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flowerandblood · 10 months

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Song from the Sea (2)

[ Aemond • Targaryen x Greyjoy! • fem! oc!reader]

[warnings: physical violence, swearing, sexual tension]

[description: Aemond and Aegon arrive in the Iron Islands, to confirm the arrangements made years ago and the marriage of Lord Greyjoy's daughter to Aemond. (Anon Request) During a break on a long journey, at one of the taverns Aegon drags him to, Aemond meets a woman, who will change his life forever. (Anon Request) Smut, angst, sexual tension, domination.]

* English is not my first language. Please, do not repost. Enjoy! *

Previous and next chapters: Masterlist

_____

Watching the waves of blue water lapping against the side of their ship, listening thoughtfully to the restless roar of the element, she considered throwing herself into the sea. Shouldn't she let the Drowned God take her to his depths, take the sea abyss for her husband.

The thought of marriage made her want to scream, but no sound came out of her mouth. Her indifferent face looked at her small, blurred reflection, their huge galley sailing at high speed, which made the whole ship rock, her dark hair, partly tied in a bun at the back of her head was blowing in the wind.

She boarded a ship for the first time when she was five years old. She accompanied her father, Dalton Greyjoy, on one of his short trips. He wanted his daughter to get acquainted with the cold and dangerous sea, to understand what the difficult life of a seaman is. She remembered her admiration for the ship's vastness, its huge sails that practically touched the sky.

She heard the shouts and orders of men, strange, tattooed, without eyes, arms or legs, in elaborate, gray and brown dun clothes, running from one point of the boat to another. Although it seemed like chaos at first to her, then she realized that everyone was working like clockwork, adapting to the changes in the sky and water.

Then she fell in love with the sea.

She first escaped from a stronghold in the Iron Islands at the age of eight. She packed a small bag, in her child's opinion, her most necessary things and sneaked out of the castle under the cover of night, heading towards the port, leaving only a letter.

She boarded Devilwind's galley unnoticed. In the morning one of the boatswains found her and took her to Captain John Senray, her father's closest friend.

Captain Senray was ten years older than her father, his long dark beard was covered with earrings and beads. She still remembered him looking at her, thinking hard, the boat creaking loudly around them from the speed that they had reached at sea.

After much thought, he decided that they couldn't turn back if they were to get the goods on time. He ordered her to sit in her cabin and obey all his orders.

She spent a week on his ship. The men, mostly bearded, with long, sticky hair, smelling of sea and rum, welcomed her as if she were their own daughter. They thought it worthy that Lord Greyjoy's daughter would go on a sea voyage, and they liked that she had no fear.

They taught her how to tie ropes and look at the stars, set a course, read maps and signs in the sky, the clouds that told her if it was going to be clear or a storm was coming.

She helped them with everything she could. They did not allow her to participate in their drunken revels, but they protected her and gave her a sense of complete security, combined with a freedom that she felt every time she looked overboard and saw only the endless sea.

When she returned home a week later, all dirty and plastered, her robes torn, her father greeted her with a love and tenderness that she never knew he was capable of. Although her mother died of worry every day, he was proud that his child felt the call of the sea. He didn't want her to be a plain, gentle lady like her mother.

Lady Greyjoy made her husband happy only twice: the day she gave him his beloved daughter and the day she gave him a son and heir. He considered her death in childbirth to be the natural order of things, with which he came to terms quite quickly, unlike his daughter.

She wanted to throw herself into the sea after her, to apologize to her for all she had suffered. She would wake up sometimes in the night, feeling like her mother was giving birth again, screaming so loud that her heart clenched.

From that moment on, she tried to pretend that the subject of marriage did not concern her. She was at sea with Captain Senray who already treated her as part of his crew.

She knew that her father loved her more than her brother, who had a softer nature, being more like their mother inside. He also swam at sea, but not so willingly, feeling weary from long voyages. Their father often told her that if he could, he would sign over the entire Iron Islands and the rest of his inheritance to her.

However, when the king proposed that they make a deal, her father betrayed her. He explained to her that the Iron Islands with the support of the crown would be richer and stronger than ever. That as her father expects from her and knows that she will fulfill her vocation.

She wanted to spit in his face then, considering that he had abandoned her, as he had abandoned her mother.

But nothing came out of her mouth.

Now, standing on Devilwind's galley, sailing back to the Iron Islands to meet her future husband, she wondered, if it wouldn't be better for her to just end it all.

She could still hear her mother's scream, see the brief fragment of her body lying in blood, that she saw through the crack in the door, which a moment later someone closed, noticing her. She thought, that the same would happen to her. That she would die giving birth to a man, who would be completely indifferent to her.

She shuddered and leaned forward, as they suddenly heard a loud, piercing roar above them. For a moment she thought, that she had lost her hearing, then looked up and saw two giant dragons, flying over them at such speed, that their entire galley began to rock side to side, causing panic. Her heart skipped a beat as she thought, that it was him.

She turned quickly, glancing after the great monsters flying through the sky, and saw, that they began to circle above the ground, landing. She knew, that there was a port nearby and ran to the captain to beg him to dock. She told him, that she wanted to meet her future husband.

Captain Senray and Walter Moore decided to accompany her in case of trouble. The route at night was dangerous and led only to one village. She knew there was an inn there, and that perhaps they had gone there. All three of them knew exactly the owner of this establishment, because they had stayed there more than once. She felt her heart pounding at the thought, that she might soon meet the person, on whom her entire future life depended.

They stepped inside, pulling off their hoods, looking around. She saw him at once, his back to them, watching them warily over his shoulder, his lips pursed. She knew, that it was him, because of his eyepatch and the light shade of his eye, unnatural in this part of the country. With difficulty she looked away from him, feeling her whole body tremble.

They went to the counter and ordered beers, exchanging pleasantries with the host. Then they approached one of the occupied benches. The men recognized them at once, so they only bowed their heads in appreciation and got up to find another place. Only then did they make themselves comfortable, taking off their coats. She now had a perfect view of their table. She barely suppressed an amused smile, as she saw him staring intensely at her and her waist.

His brother was babbling to him, and her future husband was answering him impatiently. He got up, she heard him say in the distance, that he wanted to leave and move on. Her heart squeezed at the thought.

After a while, however, they began to struggle with each other, and his drunken brother practically shouted, that they came here on dragons. Looking at them, she decided, that Prince Aemond's brother was an idiot.

She wasn't surprised, when he walked over to the counter to order something for himself, furious and resigned. She thought, that he had a very interesting face, and his scar didn't take anything away from him. Besides, she'd seen plenty of mutilated men, and such physical deficiencies didn't bother her much anymore.

She got up and walked over to him, figuring, that she wanted to tease him a little. She wasn't afraid of the consequences, she knew, that everything was already decided. She wanted to see, what awaited her, what kind of man he was.

When she bought him a round, he just looked at her searchingly, his face seemed to be made of stone. He was very tense, his eye cold, furious and disapproving. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw, that he had one hand on the dagger. There was some tension between them.

She thought, that he was handsome. That she could go upstairs and give herself to him, if he wanted to. See if he's a good lover. She smiled at the thought.

“Come upstairs with me. By the time we're done, your brother will fall asleep here, on the table.” She said calmly, softly, looking at him with her mouth slightly parted. She thought, that she wanted it. That she needed relief, because the frustration, pain, and fear she was feeling were too much to bear.

She didn't expect what would happen between them. She hadn't suspected, how he would react to her touch, hadn't expected, how wonderfully his sapphire eye graced his face.

She did not expect, that his disability was the reason for his great complexes. She thought, that in King's Landing, where everyone walked around in colorful robes, adorned with rich stones, he must have felt like a monster. She thought, that among her people, he would find acceptance, stop thinking, that he lacked anything.

The thought of him being like her, made her lose her temper. Originally, she just wanted to get fucked by him, but she ended up riding him. Her orgasm was so strong, that it was almost painful, her muscles clenching greedily around him, drawing low moans from him, that sent shivers down her spine.

In addition, she allowed him to cum inside herself, although no other man, with whom she had known this kind of pleasure, had been granted this honor before.

As he left, she slowly began to calm down. She thought, maybe there was hope for them. That maybe she'll find at least a little happiness with him.

However, as she officially entered the hall of her stronghold, wearing her most elegant, black gown, she saw his expression change from shock to fury. If he could, he would kill her with his eye.

She saw him clench his jaw, turn his head away, squeezing his eye shut, trying to calm himself down and not show anything. She wanted to laugh at the sight.

Her father ordered a small feast to be prepared for them, attended by Prince Aegon and her brother, Laren. She was seated next to her fiancé and even wanted to exchange a few courtesy words with him, but he beat her to it.

"Do not speak to me." He hissed softly like a snake, and she pursed her lips, arching an eyebrow, amused, simply taking a piece of roast into her mouth, unfazed. She decided not to force herself on him and waited, until he calmed down.

Her father had been sullen throughout the entire dinner and hardly spoke, leaving the entire burden of discussion on her younger brother's shoulders. Laren was a great talker, and though he tried to get something out of her future husband, he answered practically only in grunts, thoughtful and angry, completely in his own world. She thought, looking at him, that if he could, he would breathe fire and burn them all, including himself.

He was the first to get up after dinner. At first she decided she wouldn't run after him, but then she found herself wanting to drive him mad with rage. She stood up, thinking, that maybe he might even kill her, while doing her a favor. She wasn't afraid of death or the brutality he was known for.

He turned after her, surprised to see, that she had followed him into the chamber, that Lord Greyjoy had assigned him. She closed the door behind her, leaning her back against it, looking at him with a haughty, calm smile.

"Get out." He spoke low, menacing, dangerous, madness in his eye, that made her belly hot. She thought, that he was about to explode and licked her lips involuntarily.

“No.” She spoke calmy, sensually, softly. She saw a grimace cross his face, for some memory of their shared elation, that he wanted to get rid of.

He walked over to her unhurriedly, his eye black, his face expressionless. He grabbed her neck, his large hand slowly tightening on her slender, soft skin, forcing her to tilt her head back slightly.

He stared at her for a moment, and she could feel his hot, uneasy breath on her face. She smelled him again, the smell of smoke and something else, that she couldn't describe. She felt wetness between her thighs for some reason.

"Fucking whore." He spoke softly, lightly, not even blinking, his good eye wide open, as if he was just fighting hard not to strangle her. She smiled at his words, making him purse his lips.

“From what I remember, it takes two to elevate between a man and a woman. So you're just as much a whore, as I am." She whispered, moving closer to him as if to kiss him.

His hand gripped her neck tighter, slamming her whole body brutally against the back of the door with a dull thud. She felt him draw in a breath as he felt her short, tiny knife hidden in her sleeve, pressed against the side of his stomach.

"I could kill you for those words. For such an insult to the prince and the crown." He said through clenched teeth, not controlling himself. She thought, that he had just reached the height of his rage. She parted her lips slightly, impassive, looking at him with dreamy eyes.

"Take your beautiful princely knife from your belt and cut my throat. Punish me for wanting to meet a man, for whom I would give my freedom, my body, whose future descendants would tear my womb. With whom I will fly to King's Landing to be nothing, sewing with sweet, perfumed ladies fabrics, praising his future victories and achievements." She laughed lightly, warmly, feeling her throat constrict not because of his strength, but because of the tears, that she was holding back with the last of her willpower.

She saw him hesitate, something changed in his face. Her words surprised him and knocked him off balance.

"Or let's both assume that it never happened. That you fucked some strange, unknown woman, and I fucked some unknown, strange man. The last joy before an arranged wedding. Isn't that beautiful?” She asked quietly, one tear streaming down her face.

Her mask fell down. Her mouth went from smiling to helpless, her lips began to twitch, her body relaxed, as if she was about to collapse and pass out, her gaze pleading and tired. The knife slipped from her hand, falling with a loud thud to the floor.

