#(should I just delete them all and get a new resolution to answer them immediately now or—) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

babysprouseisart · 4 years

Note

Honestly more things are pointing to a permanent separation for SH. No indications of any reconciliation sadly. And it makes it even harder without the confirmation. I guess when they start to get papped with their new SOs will be the day that it is confirmed they are done. And I hope it is soon. This push and pull with them is exhausting

Good day, anon, and welcome to hell. Screams for help will not save you, alas, because when it comes to a topic in which I am 99, 9% sure, I have no equals. I'm sorry you probably got the wrong address, but it's too late. I am merciless and bloodthirsty with anyone who tries to contradict my faith, tries to correct my point of view and convince me of their own, although I did not give it a reason. Because it's my fucking blog where I for x-billionth time has already expressed my exact points and agreed with some people which think and proved the exact opposite to all that you are saying. So be prepared to be slowly but surely tortured by my long ass post.

So, let's start with what I said about my blog: only good vibes here. I am not interested/concerned about other opposite/negative feedings. I just don't want to make a big deal about it. Here, in my blog, we support Lili Pauline Reinhart and Cole Mitchell Sprouse in any case as couple as well as individuals.

This means that under no circumstances do we talk about them, their relationships, their projects, their family, or their decisions in a negative way. Yes, we may disagree with something they do, where they do it, and how they do it (what they post, what they like/don't like, write or repost, who they meet, with whom they decide to be, live and communicate with, what they archive/unarchive, and so on), but we do not have the right to judge them or decide how to act. We also can't control it and it's none of our business.

I repent if I once made the appearance of a person condemning one of them or their family for their actions and possible causes of the separation, it was only my objective external disagreement, points and thoughts aloud, nothing more rude, involved and inappropriate. And I think with many of my words said earlier (or the words of those I follow and reblog their posts) about the behavior of family/friends of Lili, Cole, and so on, people with brains and common sense could agree. Remember this, or write it on your forehead, so that the next time you write to me, you will see these words.

Moving on, taking into account all of the above, I would like to tell you that it probably won't be enough for one blog to explain to you point by point all my beliefs and points of view on this subject, to prove to you that every fucking word you say is illogical shit and the most real nonsense. It feels like you're an alien who fell from another planet and decided to crawl into our hole with your impressions of a newborn baby who doesn't understand much about the world and its creators. Although in this case, I'm more of the opinion that you are a little asshole, in which the vein of hatred is boiling and you like to come to this and some other blogs to tell us your agenda although we have no idea where you have such rash thoughts, perhaps you have an extra chromosome? Dude, treat your paranoia.

Further, given that I don't have much time and desire to describe all my points of view point by point, which, unlike your random set of words, really makes sense for hundreds or even thousands of people who have the gray matter to be able to think, I will attach my long - standing post, indicating all the facts at that time proving the opposite to yours. Although, I will try to supplement everything else as much as I can.

While, we all ( I hope) already realized and accepted that for many reasons, during this quarantine, Lili and Cole had some problems, were distant and ended up apart for a certain period of time, immediately after the end point of the explosion and informing us of all these public actions on social media (I hope you understand), then after a few weeks, they were already confidently moving towards resolution and recovery and that's why:

https://babysprousehart.tumblr.com/post/618026656780648448/hello-i-hope-this-doesnt-come-off-negatively

This was written long before, but still has many valid points and I just want to widen some of them.

Take a sit and follow me word by word.

I shall start my addition of evidence, based on all the guesses and great opinions of others, as well as hints from the Lili and Cole themselves. I would like to start with a significant event and the day when Lili posted a photo from the Antelope Valley on April 28th, well, or 27th, depending on where you are.

Perhaps we lose some missing pieces in this puzzle and forget about something that was done earlier, but I just want to start counting from this moment.

A few facts about this photo/photos:

1) It was posted exactly 3 years later from their famous photoshoot, when very, very, very many people, mostly in media, began to suspect that there is something between them in a romantic way. It was exactly in the same place, exactly with the same style, exactly in a similar image (waving curly hair, light flying dress, black and white effect) and even without a capture. The picture marked the anniversary and is very important for the two of them. An undeniable fact, beat me.

2) That photo was definitely taken by Cole. Why?

Here are a couple more facts in addition to the first:

They have the quality of captured on professional camera.

You can see, that Lili did not tag the photographer and said jokingly that the photo was taken by Milo, why would she lie, or hide that it was anyone else, because clearly she just hid that because it was Cole.

You may have noticed that Austin, when asked who took the photo, whether she took it and whether she is a good photographer, says no and her reaction with a grin and laugh is priceless. She also didn't tag nor the photographer, neither Lili in her photos from there.

You can watch the vlog in the Colleen blog and see there are very similar figures to Cole, Lili and Milo walking along the valley, because, duh, they were there.

You can view her post, where you can see Cole from the back (notice his dark clothing, the same as on one of his post in the profile, which he has already deleted, as well as his position from which the photo of Lili was supposedly taken and it is just in the same place).

You can observe his style of photography and how similar the theme is to the photos from 2017.

You can see the same poppy behind his ear in one of the past stories.

You may have noticed that the photo of Lili is processed with the same effect as several photos in Cole's profile, and I can tell you as an amateur photo editor that it is very identical.

Question: why arrange such a significant photoshoot with your ex after a few weeks of separation? Why is Cole smiling in a photo (black and white one with a mustache and black clothes) probably taken there? Why is everything so secretive if they broke up? Why even post a photo that your ex-boyfriend definitely took? How can you calmly go to this place, which reminds you of your joint travels with your former lover? Therefore, this photo and later another one from there were the first iron arguments in confirming the improvement of things.

I would like to continue with another ironclad proof.

Lili in early may very fiercely, after a few weeks of Cole's statements about slander and threats, which she did not respond to so clearly at the time, defended Cole and pointed out the private relationship and literally said that people should stop it and even though should hurt and bully her, but not him.

Question: did she defend her ex so publicly? Would Lili talk about a private relationship if that was the way her past relationship was most often? Would she have written anything at all if she didn't care about him and didn't feel something towards him? I don't think so, so it's gibberish to say so (about the break up) when it's the second unquestionable argument.

Next, we need to talk about the general activity of Cole and Lili in social media. I just want to list some observations, in different order, but it seems like everything we have now:

If earlier it was visible in the posts of Lili that it was clearly a show off, then over time and after the published photos, she began to behave more sincerely and tenderly, began to publish Milo less, began to say that there was only the two of them less, has stopped showing how good she is without certain someone, as if for Cole showing that she could cope without him, which was visible in the posts and stories, she began to talk more about improving her mental health as a result of training, spoke about how later she was feeling better and that she was grateful for those who were with her and difficult times and in light moments, that you just need to live and enjoy.

Additionally, I can say how she shone with each photo, and it was a natural glow of happiness and settling down. She no longer sang sad songs or posted sad songs, on the contrary, posted sexy, funny and relaxed ones. She appeared more in photos taken by paparazzi. She posted sexy, energetic, romantic movies, funny cartoons, watched funny clips, was excited about her project, laughed, danced with her dog, played with a dog with macaroni, cosplayed Willy Wonka (we all have a feeling it’s Cole’s thing, no?), playing with sand, puzzles, posted funny memes in story, which unfortunately coolly accepted as the opposite, posted a poem with a typo and funny answered to a fan who corrected it, told more about poems and attached a photo with a fragment of a poem about love from her upcoming book. She liked some photos from the anniversary of the last episode of the series, where we remember there was a hot scene of her and Cole's character, she liked a Bughead drawing. Yesterday, she actually posted one of the sexiest videos that will not be posted, being single and lonely, we saw that she actually spent more personal time with Cole (I am not saying they weren’t doing t back then), which was investigated thanks to many amazing people here, and even if they don't live together yet, they are more likely to meet and have met with each other, and more hints on sexy times (because, come one, maybe Milo was the one who left a hickey on her neck, huh?), which is undeniable, just compare the fact that she is no longer in the old rental, and he is not in Kj's house, she then posted a photo from some place, which is very similar to where Cole shot a video with Jimmy Fallon.

He also began to be more active in social networks, exactly after she started posting photos of the Antelope Valley, he posted a series of photos of the kissing couple, even if it was a gay drawings, they were filled with love, there was a photo of him with cattle with the sarcastic caption, then the photo about porn bots, with funny ask to leave him alone and saying it’s not allowed to be horny on quarantine, again a photo of himself with heart eyes that I talked about above, he posted a very funny video recently. There were more photos from the paparazzi after some time when Lili's usually flashed, and then it stopped, then his humorous photo in the washing machine appeared, which she probably had taken, and why so I explained in the attached post, he posted a photo from the walk, which was also probably taken with her, because again, she had a similar location, then he jokingly called Tommy ‘the’ muse, maybe roasting fans, but he didn’t use ‘my’, so, indicating he still has his own muse, then we saw him at that damn party, which caused people's panic, although he is an ordinary person and has the right to relax, and by the way at this party he was very happy and frisky, but nothing bad or shameful happened and he is innocent, then we even saw Cole, after Lili, delete many of the photos, although he had also unarchived some of them several times, as she had, which means that he did not delete them completely, but just removed many of them, leaving the most tender photo after or before the kiss at the famous moment when Lili wanted a toast and eggs at 1 am, or many photos reflecting her body, which also marks not a bad phenomenon, but a simple trolling from them. Proof of this trolling and unarchiving is on the vastness of other blogs and on Twitter, thanks to that girl's video.

The way their condition and activity on social networks have changed is very noticeable and is also third undeniable fact of denial of the break up. You can compare photos of Cole taken by Alex, where he is clearly very sad and depressed, because it was taken somewhere in the interval of their real breakup. And compare this with his smiling and playful state during the interview with Jimmy, where he also sparkled with happiness and fun, constantly smiling and seemed to be aroused about something (or someone). I think even a newcomer will notice a change in their mood and attitude. You will see the difference. And this does not happen when going through the break up after 4 years of deeply imbued with love relationships. Please understand, damn it.

I have listed alas not everything that speaks so vividly about things going in the right positive direction and is evidence that everything is getting better again, there will be only more I assure you and you will kiss my ass, as Cole said.

Execution cannot be pardoned.

You have one attempt to put a comma and decide your fate, but I think you’ll fail because you are a total sucker anyway.

Bye!

#cole sprouse #lili reinhart #sprousehart #sprousehart positivity #sh positivity #bughead #only good vibes here #positivity #anon hate #anon ask #ask #cole and lili #relationship #break up #not a break up #shut up dumbass

116 notes · View notes

rokutouxei · 3 years

Text

the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart

ikemen vampire: temptation through the dark theo van gogh / mc | T | [ ao3 link in bio ]

The challenge seemed pretty simple: to try to befriend the university bookshop’s most sour employee, Theo van Gogh. As a literature major with a boatload of book recommendations on her back, it ought to be a simple task indeed. But as she uncovers what lies between Theo’s pages, the more she finds it harder to become closer to him without having to put the feeling directly into words. What can she learn from Theo about what it means to stay—and how can she teach Theo about what it means to let go? | written for ikevamp big bang 2020!

[ masterpost for all chapters ]

CHAPTER 21 OF 22

—The heartbeat is actually the sound made by the heart valves closing. If you, my love, ever hold a stethoscope to my chest I will tell you to listen for the silence in between. What is and what will always be yours is the sound of my heart finally opening.

- "Letter to the Editor", Andrea Gibson.

interlude ii

In the span of time between understanding and acceptance, Theo half-writes a million letters, all of them suffering the same kind of fate: undelivered. The email gets deleted, the text erased, the sheet crumpled, set on fire. There are too many words he doesn’t have the courage to say, and fuck, he’s not a literature major, after all.

He’s only the arrow shooting forward, not the bow pulling back towards itself.

But every second he spends lost in the memory of her leaves him splitting open, so for the first time in what feels like centuries, he unfolds what he’s kept in his heart the size of his clenched fist. Allows its beating space to unravel. And when he doesn’t have the vocabulary to put it into words himself, he borrows—borrows from others until he finally finds the ones that will feel just right tell.

Until they’re finally just right to tell.

The first letter he ever writes her, he composes outside the gallery of his brother’s exhibit, on the opening day. He’s crouched on the stone steps with a book in his hand, a little poetry book Arthur had dropped by for him earlier that day. For what, the bastard refused to say, but he had that look on his face that Theo hates: that Arthur knows exactly what he’s doing it for.

The first of his letters are spiteful, the words he borrows barbs, promises he doesn’t intend to keep when he rewrites,

I shall forget you presently, my dear, So make the most of this, your little day, Your little month, your little half a year

onto a sheet of scratch paper, one he ultimately throws into a bin before he’s even felt like he’s begun writing anything.

He gathers his heart a little closer for the second one, highlighting a verse in shaky yellow while he’s on a bus ride out of town, on the exhibit’s closing day.

The stars are not wanted now; put out every one, Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun, Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood; For nothing now can ever come to any good.

But it is not enough. And even after that, there are an innumerable number of letters that still are not enough. He borrows from everyone he’s learned from her: Shakespeare, Frost, Whitman, Dickinson; he borrows from new names, Allan Poe, Silverstein, Neruda, Keats, Siken; he borrows from poetry, from fiction, from plays. From philosophers, from writers, from artists. The words never seem to be enough to cross the gap between what he’s said and what he should have.

He writes the ten-thousandth letter with his heart beating in his chest so loudly he can barely hear his breath,

And I lean down towards you with muscle and wing, as if to a grave stone, (I put the years to sleep)

my lips seek yours... like spring.

longing, the sear of it, the idea of having touch so warm under his skin the world feels all too cold. He misses her like he would a lost limb. He reads the poem over, and over, and over again until he cannot deny it, and when he does not have the will to deny it he sets it on fire, instead.

Arthur asks him why he’s making it so much harder on himself, asks him why he’s putting himself in all this agony for nothing—Arthur talks like he knows everything. And maybe he does, the fool that he is. “Just call her,” the flirt says, “Call her from my number, send her a message—" But Arthur doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know what it felt like in that rooftop, the words hanging in between him and her, unsaid, said, told in their heads—but never out loud, not enough to make it come to life.

To make it real.

To make it seem like Theo isn’t just writing a story in his head.

One where she’s only an unwilling participant.

Letters are the one thing Theo can hide behind, besides poetry. He can pour his entire heart in that little sheet of paper, tell her all that he wanted to but never could—send it away, and then not have to wait, expecting a response. He considers it the same as writing a message, stuffing it in a bottle, and then throwing it out in the open sea. It would be great if she finds it. It would be great if she’s moved enough by it that she writes back, that she forgives him, that she continues to wait for him even if she’s already so far away.

If only he could get it right.

The millionth letter doesn’t make it past his desk. He hears the poem from a phone in the bookstore: two literature majors reading from a book on the shelf, reciting the lines, Theo barely hears it over their gasps, but when he does he scrambles to put it into writing, thinking, this is it, maybe this is the one that’ll get me across, says,

It well may be that in a difficult hour, Pinned down by pain and moaning for release, Or nagged by want past resolution's power, I might be driven to sell your love for peace, Or trade the memory of this night for food.

takes the pen in his hand and nearly tears the page when the poets say:

It well may be. I do not think I would.

Theo is on his headphones for the rest of the afternoon, hiding in the stockroom stacking books.

He sits and negotiates, negotiates, negotiates with himself over and over again, like this was a case, like this was a business deal, instead of something else, something that’s less rigid, less in-boxes, one without protocol. Arthur tries to talk him into it. Vincent tries to talk him out of it. In, out, of what, Theo doesn’t know anymore, their voices fading into the back of his mind when he begins to really think about this.

About her, about her hands.

About his.

Sometimes, at night, in bed, before I fall asleep, a poet once wrote, I think about a poem I might write, someday, about my heart.

Theo does the same.

Much to his dismay, however, the world does not fall in around him, does not close him off from the outside world no matter how hard he tries, no matter how much it seems like that’s what ought to happen. The semester rolls on. The exams are still hard. The Halloween Party is still the same talk of the university as it did a full year ago, like the world hadn’t turned upside down for him since then.

The universe had even granted him the most effective way to wallow in his pain, the new girl in their little friend group (the one he was only in because of her) whose heart was a mirror of the girl he’d loved. Why is it that those that do so poorly in romance tend to flock together like recognizing the uneven parts of themselves? She is drunk and talking about someone else, but when she speaks about letters the same way she used to, something in Theo’s heart cries out.

Too bad he still doesn’t have the words.

The closest Theo gets to what he wants to say comes in the form of old memories, a scribble of a haphazardly written note on a piece of clean café napkin, in her handwriting, no, there’s no mistaking it. Heart by heart, Louise B written in familiar cursive. A note from a lost time slipped in a returned book, perhaps on purpose, perhaps on accident. He turns the search terms over and over until he finds it, a rush of air exiting his lungs when he gets to the end:

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see The wharves with their great ships and architraves; The rigging and the cargo and the slaves On a strange beach under a broken sky. O not departure, but a voyage done! The bales stand on the stone; the anchor weeps Its red rust downward, and the long vine creeps Beside the salt herb, in the lengthening sun.

Now that I have your heart by heart, I see.

But he doesn’t hasn’t ever had it, not since she’d left, so he doesn’t send it.

Theo doesn’t cry. There is no reason to, he thinks to himself, nothing to be upset about, not when it’s him holding himself back, when this was all his fault. He only sits quiet, repentant. He doesn’t make any mention of her, and when she is mentioned, he doesn’t say a word.

What worth are words now?

This goes on for weeks. And it seems like an eternity later when Vincent catches him sitting in the dining room with that same idle look on his face, that same dull expression, he steps into the light of the older brother Theo has always seen him to be, the older brother he’s always hoped to be—and puts a hand on the shoulder of his lost younger brother, eager to lead him home.

“Theo?”

“Broer.”

Vincent’s voice is soft. Patient. “What are you looking for?”

“I don’t have the words for… this,” Theo says, gestures vaguely at his heart, like pained. “I don’t know where to look for them anymore.”

And his brother smiles like he knows all the answers. (Theo believes Vincent has all the answers.) “There is poetry everywhere, Theo," he says, sounding awfully like her, "Your eyes are focused on the wrong things.”

Like a flash of lightning, he hears it: in the lilt of her voice, the tinkle of laughter, her voice like thunderclouds rolling over a sunlit summer. The poem that found him, instead of the other way around.

You.

Theo immediately goes out to find fancy stationery he knows she likes and gets his best fountain pen and writes; the weight of honesty pins the words solidly onto the parchment. Theo had not known metaphor until that moment, had not understood what it meant when whatever a sun will always sing is you was written, until—

Until it was his heart that was chanting it.

And the day after, he delays the inevitable: seals the letter with glue, sticks a stamp on the upper right corner of the envelope. Theo slips it into the to-mail box without a word, and then exits the post office like he hasn’t left his heart there for sending.

#the wonder that’s keeping the stars apart #ikemen vampire #ikevamp theo

5 notes · View notes

sometimesrosy · 5 years

Note

b/e still together at this point is laughable, we have just 1 season left, how can bellarke be together when b/e is still a thing, if jason make them endgame, is gonna be the biggest mistake ever after game of thrones ending,tell me what's the point? we know where bellamy heart is, so why keep draging this, make bellarke a thing already man, is gonna be the last season, people been waiting for that to happen years, and now we are just gonna have a couple of episodes of them as couple.

Okay, so this is an old ask and i’ve been holding it FOREVER. Today I have the brain power to tackle it, and there’s a reason why I kept it, instead of deleting it as a pointless anti, myopic view point. It was now asked so long ago that I’m hoping the anon doesn’t get pissed off when I rip it apart and break it down to its pieces. So let’s go.

These kind of questions frustrate me, because they are ALMOST there. The question here is, “We know where Bellamy’s heart is, so why keep dragging this?”

That is a valid question. And by “valid” I mean that by answering the question, you can gain a better understanding of the story.

But instead of attempting to answer it, or asking more questions related to it to help you think more, the anon jumps to an unsubstantiated conclusion and then goes on a tirade. The conclusions she makes, that it is laughable, b/e is endgame and/or there will only be a couple of episodes of bellarke, None of those conclusions follow in answer to the question or the canon. What they follow is the fear that the anon won’t get what they want.

So instead of answering the fear, I’m answering the question.

WHY when we know where Bellamy’s heart is, does the story keep dragging this?

First off, it’s not a joke. It’s a story. Delaying the resolution is a sign that Bellamy achieving his hearts desire (Clarke) is actually The Story. A story is about the main character (aka hero aka protagonist,) overcoming their obstacles, learning and growing, and then, achieving their goals. Not only is it The Story, but it’s also a romantic story. In a romance, the goal is to get the heroes together, if that happens too soon, something needs to happen to break them apart, so they can find each other again. But once a couple reaches their goal of getting together, then the story is over. WHY haven’t Bellarke gotten together? Because when they do, the heart of the story is done. When JR said, “The 100 is ending in s7″ I said HURRAH because that is a sign that they are ready to tell the end of the story. Which is... what now? Say it with me, BELLARKE, THE EPIC LOVE STORY.

This isn’t fanfiction, that can ignore storytelling or narrative rules, or all the other narrative threads, or the focus on character development, in order to fulfill the readers’ narrative desires. In order to make a good story, they have to keep telling ALL the stories that they’ve laid out before us. And that includes b/e (which is still working,) echo’s character arc (still working,) Octavia (a story which is near done,) the Blakes reunion (which we did,) and the strange interweaving of the head, the heart and the soul that is Clarke, Bellamy and Octavia (which may not be over until the end.) We also have to work through Bellamy’s self loathing (which we did,) Bellamy’s hero’s journey, (which we did,) Bellamy’s anger at Clarke leaving him to die (which we did,) ALSO Clarke’s suicidal tendencies (which we did,) Clarke’s feeling that love was a weakness (which we did,) Clarke’s isolation (which we did,) Clarke’s feelings of betrayal that Bellamy moved on (which we did,) Clarke’s separation from her people (which we did.) ALSO, and this one might be the most important one and the answer to the original question.

The story kept dragging out because season 6 was the season that BELLAMY realized where his heart was. Maybe WE knew all along, but this was something he was resisting. He said he didn’t NEED her, but he realized over the course of Season 6 that he needed her more than ANYTHING. You see?

Clarke is his weakness and his strength. She’s his vulnerability. And he had his walls up against that because he lost her for six years and the whole time, she was still with him and still his weakness and his vulnerability and when she came back, she pushed him away, and away, and when he thought he was getting her back, she left him to die. At the end of season 5, he found out she DID care for him, and that changed things for him, but then...she called him family and went with Cillian. She has now told him she needed/wanted him THREE times and THREE times immediately turned to someone else. Lxa, Niylah, Cillian. Granted, he turned her down twice and had a girlfriend the third. But Bellamy thinks she doesn’t love him, ever since she said she couldn’t lose him and then sent him to die because it was worth the risk. Because he didn’t understand that it meant she loved him and love was a weakness.

And I’ll tell you. THAT story hasn’t been finished yet. We had mutual pining in s4-5-6. But neither of them have told their feelings to each other. No I take that back. Clarke has told him, but he has misunderstood every time, I think because he doesn’t believe her and think it means something else, especially since she hooks up with someone else after she says it. And she takes all those misunderstandings of Bellamy’s as a rejection, and is sure he doesn’t feel the same about her. Season 2. Season 3. Season 4. Season 5. Season 6. We’ve seen this story happening. She thinks of love as a weakness and so puts up walls to him and turns to other people. HE thinks that means she doesn’t love him. We’re finally getting to the point that they’re ready to admit their feelings. He said he needed her. I NEED YOU.

So. Like. The reason why they’re dragging the Bellarke story out is because there is so much to TELL. There are all these supporting storylines that are building Clarke and Bellamy individually, making them stronger and more whole, healing them, making them HEROES. These individual stories are making them worthy of each other. And proving to us that their love is so strong, so epic, so central to the characters and the story, that it not only persists in the face of time, death and space, but also in the face of rival ships. No love on this show surpasses the love of Clarke and Bellamy, not even the parent/child or sibling love. HOWEVER, the Bellarke love actually makes Clarke and Bellamy stronger, and ALSO saves Madi, comforts Clarke when she loses her mother, and allows Bellamy to reconnect with Octavia.

I’m not gonna lie. I wanted to see Bellarke as an established couple, a battle couple, even domestic. That is not the story being told. That is a different story with different tropes and conventions and rules. I thought maybe book two could be that story, but nope. Still an epic romance in the apocalypse as we watch our heroes find out what is worth living for and it turns out it’s each other.

The story being told is an epic love story in the apocalypse. A mythic love. A morally gray story of heroes who both save and redeem humanity. A tragedy about trauma and healing. That’s my take on it. If you view the entire story through this lens, a lot of the things that confused the audience while they were happening make a lot more sense.

If a theory can explain a story, and not leave out any of the narrative threads, and keeps working to explain the story that happens AFTER the theory was made, then that’s a sign that this is a theory that is on the right track in understanding the story.

If a theory is jossed by canon, that means the theory didn’t work. It doesn’t mean the canon did it wrong or is a joke. It means the theorist was wrong, because the author gets to tell the story they want, and speculation is not their story. If you speculate the story to go in the direction YOU want, that’s your story not theirs. If you’re trying to predict the story the creator tells, you have to know what story the creator is telling. That means you have to understand it.

If a theory leaves large parts of the story without an explanation or writes them off as “bad writing” or “plot holes” when they can be explain through another theory, then the theorist has failed. If a theorist calls the canon that goes off their theory a joke, or laughable, without trying to answer their unanswered questions by looking at the canon and trying to figure it out... then the theorist has failed. If a theorist assumes that the writer and story is a joke because the theorist is predicting that the writer is bad and will “ruin” the story though they have no evidence that is happening, then the theorist is a bad theorist with unexamined biases who is jumping to conclusions that are not supported and attacking creators for doing something that they have not done. Very disrespectful. Very illogical. Very non canon. Very bad meta. Sorry.

You can have strong feelings about canon, but if you don’t understand canon and your feelings are based on your inaccurate understanding, then your opinion is kinda crap. You’re blaming the show for being something that it is not, and it’s all because you’re not interested in what it IS, only in your fantasy... when your analysis should be of JR’S fantasy. That’s what fiction is, a deliberate, constructed fantasy. The better they are at it, the more the pieces will all fit together. This story is novelistic in it’s structure and narrative and development. There’s a lot to deconstruct and analyze, and all the pieces fit together. Despite a few things that are unsatisfactory, the main relationship story (bellarke) is not.

When I have theories that turn out to be wrong, I don’t say the story is wrong. I say I was wrong. Then I backtrack to where my theory started, figure out what I read wrong, and reframe my theories based on the new direction of the story. The point of analysis is not to be right. It’s to understand the story that someone else is telling.

Let me tell you which theory of mine has NEVER been wrong.

That Bellarke is endgame, that they MUST be together.

It has not always been expressed in romantic terms, but each season it has gotten MORE romantic, which is what we call DEVELOPMENT. Side ships have NOT stopped this. Fandom tends to think CL and B/E are more of an obstacle than actual space, actual time, and actual death. LOL. Nope. CL was passionate and burnt out in a conflagration. B/E is comforting and currently in a slow fizzle as it burns out. On screen. In canon fights and bickering, physical and emotional distance, parallel letting go, Echo’s story of independence, finding herself and ultimate (my theory) breaking free from her king. Who is, in canon, Bellamy.

it’s not laughable. It is a well developed story.

Now someone tell me why people would rather have a short break up with no meaning behind it and a hookup into smooshing faces finally, instead of what we’re getting, which is an indepth story of growth, understanding, love, passion, need, self identity, self worth, redemption, longing, and reunion.

HE BROUGHT HER BACK FROM DEATH WITH ONLY THE POWER OF HIS LOVE FOR GODSAKE.

I suspect that people are the most frustrated with the story being told because all they want is boning. Because this romance is FANTASTIC, but boning we have not gotten.

Or they’ve been gaslighted by a fandom who’s been telling us we’re delusional all these years. We’re not delusional. This story is real. If I were delusional, my theory that I came up with after Hakeldama-- endgame Bellarke, the head and the heart, together-- would have been jossed a long time ago. But it hasn’t been. It’s not only still going, it’s MORE important now than it was before. :)

Bellarke are the head and the heart. They’re not only still alive (remember how every season we had a panic that clarke and/or bellamy would die? nope,) but soulmates, who have found each other again, and need each other, and can’t lose each other. Bellarke are the center of the story. And if it were platonic, then we would have more story with B/E being a ship that fulfills Bellamy, because as the heart to clarke’s head, his HEART needs that connection, instead when he’s being torn apart emotionally, whether over octavia or clarke, Echo CAN NOT offer him comfort. I’d also like to say, that if CL were the center of the story, then, it would actually be a story, instead of just a mention here and there. It’s important, but not the center of the story. That’s Bellarke. That’s why all the stories revolved around them. Why season 5 was about the Bellarke reunion (and blakes) and why season 6 was about Bellamy saving Clarke with his love, and then Clarke saving everyone with what she learned about love from Bellamy.

I was entirely wrong about the speed with which we would reach romantic Bellarke. My bad.I don’t particularly CHOOSE such slow burns. I read that wrong. But I never backed down from romantic soulmates because it was never taken off the table. The longing was always there even when they were separated, were in love with other people, or were furious at each other. And because of that, it could NEVER be platonic. Other fans thought the arrival of canon b/e was the death of bellarke, but what I saw was them framing B/E as a ROMANTIC OBSTACLE to Bellarke. And that was confirmation to me that Bellarke was a romantic story and they were going in that direction with the soulmate connection. And EVERYTHING that happened, from 2199 calls, was a romance story. Not platonic. PINING. LOVE TRIANGLE. SLOW BURN TRUE LOVE. HE NEEDS HER AND BROUGHT HER BACK FROM DEATH WITH A KISS.

IT IS GLORIOUS. I am so sorry that you’re missing it. But y’all need to shut up with your whining. It’s annoying.

#the 100 #bellarke #epic love story #i don't have a lot of asks now so i can really dig in when i want to #long post #ha ha

78 notes · View notes

ft-dads-au · 4 years

Text

All I Want For Christmas... - Chapter 3

Home for the Holidays 2019 Prompt: Lights A Collaboration by @mdelpin and @oryu404 AO3 | Prev: Ch 2

December 24, 2013

The first thing Rogue did when he woke up was turn around, resolute in his desire to go straight back to sleep for as long as he could. But as he did, he soon realized that it wasn't his own bed he was tossing and turning in, and at that moment, everything came rushing back to him.

He stretched and opened his eyes to look at Sting’s bed and found nothing but crumpled up sheets and a deserted pillow.

Had he been so dead to the world that he never even noticed him getting up and leaving the room? He thought it made sense, considering how tired he’d been, and his sleep cycle that most likely wasn’t used to the different time zone yet. Either way, Rogue had a feeling he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep so easily, and not wanting to keep the others waiting for him, he urged himself out of bed.

With slight trepidation, he descended the stairs, following the sounds of voices and clattering pots and pans, and the smell of breakfast and coffee that led him to the kitchen.

"Morning, sweetie, did you sleep well?" Mrs. Eucliffe chirped at him, taking a moment to look away from the stove and send a smile his way.

"Good morning," Rogue sat down at the table that was already set and filled with all kinds of food, "I think I went out like a light last night."

"Yeah, no kidding," grinned Sting, who was standing next to his mother, pouring four cups of coffee. "I tried waking you up half an hour ago, but you were practically comatose."

Rogue had meant to tell him he should've tried harder, but the words never came out. He just stared as Sting handed him his coffee, and although it couldn't be easier to remember he liked it plain and black, the fact that Sting didn't even ask for confirmation made it seem like only yesterday when he'd last made him coffee.

"Thanks," was all he could manage, his mind already wandering off in directions he was hoping to avoid. He could either sulk and brood, or make the most out of this holiday and enjoy the time he'd be spending here, and not wanting a repeat of yesterday, he promised himself to aim for the latter.

"It smells great in here!" Dr. Eucliffe exclaimed as he joined them, hugging his wife from behind and pressing a kiss to her cheek. He peeked into the pan, reaching out to take one of the slices of bacon that were already plated on the counter, but his hand was swatted away playfully.

"Uh-uh, no stealing!" Mrs. Eucliffe waved her wooden spatula in front of his face, but it took only a few seconds of what Rogue could easily picture as him giving her a pout and a pair of puppy eyes before she caved and fed him a piece anyway.

