#IVE BEEN DOING THIS SHIT FROM SCRATCH THE WHOLE TIME GOODBYE

[kazumasougi]

THE.

#mileposting #totk lb #I DIDNT REALIZE FUCKING AUTOBUILD WAS A THING #IVE BEEN DOING THIS SHIT FROM SCRATCH THE WHOLE TIME GOODBYE #IM NEVER NEGLECTING MAIN QUESTS AGAIN 😭

[daydream-believin]

Never-Ending Roadtrip (Autumn in New York, pt 1)

Summary: (ch 1)  (ch 10) Reader joins Douxie in the quest for Nari’s safety. He’ll need company won’t he? - chapter 9) new york tourism and some relaxation for a stressed-out emo wizard

Warnings: Swearing, alcohol mention, implied nudity (just a bath)

Word Count: 3542

A/n: Go listen to ‘autumn in new york’ by ella fitzgerald and louis armstrong to set the mood for this chapter and the next lol. i do like lovecore i promise. also this was going to be it but ive split it up. enjoy

Douxie was very careful to take inventory. One head, two head, dragon head, his own head. All accounted for. Four heads, no more no less. Not even a pesky stowaway gnome. His family was together. Up in the air, on the ship, winding blowing through their hair. Douxie could see sky scrapers on the horizon.

The trolls had been cordial in their goodbyes, but made no effort in giving the impression that they wanted the wizard family to stay any longer than they had. In fact, it was discouraged if not outright. The trolls almost gave off an aura of relief when they faded from view of the settlement. But that was understandable. Douxie’s family had caused a bit of trouble during their stay.

Bagdwella was certain that Archie was a bad omen for her shop and would freak out whenever he tried to enter. Y/n had been a bit confused and tried to explain to her that black cats were in fact supposed to bring wealth, not financial ruin, but apparently Bagdwella had been thinking of an old trollish superstition about dragons instead. Y/n had no counter to that.

Nari had no real knowledge of how money worked, and was determined to make that Douxie’s problem. And the problem of all the trolls in the shops of the town. There was a bit of a problem with her “dining and dashing” in the pub, the one troll eatery in the still developing town. Poor thing had no idea food costs money. Someone had always been around to feed her. Douxie and Y/n almost couldn’t keep up with the demand of sweaty socks they had to produce in order to pay the annoyed barman. Turns out it was somewhat hard to make sweaty socks when you’re actually trying to. It was like their feet realized what was happening and couldn’t pass up an attempt to make their owner’s lives harder.

As much as dear Y/n prided herself on being tolerant, she and Dictatious were going round and round. It was easier to ignore the guy when she didn’t have to live in close quarters with him but that luxury was lost on this stay in Trollmarket. Y/n and Dic argued every time they were in close proximity. She couldn’t help it. The old troll had opinions, and those opinions were wrong. And don’t even get Y/n started on how sad and then angry he made Blinky feel with the whole dead, wait not dead just an evil traitor, wait now he’s okay somewhat, thing. And his personality was shit. Peace was never an option.

Needless to say the trolls were in fact happy to send off the wizards. Douxie was happy to no longer suddenly hear a clatter and then instantly get a headache knowing it was probably one of his problems. They had only been in Trollmarket a few days. Okay so a week, they had stayed there a week. It was only seven days. Eight actually. So to say, they hadn’t been there long enough to cause any real problems. And now they were headed to New York. New York New York.

Douxie was ready to get some quality romance in with his wife. Autumn in New York was perfect for that. The city streets glowed with life. A nice stroll down the sidewalks painted in golden light, arm in arm, carrying the warmth in their hearts and bodies with them, was just what they needed. There were lots of sights to see, and Y/n loved to see them. And it was heavily populated, which would make it safer. Safe was something greatly needed.

For some reason, ever since that one night in the forest, Doux had felt like watching his back. It was tiresome, always being on edge. Of course, he had been this whole trip. But recently it had been amplified. Douxie didn’t know if he was sensing the Order’s presence or if being wed had turned up his protective instincts up to an eleven, but it really would be fantastic to be in a safer environment. He was crossing his fingers New York was one.

Just outside of city limits, the boat was shrunken into a little toy and placed back inside of it’s bottle. The little bottle fit neatly in the backpack that Y/n was wearing. Everything fit neatly into the backpack that Y/n was wearing. It was charmed. Doux would rather it be in hers than his, just as a peace of mind. A quick getaway for her lest they ever be separated. He wasn’t too worried about himself. Nari clung to her side, so it would also be best to keep it with her in order to protect Nari. Yeah, that was totally the reason.

They hailed a cabbie and took it into the bustling city. Douxie had pulled a couple strings with his old buddies, and managed to get them an apartment to stay in. The owner wouldn’t be back for a few weeks, and was happy to have someone to house sit for her. Douxie was happy to have a roof over his family’s head he didn’t have to pay for. It was a win-win.

Y/n never stopped looking out the window the entire cab ride. Douxie thought her excitement was adorable. She had her arm stretched over Nari in the middle to be able to hold his hand. The veggie lady didn’t mind. She was also focused on the view out the windows, fascinated by the sheer number of cars and the heights of the tall buildings. Douxie could feel Y/n’s wedding ring as she squeezed his hand. It helped calm him.

This apartment was owned by a starlet. It was huge, for New York standards. It was really high up, which made Douxie a wee bit nervous. Eleventh floor. It was eccentrically decorated, with bright colors. There was a wall in the living space that was a floor-to-ceiling window, covered by pale pink curtains and strings of heart-shaped beads. The other walls had a wallpaper that was white with red rose motifs. The couch was bright cherry red, furry, and oddly shaped. The kitchen cabinets were painted hot pink, with frosted glass doors that bore a rose pattern. The refrigerator was also cherry red, with white and pink heart-shaped stickers stuck onto it. Everything was fucking red, white, or pink. It looked like Saint Valentine himself threw up. Douxie was afraid to see what the bedroom looked like.

Douxie checked the fridge. Yeah, it was empty, apart from the box of takeaway from who knows when and the three bottles of wine. To be expected, of a single young up-and-comer, one supposes. They would have to go get groceries. Archie was making biscuits on the fluffy surface of the couch. It was probably very soft, Douxie had yet to touch it himself. He was kind of afraid of it, to be honest. Nari seemed to also like it, and was spread out on the top, limbs hanging over the back of the couch. Y/n opened the curtains a bit and was staring out the window. Doux headed for the bedroom, to go see what they were working with.

The bedroom was not in any way tamer than the open living space, but at least it wasn’t as bad as Douxie was expecting with the ah, love theme this place had going. It could have been worse. It was fluffy, pink, and glittery, but at least it was rated PG. Apart from the heart-shaped bed, it looked like it could have been a dressing room. There was a vanity with lights ringing the mirror and one of those dressing screens in the corner with several feather boas hanging over it like some kind of cliché movie set. Douxie was setting his backpack down, as he sat on the side of the bed turned away from the door, when he heard someone go into the en suite. And then he heard various noises of,, happy surprise? Sounded like Y/n.

“DEWDROP! THERES A HEART-SHAPED TUB. A FUCKING HEART-SHAPED TUB. COME LOOK.”

Bleeding balroths. Douxie rolled his eyes as he stood up from the comfy feather mattress to go see what she was shouting at him about. The tiles that covered the bathroom were annoyingly pink. The air smelled like something he could only describe as pink. Sure enough, there was a heart-shaped tub like someone’s cheesy honeymoon suite, and his wife was already in it, despite it not having any water. She wore an all too familiar cheshire cat grin on her face. He had one word for this.

“No.”

“Whatever.” Y/n stuck her tongue out childishly. “You’ll change your mind tonight. You will join me in the incredibly fragrant heart-shaped bubble bath, Dewdrop. Mark my words.”

~ ~ ~ As a first stop on the itinerary, they decided on Central park. Some greenery for Nari. And for Y/n too. Trees were good for the soul and one should never spend too much time on concrete. Gave Archie something to scratch that was not the couch that they did not own. It was fine when he did it in Arcadia, their sofa was old and tattered anyways, but not here in the apartment they were housesitting.

Y/n claimed the walk through nature was necessary to restore the energy lost on the trip into the city. The walkways were paved, and Douxie had to really keep an eye on both Nari and Y/n, who should know better, from wandering off the path. Maybe he should get two baby leashes when they were to shop later. Occasionally they would pass by a café. Douxie was glad he was not working in one of those. This trip was a much-needed vacation, as stressful as it was.

A little ways in and they came across a pond, with a cute little bridge that the walkway went under. Douxie rubbed his hand over the stones as they walked through. It was worn, as many hands had also done so over the decades. This bridge, as old as the park itself, was still younger than him. And it had met so many more people than he could even fathom. Doux himself had met so many people over the years. He had been touched by many too, like this little bridge. And just like the people who touched this bridge, none of them quite knew the impact they would be leaving. What they were wearing down. He heard a happy squeal as Y/n and Nari made a sudden sprint ahead of him. Apparently, there were ducks in this pond.

The Met was just a few minutes’ walk from where they exited the park. Douxie was happy with the idea of a quiet art museum trip, that sounded peaceful and relaxing. He needed all the peaceful and relaxing he could get right now. Y/n was actually really excited about this one despite it being not that exciting of an activity. She was trying to psych up Nari. “It’ll be fun, we can pretend we’re a gang of art thieves and we’re doing recon for a heist.” The veggie lady had no idea what any of those words meant.

There were lots of paintings in the Met gallery. It contained multitudes. One painting, they passed as they walked down the corridors, Y/n stopped, transfixed, stared at the painting for a few minutes, and then carried on like nothing happened. She didn’t look particularly sad, or happy, just confused, like she was processing something. Douxie made a mental note to ask her about it later.

Next stop was a walk down Fifth Avenue. It’s not like they could afford to shop, but it was a must-do in NYC so they must-did. They walked holding hands with Nari in the middle like their child. She liked looking in all the window displays. Every so often she would stop to stare and they would tug her along. The trees lining the sidewalks presented their autumn colors. The oranges and golds gave the streets a cheery vibe.

They passed a few food trucks. The trucks were filling the air with various delicious aromas. Douxie’s stomach growled loudly. Y/n giggled and suggested they pick a truck for lunch. Douxie had his eye on a fish and chips truck. It didn’t make ‘em quite like you could get in London but it was trying. A for effort. Y/n thought it was fantastic. Douxie was just spoiled.

They made their way over to the Rockefeller Center, just around the corner. A short walk and Y/n had spotted a coffee shop. So now they were going to a coffee shop. Douxie couldn’t help it, she looked at him with such big eyes. What was he supposed to do, say no?

The coffee shop was warm, and much appreciated relief from the autumn chill that had taken over. And a nice warm drink was sorely needed. Y/n found a nice couch in the back of the shop. Douxie sunk in, deeper than he expected to be able to sink in, but it was an old couch sunk into by many people. It was cozy. The love of thousands made it the sofa the way that it was. Love had made it squishy, love had made it comfy. Speaking of love and squishy and comfy, Doux pulled his dear wife Y/n to his side in an embrace. Low-key cuddling on the coffee shop couch was the best part of Douxie’s day. Nice, relaxing, he needed this. He pressed a kiss to the top of Y/n’s hair.

The Top of the Rock is an observatory deck in Rockefeller Center. Very high up in the air, one can see a great view of the city skyline and get a peek at that famous empire state building. Archie didn’t really care about it, he could get aerial sights any time he wanted, so he took this time to take a nap. Y/n leaned close to the glass, amazed and getting slightly wooed by the city. Douxie slung his arm around her, and, under the guise of affection, pulled her a few steps back. She really was hell-bent on stopping his fragile heart. And then Nari just straight up put her hands, paws, on the glass and put her body weight on the window. Nope. Douxie made sure to ask her to step away from the glass nicely, lest he frighten her, but still tried to convey that what she was doing was something he saw as dangerous and it worried him. Doux was very happy when they were back on the ground.

Douxie liked people watching. So did Y/n. It was one of the things the used to do on weekends in Arcadia, strangely enough. It wasn’t weird. All those people, they all had lives of their own. They all had stories they were living, and it was interesting to glimpse just a small insignificant piece of it. Or sometimes even significant. It was always hard to tell as an outsider, whether or not an ordinary moment was really the turning point of someone’s life. NYC’s famous Times Square was perfect for people watching.

There was something odd about it. The square itself felt wrong. A hundred neon advertisements all at one time. Not an inch of surface didn’t bare the name of a brand. There was something profoundly sad about it. One might even go as far as say disgusting. And there were many, many signs and people. Douxie tried not to attempt to take it all in at once, lest he risk sensory overload. The sun had already set, the brightly lit signs were brighter than ever. There were so many people around them. There were some buskers, some even playing at the same time, so the music clashed. Perhaps there was too much life here. It was loud, and Doux liked loud, but he liked harmonious loud, like music and excitement, not the chaotic loud that surrounded him. He made sure he could see Nari, that she was close to them. Douxie squeezed Y/n’s hand. He thought maybe he should just pay attention to her, tune out everything else. The lights made a brilliant halo around her gorgeous face as she turned to him. The beautiful goddess he called his wife’s eyes searched his, and she noticed he was not so comfy.

“C’mon, let’s go get some dinner.”

They walked away from the square for a few minutes, putting some distance between them and it’s light, before coming across a pizza place for dinner. It was good. The classic, New York slice. And it was pizza. Y/n would admit, it wasn’t special. She actually liked the pizza from the local pizza place in Arcadia Oaks way better. Douxie and Archie agreed with her. But don’t tell any New Yorker’s that. The main thing is that they got a nice dinner, and it helped Douxie calm down. There were only a few other people in the restaurant. The booth they were in was off to the side, away from everything. Y/n stroked Douxie’s palm with her thumb. Archie sat in his lap and purred. He appreciated them.

They’d had a long day. It was best to get home. Once opening up the cherry red door the valentine’s day décor assaulted their eyes once again. This would be okay for the time being but Douxie had no idea how someone could dwell here full time. As he plopped down on the furry couch, he noticed for the first time the numerous little cherub figurines that littered every available surface. It might be interesting to meet this starlet one day. She seemed to have a cupid schtick going. She probably looked the part too.

As soon as they crossed the threshold, Y/n had made a sneaky beeline for the bathroom and that honeymoon suite style tub. Douxie rolled his eyes fondly and scoffed from his place on the sofa when he heard the water turn on. Of course. He supposed he could use some extra relaxing. But she’d feel like she won. Y/n was gonna make a big deal out of this, he could feel it.

Miss starlet had an unhealthy amount of soap bottles filling the storage space in the bathroom. A dragon hoard of fancy scented soaps. As fun as pouring some various vividly colored, strong and flowery goops into the tub and pretending it was a potion would be, and it would be, Y/n opted to find some more calming aromas for poor Doux. Lavender, lemongrass, and jasmine, were what she was on the hunt for. She managed to find both lavender and jasmine soaps, and a lavender candle. No lemongrass. But Y/n wouldn’t have held her breath on that one. It wasn’t exactly glamorous or glittery.

With the water hot, bubbles high, candles lit, Y/n had crafted a very romantic and relaxing evening. She stood back to admire her work for a moment before going to go get Douxie. He was laying across the couch, using his crossed arms as a pillow, with Archie snoozing on his chest, when she found him.

“Sorry Arch. Find a different pillow for the night?” The dragon-cat understood. That didn’t stop him from throwing a look at the two as he settled back down into the couch’s fluff.

Ignoring Archie, Y/n took Douxie by the hand as she led him back into the room she had set up. The air smelled very strongly of lavender. The pink of the tiles was muted in the dim light, which Douxie was thankful for. Then he noticed the giant fucking mountain of bubbles Y/n had turned the bath into. He supposed she wanted him to get in that. Somehow. They’d have to be careful not to accidentally choke on any bubbles.

Douxie let out a little groan as he slid into the bath. The hot water felt great on his tense muscles, he had to admit. He was feeling better, and more relaxed. He certainly wasn’t anywhere near as stressed as he was in time square anymore, but the tension of this strange combination vacation/flee-for-their-lives-trip was taking its toll on the master wizard. He wouldn’t put it past his hair to start greying soon. A wizard was only ever as old as they felt, after all. And boy, did Douxie’s bones feel old. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. No worries right now. He was safe, Nari was safe, Archie was safe, Y/n was safe. Y/n was right beside him, so extra safe too.

“So, how’s it going.” Y/n laughed at Douxie getting a little lost in the hot water sauce.

“Nuclear.” Douxie opened his eyes to take in his wife’s pretty face he just knew was smiling, he could hear it in her voice. Doux pulled Y/n into his embrace and against his chest. She rested her head on his shoulder. “Thanks. I- I guess I sort of maybe needed this.”

Y/n snickered. “Of course you did. Remember, I’ll always be here to take care of you.” She brought his hand up and kissed his knuckles. “Always, Mr. Casperan.”

“And that goes the same for you, I’ll always take care of you, Mrs. Casperan.”

#douxie x reader #hisirdoux casperan x reader #douxie casperan x reader #douxie imagine #hisirdoux casperan imagine #hisirdoux x reader #hisirdoux casperan #douxie #tales of arcadia x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #my writing #nert

[mingtopiaa]

˗ˋˏ°• 𝐈𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐝 •° ˎˊ˗

soulmate!au, enemies to lovers!au

⤿ san x fem!reader || word count; 1290 || genre/s; angst, fluff

⤿ warning; there’s some cursing, implied sexual content (trigger warning: there’s character death but neither of the main characters die)

— a/n; this is my first oneshot! ive been working on it for a while, enjoy!

A 10% chance to have a soulmate and of course you had to have one. Most people are extremely happy when they find out who their soulmate is, but not for you. Unluckily for you, your soulmate turned out to be Choi San. The very man you’ve hated since you were kids. What made it even worse was that, though knowing it would pain you, San would go out and get girlfriend after girlfriend.

“Choi San!” You yelled, pounding your fist into San’s front door.

“What? What do you want this time Y/N?” San sighed, reluctantly opening the door.

“What the fuck San? Are you trying to kill me??” You peeked behind him to see a half-naked woman on his couch, looking on her phone. She’s bored and waiting for San to return to him.

“I’m just living my life.” He deadpans, glaring at you. Visibly irritated. For a moment you just stare at each other, no words spoken. You gulp and try to avert your gaze somewhere else so it isn’t as awkward but your eyes fix on the woman behind him. San glances back at the woman, hoping you take the hint to leave. You’re hesitant to say anything, especially if the wrong words come out. You take a deep breath before continuing.

“I swear you’re gonna kill me at this rate!” You’re so close to either slapping him across the face or bursting into tears. Why, why did you have to be fated to be with an asshole?

San just stares at you, stares into your eyes, then moves his gaze to the small etching in your wrist. The small etching with his name, 최산. You look at your wrist, covering his name up with your other hand.

“Goodnight Y/N, I think you should go.” San waves goodbye to you and then gently closes the door. You’re lowkey shocked, he didn’t slam the door on you with a grumble this time? Were you dreaming? In what world did San not hate you?

