#I should go to bed. this is pointless ruminating and it's not helping me

[queerbrujas]

I was set alight

pairing: morgan x eva navarro word count: 1.7k rating: T

read on ao3

today i bring you two emotionally unintelligent idiots sort-of realizing things... this is a fun way to play the M route, let me tell you.

Eva is quiet. Uncharacteristically so, all things considered: she has never been loud, not exactly, but her presence is never one to go ignored.

And yet when Adam praises her for her instrumental role in the successful mission, she acknowledges it with a nod and a half-smile—and she really is appreciative of the team leader’s recognition, by this point she has nothing but the utmost respect for his opinion—but she manages little else.

Even after the debrief with Rebecca, after they return to the Warehouse, she remains silent. Keeps grasping at a thought she can’t quite reach, one that has her frowning and keeps her from focusing on what happens around her.

The mission had gone well, yes. Far better than anyone had expected given the circumstances, but there had been that one moment—Eva purses her lips at the memory of it, at the tightness it creates in her chest without her permission. She can’t get it out of her mind, keeps ruminating on it because she doesn’t understand why it’s affecting her so much.

Morgan had been okay. It hadn’t been a particularly dangerous threat to the vampires—the DMB had been too diluted to truly affect them beyond mild disorientation, likely something the trappers had a limited supply of, obtained second- or third-hand—and yet it’s useless to try and push the ‘what if’ thoughts out of her mind.

In the end, she excuses herself (to concerned glances from Nate and Farah, but they don’t say anything—they know by now it’s pointless, and it’s been a long day for everyone). Morgan walks her to her room, as has become her habit.

(At first, she’d always bring up how it was an excuse to try and get her into bed; it likely was, but Morgan hasn’t said anything of the sort in a while. She does it now without explanation because it’s just what they do, a constant Eva finds herself admitting she would miss if it were gone—and there’s that thought again, something just out of reach.)

“Something on your mind?” Morgan asks as they reach the door to her bedroom, almost nonchalantly, almost as if she didn’t care about the answer, though Eva knows better: there’s a kind of intention behind the casualness in her voice that she has come to recognize. One that would usually make her smile, but not today.

Eva shakes her head, avoids Morgan’s eyes—she knows what she would find in them, anyway. “Just tired.”

“You’re lying,” comes the immediate response, almost automatic. There’s no venom in it, but neither is there any willingness to let her get away with what she knows—what they both know—is bullshit.

She should have known Morgan would call her out on it. She always does.

Eva bites her bottom lip. It’s not that she doesn’t want to talk about it (talking about things with Morgan is easy, easier than it has ever been with anyone, mostly because there is so little that needs to actually be said), but she just wouldn’t know where to start.

She dares a glance back at Morgan and oh, that’s a mistake. It’s a mistake because she can’t look away now, drawn into the storm of her grey eyes—it’s a look she’s seen on her sometimes, a look that leaves her both hot and cold at the same time. Morgan is easy to talk to except when she isn’t, when she looks at her like that and leaves her speechless and scrambling for words that all her education and all her languages are not enough to find.

(It’s a mess, Eva’s mind is a mess. Too many feelings just on the edge of understanding and too many thoughts she can’t make sense of.)

And still she can’t give her anything but the truth.

“I was just thinking about what happened. With the DMB. You could’ve gotten hurt.”

Morgan’s eyes widen for a second before they narrow again, and she takes a step closer towards Eva—always in her space, as long as she knows she’s welcome in it (and she is, she is, Eva doesn’t know when it happened but being too far from her feels stranger now than being too close).

“Sweetheart, I’m fine.” Morgan’s voice is softer, lower. She raises her hand to hook a finger under Eva’s chin—she doesn’t have to tilt her face so their eyes meet, they’re the same height, but it’s more about the contact, in the end. “I’m always fine.”

No, that’s not true.

“You weren’t fine when we got Sanja back from the trappers.”

The words come out of Eva’s mouth almost too quickly, almost unconsciously. Morgan immediately frowns.

“Hey.” Her fingers grasp Eva’s face more tightly and her voice becomes a razor that cuts through the air, but Eva knows the sharpness is not directed at her—it’s never at her. “If you’re blaming yourself for that—”

Eva shakes her head before Morgan can finish speaking. “I’m not.”

It’s not guilt that has her flashing back to that moment so often: she did what she had to do, she made the right choice for the mission (and would do it again, is how that sentence should end, but even she is aware that's not true).

“But I don’t want you to get hurt again.”

Morgan's hand falls away, and there it is, again, that examining gaze. Again that feeling of burning underneath it, but Eva is nothing if not stubborn, and she stands her ground.

“I can take hits, Eva. I heal.”

It’s meant to be dismissive, Eva knows that. It’s meant to be ‘I’m a vampire, get with the program’. But the warmth underneath the words is unmistakable (to her, at least, now that she has learned to read it), as is the use of her name, something Morgan never does unless she’s being serious.

And yet—

“That’s not the point,” Eva snaps. Of course Morgan can heal, of course she can take hits. This is what she has been trying to tell herself all day, that there’s no reason for her to be worried or for her to feel like this at all, but it doesn’t help the hollowness in her chest.

And instead of arguing, or walking away from the conversation, Morgan just looks—uncertain. Something storm-dark that Eva can’t recognize clouds her eyes and it takes her a moment to ask, in a whisper that seems to stay suspended in the air, “Then what is?”

Well, the point is—the point is—

What even is the point?

The point is so far out of Eva’s reach she can’t begin to look for words to describe it, has no clue where to start: nothing sounds right, nothing sounds like the way she feels. Nothing sounds like the way her throat constricts at the thought of Morgan being hurt again, healing ability be damned, or like the way tension eases out of Eva’s body as soon as they’re touching, like something is off-balance with the world if they’re not.

The point is that words are impossible but the need to say, to do something burns, the urgency and the feeling that this is important and if she doesn’t manage to convey just how important then something, something might break.

The point is that they've drifted so close to each other Eva is suddenly aware of every freckle on Morgan's face, of the way her frown seems to pull at every line on it (she wants to smooth it out, she realizes). Of the way her lips have remained slightly parted after speaking and the heavy, heavy weight of that grey gaze is fully, entirely focused on her.

She’s not sure what does it. It could be any one of a number of things, the warmth of her breath or the look in her eyes or anything, anything. But it's the easiest thing in the world to lean the slightest amount forward, close the few inches of distance between them and it just feels like something she should be doing.

(It's not like she hasn't wondered before what kissing her would be like—it would have been impossible not to, at least in passing, when Morgan had made her physical interest in her so abundantly clear—but the desire to give in has never been as overwhelming as it is now.)

Morgan makes a sound when their lips meet—the contact is soft and it is too much and it is electric, even as it remains gentle. It stirs a fire within Eva she hadn’t realized could ever be there, and before she knows it Morgan’s lips are moving against her own, too, and her hands are buried in the soft, soft strands of Morgan’s hair and how the hell has she gone this long without this—

This, this is how it should feel. This is exactly what she means, what she'd been wanting to say without ever finding the words.

They break apart once, twice, and each time they find each other’s lips again; the warmth of Morgan’s hands has drifted to Eva’s waist and she pulls her closer, closer. Eva can’t imagine wanting this to end—

But eventually, she pulls back for air, air that she needs, still, even if Morgan doesn’t. She rests her forehead against Morgan’s, breathless, lightheaded, and her hand still rests on the back of her neck. “I think that’s the point. Fuck.”

Morgan looks the way Eva feels—her eyes are wide, and her breathing is even heavier. Her hands tighten on Eva’s waist and she swallows, opens her mouth and then closes it again, seemingly lost for words. (Eva knows the feeling.)

Morgan lifts a hand to Eva’s face, the touch featherlight and tentative as she drags her thumb across Eva’s bottom lip, and Eva wants to kiss her again, wants to say so many things she still doesn’t have the words for.

Morgan’s voice is soft and like it’s coming from miles away when she says, “You should get some rest, sweetheart.”

She draws back—and there is hesitation in her when she does, Eva is sure of this, but she herself is too out of it to say anything, do anything. Morgan looks at her as though she doesn’t know what to do, but in the end, she runs a hand through her hair and turns away.

“I’ll see you later.”

Right. Yeah. That’s probably a good idea.

#the wayhaven chronicles #qbwrites #qbwritestwc #oc: eva #twc morgan

[chwepen]

stacy’s mom ↦ hvc

♢ genre: fluff, bits of angst and crack(?) ♢ word count: 4k ♢ summary: it may sound crazy, but you have good reason to believe your best friend may have a crush on your mom.

read on ao3!

The first inkling of suspicion began with a bouquet of flowers.

Driving home, you had expected your mother to be in her rose garden by the time you arrived. She often spent the afternoons tending to the flowers in the backyard. Whether it was clipping leaves from the stems or simply soaking in the summer sun, she enjoyed her hobby. Likewise, you liked that she had something to take comfort in while your father was at the office until the late afternoon and you and your younger brother were off with friends or in class.

What you didn’t expect was Hansol’s car to be parked in the driveway. You could recognize his beat-up Volkswagen anywhere, never mind by the house where it was stationed countless times before today. He had morning classes before yours, so it was common you’d come home to find his car parked on the grass near the street and him inside with his feet up on the family couch, headphones in and head bopping back and forth. However, this time, that wasn’t the case. You checked the garage and kitchen, but neither his bag, his headphones, nor the man himself were anywhere to be found.

Fed up with the busy day you had, you walked through the living room and towards the glass door leading out to the yard. You stopped dead in your tracks though once you saw your friend and your mother in deep conversation. Your mother was in her usual gardening gear: a blue gingham apron tied to her waist and her old visor sitting atop her head. Hansol was wearing a Metal Gear Solid t-shirt and cargo shorts, not a speck of dirt on him compared to your mother who had soil-stained hands.

With your palm still on the door handle, your eyes darted to the bouquet of flowers in Hansol’s, wondering if you had to blink twice to see the scene in front of you clearer.

“Hansol, I can’t believe it,” your mother spoke, eyes alight. Her words were breathless but loud enough for you to hear through the door.

“I know. It took me long enough right?” Hansol laughed. His smile was usually bright, brighter than it should’ve been allowed to be, but his voice was shaking and the curves of his body fidgeting in a way you had never seen before.

A blush sprang up on both of their cheeks, and you felt bile in the back of your throat. Your whole life, the only man capable of making your mother blush was your father, whether by making an inside joke or kissing her without warning. 

She took the flowers from him, inspecting each one with only the knowledge of someone with a green thumb. The entire time, she beamed. “They’re perfect.”

“I know it’s sudden—“

“You don’t have to explain it to me. I understand.” She placed her hand on his forearm, squeezing it with either motherly reassurance or something else entirely. “Don’t worry, honey. Our secret’s safe with me.” Your mom winked.

You backed away, tiptoeing until you made it to the stairs and ran up to your room. More than a dozen questions ran through your head once you sat down on your bed. Why was he giving Mom flowers? Why were they acting so weird about it? Where did he even find flowers? How did he pay for them? He just got fired from Prince’s Pretzels.

The thoughts swam on, circling and burrowing in your mind. Then, a theory broke through and made you freeze in your spot. He has a crush on her? 

No fucking way.

Hansol never gave you a reason to suspect such a thing. He didn’t joke with Seungkwan or Doyoung about it, at least not to your knowledge. Of course, he never would tell you if he did, but you were certain he respected you and your family more than enough not to.

Still, you knew he had dated some junior cheerleader his freshman year of high school. Guys were known for finding older women attractive, but could that mean that attraction, particularly Hansol’s, could extend to your mother?

