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harrysonlylover · 7 months

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Red Line*

Summary: Harry has some lines that he sticks to, except that you were never one to oblige.

Or Harry getting jealous.

Trope: Agent! Harry

Warnings: Mean Harry, Dom Harry, oral scene, hair pulling, choking.

WC: 4k

This is set before At All Costs

Main Masterlist

Harry has been acting weird lately.

Y/n wants to believe that it’s a coincidence, or that he’s just delighting in his position as a superior, but she knows deep down that there’s more to it.

His attitude towards her keeps changing, he’s either completely stern or completely soft. The latter is more confusing for her given his persona. It’s even more concerning when it’s shown in front of other agents.

The only logical reasoning would be the physical relationship that they have. They hook up when he approaches her (which has been increasing lately). But getting on his nerves is her favorite activity, so sometimes she barges into his office or room and initiates the first move. Of course, she does that because he specified that sex will happen only when he says so. Though his plan doesn’t seem to work as he obliges to her wishes every single time and fucks her into the next training.

It started almost six months ago when he really had it with her during an important training. She talked back at him in front of relevant agents from a different country. He commanded her to leave and wait in his office where he was going to issue a punishment for her. That went completely sideways when the verbal discipline he wanted to perform turned into degradation as they screwed each other’s brains.

They never actually agreed to a certain timing, Harry would simply show up and knock the air out of her lungs with a hungry kiss. He’s someone who likes order in both his personal and professional life, Y/n disobedience rendered him attractive to her in an odd way.

The nice outcome was the raw and dirty sex they had. The only orders she obeyed were the ones he gave her behind closed doors.

It isn’t exactly an ideal position because intimate relationships are not to be found in the workplace; especially in this dangerous field. That wasn’t supposed to be an issue since it was common knowledge that they hated each other’s guts.

But did they really?

Harry’s weird behavior did not go unnoticed by Y/n, maybe it’s just their chemistry increasing but at this point, she can’t figure out anything. Lying to herself won’t benefit her; she likes him and she really shouldn’t but it’s already too late.

He isn’t a casual kisser but that changed recently. He attaches his mouth to her’s the entire time as if they got glued somehow.

He developed the habit of resting his lips against her forehead during missionary, leaving a subtle kiss that she didn’t even catch up on until a while after.

Despite the sexual energy they shared, the stolen glances and lingering touches, by far his lips subtly brushing against her face was the closest form of obedience he had ever experienced.

Their bodies worked together in sync. A kiss here, a kiss there. Warmth here and warmth there.

They despised each other outside of the bedroom, Harry can’t handle someone who questions his authority and Y/n is exactly that.

She messes with his perspective about everything he has been taught, his morals, his personality, and his methods of training. Whenever they’re found in the same room together, know that some snarky comments will be thrown.

He hadn’t seen her in two days. It’s normal to go a while without seeing a colleague or an agent as everyone’s missions can vary. He lived his life normally without seeing lifelong friends for months, unaware of their safety and whereabouts. But the moment the clock strikes 10 in the morning, he’s up on his feet strolling to Agent Marks’ office. All agents that he bumps into either move out of his way after greeting him or quickly hide inside a room.

And that is Harry Styles.

“Marks where is Miss Y/n?” Harry practically barged into the office making the agent in front of him jump on his feet in a matter of seconds.

“Mo—rning S-ir” He stuttered in shock at the sudden entrance before processing what Harry asked him and turning his attention to the computer where he typed Y/n’s name as Harry gave him a cold stare.

“It looks like she’s scheduled to return today.” He answers Harry whose face shows a hint of relief upon hearing the information.

He walked out of the office without any other word and headed straight to the spacious gym where other agents were training as well. This time no one halted their movements or walked away, only because everyone wanted to admire his stamina while working out.

All agents were well trained and monitored, just because Harry radiated authority does not mean others were lower than him. He’s a well respected man.

The attention in the room turned to him as he covered his hands in boxing gloves and began punching the bag in front of him.

Watching him exercise was similar to indulging in a movie about a ruthless athlete. He punched it nonstop as sweat dripped down his forehead until it ultimately covered his pump chest.

His stamina was otherworldly. He didn’t reach this position for nothing. While everyone admired him and secretly wished they could mimic his moves, Harry’s mind was somewhere else.

He couldn’t stop thinking about a certain girl and her safety. He’s not sure which is irritating him more; the fact that he’s unaware of her situation or why he’s so concerned with her.

His punches were coordinated yet extremely intense. His biceps flexed with every move and his abs contracted under the dim light of the gym.

He released every emotion that he couldn’t decipher into that punching bag. He didn’t realize how far he went until his friend Zayn stood in front of him and caught the punching bag in his arms.

“Mate it’s gonna fall off the hook.” He warned him, catching his eyes in a concerned stare.

Harry looked around him only to be met with the sight of an empty gym and a clock that was striking 1 in the afternoon.

He’s been here for three hours?

He walked slowly to the nearest wall where he rested his back before sitting on the ground.

He lost track of time as his mind was conquered by Y/n. He shouldn’t be thinking about her or anything that’s related to her. And definitely not about the mole on her left hip and the softness of her—

“Are you okay?” Zayn rescued him from his merciless brain. Harry’s chest heaved as he closed his eyes to gain a moment of calmness that he rarely ever enjoys.

The bruises on his knuckles that were healing are now visible again and he can’t help but remember how Y/n expressed worry over them.

Does she care about him?

Is she thinking about him?

“I’m fine.” He replied to Zayn to avoid further questioning. He’s aware that his friend can get worried sometimes but Harry is a closed book. There is no need to confide anyone in.

He walked away after catching his breath, leaving Zayn standing in the middle of the room with unanswered questions.

A cold shower will always soothe Harry right after exercising, but especially when he’s losing control of his thoughts.

As the icy water engulfed his skin in a pleasurable sting, he rubbed his face and eyes to avoid the sinful images that were flooding his mind.

Although he shouldn’t, he realized that he never fucked Y/n in the shower. It didn’t take long for him to harden at the mere thought of their skin together under the water.

He can even imagine the way she’d rest her head against his body, bite his skin, and let out lustful moans that haunt his daydreams.

He is absolutely fucked.

“Fuck’s sake.” He tilts his head backward, allowing the cold water to drip down his toned body reaching his erect cock, earning a hiss from him.

He could fuck anyone right now just to get it out of his system. In fact, he could do that at any given time and yet he always holds back.

The gravitational pull Y/n has on him is insane. He wants her body attached to his at all times.

He showered quickly after muttering under his breath about self-discipline and wrapped a towel around his waist.

His mind was so occupied with Y/n that he forgot all about bringing in clothes with him. He’ll have to step out with only the towel covering his body, but that wasn’t much of an issue as he assumed that the center would be somewhat empty at this hour.

He strolled down the hallway with the towel as a layer for his lower body. The shower helped his nerves to calm down after all the torturous thinking.

He was headed towards his office that he stays in on most days before hearing muffled voices coming from the gym.

Normally, he wouldn’t give two fucks. He can’t keep up with every single agent and he only interferes if he observes something against the rules.

But the soft voice followed by giggles that his ear can detect from miles away—that is his business.

He dismisses the fact that he’s half-naked as he directs his attention to the gym area where he sees Y/n, still in her field clothes standing next to an agent who is clearly thirsting for her.

“I’m glad that you’re back.” The agent practically had his body glued to Y/n.

“Hmm yeah?” Y/n used her flirtatious tone; the same one that had Harry weak in the knees. He clenched his fists, trying to hold back from using the training he had today to deform the guy’s face. All the stress that the shower took away came back and bubbled through his bloodstream.

“Of course. I missed you and I was wondering if you would like—“ Harry interrupted by pushing the door open with a force, catching them off guard.

“Hello Sir—“

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” His anger was visible and he looked like he was about to get reckless.

“Training sir-“

“Training your flirting methods?! They sure as hell suck.” Harry dripped poison with every word and his body language indicated how furious he was.

Y/n stood unbothered. She was amused even. Harry could easily tell that which pissed him off even more. Her eyes scanned his body the same way she eyes a candy.

The guy was swallowing down his throat, inattentive to the shared glances between Harry and Y/n. All he cared about in the moment was not upsetting his boss, and trying not to appear as a total idiot in front of Y/n.

“Get the fuck away from my face right this instant. Your actions will have a consequence.” Harry’s voice was threatening and devilish as if he enjoyed being this rough with agents. In fact, he lived for the thrill of it.

The agent scurried out of the room as fast as he could to avoid eye contact with Harry who was staring at him with a clenched jaw and bulging eyes.

If he wasn’t angry already, Y/n surely knew how to press his buttons. She casually headed towards the door with an amused grin planted on her face.

“Not so fast Y/n.” He grabbed her arm before she got to pass by him. She rolled her eyes instantly and looked away.

“Who the hell are you rolling your eyes at?” He grabbed her jaw with his hand, forcing her to look up at him.

“Is there anyone else in the room?” She replied in a sassy tone, as she fluttered her eyelashes at him.

His nostrils were flaring and she could almost hear his teeth grinding together. The look he gave her warned her that she was in for it. But obviously, she pressed further.

He glanced subtly behind him to make sure that the hallway was empty before tightening his grip on her arm and dragging her behind him.

“Where are you—“

“I don’t want to hear you talking.” She had really messed up.

When she returned from her mission, she craved nothing more than his body against her. It tormented her on the field, but she was instead met with an agent who was pining after her when she was not even interested.

She flirted back because she saw Harry’s silhouette while the guy was too busy staring at her.

Teasing Harry was her favorite activity. They were not official nor expressed romantic gestures but Y/n was curious to see Harry’s reaction upon seeing her with other men, and that guy was the perfect opportunity for her.

She didn’t have a particular response in mind, maybe just Harry being nonchalant but she certainly did not see this coming.

He guided her to his office where he shut the door behind him with a thud. He released her arm and stood in front of her as he looked down at her with furrowed eyebrows and a clenched jaw.

“What the fuck was that Y/n?” His tone fluctuated between high and low as he cornered her, making her lean against the door while his arms caged her on both sides.

“I don’t know. What was it?” She pretended to be clueless, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth; a move that he adores.

“So now you know nothing about being a slut?” He spat with anger, attempting to avoid the way she was tugging at her lip.

Their bodies were dangerously close, he wanted to bury his face in her neck and give her love bites that she’d have to hide but feel their sting whenever pressed on. Y/n craved sinking herself down on his cock and caressing his face as he let out the most beautiful sighs. But Harry’s head was spinning with jealousy and Y/n opened Pandora’s box.

“Are you jealous Harry?” She cooed, placing her hand on his toned chest which was still moist from the shower. His pine shower gel was everywhere.

“It’s sir for you.” He moved her hand away from his body and wrapped it around her throat.

He didn’t want to admit it verbally, but he was about to burn the entire room when he saw her breathing next to a man who wasn’t him. These feelings of possessiveness keep increasing and he can’t fight his urges no matter how disciplined he is.

“I left for two days and you got all cranky.”

“Then you came back and started acting like a whore.” His grip on her throat tightened as he inched his face closer to her.

“We were just chatting.” She rolled her eyes again.

“First of all, you can only roll your eyes when my cock is stretching your pussy…” His face was practically glued to hers as his deep voice sent shivers through her body. His cologne made a complete mess out of her.

“… Second of all, he wants to fuck you and that’s my duty only. Do you understand?” His tone was a mix of possessiveness and softness.

“Yes.” Her brain barely processed left his mouth.

“Yes, what?”

“Yes sir.”

With Harry towering over her, she took a quick moment to ogle his body. There’s a reason she likes it when he chokes her; other than the tingly feeling she gets when his hand covers her throat—his veins drench her panties.

They extend along his forearm down to his hand that she stares at during training. The more he tightens his grip—the more his biceps flex. His pumped chest and chiseled abs are a bit moist from the shower, and incredibly smooth because he applies a lotion. The towel is low on his waist giving a scandalous display of his toned V line, and an appearance of the ferns tattoo.

The water covering his curls dripped down to her chest then sternum; drop after the other before he lowered his face to catch them with his tongue. It felt warm against her skin—seeing him fresh out of the shower had her lusting for him to fuck her under the water.

His tongue moved against her skin, catching the fallen droplets before reaching her neck where he sucked harshly on her skin.

He pulled away abruptly offering her his devilish grin.

“Kneel.”

He switched back to his authoritative tone, he knows how much she loves being treated like a slut. She acted like one anyway.

“Yes sir.” She gradually went down on her knees, with her hands trailing his body just so she could take the towel off. His cock stood against his stomach, beads of precum glistening on his tip.

“Don’t think for one second that this is a reward. Your mouth is nothing but a fuck toy.” He grabbed her ponytail in one hand and inserted his finger in her mouth with the other.

She sucked on his thumb, looking up at him with ‘fuck me eyes’ as she shamelessly continued to ogle his muscles. Her view was perfect. His V line and the trimmed hair had her pussy clenching around nothing.

She stuck her tongue out at him daring him to not hold back. She pushes his buttons every time so she can earn what she wants: rough sex and soft aftercare.

“Such an eager slut. Drooling for cock.” He slapped his cock on her face making her try to suck on it.

“Only your cock sir.” She knew that this would get him all worked up.

“Damn right. Only mine Y/n.” He grunted, guiding his cock to her rosy lips. She licked the precum off his sensitive tip earning a hiss from him.

Her tongue worked its way along his shaft with one of her hands cupping his balls. She maintained eye contact with him for the thrill.

Her mouth released scandalous moans to show him that she likes this. Her hand stroked his length while her tongue fixated on his tip.

“Sluts don’t get to enjoy pleasure.” He pulled his cock out of her mouth with a pop making her whine.

He spat on his shaft before bringing it to her lips again and thrusting it all in one go. She gagged immediately and tried her best to bob her head against it. He slapped her hand away when she tried to touch his length and began thrusting his hips into her mouth.

“Can you hear that? The sound of your pathetic gagging? Way better than your sassy talk.” His voice wavered at the end when his cock reached the back of her throat.

He had to balance between tilting his head backward from pleasure and looking down to see her beautiful ruined face.

Her cheeks hollowed around his shaft as he used her mouth. Her gagging had him weak in the knees, not to mention the tears streaming down her face along with her messy hair strands.

“That’s it, little minx. Make your throat ache.” He stroked her head before pushing it against his shaft, holding it for a few seconds, and pulling out.

She coughed heavily; trying to catch her breath as precum and saliva dripped down from her mouth to her chest.

“Aw, would you look at that?” He swiped his fingers along her mouth, catching their mixed juices together just so he could lick it.

“Whose cum is that hm? Whose cock are you choking on?” He asked with a raspy voice that had her squirming.

“You sir.”

“Hmm like music to my ears.” He took in her puppy eyes and ruined face for a minute or two, before thrusting his cock back in her mouth.

Her tongue felt so fucking warm that he had to restrain himself from cumming. He didn’t lie when he said that her mouth was his fuck toy. His hips rolled forward as he pushed her head on his length back and forth, letting out audible moans.

“This is the only cock you can suck Y/n.” He gritted through his teeth as he fucked her mouth mercilessly.

“When you wake up in the morning with a sore throat, you better keep that in mind.” Her whines were loud through the gagging and choking. Of course, her squirming never fails to make him smirk. She’s sassy until he makes her needy; that’s when sub-Y/n comes out to play.

“Oh poor baby, does your pussy need a cock to fill it?” He slowed down to watch more saliva leak from the corners of her mouth and to hear her beg for a release.

“What was that? Couldn’t hear you.” He sped up again—on purpose. She dug her nails into his thighs and pushed her head against his cock till her nose bumped his pelvis.

This exact moment altered his brain chemistry—she silently choked on his cock, a tear streaming down her cheek as she whimpered eagerly with puppy eyes.

She lived for this—she wanted him to use her.

He refrained from guiding her anymore as she took the initiative by herself and fucked her mouth.

“So dumb for my cock aren’t you?” He rolled his eyes in ecstasy when she swiped her tongue against his swollen tip.

His length had grown since she first began sucking it due to swelling—but that didn’t stop her from taking it all inside his mouth.

He felt his cock beginning to twitch which she seemed to enjoy. Of course, she’d want his load.

“Time to use your mouth as my cum dump, isn’t that right little minx?” Her muffled moan and gagging sent him over the edge.

He didn’t hold back and released his load inside her mouth. His moans and curses filled the room as he kept letting out one rope after the other of his warm cum.

Y/n’s mouth overflowed as she eagerly swallowed it while some leaked out of the corner of her mouth.