San not being rude to you was a concept you couldn’t bring yourself to accepting. You’d gone your whole life hating him, him hating you. He did hate you, didn’t he? There’s no way he could treat you like shit since forever and not hate you, right?

Monday. You walk past San and flinch, expecting him to throw an apple at your head. He doesn’t, you flinched for nothing and his friends laugh at you for shrinking like an idiot.

Thursday. San’s friends laugh at you for dropping your books and San defends you. What?

On Friday you build up the courage to ask him why his behaviour suddenly changed after what? 18 years?

“San!” The door opens and you’re greeted by a sleepy San.

“What? What is it now?” He mumbles, scratching his head.

“Why are you being nice to me?” You glare at him.

“Y/N, I know I’m a huge jerk and all, but aren’t I supposed to be nice to you? The whole soulmate thing means I’m supposed to love you or something, doesn’t it?”

“You- You’re fucking with me. You’ve never been nice to me. I’ve known you since we were three and not once have you been nice to me. What’s gotten into you? What happened to you being a big bad boy?”

“Y/N..” San hesitates, hesitates to tell you the truth. How he really feels about you, why he’s how he is.

“San, you can’t just do that. You can’t bully me my whole life and then just suddenly decide ‘Oh we’re soulmates, time to be nice to you!’. You can’t do that!” Your eyes are getting watery, lips trembling.

“Y/N, don’t cry. I- I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the all shit I’ve put you through. You didn’t deserve any of that.” San cups your face, wiping the tears running down your cheeks.

“Then why’d you do it?” Your voice comes out as nothing more than a cracked whisper.

“There’s so much you don’t know about me.” He smiled, pain flickered in his eyes. 

“Sannie, what happened?” Sannie. A nickname he hadn’t heard in years, hadn’t heard since you both were little kids.

“I- I’d rather not talk about it.” San averts his gaze from your eyes, letting his hands fall to his side. He seems so timid, unlike his usual confident persona. You almost feel like you’re talking to the Sannie you were best friends with years ago.

“Sannie. Tell me.” You grabbed one of his hands, intertwining them. A hopeful glint in your eyes, hoping he’d tell you what happened in the years you drifted apart.

“It’s nothing, Y/N. Nothing you should be concerned with.” His eyes are glossy, the grip on your hand tightens. You bring a hand up to his hair and stroke it delicately, as if he was a piece of frail glass.

“No. San, you’re clearly upset. Why can’t you just tell me? Wouldn’t it help if you had someone you could talk to about it?” Your hand moves from the top of his head to cup his cheek, staring into the abyss of his eyes.

“Y/N. I’m fine.” San sheds his first tears, first tears in a long time. He promised himself he wouldn’t cry anymore, wouldn’t cry anymore after the incident.

“San. You’re crying.” Your hand moves from his cheek to wipe his tears away. “Please. Please tell me what happened.”

“My mum.. My mum passed away. My dad killed himself.” He holds you close, arm wrapped around your waist. San cries into the crook of your shoulder, hugging you. Normally, you’d be uncomfortable if anyone did this. But right now? San. San was the only exception.

You stood there for a while in his embrace, trying to calm his breathing. “Sannie, it’s getting cold. Let’s go inside?” San simply nods as you both enter his apartment.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” San says after a comfortable silence. The two of you had been ‘cuddling’ (snuggling under the only large blanket he could find) on his couch, watching random cartoons.

“It’s fine, Sannie. It’s nice to see you like how you were when we were kids. A cute, innocent, sensitive, soft n lil ball of sunshine. My sunshine..” You mumble the last part, praying he didn’t hear it.

“Your what?” San chuckles, smiling like a fool.

“Sunshine. My sunshine.” You feel shy, looking anywhere but him and playing with your fingers in your lap.

“Y/N, that’s so cute!” He lifts your chin up, eyes locking with yours. 

“Shush. I thought of a lot of dumb things as a kid.” You bite your lip.

“Remember when we used to try and climb trees together?” San suddenly speaks up after a somewhat comfortable silence.

“Yeah, good times. We could never get up, though.” You giggle, thinking back to the good times with him.

You spend the next hour or so reminiscing about all the dumb things you did as kids. The time you tried stealing food from your parents, the times San would mess up your hair on school picture days, the times you shared your lunches. 

As San was telling the story of the time you accidentally broke his pencil, you had fallen asleep with your head laying on his shoulder. 

“Y/N? Why aren’t you-” San turns his head to see you sleeping peacefully on his shoulder, “Oh.”

He sighs, but carries you to his room. San gently places you down on his bed, covering you with the blankets hanging off the side of his bed.

“Sleep tight, Y/N.” He takes a risk, a huge risk. San pecks you on the lips before finally whispering those words he’d been waiting years to finally admit, “I love you, okay? Sweet dreams.” 

#san fluff #san angst #san smut #ateez fluff #ateez angst #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez x female reader #san x reader #san x female reader #ateez soulmate au #ateez enemies to lovers au #san || intertwined #it’s finally finished 😭

[inqorporeal]

Future Tense

It was rare, Theron mused, that things were so quiet that they had a moment to relax like this. The cantina was bustling, and all of the advisors and primary staff had been able to justify taking the evening off. Theron got a lot of shit for being a workaholic, and even now he could feel the niggling itch of a puzzle left unsolved. But it could wait. For the moment, there were more important things to worry about.

Sitting in the booth beside him, the Commander cradled their drink between their hands and leaned a little more into Theron's space, seeking permission.

It was a… weird dynamic between them. The Commander was Imperial, Theron was a Republic spy. Feelings should never have developed between them; but what had begun as an uneasy alliance had blossomed into a mutual respect and even admiration. By the time Theron ran into them on their way to rescue him from the Revanites, well….

You couldn't fake that look of relief in a person's eyes. They had stood up for him, defended him, and hadn't agreed with Lana about her willful negligence which had led to Theron's capture. Seven years later and he was still awed that anyone had successfully extracted an apology, however reluctant, from a Sith Lord on his behalf. 

When they'd first begun their association chasing rumours of Revanites, Theron had been worried that the two Imperials might try to extract Republic secrets from him; neither had asked more than he was willing to offer, and even though he'd felt incredibly lonely during that time, he had also felt at ease. Nobody was leaning over his shoulder for once Marcus, nor prying into his downtime activities Jonas, and the people he had to work with had encouraged him to put the datapad down in the evenings to share a drink or two and talk shit about members of the Dark Council. Theron had felt free enough to dump some of his (non-classified) dirt on certain Senators, to the amused delight of his partners in conspiracy-routing.

So when the Commander had asked about Satele, Theron may have spilled a bit of long-held bitterness. It wasn't really fair of him -- Satele wouldn't have wanted to let Darth Marr know Theron might be leverage on her (he would be; her distance in his youth aside, Satele did care). But… he'd been tired. The painkillers had been wearing off. Maintaining a semblance of professional decorum during that meeting had consumed his remaining energy, and his patience had largely taken a leave of absence.

The Commander -- his ally, swiftly sliding into territory that could have tentatively been friendship -- had expressed concern, support, bantered lightly and teased him, drawing his mind away from the pressing issues for a precious moment. When they'd kissed him, it had felt real, like Theron was appreciated and cared for, like they had seen the worst sides of him and found the whole package worth the risk.

They had been risking everything, stealing private moments when and where they could on Yavin IV, surrounded by military detachments from both sides who clearly didn't trust each other. If anyone who had cared had caught them together, Theron would have lost his job and possibly been brought up for an official inquiry; who knew what the Commander had risked. Knowing the Sith, probably interrogation and/or death.

Just for him, Theron, a Jedi washout, an intelligence analyst with no life outside his work and a long list of past relationships that had never survived his career for more than a couple of months. The knowledge had shaken him to his core then, and it still did now: that someone had looked at Theron and found him worth risking death for.

Of course it could have been a ruse, but the looks Lana had been giving them said otherwise. She pretended not to see anything and didn't utter even one word of teasing. If Marr and Satele found out about them, it wouldn't be from her.

Saying goodbye had been unexpectedly painful. In truth, Theron had allowed things to continue because he hadn't believed they would live long enough to see the end of it. So, it seemed, had the Commander. Who needs words? they'd whispered, and kissed him, soft and tender, gloved fingers weaving into his hair and pulling him close. Theron had started to speak, to say how sorry he was, and they'd pressed a fingertip to his lips, with a smile so gentle and sorrowful it damn near broke his heart. Message received: don't apologise for the inevitable.

Theron had spent a year denying that it still ate at him, denying that he thought of them every day, denying that the reason he'd stopped joining Jonas for nights out that ended with casual hook-ups had less to do with working hard to re-prove his loyalty and more to do with the fact that a certain Imperial loyalist had claimed Theron's heart and he didn't want a replacement. Hearing about what had happened to Marr's fleet, though, had blasted that denial right out of the sky. Theron had got back in touch with Lana, asking what happened; maybe she'd actually liked him, or maybe she'd just been in shock, but she gave him straight answers instead of telling him where to get off, and then wrapped it up with, They're not dead, Theron. I can feel them, still. I'll be in touch.

Now he knew why the Commander had been pissed enough to force Lana to apologise to him a year earlier. The thought of the Commander imprisoned somewhere while everyone assumed they were dead nearly destroyed Theron. He'd thrown out all the alcohol in his Coruscant apartment so he wouldn't give into the temptation, and the feeling of time being wasted on the comparative minutiae of his actual job scratched and scraped at the back of his brain. Jonas, perceptive bastard that he is, had noticed; he'd suggested burning off Theron's restlessness with a night out and got snapped at for his trouble.

Theron had -- eventually -- apologised for that, but not before Lana had commed him on the secret, massively encrypted frequency he'd devised. Theron had sent his apology to Jonas taped to the only bottle of booze he'd kept, the unopened bottle of Corellian brandy Jonas had given him to celebrate Theron's most recent promotion.

He had no illusions that he'd effectively sunk his fifteen-year career in the SIS when he'd packed up his essentials and bought a shuttle ticket to Nar Shaddaa under a pseudonym, using credits from one of his other pseudonymic accounts. It wasn't like his work mattered anymore, anyway. In the last few months since Zakuul's Eternal Fleet had come out of nowhere and effectively annexed the Republic, their department heads had played at pretending everything was fine and normal, while all signs pointed to the contrary. According to Lana, the Empire was in much the same state.

Theron had long since grown tired of sitting on his hands instead of actually doing something. He never had dealt with periods of inactivity well.

And now… now he sat in a cantina surrounded by people he by rights should never have become friends with, with his arm openly around the shoulders of a certain ex-Imperial whose faith and loyalty had been well and truly shattered. They'd looked terrible when Theron had first seen them upon his arrival at Odessen: too thin, too exhausted, moving like everything hurt.

It hadn't prevented them from hugging him tightly -- right there in front of everyone -- and murmuring, "You're a sight for sore eyes," the same greeting they had offered on Ziost six years earlier. The feelings were still there, stronger than ever, and Theron had accepted the knowledge that this was his life now. Their lives, now.

The Commander was doing better since Valkorion had taken a cryptic leave of absence; better appetite, less prone to waking up in the middle of the night cursing out someone Theron couldn't throw out of the room, able to focus on work without drifting off to glare at the corner of the room every few minutes. Force only knew how much hassle the creepy Sith ghost had been giving them. It was a relief to Theron, as well -- both of them had been uneasy about the idea of the Sith Emperor watching them in the privacy of their quarters.

"What do you plan to do?" Theron found himself asking. "When this is all over and things go back to normal, I mean," he added when everyone at the table looked at him.

The Commander frowned into their drink. "I'm not sure 'normal' is ever going to happen," they answered. “Too much has changed in the galaxy. Everyone has been forced to adjust and adapt."

Theron gestured to the cheerful crowd beyond the relative privacy of their table. "I mean… the Alliance. Are we all going to have to just… go home?"

The Commander looked thoughtful, then glanced at Lana. "In your professional estimation--"

"Hah," Lana snorted, but she was smiling.

"Shush, you. In your estimation, how many friendships and romantic entanglements have occurred since the Alliance established itself?"

"On Odessen?"

"Everywhere we have operations."

The Sith frowned for a moment. "Hundreds. Thousands."

"Mmhmm, and in your estimation, how many of those would be considered cross-faction?"

Theron could see where this was going but he remained quiet -- his specialty was external intelligence; Lana's was internal.

"Roughly two-thirds, if we're considering smugglers, pirates, and bounty hunters their own faction."

The Commander looked back out at the bar. "Infrastructure is nothing without the people who make it tick, and those little alliances mean something. Say we win. Say we beat Valkorion at his own game. Do you really think people will happily give up everything they've built over the last few years and go back to what we were doing before? No. The defection rate would be tremendous. We're all here because the people we wanted to trust in sat back and did nothing, chose to use the opportunity to enrich themselves politically rather than combining their strength and fighting back." They turned their glass on the table, watching the water ring smear. "I'm not going back. I can't. I can't believe in that anymore. And if there are others who also don't want to go back…? Then we'll figure something out together."

Theron looked over at Lana, who met his eyes and shook her head. She couldn't go back, either. "Then maybe we should start thinking about future organisation," she ventured. "I know you don't want to remain in control forever--"

The Commander scoffed and leaned further into Theron's side. "I'm only the Commander because you pushed for it. Our Zakuul allies want me to sit on the Eternal Throne. I can guess why -- they think I'm Valkorion's next incarnation -- and I don't want that. Zakuul can figure its own shit out. But if we settle anywhere else, either the Republic, the Empire, or both will try to annex us. They already dislike the concept of a third power existing in the galaxy, and let's be real: Odessen isn't as secret as we wish it was. We should already be looking for a backup base; we might as well look for something that can be more permanent. I’m not just giving this up. Not again."

They hesitated, and glanced at Theron, something guilty in their eyes. Before they could apologise for making a choice without talking to him first, Theron pressed his temple against theirs. "Wherever we go, you can count on me to be there too."

#just swtor things #I have a beef with how the Alliance and the expanded story were handled #Theron x Commander because the dynamic is fun #Imperial Commander because that dynamic is also a lot of fun #wish the game had gone more into how all this shit is affecting the people caught up in it

[pippki-writes]

An Ill-Fitting Name: Snippet 4

NOTES:

Snippet 1

Snippets 2 & 3

Features lyrics from Danny Schmidt’s “This Too Shall Pass”

Faoust belongs to @thebiggestnerd - she writes him, the healer (whose contribution I summarized in this snippet, I don’t think she comes up again much for our murderboy here so I didn’t go too in depth with her) - everyone else is mine.

Longer post, 8,066 words folks! Buckle up.

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The name is like an ill-fitting coat, but it’s either wear it, or go naked in the cold, metaphorically speaking. He knows Faoust will kill him, but he’s not dead yet.

The officer sitting outside the room tilts her chair back on its legs, in one ear her radio turned low and largely ignored, holding her phone out playing music and keeping her other ear tilted to the room and its occupant for signs of life. He listens to the music coming from her phone:

We think too big

We think our self is one whole thing

And we claim that this collection

Has a name and is a being

But deep inside

When every cell divides

Well, it sets upon the rule that states

Self-interest is divine

He scrapes out an involuntary cough, and the officer lets her chair fall forward as she twists to check on him.

She tries to interrogate him, but he can’t talk, and only whispers “no.” He writes on her notepad, “I’m expecting a visitor,” and refuses to communicate further. His intuition is that Faoust will come here for him eventually, though he doesn’t know how long Faoust will let him live. Maybe Faoust won’t come while he’s in the hospital. But hovering over the edge of the pain, death feels certain and he knows where it will come from.

Finally, a visitor arrives. He hears the footsteps approaching, certainly heavier than any of the nurses that have tended to him, and the sound of a respectful shuffling in place, acknowledging the officer guarding his hospital room.

A familiar voice speaks. “Hey. I’m here to see my friend Asmodai, officer…?”

He can hear the sound of the officer crossing her arms, but she neither gets up nor offers her name. “Don’t suppose you might be able to tell me what the hell happened to him and how he ended up here?”

“Nah, wish I could. Is he ok?”

“He’s not in great shape. I’m not a doctor but he’s bad off. And not the kind of bad off that happens accidentally.”

“That’s crazy.”

“Almost as crazy as whoever did this. You don’t have any ideas?”

“Nah. I’m not really an ideas guy. Just a guy who worries about my friends. Can I go see him or...?”

The officer gives a defeated little grunt. “Yeah, sure. Go ahead. We can talk later.”

Dorien walks into the room as though he belongs there. Machines. IVs. In the middle of the room, bed propped up, staring at him, there’s that bastard Asmodai. Dorien takes a moment to breathe, staring back, looking angry. Dorien reminds himself why he is here. Not to kill him. Not to bring retribution. Just information to help Faoust. He clenches and unclenches his hands.

It takes Dorien a moment to realize what Asmodai is doing. The slight, strange sound, chest heaving—he is, very quietly, laughing.

He hasn’t come to terms with how to refer to himself—he is no more Isaiah than he was Asmodai, but he supposes, out of respect for the wish of a self who once knew what it wanted, he will call himself Isaiah until it fits. Or until he’s dead.

Isaiah laughs until the sound breaks into a cough. For starters, this was not the visitor he was expecting. And he can see why he would have been drawn to Dorien. Tall, dark-haired, handsome, and vulnerable. So many of his favorite things. The wizard Asmodai, before he stole his name, had been much the same.

Dorien keeps himself in check, and comes closer to the bedside. He doesn’t want the officer to hear him.

“What’s so fucking funny?” Dorien growls quietly.

Isaiah frowns. Talking will be an effort. He can’t even breathe too deeply, thanks to Dorien’s best attempts to slowly crush his ribs the other night after what he tried to do to Faoust. This is merely a fact—he doesn’t feel particular malice over it. He tries to choose his words carefully, so as not to waste them. There’s no volume, only whispering, but even the whispers are so resolute, so final. The playfulness of Asmodai is gone.

“Too much...to explain. What ...do you want...to know?”

Dorien folds his arms, lest he be tempted to do anything. “C’mon, what do you think I’d be here wanting to know. The magic-blocking cuffs. How do we take them off? Where’s the key?”

Isaiah shakes his head. “Didn’t get...a key. Wouldn’t...have wanted it.”

Dorien glares down at the bastard who nearly succeeded at killing the love of his life, and proceeds to try to get information out of him while texting Faoust. The conversation is slow going. The answers Dorien gets are halting and unsatisfying.

Faoust texts Dorien: "I want to know what he thinks should happen next."

Dorien looks down at Asmodai. “So what do you think should happen next?”

Isaiah sighs, unfazed. “Talking...not exactly....easy. Paper? Pen? Your phone?”

Dorien looks around for paper. He’s dumb, but not dumb enough to hand over his phone. He finds a notepad and a cheap pen in the desk drawer, and throws them on Asmodai’s lap.

Isaiah scribbles, handwriting messy and difficult on the flimsy pad, “He kills me for what” a scribble then, crossing out an “As,” and the writing resumes, “I’ve done. Why wouldn’t he? It’s inevitable.”