“That’s ridiculous,” you whispered out loud to yourself, pushing the speculation out of your mind to stop yourself from feeling nauseous. There was no way on the planet one of your best friends would be into your mom. And even if he did, he definitely wouldn’t act out on those feelings and expect you to be okay with it, right?

Your door opened out of nowhere. Before whoever was on the other side suspected you were acting abnormal, you grabbed the novel on your nightstand and flipped it open to a random page. You pretended to read as Hansol strolled in with a bag of chips in his hand and no bouquet in sight.

“I didn’t realize you were back. Did Professor Lee let you out that early,” Hansol asked, hopping into bed next to you. He reached his hand into the bag of chips, putting a good amount of them into his mouth. You set your book down in disbelief, the guy outside shaking like a leaf so foreign compared to your best friend stuffing his face next to you. How could he be so nonchalant?

“Y-Yeah,” you stammered, “Lee’s kid had some sort of issue at daycare so he ran out half an hour before we could do lab-work.”

“Sweet. Time for Hulu.“ He turned to you, his face looking at yours with a tinge of confusion. “Are you alright?”

Besides the fact that I think you’re into my mom?

“Yeah, everything’s great.” You stuck your own hand into the bag, feigning a smile as you popped a chip in your mouth. He smiled back at you with joy, believing your guise, and grabbed the TV remote. His shoulder brushed yours as he reached over, and you felt the static of his shirt cling to your sweater. Something akin to a spark lit inside of your chest, but before you could ruminate on it further, you stamped it out.

Hansol flickered through the show and film previews with blissful ignorance of how unsettled you were by what you knew and what feelings it brought to the surface.

You couldn’t help but speculate more after Sunday dinner, three days after the bouquet episode.

Hansol and Joshua in tow, they had spent a good portion of the night discussing FIFA and current music releases with your brother. He was only a few years younger than you and your friends, but he got along with them so well it was like you rarely needed to be there for them to hang out. Your parents had been deep in their own conversations all night, mostly about your father’s new business lead and your mother’s visit to see her sister on Friday.

They had touched hands throughout, happy to be in each other’s presence when they didn’t have time during the week. You could tell on your mom’s face. And Hansol looked like he always did—ridiculously chipper and goofy. There was no way two individuals would ruin such happy lives for some irrational and pointless affair.

Once you had cleared the table, you strolled over to your mother at the kitchen sink, eager to help her. “You don’t need to do this, I got it.” Your mom shooed you off. She loved doing chores on her own for some ungodly reason, but you tried all the time to be included to ease the burden. Your father, brother, and the guys all wandered off, and you wanted to help even if your mother didn’t ask for it.

“Can you let me help you just this once,” you replied, a pout on your lips.

“How about this? Go grab your brother’s hamper from his room. That way after I wash his clothes he’ll actually have something to wear to school on Monday.”

You laughed and kissed your mom on the cheek before walking away. Your brother’s bedroom was right across from yours upstairs, so you took the usual trek to pester him and complete your mother’s request all at once.

A step away from the door, you could make out the rumbling sounds of a video game and your brother’s voice. “Dude, are you sure about this? I mean, I know it’s how you feel, but is it worth fucking things up?”

Your eyes widened. 

“He wouldn’t be asking you if it wasn’t, dumbass,” Joshua chimed in. The night’s dinner almost made its way back up your throat, knowing the “he” in question was neither your brother nor Joshua. “But he’s got a point, Han. You’ve had more than enough time to spit it out.”

Finally, you heard Hansol speak up. “I know, okay? It seems like the worst timing, but I really care about her. I may even— Look, I know I should consider all the complicated shit in the middle. But I have to give it a shot.”

“Well, I can’t stop you, man. Just do it before you chicken out,” your brother responded.

You can stop him, you fucking idiot.

You stepped into the room, and the boys were surprised to see you there as though you had entered private territory. “What are you guys chatting about,” you asked outright, fed up with speculating.

“None of your business,” your brother replied, never looking away from the television.

“Don’t forget who helped change your diapers, asshole.”

“It was nothing, honestly,” Hansol interrupted, flinging the controller at Joshua. “Take my place. I was dying out there, anyway.”

Hansol looked at you with his typical warmth and concern, but that fresh, foreign spark rose up inside of you. This week had been an amalgamation of oddities. Why did now have to be the time for your feelings to be so tangled up? Especially when he looked at you the way he did so easily without noticing its effect on you? 

Or could it be that you finally noticed it and that newfound clarity scared the shit out of you?

“What’d you need,” he asked.

“I was grabbing the asshole’s hamper. Mom asked for it.” Your brother stuck his tongue out at you in response, and you kindly sent the same expression his way with the addition of your middle finger.

Hansol laughed. “I can help.” He took it from your hands and made his way to the door. When you didn’t move, he turned his head and smiled. “You coming?”

With a nod, you remained silent as you both exited your brother’s bedroom. 

You hated that you were questioning the simple act of him helping you do an uncomplicated task for your mother. You hated how Hansol seemed unbothered by what he had been hiding from you, all while you both walked down the stairs and handed over the hamper to your mother, the two none the wiser to the fact that you were questioning them. You hated a lot of things in the moment, the biggest one being the jumble of questions in your brain that got bigger with every suspicious moment you caught Hansol in. And when the night came to a close, you knew all the aching feelings inside of you weren’t going away until you got to the bottom of the situation.

“You can’t be serious!” Rin cackled, almost doubling over and running into a random stranger.  The mall was quiet on a Monday at 12 o’clock, a few mall-crawlers and the occasional mom-with-a-stroller passing the both of you. Professor Lee had to run out for another parental emergency, so you appreciated the free impromptu day off from class. It allowed for you to deal with your issues head-on, especially with the advice of a friend. Typically, you would run to Hansol with a problem this big, but seeing as he was part of the problem itself, it hurt even more that you couldn’t confide in him.

Abnormal was the only word to describe how it felt dodging his phone calls and text messages, only replying once or twice in the past few days. You gave him enough so he wouldn’t notice anything weird but without any of the typical humor you both exchanged. How could you tell your best friend that you were thinking such things about him, only made worse by the feelings budding underneath the surface of those thoughts?

“You sound like a goddamn crazy person,” Rin said. Her bags bounced off of her hips as she walked, but she didn’t notice. She just looked at you like a you were the funniest and most insane woman on the planet. To her credit, you didn’t blame her.

“I know, okay,” you whined, “I know it sounds nuts, but you haven’t seen what I’ve seen this past week and a half. He’s been so weird around me, and then when I see him and her together…” You blanched, horrified that you made your mother sound like the other woman in this fucked-up equation. “Anyway, I just needed to ask you what you would do in this kind of situation.”

Rin scoffed. “Well, I would first not expect my best friend to want to bang my mom, that’s for sure.”

“What the fuck, Rin?”

“Okay, too far,” She admitted with a smile. “What I mean is you have to think about how realistic you’re being here. Like come on, don’t you think he would’ve shown some signs a lot earlier if he was really into your mom? I know we’re not teenagers anymore, but Hansol has never been the type to hide his feelings.”

“I get it, okay Rin? But how do you rationalize any guy your age and—“ You stopped yourself when you noticed Rin’s smile fade slowly, eyes alight with surprise and confusion until they widened completely. “What?”

You turned in the direction of her gaze. The sight of your mother and your best friend walking towards a jewelry store was one that stung to the bone. Your mother dragged Hansol to the entrance. His eyes were skeptical but the two of them shared knowing, humorous glances. They vanished into the store hand in hand. You felt the pit you had been making a home for in your stomach for the past week expand like a balloon. The weight of it became so heavy you couldn’t feel anything besides it, its mass too agonizing to bear any more today.

“I gotta go home,” you croaked, turning back in the direction of the main entrance.

“Hey, wait a second! Maybe it’s not what you—“ Rin tried to put a reassuring hand on your shoulder but you brushed her off.

“Rin, I just need to go home.”

The house was still vacant by the time you arrived home. You sank into the living room couch, clutching onto a frilly throw pillow for support. Not only was the predicament getting ridiculous, but so unnecessarily painful. If they could just prove your suspicions either wrong or right, you could move on and forget the whole thing ever happened.

After another twenty minutes of contemplating, the front door opened. Your mother had no shopping bag in her hand or any outward evidence she had been at the mall, only her satchel strapped across her chest and a Lowe’s bag filled with what you assumed was more flower seeds. “Hey kiddo. Didn’t think you’d be home so early! Was class rescheduled again,” Your mother asked. 

The carefree tone of her voice spiked a nerve, and before you could contain yourself, you said, “Why do you care? Worried I’ll find out something you don’t want me to?”

Your mother’s face contorted into surprised confusion with a twinge of hurt in her eyes. How could she pretend for this long with this much effort?

“Forget it, I’m going upstairs,” you said before she could respond. Your shoulder almost knocked into hers as you passed her to make it to your room. You were grateful you didn’t get closer, otherwise you would’ve broken down or screamed and it would’ve made it worse. All you wanted to do was lay down and forget for a minute.

The pillow was soft under your head as you tossed and turned, your desire to take a nap outweighed by your stubbornness to know what was going on. After a minute of struggling under the covers, you pressed your back flat against the mattress and splayed out like a starfish, listening to the cars pass on your street and eyes boring into the popcorn ceiling.

I can’t do this anymore.

With a deep sigh, you promised yourself the next time you saw Hansol, you would ask him to tell you the truth. And whatever the truth was, you would be grateful for the burden being lifted off of your shoulders, even if it hurt.

One dull Psychology lesson later, Wednesday was shaping up to be one of the better days of the last two weeks. You had spent all of yesterday hanging out with Rin and your mother, Rin biting her tongue for a majority of the time and your mother showing you the newest garden catalog she got in the mail. 

You had been taken aback by the fact your mother so easily forgot your outburst the day prior, but you were grateful to pretend for one day that things weren’t in silent disarray. Maybe you could fake it too for a little longer, just until the next time you saw Hansol and then everything would be out in the open, and that was what you were afraid of most.

Arriving home, you mother and father were in the kitchen, the aroma of pasta and garlic bread wafting into the hallway for you to smell immediately as you closed the door.

“Hey! Good to see you before five, stranger.” Your dad was wearing his “Kiss the Cook” apron that your mother bought for him a Christmas ago, even though she was the best cook of the two of them.

“What are you doing home so early,” you asked, beaming.

“I closed another account with one of the firm’s head honchos, so they gave me the rest of the week off as a thank-you,” he responded.

“And thank you, indeed.” Your mom winked, mixing the sauce and pasta shells together. “Since this is the last time I can think of that your dad has had time away, we’re going to stay in the city for a few days to celebrate.”

“Perfect time too. Your mother’s been raving about that botanical showcase for a month now.”

“You remembered!” Your mother grinned.

“Of course. How could I forget,” your dad asked, coming up behind her and giving her a kiss on the back of the head.

What. The. Fuck?

Did you imagine the past few days in your mind? It couldn’t be that easy for things to go back to normal.

“Honey, I forgot to bring in my gardening gloves. Can you get them for me,” your mother asked you with a smile.

“Sure, no problem,” you replied. Dropping your bag near the kitchen island, you walked towards the glass patio door that led to the backyard. Maybe things were that simple and it could be like the worry and hurt had never existed. It was all in your head, you assured yourself.

Then, surprisingly, you came face to face with Hansol in the backyard, a bouquet of flowers in his hands. 

He was wearing his favorite plaid blue button-up with a wife-beater peeking out underneath, a pair of denim jeans to match. The flowers were identical to the ones you had seen Hansol give your mother a week ago. The most you had ever seen Hansol style his hair was by putting a thick comb through it, but it was obvious he primped himself up.

