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forever-rogue · 3 years

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Afterglow - Part 8

A/N: Is it time for some much need talking? Hmm....perhaps. As always, feedback and comments are welcome, and if you’d like to be tagged, let me know. xx 💕

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 6.2k

Warnings: drug and alcohol mentions; slight language

AFTERGLOW MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST

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You drifted in and out of sleep that night, waiting up several times due to the jolt of a startling nightmare. At first you almost forgot where you were or what was going on - why were you asleep on the couch? But it hit you like a ton of bricks; Frankie Morales was currently asleep in your bed.

A few times throughout the night you’d gotten up and stretched your stiff bones and wandered to the bedroom door, opening it just a crack to peek inside. Each time, Frankie was fast asleep with Daisy next to him. It caused you to relax a little, knowing that he was okay, and you needn’t worry about an overdose or anything like that. But it didn’t ease the pain of seeing him again or knowing that he was struggling with an addiction...or something.

The universe had put an odd situation on your plate.

Once you couldn’t sleep any longer, and had gotten tired of lying on the couch, which it had turned out was not an ideal sleeping situation, you made your way into the kitchen to start breakfast. You weren’t even sure what to do really, but it was a bit of normalcy to offset your otherwise shaken up routine.

As soon as you started the coffee, something that was an absolute necessity, you’d left messages for your clients apologizing for the early call and canceling their appointments due to a last minute emergency. Hopefully they wouldn’t mind. As the coffee percolated filling the kitchen with warmth and the delicious smell, you reached into the fridge and started pulling eggs, bacon, and other items to make breakfast with. Grabbing a bowl and a pan, you quickly settled on pancakes, wondering if they were still his favorite. He’d always loved them when you were younger and on more than one occasion had your little date nights ended in a small 24-hour diner, where’d he chow down on them.

The memory made you smile, as you recalled one particular time when he eagerly topped off his pancakes with fresh fruit and whipped cream, which had gotten on the corners of his mouth. You’d reached over and wiped the whipped cream away, licking it clean from your own finger. It seemed like yesterday, even though it was so long ago.

Sighing, you pushed the memory away and carried on preparing the batter and throwing some bacon into the oven. As soon as your coffee pot signaled that it was done, you grabbed your favorite mug, followed by another and poured the black coffee in. You finished yours off as you liked, topping the other off with a sprinkle of cinnamon. It amazed for a mere fraction of a second just how well you still remembered the things he liked. But your amazement was quickly cut short when you heard a quiet throat clear from the opposite side of the counter.

“H-hi,” he said quietly, almost tentatively as he seemed to look anywhere but your eyes. You took the cup you had prepared for him and set it down in front of him, motioned for him to take a seat at the bar.

“You look like hell,” you commented as he sat and clutched the steaming cup between his hands. He made a small sound of agreement as you turned back to your pan and poured some batter in, “I made it how you used to like it....I presume it’s still the same?”

“Yeah,” he said as he put the mug to his mouth and took a long sip, “thank you.”

“Mhmm,” it was a small, noncommittal sound as you focused your attention on the pancakes and eggs. Daisy came over and you offered her a treat before getting her into the backyard and preparing her breakfast. The tension in the air was palpable and you could see that Frankie was eager to say something. But he didn’t dare to be the one that broke the silence. Gods knew you were just as eager to say something, a lot of things honestly, but all of that could wait for now.

Once everything was finished, you grabbed two plates and piled them high with a spread of items, topping them off with some fresh berries on the side. Daisy had been a good girl, clambering between the two of you, so you offered her a piece of bacon and a few berries, which she eagerly took and ran off with and into her bed to eat.

Handing a plate to Frankie, you set down your own, as far away from him as possible at the small bar. It didn't create a huge divide between you, but the point came across loud and clear.

The two of you ate in silence for some time, the only sound in the kitchen was the scraping of utensils and a few small huffs from Daisy. She gave you an almost pathetic look a few times, and you just rolled your eyes at her. You knew she wanted to be out and in the company of others; once she'd overcome her initial fear of people, she thrived in attention.

"Oh hush," you told her before passing her another strip of bacon, "we'll go for a walk later, good girl. Or maybe you can go play with Eddie."

Frankie remained silent as he watched you, doing his best to keep a smile from stretching across his features. But you were too quick and caught him staring.

"I've been bringing her into the office with me every day," you explained, "she likes being around the people and they often find just as much comfort in her. It's a win-win really."

