult. Could you stop crying?”

He gives her medication, has silent nurses send her out to the waiting room where she continues to cry, and the doctor comes to the waiting room and says, “Could you hurry up and pay and leave?”

Having read this, I was filled with absolute fear. Maybe I was better off trying to fix this on my own after all.

But I kept searching, and I also learned that my city hall has a 心の相談窓口 (Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi), “Mind Consultation.” You can call them to learn information about what sorts of mental health facilities/options are available in your area. A very kind lady there informed me that it takes about 2-3 months to get in to any psychiatrist in this city, most of them do not take new patients, and that counseling is almost non-existent. Unless I was a harm to myself or others, I would have to wait. However, there was one general hospital in the city that had one psychiatrist staffed. This hospital has no reservation system whatsoever (very common in Japan) and takes a set number of patients in the morning and evening. I could try my luck to get in and see her.

So that was what i did, and I was able to see her on the first morning I went! I think the Kokoro no Soudan Madoguchi lady made it sound harder to get into so I wouldn’t feel let down if it didn’t work out the first time I went.

Having read the horror story above, I had a lot of trepidation stepping into the exam room with her and two nurse secretaries. I had expected it to be a very clinical, dry exchange of symptoms and a sufficient prescription with a token お大事に。

And, more than anything, I had feared that she would say something like, “Maybe you should just go home to your own country where you wouldn’t stand out.”

But she asked me a wide range of questions, with none of them focusing on the fact that I was a gaijin: what my symptoms were, how long they’d been going on, what I had going on in my life, what work was like, past history of anxiety, etc., and she and the nurses all truly listened to what i had to say. It was clear that she cared about the underlying causes and me as a person.

She told me that it sounded like I was experiencing a buildup of stress and anxiety and that she wanted me to try a low dose of anti-anxiety meds and sleeping pills for a week and then come back for another discussion.

That was 3 weeks ago. I’ve since been in the process of working with her to find the right combination of medication. Fun fact: they prescribe you Rohypnol (roofies) for sleeping meds in Japan if they deem your insomnia is serious enough. So. That is interesting.

Where I Am Now

I am keeping my boss informed of my condition and he is still very supportive. He seems to have informed his bosses of my tribulations to some extent, because they have gone out of their way to check in on me and see how I’m doing, which is very kind of them. Of course, they also know that i went above and beyond the call of duty for several months in a row until recently, and they could simply be asking because of that. Either way, I am touched that they would think of me, as I am a lowly translator for a lesser project and they are quite a ways up on the corporate ladder.

I am still in talks about taking on a very exciting position in Tokyo HQ, despite one of those bosses likely being aware of my situation to some extent. I used to dread the thought of Tokyo because I am a country girl who needs to see green, but recently I’ve come to the tough decision that I need to leave my beloved Japanese hometown, just like i left my American one. I love them, but I do not belong in them. I have visited the Tokyo HQ quite a few times, and there are a ton of foreigners in the area so I don’t stand out at all. I think that as long as I can live reasonably close enough to a park, I can satisfy my needs for nature while lessening my social anxiety.

I am having good days and bad days where it is still hard for me to leave the house. But I am having more good days than bad now. And today I was finally able to send a text message back to my best friend. Which really doesn’t seem like a lot, but it is a lot to me. My friend is supportive and understanding, which means the world to me.

I’m getting back to being me. 💗

p.s.: The gif at the top of this is from the anime Mushishi, which I think illustrates various mental illnesses and their effects in a very metaphoric way.

#personal #mental health #stress #anxiety #social anxiety #expatlife #japan #life in japan #rural japan #mental health awareness #expat in japan #mental health recovery #mental health support in japan #love yourself #you can overcome this

190 notes · View notes

feralnumberfive · 3 years

Text

I expect no one to read this at all. It’s more of a way to get some feelings off of my chest. This is a look into my personal life and what I went through in 2020. I cried quite a bit while writing this, haha.

My farewell letter to 2020:

To you 2020, the year that shook the world. You’re certainly one to go down in the record books. You changed my life as you did to everyone. To you, the month of March. I had hit the lowest part in my life since the shock of my parent's divorce 11 years ago. My beloved cat had died in October of 2019, a few days short of our one year anniversary of fostering him, which soon turned into us adopting him. It was sudden and unexpected. I still can remember clear as day that horrid call I got from my sister from the vet. “Hey, we need you to come up here. It’s kidney failure.” As she spoke through her tears, I instantly began to cry. I had felt sad for months after that.

In December of 2019, the adoptive dad of one of my closest friends committed suicide. She was torn apart, having had three people she knew died earlier that year. I stood by her side and watched her cry. We colored together in the counseling room, making small talk and doing anything I could to comfort her.

From late February into March, another one of my closest friends revealed to me a traumatic experience she went through. She had been raped by a classmate of mine, one who I considered to be good acquaintances. She was a grade younger than me, and was practically completely dependent on me and my friend, as she was too scared to tell her parents. She eventually completely relied on my friend as I became shoved out of the problem. Her story and the amount of support required from her, which she never gave back to me throughout our friendship, made me realize at that moment I had hit rock bottom. I was tired and so sick of it all. This sentence that I'm about to say is one I've never admitted to anyone: I didn't want to be around anymore, or at least alive. I needed somewhere to escape. I didn't want to commit suicide due to expectations I held upon myself. I was also too scared to commit suicide.

I finally admitted I needed help, which was scary for me to do. In March of you, 2020, I was diagnosed with situational depression. I was soon put on an anti-depressant. It felt good to put a name on it, but little did I know I would pay the price for my relief. Preparing to go off to college, I needed to get a First Class Medical Certificate in order to apply to the flight program at the colloege I wanted to go to. I went and got my FAA Medical Certificate done, ticking off the boxes on my journey to fulfill my life long dream of becoming a pilot.

Spring Break came and after watching schools around me close, it was announced that we wouldn't be returning until mid April, and then the end of April, then until May. I quickly realized it wasn't possible to return and that unbeknownst to me I had already spent the last days of my Senior year at school in March. A frantic question was suddenly formed amongst my classmates and soon the world: Will the class of 2020 graduate? I, being burnt out, didn't care what would happen to me or my class. We soon became a laughing stock and a sight to pity around the world. Class of 2020, Corona Class, The Class that would be telling this story to their kids. It didn't matter to me. As I held up the “Class of 2020″ shirt my uncle got me with the zeros as tp rolls, I sighed. I just wanted to graduate without getting laughed at. Spoiler Alert: That didn't happen.

Around this time I ended my friendship with the girl who I cherished but didn't cherish me back. I still to this day can’t exactly understand why I did that. I blocked her and left without saying goodbye. That wasn’t the right thing to do at all. She had been raped and needed support, but here I was leaving her. She always needed and wanted my support but never gave it back. It was always “Aw you have a problem? Here, let’s try this minimal effort plan to help you. That didn’t work? Oh well, let’s get back to me.” This is no excuse at all for my actions of cutting her off. I really still don’t know why I did this. I had hung out with her everyday in the summer of 2019. Here I was, easily letting her go. Jackie, I’m so sorry. I hope you are doing well and get into ISU to follow your dreams of being an engineer.

In May I received news that still hurts and effects me to this day. I had been denied my Medical Certificate. It wasn't due to me being on an antidepressant, is was due to the fact that I was depressed. This was soul crushing news, but there was still a chance I could reapply for the Medical Certificate if I jumped through multiple hoops. May also provided the announcement that my safe haven in Oshkosh, Wisconsin wouldn't be happening this year. It was definitely understandable due to the virus, but still very saddening to me. It’s really the only thing I look forward to each year, but I understood and agreed on why it was canceled for 2020.