“Take my cum, little minx.” He panted heavily—prompting his muscles to contract as his hand caressed Y/n’s cheek.

She took his cum every single time without hesitation, the same way he devours her cunt for breakfast.

He pulled out with a hiss—he was still leaking but he didn’t want to pressure her even though he knew she’d want it.

She was trying to lick every drop from the corners of her mouth. Her view was even better now—he looked heavenly with his body just standing there as his cock leaked on her face.

He kneeled to her level and lifted her body off the ground with one arm, before placing her on his desk. He was still experiencing the high of the orgasm—but he wanted to make sure she was okay.

She did not use her safe word and he wonders if she ever will—she likes it way too rough.

He wiped her face with tissues, pressing his lips against her temple like he always does. She rested her head against his shoulder as he stroked her head.

They never discussed his gentleness in the aftercare. It was the bare minimum of course, but sometimes he liked to pretend that it was more than that.

It was an excuse to give her love. To tip the universe off its balance.

“Y/n?”

“Hmm?”

“This is the last time I wish to see you flirting with another man.” His tone remained neutral, but it was an order. A strict one.

“Don’t want to anyway.” She buried her face in his chest.

Her response caught him off guard. He can’t push away his possessive thoughts for long—but he can’t confess either.

He pulled away momentarily to fetch her a water bottle from his mini fridge. He helped her have some sips before wiping her mouth and kissing it—again.

Her mouth was addictive and damn it was he an addict.

He sticks to a lot of rules in his life—yet her lips feel so forbidden, inviting him into a world free of order.

She was his kryptonite.

His red line that no one would survive crossing.

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exitpursuedbyavulcan · 4 months

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The Silver Dragon (1)

The Bronze Bitch's Daughter

Prince Daemon Targaryen has grown tired of his Lady wife, the “Bronze Bitch” Rhea Royce. But he is not so easily rid of her. She survives not only his brutal attack, but his cruel violation of her. Though she remains broken and weak, she endures just long enough to deliver a child: a girl of silver hair and steely eyes.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x OC (Daemon and Rhea's daughter)

Warnings: Heavily implied rape

Author's Note: Here's the first chapter of my rework of The Silver Dragon! I'm keeping the old versions up, but they will be labeled "archived."

*Important Note* While he's not the villain of the show or book, Daemon is the villain of this story. We are seeing him through the perspectives of people he's hurt in various different ways. As such, he is not as morally gray as you may be used to. If you think this will upset you, don't read. Thank you!

Series Masterlist - Next Chapter

Rhea Royce lay prone on the earth ground of her beloved Vale. But she could feel neither the cold of the stone nor the dampness of the grass and stone as it seeped through her hunting leathers and onto her skin. As the heat of her body met with the chill in the ground, the runes of protection etched into her pauldrons became fogged over – rendered unreadable.

She knew she should hurt. The pain should be unbearable. Yorwyck was a mighty beast, like the Bronze King he was named for. The whole weight of the horse had come down upon her, so there was no doubt he caused her great damage in his fall. She had heard the sharp cracking of her own bones. Yet she felt none of it.

All she could feel was fear.

The cloaked man waited until her steed was out of sight. Rhea was well and truly alone, with only the distant ramparts of Runestone peering from between the hills as witness to whatever would come next.

He approached her slowly, casually, as if he couldn’t hear her desperate whimpers. She knew he just didn’t care. He ran his violet eyes along her body as he approached her head. It was not a gaze of lust. He looked on her with the same disdainful curiosity as one examining a woodland rodent crushed by a cart.

As he stood directly over her, he turned his eyes from her face – he had always avoided looking at the face he found so displeasing. Instead, he turned to her outstretched arm. He took another step, raising his foot above Rhea’s lower arm. The ghost of a wicked smile danced in the corner of his mouth, and he stepped down.

Nothing.

He raised and pressed his foot down again several more times. Not to be sure, but to emphasize to his victim that she was utterly helpless – precisely as he wanted her. Rhea knew the horrors his men had inflicted on the criminals of King’s Landing and the followers of the Crab Feeder. She knew the cruelty he was capable of and of his unparalleled creativity. He had hated her for years. In all that time, he must have imagined countless ways to torture her.

Rhea braced herself for what would come next. At least she would not feel the pain.

But his steps retreated.

All the fear in Rhea’s heart evaporated, swiftly replaced by rage. After these long nine years, this was all he had for her? For nine years, he traveled the whole of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond, slandering her and her family in the courts, then further insulting her with his brazen whoring. She had lost count of how often he had called her “Bronze Bitch” and accused her of ruining his life. She had been anticipating a reckoning from him.

But this?

This was an insult she could not stand.

Rhea knew she would be signing her soul over to the Stranger, but she would not let Daemon Targaryen have the final say.

“I knew you couldn’t finish,” she spat at her retreating husband.

He turned back, looking at her face for the first time. Rage twisted his face, but his eyes were wide with shock. He had not expected that. But she was, after all, his Bronze Bitch.

What he said next had Rhea’s blood running cold as she thanked all the Seven that she would not feel what was to come. “My dear, lady wife,” he said, breath heaving and voice dripping with hateful venom, “perhaps it is time we consummate our union.”

The Lady of Runestone was dying, nine months on from her “accident.”

The people of the Vale were told that it was a miracle from the Seven themselves that she had survived such a devastating fall from her horse. Even more miraculous still, her husband had swooped in on dragonback to rescue her before she succumbed. He had even used his mount, Caraxes ‘the Blood Wyrm,’ to find and dispatch the offending horse. A true Targaryen prince, rescuing his bronze damsel. It was no wonder when her cousin and heir, Gerold, announced to the court that she was with child. They cared little that their Lady’s rescuer had swept flown out of the Vale as swiftly as he had arrived.

Only her cousin, her Maester, and her ladies-in-waiting knew the truth. Maester Kerith had spent countless hours binding the broken bones that could be saved, and those he could not, he promptly removed. When Lady Rhea next sat the Bronze Throne, she made sure her ladies dressed her in her riding leathers rather than a gown that would hide her injuries. She wanted her court to see what she had survived, even if they could not know the truth.

When it became clear that the consequences of what her husband had done extended beyond mere injuries, Maester Kerith offered her moon tea, but she refused. With her health still declining and her body struggling to overcome the trauma she had faced, she knew she would not survive long. But again, she refused to let Daemon have the final word in their hellish marriage. He had insulted her, paralyzed her, and raped her, but she would not let him forget her.

She would leave him with an Heir of Bronze.

The babe was born as the sun rose, though the day remained dark beneath the clouds that so often surrounded Runestone.

Rhea wept for the first time, having felt no pain throughout the birth, when she saw that her daughter had the silver-white hair of her father. She had prayed for months that her child would look just like her, to be a constant reminder of his Bronze Bitch. But the babe was just another silver Targaryen. Her final revenge had failed.

Gerold sat at her side, cradling the girl in his arms, as her mother could not. Then, as the babe began to cry, he held her out so Rhea could see her.

“Cousin, look at her eyes,” he whispered, all too aware of the grim looks on the Maester and Septas’ faces.

Rhea turned her head, lifting her neck as much as her weakening body would allow to try and glimpse her child through her tears. She looked past the white hair at the small but wide eyes that beheld her.

The slate grey eyes of Runestone, the Bronze Kings, and the First Men. Royce eyes.

Rhea smiled. Perhaps her revenge would not be as sharp as she would like, but so long as her daughter remained, Daemon would never forget her. He would always remember that he could not break her.

The Lady of Runestone’s breaths came slower, and though the Septas flurried around her, she paid them no mind. She had known all these months that she would not live to see the look on Daemon’s face when he first met his heir. She knew these were her last moments. But she did not want to spend them afraid. She wanted to spend them with her daughter.

Fitting, she thought, that Daemon’s heir should be a girl. His young niece had usurped his claim to the Iron Throne, and now his claim to Runestone was usurped by his own daughter.

And what a beautiful daughter she was. Rhea’s vision began to blur around the edges, and the voices of the others in the room faded as she beheld the babe. Her eyes were bright, even as she cried softly, and the silver-white of her gently curling hair seemed to bring out a metallic shine in her grey eyes. They complimented each other, as her parents never had.

This girl was not bronze.

“Arianwyn,” Rhea whispered, naming her child as the life, at last, left her broken body. Lady of silver.

It was not Prince Daemon who came to Runestone to receive the child on behalf of the Royal family, but the young Queen Alicent Hightower. She came with the unwelcome news that the child’s father had already remarried. Less than a month after he became a widower. He had departed with his new wife, Laena Velaryon, to Pentos without leaving instruction on the care of his daughter – or even acknowledging her birth.

Alicent, despite her reputation as a fierce supporter of her husband’s family, was more than empathetic to the child’s plight. It seemed to Ser Gerold that the young Queen held a similar opinion to his own regarding Daemon Targaryen. She commiserated with him on the pain the prince had caused his family, especially Rhea and her daughter. It seemed that As long as the prince had vexed the Royce family, he had been equally maddening to his brother.

But what was most shocking to Gerold and the court at Runestone was the offer the Queen brought: to bring the child to King’s Landing and raise her there. Despite her father’s indifference, the child was a Targaryen. It was her right to live amongst her people, to learn the traditions of Old Valyria.

And at the Red Keep, Arianwyn would not be alone. The Queen had three children, each young enough to be peers to their newest Targaryen cousin, and more were anticipated from both Alicent and the recently wed Princess Rhaenyra.

The King had already given his approval, both to the fostering of his niece at the Red Keep and of Gerold serving as regent of Runestone until the girl had come of age. Indeed, all the arrangements were already made. The Queen had even brought a small contingent of attendants for the child, from nursemaids to Dragonkeepers, who carried a great, steaming urn containing a silver dragon egg – supposedly chosen by the Queen’s infant son – to be placed in Arianwyn’s cradle.

Gerold had only one caveat before he agreed to the King’s plan: that Arianwyn would not venture to the capital alone. A handful of attendants from Runestone delegates would be sent with her to educate her on the history and traditions of House Royce. So that even surrounded by Targaryens, she would not forget why her eyes were grey.

Queen Alicent, herself clothed in Hightower green, happily agreed.

After a long journey from the Vale, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen arrived at Red Keep, cradled in the arms of her aunt, Queen Alicent Hightower. As her attendants, including one of her late mother’s most trusted Lady’s Maids, continued on to prepare her rooms, the newest Targaryen was brought into the Great Hall.

A hush fell over the gathered courtiers when the doors to the throne room opened, and they beheld the silver-haired babe. But the chatter that so often filled the capital quickly resumed when they saw the blanket she was swaddled in. A burnished bronze velvet, carefully embroidered with the same ancient Runes that graced the ancestral armor of House Royce.

It was a slight on the Royal House that, in another court, would have undoubtedly caused a scandal. But in this court, where the Queen herself so brazenly wore the colors of her own house rather than her husband’s, it was immediately relegated to petty gossip. So the Lords and Ladies quickly resumed their conversations as the Queen approached the Iron Throne.

“My King, may I present your niece, Lady Arianwyn Targaryen,” Alicent said as she bowed before her husband as best she could with a squirming infant in her arms.

King Viserys’ eyes brightened, and he dismissed the Hand from his side. The King, having lost so many of his own children by his first wife, was always cheered when he had the chance to meet a healthy babe.

“Hello, my dear niece,” he cooed, reaching out to hold her, “what a delight you are!” His arms strained slightly at the weight of the plump child, so he pulled her into his chest. She relaxed into his against him, fussing softly as she reached for his long white hair.

Viserys laughed, running his fingers through her own hair. The exact shade of silver-white that graced nearly every member of his family. Though hers held significantly more curls than any Targaryen he had ever known.

“She is indeed a beauty, cousin.” A familiar voice drew the King’s attention. His cousin, Rhaenys, approached the throne. “It is a comfort to see our families flourishing.”

The King smiled and nodded, allowing his cousin permission to approach. She ascended the steps to the Iron Throne and ran the back of her fingers along the round cheek of her new baby cousin. “It is a shame her father is not here to meet her.”

Viserys heart sank. In his joy at meeting Arianwyn, he had momentarily forgotten the circumstances under which she arrived – without her father. Once again, his brother had shamed not only himself, but his family and the Crown itself. At least the child’s hair had put to rest any rumors that Rhea had been unfaithful.

Suddenly, the sight of the babe made his heart ache. “Alicent,” he called to his wife, “take Arianwyn to her rooms. I am sure she is tired from the journey.” He handed his wife the child and slumped back into the throne, readjusting himself to try and remain comfortable. Then, when Alicent was out of earshot, he again turned to Rhaenys.

“What has my brother done now?” He said, running his gloved hand over his face.

Rhaenys grimaced. “I am loathe to speak against him now, as he has so recently taken my daughter to wife,” she sighed. “But I feel confident in saying that none of us can ever say exactly what your brother is doing, much less predict what he may yet do in the future.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Viserys said, “I just pray that poor girl won’t suffer any more than she already has.”

When she arrived, the Queen’s three children were waiting inside the solar of their cousin’s new rooms. Aegon, now four years old, ran from his nursemaid, cackling as he swerved precariously between the servants attempting to arrange the room. Helaena, approaching her second nameday, stayed in her nurse’s arms, hands clasped tightly around her ears as she took in the unfamiliar space. And Aemond, only a few months older than his new cousin, lay peacefully in his maid’s arms as he watched servants haul numerous sparkling bronze trappings into the rooms.

“Come and meet your new cousin, darlings,” Alicent called to Aegon and the nursemaids bearing her other children, “She’s come a long way to be with us.” The Queen sat on a plush chair near the west windows of the room, gently lowering the babe into her lap.

Aegon reluctantly approached, sneering slightly at the child in his mother’s lap. “She doesn’t look like Daemon.”

Alicent sighed. “Nor did you look like your father when you were so young. Indeed, even now, I wager you look more like me. You have the Hightower nose.” She tweaked the tip of his soft nose – the same as hers - to drive her point home.

“I am a Targaryen prince!” Aegon insisted.

“Of course, my boy. How could any of us forget it with this on your head,” she said, ruffling his unruly mop of white hair.

Aegon grunted, looking back down at the baby. He gently reached out to touch her silver hair, both neater and curlier than his own. “What is her name?”

“Arianwyn.” The Queen responded.

“Ari…” Helaena started, her hands finally coming down from her ears. Alicent nodded for the maid to set her down, and the young girl approached her mother and the babe.

The Queen spoke slowly and carefully as she repeated, “Arianwyn.”

Helaena listened intently, then repeated the name several times, struggling with the pronunciation. “Ah-ree-an-win.”

“That’s it! Very good, my sweet,” the Queen said, placing her hand on her daughter’s shoulder, though the young girl winced at the touch.

Aegon continued fiddling with his cousin’s curls, “It’s a weird name.”

“Her cousin Sir Gerold Royce told me it is of the Old Tongue,” the Queen said, motioning for one of the nursemaids to bring her youngest babe closer, “it has some meaning, though I am afraid I forget what it is.”

Releasing Arianwyn’s hair, Aegon made a noise of quickly waning interest and stepped away, eager to resume his perpetual torment of his nurse. Had she not been holding her young niece, Alicent may have chased after him. But for now, she lifted the child babe to face her own.

“Aemond,” she said softly, “meet Arianwyn.”

As he beheld his bronze-wrapped cousin, he smiled, cooing and reaching a squirming fist toward her. A smile appearing across her own face, Arianwyn reached back toward him.

I'll be starting a new taglist for this, so if you'd like to be on it, please reach out to me or comment on this post.

#aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen fanfic #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond imagine #prince aemond #aemond x oc #house of the dragon aemond #house of the dragon #hotd #hotd aemond #aemond fic #hotd fanfic #aemond xf!oc #aemond x original female character #aemond x original character #the silver dragon

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fitz-and-simmons · 4 months

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If you’ve created a Spidersona, I’d love to hear about your experience and creative process for my Master’s thesis research!

The purpose of this study is to understand how Spidersons are creatively envisioned and artistically rendered and how they can be a framework for identity exploration and expression. This research will inform an academic article as well as a freely-accessible short documentary planned to be released sometime in 2024.

This survey should take no longer than 20 minutes to complete with 10 required questions & 8 optional ones—it includes questions about your artistic approach to creating your own Spidersona, how your Spidersona aligns with or differs from your own identity, and about cultural and community meanings emerge from Spidersonas: https://forms.gle/wZVkJ9H27bnuGUmo8

Please feel free to share this post or to send it to anyone else you know who has created a Spidersona. Your perspective is incredibly important to me, and I am looking forward to hearing your thoughts!