Your chest sank, perplexed as to why he was at your house and if this had to do with what had been going on recently. Despite the realization you couldn’t shrug off those events, you were happy to finally be alone with him after what felt like eons ago.

What were you doing with my mom?

Why is everything so confusing?

Do you know that I’ve missed you?

“Hey loser,” you replied, knowing what came out didn’t convey everything that was on your mind. And while you tried to sound lighthearted, the words were flat as they left your lips. Nevertheless, Hansol replied with his boyish smile.

He stepped closer to you, but you held a hand up to stop him. “Before you say whatever you’re about to say to me, I need to say something first,” you interrupted him, feeling a sudden cord around your throat.

“I know what’s been going on… between you and my mom.” Tears welled in the back of your throat as Hansol looked at you with a gaped mouth and wide eyes, speechless. “And I may not understand it, but I do know my mom is an amazing person and it’s not crazy to imagine she was a catch in her day, weird as that sounds,” you said, holding back a flinch.

“That being said,” you continued, “you’re my best friend, Han. And I—“ No matter how hard you tried to or how many times you had said those three words to him in the past, they struck differently now. The realization had been there for awhile, planted somewhere down the line and in the smallest of ways, but it had grown and sprouted like the flowers in his hands until you couldn’t hide it anymore. But now because of this predicament, you wondered if you would ever be able to say you loved him the way you yearned to.

“—I just want you to be happy,” you whispered, tears falling slowly down your face. “And while this may make you happy, I don’t know if I can accept it, and if that means that we can’t be friends anymore, then—“

As quickly as you had said the words, Hansol dropped the bouquet of flowers and strode forward, pressing his palms to either side of your face and kissing you hard.

You stood there for a moment, stunned it was happening and instantly, extremely shaken by how wrong all of the signs had been. “Idiot” was too easy of a word to describe how you felt and how you had been acting, coming to such a ludicrous conclusion before you had all the facts in front of you. But it didn’t completely explain what Hansol had been doing all those times you caught him in less-than-stellar acts. The answers could wait until later, though. 

Shifting your focus back on your best friend, you kissed Hansol back and grabbed onto the front of his white tank peaking out of his plaid blue shirt. You both stood there clung tight to one another until you heard a whistle come from the window that looked into the kitchen. “I know you’re in love and all but quit making out, you two. You’re still my daughter,” Your dad yelled.

You both separated immediately, tiny but meaningful blushes on both of your faces.

“Why now,” you asked.

Hansol shrugged, breathless. “I don’t know, I just— I just remember walking to the cafe one morning and wanting to show these new lyrics I had written the night before. And then when I was waiting in line I wanted to buy you a cold brew because I know without one before your morning World Lit class you go ballistic,” he said, a laugh erupting from both of your throats. Your eyes became watery again as he spoke. “I woke up wanting to do a lot of things with you, and for you, and I guess I knew after I realized that that I wanted nothing more than to just be with you, whether you wanted that too or not.”

You wrapped your arms around him in a hug when he finished his speech, thinking about how ridiculous he was for believing somewhere inside of him you wouldn’t want everything he wanted and more. Even if that meant watching dumb falling compilations with him on Youtube or listening to his mixtapes that he would never finish, you would do it for him.

“Now, what the hell were you saying about me liking your mom?” You could hear your dad’s chuckle and your mother gasp in the kitchen, the two clearly eavesdropping on your conversation.

“It’s a long story,” you replied, “but I had seen you bring my mom flowers—“

“Which I was asking her about because I know she would know what you’d like,” he interrupted. “Oh!” He turned and quickly picked the bouquet back up, dusting off the wrapping paper that held the flowers in place. “For you.”

You laughed and took the flowers with a smile. “And I heard you and my brother talking last time you and Josh came over for dinner.”

“And we were obviously…“ He had a playful look in his eyes, waiting for you to finish the sentence as a way of teasing you.

“About me, jerk, I get it.” You scoffed. “But then why were you at the mall with my mom a few days ago?”

“What, were you spying on me?!”

“It was an honest coincidence!”

Hansol rolled his eyes and placed his hands in his pocket. “Well, I was gonna wait until after our date to give this to you, but fuck it.” A box inside of his palm caught your attention. When he opened it, a pair of golden teardrop earrings glistened in the afternoon sunlight. You gawked, but Hansol stopped you, knowing where your thoughts were going. “They were within my budget, so don’t tell me to take them back. All those tips I saved from Prince’s paid off, even if I could’ve done better.”

“Shut up, they’re beautiful.” They were textured but a simple yellow-gold color.

“You always said necklaces made your neck itchy,” he said.

You beamed ear to ear and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. This was more than you could have imagined. At the beginning of last week, you wouldn’t have predicted a bouquet of flowers you believed were for someone else would lead to such a surprisingly beautiful conclusion. And there was still more to come, but hopefully what was waiting for the both you involved less bizarre antics and misunderstandings.

“I love you, loser.”

author’s note: I’m back!! After a million years!! I am so glad to be back on here and writing again. I missed you guys and i missed this, just writing for the hell of it and not worrying about all the stuff that kept me away for so long. I hope you all love this story as much as I do and I can’t wait for you to read what else I have coming! x

#vernon fic #vernon fics #hansol fic #hansol fics #vernon x reader #seventeen fic #seventeen fics #vernon fluff #hansol fluff

[pfreadsandwrites]

Congrats on gaining 100 followers🎉🎉You deserve all of them and more! 🥳 I'm looking forward to everything you're planning to write in the future❤️ As for the prompts, would you please do #160 with Kakashi? Go wild with it 👁👁 Thank you and I wish the best for your blog❤️

100 follower celebration

Okay, here it is! I want to thank you specifically @madaras-housewife because you have been so amazing and supportive from the first fic I posted here and your encouragement has really helped this blog grow and made me write more. So thank you so much, and I’m sorry this took me forever to get out!! This was a bit of an unusual one so it took me a while to think about, and apologies if it’s not wild enough heh but I tried my best to develop it into something. But thank you for everything and I really hope you enjoy this :) I tried my best to go ‘out there’ and wild with it lol.  Also can I just say this mangacap is perfect for the last part of this one-shot lol. 

warnings/notes: third person, Kakashi pov, female civilian reader (she works at the hospital but plz don’t ask for details beyond that lol), pining Kakashi, kinda fluffy, then kinda sad, then kinda hopeful, marking this as 18+ since there is a paragraph that is brief NSFW mentions, in my mind this takes place between the time skip between part 1 and part 2 but it doesn’t really matter. Told in 4 small vignettes/parts essentially. 2.7k words.

taglist: @allthingskakashi @datblobbyfish @enchantedpendant @madaras-housewife @ibukiirisha @praisingkuroosbedhead @cinam00n @feelingsandemotionsnotexplored

160. “Do you think you could teach me that?”

i.

It’s a simple question.

Of course, it’s also a pointless question, one that Kakashi’s sure she’ll see through, one that he shouldn’t even think about asking.

Of course, he’s in the hospital again. Of course, she’s the one with the misfortune of tending to him again. Of course, he’s mesmerised while her hands dutifully wrap the tourniquet around his arm, like she’s cutting off the blood to his brain.

So, of course, he asks it without thinking.

The self-admonishment starts before the words finish leaving his mouth.

Do you think you could teach me that?

His cheeks heat up as the words catch up with him. They echo again and again, serving only to jeer at him further. What the hell is he thinking, making a request like that? A request that’s so nonsensical, so outlandish, so flimsily shrouding its true intent that she’d be justified in ridiculing him right there.

But it’s done now. Here he is, asking a bizarre favour of a civilian woman already doing him a favour.

Kakashi’d be content if the ground gives away underneath him, snatching him from this damn hospital bed. When he ponders the situation further, and he finds himself contemplating her reaction - no doubt a bewildered, adorable expression would grace her beautiful features (God, how much deeper could he get?) - he almost wants to slap himself. How did he go from the Copy Ninja, Konoha’s best jounin, to an awkward dork so swiftly and smoothly? Not only that, but she hadn’t even said anything yet. Kakashi wanted to die.

Fortunately, she only pauses. Unfortunately, her delicate fingers still against his skin, and the sensation flusters and soothes him simultaneously. But it’s only for a moment, before she diligently returns to the task at hand. Even if she’s surprised, or worse, amused, she knows to conceal it. Taking his question seriously in that earnest way that only she can. It should have eased his mind, but instead there’s only guilt at having perplexed her.

“…You want to learn this? Don’t you have enough on your plate?” She asks, bereft of judgement or ridicule.

He shouldn’t have expected any less, he knows that, and yet he still finds himself on the edge. On that precipice between anxiety and comfort, where he’s always standing around her. He can’t even formulate a response to her simple question. Yes - he probably did have enough to do. And yes, he wouldn’t have got this far without some knowledge of first aid and basic medical ninjutsu - and she probably knew that too.

“I could probably manage. It’s not a problem if you don’t have the time.” As typical as it is for him to answer a question without explaining himself further, he berates himself for it this time. Why had he made this so convoluted? And why does she let him?

“I could probably make time,” she retorts, though her voice remains gentle. “I just didn’t think there’d be anything useful you could learn from me, or that you didn’t already know.”

Nothing useful you could learn from me, or that you didn’t already know.

This time, her words echo in his mind. They’re just as kind and nudging as he thought they would be. But that didn’t mean they were any less ridiculous.

Apparently, there’s nothing he can learn from her. Nothing she can teach him.

Nothing he can learn from the woman who always smiles so brightly and indiscriminately at anyone who graced her that it renders them all equal - turning everyone from the grumpy old curmudgeon to the innocent newborn to cheerful, optimistic entities at her mercy. Nothing he can learn from her inability to use her mysterious power for anything but good, to see the value in everyone, in him, against all better judgement.

Nothing he can learn from her selflessness, and her weird knack for chiding herself for her momentary lapses in kindness, for things others don’t think twice about. Nothing he can learn from her patience and empathy in the most ridiculous situations, and her faltering in it when she draws the attention inwards.

Nothing he could learn from the woman who’s determination to revel in life, even as the opposite surrounded her, surrounded him, surrounded everyone in this cursed village, managed to bring even the heavy weight of death to its knees. Nothing he could learn from the woman who didn’t even seem fazed by it, as she tended to the hospital’s neonates with a giggle and a zest for life that he barely comprehends, much less hopes to emulate.

If - he surprises himself at his optimism, but he owes it to her - he’s incapable of learning nothing from all that, then there isn’t much hope for him at all. And if there’s one thing she inspires, if he can even pick one, it’s hope.

Kakashi eventually stops ruminating. And of course, she lets him. A wry smile forms on his lips. “I wouldn’t say that.”

She glances back at him expectantly. Curiously.

“I think there’s a lot you could teach me, you know.”

She’s already taught him without intending to, he remembers, when she doesn’t press him for an explanation. She only smiles that shy, powerful smile.

But they both know it’s acknowledgement. Of what he’s trying to say, of what he’s asking her in his awkward, haphazard way. Kind as she is, even if she shouldn’t be, she agrees.

***

ii.

And so, ever the one to keep her promise, she sets about teaching him. And Kakashi, ever the one to falter, but never one to abandon, keeps coming back. He’s a quick learner in more ways he thought.

She teaches him that finding something to smile about in the day is easier than it seems.

She teaches him to laugh when he drops by the hospital to see her and a very small patient points at his hair and berates him from escaping from the geriatric ward.

She teaches him allowance for his mistakes, and respite for his suffering.

She teaches him what a fool he’s been for denying himself an embrace all these years.

She teaches him that a kiss might be more eternal, more damning, more fate-consigning that it has any right to be.