Now that everyone was present, they all sat down at the table. Rogue stared at the wide selection of food, different types of bread, and numerous spreads and toppings, both sweet and savory. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had a breakfast this extensive, and with so many new things for him to try, he had no idea where to begin.

~~~

Once they were all done eating, Sting had suggested for Rogue to go ahead and take a shower while he helped his mother with the cleanup. Now fully dressed and waiting for Sting to get ready so they could leave, Rogue decided to go outside for some fresh air as he let his breakfast settle. He ended up eating a bit too much, and he could definitely use a smoke.

He wasn't surprised to find Dr. Eucliffe out on the deck, his pipe in one hand and a book in the other. Rogue had seen him go outside to smoke his pipe a couple of times yesterday, but until now, they had unintentionally taken turns smoking.

"I was hoping to catch you outside," Dr. Eucliffe smiled at him, "it's nice to have some company that doesn't complain about the smell."

He put the book away, placing it on the small table in front of him and gesturing to the empty space next to him on the bench swing. "Feel free to sit down, I turned on the terrace heater."

Rogue complied, sitting next to him before lighting his cigarette, "My mom used to complain to my dad about the smell a lot as well," he said, blowing out a cloud of smoke, "I can only imagine the lecture she'd give me if she found out I started smoking."

"She doesn't know?" Rogue shook his head, "I picked up the habit after they left. I actually missed the smell, it was so distinctively my dad's."

"Ha! Tell Sting that!"

Rogue snorted, "Sure, then you can tell him I've never heard him complain about the smell before."

"That brat..."

Still chuckling, Rogue reached out for the ashtray to tap off his ashes. His gaze fell on the book that was sitting next to it, and upon recognizing the author and title, he immediately perked up.

"That's a great book! Kemu Zaleon is one of my favorite authors, I've collected all of his works."

"Really?" Dr. Eucliffe looked at him with pleasant surprise, "So have I! Which one's your favorite? No, wait, let me guess…"

Rogue had no idea how long they'd been talking and sharing their thoughts about their favorite books when the sliding door opened, and Sting stepped out on the deck, shivering as he wasn't wearing a jacket.

He watched the conversation for a while before deciding to interrupt. "I should have seen this coming, you two are both total book nerds, " he shook his head with equal amounts amusement and disbelief. "Are you coming or what?"

"Just a minute-" Rogue raised his cigarette- the third one he’d lit this morning, "almost done.”

Unable to counter, Sting just sighed in defeat, looking back and forth between Rogue and his father and ultimately deciding to address the latter. “Do not pick that book up again old man, if we don't leave soon, we're going to hit all sorts of traffic."

“We’ll be inside shortly,” Dr. Eucliffe smiled innocently, waving his pipe in the air at Sting, “You know son, you might not be so cold if you wore clothes that actually covered your midriff.”

Rogue could tell that Sting wanted to retort something but managed to contain it, replying a rather timid, “Please hurry,” before making his way back inside.

Rogue followed his movements as he left, taking a last hit from his cigarette. He then put it out in the ashtray, not realizing that he was still staring through the glass sliding doors until he received a firm pat on his shoulder.

“We really are glad you came to visit, Rogue. We might have joked about it last night, but he did seem to miss you quite a bit.”

And with that, Dr. Eucliffe collected his book and urged him back inside the house.

~~~

Regarding holiday decorations, Rogue's hometown settled for the same simple pine garlands and Christmas lights wrapped around the street lanterns and illuminated arches overhanging the passages every year. A big tree in the shopping mall, an even bigger one on the town's square, and of course the individually decorated storefronts and displays.

He knew Crocus was different, a lot more extravagant, recalling distant memories of a family outing that must've been over a decade ago. Most of the imagery had faded away over time, but he could still remember being mesmerized by all the splendor. And though he had grown out of that childlike wonder, he was currently experiencing similar emotions.

The Edolian capital was one of the most beautiful cities he had ever visited, a fusion of old and new. Cobblestone roads and historical buildings with ornate gables, oddly enough blending effortlessly with modern structures of smooth concrete and glass. In preparation for the holidays, the city had gone all out with its decorations.

Everywhere he looked, there were garlands filled with ornaments, and there were more lights than Rogue had ever seen in his life, spun across the streets to form walkways, lining the railings of bridges and the fronts of buildings, wrapped around trees and streetlights.

"Just wait until it gets dark," Sting grinned at him as he took pictures on his phone, as befitted a proper tourist. Then again, a lot of the images he had made were not of the beautiful architecture or the enchanting Christmas scenery. Rogue was good at being stealthy, and he'd managed to snap a few pictures of Sting's parents when they weren't paying attention, checking out the shop windows or pleasantly chatting with each other. Seeing them walk together with linked arms, sharing loving gazes every now and then had made him wistful enough to want to capture the moment.

And where little over a month ago he had been on the point of deleting every single picture on his phone that had Sting in it, he just had expanded his collection in a moment of weakness. Or five.

When Rogue was sure Sting wasn't looking at him anymore, he scrolled through them quickly, surprised to see they weren't blurry like he'd imagined they'd be. "Yeah," he answered, "I bet it looks... really beautiful."

Sting was about to say something in response when he was startled by the unexpected sound of someone calling his name. He turned towards the voice, his lips immediately quirking into a smile as he seemed to recognize its owner: a girl rushing out of one of the stores to give Sting a hug.

“Sting, I didn’t know you were going to be here today!" she exclaimed, playfully swatting his arm, much to the amusement of Sting’s parents.

“Yeah, we’re showing Rogue the capital,” Sting explained, “and getting some last-minute shopping in.”

"You know how my parents are." Sting shrugged without adding any further explanation leading Rogue to wonder just how close the two were, and as he looked at her more closely, he realized something.

He recognized her from some of the pictures on Sting's bedroom wall, and even then, he'd thought she looked strangely familiar. But it wasn't until she was joined by another girl that he was finally able to make the connection. Following right behind Sting's friend was none other than the girl Rogue had met on the plane, and remembering what she'd said about visiting her sister plus the striking resemblance between the two young women told him everything he needed to know.

"Oh my God, I know you!" were the words Rogue was so hoping not to hear. "You're that guy who almost hurled on the plane!"

Begrudgingly he let his pride take the hit. He had no other explanation to give but the truth, and that certainly wasn't happening. "The one and only," he confirmed, his words sounding a bit more cynical than he would've liked. "Small world, isn't it?"

“Wow, what luck!” Sting chimed in sporting a tone Rogue recognized well. This was going to be so bad. How could he get this woman to move on?

“Well, I see you’ve met Sorano,” Sting gestured towards Rogue’s latest source of anxiety, then placed a hand on the other girl’s shoulder, “and this is her sister and also my best friend, Yukino. I’m sure you’ve heard me talk about her.”

Rogue nodded meekly, willing Sorano to take pity on him. He'd just remembered what he'd said he was doing in Edolas, and he was desperately hoping she would keep it to herself. This is why he didn't make a habit of lying, it always came back to bite you in the ass.

“Oh yeah,” Sorano looked from Sting to Rogue, her eyes suddenly narrowing in a way Rogue instantly knew did not bode well for him, “We were all sorts of chummy.”

"What was it you said you were doing here again?" Sorano tapped her finger on her cheek, rhythmically. "Visiting family, wasn't it?"

She made a point of looking around them, but before she could say anything more, help came from an unexpected quarter.

“Hey Sorano, isn’t that Sawyer over there?”

“Sawyer?! Where?” Sorano peered around excitedly, Rogue all but forgotten for the moment.

“Over by the big tree,” Yukino pointed at a group of people, “I think Erik was with him.”

"Oh, come on, Yuki!" Sorano grabbed her sister by the arm and pulled her towards the giant tree, "I want to talk to them, it's been forever!" Yukino managed a small wink and a wave at Rogue as she was dragged away by her eager sister.

For the first time since Rogue was thirteen years old, he almost had the urge to kiss a girl. Well, not really, but he was very grateful, even though he could see the smirk on Sting’s face.

“Oh, dear. They left before I could ask about the baby,” Mrs. Eucliffe complained.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get your chance soon,” her husband assured her.

“So, you came to see family, huh?” Sting teased.

“She kept chattering on the plane, I just wanted her to stop,” Rogue tried to explain, still mortified by every word that had come out of Sorano’s mouth.

“I can totally see that,” Sting declared with a chuckle, his blue eyes shining with mirth, “Sorano can be a handful.”

They continued walking down the street, Rogue pointedly ignoring Sting's teasing as they followed the elder Eucliffes into shop after shop. They were all beautifully decorated, but there was a limit to the amount of window shopping Rogue could endure. Soon, he began to distract himself by listening to the Christmas music that was playing through the stores’ speakers.

Some of the songs were the familiar ones he'd grown up with, the lyrics translated, but there were others he didn't recognize. After asking Sting about them, he learned they were traditional Edolian Christmas songs. He began to get lost in the melodies and arrangements, breaking them down in his mind into chords until he heard a chuckling behind him.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you go into music mode,” Sting smiled, “I’ve been meaning to ask, did you play a lot of gigs last semester?”

"Actually, I uh, didn't play any," Rogue replied, hurriedly feigning interest in a blue-colored knitted shawl. Once he actually looked at it, he decided it would make a lovely present for Mrs. Eucliffe. He used it to hopefully divert Sting's attention away from their current topic. "Hey, does your mom like shawls?"

"I guess," Sting shrugged, "but you're doing that thing where you change the subject, so I can tell something is up."

"Nothing is up. I just quit the band, that's all."

Sting knew he was holding something back, Rogue could tell by the way he looked at him. Skeptical, easily able to recognize Rogue's casual behavior for the facade it was. Rogue could only hope he wouldn't push the issue because the conversation that would follow was bound to put a huge damper on the mood, and to his great relief, Sting settled for the answer he'd been given.

"Oh, shame," Sting looked over to where his parents were poring over a display, then took a closer look at the shawl, "You know, I think she'd love this, let me see if I can distract her for you."

Sting walked over to his parents and began to talk to them, motioning behind his back for Rogue to go pay.

His transaction took longer than he'd anticipated, the clerk had offered to gift wrap the shawl for him, and on a whim he'd agreed, not wanting Mrs. Eucliffe to see it before Christmas. He found Sting waiting outside the store, and his parents nowhere to be found.

"Where are your parents?" Rogue asked, looking around to see what store they would be going to next.

“They took off, I told them you were bored,” Sting jokingly stuck out his tongue, laughing and retracting his statement once he had spotted the look of horror on Rogue’s face. “Relax, I’m kidding! I told them you- we- had no interest in watching them obsess over tea sets or whatever it is they look at for God knows how long, so they suggested we do our own thing. We'll meet them for dinner at my mom's favorite restaurant at five."

"Oh. Okay." Rogue looked down at his watch trying to figure out how long that would be.

And just as he had feared, the awkward silence that had been hanging over them yesterday made its reappearance. After the encounter with Sorano, and the thing with the band, Rogue didn't quite know how to feel about being alone with Sting. The number of questions that were undoubtedly going through both of their heads was only increasing, and Rogue didn't know if he was capable of providing answers should it be the case that Sting used this moment to ask them.

He remembered the promise he'd made himself that morning and scrambled to come up with a question or a story, anything to avoid the uncomfortable silence.

"I think I might get a cat when I get back," Rogue announced, surprising even himself by the outburst. It was true, he had been considering it, but that was still a somewhat random thing to say.

“Yeah?” Sting peered at Rogue’s face for a moment, a slight smile on his face, “I’d love to have a cat. Remember those cute ones they had when we went to the shelter that time? ”

Rogue smiled at the memory, "How I got you out of there without bringing home five cats, I'll never know."

Sting pouted in reply making Rogue's smile stretch even wider. This was better, the silence had shifted from awkward to comfortable. Sting told him some embarrassing stories about Sorano to make up for earlier, and they were soon laughing together.

Suddenly, Sting stopped moving, his attention caught by something in one of the streets. His excitement grew noticeably, and when Rogue turned to see what had gotten him so riled up, he noticed that the market square at the end of it was filled with all kinds of stands. Food vendors, stalls that sold all sorts of crafts and trinkets, and even a small funfair were gathered together, forming a Christmas market of sorts.

"Oh man, I haven't been to the fair in years!" Sting marveled. "My parents used to take me every year when I was little, there used to be this cart that sold the most epic- Wait, I think I see it over there! Come on, you have to try this!"

Before Rogue could utter a single word, he was grabbed by the hand and pulled across the street through the crowd of people going to and from the fair. Commotion surrounded them. Sounds, sights, and smells attacked Rogue's sense all at once, but everything just went right by him. His mind simply refused to focus on anything but the fact that Sting was holding his hand and hadn't let go when they had reached the less crowded part of the market. It was just a simple touch, but it was enough to stir the feelings Rogue had been trying to suppress.

Watching Sting's parents interacting with each other, still displaying the affection of a young couple after years of being together, something Rogue suspected his own parents had grown out of years ago- had evoked a sense of longing he'd been wary of acknowledging.

Now that he had, he knew the time was nearing when he would have to make a decision one way or the other. He was in love with Sting, that was something he knew before ever setting foot in Edolas, but if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that love could hurt like a bitch. Giving in to his feelings could result in pain even worse than the one he had already endured, so as a defense mechanism, he had armed himself with excuses.

Roughly six months had passed since their inevitable breakup, and Rogue had been telling himself that Sting likely didn’t feel the same way anymore. And although that notion had been proven false a few times before, there had still been enough reasonable doubt left in Rogue’s mind to fuel his insecurities.

Dr. Eucliffe’s affirmation of Sting’s feelings that morning, however, had begun to break through his barriers. Now here they were, no longer the dragger and the dragged, but walking hand in hand, and seeing Sting looking the happiest Rogue had witnessed since he arrived erased any shred of doubt he had left on that matter.

It was so frustrating though, why did they have to live so far apart? Rogue mentally sighed. Maybe the idea of a long-distance relationship wasn't so bad, and how long would they really have to sit it out anyway? Sure, Sting had many years of medical school left before he became a doctor, but Rogue only had a year and a half of college to go. If things went well, he could look into moving to Edolas. It would certainly be better than the emptiness he lived in now.

They reached the cart Sting had been so hyped about, and as he ordered two servings of waffles, he loaded them up with every possible topping, letting go of Rogue's hand so he could pay for them. Rogue didn't even try to rationalize the disappointment he felt. He had ignored his feelings long enough.

While the sun was starting to set, coloring the sky with deep shades of orange and pink, they finished their treats on a nearby bench. Rogue snorted at the first bite because its taste was exactly as sweet as he'd imagined anything Sting would get this excited about would be. Still, he had to admit it was pretty good.

"As good as I remember!" Sting praised, getting up from the bench to throw their napkins into a trash can. "Ready to resume our quest for gifts? We don't have much time left before we're meeting my parents for dinner."

"Sure, let's go," Rogue replied with a small nod. He rose to his feet, immediately reaching for Sting's hand again and intertwining their fingers. There was no missing the smile on Sting's face at the gesture, and feeling encouraged, Rogue moved closer until their arms were brushing together. The cold December weather was no match for the warm, fuzzy feeling that was spreading through him.

They continued to wind in and out of small shops finding gifts and making several additional trips to the food vendors. Now that Sting had found them, he seemed determined to sample every treat he remembered from past visits. Rogue watched horrified, worried Sting would be stuffed by the time they had to meet his parents for dinner. Then again, they probably knew their son well enough to anticipate the possibility.

The sky began to darken while they were still shopping, and when they exited the large bookseller where Rogue had purchased a copy of Kemu Zaleon's latest book for Dr. Eucliffe, they noticed the holiday lights had come on. Sting was practically bouncing on the balls of his feet in excitement, peering at Rogue's face to gauge his reaction to the ostentatious display.

As many lights as he'd thought he'd seen in daylight, there seemed to be twice as many now. They were practically everywhere, illuminating the entire Main Street with a warm golden glow, and Rogue couldn't help but be delighted by their beauty.

"Wow, that's just - I've never seen anything like that," Rogue managed to exclaim through his awe. His hands fumbled through his pockets, searching for his phone, "let me take a picture."

But when he opened the camera application, he switched to the front-face camera, closing the distance between the two of them as he threw an arm around Sting's waist and held his phone out.

"Say cheese," he directed, setting the example with a smile of his own.

They got carried away taking silly pictures together like they used to, losing track of time and ending up running to the restaurant to get there on time. They struggled to keep hold of their shopping bags, their hands never letting go of each other, even though it would have made their trek much easier.

Rogue could only think that this was the way things should be.

#fairy tail #ftdadsau #ftlgbtholidays2019 #stingue #ftlgbtales #update #fics #prompt: lights #weisslogia & rogue

13 notes · View notes

seeaddywrite · 5 years

Text

stars, hide your fires

this fic has been started approximately four different times, & no matter how much i cut or rearrange, it still ends up as a multi-chapter, so i’m giving up the fight & doing it. it’s been a challenge, but one i’m enjoying. currently, i’m guessing this will end up at about ten chapters, depending on how it goes. my goal is to update twice a week -- feel free to keep me accountable. :)

based on this prompt from @roswellprompts: “post-finale. malex eventually, preferably. alex goes undercover with his brothers to learn about the weapon they're developing and pretends he's on their side. everyone suspects he's truly gone dark. even alex can't tell the difference sometimes.”

thanks to @soberqueerinthewild for letting me rant about this fic, reading over it, & for basically being the best. also, thanks to @ubiestcaelum for Hunter’s name & being generally awesome.

“Manes, come on,” Valenti whines from behind Alex, sounding more like a disappointed teenager than the fully grown, mature man he’s supposedly become. “Liz is cooking at Evans’ tonight, and neither of us get enough home cooking to miss it.”

The feel of displaced air on the back of his neck as Kyle steps up behind him makes Alex tense a little -- it’s hard to relax with people out of his line of sight, even when it’s someone he trusts. Old habits die hard, and Alex has plenty of reason to remain vigilant. But since Kyle Valenti has somehow stepped back into his life and decided to fill the position of ‘best friend’ that he’d vacated back in high school, Alex doesn’t react, and only rolls his eyes at the whining.

“You’re only this desperate to go because you know Liz is bringing Arturo’s enchiladas,” Alex teases him, knowing full well that no one would be this excited over Liz’s cooking. The woman is a genius with lab equipment, but she lacks when it comes to measuring cups and kitchen timers. He’s learned that the hard way over the many dinner get-togethers their little circle has held in the last several months. It’s a habit Liz started when Rosa was first brought back, and she, Michael, and Isobel were still grieving Max, and it’s continued even now that Rosa has fully reintegrated to Roswell living and they’ve successfully managed to bring Max back from the dead.

Alex won’t admit it aloud, but those dinners have quickly become his favorite part of the week. Having Liz and Rosa around so often is a balm to the loneliness he’s been battling for months, and when Maria joins them -- still, unfortunately, in the dark about the alien truths -- Alex can almost pretend everything is back to normal. And on top of that, he’s found that he actually likes Max and Isobel Evans, despite rocky beginnings. In some tangential way, they’re family; no matter what his relationship status with Michael, that will always be true.

And then, of course, there’s the fact that those dinners are the one time that he’s guaranteed to see Guerin smile. They’ve passed the awkward exes phase, and now that the relationship with Maria has died a natural death, Alex doesn’t even feel guilty when their eyes meet and he feels that old, familiar chemistry flare between them. It’s a slow, delicious burn, and he’s looking forward to the resolution.

“Obviously,” Valenti agrees with an unconcerned shrug, drawing Alex back into their banter and away from distracting thoughts of Guerin. “But if you tell Liz I said that, I’m telling her that you fed the last meal she left for you to the beagle after she left.” He shoves playfully at Alex’s shoulder, and takes the return swat in stride before returning to his attempts at persuasion.“But, seriously, we’ve been through those files a thousand times already. You’re not going to find anything we haven’t already seen, so I think whatever this is can wait until tomorrow so we can go get some decent food for once. Don’t you?”

It probably could wait until tomorrow. There’s no reason for Alex to believe the incongruous firewall he’d just run into in some of Project Shepherd’s newest files is hiding anything more than the usual information on alien torture disguised as science -- but something in his gut is telling him that he needs to dig deeper, to find out what lies behind the wall of code that had been cleverly hidden in plain sight. And if Alex learned anything during his time on active duty, it’s that he should always trust his gut.

“You go ahead,” he tells Kyle, most of his attention still directed at the complicated coding sequences he’s creating with sharp, precise movements of his fingers over the keyboard. “Tell everyone I’ll see them soon, but there’s something here, and I --” Alex blinks in surprise, cutting himself off. “-- wow. It’s like they’re not even trying to keep me out.”

Like most of Jesse Manes’ sad attempts at cyber security, the firewall keeping Alex from the information he wants buckles under the weight of less than five minutes of Alex’s direct attention. He’s not even surprised, anymore -- his father has always been more of a bruiser than a thinker, and coding takes a certain kind of creativity, an ability to create. A man who only knows how to destroy could never possess that skill.

Both men go silent and still as images begin to pop up on the screens, and Alex swallows convulsively to quell sudden nausea. Surveillance footage from Roswell -- all from the last six months. Somehow, Project Shepherd has remained up and running despite Alex’s father’s sudden disappearance from the scene, and whoever’s behind it has been watching both Evans’ houses, Michael’s trailer, and the Crashdown, from the looks of things.

Panic begins to swell in the back of Alex’s mind as he remembers all of the things that have happened in those locations -- all of the suddenly not-dead people who have walked through those entryways, all of the alien powers that are showcased so cavalierly in the sanctity of their own homes. Michael’s got his bunker beneath the Airstream, for crying out loud! So many secrets. So many possibilities for discovery. And if Project Shepherd knows the truth, it’s only a matter of time before Michael and his siblings are dragged off to another off-books facility to suffer the same fate as the people they’d watched die at Caulfield.

Fuck.

If the surveillance was the worst of it, Alex could have dealt with it. Deleting the photos and video is the work of a moment, and he knows that his brothers -- who have to be heading things up in Jesse’s absence -- don’t have the skills to protect anything online from him. It’s a pain, and he’ll have to keep checking to be certain that new cameras haven’t been positioned, but overall, the situation would be manageable. He could control the intel received, could make sure there was never enough solid evidence to move against Michael or the twins.

But Alex has no power over the half-drawn schematics of the weapon he’s staring at now.

At least, that’s what he thinks he’s looking at -- he’s no engineer, and the scribbles on the scanned paper may as well be written in Mandarin, for all Alex knows. But the info dump says it’s alien tech of some sort, geared toward taking out their own kind -- and Alex knows, immediately, that he cannot risk his brothers or any military personnel gaining access to it. Not when Alex’s world still at least half-revolves around Michael Guerin, despite their newly minted status as friends. Not when Max and Isobel have somehow become part of his family, too, through his determination to keep Michael in his life and help bring Max back from the dead. Not when Liz and Rosa and Kyle could lose everything, if all of this were brought to light by the wrong people.

“What do we do with this?” Kyle asks finally, breaking the tense silence in the bunker. It’s been at least twenty minutes of staring, horror-struck at the screen, and Alex is no closer to an answer than he was when they started. “We have to warn them. There’s no way whoever’s running the show --”

“Flint,” Alex interrupts, his voice hard. “It has to be Flint. And probably the others, too. Dad always drags Charlie along with him on whatever he’s doing, and Hunter’s never too far behind.” Alex’s comment to Flint about mindlessly following the flock is accurate for all of his brothers. With the occasional exception of Charlie, who Alex knows tried to be a better brother to him for a while, they’re all soldiers, highly decorated and respected in their fields -- but none of them have ever been willing to go against their father.

Kyle’s lips thin, but he nods agreement. “Fine. There’s no way Flint knows about all this and isn’t planning a move, Alex. We’ve gotta get them all out of town. And probably ourselves, too. If they manage to develop this weapon --”

“We’re not running,” Alex snaps, punching the power control on the monitors so that the screens go dark. He spins his chair to look at Valenti, and knows that the expression on his face is far from reassuring -- he’s simultaneously panicking and furious, and he can’t contain it all within himself without just a little spilling over into his features.

Because slowly, an idea is forming in the back of his head. No one is going to like it -- God knows Alex doesn’t, but it’s the only way out of this fucking mess that Alex can see, and he’s desperate enough to protect Guerin and the others that he’s willing to take the risk.

“Alex, I don’t think we have a choice,” Valenti tells him firmly, and Alex’s eyes aren’t the ones that are wide and full to the brim with a frantic need to move, to do something. He starts to pace around Alex’s chair as he speaks, picking up speed with every word and step until it’s hard for Alex to understand. “Even if I was okay with the idea of your dickhead family marching in and kidnapping Evans and the others, I’m the one who put your dad in that coma. How long do you think it’ll take them to connect those dots? They’ll find him. They’ll wake him up, and it won’t just be the aliens they’re after anymore.”

There’s a moment of tense silence as Alex levers himself out of the computer chair and takes a few steps, working the stiffness from sitting too long out of his bad leg. “We’re not running,” he repeats, and this time, his voice is full of purpose. “I have an idea. It’s -- awful, but it’s the only way we’re going to be able to live out our lives without constantly looking over our shoulders.” Alex straightens his spine and stands at his full height, regarding Kyle solemnly and making it as clear as he can that he’s not going to hear any arguments.

“I’m going to infiltrate Project Shepherd, and we’re going to bring them down.”

#stars hide your fires #my fic #malex fic [at least it will be]#multi-chap #slow burn #ensemble fic

40 notes · View notes

writerunsolved · 5 years

Text

The Drunken Mistake - Ch. 6

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: F/M

Fandom: Real Person Fiction

Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Genres: Fluff and Humor

Language: English

Chapters: 6/?

Summary: You're a young up-and-coming singer based in London who has just released her first album.

After a wild night at the VMAs and some heavy partying and drinking at the afterparty, you write and publish a drunken tweet about a certain celebrity and one of their friends. You only realise what you've done the next day when a slew of texts and calls wakes you up to a dreadful but expected hangover. You immediately delete the tweet, but you're left to deal with the consequences. A public apology would probably be enough to make everything go away if you hadn't been invited to a movie premiere where said celebrity is most certainly going to be.

You decide that the best course of action will be to try and avoid them, but your plans almost never go the way you want them to.

Author’s Note: And it is happening! I have so many things I’d like to say about this chapter that I have no idea where to start!!! Let me hear from you guys, feedback makes my day! ♥

Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch. 3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5

Chapter Six - Dine With Care

It took you exactly seven minutes to get to the restaurant. You could tell because you’d been checking your phone obsessively the whole way, afraid of being late. You made the last turn and looked around for the Mama Thai sign, a fluttery rumble lodging itself in your lower abdomen.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath with the aim of calming down the undercurrent of anxiety that had completely taken over your mood. Its persistence was a loud cacophony blocking out any other emotion from seeping into your brain. It didn’t work as well as you’d hoped and when you reopened your eyes, your attention zeroed-in on a silhouette on the other side of the street, immediately recognising it as Tom.

He was standing a little ways from the entrance to the restaurant with a hand in his pocket and the other around his phone, wearing a dark wool coat, collar raised up to his ears, and underneath a pair of soft jeans that looked well-loved. You stalled for a second, making time to take in his slack expression and his flowy reddish curls, which fell gently on his forehead and framed his features. You smiled.

You quickly shook yourself out of your reverie, trying to regain control of your face, and looked at both sides of the road before crossing to where he was, looking down on the phone in his hand. You took the last few steps that separated you and gently tapped him on the shoulder. He immediately turned towards you and pocketed the device. As soon as he realized it was you, a bright smile bloomed on his lips that you instinctually reciprocated.

“Hi!” he greeted you, going for a hug and kissing you on both cheeks. You rested your left hand on his side, the right gripping the strap of your bag, unsure of what to do and barely having time to realise what was going on. When you finally did, you had already separated and you could feel warmth spread all over your face, a deep blush sure to follow.

“Hey,” you greeted him back, smile turning shy, “I hope I'm not late. How are you doing?”

“You’re not, I was just early,” he reassured you, “I’m very good, thank you. I’m glad to see you!” He had yet to stop smiling at you, “How are you?”

“I’m also good,” you smiled again and nodded. Unsure of what to say, you pointed to the entrance with your thumb and asked, “Shall we go in?”

“Oh, yes,” he replied and gestured with his open hand, “Please, after you.”

You thanked him quietly and walked in, a small bell rang above the door announcing your arrival to the staff. Once inside, you moved to keep the door open for Tom, who thanked you and followed you in. You took a few steps to the side, getting closer to the high desk where the cash register was, the seat behind it empty, and you both looked around while waiting for someone to direct you to a table.

The restaurant was a small place with about a dozen tables, most of them seating just two people, but others pushed together for slightly bigger groups. The furniture was a rich dark brown, and the walls were lined with high mirrors to the ceiling alternated with beautifully detailed wallpaper depicting illustrations of landscapes and maps of Asia. It was almost impossible to grasp every single detail of the pictures, especially under the low golden lights that lit the place, which gave the space an intimate glow. The room didn’t feel crowded, but only a few empty tables remained to be filled, and you really hoped they hadn’t been booked in advance.

“There are quite a few people,” you observed, finally breaking the silence, “I guess that’s a good sign, right?”

“Yeah,” Tom nodded, looking at you, “I really hope so.” He laughed, bringing a hand to his neck and delicately pinching the skin with a nervous movement.

You smiled back, somewhat comforted by the thought that you weren’t the only one feeling insecure. You gathered some courage and decided you’d had enough of being embarrassed, “You know, I was actually surprised when you sent me the address,” you started, “I live just a few minutes away.”

He seemed surprised, “I had no idea.”

“Of course,” you laughed slightly and he did too, realizing that he’d said something very obvious. “It would have been worrying if you had known,” you joked.

“Definitely,” he agreed, “I swear I didn’t.” He lifted his hands, showing innocence.

Right then a waiter, a chubby Asian man with soft features, approached you and gently asked “Table for two?”

You were about to respond, but Tom stepped forward and preceded you, “Actually, I called earlier to make a reservation. Under Wilson?”

You frowned to yourself, confused but amused. The waiter stepped behind the desk and slid open a small journal where they supposedly kept a log of the reservations, and finally said, “Wilson for two, 7:45.” He closed the journal and grabbed two menus from a pile on his right, then he said “Please, follow me.” and started walking between the tables.

Tom gestured for you to go ahead and followed after you. The waiter stopped at a table toward the back and set the menus down with a cheery “Here you go.” and went ahead to a different table where another couple of diners had called for him.

You set your bag down next to the wall that surrounded the side of the table and placed your coat on the back of your chair, Tom doing the same, before sitting down.

He passed you one of the menus the waiter had left, and absentmindedly picked up the other, opening it but not reading it. “You were saying you live around here?” he asked.

“Yes, I do,” you nodded, “Just a few minutes away on foot. I have an apartment in a building on Waleorde Road.”

“I have a friend who lives in the same area,” he noted, “Near the Elephant & Castle tube station, if I remember correctly.”

“Oh, yeah, that’s actually where I take the metro to get to the label building,” you told him, “It’s the closest stop from where I live.”

“Have you lived there long?” he asked interestedly.

“Not really,” you replied, “Just around six months now.” You fiddled with the laminated pages of the menu, unsure of what to do with your hands. “I made the down payment for the apartment with my first paycheck,” you laughed, “Some people go for a shopping spree, others buy a new house.”

He laughed, too. He was about to say more when the waiter interrupted you again, “Are you ready to order?”

You looked at Tom, who had the same chastised expression as you. “We need a couple more minutes if that’s okay,” he told the waiter.

The waiter responded with a soft “Sure.” Then asked, “Can I get you something to drink in the meantime?” You asked for water, Tom went for a glass of white wine. The waiter nodded and left again.

You smiled, “I think we should probably look at the menus,” you said.

He agreed, so you both looked down at the enormous list of dishes available. You were slightly disoriented at how many choices there were, you had no idea where to even start. “Uhm...” you hesitated, “These are a lot of dishes,” you announced, and looked up at Tom.

He seemed just as lost. “Yeah...” he murmured, still looking at the pages with a deep frown.

An idea struck you, “What do you say we choose a couple of dishes each and share them?” you asked him.

He looked at you and smiled, “That’s a good idea,” he replied, “Let’s go for it.”

“Okay, so,” you started resolutely, “let’s find… I’d say… two dishes each -” you made a V with your index and middle finger “- that seem appealing and order them, okay?”

“Okay,” he nodded firmly, and you both went back to the page.

After two or three minutes, he closed the menu, and shortly after you did the same. “I think I'm done, you?” you asked him.

“Yes,” he replied, “I think I’ve made my choice.”

“Cool,” you said, “You first.”

“The rice cakes with aromatic herbs and spices look pretty interesting,” he started, “and the Sateh Kung sounds amazing.”

“I saw the Sateh Kung, too!” You exclaimed, “And I didn’t notice the fishcakes, but I’m totally up to trying them,” you continued, “I was also thinking we could get the Green Curry if that’s fine with you?”

“Absolutely,” he agreed.

The waiter noticed you putting down the menus and approached your table again, bringing the drinks you’d ordered with him and settling them down in front of you, “All done?” he asked.

“Yes,” you were the one to answer this time, “thank you for the patience.”

“No problem at all,” he said, “What can I get you?”

You glanced to Tom, then back to the waiter and decided to go first, “A Green Curry and a...” you looked at Tom again, for confirmation, “...Sateh Kung,” you finished.

He nodded and added, “And the rice cakes with aromatic herbs and spices, please.”

“Is that all?” the waiter asked, noting the order down on a small notepad.

“Yes, thank you,” Tom answered, “Could we get two plates, too, please? We’re sharing the dishes.”

The waiter nodded, finishing writing. “We serve rice with every order,” he informed you, “What kind would you like?”

“Oh, yellow fragrant rice for me, please,” you answered. “Brown rice, thank you,” said Tom.

The waiter nodded again and added the rice to the order. Then he pocketed the notepad and reached for the menus. You both thanked him, and he was gone.

“Now that I think about it,” you began, frowning lightly, “What’s up with Wilson?”

“Oh,” he laughed, his cheeks reddened imperceptibly, “I don’t usually give my surname for restaurants,” he explained.

“I’d guessed as much,” you noted, “But how come?”

“Well,” he seemed hesitant, so you stopped him before he could continue.

“You don’t have to say if you’d rather not,” you retracted, afraid you’d hit a sore spot.

“Oh, no, it’s completely fine,” he hastened to reassure you, “It’s just slightly embarrassing...” His smile turned into a grimace for just a second and he finally explained, “Right after the first Thor movie, I called to make a reservation at this one restaurant in Edinburgh,” he paused, “And of course I used Hiddleston,” you nodded, “When I arrived they had put up garlands, the type one would usually find at birthdays, and they spelt out ‘Welcome Mr Hiddleston’.” He covered half his face with his right hand, the other half displayed a deep red blush. “It was incredibly flattering,” he almost mumbled, “but also quite embarrassing.”