Lore

#Spidersona #Spidersonas #Spiderverse #Spiderverse OC #Spiderman OC

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tarjapearce · 9 months

Text

Mi Dulce Cereza (Pt. 4)

Ranchero AU! Miguel x f! Reader

WARNINGS: clasism, Telenovela level Drama, fluff.

Summary: Against all odds, a new life starts ahead with Miguel.

Intro:

Ever since Miguel had came into your life, it felt like a new perspective of how to truly live was revealed to you. He was a simple yet hardworking man. He was everything you weren't. An opposite really.

He had his temper, he knew hardwork possibly from a young age, he knew patience, he knew how to enjoy the little things and appreciate them. He enjoyed his life, his work. Enjoyed you.

Contrary to him, you were sometimes spoiled, Luis your horse was the proof, you were treated like a porcelain doll and not allowed to do hard work, possibly getting too comfortable in the fact that you'd always have what you currently did, you were a socialité, an expensive doll according to some rejected marriage prospects, that if you wished you could get a whole stable full of horses within days.

And of course, the Pastor's daughter. You were immaculate, pure and a perfect soon to be wife. You didn't know hardships, the only outstanding thing that made you "different" was your good aim at shooting. Your ex fiancé, a man from another wealthy family, was the one that taught you that out of boredom. He was the only most exciting thing that had happened in your life so far.

Till Miguel came.

He had swooped off your feet, showed and taught you so many things you were good at, but none really had taken their time to teach you. Not that he minded you being a spoiled princess, like some workers called you behind your back. You liked animals, being around them, but your ever perfect mother was always prying you from that. From anything that involved looking imperfect really.

Ah your mother.

The natural enemy of everything Miguel rendered. Perfectionist, shallow, clasist, oh but never racist. Like if that feature alone saved her from the rest of her twisted virtues. She took her role as a socialité seriously, more than you ever did. Parties were the only sort of meaningful thing you had, you could have fun, be yourself for a bit and forget about being the Pastor's daughter and setting the example within your circle, as usual.

Not that you minded, God and church had always played a huge part of your life ever since you had conscience. But in reality, you never really meddled too much in it, it was just for the sake of pretense.

Pretension, that's what your life really was about.

Friends weren't really friends, just acquaintances that you stumbled upon often, playing their part in the game of conceit. Just approaching you when they needed something, like everyone really. Your father was always busy, more married to church than your own mother. You didn't know if your mother resented it, neither cared.

All you could think was how this tall, tanned, strong, mulish, resolute, terse of a man was gentle, loving, unabashedly in love and oh so hot and bothered for you. You still couldn't quite believe that he was in love. At first you thought it was a game, something to just get his spite out from the constant implicit belittling your mom and sometimes your dad partook in.

But the way he held you, the way he looked at you, kissed you, touched you, made love to you, had proved you wrong. He knew what he wanted out of life.

"Solo imagínate, Cerecita. Tú, yo, una gran finca, muchos animales e hijos." (Just Imagine, Cerecita. You, me, a large estate, lots of animals and kids.)

He used to dream about it during pillow talk. You'd lie on his chest while he talked about his dreams, and the very thought would make you giggle and kick your feet.

Miguel was a certified farm manager. After all, you parents estate produced pure breed horses, foods like cheeses, milk and seeds.

You knew how to manage the food area since, your mother though it suited you more, instead of having back breaking and skin burnt jobs like the men. But once you entered the mid twenties, your 'work' turned strictly executive. Helping your parents with the office automation of the whole management.

So far a good job, but you knew it was only a deceit to make you look more suitable for those that showed the littlest of interest in you. Sometimes you felt your parents were offering your hand in marriage to anyone with enough money on their pockets.

Although their steadfast resolution to get you a good husband never died, you didn't want any strangers and play date with them. You wanted Miguel.

He had treated you like a normal person, not like a China doll, not someone fragile. He taught you things that you didn't even know you could do. You were good at gardening, feeding the animals, small little tasks that people around you had denied or thought you too dumb to do.

He had expanded your prospect of just being a trophy wife. You were always learning from him, but soon, harvest season and renovations around the farm started and you saw him led You also had your own share of work.

Work that somehow had made your stress levels to rise so high that your period had been delayed. You still wished that you could repeat the last session you had in his room in the barn weeks ago. The mere though of his display of prowess in bed had made you clench.

No other man could compare him really. You sometimes daydreamed about having more time alone with him, talking about your fears and hopes, everything that made you both who you were.

But a hurling wave of nauseas shot through your system as you rushed to your bathroom, emptiying your stomach's content down the toilet. And still no sign of your period.

---

You thought that avoiding certain foods would actually make the sickness that sat heavily on your stomach to go away, but it had only turned worse. You'd have these spasms of nausea through the day. And your suspicions only grew one day that one of your friends had gotten an apple pie nearby you. The smell so pungent to your senses that made you retch a little while after.

"Migraines for the strongest smells are the worst" one of them commented, trying to not pry too much on the obvious. It wasn't the time to prey on gossip.

------

You had woken up nauseous and queasy, for the third time in a row, at this point your mother was concerned. Had something made you sick? Food poisoning?

Of course the kitchen staff would hear a mouthful of her concern. She was stricter regarding the way your foods were made. Unavoidable realization hit harder than your mother swatting your head when you ogled at Miguel a second too longer.

Swallowing hard after retching in the bathroom again, the moment you smelled your morning soup, filled your eyes with tears.

How could you not notice? How could've you be so stupid? Sure stress had made you sometimes cause an anomaly in your cycle, and you though it was the case, but seeing the two positive parallel lines on the pregnancy test, only made your eyes turn glossier and wet.

You were pregnant.

Almost two months and counting. You barely had the chance of seeing Miguel anymore. Oh, Miguel. What would he think of it? Would he be mad? Sure you were his girl, but nothing else had been spoken further. Would he still want you?

God, you were so scared. You knew how your parents thought of him, and for all you knew, they still thought you were pure, immaculate, a good example to every lady in the little town.

They'll find out.

Of course they would. Sooner or later they'd find out. Probably kick him out and you'd be forced to marry a guy that looked like him to make pass the child as his. Right?

No. Your parents wouldn't be that bad. Nah, knowing how your father had done so many shotgun weddings because of sinful pregnancies told you that everything was possible. They were none to be underestimated. The thought scared you shitless, so you washed your mouth, bathed, got dressed and went to him.

The more you approached the antsier you got. He was talking to another helper, the talks of a new mare being brought spreaded through fast in the estate. However upon noticing you, he cut the conversation short and came to you. Like a magnet.

His smile faltered when your whole frame came into view, solemn look, and red nose by the constant sniffling.

"Hey, hey. Come here. ¿Qué le pasa a mi chula?" (What's wrong, gorgeous?)

You whimpered and buried your face in his chest. He held you tightly.

"It's fine, yeah? Wanna talk about it?"

You clung to him.

"You mom got you on another date?" He rolled his eyes and you shook your head with a shaky sob.

"Your dad tried to sell Luis again?" Another shake of your head.

"Then what is it? You gotta tell me, princesa."

He cupped your face gently and wiped your tears.

"I..." You hiccuped, "I think I'm pregnant."

You could feel him tense and he made you look at him directly. A glint in his eyes shining brighter than when he was popping your cherry.

"¿Voy a ser papá?" (Am I gonna be a dad?)

He questioned with a excited yet strained voice. You just stared at him and he kissed you, deeply.

"¡Me vas a hacer papá!" (You're making me a dad!)

His hands shook you softly. He could stop marveling at the fact that finally one of his dreams were coming true. But you seemed off, shut off to his joy.

"Why... Why are you crying? You don't... want it?

" No, no. It's not that, Miguel. I'm... scared. I'm so scared" You sniffed and he kissed your forehead.

"Dad will kill you."

He chuckled and nodded

"Might as well chase me down with a gun." His hand was placed on your lower belly.

"He might kick you out and..." You hiccuped and he just held you with a smile.

" Ps, que me eche. And if... things get bad, you'll come with me. Okay?" He squeezed you tightly and grunted happily, "Dios te vas a ver preciosa con esa panza toda grandota y redonda. Te voy a cuidar, vas a ser mi reina. Ya vas a ver."

(He can do that.) (God, you'll look gorgeous with that big and round belly. Imma take care of you, you'll be my queen. You'll see.)

He just kept rambling things you couldn't understand, but seeing him overjoyed made your aching heart to relax.

"I'll talk to him. I... Le voy a pedir tu mano." (Imma ask him your hand in marriage)

"W-What? are you sure of it?"

"You thought I was kidding when I told you that I wanted you for myself?"

His eyes softened

"I might not have much, or give you this kind of life you're so used to, yet, but... You have me. I want this with you." The steadfastness in his words made your heart leap and flutter.

"What if he says no?"

"You're coming with me anyways. Can't leave my future wife here knowing what they are capable of."

"God help us. Mom will be...-"

"Don't worry your pretty head over it."

"I do worry. She's... you know how she is. And what he thinks of you."

"Eso es lo de menos." (That's the least of my concerns)

"How far are you?"

"Seven weeks."

He cradled you. Arms full of love and devotion.

"They're coming back tomorrow"

"I know. Pack whatever you think is worth packing, and try to rest."

He slept with a smile on his face that night.

-----

"Papa?" You knocked and he called you in. Miguel awaited outside the office. To your surprise your mother was with him, discussing something. Mid day sun hid behind heavy dark clouds.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"I... eh. Wanna talk to you both."

"Oh?"

"You alright, Mija?"

You nodded and sighed.

"You know how... you are always talking about me getting married, serving in church and the like, right?"

"Of course dear. We wouldn't want it other way."

Your mother gasped as excitement crossed her features

"You... You want to get married?! Oh dear.! I thought I ever hear that from you! I was growing concerned, really. Thought that... farm boy had done something to you."

"Mom-"

"I know he is wicked!"

"Let her speak. Don't take inspiration from her." your dad grumbled and the nausea crept up to you. Maybe it wasn't a good idea, but you were already here and see this through.

"What kind of man you both envision for me?"

"A hardworking one, that fears God, that treats you like we have, spoils you, that he knows your worth."

Ironically they had described most of Miguel's traits.

"Someone who knows that you aren't cheap. That isn't afraid of investing on you like you deserve"

Someone wealthy, of course that's what your mom would say.

"What about someone different?" Your hands fiddled nervously as your eye casted down.

"Different how, sweetie? You deserve better. Not different."

"Maybe I do want different, Papa"

Your name was chided as he looked at you with sternness.

"Different how?"

Sighing you stood and motioned for Miguel to approach. Your parents face fell instantly as he crossed the door.

"W-What is this?" You mother mumbled with a gasp as you sat with Miguel across your parents, entwining your fingers together.

"You're always saying that... You want a hard working man for me, right?"

"Yes, but not him." your dad nearly hissed through gritted teeth, "Do you know how many others are waiting for you to just look their way?"

Miguel chuckled and removed his hat.

"Too bad for them" You grumbled.

"Sir, suegrito, with all due respect your daughter-" (Father in law)

"Jesus Christ... How can you be so condescending?! Know your place!" Your mother shrieked.

Miguel's eye twitched slowly but remained shut.

"You think you can give her what we have? What could possibly a man such as yourself could provide her?"

"More than all those pretty boys that parade around but are useless for working, that's for sure."

"We'll too bad, cause she's already settled for another date!"

"I don't want another of your dates, mom."

"What did you just say to me, little brat?!"

"That I don't want dates! They're boring, they always talk about money and they're so shallow! I have enough of that kind of people"

Your mother prayed as your father rubbed his face in frustration.

"Like... You're always saying how you want the best for me, how you want a hardworking man for me. Miguel is that. He just... he is so smart and has given me a chance to try things I have never done before! I am good at things you said I wasn't! He... he loves me."

His grip on your hand tightened for a bit, reassuringly despite your mother's mocking cackling.

" He loves you?! Cariño... He's only been here for six months and you think this... man, loves you? Don't be ridiculous. He just wants your money. You think I don't know people like him?!"

Your eyes were slowly drooping and blurring with angry tears.

"Evidently not, cause if you gave him a chance to-"

"Never. You are not staying with him. Look at you, sweetie. You are pretty, you are young! Rich! You can have anyone you want"

"If that's so, won't you let me have him then?"

"This is just another of your whims. You're dragging him to this." You dad gestured to Miguel.

"It's not! I'm old enough to make my own choices-"

"And what could you possibly know about life?"

"Certainly more than you actually think. And I would've known more if all this time you wouldn't have treated me like I was fragile and stupid! I wanna be more than just... a stupid trophy wife"

"What would be the difference with him?"

"That he actually teaches me how to work, dad. I know I am pretty, but that won't take me far. Beauty fades, but... knowledge in life is something you earn, that you shape. And Miguel has helped me realize that. That's why I love him."

"You don't love none-"

"Don't project on me, mom."

Her dolled up eyes widened in disbelief at your words.

"You brat!"

"Look at you. Is this what he has taught you as well? To disrespect your mother?"

"Oh please! Don't talk about respect when even you at times give him a bad time unnecessarily. Look at what he has done so far! Look at Agustín! None wanted to be near him and you even wanted to sacrifice him cause you couldn't handle him!"

"This conversation is getting tiring."

Your stomach bubbled.

"I will marry him. With or without your blessing."

"No. You won't cause you will marry a decent man! Not this... This..."

"Say it" Miguel growled as his arms crossed. He'd do things his way anyways. He was just being civil and respectful enough about the whole thing.

"A Nobody" His fist clenched.

"Stop." You stood in between them, "Stop." your tone warning.

"Or what? Just imagine the scandal!! You are shaming us! What would the people say?!"

"Shame us? Are you serious right now? You deserve to be shamed! You profess about God and his love at your church and how much we gotta love eachother yet you treat people like shit. You specially mom."

A slap. Hard, burning in your face.

Shock plastered in your crying face, Miguel stood and prowled your way, your mother recoiled at him approaching.

"See? You can't teach me about love cause you love none!" Miguel held you in his arms as you tried to get to your mom.

"Take all the money from me if you want, but I refuse to marry someone for the money like you did. I refuse to be like you and this loveless marriage you have!"

Now it was his turn to try and stop your mother getting at you. Your dad shot in the air, startling everyone in the room. The rushed steps of people outside scattered around. Even the staff could hear everything that was happening.

"Don't touch me!" She pried herself away from him.

All the emotions made your head spin, Miguel pushed gently your mother away to hold your careening form before you could actually collapse.

"Cerecita!" You held onto him, then held your mouth. You guided him to your dad's office bathroom to just spill the contents of your upset stomach.

"Dios mío..." The annoying voice that always belittled him broke, realizing what was going on right away.

"No... No no. You... You couldn't. Why?!"

Your mother shrieked in horror. So many emotions were going through your father's face. Disappointment and a silent rage. The latter aimed at Miguel.

"¡Ya cállese, señora!" (Just shut up already) Miguel roared and your mother stood frozen in the spot. Too angry and stunned to actually do something.

Miguel helped to clean up after yourself, then you stood, facing your parents. You had expected them opposing, but not this bad. Not like this.

"Are you okay?" His eyes softened as he cupped your cheeks with concern. You just nodded, still feeling weak.

"I'll marry him. And that's not up to discussion. And I will do it, with or without your blessing. Understood?"

"Since you are making your own decisions now, I'll have to ask you to pack your things and leave tomorrow morning with your... man. You want to get married? So be it. You see... When you are going to venture in these sort of things, a house on your own its the first thing you must have.-"

"Don't worry about that, Patrón." Miguel's voice laced with venom, "It might not be like this pompous state, but at least it's mine. And none shall ever disrespect her or me again."

"You're fired."

Miguel smirked

"I expect my complete payment in my account then. Wouldn't like to return for a check."

You were taken to your room by some of the staff. As they prepared you something to eat. Your mother, Rosaura, was long gone from the scene.

"Too bad you're too stuck up to actually see that I did try and make the right thing with your daughter. I might not be what you wanted for her, but... I am what she wants and that's more than enough for me, sir." Miguel's voice only matched the steely glare your father made his way.

"Don't expect to see your grandchild."

"Don't worry. That wretched child is none of my concern"

"No le escupa al cielo, suegrito." (Don't spit to the sky)

His tone a warning as he tipped his hat and left.

-------

Morning came and some people of the staff were helping you pack things, Pastor William refused to wed you. Rosaura had barely showed up, just gave you a quick despising glare.