Dorien tears the paper off the notepad and holds it up, taking a picture to send to Faoust. “You’ve really fucked up, Asmodai.”

Isaiah’s mouth twitches a little at the name.

Above the top of the note, in the picture, Faoust can see Asmodai staring at the camera. There is no fear, nothing pathetic in the way he looks. Resolute. Certain. Final.

Faoust frowns. He had hoped for a bit more fight. But this is sort of like putting down a rabid dog at this point. It's not enjoyable for anyone involved.

Faoust: "tell him I'm disappointed that it came to this"

Faoust: "tell him I'll be there soon. As soon as my magic is back"

Dorien reads his phone, and before he can speak another note is being waved at him that reads “tell him come talk to me himself. This is fucking ridiculous.” Dorien sighs and snatches the note, snapping a picture for Faoust. There is a touch of defiance in Isaiah’s eye.

Faoust's lip curls in irritation and a tiny bit of embarrassment. Fine.

Faoust makes his way to the hospital, to the third floor, to the charge nurse.

“Looking for my friend,” says Faoust, “A John Doe?”

The charge nurse points with a pen. “The room with the officer. There’s already a visitor and technically I shouldn’t let too many people visit at once, but you know what? The world is hell. This hospital is hell. Go nuts.”

“Amen,” Faoust replies, heading over to the officer. “Hi, I'm here for my friend. I guess I have to answer questions first?”

The officer squints up at him suspiciously. “Damn, did the city call a prettyboy convention and I missed the memo?” She lets the chair rest back on all four legs. “I dunno, what do you know about what happened to your friend?”

“Not much. We were out partying, I know pandemic and all, but spare me the lecture. I told him goodbye and to call me when he got home but he never did.” Faoust pauses. “I heard he's bad. Maybe a hit and run?”

“Sure. Sure. Right.” The officer eyes him for a moment. “You’re a better liar than your friend. Go on in.”

“Liar? I- ugh. Fine.” He gives up on the officer and goes in the room.

“Alright you piece of shit. I'm here. What do you have to say for yourself?”

Isaiah looks at Faoust appreciatively. Yeah, he can see why he did all that shit. He sighs, wishing he could just fucking talk, and settles for hurriedly writing on the notepad.

Dorien mutters softly to Faoust. “He can’t talk..apparently.”

Faoust chuckles a little. “I should expect so.”

Isaiah rips off the note and holds it out. It begins with “A” scratched out and then “I resented the power you had over me. Wanted you to suffer. Wanted to kill you, and Dorien, and take your name, take your power. And didn’t want to kill you. Wanted to fuck and kill with you. Poorer judgment won out. Tried to make you suffer.” He sighs, frustrated at the time it takes to write, already writing on a new note.

Faoust reads the note and sighs. It was just as he thought.

“I wanted to just keep it fun and casual.” Faoust grits out through his teeth, “Why did you have to complicate things?”

Isaiah tosses Faoust a finished note: “No point in apologies. Won’t change what was done. No actions to right it” and starts writing a response to the question, tapping the pen on his chin, thinking.

“Wasn’t as fun fucking and killing without you. Didn’t like that.”

“That's called friendship, you absolute dolt.”

Isaiah pauses, and writes “Asmodai didn’t do well with having friends.”

Faoust runs his hands through his hair in exasperation. “Wait-Asmodai? Third person? Who the fuck are we talking to then?”

Isaiah makes a face. It’s difficult to explain. He writes. “I am. Was. Asmodai. For too long I think.”

He pauses, rolls his eye. He doesn’t feel like Isaiah either.

“I did what he did. But don’t feel what he felt, anymore. Memories, yes. Feeling? No.”

Faoust pauses. “So is..is Asmodai gone?”

“Depends on what you mean. The me that felt what he—I felt?”

Isaiah makes a quiet frustrated noise and slams the pen down. He is so tired of writing. He jots another note, mindful of trying to do magic around either of them. “Can I try magic on my voice? You mind?”

Faoust shrugs. “Go for it.”

Isaiah holds his right hand around his throat, eye closed. Healing has never been his strong suit, but he knows enough to get by. He just needs to be able to talk. His hand glows faintly.

When he speaks, his voice is rough, not much volume to it but it’s more than a whisper.

“If I don’t feel the things I felt when I called myself Asmodai, am I Asmodai?”

Faoust thinks. This complicates matters. “I'll be frank. If I were to leave you be, what would you do? Don't lie to me.”

“I would leave you alone.” Isaiah shrugs. “The things I ...Asmodai...I felt, I know them. Factually. I don’t feel them anymore.” He looks at Faoust sharply. “But I am responsible for what I did.”

Faoust thinks for a moment. “This is complicated. I'll need some time with this. What do you think you'll do when you're out of the hospital?”

“What do you mean, when I’m out of the hospital? You’re going to kill me. No further planning needed.”

“Well, I was thinking about waiting when you got out of the hospital regardless.”

Isaiah sighs. “Wish I’d known that sooner. Might’ve kept this magical existential crisis at bay.” He shakes his head. “No. Probably not. Asmodai—I. Fucked up too much. There was no way he...I...would win. It’s certain. You will kill me.”  He shakes his head again.

“Look. I don't want to kill you. Asmodai. At all. At this point it's about putting down an animal. That's all. And now there's this whole thing that you're not even who I knew anymore? This complicates things. Shit, if I were to kill you, it wouldn't even feel right.”

Isaiah makes a frustrated noise. “Fuck. The only reason I’m like this is because you’re going to kill me.”

“Do you want me to kill you?”

Isaiah dodges the question. “Back when I started killing to take power and names, I bound my own name away, far beyond my memory, and it would only come back if I was certain I was going to die. So I could die not as whatever fucking asshole whose name I stole. But as myself. Or at least. In the name I was born with, right?

“I was Asmodai. I was happy being Asmodai. But now?

“I’m no more Asmodai than I am this damn name my shit mother gave me.”

Faoust thinks. “Well, look. Fine. I'll kill you. Put you down. But I have to wait. I can't do anything until I have my magic back.”

Isaiah twists his lips a little. “Hm. Can’t help there. Told your boy here, I don’t have a key for the cuffs.”

This whole time, Dorien has just been watching, arms crossed and not believing this bullshit.

“Yeah,” Faoust says, “I heard. I've just got to wait. So you've got to wait.”

Isaiah sighs again. “Isaiah. Isaiah James. My name.” He shrugs. “Me. Not me.”

Isaiah twists his lips briefly in disgust at the taste of his own name on his tongue. “If you’re going to kill me, you ought to have my name.”

Faoust nods and rubs his face. “Look, I'll put you down. I will. But it's going to take like at least a week for me to get my magic back.”

Isaiah gives another shrug. “You know where to find me. I know what I’ve done. It’s only right.”

“Alright. You're not going anywhere?”

Isaiah gives him a flat look. “Where and how the hell would I manage to do that?”

“I mean, you've got magic. I don't. You could pull out some magic to take yourself somewhere.”

Isaiah rubs his fingers together on his right hand, little sparks arcing between them as he stares vacantly at his hand. “Where would I go? For what purpose? I know my fate.”

Faoust nods, satisfied. “Alright. Well then, we'll be on our way. You've got my number.”

Isaiah nods, dismissing the sparks. “I’ll be waiting.”

Isaiah wonders if it’s worth healing himself--physically, at any rate. He closes his eye and takes stock of all his pain. So many choices. And what else is he supposed to do with his time? The burns, he thinks, he will work on those. He hovers his right hand over his burned forearm, wrapped loosely in the day’s fresh gauze, and slowly works a healing spell, distracted by memories of the fight. Remembering the moment it all turned on him, when help came for Faoust while he had no one. He shakes his head, his thoughts wandering around. So many emotions that ruled him that he’s no longer bound by. Though perhaps he should be. He ought to be more angry. But he is mostly hollowed out. He does not even notice when his thoughts slip over the witch and his magic doesn’t so much as flicker, the healing steadily and slowly knitting in his skin.

Those were Asmodai’s problems.

The worst part is the waiting. Or perhaps the worst part, right now, is the burns on his arm—his healing magic is slow, the process tedious, and his head is empty of any warming memory to draw upon to make the healing go faster. There are memories, so many memories, but as he turns his mind to each of them in turn he feels nothing he can pull from. Perhaps it would have been better not to restore the nerve endings that had been burnt away—as they return, so too returns the opportunity for fresh pain to scream through his senses. And the drugs have trouble working their wonders as his magic interferes with the natural order of his body. Too late now, he’s already started this project. When the nurses aren’t looking in on him, he hovers his hand over the burned arm and continues the laborious process of working healing magic. Healing was never his forte. It still isn’t. Good to know, though it still seems like all he knows is a catalogue of things he was, and now isn’t.

Though perhaps, Isaiah thinks, it’s pointless to dwell on. Does he need that badly to know who he is now, if he’s only going to die? Not that he wants to die. Though, he can tell, Asmodai didn’t want to die in a particularly crazed and desperate way that Isaiah no longer feels. He doesn’t want to die, but then, he doesn’t feel a clear sense that he wants much of anything right now. From the moment the spell he placed upon himself fell away, he has simply accepted the fact of his death. Imminent. Inevitable. Deserved.

Asmodai was awful—not in a way that Isaiah feels, merely as a summary of fact considering the things that he’d done. The drives that motivated him. But to be fair, Isaiah had not been a good person either. No. He had been awful too. Killed people. Tortured them. Enjoyed it. Sought power beyond his measure, and took it.

Killed the dark wizard who taught him everything.

Sealed himself away.

What had he thought would happen, if this spell had ever had cause to come undone? He can’t remember, but he is pretty sure he would not have guessed it would leave him like this. So...uncertain.

Regret implies a level of sadness Isaiah doesn’t feel. He...wishes he had been someone different though. He wishes he had acted differently. Had recognized his limits. Recognized battles he wouldn’t win, and had the sense not to fight them.

The nurse surely notices when Isaiah’s arm does not look as bad off today as it did yesterday, putting fresh gauze on, but says nothing. Discreetly checks the patient chart—yes, third degree burns. It definitely said the patient had third degree burns. But you don’t last long in this town by asking inconvenient questions. Since the patient is conscious now, staring out the window, the nurse offers him his phone from his belongings and plugs it in for him. There’s a crack across the screen, but the phone works.

Isaiah has been working on healing his arm. It is such a slow, deliberate process. He isn’t sure why he’s doing it, but now that he’s started he’s committed to continuing. After all, what else has he got to do? His arm is still a mess of burnt tissue and pain, fresh nerve endings and the testament to his limitations.

Later, he looks through his phone, deleting pictures that bring him no particular joy to look at. Eventually he texts Faoust, “Have you decided how you’ll do it?” and nothing else.

Faoust: “something quick. Could stab you right in the heart.”

The heart had been Asmodai’s favorite, ripped from his victims—sometimes raw, other times he’d toast them before devouring them whole.

Isaiah: “poetic. fitting.”

Faoust: "look man. I really don't want to do this. You could go about your business. I don't care"

Isaiah sighs, and leaves the message on read for a few minutes. He thinks.

Isaiah: “I did wrong by you. I accept responsibility for it.”

Faoust: "and I'm telling you it's fine."

Isaiah waits again before responding.

Isaiah: “now I’m the one that needs to think on that”

Faoust: "Asmodai tried to kill me. He failed. You're here now. Not the same as Asmodai. It's not the same kill for me. Look, I beat the shit out of you. That should cover it. Do you really want to die?"

Isaiah sighs to himself.

Isaiah: “no, I don’t”

Faoust: "then I'm giving you your fucking out. Take it."

Isaiah pauses. Again, Faoust giving him the opportunity not to die, after everything he...Asmodai...he did. After so many times he honestly deserved to die. He was a warped and twisted thing, not right, and surely not to be trusted. But fuck. He didn’t really want to die.

Isaiah: “...ok.”

Isaiah: “fine”

Faoust: "want me to call a healer for you?"

Isaiah: “...seriously?”

Faoust: "otherwise you're going to be stuck at the hospital forever. No offense but I want you out of here."

Isaiah: “sure, sure. If I’m healing myself it’ll take forever”

Faoust: "you can't kill her"

Isaiah: “of course”

Isaiah thinks about the warning, which is fair, considering his history. He doesn’t even feel like killing anyone right now. Which is strange to him. He wonders to himself as he waits if this is the right thing to do, not insisting Faoust kill him. If he’s just avoiding fate and what he deserves. But when Faoust arrives in his hospital room with a healer, and she uses magic to transport the three of them out of his hospital room, he just watches quietly, making no protest. The empty alley she takes them to is cold, and Isaiah’s broken body falls to the ground painfully without a bed beneath him anymore.

He sucks it up, grits his teeth, and withstands the pain and the cold. Not out of any sense of pride, but because he feels he deserves it. He lists out for the healer the procedures the doctors had done, along with his own meager attempts at healing, and in turn, she tells him what she’ll be able to do. The metal they used to set his bones will always bring him some pain and discomfort, and there’s nothing she can do for his eye, the curse--

“The eye,” says Isaiah, touching his cheek lightly, “has been there a long time now. It’s fine.”

The magic of healing is painful, and there is a lot of it to be done. Isaiah doesn’t scream, not the way he did when Faoust beat him in the first place. He endures, and tries to focus on the fact that he deserves this pain. This doesn’t stop a few strangled screams and growls from bubbling up. Faoust watches impassively, satisfied.

When it’s finished, Isaiah breathes heavily for a moment, feeling every nerve on fire, taking stock of how he feels. He sits up, slowly, impressed and in awe. He gives thanks to the healer, to Faoust, and stands up shakily on knees that are no longer shattered. He summons up the illusion of clothes over his hospital gown, with no idea where he ought to go, what he ought to do. When Faoust tells him to get the fuck out of here, he readily agrees. Not the first town he’s been kicked out of. Always violent. Always deserved.

He could teleport himself, but where the hell would he go? There’s nowhere he belongs. There’s a dull ache in his bones, and he picks a cardinal direction and starts walking toward it. The speed doesn’t matter. Isaiah doesn’t strictly need actual clothes. He could use magic to keep himself warm. But the first window shop he passes, he swaps his hospital gown for the outfit on display, and keeps walking. He walks until he’s passed by a sign indicating leaving/entering, the liminal space of one town bleeding into another, goes to the first clean motel he can find, uses his magic to procure a room, and passes out after having walked for hours.

At the hospital, a call is placed to 911. A patient is missing.

The officer assigned to take the report is the same one who had been guarding the room when Dorien and Faoust visited. With the most deadpan expression, she questions the charge nurse on duty, intoning dully, “wow, just fucking vanished, huh?”

She files a missing persons report for “Asmodai / Isaiah James,” because in spite of trying not to hear things she doesn’t want to have to question, she hears them anyway. She makes note of possible contacts / persons of interest, “Dorien” and “Faoust,” and submits her report to see if she can get away with not following up on anything further.

She doesn’t even bother running any checks on any of the names. She doesn’t find anything out about a decades-old missing persons report for a runaway boy of the name Isaiah James out of Ohio. If anyone bothered to fingerprint the victim at all to try to ID him while he was unconscious, the prints have been lost.

After all, a lot of people go missing in this town.

It’s just one more.

Her supervisor literally flips a coin to decide if such absolute bullshit shoddy work will be accepted. Tails. That’s a nope. He rejects the report, and sends her a CAD message: “hit the streets and try again sweetie.”

Officer Dannic “Dani” Voros swears, loudly, in her patrol car in the hospital parking lot, and slams her computer shut. Growls, and opens it again to search for any information she can find about Dorien and Faoust. If she can find anything, she’ll talk to them at least.

Here’s what she finds: no drivers licenses. No arrest records. No voter records. Nothing in any database she has access to. No hospital records, which no, her friend in the hospital records should NOT have looked up for her probably but dammit, this was important. Well, not important to her, but it’s what she was supposed to be doing and she was getting very annoyed with the lack of any hints of paper trail for those two.

She starts angrily and haphazardly googling search terms, and some combination of tall, mysterious, handsome, and Dorien does bring back a tabloid article about the enigmatic artist, which brings up several printed interviews and connections to a particular pre-teen punk rock band apparently bankrolled by Mr. Dorien Godforbidhehavealastname, and the names of its musicians. Actual names. First and last names, unlike those recordless bastards Dorien and Faoust. She searches the names. Property tax records. Bingo. A lead. And an address. She puts the patrol car in drive and heads out. One conversation largely conducted through the few-inch gap of a chained door later, Officer Voros has both probably offended another citizen with an inappropriate joke, and obtained an address for the two handsome strangers that called on her missing person.

The cold rain makes all this work extra annoying. She debates putting off the follow up until more clement weather. Or just never. Reluctantly she puts the patrol car in drive and heads to the address.

She looks at the apartment building as she pulls up. No, correction. She looks at the giant skeleton covered in Valentine’s decorations outside the apartment building as she pulls up. The apartment building itself is an afterthought. As she arrives, the weather around the apartment changes. Suddenly it is clear and 59 degrees.

Officer Voros just stares at the atmosphere and blinks at it like it has personally offended her. She twists in her seat to look back down the street at the weather there, then stares at the apartment again, and sinks back in her seat for a moment, closing her eyes, and thinks to herself, “thiiiiiiis. iiiiiis. some buuuuuuuullshiiiiiiiiit.”

She sighs a very angry sigh, gets out of the patrol car, and goes up to the appropriate door. She raps on the door with her very best authoritative knock.

Faoust opens the door and clocks the cop. “Hm.”

Officer Voros puts her hands on her hips and brightens comically. “And they said I’d never find the secret prettyboy convention! Those bastards once again were wrong.” She smiles, and doesn’t offer her name. “Evening citizen. I’m hoping you might help me with this absolute crazy missing persons case I’ve been cursed with.”

“Oh yeah? Who?”

“Why, your dear friend or whatever bullshit you said at the time. Asmodai? Isaiah? You know, the guy SOMEBODY in this cursed plane of existence beat all to hell and put in the hospital.”

“Wait, wait, wait. How did he go missing? He couldn't stand, let alone walk? How did you lose him?”

“Yeah! That’s the crazy part, he just. Fucking. Vanished. Shattered kneecaps, pelvis, and all. Gone. Between you and me, that’s on the hospital. We weren’t watching him anymore at that point, but now it IS my problem to, you know. Figure out what the fuck happened and make sure there’s not a homicide investigation that should be happening here.”

Faoust shakes his head in disbelief as he tries to come up with a plan. “I could give you his motel room and location if you want? I mean, I haven't heard from him since I went to go see him?”

“Sure, sure. And it’s not like it’s illegal for him to leave the hospital. If he’s fine, I just need to lay eyes on him. It just seems real fucking suspiciously inconceivable how he’d have managed that in the state he was in, ya know?”

“Yeah, no, for sure. Let me go get some paper.”

Faoust leaves her at the front door and digs around in drawers looking for paper and pen. She stands at the front door, looking inside, pondering Faoust the whole while. He hands her a note with the address of the motel Asmodai had been staying at.