You couldn’t stop your grin and tried to cover it with a hand. He peered at you through his fingers, you could tell you had done a poor job of covering your mouth because he was smiling too, with an exaggerated look of betrayal in his eyes. That sent you over the edge, an unflattering snort coming out of your mouth, followed by a suppressed laugh. “I’m so sorry,” you apologised, but your laughter made it sound insincere, “I really am,” you tried again.

“It’s fine,” he brushed your apology aside with his hand, finally uncovering his face. He was still smiling when he said, “When my older sister found out, she called me Mr Hiddleston for an entire month, texts included.”

“Oh, no,” you had finally stopped laughing, “That is some dedication.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, closing his eyes briefly and readjusting his glasses on his nose with a smooth gesture.

“I guess sisters are just like that,” you chuckled, thinking of Amelia, “My sister spoke and texted in a very heavy French accent for two weeks last year, just because I said her imitation of the French accent was annoying.”

“She… texted you in a French accent?” he probed, bemused.

“Yes!” you exclaimed, exasperated at the memory, “She put accents all over the place and just wrote words as they would sound in French.” You sighed, “It took me half an hour to decipher a text every time she sent me one.”

Tom widened his eyes and laughed loudly, amused and impressed by the spite you sister was capable of. Then, between chuckles, he said, “She seems like a fun person, are you two very far apart in age?”

“Not really,” you replied, “Just about a few years.” You took a quick drink from your glass and continued, “We were never in the same classes in school, but sometimes we hung out together,” you explained, “Although, we also made very different close friends… It was halfway through spending all waking hours together, and avoiding each other at all cost.” Your smile turned fond.

“As siblings do,” Tom agreed, “It was more or less the same with my sisters.” He started playing with his glass, sliding it in circles and making the wine slosh around the chalice slowly. “Even though I’m the middle child, I was the only boy so I got away with a lot.” He had a far-away look in his eyes, distracted by memories, “My sisters were not happy at all, especially my older sister. She had to fight for some of her privileges but, after her, my younger sister and I had guaranteed freedom,” he finished.

“It sounds like you’re quite close,” you commented. The look in his eyes made you feel at the same time like you were intruding on a private moment and incredibly flattered to be granted such insight.

He looked up at you, whatever thought of his childhood had been caught in his head was already gone, leaving behind a sunny smile. “Yeah, I suppose we are...” he trailed off, then added, “Although my older sister, Sarah, is a journalist in India, so we don’t see each other very frequently now.”

“That’s amazing,” you were genuinely impressed, “It sounds like quite the adventure.”

“Definitely” Tom smiled. “Are you close with... Amelia, right?” he asked.

“We are now, yes,” you answered, ”We weren’t as much before, but it was mostly on my side.”

He adjusted his glasses again, frowning and tilting his head to the side in question.

“I used to feel like I was leagues behind her when I was younger,” you explained, “She was always the popular type and so incredibly confident in what she wanted her future to be like, and pursued it from the beginning. But I wasn’t.” You paused, you didn’t want to be a downer so you considered what to say next carefully, “It took me quite some time to come out of my shell when I was small, and to make up my mind later on and finally move to London. It really felt like I was wasting my time and disappointing the people around me and it made me somehow turn sour against my sister who seemed to have everything figured out.” You smiled ruefully. “But they were just my own issues, she always did her best to be supportive,” you finished. “Sorry, I didn’t want to bring down the mood,” you chuckled.

“Oh no, it’s fine,” he reassured you, “I get what you mean. When I started acting I also felt like I was going nowhere for a long time,” he revealed, “I considered changing paths several times.” You nodded, understanding the feeling completely. Then he asked, “Amelia does seem like a very extroverted person. What does she do?”

You reached for your glass, still half-full of water, and tapped your nail against it delicately without thinking. “She works for a big company and has a very complicated job,” you answered, “She’s explained it to me so many times, but I’m not quite sure what exactly her role is, to be honest. I just know that she works like a mule,” you swallowed and sat up straighter, “I saw her just today and she was telling me how her boss doesn’t want to pay her for overtime but requires that she do it anyway.” You became quite animated, as you’d been when Amelia had told you the same thing earlier that morning, “Can you believe it?” you asked rhetorically.

“That’s awful,” Tom commented, “But it’s nice that you can meet regularly.”

“Well, to be fair,” you started, “It had been a while before today. She usually comes over and I make her lunch. She doesn’t have the patience for cooking, but I do, so she takes advantage to get a taste of home,” you laughed.

“You enjoy cooking?” he asked you.

“I do,” you nodded, “I find it relaxing, and sharing food is a good chance to just sit down and have a good chat, too.” At that, you gestured between the two of you, indicating that your current situation applied too. “Do you cook?” you asked in turn, then picked up your glass and took a drink.

“Yes, I do,” he replied, “I’m not an expert in any way, but I do have a couple of dishes I’m pretty confident in,” he winked playfully.

Just then, the waiter came back carrying a tray with the dishes you’d ordered. He put down the two empty plates in front of you and the rest on the table. You both thanked him and as soon as he’d left, you busied yourselves with dividing the food between your two plates. The personal conversation paused for a while, in favour of commenting on the food and agreeing that Tom’s friend had definitely found a gem of a restaurant. While you slowly worked through the quite big portions of food, he told you about said friend and how Tom had actually never had Thai food before. At some point, Chris came up and Tom recounted some of the anecdotes from filming with him and how they’d immediately clicked when they’d started working together.

In turn, you told him about the first time you’d met Nina, how she’s been the one to track you down after seeing your recordings online and how terrified and intimidated by her you were at the start. You told him a bit about Linda and Nadia, too, whom he hadn’t had the chance to meet yet, and the role the three had taken in your life beyond just being colleagues. How you could hardly imagine a life where they weren’t some of the most important people.

He shared similar experiences of meeting fellow actors on the various sets and theatres he’d found himself in and the easiness with which people became friends when you ended up sharing hours upon hours in such close contact. It became a delicate balance between talking about your past experiences and the people you’d both become because of them. It felt somehow like an approachable way to bare yourselves to each other.

You tried to keep a neutral but interested face whenever he named someone you were familiar with, but you could tell that he sometimes noticed your concealed awe at some of the names and when he did, he happily recounted the stories he had of meeting them.

“...he just looked me straight in the eyes and said in the most monotone voice you can imagine: ‘I like French fries, sue me.’ I believe I turned into stone right then and there.” By the time Tom had finished telling you about the first time he’d ever spoken to Mads Mikkelsen, only an inch of water was left in the pitcher you’d ordered, Tom’s wine had long been gone, and you were doubled over with laughter. He seemed pleased by your reaction.

When you finally regained your composure, a deep but comfortable silence fell between you. At some point between enjoying your meal and conversing animatedly, you'd decided to split a Creme Caramel for dessert and had barely noticed the time pass. You both seemed to finally realise when all that was left on the table in front of you were just empty plates and glasses. He looked at his watch and declared, “We should probably ask for the tab.”

You agreed and glanced behind you, noticing from a small analogue clock above the entrance that over three hours had passed since you’d arrived. Most of the tables that had been occupied before were now empty, only a couple was still lingering, looking deep into each other’s eyes and holding hands under the table in a semblance of privacy. You quickly averted your eyes, uneager to intrude on the private moment, and caught sight of the waiter that had welcomed and served you seated now behind the high desk with the cash register. You turned back toward Tom who was fishing his wallet out of his pocket and told him, “I think we can go ahead and pay at the register instead.”

He nodded and stood up, adjusting his jeans and putting on his coat. You quickly did the same, closing up your own jacket and shouldering your bag, a hand already in it and pulling out your own wallet. You walked ahead of him between the tables, determined to be the one to pay for the food this time. He followed close behind and stopped at your side when you got to the cash register.

“Please, let me-” he started, but you were quick to interrupt him.

“Nu-huh,” you said, “You already paid for coffee the other time. And besides, I was the one to invite you to dinner.”

“I insist,” he repeated. You shook your head decisively. “Let’s at least share,” he tried again.

You smiled, “I genuinely appreciate it,” you reassured him, “But I really want to do this.”

At that, he finally conceded, although reluctantly. The waiter gave you your total, and you passed him your card, inputting your security number when needed. He gave it back with a “Thank you”, and you and Tom finally stepped out of the restaurant and into the darkness of the evening, the bell above the door jingling as if to signal the end of the night.

You both knew you had to say goodbye, but neither seemed to want to be the one to let go. You looked at each other hesitantly, and then around you, trying to find a thread of conversation to avoid the inevitable.

“Are you walking home?” he finally spoke.

“Yes,” you nodded, “It’s really quite close.”

“I don’t mean to overstep,” he started, “but it would ease my mind if I could accompany you home. It’s quite dark and I don’t want you to walk alone.”

There seemed to be a tacit understanding that it was in part an excuse to extend the time together, but you were just as unwilling to say goodnight quite yet and internally jumped at the opportunity.

“I would really appreciate it,” you accepted and led the way, crossing the road with Tom on your side and retracing the way you’d taken to get to the restaurant earlier in the day.

As if the several hours you’d just spent together sharing details of your lives had never happened, a thin veil of shyness fell upon the two of you again, the darkness of the sky shrouding you in an intimate bubble. The atmosphere seemed aeons away from the easy chit-chat over the meal, and you could almost taste secrets on the back of your tongue that were threatening to spill out without your control. You couldn’t tell if Tom felt the same, but the lines of his frown and his downward glance told you he was also considering himself carefully.

A tiny nervous giggle tumbled out of your mouth unconsciously, and the intensity of the moment seemed to shatter, leaving room for new words to more easily flow between the two of you.

“Thank you for letting me pay and not insisting too much,” you told him with a small smirk.

“I should be the one to thank you,” he replied, almost chastised. “Actually, it was very rude of me not to, I apologise.”

“Oh no, please,” you reassured him, “It’s completely fine.”

“Nevertheless,” he reiterated, “Thank you for the dinner.”

“You’re very welcome.”

“And thank you for the lovely night,” he added with a shy smile, “I had a wonderful time, I hope we can do this again sometime.”

His words roused a bright flash of excitement and trepidation in your stomach that the rational part of your brain had trouble controlling. You didn’t want to hope for something that might not be there, but you were too sated by good food and good company, and it was hard to squash the instantaneous optimism that awoke in your lungs like a spark. You felt like a hot yellow glow was alighting you from the inside out, and you hoped the smile you could feel on your lips wasn’t too obvious. “I would really like that,” you replied. His own smile grew more confident.

“I would love to cook for you at least once,” he told you, “Maybe even more than once if you’re not too put off by my far-from-excellent skills,” he joked.

You laughed, “I’m sure you’re just being modest.” You kept walking, looking in turn at each other and the road in front of you, “But I would be happy to accept your invitation, and maybe return the favour, too.”

“I’d like that,” he replied.

Silence descended between you again, but it was nothing like the awkward quiet of leaving the restaurant. You just kept walking, your bodies seemed to be getting closer, forearms brushing against each other with every step you took. Soon enough you could see the trees that surrounded your apartment building, and dread at having to separate came with it. The last few steps towards the main entrance felt simultaneously never-ending and incredibly short. You stopped, Tom doing the same, and you turned to each other, ready to say goodnight, but neither of you uttering a word yet.

You looked away for a second, the street was almost completely empty, just a passer-by or two hurrying away without paying too much attention to their surroundings. When you looked into Tom’s eyes again, you found an echo of the intensity from your first meeting on the red carpet. You didn’t feel intimidated in the same way, but your desire not to look away in fear of missing something persisted, anticipation brewing somewhere behind your sternum. You noticed a curved line of consecutive moles high on his cheekbone, next to his left eye, and you became transfixed, unconsciously leaning closer to him. You closed your eyes for just a moment, you could almost feel the warmth of his breath on the side of your nose.

A loud jingling broke you out of your reverie and you stepped back, Tom also seemed to shake off the tightening of his muscles that had kept him anchored to the spot during your strange moment.

A bike went loudly down the street, zooming past you and disappearing behind the first turn.

You giggled nervously, effectively putting a stop to whatever had been passing between you. “This is me,” you announced, quite uselessly.

“Right,” he responded, attempting a smile and brushing a rowdy curl away from his forehead, but only accomplishing to mess it up further by moving it to the wrong side of his head. The nervous gesture eased your mind just a little.

“So, now you know where I live,” you tried again, “Feel free to come around if you find yourself in the area, I’ll gladly make you tea,” you finally managed a natural smile, “or coffee if you prefer that.”

He returned your smile, his shoulders falling back and his posture turning more relaxed, “I will,” it felt like a promise.

“Goodnight, Tom,” you said softly, “Let me know you’re home safe, ok?”

“Goodnight,” he responded just as quietly, “I’ll text you.” He leaned into you one last time, gently kissing you on your right cheek, then started walking away in what you knew was the direction of the tube station.

You turned to the glass entrance of the building and unconsciously touched the spot where his mouth had been, chasing the feeling of his soft lips. You finally dropped your hand and pulled out the keys from your bag, inserting the one you needed in the door to the building. You kept turning to look at his back, unable to keep your eyes off him. Just before he reached a bend in the street, he turned around and your eyes locked again. He took his hand out of the pocket of his coat and waved once, a smile curving his lips. You did the same, then he disappeared behind the corner.

You finally entered your apartment building, your mouth felt like it was full of cotton and your eyes unable to grasp your surroundings. You took the elevator and arrived at the door to your apartment mechanically, only realising you were home when you took off your coat. You hadn’t stopped smiling once.

Chapter 7 coming soon

@honeybournehippy @namelesslosers @unlikelytigerqueen @effielumiere @theoneanna

@huntersvibe: still unable to tag you, so sorry!!! :(

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #reader x tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x you #fanfiction #reader tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston reader #tom hiddleston fandom

31 notes · View notes

crystalninjaphoenix · 5 years

Text

Resurgence

A Jacksepticeye Fanfiction

Part Thirteen: Upside Down

First Part | Previous | Next

Summary: Where did Jackie go? None of the others are sure, but they know who’s behind it. Jackie himself is lost in a strange sort of world, but he’s surprised by what he finds in there.

Chase woke up with his heart beating unusually fast, covered in sweat. For a moment, the image of a red hallway lingers in his mind, a bright green light piercing the darkness...but then it fades. It must have been a nightmare. Weird. He looks over at the clock. It was almost two a.m., jeez, why was he up? Guess it was the nightmare. He’s about to fall asleep again when he hears somebody yelling downstairs.

No, that was probably fine, JJ had stayed the night...and then Chase bolted upright. No, that couldn’t be an explanation for why there was shouting downstairs. How the hell had he forgotten? And who was in his house, then? Chase flung the covers away, pulling open his nightstand drawer and taking out his gun. It was unloaded, but it could work as a threat. He ran down the hall—having the strangest feeling of deja vu—to the stairs. Taking the steps two at a time, he followed the sound of the voice into the living room.

“—and if Jackie’s dead I swear I’m going to kill him!”

For a split second, Chase doesn’t recognize the people in the room. Then he wonders why he didn’t. There’s JJ, sitting on the couch still wearing his day clothes, probably having not slept at all. And there’s Marvin, wearing his mask and cape, frantically pacing along one wall. Chase watches as he pulls out his wand and taps the front door’s knob, causing it to glow green for a moment.

“Wh—Marv, what are you doing here?!” Chase asked, lowering his empty gun.

Marvin spun around. “I’m freaking the fuck out, Chase! That’s what I’m doing!”

“Yeah, I can see that but why?”

“Because I saw him!” Marvin was shaking a bit. “Jackie and Sam found me, and there was that detective, and then he showed up in the phone, and-and we decided to split up, which was probably a bad idea but he wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and th-then he followed me, I could hear him there was static everywhere and-and-and—” he cut off, breathing rapidly, almost hyperventilating.

JJ stood up and walked over to Marvin. I think you need to sit down, my good man. Marvin didn’t protest as JJ guided him over to the couch and sat him down on it. Chase stuffed the empty gun into the waistband of his pajama pants, then walked over to stand next to JJ.

Now, we can’t help if you keep running around like a lunatic and won’t give us the whole story, JJ signed. So if you would please start at the beginning.

Marvin nodded, very deliberately taking deep breaths. Once he calmed down enough, he told Chase and JJ all about how he’d been in the north part of the city when Sam had led Jackie right to him. He explained about the conversation they had about pocket dimensions and how they’d found Detective Akela eavesdropping on them, recording every word. Marvin had tried to delete the video, only to find out that he had tracked them down. Jackie had insisted they go different ways, and Marvin acquiesced.

“Wait, you let him go out on his own?!” Chase gaped. “You do realize that’s exactly what you’re not supposed to do, right?”

“Of course I fucking know!” Marvin yelled. “But you didn’t see the look on his face! He would’ve run away from me if he had to! He was just so...so determined.”

What happened next? JJ prompted gently.

“Well, I ran, of course. I-I didn’t want to leave him, but I did. And I had to run because I could hear him following me. He—he was in my-my head, s-saying things that—that—and I looked behind me and I s-saw him—” Marvin swallowed. “Like-like a man made out of three-dimensional white noise. Distortion. He was everywhere at once and his eye was glowing and I-I—I—” He cut off.

That description sounded oddly familiar to Chase. But why would it? He’d never seen Anti before. “And you think he followed you here?” Chase asked.

“He must have!” Marvin was shaking again. “Why would he stop? I tri-tried to ward your doors, but I don’t know if that will work.”

It will. The signs were firm, matching the expression on JJ’s face. Marvin, you are the most talented and GOOD magician I have ever met. I know he must have said things to you that would strike hard, but you must realize he lies. He just wants you to break down so he can get into your head.

“I know...” Marvin sounds like he’s trying to convince himself. “No, I know that. It’s just...hard to ignore those thoughts.”

Chase winced. Damn, if that wasn’t something he could relate to. “Well, then, we’re gonna drown them out. Marvin, whatever he said is absolutely not true. He’s a bitch and you’re gonna not give him the satisfaction.”

Marvin removed his mask and put his head in his hands. He took several deep breaths. JJ sat down next to him and put his hand on his back, rubbing comforting circles. After a moment of this, Marvin looks up again. “Okay. Okay, you’re right. You are. But now what are we supposed to do?”

“I think we just hold out,” Chase said, glancing toward the front door. “Wait and see if he really followed you here. See if Jackie shows up too. I should...go find some of the clips for this gun. Keep ‘em in a different part of the house.”

“Good. You shouldn’t even have that in the first place, it’s illegal.” That last part was said half-heartedly. Marvin relaxed, leaning back in the sofa.

JJ smiled. Well, while we’re waiting, should I make some tea?

Marvin laughed. “Only you would want to make tea at a time like this. But, yeah, if you’re offering, that would be appreciated.”

JJ patted Marvin on the shoulder before standing up and hurrying to the kitchen. Chase hesitated before turning around and heading back upstairs, looking for the storage closet where he kept the bullets for his gun. A week of no activity at all, of being worried about Bobby and Trevor wherever they were and wondering what Marvin was doing, and now the glitch just decides to show up again? What was he planning? And why just take a break in the middle of it when they’d had enough trouble dealing with all the shit he caused in just two days? He could have easily swooped in and fucked their lives up, but instead...what?

Chase arrived back downstairs with his gun actually loaded. Marvin was curled up at one end of the sofa, staring resolutely at the door and holding his wand in one hand. Chase had never seen him so tense. “It’s gonna be fine, bro,” he reassured him. “I think you outran him.”

Marvin didn’t look away from the door. “I doubt it. He’s not human, he wouldn’t get exhausted. And why would he give up?”

“I don’t know. Why would he take over Jack’s coma? Why would he take my...?” Chase trails off for a second, losing his train of thought. He blinked a few times and got back on track. “We don’t know how his mind works. Maybe he just wanted to fuck with you.”

Marvin laughed bitterly. “Maybe. Just show up and mess with my head, separate me from Jackie who I haven’t seen in an entire week—” he broke off. His eyes widened. “Wait...what if—Jackie!” He shot to hit feet. “I gotta—no, fuck, Jackie!—I—”

“Whoa, dude!” Chase immediately grabbed Marvin by the shoulders. “Calm down! What’s the problem?”

“He-he might’ve stopped following me to go after Jackie!” Marvin was panicking. “I knew I shouldn’t’ve left him! Fuck, dude, I have to—”

A loud knocking. Marvin and Chase jumped in unison to see JJ standing in the doorway to the kitchen, having just knocked on the doorframe for attention. You’ll be no good to anyone rushing off in a tizzy, he signed. There are a million more rational things to do about this. Calm down and think about it. He waited for a moment, staring down Chase and Marvin, making sure they weren’t about to rush out the door. Then he gestured behind him. The tea is ready, if you’d still care for it.

Chase and Marvin glanced at each other. They hadn’t seen JJ this assertive in a long time. It was a little jarring, but somehow welcome. So they followed him into the kitchen and sat at the table while JJ poured the tea into cups for them.

“Okay, so.” Chase’s fingers drummed an anxious rhythm on the table surface. “We obviously need to check on Jackie. But he doesn’t take his phone on patrol with him, and when he does it’s turned completely off.”

“Why the fuck does he do that?” Marvin muttered.

Chase shrugged. “Apparently the noise got in in trouble one time. Even the vibration. But anyway, we can’t call him.”

JJ then makes two signs. The one for phone, which looked like one of those fake telephones children make with their hands, and then one neither of the others had ever seen before. It looked like a combination of two: first tapping his left wrist with two of his fingers like he was taking a pulse, then linking his two pinkies together.

“What was that?” Marvin asked. “Doctor...then that second one is ‘S’ right?” His eyes widen. “Wait, did you give Schneep a name sign? When did you do that?”

JJ nodded. I don’t see why I shouldn’t. We are...going to be close, after all.

Wait, didn’t Schneep not like JJ? No, they made up. Chase and Jackie locked them in a room together until they did. Chase shook himself internally. How could he forget that? “Well anyway, you sayin’ we should call him?”

He is staying with Jackie, JJ pointed out. If Jackie has come home, Schneep would know.

“But...he’s electronic and shit,” Chase said. “Wouldn’t he know if we call Doc? Could he mess with the call? Make a fake one?”

“Possibly, but I think we should try. Better than waiting.” Marvin digs deep into his pocket and pulls out a phone, then dials a number.

Chase raises an eyebrow. “New phone?”

“Yeah. Didn’t want the police or, y’know, him, tracking me.” The other line rings for a while before someone on the other side picks up. “Hey, Schneep? It’s Marvin.” This prompts a string of yelling so loud even Chase and JJ can hear it through the phone. “Schneep, calm down, I—yeah, I know—no, shut up, just listen. First things first, I have a question for you. Do you remember when we first met? What was the first thing you said to me? Yes, this is important.”

Chase gives Marvin an odd look, but Marvin just waves him down, listening to the other side. JJ signs, He’s asking a question only the doctor would know the answer to. Just to check if it’s really him. Great idea!

Schneep must’ve given the right answer, because Marvin relaxed. “Okay. Cool. Just making sure. Now, uh, is Jackie home?” A pause. Then Marvin’s eyes widened and he started tapping the table nervously. “You’re sure? Maybe he just came home without you noticing. Can you check?” The next pause seemed to last an hour. Then Marvin made a strange sort of squeak sound. He forced himself to sound calm. “Okay, thank’s for checking. No, it’s fine. You can go back to sleep now. No, seriously, it’s fine. I just wanted to talk to him, but if he’s still out on patrol I can wait. Yes, everything’s fine. Thanks, bye.” He hung up the phone, took a shaky breath, then looked at Chase and JJ. “He’s not there.”

Chase feels a jolt of panic. “B-but that doesn’t mean he got to him? Right? Does it?”

JJ looks grave. I am...afraid. There’s a chance, but...the odds aren’t in Jackie’s favor.

Marvin shuddered. “Fuck. Fuck, dude. We need to—well, we need to check on Schneep, he was starting to freak out on his end—but then we need to look for Jackie...just to make sure.”

“But...” Chase almost didn’t want to mention it, but it needed to be said. “Marv...if he took him, wouldn’t Jackie be in that-that pocket dimension place you mentioned?”

Marvin paled. “Yeah. But I...I don’t know how to access those yet. I—I need to practice. So we’ll start by checking the city.”

If we’re going to check on the doctor, then we’d better do it sooner than later. JJ stood up. Never mind the tea, I’ll clean up while Chase gets ready to go.

“James, how are you so...calm?” Chase asked. “I thought you’d be freaking out.”

Jameson looked at him. There was an unusual, hard light in his eyes. That bastard can have my dreams, but he won’t have the rest of me. I won’t give him the pleasure. And he will not take my friends either. He closed his eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Now, let’s go check on the good doctor.

Jackie opened his eyes, even though he couldn’t remember closing them. He was in the same spot he was before, kneeling on the sidewalk, holding Sam in his hands. But then he looked up. He didn’t see the night sky. He saw a vast expanse of red, no stars, no moon, no sun.

Slowly, he looked around. It was the city. He was still in the northern part, but...it was different. Other than the blood-red sky, that is. The street lamps were gone, and all the buildings were black—still made out of the same materials, stone and wood and steel, but now everything was dark as a void. The glass of the windows were solid white, no longer transparent. He looked toward the center of the city, where the tallest buildings were, and saw their black shapes rising into the sky. There was a constant, low-level hum that he couldn’t ignore. The air tasted metallic, snappy, electric.

“Sam?” Jackie looked down at the little eye. They were still unresponsive, barely glowing. But when he held them close to him, the glow increased the tiniest bit. “Hang in there, buddy.” He stood up, carefully making sure not to drop them. “I’m—I’m gonna get you out of here.” He didn’t know where to go, but he started walking anyway.

The ground didn’t feel solid. Every time he took a step, it felt like it shifted a little beneath his boots, like he was walking on gravel instead of plain gray concrete. There was light coming from...somewhere. Maybe the sky. Or the windows. There was no way to tell.

Suddenly, one of the buildings in the distance broke. There was no better way to describe it. One moment it was normal, the next moment the top half of it was sideways. It spazzed out, copies of the building jutting out at different angles, the white windows flickering in and out of existence. It looked like...like a video game glitch. Then the glitch spread, the buildings next to it copying, frantically malfunctioning, bugging. The wave of glitching buildings moved outward, coming right toward Jackie.

“Shit!” Jackie broke into a run. He didn’t care which direction he was heading, he just knew he couldn’t get caught up in the glitch wave. It was gaining speed, coming closer and closer to him, and as it approached the hum grew louder, into an ear-piercing whine. The ground was like sand, and he was running uphill. Every step took too much effort for how little he was moving. He glanced behind him, and the glitch wave was upon him, screeching in his ears. He ducked his head, hugging Sam to his chest. The glitches were around him, he was caught in their wild crashing and screaming. The ground gave up its hold on his boots. He felt like he was being tossed too and fro like a pinball in a pinball machine at the hands of a master. All he could do was curl around Sam and hope they’d both make it out okay.

He slammed into something hard with a painful smack. The glitches subsided. He was laying on the sidewalk—no, now he’s standing up, having not moved at all. How...actually it was probably better to not think about it. Jackie made sure that Sam was still safe, then gathered his bearings, observing his surroundings. It looked like he was in the dark version of the city park, with black, twisted trees and black soil underfoot that felt more solid than the sidewalk had. This was all the way across the city. Exactly what had that glitch wave done?

“This is gonna be harder than I thought, Sam,” Jackie muttered. He didn’t know if the eye could hear him, but it made him feel better to talk. “I guess we’ve just gotta improvise, then.” He started walking once again. Once he reached one of the park paths, he walked alongside it. He was pretty sure that it would be about as reliable as the sidewalk had been, with its not-entirely-there feeling.

He reached the park’s playground. It did not look like it had been made for children. The slides were black metal with holes rusted through them, the monkey bars had spikes on them so you would have to place your hands carefully, the swings were hanging by a single chain each, and the ground was made of sharp metal fragments instead of wood chips. Jackie shuddered. As dangerous as that looked, he had the feeling it could be much worse if it tried.

Something moved. He stopped in his tracks. He hadn’t imagined that, had he? He could have sworn he saw something over by one of the trees. “Who’s there?” he called, knowing it was probably a bad idea if the whatever it was could murder him.

Nothing. And then: “Bobby, I think it’s Uncle Jackie.”

Jackie felt his heart stop. He reached up and pulled off his mask and hood. “Trevor? Is that you?”

There was the sound of whispering, and then a small boy with his curly blonde hair tucked under a blue cap came running out from behind one of the trees. He ran right into Jackie with a soft thump, wrapping his small arms around him. “Oh!” Jackie gasped. “It-it is you!”

“Trevor!” A slightly bigger girl with shoulder-length brown hair stumbled out from behind the same tree. “You can’t just do that! He could have been the monster!”

“Nu-uh!” Trevor’s reply was muffled from where his face was buried in Jackie’s leg. “I know him when I see him!”

“We thought we knew Dad when we see him too!” Bobby scowled.

With one hand, Jackie reached down and patted Trevor’s head. “You two are...okay? You’re not hurt?”

Trevor looked up at him with wide grey eyes. “Nope. But I’m hungry.”

Still scowling, Bobby marched over to the other two. She grabbed her brother by the hand and pulled him away. “Be careful!” she hissed.

“You two think I’m An—the monster, don’t you?” Jackie asked.

Bobby gave him a glare that could have fired lasers. “You could be.”

“Well, I’m not. I know I can’t prove it, but you have to trust me. I’m here to get you out of here.”

Trevor gasped. “You’re gonna defeat the monster?”

Jackie crouched, getting down to the kids’ eye level. “I’m going to try. But before I do that, I need to make sure you’re safe. Do you know where we are?”

Trevor shook his head. Bobby pulled him closer to her, then said, “Well, if you don’ know you’re maybe not the monster. He says this is his base. Like a supervillain. We walked through a hole in the wall and came out here.”

Jackie had no experience on the matter, but he was willing to bet this was one of those pocket dimensions Marvin had mentioned. Anti’s home base. “The monster hasn��t hurt you?”

Bobby shook her head. “He’s chased us. He said it was a game.”

“Like evil tag,” Trevor piped up. “Only we don’ wanna get tagged.”

“That’s a good idea,” Jackie mumbled. The kids didn’t look hurt, just tired. Obviously he wasn’t a doctor, but they seemed fine. They might need counseling once they got out of this place, but they were physically okay. “Have either of you seen a way to get out of here? Like, another hole like the one you came in through?”

“No,” Bobby said. “But we haven’ been everywhere.”

“Well, then. Tell me where you haven’t been, and we’ll start there.”

Bobby nodded slowly. She still wasn’t entirely sure that Jackie wasn’t the monster, but Trevor liked him so she’d go along with this. Trevor, meanwhile, pointed at Jackie’s chest. “What’re you holdin’?”

Jackie looked down. “Oh! This is Sam. They’re a friend of Uncle Jack’s.” He tilted his hand so that the kids could see Sam, curled up in his palm. “They’re not feeling too good right now.”

“Can I hold them?” Trevor asked.

Jackie thought about it, then nodded. “Sure, for a minute.” He passed the little eye to Trevor, who needed both hands to hold them. For a second, Sam’s optic nerve-tail twitched. They glowed a bit brighter. “I think they like you, Trev!” Jackie smiled. “Why don’t you carry them for a little bit?”

“Really? Okay!” Trevor smiled down at Sam, then gently hugged them. Bobby stared at Sam. “Why are they an eye?” she asked.

“I don’t know, why are you a human?”

She thought about this question, then shrugged. “I think it’s because Mom and Dad are humans. So does Sam have a mom eye and a dad eye?”

“Maybe. Like I said, they’re a friend of Uncle Jack’s. I don’t know that much about them.” Jackie straightened up. “Now. We have to get out of here. I’m counting on you two to show me where to go. Can I trust you to do that?”

Trevor nodded eagerly. “We’ll go to all the new places!” Bobby also nodded, though not as enthusiastically.

“That’s the spirit! Lead the way!”

The two kids scampered off, heading out of the twisted park. Jackie paused for just a moment, looking around. He had a feeling someone was watching him, and he didn’t like it. But he couldn’t deal with that right now. The kids were the priority. He had to make sure they were safe, no matter what. So he turned and followed them.

He didn’t see the green eyes blink open out of thin air behind him. He didn’t hear the giggle, hidden under the constant hum. He didn’t realize everything was happening just as he intended.

#jacksepticeye #jacksepticeye fanfiction #jacksepticegos #septic egos #chase brody #marvin the magnificent #jameson jackson #jackieboy man #antisepticeye #brigid writes fanfiction #resurgence jse fic

14 notes · View notes

sassyshish · 6 years

Text

Flames

Part One

Or the one where she runs into her ex-boyfriend and the feelings rush back strong.

Meet Me in the Hallway

“Why did you do it?” Tears dried up on her face, she allowed the rage and disappointment consume her so much it left her with nothing more than a pounding headache that beat behind her eyes.

When he saw her sat at the foot of the bed holding his old phone in her hands, he understood what happened.

“Baby…” Harry started, interrupted by her hand shaking and stopping any of his excuses.

“Don’t… don’t you dare say you can explain. There is nothing to explain here.” She whispered, still not meeting his intense look, tone croaky and empty of any emotion.

“Please…” A desperate word, the only thing his mind could conjure to get to her, to stop her for what he knew was about to happen.

“I asked you if anything happened and you said no. You looked me right in the eyes and said nothing fucking happened!” her voice gaining force and turning angry towards the end, eyes snapping to him.

Her stare was on fire, he never thought he would be the one to provoke such emotion. He couldn’t even describe her face at that moment.

“I’m so sorry… I love you.” He tried to placate her rage.