She saw, that he was dismayed and surprised. His grip loosened suddenly and he took a few steps away from her, as if he didn't recognize her. She sank to the ground, burying her head between her knees and just started sobbing.

"I should have thrown myself into the sea." She said finally, covering her head with her hands, as if he was about to kick and punch her.

The fact, that he was in this chamber at that moment, was indifferent to her. All the grief, that she'd felt for months, ever since she found out, that her father had sold her, had just been released.

She didn't care what he thought of her, whether he thought she was a whore, an idiot, or a lunatic. For a moment, all she heard was the sound of her ragged breathing, and nothing else. She knew, that he was looking at her.

After a while, she heard him move and sit up on bed, with a loud creaking of wood. She looked up slightly and saw, that he was bent over, his face buried in his hands. She thought, that he was as broken as she was.

She changed her position and lay down on the floor, staring straight ahead at the legs of a small, wooden table, that stood at the back of the chamber. Her future husband looked at her, his expression uncertain and puzzled.

"What are you doing?" He asked, looking at her, as if he was about to faint from exhaustion and frustration himself. She didn't even look at him, when she heard his words.

"I'm lying." She said indifferently. He sighed heavily, burying his face in his hands again, apparently deciding, that it was too much for him.

She heard him begin to unbutton his jacket, then pull off his boots, knocking them to the ground with a loud thud. He blew out the candles lit in the chamber, making it completely dark. Then she heard the rustling of cloth. He lay down on the bed with his back to her, pretending, that she wasn't there.

She thought, for some reason, that she wanted to stay with him. She'd slept on the floor more than once on ships, and it wasn't uncomfortable for her at all, though he probably thought she was crazy. She didn't want to be alone in her chamber.

In the Iron Islands, the approach to male-female relationships was lighter, and she knew, that as long as he didn't kick her out, she could do whatever she wanted.

She fell asleep after a while, crying without a sound, looking at the moon, that shone brightly outside the window. She dreamed of her mother again, covered in blood. Then she had a dream about her father, saying, that he was proud of her. She cried in her sleep, begging him not to give her away.

She flinched, as she felt someone suddenly grab her and throw her over his shoulder, like a sack of potatoes. For a moment she didn't know where she was, so she started kicking.

"Stop it." He hissed as he laid her on his bed, and only then did she recognize his face.

She pursed her lips, a bit embarrassed by her outburst. She straightened her long dress, as he laid down next to her, with his back to her.

"Stop crying and sleep."

_____

Aemond Taglist:

(bold means I couldn't tag you)

@its-actually-minicika @notnormalthings-blog @nikstrange @zenka69 @bellaisasleep @k-y-r-a-1 @g-cf2020 @melsunshine @opheliaas-stuff @chainsawsangel @iiamthehybrid @tinykryptonitewerewolf @namoreno @malfoytargaryen @qyburnsghost @aemondsdelight @persephonerinyes @fan-goddess @sweethoneyblossom1 @watercolorskyy @astral-blossoms @randomdragonfires @amirawritespoorly @apollonshootafar @padfooteyes @darylandbethfanforever9 @fudge13 @snh96 @diosademuerte @rwdkarla @echos-muses

Others: @letmeloveyouuuu @fantasias-creativebubble

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imherongraystairstrash · 3 years

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I’ve been thinking about this for a while, do you think Charles,Barbara, Eugenia and Anna were close? Anna maybe less because she’s closer in age to the merry thieves set and she probably ghosted Charles after the Ariadne engagement. Would you consider a fic of them all growing up, starting with them 4 as little kids and then slowly becoming teens and adults and then dealing with Barbara’s death. I think it would be a fun idea since nobody ever considers them to be a older merry thieves.

You can thank my social anxiety for this one bc I stress wrote it in school 🙃

TW: panic attacks, death

Title: When we were young

Characters: Barbara Lightwood, Anna Lightwood, Eugenia Lightwood, Cecily Lightwood, Gabriel Lightwood, Alexander Lightwood, Sophie Lightwood, Gideon Lightwood

Anna was sitting by the fire when Charles came into the room. She hated him. She truly did. But, somehow, at that moment, she felt strange. He looked at her and it took her many years back, to when they weren’t exactly friends, but they were far from what they are now to each other.

…

“And that was how Consul Wentworth fixed the crisis of 1687.” Charles said with a satisfied smile to himself.

The Lightwood girls were his audience. Well, sort of. Eugenia’s cheek was resting on her fist, squishing the right side of her face as her lidded eyes approached shutting completely. Anna was slumped against Eugenia, her lips pressed together tightly and her eyes opened wide, staring at a fixed spot on the floor. Their luminous dark blue glittered in the witchlight, looking exquisitely uncanny. Barbara was mid-yawn, leaning on the leg of a sofa.

“Wow, Charles. Thanks for the history lesson.” Eugenia said, monotonously. It was evident that she’d inherited her mother’s sass from the day she was born, when Barbara had woken her up by exclaiming at the sight of her newborn sister, and Genie responded by pulling her sister’s hair.

“Oh, and in 1690-“

“NO!” All three Lightwood daughters shrieked.

“I’m still not done, though.” Said Charles.

“Yes, you are.” Eugenia said, standing up and settling the matter. “We are positively bored. There is absolutely nothing to do except listen to Charles talk about politics, and if those are the only two options, frankly, I’d rather be bored.”

Charles crossed his arms. “Being an intellect is not boring.”

Little two year old Anna looked at him with one eyebrow raised.

“I swear, Thomas is having a better time than we are,” Eugenia said glaring at to where their parents were, with the tiny, almost invisible baby nestled in Gideon’s arms, his fingers wrapped around Sophie's thumb. The parents were all laughing about something, which made Eugenia scowl even more.

“To be an adult.” Barbara said, with a martyred sigh.

“We needn’t be adults to have fun.” Charles said.

“I suppose you’re going to torture us with more political trivia.”

“No,” Charles said. “I was going to suggest we go through the attic.”

The girls looked up at this and Charles smirked, clearly proud of himself at having come up with a good idea. For once.

“What is in the attic?”

Charles shrugged. “I don’t know, but there’s probably strange and obscure things. There’s a lot of that kind of stuff in our house.”

Barbara and Eugenia exchanged a look before the eldest Lightwood sister turned to him.

“We shall go and discover this mysterious attic you speak of.”

…

“What could this even be?” Barbara said, holding up a loose gear-like contraption.

“Papa sometimes builds things out of clockwork.” Charles said, sitting cross legged. “Or, he used to at least.”

“That’s…”

Genie and Charles looked at Barbara as she trailed off.

“Nevermind, I have no comment.”

Charles nodded as though that was a common reaction people had in terms of his father’s experiments.

They rummaged through boxes upon boxes, finding momentos they didn’t understand such as papers upon papers of things that said many difficult words. They could distinguish a couple of words such as “infernal” and “devices”, however there were many that made no sense to them.

“What is a Mortmain?” Asked Genie.

“I think it’s an undead horse or something along those lines,” said Charles.

“Oh,” said Eugenia. “That’s disgusting.”

“Quite,” agreed Barbara.

Anna was toddling around the room, giggling. She almost tripped over a loose floorboard, and would have, had Charles not reached out and grabbed a hold of the back of her dress.

“This is too dangerous for a small child like Anna,” Barbara said, ever the mother-goose. “I shall take her downstairs before she hurts herself.”

Anna protested at first, but acquiesced once Barbara bribed her with the promise of dessert.

…

“What are you doing here?” Anna asked.

He looked up, his green eyes meeting her blue ones.

…

Charles remembered that day like it was just yesterday.

He and Eugenia had stayed behind rifling through boxes, which wasn’t unwelcome, as Eugenia and Charles had an easy, lighthearted and, at times, profound, friendship. Despite their age gap, they enjoyed each other’s company, though neither could say why. Perhaps, it was simply because they mocked each other. Or perhaps, it was sometimes they would occasionally talk about things such as philosophy, and whether what they were seeing was true, or the world was just a figment of their imaginations. Or a mixture of the two; they’d never really discussed it.

Eugenia surprised him when she said, “do you ever feel… different from your parents?”

Charles furrowed his brows, “in what aspect?”

“Love.”

“Have you a suitor?” Charles inquired, intrigued.

“No. Actually, that was my question. I find that, sometimes, I don’t only enjoy the idea of a male suitor, but perhaps, I also enjoy the company of a woman. Perhaps.” She pressed her lips together tightly, as if forcing herself to stop speaking.

Charles looked at her, his bright green eyes wide. “I-um-…”

“But I’m not sure, of course.” Eugenia blurted out. “It’s not as if shadowhunters are precisely fond of that particular preference or-“

“Do you really think they wouldn’t like it?” Charles asked, softly. “Do you believe they will reject those who are like that?”

Eugenia looked down. “I’m afraid I’m most sure of it.”

Charles had then realized that he couldn’t have both. There was no way around it.

He knew his parents were happy and that love made them complete. However, they didn’t have to choose. They could be married and the idea wouldn’t affect their respective occupations. Charles, on the other hand, couldn’t be Consul and have the kind of love he wanted. He almost resented them because of it. They were able to do what they loved and nobody forced them to pick between one or the other.

It was unfair. So incredibly unfair.

“I guess you better get rid of your feelings towards women than.” He said simply, “unless you’re willing to let something as simple as love get in the way of your dreams.”

“Dreams?” Eugenia asked, looking confused and a tiny bit hurt.

But Charles got up to go back downstairs to his parents, aunts and uncles.

…

Charles slumped down in a chair and dug his fingers into his hair.

“She was just here.” He said quietly. “Babs, was just here.”

Anna felt sudden rage. “You are not allowed to mourn her.”

Charles looked up. “Just because you don’t like me doesn’t mean I can’t be sad. She was my cousin too. Perhaps not by blood, but she was still a cousin.” He pressed his lips together angrily and stared fixedly at the witchlight stone that was illuminating the room.

Anna, however, couldn’t find it in her to be diplomatic; she got up and left the room.

…

Anna had never seen Eugenia look this way. She was always put together, posh. But now, she looked hollow. Like a shell of who she used to be. Anna wanted to go up to her, to say something, but she felt lost for words. What did you tell someone who lost a dear sister? If Anna felt sorrow, she couldn’t imagine what Eugenia was feeling.

Her head was tilted upwards, looking up at the pyre where the corpse of her sister lay. Tears were streaming down her face, rolling down her cheeks, throat and chest, leaving streaks on her face that looked like the roots of a tree.

Sophie had her arm around her daughter. The sight of the four of them was very strange. There was a gap missing where Barbara should have been. She suddenly felt a hand take hold of her own. She looked to her right and saw her mother looking straight ahead, squeezing her daughter’s hand. Her father was looking down, holding Alex. Her baby brother was one of the few who looked up at the cousin who’d taught him to play simple songs on the piano, and had always let him sleep in her arms on New Year's eve.

She didn’t know what he must have been thinking now, staring up at the pyre.

Though, to be fair, she didn’t quite know what to think herself, as she looked up at the cousin who’s life was cut far too short.

…

Eugenia’s body didn’t feel like her own. She hadn’t felt this body was her own for a while. Even since Augustus and the secret she’d kept to herself.

This was somehow worse. To be torn away from your best friend, whom you’d shared a room with almost your entire life. Eugenia didn’t know how to live in a world without Barbara. Sometimes, in the rare moments when she forgot about her sadness, she’d call her sister’s name, ready to tell her about what had happened in her novel. Or find herself walking to Barbara’s room without thinking and then staring blankly at the door that has remained shut ever since the day she passed away.

A couple of weeks ago, she’d found a letter Barbara had sent her when she’d been in Idris. It was in between her copy of Jane Eyre. She couldn’t bring herself to read it in its entirety, but she stared at the signature blankly.

Suddenly, she got the urge to run. So she ran. That’s how, an hour later, she’d gotten a small tattoo under her ankle that said “Sincerely, your favorite sister Babs.”