“Let me know if you find anything, yeah?”

Officer Voros takes the paper. “Of course.” She takes a blank card out of her pocket, a generic business card for the police department that doesn’t have her name on it. She writes down a phone number and offers the card to Faoust. “You think of anything else helpful, call or text me. Or if your prettyboy friend Dorien knows anything either.”

“Dorien doesn't know anything. At all. Not a braincell up there. But I'll keep it in mind.” Faoust takes the card and pockets it.

“Thanks. Stay safe citizen.” She heads down the steps and back to her patrol car, looking at the address. She knows the motel.

Officer Voros looks back toward Faoust from her patrol car for a long minute before she pulls out. She doesn’t have any sort of proof necessarily, just a feeling that Faoust was lying quite smoothly out of every side of his head right to her face. She types up a field contact for alias Faoust along with the address before she leaves.

Asmodai’s motel room ends up being a dead end. There’s nothing obviously off about the room, but she gets a weird vibe. Still a suitcase here. Some knives. Nothing much else. She does not discover that the room is under a stolen credit card in another name. She doesn’t look up any other purchases that stolen card might have made to connect it to an abandoned rental car that was impounded on Faoust’s street. She types up her report and deletes “went on a wild fucking goose chase because my corporal is a dickhead” from the report.

Officer Voros swears loudly, because she realizes she didn’t ask Faoust if the mysteriously vanished bastard had. a fucking. cell phone number. She groans. She decides she’ll pretend to have thought of that tomorrow, because she doesn’t want to follow up now.

The weak and cloudy light of morning is scattered further by the cheap, hazy curtains pulled loosely across the window. Isaiah wakes up, still dressed in his stolen clothes where he passed out on top of the covers. There it is—a dull ache in his bones, a twinge in his hips and knees as he pushes himself up to sit. He looks down at his palms, and they are smooth and untroubled, marked by nothing but the simple creases of where his hand folds. He flexes his left hand. The countless scars that had made a tangled nest there in his palm, the countless times he’d cut and called upon blood magic and done only a just-good-enough job of closing the wounds, when he remembered to heal himself at all, they’re all gone.

Isaiah doesn’t even have a knife, he realizes. His...Asmodai’s favored knives were either in the clothes left in the hospital, in the rental car, or in the motel room he has no intention of returning to. But it feels like he should have a knife. He has no money, but money isn’t too necessary when you’re flush with magic and short on moral qualms against stealing.

He heads out for the day to get a knife, zipping up his stolen coat. Something simple. New. He goes to the nearest outdoors store and sees a nice Benchmade folding knife with a black-coated blade and white handle and feels drawn to it. With an effortless bit of magic, the knife disappears from the case and appears in his pocket as he leaves the parking lot.

Isaiah flips the knife open experimentally, admires it, turning his wrist this way and that to see the sides of the blade. He unlocks the blade and closes it again, clipping the knife in his pocket. He doesn’t have a plan for it, but it felt appropriate in his hand.

Isaiah has been somewhat skirting around thinking about this fact, but taking the knife in his hand he has to confront it. He’s not someone who can go work a 9 to 5 job, take a little paycheck home, find someone sweet to love him and love in turn. Whatever he does next isn’t going to be some contented kind of life. That wasn’t the lot he was born to.

What he is good at...all he has ever been good at, is violence.

He walks slowly back to the current motel. He takes the knife out of his pocket, opening and closing it as he goes, thinking to himself. Magic, and violence. Magic and violence. This is all he’s ever known. Even if he wanted to do something else, how could he, at this point? He’s not a good person. And surely nothing he is capable of can be used for good ends. He hasn’t killed anyone in so many days now, and strangest of all, doesn’t feel particularly compelled to. Not averse to it either. But the stirring in his blood that craved to see the icy glint of fear through tears before an untimely death doesn’t move him, for now.

Officer Voros follows up with Faoust the next night, gets a phone number for her missing person, and puts in a request for a ping before taking a nap in her patrol car. She’ll follow up further in daylight hours. Before ending her night shift, Officer Voros tries to call the phone number Faoust provided for the missing person. It’s almost 6am, of course he doesn’t answer. She leaves a voicemail indicating for him to call the communications center so they can speak.

The next day, Officer Voros, as soon as assembly is done, goes to her patrol car and puts herself on a follow up before any calls can be assigned to her. She tries calling the number again. Isaiah looks at his phone. A blocked number. He silences the phone without answering, because who would be calling him? He hasn’t bothered checking his voicemail either, since he didn’t recognize the number that called. He’ll check it eventually. He sits in his motel room, opening and closing his stolen knife.

Officer Voros checks the latitude and longitude of the ping. Another motel. It’s within a mile of what technically counts as her jurisdiction, so technically she CAN go investigate her own damn self, OR she can call her counterparts in the next town over to check for her. She debates which sounds like more work. With an agonized groan that can surely be heard two counties over, Officer Voros puts her patrol car in drive and heads for the motel.

Officer Voros checks with the front desk, but thanks to his use of magic there’s no one checked in by the names of Asmodai or Isaiah James. She pulls up the coordinates on her phone to get as close as possible to the ping, and starts knocking on doors fruitlessly, starting with the ground floor. She has an idea, and dials the number again, and faintly hears a ring from a couple doors down. A little excited in spite of herself, she hustles down to the door and knocks.

Asmodai would’ve checked through the peephole before opening the door, if he opened it at all. Isaiah does not care, and opens the door as he silences his phone again, looking up from the phone at the officer.

“There you are, you mysterious bastard! Alive and unmurdered, and my hatred of paperwork thanks you for that.”

Isaiah feels a slight needle of panic, if only because he has done a lot of things that would not put him on the good side of the police. His eye darts briefly to her neck and back to meet her eyes.

“Here I am. Alive. Unmurdered, as you say.”

Officer Voros looks him up and down, frowning. This is definitely the same guy, that’s not a common scar after all, but he’s clearly not just unmurdered, but very significantly undamaged. “Didn’t you have a hell of a lot of shattered bones?”

Isaiah shrugs. “Modern medicine is a miracle.”

Officer Voros just blinks at him. She doesn’t believe him for a moment. “And I don’t suppose you might be able to tell me how you managed to make your way so secretly out of the hospital that they felt compelled to report you as a missing person?”

“Sorry, no. Not sure what the miscommunication was there. Quite obviously, I left the hospital.”

“Quite. Obviously. Of course.”

Isaiah smiles wanly. “Am I in trouble?”

Officer Voros continues looking him over suspiciously. “I suppose not. You left your paperwork from the hospital.” She hands him a stack of paperwork and billing statements. “Somehow.”

Isaiah takes the papers. “Oh, thanks.”

“And the belongings you came in with. Are still at the hospital.”

“Oops.”

“And a bunch of shit I’m guessing belongs to you is all left at another cheap motel.”

“You think?”

“No,” Officer Voros snaps. “I try to avoid thinking whenever I can. But I do think some weird ass shit is involved here with you.”

Isaiah’s hand twitches slightly, and he presses his lips together. “Hm.”

“But shit being weird isn’t my problem. Not my jurisdiction. So I suppose I don’t give a fuck. Glad you’re not murdered. Take care. Call your friends, they’re pretending to be worried about you.” She heads back to her patrol car.

Isaiah slowly lets out a tensely held breath.

Officer Voros sits in the parking lot, wrapping up her report. She tries calling Faoust from her blocked number. He answers, not knowing any better.

“Solid citizen! Faoust right? Your favorite friend-finding officer here. Found your friend.”

“Oh my god! Where was he? Is he ok?”

“He’s better than ok, considering the state I last saw him in. Damn near miraculous recovery. He’s just outside of town, another motel not far off the highway.”

“Oh man, thanks so much for finding him. I'll have to go see him. Are you able to give me the address?”

“That depends, are you going there to murder him?”

“Why the hell would Igo there to murder him?”

“Aaaa I’m just fucking with you. I’ve got a nice neat solved missing persons case here and if you went and murdered him it would just be an assfuck of paperwork that I don’t want to have to deal with is all.”

“Fucked up joke, officer.”

“Yeah, file a complaint on me if you’d like. Oh, right, address,” she says, and gives him the address and room of the Quality Inn where Isaiah is staying.

“Thank you. Despite the fucked up joke, I'm glad you found him.”

“Just doing my sworn duty and all that. Stay safe citizen,” she says and hangs up.

Without fully realizing it, Officer Voros has solved the first missing persons case in the department in nearly a year.

Officer Voros always keeps a spare portable radio among her belongings. She managed to get it more or less off the record, so that when she inevitably loses track of her actual radio again, she can make do with the backup until the original eventually resurfaces, and not get all manner of shit from her corporal for losing her radio AGAIN. She doesn’t think hard on the fact that her radio is once again MIA. It will turn up in time.

In his motel room, Isaiah switches the radio on, and fiddles between channels.

Isaiah lays on the bed, one hand manipulating the knife—open, closed, open, closed, each motion with a satisfying little sound—the other hand resting on the radio on his chest, occasionally following the chatter of traffic to a side channel. An officer keys up, her voice annoyed and muttering over sounds of entitlement in the background—“6676 to 200, switch to 2”—and Isaiah flips the radio to channel 2, partly because he is curious and partly because it sounds like the officer from the other night.

The officer keys up, he’s quite sure it’s her, and a voice that sounds like it expects the world laid compliantly at its feet cuts through the backdrop of everything the officer says

6676: 200 you on?

—this is AMERICA, I have RIGHTS, I demand to speak to your SUPERVISOR, I—

200: go’on whatcha got

—what is your NAME, no WHAT is your NAME—

6676: *you can hear the eye roll in her voice* can you just come over here and deal with this.

There’s a final indignant “do you even KNOW” in the background before the supervisor cuts over the traffic to advise he’s en route. Isaiah’s thumb closes the knife again with a sense of finality. He doesn’t care about the officers, but the woman in the background had the sort of voice you’d love to cut right out of her throat.

Isaiah sits up, goes to put the radio aside but pulls it back in front of him again. He focuses on the radio, whatever traces of grit and grime and little skin cells from the officer still stick to the plasticky radio, and does a tracking spell. He switches the radio off, puts it on the bedside table, and grabs his jacket on the way out the door.

Isaiah returns to his motel room. Hands clean. Knife clean.

He did not appear with an ear-splitting bang, as the witch does. He knows ways to move through shadows and though it isn’t instantaneous, it’s a hell of a lot quieter. Isaiah remained in the shadows, waiting. There, yes, the officer from the other night, and there, that must be 200, the human embodiment of an industrial refrigerator crossed with a boulder, and there. Jabbing her finger, practically frothing at the mouth, hair crisply cut, every line in her body set in the conviction of her own righteousness and that she should get what she wants. Isaiah didn’t even try to listen to what she was saying. It didn’t matter. He waited.

When the officers left, the woman turned to her minivan to get in. Or, that was what she intended to do. But she found as she walked, it was like her body was being pushed and pulled, and the sound had left her voice, and she walked into the shadows across the parking lot.

Without saying a word, Isaiah came up quickly behind her and slit her throat, and before a drop could hit the concrete sent her body and all its rapidly spilling blood deep, deep into the earth below.

Magic cleaned the knife. Magic cleaned his hands. He slipped back into the shadows and hurried to get the hell back out of Faoust’s town.

Isaiah returned to his motel room, everything clean. Feeling a certain ...satisfaction? Correctness? A bit of lost unease dissolved away within him.

Of course, Isaiah reflects on how different this murder was. He flicks the knife, open and closed. When he thinks of himself as he was, he has gotten in the habit of thinking of himself as an entirely separate person now. Asmodai was. Asmodai would have. So on. Asmodai would have taken far more enjoyment from the killing. Asmodai would have tasted the blood on the knife. Asmodai would have savored the delicious fear in her eyes, for as long as possible. Asmodai would have had the possibility of someone to share the experience with, though he resented so much about that fact. Asmodai was an idiot.

Isaiah switches the radio back on, quietly, to have something to listen to, since that’s all he has.

When Officer Voros was handling the latest missing person case early this morning, part of her was perversely satisfied—maybe that bitch descended back to hell where she belonged—and that other part of her, the part made of intuitions that guessed too correctly, that had long ago tried to bring up things that had since gone ignored, the part that she did her best to keep buried, that part felt a sharp jolt of unease. She was, officially, the last person to have seen the missing person. There was a security camera on the other side of the parking lot, and the footage made no sense. The victim—victim? Why was she already thinking victim?—missing bitch, then, started walking to her car, and then turned, and walked off to the far side of the parking lot, into grainy shadow. It didn’t look like someone had called out to her, she just...decided to go on some random bitch walk. In the dark of early morning hours, Officer Voros walked around the spot she went off to, clicking on her flashlight, looking for clues. Nothing.

It seemed appropriate for Isaiah to return to murder on his own...it’s all he knows. He’s not suddenly a good person. He’s not full of remorse for everything he did. It’s all just facts. Things that happened that can’t be changed.

He listens to the radio again today, and thinks with a sort of mirthless chuckle how hypocritical it would be for him to kill some of the people he’s hearing about. “If I were cutting throats for that, have to start with myself,” he thinks, over and over and over. Asmodai craved victims, sought them out. Isaiah is content to see what serendipity will bring.

Isaiah struck out into town yesterday to find a charger for his stolen radio. Listening gives him something to do besides think. He could have just gotten a commercial police scanner, or used an app on his phone to listen in, but that didn’t have the same appeal. He listens carefully, mentally keeping track of the addresses and where the officers are, when it’s announced anyway. The officer from the other night he can find easily enough, but without addresses and nothing to trace them with, magically speaking, finding any of these other officers would be incredibly difficult. Well, to do in a timely fashion anyway.

So he listens, and waits, hoping to feel that same jolt of dead certainty, knowing a voice spoke that would be his to kill.

Isaiah knows. An officer keys up “put me out with an animal problem at” and gives an address, and just before the radio cuts out he hears a man in the background, derisive, say “I don’t understand, it’s just a stupid—“ before being cut off by the end of the transmission. That voice. He felt it, like a nail being slashed at high speed across a chalkboard, a string plucked so hard it snaps, THAT is a man he needs to kill. He is equal parts thrilled and yet feels the calm certainty slipping over him. His knife is ready. He knows where to go. He slips out into the cold rain.

Sliding through shadows. Waiting. The man goes inside, alone. Isaiah slips inside, without a word, the only sound made is his knife blade locking into place. The man finds his voice is gone. The man walks toward Isaiah, against his own will, and kneels before him, fear shining in his eyes. Isaiah looks down, cold, comes around from behind, threads his fingers in the man’s hair and pulls back, hard, exposing his neck. He draws the blade firm and fast across the neck, and like the woman before Isaiah sends the body hundreds of feet into the ground below before a drop of blood can hit the floor.

He looks at the blood on the knife, for a moment, imagines the taste on his tongue like a mouth full of pennies. It doesn’t appeal to him, not right now. Magic cleans the blade, cleans the bit of blood on his hands, cleans the scene of any trace evidence, and Isaiah slips away.

- NEXT SNIPPET -

#an ill-fitting name #My writing #original story #collaborative fiction #Original work #original writing #original fiction #magic fiction #Magic murderer #Snippets #fictional murder #fictional murderer #Fictional incompetent police

[a-w-g-x-blog]

Mr Barakat & Mr Gaskarth

Hi!! Ive never really written any fan fictions or imagines before, so if this isnt that good im sorry. Ill try my hardest though:)

I walk through the school gates texting my best friend Aria. Im basically just ranting to her about how stressed- but excited i am because i have Mr Barakat first period. She sends me a message saying: “Yo i see u”, i look up in attempt to look for her and i see her straight away. I make my way towards her, running faster than i ever thought was possible.

“Hey whats up? Youre stressing so much calm down” Aria says to me while patting my back. Im crouched over, puffing from running.

You see, im not that good at exercise... at all.

*bell rings* “Come on lets go to class. I bet you’re just so excited to see Mr Barakat” aria says and nudges me in the side, i give her a threatening look in response. She stops.

I walk into the class room and make direct eye contact with Mr Barakat, it sent shivers down my spine. He smiled and i smiled back.

I walked to my usual seat at the back of the classroom and sat down next to aria. we talked for about a minute before mr Barakat decided to get up and quiet down the class. he started writing some stuff up on the whiteboard and instructed us on what to do for this lesson, of course, I wasn't listening. I was just paying attention to his pretty little face. he's adorable. ....and super hot.

I didn't do my work or pay attention to the stuff he was telling the classing was just looking at him. he was a really nice ass btw. r e a l l y   n i c e. sometimes I just wanna poke it, buuuuuuuuut I can't really do that. 

as I'm just staring, daydreaming, yknow, the usual, aria nudges me over and over again, truing to get my attention. I finally snap out of it. “HES COMING OVER” she whisper yelled at me. I look up and see him slowly making his way over to our desk. I immediately freak the fuck out and get really nervous.

“hey, y/n, can I see you after class? its important” he says to me and leans on my desk.

“y- yes of- of course mr Barakat” I stutter, but manage to get it out of my stupid mouth.

“great ill see you later” he says, and walks off. 

I. nearly. screamed.

and so did aria..

she nudged my side and make a weird face. 

“hm?” I said.

“HE ASKED UIIU TP DTASY BSCK ASFTERBCLSS” she said, I hardly understood a word she said, but I do understand why she was freaking out so much. he really did ask to see me after class, but it'll probably be something very different to what were both hoping.

see, my friend Aria has a ~crush~ on her music teacher, miss Page, and I, have a crush on mr Barakat, .......and another teacher called mr Gaskarth, yep. two crushes at once. lemme tell you its not fun. aria and I basically just fangirl a lot over our ‘teacher crushes’.

When the end of period bell rang, aria laughed and ran out of the classroom yelling ‘HAVE FUN!’.

...and at this point i wanted to die.

I walked up to the front of the classroom to his desk and stood there silently while he finished off talking to another student. When it was just him and i in the room he started talking.

“Like i said, this is important. Y/n youre failing my class horribly and im not sure why, would you like to explain?” He said in quite a serious tone. Now im scared.

“Uhm im not totally sure why im failing Mr Barakat im very sorr-“ he cut me off,

“so you dont know why youre failing?” He asked confused.

“N- no. Im sorry.” When really, i did know. It was because i never gave a damn about what he was saying i was only ever paying attention to his body.

“Hm okay well try a bit harder i guess... the only reason i can think of is that you always seem to be daydreamimg in class. Sooooooo might wanna stop that. Anyways see ya later alligator” he said and laughed. His laugh is adorable.

I smiled and waved goodbye, and walked out of the classroom. So.. he notices im day dreaming... that means he looks at me omg he knows i actually exist, unlike all the other teachers who just seem to ignore my whole existence. ...not mr gaskarth though hes nice too.

I made my way to the cola and met up with aria.

“OMG OMG OMG WHAT HAPPENED DID YOU KISS OMG WHAT HAPPENED” she yelled in my face, extremely loudly, just so everyone could hear.