“Go fuck yourself!” She spat and threw his phone on the ground, making him jump from the loud sound. “This is not about love, Harry. This is about respect, and you had none for me…” A lonely tear streaming down her cheek and falling on her fist.

Her chest felt heavy, breathing was too difficult, temples pulsating and a veil of tears forming in her eyes and blurring her vision for a second before she fervently blinked them away. She kept her hands closed tight because she didn’t want him to notice how they were shaking.

Harry had recently changed phone, leaving his old one in the first drawer of his bedside table. She was cleaning up that day when she found it, innocently switching it on to send a few pics he had of them, but when she opened his texts, she observed that right under her name was his friend’s Jeff, but it wasn’t his name to excite curiosity in her as much as Harry’s last text to him, reading "I fucked up this time."

A chill running down her spine as to warn her to not open it, to mind her business and not read the content. She had never touched Harry's phone, always respecting his privacy and trusting him enough to not snoop into his things.

He had described everything to his friend, telling him that the evening he went out with some friends he let Alice crash at his place, he told him how they were shit-faced. She had sneaked into his bed and how she tried to kiss him and was all over him. They didn’t live together, even though she stayed the night almost every time, but she was at her parent’s house that evening because her mom didn’t feel great.

At that moment, she felt like dying, the phone dropping to the mattress and tears flowing out powerfully, not believing what her eyes had read.

Harry had that habit, he didn’t talk much, if something was bothering him, he would shut everyone out, closing up in himself and would sometimes grab his journal and put down in words his frustrations, but never to her.

At first, she paid no mind to that trait of him, respecting his introverted nature, but on the long stretch it started to be a problem, added to the fact he wasn’t confrontational at all, and he avoided arguments like the plague.

So, she found herself with him being silent for days, she had to force him to talk when he wasn't fine, pulling out every word from him, and once again he didn't tell her something important to her, and she felt betrayed. She had the right to be informed if a woman slept in their bed or if she had tried anything with her boyfriend, it wasn't so complicated to understand.

Her swollen eyes fixated on his figure, searching his face and getting the impression that she didn’t know him at all, he felt like a total stranger.

"I… I…" he attempted to murmur, but his voice dropped, feeling like someone was choking him, his throat so closed up, he found difficult even to breathe.

“What, Harry? You what?” she was tired, tired of crying, tired of watching him stand there as a fool.

“I… uuhm… I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to upset you… I didn’t cheat on you, I swear. I left the room right after, I slept on the couch.” he hesitatingly mumbled, already knowing she wouldn’t be satisfied with only that pathetic effort.

“Harry that’s not the point, I know you haven’t slept with her. But still... you didn’t tell me what happened, and it’s crushing me.” She wasn’t even angry anymore, just overwhelmingly disappointed. She felt embittered that he let her down and once again he shut her out and didn’t trust her enough.

"… And you know what's funny? If you told me about all this, I would've tried to understand. I mean, I wouldn't have been thrilled about it, we would've argued for sure… but me finding out this way? It makes me think you wanted that to happen. You keep stuff to you, I always have to find things out and it fucking hurts, don’t you get it? I have to fight with you to know your thoughts, every little thing seems a struggle these days. I can’t keep going on with someone that after all this time still doesn’t let me in, it should be easier than this."

Her voice held a strange tone, her stare had lost that special sparkle it held when her eyes would lie on him. Harry was about to feel sick, he felt frozen in place, a voice screaming in his head telling him to do something, to plead with her, to move to go to her, to hug her, but he couldn’t do any of those things.

“I don’t deserve it.” She said with resolution painted over her features.

“You don’t.” He slowly murmured.

Silence filling the room while they both took in what had happened.

After months he still felt guilty to no limit for the way it all went, but he didn’t have the balls to reach out for her, nor he had the right to. He knew her perfectly when she took a decision there wasn't a second thought.

He didn’t expect the phone to ring, and it never did.

They had friends in common, so he checked on her, Harry always knew what she was on about, content to know she was fine. He was still in love with her, and he was sure that it wouldn't go away anytime sooner, so he lived with it, watching her from afar, joyful when she succeeded and sad when she failed.

She refused to even think about him, let alone talk. In the following weeks after their breakup, she focused on her studies, filling her days to the brink, so when she would go to bed she would be so wrecked that sleep would take her.

But sometimes her mind played tricks on her, recreating memories in her dreams, making her burn in the longing, and it would be so vivid, she could touch him, could hear his slow deep voice, but eventually he would disappear, and she would wake up with the hole in her chest opening like an abyss.

She missed him terribly but refused to get in touch with him, even though sometimes late at night she would grab her phone and open his text field and look at his name for the longest time, repeatedly reading his last text: "I'll be home in 20. Love Ya"

At some point, she got tired of torturing herself and deleted everything, leaving on the phone one picture, one of her first birthday spent together when he went to her house with flowers just to take her back to his place where he had planned a whole romantic dinner. That night he had a high fever and felt sick, but he still tried his best to make her have a beautiful birthday, even if they ended up in bed with her taking care of him and Harry protesting he felt fine, insisting on going out to celebrate. That night she realized she was in love with him, and she held the memory very dear.

Time passed, and their lives took different turns, both moving on and learning how to live without the other. But the tenderness awoken by the memories was still there, her heart still skipped a beat when she would hear his name, and Harry would still ask of her now and then, to make sure she was okay, to be assured she was happy and well.

“Hey.” A slow deep voice behind her back. It was only a tiny word, but she could recognize that voice even in a thousand years. She knew the tone, she knew it from time ago, she heard it on the radio all the time.

“Harry.” She whispered turning around, a genuine smile brightening her whole face when she met his sparkling eyes. He opened his arms without thinking, and she slipped in the hug naturally, keeping him close and breathing him in.

“Oh my God, it’s been so long…” he murmured in her ear before letting her go, his hands trapping hers and warmly holding them.

“Yeah… We don’t see each other since, what? Two years, I think.” She let her stare roam his face, capturing all the small changes, acknowledging his short hair, the light stubble on his chin.

God, there was a man standing right in front of her, not the handsome boy she used to know.

When Harry entered the bar, his eyes went immediately to the beauty at the counter, his stare fixating on her perfect ass that was wrapped up in a lovely, lovely short skirt. But he looked better, feeling something familiar in the way the girl sat in the tall chair, in the way she pushed her hair back, and when he recognized her his heart stopped for a little, a joy he hasn’t felt in a long time pervaded his body, and without thinking it twice he went right her way.

She looked amazing, more beautiful than he remembered, and he couldn’t help his hands from holding her tight when he engulfed her in his embrace, he couldn’t help his face immersing in her hair and take in her new perfume. She looked so different yet so familiar, from her head to her toes she had changed so much, and she had gained a certain confidence in her that was definitely endearing.

After two years one could think he would be way over her, but he wasn't and realized that the moment he laid eyes on her again.

"Yeah, something like that. But, how are you doing?… Oh! Don’t answer, it’s obvious you’re doing amazing, let’s cut the small talk. Let me buy you a drink, yeah?" He excitedly said, smile big on his face and hands tingling with the need to touch her again.

“You came a second too late, but we can sit and catch up!” she told him, raising the glass the barman had sat in front of her a second prior. She was trying to act normal, be cool about the sudden reunion, but on the inside, her heart was beating as fast as a butterfly’s wings and her stomach was doing backflips. It was pointless to say she didn’t expect to encounter the boy ever again in her life after their breakup.

Somehow, they never met through their common friends and let’s be honest, the kid was a star, what were the chances to cross ways with him in a bar? It looked almost like a fiction.

“Wait, aren’t you here with someone? I don’t want to steal you away.” She told him right after sitting down at a small table in the back of the place.

"Yeah, came to meet up with some friends, they won't mind, too busy playing pool over there." He nodded his head towards a group of guys standing around the table, very concentrated on their game.

“What about you?” he asked turning his complete attention to her, arms crossed on the roundtable.

She sat right next to him on the couch, with her back leaned on the arm, her outer leg bending and going under her ass. Harry smiled when he watched her doing it, remembering she could never sit properly. The atmosphere between them was intimate and relaxed, they both were content and happy to be with each other.

“Nah, I’m alone, and before you give me the ‘oh my god sad, lonely girl in a bar’ look, let me tell you I work nearby and just got off, so I decided to have a drink.” she laughed and explained to him.

“Oh yeah, and you were all alone at the counter with your drink and I show up! Looks like the start of a romantic comedy.” He smirked while his voice went down to a warmer tone. He didn’t mean to flirt so openly with her, but it came out naturally, and he bit his tongue when he noticed how she tensed up a little after, so he quickly recovered asking her about her job and having a nice catch-up.

“I got your album, H. It’s brilliant.” She complimented him, hand going to his forearm squeezing warmly.

When she first listened to the album, she cried like a baby the whole time, both from pride and hurt. His words cut deep in her, and somehow, she knew part of those lyrics was an open letter to her, as to apologize for everything that went down.

When she got hands on the cd, she left it to sit on her bedside table for two days straight, not having the courage to put it on, but when she did, she could only go through “Meet me in the hallway”, bawling immediately. She knew it in her bones it was about them, every single word hit her like a brick right in the middle of her chest, feeling the same pain she did when she left his house that day, making it seem as if it happened only a few moments before.

After the first song she forced herself to listen to the whole thing, and after that, she had to listen to it again and again. That day she laughed with the cheeky songs, she danced, and she cried, exorcizing once and for all the emptiness his absence had left. She felt exhausted, but lighter, finally ready to close that chapter of her life for good.

And then a few weeks after that, she met him in a bar. The irony.

“Did you get it or you’re saying it only to be polite?” He said with a cheeky tone, wiggling his eyebrows.

“I did, I promise! Don’t make me list the names of the songs now! You know how competitive I get…” She said giggling between words, not believing herself that night and as the drink went down, she could feel herself becoming flirtier.

She hasn’t felt that vibrant in so long, it felt good to be in his company, to see him smile at her, his dreamy green eyes looking at her with that sparkle of amusement she knew so well.

“Oh! I know that for sure, I still remember that kick you gave me that night at Jordan’s when we were playing Twister…” he accused making her almost spit back in the glass the drink she was chugging.

“Liar! You fell on your own, you’re just a sour loser!” she said agitated as she strongly sat her glass on the surface of the table.

“It is a well-known fact that you play dirty.” He kept teasing her only to get her even more flustered than she already was.

The words that left her mouth after that could only be blamed on that second Mojito she was downing because if she had been sober she would've never let herself be that bold.

“Oh, and whom better than you know…” she said giving him that smile she gave only when she had certain thoughts.

He froze in place with his glass midway to his lips, his eyes unhurriedly moving to her while his heart skipped a beat. He was at loss of words and didn’t expect that in the slightest, his mouth opening and closing like a goldfish.

"I’m sorry… I shouldn't have said that, I'm a bit drunk I guess, maybe it's time to go." she tried to awkwardly apologize, not looking towards his direction.

"No, no, no… please don’t go. It was nothing, just a joke, c’mon." he said with an urgency, not wanting their evening to end so soon. There were so many things he wanted to tell her, so many questions he still wanted to ask, he wanted to learn everything she did in those two years he was out of her life. She looked at him seeing his pleading expression and caught the desperation that briefly crossed his eyes.

“I know I might seem fine, but, Harry, this is getting painfully uncomfortable… I wasn’t expecting to see you ever again.” She hesitantly said, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her skirt.

“I know, same here. Now we said it, can we enjoy the rest of the evening? Please?” Harry grabbed her hand without thinking and kneaded his thumb on her palm in a soothing way, that simple gesture calming her instantly.

She looked at their hands and absentmindedly traced his cross tattoo with the pointer finger of her free hand. They stayed like that for a little, enjoying the silence and letting themselves have that brief moment.

“I’ve been missing you.” Harry drawled, not finding the courage to stare into her eyes. Her heart missed a beat more for the fragility of that sentence than for the words itself.

“Me too…” She whispered searching his eyes and finally meeting those breathtaking green gems while he hinted a shy smile.

“Listen, I have something to say… actually, I wanted to say this for a long time, but, you know, with the way we left things I didn’t have the balls to text you.”

“Harry there’s no reason for this now…” She interrupted him feeling uncomfortable again, taking her hand away from his. If he wanted to go there, she couldn’t have him touching her.

“No, there is. I need to apologize to you. I wasn’t the boyfriend you deserved, I didn’t talk to you, I didn’t share my thoughts and a whole list of other things I didn’t do. But please, I want you to know I never cheated on you, never even thought about it for a second. I had eyes only for you and no one else.”

Her eyes stung while he talked, surprised to no end by his little speech. Harry has never been that honest with her, and she was astonished that he said those things while directly looking at her, no mumbles or never-ending silences in between words.

“I… I know you never cheated on me, it wasn’t about that Harry.” She tried to keep her composure while blinking her eyes to clear them from tears.

“I know but I needed to clear that out in case you ever had a doubt about it.” He talked softly as to not get her more nervous than she already was.

“I could've done more too, I could've stayed and fight stronger. But I choose what I thought was the easiest way. I thought we weren’t compatible.” She sniffled a little, clearing under the corner of her eye.

“Don’t cry, baby, your makeup will run.” He joked and lovingly caressed her smooth cheek.

“I couldn’t care less…” she scoffed while looking down at her fingers playing with the empty glass on the table, and her eye fell on the watch on her wrist.

“Oh my God, it is really late though, I have to wake up early tomorrow. I really need to go Harry!” she said with concern, she didn’t want to say goodbye yet, but she had to go.

“Okay, let me walk you outside,” Harry said with a smirk, he didn’t seem bothered at all.

They were standing side by side waiting for her taxi to arrive, and as the driver parked on the side, she turned to him to say goodbye.

“I want to take you out.” He talked before she could pronounce a word, resolution painted all over his features.

“You… what? Out like a date?” She was shocked to say at least.

“Call it how you want. I want to have dinner and spend more time with you. Don’t over-think it, baby.” He took her face in his hands and looked directly into her eyes. He needed to stop calling her baby because it was making her knees weak.

“Okay, tomorrow night is good?” Harry asked after a little when she didn’t speak.

She could merely nod, her tongue losing the capacity of forming words.

“I’ll pick you up at 8.00, text me the place.” He whispered to her while his eyes moved to her lips, knowing it was wrong to even think about it, but couldn’t stop it from happening, so he leaned down to place a soft, chaste kiss on her beautiful lips.

Harry sensed her take a harsh breath in and tense up, but he didn’t let her time to think of a reaction and he fastly pulled away from her, leaving her dumbfounded and confused.

“Your taxi is waiting. Goodnight, baby girl.” He nicely reminded.

“Oh, yeah, sure… Goodnight, Harry.” She blinked and came to her senses, turning rapidly around and getting in the backseat, not even throwing a glance at him.

While the car rolled away from the bar, she couldn’t help her fingers going to her mouth where his had been a brief moment before, a timid smile gracing her lips.

He watched the cab go away, standing on the sidewalk till it turned to the left and disappeared. His emotions revolved around giddiness and excitement, a bright smile plastered on his face while he put his hands in his pockets and unhurriedly went back in the pub to enjoy the rest of his night out.

Part Two - Embers

Masterlist - Tell me what you thought

481 notes · View notes

welllpthisishappening · 5 years

Text

The Gift Receipt (5/5)

It genuinely makes sense in her head.

After all, Mary Margaret is being Mary Margaret and Emma just needs five seconds to herself and for her friends to get off her back and saying she can’t talk to Killian Jones because she and Killian Jones once went on a very bad date is the perfect excuse. It’s also not true, but whatever. It works.

Until Emma needs to bring someone home for Christmas. To get the entire town off her back. So, she comes up with another plan and another lie and pretending to get back together with a guy she was never actually with will make their inevitable break-up incredibly easy. It makes sense. Seriously.

That is, of course, until Killian agrees and there’s far too much pie and radio hits of the 70s and opinions on animated Christmas classics. It gets a little more complicated after that.

Rating: Mature Word Count: 9K+ Reunions deserve adjectives AN: If there is one thing you guys can always count on from me, it is a happy ending and kissing and the good guys winning. I don’t know that there’s winning here, but there’s definitely the other things and while stories sometimes have some angst, it’s always my goal to make sure that angst makes sense in character and, like, the real world. And there’s payoff. Here’s hoping you also think the payoff is worth it. As always I can’t thank you guys enough for letting me constantly throw words at you. It’s nice.

Also on Ao3 and FF.net if that’s how you roll.

She doesn’t call him.

She thinks about it. She considers it. She does...not much else for the next few days.

Emma stares at her phone and stares at the number in her phone and the text message conversation that sparked this whole goddamn, stupid thing because that’s exactly what it is. It’s stupid. It’s ridiculous and a little juvenile and decidedly immature because she knows she’s running away, but she’s also very good at running away and it’s not like he’s called her.

She rationalizes that particular point at four in the morning three days after Christmas, while she’s parked in her car in Astoria and, at that point, it feels like the most important thing in the world. It becomes less important forty-five minutes later when Emma’s heat is starting to sputter and her fingers are starting to take on a distinct blue-type hue and she’s typed and deleted the same message sixteen times.

On the fifth day she actually uses the system at work to try to track down Will Scarlet’s personal contact information because some absolutely insane part of her brain thinks that’s the best approach, but August walks in on her and--

“What the hell are you doing in here?”

“I work here,” Emma replies cooly, not looking up from the computer screen and that computer must be nearly thirty years old.

“What time did you get home last night?” “I don’t see how that’s your problem.” “Emma.” “Booth.” August shakes his head, the floor creaking under his feet when he moves further into the office and that should probably be a sign to both of them that they should be looking for another office. Emma is only a little worried the computer in front of her is going to explode.

“Emma,” August repeats, covering the screen with his palm. She groans.

“You’re going to get handprints all over there.” “We’ve got Windex somewhere.” “Can you use Windex on a computer?” August shrugs. “It’s like a TV right? God, I don’t care. That’s not important. What the hell are you doing here? If you’re going to try and get that Heller guy, you cannot be here today. It’s against the rules.” “Since when are you one for the rules?” “Ok, well, that’s rude. What’s going on with you?” “Nothing,” Emma lies, and the word feels heavy on her tongue. It feels like it’s settled into her soul too, a constant source of cold and disappointment and she should have just called him. They shouldn’t have left Storybrooke.

She’s considered driving to Boston more than once.

“You going to make a New Year’s resolution to become a better liar?” August asks, finally moving his hand and he’s not even remotely intimidated by Emma’s glare. “I’m serious about the overtime. If you’re clocking this, I’m not paying.” “You’re a benevolent leader, Booth.” “I’m being honest with you. See how that works?”

“And about as subtle as a pound of bricks.” “Occasionally that’s what it takes to get through to you,” August grins. Emma makes an incredibly unprofessional noise, widening her eyes and opening her arms like that will make her boss contradict himself. It only makes him laugh.

And she couldn’t find anything about Will Scarlet except the fact that he graduated from UMass Amherst and was part of the same frat she’s, like, seventy-two percent certain Robin was in.

That’s not really a lead though and Emma is usually better at this.

She refuses to acknowledge all the reasons she’s currently not.

“Wait, did you say that Heller guy?” Emma asks suddenly, like her brain has finally caught up to the conversation that will, actually, pay her. August nods. “Reportedly spotted in Mott Haven.” “Ah, the Bronx? C’mon, that traffic is going to suck.” “‘Tis the season for bums to try and run out on their bail and their families.” “God, that’s the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard.” August shrugs again, undeterred by depressing or anything that doesn’t immediately lead to a paycheck. “Someone I know up there saw him over by the St. Mary’s Dog Run.” “The Dog Run?” If August shrugs again, Emma is going to throw the computer at him. Then they’ll have to get a new one. August will make her pay for a new one. “What do you want me to tell you, Emma? This Heller guy is a dick. He’s hanging out in Mott Haven, apparently, I guess his girl’s got a thing for dogs.” “Did you swallow a 1940s gangster?” “You want to go up there tonight or you want to keep making quips that only you think are funny?” “Is that honestly a choice?” Emma asks, clicking a few more buttons and there’s seriously nothing about Will Scarlet on the internet. Her phone is still frustratingly silent.

And maybe she’s a little upset about that too – because Mary Margaret and David got back to the city two days ago and Ruby is supposed to be back tonight and they’ve all apologized and checked on her and double checked for good measure, but that’s as much contact as Emma’s had and the whole thing has left her feeling decidedly empty and even more lonely and she can’t seem to get warm.

The sentiment of it all feels far too heavy handed. Even in her own head.

“No,” August answers. “Unless you want me to find someone else to do your job for you.” Emma groans, rolling her eyes and clicking again – shutting down the computer and grabbing her phone and her keys and she’s fairly positive the heat in her car is getting worse.

And she hadn’t been wrong about traffic. It takes her forever to get up the FDR and the Willis Avenue Bridge is inexplicably closed, so she has to drive up to Third Avenue and that’s an extra forty minutes she wasn’t planning on. Because those extra forty minutes are just enough time to come up with all the reasons she should not want to date Killian Jones.

Still.

Or start. Whatever tense is appropriate.

Emma parks outside the dog run, tilting her seat back and doing her best to get comfortable, but that’s a losing battle from the get-go. She left her gloves in the office.

“Damn,” she mumbles, scrolling through her phone and wondering if she can find somewhere to get coffee without possibly missing this guy. She doesn’t get out of her car.

She types sixteen text messages instead.

She deletes them all.

And the hours continue to creep by, voices on the street because it’s not New Year’s Eve yet, but that’s tomorrow and Emma assumes there are still people out there who feel festive. Not her, but she’s sure they exist.

Her eyes are starting to flutter around two in the morning, a blanket she forgot was in the backseat wrapped around her shoulders, when she spots him. Or, at least, thinks she spots him. He’s not more than a shadow, a flash of a face that just looks like an asshole and Emma’s barely able to get out of the car without tripping over her own feet.

Eventually she will assume that was also some kind of sign.

It’s an absolute miracle she’s missed all of the signs.

“Hey,” she shouts, and the guy doesn’t slow down. He glances over his shoulder, just enough light at the end of the block to see his eyes widen, and then breaks out a dead sprint, nearly knocking over three different people in the process. “Aw, goodman, shit, fu--” Emma grumbles, and she doesn’t actually lock her car before she starts running after him.

She needs to get a better car.

She needs to get...better, but that’s neither here nor there and Emma can’t ponder life’s great meanings when she’s trying to chase down one of life’s great dicks. It doesn’t take long to get within lunging distance, but that’s kind of a last resort thing and Emma’s side is already aching.

Heller runs over another person on the sidewalk.

“Oh my God, you know you can go around them,” Emma calls. That’s a mistake. It hurts to yell and the air is cold and it feels like it may snow again and--

“--Or you could just stop chasing after me,” Heller counters. He jerks to his left, darting down an alley and something in the back of Emma’s brain starts at that. He’s backing himself into a corner. Maybe she’ll do something to her car with her inevitable paycheck.

Maybe she’ll use it to drive to Boston. Probably not.

She’s an absolute disaster.

That will also, eventually, be her downfall – quite literally.

Emma chases him into the alley, barely keeping her balance as she rounds the corner and Heller chuckles when he clears the fence at the back. “What the hell do you think you’re doing here?” he asks.

“Is that not obvious? What kind of ass blows his bail the day before New Year’s Eve?” “Am I messing up your plans?” “You’re helping, actually.” “Yeah? Big ideas for the holiday?” “Are we bantering when I’m honestly getting ready to bring you back to the cops?” Emma asks, and Heller grins at her. It makes her nauseous. That may just be the running.

“That seems to suggest I’m going anywhere with you. Or that you’re going anywhere.” “Excuse me?” “You got a look about you, don’t you?” Emma gags, complete with a stuck-out-tongue, but that only makes Heller laugh and his confidence is unnerving. “What exactly is it you did?” she asks, jogging towards the chain-link fence and trying, rather fruitlessly, to find a foothold. It hasn’t snowed yet, but it had been raining before and cold and everything feels like it’s covered in a thin sheet of ice.

Emma included.

“Forgery,” Heller answers, as if that’s not a crime. “Pretty much anything I could get some ink on. Books, money, important documents.” “You’re a busy guy.” He hums, that same, infuriating smile plastered on his face. “Sometimes. Which is why, unfortunately, I won’t be able to go downtown with you tonight or whatever overused cliché you’d like to pick. I’ve got a previous engagement. And plans for the New Year. I’m sorry to disappoint.” “I’m not sure that you have, actually.”

Emma jumps at the same time Heller laughs, twisting her fingers around the fence and maybe Killian was right – maybe she does have fairly good upper body strength. That, however, only serves to make her think about Killian and her distinct lack of New Year’s Eve plans because there’d been no engagement in Storybrooke and Emma’s got some pretty strong suspicions about David and Mary Margaret and--

Her right foot slips.

She scrambles for purchase, trying to find to find, something, anything to hold onto and the irony of that is not lost on Emma. She hates it, but she’s willing to acknowledge it, even as she’s crashing a few feet onto the incredibly unforgiving ground underneath her.

Emma doesn’t quite scream when her ankle turns underneath her, the actual crack of it echoing in her ears and her soul, but she might whimper and that is, somehow, ten-thousand times worse.

The tears burn her eyes immediately, a biological reaction that feels particularly weak in the situation, and she grits her teeth to stop herself from making any other noise. The blood rushes from her head, trying to get to the ankle that she’s only a little worried is actually broken and everything feels cold and spins and it’s as if her stomach has leapt into the back of her throat.

Emma gags again, bringing her hand to her mouth like that’ll help. It only proves how goddamn cold her hand is.

She really needs gloves.

“Holy shit,” Emma breathes, tears landing on her cheeks despite her explicit refusal to cry over this and she doesn’t know what to do next. Her whole body is shaking and she hopes she’s not going into shock. That would suck. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, God, that hurts.”

She keeps talking, muttering curses to herself. No one comes. And Emma isn’t sure how long she sits there, but it’s got to be at least half an hour and she can’t stand up. She tries several times.

“Ok, ok,” Emma chants, twisting to try and grab her phone out of her back pocket. The screen is cracked now, which seems to make more sense than just about anything, but Emma can still make a phone call and her thumb hovers above her contacts list for a moment.

She calls Mary Margaret.

Mary Margaret answers on the second ring.

And, somehow, doesn’t hit traffic on the FDR.

Or let Emma go home alone. Because she broke her goddamn ankle. And it might actually be the first time she’s let a guy get away, but some vaguely petty part of Emma’s brain is quick to also point out she let Killian get away several days before and her phone dies before she gets back to her apartment.

Mary Margaret goes home with her and stays with her and Emma knows it’s only a matter of time before she hears the not-so-soft knock on the door at six forty-five on New Year’s Eve.

Mary Margaret is cooking.

“Is your door locked?” Mary Margaret asks, not bothering to stop stirring whatever it is she’s stirring.

Emma shakes her head, trying, and failing to get the remote off her coffee table. “I live in the middle of Manhattan. Also, what exactly is it we’re watching?” “Do you not want to be watching the New Year’s Rockin’ Eve preshow?” “Why is this still on? Why is there a preshow? Why do we as a society allow Ryan Seacrest to keep hosting things? He’s so awkward. It’s painful to watch.”

The person at the door knocks again. It doesn’t sound like one person. Emma is going to seriously mess up her throat if she keeps groaning. “That was certainly a lot of questions for someone who claims to not care about New Year’s Rockin’ Eve,” Mary Margaret says, moving towards the door with a bowl on her hip and Emma is only too aware that they’re not talking about New Year’s Rockin’ Eve.

The lock clicks and there’s a few mumbled words spoken in the doorway, quiet promises to behave and we went over the rules in the car over here and Emma can’t help but grown again. She slides further into the corner of the couch, bringing a blanket down with her in the process and Ruby is holding a plate of baked goods she absolutely, positively did not bake when she stalks into the living room.

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“Where’d you get those cookies?” Emma challenges, and Ruby practically growls in response.

“Is it bad?” “You’re the one who brought the cookies, not me.” “Are you on morphine or something? If you’re on morphine, then I can almost rationalize this.” “This?”

Ruby nods, and Mary Margaret mutters something that sounds a hell of a lot this is not what we agreed on. “This,” Ruby repeats. “Making ridiculous decisions and going after some creep in Mott Haven. You know how sketchy Mott Haven is?” “I’m perfectly aware of how sketchy Mott Haven is. I’d imagine that’s why the lowlife I was trying to get back to jail was hanging out in Mott Haven.” “You’re avoiding my question.” “There have just been so many, it’s been difficult to keep track.” Ruby deflates at that, some of the fight almost visibly falling out of her and Emma resists the urge to make a quip about fangs retracting. “Have I apologized for...everything in the last twenty-four hours?” “My phone is broken.” “Ah that sucks.” “Yeah, it’s almost as bad as the broken ankle.” “It’s broken?” Ruby shouts, and Emma winces when it sounds like the words reverberate off her walls. David clicks his tongue in reproach. “What? You didn’t mention that. I just knew you were hurt and...well, you called M’s and--”

“--You are a newlywed,” Emma reasons. “You should not be driving me to the ER two days before New Year’s.”

“You don’t have to keep using that as an excuse.”

“It’s not an excuse.” “Eh,” Mary Margaret contradicts, and Emma doesn’t entirely expect that. She’s kind of forgotten Mary Margaret is standing there.

Emma tilts her head. The ice on her ankle is leaving a small puddle on her coffee table. “Was that an unvoiced opinion, Mary Margaret?” she asks. “Or just a rather sweeping judgment?” “A little bit of both.” “We’ve all got a little bit of both,” David adds. “Some of us more than others.” “Ok, well, there’s no need to be a jerk about it,” Ruby grumbles, moving to perch on the edge of the table and she hisses when she notices the condensation. “When’s the last time you changed your ice? Should you be alternating with heat?”

“The doctor said ice until some of the swelling went down,” Mary Margaret says before Emma can answer.

“How long is that going to take?” “Well, he said it was a clean break, so that’s a good thing and--” “--Is it?” “Yeah, he said athletes come back quicker from clean breaks than like...I don’t know shards of bone or something.” “Emma’s not an athlete.” “Hey,” Emma snaps, but no one is paying attention to her and Ruby keeps jerking back and forth. It makes grabbing a cookie very difficult.

Mary Margaret makes a dismissive noise in the back of her throat. “True, but she does do physical things regularly and the doctor was pretty adamant she’d be up sooner rather than later, but then he also kept talking about the ice and, well, her ankle is kind of...purple.” “What?” Ruby screeches, Emma squeezing her eyes closed like that will make the noise less abrasive. She’s fairly certain she’s had the same headache for the last six days now.

“This is why we’re constantly icing,” Mary Margaret says. “There’s a whole plan and--”

“--And I didn’t know the plan.” “Well, you were just getting home and--” “--If Emma’s dying, then I want to know and Belle wants to know and she’s not totally alone and--” “And we’d all really like to make sure you’re ok,” David says, quietly but with enough something that everyone in the apartment seems to freeze. Emma wouldn’t be surprised if Ryan Seacrest froze in Times Square too. “You know...maybe more than just your ankle.” “My ankle and my overall state of being are not intrinsically related,” Emma mutters. David doesn’t try to hide his scoff. Ruby rolls her eyes.

“Ok, well, that was just incredibly bad,” Mary Margaret says. “You’ve got to practice that if you want us to believe you.” “We’ve known you way too long, that’s why,” Ruby mumbles conspiratorially. That time she winks. “Almost as if we can tell when you’re really feeling something.”

“God, you should practice that too.” “I wasn’t actually trying to lie. Emma was.”

“The judgments just keep on coming, don’t they?” Emma asks, and they’ve apologized to each other more in the last week than they have in the entire time they’ve known each other.

“And you keep dodging the question,” David points out.

She sighs, shoulders slumping with the force of it, but he’s right about that too and Mary Margaret might actually be baking something and if the scent is anything to go by, she’s definitely making cinnamon rolls. Emma’s heart thuds painfully in her chest.

It makes her ankle hurt.

Being awake makes her ankle hurt.

“We didn’t want…” Mary Margaret starts, moving back into the living room and letting David slings his arm around her shoulders. Emma’s probably ruined his proposal plans. Again. Maybe. She’ll feel bad if she wins that fifty bucks. “We’re sorry that we made you feel as if you had to bring someone home. As if you coming home with us wouldn’t just be enough.” It would probably be more comfortable if Emma’s ankle just fell off her body at this point.

“I know that,” she mutters, met almost immediately with three matching sounds of disbelief. “You know, in theory.” “We’re not playing a game here, Em,” David says.

“And I don’t think Jones was either,” Ruby adds. Emma snaps her head up so quickly, her neck cracks and her spine shifts and she nearly knocks her ice on the table. It’s mostly a plastic bag of slightly tepid water now. “It doesn’t make any sense for him to come back with you.” David swats at her shoulder. “What? I know, I know, and I agree with M’s, obviously, we shouldn't always be constantly trying to set Emma up with someone, but you know, love conquers all and she could probably use an emergency contact and--” “--Rubes,” three voices shout and she throws a piece of cookie at David.

“But,” Ruby repeats pointedly. “I’m just saying. Killian Jones was staring at Emma the entire wedding. They were both gone for awhile and then they came back and they were dancing and laughing and…” She shrugs when no one cuts her off. “A guy who’s not actually feeling something wouldn’t go to Storybrooke, follow the schedule and then look like he did when me and Belle showed up.” “Well, you were kind of yelling at him,” David mutters. She throws another cookie.

“If you keep getting crumbs all over my apartment, I’m going to strangle you,” Emma warns.