"Hmm," he commented as he shoved another bite in his mouth, "office? W-what kind of office?”

"Yeah," you said softly, "I, ugh...I'm a therapist.”

He caught your eye and offered you a slightly confused look. Never once had you ever mentioned wanting to be a therapist. In fact, you had wanted to avoid anything you had once deemed similar to your parents as a big no. Coming from a surgeon and a doctor wasn’t a far stretch from a therapist. When the barista at the coffee shop had referred to you as ‘doctor’, he had envisioned...many other things. This was very similar to things you had proclaimed you'd never wanted to be, "oh. I thought you wanted to be a zoologist. That’s what you always wanted to...study animals. UCLA-"

"Yeah," you cut him off sharply, "I did once. In another lifetime. I had to make decisions back then.. Ones I didn't think I'd make or have to make. I thought things were going to play out in a very different way but the joke was on me, right? So, here we are. I'm good at my job and it just...worked out."

"But do you like it?" he asked tentatively as you narrowed your eyes at him. No one ever really asked you that...it was just sort of assumed that you did, or if you didn't, that didn't matter one way or another..

"What does it matter, Francisco? A job is a job," you almost snapped at him, "but yes. For the most part I enjoy my job. I'm glad to be helping people that need it.”

"It just didn't seem like something you wanted to do..." he trailed off softly.

"Well, I also didn't think I'd go to college alone and have to make an entirely different series of choices. I didn’t think you’d just leave me and go into the military - and you were going to leave me in the dark about as long as you could. Remember that?" you knew it was a dig, the lowest of blows, but in that moment you didn't care. Things had ended a long time ago and at the end of the day, it didn't matter anymore, "because I do. So yeah, my life plans changed. But you know about that just as well. How did that work out for you?!"

You hated yourself in that moment, and as soon as the words left your mouth you wished you could take them back. You hated how much venom was lacing your words, how angry you still were with him. It was twenty years worth of pain and hurt bubbling to the surface all at once. And yet - the look on Frankie’s face was enough to make your heart break. Sighing lightly, you tossed the fork onto your plate and slid out of the bar stool. Tears were prickling at the back of your eyes as you held up your hands in surrender, lips trembling slightly. You tried to slick past him, but he reached for your arm to try and hold you back, "honey-"

"I gotta go," you said, pulling out of his grasp as motioned for Daisy to follow you. Nervously looking between the two of you, she trotted over and perked up slightly when you grabbed her leash, "I-I'll be back. I’m sorry.”

You dashed out the door as swiftly as possible, letting it shut softly behind you as Frankie stared at it, a heavily, weary sigh escaped his own lips. Setting down his own fork, he pushed his plate away, no longer feeling hungry. He wasn’t mad at your words, or the spite you still held for him. If anything it made him hurt just as much. He’d always been confused on why and when you finally decided to cut your ties with him, but he never blamed you. If the roles were reversed he might have done the same. But he’d never hated you for it. He could understand why you did what you did. He was just Frankie after all, he wasn’t worth waiting around for you. Just because he’d never let you go, didn’t mean he expected the same of you.

Standing up, he picked up his own plate, followed by yours and brought them to the sink. Turning on the tap, he set everything under the warm water to soak before quickly deciding to just clean up the kitchen then and there. It was the least he could do. Frankie carefully put everything away, making sure everything was going into what he was sure were the proper spots before loading the dishes into the empty dishwasher. He stopped himself when he reached for your empty coffee mug, holding it delicately in his large hands as he examined. It was a soft yellow, covered in little flowers and beehives and bees. A forlorn little smile crossed his features as he decided to hand wash the mug, drying it with the utmost care before putting it away in the cabinet.

The whole process to getting everything clean again took him some time, but by the time he was satisfied with his handiwork you still weren’t back from your walk with Daisy. It gave him pause to wonder if he should just head home or if he should wait for your return. Eventually he decided to opt for the latter, figuring it would be rude to just run out on you. If nothing else, he’d thank you for the help from the previous evening and then leave, but a smaller part of him hoped that you’d ask him to stay. To talk. There was a lot to talk about after so many years.

And yet - there was nothing. The relationship was done. Ended. Nothing.