It felt right to have Bab’s signature there, we’re only she could see. It made her feel accompanied everywhere she went, even though nobody else could see.

Now, looking up at the pyre, her face tight from tears she’d left to dry, her mother weeping silently, she could almost imagine that her sister was there, simply caught in a slumber and that she’d wake up at any moment and come tumbling down, throwing herself in Eugenia’s arms.

Any moment now, she thought when the pyre burst into flames.

“Ave atque vale, Barbara Lightwood.” The crowd said at once.

Eugenia shook her head and swayed on her feet. Her breathing became heavy and her fingers began prickling. Suddenly, she couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t move. No nononono.

She felt a hand on her shoulder, vaguely that it was her father’s.

Not Barbara.

Not Babs.

“Calm down, Genie.”

Not her sister. Her sister couldn’t possibly be up there.

“Breathe Eugenia.”

She wanted to scream that she couldn’t, that she’d never breathe again, as long as her sister wasn’t breathing with her. Why did she have to live? She would have much preferred that Barbara live in her stead.

The world was numb and fractured, never to be fixed again.

…

(Don’t worry, Gideon was able to help Genie after the fic ends bc he’s the best dad)

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#tsc #tlh #eugenia lightwood #barbara lightwood #charles buford fairchild #gabriel lightwood #anna lightwood #cecily lightwood #cecily herondale #tlh fanfic #tlh fanfiction #the last hours #tid #sophie lightwood #gideon lightwood

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hes-a-rainbow · 3 years

Text

Simply Meant To Be (Part One)

A/N: I’ve always loved soulmate AU’s so I wrote a little something based on my interpretation. I’ll only continue this if it gets good feedback so remember to like and share!

word count: 2k warnings: small mention of panic attacks.

Soulmates weren’t a new concept. Many people argued soulmates were as old as the universe itself. But that didn’t stop the tiny twinge of jealousy that twisted in Rue’s stomach as she opened up yet another wedding invitation. She stared back at the smiling couple, one of her friends from high school that had met their soulmate a few years back in college. Another photo zoomed in on their ring fingers. Their first initials scarred on both of their fingers indicating their eternal bond.

She flipped over the invitation to fill out the rsvp and dinner selection she would be having in a few months time. She also marked an ‘X’ next to ‘not bringing a guest’. She sighed as the tiny ‘X’ seemingly mocked her loneliness.

It wasn’t that she didn’t believe in soulmates, they were a fact of life since the beginning of civilization. It was merely the loneliness she felt seeing everyone meeting their soulmate while she still remained alone. Her best friend, Madison, who had met her soulmate back in kindergarten and she was now six months pregnant with their second child.

There was no real science to when, where, or how you would meet your soulmate, it was just supposed to happen. Fate would eventually intertwine the lives of two people who were simply meant to be. Rue was now nearing 26. She had been in love before, as many before her, but the looming fact that her significant others’ soulmate could show up at any time kept her from anything long term.

There was always that terrible thought in the back of her head; the one she had since she was young and still kept her up at night. Growing up, the concept of soulmates were taught in schools. Children mocked each other on the school yard that they would be forever ‘unmarked’, a term coined for those who were destined to be alone. It was a rare phenomenon but it still happened nonetheless.

She took a look at her left hand adorned with rings except for on her ring finger. She remembers spending hours as a child staring and hoping the initial of her true love would show up. But all these years later, it remained as bare as the day she was born. She never thought of herself as a pessimist and she knew she was still young (her parents hadn’t met until they were in their mid thirties) but it still hurt as she watched from the sidelines as seemingly everyone else was matched up.

The loud ringing of her cell phone snapped her out of her thoughts. Her friend and close confidante, Caroline, was calling. She swiped her finger across her phone and cleared her throat, “What’s up?”

“Well hello to you too!” Caroline’s voice roared back to her. She hit the volume button down lower as she knew Caroline was a loud talker. “I’m on my way to Rory’s. My guitar string broke this morning and Talia got called in for a late shift. Do you wanna stop by with me and then get take out for dinner?” Caroline’s soulmate, Talia, was a highly wanted chef in Hell’s Kitchen who worked nights at one of the most prestigious restaurants in the entire city.

She stared at the digital clock on her oven that indicated it was only 5:30. “Sure, I just got home so just let me change and I’ll meet you at Rory’s.” She tucked the phone between her ear and shoulder and wandered over to her bedroom to pull out a pair of jeans.

“No need. I’m walking up your stairs as we speak.” Like clockwork, she heard the sound of Caroline’s knuckles knocking at her front door.

“Jesus Caroline, and what if I had said no?” She walked over to the door, unzipping her work pants. Caroline’s bright smile and bleached blonde hair greeted her. “You can’t say no to me!” Caroline looked down at her friends’ outfit. “Cute but can I recommend something less librarian?” Caroline placed her guitar case by the door as Rue rolled her eyes but held the door open. She sauntered back over to her dresser to continue changing out of her work clothes. Caroline sat on her bed and basically held an entire conversation by herself as Rue simply replied with oh, uh huh, and that’s crazy.

Winter had come to the city fast, blanketing the city in a slick frost every morning. The two women walked side by side, bundled up in hats and scarves as they walked the two blocks from Rue’s apartment to Rory’s, an old music shop that also happened to be run by Rory, Rue’s upstairs neighbor and close friend.

“And I know she’ll be upset if I spend so much money but she’s been talking about this knife set for months now.” Caroline rambled on about what she would be getting Talia for their upcoming anniversary. They weren’t married yet, or even engaged for that matter, but they had been together for nearly five years now and didn’t see the need to rush anything.

“I mean it is your five year. She can’t be too upset that you would want to splurge a little bit. But that’s also basically your whole paycheck. You’d basically be leaving it up to her to pick up that entire month’s rent.” Rue’s faded leather boots slapped the pavement as she hid her face further into the scarf wrapped around her neck, trying to warm up her freezing nose. It was almost completely dark out now which meant there was no sun to help ease off the cold.

“And what about that song you were working on? No amount of money spent could give Talia anything that personal and from the heart.” Caroline was an aspiring musician who worked full time as a coffee shop manager and played open mics on the weekends. Caroline hummed in response, her confidence slipping. “I’m just not sure if I like how it turned out…” She let her voice trail off and stared ahead as if in deep thought.

“She’d love it no matter what. Anyone would.” Rue knocked her shoulder into her friends’. “I mean isn’t that like everybody’s dream? To have a song written about them?”

“Yeah, I guess.” They both stopped at the old music store with the big ‘open’ sign in neon lights adorning the window.

“Ah fuck it’s cold out there.” Caroline announced as the warmth from the stores’ heater hit them. Rue untangled her scarf to hang loosely at her side. A loud bell indicated their arrival and they saw Rory’s head perk up from behind the register.

“How much for an hour, ladies?” He called over to them and was met with not one, but two middle fingers from them both. Rory was only a few years older than them but had become especially close with Caroline because of their love of music. Rue worked as a receptionist at a law firm but worked a few shifts at the shop here and there when Rory needed extra help.

Caroline walked over to the counter and plopped her heavy guitar case on it. “String broke again.” She popped open the buckles on the side, lifting it up to reveal the old acoustic guitar she had been gifted as a teenager. The shine of the guitar had been long lost and was now replaced with a few dings and scratches but Caroline loved it no less than the day she got it.

“Damn Caroline. Really have to start being more careful with her.” Rory took the guitar out of it’s velvet bed by the neck and examined the broken string that hung lamely at the side. “This is the second time this month. What could you possibly be playing?”

“I’m trying to learn some flamenco techniques and it’s not going as well as I planned…” Rue wandered over to the wall that hung the electric guitars, zoning out the banter coming from her two friends.

She always admired the instrument but had absolutely no musical talent whatsoever. She loved how Rory kept all the guitars miraculously clean, there were never any fingerprints or smudges on them and she swear he went over every spot with a toothbrush to make sure. She reached for an acoustic guitar that was hanging lower than the more expensive ones.

“You break it, you buy it!” Rory called over to her as he always did. She huffed in response and propped her knee up on a low shelf that held a variety of guitar straps. She didn’t know how to play nor did she know any songs but she loved the sounds the strings made when plucked. She would find herself mesmerized when she watched Caroline play the guitar so effortlessly. Rue even thought back to when she was a child and took a few piano lessons here and there but could never get the hang of it.

As she stood under the guitars and heard Caroline and Rory bickering about which string would be the best replacement (of course his recommendation was also the most expensive brand he sold), the bell by the front door rung to indicate a new customer. Rue didn’t bother looking over as she played some random notes in an attempt to put something together but only to be met by a terrible ‘plunk’. She decided to put the guitar back before embarrassing herself even further in front of her very talented friends.

She was about to place the head of the guitar back on the hook it hung from when she felt an intense pain in her chest. The hand not holding the guitar went right to the center of her chest as a warmth ran over her body. Her ears started to ring and she teetered in her place before placing the guitar down on the floor, not wanting to damage it if she fell.

“Rue?” She heard her name coming from behind her but her eyes filled with stars. She opened and closed them as the pain in her chest increased, causing her to fall to the floor on her knees. She could hear frantic chatter coming from the counter but her only focus was calming her breathing. She had suffered from panic attacks before but the intense pain in her chest was unlike anything she had ever experienced. She heard footsteps running towards her as she released a groan from deep in her throat.

“Rue! What’s going on? Are you okay?” Caroline slumped to the floor next to her and put an arm around her shoulder. Rue’s vision was blurry and she blinked fast as her eyes started to water. A bang and a deep groan went through the store somewhere behind her. “Holy shit!” A stranger's voice yelled, “Harry, man, are you alright?”

Suddenly, the pain Rue felt in her chest shot down her left arm. She felt as if she were dying. It was as if her skin was being cut from the inside out while also spontaneously being burned. “Rue! Rue!” She could hear Caroline calling her name but it came through as muffled though her ringing ears. She looked up to see a group of men standing by the counter. Rory was speaking frantically on his cell phone and she could see two men crowded around another who sat in the same position on the floor as she did. The brunette on the floor looked up and their eyes met. The overwhelming pain stopped suddenly as she stared at him. Pictures flashed in her mind of her and this man, someone who was a stranger to her but also oddly familiar. She saw his smile and heard her own laugh. She saw tears stream down his face and her own fingers wiping them away.

What is this? She thought in her head.

You know what this is. Her conscious replied.

Caroline’s face came back to her line of sight, “Hey Rue, look at me. It’s okay. You’re gonna be fine.” She held Rue’s face in her hands. Rue’s hands came up to clasp her friends’ wrist, her breathing rapid as her heart beat finally started to slow back to a normal pace. Her left hand still stung. More specifically, her left ring finger.

She pulled away from her friend quickly to examine the new mark that now adorned her skin.

“Holy shit.” Rue rubbed at the mark with her other hand to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. But with every swipe, the letter remained. “Holy shit!” Rue heard Caroline agree as she looked down at Rue’s hand, but Caroline’s voice was filled with less fear and more glee than Rue’s.

There, on her left ring finger, still swollen and red was the letter H.

A/N: This is just an idea I have that I may or may not continue based on the feedback. I know Harry was literally just a mention in this part but I would obviously include him much more going forward. Let me know if you’re interested in what happens next and please like and share!