Ruby does not look threatened. “Can you even stand up?” “Not really.” “Then let’s get you some new ice and you can explain something to me.” Emma doesn’t argue – because she genuinely can’t stand up and she’s fairly positive her ankle is actually getting bigger and that can’t possibly be healthy – but the nerves in the pit of her stomach churn uncomfortably. David hands her a cookie.

“Figured you could use it,” he says with a smile.

“Thanks.” “You ok?” “If you start the inquisition before Rubes and Mary Margaret get back out here, they’re both going to be really annoyed with you.” “It’s not an inquisition, Em,” he says, resting a quiet hand on her slightly bent knee. “It’s how much you smiled while we were home and how easily you laughed and--” “--You’re getting sentimental on me, Nolan,” she accuses. He nods almost immediately. Probably when he notices the tears in her eyes.

Emma seriously cannot stop crying.

“I’m getting observant,” he corrects. “Did you call him?”

Emma shakes her head. And she’s almost ready for Ruby’s groan and Mary Margaret’s sigh, but she doesn’t look away from David and he doesn’t move his hand off her leg. “That’s stupid,” he says, serious enough that she can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah, I know it is.” “Ok, can we backtrack for two seconds?” Ruby asks, handing Emma hot chocolate no one asked if she wanted. “Because I’m still incredibly confused how you thought this was going to work. And like...why you haven’t called him.” “I don’t know that I ever really thought it was going to work,” Emma admits. “That was part of the appeal at first. We kind of knew each other, M’s thought we’d had a bad date, but the spirit of Christmas would do something and then we’d just get through the weekend.” The looks on their faces feel as if they cut their way through Emma – a mix of disappointment and sadness and being there since the very beginning. She grits her teeth, staring at her knees, but that only leads to staring at David’s hand as well and...damn.

She shouldn’t have called Killian to begin with.

She shouldn’t have done any of this to begin with.

She should call Killian now.

“That’s not really what I meant,” Emma whispers.

Mary Margaret drops next to her, an understanding look on her face that only makes Emma feel like more of a complete and utter dick. “I get it,” she says. “We are...overbearing.” “That’s one word for it,” Ruby laughs.

“Rubes, you literally tried to destroy Killian as soon as you got out of the car.” “Ok, no I did not. I just...wasn’t expecting it.” “Expecting what?” Emma asks, and it feels like an incredibly important question.

“For the two of you to be staring at each other like you had only recently discovered the sun.” “Or that the other one was the sun,” David amends.

“Either or, really.”

“It was very clearly and obviously romantic.” “And you only saw the end,” Mary Margaret mumbles, working a knowing laugh out of Ruby. “They disappeared at one point on Christmas Eve.” “Oh, can we not talk about that?’ David groans. Emma’s eyes widen to a size that cannot possibly be healthy, head snapping between a close-to-gloating Mary Margaret and an actually blushing David and Ruby’s laugh is going to make the neighbors complain.

“Before or after the pie?” “After. Emma didn’t buy pie.” “What?” “We made pie,” Emma whispers, not sure why she’s adding fuel to this particular fire, but it seems important and she’s still not one-hundred percent certain it was his mom’s recipe. She’s, like, ninety-nine point nine percent certain.

Once she can stand up on her own, she’s totally going to drive to Boston.

Probably.

Maybe.

She’s not sure what she can say to fix this.

“You made pie?” Ruby repeats skeptically. “Like...whoopie pie?” David’s head actually falls into his hands, the noise he makes not entirely human, and Mary Margaret nearly chokes on the cookie she’s eating. Ruby just arches an eyebrow.

“I’m not answering that question,” Emma says.

“Sounds like an answer.” “It’s not.” “You like him?” “Yes.” Ruby’s other eyebrow nearly flies off her face. “Wow, I wasn’t expecting that so quickly. Are you sure you’re not on Morphine?” “I’m capable of having real, human emotions without artificial stimulants.” “New year, new you, huh?” Emma’s laugh is a little strained, but it’s a laugh all the same and it feels kind of nice. “Yeah, something like that,” she mumbles. “It was...ok, so I totally played myself.” “Yeah, I think you might have and I wasn’t even there.” “He gave her a ten-out-of-ten at karaoke,” Mary Margaret says. “And my dad told me about the mistletoe incident.” “There was a mistletoe incident?” “Do we really have to talk about this?” David begs, but both Mary Margaret and Ruby brush him off and Emma’s smile feels almost natural.

“No one is keeping you here, Nolan,” Ruby hisses. “There was a mistletoe incident?”

Emma nods. “And some other incidents. But--” “--No, no, Emma, you cannot do that,” Mary Margaret snaps, an out-of-character edged to her voice. “That’s...ok, so it may have started strange. And you may have gone into it thinking that it was going to end or had to end or we wouldn’t want you there if it was just you there which, again, is ridiculous.” “So you’ve mentioned,” Emma says.

“Because I want you to believe it. We thought it when you were twelve and we think it now and we will think it whenever and we’ll...I don’t know, you can use our pie as your pie and--” “--We’ve got to find a different way to say that,” Ruby mutters, David barely keeping his laugh contained.

“The specifics of it aren’t important. It doesn’t matter. What does matter is how much we love you, Emma Swan. All year, but especially at Christmas because no one does Christmas better than us and you are part of that us. On an indefinite basis. No matter who you bring home.” She’s crying. She’s not sure if she actually stopped, but the specifics of that don’t matter either and David squeezes her knee when Emma actually sniffles.

“But,” he adds. “If you get to bring home a guy who stares at you like every constellation in the sky, then that’s kind of a bonus for us. We’re team Emma happiness.” “Every constellation, huh?” Ruby asks, twisting to glance at David. He nods.

“Take my exaggerated point for what it’s worth.” “No, he may know that,” Emma objects, and Mary Margaret looks triumphant. “He, uh...he was in the Navy. That’s like a sailor thing, right? Knowing the stars or something?” There are several nods and a few passably interested hums – a valiant attempt not to ask more questions that Emma will eventually appreciate. She twists her fingers together when the next few words seem to spill out of her mouth.

“I told him about Neal,” she says, ignoring whatever sounds her friends make at that particular revelation. “And that Christmas. And coming to Storybrooke. And there was a lot more than the mistletoe incident. But, I...ok, M’s you can’t interrupt.” Emma glances up at her own pitiful joke, Mary Margaret staring slack jawed at her. “The plan was not this. It was the opposite of this. It was supposed to be easy and it’d be some guy who came home and then was never heard from again, but…”

“You like him,” Mary Margaret finishes.

Emma nods. “And I’m being the world’s biggest idiot about it.” “Ah, that’s patented Emma,” Ruby muses, fingers flashing over her phone when she, presumably, updates Belle on what’s going on. “You really didn’t call him?” “I really didn’t call him. I told him that he went above and beyond what I asked him to do and then I drove out of Boston.” “Oh my God, Em.” “Please don’t. Anything you’ve said, I’ve already rationalized and unrationalzied and, that’s not a word either, so don’t bother mentioning that either.” Ruby laughs lightly, a quick salute that’s only a little patronizing. “There had to be a reason he agreed to go with you.”

“And,” David says softly, leaning towards Emma like he’s talking to Roland or Henry. It’s even more patronizing than the salute. “You don’t have to immediately assume everything is going to blow up in your face by default. He drank the wine.” “He drank the wine,” Ruby shouts. She jumps up, nearly knocking Emma’s leg off the table in the process and they’re a mess of explanations and more shouted questions and where’s your phone charger, just plug it in and call him and it’s so loud that, at first, none of them hear the knock on the door.

The second knock is a little more intent.

Like the knocker is determined. Or impatient. Or impatiently determined.

Ruby glances around – like she’s checking to make sure they’re all present and accounted for, and her brows pull low when she can’t answer the question she hasn’t actually voiced yet.

The third knock is more a rap of knuckles and a hint of frustration and all four of them turn towards the sound.

“Probably the Chinese,” Mary Margaret reasons. “I ordered just...way too much food.” “She knew we were coming,” Ruby whispers to Emma with a smile. She never actually had sat down, so it’s not much of a surprise when she jogs towards the door, the fourth knock sounding a little resigned to being ignored and Emma can barely hear her when she mumbles whoa on the other side of the apartment.

It’s difficult over the sound of the music.

The song itself is muffled – likely coming from headphones that had only recently been in ears – but it’s suddenly all Emma can hear and all she can think about and she inhales sharply when she hears the chorus, words imprinted on her recent memory and possibly her heart and--

“Yeah, it’s not the Chinese,” Ruby announces, moving back into the living room with footsteps following her and Killian’s eyes widen as soon as they land on Emma.

And her decidedly broken ankle.

“Shit,” he mutters, and Emma’s laugh is totally out of place considering the sound of his voice and the look on his face and she can’t figure out how he got here.

Her gaze snaps towards Ruby. Who immediately shakes his head. “Wasn’t me. No one told me until this morning.” “Ariel told me,” Killian says, not taking his eyes away from Emma. He looks exhausted, like the feelings she’s been feeling for the last six days have been transferred directly to his face. “Belle told her, I guess. And she said you, shit, Swan, did you break your ankle?” There’s a tremor to his voice, a shake that rattles its way down Emma’s spine and finds a spot next to the guilt in the center of her soul and the frustration between every one of her ribs and those seemingly always-there nerves in the pit of her stomach. She nods. “The fence was super icy. My foot slipped.” He exhales, body moving forward and arm darting towards her before he can stop himself. She wishes he wouldn’t stop himself.

She’s kind of made sure that happens.

“That happened at work?” “Yeah,” Emma mumbles. “The guy was a dick. Forgery and he made a bunch of jokes and there was some very unnatural banter and the whole thing hurt like hell.” “I’d imagine that happens when you break actual bones.”

“We went to the doctor.” “Yeah?” “The doctor said it was a clean break,” Mary Margaret reports, and Killian hums like he’s also a medical professional.

Emma can’t settle on what to look at. Her eyes keep flitting across his face, taking in every shift in expression – the quirk of his eyebrows and the twitch of his lips, patchy color on his cheeks as if he ran up the three flights of stairs it would take to get to her front door. There are bags under his eyes and it probably isn’t, but it looks like his hair is longer, curling slightly under his right ear and Emma bites her lip when Killian reaches up to tug on it.

“Where did you park?” Emma asks, a sudden question that’s not entirely rational. None of this has been entirely rational though and she likes him. And he’s standing in her apartment. Belle must have given Ariel the address.

Or he asked Belle.

All of their friends need a lesson in boundaries.

And, like, thank you cards or something.

“Somewhere illegally, I think,” Killian says. He takes a cautious step closer to Emma’s outstretched leg, eyes darting across her body and lingering on her foot. “That looks incredibly purple.” “It’s broken. Aren’t you worried about getting a ticket?” “Not particularly.” She’s not sure what sound she makes. It’s ridiculous though, she knows that, a scoff and guffaw and the audible version of visibly swooning and Ruby is already trying to tug Mary Margaret and David towards the door. “Well,” Ruby says. “I feel like this is our cue or something. Jones, if you get a ticket, let Nolan know and he can probably get you off or something.” “I can’t do that,” David argues. “Also Emma can’t actually stand up, so you’re going to have to change her ice.” “I am not an invalid,” Emma growls.

“Eh. I’m serious, are you going to change her ice?” It feels like a challenge and an expectation and Emma doesn’t hold her breath, but she also doesn’t exhale and that is absolutely the definition of holding her breath. Killian nods. “Of course.”

“Ok, good. Also, Em, you’re not going to win tonight, so, FYI.” Emma gapes at him. “Wait, what?” Mary Margaret asks, but Ruby is doing her best to dislocate her shoulder at this point and Killian’s still staring at Emma and she shouldn't be surprised they’ve delved into farce this quickly.

“Nothing, babe, nothing. New ice soon, Jones. We’ll see you later, Em.” “Sure,” Emma mumbles, and that requires her to exhale. The door slams behind them when they leave, a jolt of something working through the air that may just be expectation and hope and Emma’s not usually good at either one of them, but her eyes dart towards Killian again like those goddamn magnets are back and his almost-there smile does far too many things to every single inch of her.

“I’m sorry if you get a ticket,” she whispers. She’s an idiot.

Killian laughs, nodding towards the coffee table and it takes Emma a moment to realize he’s asking permission to sit down. She nods. And waves her hand. Seriously, the world’s biggest idiot.

“That’s still not your fault, Swan,” Killian says. “Your ankle is really broken? Ariel wasn’t sure.”

“I don’t...I don’t totally understand what’s happening here.” “You hurt your ankle.” “But you’re here.” His tongue flashes between his lips as soon as the words are out of her mouth, and Emma’s not sure if she should regret them. Probably. That’s been her mindset for most of the week. “Yeah,” Killian wavers. “I, uh...I’m not sure I’ve really had one coherent thought in the last six hours or so, if I’m being honest.” “It took you six hours to get here?” “It’s New Year’s Eve, love, there’s a considerable amount of traffic in Manhattan.” It feels as if her heart flies out of her chest, and it threatens to burst into confetti and rainbows and fireworks are kind of appropriate considering the holiday, as soon as he calls her love. Emma mumbles right, right under her breath and Killian’s laugh is distinctly lacking in any kind of humor when he leans forward to stop her from jerking her leg forward.

“You’re going to hurt yourself even more.” “I’m fine.” “Well, that’s good because I am absolutely losing my mind.” Emma blinks. “What?” “I’ve gotten some increasingly scathing reviews of my entire mindset in the last week or so, from both Ariel and Scarlet who seem to think I misplaced my brain at some point because I’ve been walking around in some kind of fog since Christmas.” “What?” “I can’t...Emma, I can’t get you out of my head and I genuinely think it may be driving me insane.” “That sounds kind of aggressive, actually.” He scoffs, a flash to his gaze that makes Emma smile and the tension in her shoulders nearly evaporates. She almost forgets about her ankle. “Yeah, it kind of is,” Killian agrees. “But...Belle told Ariel you’d gotten hurt and it might have been bad and I...shit, every single thing I came up with was worse than the last thing and A didn’t know what had actually happened, but she said Ruby was going to see you and I didn’t really think. I got in my car and I started driving and Belle’s probably researching ways to commit your friends without them realizing what you're doing because I think I mostly just screamed at her to give me your address once I got over the bridge.” The words get more manic the longer he keeps talking, and Emma’s breathing through her mouth. It can’t be very attractive, but her body feels as if it’s systematically shutting down and he came to New York. Because he thought she was hurt. Because he was worried.

Because he was worried about her.

“I can’t get you out of my head, either,” Emma whispers. Killian’s jaw drops.

“What?” “I feel like we’re going in circles.” “It’s entirely possible.” She laughs softly, letting her eyes fall closed and her head fall forward and she’s almost not surprised when his fingers graze over the side of her jaw. “It was an insane plan,” she mutters. “Absolutely insane. But I thought it’d give me some breathing room from my friends and my family and…” Emma lifts her head to find Killian staring at her, that same bit of wanting she’d been almost certain of in Storybrooke back on her face. “You told Aurora we didn’t want her key lime pie.” “It’s not even remotely festive, Swan.” “I know it’s not. But...no one had ever really done that. For me, I mean. I would have bought the pie and laughed about its lack of festivity and you wouldn’t let that happen. Like you cared and that...I can’t wrap my head around that.” “That’s decidedly depressing, love.” “It’s totally depressing. And I was ready for that all weekend. I was ready to just go through the motions and fake the whole thing.” “I didn’t fake anything.” “Neither did I.”

There’s no joke, no twisted eyebrows or vaguely attractive smirk. There’s just honest and certainty and Killian’s fingers lace through Emma’s as soon as he finds her hand.

“If I tell you that you were the gift I wasn’t entirely expecting because I was too afraid to actually ask for it, are you going to make fun of me?” Killian grins, tongue pressed to the corner of his mouth and Emma shivers when his lips brush over her knuckles. “On an indefinite basis, love.”

“Then I’m not going to say that.” “Probably a good idea.” “It’s more like Miracle on 34th Street anyway.” “That so?” Emma hums. “Yeah, you know without the kid. Maureen O’Hara doesn’t believe in much and doesn’t believe in romance or Santa Claus and then Santa Claus shows up and Fred? Is his name Fred?” “This is your reference, Swan, not mine.” “I think it’s Fred. Anyway. He shows up and he believes in Santa and there are letters and the US Postal service and then Natalie Wood gets her house on Long Island.” “Are you suggesting you want a house on Long Island?” “I mean, not yet. But you know, I don’t know. I’m open to the idea of Santa Claus and dating Fred. For real this time.” It’s easily the single most convoluted explanation of feelings in the history of romance, but it gets Killian to smile and Emma doesn’t expect the kiss. She hopes and that feels kind of in the spirit of things. The couch creaks when Killian leans against it.

And Emma feels as if she’s just waking up or only recently rediscovering oxygen, Killian’s fingers in her hair and her arms around his neck. They’re cautious with each other, both almost painfully aware of Emma’s decidedly purple ankle, and that’s only kind of frustrating, but she really doesn’t want to fuck up her ankle and she really, really missed kissing Killian.

He rests his forehead against hers when they break apart, smile still there. “Why’d you run, Swan?” “Why’d you agree to come home with me?” “I asked you first.” “I told you I wanted to date you.” “I drove to New York after convincing myself you were dead.” “I’m not dead.” Killian sighs, another quick kiss to her lips. “I know, love. And eventually my pulse will realize that’s a real thing.” “I’m sorry. For the pulse thing and the running thing, but that’s also kind of my thing and everything was so good. It was so easy to...just let everyone think we were whatever we were because--” “--It kind of felt like that’s exactly what we were?” “Exactly. And then it all blew up and I wasn’t sure I could deal with hearing that it was actually fake because I didn’t want it to be and I’ve never...I’ve never brought anyone home, and it was so easy for you to be home. It was so easy for you to feel like home. That shouldn’t happen.” She doesn’t mean to whisper the last few words, but her voice clearly does not care and Killian tucks his thumb under her chin when she tries to avoid his gaze. “It makes for a pretty good Hallmark movie, don’t you think?” “It’s way too angsty for a Hallmark movie.”

“Ah, yeah, that may be true,” Killian agrees, and he can’t seem to stop kissing her. He presses one to her cheek and the bridge of her nose, another just under her left eye and three across her forehead. Emma wonders if he’s following a path only he can see, but realizes almost immediately that she absolutely does not care one way or another as long as he doesn’t stop.

He doesn’t.

That seems important.

“But the Hallmark movies admittedly probably don’t start with a good amount of lecherous staring and selfish decisions, so…”

Emma hums distractedly at that particular string of words, moving away from the reach of his lips to blink blearily at him. “Selfish? How?” “You weren’t concerned with the lecherous staring?” “Killian!” He practically growls when she shouts her name, tilting his head and catching her lips and that’s a little more aggressive. Emma nips at his lower lip, solely to get him to make that sound, and she nearly fist pumps when she does.

That would probably ruin the moment.

“God, I was so worried about you,” he says, and it sounds like the words fly out of him. Emma’s heart grows more than three sizes. Thirty-three sizes and then some.

“You’re bouncing around the conversation quite a bit.” “I know, I know, but…” They dissolve into more kissing and more roaming hands, only stopping when Emma manages to kick her ice on the ground. “Swan.” “Ok, you do not get to chastise me for that. This making out is entirely your fault.” “Eh…”

“Explain your lecherous ways then.” Killian smirks. It’s stupid. “Well, I did kind of admit to it before. I knew who you were even before you gave that rather memorable speech and then you did give the rather memorable speech and I was...intrigued.” “That sounds kind of clinical.” “Not in that dress. Stupid attractive.” Emma burrows her head into his chest, Killian’s arm working its way around her waist to keep her pinned against him. He kisses the top of her hair. “Anyway,” Killian continues. “You were so certain about love and its ability to change people and that was fascinating and then you had that look on your face the entire time Mary Margaret and David were talking to you and--oh, was there an engagement yet?” “Nothing.” “Really?” “I think they were a little preoccupied parenting me.” “I doubt they regret that, Swan.” She hums noncommittally, letting her fingers card through the back of her hair. “Keep telling your story, please and thank you.” “Well, you had that look and then you left and Mary Margaret tried to turn me to stone. And then...I don’t know, I was walking before I’d even considered it. It was strangely like tonight, there were just more miles this time, but I barely said a word to Ariel and it was like something flipped as soon as I started talking to you.” “A good flip?” “The best flip,” Killian promises. “And then you call me and come up with this ridiculous plan and it’s...I normally go to Ariel’s, but she was going to be at Eric’s and I was going to be by myself. I wasn’t really upset about that until you called.” “God, this is the worst story,” Emma groans.

“It’s not, I promise, love. You explained the schedule and the system and the plans and it was, well, it sounded like every Christmas I wanted when I was a kid and that one Christmas I had when I was a kid and I found myself saying yes on the idea that maybe I could be part of that.”

Emma’s mouth hangs open. She’s breathing far too loudly. “So I said yes and it was greedy and selfish and probably the most childish thing I’d ever done, but you asked and I wanted and so I took my opportunity as it were. But then we got there and something changed.”

“Did it?” Emma asks.

“Rather quickly, actually. Almost as soon as we were informed there was only key lime pie available.” “The pie?” “The pie,” Killian repeats, thumb brushing under her eye. There’s a tear there. “Because I suddenly wasn’t there to maybe reminisce about something I had once, I was there...for you. And I wanted to be there for you. It was very easy to be there for you.” “Seems to be a trend.” “I’d like it to be.”

Emma takes a deep breath, and she hates that she closes her eyes, wants to spend several eternities memorizing the look on Killian’s face, but her body doesn’t seem to care about that either and one person can only deal with so many emotions at once.

She can only deal with so many emotions at once.

“Would you?” Emma asks, and his answering smile is a little nervous. She’s a little nervous.

She’s incredibly excited.

It feels like she’s radiating with hope.

“I think we’re pretty good at dating, don’t you think?” “Did we actually go on a date?” “I’m not sure if we did, technically. But plans were made, weren’t they? And, uh…” He reaches in his back pocket, twisting and balancing and he makes a face when Emma laughs at it, but she feels lighter than she has all week and that’s almost strange considering her distinct inability to stand up on her own. “Merry Christmas, love.” It’s a keychain – cold when it falls into her palm and Emma rubs the pad of her thumb over it, touching every crevice and makeshift crater and that’s exactly what it is because it’s the goddamn moon.

He got her the moon.

“You want the moon? Just say the word and I’ll throw a lasso and pull it down.”

“I’ll take it,” Emma mutters. “Then what?” “I always thought the next part was kind of weird.” “You’re not going to tell me I should eat the moon?” Killian shakes his head. “I’m not. But I’d settle for agreeing to that date. I’d like to continue to be your boyfriend for the foreseeable future.” “I’m not sure George ever told Mary that.” “Maybe in White Christmas.” “I don’t think I’m Rosemary Clooney though.” “Better singer anyway.” Emma laughs, another kiss and more smiles and she can’t bring herself to let go of the keychain. “Returning stuff is a lot of effort anyway.” “That’s the spirit.” “You really drove here from Boston?” “I did,” Killian nods. “And, uh...well, it’s not entirely certain yet, but Scarlet’s finally started seeing sense and he thinks it might be a good idea to maybe talk about the Long Island aspects of piracy. So I can’t promise a house yet, but maybe an apartment. Some space on the sink. At least some of the bed.” “Some?” “You’re a bed pirate, love.” She shouldn’t be charmed by it, but it’s too easy and too normal and Killian’s eyes are far too blue when Emma makes a face at him. “Do you think it’s against the rules to watch A Charlie Brown Christmas a week after Christmas?”

“If it is, I absolutely do not care.” “Rebel.” “Of the festive variety. Are you telling me you have A Charlie Brown Christmas readily available to watch, Swan?” “On DVD. But if you tell anyone that, I’ll deny it. Loudly.” He kisses her. And smiles. And kisses her again. “It’ll be our secret, love.”

And she cries at the end, because she always cries at the end of A Charlie Brown Christmas and Killian kisses her cheeks until there aren’t any tears left. He switches her ice because he absolutely set an alarm and they fall asleep well before midnight, a tangle of limbs on her couch.

David doesn’t ask Mary Margaret to marry him until Valentine’s Day – a pointed it’s romantic, Emma, shot her direction as soon as he drops to one knee in their apartment, but she just hums and nods and Killian kisses the top of her hair.

It goes from there.

There are more holidays, regularly recognized or not, and Killian doesn’t ever get an apartment on Long Island. He moves into Emma’s. On Flag Day.

And she gets her exam results back on Slurpee Day. They get free Slurpees from 7-11.

There’s Halloween and Thanksgiving and another Christmas in Storybrooke and Ruth doesn’t ever buy Killian his own stocking. The thought regularly makes Emma bite her lip.

And there’s New Year’s Eve and New Year’s Day, a future and a life and more worries and they say I love you every day and Emma takes a cab to the Barnes and Noble on Fifth Avenue on what she later learns is National Walk to Work Day to buy Killian’s book.

She makes him sign it.

And eventually there’s another trip to Storybrooke and new members of the family with new stockings and Killian’s hand finds the small of Emma’s back. “You want to take a walk, love?”

She nods, moving towards the harbor and the docks before she realizes he’s directing her there and she’s not really surprised when he asks, because she’d kind of been hoping, but that felt a little selfish and she practically screams yes in his face.

There’s shouts from the other end of the street, a small crowd that had followed them because none of them had ever learned boundaries or collective control and Emma ignores all of them.

She jumps forward, arms around Killian’s neck and a smile on her face and she says yes again, like she’s trying to make sure he knows and believes and he tastes like Millionaire’s pie and mulled wine when she kisses him.

“Merry Christmas,” she whispers when she pulls back, his answering smile somewhere close to blinding.

“Merry Christmas, love.”

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #captain swan fic #cs fic #festive fic #i hope you guys all get what you want for the holidays #and there's just enough snow to be decorative but not make driving difficult

27 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 6 years

Text

Searching, Waiting, Looking -Ch07- (Trixya) - Pichitinha

A/N: peoples i bring to you another chapter that has already been posted to AO3 but all i can say to that is ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i hope you people enjoy that, pls share this if you do, and as always find me at @pichitinha

Summary: Of course Trixie will be the decorator to Shea’s wedding - with years of experience in her bag there’s no way she’ll leave her best friend hanging. Sure, she never intended for that to become practically a full-time job as the wedding planner alongside Sasha’s crazy best friend Katya, but hey, everything for your friends, right?

Chapter 7 - We all sin, but we ain’t devils

Trixie doesn’t talk to anyone within their group of friends for a week. She turns off all of her notifications and keeps her phone on ‘do not disturb’ and does all of her work from home.

Four days into her isolation week Willam calls her on her work phone and after Trixie ignores it she calls thirteen more consecutive times until Trixie just answers it in fear that her store might be on fire.

“What?” she answers aggressively and it stuns Willam into silence. “Willam, I don’t have all day.”

“Uh, are you okay? Shea came by the store today looking for you, said you haven’t been answering calls or texts.” She actually sounds worried and Trixie is somewhat moved by that.

“So you decided to call?” she mocks. She tries not to act like a bitch, Willam has virtually done nothing - other than convince Trixie she liked Katya which then led to the whole situation and, actually, Willam is partially to blame, yes.

“You answered, didn’t you?”

“And I’m about to hang up, so bye-”

“No, no, wait!” She sounds frantic which is unusual, so Trixie listens. “I’m worried now, apparently you’ve been ignoring everyone? What’s wrong?”

Trixie sighs and drops her head on her hands which rest on top of her little office desk. She doesn’t feel like talking with anyone right now, particularly Willam over her work phone.

“I’m fine, Willam. Just need some time to myself.”

“Shea is really worried.” Willam says it like she’s trying to guilt-trip Trixie but that won’t do anything now.

“Then tell her I’m fine.”

“Why can’t you tell her?”

“Because I’m taking some time to myself, are you not listening?” This is truly the last thing Trixie wants to deal with right now.

“She says Katya is worried, too.” Willam adds as a second try on the guilt thing. It works in getting Trixie to be more assertive, but not for the reasons, or in the way, she’s sure Willam expects.

“Then you tell Shea to tell Katya that I’m none of her fucking business.” Trixie is beyond caring about what people guess or gossip or figure out. She just wants to be alone. She just wants to not talk or worry or think about Katya.

If Katya didn’t care before then she shouldn’t care now.

“Oh,” Getting Willam to not know what to say is not an easy feat so it tells loads about how Trixie’s acting. “Uh… apparently she said there are wedding things to finish?”

“Well, let her know Katya is free from duty, I’ve got it from here.”

“Trixie-”

“No offense, Willam, but I’m done talking. I’m alive and fine and everyone can stop worrying. Shea’s wedding will happen as promised and I don’t need anymore help. Bye.” And with that she hangs up, blocks WIllam’s contact because she can’t turn off her work phone but refuses to deal with this again.

She knows she should be more mature about this, knows that she should probably talk to someone about it, anyone, should definitely talk to Shea regardless - her wedding is fast approaching and suddenly her planners aren’t speaking to each other or to her. And maybe she should also talk to Katya, except she tried it, that day, gave Katya the opportunity to explain what the fuckand she didn’t, she just brushed Trixie off as if she’d been a nameless conquest in a random bar, unimportant, not good enough for a fucking goodbye.

So she takes a time off, because she deserves it, because she opened her heart for the first in a long while and it lead exactly where she thought it would: heartbreak.

Still, Trixie refuses resolutely to cry about Katya. She hasn’t cried about a girl in a long time and she simply won’t let Katya of all people break that streak, someone she realized she had feelings for a mere hours before being rejected. And Trixie knows that if she tries to tell this to any friend she’ll cry, because she can feel the tears coming up in her throat whenever she thinks about it, but she won’t do it. She won’t.

Once it’s been exactly eight days in complete isolation after that night she goes to her store. She’s been working like crazy, finding things to do that shouldn’t even be her responsibility, just to keep herself busy, but all she could do from home is done and now she needs to be out and to visit some places in person and she really needs to go to her store because she can’t trust Willam to handle it for her, even if she’s currently working everyday out of pity or whatever for Trixie, she doesn’t know everything there is to know about the place and she can’t make business decisions.

Willam is there when she arrives and she smiles worriedly at Trixie as soon as she opens the door.

“Trixie!”

“Hi,” she replies humorlessly as she walks to the back.

“I’ve got a note for you?” Willam inquires rather than informs as she follows her and Trixie rolls her eyes.

“I’m not gonna bite you, Willam, I’m just in a bad mood.”

“For a week straight?” Her eyebrows are raised impossibly high and she’s grasping a piece of paper in her hand.

“Just give me the note, I have to leave in a few to go to the caterer.”

Willam opens her mouth like she had more to say, but she just closes it and nods as she hands her the paper and exits to the front again in hurried steps.

Trixie unfolds the little square and she immediately recognizes Katya’s handwriting on it.

I need to discuss a few things about the wedding, can you please call me?

She crumples the paper and tries to throw it in the trash - she misses spectacularly, has never had good aim, but ignores the paper on the floor to pick up her phone instead.

She searches for Katya’s number, types it into a new contact on her work phone, and deletes it from her personal one.

Trixie: Hi, it’s Trixie. This is my work phone. Don’t worry about the wedding, I’ve got it all covered.

It doesn’t take long for a reply to come.

Katya: trixie, hi. we said we’d do this together, i don’t think it’s fair to dump it on you

Trixie tries not to notice how she’s still using Trixie which she never did in texts. It doesn’t matter if she does, it shouldn’t matter, not now.

Katya: also are you okay? you’ve been on radio silence

Trixie laughs bitterly at the second message. Is she okay? What kind of bullshit?

Trixie: I would prefer to do it by myself anyway. Thanks.

She doesn’t answer her question, there’s no point to it. What would she say anyway? Everything is fine except for the fact that I’m pathetic and always fall for the wrong people, you included?

Katya. oh. ok. uhm… i have a few ideas i didn’t have time to share

Katya: and seriously how are you?

She really doesn’t have the energy for this.

Trixie: Share them with Shea, ask her to call my assistant if she likes it.

Katya starts typing several times before the actually sends something.

Katya: right. I also have a few questions about the decoration for the day? as the photographer and all

Trixie: I’ll send you the detailed decoration plan.

There are no new messages for a few minutes and Trixie thinks she’s given up but then she sends another one.

Katya: trixie, pls, can we just talk?

Funny. Now she wants to talk.

Trixie: We’ve cleared up everything about the wedding, I don’t know what more there could be for us to talk about.

Katya: can we please be adults about it? you’re blowing this out of proportion

Right. It’s Trixie’s fault, now. She can’t even find a proper answer for that.

Trixie: I’ll send you the plan via email. You can reply there if you have any questions.

Katya doesn’t reply anymore. Hopefully she’s taken the hint.

A couple of days later Shea knocks on her door with such force that Trixie truly believes it’ll break off the hinges if it keeps going, and by Shea’s stern voice as she says open this door right now, Trixie, I know you’re in there, it doesn’t look like she’ll stop any time soon.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming, stop assaulting my door, geez.” She opens it forcefully, refuses to be intimidated in her own home, but Shea looks like she means business, her face weirdly serious.

“I wouldn’t need to harrass you here if you answered your damn phone.”

She walks past her without being properly invited in - to be fair they are way past that - and she actually looks mad. She reaches the end of the couch and turns around, stares down at Trixie and she actually cowers a little under it.

“I’ve been busy,” she replies with a dismissive shrug, averts her gaze from Shea’s.

“Too busy to answer texts of are you alive from your best friends? For over a week? Kim called me thinking you had drowned yourself in your own bathtub or slipped in the kitchen and hit your head.”

Trixie crosses her arms then, would feel guiltier if it wasn’t for the ridiculousness of Kim’s concerns but still feels a little bit of guilt anyway and she refuses to be the one to blame for this. She’s allowed time out when she’s hurt, she’s allowed time to make sense of herself and the mess that her life is right now.