In June I got the news that a beloved teacher of my family and I passed away due to a heart attack and complications of Addison’s Disease. She was the best math teacher I had ever had, and the best in my High School. Math is my worst subject, but she never made me feel stupid like the other math teachers. She always made sure I understood what I was doing. Sometimes when she didn’t feel like having class she would have a free day. She would gossip with my classmates and tell us stories of her youth. Sometimes though she would give us free days due to having intense migraines that sometimes hospitalized her due to her disease. It wasn’t fun to see her like that.

In June she was hospitalized where even her husband and two kids weren’t allowed in to see her. The only person allowed into her before she died was her twin brother. The family decided to have a public funeral, with tons of people in the community and school district socially distancing and wearing masks to pay their respect. I began to cry as I listened to her husband tell everyone that he wasn't ready and was so scared to be a single parent. Their children were both under ten, and were now motherless. Mrs. Johnson it was so hard saying goodbye to you. I loved you so much, and I still do. You gave my friend who had lost her dad food and comfort. You did so much not only for my family and I, but for everyone in the community and school district. I miss you so much.

Hot days came with hazy skies. Everyday I checked the wildfire smoke map as I watched the sun turn bright pink as the sun became a blazing red when the sun went down. For weeks our sky looked hazy. Some days looked cloudy, but it was actually smoke. As someone who lives the Midwest, this was quite surprising.

In August I experienced something that will forever be remembered by me and everyone who lives in my state. A Derecho tore through and ravaged my hometown and the state that I dearly love. We watched through the window as trees snapped in half and branches and leaves whirled around everywhere. We watched through the window as water roared down the road, appearing as if a stream had started right next to us. We watched in fear as shingles were torn off and large items were blown through our yard. As the electricity flickered out, we wondered if we would be crushed by either tree that were on two sides of our house. Wet leaves were torn apart and slammed into our window, where they stayed there for a month afterwards. They looked like confetti, torn into thousands of tiny pieces.

To the branches and trees I still see today in the neighboring towns and cities, broken reminders of the damage done. To you, the metal grain bins that still sit out in the flattened cornfields. Our once tall and proud cornfields that are a proud symbol of my state were now flattened to the ground, completely parallel to the rich farming soil that it stood in. Painting the countryside in flat waves of green with splotches of silver from grain bins and white from barns and houses damaged. Our proud stalks became damaged goods that costed us billions. To the buildings that still show their battle scars from months ago, the houses with the tarps on their roofs and the old wooden barns that couldn't handle the 140 mph. To you, Donald J, Trump, the President of the United States who was supposed to tour Cedar Rapids to exam the damage that still lies there today. You stayed in the airport and immediately left after getting your business done. You didn't care about us, you were there to do business and leave to start your campaigning.

My small town was able to clean up within a month or so, but even still TODAY the bigger cities are littered with damage. There are tree trunks and branches scattered along roads. Thousands of houses still have tarps on their houses and siding missing.

In August my grandma was also diagnosed with Dementia. I've watched her deteriorate over the past few months. Every time we call she forgets that I’m not in school. Sometimes she forgets my name. When we tell her we’re on our way to visit outside her window, she forgets within 10 minutes. Grandma, I hope you never forget that I love you.

In September I finally met with a therapist. I am so thankful to be working with her. After months of my family getting angry and upset at me for being scared to go to the store, my therapist diagnosed me with Social Anxiety. I was so relieved to be diagnosed with it and to be working out the issues I have with my therapist. We work together weekly to help me become a better and more comfortable version of myself.

Over the summer months the health of my already diseased cat took a steep decline. She was my cat, and I felt powerless as I slowly watched her die. She could no longer stay inside due to her having constant accidents. As we made our plan to take her to the vet to give her a peaceful death, I received a heartbreaking call from my mother on a cold September night. My little Jill had passed away in her sleep on our porch. I came over to say goodbye to my baby as I pet her cold fur one last time. I love you my little Jilly Bean and I miss you everyday. I miss and love you so so so much.

September also brought the news that a precious B-25 had a crash landing. It always hurts to hear about a Warbird crashing or getting damaged. I was happy to hear though that they were going to fix it back to airworthiness.

In October I had to make a difficult decision with the FAA. Do I try to visit four different doctors for phycological examinations in order to complete my Medical Certificate or do I wait to get off my medicine and start feeling better on my own? I opted for the second part due to the decline of visiting all of those doctors coming up in November. We had been given that option early in the year, but Covid prevented us from traveling out of state to see those doctors. I sent a letter to the FAA to let them know what I was doing. I received a letter about a month ago that stated that I still needed to visit those doctors or something like that. I honestly didn’t look through it that well because it’s just such a pain in the butt.

Another thing about you 2020 is that you provided me with he opportunity to meet amazing people. I began to watch The Umbrella Academy in September, but I decided to make my account on October 1st. I’ve met tons of funny and talented people on here. The show itself had provided me tons of comfort. It has given me the courage to start writing fanfiction for it along with starting back up on drawing fanart

The end of 2020 has slowed down for me. One of my aviation heroes died this year, Mr. Chuck Yeager. It was heartbreaking for me to hear that. One of the worst days for me was ironically on my birthday in December. I felt really bitter and down and just wanted to sit in my room, but I didn’t. I don’t like celebrating my birthday anymore. As I get older it feels less and less special and in turn I feel sad about it. Another reason why is that I don’t like having a fuss made about it. I don’t like the attention from it haha. It’s okay though because even though this year I felt upset I eventually felt a bit happier as it turned to night.

This year I witnessed history being made. Let me be clear that history is made every year, but this year was very eventful. I witnessed innocent black lives being slaughtered by the very people who are sworn to protect everyone. It’s so disappointing and soul crushing to see all of this. I don’t know if I’ve made it clear on here, but I strongly stand with the BLM movement. I may not understand what they haven been going through for decades, but I stand with them to make things right. Black Lives Matter, not All Lives. All Lives only matter when it’s actually true and Black Lives are included. If you saw a house on fire in an entire block of houses, you wouldn’t say “All Houses Matter!” No they don’t, that house on fire matters. Black Lives Fucking Matter, and All Cops Are Bastards.

To you, the Pledge of Allegiance. Everyday in elementary school I proudly held my right hand over my heart as I stared up at Old Glory and recited you. This year helped me realize that “With liberty and justice for all.” is total bullshit. The only thing I truly appreciate about my country now is the scenery and nature it provides.

To you 2020, as I finish writing this letter on December 31st. You’ve made me cry a lot, including right now. You’ve deeply effected my life and brought me lots of sorrow. Despite all of this, I don't feel upset about you. Yes, you gave me some events that will always haunt me but that’s okay. 2020 even though you’ve hurt me, you’ve also shaped me. Yes, you also made my lose faith in my country and humanity, but I can only hope for the best. You’ve pushed me to become a better version of myself.

So to you 2020, you’ve been a hell of a year. I’ve hated and loved you, but mostly hated you. I went through some shit, but others have gone through worse this year. To those of you who have had a very hard time this year, I love you. I sincerely hope things get better for you. Friend or stranger, you can always rely on me as someone to talk to, to rant or vent to, and to cry to. This year was excruciating, but don’t give up. It has ended and a new year has begun. Sure 2021 may also be bad and we’re all exhausted from 2020, but let’s fight till the end.