Part Two

#harry styles #harry styles one shot #harry styles au #harry styles fic #harry style fanfic #harry styles smut #harry styles blurb #harry styles fluff #one direction #hslot #soulmates au #harry styles writing #tpwk #treat people with kindness #harry styles drabble #harry styles x oc

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shakespeareanwannabe · 4 years

Text

Protective Instincts

Santiago Pope Garcia x F!OC

Summary: After everything he’s done, Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia can’t fathom the idea of bringing a child into the world. But sometimes, life doesn’t work out exactly as you’ve planned. *Based off of some wonderful headcanons written by @darksideofclarke*

Warnings: Pregnancy fic (so if you’re not into that, please don’t read), swearing, reference to smut (but it’s only like one line), references to blood, death (of adults and children), and PTSD

A/N: Hi everyone! So this is my first fanfic post on Tumblr (I have an active account on ff.net, and if anyone is interested in reading that, I can send you my account name). I really enjoyed writing for Pope, it was really nice to spread my wings outside of the Supernatural fandom, so please let me know if you enjoyed this, because I’ve got so many ideas for how to turn it into a series. Hope you enjoy! And let me know if you want to be tagged in any future chapters that come out.

15 steps to the left.

Stop.

Turn.

15 steps to the left.

Stop.

Turn.

Repeat until the worries of the mind and the heaviness of the heart disappears.

“Hey, baby, I’m home!” Pope’s voice calls out, causing Rebecca’s steady steps to stumble.

“How can I face him? How can I tell him?” her mind anguished.

She found herself stopped in front of their large bay window, staring out into the street as her wonderful, loving boyfriend walked up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her, not noticing how she flinched as he hands come to rest on top of her still soft stomach and planted a gentle kiss on her neck.

“How was your day?” he questioned, seemingly content with the picture of domestic bliss that they undoubtedly made, as he nuzzled his nose in between her shoulder blades.

“It was fine,” she murmured quietly, folding her arms around her chest.

Pope shifted, his nose gently brushing her ear as he twisted to look at her profile.

“What happened?”

What had happened? How could she answer that when every molecule in her body was seemingly at war with each other? When her heart was rejoicing but the tiniest voice in the back of her mind was throwing up red flags because they had never talked about this before and she had no clue how he was going to react? When every instinct inside of her was screaming ‘protect’ and every emotion was yelling ‘share’?

“I…I think we should sit.”

Pope felt his heart stutter but nodded as he gently led her to the couch. Was this the moment he had been dreading? Was this when karma kicked in and took away the best thing that had ever happened to him?

“Bex, please…” he kept his hand on her thigh as they settled next to each other on the leather couch. “Are you okay?” Hesitantly, she nodded, and Pope sighed with relief. “What’s going on, baby?”

She shifted slightly, pulling away from his hand and playing with her fingers in her lap. “Umm…you know how I haven’t been feeling great the past week or so?”

He nodded, leaning forward. “Yeah, did you go to the doctor today like I asked?”

He had had to beg her to go. She had insisted that it was just the flu, probably coupled with her oncoming period in the next couple of days. She usually felt like shit when that time of the month rolled around, but the constant vomiting had been new, so he had pleaded with her daily for the last four days to go to the doctor. In hindsight, she had been resistant because she had a sneaking suspicion, but, again, her instincts had been at war with each other.

“Yeah, I went…” It wasn’t until her breathing hitched and Santiago lifted his hand to brush away a tear that she even realized she was crying.

“Baby…” Rebecca looked up and met Santi’s dark eyes. She could read the fear reflected in them and it only made her feel worse. Her sweet, burdened man had fought a war, lost friends, and here she was, scaring him in the comfort of his own home.

“I’m pregnant,” she blurted, wanting to see that worry washed away from his expression.

Instead, she saw the walls slam up in his eyes.

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

Pope had the unfortunate experience of being too close to an explosive as it detonated. He’d felt the shrapnel dig itself into his body, felt the heat burn his skin, but, for Pope, the worst part was the ringing in his ears. When the dull sound of tinnitus overtook everything. He’d had men, friends, best friends, screaming in his face but had been unable to hear them. The roar of the fire and the scream of bullets flying sounded like he was hearing them from deep underwater, Catfish could be hollering in his ear that they had to move, but he couldn’t make out the words.

“I’m pregnant…” Rebecca blurted, hesitantly glancing back and forth between his face and her lap.

Now, he was sure that she kept talking. Hell, he could see her lips moving. But the words…they weren’t reaching him. Everything was white noise, he was moving through water, the scar on the back of his neck started to burn.

One thing the military had taught Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia was how to listen to his instincts. He was a damn good leader, he had a loyal crew of men who depended on him and had his back, and that was partially because his instincts were usually pretty spot on. If that feeling in his gut told him to stop, they stopped. If it told him to run, he was dragging his team alongside him at a dead sprint. If it told him to shoot, he shot.

Now, his fight or flight was telling him one thing.

Pope rose from the couch, his eyes just skating past Rebecca’s panicked expression, his brain not really absorbing any new information, like how her lips were moving in a repetitive pattern.

“Santi…Pope…Santiago…Please…Santi…Pope…Santiago…Please…”

His ears were ringing, but his eyes knew her lips well enough to understand, even if that information wasn’t making it to his brain.

Wordlessly, emotionlessly, almost lifelessly, Pope paced to the front door, shrugged on his leather jacket, donned his sunglasses, pulled his keys out of his pocket.

Open the door. One step over the doorframe.

Turn.

Close the door. Lock it.

Five stairs. Fifteen paces.

Unlock car. Get in. Key in ignition. Seatbelt on.

Start car. Shift gears. Peddle on the right.

Drive.

Santiago had no destination in mind, no plan. For once, the man with a plan had no plan.

“I’m pregnant…”

He felt the whizz of a bullet flying by his cheek.

“I’m pregnant…”

The blood of a civilian spurted through his fingers as he tried to put pressure on the wound.

“I’m pregnant…”

The bodies of kids lined up outside of a village that had just been bombed, that they hadn’t gotten there in time to save.

“I’m pregnant…”

Every echo of Bex’s voice brought a new memory.

Car bombs exploding in Afghanistan.

The numerous deaths of innocent civilians in Iraq.

The countless executions of sicarios in Colombia by the police force.

Tom and the complete fuck up that he had led his friends into.

Bzzz. Bzzz. Bzzz.

Pope looked down for a split second and saw Rebecca’s photo lighting up his screen.

It was a photo they had taken on the Fourth of July. He had taken her out to Will’s cabin out in the middle of the woods, deep enough that none of the seasoned veterans would be able to hear the fireworks exploding overhead. She had spider-monkeyed her way around him as he sat on a log next to the campfire, arms wrapped around his shoulders, legs around his waist, and chest pressed tightly up against his back, and when Benny had seen the way he had smiled at her over his shoulder, he had snapped the photo with his phone.

For a split second, Pope was torn. Did he cave to the guilt that was starting to gnaw at his gut and answer the phone? Did he shut his phone off so he wouldn’t have to hear the rattling sound in his cupholder? In the end, he did neither.

His instincts were driving him to continue down the road, and his heart wouldn’t let him shut off his phone, so he ignored it. He knew she would begin to panic if his phone sent her straight to voicemail but leaving it on allowed her the peace of mind to know that he would answer…eventually. When he was ready.

Pope didn’t pay any attention to his dashboard clock, nor did he pay any mind to the sun that was slowly crawling its way across the sky. He knew hours had passed, he knew that Bex was calling him every ten minutes or so, and he knew that the emptiness of the road and the repetitive hum of the tires below him was soothing his mind.

When his truck dinged, alerting him to the news that his truck had about ten miles left before it ran out of gas, he pulled over, stopped, and refilled the tank with what was left in his gas can before continuing.

He paid attention to the traffic and to the periodic buzzing of his phone, that was it.

Hours passed, his phone buzzing every ten minutes like clockwork until the sun hung low in the sky. Until his phone stopped buzzing.

At the first ten minute mark when his phone didn’t buzz and his and Bex’s smiling faces didn’t appear on his screen, approximately six hours into his drive and approximately around the time when Pope realized he had been driving in circles for at least the last four, he glanced down to make sure that his phone hadn’t died.

Ten minutes after that, he pulled onto a farm road, slowing to a stop on the side of the dirt road. His heart was racing as though he had been running for the past six hours, and he couldn’t understand why.

13 minutes after that, his phone came to life again, a pixelated likeness of Catfish’s face appearing in the dimming light of the sunset. Bex was in that photo too, Frankie pressing a kiss to her cheek while winking at Pope behind the camera.

Pope sighed and cleared his throat, hoping to convey a lightheartedness when he greeted, “Hey Fish, what’s goin’ on?”

Pope heard a screen door slam shut as Frankie growled, “Estúpido hijo de puta.”

Pope pulled the phone away from his ear, making sure it was actually Catfish calling and not some crank call. “Frankie?”

“Santi, do you want to tell me why I’m here with your hysterical girlfriend and you’re not?”

Pope felt his heart sink in his chest. “Fish, I—”

“Bex nearly gave me a goddamn heart attack when she called,” Frankie talked over him. “Sobbing so hard she couldn’t get the words out. I gunned it over to your place thinking you had been kidnapped or something, man. Had an SOS text ready to send to Benny and Will, only to find out that you had just left and you weren’t answering her calls. What the fuck, Pope?”

Pope stepped out of his truck and leaned back against the door, staring out at the reds and purples and golds of the sunset.

“…she’s pregnant, man.”

“Yeah, and?”

“And?” Pope wrenched himself away from the truck and began pacing up and down the abandoned stretch of road. “And I don’t know how the fuck to be a father! I don’t know how to raise a kid to be a benefit to society and not a colossal fuck up! After all the shit I’ve done, all the blood on my hands?” Pope took a shaky, shuddery breath, pressing the phone up to his forehead as he wished he could keep it together. He shouldn’t be saying anything. He should bury all the shit so deep down it never sees the light of day. He should, but it was also Frankie Morales he was talking to. His ride or die since day one. The guy who, no matter what was happening, always gave it to him straight. The brain behind Pope’s brawn.

“What gives me the right, Frankie?” Pope mumbled as he brought the phone back to his ear. “I’ve killed people…I’ve gotten people killed…I’ve let people die…That kid is gonna come into the world all innocent, take one look at me, and see a killer. H—How am I supposed to raise a kid when I can barely keep my own shit together half the time?”

The line was silent for a long time, and Pope helplessly dashed at the water that had pooled in his eyes.

“No sé cómo hacer esto, hermano,” he whispered.

Finally, he heard the telltale rasp of Frankie running his hand over his face. “Chill the fuck out, bro,” Frankie told him in a voice that somehow managed to be both soothing and commanding. “Holding that kid will be the best thing you ever do in your life. The only thing that makes all of the shit worth it.”

“But—”

“No buts, Pope. You wanna know how you’re gonna raise that kid? You’re not,” he said simply. “You and Bex are gonna raise that kid together. You’re gonna make mistakes, and screw up, and so will she, but as long as you’re there, and you love that kid hard, and you actually give a shit, then you’re gonna be leaps and bounds above half the dickheads out there that call themselves dads.” Pope squeezed his eyes shut to stop the tears that were threatening to roll down his cheeks. He didn’t know if Frankie knew that his partner and friend was tearing up in the middle of nowhere, but he also knew that Frankie (and Bex) were probably the only two people on the planet who wouldn’t give him shit for it.

He just couldn’t help it. Six hours ago, his world had exploded, and now Frankie was helping him put it together piece by painful piece. Worst of all was how badly Pope wanted to believe him. He wanted to believe that the kid would make all the bullshit he had gone through worth it, but he didn’t dare imagine it. It was too good to be true. He was too broken, too beaten down to make a good father.

“Listen man,” Frankie grunted, and Pope’s keen ears picked up a shuffle in the background that told him Frankie had sat down somewhere. “I’ve got the same blood and shit on my hands that you do. Worse, even, if you consider that mess I got myself into without you. Does that make me a bad dad?”

Pope was already shaking his head. After the mess in Colombia, after Yovanna had decided that he wasn’t worth her time, Pope had come home and settled a few blocks over from where Frankie and his fiancée at the time (now his wife), Charlotte, had settled down. Pope had seen Frankie with his son, Mateo, more times than he could count.