“I told Willam I was fine and asked her to pass the message.”

Shea doesn’t change her posture, maintains her ground and her height over Trixie. “Right, because hearing from Willam that she says she’s fine but she sure ain’t really reassured me.”

Trixie huffs with an eye roll. Damn Willam.

“I am fine.”

“Don’t play with me, I’ve known you for like seven years.”

They stay silent then, both standing up and staring at each other, daring. But Trixie is tired and Shea is one of the few people she feels safe to open up to, especially now after all of her discoveries about herself. Her shoulders sag.

Shea sighs and rolls her eyes affectionately. “Come here,” she offers opening her arms and Trixie marches into the hug.

She doesn’t cry but she holds on for dear life, feels her breathing getting heavier. It’s almost funny that unlike any of her expectations for the past couple of years she’s practically crying on Shea’s shoulders about someone else. She doesn’t let go until Shea is pulling away and dragging her to the couch.

“Wanna tell me?”

Trixie actually shakes her head. “Not really.”

Shea squints her eyes in warning, “Trixie.”

Trixie looks away at her tone of voice. Honestly at this point she wouldn’t mind talking about it, but she doesn’t know what to say, where to start. How does she explain the whole situation to Shea?

How does she explain how much Katya means after so little time, after knowingit for so little? How does she explain to Shea the importance of Katya without talking about her previous feelings? She can’t. And she doesn’t know if she wants to go there, not less than two months away from Shea’s wedding.

“Trixie,” Shea insists again, more concerned than anything else.

“I’m thinking about where to start, just give me a damn second.”

Shea does, then, doesn’t move an inch for as long as Trixie’s thinking which in her head feels like it’s a really long time. She knows Shea is growing more and more curious, probably concerned too, and she can’t really look at her as the words start happening.

“I like Katya,” she admits rather rapidly and quietly, like she’s embarrassed of saying that out loud.

Shea says nothing and when Trixie glances at her her eyebrows are raised as if she’s saying girl, please.

“I hope there’s more to it because that’s hardly news to anybody, Trixie.”

Trixie nods slightly, looks away again and bites very lightly into her bottom lip in a futile attempt to hide the nervous act from Shea. She tries not to be offended by her completely lack of shock, there are more important matters at hand.

“We… we slept together. We left after your bachelorette party and came back here.”

That jerks a real reaction out Shea, who moves in shock until she’s kneeling on the couch, eyes fixated on Trixie’s face which is still not facing her, but rather the turned off TV.

“You what?” Trixie’s not sure if it’s a shocked what or a question what but either way she says nothing. Shea keeps pushing. “Trixie, oh my god, that’s incredible. God she must have been so happy! And you too, oh my god, I can’t believe you finally opened up again! Was it amazing? It was, right, she does yoga?”

Trixie laughs through her nose, humorlessly, and from the corner of her eye she can see Shea’s figure diminishing. She’s definitely confused and Trixie doesn’t blame her - she is confused, too, still.

“It certainly was before she left and said it meant nothing.”

Shea retreats as if she’s punched. “Wait, what? She said what? Katya? OurKatya?”

Trixie shrugs. “Certainly not mine in any way.”

“That… that makes no sense.”

“Well, you tell her that, then, because it’s what happened. She made that clear and went as far as saying I was overreacting.” She stops to take a breath. “It looked like she wanted something but I clearly knew her less than I thought.”

“Trixie, I’ve known her almost as long as I’ve known Sasha, this is…”

“What happened. You probably don’t know her that well, either.”

“No, you don’t get it. Trixie, she won’t shut up about you since we introduced you guys.” Trixie snorts bitterly. “No, I’m serious. Remember when you guys went over Sasha to show us that other wedding? Katya had been there for like half an hour blabbering about you and asking if you were single and if you were for sure a lesbian and if we thought you would be interested and- She was invested.”

It’s lovely that Shea thinks that this is in any way helpful, that this is a good time to tell her that.

“Something clearly changed. And maybe I’m overreacting but I don’t care, I don’t want to talk to her again. She knew I’m not interested in one-night stands.”

Shea is quiet, considering. She seems truly lost and it only hurts Trixie further - she doesn’t need any reminders that things went wrong so fast.

“Tell me what happened.”

“We slept together and she bailed. Not sure what part you’re not grasping,” Trixie snaps.

“Trixie, come on. There has to be more to the story.”

“But there isn’t. That’s it. We’re in the club, I realize I like her, we come back here, we have a great time, I wake up and she’s gone. That’s the whole gist.”

“You realized you like her in the club?” Shea’s looking at her like she’s stupid - as if she needs that right now.

Trixie shifts a little on the couch, uncomfortable. That may not have been the best of scenarios but she knows what she feels. Not that it matters now, anyway.

“Yes, okay? Things were happening - actually, scratch that, things have been happening and I finally got a moment to myself to think and to feel, and I like her. I-I like her,” she admits it again, defeated, even though she’s said so already and by the way it went Shea had not been surprised at all.

“Are you sure?”

“What kind of question is that?” It’s like she’s under investigation here even though she’s the victim. “You said yourself everyone knows it already.”

“I know but I want to know, now, if you are certain of it. I just want to hear you say it.”

Trixie looks at Shea, meets her eyes to make her confession more meaningful and also so Shea will perhaps see how that’s doing the very opposite of helping her.

She falters for a second before she opens her mouth. She��s never thought she’d look into Shea’s eyes to admit she likes someone else. But she does. She hates that she does so right now, but she does.

“Yes. I am sure. Which is not ideal given the circumstances so I don’t know what you’re trying to get at.”

“I just want to see if this is how you feel sober.”

Trixie squints. It takes her a moment.

“Are you saying any of this is my fault for being drunk? What bullshit is this?”

Shea shakes her head. “That’s not what I’m saying at all, we went out to drink, we were all drunk, she was drunk. What I’m saying is that perhaps confessing to Katya that you like her while drunk might not have been the best move.”

Trixie is quiet for a second. “I didn’t exactly confess.”

“Trixie-”

“Listen, no offense but it’s none of your business how it all went down, all it matters is that I was serious and certain, she knows that. You said yourself, she was drunk too, why is this on me?”

“It’s not on you, I’m just trying to understand. I know Katya, Trixie, I know that there is something here that I’m not seeing - that possibly you are not seeing.”

“How could there be anything between immediately going to sleep after fucking and waking up the next day? You think I sleepwalked and sleep-fucked things up?”

Shea considers. “Maybe. That’s what I’m trying to figure out-”

Trixie just gets up, exasperated. “You know what, this was a bad idea. I don’t know why you’re trying to blame me for Katya sleeping with me with no intentions of sticking around when she knows that’s not my thing and then fucking leaving without an explanation. You keep insisting you know Katya, well, fuck off, you’re supposed to know me better! And to fucking care about me, too!”

Trixie knows she’s unleashing anger at Shea that’s aimed at someone else, but she can’t help it, because she’s mad and sad and Shea is supposed to be her best friend, Shea is supposed to be a shoulder to cry on, not this. Her eyes are filled with tears already and she’s trying really hard not to let them fall.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry,” Shea is by her side and she doesn’t even notice, only when she hugs her again and Trixie is too tired to fight it, so she hugs her back.

She cries, finally, even though she really doesn’t want to. She’s choking on these tears that she won’t let out and also on the confusion because, yes, Shea is right, that truly doesn’t sound like something Katya would do and she doesn’t get it.

They break apart when Trixie practically runs out of tears, she’s sure her eyes are red and puffy and she doesn’t care, she just wants to go back to being able to bottle her emotions up because this is simply too much. But now that she’s let herself feel again, apparently that’s how it’s gonna go, always feeling. She hates it.

“I didn’t know you liked her so much, I’m sorry.” Shea says as she tries to make Trixie sit down again, on the same part on the couch that she was before.

Trixie doesn’t even know how much she likes Katya - is liking someone even quantifiable? - what she does know is that this is new to her, it’s the first time it’s happened in ages, and it’s the first time she’s let herself actually feel things in a long time.

And this is where it takes her.

Trixie looks at Shea, her expression compassionate and worried, maybe a bit confused, and she gulps and takes a deep breath.

“This is the first time I’ve really liked someone since…” she doesn’t finish the sentence, regrets having started it. It seemed like a good idea but now that the words started leaving her mouth, she wants to take them back and lock them up again.

“Since what? Clara?”

Trixie only ever dated Clara because she was tired of being lonely, but by that point she’d already been more than aware of her feelings for Shea, she had already been in the bury this deep and never look at it again stage. Complete denial and willing it to cease.

She shakes her head, closes her eyes and covers them with her hands in an attempt to protect herself.

“I never felt anything like this for Clara.”

“What? Then who?”

She takes a deep breath, presses her eyes closed with more force and pushes her fingertips over her eyelids, making patterns that sting a little.

“You,” she whispers.

It’s quiet, then. So quiet that Trixie is convinced - or wants to convince herself - that Shea didn’t hear and it’ll be like she didn’t potentially ruin their friendship.

But then, she hears shuffling. She opens her eyes in desperation and stands up, Shea is probably leaving too because she’s an idiot and somehow is ruining everything. Her eyes take a while to adjust again to the light and to stop with the colored patterns it had been making and she stumbles a bit. Shea holds her pulse, still on the couch.

“Woah, calm down.”

“Sorry,” she sits down again, blinks a few more times before she can open her eyes completely. “I thought you were leaving.”

“I think we’re past that. But I am a bit stunned, you’ll have to give me a moment.”

“No, of course, I didn’t mean-” she stops talking, doesn’t know where she is going. Why did she say anything in the first place? “My feelings for you started a long time ago. But I knew it wasn’t gonna happen and it was just a silly crush and then you met Sasha and she’s great… I thought I had gotten over it, but these things linger, I guess, so I just pretended it never happened and I guess I got used to pretending.”

She’s oversharing, probably, Shea must be so uncomfortable hearing her best friend saying she used to like her so close to her wedding. But she’s can’t stop because this is relevant to her and her situation, having liked Shea makes all of her current feelings more intense and confusing and in a way important. Like it or not, liking Shea had been a part of her. She’s not even sure for how long that lasted, but it did have a say in a lot of her decisions over the years. Particularly one.

“That’s why I didn’t want to be the maid of honor.” She confesses, knows that Shea probably knows it now but would like to hear it anyway. “Don’t get me wrong, I am so happy for you, I really am, I’ve been from the moment you told me, I just- I thought it’d be easier to not be a part of the ceremony? Does that make sense?”

“Yes, of course it does-”

“And,” Shea has more to say but Trixie’s not finished so she just rambles on.“ And that’s probably why it took me so long to realize I liked- liked Katya. Because I liked you and then I was very focused on not liking you or at least not thinking about it and somewhere along the way you became Katya and I missedit and it doesn’t matter anyway because she doesn’t care and I’m always falling for the wrong person, god-”

She lets her head fall to her hands again, sniffs twice trying not to cry.

Shea slides along the couch until she’s by her side, places her hands on her shoulders in a comforting manner.

“Trixie, just breathe, okay. Look at me.”

She tries taking deep breaths. It takes her a while, but she raises her head again and looks at Shea. There’s nothing but understanding in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she feels she has to say it, even if she never decided to like Shea in the first place - would rather she hadn’t at all.

Shea just shakes her head. “For what? I’m sorry I didn’t notice it.”

Trixie shakes her head. “It would only have made things worse.”

“Maybe. But I thought I knew you enough to not let something so big fall to the sides.”

Trixie shrugs. “Doesn’t matter.”

“And I’m sorry Katya did what she did.”

Trixie nods, her heart stings. “Yeah, me too.”

“Did you tell her?”

“What?”

“About me?”

“Oh. No.” She shakes her vehemently. “No way.”

“That’s good, you usually get really honest and personal when you drink.”

Trixie considers it because it’s true, she does, that’s why she always stops on her very well known limit. She shrugs sheepishly. “There wasn’t a lot of talking.”

Shea nods and wrinkles her nose, but then her expression quickly shits to something as close to uncertainty as it could get with Shea and her usual confidence levels. “I’m asking because- well, I’m not trying to make excuses for Katya, okay? But hear me out.”

Trixie just lets her shoulders drop. She doesn’t really want to hear it but might as well get it all out now. “Sure, go ahead.”

“Katya dated her college girlfriend for like five years. From what Sasha told me she went out of her way to make this over the top proposal that she actually hated because the girl loved this kind of thing. They got a venue, a band, dresses. They had everything.”

Trixie is not breathing in anticipation from what Shea is gonna say, from what she said already. This doesn’t match the Katya that doesn’t believe in forever. Or maybe it does - things change, Katya had said.

“The girl left, like, three days before the ceremony. I don’t know the details but apparently she let Katya know with a note on the fridge or something. And I think she left for an old girlfriend, which - they dated for five years so that’s- you know.”

Trixie can barely blink. “I-”

“I’m not defending her or pretending I know what happened. But Katya’s been through some shit with relationships. And she definitely knew she liked you a lot sooner than you did, because she would talk about you all the time with Sasha and anyone willing to listen, really. So, I don’t know, if anything in what you said or did indicated that you weren’t truly invested or that you were hung-up on someone else - I guess I just see where she’s coming from, if that’s the case.”

Trixie feels sick all over again, thinks about Katya planning to marry someone and being practically left at the altar because three days is basically that. She thinks about how she said that she used to believe in forever but didn’t anymore, thinks about how she’d once said that work hadn’t always been her priority but it suddenly was.

Things change.

Her heart aches for Katya, she tries to imagine what she’d do in a situation like that and comes up empty. But her heart also aches for herself, still. She sympathizes with Katya but that’s not an excuse - being hurt is not a good reason to hurt someone else.

“Maybe you should talk to her?” Shea looks hopeful and Trixie is touched by her hope even if possibly unfounded.

“I tried talking to her after she left, she didn’t have anything to say. If I did anything she should have told me then.”

“She should,” Shea agrees with a nod of her head. “I’m not saying she’s right. But maybe she’s had time to think it over? Maybe she feels bad now.”

“She texted me about work a few days ago. She doesn’t.”

“Trixie,” Shea insists and Trixie looks at her. “Since when has being proud helped you in any way?”

It hasn’t. She’s too proud for her own good, it always gets in her way and she knows it.

“I shouldn’t have to be the one to reach out.”

“Didn’t you say she texted you?”

“She did but it’s different-”

“Okay, doesn’t matter. Just do it for you, Trixie. Whatever happens isn’t it best if you at least know what went down?”

Trixie hates when other people are right and she’s wrong.

“Yeah. Maybe.”

For the rest of the evening and pretty much all of the next day she tries not to think about Katya, but her mind can’t get over what she heard from Shea.

She obviously knows now why Katya not liking marriage or forever bothers her - not that she thinks about marrying Katya, but she can’t picture herself getting involved with someone that doesn’t have an interest at least in the general idea of building a life together. And, sure, that doesn’t matter now, but it makes sense of her feelings.

But now it also makes sense how Katya feels. She finds herself immersed in her mind from time to time during the day, building that scenery in her mind. She pictures herself dating, her whole life planned in front of her - happy - and then she comes home to find a note on the refrigerator telling her the wedding that was to happen in three days is cancelled and her partner is gone, off to build the life you both imagined with someone else.

A lump forms in her throat at the fake situation she sees herself in. She can’t really know what Katya must have felt, but she can sort of picture it and her heart aches.

She wants to be just as mad as she was before, but it’s hard. She still doesn’t know what happened for things to escalate so quickly or why Katya acted like she did out of the blue, why she would send texts like the ones she sent, but she can put herself in Katya’s shoes, even if from years ago, and imagine the kind of feelings and fears that still linger from that. She knows really well how past experiences can influence a person.

She hasn’t checked her work email since she’s sent Katya the decoration plans in fear that she would have replied, but now she hopes that here’s any kind of contact from her, so she checks it and just as expected there’s a new one from Katya. She hovers on the mousepad for a few seconds before clicking on it.

Trixie,

I have some questions regarding the flower colors on the entrance area, I was thinking about using that as an official place for guests to take pictures with their own phones. Can you comment on the attached graph?

Thank you,

Katya Zamolodchikova.

She reads it over and over, knows she brought it upon herself that Katya is all serious and business after the texts she had sent, but that was then and this is now. She doesn’t want to feel bad but she does.

Does Katya feel bad? Would she have apologized if Trixie had agreed to talk to her?

She’ll probably regrets this, but she picks up her phone and opens up the text chain she has with Katya, even if now it only displays her number as opposed to her name. The last text is still Katya’s after that night. She does her best not to read it again.

Trixie: hey

Trixie: i can’t open your attachment

It’s a lie, but she can’t find another reason to send her a text. She isn’t sure herself why she’s doing it, except she can’t stop thinking about Katya left at the altar in a beautiful wedding dress - even if that never happened.

Katya: hi

Katya: didn’t expect a text from you

Katya: let me check the file, i’ll send it again

Trixie bites her lower lip, trying to figure out how to keep this going, how to say what she wants to say when she doesn’t know what that is yet.

Trixie: sorry if i was rude the other day

She sends it before she can think it over. Part of her thinks she shouldn’t apologize for anything, she still doesn’t think she did anything wrong even if maybe she overreacted a little - she isn’t the first and won’t be the last adult to casually sleep with a friend. Even if that wasn’t the original goal.

Katya: it’s ok

Katya: i know why you did it

Katya: i’m sorry too

Katya: i hope you know i’m sorry

Katya: things aren’t b&w but either way i didn’t react properly

Katya: and this makes no sense to you but just know that i’m sorry

It makes more sense than Katya could know - Trixie knows more than Katya thinks she does. For some reason Trixie keeps trying to figure out Katya’s crying face, how she would look like once she got home and saw the note that she’d been abandoned after five years and days away from a wedding. She can’t picture it, can’t replace Katya’s usual smile with tears.

Trixie: do you wanna meet up tomorrow?

Trixie: to talk about the wedding?

Trixie: email will probably be more work than it’s worth it

She waits patiently for Katya’s reply, finds herself hopeful for the chance to see her. Maybe this is herself shooting herself in the foot, but Shea was right, Trixie owes to herself to talk about this, if Katya is willing.

Katya: i’d love that

Katya: maybe we can talk about more than just the wedding?

Katya: at that corner café?

Trixie knows the one, it’s the same one they went that first day when they shared their work experiences.

She doesn’t acknowledge the other question, just confirms quickly.

Trixie: see you there at 10

Katya: see ya

Guess Trixie will figure out what went down. Maybe they’ll manage to somehow fix their friendship, at least. Or maybe they’ll officially cut ties.

Trixie doesn’t know which option leaves her more helpless.

#pichitinha #trixya #searching waiting looking #romance #lesbian au #trixie mattel #katya zamolodchikova #i don't really need to leave a tag anymore you know i love this and you - tiff #rpdr fanfiction #background sashea

20 notes · View notes

aggresivelyfriendly · 6 years

Photo

~Who Names The Colors~

Hi loveys! I’m on the beach, I hope!! But this is all cued up for you all!! I am enthrall to @nocontrolforlouis, @bleedinglove4h, and my banner(wo)man @dirtystyles!

All the usual warnings apply! Age Gap, blah blah blah

If this makes you look like the dude above our trio, come SCREAM at me!

Chapter 11-The Scream

December 2014 The sun had risen, just- it was a new day, perhaps a new world. Jo was just as unfamiliar with it as a 16th century Spaniard in a jungle. She just didn't know how to navigate this and had no compass to help, not that she was even sure of what direction she wanted to go. The night had been a fever dream, but dreams unwound, and as undone as Jo had come with them, repeatedly, she was now in an even more complicated situation than before.

She was no longer lusting after a student, she had slept with one, her advisee to boot. The provider in her felt like she needed to immediately call this off. She didn't think Harry would go to the University if she did that, but she knew rejected men often acted in ways that could surprise you, hurt you.

It hadn't felt like he had any wish to hurt her. He'd been sweet and considerate and solicitous.

After they realized it was morning, he had located his phone. "It's 7:30. What time's Zoe get up?" He was still naked, and it was distracting. He was covered in more markings, from her hands and mouth, and he was splotched with gold, except his hand, which revealed him as the Midas who had turned her to gold. If he looked that messy....

"Soon." It was unpredictable when they had nothing going on for the day and as the Christmas holidays dawned schedules were loose. Shit! Ethan.

"Harry, where's Ethan?" Jo had asked as she stood up abruptly and tried to find her clothes. Her shirt she had taken off by where they, well where they were, but Harry had shucked her like a corn before they got into the paint. God, he was so distracting. Thinking about the night before doubly so. She was staring at him, because he was watching her intensely while she panicked.

"Harry?" She whisper shouted.

"Sorry, you look, really," And he was fumbling with the phone in his hand. "Can I take a picture of you?"

"Are you mental?" had been her immediate response. "You want evidence?"

"No, no," his voice went up a little then. "Course not, you just look like a piece of art? Like living and breathing creation." The wonder on his face made her ache. She wanted to go back to night with him. He still seemed to be existing there or had moved to basking in golden dawn where she was definitely standing in the cold of a December morning. She even had gooseflesh, from the cool air in her studio, her nudity, and mostly from reality. "I won't get your face. Just your torso. Want you to see yourself this way too. Please Jo?"

She surprised herself, again, with her response. It seemed to be her continual mood in his presence, "Yeah, go ahead Harry." And she let him stand her behind a painting stool so her lady bits were covered but her shape was revealed. She stood still and rather than curling into herself in embarrassment or shame she found her back straightening and her confidence growing through the lens of his camera, his eye

"Here, look. I'll delete anything that makes you nervous." He handed over his phone, but came to stand behind her and when he breathed she could feel his pebbled nipples on her shoulder blades. The sensation was pleasant and his heat sent the gooseflesh away and Jo forgot what they were doing other than being close for a moment until Harry started to scan through the photos. He had taken about 10 of them. And he hadn't gotten her face like he promised. But he had captured something else. Jo knew she was conventionally attractive, was reminded of it often enough, but she had never felt exquisite. In Harry's pictures, she was just that. In some, the turn of her body was soft and she looked like a nymph, in others, an Amazon. Always otherworldly, mythological. She was breathing heavy when he put the phone in her hand.

"Thank you, for trusting me. Scan through and make sure, so you feel safe." He put his hands on her shoulders and slowly ran them down to her elbows, and his nose came to smell her hair.

He was exquisite.

And he clearly trusted her too. Harry just handed her his phone, while it was open to the camera roll. She leaned back into him, her back resting on his chest. Last time Ethan was home he was showing her pictures and she went to swipe to see another and the yanked it away from her like she was a hot stove. People's phones were as personal an object as they got.

Shit, Ethan! And Zoe was going to be awake any moment.

"Harry, when is Ethan coming? Since he ditched me last night." While she asked, she pulled away and held her clothes to hide the front of her body.

Harry sighed, "I'm not sure, later today? He was hoping his date would go into break...um....sometime today, but he's not exactly an early riser!" He tried to joke.

"Are you?" Jo asked. But instead she winced when she tried to shift and felt the tight paint over her shoulders. Perhaps Harry's pictures lied and she wasn't the best canvas.

"Am I what?" Harry's eyes popped up like popcorn from where he had been admiring her.

"An early riser?" She should be showering, who knew if the paint would come out of her hair with any ease. It might cling on like the memory of last night. She was sure she'd be smelling them and feeling their communion for days. She hoped.

"Um, Yeah, usually but I can sleep all day if I'm up all night, painting or..." And he gave her a cheeky smile.

Her own was timid, she could feel it. How would she act if her feelings weren't so ambiguous? If there was not reason to feel shame of fear, no taboos? Jo imagined she would be jolly, hopeful like Harry seemed to be. She wanted to join him in his time out from reality, she would even take 42 minutes if she had them, but she did not. Zoe and Ethan would be round soon. She hooked a finger toward the door, "I'm gonna shower."

"Can I join you?" She pretended not to hear him as she fled.

Jo was busy freaking the fuck out in the shower about what happened now. She needed to get Harry out of her house before Ethan turned up, and she turned on her monitor, that she was sheepish to admit she still used to check on Zoe, to make sure her little girl was still sleeping. By the grace of god she was, and Jo was gonna get this gold off her body and out of her veins before she woke up. She was also gonna get the 6 foot piece of evidence out of the house. She was gonna get herself together and figure out how to get over this.

The dull thud of a knock interrupted her planing then. "Jo, can I come in?" She heard Harry's voice through the door.

"Um, I'm naked." She asserted and she nearly rolled her eyes, but she most certainly heard his scoff.

"Well, I hope so. Do you need me to wash your back?" He volleyed. When the air was dead for a minute he spoke again, "to get the paint off you. Is it coming out ok?"

It had, but she couldn't see her back, but jo was pretty sure she could explain some paint away and Harry in the bathroom would lead to more than back washing she was fairly sure and all of her resolutions would go down the drain, mixed with paint and come. "Think I got it."

"Jo, can I please come in?" She felt like he had his face against the door, his voice sounded like it.

"I'll be out in a minute." And she would, she thought as she combed and picked the paint out of her hair.

"Can I make you something: tea, coffee, toast then?"

"You can go home if you want Harry." She responded. And lay her own head on the shower door and felt the overwhelming need to cry all of a sudden.

Harry didn't say anything to that and Jo finished up and put on her winter robe, a pregnancy Christmas gift from Ethan, to get her coffee. Her house felt brisk this morning.

She yelped in surprise when she got to her kitchen table and Harry was sitting there, clean, with curling hair like melting chocolate and two mugs of tea on the table.

"Tea one still?" He opened with.

"Um, Yeah," Jo went to the bread box.

"Your bread is in the toaster, I didn't put it on, didn't want it cold for you. I have a banana over here too." his voice was a silly flirt and she wanted to joke with him.

"Thank you." She popped the toast down, and left his innuendo where it lay next to the food on her table. Jo realized she could see her reflection in the microwave glass next to her red toaster. She thought she was alone, that he would have taken the escape from the awkward situation she had set up for them, she hadn't even brushed her teeth, definitely not her locks. Jo smoothed her hair using the blurry image of herself in the door while she waited, she jumped when she saw Harry's reflection. He was right behind her and definitely in her space.

"Jo," Harry said quietly, "I can feel you freaking out. Please, it's freaking me out."

"I'm not freaking out." She said to the microwave and the black box was maybe the only thing that would believe her. "I just need to get cleaned up before Zoe wakes up and I gotta get ready before Ethan gets home." Which means getting you out of my house.

"Which means me leaving." He waited for her to confirm, she wouldn't. It seemed cruel no matter how true is was. "Ok, Miss Jo, I'll leave." And when he put his hands on her shoulders she tensed up like she was about to take impact from a huge lorry. Harry dropped his grip. "May I please have a hug?"

Jo finished her revolution towards him, the one he had started before he read her body language so accurately and knew this move was going to erase her morning's work. The call in his voice, and the base note of hurt too meant she would answer, like the call from the doctor you don't want to get but have to take. She kept her eyes on his clavicle though, his eyes were too much of an eraser. Who knew what would happen if she connected to him there as well.

He wrapped his spaghetti arms around her, he was floppy, like he needed her support to stay upright, and she held him. Jo wanted to hold him, feel him a little too.

"Can you look at me?" He asked to the air around her.

She shook her head against his chest and he nodded his understanding and pressed his mouth to her hair and kissed her there, breathed her ore in.

"Can you come see my new piece? Soon?" He asked, he seemed to be prolonging this hug as much as he could, and Jo clung on too, but opened her balled fists to press her palms to him as well and ran them down to disconnect them before she threw him a bone.

Jo finally looked up. "I'd love to, but, um, I think you'll need to bring it to me at my office, maybe after the new year. I'll be getting ready for my semester." Including checking her rosters to make sure he wasn't in any of her classes. Best to avoid minefields, or at least have a map for them.

"You can't come to my studio?" He was biting his lip before he spoke and she swore she saw wet emotion in his eyes.

She shook her head.

"Are you sure? I have a few things to show you I'm sure, and I think I found a new source of inspiration too." He bit his lip again, this time to try to evoke rather than hold back emotion she thought.

It did bring up something in her. He was successful, but he always was. It may have not had the effect he wanted. Jo's first response was tingly but it's companions came tripping on its heels, Fear, and longing. She had to say something. She knew she should not do this, knew before she kissed him, or fucked him.

"I can't go to your studio, Harry. I think we should not be alone together—"

"We're alone now."

"This should be the last time." They were so close, she was basically part of him still. And then she was kissing him. One last time. "This is the last time." She said against his mouth and promised them both.

"No it's not." He shook his mouth against her and she could feel his words and his grin.

"Has to be. You gotta go." They were still kissing and he was smiling and she was kissing his teeth. And she laughed when their teeth glanced against each other. She meant what she was saying, but she let him pick her up and put her on her kitchen counter and stand between her legs. She was just about to let Harry take her shirt off and maybe have her for breakfast when Zoe cried "Mummy."

Saved by the belle.

Harry was breathing heavily and she pushed him back against the cupboard to get herself back together. "You gotta go!" she said. This time it sounded like she meant it. and he grinned like a cat yellow because of all the canaries, like shrimp turn flamingos pink. Harry kissed her one more time.

"Last one, right?" he smirked at her when he pulled back.

"Get out of here, you cheeky ass!" Jo pushed around him and couldn't help looking back. It made her grin. He was leaning back against her counter top with his eyes closed and first two fingers against his mouth.

Her grin didn't return when she got up and found that Zoe had wet herself while she was being a horrible mother downstairs.

"Oh sweet one!" She pulled her out and stripped her and the bed. Jo heard the door close when she was taking her to the bathroom to rinse her off.

Harry didn't understand, what did he have to lose?

The chance to fuck his professor, again? Whereas she, she looked at her weepy little girl, and later that day, her handsome lad. She had so much to lose.

Ethan when he arrived was a beacon. He looked bright with love. Before she could even tell him he turned her thoughts back on her, like missing the exit on a revolving door.

"Mum, I think you are even prettier today!" He said while she served him and she almost asked what he wanted. Instead, Jo decided to observe him. She decided to turn up the magnification on the microscope up and crawl out from between the sandwiched pieces of glass. It was his turn to be the specimen.

He was grinning, there were no visible marks on his neck, but he had a collar and it was done up over his undershirt which was unusual. She watched him make faces at Zoe, and then pick up his phone to play the Moana song she was singing to her toys, then snap chat it. He was good with her. "Hmmm, thank you, love. How was your date?"

Ethan looked like a the bullfrog in his mouth accidentally had lodged in his throat, "um, it was really good! Not as good as yours though Mum!"He deflected back and she was concerned they were playing figurative ping pong.

"Why do you say that?" Jo tuned away with cheeks like a trash fire. She could feel it.

"You're glowing. Did he stay over?"

Jo looked back to admonish him about little ears and he was already covering Zoe's and smiling like a cartoon villain.

"Ethan! Are you really asking your mum this"?" Because yes, she had had sex, all night, for the first time ever and it was all she could do to not but her hand in the flames while she made breakfast because she wanted to approximate the feeling again. That was not information to share with your son, even if he was grown, and even if your partner was not his mate.

"I'm just dragging you, mum! Can tell it was good because you have paint under your nails. Inspiring?"

She turned back abruptly and knew the blush had migrated to her whole body.

Before she she could help herself, "maybe." Slipped out.

"What's his name? When do I meet him?" Ethan asked and Jo had a moments freak out. No way, no how. That was a scenario that could ever happen. Because Ethan knew the man, very well, and that made him wholly unsuitable. So, like any good parent, she pinged back his pong.

"Why are you so interested in my love life then?" She put some food before Ethan and on the tray Zoe was still using. Hmmm it was about time to transition her outta that.

"You have had bad goes Mum, you deserve somebody who is good to you and who you want." His brown eyes made her soft inside. They looked like her own. "You just look like you might have found it."

No, that was inconceivable, she wasn't gonna entertain that thought. She kissed the top of his head, "so do you!" And left it at that.

But, she did think about it. Jo thought about Harry and the night before and Ethan's attention to the color on her cheeks every time her mind wandered. Later when she was alone because Zoe was taking a nap that may very well be her last and Ethan was getting ready to meet mates at the pub, she got to thinking about it again, it was like the bad penny that kept turning up. Jo even had to stop herself asking if Harry would be at the pub. She needed to focus on the consequences, so she snuck into her studio, returned to the scene of the crime.

She had had time to get herself together this am, but had not been able to clean up the wreckage there. Usually this would be no problem, Ethan rarely came in here and Zoe couldn't do the doorknob she had on it yet. Today it felt like a stolen dress with the sensor still on, incriminating evidence, and she needed to see to it. When she stepped in her fears about the evidence were confirmed, the things made in this room last night weren't just on the canvases, and the proof was everywhere. Jo blushed at the print of her body inside of the thicker gold outline. Where Harry turned her over to press her down, the details were blurry, like she was a golden hummingbird, only hovering and impossible to capture. The halo he'd created when he poured the paint over her was much more defined. The edges of her were clear, like a holy halo.

It made her ache, because it was beautiful and because she had to hide it, and put it away. Him away. That was not a painting she could ever explain. Jo picked up the heavy canvas and hoisted it behind others, blocking the golden image, the memory with it. Jo felt like she needed to get rid of it. She also knew that she would not. Jo felt the imprints of last night within her body and without and would never be able to bear throwing out what she and Harry had made. Not even the memory. The point of coming in here had been to cover her tracks and remind herself the consequences, but instead she was reminiscing, or mourning, she wasn't sure which or what either meant.