“No. We did not. He simply talked to me about my grades and how i need to pay attention in class instead of daydreaming..” i said quite calmy.

Aria frowned.

We talked for the rest of recess and went to our next class, math. Ugh i hate our math teacher. So. Much.

I dont pay attention, i just think about mr barakat, aaaand then aria reminds me that i have music with him this afternoon. I instantly get nervous. Music with mr gaskarth always makes me nervous.. beause its really obvious when you didnt pay attention. Like, he could be explaining all this stuff, and then when he tells you to go play this particular instrument, you have no idea what the fuck he wants you to do with it. So its alwas nerve wracking.

*Le time skip*

The end of period bell goes, and i start making my way to music, aria and i part half way as she has cooking. Ha. Suck shit bitCh.

Im surprisingly the first one to the classroom, i slowly walk in and wave to mr gaskarth. He smiles and waves back.

“Do you know where the rest of the class is?” He asks me.

“Uhm no sorry im not sure.. i was wondering why i was the first one here haha..” I mentally face palm myself for being so awkward.

“Well, i guess we can just hang out until they all show up” he said and smiled.

I grinned and nodded. Oh man. Yes.

“So what’ve you been up to lately? Hows your day been so far?” He asks and smiles and then takes a sip of water from his bottle.

“Ehh its been okay i guess... the only two good parts of today were first period when i had mr barakat and now when i have you.” I laughed and so did he, i even saw him turn a slight shade of red. it was so cute. “Mr barakat talked to me after class and told me im failing because i daydream too much in class” i said and blushed, becuase damn i was embarrassed that i said that. God dammit i hate myself.

“Aw, well i mean you do daydream a lot y/n” he said and laughed.

I looked down at the floor and awkwardly laughed.

And just then the class walks in.

“Yo gaskarth sorry were late some kid got in a fight it was lit” some kid said. (Yes, murder me all youd like for that sentence).

“Oh.. its okay I guess” mr gaskarth said and re-positioned himself in his seat. Everyone sat down and i sat at the back of the room like i always do.

He started going on about some music shit.. i dont know what. I like music, well... listening to it. Music class? I hate it, its so boring, the only thing i like about it is my fucking teacher.

His lecture about what i think was about.... opera or some shit ended and he instructed us to all go get a keyboard and play a certain song. Now, you see... i cannot, and i mean CANNOT play keyboard. I am so bad at it. But mr gaskarth has given me an A on all my keyboard tasks anyways when i cant even do them.. hes nice with stuff like that. I wonder if he does it for anyone else...

I sat down at a keyboard and pressed the g note over.. and over... and over again for nearly 45 minutes, until last period had finished. Of course, i was looking at what mr gaskarth was doing while hitting the g note. He was adorable... his little smirk and the cute faces he makes are just, perfectly adorable.

When the end of bell rang, i got up, collected my stuff and headed to the door, but i felt a hand grab my arm and stop me in my tracks. I look behind me to see who it was, just expecting a random person in my class, it was actually mr gaskarth. I blushed like mad and i saw that he could see that. He nervously laughed and scratched his head while looking away cutely.

“So uh.. i just wanted to tell you that you look really nice today. Like, your hair and your makeup its just-“ i cut him off.

“THANK YOU” i practically yelled....

He laughed. “Youre welcome, youre very pretty. I heard some people calling you emo and ugly earlier.. and i didnt know what to do because i think you actually look great today” he said and smiled at me.

“Thank you, you really dont know how much that means to me, mr gaskarth.” I said and smiled sweetly and blushed again.

“Well... you should get going. Have a nice rest of the day” he said as i was leaving and smiled.

“You too, mr gaskarth” i replied, smiled, and waved him goodbye, he did too.

I made my way out of school and started walking home.

I hate that i like teachers... and two of them... why cant i just like 1 person? And can they not be a goddamn teacher? I sighed and continued my walk home.

[poeticsandaliens]

Worn Out Souls

Genre: William-centric, post MS IV

Rating: M. For Will’s potty mouth.

Summary: An introspective ficlet in which William is all of us. It’s both my take and William’s take on the last twent-five years of the X-files. What Mulder and Scully are and what Mulder and Scully should have been. I promise I’m not just using Will to bitch about Chris Carter; this has a purpose. Also Scully gets to meet her son in person here, undisguised. Fuck you Chris.

Title taken from "Goodbye John Smith” by Barns Courtney. All of you go listen to it; it’s lovely.

Tagging @today-in-fic. 

What a fucking night. He shouldn’t have come back to Virginia so soon. God knows that sullen motherfucker rotting in the Potomac can’t catch him now, but leave it to Lady Luck to screw up his day. One flat tire, two angry rednecks, three close calls with law enforcement. Four different identities. He’s tired of the road.

(Scratch that. He’s not tired of the road; he’s tired of driving it underground. He wants blast MCR and stick his head out the window, his own head, with his own face and not the face of some guy he met in the gas station.)

He speaks to Dana sporadically, offering her snippets of his travels. In return, she answers his practical questions—laundry, cooking, navigation with no cell service. He picks around her thoughts sometimes. If she notices, she doesn’t say anything. He checks up on the creepy-looking blob she’ll give birth to in November. He is related to it, after all.

The Motel 8 in Reston has a selection of static and shit porn, so he binge-watches her memories instead, skipping the part where she’s abducted and stopping before Mulder is. Dana’s life plays like an exceptionally weird series of student films, and it feels wrong to love them.

He didn’t know it was possible to be nostalgic for things that happened before he was born. Long before he was born—the cramped basement office, the coming of age of his parents, the b-movie adventures that quietly led up to his conception. He misses the good old days, when she bickered high pitched and fiery, not weathered by sorrow after sorrow. He misses the good old days maybe more than she does. It’s a strange feeling, to love something long after it ends. But he does, he loves their batshit twenty-something silhouettes in the woods, and he wonders—when did the job they once enjoyed become a lifelong burden? Who decided to saddle them with back-breaking conspiracy and a literal galaxy of problems? Fuck him, whoever he is. (He’s only seen the guy once, dead as a fucking doornail at the river bottom. He feels guilty because he can’t feel sorry for him.)

Dana and Mulder didn’t deserve this shit. They deserved Sasquatch and Loch Ness and blurry polaroids in the forest. They deserved a chance to chase something happier than the magic murder-baby they were forced to give up. They didn’t deserve to live in mourning. None of us did.

It’s bullshit. He hops into the bed with his vape mod, stretches his legs, and spews a fog of raspberry steam into the room. Why couldn’t they live like those nutcases on the Discovery Channel? Tracking monsters in bumfuck nowhere, whacking trees and barbecuing ribs and screaming into the mountains for Bigfoot. It could be fun; it could have been fun; it was fun, but he arrived too late for it.

That’s really the kicker—he wants to be a part of their lives, he really does. But he doesn’t want to be the third grief-stricken, dysfunctional semi-genius sulking about their house. He wants to be a part of their lives before they gave birth to him. It saddens him to see them embrace the mundane, after the wild explorers they used to be. The only people who leave behind the good old days have been traumatized by them. Mulder and Dana aren’t your typical neighborhood couple; even in their utter domesticity, they slice themselves off from the world. They finally get out of the damned car, but only because the car is filled with ghosts.

They wouldn’t want to be normal, if the alternative wasn’t so soul-breaking.

It’s bullshit, he thinks again. It’s the only word that seems to sum it all up. He breathes into his vape mod and on a whim, changes the flavor to blueberry—convenience-store magic, his favorite kind. He closes his eyes.

Dana is standing in the Pacific Northwest rainforest in the ugliest goddamn coat he’s ever seen. Puffy fluorescent blue and fuschia, swallowing her whole.

Mulder has injured himself like an asshat for the umpteenth time. He still kisses her when the clock strikes midnight.

She is dying of cancer. He is dying of a mysterious brain illness. They are dying on the floor of an antique mansion, bleeding into the linoleum. She is dying. He is dying. One of them is always dying.

They’re a pain to keep an eye on, but someone has to do it.

A knock on the door rouses him, and it takes him a second to realize who it is. He’s been so busy unwrapping her past that he hasn’t bothered to check up on her present. Oops. He gets up off the bed, flings open the door—

And there she is. Her hands are shoved into the pockets of her coat (some things never change). Her hair is cropped to her neck, left mussed and untamed. She looks at him with those seen-some-shit blue eyes, wider now that the razor’s edges of her face have smoothed. Her baby belly pokes softly out her coat in a taut grey t-shirt. The kid is the size of a grapefruit. He Googled it yesterday. It unnerves him, how silently babies grow. Amoebic little creatures developing into people—and in his case, back into creatures again.

“You shouldn’t say that about yourself, Will.”

So she speaks, doesn’t just stare desperately at things with that haunted look in her eye. Who knew. She cocks her eyebrow at him.

“I speak what’s on my mind,” she says. It probably comes out sharper than she intended, because a sigh escapes her lips. She takes in the plane his face. He lets her. Her eyes settles on the vape mod in his hand. She snorts, doesn’t say anything, doesn’t judge him.

“Can I hug you, Will?” She asks breathlessly.

He nods dumbly, and she wraps her arms around him, a foot shorter than he is. She is warm, fragile and kevlar-tough at the same time. She is a comfort. She smells of citrus shampoo. Her rounded abdomen presses against his side, his sister, and it’s the singular weirdest thing he’s ever felt.

“I’m fine,” he assures her, because he’s not sure what else to say. “I knew you were coming.”

“I heard you in my head all morning, what did you expect?” She’s right—he’s living in her brain, and his sister is living in her womb, and he can’t help but feel like neither of them have earned a right to be there. They have the privilege to be. That’s what he’ll tell the kid when she gets older, that it’s a privilege to be. A privilege to love. It’s a pain, and it’s a privilege, because it’s a miracle any of them lived long enough to love at all.

Allowing himself a slight smile, he gestures to the crappy motel room she has seen a thousand of before. “Come inside.”

#the x-files #txf fanfic #Dana Scully #fox mulder #William Scully #jackson van de kamp #william-centric #I was emotional #post ms iv #babyfic #kind of #bullshit

[the-little-red-noodle]

10/11/18 7:47

okay, lets talk. 

Ive had an emotional 24 hours. I’ve been anxious, i’ve been insecure, i’ve been angry and sad and hurt and manic and crazy and i need to get it out so i can fucking cleanse and move into my weekend.

It started with spencer, what like, 2 nights ago now? i dont remember when it was, but i was getting insecure and noticing how i was affecting him. it was yesterday, cuz it was wednesday. i was insecure and didnt want him to leave my room and i think i really stressed him out because i just wanted him to stay and say the things i wanted to hear, but that isnt reality. he cant read my mind, he cant know what i need to hear, thats why i need to communicate and not just suck into myself and away from him, but i didnt want to do that because i didnt want to be crazy, but then i got crazy and i made him kinda late because he dropped by at 3:30 and only expected to stay till 4 but he left at 6:27 as i needed to go to my 6:30 lab.. so i feel bad but i just agh i couldnt let him leave when i didnt feel good..

i didnt feel good because we talked about politics. he got me going on the wage gap, so i got heated talking about the misconceptions and he was (respectfully) arguing with me because he is suuupperrrr super liberal, very very left, very socialist, and he’s a politics major, so he’s well versed and i get that going in, but i also wanted to share my side because im fairly moderate; i dont believe in a lot of feminist rhetoric, or the wage gap stuff. i read the study, and it bothers me that people misuse the statistics to say that women get paid less for the same job, because that is NOT what the study found. The point was that women take different kinds of jobs than men and tend to work less hours and have less education and qualifications. THAT is the ‘feminist’ issue, not paying women less for the same job because thats illegal and cant happen. 

Heres the thing. I know there are sexist issues in our society. i know that it is harder for women than it is for men. but frankly, i feel better ignoring it as much as i can. i feel like if we keep telling women than they shouldnt be scientists because its a man job, or that society tells women that they need a leg up, because then we start believing it and internalizing and thinking we are less than men. i feel like if we just stopped talking about it, i wouldnt know that there was a gender discrepancy and id feel totally normal getting into stem. i dont want to feel like im some anomaly. and frankly yes, i notice sometimes. i notice the gender divide in stem. of fucking course i see it. i know that there are men in my neuroscience lab who think i dont know shit. im not blind, i know the STEM field is misogynistic. i know it is. but i dont like to subscribe to the feminist thing that im so held down and its because im a woman. but thats just me

anyway, my babe is very liberal and he was listening of course but also making sure i knew that the problems im ignoring are still there, which i appreciate but i also get kinda irritated with hyper liberal men because it sounds kinda guilty? like listening to a straight white man say that straight white men are the problem, annoys me. like yes thats true, but also ugh its annoying. i hate the men shame that feminism encourages.

so we kinda went back and forth for a while, which like, good that we can have real conversations, and politics is something that will inevitably come up, but as the conversation went on, i started getting insecure and anxious because confrontation scares me. not that he was really even confronting me? like spencer is such a sweet man, he’s gentle and kind and supportive and so sweet to me, and i know politics is literally his thing, and im glad that he’s super liberal as opposed to the other end. cuz like ya i am a queer woman and im glad that he seems like a strong advocate for minority groups like that, so like im glad, but i also started to feel like he was frustrated with me for like being ill informed.

 heres the thang tho, im not really ill informed. ive done my research, i watch the news, and im a big fan of shoe0nhead which admittedly is very moderate bias media, but its content i agree with. and i was telling him that im fairly moderate, and he was like ya i can tell, and i was like and politics isnt really my thing, and he was like ya i can tell. but i didnt mean that like i didnt understand politics, i meant it as like i try not to really get into the conversation (partially because of sarah lawrence)

no wait i did tell him that. i told him how involved i was in social justice stuff in new york, that i literally led the anti Trump protest in NYC after he was elected. and when i told him that, he got all dreamy eyed like it was so attractive that his girlfriend was an activist, which is cute n whatever, cuz everything he does is cute..

the point is, that after this conversation i was insecure because i felt like he would be mad at me (he wasn’t) or that he would hate me (he doesn’t). and i know that logically of course, but still... ugh idk, the conversation just got me riled up and then he had to leave town for the whole weekend and i was feeling like we wouldnt have enough time to resolve it

but he kept saying everything was fine, that he wasn’t mad, that he might disagree, but still loves me duh. and i know he meant it, but u know when you get in your head and youre like shit i said too much, and now he will never look at me the same because we slightly disagree about politics, like my moms dating a republican and they reallllyyy disagree on politics, like i will be fine! whats yer issue self?

but ya so i just felt insecure, and i know he was trying to comfort me even tho i didnt let on thaaat much that i was hurting. i feel like when people i love get confrontational with me (which again, he wasn’t) i get upset and my heart feels heavy and it hurts and i want them to leave and i would have just ended our hangout because we both had places to be and whatever we’ll deal with it later, but i knew he was leaving tonight and was gunna be busy and we couldnt deal with it so i was scared and when my attachment feels insecure, i get SO insecure. hahahaaaa i was thinking this relationship would be any different? gurl.

but heres the thing, he is.. he’s fine. he doesnt think anything is wrong and he’s still my sweet pea boyfriend. and i know that now, because i did get to say goodbye in a good re-establishing way tonight.

i knew he was leaving after his class at 6:30 tonight and i was nervous because i knew he was gunna be busy with packing up and everything.

i ran into him walking to class and we were fine and kissy and cute and i love him but as we were parting i was like can i say goodbye before you leave, but i dont think he heard me cuz he didnt really respond because we were diverging and he was giving me his sweet boy eyes with an outstretched arm as we parted and i was like shit im still insecurrrreeee

so i texted him during the first class like “hey i meant cant i say goodbye before you hit the road but sounds like yer gunna be busy so have a great weekend baby i love you!” and i meant it, i wanted to end on a good note but then he didnt respond all day, and my anxiety was mounting and i spent the rest of today in my room doing nothing but stressing about him. stressing about a boy, nothing new for me.

but eventually i got really tired and took a real nap, i had accepted that i wouldnt see him again.. sad.. i woke up at like 7:15 and i was like hmm let me see if his car is still here, ya know, cuz im crazy. i went downstairs to fill up my water bottle and his car was still in the parking lot. so ya know, i text him, cuz im crazy. and i was like drive safe babe <3 and then as i got back to my room there he was outside my door with bags in his arm to pack up his car and i was so effing relieved to see him. we hugged and kissed and he seemed genuinely happy to see me and i was so happy to get to have a moment with him before he left.

i walked him down to his car, and filled up his water bottle for him and once everything was in his car, he just kissed me.. and i know im a hopeless romantic, but i was so happy to just kiss him and feel his lips smiling and feel his arms around me and hear him giggle and be adorable.. 

my heart still hurts, but it’s different now. my heart hurts because I miss him. i already miss him even though he only just left. he’ll be gone until monday night and i might not even see him then because he’ll be exhausted, which is fair. but now im sad because ill just miss him. i know he’ll be camping and among friends and nerding out on his larping camp vacation is fresno. of course ill miss him.. because i love him..

as we were kissing by his car i was like be safe (cuz his larping thing is basically nerd war with foam weapons) and he was like “yeah i will, cant wait to see you when i get back”, and i was like yeah babe ill be here to patch you back together when you get back, and he kinda laughed at me and was like “i dont think that’ll be your intention when i get back” implying that ill probably just want to rough him up immediately when i see him like i usually do. which made me really really happy to hear cuz it was like acknowleding that everythings still good and we’re still crazy about each other and we’ll just want to fuck as soon as he’s home which is sweet to me, like to me thats such a sweet sentiment. and i just got so happy that he in his own way reminded me that like we’re still on a good track, and we’re still happy, and he still loves me, ya know?

and also as we were hugging and kissing i started scratching his back how he likes and he sorta moaned and was like “ugh im really gunna miss this.. like im gunna miss you of course, but im gunna miss your back scratches” and that made me happy.. 

he just makes me happy.. i really love him and i’m really grateful that i got to have this brief reconnection with him before he left town till monday.. 4 days without him is gunna suck, but i know he’s gunna be busy and probably not have service and be off the grid so we won’t talk unless he reaches out. but i will manage. he managed for 4 days while i was camping, so i can manage while he is nerd camping

omigod that reminds me how much i love him, again. he’s nerd camping. ugh i adore him

he was like babe you gotta come next time so we can get drunk and fight together and he was all smiley like he really wants to show me off at his nerd event which is so sweet.. and as he walked me back to the dorm entrance cuz i forgot my key, he called me his girlfriend, and even though its small, its something.. i’ll take it. 

i needed that brief little reconnection. the next 4 days i will have to detox. i have events planned like every day, so i’ll be fine. im gunna see my friends tomorrow and saturday night and i have chapter on sunday and should probably spend some time alone writing and detoxing and getting back to myself and feeling independent. 

i want time to shower and braid my hair and brush my teeth and feed my body good food and watch youtube and write. i need to stay writing. i need to keep journaling because i know how much it helps me. i need to get my emotions out and analyze why the things that upset me get to me. whats the root of the problem and how to get through it. i need that.

i was and still am so frustrated with myself that i got so insecure over one political conversation with spencer. like... thats a problem, ya know? 

and at least now that he’s out of town for the whole weekend, i dont really have an excuse for being anxious about seeing him? cuz he just drops by and i never know when cuz he doesnt text me first. like literally tonight as we were kissing outside my room he was like i came by earlier but you werent home, and i was like oh shit i was taking a nap and i slept through him coming to visit me :(( which is like oh my god that would have been so sad if i didnt get to see him on his way out because i was literally asleep! 

his dropping by, while its the cutest ever because it just like him wanting to see me, its also kind of stressful because i never know when its gunna happen, so whenever im home, im kind of anxious because he could drop in at any second, and of course i get happy when he does because then i get to see my baby, but alsoooooo it means i cant really indulge in my personal space because it could be interupted at any moment, and as i found out tonight, i cant take naps because then i could miss him :(

thats probably something we should discuss at some point, because it creates anxiety for me that is related to spencer, and i want to eliminate any bad vibes from my relationship

relationship.. he’s my boyfriend.. ohmigod wuuuuuuut im still shocked that he wanted to boo me up this much.. he’s so sweet and cute and nerdy ugh

i love him.. i need to get over this dumb insecurity that comes from mild confrontation? that wasnt even confrontation??

so lets remember the things to look forward to about this relationship

he loves me. he claims me proudly as his girlfriend. he wants to bring me to belegarth events, even this day one in san diego where he’d bring me home and introduce me to his home friends which is pretty huge.. he’s sweet, he likes spending time with me and he drops by frequently and stays for hours.. we’re good, and i know i sound crazy needing to convince myself, but thats because i dont want to bug him to validate me, especially not when he has this big event that he’s so excited for. and i want him to be excited for his event and feel secure with me, because of course i love him and want to be with him.