“Frankie—”

“Exactly. And considering where my head was at when Charlie told me she had a bun in the oven, I shoulda been. I could’ve messed that kid up bad…I thought I would, but I didn’t.” Frankie sighed again, and Pope could visualize him scratching at his facial hair. “Santi, bringing that kid into the world is the only thing that’ll make up for all of the shit. Believe me.”

Because it was Frankie, his right-hand man, his best friend, Pope allowed himself to hope. He allowed himself to close his eyes and imagine it. A little baby nestled in his arms, curling up against his chest like he hadn’t killed countless people. Dark eyes looking up at him the way their mother looked at him, with love and kindness, like he didn’t have blood on his hands. A chance to do some good in the world, to bring some light into his life. A chance to raise a kid who could be better than he ever was. Who wouldn’t tear the world down in a storm of bullets and bombs, but maybe, just maybe, build it back up with smiles and love.

Pope choked back a sob. “Frankie, I fucked up.”

“Nah, hermano,” Frankie chuckled. “Your girl loves you. The only way you can fuck up now is if you don’t come home. Then, I’m morally obligated to hunt you down and castrate you.”

Pope chuckled a watery laugh as he climbed back into the cab of his truck. “I’m on my way now.”

“Good, my ass is getting cold from sitting on your front steps,” Frankie laughed.

Pope laughed again, a real laugh this time. “Go home, cabrón.”

“Hey, I’m not the one who has some major ass kissing to do, jackass.”

Pope waited as he could hear Frankie getting into his car. “Seriously, man. Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it, bro,” Pope heard Frankie’s car start in the background. “Just fix it.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and I call godfather!”

Pope laughed as he hung up and sped down the road. If he kept on this road and obeyed the speed limit, he could make it home in half an hour. He was determined to make it home in twenty.

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

It may have been the worst parking job Pope had ever done, with half the car parked on the grass, half on the asphalt, the back end blocking most of the sidewalk, and a few inches between his rear, driver’s side tire and the back end of Rebecca’s car, but he didn’t care. The jovial spirit that had overtaken him at the tail-end of his chat with Frankie had vanished as he got closer and closer to home. He needed to see his girl. He needed to make things right.

He waved as the lights on Frankie’s minivan flashed twice before pulling away from the curb across the street, grateful that his friend had stayed until he had gotten home, and jogged up to the front door, quietly unlocking it and stepping into the silent house.

The lights in the living room were off. As Pope stumbled over the jumble of shoes at the front door, he caught sight of the pile of tissues sitting on the coffee table and felt his heart sink and those tears he had been choking back fight their way up his throat again.

A dull light shone from behind the kitchen door, and Pope tentatively approached it, pressing gently at the swinging door to take a peek inside.

When he caught sight of her, his heart shattered inside his chest.

He’d always thought Rebecca was beautiful, from the second he had caught sight of her at the physiotherapy clinic. Drenched in sweat and red-faced, that had been his first impression of her, but her smile and the playful glint in her eyes had bewitched him in an instant.

He’d seen her dressed to the nines, looking like she’d stepped out of one of those fashion magazines that she kept in her bedside table. He’d seen her in sweats after a day of cleaning house. He’d seen her naked as the day she was born, whimpering and moaning as he painted her chest with his cum. She’d always been beautiful. Stunning, gorgeous.

Even now, Pope had to acknowledge the melancholic beauty that surrounded her. The remnants of tears that clung to her eyelashes, the blotchy red patches that stained her skin, the weariness that tugged her whole body down until she was slumped in her seat at the kitchen table, feet propped up in his seat, her phone just barely visible from where he stood, propped up against her bent legs, one elbow laid across her knees while the other arm was bearing the weight of her head, hand cushioned in the sleeve of her oversized white sweater.

“Baby…” he murmured, pushing his way into the kitchen and standing in the low light cast by the lamp in the center of the table.

It took her a moment, but she finally looked up, tears welling back up in her red-rimmed eyes as she gasped out a sob at the very sight of him.

Whatever had been holding Pope up until that point – call it stubbornness, call it pride, call it resolution – dissolved at that sob.

One step.

Two steps.

His knees hit the hardwood floor as he choked out a sob, tears finally spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” he cried as he buried his face into Rebecca’s thighs. “I’m so, so sorry…”

He didn’t know how long he knelt there, tears turning her pale blue jeans dark, pain radiating from his knees, up to his neck and throughout his limbs, voice growing hoarse as he repeated the words again and again and again.

Finally, finally, Pope felt that touch of grace as she slowly, gingerly raised her hand and began to carefully card it through his thick salt-and-pepper curls. Her touch of kindness only served to make him cry harder as he raised his head and gazed upon her tear-stained face.

“I’m so sorry, mi alma,” he rasped, shuffling forward until his forehead was pressed into her lower belly, where the life they had created together was just beginning to grow. “I’m so sorry,” he whispered into the small band of skin that was revealed where her sweater had ridden up.

After what felt like hours, Pope stirred, slowly peeling himself off the floor to stand in front of her. With a hopeful look in his eyes, he extended his hand to her and prayed to a god he wasn’t sure he believed in that she would take it.

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

Rebecca eyed his extended hand suspiciously. Part of her wanted to slap it away, scream at him for the anguish he had put her through the past few hours, and make him sleep on the couch until the baby was born. But the other part of her, the part that could see the tremor in his arms and legs as he stood there and the pleading look in his eyes and the deep lines that were etched in his forehead, that part of her coaxed her into gently unfolding from her curled up position and taking his hand.

Gently, Santiago helped her to her feet and led her out of the kitchen, down the hall and into their bedroom. She stood there in the doorway as he moved around the room, dropping his black t-shirt and dark jeans into the hamper, placing his watch on his nightstand, and plugging his phone into the charger, until he stopped by her side of the bed, tugging the covers down and looking at her with that same pleading gaze.

Slowly, hesitantly, she followed his lead, stripping down to her bra and panties and sliding under the covers that he was holding up for her. In a flash, Santiago slid into his side of the bed and pulled her tightly to him, her back to his chest with one of his hands gently cradling her still flat belly.

As he pressed a gentle kiss to her bare shoulder, she couldn’t help the shuddery, teary gasp of that one word that had been at the forefront of her mind since he had shut the door in her face and locked it behind him: “Why?”

Rebecca heard him sigh, a long, weary breath out that spoke of exhaustion and trauma.

“When you told me…everything just kind of shut down. All I could think of was to protect.”

“Protect who?”

She felt him shrug. “Protect myself. Protect you from me and all my bullshit. Protect the baby from the fuck up they have as a father.”

“Santi…” she whispered mournfully. “You know I don’t—”

“I know,” he interjected before clearing his throat. “It’s just…I’ve done some really bad things in my life, Bex. I’m not a good person,” he continued in a whisper. “You know some of the stuff that I’ve done, but most of it is so classified I doubt I’ll ever be allowed to talk about it. And I don’t want to. I don’t want you to ever hear about it. So, when you told me we were having a baby, my mind just kind of shut down. All I could think of was how many people I’ve killed; how much blood is on my hands.”

He trailed off as a dark silence loomed over the room.

“You scared me…” she finally whispered.

He chuckled darkly as he rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. “I scared myself,” he admitted. “I just…I couldn’t imagine how any good could come out of this. I…” he paused, and Rebecca rolled over to face him, watching his Adam’s apple work in his throat. “I don’t deserve to be a dad, Bex.”

She nodded, tears springing to her eyes again at his admittance. She wished he could see what she saw. He was good with kids. So good with them. Watching him with Frankie’s son Mateo was one of the most adorable sights she had ever seen. He would be such a good father. But…she couldn’t force it on him. She knew he had baggage, knew it when she met him, but things had been so good between them that she had hoped they would be okay.

“I…uh, I’m not gonna make you do anything you don’t want to do, Santi,” she murmured, desperately trying to keep the tears out of her voice. “You can be as involved or—”

“Oh baby, no. No, no, shh…” he pulled her into his chest, banding his arms tightly around her back until her head was nestled into his shoulder and his face was buried in her hair. “I’m gonna be better, okay? I swear to god, I’m gonna be better for you and this kid. I called Will on the drive home, and he’s gonna help me find a group to talk to about all this. I can’t promise it won’t happen again but I’m gonna fight as hard as I can to be there for you one hundred percent.” He peeled his face away from her neck and angled himself to look directly into her eyes, their noses almost touching. “I’ll read all the parenting books and go to any and all classes you sign us up for. I’m gonna be there for every appointment. I’ll learn how to give massages if you need me to rub your feet or your back, and I’ll go out for any cravings you might have, even if I have to drive all the way across town at 3 o’clock in the morning.” Tears began pooling in her eyes again, except this time there was a small smile on her face. “When the baby comes, I’ll do whatever you want me to do. You can break my hand if you need to during labor. If you want it to just be us, it’ll just be us. If you want a whole damn camera crew there to document the whole thing, I’ll make it happen.” He pulled her closer and cupped her face in his hands. “I’m gonna get a good job, baby. No more side jobs, no more private sector. I’ll take whatever 9 to 5 I can find to help take care of us. Hell, I’ll take two jobs if you want to be a stay at home mom. Or, if you want, I’ll stay at home with the kid. Whatever you want to do, we’ll do it.”

Finally, Rebecca laughed as happy tears streamed down her face. “You’re rambling, babe.”

Pope laughed too, a happy, relieved sound as he pressed his lips to hers for the first time that evening. “I know, I know,” he whispered, wiping her tears away with his fingertips. “I just need you to know that I’m all in. Whatever you want, whatever you need. Whatever this kid needs. I’m here. I’m gonna be a dick sometimes, and I’m gonna make mistakes, and I’m gonna be so far out of my league between you and this kid, but I’m gonna be here. I swear to god.”

Rebecca giggled, pulling her hand from his chest to play with the grey baby curls at the back of his neck. “That’s all we need,” she whispered as she pulled him closer to plant a sweet, loving kiss on his lips. She pulled back and ran a fond hand over his cheek. “Just promise me, next time this happens, you let me know. Just a word or a gesture or something?”

Pope nodded, ashamed of his actions. He was always the first to go in, guns blazing, no thought to his own safety if it meant protecting his team. But the second he found out about the baby, he had left his most important teammate behind to fend for herself.

“I promise, baby. And I’m so sorry…” he nuzzled into her cheek and pressed a gentle kiss to her dimple.

She smiled at him as she rolled over and rested her head on his bicep. “We’re gonna be okay, babe,” she yawned, her eyes drifting closed after the emotional day she had had.

Pope nestled in behind her, not leaving an inch of space between them. Lying there, happy with the woman he loved in his arms, Pope took a deep breath and allowed himself to drift off, her words echoing in his mind. They would be okay. He’d make sure of it.

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

Tags List: @darksideofclarke, @writefightandflightclub, @eternallyvenus, @rae-rae-patcha

#santiago pope garcia x oc #santiago pope garcia #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #oscar issac #fanfic

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wonderfulworldofmichaelford · 3 years

Text

Character Bio: Jack Fairchild

[TW: Jack the Ripper]

Yes, he gets his own trigger warning when it comes to book related stuff, mostly just as a precaution because he gets up to a lot of fucked up stuff. Let this be your warning because at the very least his bio mentions some of the disturbing things he did.

Also, to clarify, though this gives him a tragic backstory, please don’t think this is an excuse. None of what happened to him in his life justifies what he did. Do not stan him. He may be sexy but he’s evil.

Born in 1860 to the prostitute Mary Anne Browning, Jack spent the first thirteen years of his life being smothered with affection by hi mother and being told what a great man his father was. At age 13, Jack finally was able to reconnect with his father, a surgeon by the name of Arthur Fairchild. Fairchild, seeing an opportunity, decided to take young Jack under his wing nd etach him his ways. Arthur Fairchild was a firm believer in might makes right, and that hose weaker exist to serve those stronger. He attempted to prove this by having Jack’s mother shipped off to an asylum where she would later die, which led to the beginning of Jack’s downward spiral.