She doesn’t have to teach him just how intoxicating, addictive it is to kiss her between the legs. She doesn’t have to teach him just where and how to move his tongue before she’s tugging at that wild silver hair of his. And when he moves in her, when she clutches onto him for dear life, whispering his name in that weak, but lingering whimper, when their breaths mingle together and she manages to exalt everything from him - his love, his strength, his seed - she doesn’t have to teach him that though the price of vulnerability is high, the reward is even higher.

She teaches him, when he dares ask what he sees in a man like her, that there’s an answer to that question that satisfies him.

She teaches him that whilst leaving for a mission used to be easy, it might one day become difficult - even for him, the one who has over a thousand under his belt, the one who only has that many because he wished one would kill him. She teaches him to admit that, too.

And when it does become difficult, just as she taught, he learns that a person waiting back home is much more motivating than a death wish could ever be.

She teaches him to forgive himself, as she begins to accompany him on his graveside visits. She teaches him that there’s a chance - a small chance, Kakashi admits, but a chance nonetheless - that there’s more for his life than living it as a penance to ghosts.

She teaches him that dreaming isn’t just for the young, the idealistic, the good. It’s for the hurt, tired veteran too.

She teaches him that hearing those three words aren’t as terrifying as he’d convinced himself all these years.

He learns, when he finally returns them, that he should have said it back long ago. Because it was all worth it just for that look on her face.

***

iii.

Their time together, dreamlike as it is, is always interrupted.

She’s used to it, calmly nodding in his direction at the summoning bird that’s taken to pecking at her window now too. He nods in kind, and with a quick kiss, he’s off on his next mission. She’s always accepting, always understanding, but the patient stare that bores into his back as he leaps off towards the gravestone (an eternal part of the farewell ritual) belies her anxiety.

Still, Kakashi does make it back. And he does again and again. Sometimes his returns are at the hospital - and that expression of hers, where she doesn’t know whether to chide him for his injury or cry that he’s still in one piece - fills him with equal parts guilt and encouragement.

She still never loses that smile, though. The smile that everyone knows.

He has to leave it behind again.

He makes it back. Without a scratch, for once, but figures he might surprise her at the hospital anyway. Strange. He used to be so good at avoiding this place, and now it’s the first place he comes to of his own accord. It’s just another way he’s lost against her, but he doesn’t begrudge it. Maybe he wants some praise for being more careful, but he won’t admit that outright. Maybe he’s getting worse and worse at waiting for that smile, too.

His optimism is never rewarded. He’s been through enough to remember that, but he’s still foolish enough to forget.

It feels different, today, walking through the corridors that she’s made so inexplicably light, so jovial. She easily leaves her mark without trying, to the awe of shinobi and civilians alike.

So when the atmosphere is dense, experience teaches him to dread it. He asks at the front desk, forgetting his tendency to hide all he can about his personal life. The woman stares up at him with wide eyes, hesitating before regaining her composure.

“(Name) isn’t working at the moment. She’s in room 175.”

She doesn’t say anything else, but it wouldn’t matter if she had. The familiar dread creeps up through his bones.

He’s prepared himself for the worst by the time he’s at her room, but it’s moot when he sees her lying there. She’s lost all her colour, she’s thinner - everything about her that’d remembered these few weeks had become so weak. Her vivacity, her will to endure, had even fooled him. But she was just as fragile as anyone else. Except for him. Why the fuck couldn’t he break, instead of someone else, instead of something that meant anything just this one fucking time?

He sits at her bedside, his calloused fingers touching her dainty ones. She’s only sleeping, at least. Purple and blue spread like constellations over her skin, bandages on her arms and cheeks - the kind of injuries he’d expect on a ninja. Of a ninja too. Thoughts upon thoughts flood his mind - how the hell did this happen? Who did this to her? If she’s not safe in the damn village that he fought to protect, where the hell could she be safe?

And, of course, the curse that he’s done so well to forget he has. Did this happen, somehow, because against all judgement, he had let himself become close to her? It makes sense that he’d only be able to fool himself to a point.

And, of course, as if to shush his self-loathing and anxiety, in that fucking selfless way she always did, that broke his heart even more - her fingers move against his.

She blinks her eyes open slowly and turns her gaze to him. She doesn’t have the energy to smile, but she tries to mimic it in the look in her eyes.

“I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

He clasps her hand tight - and lets go just as quickly when she winces. “What the hell happened, (Name)?”

She softens her gaze. “It’s funny that I’m the one that ended up like this, when you’re the one that went out on a mission.” Her tone is light, but somehow the hum of her voice brings gravity, whether she wants it to or not.

She won’t answer his question. As if she feels guilty that she’s putting him through something, which only hurts all the more. And Kakashi knows that insisting too strongly is too unfair, too cruel when she seems so tired, no matter how much his blood boils.

There was an attack, he figures that much, and he overhears more from a nurse. A drunk jounin who’d come across her on his way home.

It’s dealt with swiftly, with the speed and efficiency Kakashi prides himself on, but it isn’t enough. He can’t forgive himself, even if she does.

She recovers soon enough, but only to a point.

Her smile is gone. The openness she’d inspire in everyone around her, the joy she’d invite - it dwindles down to nothing. It’s all too much, too familiar, a sad story he’s seen up and close too many times.

Any smile she makes now is a facsimile, a ghost of anything she could have offered previously. But her kindness still forces her to attempt it, no matter how much it hurts, when Kakashi looks at her.

As impressive as her will is, it’s only finite. He berates himself as she breaks one night, and sobs into his chest.

But she doesn’t do it again.

She doesn’t seem to do much of anything anymore.

He has another mission.

***

iv.

Kakashi’s at the training grounds again. He’s here a lot these days. When there isn’t a mission, he’s got into the habit of putting his body through the wringer. It’s what he deserves, at the very least. Besides, he has a lot more free time than he used to. As the raindrops mix with his sweat, his lightning style blends just as seamlessly with the sky.

“Do you think you could teach me that?”

The voice is familiar. Gentle, just like it used to be. Shakier than it used to be, but there’s a faint hint of the quiet resolve he used to hear, that he was foolish enough to take for granted.

He pauses. The chakra he’d gathered in his hands dissipates, and he turns around. He’s no amateur, he knew he wasn’t alone. But he could tell his little observer wasn’t there to pose a threat, either. She watches him with her wide eyes, the wide eyes that historically and even now freeze him in place. She was never one to marvel at his ninjutsu before, only acquiescing or being impressed where appropriate, - and that’s not quite what she’s doing now, either.

“Well -,” she holds her right arm with her left. It’s a normal gesture. One that would have endeared him, but only makes his heart sink now. Suddenly it’s difficult to watch her doubt herself. “Not that exactly. I don’t even want to do that even if I could. But anything you can teach me. It doesn’t have to be a lot. I think I’d be fine with a little. It’d be enough to feel better. If you don’t have too much on your plate.”

He’s watching her now, studying that expression in her eyes. Where she’s determined and defiant, even in that modest way. He believes her - she doesn’t want to learn a lot. She doesn’t want to be too much like him. But she’s allowing herself to learn from him. She’s letting herself take, not just give.

“Alright. Tomorrow, then. But let’s get you home first. It’s late, raining…,” his voice trails off, brushing off the rain from his hair sheepishly. “And I could use a break.”

She begins to smile that shy, powerful smile again. It’s sincere, and her ability to infect others with it seems to have returned. “That’s fine by me. I hear you’ve been overdoing it lately."

Kakashi finds himself grinning back.

Do you think you could teach me that?

It’s a simple question.

#kakashi x reader #kakashi #hatake kakashi #kakashi hatake #naruto #kakashi fanfiction #pfwrites #this must be my favourite prompt i've written #listening to missed the boat whilst writing this like WOW I'MA SAD #WHY THIS DOESN'T SHOW IN TAG I CRY

[emily-strange]

Growing Pains...

So here it is. The first chapter of my RDR2 Story. I can’t believe I’m doing this….please be kind? But also really happy for constructive criticism! Bit of a long one to start, just to get it all going. 

Any advice on Titles? I’m terrible with them!!

Summary: Emmy has been with the gang since she was a little girl. Her mother moved on, leaving her to be raised by Dutch, Hosea and Susan. Arthur and John are her brothers (argue and she will fight you). Becoming a woman is hard when everyone still sees you as a child. Since the Blackwater mess she’s trying to find her feet while dealing with her new feelings for the gangs resident douchebag. 

Pairing: None yet, eventual Micah x female OC.

Warnings: Swearing, Sexual themes, Minor mention of blood (they’re outlaws after all).

Chapter 1

God it’s good to have Sean back. I know how much he pisses everyone off, but that guy has been my partner in crime since before I can remember. My life lacked a lotta fun before he found himself with us. He’s like my weird, Irish, little brother…. who’s older than me. And hooks up with my favourite aunt/sister/best girl-friend. Yeah, this family is one screwed up party.

“Whatta you writin’ there?” John asks before almost collapsing on me, “You know there’s a party goin’ on right?”. I look around and in fact only see Uncle, the Reverend and Susan still up, chatting around a table scattered with bottle.

“Yes, I’m well aware” I say rolling my eyes. I close my journal before he can catch a glimpse. He’s always trying to.

“You’ve spent way too much time with Arthur” he slurs before taking another swig of whiskey and handing the bottle to me. I take a glug like it’s water. Hell, been drinking the stuff since I was young enough to only have water.

“I like the writin’ thing. Gives me a way to complain about ya without getting in trouble from Hosea”.

John takes the bottle and clutches his chest like he’s been shot, “Cruel, just cruel. I came all the way here from that tree to check on ya” he laughs and points to a tree only a few steps away, “….you were on ma stop before Abiga..”, I can’t help but interrupt him.

“No, John! You’re drunk. You’ll do more damage than good. You haven’t fought in days. Why ruin that!?”. I know I sound shrill but my God, he’s exhausting sometimes!

“Cauz. I’m horn…….nevermind.” he quickly takes another glug of his drink and avoids eye contact until I’m pretty much staring him down, face to face. Idiot boy. I can’t believe that after Jack I’m the youngest.

He finally meets my eyes, “Alright! God damn, I’ll goda bed! Jeesus. From now on ya Emmy Morgan not….ya know…..whatever” he says while slumping down, clearly fed up of being scolded like a child. I hate having to be his brain sometimes. But if I didn’t think for him, he’d of never come home. It was one of my best days riding back into camp after getting him from the station. It was hard but he’s my brother. Blood or not.

I kiss his cheek and hug him around his shoulders.

“Go to bed John,” I mumble into his shoulder “it’ll all look better in the mornin’”. I pull back and he nods before getting up on shaky, drunken legs.

“Yeah, yeah. Night little sister. Just. Please do me a favor?”. I tilt my head to signal him to continue, “Don’t just write about ya life like Arthur. Live it. Ya young.”. He pats my head clumsily and I smile. I quite like drunk John. More often than not he talks more sense than sober John.

I watch him stumble towards his own tent. I can just about see him collapse onto his cot and after a few moments, when I’m sure he won’t stumble back out of it into Abigail’s, waking her and Jack, I turn back to the fire and my journal.

Lord this gang. This family. I’d be lost without them but sometimes feel smothered by them. Dutch hasn’t let me leave the camp once since we got here. Too worried about Pinkertons and O’Driscoll’s. I should be grateful that he wants to act as my pa when mine was so shite, but he isn’t my pa. And I’m not the child I once was. Hosea sees it, John sees it, Arthur….well, Arthur begrudgingly sees it but he sees it nonetheless. Maybe if I get Arthur on side?

I slam my journal with an incredibly audible huff, “Why do I have to get anyone on side. I’m 18 God dammit, nearly 19! Abigail had Jack at my age”. A voice cuts through my quiet and has me jumping out of my skin.