"You're really leaving miss?"

"Yeah. I can't stay here."

"Wouldn't that be harmful for the baby?"

You shook your head.

"It'll hurt more if I stay."

"We'll miss you."

"I'll miss you guys too. Thanks for... teaching me so much."

Your dad was a silent spectator, Miguel helped to put your things in his old truck. There was a genuine smile on your face everytime you looked at your future husband. William could've married you, but of course he was petty. For once your words had marked him.

It wasn't easy for Miguel either, Agustín seemed restless that day.

"I'll come for my horse later." You spoke as you gave the last suitcase at Miguel. William just gave you a dismissing nod.

Words were stuck in his mouth. He had never seen you this determined towards something. A sudden change he truly wasn't used to. Changes didn't sit well at all to him.

You didn't look back, instead just got in the car with Miguel and left. Leaving everything you knew behind. the thrill of a new adventure buzzing through your body. Miguel took your hand and kissed it with a puppy love eyes.

"Let's get married, Cerecita."

----

Taglist:

@thebettybook @allysunny @v4leoftears @brooklynscherry-z @lovingarcardeprincess @pinkiemme @bigbassbug @ceoofmiguel @loonalockley @nine-of-cherries @saph-cyare @mintqueenjo @arrozleche

Sorry if I forgot someone 😅

#miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #Miguel Ranchero #t writes✨#telenovela fic #Spotify

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trans-androgyne · 2 months

Note

You’re honestly one of the most approachable transandrophobia bloggers I know.

One thing I’d like to discuss about is that a lot of the transandrophobia is being spearheaded by white trans women.

It shows a lot that whiteness is still everreaching even onto gender. There’s BIPOC trans people (especially BIPOC transmascs) that get harassed and shut down by these large white trans women bloggers. One time I saw one of them say “that is moot” to intersex people not being including on discussions about AFAB trans women.

It’s a very important concept that people are aware that white women hold up racist structures, it’s the same with the big white trans women on this site I’ve noticed. Due to their whiteness they do not actually know intersectionality and assume their gender is the sole reason of oppression. That white concepts of gender, sexuality, and disability are a truth and applied to everything.

I’ve been vocal about being a BIPOC transfemme, and the blatant bigotry and cruelty from the big white transfemme bloggers just ring it bad for me. My culture taught me kindness and patience, so seeing this popular rise in aggression and entitlement in transfemme spaces has rendered them quite unsafe for the people they supposedly protect like me.

The best conclusion I have for this is that the rise in transandrophobia has ties to racism, ableism, inter sexism much more. I want my discussions of trans experience such as both transmisogyny and transandrophobia to be free from other pre dispositioned bigotry. That as a transfemme someone who they claim to protect, that the whole wider trans community needs to do better.

Take care and I hope your day is wonderful

Thank you, I appreciate your analysis here! The transfems I know have also pointed out that a lot of it seems to be coming from predstrogen’s very white online trans women social sphere. It seems like transfems of color on here also have strong criticisms of that group’s behavior, including acting like being a transfem inherently means you have all the best takes on oppression. I hope we can get some better, more intersectional perspectives in the conversation.

#transandrophobia #intracommunity issues tag #ask #mine

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kremlin · 8 months

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could you explain for the "it makes the game go faster" idiots like myself what a GPU actually is? what's up with those multi thousand dollar "workstation" ones?

ya, ya. i will try and keep this one as approachable as possible

starting from raw reality. so, you have probably dealt with a graphics card before, right, stick in it, connects to motherboard, ass end sticks out of case & has display connectors, your vga/hdmi/displayport/whatever. clearly, it is providing pixel information to your monitor. before trying to figure out what's going on there, let's see what that entails. these are not really simple devices, the best way i can think to explain them would start with "why can't this be handled by a normal cpu"

a bog standard 1080p monitor has a resolution of 1920x1080 pixels, each comprised of 3 bytes (for red, blue, & green), which are updated 60 times a second:

~3 gigs a second is sort of a lot. on the higher end, with a 4k monitor updating 144 times a second:

17 gigs a second is definitely a lot. so this would be a good "first clue" there is some specialized hardware handling that throughput unrelated the cpu. the gpu. this would make sense, since your cpu is wholly unfit for dealing with this. if you've ever tried to play some computer game, with fancy 3D graphics, without any kind of video acceleration (e.g. without any kind of gpu [1]) you'd quickly see this, it'd run pretty slowly and bog down the rest of your system, the same way having a constantly-running program that is copying around 3-17GB/s in ram

it's worth remembering that displays operate isochronously -- they need to be fed pixel data at specific, very tight time timings. your monitor does not buffer pixel information, whatever goes down the wire is displayed immediately. not only do you have to transmit pixel data in realtime, you have to also send accompanying control data (e.g. data that bookends the pixel data, that says "oh this is the end of the frame", "this is the begining of the frame, etc", "i'm changing resolutions", etc) within very narrow timing tolerances otherwise the display won't work at all

3-17GB/s may not be a lot in the context of something like a bulk transfer, but it is a lot in an isochronous context, from the perspective of the cpu -- these transfers can't occur opportunistically when a core is idle, they have to occur now, and any core that is assigned to transmit pixel data has stop and drop whatever its doing immediately, switch contexts, and do the transfer. this sort of constant pre-empting would really hamstring the performance of everything else running, like your userspace programs, the kernel, etc.

so for a long list of reasons, there has to be some kind of special hardware doing this job. gpu.

instead of calculating every pixel value manually, the cpu just needs to give a high-level geometric overview of what it wants rendered, and does this with vertices. a vertex is very simple, it's just a point in 3D space, for example (5,2,3). just like a coordinate grid on paper with an extra dimension. with just a few vertices, you can have models like this:

where each dot at the intersection of lines in the above image, would be a vertex. gpus essentially handle huge number of vertices.

in the context of, like, a 3D video game, you have to render these vertex-based models conditionally. you're viewing it at some distance, at some angle, and the model is lit from some light source, and has perhaps some shadows cast across it, etc -- all of this requires a huge amount of vertex math that has to be calculated within the same timeframes as i described before -- and that is what a gpu is doing, taking a vertex-defined 3D environment, and running this large amount of computation in parallel. unlike your cpu which may only have, idk, 4-32 execution cores, your gpu has thousands -- they're nowhere near as featureful as your cpu cores, they can only do very specific simple math with vertices, but there's a ton of them, and they run alongside each other.

so that is what a gpu "does", in as few words as i can write

the things in the post you're referring to (V100/A100/H100 tensor "gpus") are called gpus because they are also periperal hardware that does a specific kind of math, massively, in parallel, they are just designed and fabricated by the same companies that make gpus so they're called gpus (annoyingly). they don't have any video output, and would probably be pretty bad at doing that kind of work. regular gpus excel at calculating vertices, tensor gpus operate on tensors, which are like matrixes, but with arbitrary numbers of dimensions. try not to think about it visually. they also use a weirder float. they're used for things like "artificial intelligence", training LLMs and whatever, but also for real things, like scientific weather/economy/particle models or simulations

they're very expensive because they cost the same, if not more, than what it cost to design & fabricate regular video gpus, but with a trillionth of the customer base. for every ten million rat gamers that will buy a gpu there is going to be one business buying one A100 or whatever.

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#frequently questioned answers

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fozmeadows · 2 months

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hey. i think i'm going through a phase of self-hatred and… I don't know, of believing I'm not capable of anything. would you have any tips or books that approach this from an AFAB/trans perspective so I can cope? (it's not that I hate myself for being trans. I just have insecurities, anxieties and I don't know what to do to stop most things from seeming so discouraging, for lack of a better word.)

I'm sorry you're having a hard time! I don't have any book recommendations, and I'm not exactly an expert, but:

Where possible, try to focus on what you enjoy about the process of an action instead of worrying about the end result. A lot of anxiety comes from privileging a hypothetical future version of yourself ahead of the person you are in the moment, and while it's still good to have goals and aspirations for the future, that doesn't render your present self irrelevant, because that's who you have to be to achieve them.

To give a personal example: late last year, I was really disappointed with how little reading I'd managed to get done in 2023 particularly, but also over the pandemic. I'd bought all these awesome books that I really wanted to read, but I never seemed to get around to starting most of them, and meanwhile, I was spending hours of my life mindlessly doomscrolling Twitter and TikTok, which regardless of anything else is a really good way to depress yourself about the state of the world. So I sat down and thought about it, and I realized that the problem was how much pressure I was putting on myself about reading. I wanted so badly to finish books that I was psyching myself out of starting them in the first place, because each choice had to be Perfect, lest I pick the wrong book at the wrong time and waste twenty minutes or an hour or three reading something I might later set aside. And because I'd subconsciously set the stakes for starting a book so much higher than they needed to be, I'd end up dithering and scrolling social media to delay having to make a high-pressure choice at all.

In other words: I'd become so concerned about Future Foz's hypothetical dislike of a book I was yet to start reading that Present Foz would be scared to start it in the first place. I was forever privileging a version of myself that didn't exist and likely never would over the person I was now, and it was making me wildly unhappy, because it felt like I was failing at something I loved.

So my single New Years' Resolution became: to value myself and my time in the moment. If I catch myself scrolling for too long, I ask myself: is there literally anything else I'd rather be doing right now? Could I start a TV show, or a book, or a game, or write something, or message a friend, or have a bath? It doesn't matter if the activity goes anywhere long term; what matters is that I inevitably get more pleasure out of doing something than not. My time now matters, because I matter.

And suddenly, just from that one change? For the first time in I couldn't even say how long, I've read something every single day this year. In the whole of 2023, I read just 67 books; it's now the 30th of March 2024, and I've already finished 33. By giving myself permission to start things without the pressure to finish them, I'm suddenly finishing way more than when I was telling myself I had to finish everything, and I am vastly happier for it.

Is the world still a burning hellscape that daily makes me want to yeet a solid 80% of elected politicians globally into the sun? Yes. Am I still working on self-improvement in other areas of my life? Yes. Is it magically any easier being trans and queer in the current moment? No. But it helps to focus on who I am now, in this hour, in this minute, instead of worrying so much about whether some future version of me will think I spent this time badly that I don't use it for anything at all.

I don't know if this is helpful to your situation, and if it's not, I apologize for rambling. But it's a little change I've made lately that's helped me a lot, and I hope it might help you, too.

#foz answers things #self help #anxiety #self improvement #self care #reading

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lil-tachyon · 1 year

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Got any good resources for clothing drawing tips?

Okay so quick little introduction before I try to answer this question. First of all, sorry for letting this languish in the inbox for so long. I have a lot I want to say about this and I'd really like to make a proper "tutorial" but this week took a lot out of me so what you're going to get are some visual notes on graph paper and some rambling thoughts. Maybe down the line I'll try to flesh this out more into a proper guide, but for now it is what it is.

Second- for many different art concepts I can give you some really great recommended reading for self-teaching. There's a whole section of my website with links to things that helped me learn. Clothing is one of those things where I never found a book or tutorial that really "clicked" with me. It's one of the few areas of art where I feel like it's fair to say I'm genuinely self-taught. So what you're going to get here is very much my opinion, not undisputed common wisdom or whatever. Take it with a grain of salt. This is how I draw, not the "right way" to draw.

Third- drawing clothes is not something fundamental like perspective or rendering where there are actual hard-and-fast "rules" you can learn to guide you. It's not even like anatomy where there are approaches that have been worked out and passed down by artists over generations. I think about drawing clothing as a synthesis of several different skills- a little bit of anatomy, a little bit of perspective, a little bit of rendering. Honestly a smidge of graphic design. You're employing a "cloud" of your artistic skills towards a specific end. What this means is that the TLDR of this post is going to be "do what you would normally do to improve at drawing but apply it to clothing." So don't expect something life-changing, instead just open your mind to maybe trying some new things you hadn't thought of before. Also this is going to be more about drawing than painting, that is more about "lines" than "shapes" but the two skills overlap and the same concepts should be broadly applicable. But my examples are going to be drawings.

Okay intro out of the way. Clothes are mostly just tubes of fabric, fabric wants to fall down. The human body and sometimes wind and water and other fluids will stop this fabric from falling down all at once and instead give it a shape. Keep this in mind. It's helpful to know how clothes are actually constructed if you want to know how they will deform when falling across the figure. Where a garment is simply a length of fabric, it's very flexible. It can bunch together or be stretched taught. This is most noticeable at the parts of the body that open and shut like hinges- knees, elbows, and armpits. The behavior of garments at these areas of the body is highly dynamic.

At seams where different sections of fabric are stitched together, movement can be come more limited. Seams are usually imperfect- pieces of fabric of slightly different lengths might be stitched together or fabric may shrink over time around a thread causing it to pucker and wrinkle. For these reasons, seams often act as the originating areas for folds and wrinkles, even when a garment is not in a particularly flexed/active state.

In a two-dimensional image, it can be helpful to describe a garment in terms of silhouette and wrinkles/folds. The silhouette is the actual boundary of the garment, where the fabric comes to an end. The wrinkles/folds are where different parts of the garment pass in front of each other or where the fabric becomes bunched up to the point that light can't reach inside and occlusion shadows form. You should always keep the overall silhouette of the garment in mind to inform the bigger shapes you draw, but you will use wrinkles and folds to demonstrate how the garment twists and deforms. These are the basic tools in your arsenal. Keep it simple.

There are lots of different ways to approach wrinkles. My advice and my personal preference is to draw wrinkles as shapes and not just lines. Specifically, tapered shapes (like triangles) and be really good both for implying motion and the varying depth of a fold/wrinkle. Experiment with different shapes of varying angularity, fill texture, etc. Your hands and eyes will guide you towards what looks and feels good. There's no right way but I would advise you to exaggerate! Ask yourself- what's the biggest shape I can draw here? How can I twist it to make it bigger, crazier but still describe the form in a way that makes sense? It can be exhausting to just try to perfectly copy a reference and also using your imagination like this when doing studies will help build up your visual library for when you're drawing/designing clothing from imagination. In general I would advise you to focus more on drawing something that looks good (ie is composed of shapes that you find aesthetically pleasant) than is "correct."

Quick recap: Garments fall down, you can simplify an article of clothing into a silhouette described by folds and wrinkles. What next? Observe! Take notes! It is worth your time to think about how common articles of clothing are constructed. Jeans, t-shirts, dresses, etc. I used to do some hobbyist sewing and clothing alteration and I think that hands-on work with clothes has really affected the way I think about drawing them. You don't have to go that far but like- look at the world around you. Stuck on the bus, in school, in a meeting, etc? Even if you can't draw, look at how your pants bunch up around your legs, look at the sleeves of someone sitting next to you. I mean, don't be weird about it, but these are valuable observations. Think about how you would draw those things! Really getting good at drawing clothes involves studying them in the wild, understanding how they work, building up your visual library. Look at a faded denim jacket- at the puckered places where the indigo has rubbed away or the permanent creases that hardly see the light of day and remain a deeper blue. Look at petrochemical techwear outfits that break into jagged, high-sheen triangular wrinkles. Soak it all in!

Save pictures of and take notes on outfits you like, designers you like, garments you like. Keep track of these things. Come back and study them over time. Have fun with it! I have folders and folders and folders of images of clothes that I come back to constantly. Over time and with lots of study you'll learn what you want to draw when you draw clothes and that's half the battle. You'll have images of buttons, pockets, belts, laces, fabrics, seams, dancing around in your head that you can deploy at will. It's delightful.

Hope this helps! If anyone has more advice to add, please do! If this tutorial helped anyone, please show me your drawings! If you'd like more stuff like this from me, just send me an ask or an email and I'll answer it when I can.