A knock sounded on her studio door and she heard it open and she nearly barked at Ethan for intruding. It wasn't nice to be caught with your hands covered in crimson, or gilded here she supposed. She kept her cool but barely, "come in, love."

"I'm gonna head out, everybody but Harry's already there, but he runs late anyways."

She winced at the name. Jo certainly didn't need reminders of him. He surrounded her like the hoodie she had on. It also was a curious fact about him. Jo ran over her own interactions with him backwards. He'd never been late to her class or Zoe's lessons, or babysitting jobs, or her office. "Ok, can you...." she started to ask before she bit her tongue.

"I'll call if I'm gonna be late and no body will drive. Pinky promise." He'd come over to her and extended his pinky to her.

They kept promises, did Smiths, and least the Smiths she made. Jo promised herself she'd try to keep away from Harry as well while she hooked her tiny finger through his. "Thank you!" Jo exhaled and folded him into her arms like Ethan was smaller than her. Like when he was small.

"What were you working on after your hot date?" Ethan asked after she released him.

And then she lied to him, bold faced and intentional, "oh," she snapped the lid on her can of gold paint, which was way lighter than it had been since Harry's golden sunset 6 years ago. "I was so worked up I spilled paint over it. I think I'll have to trash it." She walked over to her bin and put the rest of the gold paint in there.

"That's to bad, mum! I wanted to see what this bloke brought up, besides your blushes!"

She blushed and pushed Ethan playfully out the door. "On with you!"

When he was gone, she sat on the stool Harry had used to protect her and put her head in her hands. "Five Minutes Jo!" She told herself and indulged her thoughts, the ones that kept brimming to the surface, about how he had touched her, treated her soft, but touched her cruel, and brought out desire and actions she had never thought of let alone acted on. She kept her reverie cerebral, she promised herself she was done touching herself to thoughts of him.

When her five minutes were up, she used the rest of Zoe's nap to paint. Her strokes were furious and fast. It was another woman, a voluptuous one, walking another beat, but this one went away from the viewer and Jo figured she had somewhere to be, maybe over a rainbow, or over the cliff. She switched on the monitor an hour in, and was trying to finish the beginnings when Zoe stated to stir. Something was missing and Jo couldn't figure it out.

The cries had reached the can't be ignored stage quickly, and with a mother load of guilt, Jo hustled up the stairs to get her girl.

But the missing piece niggled the back of her mind, all night, through the shop she ran to with Zoe to pick up a special gift for Ethan's stocking and through the easy dinner she threw on, she and Zoe made pizza's, and through bath and bed time.

Jo lay in her own bed, and could not close her eyes, or touch herself, or forget. She wanted to scream, but that was definitely an overreaction.

The ruffle of the bedclothes sounded in her ears before she even made the conscious decision to go to her studio. She threw on her thick robe and grabbed a bottle of wine and the key. She was pulling out the cork and closing the door, as she tossed the refuse, she missed the bin and reversed her steps to fix it. The gold paint can wound up in her hand before she even thought about it.

The Bordeaux was thick on her tongue and dried her mouth out like desire. She popped the top on the metallic pigment and didn't even bother with the paint brush. She dipped the ends of her fingers into it. She stared at the gild on her fingers and swallowed another sip before painting gold smudges for footsteps behind her woman. And the cliff, she was about to smear the gold into the distance. Over that colorful cliff, there was more than a pot of gold, maybe a valley of it instead.

A familiar chuckle hit her ears. Harry's when he was bemused and just that touch annoyed. Then she heard her son's mumbled tones. She was surprised she wasn't relieved. Ethan had made it home, but he had brought a problematic plus one.

"Mum!" Ethan happily smiled at her. "You know by now you don't have to wait up!" He only was mildly slurring, but he was hung on Harry's shoulder like he was much drunker than he appeared to be.

She quirked a brow in Harry's direction for confirmation, but he was avoiding her eyeline.

"Are you alright?" she directed at Ethan and returned Harry's icy shoulder, moving her body between the two of them, physically taking his place. She ignored the race of menthol burn across her skin when her clothed body glanced across his.

"I'm fine, I twisted my ankle trying to do a stupid dance. I could have made it home, but Harry insisted he help me." The ridiculousness of this was plain in Ethan's tone.

"You were limping, nearly fell again at the curb. You need a hand." Harry kept a careful gaze on Ethan.

"Yeah, yeah! Mum, were you painting? You've gone gold again!"

Harry's head snapped up at that and she tried to hide her ombre hand behind her leg.

They stared at each other and Jo shivered and pulled her robe a bit tighter. "I got carried away." She explained.

It looked like Harry wanted to be pleased, a smile crept around his mouth, but it wasn't so much suppressed as blocked.

"Should have seen her this morning, Harry! Not sure what her date was like, because she wouldn't fess up at all. But she had gold speckles on her neck, and in her hand. Even under her fingernails. And it wasn't event he gold paint that had her glowing. Must have been some goodnight kiss, at least that better be all it was, to inspire such crazy artistic fits. Can't wait to see this one. Are you recreating the one you spilled paint on?"

Jo and Harry were still staring while Ethan monologued.

"Mum, were you able to do it again?"

She blinked, "Um, something like it, let's get you off this leg poppet." Jo tried to get him moving, but he resisted.

"Make Harry help me, mum. I don't want that gold on me! Might make me all glowy too, ewww!"

"You are ridiculous!" Jo tried to remain unruffled, but is Harry looking at her had disrobed me, Ethan babbling about her shine made her feel totally stripped. "Harry?" she asked without making contact of any kind with him.

"I got him."

Jo didn't stick around and fled to her studio. She figured she'd be safe there.

Wrong, she was wrong. Apparently Harry saw no impediments.

Or any boundaries. "Harry?" She was startled, but before her hand had even come off her galloping heart, he was off to the races. His mouth covered hers and he swallowed her startled sound, and its follow up moan. His fingers clasped around her own and her heart rate beneath them never slowed down.

He tasted like wine and bread, like a sacrament, and wholly foreign to the morning, like the hours between were centuries.

Her mouth opened, so she could swallow his flavor whole and she took him down and laced her fingers with his before her brain could catch up. His free hand opened her robe and they had to move their hands and uncouple to get it off.

It was her colored hand, the one he held. He stared at it before he took it again. Then he kissed her again, sweet and low down, with slick tongue and wiggle. She followed him close, her bore her weight in their tangled tango and backed up until his back hit the wall.

"I want it!" Harry swallowed the words with his oxygen.

"What?" She tried to keep up with kissing him, if they talked, it gave her time to think.

"The gold, I want it all over me." He groaned out while he tried to her her shirt over her head without stopping their kiss again.

What was he saying? Gold? And then it dawned on her, Ethan had said he didn't want her to get the gold paint on him. Ethan, who was upstairs and Zoe too. And she had just promised herself this morning this was over.

Jo yanked her body away like when she had to yank a distracted Ethan back from walking into oncoming traffic.

"No, Har-H! We can't! I promised!"

"Who?" His mouth gaped open. "You told Ethan?"

"No, course, not!" She said.

"Good" And he rushed back onto her and pressed himself, desire and all from mouth to metatarsals.

Jo felt her shirt coming off her naked torso before she was able to slow again.

"No, no, I promised myself. My job Harry! My kids!" She pushed him against the wall and stumbled back until she was sat on the stool, it wobbled and fell. Jo didn't turn to check the wreckage, she kept her eyes on Harry, who was the picture of sexual frustration, his plaid was pushed off his shoulders and and his undershirt was stuck at nipple level. All that hair was disheveled, she guessed from her clawing at it, and his mouth was red. His eyes, where any green was visible glowed against the blacked out pebbles.

He panted and then threw his head back and shoved both hands into his pants. She could see him give his cock an almighty squeeze and she winced in sympathy. For all three of them.

"Ok, ok, I'll go." He said after taking minutes to collect and calm himself. Watching him unhand himself and catch his breath had Jo panting again, but she couldn't say that, they'd start all over again.

She turned her back to get her eyes off the spectacle she'd created and noticed her gold paint had been spilled.

"Jo," she heard behind her. "I know, I get it. But-" He seemed at a loss. "I'll try. I just don't know if I could go back."

Was her lady walking backward, away from the gold, if not, how did she get the golden footporints. If she wanted to leave, why was she backing away not running.

She nodded and heard the door close.

And she stayed out of her studio, after she cleaned up her hand and the spill. She walked backwards, stayed off campus, gave short worded critiques to Harry's texted pictures of his paintings.

He was increasingly frustrated. His lady was back to hide and seek.

His other texts she deleted. And she stayed away from the golden valley until she picked up the mail one morning just before the semester started while Audrey had Zoe so she could get prepared.

There was no return address, but it was a card, not soliciting mail. She ripped it open trying to think if she was expecting anything.

She wasn't expecting this.

"Dearest Joanne, I think about you every morning and wish I could greet the sun with you once again. In my paintings, my woman, who I wish was you, because then you would be with me and I could paint us together, is hiding from me as well. I would love to see her face, as I long for yours. I think of you constantly and can feel you on my skin, still.

My morning tea tastes different. I suspect it's because after having drank it with the taste of you on my tongue, I want to mix in your lemon and honey. I'd dip it in on my spoon if I could. Please, let the dawn break again. Craving you, sincerely and discretely, Harry"

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry fanfic #harry styles alternate universe #harry Styles au #who Names The colors #wntc #one direction #one direction fanfiction #painter au

53 notes · View notes

sometimesrosy · 5 years

Note

I hate seeing things like this “Someone on reddit (a huge bellarke fan) has had infos on s6 regarding bellarke. She said it was someone she trusts and that unfortunately the person made it clear that bellarke wasn't happening this season, if not ever. She said she completely lost hope... so yeah, low your expectations” I know better than to believe fleakers on reddit or twitter from GOT but it still gets you down knowing you can’t completely disregard it until the season airs

Anonymous said:A reliable moderator on Reddit said she has an insider and so far Bellarke isn’t in Jason’s plans and she was told Bellarke isn’t happening in s6 if not ‘ever’. I really know i shouldn’t believe in things like this, that don’t have open source or sumn but I feel so down. I still have hope I can’t accept that they put all those scenes or dialogues for nothing

Okay. So that’s two on the same topic. So this is going around again…. Three different asks now. And one nagging ask declaring i won’t answer their first. And it’s all bugging me.

*sigh* fine.

honestly i wish y’all just wouldn’t read it. but i should get it out. and you should know why I don’t buy those rumors and understand that I have reasons, I did research when they first came out. I went back to the text. And I have been watching the source of that rumor for literal YEARS now, so I’ve made some analysis on the way she works. I think we all forget that this is the internet, and we know what you said last year, how many times your theories were wrong, and who you blamed when they turned out to be wrong. None of this I say here is being said lightly and I wish I didn’t have to say it, but I think more harm has come from letting these rumors stand without challenging them. So. I guess I should do it, even though I don’t want to. The other option is to just wash my hands of fandom all together. I guess I’m too stubborn. fine. This is going to be a mess because I wrote it all day long, trying to get it out, planning on deleting it, getting new asks, having conversations with people, taking things out, adding others. And I’m just gonna post it and let it go without editing anymore.

I am not delusional. I am not naive. I am not a blind bellarke shipper. I am JUST trying to stick to the text and watch the show. I AM critical, but that does not mean I am negative. I am looking to UNDERSTAND the show on screen. And when rumors or writer commentary doesn’t fit with what I see in the show, I put them aside and do not take them as confirmation of anything.

I have been sitting on this answer all day trying to figure out how to answer it, because it gets pretty negative about… well… about one particular person and I am trying to keep out of drama and mind my own business and stick to the text and my corner of fandom. But I’m so tired of this all the time.

I just went to reddit to find out why it’s coming back and who this redditor is and what they said. So I couldn’t find it in the 100 reddit, but it was in bellarke reddit. I don’t know know WHO that moderator is, although it might be someone I know, who I know listens to the person who started the original rumor, and even if it isn’t him, it’s still pretty clear to me that’s where this new wave of negativity is coming from.

I have been avoiding speaking out on this particular rumor because I did my research when it first showed up and tracked it back to a person I had a meta argument with YEARS ago. And because of that, I’ve been careful to not say too much about it because it ends up sounding like I have a grudge. But it’s too much now. It isn’t fair that this stuff goes around because someone decides they are all knowing and understand everything better than everyone else and they think it’s a good idea to spread bad feelings as “confirmation.”

First of all, I don’t do gossip. I do canon. I analyze canon and stories and film and visuals and symbolism. Whatever someone says outside of canon, I consider it and see how it reflects upon canon. The more official it is, the more I take it seriously. Someone having an unnamed source with no written confirmation of what they said? And then DECLARING their interpretation of undocumented source material to be ACTUAL CANON CONFIRMATION? No. That’s called gossip and rumor and innuendo and interpretation and speculation. NONE OF THAT IS CANON CONFIRMATION.

I am at about third hand here, one person told me what she said about what the inside source said, so I cannot confirm anything I say as truth. But I want to explain the stuff I heard, and why I have decided that, far from confirmation against Bellarke, it actually sounds to me like confirmation FOR bellarke. It’s about interpretation, confirmation bias, point of view, rumors, fears, and ego.

As far as I can tell, someone who is an insider, who is in the know about the writers room said something along the lines of,

“The writer’s room used to argue all the time about whether or not to write romantic bellarke, and now they don’t argue about it anymore.”

The person to whom this was told interpreted that to mean that it was CONFIRMED that Bellarke was dead and JR was NOT GOING TO DO BELLARKE AT ALL. RIP.

Even if the source who said this is a good, honest source, that’s not what was said. At all. That was an INTERPRETATION of the statement, which seems to be strongly influenced by prior assumptions. The statement is saying they decided. That means it could go EITHER one way or the other. EITHER they’re giving up on Bellarke OR they’re committing to it so no arguments needed.

And I don’t understand that interpretation. Because it means that this source of gossip believes that season 5 had absolutely no romance in it. That there was nothing romantic about bellarke to argue about NOT doing.

But in season 5 we had 2199 calls to Bellamy, She must be important to you/She is. Sexy hug. The hostage taker and his girlfriend. Clarke jealous of B/E kissing. TWICE. Another traitor who you love. I always cared about bellamy. Love is not a weakness. Don’t make the same mistake I made when I betrayed you. Go save him. Do you know how much she cares about you? She called you every day. Bellamy inviting her to the bridge and then giving her the romantic “look back” before he leaves. Waking up ONLY Bellarke. Marper charging them with care of their child (that’s not romance that’s MARRIAGE) and facing the new world in each other’s arms, TOGETHER.

I mean, maybe one of those things could be taken out of context and read as romantic when it’s not intended to be, but all of them, one after another? on and on? No. That’s evidence that supports a romantic storyline.

If they CHOSE to not do romantic Bellarke, then there would be NO explicitly romantic moments, Clarke would NOT be compared to Echo in Bellamy’s feelings. They would NOT have used the daily letter trope. The camera would not have closed in on his hand by so much skin and his lips brushing her shoulder. Clarke would NOT have been jealous– a shot that CLOSELY echoed when she saw finn and raven kissing, an explicitly romantic/jealous parallel to a canon love triangle.

And if they had changed their minds about romantic bellarke, they would have wrapped up the 2199 calls as NOT romantic at that fireside. They would have had Bellamy tell Clarke he poisoned Octavia to save Clarke’s life, and it was no big deal. They would have had Clarke tell Echo that Bellamy was her best friend, like a brother to her. But instead, they leave all these things unsaid, unspoken, still to be discovered. There are ACTIVELY open romantic Bellarke plots, especially because Bellamy HAS to either choose Echo and NOT Clarke, or he has to break up with Echo and see what can happen with Clarke, because he loves them both, as stated by Octavia. Or he could keep them both like Finn did. WHICH takes us back to romantic storyline anyway. Not endgame, but romance definitely. Which, EVEN if they have decided to go with endgame B/E STILL makes Bellarke part of a romance. Bellarke was a canon romance in season 5. Love triangle. C/B/E.

The writers CHOSE to put that stuff in there. They CHOSE to announce Bellamy’s love for Clarke as a tipping point for a major MAJOR plot and character moment. If they were clear about NOT putting romance in, they wouldn’t have done that. They would certainly not leave the storylines OPEN and in need of resolution. LIke with Supergirl, where Kara and James kissed and then did a 180 and were like, “nah let’s just be friends, HEy do you think that bland white creep is cute?” They tanked karolsen for a new ship. THIS is not happening on The 100. They did not tank Bellarke. They brought it in tighter and made it more immediate and brought other people into the the story and are forcing the need to CONFRONT the feelings they have for each other, because Bellamy is not going to be able to pretend he doesn’t feel that, when his girlfriend is there, and he SHOULDN’T be feeling it at all.

If they were in the middle and TEASING bellarke and not intending to make it GO romantic, or delaying it and intending to make it go there, they would still be arguing about it being too much or not enough or whatever.

However, if they put all that in there WITHOUT arguing, that means the plan, for everyone, is to do romantic Bellarke. It means they’ve already started.

They know how to do platonic. Raven and Bellamy are platonic. When THEY stood at that window looking into the future of a planet, they DID NOT TOUCH. Platonic. When Bellamy refused to leave Raven behind, it was the memory of CLARKE that made it painful, and Raven jollied him out of it by calling him names and lying to him. NOT romantic. If they had decided to NOT do Bellarke and NOT tease romance or foreshadow it, they know how not to make it romance. Which includes NOT comparing your love for her to your canon girlfriend.

NOW TWO people have declared the source to be a good source. And this has been the problem with this rumor, because this person has a lot of authority within fandom, has been involved with production, has a broad audience and does indeed talk to people. SO she is seen as an authority that cannot be questioned.

There is no authority that cannot be questioned about their opinion.

And I have had significant interaction with this person that calls into question her interpretations, her judgment, and her authority. I once called her a hypocrite because she said I could not possibly know authorial intent, because SHE knew authorial intent and I was wrong. Which, as a teacher, just pisses me the hell off, because she’s basically saying that only certain people are able to understand story, people with authority like hers. She was gatekeeping my interpretation. And, like, my JOB was to teach kids how to think for themselves and come up with interpretations. And that’s what I try to do here. Come up with my interpretations, show you how i got there, encourage you to come up with your own and back them up. I mean if you agree with me, great, but it’s fiction. We all get to interpret things. The better our analysis, the better we can defend it. To just flat out say that she was the authority and SHE knows and can tell everyone what to think? No.

So I guess that’s why I’m going all in on this. I wrote this this morning when I was ranting, but not sure I’d post the vague blog because I try not to be negative. But then I got the second ask so it’s all coming around again, and I already avoided speaking out about it the first time. And that didn’t make it go away. She’s still acting as an authority who knows everything and all she has to do is say it is confirmed, and other people take it as truth because she said it. It’s not like it will cause a rift in fandom. The fandom is in pieces anyway, and anyone who believes her thinks I’m delusional and an embarrassment, according to the anons I get, But I’m going to put this under the cut in the hopes that most people are too lazy to click more. But whatev, she’s not my friend, she doesn’t respect me I don’t respect her. And this whole gossip horror was the nail in my fandom coffin when it first came up a few months ago. I’m not naming names but if you know what’s happening or what happened the first time, you know the story.

I hope this is too long and y’all won’t read it. This is why I have been sitting on this post all day, but I keep getting asks and I’m getting so angry.

I know who said that, and i never trust her interpretations, because she spent season 3 telling us all, definitively, that Lxa was the hero now, CLarke was the Love Interest, and CL was endgame because it was *pretty,* and we had no right to think CL was dark. First of all, pretty does not equal good, and hasn’t been assumed so for like idk a hundred years? But worse, that I had NO RIGHT, to look at it any other way but a beautiful love story. (incidentally silencing abuse victims.) That we COULD NOT understand authorial intent, did not have the ability to do so, but she did, and we were wrong. And not allowed to say anything else.

When she doesn’t understand something in the show, she doesn’t bother trying to understand the story that JR is telling, she just says that he’s a bad writer. When she DOES understand something in the story, she says the writers are so bad that they didn’t do it on purpose, and it’s only because she’s so smart and clever that she figured out their underlying psychological misogyny that they didn’t know they were writing into the story. That’s the Finn as “Nice Guy” storyline.

When the writers actually TELL her that they LITERALLY meant what she saw and they are surprised the fandom missed it, she again goes back to blaming the writers for not being clear enough. When she was TOLD that the CL story in polis was a dark story of Clarke’s psychology and she MISSED it, she AGAIN blamed the writers for not being clear and then. And THEN. Get this. Blamed the fandom for never looking critically at the CL story in POLIS, For only seeing it as pretty, unless they were screaming ABUSE. Remember when I told you she told me I didn’t have a right to my interpretation and she was silencing abuse victims? So. Yeah. She’s referring to me, and those of us who were talking about that seriously, as abuse survivors or psychology students.

Anonymous said:She’s not the only one that claimed Bellarke is never happening. [XX] had some insider too as i remember and tweeted something along those lines of the moderator from Reddit publicly. {XX] is reliable enough and she said something like they aren’t planning canon but I don’t wanna put pressure on her I only saw her tweet she is not a part of fandom drama she’s a part of presskru.

Yeah. I’m not saying her name. That’s her. I’ve spent all morning trying to write my thoughts on this, and on what I’ve seen her do in this fandom for three years. And I found that reddit thread and I’m pretty sure that the mod’s “reliable source” is that woman who is NOT a reliable source. She’s a biased source who does not check her theories against the canon because she’s more interested in hearing herself talk and being right than in actually understanding the story.

Being part of presskru does not mean she is right. The press writing about this show has OFTEN been wrong. DO you remember season 3 at ALL? Some of those people were still writing reviews in season 5 where Clarke and Bellamy did not exist almost. They were trying to rewrite the show as Octavia-Raven-Diyoza centered. She was part of the completely inaccurate interpretations of season 3. Just because someone tells you they are an authority that does not mean you should take what they say without questioning them. QUESTION EVERYTHING.

She is not reliable. She has had consistently bad speculation and has interpreted this show ABSOLUTELY incorrectly MANY times. And when she’s wrong, she says the problem is with the story and the writers, not her meta. She refuses to question her own interpretations or even, really, to check it to the canon show. She believes Bellarke is dead so when someone said something, she IMMEDIATELY decided she had to tell EVERYONE that Bellarke was confirmed dead. This whole rumor comes from her. From her unreliable interpretations and confirmation bias.

Please, don’t take my word for it. Go back over her meta and her speculation. See what she says when the writers tell her to her face that she was wrong, and how she is friends with them until she is facing fandom and then she calls them all bad writers and the show a bad show and the story making no sense. When really, she the show just WENT OVER HER HEAD AND SHE MISSED IT. Every time she calls a writer a bad writer, you can just assume that she did some lazy analysis, jumped to conclusions, and when the story didn’t do what she thought it should, decided the fault was with the writers, the story, the characters, or, well hell, why not just blame me. I did after all say CL was abusive. And that’s why she didn’t bother looking into the symbolism of Clarke’s character development in polis.

Someone told her something, when she knows the whole cast and crew are on lockdown, and she ran to twitter and started telling everyone that she had insider information and she knew the truth. That is not reliable. That is HIGHLY suspect and arrogant and lacks any sort of honor. She needed to be the one who had insider knowledge, so she decided to hurt a whole fandom. She HURT people, because she HAD be the one to know the truth. She was NOT concerned with anyone else and did NOT allow them to be happy shipping their ship.

As far as I can tell, her interpretation of what someone told her is par for the course for her, had nothing to do with the canon, and everything to do with fandom drama, ego, confirmation bias, and the desire to be the authority and have everyone think she’s the shit.

I do not think she’s the shit. Sorry. I think she is an irresponsible writer claiming authority and using it to control those around her. Worse, she’s a teacher. And as a writer and a teacher, that makes me ANGRY. She can’t bully me into following her, or convince me that she’s smarter than me and make me hang on her every word, and so she blocked me a long time ago. But I’ve tried to help people understand the story and come up with their own interpretations and she’s actively gone out of her way to claim her authority to kill a whole ship and fandom. Am I biased? YOU BET. But that bias means I pay very close attention to what she says. And what she says, is suspect.

Please don’t send me any more asks about gossip, rumors or drama. And definitely don’t send me any asks about her.

I would prefer to talk about CANON, literature, film, science fiction, character development, symbolism, storytelling, and Bellarke.

#oh fuck just take this thing #too long; don't bother reading #antis #fandom wank #gossip and rumors #in defense of me

33 notes · View notes

paene-umbra · 5 years

Text

i accidentally deleted the anon for this and i have no idea how to get it back BUT somebody asked me to answer all the questions on the ask meme

END OF THE YEAR ASKS FOR 2018:

(disclaimer: this is going to be so sappy and emotional because I did so many amazing things this past year that I am so incredibly proud of and there will definitely be too much information shared but I don’t care! I can do what I want!)

1. what is one thing you’re very proud of having done this year?

- in 2018 I am proud of cutting my father mostly out of my life. he was the source of so much pain and anxiety and trauma and cutting him out has lifted a huge weight off my shoulders and kickstarted my healing.

2. what is one thing you feel you could have done better?

- I could have done better dealing with friendships. I was so incredibly stressed out for a long time and I let my frustration bleed into my relationship to the point where being around friends and groups was too emotionally draining. I dropped a lot of friends that deserved better and in 2019 I plan on rekindling relationships and giving my friends as much love as they deserve.

3. what do you hope to do better next year?

- since it is already 2019 (whoops) I have a lot of resolutions that I am planning on implementing this year. I am going to put in more effort towards maintaining my mental health while also balancing my classes, work, and friends. I want to get close again to the people I used to be close to.

4. what was something scary you faced and overcame this year?

- in 2018 I started to address a lot of the problems that were contributing to my poor mental health. I began really looking into why I was so afraid of real emotional connection with other people and trying to understand the blockages that were holding me back from being the best version of myself. for the very first time I was able to confront the fact that I have forcing myself to suffer in silence for the sake of my appearance and reputation. for the longest time, I could not stand the possibility of anyone knowing that I was hurting so much because that would have meant admitting that I was being hurt by people who loved me, so I prioritized the way that they felt instead of myself. I tried so hard to pretend that I was stable and well-adjusted because it was easier than confronting the way I let people treat me and all of the hard work that I would have to do to try to heal from my pain. I always thought I had to hide the bad parts of me to be the perfect daughter but hiding something like mental illness doesn’t make the pain magically go away. I’m not a lesser person for being mentally ill. I deserve to be happy and to get the help that I need, and it is not my job anymore to coddle the feelings of the people who hurt me. it was terrifying to admit that I was completely broken for so many years, but I am endlessly proud of finally being able to acknowledge that and start putting myself back together.

5. what did you think would be scary and then was not?

- I thought that speaking in front of crowds was terrifying in theory but after actually having to do it several times for my job, I realized that I have important things to educate people about and that speaking in large groups is the best way to teach them, so being afraid does not help my cause.

6. do you feel like you grew in some way this year? why?

- hell yeah I grew in 2018. I grew enough to be able to put myself before others, to not be afraid of rejection, to push for better treatment, to drop those who hold me back or don’t deserve me, etc…

7. are there people you credit with this growth? who?

- yes, I think that some people helped me to grow. first, I think all the people who hurt me are deserving of the credit towards me developing the strength I needed to drop their negative asses. I also need to give SO MUCH CREDIT to my wonderful boyfriend for showing me what a real man is like and forcing me to deal with everything head-on instead of letting life steamroll me. he is miles ahead of me when it comes to self care but he supports the little steps that I am able to take and he is responsible for so much because of how he lifts me up and encourages me to put in the work. he believes in me and knows that I can and will be better and he has been willing to stay with me as I deal with my issues.

8. what is one piece of advice you’d give other people?

- I think I would tell people that giving up doesn’t fix anything. nothing is solved by letting life overtake you. pushing through when you’re barely keeping your head above water is the hardest thing that you can do. it does not always pay off immediately and sometimes it feels so pointless to keep swimming when it looks like there is water for miles and miles and miles but there is always eventually going to be land. you just have to find it, and I know you can.

9. what was the nicest thing someone did for you?

- his one is hard because my memory is not the best. I can’t think of anything specific but I’m sure that lots of people did lots of nice things for me.

10. who inspires you? why?

- my little inspires me. from the moment she joined my sorority I knew she was special, and as I got to know her and fall in love with her personality, I got so impressed with her and where she is in life in spite of all that has happened to her.

11. what are your main sources of inspiration? why?

- my inspiration mostly comes from people and hearing about the incredible things that some humans have done. hearing about the strength of other people makes me want to be strong.

12. what inspires you more: words, pictures, or music?

- music, for sure. there are so many amazing songs that spark my interest and provoke my thoughts.

13. what scares you, creatively?

- I am not really very creative at all. I think what stopped me from being creative is my fear of rejection. I was so terrified that people would hate me for what I wrote or drew or said that I kept it all to myself and let my creativity die out. maybe someday I will work on rekindling the creative ability, but it is not at the top of my list.

14. what did you enjoy working on most this year?

- my fish! owning bettas gave me something to look forward to doing and gave me an outlet to direct my focus and frustration through. any time I was having a hard day I knew I could look at my lil fishy boys and put my restlessness into caring for them and making sure that they were doing really well.

15. what did you have the most fun doing?

- the most fun I had in 2018 year probably came from being able to live with my roommate/soulmate again this semester. we have had our ups and downs but I love her so much and she is my other half, definitely. she brings out a whole new side of me that lets me be silly and goofy and myself around her.

16. what did you have the least fun doing?

- the least amount of fun in 2018 most likely came from the introspection that I had to do to contribute to my self-care. I did not enjoy the work it took, but I am pleased with the outcome of recognizing what needs to be changed and actually getting to make myself better and happier.

17. what is the best compliment you’ve gotten? why?

- I was recently told “your confidence, happiness, and strength has always inspired me! you’re an incredible human and I’m so thankful to be able to know you” and that was so incredible to hear because I don’t often think about the impact that I have on other people. I never thought I was important enough to influence another person’s life, let alone contribute to making it better in any way. I think it is really nice to know that even when I am struggling, I have the ability to positively impact others.

18. what is the best compliment anyone could ever give you?

- the best compliment would probably be something about how they have seen me grow throughout my years and continuously improve. I am not the best at keeping friends for more than a couple years at a time, so I don’t know if I will ever hear that one.

19. what do you wish people commented on more?

- about me??? I don’t know. I don’t really like other people talking about me lmao but I guess I like hearing people’s first impressions of me and how they differ from how I actually am. those are always fun to learn about.

20. what do you feel is the most underrated thing you have done? why?

- during my high school years, I played therapist A LOT to so many people. I put so much emotional labor into listening to other people and helping them figure out problems or just giving them a shoulder to cry on. rarely was this ever returned by those people, so I felt really used a lot of the time but honestly if I had to do it all over again I wouldn’t change a thing because I want to help people feel better.

21. name (and reblog) at least three things you’ve made this year that you’re proudest of.

- sorry, this one isn’t applicable to me. I don’t really make things or post them to tumblr.

22. what are your goals for next year?

- I plan to stop telling people things that aren’t any of their business. I spent a lot of time keeping everything to myself and when I finally started getting friends I felt like I had to tell them everything about me and my life to keep them interested, but that isn’t true. I need to learn how to keep some things private when they need to be.

I want to rekindle a lot of friendships that I messed up in 2018. I let a lot of people fade out of my life when I should not have.

I want to go to THERAPY!! I want to talk to professionals who can help me structure my path of healing!!!

I want to get more comfortable with the body I’m in. that means wearing less makeup, using fewer snapchat filters and other photo editing techniques, and judging myself less when I wear clothes that maybe aren’t the most flattering. it is okay to be ugly and I am not worth less for not being attractive. I want to stretch more and maybe get into a routine of exercising every now and then to feel better instead of to lose weight. I want to eat healthier and drink more water for my health instead of for the purpose of becoming skinny.

I want to make an effort to be more outgoing and get more involved in my sorority and with my Greek life.

23. name three things you like about yourself – and name one think you like about the person you reblogged this from.

I like my irises! my brown eyes are beautiful and unique no matter what anyone says. My eyes have rings like trees and uneven colors throughout. they are beautiful! I like how soft my hair is and I also like the shape of my lips.

something I like about the person I reblogged this ask from, @makingoutisgreat, is how strong and confident she seems. she is beautiful and she knows it and is not afraid to show it off. it is very inspiring.

#ask meme #long post #personal #laney rants #ask and ye shall recieve

1 note · View note

clarenecessities · 6 years

Text

Queerquiggle/Cybunnypoop

Subtitle: This Again

It’s been around two years since the shit hit the proverbial fan, but seeing as the individual in question has since deleted & remade, some of you may not be aware of whom you’re interacting with.

Queerquiggle & queerneopets are the latest installments in a series of urls belonging to one person, hereafter referred to as the original url, cybunnypoop. Other former urls for his neoblog include (but are not limited to): gaygelatin, shewhoneopetswiththee, neobloq, and candypaintbrush.

I should tell you all off the bat that he’s a Trump supporter, a “recovering” transphobe, and extremely Islamophobic, so this post may contain some upsetting information. There are some instances of misogyny, antisemitism, homophobia, and racism, as well. Oh, and ableism. Honestly, pick an -ism.

None of the information in this post should be a repeat of my first post regarding the matter. Warning: this post is even longer.

As before, I’d be remiss if I didn’t lay out my bias: I don’t like him. He’s been downgraded from “nemesis” to “nuisance,” as he’s no longer harassing minors (as far as I’m aware), but we’re never going to be best buddies.

We’ve spoken several times, though never to any resolution, and with each interaction it became increasingly obvious that it was futile. I ultimately blocked him following repeated propositioning and an unwillingness to engage beyond casting any disagreement as bullying and telling the kids to go back to their safe spaces.