He went back down the hall to straighten your bedroom up and gather his shoes, but he trekked slowly, taking a moment to study all the pictures on your walls. Some of it was more or less generic artwork, some were photos of you with friends and family over the years. He had admired each of them, how you had changed from the beautiful girl he had fallen in love with to the still beautiful woman he was infatuated with. It was amazing to him that you still looked the same after all this time - the same soft eyes, the same sweet smile, the aura of kindness that seemed to follow you everywhere. He was nothing like he once was, not in his mind anyway, instead of ragged and worn out. A sight for sore eyes.

Shaking his head to himself, he finished the walk back to your room and began to tidy up, making it a point to keep away from anything that looked personal. But in his keen attempt to make your bed, he accidentally knocked over what liked a journal from your nightstand. Groaning at his carelessness, he picked it up and attempted to set it back, but instead, a couple of photographs fell out of it. He swooped them up and curiosity got the better of him as he studied the pictures intently.

They were of you - you and him.

One of them was from one of the winters you shared together, the two of you were bundled up in thick jackets and scarves, Frankie’s old beanie on your head, with the skating rink visible in the background. You both looked so young, so carefree, so happy. You were smiling for the camera but his eyes were slowly focused on you, the grin on his face speaking volumes.

The other one was from Halloween, and the two of you were dressed up as Morticia and Gomez from the Adams Family. Your feeble attempts at costumes had been laughable, but the joy in your faces was undeniable. This time he was smiling for the camera, an arm wrapped tightly around, but you were looking at him as though he was your whole world.

You had kept the photos after all these years. He let out a long breath before tucking them back into the journal and setting it back on your nightstand. As he finished making up the bed and slipping his shoes back on, he heard the front door open, followed by the sound of Daisy’s footsteps. She eagerly nudged open the door and wagged her tail at him, trying to get his attention for pets.

"Frankie?" your soft voice reached his ears as he gave Daisy a nervous look before slipping out of your bedroom. He stood in the hallway, nervously twist his hat in his hands as you stood at the other, an unreadable expression on your face.

"Hey," he softly as you just nodded. The two of you stood there for a moment, silently staring at each other. When you didn't say anything he started walking down the small way, "I should go..."

But before he could slip past you, you reached out and grabbed his wrist in a surprisingly firm, but gentle, manner. He turned and gave you a confused expression, "stay. W-w should talk...instead of just running every time we see each other."

"Okay," he agreed as you gave him a momentary smile before leading him outside, to the small little backyard sanctuary you had created. It was crisp and cool, the promise of fall and new hope with the changing season lingering in the air. Daisy was close at hand, bringing out a toy to play with as sat down at the patio table, Frankie taking a seat at the other end of the table. It was silent for some time before you finally mustered up the courage to talk to say anything.

"I'm sorry for earlier," your voice was quiet but Frankie heard you loud and clear, "I shouldn't have exploded like that at you. It wasn't fair."

"'S okay," he insisted. In his mind he deserved a lot more than just a few angry words. A new silence loomed over you as you watched your dog run around play, easily keeping herself amused.

"I was supposed to get married," you blurted out suddenly and Frankie's attention was hyperfocused on you, his deep brown eyes trying to decipher every expression, "in a few weeks actually."

"Oh," he said casually as he if hadn't noticed that you weren't sporting the huge engagement ring you had been wearing when he first ran into you again, "I-I figured...the ring and all."

"Yeah," you said with a scoff, looking over at him and rolling your eyes dramatically, "was going to. Completely dodged a bullet with that one."

"W-what happened?" he wouldn't deny that the fact that your engagement ended instilled a small sense of hope in him, "if you don't mind me asking..."

"A lot of things, honestly,” you shrugged lightly. It wasn’t a complete lie...there were a lot of factors that ultimately led to your decision. The fact that Frankie had appeared out of the blue, out of nowhere, was just another incidental happenstance that seemed to jog you into making the decision. But you weren’t about to admit that to him...not yet anyway, “I basically realized I was unhappy...that he was everything I never wanted and the life I was leading was the one I had wanted to avoid for so long.”

“Oh,” he completed quietly as you threw up your hands in exasperation, more at yourself than anything else. It was just…a hard situation. It wasn’t easy for anyone and with Frankie right there next to you it was hard not to picture a life with him. What would it all have been like if he had been the one?

“I was becoming...became everything I hated,” you laughed dryly at yourself, casting a quick glance over at him as he was watching you intently, “all those things I said I never would be. I ended up being them. I ended up as this quiet, pathetic excuse of a woman that just did what everyone told her to do, what everyone expected of her. I became the model daughter my parents always wanted - working in what they deemed a proper job, never speaking out of turn, marrying the successful lawyer, never straying from the line. And then...I just realized...this isn’t me. This was never me. It’s not who I’m meant to be. I knew that if I went through with that wedding and everything that came afterwards I would never be happy again. Despite the years of self loathing, I couldn’t do that to myself.”