Peace,

Logan

#illustration #art tutorial #art thoughts #clothing design #drawing tutorial

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pallisia · 5 months

Text

various asks

my inbox is full of nice messages and i don't want to flood the tl so i'm going to answer a big batch of 'em! warning for spoilers:

thank you! this is great to hear. i've always loved the modern touches in ffs like 8, 13, etc., and it was a flavor i'd wanted to incorporate into a fantasy setting of my own. i still think about the part in ff8 where the president gets assassinated by a witch on live television.

even if their circumstances aren't realistic at all, i wanted the characters to feel down-to-earth, so i'm glad they came off that way. i only realized this after hearing from others, but "desperation" is a major theme throughout the story. she's gotta have "it"

thank you so much! to be fair, i was never planning to do fully rendered 3d backgrounds, only to use them as a foundation to draw over. it's something a lot of comic artists do these days, which i respect, but...i think it's not for me. i just don't like thinking about perspective unless it has an "atmospheric" in front of it. but i'm glad the approach i went with was a success! i also love "i felt like i was really getting mugged"

i'm not a musician in any capacity, and i'd never considered releasing any of my piddly little compositions until this. i'm lucky to have worked with such an encouraging friend.

i gotta look out for my clowngirls. thank you.

these two messages came one after another for a critical hit combo... thank you so much for letting my little freaks into your heart.

this is another thing i was hoping would happen! thank you.

ysme uses artisanry to augment her body. we'll get more into how that magic system works later!

thanks so much! i've never played any of the pmd games, but that's very high praise. and i'm honored to hear that i inspired you to make a vn of your own! it really is such a flexible and fun medium, so i hope you enjoy the process.

thanks! that was absolutely an inspiration. when i was outlining the script, i had the vague idea that i wanted ysme to coerce loic in a way that would make sense considering the magic at his disposal. personally if i were mugging a wizard i would simply not give him the chance to think about it .

thank you. i don't have the mental bandwidth to make an rpg, but i still wanted to make something that evoked the same feelings, so that's fantastic to hear.

thank you so much! i can only be myself, and thus there will be more titty.

#txt

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happysparklingshadows · 11 months

Text

A Certain Hunger (1/?)

Chapter 1 ✿ Chapter 2

Summary: The people-pleasing Valedictorian, a part of too many clubs, becomes closer to her school's soccer team at the end of her senior year. (Y/n) was always seen as the fat mousy girl in school that was always too kind, and with a mother at home needing to be taken care of, didn't go out much and never had the time to do normal kid things like parties. Her pursuit of having some fun before graduation starts with a party fight. It ends with her in a crashing plane, surrounded only by the girls that seem to always worry about her.

Warnings: 90s setting with the views of the time, homophobia and internal homophobia, Alcohol/drug use at a party, Femme WLW! Reader, Plus sized! Reader, Body-shaming (I promise it will not be done often) and perspective of an overweight girl, Depiction of a terminal illness and death of a mother, General yellowjackets warnings, Possessive/Obsessive behaviors, Dark! Au (however, will be down the line when things get worse for the yellowjackets), All characters are 18 years of age, 18+ story. Um, also some teenage girls and peer-pressuring someone to go to a party if you wanna count that.

Pairing: Surviving! Yellowjackets x reader (slow burn)

Taglist: @star-girl69 @g1rlsriot @zhivaxo

Word count: 14.5k (Get a snack, drink, and settle in; you're in for a long night.)

Note: Hello! I have been such a massive fan of this show for almost two years, and I have been thinking about this concept for a long time. My idea was if someone was overweight before the crash, how would they be fair in this fight for survival, and what would happen if all the girls started falling for them over time. I have always had a guilty pleasure for Dark! Au or yandereish stories. I was inspired by @oh-so-vulgar’s "No Return" story. I can't recommend more for people to read! Hopefully, this will be a long fic, and I will be writing this as well as an Ellie Williams x reader story. I hope you enjoy and please feel free to comment and give me your thoughts! If you are interested, I added some visual ideas for the story and the looks for some outfits at the end!

Sometimes, things have been seen and heard without being lived. Most of the time, people think or talk about different ways they would be in a crisis. Ideas of surviving are separate from surviving.

You know that. You were one of the unlucky few to really understand what it meant to survive at all costs.

Things that should have been hidden behind the trees, in the valley of mountains, with voices silenced long before man's first breath came to them to set it free.

Surviving was the easy part for you; the living was the hard part.

Blood to be split, fat to be rendered, and meat to be cut. The smell of metal and tears were familiar and comforting to you. Sometimes, walking down the aisle of the butcher, trying not to see the meat on display, the smell crept into your nose, and you felt at home.

A home made up of girls and the wilderness's protection, with care and tenderness for them but bitterness and fear when near them. It was your home for so long, pings of the tragic circumstances consume and convets like witches dancing around a fire.

You remember what happened to you. You remember how you ended up in the Canadian forest and stayed prisoner on those grounds for 19 months… 19 months without a choice. The only option was survival. To adopt and accept, even fawn, the wild.

The memories plague the team, and you know that. You know that they still remember and know you as you approach your 43rd birthday. They think about you. And sometimes, you see them around Wiskayok and always find them watching you first. Sometimes you see them as they are, adult women with their own lives, or as teens before the darkness set in for all of you. But sometimes, when you catch their eyes, their darkness stares right back into yours…

And you feel at home.

April 1996

The Yellowjackets passed the ball to defense by the teams’ midfield attacker, Allie Jacobs #11, before it was sent to the central midfielder, getting caught by the opposing team. Taissa Turner #8 then passed and kicked the ball…

Your hands write quickly on the pocket notebook on your lap in the crowd of screaming parents and students. Feverishly trying to remember the series of events, trying to remember if Allie dodged 2 or 3 players and if she passed the ball to Taissa before coming to center field of in the defenses field.

"WHOO!! GO, YELLOWJACKETS!" Your eyes pop up when everyone screams louder, only to find that you missed the last goal from your writing, seeing the team hugging and happily cheering, "We're going to nationals!"

"Holy shit!" You whisper to yourself as you stand up, clap frantically, and yell your celebrations for your friends. They are going to Nationals!

A smile crept on your face as you looked at the team; you quickly grabbed the camera next to you and snapped photos of the team celebrating, feeling excitement for them and happiness. As the camera flash wears out, solidifying the moment of pride and unknown tragedy about to fall upon the team, you quickly leave the bleachers and go into the shower room to do the well-loved routine post-game interviews with the girls.

"Fuck yeah, you guys!" You yell into the locker room as the door slams behind you, walking into the room with the heavy camera hanging from your neck and notes tightly held in your hand. The girls turn from their laughter and celebration together to beam at me. "You guys fucking did it!"

Van laughed loudly as her arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to the group. Lottie and Taissa were talking and stopped, letting you join it. Shauna and Jackie whisper at the end of the lockers, but Shauna waves at you, and you send her one back with a grin. It’s a little odd not being in their huddle and whispering with them, but things changed a lot in the last few years.

"How did we do?" Tai immediately asked you, her smile evident as she opened her locker. Lottie scoffed and rolled her eyes at Taissa. Van's arm was still resting on the curve of your back; her arm seemed to tighten around you for a second before letting go.

"We fucking did amazing; that is how we did, Tai!" Lottie said as she looked at you, her green eyes scanning yours face quickly before looking into your eyes. You felt a pressure around Lottie, like she had seen right through you and knew all of your dirty secrets; you looked at your shoes before looking back.

"I completely missed the ending. I was too distracted writing about Allie passing the ball to you." You say to Taissa, her eye shine when you two make eye contact, but a flinch in her lower lip shows her disappointment that you missed the game's ending.

"Oh, well, Allie lost the ball. I caught it, then I passed it to Jackie. I hit it too hard, so it went high. I thought I lost the game, but Jackie hit the ball with her head into the Goalie." Taissa explained as she grabbed her clothes in her hands; she looked at you as the other two did the same, waiting for you to tell them how they did.

You smile brightly and fake how impressed you are, playing it up for the girls, as you say with excitement. "Holy shit, I can't wait to write it! It was such a fucking epic game. I guess you guys are going to Seattle! I am so fucking excited for you guys!"

"Well, aren't you coming?" Lottie cut through. She looked at you with a furrowed brow of confusion. Her arms cross her chest as she looks to the ground, away from me. An annoyance in the air of her tone. "I thought you were coming to take the photos or whatever?"

You feel a wave of fear of disappointing them as you look at your hands; they nervously touch the black camera. "I-i don't know yet. Everything with my parents is so hard to do because they're so old, you know." You say, trying to keep it lighthearted.

"You never do anything fun!" Van complained as she moved away to her locker now; feeling her absence and lack of heat to your side made you feel even more like you were disappointing the girls. "All you do is work! You do homework, your pictures, and work at Handies. When do you have fun?"

"Yeah, I haven't seen you at any parties?" Jackie butts in as she and Shauna finally come to their lockers after conspiring in the corner. "Why? Do you not want to be seen with us?" She asks with a dry snort, reminding you of your place in the team's hierarchy. A welcomed outsider.

You quickly, nervously chuckle, and look at your shoes, not daring to look up. "No, it's not that, Jackie. You guys are my friends, and I would love to party with you all, but-"

"But what?" Taissa snipped shortly at me as she closed her locker. It seemed almost too aggressive for the matter at hand. Your eyes widened as she looked at you intensely like you were doing them all wrong for not hanging out with them more. You feel yourself folding under pressure. You think you are making your friends mad and can't help it. You wanted to have fun, and they should believe you, but you knew you were never to be seen outside of school and your job at the hardware store.

"It's my mom. You know, the cancer and everything has made it harder for me to get out, but she is doing better." You said as a tight smile came to your lips to try to stop yourself from speaking but failing. "We've-" You stopped yourself from saying the words that always brought tears to your eyes. Luckily, Lottie sees this and knows a little more than the others about everything, from her own prying and questioning, so she saves me by saying.

"It's okay. We understand that." She says with a kind voice, the tone she always used to reassure everyone, and looks each girl in the eye. Telling them to back off from you.

You need to fix the awkward tension, not yet realizing that you don't need to always make them happy. You feel the deep urge to be accepted by them. You wanted them to want to be friends with you more and keep being your friend as school ended, you already knew it was a fool's errand, but you couldn't stop the words coming out of your mouth.

"I think I will go to Randy's party next week. I don't work, and my dad is home; it's perfect!" You smiled at the other girls, hiding the reluctance.

It was not perfect. You planned on studying for your honors English test that night and rereading the novel for the exam in May. But you didn't want to let the team down again by not going out.

You come off nervous, and you know that. You know they see the weakness in your words, but they smile all the same understanding they got you to finally say yes. Their eyes soften, and they start to smile again at me.

"What are you wearing? You need to find yourself a boyfriend." Jackie asked as she looked over to Shauna, who was quietly standing in the group without talking, Shauna's warm brown eyes already looking at you as if she hadn’t moved her eyes in a while. You feel your face warm at the question, a shot of disgust and shame running through you at the thought of picking up a guy, but you smile shyly anyways.

"I don't really know yet. I don't go to parties-"

"How about we all help you get dressed up? You come to my house with your clothes, and we all can help (Y/n) dress for the party; how do we feel, Yellowjackets?" Jackie asks, cutting me off and looking at the other girls for confirmation. You feel your hands start to get sweaty at the thought of it. You are already insecure at the idea. In childhood, you were talking to the Yellowjackets. You couldn't say no.

"O-oh!" You say as you feel your body shield yourself, faking a smile smoothly to hide your fear. "Thank you, I would love that. Shauna, could you pick me up? My dad will not drive me to a party."

Shauna smiled sweetly at me, nodding, "Yeah, but you need to get your license."

You let out a soft chuckle again as you grab your backpack. You keep trying to flee before you say something else. You give your best smile to the girls and Shauna. "Thanks. I'm trying, but It's the only test I have failed!" You joke, walking out of the locker room. "I'll see you guys at practice Monday!"

You get a series of goodbyes from the senior girls and walk past the underclassmen with a wave and smile. Marissa and Krystal wave back at you. Allie doesn't notice you as she is talking in the ear of the quiet Junior Akilah. They seemed friendly but so young when you spoke to them, even if you were a few years older.

You look to your feet as you walk out of the locker room and into the dark hallway of the sports building towards the double doors on the other end; the spring light and sunsetting beams light into the hallway. You keep walking away from the loud muffled sounds of the team laughing in the locker room.

BANG!

You're head snaps behind you quickly at the loud sound of a broom falling to the ground; you look down the darkened hallway to find the short figure of a person. You knew who it was, and you felt a shiver go down your spine as brown eyes set on your form.

Misty Quigley stood behind a wall and accidentally pushed the broom resting on the wall down. The blonde stood with her hand clenching the wall with her chin resting on her hand; she was looking down the hall you were going down. She jumped back at the sound and nervously looked back at you. She looked like she was peeking down.

"Misty! Jesus, girl, you almost gave me a heart attack!" You proclaim down the hall to the blonde. You kept your voice as friendly as it could be. Your hand comes to your chest to hold your rapidly beating heart.

Misty readjusted her wide glasses on her nose with her hand, a little quirk you noticed over time, and she blinked her eyes rapidly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you! I-I was just coming over to-"

"Misty, It's all good! Don't worry so much!" You said with a smile, deciding to leave this place as soon as possible. The air was tense in a way that you couldn't put down, not really believing Misty but not wanting her to know that. "I'm heading out. My dad is waiting for me in the truck. Sorry, I squealed." You joked to her as you started to walk back to the doors.

She was always kind to you; out of principle, you were kind back. It didn't matter that she would talk your ear off about the teams jerseys or different cat breeds. You always gave her an ear when you were near her, and the opportunity opened by you. It always felt awkward around Misty without saying hi and being kind. You knew how people saw her and understood why they sometimes acted the way they did with her. You felt the weight of her unsettling gaze and overbearing nature when she never took your nos to her requests of hanging out without trying to pressure you into it. However, she didn't have the pull like the other girls did with you. You pitied her and felt the need to be nice to her because of how mean people have been to her unjustified. Even when it was hard to ignore her ways sometimes.

"O-oh, don't worry, you made a pretty squeal!" Misty recovered with a voice you could tell she put honey on, and you felt your skin itch at that. Why did she say it like that?

"See you Monday, Misty!" You say as you quickly open the doors to the building and rush out of there as soon as possible. Seeing your dad's car and you run over, knowing your shift at Handies, the hardware store, would start quickly.

You walk down the street with the lights guiding you home. You held your purse strap while holding your house keys in hand, not caring about the nighttime setting as you have walked home from work every night. You smoke the short cigarette before coming to the house, knowing your mother can't smell anymore, as you throw the butt to the ground. Stepping on it in your stride. You quickly come to your house, open your door, and walk inside.

Across the street, the shallow pants of a girl rustle behind the pine tree from the house right across the way. Fingers grip the tree with the knuckles turning white with pressure; intense, sharp eyes look at you. A small happy giggle emerges as your body vanishes into the suburban home. You still do not notice them after they follow you through the town and park, trailing behind and changing paths to see you get home safely. "Goodnight, (Y/n), goodnight." the voice says under their breath as she saunters from the tree back to their home. Like they did every night you worked.

The warm light of your childhood home surrounds you as you close the door behind you. You take off your shoes and coat, saying, "I'm home!"

"Good, Good. (Y/n), I've missed you today." Your mother says from the living room. You walk in and see the tv playing the new episode of Frasier, the colorful glow from the tv light consumed the living room with life. "Turns out Frasier has a lot of stations around America, and he is making the radio show national. It's ridiculous." She said with a dry chuckle at the end, her voice rasping as she looked at you. You push the hair behind your ear as you walk closer to her.

Your mother and father were in their 40s when they had you. They were convinced they would never have children, but you came as a welcomed and loved surprise to the couple. Although they weren't young to play with or chase after you, they always found ways to connect with you. Your mother was a hippie at Woodstock, always claiming she met Janis Joplin backstage, and wanted you to feel loved by her. However, like most mothers, she did have her moments of bitterness. Your father is not so much a hippie. He was a challenging and rigid man who took you out to national parks and fished with you in the summer on the ocean with the small boat he saved up for. Your father was more a man set in his ways; in how his father raised him, he was more distant and worked a lot. Although it was clear that they both loved you, it doesn't stop the fact that they hurt you intentionally or unintentionally, and you feel distant from them. It wasn't fair, and it eats at you. Your parents were good people, but life isn't fair.

In your junior year of high school, your mother was diagnosed with stage 4 cervical cancer, and it felt like your world flipped upside down. Your father wasn't home much anymore, scared to see his wife slowly disappearing from the therapies and medicine, working every night out of "Bills need to be paid, (Y/n), what do you want from me?". You sat in the living room as your mother whispered to your father at the table, them talking about how they would tell you, not knowing you silenced the tv to hear them. As you silently cry, your heart is torn, ripping in the middle with small muscles connecting the two.