#sorry if there are any mistakes in here #I was emotional and listening to music #which always messes up my writing #I love you all #and to myself I hope 2021 will be better #2020 #new year's eve #fuck 2020 #2021 here we come #personal

3 notes · View notes

the-writers-fandom · 4 years

Text

Obey Me Fic: No Matter How Much Time Passes

Here’s the first half of a fic I wrote, “No Matter How Much Time Passes.” It’s 3.6k words, and can be read as a standalone fic. The second half will be coming out 6 PM 4/18, CT. It will be released 3 hours later on my AO3 account, CrazyEyebrows I hope you like it!

The boys finally decide to visit MC in the human world. The only issue is that it's been 60 years, and MC isn't doing their very best.

Mammon can't handle what's going on, but he stays strong through it all.

Mammon stared at his reflection. Hair? Perfectly styled. Outfit? An amazing choice, a black leather jacket with a simple white T-shirt underneath. Freshly showered with one of Asmodeus' manicures to match.

So why did he feel like garbage?

Every time he thought about seeing the human- his human- again, it made his stomach twist into knots. He hadn't eaten dinner last night, and didn't think he could stomach breakfast today either.

It had felt like a thousand years since he'd last seen the human, when in reality it had only been 60 or so. Mammon still looked exactly the same, with maybe a bit more of a gut, if anything. He noted that he really should start working out like Beelzebub, and not rely on running away from his problems as a form of exercise.

He stepped out of the bathroom and shut the door behind himself quickly. He had managed not to change his entire outfit and restyle his hair for the 30th time, and decided that this was it. This is how he'd look when he met eyes with the love of his life again for the first time in sixty years and Oh god maybe I should wear something el-

"Mammon! Hurry up, Lucifer won't wait for your sorry ass forever!" The sound of Levi pounding on Mammon's bedroom door brought him out of his stupor.

"Right! Coming!" He hadn't the mental capacity to argue anymore, and simply agreed. He then opened the door, taking a deep breath and faking his usual cocky grin.

"Thank you, my lady in waiting." As Mammon walked away, he heard Leviathan sputter and yell about how he's going to kill Mammon. Mammon ignored this in favor of going down the hall and the grand entryway stairs to meet with the rest of his brothers. They all looked equally nervous, beside maybe Satan and Lucifer, who'd found ways to hide their intense emotions long before the human entered their lives.

"That's everyone, then. Let's get going." Lucifer popped a small top hat onto his head and opened the doors. He pushed each of his brothers out before him, and before Mammon could go through, stopped him.

"I want to talk to you." Then, pushed him out the door and followed behind. Belphegor led the group now, sitting up on Beelzebub's back and giving tired directions. Mammon gulped, walking slow so they wouldn't be heard.

"What is it Lucifer? Can'tcha see how excited I am?" He smiled and laughed a bit, to which Lucifer sighed.

"Yes, of course. What I wanted to say, Mammon... You know how fast human's age, correct? Much faster than either of us, or any witch or sorcerer." Mammon had expected something like this and rolled his eyes.

"Course I know, Lucifer. It's like how dogs age."

"You know that they will be very different than you remember-"

"Yes Lucifer, I know. I know that they'll be weird lookin' with more wrinkles and weird scars and ex boy or girlfriends and I know that they might not remember us but that doesn't matter. Because they will."

"You have a lot of faith in an 80 year old human."

"80's like, nothing."

"Yes, for an immortal councilman of the demon world. For a human, it's... 80 is nearing the end of their lifespan. They may not have much time left."

"Then they can come visit us when they're back in the Devildom."

"You know their soul is too polished to be a demon, in limbo, or otherwise. Surely they'd become a celestial being."

"Then... Maybe they can join the program again and-"

"Mammon. We're almost there. I just wanted to let you know that this may be your last chance to say anything you need to say, alright?"

That really helped the knots in Mammon's stomach, making them tighter and making him nauseated. Mammon frowned, coming upon the portal spot. Each of his brothers stood there, waiting for Lucifer to open the portal to the human world.

And then he did.

Mammon winced at the great big light, forgetting how blinding this whole ordeal was. He stepped in, and found himself somewhere unrecognizable.

"Wait, where are we, Lucifer?" Satan asked for him.

"We're in America."

"This doesn't look like anywhere in America I've ever been." Belphegor frowns, seeing the small houses lined in rows. They were all individual, a story each to its own.

"Because you went to New York, and LA, and Orlando, this is just some small town in the Midwest. Of course it looks nothing like you're used to. C'mon, let's go." Lucifer started walking, staring down at his D.D.D. Mammon assumed there might be directions on it, and he found he was right when a small voice emitted from it,

"Turn right in 200 feet."

"What a weird way to measure distance. What kind of feet? Human's?" Beelzebub asked aloud, and nobody answered. They were all quiet as they came upon the small nursing home, taking in the look of the outside.

“This is it. Now, all of you, stay quiet until we get to them. I’m using a fake alias, as these humans may realistically die hearing that my name is Lucifer.” The boys just nodded, everyone nervous and not wanting to show it. Lucifer headed in first, taking his hat off.

“Hello, my name is John. I’m here to see MC.” Lucifer smiled sweetly at the woman at the counter.

“Sure, you called earlier, right? Follow me.” She got up and started walking towards the back of the large room. Mammon looked around, seeing many older people doing various activities. Watching TV, playing checkers, knitting. He had expected them to be old, but hadn’t really internalized that they’d be this old.

“Now I do have to warn you, this specific patient has Alzheimers and isn’t lucid very often. In fact, the last time their children were here, they had to recollect of even being married.” They’re married? Oh. Mammon didn’t expect that to be what hurt him the most out of all of that. “But maybe you could help out. We’ve been hearing some… strange names from them that’s been alarming the other patients here.”

“Names? Like what?” Lucifer asked politely.

“Some pretty strange ones. I remember… Levi? And a couple different words for the devil, just off the top of my head. Nobody can tell who they’re trying to talk about.” “W-Was Mammon one?” Mammon spoke up sheepishly. The lady hummed and shook her head,

“No, I don’t think so. But I’m not here all the time, so, maybe. Anyway, here you are. MC? Hey, you have a few visitors today.” “No thank you Lucifer, I’m trying to study.” The patient spoke without looking up from the desk, doodling and scribbling on a piece of paper. Lucifer was slightly startled, hand resting on his chest now.

“That’s uhm- ahem- that’s what they would know m-”

“Lucifer? I said no thank you.” Mammon watched as MC turned around, and everything seemed to hit in slow motion. Their hands were shaking, they looked brittle. Mammon feared even the slightest touch might make them crumble underneath him. He sucked in a breath, and then, they caught eyes. MC gazed into Mammon’s eyes and, for a split second, they seemed to get insanely excited.

“Chistopher?” They asked, and suddenly Mammon’s entire world broke down around him. He started to cry, shaking his head. Beelzebub put an arm around him while the nurse spoke,

“No, Darling. Chistopher can’t visit today. Very sorry about that, they’ve been asking about their husband a lot. He hasn’t visited in months. I think he knows… Ahem. Anyhow, I’ll leave you all to it. I’m sure you have a lot of catching up to do. Just try not to get frustrated.” She smiles and goes back to her post. Leviathan goes to sit next to them.

“Hey, MC. How’ve you been?”

“Well, if I could finish this task, maybe I could get some sleep. Levi-chan wants to binge a new anime tonight, so I have to nap before then. I haven’t seen him in so long, he’s been locked up in his room. Isn’t that terrible? Ignoring his true friend. True friend… what a friend he is…” They mumbled and mumbled while Mammon watched tears gather in Levi’s eyes.