“I wouldn’t model yourself on Miss Roberts if I were you,” Micah comes into view in front of me. Taking a seat on the other side of the fire, “A bit of a ‘loose’ cannon if you follow my meanin’”.

He’s not got his coat on and he’s wearing that red shirt he loves so much. Sleeves rolled up. Why the heck do I keep looking at his arms? His hat’s sat as always on top of his blonde mop of hair.

“Micah” I greet. Somewhat curtly, not that I was meaning to. Still catching my breath from his shock arrival. “I didn’t hear you.”.

He laughs deeply at that and opens his arms in a wide gesture, “It’s a skill sweetheart”. I hate it when he calls me that. I don’t like what it does to me. And it ruins the sweetness of it that Arthur has when he calls me it. But I know asking him to stop will only encourage him more so I keep quiet.

“So”, I whistle out the word, “how much of that did you hear?”. I take a chance and look up at him, only to regret it. He’s sporting that shit-eating grin of his.

“Well, I heard you play mother to scar face aaaand then mutter to ya self about not bein’ a child….bit childish though aint it? Talkin’ to ya self I mean”, Micah huffs a laugh at his own joke and takes a hearty swig of the bottle he’s holding. He holds it out to me and stupidly, I accept.

“Teasing other people about their private thoughts Mr Bell. Also a bit ‘childish’ aint it?”, I finish the bottle and put it down by the log I’m leaning against. I watch him as he pretends to ponder.

“Maybe.” Is the only answer he gives. Well this was well and truly pointless.

We look at each other for a few moments. I hate that smug look on his face! So why can’t I look away?

Thankfully he breaks the silence before it gets too awkward.

“Dutch been keepin’ ya on a short leash?” he asks while throwing twigs into the flames. I’m almost stunned at how normally he asks the question. No mirth or venom. I catch myself smiling, hopefully just before he notices. I clear my throat.

“Um, yeah. He has. He’s worried. But I used to do quite a lot outta camp before, well, ya know”, he nods along with my words “It’s kinda suffocating here sometimes”. I feel guilt wash over me at admitting my plight to another person. Some people would give their right leg to be coddled like this. To be kept safe in camp away from the evils that stalk us. Micah breaks me out of my own thoughts.

“Don’t do that” he says. I look up at him but he’s still staring at the fire. When I don’t reply, only look quizzically at him he continues. “Don’t feel bad for wantin’ more. For wantin’ to do somethin’ other than sew and scrub shit off people’s shoes. Guilt. It’s pointless. A useless emotion. Used by weaker people to keep the better ones down.”.

“You don’t actually believe that right? Guilt. It….the feeling means you’re human….that you care about other people.”, he looks at me then. Dead in the eyes. Unblinking.

“Well then sweetheart. I guess I’m not human”.

What can I possibly say to that?

I clear my throat again and take a moment to ruminate on what he’s just said. I break the eye contact but I can tell he’s still looking at me.

“That’s not true Mr Bell. You’re human. I’ve seen you bleed like the rest of ‘em. Patched you up a bit too if you remember.”. I think briefly of a time before Blackwater, when he came back to camp after a run in with the O’Driscolls’. He’d been slashed on the side by a knife. Nothing too bad but my word did it bleed. I gave him the stiches myself. Been doing that for a long time now. Everyone thought it best to get another person in the know of how to do the basic stuff.

He’d come back into camp clutching his side and shoved everyone away. Saying he could do it himself. Grabbed the needle and thread before dropping the flaps of his tent and getting to work. Everyone let him. I mean, wouldn’t you? In the months he’d been running with us he hadn’t been kind to pretty much anyone. I’d kept my distance. Arthur asked me to and, well he’s my big brother so. But when I walked past Micah’s tent, and I heard him whimper like a dying rabbit. I couldn’t just head to bed.

“Mr Bell?” I called gently, “Mr Bell?”.

I received a strained “what!?” in return. I’ve never really been one to scare easily. Maybe this was my own little version of playing with fire. But I just walked right into his tent. No asking, no preamble. Just, walked right in.

He was sat on his cot, shirtless. He was using his black shirt to try and stem the bleeding and despite the dark colour, I could see it become drenched in crimson. He looked at me, breathless and pale.

“What the hell do ya think ya doin’?!” he said. He wasn’t shouting. Probably felt too weak for that. His mouth hung open and he was almost panting. Sweat beading on his forehead and chest.

Despite my very best efforts, my eyes were drawn to his chest. It looked, firm? Firm and rippled with patches of light hair. Scars were scattered on his chest and stomach but his arms were basically intact. I was pulled from my thoughts by his gruff voice. “Girl!?” he spat as sternly as his condition would muster.

I gathered myself quickly and rushed to his side, kneeling on the floor.

“I’m gonna help you Mr Bell whether you want me to or not so for this once, just hush. I won’t tell anyone that you let me help you and once you’re sewn up I’m gone.”. As I hurried my words out, I took the needle and thread from beside him on the cot. I figured if I did it quickly enough he’d be too slow in this state to refuse. I threaded the needle easily and gently pushed on his chest to move him back a bit. He was warm and clammy under my palms but it wasn’t lost on me that this was my first time touching the chest of a man who wasn’t what I considered ‘family’.

Micah had grunted but stayed quiet. I could feel him watching me.  

I took the shirt away from his side and with as much cold detachment as I could muster, poured alcohol onto the wound from the bottle he’d readied on the floor. He held is breath and despite him trying to be as silent as possible, he groaned in pain. I tried to ignore that horrible noise as I started sewing up his wound. He muffled his groans by biting his lips and punching the cot next to him. I glanced up at his face and his eyes were screwed shut. My God, he looked….vulnerable.

When I was done I fished around the floor for something that looked almost clean to press to his side. I knelt there as his breathing returned to normal and I chanced my luck by letting my eyes wander a bit more from the wound. I took in his stomach, his face, his hands. But in particular, his arms. They looked solid. And at that moment I felt myself blush.

I pushed myself up to standing and looked anywhere but his face. I nodded at nothing in particular and basically ran out of the tent.

That night I came on my fingers to the thought of biting Micah Bell’s strong biceps as he hovered above me. Couldn’t look him in the eye since then. Well until Colter. Had much bigger fish to fry then.

I was brought back to the present when I felt a weight lean against my arm. In my distraction, Micah had moved to sit next to me. Shoulder to shoulder.

“Oooh I remember” he drawled, facing forward, “remember you scurrying away quick as lightening as well” he mused further. He smelled of whiskey and cigarettes. Nothing new for the people around here. But he smelt of something else. Something spicy. Woody? Is that a thing people can smell like?

“I uh, remember you not wanting help. So thought I’d spare you the embarrassment of small talk.” I replied not looking when he turned his face towards me. Leaning in close to my ear.

“Hmm well ain’t that kind”, he whispered and I’m so very proud of the fact that I could keep the shiver I felt from showing. What on earth was happening here.

I turned to face him. “Well I’m a kind person”, I smiled. He pulled back and looked at me like I was a puzzle. Like my face was covered in a maze he couldn’t find a way out from. And while he looked at me, clearly trying to work out his next move. I made mine.

“Well, goodnight Mr Bell,” I proceeded to get up from my spot on the floor. “Thank you for the drink and your lessons on empathy. Even though I will ignore it.” I nodded and before he could respond, I walked to my tent with my head held high. I undid the flaps without looking his way and once I was alone, I threw myself onto my cot.

What the fuck was that?

That night I came on my fingers to the thought of being Micah Bell breathing against my neck.

What the hell am I doing…

#rdr2 #rdr2 fandom #rdr2 fanfic #red dead redemption fanfic #red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption fandom #micah bell #micah bell x fem oc #John Marston #Arthur Morgan #dutch van der linde #van der linde gang #fanfiction #rdr2 tag #red dead redemption 2 tag #rdr2 pc #rdr2 oc

[mattkeepsrambling]

2020 Year In Review

What a supremely dull year. I cannot believe how little happened this year. I got into this whole mask-wearing craze that many people seem to have gotten into (except for those who are REALLY against it.) I'm so happy that all the schools decided that teaching in the building was pointless and could just as easily be done online. Things are so much easier now. The election went off without a hitch or any controversy whatsoever, and I am glad that the outgoing President was gracious and we got another peaceful transition of power. I saw so many movies this year. I stopped going to the theater, though. It was just too dark, the screen was too big and the seats too comfortable. I love being at home and being surrounded by all those distractions. I don't know how 2021 could top 2020.

Best of 2020.

In all seriousness, this year was the worst. Once the world shut down in March, I decided to make the most of it and started cataloging my media consumption (minus video games). It is something I am going to keep doing. I stopped collecting movie tickets a few years ago, and this seems like the next step. I have really enjoyed seeing all that I have consumed. The final tally is 308 movies, 58 television shows/specials, 29 audiobooks, and 43 books/graphic novels since March 18, 2020. As December went on, I had to make sure that I was finished with books, tv shows, and audiobooks before Jan. 1-you will see why when I share my spreadsheet for 2021. Here are the best that I read/watched/listened to this year with all that media. And not all of these things are new for 2020 (most are, though).

Best Movie: Host

A lot of the movies I watched this year were horror movies. You can say that I have been trying to make up for lost time. I subscribed to Shudder recently. It is a streaming service that specializes in horror and thriller movies. I subscribed to the service initially for "Host."

This movie was made during the pandemic, over a Zoom meeting. It is about five friends who do a seance and the spirit they contact. The fact that it is Zoom figures heavily into the movie; it is 57 minutes long, about the length of the free Zoom meeting.

This movie is terrific and damn scary. I have watched very few movies that have genuinely scared me. I have realized what it is that makes a good horror movie: tension. It is all over this movie. This movie uses the general concept of the Zoom meeting so well to build up tension. It doesn't have the benefit of a huge budget and the best cameras. The scenes take place on a computer screen in average rooms. That elevates sudden sounds, slight movements and makes use of darkness.

Honorable Mentions: "Soul," "Promising Young Women," "It Follows," "Hereditary," "Midsommor," "Never, Rarely, Sometimes, Always."

Best TV Show: Ted Lasso

Whenever I talk to other people about AppleTV+, I always mention two things. One is that at $5 a month, you don't even notice the cost. The other is that "Ted Lasso" is worth the price of a subscription.

As I have previously mentioned, the show is about an American football coach being hired to coach English football. This show is based on a one-joke series commercial for NBC Sports. Ted Lasso knows nothing about coaching football.

The commercials boil down to "look how this guy doesn't know anything about England." This should not work as a show. Years ago, ABC aired a TV show based on the Geico commercials' cavemen, and it was terrible. I should know; I watched the pilot and reviewed it for the Buffalo State Record.

"Ted Lasso" works because it is more than the commercials. Yes, they do have a lot of "fish out of water" humor, and you laugh at Ted as he navigates a new sport in a new country, but it is more than that. "Scrubs" creator Bill Lawernce is one of the people behind this show, and it shows. This show can be hilarious and then take a somber turn in no time. "Scrubs" is well known for that.

The other thing that "Ted Lasso" has going for it is boundless optimism. It is baked into the character of Ted Lasso. When the show starts, the fans hate him, the players hate him, and management tries to sabotage him at every turn. Yet, he remains committed to his job and making this team successful. He and his wife go through one of the most amicable divorces ever put on screen. It can be a little much at times, but then that divorce happens. We see Lasso, played amazingly by Jason Sudikus, lose that relentlessly positive exterior.