Your mother was given 8 months to live. You didn't choose to become your mother's caretaker, but you didn't feel like there was any other way to be anymore. You couldn't let your mother feel alone as she died. You knew that she must be more scared than you were. So, there you were for her as you did your homework and ran back home to make sure she took her medicine before going in for a closing shift. You didn't want her to be alone in her last few months. It felt wrong. You blamed yourself somehow. Angry and bitter at the world, you decided to hide behind a mask of being strong. You knew your parents were old, constantly reminded of the fact with their groans and cracks, and you knew it was more than average for women in their 60s with infertility issues to get cancer. You helped your mother move, dress, eat, and sleep. Nothing you could do to shake her in your mind. You comforted your mother as her hair fell out and when she said she was now ugly, you gave her a straw with her drinks even when her throat was strong enough to sip, and you never forgot to tell her you love her with every goodbye. Times of medicine burned in your mind, and the fear of her being in pain pushed you through the months. Believing she would die any day as she lost all her weight, color, and life. She lay on the hospital bed in the living room with her hands weakly lying on the pillows you placed under them. Her breaths never seemed to calm as they raddled when she slept.

As of tonight, it has been a year and three months since her diagnosis, and your mother's face has gained more color every day in the last few months. We knew she wouldn't live long, but at least it was longer.

You sat down in your father's recliner next to the hospital bed she lay in, her bed table over her fragile body with an embroidery circle in her hand. A smile comes over your face as you grab the pill organizer, pull out her nighttime pills, handing them to her as your eyes keep looking back to the tv. "I'd rather watch Friends."

"Well, that is because you are young. You don't understand the comedy yet." She said with a smirk, shaking her bold head to you. She puts the pills on the small table, her thin fingers working a red string through the white fabric. She looks down at her work with her reading glasses at the bottom of her nose, "I'm making a robin."

I look over her shoulder at the half-finished red bird. You smile. You subtly grab her glass of water on the coffee table and put the metal straw inside, handing it to her.

Your mother sighs as she puts the 9 pills in her mouth and the glass from you, sipping on the straw dramatically. She opens her mouth to you in an annoyed act. "Happy?"

"Very. How was your night?" You asked her as you got up and walked down the hallway to the kitchen, your dinner on the island.

"Alright, your father is working late. I made some fish tonight." She says loudly back to you. You already walking back to the living room. You sit back down on the recliner and set the dinner on your lap. "How was school?"

"It was good. The Yellowjackets won the game, and John was nice to me tonight, which is weird, but happy he was anyways." You say as you start cutting into your meal with your fork, eating politely in the chair.

"That's good that he was nice for once. I don't like that guy."

"You just don't like him because he yelled at me like one time."

"That's enough to not like someone." Your mother bluntly said with a chuckle. You chuckle back as both of your attention come back to the tv.

The following week of school, work, and clubs blended the days together. You came to school on Thursday, the night of the rush party at Randy's parents' summer house, and it was all you could think about. You dreaded it slowly because of the unfamiliar setting of a party, but you decided to have fun. "Just have fun, (Y/n)!" you repeatedly tell yourself when you want to cancel.

You were walking into the school's center, crossing to get your camera to go to practice. You were surprised to see the seniors together, you smile as you walk into the conversation, but it drops as soon as you come to the circle.

"This is what we've worked for all season." Taissa hissed, defensiveness and ambition speaking through her at Lottie and Natalie. "You really wanna take that chance?"

"Yeah," Natalie responded curtly. "'cause I'm not a fucking asshole."

"Why are you guys talking about?" Shauna asked. I look over at her, and she looks over at me; she asks me with my eyes as she walks into this conversation. I shrugged at her in our small exchange of information.

There was a pause and moment of silence that fell upon the group. No one is willing to answer the question.

Finally, Lottie spoke, her hand behind her neck. "Allie." She says awkwardly as she seems unsure what to say after confessing. Shauna looked over to her as I looked at Tai, who refused to look me in the eye.

"What about her?" Shauna asks.

"Did you black out at states?" Tai scoffs. "She totally choked-"

"She's a freshman, Tai," Natalie cuts in.

"She's a liability," Tai snapped. Her eyes scan all of you, trying to find support for her decision. "She can't screw up if she doesn't get the ball."

"You wanna freeze her out?" Shauna asks.

"At least we'd know what we're working with," Tai says.

"She kind of sucks, but…." Lottie trails off with her eyes looking over to Allie across the way, unaware of the plans for her. "I don't know."

"That's because it's bullshit," Natalie says, her voice filled with disbelief, her hands raised up.

"Oh, yeah? What's your plan, then?" Tai asks in mock interest.

Natalie drops her hands. "I don't know. Play like a fucking team and win?"

Now, both are entirely silent as they stare the other down. You feel your hands grow clammy as you think the confrontation getting to you, you hated being in the middle of these things, but you handled yourself raising a voice.

"It's worked so far."

"Everything works until it doesn't."

She looks Natalie up and down.

"And for the record, you smell… like a wino. Get your shit together."

You feel yourself grow a face of disgust for Taissa when she says that to Natalie. To you, it seemed utterly disrespectful.

"You know what? Fuck this."

"Wow. Okay," Tai says. You turn your body to Tai as you finally look her in the eye.

"That was completely uncalled for, Tai." You say with your tone coming out for meek than you were hoping. "Natalie has a right to not agree with you, and you just offend her when she doesn't back down. Seriously uncool, dude."

Taissa's eyes look hurt from your words like she had been yelled at. It's clear that your comments got her, but Lottie says to us before following after Natalie, "Doesn't feel right."

"Jackie's not gonna like it," Shauna says.

"Then we probably shouldn't tell her," Tai responded quickly as her eyes were fixed on you, scanning and watching every micro-expression on your face. You look to your feet; you didn't like the energy of all this, and Tai excluding Jackie, gave you a bad taste in your mouth.

Tai walks off suddenly, leaving you and Shauna to turn and look at each other after walking into that chaos.

As the two walked away, Shauna smiled as she walked with you to the yearbook room. She was asking once again if her college entrance letter was okay. You almost completely forget about the discussion about Allie when Shauna nervously questions if she sounded smart enough in her paper.

"Shauna, your paper was amazing. It was heartfelt but formal and mature. We went over that thing three times; we even got that movie from Blockbuster that the tutors have. You. Are. Fine." You stated with a playful tone, slightly annoyed at her nervousness but just playing it off like always.

"I know, but it is Brown!"

"Shauna, you are second to Valedictorian and got a 34 on the ACTs! You will get in. Trust the universe on this one." You reassure and smile. Putting the camera around your neck, you lock the door behind you.

"Okay, okay, I'll try."

"Good. You will get in, and if you don't, you will go to Ken State with Jackie." You say and put an arm around her shoulder as you walk to the field.

You only remember a little from that last practice day. You sat down on the benches like you always do, said hello to Misty and the Coach, and started to write a few words into your notebook for your graduation speech.

You have had difficulty putting down the words about how you felt about leaving high school. Like, what would happen to you? To your friends? It scared you, but you didn't know how to say that, and you didn't have enough nerve, to be honest with how you wanted to stay there longer somehow. Not high school, but the comfortable and carefree life that you had in high school.

You bit your lip as you tried to focus, but soon a blood-curdling scream came to the field. You look up and see Misty sprinting across the area to Allie on the ground, holding her leg. She wails loudly as she cradles the bleeding wound on her leg. You look closer and see a sharp broken bone poking out of her skin, blood sliding down the curve of her leg, landing on the grass.

Your hand comes to your mouth, and you feel yourself feel disguised. Disguised by the blood, wounded cries, and disgusted by Taissa. You know deep down that she would never intentionally hurt the freshmen girl, but she had bad intentions. You just didn't think she would go this far.

You grab your things quickly from around you as you look away from the girl. Away from the yellowjackets swarmed around Allie. You felt sick as you run away from the field and from the responsibility of this accident.

"Peanut, can you come in here?" You hear your mother call from her hospital bed in the living room. You come down the stairs with a bag full of clothes for Jackie to dress you later.

"Yes? What's up, Mom?" You say softly as you come down the stairs. You come to the living room doorway.

Your mom sat in the hospital bed with the tv turned off, her reading glasses perched low on her skinny nose. She had a paper and pen on the bedtable and a couple bills. Your eyes widen at the amount you see. It's the price of groceries. "Come in here with me for a moment. I have been meaning to talk to you."

You quiet and move to sit in the chair next to her. You felt nervous as you sat down. You didn't know why you would be in trouble, and you hadn't done anything in so long that you did understand why she would sit you down. You couldn't stop the nerves with your eyes.

Your mom chuckles as she takes her glasses off. She then looks at her hands with a long pause. "(Y/N), I have taken a lot from you. I am really sorry."

"You don't have to-"

"No, I am sorry. Truly am because this is supposed to be the time of your life, and you have been caring for me. And I can't thank you enough, baby, for caring for me." Your mother choked up in the moment of genuine reflection. She cupped her mouth as she tried to hide the quivers and how her cheek grew hot from her emotions. "I wanted to say that I signed the slip for you to go to Seattle with the bumblebees or whatever. Your dad gave me $65 to give you. I want you to get yourself-

"Mom, I can't. Who is going to take care of you?" You interrupt her, and you feel yourself get emotional. You shouldn't go, the money should be used for bills, and you should be home with your mom.

"No, you are going. I want you to have fun. You have been taking care of me nonstop since the beginning. Okay, let me take care of you, just this last time." She reassured. She pushed a baby hair off your forehead, tears in both eyes, "You have worked so hard and have been such a grown-up. I don't like it. I just want you to do something fun for once. If I was 18, I would have begged my mom to let me go to Seattle with all my little friends. It's all settled. All you have to do is give this to that coach and pack a bag."

She slides the folded paper and the money on top. She smiles as she wipes a tear that rolls down her thin cheek. "Peanut, I really want you to go on this field trip. Please, let me do this for you. Dad will take care of me. We already figured it out. It's only 4 days. Just do it for me." Your mom says again, trying to pressure you into accepting her words and killing your worries.

You nod your head with tears in your eyes. You were so happy to be given a break and to be allowed to spend so much on yourself. You feel so excited and light, but there is dread building in your stomach.

"Okay. I will. I really wanted to go."

"I know. It will be so much fun, but please stay away from those spring break guys, okay. All they are is body oil and semen." She said as she pushed another hair behind your ear this time. She doesn't know you wouldn't be talking to any man. She didn't know that her daughter wasn't right.

You chuckle and wipe a tear. You push her hand away and stand up. "Okay, I will stay clear of spring breakers." You say you feel your pager buzz in your pocket. You pull it out to see your pager flash dully with "Shauna Shipmen, 473-299-0876."

"Shit, my ride is over. I am sleeping over at Shauna's tonight-"

"Baby, have a good time at the party." Your mom said as she turned the Tv back on with the remote. She looks at you with a mischievous glance. "You think I never had a change of clothes before a party? Honey, you don't have to sleep over anywhere. Just come home when you are done. You should better get out of here before your father comes back. He will smell you out within a minute."

You laugh nervously at her. You rush to get your shoes on before she doesn't act so cool; you tie your boots quickly as you leave the house to Shauna's car. "I love you; see you later, Mom."

"See you later, Peanut."

You nervously hold the red solo cup as you hover around Van at the rush party. You couldn't hear much over the noise and music; you didn't mind as you let yourself melt into the party. You danced slightly with the girls as you sipped on the beer in the cup. You were trying to be fun.

You came to this party with Shauna and Jackie because Jackie’s constantly insisted that she needed to help you dress, and you had to admit you looked lovely. You were planning on wearing just some jeans and a top, but Jackie made you wear a thin turtle neck with a pink dress, flowers faded in the design, with tights and boots. You let Shauna do you're makeup because Jackie got to dress you. Shauna's big brown eyes stared at your face, softly brushing powders and rubbing eyeliner. You felt her breath hit your lips as she focused on your mascara, her eyes noticed your stare, and it made her pause. Jackie quickly broke the forming heating with our eyes from her, pulling out an ugly cat sweater you had hidden in your wardrobe. You hid your shaking breath by laughing and saying your dad found it for you. You only wear it to bed. "I would look like misty or something?" You joked and immediately felt bad as you all laughed, you felt terrible for bringing Misty up to laugh about her, but you wanted to hide.

When you got to the party, Jackie and Shauna left you to go into their worlds with Jeff's friends. You wandered around until You found Lottie and Van. You came to hover around your friends. They smiled at you and handed you a new solo cup of beer. You sip on it and smile at them. Lottie and Van giggle and look over at you, Van pulling you into their space with a firm hand on my shoulder.

"We're going to go to the woods, come!" Van says to you in your ear, her nose slightly nudging your skin from the closeness. You feel nervous in your stomach as your hands clam up around the plastic cup, and your face gets hot from her breath, hitting your neck softly. You follow Van with a nervous giggle, unaware of how the girls are feeling and looking at you. Lottie follows behind you, her eyes locked at the back of your head as she studies how you styled your hair. She wondered if she got closer to what the strands felt under her fingers and what it would smell like. Soap, sweat, or was it just you and your own scent.

Van stops you, and Lottie comes to your left with a huge smirk. Van pulls a joint out of her pocket as she presents it to you. Your eyes widen with a beam. "Oh?"

"Oh indeed!" Van said back with a smile; she put it in her mouth as she looked over to Lottie for a lighter. Lottie shook her head as she looked at you.

As soon as the papery filter lands on your lips, you see the figure come behind Van with an arm wrapping around her shoulder. You look up to see Taissa and feel your lips pursed without you doing anything. Taissa was so wrong for the whole Allie situation, and you felt conflicted.

"Not going to say Hi to me?" Tai asked mockingly, but you knew under it all she was insecure.

You pass the joint to Lottie as you blow the smoke. "Hi." You flatly say to Tai.

"Come on, not you too-" Tai scoffed as she stood more straight. Tai seemed insecure, and you could see how she was getting defensive.

"Tai, I am not judging you. I understand why you did it; you explained yourself well the other day. I know you didn't mean to hurt her like you did." You say as you feel the group has tension between them. Van and Lottie awkwardly look at each other to communicate their uncomfortable energy. Tai keeps her eyes trained on you as you speak your mind. "Tai, I, and We know that you would never hurt her intentionally to have her bone pop out. But it happened, and you planned to get her out of the Nationals. You need to apologize to her when we return from nationals."

"(Y/n), maybe we don't need to talk about this right now? Maybe we just party tonight and worry tomorrow?" Lottie cuts in, and you feel yourself get annoyed at that. You quiet down as the joint comes back to you.

"I said my mind." You said, sounding more confident than you were. You nervously look at Tai, who is quiet and looking to the ground. "Tai, We're friends, and I don't think I would be a good one for letting you off the hook for that. I care too much to let that go. You might have destroyed Allie's ability to play ever again because you got too ambitious."

"I know. It was an accident." Tai said, still looking at the ground. You felt her shame in herself at that moment as her lip slightly quivered as she spoke.

You take a puff of the joint and hand it to Lottie. You then step into Taissa's space and hug her quickly. "Hey! I know that. I am just saying it was just bad vibes all around. I know it was an accident." You reassure, now feeling horrible for talking about it all together.

Van takes a deep puff of the weed and makes a face as she tries to keep the smoke in her lungs. As she nods her head, you're eyes lock into her as Tai's arms wrap around your waist. Van's red eyebrow furrows briefly before Tai's hair blinds you. "Okay. I just feel like shit, you know."

"I know. I don't mean to make it worse." You say to Tai's ear. As you squeeze your friend, you know you will be the nicest to her when the others confront her. You let your eyes go to Lottie, who knew about all this; you knew that Van was probably thinking I was being hard on Tai for no reason.

You take the joint passed to you as she smokes it; Tai sniffed, putting back the tough act as she touched her nose with a finger. You felt like you couldn't look away from her now. “(Y/n) (L/n) smokes weed?” Tai asked in a snarky tone.

"Yeah, and crack, but no one has presented it yet, so." You joke with a goofy smile coming to your face against your control. The weed coming over you as you start to giggle, Van and Lottie following suit. "Oh, my god!" You gasped as you looked at the other high girls.

"What?" Lottie asked with big eyes, paranoid. Van laughs again at Lottie's face, leaning onto Taissa's shoulder.

"You guys are doing drugs before nationals!" You laugh out loud.

"Oh shit!" Van says as if she just realized it as Lottie cackles.

You felt yourself space out a bit; you looked into the woods further as Taissa started to tell the girls off for getting distracted. You let the noise muffle as you stare into the darkness of the trees, not seeing beyond 20 feet ahead of you; although the sight was unsettling, it seemed to lull you as well. Grounded you. The memories of childhood with your parents in national parks and your dad forcing you to face the darkness were a comfort. One of your favorite memories was so simple; Two years before your mother had cancer, you all went out to the Rocky Mountain Trail on vacation, You and your dad were fishing, and your mother was sitting beside you both with her feet in the water, your dad was just spitting out the worse jokes and puns he could think of, and you both tried not to laugh. You all broke when your dad when silent and simply won by farting.