Over the years under his father’s tutelage, he suppressed a lot of rage and resentment, especially towards his father. At age twenty, Jack set out into the world, hoping to get away from his father and find somewhere he could live in peace. Eventually, he found himself at Dracula’s school, and there he met Rose Milliner. He fell for her almost at first sight, and the two soon became rather inseparable. Rose often felt deep concern for him due to the serious anger he had inside him, but he promised her it wouldn’t be an issue, as he was in control.

During his time at the school, he grew rather close with Eve as well, speaking with her often whenever she decided to visit. She would often claim he would make an excellent vampire, but he wanted Rose to be the one to turn him when the time came. Eve, for her part, respected this, but soon enough Jack’s attitude began to shift as Rose began to suffer more bullying and harassment from peers after a heated interaction with Marianna Cross that inadvertently led to Rose getting the nickname “Rotbrained Rosie.” Jack began snapping at other students more frequently, getting into fights, and in general was far more belligerent and protective of Rose.

This came to a head after the Order was disbanded and Eve was weakened by Dracula and Yefim Rasputin. Going to Jack, she promised him the power to gain revenge on everyone who hurt Rose, and in a moment of anger and weakness, Jack allowed himself to be turned. The amount of venom Eve filled him with exacerbated his rage and unleashed the madness he had suppressed for years. He went forth and butchered nearly every student in Dracula’s school, as well as cornering Rose and begging her to stay by his side. When she rejected him, he snapped even further, and it was only with the intervention of Amon and Rose’s brother Rex that Jack was able to be subdued.

After regrouping with Eve, he went to Whitechapel where he would go on to become known as Jack the Ripper, although his killings were not random; he killed prostitutes as a point, one which he presented to his father. If his father’s philosophy were true, then why was the public so appalled by the so-called lowest humans in the city being so horrifically butchered? His father was unable to respond, and so Jack spent the next week slowly dissecting him while still alive, utilizing the very techniques his father had taught him. His madness had internalized his father’s old philosophies, that might makes right and the weak exist to serve the strong; now that Jack was a vampire, even the strongest mortal was insignificant compared to him.

His anger and bitterness was not quelled until a trip to Berlin, where he picked up a young man from a bar and had a night of intense sex with him. That man, Johan “Jojo” Fuast, was also a vampire, and so Jack shrewdly asked him if he might be interested in joining his coven. Excited to meet others like him, Jojo agreed, but in the time it took him to get settled in, Jack acquired an obedience collar from Rhiannon Rhydderch and put it on Jojo, making him into a compliant slave for Jack’s sexual desires, much to Marianna and Amon’s disgust and to Eve’s indifference.

Jojo suffered for a few decades until Jack met Alexis Icke, one of the Five of the Silverwings in the 60s. The two fell in love and soon she was spouting secrets to Jack, which eventually caught the attention of her superiors. She was taken away and Jack never saw or heard from her again, once again inciting his rage. Jojo began to be tormented and abused by him again until the late 70s/early 80s, in which Jojo went off with Rex and visits from Jack became very infrequent.

Jack is one of the few vampires Eve fully considers a child, and ‘loves’ him to the extent she can love anyone. Likewise, Jack completely and utterly loves Eve and views her as a surrogate mother, and greatly admires her power. Jack is a cannibal, occasionally eating his victims so that they do not go to waste. Surprisingly, aside from Jojo, he does not engage in sexual assault. He has severe mommy issues thanks to what happened to his mother, which is just another issue on top of all his myriad of mental health problems that were exacerbated by Eve’s venom. He also has a foot fetish (this is entirely canon, I swear).

He has the power to sink into and travel through shadows. This makes him almost impossible to defeat in the dark. He is incredibly fond of knives, and has a specially made one from Rhiannon known as the Holy Nail. It is supposedly made from the nails that were used to crucify Jesus, and the knife causes incredible pain even from the slightest cut.

Jack is obviously based on the real life criminal known as Jack the Ripper. He also draws inspiration from characters like Alex DeLarge of A Clockwork Orange and Patrick Bateman of American Psycho, namely in how he presents himself as a handsome, charming individual while being absolutely demented and vicious beneath it all.

#the vampirino story

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melo-yello · 5 years

Text

Baking with the Wakandan Royals would include:

A/n: I've been watching a ton of baking shows lately so I've been mad inspired to write some domestic headcanons.

*I added Shuri

T'Challa

If you mention to this man you're thinking about baking he's already checking for necessary ingredients quantities and locating the measuring cups

T'Challa's need for order and a systematic approach to life can either be really helpful when you're baking or really annoying

This man takes pride in prepping the pan

I mean oiled, floured, and lined with parchment

T'Challa didn't come to play. He got a cake stuck one time and he's never been the same

I'm tellin you he's a complete ace when it comes to measurements

This man will measure, level, sift, and whisk together the dry ingredients in less than 90 seconds

"Here you go, Love." handing you the bowl and kissing your temple

He even will have the separate little glass bowls in various sizes like he stepped out of his very own cooking show

T'Challa is definitely the clean as you go type

Boi is washing dishes almost as fast you can make them

I've got that, Sweetheart." snatching up dirty bowls and taking them to the sink like clockwork

You already kno he's a stick to the recipe type of guy

You kno better than to tell him "We can just eyeball it" or end any measurement/cook time with "or so"

He will absolutely lecture you on the acute chemistry of baking

After so many times of 'sneaking' in extra pinches of 'this' and 'that' and him catching you'll be forced to put him out to stop his constant meddling

"Challa, I swear to Bast if you say one more thing about the 'balance of baking' and don't get yo ass outta this damn kitchen, Shuri will be an only child!"

He occasionally peeks back in offering his two cents before you glare at him and he slinks back to whatever he's preoccupying himself with

Once everything out of the oven and cooled you can't help but smile and bring T'Challa a goodie for all his efforts and help even if he's kinda a pain

Erik

He will 100% be minding his own business until he peeps you in the kitchen baking something

He immediately steps in to take over whether he knows what you're making or not

Deadass has slid across a counter, swiped the bowl, stuck the landing and been like "Ok Ma, what am I makin?"

Boi will even take your apron and do it smooth as hell too

The first time you thought he was trying to be freaky by grabbing ya ass and kissin all down ya neck in the kitchen but before you knew it the apron was untied and around his neck and he was stirring the bowl that was just in front of you

Growing up basically raising himself and being bounced around from relative to relative made learning to cook essential and he's a pretty damn good at it

And he knows it

Erik deadass cooks like somebody's Auntie

"Baby, lemme go ahead and do that." Is something you'll hear every step of the way

He'll just stare at the recipe for .5 seconds then be like "Do that shit, That shit right there and it'll be bland as hell!"

Erik starts off measuring but gradually shifts into eyeballing everything

He's prone to add pinches of different spices that are no where to be found in the recipe

Erik refuses to cook in silence and will always throw on one of his playlists

Y'all bop all the way from TLC to Daniel Caesar to Anderson. Paak

When all the baking is done Erik loves to humble brag about his baked treats

"Yea me and Bae, kilt that shit." Or "Oh you know, Babygirl can throw down"

That is until his cousin says something

T'Challa: "These are great."

Erik: "Damn Straight it is, T'Chump! Didn't kno my baby could FUCK it all da way up! Who you think taught her that! Who!"

M'Baku

*nervous laughter*

M'Baku has an enormous sweet tooth but can't bake to save his life

Not that hasn't tried but most of those trails ended in flames

Since then the great gorrilla has been banned from most of the palace kitchens

Naturally when you ask "Baku, help me bake some cookies."

He's a little hesitant

M'Baku tries to explain to you that his strong suit is really savory and much rather do anything

He really hates that he's not naturally good at it like most things he does (fighting, leading, flirting, etc.)

This gets him out of helping the first few times before you drag him in kitchen promising "Trust me, I can teach you. It can't be that bad."

With M'Baku's help be prepared to remake batters at least twice

He's either heavy handed or extremely light handed there's absolutely no inbetween with him

He's gonna apologize each time he messes up no matter how many times you tell him it's fine

You put him on mixing duty but he gets bored so he starts distracting you

"Oh that look absolutely scrumptious, My Love." grabbing your ass as measure out brown sugar

"That tastes amazing, My Queen." giving you bedroom eyes as he sucks your finger clean of the batter you were about to taste

"You smell like heaven, Dear Heart." nipping at your neck as you place a pan in the oven

This is also the kinda man that eats as you bake

As soon as they hit the cooling racks he's bodying half of them

Putting up high doesn't work either when your mans is 6'5" and can reach all your hiding places

Only on rare occasions do you actually have sweets to show for you efforts if you only make one batch

3 seems to be the sweet spot since M'Baku eats half of 2

He actually does pay attention when you show him how to do things correctly and each time he makes fewer mistakes and he's so proud of himself

Shuri

Shuri is allergic to anything remotely domestic. Not that its difficult she just isn't interested

Mysteriously she always has all the software updates to do when you ask "Wouldn't it be fun to help me bake something?"

"Yes, My King?!?!" Shuri yells running down the hall after a very confused T'Challa that tells back "Stop calling me that!" as the two run in the opposite direction as you

She's definitely not above making up tech tasks to get out of being forced into baking

"Oh I'd love to but I need to check... Erik's torso to make sure he's healing ok. Too bad he's shy so you can't come." She shrugs pulling Erik into lab before he can get in a word

Or "Oh yes Sergent Barnes, I do have time to look at the mechanics of each synapses of every nerve ending in your arm. This could take a while." practically tackling Bucky as he enters the lab

The only way to get her there is by treachery

"Shuri, come quick! The stan mixer is smoking you have to fix it. Or I'll never bake again." is enough to get her to bolt out of the door and into the kitchen

There's no way she can let your Double Fudge Sea Salt Pecan brownies vanish from her life

"This mixer is absolutely fine, Y/n. Don't scare me like that ev..." trailing off as she turns to see you locking the door to the kitchen

"Noooooooooooooooooooo!"

Once she finds that all exits are blocked off

Vents, windows, and personal secret passages she has installed for times like these

She starts offering 'helpful' advice to really 'expand' your baking horizions

"I'm telling you, Y/n, 1 and 1/4 teaspoons of white vinegar would really help these sweets raise to the ocassion." as she presses record and steps back

You soon learn after several batter explosions and looped videos and gifs sent across the Insta, Twitter, and Snap she can't be trusted

"Oh come on,now! How was I supposed to know it was going to do that?" Laughing as you glare at her wiping yet another batter blow up off your face

Before you accept her advice now it is questioned with "And if I add that it won't end up in my face?"

Shuri will pause then offer something else because she's no evil just mischievous

She pretends to be bored out of her mind the whole time even though she's mentally pocketing all the little steps so she can later try by herself

Every once in a while she'll hit you with an absolutely old school but completely clutch trick you've never heard of before (most likely something she picked up from cooking with Queen Mother) and you pause to look at her

Like "Where the hell did that come from?"

She just shrugs and offers some off the wall flavor combo to throw you off her trail

"Chocolate and peanut butter? Boring. How about anasis and chardonnay." genuinely curious about the combination

Shuri loves to experiment and play with structures and variables esspecially in the kitchen

So tell her your trying to make a souffle or flan and she's there automatically no plots involved or locked doors

Afters all the sweets and practical jokes are out of the oven and cooling and the doors are unlocked

Shuri takes a treat or two and hums looking satisfied with your team work "This was actually fun." mouth half full and gives you a quick hug before leaving

Ever so often she'll come of her own prompting to you wanting to be shown how to make a cookie or some other baked good

And you do but as soon as they're done

She steals like 75% of the goodies as you check some of the few left in the oven and splits them with M'Baku who was already waiting at the door and they run down the hall like small children

Always leaving a note "XOXO, Princess Shuri" and scribbled in the biggest calligraphy that is usually saved for royal documents "Thx from Great Gorrilla,M'Baku" at the scene of the crime

#black panther #erik killmonger #michael b jordan #t'challa #chadwick boseman #m'baku #winston duke #m'baku x reader #t'challa x reader #erik x reader #headcanon #black panther headcanons #baking #domestic black men #domestic wakandans #shuri #shuri x reader #letitia wright

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el-and-hop · 6 years

Text

When Autumn Leaves

Chapter 1: There’s A Lot of Hurt

[ao3] [prologue]

Pairing: Mileven AU

WC: 5.1k

Summary: The new kid in Hawkins is making El’s life miserable.