Those cracks show, and he becomes a much more fleshed out and complicated character. The show has been renewed for two more seasons already, and Lawernce recently said that the creative team had planned three seasons. I love this show, but I think that only three seasons will be a good thing. It means that we will get fully fleshed out arcs, and there is only a certain amount of story that the creators have to tell.

Honorable Mentions: "Fleabag Season 2," "The Clone Wars Season 7," "Harley Quinn Season 2," A Teacher," "Doom Patrol Season 2," "The Flight Attendant Season 1," "The Mandalorian Season 2."

Best Audiobook: Sapiens

This book, published in 2011, has been on my to-read list for a while. Years ago, a friend of mine told me I would like it. In its most basic synopsis, "Sapiens" is a look at how humans evolved. It looks at how we developed societies, religions, governments, and other things that made us the dominant species on the planet.

This book is fascinating. It looks at various social constructs that humanity developed and how that shapes who we have become. Most of the time, I can multitask while listening to audiobooks. I will do the dishes, replay video games, write, lesson plan, clean, or do laundry when an audiobook is playing. This is one I had to give my full attention. There were so many tidbits of information that are just riveting. I was always blown away by what I heard. Despite the topic's denseness (it is 15 hours and 17 minutes long), the audiobook was easy to listen to. It is one that I will be revisiting in the future.

Honorable Mentions: "Ahsoka," "The Graveyard Book," "Crazy is my Superpower."

Best Book: Harleen

I have been a fan of "Batman The Animated Series" forever. One of the most famous things to come out of the series that debuted in 1992 was Harley Quinn character. She started as a sidekick of The Joker. Fans loved her so much that she was given a more prominent role and one of the best backstories of anyone in Batman's rogue's gallery.

Last year DC, under their Black Label brand, released "Harleen," which presented how she went from Dr. Harleen Quinzell, the brilliant psychologist, to Harley Quinn, psychotic on-again/off-again paramour of The Joker. DC Black Label is used for a more mature mini-series, and this is a story that benefits from the freedom allowed. 

The basic plot is that Dr. Quinzell gets a job at Arkham Asylum to study the criminals there for her research into their minds and develop a possible cure. Through her interviews with The Joker, she starts to develop feelings for him. The telling focuses on her background and ends with her fully committing to Joker and a life of crime.

The art by Stjepan Sejic (who also wrote it) is gorgeous. On my second read-through, I took more time to appreciate the art. I bought the issues as they came out on Comixology and read them on my iPad and loved the story and how Sejic chose to tell it. I read them on the way to and from work. With only about 10 minutes on the train, the story was my focus. When I bought the hardcover collected edition, I took my time. It is a beautiful book, and I am glad to have it in my collection.

Honorable Mentions: "One Day," "The Amber Spyglass," "High Hopes," "The Deepest Well," I Wish My Teacher Knew," "Horrorstor."

**Authors Note: I wrote most of the above before I watched "Soul" on Christmas. I have a lot to say about it, and it might have taken the top spot from "Host" (I don't think I could have picked two more different movies to take that top spot). I will have a full review out after at least one more viewing.**

These are the links for my 202 Watch List and my 2021 Spreadsheet.

Media Consumed 2020

Media Consumed 2021

If you have been following my ramblings for the last few years, you know that I don't make New Year's resolutions. I heard the idea of picking a word and working toward that word all year.

This year that word is positivity.

It is really easy to dwell on negative thoughts. In the society we live in now, there is an emphasis put on negativity. It is everywhere, and I hate it. Stop reading right now and think about the best and worst thing that has happened to you. If you are like me, the worst thing comes to mind first. Even though my job is the best thing to happen to me, and it happened in the last two years, my firing from the JCC in September of 2015 hits harder and comes faster. It took me years to get over that and years more to let go of the anger I felt.

There are many reasons why negative thoughts come easier, and I have linked to a few articles I like on the topic below. This year particularly, I have been more prone to rumination on past pain and failures. 2021 is the year I actively try to change that. When I feel a negative thought coming on, I will stop and change my line of thinking.

One concrete example I can give involves my former place of employment. I live very close to the JCC. I walk by it all the time, and I can effortlessly start down the negativity rabbit hole. I am not doing that anymore. I will redirect to the good things that happened there. I am doing that with other places I have negative associations with as well. I want to focus on the positive, think positive thoughts, take positive actions, do things for myself and others that help perpetuate the positive.

I want to weed out negativity in my life whenever I can. Even something as simple as doing the dishes every night before bed (which I started six months ago) is a step in the positive direction. I know this is going to be tough. I despise teaching virtually, and it is what I will be doing for the rest of this school year. But, as much as I hate it, I need to focus on the good moments and less on the bad ones. I will have to stop calling everyone I see outside without a mask a "maskhole" in my head and assuming they are a right-wing MAGA hat-wearing idiot (as I said, it's going to be hard). There is too much negativity in the world right now, and I don't want to contribute to that.

Why Do Negative Thoughts Come to Mind

Is Dwelling on Negative Thoughts Hurting You?

Why Do We Dwell on The Past?

Why Do We Keep Dwelling on Our Mistakes?

The past few years, I have tried to have my word of the year relate to my writing. This year it was a little harder. It was not as straight forward as it has in the past. The choice of positivity was made because there have been so many awful things happening this year that I felt I needed to change my mindset. In regards to my writing, I am keeping it simple: Write something every single day. This heart doc I know motivated me to make this a goal.

I want to write more and find out where "Escape" will end up. I have an idea notebook I will bring with me to jot down inspiration whenever it hits. I am blocking out time every day to write, either something I will post here or just something for me.

Thanks for sticking with me 2,000 words. I hope you all had a great holiday season, and I wish you well in 2021.

[amarmeme]

Zero-sum Gravida, CH 2

CH 2: The most natural thing in the world F!Reyder 3073 words CH 1 | Read on AO3

After the complete mess she’d left behind on Kadara, the tangles of Havarl were hardly a challenge for Casarra Ryder. While the orange creamsicle sun fell beneath the horizon, the Pathfinder sliced through a thicket of large, spiny plants in an effort to find the last piece of a broken spaceship. The lush plants were beautiful, their leaves tinged pink like ink leeching onto a page and a delicate appearance belied by a strength as tough as nails. Casarra smiled to herself while clearing back the overgrowth. It reminded her of Jaal, though the Angaran was less spiky than the flora native to his homeworld. With the oddity of Havarl’s ecosystem, these particular monocots would likely grow back fully in the next day. She still disliked hacking at their admirable efforts to reach the sun though.

Avitus Rix had asked her to do look for remnants from the Natanus, and while the effort seemed pointless, Casarra couldn’t deny the sentimentalism that clearly wracked the Turian’s heart. It would take a great deal of pain to affect a spectre’s judgement. She didn’t desire adding to it.

Determined, she cleared away the last bit of overgrowth with a strong swipe of the knife, muscles in her arm already tired from exertion. Scooting the fallen leaves out of the way with the tip of her boot, Casarra crouched down in the dirt. The worn metal disc was half buried in the ground, and she began to dig instead of fruitlessly tugging. The earth raked between her gloved fingertips was cool to the touch and the first thing that came to mind was a nice chilled bath. Perhaps with some flower petals and a bottle of wine, she thought. A trickle of sweat slid down the side of her face as if to punctuate her desire.

Casarra positioned herself for better leverage, attempting to yank the debris free. Suddenly, a nearly silent swoosh that sounded like a bird taking flight was followed by the spark of blue light off the metallic surface of the disc. Casarra looked back over her shoulder, reactions fine tuned by SAM’s presence, and gasped as a streak of plasma ripped through the thick, humid air, straight for her head. The disc came out of the ground at last, and the force her tugging suddenly uninhibited sent her stumbling backwards. In her fall, the metal was gripped so tight it threatened to split her palm clean open, despite the armored suit. Casarra realized almost painfully that a year ago, or really six hundred and one years ago, she would have been far too absorbed in work to react. The plasma bolt slammed into a tree trunk, leaving a sizzling, gaping hole. Without SAM, or the light reflecting off the useless piece of the ship, her head would have been sliced as cleanly as the Jaal-plant at her feet.

Casarra stumbled finding her gun, hand stinging with the bite of the disc. Before the mystery shooter could aim her up again, Peebee’s sing-song voice chimed in.

“I don’t think so!”

Ammo speeding through the barrel of the asari’s hand cannon sent a thrill of relief through Casarra. Her heartbeat pounding in her ears threatened to block out everything else, but SAM always helped amplify her surroundings. Usually cloying, having too many senses for a normal person, Casarra was grateful for the superhuman response now.

“You alright, Ryder?” asked Peebee.

The asari appeared in the frame of the large plant, two spikes on either side of her head. Her smile was crooked; her eyes glinted mischievously in the twilight. Casarra still sprawled, one hand drowning in a puddle of rainwater, the other clutching the disc to her chest like a precious child.

“Now that you're here, Peebs. Help me up?”

Casarra shifted, threw her dripping free hand aloft and blinked away stray droplets of water as they splashed in her face. Peebee ducked around the trailing leaves and grasped Casarra’s hand. She playfully yanked the Pathfinder to her feet, and on the way back up, Casarra’s heart jumped into her throat.

Casarra bent at the waist instinctively, hands coming to rest on her knees, the bruised one stinging sharply as she palmed her kneecaps. It felt as if bones shifted in her grasp as her legs grew weak, the friction and sliding doing nothing but driving her sudden nausea further. Her head swam, fragments of sound and light pushing in on her consciousness. Even SAM’s enhancements could do nothing to stop the inevitable. His disembodied voice was the only thing she could make out clearly, though if it was only in her own mind, she was too far gone to tell. She was caught in the spiral, rushing downward.

“You are losing consciousness, Pathfinder.”

Casarra woke to the gentle rushing of leaves, of alien grass tickling her cheek and Vetra hovering above her. She’d fainted once before in her life, twisting an ankle at a college party, causing far more commotion than necessary. Half the women hated her for the attention; the other half rushed to help. She’d met Emily that night.

The current situation promised to be just as dramatic. Casarra blinked slowly, clearing the cobwebs that were dragged out of the attic of her mind. There was no point in ruminating on the past; all those people were gone. It was a bitter truth, and one she was still getting to used to. Vetra sighed from above, mandibles flaring, and spoke into her comms.

“Peebee, where’s Lexi? I told you it would have been much faster if I’d gone.”

While Casarra couldn’t hear Peebee’s response, Vetra’s golden green eyes narrowed. It was clear enough what kind of retort the turian received.

Before altering her guardian, Casarra checked herself. Her fingers were chilled and tingled, the only indication that she hadn't just been taking a catnap in the middle of the wilderness. Taking a deep breath, she managed to perch on her elbows, drawing Vetra’s attention.

“You’re awake.” Vetra smiled down at Casarra, then spoke into her comms again. “Lexi, she’s up.”

Kneeling down, the turian pressed Casarra’s shoulders as she attempted to rise to her feet. Casarra knew she was fine; fainting was hardly a reason to grab Lexi off the ship. But Vetra kept her there until the two Asaris showed up.

Peebee took one glance at Casarra and teased Lexi. “Doc, she looks ready to go.” She winked at Casarra, who returned it in kind. This was far too much fuss for a little fainting spell.

Lexi frowned slightly, a delicate crease in her fine blue skin. “All the same, I would like to do a few tests, Ryder. Just to make sure you really are alright.”

“Really, Lexi, I’m fine.” Casarra looked back to Vetra. “Just tell her to let me up. You’d think I was made of porcelain.”

“You practically are,” Vetra said, poking Casarra’s cheek. “Then again, humans are so smushy.”

“Smushy?” Casarra laughed. “Sorry I’m not born with any natural body armor, but I do okay.”