“I… I’m sure he wishes he could’ve seen you more, even if you are a normie.” MC then laughed loudly, startling all of them. It was an intense, deep throated laugh.

“That’s exactly what he’ll say, too. I know it.” Asmodeus pushed his way next to them.

“Oh Darling, you skin! Your beautiful skin! Next time I see you, we must do a regimen together. I know just what will help.” “Oh, thank you Anne, but no thank you. I’ve gone natural, can’t you tell?” MC laughed again and ran their hand through the little amount of hair left on their head. “Trust me, I’m loving it. It feels so good not to worry about how I look, I know he’ll love me just the same.” Asmodeus frowned, but then smiled meekly.

“I… guess you found someone very special then, didn’t you?” He asked quietly, and Mammon’s lip trembled again. “I did… I think I might marry him. So sweet. I can’t believe I met him during an exchange program. I really should write a letter.” Leviathan pulled Asmo away, who was sniffling sadly. They both stepped outside to get some air.

For a moment, nobody moved. Then, Belphegor did.

“Do you remember me?” He asked, and Lucifer interjected,

“Belphie, really-”

“Of course I do. Who do you think I am? I made a pact with… a pact with…” Their eyes glazed over, not remembering quite what they were going to say. Instead, they smiled, “Would you like to order?” Belphegor’s brows furrowed at the sudden change, and Lucifer sighed.

“They’re not at all lucid. They’re probably remembering something or another. Please, all of you, I told you not to get your hopes up.”

“That’s rich, coming from you, Lucifer.” MC stood, and Belphegor helped them, barely touching them as he tried not to hurt them in any way. “Really, I’m not that stupid.” They moved over to Lucifer, who dropped his hand. As if in shock, he couldn’t move, just stared at them. MC took Lucifer's hands in their own, and started swaying gently. Lucifer just slightly reciprocated the dance. He recognized the way they moved to a beat in their head, and remembered dancing like this all those years ago.

Mammon couldn’t watch. He knew he had to wait, it wasn’t his turn yet. They hadn’t tried to talk to him yet. He wasn’t sure he could even say anything if they did.

“Where’s Solomon? We were supposed to have tea tonight.” That made Mammon almost angry, why did his human seemingly remember everyone else, except him? Had they really hated him that much without saying so? As quickly as it started, their dance ended, and MC stared at the other three brothers. Mammon watched as they tried to work it out in their head.

“I told you, I won’t do any more pranks on Lucifer. He might skin me, if I do. We all got off easy last time.” They crossed their arms, frowning. “And trust me, if I get skinned I’m using that pact of ours and I’ll have you skin yourself alongside me.” Satan smiled sadly.

“Yes, of course MC. Though, I think it would be fun to pull one final prank.” MC seemed to think it over, and Lucifer stood over them from behind. “MC. ” He said, and they shrieked. They shrieked, and then laughed, stumbling forward.

“Lucifer! I-I didn’t see you there!” Satan made sure they stayed upright, laughing heartily. Beelzebub put his hand on Satan’s shoulder, and so he moved away. MC turned back to face them.

“Oh, oh, oh. Is this your little boy, Anne? He looks just like a friend of mine. Don’t tell me you cheated on Anthony, did you? Look at that hair, you’ve grown so tall since I last saw you.” MC finally recognized Beel, and now only Mammon was left. Beel laughed while they doted over him, hugging him and kissing his cheek. Mammon could only find himself jealous. They sighed into Beel’s arms for a moment.

“Okay, thank you Lucifer, you may all leave now. I have somewhere very important to be tonight. Except you.” MC pulled away from Beel and stared directly into Mammon’s eyes. “We have a lot to talk about.” Mammon gulped, and pulled a chair over next to MC’s. Beel helped her sit back down.

“Beel, Satan, Belphie, let’s go check on the others. We will have plenty of time later to stay.” Belphegor looked hesitant, but they all eventually agreed and walked out. Mammon stared at MC, waiting for them to say something first. They took his hands in theirs.

“Did I tease you well enough?” Mammon wasn’t sure at all what they were saying, and his face promptly expressed so. They sighed. “I… I remember you.” A moment of clarity, Mammon decided, and he smiled.

“I remember you too. It’s been so long.”

“It has. Please, make yourself at home. Christopher and the kids will be here any minute.” Mammon frowned.

“You have kids?”

“Things change in twenty years, Mammoney. I missed you. But I moved on. I’m happy now.” Twenty? So, maybe not full clarity. Mammon could work with that.

“I… I’m glad. It’s not like I’d be jealous of some human.” MC smiled and pressed a kiss to Mammon’s hand.

“Why didn’t you visit me?” They asked out of the blue, and Mammon sputtered. He didn’t have an answer. He knew anything he said wouldn’t be a good enough reason. “Mammon, tell me. My heart ached so badly for you. I need to know.”

“I… I was scared.” He admitted, head hanging low. He leaned closer towards MC, and found that they smelled entirely different. He didn’t like that, at all.

“Of me?”

“Of change.”

A long pause went over the both of them. Mammon slowly looked up, making sure that they hadn’t fallen asleep. They hadn’t, but what he found was even worse.

Tears streamed down their face silently. They were staring at Mammon, a frown pulling at their lips. He wished he could take back all of the missed years. He knew it was too late to do anything about it, and so even through his cowardliness, held their hands strongly.

"Mammon.” They wiped the tears from their face. “I need your help.” He was confused, but nodded.

“Anything.”

“I’m going somewhere special tonight. I want you to be there. I want you all to be there. So meet me there. I need to find something special to wear…”

“Where is it?” He asked, confused as ever. He feels as though there hasn’t been a moment of clarity for him this entire time. MC smiled and stood up slowly.

“I’m coming home. I need a welcome home party. And a pretty dress, or outfit.” They dragged Mammon away from the desk and towards a hallway of rooms. He grimaced at the hospital like setting, but put those feelings aside as they entered a room. MC closed the door behind them.

“Please, can you find me something to wear?” They sat down and gestured to the closet. Mammon nodded and moved towards the closet.

After a few minutes of looking through the small closet, he came across a pretty jumpsuit. It was a dark navy color, and he smiled at the thought of his human wearing it. He sat next to MC on the bed.

“How about this?” MC felt the material, hands brushing over his slightly. He couldn’t help the grin that formed alongside MC’s.

“Oh, perfect. Do help me put it on.”

And so he did, careful as not to hurt them when he helped slip the outfit on. MC’s large smile never once faltered, and once it was on, Mammon’s breath hitched.

“All these years, and I still make The Great Mammon falter?” MC laughed and looked themself over in the mirror. Mammon stood behind them, blush evident.

“I don’t age like you do.” He whispered, hand on their shoulder. “These feelings are still new for me.” He hummed. “You need one more thing.” MC turned to look at him, confused.

“Yes?” They asked quietly, just barely above a whisper. Mammon wordlessly took off his leather jacket, and helped slide them into it. They looked back into the mirror.

“Oh, That’s perfect. Thank you, Mammon.” They laid a gentle kiss on his cheek, before laying back in bed.

“I thought you were going home? What are you laying in bed for?”

“Finally, there you are. What are you doing in their room without us, Darling?” Asmodeus’ voice suddenly rang through as the door opened.

“Asmo.” The human smiled again, and Asmodeus looks as though he was just shot. He ran to their side.

“Hello! Hi dear, you remember me.” “Of course I do.” “Guys, they’re in here.” Beelzebub walked into the room, and suddenly all of the brothers were around the bed. Mammon took their hand in his own.