[A/N]: A Mileven AU. This is chapter 1 of probably many. I have no idea what I’m doing.

It was cold in early October. Indiana was bracing for another brutal, lifeless winter.

A young girl, no older than thirteen, sat alone on the front steps of her porch, counting each school bus as it passed by. It was Monday morning, and her friend was supposed to be here. Twelve minutes ago. She could feel her breath getting warmer and her fingers digging into her knees.

Slowly rocking back and forth, she began to scan her surroundings. It was a technique her father taught her whenever she felt another attack creeping its way in.

The front porch was normal. White railings, brown floorboards, a swing on one corner with worn, faded yellow seat cushions on one side and bare metal on the other. It sat in the corner, and, on the opposite side of the porch, sat two wooden chairs, mismatched and slightly rotting with a small coffee table resting between them.

It was used more as a footrest than a coffee holder, but the name explains the stains of circles that surround the edge close to the larger of the two chairs. You wouldn’t guess that it had seen death and heartache and love and warmth, not at least by how it looked. Any other resident of Hawkins would laugh at the table, but they weren’t the one using it, now were they?

The warm hue of the floorboards on the porch mixed and, when the sun was right, matched with the two pumpkins that sat on the edge of the stairs to the heavy wooden front door. Neither were carved, yet, out of fear of rotting, so they sat idly there. It would be a week before halloween when they were cut open, their innards spooned out, and their faces sawed on. But today, they sat without care for tomorrow.

The only thing that held on to the traditional aesthetic of Hawkins was the yellowish glow of the tin lamp as it swayed above the doorbell. Back in 1860, the original owner had improperly installed a gas lighting system, and before he could turn off the hose the house was gone and his life destroyed. The structure of the house, of course, was rebuilt, the gas lamp now replaced with electric and fancy wire filaments.

“El?”

A small, slightly cracking voice called out and pulled El to the present. A boy, even smaller than his voice, had knelt down in front of her without her noticing. She could feel her chest moving in and out as the cold air dried her throat. The boy grabbed hold of her hands, removing their tight grip on her fingers had on her knees.

“You’re twelve minutes and fifty four seconds late, Will,” the girl whispered with more air than words. She stared at his eyes and studied their dark canyons.

“Jonathan’s car wasn’t starting so I had to bike here,” Will began, still kneeling before El. “You’re just having another panic attack.”

“That boy across the street,” El said, motioning to the house on the other side, “the one that I was telling you about? The one that moved in on Saturday? I think he’s going to school with us.”

“Well,” Will laughed, standing up, “we better get there before he does so you can keep stalking him.”

El stood up, grabbed the backpack that was resting beside her, and threw it at Will. Rather than hit him, though, it landed in the grass beside him.

“Hey, I’m not the one that wrote ‘he’s cute’ in your journal,” Will scoffed, mounting his bike.

“You’ll be head over heels for him too.”

Will rolled his eyes at her, and motioned for her to come along.

El, sighing, reached under the porch and pulled out her own bike.

In silence she mounted and rolled down the driveway, meeting Will at the end, and, like clockwork, they were off, only set to be a few minutes behind schedule.

The hallways were more crowded than normal, as the heavier winter coats had made their appearance earlier than expected. The groups of students huddled together and formed small circles to bring their body temperatures up from the brutal chill that was lingering outside.

El struggled to made her way down to her locker through the seemingly endless wave of knit hats and leg warmers. She was never one for heavy winter wear. More or less she loved layers, jeans with flannels, multiple jackets, gloves on gloves; anything that kept her from looking like a puffy version of the carpet floor at the arcade.

And since there were so many students in the halls, she cursed the fact that her locker was at the other end of the building from the main entrance. Slipping and sliding through the crowd after what felt like five minutes for a thirty second walk, she appeared at a clearing, right at her locker.

It was a sad locker. Her friend Max got lucky this year and was awarded a top locker, making her a queen amongst her peasant friends. El’s locker was at the bottom, a corner bottom, right next to the bathroom door. And the locker squeaked. Loud. She also had an “illegal” unlocking mechanism (a stack of small Post-it Notes stuck in the door) that kept her locker from doing the one thing its name implied while appearing to be 100% normal. It was the simple things that make life so much easier.

And normally she was in and out quickly.

But this day there was an issue.

The normally unoccupied locker above hers was currently occupied. And shit. It’s her neighbor.

He’s just as bundled up as everyone else in the hall: heavy coat, jeans, brown church shoes?, a striped polo tucked in, and dark brown hair that was fighting some kind of invisible straightening iron. He was holding a small slip of paper in his left hand, and with his right hand he was frantically spinning the lock to try and get it open. It’s not working.

El had two options, neither were ideal.

The first: forget her locker, avoid interaction, turn around, and make due for the first four periods until lunch when she could switch out her books.

The second: Help the poor boy.

But by some higher power right as El starts to flip an invisible coin in her head the boy with the frantic hair whips his locker open and all of the tense muscles in El’s body relax.

Realizing that she’d been staring at him, she pulls off her backpack a few lockers down and starts to fiddle with the notebooks inside. Don’t let him see me. Don’t let him see me.

But like wind he was gone without notice. And El took that as a green light to throw open her locker, shove in whatever looked important for the morning, knock the locker closed with her elbow, and sprint down the hall to first period.

History was first. It was a pointless class if El could be completely honest. She spent most of it doing her homework for Math (second period) and writing in her journal, which, luckily, looked close enough to notes that the teacher, Mr. Harold, didn’t bother her.

Sitting herself down in her unassigned signed seating, El slumped and didn’t feel like taking anything out of her bag. It was that kind of day.

“Wake up sleepy eyes,” came a voice from El’s left side. She turned her head and saw a redhead girl who still had her coat fully zipped. She already had her textbook and notebook on her desk and was clearly more awake than El was.

El sat up, stretched out her arms in front of her, and then reached down into her bag to pull out her journal. Something was off. The classroom was too quiet. El looked to her left and noticed that the chair that was normally occupied was empty and cold.

It was Dustin’s seat. And it had been for the last month and a half. El, Max, and Dustin sat together first period, second row, so that they weren’t the first prey of their slowly dying teacher. El could swear that the old man in the front of the room couldn’t see past the first row of desks. And that made life so much easier.

“Max,” El whispered to the girl sitting next to her. “Where’s Dustin?”

“I don’t know,” Max replied. “I just assumed he was with you.”

“Quiet, Mayfield,” the Mr. Harold said with just enough force to make El wonder if he was going to give himself a heart attack. Max rolled her eyes and open up her notebook to a fresh page.

El and Max were friends. No, they were sisters. With El living with her adoptive father and Max stuck with her abusive step-father, shitty step-brother, and aloof mother, they turned to each other for everything. Not that El didn’t have a great home. She had a father that loved her. And she had Max. On too many occasions did Max spend the night at El’s house. Enough times that Max has a permanent room there. They weren’t biological sisters, so the fact that they act like it makes their bond something so much stronger.

And that’s why, when a dark brown haired mess of a child bursted through the door disrupting the Mr. Harold mid sentence and caused the entire class to glare at the him, the first thing El thought about was if Max was going to notice who this boy really was.

El felt the sides of her face begin to heat up, so full of second hand embarrassment that she felt like she was going to start looking like a tomato. And if Max were to catch on, El would never hear the end of it.

“Wheeler, correct?” Mr. Harold lowered his glasses and peered above them, taking in the frazzled boy. “Michael Wheeler?”

Michael, as Mr. Harold called him, stood in the front of the room. His hands were shaking, a bit of sweat collecting on his forehead, and he was breathing heavily enough that El could surmise that he probably sprinted down the hall trying to find the classroom.

“Well,” Mr. Harold said with sarcastic tone, “take a seat next to Eleanore. She’ll get you up to speed.”

El felt her heart crawl up into her throat. His name is Michael? She hated to admit it, but she almost felt sorry for that. First the house across the street, then the locker, and now History class? She looked at the clock hanging on the wall. Class started at eight. It was ten past eight. El sighed.

As the boy made his way to the empty seat next to El, she pulled out her textbook from her backpack and set it down on her desk. Her backpack was about as neat as her locker. That is to say, it looked like a wastepaper basket. Crumpled papers, trash, and broken pencils were mindlessly tossed inside.

El placed her textbook on his desk and smiled.

“Here,” she said, with a soft whisper, “we’re on page one hundred and ten. Chapter quizzes are on Fridays. Homework is written on the board for the next day.”

El watched as the mess next to her began flipping through to the correct page. His writing, she noticed, as he opened up his notebook, was pure chicken scratch.

Once everything seemed to calm down and Mr. Harold’s monotonous voice began to linger in the air like the hum of a fan, El started to drift off. And she got a few seconds of bliss before the classroom door creaked open again.

“Henderson! You’re twenty minutes late,” Mr. Harold mocked, as he stood in front of the chalkboard. “Late note or detention: which will it be?”

El did everything she could to avoid eye contact with Dustin as he stood in the front of the class, searching through his pockets for what El could assume to be his note.

“Here,” Dustin said with a smile, handing the teacher a crumpled piece of yellow paper.

Mr. Harold’s face went from tense to nothing short of defeated. He ran detention, and getting to make students miserable was his favorite thing to do.

Dustin turned to go to his normal seat next to El, but was greeted with a stare from Michael.

If it could be described in any way, El would probably have to say that it was like one of those show downs on the old western movies that she would watch that came on before her favorite soap operas. The two boys locked eyes, neither blinking, for one second that felt like minutes. Part of El wanted to nudge the poor soul next to her, get him to move for a day, explain to him that while, yes, it is unassigned seating, it’s an unspoken rule that if you sit there your first day you don’t change it and you came in and took Dustin’s seat, what did you expect?

“Take your seat, Henderson,” Mr. Harold said, with more disdain than before.

Dustin looked around the room before catching sight of one open chair, in the center of the front row. He took a deep breath and sighed. El watched as he sat down and mindlessly through his bag on the ground and sat hunched over with his head down on the desk.

“Henderson, I don’t care what was going on before class, get your head up and pay attention.”

Dustin didn’t move.

Mr. Harold crossed his arms and stood in silence for a moment, waiting for Dustin to listen. Dustin didn’t.

“That’s it,” Mr. Harold said as he walked over to his desk and pulled out a packet of pink paper. “Detention. After school.”

All El heard from Dustin was a groan. She looked over to Max, who was just as surprised as El expected her to be. El then turned around to her right to see Michael, with his head in the textbook.

El looked down at her open journal in front of her. She had only written the date. Frustrated, she closed it with a bit too much force. Placing her head on her hand and her elbow on the desk, El turned to stare at the clock. She counted along with it, each second as the minute hand slowly moved from number to number

When the bell rang at the end of class, El packed up her journal and hightailed it out. Math was next, all the way at the other end of the building, and she really wasn’t in the mood to be late today. She heard her name called, but chose to ignore it. She really wasn’t up to it today.

Math came and went, since none of her friends were in the class with her. Dustin was in Science, but since it was a lab day, El wasn’t able to explain the situation to him.

It was finally lunch.

The one time of the day when El and all of her friends were together. It wasn’t freedom, but it was as close as it could be.

By the time El made it through the lunch line and had a plate full of french fries and assorted vegetables, she saw her friends already grouped together at their normal table.