Cybunnypoop is now 25 years old, and he hasn’t started anything major in a while. His posts remain fairly unpopular, though whether that’s the result of the quarantine or simple bad content, I couldn’t say. You’re under no obligation to take my word for any of this. Though I’ve provided links and screenshots where I can, what you make of that evidence is up to you.

TRANSPHOBIA

As it so happens, Cybunnypoop has recently tried listening to another human being, and has been educated about trans issues in a way that ~100 people on the internet offering resources apparently couldn’t accomplish.

What this means is that Cybunnypoop is now IDing with various names (itself nothing new, pseudonyms are an old hat here), gender identities, and pronouns, depending on the platform. I’m sticking with he/him for this post, as those were the last requested on his neopets blog. His description says shey/shem but unfortunately I have no idea how current that is, and his about says “whatever”–so if I’m misgendering here, I apologize; it is not intentional.

I, Clare, Author of This Post, am cis. So it’s not my place to gatekeep or say whether or not he’s ““really trans””. And, as he has expressly admitted to being transphobic in the past, none of this section is really up for debate. I’m just going to provide the information, including his apologies and the redaction thereof. I don’t know that he truly understands everything he did wrong, but he’s explicitly stated he thinks transphobia is bad, so hey, maybe we can all learn something.

I’m gonna try to keep this chronological, so here we go:

A fun little addition to a post via an anonymous terf, “You are still males, you have male privilege, you KNOW NOTHING & NEEVER [sic] WILL KNOW of our goddamn struggles.“ which Cybunnypoop began with “So much agree!”

When asked about the “trans bathroom debacle,” he stated he was, “just afraid it’ll result in sacrificing handicap-accesible bathrooms.” which is only tangentially transphobic but bears addressing: Why would it ever mean that?

Cybunnypoop has something of a preoccupation with the potential negative impact equity would have upon him, and ableism is a convenient vehicle for this–lord knows this country is appalling in terms of accessibility. However, no proposed version of “trans bathroom”s leads to the dissolution of ADA-compliant spaces. Whether it’s allowing trans people to use the bathroom they identify with, or installing/redesignating gender neutral spaces, it remains an issue of improved accessibility, not diminished. A disabled trans person has as much a right to use a bathroom as an able-bodied one.

When he graduated he was questioned on his political beliefs, specifically how he could support Trump and remaining uneducated about trans issues while claiming to be an LGBT ally–and congratulated on graduating. Rather than answering the questions, or thanking them for the congrats and ignoring the rest, Cybunnypoop declared it “harassment”. This is about the standard for what he deems harassment/bullying: Anything that disagrees with him.

Reposted a quote from Dixon Diaz, the alt right guy you may remember him quoting in several citations from my last post, which read, “Liberal: a person who tells you that you’re a bigot if you’re afraid of having weird men in the ladies room, but becomes traumatized if they see “Trump 2016” written in chalk.“ [sic]

trans people bad, diversity bad, children bad & trauma fake

An ongoing problem with fetishizing trans people, dating back long before his identification as trans, and indeed, during the period in which he was a self-avowed transphobe. (Warning: link contains slur!)

This grew more pronounced as he came to understand what it means to be trans, and zeroed in on transwomen in particular. This is itself a complex issue: When is a kink flattering and when is it dehumanizing? Are immutable adjectives inappropriate to fetishize, or is it positive representation?

Again, as a cis person, it isn’t my place to say–I’m just letting y’all know what he’s said, and you can determine how you feel about it. This post isn’t a thinkpiece on my opinions.

Select quotes from The Apology:

“I was transphobic. I was resistant to that term because I felt it was a misnomer. I was more…trans-ignorant, I felt, than “transphobic.” […] I couldn’t see what I was doing because I was too busy, I felt, being attacked.”

“I had a warped view of trans people, and I was too ignorant and stubborn to acknowledge it–to see it, even.”

“[…] it’s hard not to let a jerk taint your view of a minority, especially when that jerk was your introduction to the minority.“

I’ll be honest, my problem with this apology is in how it’s structured, not in its content. It seems to convey genuine remorse, but focuses the bulk of the message on excuses, including that last point, which… isn’t relatable.

Even this I could forgive (after all, he’s new to apologies) if it had heralded a change in attitude–but nothing changed. He continued on as before, and continued to refuse discussions of other issues (which we’re getting to soon).

Which brings us to The Second Apology:

Posted some day and a half after the first, it opens with the artfully passive aggressive line, “I thought this could be over but it’s obviously going to stick around.” And it’s all downhill from there, folks!

“What do you want? What more can I say? There isn’t anything left to say. Nothing will satisfy some people.”

“I never bullied anyone like some do to me.“

“If you don’t want to believe I am different,[…] then the problem is not mine. In these cases, it is a good idea for you to stop talking about me and lying about me“

Here is a glimpse, perhaps, into what he expected. He was waiting for accolades. Commendation. He’d just apologized–and unlike earlier attempts, it was genuine! I don’t know that he anticipated forgiveness, but the outright rejection of that apology by several individuals drove him almost immediately into a bitter tirade, once again foisting the blame onto the people he had hurt or offended.

Aaaand a redaction of former apologies. Unfortunately there doesn’t seem to be a date on this one, so it may be referring to the older apologies, but its content bears addressing:

“Yeah, I apologised like a year ago […], and they refused it, so I’m done apologizing–not that I even have anything to apologise for.

“I’ll sooner die than acknowledge and apologise for their demented reconstructions of my words.“

Which, if this is about the older apologies–oops!

“I won’t deny I said some things that people found offensive, […] but they just took everything and ran apedoodie with it. It amazes me that, for all they claim to hate me, they have this obsession with everything I do and say.”

This is actually fairly emblematic of my own interactions with Cybunnypoop: Specifically, the characterization of all attention as both positive, and obsessive.

What is it about being held responsible for his actions that leads him to cry wolf? Historically, an unwillingness to debate his political beliefs. Oh, he’ll espouse Trump’s “virtues” for paragraphs and paragraphs, but anyone who criticizes him is obviously a liberal idiot who just loves to hate him, and I’ll bet they say “lame,” right? It’s these assumptions about other people that lead him so often to tilt at windmills, rather than addressing the subject at hand.

RACISM

“Obama spending $21 million to put refugees to work…why not spend that money in the inner cities to put young blacks to work… once again Obama and the Democrats have proved the black community is their who’re [sic] because we always come back to them after they screw us” a quote he posted from a Facebook page I won’t even name, because it’s literally got the N-word in it! But he’s definitely not a racist, right?

Obama being (literally) booted out of office, by a Confederate battle flag, symbol of white supremacy since the 1960s. (There’s been some suggestion it’s in the classic minstrel show style. Though he forwent the traditional depiction of red/pink lips in favor of purple, there remains the possibility that he just can’t draw caricatures).

I’m going to address this post more in the ableism section, but it’s worth noticing how often, and how readily, he uses the word c*lored unprompted. This is not the first occasion.

More lambasting of whitewashing as a concept, sarcastically proposing we paint a black person white and mutilate them to better portray Michael Jackson (whom he refers to as ‘Wacko Jacko’, an ableist and derogatory nickname) apparently under the impression that there are no other black men with vitiligo.

I think it’s important to cover this, as from Cybunnypoop’s posts suggesting we be outraged at the “yellow-washing” of Joan Watson (see my previous post) it’s clear that he has no idea what whitewashing means.

It is not literally painting POC white.

The term whitewashing is derived from cheap white paint of chalked lime, used for a long time to refer to a specific means of censorship, “to gloss over or cover up vices, crimes or scandals or to exonerate by means of a perfunctory investigation or through biased presentation of data”. Simply put, it’s revisionist history, and the methods used to maintain that illusory timeline.

It isn’t difficult to see how the term came to be applied to the representative censorship in Hollywood.

Shared a Facebook graphic, “Black people who were never slaves are fighting white people who were never Nazis over a confederate statue erected by democrats, and why, because democrats can’t stand their own history anymore and somehow it’s Trumps Fault? [sic]“

“Also, you see Blacks everywhere, but they’re still considered a minority.” (He appended some context but frankly it’s even more damning.)

The term “spirit animal” is annoying but not because it’s racist, I guess

ISLAMOPHOBIA

Cybunnypoop’s Islamophobia is tied in pretty heavily with his support of Trump, so I’ll be citing a few of those posts in this section as well.

“Ban seven countries’ worth of ideology which promotes violence against women, LGBT people, animals, and nonworshippers? Sounds good to me!”

The cognitive dissonance of a self-avowed Catholic posting this is… incredible.

“Sorry to inform you, but the terrorists who attacked New York, Boston, Orlando, our embassies, and others weren’t Hindus, Buddhists, Christians, Jews, or atheists. They were Muslims.

“It’s not Hinduism, Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, or atheism which oppresses women, slaughters animals, kills gays, and calls for the conversion or beheading of nonbelievers. It’s Islam.

“Until the ideology evolves to be as peaceful and tolerant as it claims, it doesn’t belong in America.”

There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s begin by refuting Trump’s claims that “the vast majority of individuals convicted of terrorism and terrorism-related offenses since 9/11 came here from outside of our country.” Plain old xenophobia, not even in the ballpark of truth. Over the past 15 years, none of the self-described Muslim terrorists committing crime have come from the countries on Trump’s ban list. Zero. The country producing the most successful attacks against the USA is the USA itself.

A basic look at the data further reveals that white supremacist, self-described Christian terrorists actually lead the rate of attack and death toll by about 2:1. Yet, bizarrely, nothing from Cybunnypoop about the ‘violence and intolerance’ of Christianity, or even white supremacy… Who saw that coming?

It speaks to Cybunnypoop’s prejudice that he would believe such a blatantly false piece of information with no investigation or critical thought whatsoever. Although, it may speak more to his unwillingness/inability to use Google. We have had some problems with that in the past.

“Dear Liberals: [sic] You claim to protect women. You claim to protect LGBT. [sic] You claim to protect animals. You claim to protect people who don’t ascribe to the dominant faith. But you’re protecting a violently misogynistic, homophobic, intolerant ideology which still slaughters animals in the name of their god and beheads people who worship otherwise. What the *** is wrong with you?”

Man, for derailing conversations so often to complain about perfectly valid modal grammar he sure loves breaking the English language.

When asked how he could still support Trump, he replied, “Because he hasn’t actually said or done anything wrong. The only thing with which I disagree was the transgender military ban, and that has been shot down, so it’s hardly relevant.”

Particularly in conjunction with his condemnation of liberals on the basis of not like, banning Islam, this is an explicit endorsement of everything from repealing the Alternative Tax Minimum to his sexual misconduct. Everything, except the one thing that directly affects one of Cybunnypoop’s demographics, was right.

HOMOPHOBIA

“I’m not like others in the LGBT spectrum. [bolding mine]

“I hadn’t cared for gay marriage nor had I especially cared to support the cause. […] I’ll fight for the welfare of the many before I’ll fight for the wishes of the few.”

(Well, historically, no, he won’t). Even without the implication that all the gay people who want to get married are selfish, this ignores the reason behind the push for the legalization of gay marriage: The AIDS crisis. Terminally ill gay men were forcibly evicted from their homes after watching their partners die, horribly, because they couldn’t inherit the lease/property. Their partners’ remains were the custody of parents who often wouldn’t allow the survivor to attend the funeral.

Up until gay marriage was legalized on a federal level, these incidents still occurred. One Indiana woman had to pay over $300,000 in taxes upon the death of her wife, and was told by the funeral home she could not arrange for her wife’s cremation as she was an “unrelated third party,” despite having the power of attorney. This is a significant concern.

“I don’t care for "pride.” I’ve actually started to loathe the undertones of the pride movement. […] is it truly worthy of a month and a gold star? […] I think it’s losing relevancy. Can we really celebrate something that’s no longer legally unique? Can we really have pride for… wait, what is it we’re proud of, anyway? We’re legally equal now; we’re socially equal, for the most part.” [bolding mine]

I don’t know if he forgot the homophobia he’s experienced, or if it just doesn’t matter unless it happened it to him.

“The next time someone asks you why LGBT Pride marches exist or why Gay Pride Month is June tell them ‘A bisexual woman named Brenda Howard thought it should be.’“ -Tom Limoncelli

“Another thing–and the most loathsome part–about the “pride movement” concerns the very word itself. “Pride” …be proud of who you are, and be proud of not caring what others think of you. Fine. Sure. It’s fun to wildly flaunt your differences. But what’s the opposite of “pride”? “Shame.” So, if gays are to have pride, does that mean straights are to have shame?”

So why are we to be entitled to pride–why are we allowed to feel good about ourselves and they are not? […] The majority are not oppressive, and even if they wanted to be, they legally couldn’t.

Good news guys, homophobia is dead and definitely super illegal.

“(Never mind the fact that pride is a negative, narcissistic trait and one of the Seven Deadly Sins.)” [bolding mine]

(We interrupt this post to bring you his “Antipridist Pride”)

“While it seems most of the LGB world makes their sexuality their entire identity, I leave it as just one facet of many.“ Once again, he’s not like Those Other Gays.

“ I’ll bet I pissed off a lot of gays with this post, but I don’t care, and I’m proud of not caring.“ (proceeds to describe the LGBT community as loud, angry, straight-bashing, etc. for a good paragraph or so, obviously very much caring)

That’s enough of that post, huh? Let’s move on.

“I know that a lot of the LGBT community is hypocritical–and intolerantly, angrily so. They scream about others giving them tolerance and respect while they don’t give others such basic rights.

“If there’s Black Pride, why couldn’t there be Caucasian Pride? Gay Pride, Straight Pride.“

As I broke down in my last post, Caucasian≠white, and was first misapplied by white supremacists and popularized by actual, literal Nazis. He evidently doesn’t care, and claims I “created” it. (I can assure you, I haven’t been alive since 1785).

“Is it me, or are there actually very few good gay celebrities?”

Doesn’t like the term “lesbian” because its “image is too pornified”. As I understand it this is fairly common among those who were raised in more conservative or religious families, so it’s not an issue per se; it just becomes weird in conjunction with his wanting to be called a dyke at one point (though I can’t find the post where he said that explicitly, only ones where he describes himself as such).

Said he’d expected Ted Cruz to be a “gay prostitute” because he gave off untrustworthy vibes.

MISOGYNY

As I’m sure most of you are aware, Cybunnypoop is pro-life. From certain parties, that can be motivated by misinformation rather than misogyny (though certainly the misogyny drives that misinformation). In his case? Well, actually only about 75% misogyny. The other 25% is empathizing with fetuses just until they’re born. Idk if it’s because of his parental situation or his existential dread or what, but we’re not here to psychoanalyze him; we’re here to review.

“It’s a point which I make constantly. It’s not hard to not get pregnant. You have a variety of options. There’s birth control. There’s getting your man snipped […]. And there is one absolutely fool-proof, sperm-proof way: ABSTINENCE. It’s stupidly simple, but there are self-righteous women and men out there who say–if you’ll pardon my pun–screw that. Free sex, rah rah. But if you don’t want to “risk” a baby, don’t do the do. There are plenty more things to do in life.”

Yeah, it may be “stupidly simple” for an “asexual homosexual” but other people do, in fact, get horny. “There’s birth control.” Where? You gonna pay for it? You gonna talk their “man” into getting a vasectomy? Pay for that?

I want you all to keep in mind that this is the same person who waxed poetic about his addiction to porn. And hentai. Which he downloaded in a public library, because he was just that addicted. But if someone (god forbid) “does the do,” and their birth control fails? Well, too bad. You should have been able to control your libido.

When Trump was elected he had the following to say:

“This is a time for healing.” No, this is a time for you to suck it up. You may not have wanted this result, but I and half of the country did. So, instead of bitching and moaning and trying to undo what I and half of the country have been working hard for, you need to shut the fuck up, go to school, work, or volunteer, and stop being an intolerant, selfish, hypocritical asshole.

Frankly this could go in a lot of sections but it’s using bitch pejoratively so…

Honestly there are more instances but I feel like you get the picture and this thing is already absurdly long, so we’re going to move along.

ANTI-SEMITISM

On screenshots of a neoboard discussing the origins of the ichthys symbol (the Jesus fish), Cybunnypoop added, apropos of nothing, “Hey, how about the fact that Christianity was originally illegal while Judaism was lawful, and the early Christians had to hold some Jewish mores so they wouldn’t be arrested and executed? Interesting, isn’t it…” and tagged it “two can play at that game”.

Christians weren’t being persecuted for not being Jewish; they were being persecuted for refusing to participate in state events from which the Jews were exempt via religious tradition. Christians were too new to be considered traditional, and were therefore considered in contempt of the state when they refused to, say, make a sacrifice on behalf of the Emperor. Also, we called each other brother & sister but still got married, and spoke weekly about eating a man alive, so people were kind of concerned.

Also, like, it was an explicitly socialist religion in an empire. That was never going to end well. The “mores” they had to hold were “don’t be anti-fascist” and “stop meeting in secret, we don’t know who you are and it’s freaking us out,” neither of which is explicitly Jewish and neither of which you can blame the Jews for.

Pretty minor, but in a poorly executed attempt to be inclusive, he wished everyone a happy Easter & Passover at the same time, only to be informed that Passover wouldn’t be happening for a month. So more about the assumption that Jews are lesser Christians again than any direct hostility. Perhaps better evidence of his ignorance of Jewish customs/how to hit “search” on Google.

ABLEISM

Here there be slurs!

Alright. We’re going to begin this with a breakdown of the “lame” issue. Here’s the thing: Cybunnypoop hates it. He compares it (ceaselessly) to the r slur, which he uses liberally in his own defense.

I’m certainly not saying it isn’t a slur, or that you should use it, but to be frank, he’s wrong.

In both severity and time in which it’s been part of the English vernacular, lame is far more akin to other ableist slurs like “dumb,” “stupid,” “moron,” “idiot,”–all words which Cybunnypoop uses on the regular. The closest comparison we have to the r slur would be “cr*ppled”–which Cybunnypoop quotes on the regular.

Dumb is the closest analogue, as those middle three weren’t really popular until the American Eugenics Movement kicked in, but hey. If it bothers him so much, why say any of them?

Simply because, it only bothers him when it affects him directly and is said by his enemy.

For example, no problem whatsoever quoting Trump’s book, Cr*ppled America.

Here he calls someone ableist scum for calling him the r slur, yet here he mocks another’s offense at the term by comparing it to modern medical jargon.

Atheists and Liberals [sic] are “dumb”

“entirely okay” with the R slur

This post, which was also in the racism section, littered with fun slurs and what’s either blatant hypocrisy (see: his regular use of words like dumb/stupid) or one of the most incredible point-dodges I’ve ever seen.

Now we get into a recurring theme, with a recurring character. The problem with most of Cybunnypoop’s legitimate criticisms (e.g. lame is a slur, accessibility is bullshit) is that they’re never even googled, let alone researched, and that they come, 9 times out of 10, at the expense of another minority. Or, through sheer ignorance, one of his own.

“Trans people get [famous trans people]. Gay people get [famous gay people]. Black people get [famous black people]. Who do I get? I get Joe Swanson.”

“While everyone’s battling over how to bend backwards and make others comfortable, I’m just sitting here, cursing out the ungrateful bastards because there are places I can’t even ACCESS. […] And never mind the fact that there is no good disabled representation out there. You know who I get to look up to? Joe frickin’ Swanson. It’s so nice to be a forgotten minority. [bolding his]

Joe Swanson, for those of you who (like me) have no idea who that is, is a character on Family Guy in a wheelchair. This begs the question: Why do you need to shit on other groups and their representation to acknowledge how bad you have it?

There are dozens of famous disabled people I can name off the top of my head. Stephen Hawking, Hellen Keller, Beethoven, Lord Byron, FDR, Frida Kahlo, Sudha Chandran, John Milton–a cursory Google search reveals even more. Saying there are no famous disabled people is a shitty fucking thing to do, both because you’re erasing their accomplishments and you’re depriving other disabled people of that representation by pretending it doesn’t exist. Spreading misinformation so you can complain that everyone else is better off than you specifically is just plain cruel.

“I’m so sick and tired of society catering to race, ethnicity, sexuality, gender, but never giving a thought to people with disabilities. We don’t get a slice of the “diversity” pie.“

Catering to. … Catering to.

“Until our society can grow to acknowledge, accept, and represent the diverse world of disabilities, then we don’t have true equality and diversity.”

Like… he could have just made a post saying this. I mean, we have diversity regardless of equality, but that’s semantics. We don’t have to tear down other minorities to be heard. There’s enough “pie” for everyone.

Society: You should accept everyone regardless of sex, culture, gender, sexuality, race, class, ethnicity, economic status Person: What about disabled people? Society: Huh?

I’m not a big fan of his little infographics, primarily because he uses them exclusively as a platform to strawman himself, but this one in particular is uh, frustrating. If he’s speaking about popular society, very few people accept all the groups he listed, particularly class/economic status. If he’s speaking about our country….

Federal protected classes include: Race, color, religion/creed, national origin/ancestry, sex, age, physical or mental disability, veteran status, genetic information, citizenship.

It’s the same story.

WHAT YOU CAN DO:

BLOCK HIM. Do not reblog his content. Stop him preemptively from reblogging yours. Do not engage with him.

If you try to debate him, he will probably call you a bully, and you will probably get some not-so-mysterious anons. You will definitely be unable to reach a resolution. I know of at least one individual who’s attempting to “rehabilitate” him, so I guess we’ll see how that goes? I’d be genuinely delighted.

Reblog this post if you can, to spread the word.

Educate yourself about the issues addressed in this post. If you have questions, my inbox is always open.

I am not infallible, and I will also make mistakes. Please bring these to my attention immediately and they will be addressed.

This is a much less urgent situation than the previous post, as he’s (mostly) stopped harassing people, but you have a right to be aware of whom you’re interacting with. Whether you block him or befriend him or whatever is up to you, and I hope whatever choice you make is the right choice for you.

#neotag #cybunnypoop #not mentioned: art theft so that's cool #q slur

48 notes · View notes

dlvampires · 7 years

Note

S and M yandere headcanons?

“I’m the yandere asker. Basically what I’m asking for if for you to describe the boys as yanderes (are they possessive, obsessive, clingy, manipulative, etc.), how did they first “fall” for their lover, and what are they doing to keep their Lovers. A good example would be yandere headcanons from Maridiaraba or Dialalagirl tumblr. Hopefully this makes my ask clear now!“

[MTK: Yandere…! \(♥ ∇ ♥)/It’s a veeeeery long post, but I hope it’s ok.

If you want more headcanon-like details or whatever about yandere, just ask! I We’d be more than glad to answer~!

ATTENTION: Be careful, since it portrays them as yandere, it may mention abuse, blood, death and similiar morbid themes; if you can’t take it, don’t read!]

Shuu:

He noticed you during a lesson in the music classroom, while you were arguing with some classmates about classical music; at first he couldn’t stand your loud voice, obviously, but his interest in you awakened as he listened to your passionate and quite clever speech.

He’d be within your surroundings all the time, apparently asleep; you might think it’s always a coincidence, but, actually, he even makes the effort to move in order to follow you wherever you go, silently and secretly observing you. Isn’t that stalking

When you try and talk to him, he’d always look disinterested and would either reply with a few words or not reply at all; although he’d like to tease you very often and he’d be quite responsive whenever you’re in danger or facing troubles…

… but sometimes you may not notice it, because you wouldn’t think it’s trouble in your opinion; remember the guy you were cheerfully talking to some days before? Well, he disappeared…Do you think Shuu might be involved? Nah, he’s too lazy, or so you thought…

… until he killed a man who was harassing you right in front of your eyes.

Reiji:

You were studying at a public library for you next exam/test; Reiji was looking for some textbooks for a school project and noticed you as you were reading a quite voluminous book about Maths, admiring the resolute and passionate gaze of your eyes.

He’d start frequenting the same library in order to observe you carefully; he’d start glaring at whoever dares to disturb you during your study - and he wasn’t pleased whenever you were together with your classmates, group-studying.

He’d start talking to you by faking to be interested in some of the books you borrowed, casually talking about Maths and, eventually, everything about the both of you; you would appreciate his company, because of his good manners and obvious cleverness (though you’d be a little taken aback by his strictness about your posture and stuff like this - but nobody is perfect…).

And as soon as he joins your study group for the first time, offering everyone a cup of the tea he has brought from home in a thermos, you’ll see your classmates falling asleep (?) one after the one, before you also fall into a deep slumber…

… just to wake up in a dungeon, feeling extremily dizzy.

Laito:

Why were you even wandering around the city late at night?! You saw him as he was flirting with some girls at a pub, where you had stopped to greet some friends; you had gone to the restrooms, only to see him licking one of the girls’ neck and… biting it?! Obviously, he had seen you, and you had seen the blood: you had screamed “I won’t tell anyone!” and run straight home.

Well, he had to check out whether you wouldn’treally tell anyone, right? Therefore, after “dealing” with the pub girl, he’d stalk you and find out where you live; he’d leave you alone for some time, just observing you in the meantime. He’d be surprised that you’re keeping your word, but amused that you’re always looking around you with a concerned and fearful look on your face… something he’d start to really like about you.

He’d finally show himself and reassure you he isn’t going to hurt you, starting flirting with you(and also touching you too much) straight away; you’d be quite uncomfortable and embarassed by his costant perverted remarks, but sometimes you’d find him fun when listening to his complaints about his brothers. Oh, he’d feed on you from time to time, since you still fear him and wouldn’t like to hear his dropped voice again, after trying to defy him once.

Laito thought everything was going smoothly, but… if he was once aroused by the idea of sharing his preys with Ayato, he couldn’t really see you with someone else. He started thinking it’d be nice to have all of you just for himself. ALL OF YOU.You’d wake up feeling dizzy after passing out somewhere, confused about your memories, and…

… why were you shackled to a beadhead, in a green unknown bedroom?

Kanato:

You used to help your parents at their pastry shop; you would always been the one taking and delivering his orders, sometimes even bringing him a bonus or free samples of you father’s creations, since he was a regular customer. Once, you had given him a little plate of mini cream puffs for Teddy, noticing how much attached he was to it; therefore he started paying more attention to you.

He’d start observing you and later talking to you, from asking to see the kitchen to giving you the permission to fix his Teddy’s ear, apparently ripped off by one of his brothers; he’d glare at any guy too close to you (and those young men would be found later in bloody puddles…).

You’d be quite interested in him because of his unusual personality and let him explore the kitchen or watch you when baking your own first cakes (you were sincerely a bit creeped out when he sucked your blood from your finger after cutting some fruits); he would always stay by your side as much as possible…

… maybe too much; it had become unsettling and troubling, therefore you kept yourself busy in the kitchen and let the other employees handling the customers, including him. And this didn’t pleased him at all.At night, as you and your parents were cleaning and tidying up, you heard your mother’s terrible scream and went to see what was happening: flames were burning your parents to death and…

… he was there, gazing at you with a sinister smile: “You’re mine~”.

Ayato:

Your best friend had managed to get you in her night school in order to see a basketball match between her class and another; he had noticed there was a new smell between his female classmates and wondered why you were here… maybe just to see Ore-sama playing?! If so, then he wasn’t going to disappoint you for sure!

You’d be fascinated by him; your friend had mentioned him to be the most handsome guy in th school and the best basketball player, after all. He’d purposely look at you whenever he’d scored, making you more and more drawn to him; after the match you’d approach him and enthusiastically praise him, and he’d be very, very pleased by it, so much that he’d tell ou to become his.

You’d naively accept, but very soon find out that you had better not to: he’d always appear beside you when you’d least expect him to, interrogate you about the guy who was talking with you some minutes before (or directly pick a fight with him), scold you if you’d defy him… you’d only be softened a bit by his costant seeking of praise and attention (like a little child).

Wait, were those fangs? You were very shocked by this discovery and having second thoughts; refusing to let him feed on you, the two of you had a fight and you were about to leave him, after telling him that it was too much for you. He stopped you by painfully grabbing your wrist and pulling you to him…

… and God, you were frightend to death by his dark and grim gaze on you.

Subaru:

You were a sacrifical bride and had been sent to live with the Sakamaki brothers; he had warned you to stay away from him, but since you were often taking refuge in the garden from the others, you would meet each other as often, causing to get angry and trying to push you away.

Since you’d go to the garden in any case, he’d start ignoring you at first, only to begin watching you from afar, wondering why you were there despite his threats; later on he would silently keep you company and sometimes briefly answer your questions (yelling at you to be quiet when tired or bothered by them); he would threaten his brothers not to approach you.

He’d finally decide to make you his, starting to feed on you and always keeping an eye on you wherever you’d go; you’d feel somewhat safe with him and at the same time scared (after all, he was a vampire), longing to get away from there, but bitterly aware you couldn’t: he would have killed you, you were sure about it.

You didn’t know how much possessive he was until one of his brothers had tried to sink his fangs into your neck: he had immediately shoved him off of you and started punching him on the floor; you watched in horror as he reduced his brother to nothing less than a pile of blood and flesh.He had frantically stood up, turned to you and…

… promised you that the others were going to suffer the same fate as well.

Ruki:

Your father had suddenly lost his job, so you had decided to help your family by applying for some job and you had been assigned one as a housekeeper at the Mukami’s mansion - oh, and you were to start living there, too. You first met him because of this; but, somehow, it looked like he knew about yourself much more than he should have.

He’d make sure his brothers won’t involve themselves with you; unbeknown to you, he’d regularly check your mobile or anything connecting you to the outside world, often deleting messages from friends and those from your family telling you to come visit them once in a while; he’d always keep you busy with chores and sometimes invite you for some tea, talking about books (he’d ban you from touching the ones in his room, though, saying he’s quite fond of them).

Besides the few times you’d do something wrong and get scolded by him coldly (you’d receive lots of rewards too, since you’d be generally hardworking, patient and obedient), he’d be quite kind with you and would help you cooking and hold conversation with you; even though you can’t understand how he can often guess right about your personal traits, you’d think of him the world, probably even liking him!

Until one day, while cleaning the windows in his room, you took a break and looked at his bookcase; you noticed some papers coming out from some books and thought it’d be appropriate to fix them up: you should have never done it all of those these papers were about his plans to get you and monopolize you, even finding out he had cause your father to lose his job. You were very confused about your felings for him; then, the door suddenly opened and your heart began beating…

… and from his victorious smirk, you realized you were his forever.

Kou:

He was a little taken aback when instead of his autograph you had asked him for a interview; you had explained him you were running a blog about music, J-pop in particular. But what had really surprised him was your inner thoughts: you were totally honest about it and not showing any of the usual fangirls’ feelings; you were very serious about this.

Granting you the permission to interview him, you’d meet in his own house; strangely, his brothers would be absent, a disappointment since you had wanted to meet them too after reading all the things the idol used to tweet about his family; once seated in the living room, the interview would start with your first questions.

He’d very cheerful, but he’d sometimes tease you, however you’d be unflinching and keep on asking further about his carrier and personal life; you would ignore his winking and his mischievous smirks, and “politely” shift away whenever he’d be about to touch you.

Deep down, he was quite annoyed by your attitude, being unlike what he had always experienced with the other girls; he wanted to make you react, he wanted you to feel much more attracted to him than just his idol job and social figure. Therefore, as the interview ended and you stepped towards the exit, you suddenly felt pain in the back of your head and blacked out…

… your blog didn’t update anymore posts.

Yuuma:

He was looking for some new gardening tools and you were on shift that day because of your part-time job as the store’s cashier; first, he was taken aback by your strong and brave attitude when facing a customer who had tried to steal something and had feigned to be innocent; after that, the second thing drawing him to you was the radiant and honest smile given to your customers.

He’d spend more time than needed in the store just in order to see you as much as possible, glaring at any guy winking at you (and probably shoving him to the ground, once left the store); he’d manage to teleport inside the staff’s room to see the schedule and know about all your shifts.

He’d always greet or nod at you everytime your eyes meet, cracking a little smirk; you were just amazed by his height but you thought he was a quite nice guy, though you did notice him being a little rude to some poor young men; but you couldn’t think badly of him since he was always behaving fairly towards you (and kind to the granny who had lost all of her groceries on the ground… unless it was just an act…?).

And the day you got a surprise visit from your actual boyfriend, kissing and teasing you jokinly in front of everyone, he realized he had no other choice but to get rid of that annoyance; you were his, he was a much worthy match for you than that guy. Thus, when the two of you were on the way home…

… he just snapped his neck and only then you were scared by his height.

Azusa:

You had just met him out of nowhere, causing you a jumpscare; you had calmed down a bit, creeped out by his costant and silent staring at you, and asked him if he needed anything from you: his answer “You” had been a warning from the beginning, but probably you had been softened (or bewitched…?) by his fair and faint voice.

He’d gradually include his existence in your life, even revealing his real nature and his past to you; at first you’d be scared, but his honesty would appease you once again; the people around you would also stop seeing you, because of his costant eerie presence and also because you’d get so absorbed in him that you’d forget about them.

He’d seem too much clingy, but you wouldn’t mind since you’d think of it as a need of affection, just more fond than usual. He would beg you of cutting him with his knives and this is the only things left making you uneasy about him, but you will accept it as soon as you realize that’s it’s just a consequence of his past and think that you can “resolve” it.

Thus your overly self-confident attitude deceived you when you told him about moving in with him, in order to start living with him and help him overcome his self-harming habit. He was glad and victoriously (?) pleased by this…

… and now you’re locked up in his room for ever.

#mtk speaks #carla speaks #sakamaki #mukami #diahell #dl #dl headcanon #headcanon #diabolik lovers head #diabolik lovers #ask #anonymous #yandere #yandere dl #yandere dl headcanon

431 notes · View notes