You feel your lips curl to smile at the memory of your family as Lottie's hand curls into your elbow; you turn to her.

"(Y/n), I want a cigarette. You want a cigarette?" Lottie says with an airy tone, her eyes wider than average. You knew she was very high as you giggled.

"You know what?" You said as you opened your purse, pulling out the pack.

"Holy shit, you smoke cigarettes, too? What else does our Doris Day do behind closed doors." Van jokes dryly. You couldn't help but smirk as you light your cigarette.

"You're a dick, you know what," you say as you hand the cigarette to Lottie; she says a soft thank you as you pull another to your lips. "What do you think I do while I write?"

"I don't know, maybe write?" Tai says as she drinks from her solo cup.

You roll your eyes, looking at Lottie, "What do you say we lose these losers?" You joke to her with a smile.

She smokes the cigarette as her eyes scan over your face quickly. Her eyes look to your lips and sharply look up as she says, "I thought you'd never ask."

"Hey, what the fuck!" Van asks, mocking offended as the two of you walk away from them. You and Lottie hold hands and laugh. You loved the playful way Lottie walked away with you like you were running away together. Your hands are linked together as you get closer to the music and back to the party's life.

You pursed your lips as you started dancing when you felt the music. "Fuck, I love this song!" You say to Lottie as you bring the cigarette to your lips.

Lottie puts the cigarette in her mouth as she takes your hands with hers to dance together, which you do without question. It felt like the music was dancing through you, and you weren't really dancing, not caring how your body moved or how other's see you. It was fucking liberating to dance with your friend in the spring breeze, weed in your lungs, and a cigarette in your mouth.

Van and Tai come out of the woods a moment later, smiling together and their hands touching, but quickly moving away as they come to where you were. You caught them, and they didn't notice; you're happy they did. You felt something close to bitterness when you thought about how much you wanted that. You have kissed a few girls, but not one wanted to be with you; they claimed they weren't "that type of girl. I am normal." they soon pushed you away to never see the girl that made them feel something more. You just became a memory for them, and you were replaceable. You were well kept a secret.

You wanted someone. But you also wanted to be accepted. You would never admit it, but you sometimes thought about maybe just finding some nice guy and giving it a try at being "normal." Kissing boys felt flat, sexless, and odd when you spun the bottle at parties, but in those dark corners where you were pressed against a wall by a woman, it felt like fire. It was warm and bright, making you see clearly and freely, but it burned. It burns like wax, something shocking and hot, something warm and sensual, but it soaks in and scolds after a while. So, in your junior year, you decided to stay single until college because you couldn't imagine the people in your hometown finding out you were gay. You felt a hot wave of dread when you thought about it, not that you were ashamed or accepting because you knew how everyone saw gay girls. You wouldn't be able to go into the locker room anymore with your friends, you wouldn't be able to go to sleepovers, and you wouldn't be able to touch even your friends.

You feel sober quickly at the moment of overthinking. You look around and realize you forgot your solo cup of beer, so you just say to Lottie, "I'm getting a drink."

"Okay!" Lottie said with a chuckle; she took a deep drink from her solo cup.

You stumble away as you feel a sadness come over you; insecure thoughts and memories of scorned love affairs go to you now. You come to the keg in the middle of the party, and you lean over the keg to the plastic cups.

A hand lands on your hip, rubbing the skin as it gently moves to your lower back. You look to see Taissa and feel your breath get stuck in your mouth. You look up at the tall girl with a softness; you know she would never really do something so cruel, like meaning to hurt Allie like that. At least, that is what you told yourself.

"I admire your resilience, Tai. It can't be easy, knowing fucking crippled someone today," Shauna says to Taissa when she walks to the keg. You snap your head to Shauna, hoping she didn't notice how your eyes looked at Taissa's face. Shauna did notice; it was the reason for her coming up to the two of you in the first place.

"Cool. Good talk." Tai says back to her, and she moves away with an arm around your shoulders.

"Just admit it. You did it on purpose!" Shauna yelled at Taissa, pointing her finger at Tai. You looked at Shauna with wide eyes as you felt Taissa's arm hold you tighter.

"Excuse me!"

"You heard me. "

"You're wasted," Tai says to Shauna with a judgmental narrowing of her eye.

"And you're a fucking sociopath!" Shauna hissed back; you pulled away from Taissa and looked at both girls.

"Woah!" Van cut in. "Calm down."

"Yeah, let's just take a breath, Shauna; why don't we-" you try to say and keep the peace but are interrupted.

"No! Listen, you guys, we don't have to worry about the Allie problem anymore because Taissa fixed it for us." Shauna mocked, her hands up in fake surrender as she narrowed her eyes at Taissa. The two were going to fight.

"What?" You heard Laura Lee say behind you. "What is she talking about?"

"She's talking about Taissa's little plan." Natalie chimed in from the back; you lock eyes with her as you look to her to explain why Shauna is aggressive toward Taissa. She doesn't know.

"Oh, please. Since when do you give a shit anyways? Don't you have a bong to hit or a dick to suck-"

"Holy shit, Tai, Why would you say that to her!" You yell at Tai as Shauna says at the same time, "Don't talk to her that way!"

"Oh, fuck off, Shauna, I don't need you to defend me; last time I checked, you were fine with the whole "freeze her out" strategy." Natalie spat back, she held a cup, and her eyes looked more dilated than more in flames.

"Okay, seriously, what are you talking about?" Laura Lee asked the group; you felt annoyed at her prying, but you didn't say anything before the others growled, "Shut the fuck up, Laura Lee!"

"No, no, no; stop it!" Van panics when she sees the tears in Laura's eyes. You move over to the sweet girl, and you wrap an arm around her, "Hey, they didn't mean it." You say to her tearful self as you hear the fight continue.

"Someone needs to take her wasted ass home!" Tai yells to Shauna.

"You wanna say that again bitch. Say that again." Shauna growled back; you moved away from Laura Lee and got into the middle of the two girls, now trying to claw at the other, with Van.

"That's it! That is enough!" Jackie runs in; she yells at all of us, starting to fight each other. We all pause. "Yellowjackets, with me!"

Shauna and Taissa were the first to rush to Jackie, and you felt yourself being left behind with a few others that didn't get into the fight.

You put a cigarette into your mouth quickly, and lighting it, you look at Natalie, who wore a similar face of frustration. You nudge your pack to her, and she takes one with a grin.

"Thank you, pretty lady," Natalie says as she follows Jackie like everyone else, you follow behind her.

"Anytime, sexy thing." You say to her with a smirk; you bump her with your hip as you get to Jackie first.

Jackie looked confused and annoyed as she looked at all of you together in the woods again. "I don't know what the fuck that was, but I do know that it is over. We're about to go to nationals. And based on what I'm looking at right now, we might as well not even bother getting on that plane. Alright. Everybody line up."

No one moves.

"No, I am fucking serious lineup. Here is what we are going to do. I want each and every one of you to say one nice, true thing about every girl on this team."

"What is this, the fucking Girl Scout camp?" Tai whispers, and you chuckle with Van. You felt a smile come to your high face as you stand up before Laura Lee.

"I will go first." You say happily.

"Go ahead, (Y/n), take the floor. Thank you" Jackie smiled as she moved for you to stand beside her.

You stand there and smile; you take a puff of your new cigarette as you take a stand in front of the group.

"Okay, Jackie Taylor, I admire your sense of style and how much you do as the team leader you are. Although I am not on the team, I can see you work so hard at it every day."

Jackie smiles with a blush; she didn't expect you to say anything to her. She nodded her head, and she said, "(Y/n) (L/n), you seriously are the nicest girl I have ever met before. I have never met someone with so much compassion for others; I admire that. Also, you look fucking great in that dress, doesn't (Y/n) look fucking amazing?" Jackie says to you and points out the outfit. You smirk as the others come to admire your dress and done-up hair; you spin for them to see with a laugh escaping your mouth. They whistle at you jokingly and little cheers about your cute outfit.

You smile and say thank you to Jackie before she can say more. You move to Shauna, and you smile widely at her. "Shauna Shipmen, you know I love you bitch. You are crazy in a fun way, and you make things so much better by being around."

"(Y/n) (L/n), you are wicked smart. I have never met someone who could get a 100 in trigonometry with Mrs. Goldmen!" She says to you, and you giggle at her words, shaking your head. You then move down the line of awaiting girls.

"Taissa Turner, you are so smart and very assertive. I wish I could be as confident as you when you know you are right; you would be an amazing lawyer."

"I admire your fairness and how you don't judge when you do disagree. You always do what is right even when it's annoying." Tai says to you and playfully pushes your shoulder; you smirk and shake your head at her. You laugh at her call you annoying when she is supposed to be kind to you, but you didn't expect Taissa to drop the tough girl act.

"Laura Lee, there is not a single person I know that is as Faithful and kind as you. I haven't ever really heard you say anything hateful or mean, which is hard to find. You are truly so fucking Christian, and I love that for you because you have never hated anyone for their differences."

"(Y/n), you have excellent writing skills and are the only part of the newspaper I read. Your photos are outstanding like they always bring my eyes to them.

"You only say that because you know I am the one that took them." You laugh at her as she does too. She shook her head and said, "No, they are excellent!"

You shake your head and move to Van; she is already doing that cheesy smile you always seem to gravitate towards. You smile back and come a little closer to Van; no one notices how you feel the heat of her body in that innocent way you stand to her.

"Vanessa Palmer, I wish I was as funny as you. Sometimes I don't think anything I say sounds funny, and every word out of your mouth is fucking funny. You are the one person I come to to get me smiling again when I am sad."

Van's cheesy face falls to a softer one that melts her heart. She nodded and said, "(Y/n), there is no other person I know that is funnier than you. Don't you remember when you told us about catching Scott Lulson jacking it with ketchup in the yearbook room? I snorted out my milk!" She remained as she laughed. You follow her before being pushed away by Jackie to talk to Van. You move to Natalie, she is already smirking at you, and you do the same.

Natalie was one of those friends you flirted with and touched sometimes; however, it was never pushed more than just the daring "drunk" kiss at Spin the Bottle once last year.

"Natalie Scatorccio, I love how authentic you are and how you don't give a fuck about what anyone thinks. You're a fucking badass, and you know it. Nobody can fuck with you." You say as you puff the end of the cigarette, throwing it to the floor and stepping on it. Natalie smirked at you with her eyes seemingly blown out.

"(Y/n)," Natalie whispered to you and stepped closer, "you know how beautiful you are to me."

"I do."

"You do?" She asked in a condescending reassuring voice; she was teasing me. I laugh and put my hand on her upper arm; I look at her face and say, "You are so wasted, Nat! How do I know what you're saying is true, huh?"

"You saying my love for you isn't pure?" Natalie laughed; she looked at your face with a raised eyebrow. But before you can speak, she cuts you off by saying, "Cuz it's not pure. Never been pure with you." she whispers at the end, with a bit to her lower lip.

You burst out laughing as you feel your face get hot. You push her for shoulder playfully, feel like she is flirting with you a little too well, and feel the energy coming off of you and her at that moment. You move away to Lottie when Taissa moves to talk to Natalie; you send her a kiss as you move away. You and Natalie laugh at each other I that moment.

"Lottie Matthews, you are so kind and understanding. I know you always have my back when I need to cry and have always been so supportive." You say to Lottie and lean on her shoulder, tired from the party. She sighs and looks down at you with a smile.

"(Y/n), You are really responsible. I think you work hard at everything and take so much responsibility for so much in your life. You kick ass." Lottie giggled at you as she hugged you back. She whispers into your ear, "You wanna ditch this place and go home after we're done with this Kumbaya bullshit? I'll give you a ride."

"I would suck your dick if you had one." You reply quickly to her in a whisper, and you both giggle intoxicatedly together.

You sat in the passager seat of your father's truck. Your father was a quiet, kind, funny man but never one to start a conversation, and his knuckles were worn from years of work.

You don't even try to notice how his veins pop from his skin or how his hands look his age more than his face, and you really try not to see how his hair has gotten more grey. But, you do notice the dreading annoyance of being in the car with him.

He wasn't there like he used to be. He wasn't this superhero you thought he was. He was just a man, an old man whose wife was dying slowly, and he didn't have enough money to stop working until he was 70. He didn't deserve that. But he didn't need to always be working and never be at the house anymore; he didn't need to not be there for you when your mother was dying. He wasn't as strong as you thought. And it crushed you a long time ago.

"You all packed?" He asked you as you entered the airport's parking lot.

"Yeah." You say quietly. You play with the buttons on your flannel. "Mom made me check a few times."

"You have an extra pack-"

"Of underwear, just in case." You finish his sentence, a well-known saying in your house for when you go camping. You always pack three pairs. One to wear, one as a spare, and another for reserve.

He chuckled as he got into the drop-off line and looked over to you with a stoic face, but you knew he was having a deep emotion come over him. "You going to Seattle?"

"Yes, I'm going to Seattle, Dad." You said to him, a little confused with him.

He was quiet as he looked back to the steering wheel of the '78 Chevy. He picked at his nails, his hands calloused and his nails rounded from years of anxiously biting them, "You got that Swiss with you?"

"Yes, Dad. I always have it in my pocket; why?"

"You just don't have anyone to protect you-"

"Dad, I have my friends; I will be fine. It's just for four days; I'll be okay."

"I just don't trust them to protect you." He said with his head shaking a little as he crawled the car closer to the entrance of the building. "I don't really like you not being home."

You roll your eyes to yourself softly as you look at the truck's floor. You look at your tied shoes deeply as you say to reassure, "Dad. I will be fine. Guys like the coaches and their kids are coming with us to protect us."

"There is a boy going with you?" He said with a raised eyebrow. Your father's fatal flaw was his fear of you becoming a teen mother. He was dead serious and mean about boys with you, trying to scare you away from them, and it just became more annoying to listen to. "I don't know it. I want you to go now that a boy is going too."

"Dad, I'm pretty sure he is in 7th grade. I would sigh and push a 7th grader away. Don't go there." You say softly, already grabbing the bags from the back. Your dad rolled his eyes at the slang and at the fact you were right. You were a big girl and weren't easily overpowered, but you were still a little girl to him.

He lets the car fall to silence again, and you don't stop him. You wanted to run out of the car with the ticket but waited to say goodbye. This is the first time you will be so far away from home and your parents. You were so excited and nervous to get on the plane.

As you come closer in the line to the section of the drop-off, your dad looks over at you. He is emotional, his face is blank, but his eyebrows are furrowed subtly, his eyes watery, and he clears his throat as he scans the airport entrance.

“(Y/n).”

“Yes, Dad?”

"Make good decisions." He says stiffly. He looks over at you, and his rough comforting hand comes to the side of your face to touch your face. You didn't know what to do but look at your father in the face. "Can you call us when you land? I'll pay for the payphone." He says to you softly.

"Yeah, of course, Dad." You smile at him and move away to get out of the car. Too excited to stay in that quiet car, seeing your friends coming into the building from a few cars out. Before you close the door, you stop and look at your dad again, him clearly not okay with you leaving; you say, "I love you. I will see you in a few days; take care of Mom for me."

"I love you too, peanut." He says before you close the door on him. You race over to Shauna, who is walking in; you pump into her from behind, making you two laugh. You didn’t think twice to look back to your dad as he drove away, you always regretted not looking back to your father.

You listen to music as you put your duffle, carry-on, and little box luggage into the overhead compartment. Your eyes are wide, and you scan the expensive first-class seating of the plane. You feel Van push you lightly to the seats to annoy you as she walks past you; you huff and go her back, which makes her laugh.

You laugh too. You feel giddy to be on the plane and see what it is like for rich people to live. You giggle when you make eye contact with Shauna and Jackie across the way; you jump into the window seat. You up it to see the men attaching a giant hose to the wing.

Van, Lottie, and Laura Lee come into the private plane with awe in their eyes. Van jokes and admires the expensive velvet seated chairs, and the three just giggle together as they come over to you.

“This is his form of parenting, I’ll take it.” Lottie sighed as she comes closer to you in your seat.

All three giggle and say, “Thank you, Mr. Matthews.” and giggle at in their own little world.

"Mind if I sit here?" Lottie requested to your with her big brown eyes looking down to you.

"Of course! Sit with me, girl!" You chimed to Lottie with a bright smile coming to your cheeks. You then ask as you look at her cute outfit. "Lottie, how the fuck did your parents afford this?"