“You fainted trying to stand up,” Vetra pointed out.

Casarra sighed, pushing away  Lexi’s hands. “Okay, enoughs enough. I’m really  fine.” To prove her point, Casarra sprung to her feet, much to the dismay of everyone but Peebee. The young Asari just smiled and cocked a hip.

“There’s remtech all over this place, Ryder. Let’s go find it.”

Casarra shifted the little disc that caused all the commotion in her grasp. It was battered and covered in dirt. Casarra felt very much the same. “No, I’m taking a bath and getting the sweat off of me.”

“I really recommend a few tests before you--”

Casarra cuffed Lexi on the shoulder, cutting her off. “Lexi, I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine. Besides, SAM would tell me if something’s wrong and he’s had nothing to say. Right, SAM?”

SAM didn’t immediately reply. An exaggerated pause was all it took for a creeping suspicion of doubt to rise over her skin. Perhaps something was wrong. SAM had been suspiciously quiet since she fainted.

When the AI did answer, the words echoed only in her head. Another worrisome sign. “Actually, Pathfinder there is a matter with which I need to discuss with you. I believe it best handled in private,” SAM advised.

Casarra blanched, looking away from the three figures examining her closely. She whispered a response to SAM under her breath. “Let’s go now then.”

“I agree, Pathfinder. I will tell Doctor T’Perro there is no cause for alarm.” SAM then switched back to speak to the group. “The Pathfinder experienced a slight loss of consciousness from a combination of lightheadedness and shock, Doctor. No additional tests are necessary at this time. I advise the best course of action is rest. The Pathfinder has not been sleeping well since Kadara.”

“Wow, thanks, SAM.” Casarra’s heart raced at the reminder of Kadara, not that she ever truly put it out of her mind. Most nights she tossed and turned, the Charlatan never far from her thoughts.

While a new storm was brewing inside Casarra, Lexi merely narrowed her eyes and accepted SAM’s assessment as fact.

“Okay, SAM. Ryder, you know you can come to me for more than just physical ailments. If you’re not sleeping well you should have let me know. I still want to see you, but it can wait until tomorrow. ”

“Okay,” Casarra said, nodding. “I will. I promise.”

A chill ran down her spine at the echo of Reyes Vidal’s words from her own lips. Weeks later and she was still impacted by him. Even though in scheme of her whole life they'd spent so little time together, he’d rubbed off on her completely. No doubt every wink would forever reminder her of him, sending a little jolt of regret, of longing for an alternate version of Reyes. One where he didn’t lie to her. She’d be watching the shadows for the rest of her life too.

With her thoughts fixated on dangerous territory, Casarra flagged her team to follow her back to the ship. She wanted nothing more than to sink into bed, close her eyes and forget about Reyes Vidal for a few hours. Perhaps whatever SAM had to say, given its level of severity, would help her accomplish that. She’d give anything for a distraction; even a medical one would be better than thinking about her ex.

If you could even call him that, she thought.

The trip to the Tempest was quick. Casarra pulled off her armor just as soon as she breached the ship’s airlock, stripping down to her tank and skivvies. None of her companions said anything about the fit of pique their leader seemed to be in. Peebee’s midriff baring ensemble was actually suitable for once in Havarl’s heat, and Vetra didn’t begrudge Casarra anything. Lexi simply strode past. For her part, Casarra really wanted to take that chilled bath, but the Tempest had no such luxuries. A cold shower would have to do, once SAM had his say, of course.

Armor stored away in her locker, Casarra walked down to her quarters. Surprisingly, no one else was in the hall. Everyone seemed to be off-ship or squared away out of sight.

“Okay, SAM, what’s going on?” Casarra waited for her automatic doors to part, cracking her knuckles, a terrible habit but one borne out of restlessness.

“I think you should sit down, Pathfinder.”

“Have you been watching hospital dramas again, SAM? When I said you needed to work on your bedside manner I didn’t mean that.”

“No Ryder. Given your recent ailment, I thought it prudent to take any precaution should the situation repeat itself.”

Casarra rolled her eyes, but sat down on the sectional opposite her desk. Somehow the AI managed to sound sassy, despite the monotone. “I’m sitting. What wouldn’t you say in front of the others?”

SAM took a moment, another pause, similar to earlier. Casarra was sick of pauses; she’d had enough dramatics for a lifetime. Before she could prompt him on, SAM spoke, the terminal at her desk flickering with the waves of his programmed voice.

“Your loss of consciousness was caused by a drop in blood pressure. While I’ve been regulating your cardiovascular and nervous systems, the sudden shock of the incident earlier activated the vagus nerve, widening the blood vessels. On top of the state of your current condition, I was unable to properly compensate for the loss of blood flow.”

“What do you mean by current condition?” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, staring at the physical manifestation that represented the AI. “SAM?”

“You are pregnant.”

Despite her teasing before, Casarra suddenly appreciated SAM telling her to sit. If he hadn’t, her legs would have gone weak beneath her. Those were the absolute last three words she expected to hear. As it was, Casarra felt as if she was standing under that cold shower already, a shock of icy water running over her back, hairs raised on her arms. Her fingertips were numb again and she raised them up in front of her face. There was a mark on her palm from where she grasped the metal disc earlier. It had bruised through her suit.

“How did this happen?” Her voice was hollow, shell shocked.

“When you and Mr. Vidal engaged in--”

“No,” Casarra barked. She did not need a reminder of that. “I thought I couldn’t get p--,” she couldn’t even say the word. “That wasn’t supposed to be possible. Before we left, we all took the right medication.”

“When you took over control as Pathfinder I believe I may have overridden the procreation blockers in your system.”

“You may have or you did?” She started at the wavering blue ball of light on her desk. If she could have strangled SAM, she would have. She would even unplug him, if not for the direct line to SAM Node in her brain.

“I did. I should have researched the reason for the blockers’ existence. I take full responsibility for my part.”

“And you didn’t tell me about my own body because? It would have been nice to know I was fertile before he and I--”

Casarra choked down the words. Reyes had taken her here, in her ship, on this very spot. They’d been drinking, that stupid ancient whiskey, and it had been so easy. Nothing seemed more natural than what had happened next.

Isn’t pregnancy what they call the most natural thing in the world?

“I didn’t understand it to be a problem at the time. Not until after conception, and then I was able to see what I had done.”

She closed her eyes and breathed through her nose. Getting angry would solve for nothing. While SAM monitored her body for the purposes of being able to fight, to be more spatially aware and more capable than her opponents, he had no idea what it was like to be a woman. Women were expected to bear the consequences of being ill-prepared -- pregnancy was a woman’s condition, not a man’s. Of course an AI designed by a man would never fully grasp the implications of upgrading all systems upon integration. Wisftully, Casarra wondered what would have happened had SAM been a SAMANTHA.

It was completely dark in the Pathfinder’s quarters, save for the blue light of the AI’s terminal. The orb was still for some time, perhaps SAM was absorbing his errors fully, calculating for next time, logging this unfortunate situation in an attempt to never repeat his mistakes again. Eventually the warmth returned to Casarra’s limbs, though the frozen hold on her mind persisted. She could not think forward, or backward, only on the three words. You are pregnant.

Casarra thought the death of her father was the most monumental moment of her life. But this? This was a contender.

Iridescent blue waves of light flickered in the corner of her vision. SAM’s artificial voice was smooth, as always.

“You will remember, Pathfinder, what you said on Voeld. You had closed down the operations at the Kett facility.”

Casarra couldn’t remember anything she said on Voeld with the rush of this new information. Who cared about Voeld at a time like this? Besides, memories of Voeld were clouded with things SAM had said, still new to her head, reminding her about the temperature every chance he could get.

“Remind me,” she said.

“You said, ‘Look at the stars, SAM. Aren’t they marvellous? They’re formed with an exacting balance of forces, but they seem effortlessly beautiful up there.’”

It was surreal to hear her words parroted back to her from the AI; his memory was better than hers would ever be. They were all her memories though. Or were they partly his? She shook her head. The lines between where she ended and SAM began continued to blur, stepping over one another until they were a tangled mess.  And it would continue to tangle; in some ways, the child was a part of them both.

“And? What does that have to do with right now?” She rubbed her palm, where a fallen piece of spaceship had left a mark on her skin, saving her life. She looked down at hands. She felt removed, as if her hands were foreign, her life was not her own. Who was she? What was she doing here, now in this spaceship in the middle of an entirely different galaxy? Surely this wasn’t her life.

“I thought this new development would find you similarly, Ryder. Perhaps I still misunderstand. This situation is unheard of.”

She could have cried. Not from the AI finding beauty in the nature of the human condition, but for the fact that this was unheard of. She was the only woman pregnant in the whole of the Initiative, in the entirety of the human race, or at least in this galaxy. And the father? He was off in another system, orchestrating assassinations and lying to most everyone he knew. She bit her lip to keep from making a sound. The walls of the Tempest were not thick -- the extra weight it would take to insulate them hardly necessary. Today of all days she could have used it.

“Ryder, would you like me to contact Mr. Vidal?”

She did cry then, a few tears slipping out as she laughed, a bit off-balance. The child was better off having an AI as a father.AT least SAM admitted his mistakes.

SAM probably would be a more responsible father...

#reyder #zero-sum gravida #reyes x ryder #f!ryder x reyes #f!ryder #pregnancy au #mass effect andromeda #me:a #mea #me:a spoilers #casarra x reyes #my writing

[ecotone99]

[RF] On The Road

The radio is playing in the car as we cruise along the streets in this small city that I have spent most of my life in. My father is driving. I am seated besides him and looking out the window. I look at the people waiting at the bus station in the freezing winter weather. They move from one foot to another, shifting their weight in a kind of slow dance. Hands in their pockets. We pass some buses filled to the brim with souls. That bus is carrying life itself on its own, at the hands of another.

I don’t speak, neither does my dad. We just sit in silence and drive to the airport. As we get closer he tells me to call him when I’ll be back so that he can pick me up. As we arrive right in front of the airport, I thank him for the ride and get out. Open the rear door and take my luggage out. I tell him bye and go about my business. For once I feel a strange sense of relief. I am leaving this place even though for a few days. I just need to get out and I feel good about it. I walk inside the airport and head straight to the check in desk. A girl about my age I am guess, early twenties takes my passport and asks:

“Any more luggage?”

“That will be it, it’s a carry on.” I reply.

“Have a nice flight.” she says.

“Thank you. Bye.”

I take the ticket and make my way around the line of people that had formed in the meantime. I put the passport and ticket inside my jacket and I head outside to the smoking area. I have been smoking already for close to a year, mostly on and off. With a few days in between. Mostly when I am on the road. I join the people chit-chatting outside. I bought a new package for this occasion. I open the pack and struggle a bit to get the first cigarette out of the pack. I take the lighter I have found about a year ago on a plane. It’s been around for awhile. It’s blue and light. It does the job. It helps me light up my addiction. It serves a purpose. With both hands cupped around the cigarette I manage to light the cigarette. I take a puff and exhale. I am alone, very much so in that instance. I look at all those unfamiliar faces around me. It feels good to not be known, to be left on your own, to have that kind of freedom is beautiful.

Then a thought goes through my mind and alarms me. What if my father has not left, but is somewhere around. Perhaps I had forgotten something in the car so he parked it and went to look for me. Then I think he’d surely call if something like that should have happened. What if he just looks from a distance and catches a glimpse of me smoking. Like a kid I fear to be reprimanded in front of everyone else. How silly of me, and yet I often think how much I have censored of myself living under my parent’s roof. How much I have come to be controlled by the fear of what would they think if they saw me. Even though I was already an adult alright, an age where parents should have no more say in my life choices for it’s my life. And I often think of this bad habit I started — smoking. What for? Just another waste of money, a death sentence. Yes. Perhaps, I sometimes would like to give those that ask me the reason of me starting to smoke lays in the sadistic desire to advance my decay into the darkness.