10:53pm i keep taking breaks from the journaling, i get distracted really easy, watching youtube and texting people.. trying to be social, its hard for me. also trying to bury my spencer texts, just cuz i know im crazy and i want to try to not think about him..

do i go walk down to the cooler to get food? or should i just subside on whatevers in my fridge.. also i really should fill up my tank.. and calculate the gas so my friends can reimburse me.. sigh

anyway, i think im feeling mostly better after yesterday. like obviously im still gunna think about it, and ill always worry if spencers as invested as me, but i gotta take it with the context that he was the one who pursued me and crushed on me from day one and wanted to date me and wanted to be exclusive with me and wanted to call me his girlfriend.. he says he loves me and he comes to visit me all the time and spends his free time with me.. he’s a sweet pea and i shouldnt be insecure about it

and not to be cryptic, but what am i even worried about? part of me was reluctant to even get into a relationship, and was supposed to be single and focusing on myself and if anything, dating women. i accidentally caught feels for an amazingly sweet nerd man, and believe me im happy about it. i love spending time with spencer and loving on him. but to be cryptic for just a second.. worst case scenario? he’s just not interested anymore and we break up. sooo? ya that would suck, and i would be heartbroken, but i would also be okay because i have good friends and the whole point of breaking up with ryan was to be single.. so..

anyway, i should probably wrap up this journal entry cuz its long and all over the place

omigod he just texted me

aww he’s letting me know that he got to his thing safely and he loves me

seeee he’s a sweet bean, yall are fine, can you chill now? he’s so into you and you dont need to be insecure about this right now

and wow i sound crazy writing this much, i’ve literally been writing for hours. i know i need to journal more, and this is literally just stream of consciousness for hours and hours.. alright, ima end here and do hw maybe..

stay grateful. stay happy. life is good, you are blessed. friends are good. boyfriend is good. school is good for now kinda haha but i need to stay positive! yes i have bad days, yes i have low points, yes i get insecure and sad and upset and lonely. but i am so very lucky to be alive and to be surrounded by support and love and to feel and give love freely. i am lucky to have found friends i can trust. i am lucky to still have my close friends from beyond this year of oxy. i am beyond lucky to have an incredible man in my life. and also its halloween season which means lots of fun family stuff and so many fun parties on and off campus and looking forward to showing off my jessica rabbit costume and seeing spencers cowboy beebop costume and just drooling over each other ^-^ 

it is going to be a great rest of this month, and after this is november, which means thanksgiving and family stuff, and better fall weather hopefully and that means getting spencer to wear more sweaters.. mmmph and then after that is december which means holiday season, and more family stuff, and of course, finding a time to see spencer and be cozy and watch christmas movies and again, get him into more sweaters.. mmmmmmmph yes babe

there is so much to look forward to!! events and planning christmas presents for people omigod im gunna start that note on my phone, theres so much to do!! cuz i also have so many new great friends for this holiday season which means more presents for people which im always excited about :) and getting to watch my puppy grow up and see my family and take in the quality time together <3 

i am loved. i am blessed. i am grateful. i want to spread love and positive vibes and happiness and love! so much love :)

okay. that’s all for tonight. shower, brush teeth, go to sleep. take care of yourself. LOVE

#samiswriting

[maruwrites]

The Revolution pt. V

Summary: Dustin thinks he’s finally gonna have a quiet, normal childhood after the events with the Demodogs and Dart, until a new threat shows up at his house in the form of a 17-year old girl.

Warnings: Cursing, because ofc. 

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader

Word count: 3.2 k (w h a t)

Part I :: Part II :: Part III :: Part IV

“So… What do you like to do?,” Dustin asked.   

He’d promised both his mom and Steve that he would be polite to (Y/N). And during the dinner the Henderson family had at his house, Dustin complied. Which involved him not saying a lot, because he knew his first reflex was to be mean to her. Or at least a little snappy. Anyways, he obeyed and mostly just watched as his mom and this girl talked, or rather as his mom nervously filled up the space with empty words and the girl just nodded occasionally and spoke a little. 

But now Dustin, (Y/N), and Steve were in Steve’s car, going to the diner for dessert.   

This had been Steve’s idea.

‘She looks really nice when she is not being rude to me,’ Steve thought. ‘Shit.’

(Y/N) was trying to catch her breath. The boy had been telling her stories about Dustin and his friends, and most of them were funny. He refrained from letting her in on any of the events of the Demogorgon and Dart, because why would he tell anyone about that? So he just stuck to the stories about the Party, about their love of Dungeons and Dragons, about his adventures in babysitting them.

“Okay,” she said, still giggling a bit. “I guess I understand why you’re hanging out with middle schoolers, then.” 

(Y/N) stopped. She noticed she’d been laughing too hard and tried to compose herself, so she cleared her throat and looked around for the waitress to ask for more coffee. Steve noticed that, but made no attempt to point it out. He knew it would only make her mad.

“So… What did she say when you called her?”

At one point during their lunch, the girl had phoned Claudia to schedule dinner. A family dinner. 

(Y/N) shrugged her shoulders. “She immediately said yes.” The girl laughed, bitterly. She cleared her throat one more time. “But I told her she needed to talk to Dustin first. So she’s gonna ask him when he comes back from… Matt’s house?” 

“Mike.”

“Mike, yeah.”

Steve sat upright and was about to say something when the waitress arrived, bringing (Y/N) more coffee. He declined.

“You were gonna say…,” she looked at him expectantly. 

What was he gonna say? He watched her as she blew her coffee, a futile attempt at making it slightly less hot. She took a sip and made a low, hissing noise when the drink burned her tongue, furrowing her brows slightly. (Y/N) looked at him again. He had been staring this whole time without realizing it.

“Right, uh. Yeah. What I was gonna say was…,” Steve began explaining himself, buying some time. He had forgotten what he was gonna say. “Maybe, after the dinner with the three of you -I doubt he’s gonna say no, to be honest. He’s way too curious to say no- I could pick you guys up and we could come here?” ‘What? That was a stupid idea.’

“Why?,” (Y/N) asked, her forehead wrinkling.

“Uh, it might be easier for him to accept you… Uh, away from his mom? I don’t know if this makes sense but, I feel like seeing you with Mrs. Henderson would be tough on him, like you’re trying to steal her or something.”

“I’m not trying to steal her.”

“I know that. And you know that. But he’s just a kid. A very smart, too-smart-for-his-own-good kid. But a kid. Plus, I can serve as a buffer, y’know? Help you out. After the family dinner, of course.” Steve scratched his head and (Y/N) noticed that that was a nervous tick. She couldn’t help but be a little endeared by that. Not a lot, no. Just a little.

“Huh. Yeah, I guess. You might have a point here,” she said, taking a sip of this coffee. It wasn’t so hot now. “You are more insightful than you look.” (Y/N) gave him a little smile, partially hidden by the ceramic mug she held in front of her lips.

“Wow. A backhanded compliment.” Steve smirked, folding his arms in front of him. “That was the nicest thing you’ve said to me.” 

(Y/N) snorted and Steve just thought: “Fuck.”

“What do you mean?,” she asked from the back of the car. Dustin had called shotgun as soon as they went outside, which won him a stern look from Steve. The older boy was about to complain when (Y/N) said it was no problem. "Ugh, for fun. Like, what do you like to do or whatever? Do you not know English?” Dustin huffed, crossing his arms and staring at the streets passing by. 

“Hey, watch it.” Steve gave him another stern look from the corner of his eyes. 

“I never wanted to do this, Harrington. Okay? You were the one who was like, ‘Meh, she is cool. Your mother would appreciate if you were nice to her.’” The younger boy used a high-pitched voice pretending he was Steve, and it made (Y/N) snort from the back. She was trying not to think about what he was saying, rather how he was saying it. “Practically begging me-" 

“Dustin…” 

It was quiet for a while. 

"I like listening to music. The Clash, David Bowie. Prince and The Revolution is my favorite of all time, and Purple Rain was basically all I heard when I left Jacksonville and came to Hawkins. I own a t-shirt from a concert I went to a while back and it’s basically my uniform. Uh, what else? I love reading, books have saved my life more times than I can count. Once literally, when I struck a boy in the head with a Moby Dick copy.” Dustin snorted quietly and coughed, pretending he hadn’t laughed at the story. (Y/N) noticed it and smirked, proudly, but said nothing. "I have a soft spot for adventure novels, like The Three Musketeers…” She trailed off and caught the little smile on Steve’s face. “Also, Stephen King! Carrie and The Shining have kept me up at night quite a lot.” 

(Y/N) had never been so hell bent on making someone like her, that was why she was being so honest. It bothered her a bit, she felt too vulnerable. But it was worth it, she guessed, if it made the too-smart-for-his-own-good kid like her or at least accept her existence. What she didn’t expect was that Steve would be hanging on to her every word. 

"Oh, and I also play video games. A lot. I had a real problem as a kid, you couldn’t tear me away from the arcade if you wanted to. Like, Dig-Dug, Galaga, Dragon’s Lair…" 

Dustin’s eyes grew excited at her every word, fitting the girl behind him in the description of the older brother he had always dreamt of. She didn’t miss it, his reaction. She could see it from the side of his face. (Y/N) was trying really hard not to smirk, seeing as she might actually be winning him over. She made a mental note to thank Steve. 

“I love those video games! I used to have the high score for Dig-Dug at The Palace, y’know? The arcade in town. Anyways, that was until this girl Max…” Dustin had begun talking with an excitement in his voice but it died down the more he spoke. The boy noticed he was sounding too nice, and immediately backtracked. He became serious all of a sudden and started messing around with his hands. "Oh. I see. Video games, yeah. Whatever.” 

Steve first noticed it when they parted ways, him insisting on walking her back to the bookstore when her lunch break was over. (Y/N) turned to him when they reached it and waved a tiny goodbye, her voice low. She walked in and he was left staring at her through the clear glass of the storefront. The unruly-haired girl struck up a conversation with the owner as she took some books from a box and began placing them in their respective shelves.

He felt odd. There was this feeling inside of him. Steve couldn’t quite pinpoint where it was coming from, or what it was in fact, but he knew that in order to get to the bottom of that feeling, he’d have to keep talking to her, helping her out. It was almost this restlessness. Yeah, restlessness. That was what he felt whenever he looked at (Y/N). He couldn’t stand still. Nor could his heart.

She smirked again. "Why do you ask?” There was a long pause. 

“I’m asking because the whole point of this is us getting to know each other, right?” Dustin snapped, looking behind at her as Steve hit the breaks harder than he had to. The three lurched forward, realizing they had reached the diner. “Harrington, what the hell?” 

”(Y/N), um. Do you wanna maybe go inside and order for us?” 

“I don’t know what you guys want.” She cocked her brows. 

“Or maybe just order for yourself, we’ll be right out.”   

“I’m not that hungry, we just ate a bunch of…” She stopped when she saw Steve fake-smile at her. “Um, sure.“ as she made her way out of his car, mumbling how weird he was acting.   

As soon as she slammed the door, he turned to the younger boy. “What are you doing, Dustin?” 

The boy sighed and mumbled, almost inaudibly: “I don’t wanna be here.” 

“Why not? She is pretty cool, and you seemed really excited to have things in common with her.” He huffed. “Look, no one’s expecting you to embrace her right away or to invite her to the next campaign at Mike’s, or something. Just talk to her like a normal person. You two have a lot in common. Who knows?" 

Dustin scoffed, but he knew. He was starting to warm up to her. She had been nice to his mom, and helped out with the dishes at the awkward dinner, and now was willing to stand there while Dustin snapped at her. The more he discussed it with Will and El, who might have the closest experience to (Y/N)’s, the more he realized that maybe being given away as a baby was a shitty thing to have happened to someone, and that perhaps she wasn’t looking for anything except her family. And now, after what she’d said in the car, he wanted to talk to her about her high scores, about the books she had been reading, whether she liked science her not (he had a feeling she did), ask her to show him some cool music, tips on how to impress a girl. Everything. But there was a part of him holding him back, the part of him that answered the door a few days ago and was confused to find out that he had a half-sister. The part of him that was terrified that everything was about to change, when in reality everything had changed. 

It took him a few seconds, but Dustin finally took a long breath. “Is she really cool?” 

“Yeah. I haven’t spent a lot of time with her, but yeah. She’s cool,” Steve said, staring out the window of his car and finding (Y/N) inside the diner, sitting on the booth they had sat and fiddling with her thumb. There it was again. That restlessness. 

“I have a proposition for you. Over.” Steve let go of the walkie button and waited. Dustin was too curious, at some point he was going to say something. It took a couple of minutes, time the boy probably spent cursing himself and pacing in his room, but eventually, there was the sound of a click on the other end.

“Harrington, I swear to God…”

Steve smirked. “You didn’t say over. Over.”

“Fucking asshole… Over.”

“Do you wanna hear it or not? Over.”

A moment of silence. “…Yes.” Steve waited on the other end. “Son of a bitch! Over!”

It was hard to say something when Steve kept chuckling. “You should say yes to the dinner. Over.”

“Why the fuck would I do that? Over.” Dustin sighed.

“Because after, the three of us can go to the diner and then you and the girl can talk without your mom. You should get to know her before you start hating her. Over.” 

Now, Steve thought he had lost the boy. It took him too long, so long that Steve gave up. He left the walkie on his bed and went to bathroom to take a shower. It was only when he was toweling off that he heard the click. There was a long sigh before Dustin spoke.

“I’ll go only because I spoke to everyone and they think I need to at least figure out what she’s after. Over.” 

Steve sighed. “She’s only interested in getting to know you. She’s not after anything. Over.”

“Yeah. We’ll see. Over and out.”

Steve dropped down on the bed, not caring that his wet hair would damp the pillow. So Dustin accepted it. Begrudgingly so, but he said yes. That was something.

“I ordered fries and milkshakes,” she said, giving Steve a pointed a look. He smiled as he sat down in front of her, Dustin plopping down right next to him. “I told her we’d order the rest once you guys got here.” 

(Y/N) was screaming internally. This was going bad, not good, total shit. Shit. She tried too hard, that was what she got when she tried too hard, just a whole lot of heartbreak and rejection. Dustin had already said he didn’t want to be there and it took not ten minutes of them together in the car before Steve had to ask for some private time to have a conversation with the boy. She wondered how many more times he’d have to do that before that disastrous night ended. 

It was because he was a kid, she knew that. When meeting her parents, she hadn’t been this desperate. Hell, (Y/N) was the opposite, going out of her way to be an asshole, a generally unpleasant person, because she felt she was entitled to at least that. But he looked sweet, a genuinely nice kid. His childish smile, the curly hair, he resembled her foster little brothers way too much for her to ignore that annoying feeling she rarely got. That need to make people like her. 

(Y/N) tried ignoring the silence that came before the waitress arrived and the one that followed right after she left. (Y/N) tried ignoring how Dustin would stare at her, not looking anywhere else. (Y/N) tried ignoring the look on Steve’s face, the one that said ‘Go ahead, say something.’ But after a while, it became too much. 

“I can’t do this.” 

”(Y/N)…” Steve pleaded. 

“No, look. I-Um-Thank you, Steve. Really, for trying to help out.” (Y/N) bit her lips. “But I can’t do this to him. I-I’m sorry, Dustin. I really am. As soon as I found out you-“ She took a deep breath and could see that Dustin’s eyebrows furrowed and his face softened a bit. “When I discovered she’d had another kid, I turned around. I was on my way to Hawkins and I was making phone calls, trying to find out where she lived and someone said your name and I just-” (Y/N) scratched her head. “I drove back. I didn’t know where exactly was back because I wasn’t coming from anywhere, I haven’t had anywhere to come back to in, well, all my life. But I knew-I just knew I couldn’t come here. You don’t deserve this, honestly. No one does, and it was-“

(Y/N) was being honest, she really was. Her anxiety had gotten the best of her, so she gave up. There was no point, right? At least she knew who her mother was, her mother knew who she was. And that was that. No happy endings for her, but she never really expected one. She hadn’t had a very happy start, so why assume the ending would be any different? But the reason (Y/N) stopped talking was because she heard Dustin say something, but he had basically whispered it and she didn’t understand him. 

“What?” 

“… You don’t deserve this either,” He’d said, now staring anywhere but her. She took a quick glance at Steve, who shrugged very lightly and gave her an encouraging smile. 

(Y/N) scoffed. “Yeah, well.” There was another moment of silence, but this one didn’t absolutely destroy her. This one actually felt good. “I’ve been trying to learn to deal with that shit. I’m not doing the best job, I think? But I’m trying.” 

“It could be worse, I guess. You could be beating the crap out of Steve’s face or trying to run me and my friends over.” Dustin said, shrugging. Steve gave the boy a stern look. 

“What?” (Y/N) laughed, confused. “Why on Earth would I do either of those things?” 

“Don’t mind him.” Steve rolled his eyes. 

“Well, maybe the beating the shit out of Steve’s face. I could do that. It’s not like I haven’t thought about it.” At her comment, Dustin snorted. 

“Hey!” Steve complained. 

“C’mon, man. You just have that face, y’know?” 

“Like you’re begging to be punched.” Dustin completed, looking at him. 

“Exactly!” (Y/N) exclaimed. “Just begging.”   