“Oh good, you’re all here. How do I look?”

“Magnificent.” Lucifer answered. MC closed their eyes.

“Thank you. I’ll see you at the party.” MC said finally, and the brothers all looked confused.

“Party?” Belphegor asked, to which he got no response. Mammon started shaking.

“MC? What party? Where should we go?” Satan asked as well, with still no response.

“Boys.” Lucifer said sadly, “Come on now, say your goodbyes. It’s time to leave.”

“But we hardly got to talk to them!” Levi nearly shouted, almost angry. He looked down, staring at the person laying in bed. “That’s not fair! I want to talk to them more!” His eyes welled up in tears, and Mammon stood up.

“C’mon Levi. It’s time to go.” Mammon tried pulling Levi away, and he only got an elbow in his side as a response.

“No! I don’t want to! It’s not time yet, I want to talk more!” He sobbed now, standing next to MC. Mammon was about to angrily pull him away again, but Lucifer stopped him.

“Let him have his time, Mammon. We’ll all need it. Come now, let’s get going.”

Mammon and Lucifer walked out into the hall, letting the other brothers say their goodbyes. Mammon then moved then further, outside, so he could light a cigarette.

“You know those are mostly illegal now, Mammon.” “I don’t care. I need one.” he held it shakily to his lips, and inhaled the smoke. Lucifer nodded. “I understand. Did you have a nice time with MC?” He asked, and Mammon stared at the ground.

“They… They kept sayin’ somethin’ about a coming home party they had to go to. Kept sayin’ that they wanted us there. What do you think that means, Lucifer?” Mammon looked up at his older brother and frowned. Lucifer tossed the idea over in his head a few times.

“I think… I think that just means they weren’t lucid, Mammon. Nobody is, that close. I’d take it with a grain of salt.” Mammon sighed.

“Yeah, I guess.”

After probably an hour of standing around, the brothers all came out one by one. They alerted the nurses of what happened, and took their leave. The long trudge home was quiet, and sickeningly sad for all of them. Asmodeus clung to Satan, sniffles being the only sound they all heard. Belphie was on Beelzebubs back again, this time taking the back of their line. He fell asleep shortly after leaving, and Beelzebub made sure to keep him safe. Mammon, Levi, and Lucifer all walked together. Levi with his headphones on likely blaring music, Lucifer with his D.D.D in his hands, staring at directions, and Mammon with nothing to distract himself but the gentle breeze against his face and the sun in the sky. Eventually they made it back to the portal, and then back home, none of them saying a word.

About a week carried on like this, the brothers stumbling around, all mostly quiet and not wanting to disturb each other. They were all carrying the grief of their beloved friend and none of them wanted to talk about it.

That is, until Barbatos appeared at the front door, knocking loudly over and over and over until finally Lucifer came and answered it.

“Barbatos, it’s two in the morning. Can this matter not wait?” “It’s extremely urgent, sir.” Barbatos was straight faced, but Lucifer was scared of what may have happened.

“Alright, let’s go then.” “You need to collect your brothers and make our way to the student council office. There’s an important matter to discuss with Lord Diavolo. That’s all I can say now. Rush yourself.” Lucifer was worried, but nodded.

With major struggle, Lucifer got his brothers up and they made their way quickly to RAD. The brothers seemed to finally be settling into some form of normalcy, a bit of tired quipping between the six of them. Eventually, they all made their way to their chair, waiting for Diavolo. They all shifted and spoke among themselves uncomfortably, Belphegor nodding off again. Diavolo stepped in slowly, grin across his face.

“Hello, all. It’s good to see you.” “What’s this about, Lord Diavolo.” Lucifer asked, arms crossed. Diavolo frowned.

“Why, you don’t look excited at all. We’re celebrating tonight.”

“What for?” Mammon asked, confused and almost concerned. Knots formed in his stomach again. Diavolo crossed his arms.

“A coming home party.”

#diavolo #lucifer #mammon #mammon obey me #mammon x mc #leviathan #levichan #satan #asmodeus #Beelzebub #Belphegor #barbatos #obey me shall we date #fluff #angst

27 notes · View notes

daisydaisybilly · 4 years

Text

Hard to love - part 2

title- hard to love - 1,

paring- Sam x reader (female)

word count- 2.7k

warnings- swearing, mention of death, mention of blood, fluff and longing

a/n- i have mixed feelings about this part but i like the ending a lot. probably has some mistakes so watch out but anyway please enjoy and tell me what you think. i change to writing in second person in part 3, and will edit this to that when i’m free

MAIN MASTERLIST | REQUEST OPEN | series masterlist

We spent the day in the motel room, I still wore his shirt from the night before, happy he hadn't said anything about it.

Wearing it made me feel safe in it, it hung down to my under tight, it went well with some plain jeans. During the afternoon we both read our books, sharing our thoughts out loud now and then.

It felt nice after a hunt just to relax and not be on the move right away. It was around 8 when we began to get ready.

"I hope you're ready for girl talk?" I say from the bathroom, I choice to go with a long dress with a deep v neck. You could just about see the anti possession sigil I had belong my breast.

Sam was sat on his waiting for me. He took all for me in with one look, he was dressed in jeans and his usual flannel shirt.

"is it too much?" I say looking down at my dress and then back to Sam who smiled.

He shook his head and walked up to me, "You look great, I'm just worried someone will steal you tonight".

I playfully hit his shoulder and tried to hide the blush that spread across my face. "I'm all yours tonight, I promise".

//////////

We decide to use my car this time, Sam gave it a look of approval, "nice car" he said, I had always loved this car. It held so many memories.

"Thanks, I got it from my Danny. He loved this car" I patted the car gently and climbed in.

Sam blinked in confused, "Who's Danny?".

"No one you know" I tried to push it off but Sam wouldn't let it go.

"You can tell me, like you said we've all lost people" his voice was sweet. Too sweet.

" You need to share you own demons before I share mine." I pulled out of the motel and went to a different bar from last night.

The car was filled with a thick layer of awkwardness. I knew I was the reason, I wish I hadn't been so hard and shut off with him.

"I'm sorry" I said still watching the road, "I'll talk about almost anything, like anything. But I can't talk about him" my grip on the wheel was tight enough to make my figures numb.

"I'm sorry I pushed you, I just want to know you" he said with too much guilt in his voice.

"trust me you don’t" I said, seeking a look at him, his head was bent down, his eyes fixed on his hands in his lap. "Sam, this is just me, I act like I don’t care but it's just a wall and I can't let it down" I tried to explain to lessen his guilt along with mine.

We sat in a uncomfortable silent until we reached the bar. A knot had formed in my throat. "Sam. I don't speak about what I went through because I can't trust myself" he looked at me with his eyes shining. "I ruin things, sometimes I mean to and somethings it just falls apart. "

With one last deep breathe I left the car and let the summer night air hit my skin. "I can do this" I whispered to myself. I just needed to get through tonight and I could go back to being alone, go back to not having to look at him and his eyes, that made me want to tell him everything.

"Did you say something?" Sam was stood next to me now, his hand was on my back.

I looked from his hand to his face, "Just I'm so ready to get drunk" I put on a fake smile and walked ahead. Sighing in relief when he couldn't see my face.

The place was pretty empty for a bar near the town, a few people were dancing together and more few sat at tables and the bar drinking away.

We settled in a booth near the back. I left Sam to get the beers, I could feel eyes on me my hands covered my chest as I walked forwards. I saw Danny face everywhere, just mentioning him had brought back so much.