"(Y/n), you need to stop cursing so much. A valedictorian shouldn't speak like that! What if you slip an f-bomb in your graduation speech?" Laura Lee cuts in from the seat in front of us; she puts her bags away just like Lottie as she scolds you.

"I won't f-bomb at graduation!" You tell her with a shake of your head, moving your jacket off the seat next to you for Lottie. You pat the pocket notebook in the breast pocket of your flannel, "I'm writing it, so I will make sure to give credit to the helpful editor Laura Lee for making sure I keep it clean!" You joke as you smile at her, snarky and sarcastic.

Laura Lee rolled her eyes with a smile, "Whatever, you better say something about us in your speech."

"Yeah, add "The fucking cool Yellowjackets went to nationals, and the guy's team didn't even make it to states; never give up on your dreams!"" Lottie added; she slouched into the chair next to you as she looked out the open window to see outside. Everyone is so happy and excited; you just giggle with the girls as you pull out the notebook and pull the table over your lap. You felt gratitude that the seat and table still fit and didn't rest on your body like other seats would have done to you.

You look over to Lottie, who is now talking with Laura Lee about strategy for Nationals, and you feel your hand move your headphones from your Walkman over your ears. You let the music distract you as the plane goes off, and your handwriting shakes when the plane enters the air.

"Sorry passengers, due to an unexpected storm over the Midwest, we’ll be making a detour north through Canada. You’ll catch the amazing view of the Canadian Alms." You hear the pilot speak over the intercom, and your lips pull to an excited grin.

Lottie laughs as she sees the face and asks, "What got you so smiley?"

"We're going to see the Canadian Rockies! I went to the smoky mountains a few summers back, and it was so beautiful. I will get you to see them!" You say as you touch Lottie's hand; you smile more and move away to get started on writing the speech. You didn't know how to make yourself confident or sound that way like you earned the title.

Lottie felt her breath hitch in her throat as she felt your soft hand touch her arm. She looks over your face quickly, looking over how your cheek curves to your smile and how your eyes seem to shine when you talk. She goes quiet as she looks over your face, lost to something; she is pulled away by Laura Lee, continuing her past thought about how she should strike the ball.

The ride became calm for you; everyone settled and got into their own little worlds, some read, and others talked to their partners next to them. You look over when you finish the first draft of your speech, seeing Lottie sleeping peacefully in the seat.

"Passengers, we are about to experience turbulence. Sit tight, and talk to a flight assistant for help.” The piolet voice cuts through the air like a red hot knife and it severed something inside of you.

Your ears perked at the intercom as you felt your stomach drop slightly. You felt the tumbling of the turbulence. You see the water on your table shake, and water splashes out; Lottie wakes up with a wide eye as she looks around everywhere; you hold onto the hand rests with white knuckles. You look out the window and see the peaking out.

In the silence, try to build some courage and lose the dread building in your stomach. Suddenly, as you stare at the peaks of the mountains and the green tops of trees, you notice them growing. There was no sound when the plane started to crash down; there you were, stuck calming, looking down to the sea of green, making the sudden realization that it wasn't just turbulence. You were crashing and fast.

"Oh my fucking god!" You panic to yourself as you see the lights in the plane flashing around you; you see the movement of the masks deploying around you from the corner of your teary eye. All your friends and the other people on the plane start to scream, scared and hopeless.

Down. Down. Down.

And you were going to die. You were going down, and you had no control over what happened. You just watched the peaks of the trees come closer to the belly of the plane, you couldn’t help but start to shake in your seat. The image of your family camping comes to your mind in rapid succession of the memories of your mother singing to you as a toddler and memories of your father teaching you how to cast a line into the water. You were never going home again. You would never see your parents, friends, neighbors, co-workers, or anybody in your life again.

You felt a hand cling to yours, and it was the thing that pulled you away from the scene of your own death. You snap to your side and see Lottie also panicking with tearful eyes; she is now screaming like the other girls. But her deep brown eyes locked into yours, her hand clawing onto the back of your hand. Begging for the company in the bleak frantic moments.

You're hand moves quickly to hold her back, lacing fingers together; you stare back with your lip quivering. You were so scared you couldn't open your mouth; you couldn't say anything. You move to put your mask on quickly, but your eyes don't break from those beautiful brown eyes. A sense of calm comes over you amid the nightmare, and you know that you are going to die, but you will die around the people you did love and know who loved you.

You felt lightheaded as you two stared at each other, something deeper being told to each other with your eyes. And in your soul, you felt what she said with her as yours said to hers in that moribund realization as the plane drops your heart to your stomach.

"I am not going to die alone. Don't leave me."

"I won't leave you. We will not die alone."

The fat tears roll down your cheeks as you keep your eyes on Lottie. And Lottie does the same, her mouth open with a scream of terror, her eyes looking behind you to the reality charging towards us with trees hitting the wings.

Within a millisecond, the world went black with a disgusting crack.

25 years later…

You sit on the porch of your childhood home infront of your table covered with everything you might need to get inspired. It's been 2 years since your last novel came out; it was successful and made you money but nothing crazy. You're publisher has been hounding you for the third book in your trilogy of romance novels, but you have been dry of inspiration for a long time. Your books weren't something you were incredibly proud of. It was just a smutty and fluffy romance with dark undertones throughout. Your trilogy was about a lesbian couple composed of an adventurer looking for a lost artifact and a genie lost in the artifact. The adventurer's first wish was to be loved, and the story wrote itself after that idea.

After the rescue, you never wanted to leave your house again. It took you until Shauna's wedding to leave your home and your father's side. You were in a dark place when you came back home. You lived a life out in the wilderness that would be judged and parts that would cause people to look at you with fear. You took a few years to find the motivation to do anything with your life. Your father was loving and patient with you, and you eventually went to college in new york. You build connections and experiences you long thought were not for you and that you would never experience. You remembered being in a horse-drawn carriage in central park and crying because you finally did something, and the forest didn't stop you. It couldn't stop you anymore. You became a writer under a pen name and moved back in with your father as soon as possible; you lived mostly at home and didn't leave unless you wanted to. Now, your father living in a nursing home because he needs more medical attention than you could give him, leaving you in the big house alone. And you were happy.

You rub your eyes as you stare at the computer screen; you turn to face your cold breakfast. You bite into the sausage, feeling the texture and savoring the vestiges and juices as you eat the meat, reminding yourself to eat the meat first. The wind chimes sing softly at the wind as you look around your backyard, seeing your outside cat resting on the gate across the way. A sense of peace in the world as at this little house. You dreamed about it, and it became a paradise in your young mind; you were content with your humble home.

As you are chewing on your food, you see a woman walk through the wooden gate and look around the back of your house. You shallow quickly as you look at the unfamiliar woman, your eyes sharp as you take another bite of food before calling out to her. A tan woman with black curls and a strong nose. You have never seen this woman in your life.

"Hey, what are you doing over there?"

"Oh, I'm looking for (Y/n) (L/n). Does she still live here?" The woman asked, looking at you with a smile.

"Yeah, I'm she."

"I am Jessica Roberts, Star-Ledger, and I'd like to ask you a few questions.

You feel your mask work for you, a smile on your lips as you wave her over to you. "Come on over; I just made some coffee."

"Thank you," Jessica said as she came into your yard. You stand up, not caring if she would steal your computer, and go through the back door to get her a cup of coffee.

You walk back out to her, sitting across from you at the table and her looking over the spread of items on the table. It had your breakfast, half-empty coffee, an ashtray, a computer, writing notebooks, and flowers. You always had a vase of flowers on your tables. "You like flowers, I see?" Jessica commented as she saw the cases of your phone and computer, flowers, and the big bouquet of wildflowers.

"Yeah, I think it gives more color to my workspace." You say with a kind tone to it. You smile as you sit on the floor pillow and push your work aside to see her more clearly. "What do you need to ask me? Is it about the Ancient Desires series?"

"Oh, no," Jessica said with a confused look like she never heard of them. You felt your heart drop to your stomach as the air was thicker. "I wasn't going to ask you about that."

Your ear perks up, and you feel the air still. The palms of your hands clam up as you continue your Façade. You perfected hiding your feeling under a smile, having to calm and temper the hunger of others for so long kept with you. Smiling and nodding, simply listening and being seen, was a tool you learned and used daily. No one needed to know the hurt or the anger, knowing if they caught a glimpse of the rage boiling inside, you would scare them. "It should scare them," you thought to yourself in times of reflection that both made you scared of yourself but empowered with knowledge of the depth of your rage.

"Well, what is it that you want to ask?" You ask her, but already knowing what she is going to say.

"I wanted to ask you about what really happened 25 years ago?" Jessica asked with a curtness that you didn't appropriate about the topic. She is that type of reporter. She is not asking about the new book's release, and she was not here for some literary journal. She is here to pry like so many before. Like the others, they have no taste as they try to pry and ask questions about the scars on your face or how you became so skinny upon your return that would be followed up by a question if you were pleased with your new body or when they try and ask what happened to the other girls in the woods.

You pause and grab a cigarette. You think to yourself, "Jesus fucking Christ."

"Okay. We have. I remember we had a press conference a month after our rescue, and we told the story." You said quickly as you blew the smoke out of your mouth, hiding your nervousness. You remember the flashing lights of cameras and the distasteful questions, the feeling of the eyes of the girls on you, and feeling your tongue move as you lie through your teeth that day. You lean your head on your fist as you smoke your cigarette.

"No, but how did you all survive 19 months in those woods? How did you survive, (Y/N)?"

You look at her with your face unchanging, skillfully, as you make your face look softly confused. A soft smile as you nod your head, smoking the stick. "Okay. We have already said what happened when we got back 25 years ago. We starved, scavenged, and prayed a lot, and then we were found."

"I know you have been letting other people tell your story-"

You dryly chuckle, cutting her off, blowing your smoke shakily as you say, "I am a bestseller author. I have published 4 books if you did any research before coming here. I would have written about it, but there is not much to tell that wouldn't be tragedy porn for sick fucks to read. Just like the sick fucks paying you to dig up this old story. I've moved on."

"All I am saying is that some of them are getting money off your story. Don't let them tell your story."

You lean back on your comfortable pillow as you gently let the wind hit your face. Feeling calm over you as you smoke again, looking into her eyes as you soften your face. In your heart, you know she is bluffing, but your hands shake with nervousness; you slowly space out as you let something come over you that spoke in the reassuring voice you mastered.

"Whatever you think happened out there is probably much worse than what happened. I know we all don't want to relive our pasts because of how tragic it was…." As you look at your table, you feel space out as the world becomes quieter. "Honestly, we just starved and hunted whatever we could find to keep the ones to survive the crash alive. And some died along the way from exposure and starvation. It was hard to live through, and it is something I will always take with me, the time I lost and the kid I was, but we have told you the whole story. We just survived. I don't understand what you are looking for me to say." You said, as you basically rephrased the press statement you said 25 years ago. You remember holding the queue cards tightly as you stare down at them, not daring to face the families and people demanding answers. But how could you answer those questions? How could you tell them that what they think is true, you ate your friends, but how do you confess how you ate them, the reason they died. You remembered as you told the microphone of the deaths of the people as starvations, looking up to find Akilah's sister with a 3-year-old boy on her lap, you felt yourself choke under the guilt. You ran away from the press conference as soon as it was finished; you remember the sobs you wailed into your father's chest when you got home. And how you couldn't face the world for a few years after that. Lies always seemed to stab you more profoundly than any other bad intention, but you couldn't see how telling the truth would do anyone good.

"Have you spoken to the other girls to know they don't want to relive it?"

You chuckle again as you sip your coffee. You shake your head and say, "No, I haven't spoken to them in years. I think the last time I saw one of the girls was back in… '07? I hope they are doing good. I don't know how they feel, but I am just assuming." You lie smoothly. You take a deep puff out of the cigarette. "I am done talking about this now; I hope you can respect my decision."

"Alright, but if you change your mind, please contact me," she says, putting a business card with the very clearly fake business name on it and her number. You smile as she gets up and leaves, not touching the coffee and leaving without a goodbye.

You kiss your teeth as you think, "Wasteful bitch." You sigh as you smoke the end of the short cigarette, pouring the untouched coffee into your mug. You sit in your spaced-out state as your thoughts run. You feel yourself kiss your teeth again, knowing what you should do, as you stand up with a new cigarette in your teeth, walking into your home.

You race to the bedroom, and you find the purple burner phone. The one that Tai bought you a week before she married Simone, she begged you to keep contact and that she couldn't imagine a world without you as she proposed to Simone. You took the phone without saying anything to the crying woman, and you pointedly never used it after putting all the yellowjackets information into it if you needed it. You still felt a sting when you thought about Tai and how things ended up for you. You felt that way about all the girls.

You sigh and light the cigarette as you look up to the ceiling; you roll your eyes as you call the number that you know would know the most and would give you anything you need at the drop of a hat.

You hear the rings as you anxiously pace the floor, smoking the cigarette deep into your lungs, feeling the tickle and your nerves widen in your legs and hands.

"Hello, this is Misty Quigley. Who is this?"

"Hey, Misty, it's me-"

"Hi," Misty said breathlessly on the other end. I can already tell she is smiling and pressing her phone closer to her cheek, trying to get close to you somehow. She knew it was you before you could finish your sentence.

"I wanted to call and tell you that someone came to my house and asked about it." You said softly to her, holding the burning stick. Looking at it as you lose yourself in the disassociating daydream. "You told me once, if anything happened, to call you."

"Who was it? Another reporter? Are you okay? Did they do anything to you?"

"Yeah, she said her name was Jessica Roberts from the Star-Ledger. I-I know you are better at these things than me, but I don't think that if that is really her name or Star-Ledger is real. I wanted you to know before she or any of the girls come to you." You said as you felt yourself start crying. You didn't know why.

"Thank you. You're still so kind; how are you doing? Are you still in New York?" Misty asked quickly, and you felt your skin crawl as you knew she was already trying to get her claws into you again. Too much hurt lingers inside you with what happened in the woods.

"I-I… Thank you, Misty. I have to go now-"

"Wait-"

"Bye. I'm sorry." You sobbed as you hung up on her. You felt a piece of your heart pull at the pain. You chose yourself long ago; you can't let them come back in. They would never leave. You don't really know if you want them to.

You know that you would let them creep back into your life if you let them. They saved you. They protected you. How could you stay away from them again?

DINGDONG! DINGDONG!

You feel yourself flinch at the sound of your doorbell ring in your house. It stabbed the air violently. You rush to the door now, feeling lost in the moment. The memories rush and consume your reality. As you race down the stairs, you feel the air push your hair like the wild wind did in those hunts; the feeling of your skin touching the carpeted floors turn to wet grass, as the hair follows out not out of simple bounce of stairs but out of savagery.

"Jessica, I already told you that I don't-" You say as you open the door, only to find nobody there. You pause as you look around the road with the other houses on the drive and the forest surrounding your home. You feel the wilderness look at you when you scan the trees, knowing it is breathing you in as you breathe it in. You were alone in your isolated country home,

You look down at the mat to find a bouquet of Baby breaths wrapped in brown paper. You shakily pick it up and look at the card. You felt the lone lost role come back from all those years ago, the Doe, the innocent creature watched over by the wolves and tormented with pleasure and insanity. Your eyes manically look around the house again as you lose your breath, panic over you as you back into your door, slamming and locking the door.

“I don’t know how to describe it, but I’ve never met anyone who is equally beautiful inside and out as you. I hope you like the flowers even though I know you prefer color.

Eternally yours ♡”

Unbeknownst to you, across the way, a woman watched the house when you cowered back into the safety of the house. Her hand clutched the tree with their fingers digging into the now smoothed bark from the years of her touch. Her face snarls as she sees you hide back into your house, the lip quacking into a smirk, taking you drawing back as an invitation to chase you again. They remembered the years they yearned for you, afraid of you rejecting them because they didn't know if you liked girls too, not knowing how you would love them. You were precious; you were kind and genuine, ferocious and passionate, but so lost like always. They saw how you were lonely before the crash, and they see it now. They knew deep down that you were ruled by your fear and love of others, making you hide. They knew if they got you again, you couldn't leave them like you did once. You were their wife out there. And they are going to get you back.

Note: I really hope you liked this story! Please ask me if you want to be on the Taglist or any thoughts on my story. Also, if you don’t like the outfits you don’t have to take them as the image you get in your head while reading, they were just what I used to inspire the story and enrich the character setting that you are in for this story! (BTW I am so annoyed that I couldn’t find any plus sized clothes on the site I used to make the outfits)