Frankie was listening intently as you seemed to work this out within yourself as the words poured out of your mouth. He knew exactly what you meant, and at the end of the day, he was proud of you for being able to make the decisions you needed to for yourself, “so you just called it all off?”

“Yeah,” you dabbed at the tears that pearled up and slipped down your cheeks, before laughing lightly. In the moment, it had been a bold, dramatic move, one that you considered almost worthy of a cinematic masterpiece, but looking back on it, you had probably seemed like a mad woman, “basically. It was the day of my last dress fitting and it just...hit me. I was with the dress maker and her niece and they were asking me all about my fiance and asking me if I was excited and how in love we were and everything. And it hit me then and there - I couldn’t do this. So...I bailed and left. Called it off an hour later. You should have seen the poor things! Oh Frankie, they looked so surprised, but they understood. I paid for the dress and I told them to donate it to someone that deserved it.”

“Holy shit,” he breathed out as he pictured the scene. You caught his eye and the two of you started laughing together. Gods, in that moment, it was easy, so easy to just laugh and not think about anything else. It still felt so effortless with him, even despite everything that happened between the two of you, “you just did that!”

“You know what they say about mad women, Frankie,” you teased, taking a moment to collect yourself. Looking back on it now it was funny, but in reality...it had been a harsh end to your previous life and a bumpy start to your new one, “but...at the end of the day it was the right thing to do. I couldn’t marry Chad and just be Mrs. Wadsworth forever.”

“Chad? Wadsworth?” Frankie couldn’t help but snicker at the names as you nodded before hanging your head, giving him just a glimpse of that smile that always made him weak in the knees, “oh honey, you should have known from the name alone.”

“I was a fool,” you admitted with a dramatic sigh, “a self righteous fool. At the time it had seemed...right.”

“Did you love him?”

“I-I suppose I did,” you said softly, “at one point or another. I don’t know where along the line it just ended up as routine and just me going through the motions but obviously it did…”

“I’m sorry you had to do through all of that,” he said quietly as you shrugged. It wasn’t his fault...that was all of your own doing, “how did your family take it?”

“About as well as you'd think,” you bit the inside of your cheek to keep more tears from flowing worth, “you know them, Frankie, they’re the same as they’ve always been. At first it seemed like my mom understood, and she seemed to care, but by the next day it was like a flip had been switched. They had seemed to side with Chad and somehow none of feelings were relevant. And all of the friends we’d had basically decided that I was the bad guy. So it kind of...left me to figure things out on my own. Luckily, I do have a few really good friends left. They helped me out a lot...even to find this house actually. Things could have been a lot worse...they were rough but they’re getting better.”

“Still,” he almost whispered at you, “I’m sorry you had to go through all of that. You don’t deserve it.”

“Such is life,” you looked at him and offered an almost teary smile, “but about you? Did you ever get married or anything?”

“No,” he answered quickly as you tried to ignore the small skip of your heart. He tapped his fingers against the glass top of the table for a few moments, “there was never really...anyone else.”

“Really!?”

“Nope,” he was almost nervous as he swallowed the lump in his throat, “I was in the military for a long while...overseas, special ops...never really had much chance to worry about that kind of stuff back then.”

“What about when you got out?”

“There were a few here and there,” he admitted quietly, “nothing serious, nothing that lasted more than a few months.”

“Oh,” it was your turn to be surprised. For some reason he had struck you as the type that would have settled down...the type of man that would almost yearn for domestic bliss. Little did you know he did exactly that, just not with anyone that he encountered so far.

“Yeah,” he exhaled sharply through his nose, “it hasn’t been much of an exciting life.”

“Surely it must have been,” you insisted, “special ops? That sounds like it be one adventure after another...but it was the military…”

“I was glad to get out when I got out,” he insisted and you could tell there was a lot more he wanted to say. But he tensed up lightly and you weren’t going to push him to tell you anything. If he wanted to, he would, but as far as you were concerned he owed you nothing. And yet...a small part of you hoped he did still want to open up and confide in you.

“What...what do you do now?”