The walk back to the table pass without me knowing. "When did I get here?" I asked sitting down. "I was just at the bar" I pointed to the bar.

"how many shots did you take? Maybe you should slow down" Sam laughed sipping on his beer. I tried to laugh along but it out flat. "I was thinking about what you said about our demons"

"Sam"

"let me finish. You don't have to tell me anything but tell me something and I'll tell you something" Sam reached across to touch my hand.

"Sam, I do trust you more than I feel I should but I don't know if I can relive it all" I moved to hand his hand with it being so close. I worried he'd pull away but he held on tighter.

"I would leave you. You can tell me anything and I'll stay right here or if you want me to go then I'll do that too" he moved around he table so we were sat up close.

"I'll just start with the bad stuff, that way I can get it over with." I said with a weak smile.

2006 Flashback I was living in a forgettable town in the Midwest. Both my parents were long dead, working in a dine along with night classes for a PHD in mythology. And that's when I met Danny, he went to the same high school as me but we didn't really click until we were 22. He would always come into the diner and always get the same thing.

Then one afternoon we were talking about this or that and he suddenly said, "The only reason I come here is to see you smile". I remember blushing like a 5 year old but god did I love the way he made me feel. We move so fast in our relationship, but it felt right. After a year of dating we had moved in together and were already planning a wedding. We lived in this small 5 floor walk up, cost everything we had we didn’t earn much with the diner and the his job at a factory.

The walls were painted this color that reminded me of lemonade. Nothing match because we just used whatever we had and put it all together. All our friends thought we were mad for doing everything so fast but I didn't care, I had him and that was enough.

Studying mythology, I always loved lore and stories. I guess that’s was my down fall. There was this local legend about a women who lived in the woods, in all the stories she said to be beautiful, she used her beauty to lure men and women, sometimes children to their deaths.

I was planning on writing my final paper about her and how the whole town were still scared for her, even though no one had seen her. I guess I pocked around to much, I always wondered why no one else had. I was leaving my class early one morning and it was snowing, everything was white and clean. The whole thing seems like a joke now, that night was pure and light until I reached our flat.

The front door was ripped open, stuff throw all over the floor. Blood was covering the walls. All my books hit the floor when I saw him. He was just sat on the sofa with his guts hanging from him, his throat ripped out. As I got close, my lungs closed up. I was so scared to breathe. Then something ran at me, tried to stab me but I fell hitting my head and they hit my tight, I guess. Next think I knew I woke up the police were there looking down at me. The people living under me, had already called the police because of the noise and then again when they heard me scream.

Turns out living in a small town with a local monster isn't as unlikely as I thought. The mayor of the town has always been from the same family, no one fought to be mayor because everything ran fine as it was. Turns out the monster was a witch who kept everyone happy, all the mayor did was pay her in bodies. Whenever someone die, she got the body and did whatever she did.

I was closer to it all than I thought. The police clean everything up pretty fast, told me it was probably a wild animal which I didn't buy for a second. What kind of wild animal would get into a 5 floor walk up without anyone knowing. Something inside told me I had to look more into it, then the FBI came and started asking questions. I told them what I told the police, it wasn't a animal, it was the witch in the woods. It didn't matter how mad I sounded I needed them to believe me.

I had all the research and stories to back myself up and I thought it was a miracle that they believed me, but turns out they were actually hunters. They found the witch and killed her. Told me everything because it was the kindest thing they could of done. After that I left everything behind and lived on the road.

2014

When I had finished talking Sam looked lost for words. My chest hurt from the effort of holding in my tears. In my dream I still dreamt of those yellow walls and how they suddenly turned red.

"Now you get why I'm such a mess" I say bitty finishing the rest of my drink off.

"I don't think you're a mess" Sam said, relief flooded my scents. "You thought you were safe and then your world ended".

"I think it's your turn to tell me about your demons" I said dirtily, wishing I had another drink.

Over the course of an hour Sam told me his whole life story, from the multiple deaths and all the heartbreak at came with the life. And most recently the fact that he was prosed by an angel, Dean had tricked him into it to save his life.

"So when I met you, you had an angel inside you? So why didn't it stop the witch?" I ask confused.

"It stepped in before when I was in danger but I guess you came before it had too" Sam explained.

"I know you want to stay mad at Dean for what he did but he did it to save you and from what you told me, you have done or would do the same" I rubbed his back as I spoke. "you can still be mad at him, hell you can hate him but you shouldn't leave him behind. He's family and you don't leave family".

"I was ready to die though. I was ready, I had had enough of everything" Sam sighed lending back on the chair.

I hugged him without thinking, "I know, I know", my head was against his shoulder. His arms were wrapped around my waist. "Why don't we go back to the motel?" my hand lightly ran through his hair as he nodded.

////

The drive back so quite and still, Sam offered to drive this time. I laid my head against the window, small rain drops were falling down the other side.

It felt both bad and good that I told someone the truth about my past. I had never met anyone who I trusted enough to tell. Sam had broke down the walls I had built so high.

It was that time of night where everything felt unreal. Even the carefree day we spent had worn down on my energy, all I wanted was to sleep.

The motel was almost empty, only a few cars were left. Neither of said anything as we made our way into the motel room. Lights were off, the only light coming from a street light.

Nothing needed to said, we had bared our souls to each other. While I changed in the bathroom Sam had the room to changes.

Sam POV Hearing Y/N story had opened his eyes to why she acted so strong but still held herself back. The wild girl he had met that first day had melted away but she still held the same fire that was winning his heart.

While Y/N was still in the bathroom, he checked his phone. Just like he thought a few missed calls from Cas and some from Dean. Y/N words replayed in his mind. "He's family and you don't leave family". She was right, he hated to say it but she was.

"Everything okay?" Y/N voice cutting his thought processes short, she stood in the bathroom door way, wearing the shirt he had given her the night before. Noticing him looking, she blushed. "I hope you don’t mind me wearing it again, I just don't have anything this comfortable.

"No, it's fine" his watched her smile as she walked to her bed. He spotted a long scar at ran a cost her tight, it looked out of place . She barely had any scars, even the one she did have none of the others were as deep. She mentioned something about be cut but never said it was that bad.

"So what's next for you?" She asked laying on her side. "Gonna call your brother?".

"I don't know if I'm ready to work with him again, it's hard working with my brother sometime, to tell the difference between what's best for everyone and what you do for family" he explained, laying down too so they were facing.

"Love makes us blind. I know I would pay anything to get my old life back. I liked what I do, don’t get me wrong. I help people so they won't feel the pain I felt but I wish I had happiness in my life. You have your brother, someone who will always look out for you." she said.

"Do you every get lonely?" he asked.

"yes and no. Like I said, I don't trust myself with other people. Im better alone" she rolled over to her back, so he couldn't see her face.

"You could join me and Dean if you wanted?" he said, as he turned the light off. "We could also use the help"

She laugh which he didn’t expect, "Maybe you should fix what's happening between the two of you before you invited me to tag along ".

He laugh too, "I guess you're right but the offer still stands".

"Thank you, goodnight Sam"

"goodnight Y/N"

////

Reader pov

Sam and I facing each other in the parking lot. The past few had threw by. Sam was unlike anyone I had every knew, I had told him thing that I could hardly say out loud.

"So this is goodbye then" I said quietly. I didn't want to say goodbye.

"I guess it is" Sam said in the same tone.

"You have my number, you can call me whenever you need. " I told him trying to make my tone happier but it fell flat.

"same goes for me, but I don't think you'll need my help much" he joked, which made me smile.