The two laughed at Steve’s contorted face, and he rolled his eyes. A common enemy, of course. How come he hadn’t thought about that? He would be the two siblings’ common enemy for now, let them make fun of him for a while. The waitress arrived at their table and Dustin noticed when (Y/N) took her fries and dunk them in her chocolate milkshake. He just stared slack-jawed as the girl kept making fun of Steve and his face. When Dustin did the same with his fries, (Y/N) looked at him and smiled, mouthful of fries, giving him a wink. 

"You know, I went to the arcade yesterday and it seemed really cool. But there was a creepy dude working there. He kept following me around, eating Funyons, I think?” 

“Cheesy puffs.” Both boys corrected her and she smiled. 

“Cheesy puffs, yeah. So I didn’t stay long. But I got some money today and I was thinking maybe after this, we can go to the arcade? I didn’t really get to play any of the games there the first time around.” She raised her eyebrows and Dustin gave her the tiniest bit of smiles. But it was something. 

“Yeah, okay,” Dustin said, shrugging his shoulders. He looked at Steve. “You coming?” 

“Sure, buddy.” He winked at Dustin and smiled at (Y/N). “I’d love to see her completely destroy you at Dig Dug.” 

“Hey!” The boy touched his chest, pretending to be offended. 

“I don’t have to. Didn’t this girl, Max, already did that?” (Y/N) smirked. 

“Okay, that’s it. I’m not gonna stand here and have my reputation be questioned like this!” Dustin complained, but he didn’t move. Instead, he ordered a burger from the waitress and kept eating his fries. (Y/N) laughed hard and complained that he was still eating after the large meal Claudia had prepared for them, to which the boy replied that he was about to play at the arcade, so he needed to carbo-load. Meanwhile, Steve watched the back and forth between the two, happy that his plan was working.   

“Maybe I’ll be the one to destroy the both of you.” Steve said, his voice dripping with mischief. (Y/N) and Dustin looked at him, then at each other, and had a laughter fit. 

The younger boy gave Steve a small slap in the back. “Oh, buddy. That’s the funniest thing you’ve ever said. You wish.”

Tags: @moltars​ @sociallyimpairedme​ @hufflepeople @bitchinmouthbreather  @hanasamara @lexannani @uncle-jjezzy

#steve harrington #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x oc #harrington x henderson!reader #harrington x reader #revolution series #stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfiction

[idryusan]

part 6. exploitation.

solo, olympus ost recording ( schedule prompt, +05 exp, +05 skill )

san is tired. the kind of tired you can feel in your skin, muscles, seeps right down to your bones. he’s on a bench in one of the recording studios, watches one of his member’s through half-lidded eyes as they sing their way through some cartoon show’s background music. san doesn’t even know what the show is. they’d told him, he forgot. he can’t really remember the last time he’d slept properly. more than stolen three hour gaps of time. he’s been too busy. too much work to do, a sort-of surprise dropped down from above. and he’d wanted it. he’d wanted that solo, so he has no right to complain. that’s how badly they’ve rearranged his mind at this point. he genuinely feels he can’t point out how the timing’s terrible. how he’s just come off of tell me’s promotions. how he just went through with a festival performance on top of olympus’ tracks. how he just rolled through all those varieties to promote their song, and the cfs, and, and, and--

because olympus is never not doing something. because midas knows that they need to take advantage of them now. the last group pinned down underneath that archaic contract. it’d be foolish to treat them like human beings when they can treat them lawfully like dogs. 

so that ‘and’ continues. a song he’d recorded a while ago, back when they momentarily entertained his idea of a solo and then locked it in a vault is being dragged back out. a song he’d long since given up hope on. a song they’d picked out for him, that he hadn’t gotten a real say on, tat they decided would fit his image in a more mature way. but a song he’d liked well enough, a song he’d liked more than a lot of olympus’ discography. he thought he’d never hear it again, honestly. he’s dropped off at the midas building after olympus’ goodbye stage, told to work with a choreographer, to show what he’s figured out so far. to make it look professional, collaborate. remind him he’s on a deadline, like that whole fucking creation process is easy. like he might be able to snap his fingers and have it finished.

so he works during the hours everyone pretends he might sleep. and then he drinks too much coffee on the way to teaser the photoshoot. he sits dead-eyed while they comb out his hair dust on makeup, peel away layers and prop him up just right. he swallows down a couple of pills during the break. something that makes his heart stutter in his chest, like he’s balancing on the edge of something manic. but it makes his eyes bright again, re-enters the world of the living. he leaves, he rejoins olympus. he drinks more coffee, falls asleep in the van. wakes up on-location for more pictures. 

then he dances. and sings. until his voice is raw. and he doesn’t have enough time. the perfectionist in him is unraveling at the seems. he feels like he might tremble his way into pieces. but he doesn’t tell anyone that, just pulls himself in, throws it into his work. into dance steps beaten into the floor. re-does the finished choreography so many times he half-expects to see worn wood when he looks down at the end of the day. it’s not, just blurry. that should be worrying. but it’s not to him, not anymore. it just reminds him to eat, and he does. whatever his manager thrusts at him. swallows it all down mechanical, and it all lands in a tasteless pit in his stomach. ignores the nausea. pops a pain pill.

pops three.

and now he’s here. recording for a fucking children’s show. and olympus should be phased out of doing shit like this. he shouldn’t be forced into it. he’d been angry about it when he’d first heard, livid even. he’d slept in the van on the way over. a full half hour. he shouldn’t be tired. he blinks his eyes hard, fans his hand out until knuckles rap against the convenience store coffee his manager had given him. there’s a bag of five more at his feet. it tastes burnt, and warm when it shouldn’t be, but he swallows it down obediently anyway before he re-screws the plastic cap into place. his voice hurts, he’s worried it won’t be better in time for the stage. not like midas would ever let him sing his first stage live anyway, but eventually music premier might make him.

he doesn’t want to sing now. not for this. it’s all so pointless, and he’s overwhelmed. can’t even remember the lyrics they’d shoved at him. can barely focus on them when he unfolds his paper and holds it back up. he’s sequestered himself away in the corner, as far away from the other members as he can get. he can still hear a couple of them talking, and it grates hard at his nerves. he wants to rip himself up, sit in the hallway until they call him back in to sing. but there’s nausea settling in his stomach, and his head’s spinning. he can feel his manager’s eyes on him every so often, and san’s not sure why. is he doing something wrong, not trying hard enough, or is he worried he might pass out? san can never figure it out. he used to think, sometimes, they might be worried about his livelihood, but he stopped trying to pinpoint it a few times after getting yelled at for not looking peppy enough, or whatever the fuck they’d wanted from him when he felt like he might just collapse. 

they’d just shove an iv in his arm anyway. good as new. he drains the rest of the coffee, unscrew another. someone shoves a pill into his palm, his manager probably. he swallows it down, assumes it’s caffeine. hopes it’s something stronger. eventually he unfolds from the bench, sways on his feet as he pushes himself into the recording booth. it’s second nature at this point. his highlighted lyrics are propped open for him on a music stand, and he slips on the headphones. he blinks hard again, once, twice, until he stops seeing white spots. 

he ends up singing his way through all of his parts too many times. it takes longer than it should, especially for what it is. toddlers don’t care how he sounds, and their fans love anything. he can tell he sounds terrible. his voice scratches on the way out. some poor intern shuffles in and he swallows down mouthfuls of citron tea like it might be a cure all. it’s not. he misses the beat, and the next time he sings the wrong words. multiple people are angry, and san feels like he’s on the verge of shooting a fist out against the glass, or maybe bursting into uncharacteristic tears. it’s the sort of thing extreme exhaustion does to a person. but in this industry nobody’s sympathetic toward that sort of thing.

a few of his members will probably drag him pointedly over the coals for it on the van ride back.

all that happens in the meantime is the producer’s voice crackling through the intercom, a pointedly polite “let’s try that one more time.”

eventually he manages it, and he’s supposed to wait for the rest to finish recordering. there’s still, what -- two, three? members left to go. but he curls his fingers into his manager’s bicep, half to get his attention and half to keep himself upright. “i need an iv,” he admits, and his voice sounds hoarse. a ragged edge to it all. “i need an iv if you want me to film later.” he continues.

because cancelling his music video shoot is out of the question.

because going solo is all san’s ever wanted, and he’s not going to fuck it up.

#index. #solo. #solo.6 #am i capable of writing a solo under 1k? apparently not

[outofthewoods]

REPUTATION - ALBUM REVIEW

alright girlies here it is my first impressions (whatever I wrote down after the SS plus a few notes I made when it dropped) I AM LITERALLY....QUITE LITERALLY SHAKING....MY WIG: IS ON MARS 

READY FOR IT: At first I was kind of like…. :/ about this song but it’s actually a really good opener and a banger. Not sure I would’ve picked it as the second single but it goes all the way off. The bass has me shook Line: “he can be jailor burton to this taylor”

END GAME Very…..the weeknd vibes right ladies ?????????? this is like…..taylor’s Instagram baddie moment It is still SO WEIRD To me to hear rapping and Taylor swift in one song. Even tho we have the bad blood remix Im still….shook by Future and Taylor together ??????????? I really like this, it’s not one of my top 5 I don’t think but it’s so different from what I would've thought of for another ed/taylor collab Ed is giving me some don’t vibes..i’m into it…ed talking about the fourth of July is really iconic. Taylor telling the story of how this came about was really iconic too…I can literally picture her and ed getting drunk and being like HOWWWW COOL WOULD IT BE TO COLLAB WITH FUTURE????? LOL and then it actually happening I love her like. talk/shout/singing when she says “big reputation…” Line: “I swear I don’t love the drama, it loves me” Her runs in the last chorus THANK GOD…..I NEEDED THESE VOCALS…..

I DID SOMETHING BAD THIS SONG HAD ME FUCKING QUAKING IN THE SESSION…… “If a man talks shit then I owe him nothing” THE CHORUS BANGS…..IM LITERALLY……MOUTH OPEN SHOCKED I CANT BELIEVE THIS….THE M.I.A. PAPER PLANES MACHINE GUN SOUNDS…. This is so……blank space but……..fucking darker you SINNERS “If he drops my name I owe him nothing, if he spends my change then he had it coming…” The chorus is here again Im bopping so fucking HARD WOWWWWWWWWWWWWW I’M……….CRYING AT THE VOCALIZATIONS OF THE HOOK. I’m pretty sure she said this came to her the same way she came up with “STAY!” in AYHTDWS The bridge ladies LIGHT ME UP!!! GO AHEAD AND LIGHT ME UP YOU FUCKING HEATHENS!!!! THIS SONG MAKES THE WHOLE ALBUM WORTHY OF A GRAMMY Im literally shaking like my skin is quivering….that 2000’s fade out……Please kill me

DON’T BLAME ME This is the hozier…take me to church….taylor swift version The chords are her vocals and that. Is revolutionary, Einstein found dead in Miami Line: “I would fall from grace just to touch your face, if you walk away I’d beg you on my knees to stay” The like…..wopping of the chorus is really just…..gold Her falsetto at the end of the second verse. Wig on mars This is the stoner Taylor swift song we didn't know we needed but are so thankful we have VOCALS IN THE LAST CHORUS….I NEEDED SOME RUNS AND THE PRERELEASES DIDNT GIVE THEM TO ME BECAUSE SHE WAS SAVING HER DESTRUCTION OF EVERY OTHER PERSONS VOCALS FOR THE ALBUM

DELICATE This is very Imogen heap to me…… like the layered robotic vocals. It’s very interesting…..a really good segue from DBM It’s got like a deep house….tropical feel to it that I am really enjoying girlies “my reputation’s never been worse, so he must like me for me” why does that line have me crying Taylor swift you are literally sunshine THIS IS THE CHORUS I REMEMBERED….the is it cool is it chill etc…….that’s what I thought CIWYW was after the SS for some reason ???? “do the girls back home touch you do like I do?” SECOND VERSE LYRICS Got me feeling some wildest dreams type of way she looked at me so much during this song I’m emotional, I was bopping to the chorus and she was laughing at me and winking when the beat comes in during the chorus Not a standout from the album but very cool very different good vibes man

LWYMMD Obviously a bop. I see why it’s in the middle of the album and when Taylor explained the progression of the songs this really makes a lot of sense. I’m just feeling fragile bc Taylor swift grabbed me by my cheeks, pulled me towards her, grabbed my hands, and danced with me during this song. Wow BABY I GOT MINE BUT YOU’LL ALL GET YOURS!!! We literally screamed this in each other’s faces it was so……amazing I will NEVER FORGET The video…..do we even need to remind ourselves of how fucking iconic it was When I first heard this I was so confused I had just woken up in Ireland at 6am to listen and I was like . What is this But the chorus goes all the way off tbh This is like a parallel to shake it off….the themes and messages of……being yourself and rising above what other ppl think of you…..

SO IT GOES… Ok I literally blanked this song from my memory at the session, I think bc it was right after LWYMMD and me and Taylor having our first proper moment of the night “Back against the wall….tripping when you’re gone…” This album is so bass heavy. I’m loving the studio instruments, I thought I would miss the live guitars etc but I really don’t because it doesn’t fit with the album “I’m so chill but you make me jealous” Sis we have learned from 10 years of music from you that you aren't chill al;ksdfnjksdhifbknsdfdkjf I love you mom I love the way she says so it goes! In the chorus “You know I’m not a bad girl….but I do bad things with you…” WHOMST “SCRATCHES DOWN YOUR BACK NOW…. Taylor you've done several numbers on me I stopped counting 8 years ago the whispered 1..2….3……WOW VOCALS….AGAIN……….SCRATCHES DOWN YOUR BACK NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! SHES REALLY WILDIN OUT HUH

GORGEOUS This is such a cute song. For me it seems like one of the ones I like less, but at the session I remember being so happy listening to it because she pointed me out and called me by name when she was passing out the new merchandise….so I was chillin Also she kept winking at me during the DINGS!

GETAWAY CAR Queen of whisper singing I wanted to leave him….I needed a reason SUDDENLY I WILL ONLY EVER DRINK OLD FASHIONEDS. IVE NEVER HEARD OF ANY OTHER DRINK Okay in my mind I was like this song is :/ but it bangs to be honest! I love the chorus Should've known Id be the first to leave….this song is full of tea ladies This song to me seems like it’s about a rebound relationship that wasn’t so serious/was just a way to release pent up emotions from something awful “X marks the spot….where we fell apart…..” the pre chorus is really out here doing that sweeties The bridge has an interesting modulation that i don't know how to feel about….this whole album is like full of surprises/polarizing musical techniques so this is cool This is Taylor Swift fleshing out a metaphor/concept masterpiece to her full ability. Queen of literature who is Shakespeare I’ve never heard of him Said goodbye….in a getaway car……. The ends of the songs are so interesting on rep…….this one goes off

KING OF MY HEART “I’m better off being alone…” Miss Taylor I’m so glad that you’ve stopped thinking this because you are really….the most WORTHY person of love in the whole wide world… This is probably my least favorite song on the album. It has some remnants of getaway car in it I feel……she’s cute but getaway car is sexy and sexy destroys cute It’s a little repetitive but I appreciate it’s placement on the album………..you move to me like a Motown beat…..alright Miss king of my heart redeeming herself My broken bones are mending……….taylor I love u………why are u drinking beer when u could be having an old fashioned tho…..beer is gross

DANCING WITH OUR HANDS TIED Thank you piano I love a live instrument The story behind this song is so heartbreaking and knowing that makes….the song so much more impactful to me “You had turned my bed into a secret oasis, people started talking putting us through our paces” here’s a big fat FUCK YOU to the daily mail Again the chorus comes in and is so….huge and sprawling compared to the rest of the song…..shaking us to our very cores! I love that you can hear the frantic/anxiety she was feeling throughout the song….like the rushed vocals and drawn out lower notes…..then the chorus just coming in with GLORY I LOVE the instrumental of the chorus so much…..it’s so beautiful and a little 1989 to me. Like very eighties synth heavy We also have some VOCALS! In the bridge and last chorus! the runs are giving me life

DRESS This song is like a …… I’m kind of drunk in the meatpacking district running from bar to bar with someone I love in the cold with big coats on….tea to me The falsetto. Queen Taylor has really been expanding her vocal register and I’m FUCKING here for it “Everybody thinks they know us” circling back to the overall theme of the album. We know what she chooses to let us know and beyond that we’re just fucking guessing sinners This song is like a …… I don't really care what they think of us I just wanna really…………see your dick and I don't care what anyone thinks of that ! THE HAIR BLEACHED LINE……SHE IS LITERALLY THE QUEEN OF SELF DRAGS I CANT SHES SO SELF AWARE ITS UNBELIEVABLE…….she’s like being humorous but also referencing a time in her life that was really shitty for her so. Queen of duplicity “I woke up just in time…” this line says so much about where she was when she started seeing Joe

THIS IS WHY WE CAN’T HAVE NICE THINGS Oh girlies…..I have been so excited to hear this again since the session. She spilled some major fucking SCALDING tea before playing this so my ass was fully ready to be sloughed The alarms in the beginning…..a champagne sea…..my dream…… This is so fucking tongue in cheek about what everyone said about her #squad “I have to take them away” DEAD this is why she stopped having 4th of July parties klsadjidfnksdfd “Stabbed me in the back while shaking my hand….” Oh no…………WHO WOULD DO THIS TO MISS TAYLOR!!!!!!! “I took an axe to a mended fence….” The mhhhhhmmmmmm………. IF ONLY YOU WERENT SO SHADY SALKJFSDNKFJGM,DFLKNJGIDK WHY IS THIS SONG ABOUT ME SITTING ON TWITTER DRAGGING PEOPLE LEFT RIGHT AND CENTER Hard knock life………..TEA……during the fucking BANGER of a chorus….this is going to be so fun on tour…..SHE BETTER BE A SINGLE!!!!! hE sAiD shE saID!!!!! Here’s to mama…….yes miss Andrea here’s to u queen of the world THE BRIDGE…..SDFLSDMFJKNDNDSLJFKNFDJDSFNSD THIS IS WHY WE CANT HAVE!!!!! NICE!!!!! THINGS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I cant even SAY IT WITH A STRAIGHT FACE Heres to my REAL FRIENDS! WOW….just wow ladies this is the future liberals want

CALL IT WHAT YOU WANT In my personal onion this is the most vulnerable song on the album. The first verse really has me out here crying in the club The chorus is so cute, this is a low-key banger and I wanna see her flying across the crowd during this song on tour

NEW YEARS DAY So here it is girlies….the most hyped song on the record…… Live piano. Minimal production. The concept behind this is so adorable “Candlewax and polaroids on the hard wood floor….” the most Taylor swift thing I have ever heard This relationship really seems like its forever my dudes she’s in it for the long run. She has never been so confident in a relationship that she’s CURRENTLY IN. She’s opening up DURING a relationship which is like……basically unheard of for her I love how subtle this is….the harmonies on the second chorus….crying in the club again “Hold on to the memories they will hold onto you…..” she said she's had that line ready to go for a while but couldn't find a place for it and here it is being adorable and wonderful also the line “Please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh I can recognize anywhere” Can I just speak on that line again….it is so beautiful and simple and shows how much she’s been through and the pain she has dealt with….and the sadness she KNOWS………..but she’s okay enough to talk about it. Im crying in the club 3.0

INITIAL RANKING: I Did Something Bad Don’t Blame Me Call It What You Want Dress Delicate Dancing With Our Hands Tied This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things Look What You Made Me Do Getaway Car …Ready For It? End Game New Year’s Day Gorgeous So It Goes King of my Heart

#reputation review

[x-men-x-imagines]

Imagine #18 Charles Xavier - Part 3 (Request)

Requested by Anon: hi! so can i request a charles x reader one shot that ive been thinking of? ok so first of all y/n and charles were super close as teens but y/n died at around 19(got mixed up in smth), charles was devastated and hes still not 100% over it as an adult so when the xmen find a mutant who can control time he ends up asking them to go back and try to save y/n? and they try and they have to convince her to stay safe bcs ‘theres some1 who needs her’ or some cute shit like that?..but if u do this thx!