I finished my cigarette and head back inside straight through security. One of the customs men asks me if I carry alcohol, cigarettes. I tell him just one pack for me. He nods and tells me to go on. I always find it funny the security part in airports. Taking all your belongings and putting them in that tray. Watch, phone, wallet, laptop, belt, liquids. Then you stand there and wait for the hand motion to give you the approval to walk through the gates of approval. I often just look at them and ask — “Can I?” They nod back and like those traffic policemen that orchestrate the cars, motioning towards them as if to say — come to me honey, come to me, right this way. You walk through that gate expecting something grandiose to happen. But there is no beeping so it’s all kind of anticlimactic. So you just stand there waiting to pick up your belongings and be on your way.

I have about one hour to kill before embarking. I take a sit and put my headphones on and listen to some music I have on my phone since who knows when. I haven’t updated that playlist in some time, but that’s alright. I look at some people as they pass me by. I check the parents with their infants in the strollers. Toddlers running around and parents chasing after them as if trying to catch a chicken that’s on the loose. All happening to the soundtrack of my choosing. I look at those little kids which are adorable and cute in a way. But which I also can never imagine having. That’s a big discussion in itself the topic of procreation I mean. I guess I just lack that innate desire to pass on my DNA. I find it pointless. A huge investment and at what expense as well.

Fast forward getting on the plane I take my seat and observe the chaos happening around me. People struggling to their seats, the blocked aisle. The stewardess from the middle of the cabin coming towards the back and raising her tone a bit. Motioning again for people to come through and to not block the aisle. The announcement made instructing to take our seats as soon as possible and to not block the aisle for the other boarding passengers. Then a mom with an infant takes the seat behind me. The kid is crying and is kicking my seat. In my mind I think of the three hours ahead that I have to endure. But it’s also late so I figure that kid is going to fall asleep shortly after take off. He does, my observations correct on that one. Once the seat belt sign is turned off I head to the lavatory and wash my hands and face. I get out and approach the stewardess with my order — 2 beers and Pringles chips. She is kind enough to serve me before the start of service.

I enjoy my beer in silence and think of nothing in particular. The girls pass with the service trolley and I check the behind of the one pushing it towards the middle of the cabin. She looks fine, firm as well. Her hips dancing from one side to another with each step she takes. We are close and we are also very far away from one another. I close my eyes for a moment. I can’t sleep on a plane. I shift in my chair then I stand up to loosen up a bit. For a moment I get back into my absurd rumination about the absurdity and pointlessness of life. I sketch a smile when I think of how each day has become so predictable. My life a faint touch of reality. How alienated and foreign existence seems and how abandoned I feel from it.

After we landed I head outside the airport towards the smoking area. I had booked a room in a hotel not faraway, but before making my way there I pause for a second. Take a cigarette out and join the others. I inhale and exhale, what a relief. How pleasant it feels. Being fully present in the moment, a meditation of sorts. I also find myself immersed in a new culture. Where nobody knows me and I know no one. I look at the girls with their Starbucks in one hand and a cigarette between their slender fingers. I watch them non-nonchalantly lifting the cigarette to their lips taking a drag. I check them out from my corner. After I am finished I lift the handle of my luggage and roll it behind me as I follow the sidewalk towards the hotel. There are some cars going by and my rolling baggage is filling the entire night with this obnoxious sound as it hits some gravel. But I don’t feel like lifting and carrying it. So I just continue making the noise. Dragging this screaming corpse behind me.

I arrive at the hotel. I tell the guy at the reception I have booked a room for the night. He asks me for the reservation number. I don’t have it with me. I show him my passport and ask — ”Will this do?”. He nods and checks me in. Then he writes the room number and hands me the key card. I take it and head towards the lifts. The room is at the end of the corridor. I walk straight and then make a left and then walk to the end.

I swipe the card and the door unlocks. I put my bag down and take the coat off. I turn on the TV and fill the kettle with some water. I make myself a cup of coffee and lay in bed. 8 hours left until my next flight. I browse the channels and I am in awe at the show that’s showing. Naked attraction’s the name. I can’t believe what I am seeing. Two women staring at the penises of 5 men which are lined up. Their bottom half only showing. I am literally watching these two women comparing the dick sizes of these men. Smaller, longer, thinner, thicker. The girl chooses the guy with a better looking dick. Sounds fun enough, welcome to the 21st century television. Then she undresses and shows her boobs and vagina. After they meet on a date and then some time they are interviewed regarding their dating experience. Big surprise — they have nothing in common and it was just a hook up, but nothing long term. I go in the shower and undress.

I look at myself in the mirror. Trying to see myself through the same lens. I look average. My body is alright. What I am packing is average. The abs I once had are a faint shadow at this point. I haven’t exercised in a long time, and yet I still look slim. I need to get a haircut. I push my hair up and make a silly face. I try on different smiles and think — so this is what others see when they look at me. The face I mean.

After I am done with the shower I go in bed and dim the lights. I put on the alarm clock and close my eyes. I muted the sound on the TV and leave it playing in the background. I think back of all the movements and flow of today. I feel bad about being so down and depressed most of the time. I try to picture myself living a normal life. Chasing that same normal life with a woman in it, a house, friends and travel. Instead I find myself mostly alone, sheltered from experiences that are happening out there. Scared of getting hurt, I lock the door behind me. Sometimes I lock it for good and I push people away. At this point it feels like all I know is how to just push people away. In another life perhaps if there is one, I’d be laying in this same bed with the woman I love. Unconditionally. Yet, this night I lay alone and drift to sleep in the hotel room number 263.

submitted by /u/ExtendedSuicide [link] [comments] via Blogger https://ift.tt/2vlQ9xL

#Blogger #Story

[feedit]

SorryNotSorry

It’s just past the middle of the summer: About six weeks down, five to go. We’ve had a lot of fun but my boys are growing tired of each other, as brothers do, and they find unique and clever ways to annoy each other every day. And when they do, I make them do a Forced Apology, also the Forced Apology Acceptance.

You know what I’m referring to: One kid trespasses against another in some form (a toy is swiped, a kick is rendered, a name is called). Grownups intervene, survey the situation and Request An Apology. So Apologizing Child is placed before The Child Who Has Been Hurt and told to say they are sorry.

Not fighting for a moment. 

“Sorry,” says AC, looking down, clearly not sorry.

TCWHBH is told to say it’s OK. 

“It’s OK,” says the other child, clearly not OK and clearly understanding that AC isn’t really sorry.

Then they go back to whatever they were doing before the intervention, only now they are aware that they are being watched more closely, at least for a few minutes. You can see that the Apologizer is usually fine right away, but the recipient is often less enthusiastic than before, and who can blame them. Because we are a society that is really big on the public apology, no matter how insincere. True forgiveness is much, much tougher.

I don’t know how to deal with conflict between kids, mine or others. I know my boys love each other in the brotherly-beat-you-up-and-then-hug-you sort of way, so do I make them do this dance when I know it’s not sincere? How do I help the offended party move on?

I have found that in my adult life, it’s easy to be hurt and to carry that hurt around like a scab can pick at whenever you have a moment to think about it. To dissect how you could have done something different to avoid that hurt and how much you dislike the person/people who wounded you. Then you pick it some more until it’s more of an aching scar than a minor wound. Sometimes these go deep.

In reality, the person who hurt you probably isn’t thinking about you. In most cases, they are definitely not. Even if they’ve dashed off a ‘sorry,’ in your direction which is rare.

A few weeks ago, my Mom and I took my boys to a water park. We got there just before it opened, and there was a line to get in. We queued up and waited in the sun with our fellow bathers, with our bags of snacks and coolers and sweaty, impatient kids dancing in circles with excitement.

A man arrived at the back of the line with his family. He surveyed the scene and walked to the front of the line, where he waited for the gates to open. I looked around. All synapses of my rule-following mind were going crazy. “HEY!” my brain was screaming. “THAT DUDE JUST WENT TO THE FRONT!?!? WHAT IS HAPPENING!?!? THERE IS A LINE! SOMEONE TELL HIM TO GET TO THE BACK!”

I may have mentioned, slightly loudly, that the line applied to everyone. Even entitled douchebags and their entitled families. Not that he took any notice. It was not my proudest moment.

But I got myself together, the park opened, we waited and paid and shuffled in to find our seats and spread out on the towels and had a terrific day in the sun. Later that night, hours after getting home and washing the pungent chlorine out of everything and eating dinner and putting the boys to bed, thoughts of that jerk came back to me. What an entitled ass, I ruminated. What could I have done? Gone up and told him, in front of his stupid family, that there was a line and he could wait too? Somehow this was a white privilege thing, I decided. That GD Trump and his ilk make every entitled shit think that rules no longer apply to them…

I lay in bed and flipped and flopped in sweaty frustration. And then I stopped. I realized that I was literally losing sleep over someone I didn’t know, who didn’t know me, and whom I would never encounter again. He was certainly not losing sleep over offending me and 20 other water park visitors.

I tortured myself and set myself up for a tired and crabby day tomorrow, where I would probably torture my family, too, due to my sleeplessness. Carrying around this anger in the night, this frustration for this random man was as pointless as being mad at a doorknob.

Years ago, a dear friend gave me a book when I was going through a difficult personal time. I was so angry. I was angry at a soon-to-be-ex spouse for wasting years of my life. I was angry at everyone I saw who seemed happy. I was mostly angry at myself. I told her all of these things and she smiled. She had been through her share of life’s challenges, and yet she was still smiling. How, I asked her, are you not angry?

“I was,” she admitted. “But I was wasting my life being mad.”

The book she recommended was Forgive for Good, by Dr. Fred Luskin. In it, Dr. Luskin writes that most of us are trying to ‘enforce the unenforceable’ rules we each subscribe to. For example, someone cuts us off in traffic. Someone has 16 items in the 10 item or less aisle. Small infractions day-to-day that are infuriating. Clearly others are not sorry, but the scars remain. The only way to get past the past is to forgive them. Then you are able to heal. Forgiveness is a gift you give yourself, one you richly deserve.

I turned over and breathed a sigh of forgiveness. I would let it go. I had more important things to do. Like for now, sleep. Which I also needed and deserved.

Recently one of the most heartbreaking victims of public shame was in the news again, this time for his ability to forgive. A young man had his life thrown into chaos due to an unlucky bounce of a baseball at Wrigley Field years ago. Through it all he’s refused to capitalize on this fluke that caused him to need police protection and turned his name into a punch line. This week the Chicago Cubs organization sent him a World Series ring of his own, and with this act of contrition and generosity, punctuated a very public statement of apology. The man accepted the ring, and his statement of forgiveness was brief and moving.

In part, he wrote: “I humbly receive the ring not only as a symbol of one of the most historic achievements in sports, but as an important reminder for how we should treat each other in today’s society.” (italics mine)

Despite the terrible, terrible way he was treated, this young man has maintained his dignity and grace. He is forgiven, he has forgiven. And in the end, he wins. I bet he sleeps well, at least I hope so. I wish him the peace he deserves. That we all deserve. If he can forgive on a scale so colossal it’s almost impossible to comprehend, then maybe we can all be a little kinder to ourselves. And others.

So people will push and shove and kick you on the playground of life. They will say they are sorry and not mean it one bit. But hopefully you can move past it without wasting your time being mad at the doorknob.

I’m still working on it.

#forgiveness #chicagocubs #sorrynotsorry #worldserieschamps #forgiveforgood #momlife