I took a step away from him and to my car but before I made it, I turn around to Sam again. He looked confused at first. Before I could stop and think about it, I kissed him.

Our nose brushed as our lips met. He was hesitate to began with which made me pull away, thinking he didn't want this. But he hooked his hands on my waist and pulled me in closer.

I took my chance and ran my fingers through his hair, my chest burnt from not breathing. When we pulled apart, I was the first the open my eyes. Sam still had his closed, his chest was moving in the same way as mine was.

"That was…" Sam breathed

"Yeah, something to remember me by" I smiled and took a step away. "Leave it like this. If you don’t call or if I don't call then this will be our last memory". I held up my hand and opened my door. "Goodbye Sammy Winchester".

I couldn't but smile at the look on Sam's face through my wing mirror

part three

#supernatural imagine #supernatural fic #supernatural #snp fic #snp imagine #snp #reader x sam winchester #sam winchester imagine #sam winchester x y/n #sam winchester #reader x sam #sam x reader #sam imagine #sw

25 notes · View notes

darrenhen98 · 4 years

Text

The Descendants

Book 1:

Genesis

Chapter One:

November 4th, 2024. Edison New Jersey, Earth.

We had done it. The efforts of hundreds, if not thousands of people had come to fruition: a landslide victory for the brand new Equalist Party of America. Diya Anand scanned around the party office, taking in the momentous joy that had suddenly erupted amongst the volunteers and workers.

Just moments ago, the last state still counting their votes finally finished, putting the Equalists well ahead of both the Republicans and Democrats. It was assured, Dominick Moore would be the nation's second African American President, and her the first female Indian American Vice President.

As Diya walked amongst her colleagues, they began congratulating her on a job well done, wishing her the best of luck in the years ahead and most commonly, saying how happy they were to see a new face in the White House. Diya smiled, nodded and thanked all those who came up to her fervently shaking their hands and even shed a tear for one.

What she was really trying to do was transverse the crowd to get to the podium where Dominick was standing, since it is customary and necessary to address the people as their new leaders. As she reached the top, Diya smiled wide,

“Congratulations on your victory, Mr. President” , being sure to emphasize his new won title.

“Congratulations to you too, Madam Vice President” he said, returning the respect with a hint of playfulness which was hard to catch through his thick Nigerian accent. “Are you ready to change the nation for the better?

“I wouldn’t be standing here if I wasn’t Dom you know that” she replied. He began to say something else but just then news reporters pushed through the doors and poured in to stand in front of the podium. Like normal, they started barraging them with a multitude of questions, about how they felt, what would be their first actions and others that were lost in the torrent of sound.

After a few moments, Dominick finally got them to settle down as they needed to soon broadcast their victory speech. The camera’s soon flickered on, streaming their image to every news station in America and world-wide. Both Dominick and Diya were dressed in their cultures traditional attire: a well tailored Dashiki and Sari respectfully. The usual suit and tie and gown and pants had been thrown to the wayside at least for this instance. The American people needed to see the ethnic leaders they had voted for, and the new reality that was about to set in.

Dominick took the mic in hand, pushed his mask to the side and began, “I’d like to begin with stating how overjoyed I am. Not about winning the election but at the resolve of the American people. For the past eight years, we have had to fight countless battle after battle: wildfires in the west, massive storms and earthquakes in the Midwest, hurricanes and flooding in the east and two pandemics that changed the very core of our society. The past administrations had failed us, and we sought out new leaders, a new vision for the country. One that would let us tackle the challenges of climate change and other life changing issues…”

While Dominick kept speaking, Diya stood behind him smiling and nodding to the cameras whenever he said something that fell within the party’s platform. He was a great speaker, unlike her who most of the time did exactly this, stand behind him as he ran the show. But then it was her time to come up next to him and share her thoughts. As she did, as she spoke to millions of people across the world she couldn’t help but remember one thing in the back of her mind. She never even wanted the job in the first place.

As Diya was driven home by her security detail, she began to ponder how she had gotten to where she was now. She had been a judge, the closest she had ever wanted to come to politics. Many questioned her, how being in government meant you weren’t political but to her it was the best place to be apolitical.

You didn’t have to conscribe to any agreed upon base of actions, when a case reached her desk she went at it with the ethics she cultivated through her life and an understanding of the law she so fervently loved. But it all changed in 2020.

Everyone knew the presidential election was going to be a decisive one, but no one knew just how much. No one could tell who truly won, over a dozen states were flagged as “improper” because of their voting systems. The problems worsened as the incumbent president refused to leave office in a gambit to maintain power and the resulting riots tore through the nation. Every major city was hit, hundreds killed, thousands inquired and billions of dollars in property damage.

Through it all, Diya had stayed home wanting to weather out the crazy climate with her parents and siblings. She could still remember the fear in her families eyes, how they were utterly convinced this was the end of the life they knew. And as the riots raged, more tragedy struck.

Since so many young and capable people had been out protesting in such large numbers, another massive pandemic swept through the country. And then a super-hurricane hit Florida, an massive earthquake in the four corner states and… A lot of tragedies at once.

The next four years had proven to be one of extreme change and humanity for us. People started to band together like never before. Every place that was hit with something was helped by the very people in it. It was the citizens who helped themselves out of flooded homes and crushed buildings. It was parents and children who constantly made meals and clothes for the hundreds of homeless and sick. We didn’t ask our governments if we could, we just did.

And so Diya did just that, help all those she could. She quit as a judge and began organizing everything under the sun. Foodbanks, marches, fundraisers, if it was an event she was behind it. It was this type of cross-cultural, apolitical connectivity that the Equalist Party liked. They had formed under the noses of everyone, suddenly popping up around the nation with aid for all those ailed by the tragedies. No one really knows how they formed, but everyone knew how much they helped. In the end, the support they garnered was immense.

By 2022, the amount of support from the polls put them around 20% of the population. The following year, over 50% of the population. The online rallies broke the communication industry, almost every new politician that switches parties immediately gained thousands of followers. Which is where Diya's’ interactions with the Equalists started.

Having to coordinate resources and capabilities from her volunteer organization with the Equalists own outreach efforts, Diya virtually became a superstar overnight. Not that she wanted to in any way shape or form, helping from the shadows was her go to plan for the future. Work hard, help everyone, retire old, die older; that had been the plan.

Diya stepped out of the car waving a farewell to her driver only to be escorted into her home by the home security detail in front of her house. She smiled to the bodyguard as he held the door open and she walked in as the automated lights flickered on. She was about to put down her bag and wind down when her cell phone began to vibrate within.

“Hello?” she answered inquisitively, as she hadn’t known the number.

“Hey Diya, it’s me Leo,” the caller said.

An unexpected but gratuitous call. Diya immediately smiled and perked up a bit at the sound of his voice. Diya had met Leonidas, or Leo, over four years ago during one of the outreaches she had organized. They had immediately taken a liking to each other, having an unexplainable connection from day one. They had stayed in contact over the years, but with so much going on in his and her life, calls became less and less frequent.

“Oh it's great to hear from you, using someone else's sat phone this time? Diya asked, making the conclusion on her own.

“You got it. I hope this is okay, I just wanted to congratulate you on your amazing victory!” Leo exclaimed.

“Haha yea, amaaazing.” Diya groaned, emphasizing the sarcasm. “But you know what’s new with me and I have been talking about it for hours. How’s things on your end, last we spoke you just finished training”

“Yes Ma’am” Leo replied, realizing now that Diya was technically his superior. “I shipped out about about a week ago with the fleet. We’re somewhere in the Bay of Bengal, waiting to meet up with the Indian and Chinese before we make landfall. I called because I’m part of the second wave.”