Not my gif

Words: 1893

Warnings: fem!reader, time travel (?), typos

A/N: Sooo, this is part 3 of 3, I hope you like it!

Part 1 - Part 2

Jean had insisted on paying for the tiny motel room for the night instead of, as Peter had suggested, breaking into someone’s house and hoping not to get caught. “Buzzkill.”, Peter had growled. “Criminal!”, Jean had replied. The bed had been old and way too small for two people, but Peter had refused to sleep on the admittedly slightly disgusting looking couch, so they had shared anyway. It was only the one night after all.

“My back!”, Peter groaned for the about hundredth time in the past few minutes and Jean knew that, by now, it was only to annoy her. “Stop complaining and lead the way.”

The house looked like the typical kind of suburban city residence, that they would have expected from someone, who went to an elite college and was friends with someone like the professor.

Peter was slightly disappointed to see that the knocker wasn’t lion shaped, and therefore settled for the doorbell. The melodic tune was followed by a few moments of silence, before the door was opened by a young woman, maybe 25 years old, with pretty auburn hair.

“Hello. How can I help you?”, she smiled. “Hey.”, Peter grinned. “We’re looking for y/f/n. She does live here, right?”

“Yeah, she does, but she went off to college a few minutes ago. She should be back in the evening, though, can I take a message?” “Shit.”, Peter replied, earning a forceful shove from Jean. “Yes, please! Could you maybe tell her, that we need to meet up with her tonight? We’re friends of Charles’ and it’s really urgent.” “Oh, is he okay?”, the woman asked worriedly. “Oh yeah, he is.”, Jean replied, shoving Peter again for his murmured comment: “For now…” “We just really need to talk to y/n and it has to be tonight. Could you ask her to come to the diner?”

“Uhm, yeah, sure. Is everything alright?” “Yeah, yeah, it’ll be fine, I promise.” God, did Jean want to keep that promise.

“Way to put us on a tight schedule.”, Peter joked after the door had fallen shut. “How is this my fault? We should have just talked to her yesterday, goddammit!”, Jean growled, nervously kneading her own hands. “Wow, okay, calm down. So, what’s the plan for today?”

 The plan turned out to be pretty unexciting, as Jean refused to leave the 500m radius of the diner. She knew that this was completely unnecessary, but the closer their deadline came, the more nervous she got. They didn’t exactly know, when Sammy would bring them back, only that it would be tonight. So what, if they didn’t have enough time to explain everything? What if you didn’t show up, which, in Jean’s opinion, would have been totally understandable. She was almost hoping to run into Charles, partially to tell him, what was going on, but also to simply feel his presence and the calm he tended to emit. But the professor didn’t show up either.

The later it got, the more nervous Peter seemed to become. He started to randomly disappear every few minutes, only to show up by the next corner, checking if you were in sight. “What, if we don’t manage to save her? I really don’t wanna go back, knowing that I failed at saving Charles’ girlfriend’s life.”, he murmured. Jean nodded sympathetically stopping her nervous pacing and sitting down on the sidewalk.

The sun was already going down, when they finally saw you walk towards them, your form glowing in the evening light.

“You worried my sister.”, was the first thing you said, before shaking Peter’s hand. You didn’t sound accusing, just cautious and slightly curious as to what was going on. “She said, you were friends of Charles’?”

“Yeah, well…”, Peter said as Jean reached for your hand as well. “We are, but it’s complicated.” “Well, if I recall correctly, you’re here to talk to me and I’m here to listen.” “Right.”

You didn’t make a move to enter the diner, much to Jean’s relief. As much as she would have loved to find out more about you, she was afraid, there was no time for small talk.

“I’m Jean, this is Peter. We know the professor, but not the way you do.”

“The… professor?”, you asked and furrowed your brows. “Charles, sorry.”, Jean corrected herself, feeling her cheeks blush. God, why hadn’t she used the past few hours to think of a way to explain this situation, so that it didn’t sound completely crazy.

“We are like you.”, Peter continued. “I mean, not really like you.”, he waved his hand in a movement that included your whole body and smiled nervously. “We are… kinda… mutants.” Silence. Then: “Oh, really? Why didn’t you say so? Charles didn’t tell me about any other of his mutant friends. I mean, maybe he wanted to yesterday and I interrupted him…” Suddenly, your voice went from surprised to embarrassed, as you rubbed your neck, making your hair swing in the barely noticeable breeze.

“Yeah, we heard you two fight…” “Oh, I knew, you looked familiar, you were at the diner, right? Why didn’t you come over?”

“You looked kinda busy and we… we actually needed to talk to you alone.”

“Uhm… okay?” “Yeah.” “Yeah?”

“Could you promise us something?”, Jean asked out of nowhere, despite how weird the request sounded, even in her head. “Could you promise to be careful? We know about the things you do, we know that you fight for what is right, but you need to be careful, please!”

Suddenly, your expression went blank. “Did Charles send you here?” Your melodic voice sounded clear and cold as ice. “No. I mean… no, actually, Raven sent us.” “Raven? What does she have to do with this?” “It’s complicated, but listen: On the 16th of May, so in…”, Peter counted, “…in a week and two days, someone will attack you in an ally. Somewhere around here I think…”, he scratched his head and grinned nervously, looking around and therefore missing the sudden annoyed look in your eyes. “Are you serious? What do you want? Who the hell are you? Is this some kind of sick joke? Tell Charles or Raven or whoever…”

“I’ll show you.”, Jean interrupted quickly, subconsciously reaching for your arm, as you backed away from her slowly. This was not going well. At all. “I’ll show you.” And with that, Jean opened her mind, doing her best to filter the thoughts she sent you and failing miserably, as she could tell by the way your eyes widened. “What is this?”, you asked breathily. “What… what are you doing?” Jean closed her eyes, forcing her mind back in line. She thought of Raven, of the things she had been told about the attack, of the way Raven had felt while telling her, of Sammy and her powers and of the glimpse of pain and sadness Jean had caught from Charles during his conversation with the new girl, before he had shut her out.

When she opened her eyes again, the first thing she saw were the clear, surprisingly ordinary looking tears that ran down your cheeks, as you took in, what you had been shown. You opened your mouth and then closed it again, without saying a word. Slowly, almost carefully, you covered your mouth with your hand, your shoulders shaking.

“There are people, who really care about you. People you will leave behind, sad and heartbroken, if you don’t prevent, what’s going to happen next week.”, Jean murmured, her voice breaking. Peter, now uncharacteristically serious, added: “The things you do, the way you fight… we are so lucky to have you. Raven said, that you could change everything, even in our time. She misses you.”

“Charles… he doesn’t know, you’re here?”

“I think, he must have found out by now.” “Poor Raven.”, you laughed huskily, wiping away your tears. “This is… a lot to take in. And I kind of makes no sense.”

“Charles didn’t want to endanger Sammy, he didn’t want to pressure her. But he really needs you!” “He is so different from my Charles.”, you said, thoughts far away and Jean smiled at the way you said ‘my Charles’. “He always tells me to take it easy, to be careful. Maybe I should listen to him for once.”, you murmured, sniffling, then grinning. “Thank you.”, you looked at Peter, then Jean. “I believe, you just saved my life. Or will have saved my life.” “Maybe.”, Jean said, just as Peter replied: “Sure as hell hope so.”

About five minutes later, they had just said their goodbyes and watched you disappear araound the corner, Peter suddenly disappeared mid-sentence. Jean couldn’t stop smiling. It had worked. Or at least she hoped so, just like Peter had said. She wondered, what might have changed in the future, in their time. Would she remember the past? Or the other future? What about Peter? Suddenly nervous, she looked around, searching his silver hair in the crowd of the rush hour. What if they weren’t at Xavier’s in the new future? She didn’t know, what would have changed. What if Xavier’s didn’t even exist? All her worries were swallowed by a sudden darkness that embraced her, before her head started spinning and her eyes fell shut.

She woke up with an aching head, a dry mouth and a mind full of voices, the loudest one being Peter’s, who turned out to be laying right next to her. “Shit.”, he cursed, lifting his head slightly. “Ugh, that some kind of time-travel-hangover?” Jean smiled and let her gaze wander around the room. It was the library, only illuminated by the soft light of the table lamps. It was empty except for Jean, Peter and Sammy, who was sitting on a couch a few steps away from them. She was awake, Jean noticed, and she looked well. In fact, she was grinning from ear to ear.

“It worked.”, she cheered triumphantly. “You’re alive. And I’m alive!”

“Where are the others?”, Peter asked. “Raven just left, a minute before you returned. The professor was here as well, but he didn’t look very happy.”

“Let’s hope, we were able to change that. Will they remember anything?” “I don’t know.”, Sammy admitted. “Let’s find out.”

After 30 minutes of searching – mainly because both Jean and Peter had to sit down every few steps due to what Peter called ‘time-travel-hangover’ – they found the professor in his office, sitting on the couch, surrounded by the other faculty members – some of which Jean didn’t recognize – looking at a TV-screen, following an interview.

“She is remarkable.”, they heard the professor’s voice, as the camera swayed toward one of the interview partners, a woman with shimmering white hair and a presence that, even through the screen, made Jean pause in awe. Jean stood next to Raven, who briefly smiled at her, but didn’t comment on the fact, that she and Peter had just returned from a questionably well planned time-travel-mission.

Jean’s eyes fell back on the screen and she read the little name-bar beneath your face. ‘Y/N Y/L/N, minister of mutant affairs.’ She smiled and looked towards Charles, who followed your every word with an expression of limitless adoration and unconditional love.

“Looks like we just changed the future.”, Peter whispered into Jean’s ear and she chuckled softly. Raven had been right.

#xmen #xmen imagine #charles xavier #charles xavier imagine #charles xavier x reader

[omegacunt-blog]

my view of time with the love of my life.

im sad i hate my home im moving to christchurch i know it will hurt my girl but its best for me and we have been distant already as it is "babe we need to talk" yes we do im leaving you and moving to christchurch im sorry but its best for me right now "i cheated on you when do you want your things" i knew then that i wasnt going to love again fuck that i packed my shit only 1 bag and got the next flight to christchurch i met my father at the airport and went back to his place we got a pack of smokes and went for a walk into the cbd because i told him i like walking we walked for hours talking about how we have been and what we do for fun we get to a giant arch thing and he see's one of his friends so i sit down and start scrolling instagram i was posting angry shit about my ex cheating on me blah blah and i figured i need new friends so i start following people and i come across this one page of this chick with red hair "wow she is really hot no way id have a chance with her ill try it anyway" we ended up going home and i stalked her instagram all night because i couldnt sleep she was really cute holy hell 3 days past and i was talking to the girls i had things with and i started to feel un satisfyed i got nudes every day from like 6 people how could i not be satisfyed i finally get some balls and message her but what do i say i said the most amazingly horrible opener "do you like memes" oh god ive fucked it im really weird somehow it worked we are talking now i dont remember what we said exactly but all i remember is getting her number right away and telling her we are in an extremely open no ties relationship which somehow worked it was really weird we started talking about neither of us ever liking each other we talked about how much we liked drinking we talked about our music i loved talking to her i soon found myself spending all day and night talking to her and thinking about her and finding myself at burgerking using the wifi just so i could keep talking to her i drank alot and i eventually ended up cutting my girls off without knowing i cant say i missed them because it would be a lie she was all i thought about it soon came time to meet her and i remember drinking a whole bottle of jagermeister and smoking a bit to get some confidence wow she is beautiful in person i wanna get close to her i want to talk to her all night i tried showing off to impress her like a 9 year old kid with a crush im writing this now with that same crush we were walking back to her house and i was still showing off i ended up getting arrested so i fucked with the cops for a bit before i got put in cuffs and taken home i put my foot out the car door and they both spent 20 minutes trying to put it in the car i almost told them i was carrying a knife i talked about her the whole way home and as soon as i got home i walked an hour to her house where she made me sit on the lawn because she didnt trust me it was okay i was fine with just being there she came and sat next to me and she asked me if i liked being scratched and she started scratching my left arm it kinda hurt but i liked it because she was doing it **it also why i burn the skin off my left arm** her friend started running around with a shopping cart and she kissed me on the cheek it was the first time ive been kissed on the cheek and it felt amazing i dont know why i just stared at her and said "oh" i was speechless and then we went inside and sat for a couple hours before i left and she told me to hug her so i did and i left feeling extremely happy i walked an hour in the wrong direction and then eventually got home i fell asleep right away thinking about her we continued to hang out for another 2 weeks and then she came around to my place and we drank and smoked cigarettes with her friend zion and we ended up cuddling for a couple hours before she left i hated it when she left 3 days later i watched her be with another guy it ripped me apart everytime i seen them kiss i hated the fact that she even sat close to him i was extremely jealous i think its easy to say jealousy is my biggest weakness it eats me alive its caused many of my scars and its the reason behind my anxiety and trust issues that day was the day we started going down hill i told her i loved her and i had feelings for her and she returned them i asked her out and she turned me down it really hurt and it took her 2 days for an explanation "i want to be with you and i will soon i promise just wait" and thats what i did i waited and watched her be with another it really hurt me that she could say all these things to me and then turn around and do things with another guy it should be me if she doesnt like him why is she doing this with him and not me i want it i deserve it she ends up getting high and she turned into a different person she told me to come see her so i walked an hour and a half and all i got when i got there was "dude just leave me alone im to high for this i dont want to see you" i told her i was done i cant love her if she doesnt love me oh but she says she does but where is the actual love? i dont feel it all i feel is disgust **thats why i dont like her smoking weed** i walked an hour and a half home after not seeing her and being told to leave her alone i was angry so i shut myself off for 2 days and when i finally texted her back i went over to her house i didnt know that would be the last time id see her she was upset and she sat on her chair in silence so i sat on the floor and we were silent for a while before she came and hugged me i hate myself for not hugging her back she was hurt and i knew it but all i could think about was how angry what she said made me i was closed off we said nothing the whole time untill i got uo and said goodbye and jumped out her window i didnt even look at her as i left i hated it after that day everything is black all i did was drink my pain away eventually she decided it was time to cut me off "its best for you" she said i felt hurt i felt betrayed i was angry not at her but at myself if i had of done things differently it wouldve been better we wouldve worked i tried for weeks to get her back but failed every time i ended up having drinks with her friend i met at sparks in the park which was another time that i hated but loved i was with her i loved it but she kissed a guy infront of me i hated that **i didnt know he was gay at the time** and she ignored me most of the night unless she wanted me to stand behind her so she felt hidden and then she ditched me anyway back to the drinks i remember aysia telling me to invite pagan and i didnt have the courage to tell aysia i ruined everything with her so i just said "nah she is probably busy she wont wanna come here" from then onwards for the next 3 months was also black it was a spiral of alcohol and bad decisions my life was fucked up and all i wanted was for her to text me saying she still loved me i moved into a new house in pegasus and i noticed she unblocked me i messaged her and she said "leave me alone i dont want to talk to you im tryna hold it down for a nigga" and then she blocked me that really fucking hurt i started burning myself for the first time and drank every day there was alot of parties i had alot of alcohol drank but not once was i able to move on or forget about her i got home from driving one night and i had a text from her i nearly died from excitement she is finally back my life is finally happy again "well heres hoping we never meet huh? -your not so friendly demon (aka the guy who doesnt think with his dick and is with pagan and wants to make you choke on your teeth" that was the most painful text i ever got in my life not only did i get proof she had moved on but he wanted to hurt me for some reason did she say i hurt her? did she talk shit about me? i hated it i blocked her number and punched a hole in my wall the drinking continued the pain got worse untill months later she messaged me on instagram apologising for everything i was hesitant to let her back into my life i had to think about it she broke me many times already am i willing to go through everything again i never stopped loving her we talked about how our lives were things were good it took 1 hour for me to get hurt again when i found out she was still with **my not so friendly demon** i hated that and i hated seeing photos of them together and him talking shit to me and seeing them love each other and hearing her talking about doing things to him i was jealous notice a patern? something happened and she left him and i asked her out she was finally going to be mine she said yes im so happy everything is amazing this is why i love her i love her for the good times and i still love her through the bad i remember sharing a tiny bed i hated it i was embarrassed but she put up with it for me i remember first having sex with her ill never forget how uncomfortable it made her she hated sex but she tried it with me the first 2 times we had sex i didnt cum but i made sure she did i didnt care if i got no pleasure as long as she did i was happy i loved cuddling with her drinking with her smoking with her i loved listening to music with her talking to her everything she loved my niece and that meant alot to me ive never been happier in my life and she gave that to me i cant thank her enough i remember how it felt to cuddle her how it felt when we had sex it was amazing she was the best fuck ive ever had and i couldnt get enough i wouldnt to fuck her all the time i wanted to cuddle constantly i wanted to see her laugh every day i wanted to listen to her talk for hours i never wanted anything to end but it had to a piece of me died everytime she left my house i remember our first argument it was about me talking about the past i miss everything the kisses hugs sex the cuddling the waking up in the morning and seeing her face and hearing her say i love you as the first thing we went for a walk one day to the beach after having sex and we just walked and held hands for hours untill we went home that was my happiest day on earth and id rather keep the things about that day to myself for a future story im not going to go into detail about our final days but we eventually ended it i cried for hours i hated myself how could i do that to her why did i do that to her she came around one last time and i wanted to break down and cry and beg for her back but i had to pretend to be strong we shared a cigarette she cried we hugged kissed and she left the final goodbye will replay in my head forever i cried and yelled for 2 days straight and i found out that she had already moved on it felt like she had ripped my heart from my chest and stomped on it spat on it and burnt it im sure she fucking hated me she fucked another guy so soon i fucking hated it i burnt every inch of my arm i even tried cutting myself but burns hurt more she likes this guy and its just lhbarflerbkjbSFEkSJ fuck this fuck everything i cant fucking finish this anyway this is the fucking story about me and the love of my life the one and only girl of my dreams the girl who i still to this second love with all i have left of my heart through thick and thin good and bad i still love you forever and always will -shane xx