“I’m telling you, Iron Man would defeat Batman in seconds. Think about the technology he’s working with. Fists are no match for guns!”

El saw Lucas nearly standing up in his chair across from Will, using a french fry as pointer. Lucas was dating but not really dating Max. But Lucas was El’s friend long before Max made her way into Hawkins. Lucas lived just a few houses down from El. They practically grew up together. So you can see the bind El was in when Lucas and Max started not really dating but dating.

Will, on the other hand, joined the party in first grade. He lives farther out of the town, but that doesn’t stop him from being with everyone whenever he gets the chance. While Lucas was loud, Will was the quiet giant. Smarter than hell, which is why he and El don’t have classes together, and kinder than a puppy.

“Just because Batman doesn’t kill that doesn’t mean he’s any less powerful than a man who is nothing without his suit!” Dustin was walking a line between calm and livid. The spilled milk, El guessed, came as a result of Dustin’s expressive arm movements.

“Max,” Will butted in, “if Bruce Wayne and Tony Stark were to fight with no weapons or gadgets, who would win?”

El took a seat at the edge of the table next to Max and Lucas and across from Dustin and Will. Dustin seemed like he wasn’t too worked up about what had happened before, and El was grateful for that. As long as the topic didn’t come up, he rest of the day could go on as planned.

“I don’t think it’s much of a contest,” Max replied simply, acting as though there wasn’t weight resting on her response. “If we’re talking no weapons, Tony vs Bruce, Bruce wins.”

“See! I told you...” Dustin yelled as he threw his hands in the air, only to see Max put her hands out as a sign that she wasn’t done talking.

“But,” Max said softly, “If it’s Iron Man vs Batman, Iron Man wins.”

“Max!” Will rolled his eyes and sighed, obviously not content with her answer. “You never solve anything. You’re as non-confrontational as El!”

El felt a shift in the air at Will’s remark. It was true, she wasn’t one for confrontation and rarely did she go on the attack. It made life as the police chief’s daughter easy.

“Speaking of El and confrontation,” Dustin said, casually pushing ketchup around his plate with a half eaten french fry, “who’s the new kid in History?”

El directed her glance down to the fruit on her plate. Maybe if I show that I don’t want to talk about it he’ll recognize that and let it be?

“The one with the messy hair?” Max smiled as she recalled the disheveled boy from class. “What’s his name?”

“Michael,” El responds, still fiddling with her uneaten lunch.

“Well,” Dustin remarks pointedly, “tell Michael that he has to find a new seat because I’ve been there since the first day.”

“He took your seat?” Lucas looked at Dustin and raised his eyebrows.

“And I got a detention because Harold is sadistic!” Dustin was shouting again. “All I did was put my head down, which I do every class, and he just yelled! If I had been in the second row he wouldn’t see me but since Michael took my seat I had to sit in the front and Harold hates people who sit in the front and don’t pay attention.”

“Dustin,” Lucas said sympathetically, “don’t you think you’re over reacting?”

“I’m not overreacting!” Dustin was, in fact, overreacting.

El had been quiet for most of the discussion. And with reason. Sure, the argument wasn’t about her, but it directly involved her. So it was, to her, the same thing. El noticed that Will had been avoiding his food in exchange for silent contemplation.

“Hold on,” Will spoke up, “new kid, messy brown hair…”

El shot will a glare at Will that screamed if you say one more word I will murder you. Before Will could even break a smile a forced cough came from behind El.

“Um,” El heard, and, turning around, she saw none other than the topic of conversation. El chose to ignore Dustin’s offhand comment that came under his breath loud enough to be heard but quiet enough that it was for the party and not the new kid.

“I just wanted to give you your textbook back,” Michael said with a shaky voice. He held out El’s textbook in front of him.

“I have a copy at home,” El said with a smile. “You keep it.”

It was true, El did have multiple copies of her major textbooks, even for History. It was a method she used to avoid forgetting her books at school and then having panic attacks at home when she couldn’t complete her homework because she left her book at school. After the third time her father had to call the principal at night to open the doors, El thought it was best to have an extra copy, just in case.

“Oh,” Michael reponsed. “Thanks.” He turned and made his way out of the lunch room, practically sprinting.

No one at the table spoke up, rather, they each turned to their food and basked in the quiet conversation. El felt like some kind of bubble in her stomach. She was a internalizing fumes of anger and a mix of empathy and sympathy for Michael. And without thought she converted that feeling into words without hesitation.

“You don’t have to be mean to him,” El said, focusing on her hands. She was picking at her fingernails unconsciously. “He seems really nice and you’re not giving him a chance.”

Lucas and Max looked at each other and then over to Dustin, who was still moving around the leftover food on his plate. Will was quiet and had his head down.

“We have to start working with Mr. Clarke after school today for the Science Fair project. I’m going to invite him and you could apologize to him.” Even though El wasn’t looking directly at Dustin, the sharp words were quite clear.

“Sure, whatever you want,” Dustin said as he rolled his eyes.

“Please don’t talk to me like that,” El responded quickly, pulling her hands up from under the table to get her plate. Her left thumb was covered in blood, pooling from the edge of her nail. She grabbed what was left of her lunch and, with her backpack in tow, left the table with little intent to hear his apology.

El sat through English, usually her favorite subject, and didn’t participate. Rather than take notes on poetry and something about symbolism, El drew lines in her notebook. At first they were short, vertical parallel lines in the corner of the page. Then they went diagonal. Lines started crossing each other. They were heavy lines, soft lines, lines on top of lines. And by the end of the period, the entire top of her page was colored in. Lucas and Max, who were also in class, gave El her space. She appreciated that.

The last period of the day was study hall. A blessing from the school guidance counselor, who made sure El got to choose her schedule. Having the last period off made the day shorter and, occasionally, allowed for more planning for after school activities.

El had study hall alone, which was why she got most of her homework done there, when she wanted to. After the day that she had, El was ready to use this free period for what most students used it for: sleep.

As she opened the door to the English classroom that served as the study hall room, El was greeted by Ms. Bell. Ms. Bell was the closest thing El had to a mother. She was kind and understanding, more so than any teacher El previously had. She came to her when she was having issues with her friends, with other teachers, even when she was having issues that her friends didn’t even know about.

And El loved her because she let her sleep.

But as El turned from the door to settle into her usual seat in the middle of the room, Michael was sitting a few rows back. Just my luck.

El took in a deep breath and quietly walked through the rows of desks to her normal seat. Focusing in on her chair rather than risk the chance of looking at Michael and locking eyes, El overlooked the backpack that was resting on the floor and, with an ungraceful fall, tripped and hit the ground nose first.

It happened so fast that she didn’t have time to react. Lying on the floor El felt her nose become warm and placed a finger under her nose. It was red.

In the moment that El had seen her finger Michael had rushed over and got down on his knees. He pulled a packet of tissues out from his pocket and handed them to El.

“Here,” Michael laughed. “You’re gonna need these.”

El sat up and reached for the tissues. She carefully pulled one out and stuffed it in her nose. She took another and wiped the spot of blood that was on the floor.

The pain in her nose was petty compared to the acid that was eating away the walls in her stomach. She felt like she was in shock, as if the thought that everyone was thinking about her made her freeze.

“Michael,” Ms. Bell said calmly, “take El down to the nurse.”

“I can do it myself,” El said with a nasally tone. As she stood up she had to grab hold of the nearest desk, her feet loose under her weight.

“Yea,” Ms Bell chuckled, “that’s not happening. I’m going to call the nurse and tell her to expect two people.”

El started to make her way to the door and went to open it but was cut off by Michael. This boy is going to be the death of me I swear.

“You don’t have to do this, Michael,” El said, keeping her eyes on her feet to avoid another fall.

“Please, call me Mike. Only my parents call me Michael.” El looked up and noticed that his hands were shaking. “And I don’t think that you have much of a choice with the state you’re in.”

“I’m sorry to put you through this,” El said softly. Mike. It fits him more than Michael.

“No, it’s fine. I wanted to move around a bit. I’m not very good at sitting down for a long time.” Mike let out a short laugh, and El had to stop herself from smiling. It hurt her nose too much.

Normally El liked the silence. It was never awkward for her. But walking next to the boy that she had been wondering about for the last few days, El felt like there was nothing to do but get to know him.

“You’re new here,” El said simply. It was more of a question but it sounded more like an accusation. Mike smiled and scratched behind his ear.

“Yea, good guess,” Mike joked. “I’m from Chicago but my parents thought it would be a nice change to leave the city and come out to a quieter place. I can’t really argue with them.”

“I was born in Chicago,” El said, starting to pick her thumb again. “But my dad moved us out here. We live on Windsor street.”

“I live on Windsor street too! Wouldn’t it be funny if we were neighbors?” Mike continued to smile and laugh slightly. El noticed that his hands were starting to shake again. Would this be the right time to tell him that you’ve been watching him from your window for the last few days?

“I’m sorry about how my friends are,” El said, turning to face Mike. He was counting the numbers above the doors. “They’re not very good with letting people in. Especially Dustin. When his dad left we got a lot of the anger.”

Mike only nodded and continued to walk side by side with El.

When they arrived at the nurses office, it was quiet as usual. El was friends with the nurse, as with most of the teachers. She was quiet, kept out of trouble, and was kind. That’s all the teachers needed.

“Another nosebleed, Eleanore?” The nurse asked as she rummaged through the medicine closet.

“She tripped and fell,” Mike answered before El could respond.

“Oh dear,” the nurse said as she turned to see El’s face. El’s nose was stuffed with red tissues in both nostrils. The nurse pinched El’s nose and El took in a sharp breath. “I think you may have broken your nose, sweetie. Sit down and I’ll put a splint on it until you go see a doctor.”

El followed the nurses orders and sat herself on the cold metal table that was for the sick children. Mike sat down next to her and smiled when El tilted her head back so she could take out the two tissues.

“This isn’t funny,” El said as she slowly pulled the tissues out.

“This is going to hurt,” the nurse said, gently placing a cloth on top of the bridge of El’s nose.

It came like a paper cut, a quick, but immensely sharp pain that was nothing like what El felt when she fell. She closed her eyes and reached her left hand out and grabbed hold of the closest thing possible to squeeze away some of the pressure.

It wasn’t until she opened her eyes again that she realized that she had grabbed Mike’s hand and nearly broken that too. Coming to her senses, El quickly let go and placed her hand in her lap. Mike left his in between them. His hand was soft and warm, almost like her own. It wasn’t an old hand but something sweeter.

“I’m going to go and get some ice. Don’t fall again, you hear me?” The nurse chuckled at her own joke, which wasn’t even a joke in the first place. She quietly made her way out of the office and left El and Mike alone.

El wouldn’t call it electricity. She felt excited. Her heart was racing and it must have been the adrenaline because she couldn’t feel the pain that had previously rendered her nose useless. But there was something in the way that Mike sat there. He was quiet, yes, but he was respectful. It was as if he knew she liked the silence too.

El started to pick at her fingernails again, this time stopping right as the nurse returned.

After a few words exchanged about not touching it and getting to a doctor soon, the nurse sent them on their way, although there was little time left before the final bell.

In the hallway, Mike waited as El slowly made her way out the door.

“Thanks,” El said with a smile. She looked at his eyes. She never realized how tall he was, seemingly towering over her.

“No problem,” Mike replied. He kept his hands in his pockets, and El could see that his hands were shaking.

“We have this science fair project that we’re working on in a half hour. You should come and meet everyone.” El looked at him and raised her eyebrows. She studied his eyes, dark brown circles that were deeper than she’d ever seen before.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” Mike said, his hands now shaking more than before.

“Mr. Clarke’s room. Three thirty.” El turned and walked away, not worrying about the hesitation in Mike’s voice.

He was coming. She knew it. Maybe he wasn’t going to be the death of her after all.

taglist: @fatechica @she-who-the-river-could-not-hold @earlgreyteagirl @bitchin-promises

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