“I see… well you know I’m not much for words, but I can make the exception for tonight” she mused.

“Haha thanks Diya, there are definitely a few things I want to get off my chest.” Leo continued. Leo and Diya talked things over for the rest of that night, never truly talking about anything important but that didn’t matter. Anything that could distract them from the different realities they now faced, was a blessing they couldn’t interrupt.

#science #politics #ficiton #science fiction #new story

1 note · View note

katymacsupernatural · 5 years

Text

Puppy Love Part 3

Musician Jensen Ackles x Reader

1300 Words

Story Summary: Y/N is desperate for a job, and takes one taking care of a couple of dogs. Little does she know that it’s for one of the most successful Musician’s ever. Will she get to know her new boss, and what happens when she realizes who he is.

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

The apartment above the garage was not exactly what you had expected. It was almost three times the size of your old apartment, and so much nicer. It came fully furnished, the couches and chairs a soft brown suede. The walls were painted a light tan, nice and clean. No ugly water stains on the white ceiling, or disgusting stains on the wood floors. It had an open floor concept, with a bar and stools separating the living area and the kitchen. It had high-end appliances and came stocked with bowls, plates and anything else you might need to cook with.

Down the hallway past the kitchen was the bedroom. As large as your other bedroom, it came with a simple black headboard and two nightstands. The bathroom was across the hall, with both a bathtub and a shower. A small patio was off to the back of the living area let you overlook the large backyard.

It was so much better than anything you could have hoped for. You couldn’t believe how generous Jensen had been to give you this place to stay. He didn’t know you, you were a new nobody that worked underneath him. He was a huge, rising star. And yet, he had shown you more kindness that most people ever had.

“Is it to your liking?” His deep voice pulled you out of your thoughts, and you spun around your heart racing. He was leaning against the living room wall. He had changed from his black pants to a pair of jeans that were ripped at the knees, fitting tight to his firm thighs. He had a white t-shirt on under a leather jacket, sunglasses tucked into the neck. He looked amazing, and you had to work hard to pull your gaze away.

“This is amazing,” you assured him. “Are you sure you don’t want me to pay rent?”

He chuckled, coming to stand beside you, both of you staring out as his dogs ran about the backyard. “I don’t think letting you stay here is going to break me.”

You blushed under his glance, your gaze dropping to his scuffed up boots. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just don’t want it to be charity.”

He reached over, his hand resting on your shoulder. “I’m not thinking of it as a charity. I think you’re going to become valuable to me, and I want you to be close. My dogs are very important to me, and I want them to have the best care possible.”

His touch was warm even through your shirt, and you took a step back, a little unsure of what to do. Your movement caught him by surprise, and he quickly dropped his hand, frowning. “I will do my best, I promise.”

“Well, don’t worry too much today,” he said, pushing his hands into his pockets. “I’m home, so they’ll be with me. It will give you a chance to get your stuff all situated.”

You nodded, following him out of what was now your apartment. Shutting and locking the door behind you, you walked down the steps. “You’re more than welcome to park your car behind the garage.” He assured you, getting ready to head back into his house.

“I don’t have a car,” you told him. “I normally take the bus.”

He stopped, turning around to stare at you, his head cocked to one side. “You do?”

“It’s cheap, and it gets me where I’m going,” you insisted, feeling like he was judging you.

“No, I get that. I have no problem with that. But you were planning to move apartments while riding the bus?” He asked incredulously.

Truthfully, you hadn’t even considered how you were going to move from one apartment to the other. It wasn’t like you had a lot of possessions, but it would definitely take more than one trip on the bus. Which would mean a very long day for you. He must have noticed your look. Sighing, he slid his sunglasses on his face, taking his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll let Ruth know, and then we can get going.”

“We’re…,” you stuttered. “You’re going to help me?”

He shrugged. “Why not? I was just going to spend today relaxing, coming up with some more music. I’d rather help you out then continue with my struggle.”

You followed him into the garage where five cars were parked. The word cars had to be an understatement. The sleek black car you had seen yesterday was parked closest to the door, while another classic car was parked beside it. Then a Suburban, and a couple more you weren’t even sure what they were. “We’ll take the Suburban. Plenty of room for hauling.”

“You’re too kind,” you mumbled awkwardly. “This was so much more than you were expecting.”

He stopped the keys for the Suburban dangling in his hand, a perturbed look on his face. “Listen, I know I’m your boss, and this is all a bit new for you. But I don’t want you to feel nervous around me. I want us to feel comfortable around each other. And I don’t mind helping you out.”

You nodded, climbing into the passenger seat, buckling up as he slipped his sunglasses on. He backed out of the garage, easily turning it around as Ruth stood there, her hands on her hips. “I don’t think this is impressing Ruth any.”

“Ruth is a hard person to please. But she is just protective of me. We’ve been together since my mom…,” Jensen stopped, his shoulders sagging in sadness for a moment before he shook his head. “She’s been there for me when I’ve needed a friend.”

You wanted to hear more of his story. You actually wanted to know more about this man, and not only what he told the media. He seemed so nice, and from the little bit you knew about his personal image, so much different.

You guided him away from the fancy neighborhood, watching his eyebrow raise as you told him your address. He kept quiet, driving through the heavy California traffic, the radio barely heard. “Tell me more about you,” he finally spoke up.

“There’s not much to say,” you admitted. “I’m like everyone else in California. Moved here from the midwest, hoping for a new start. My life hadn’t been all peaches and cream, and while I knew it would be hard here, it couldn’t be worse than what I had left behind. I took any job I could find, barely enough to cover the rent of that crummy apartment. But then this job came along, and here I am.”

You didn’t want to tell him more than that. How your Mom had been a drunk, often leaving you at home alone days at a time. Bringing back her male companions, some of who had taken quite the interest in you. It was the last one, Tony, that had made you leave for good.

“I know that’s not all of your story, but I know we don’t know each other enough for you to feel comfortable to tell me the rest. But I get it. I came from a broken home. My Dad left my Mom when I was three, and she worked two jobs to support us. I did everything I could to repay her before she passed away.”

Surprising yourself, you reached over, squeezing his hand, hoping that you weren’t overstepping your boundaries. “I bet she’s proud of you.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” he muttered. “Is this the right street?”

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @bebravekeeponfighting @brindz30 @cap-just-said-language @colette2537 @deansgirl215 @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller @krys198478 @librarygeekery @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666

Puppy Love Tags: @crazysocklovingfangirl

Forever Tags: @alexwinchester23 @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @camelotandastronauts @caswinchester2000 @chelsea072498 @closetspngirl @docharleythegeekqueen @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008 @esoltis280 @gh0stgurl @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @heyitscam99 @hobby27 @horsegirly99 @internationalmusicteacher @iwriteaboutdean @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busyfangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @linki-locks11 @littleblue5mcdork @lowlyapprentice @maui137 @mogaruke @musiclovinchic93 @nanie5 @percussiongirl2017 @plaid-lover-bay25 @roonyxx @ronja-uebrick @roxyspearing @samanthaharper2018 @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @simonsbluee @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @superbadassnatural @thatcrazybookwormgeek @thewinchesterchronicles @vvinch3st3r @whimsicalrobots @winchester-writes @zombiewerewolfqueen

#puppy love #jensen ackles x reader #supernatural x reader #supernatural reader insert #supernatural au #musician jensen #katy writes #supernatural fanfiction #spn fanfic #jensen ackles fanfic #jensen ackles x y/n

131 notes · View notes