“I’m a mechanic,” he stated simply and pointedly looked away from your eyes. He didn’t know if he wanted to see the expression in them, to know if you suddenly thought him to be much lower, “it’s nothing much but I-”

“It’s brilliant, Frankie,” you insisted, quickly cutting him off and causing his head to whip in your direction, a small smile tugging on the corners of his mouth, “you had always had a knack for stuff like that - it never made any sense to me, but you? You always had a sharp mind.”

“I was a pilot too!” he eagerly told you, and you could have died at the excited expression on his face, “in the military and…”

“And what, Frankie?” you asked, noticing the rapid change in his mood, almost as if he hadn’t meant to tell you quite that much. He stilled for a moment before looking away, “Frankie?”

“And for a while after that for private individuals,” he almost murmured, “but umm...n-not at the moment.”

“Okay,” you replied, telling him in that one word that he never needed to go past what was comfortable for him, “Frankie, I’m glad that things worked out for you...really.”

He just nodded, and gave you a weary look before silence fell over the two of you again. You pulled your knees up to your chest and hugged them, watching as Daisy sniffed everything before bringing her ball over to Frankie. He gently took it from her and tossed it across the yard, repeating the action several times over before she grew bored of it and went to follow around a squirrel.

After some time, you cleared your throat, deciding that now was as good of a time as any to lay everything out on table. What was the worst that just happen? He would get mad, you would get mad and then he left? It wouldn't put you in a worse position than before. There was literally nothing left to loose, and you'd hate yourself if you didn't at least tell him. If nothing else, you would get it all off of your chest.

"T-there was another reason I called off my wedding..." you admitted and slowly shifted his gaze back to you, "umm, everything kind of...I realized how unhappy I was and that things weren't right after...after running into you. That day at the coffee shop when I spilled coffee all over myself."

Frankie tried his best to keep his expression neutral but it felt like a swarm of butterflies had just been released into his stomach. He was trying not to read too much into your words but he was loathe to deny his excitement. That meant you had felt it too; he wasn't wrong in thinking it was just him. He looked at you to go on, making a small sound in his throat, "I-I remember..."

"It set off...something," you said softly, "and that's what caused me to realize everything else."

"If nothing else, I'm glad the spilled coffee led you to realizing that you deserve better...that you deserve the world..."

"I...I never stopped loving you," the words shot out of your mouth before you could do anything to stop them and Frankie's jaw dropped and practically hit the floor, "seeing you made me realize that...there was never anyone else that I could ever love because they weren't you. Even after everything that happened, all this time, it always came back to you."

"Honey bee," the nickname flowed easily and you didn’t bother to correct him. You liked the way it sounded, you had missed it even. It was so much better than sugar plum, which still made you cringe to even think about, “you…”

“I know,” you said quietly, bringing your hands up to your face as you tried to hide and make yourself feel smaller. You hadn’t, not in a million years thought you would see him again, let alone admit this to him or yourself, “I just...the more I thought about it, especially with Chad, I kept comparing everything to you. Even if I didn’t admit it out loud to myself, that’s one of the main things that it was. It was always you.”

“I-I don’t understand…” he said quietly, “you never...I called you and you never called me back. I thought...I thought...why?”

“I know,” you admitted, “I just...I couldn’t, Frankie. You left me and I hung around waiting for you all the time. My life revolved around waiting for to call, or email, any little hint from you. It wasn’t healthy - I was missing out on so much, because I was always waiting around for you. I couldn’t do that anymore, to wait to hear from you from an hour once every two months whenever you got the chance? It wasn’t fair to me or you. So I just...decided not to anymore.”

“But I-I came back,” he said meekly as you shrugged lightly.

“When? How many hours was your life devoted to the military? How many years were you gone for the majority of the year? It wouldn’t have been fair to me to have to wait for you, and it wouldn’t have been fair to you either, to only get to see me once in a while. Wasn't it easier to just not have to worry about it?” you tried to rationalize it to yourself and him at the same time. But as the words left your mouth you wondered if it had been easier that way. Maybe it would have been easier, maybe you would have been happier if you’d tried to make it work...but now you would never know.

“I don’t know,” he sighed heavily as he leaned his elbows on the table and rubbed his tired eyes, “I don’t know...but I do know it was hard for you.”

“You left me Frankie,” you said softly, trying not to cry again as you thought back to the day you had discovered that he was leaving for the military. It had been the worst day of your life back then. It still was to this day, “we made all these plans, our future, and you left me.”

“I did what I had to do back then,” he said softly, and while you never believed, even back then, you knew he had his reasons. You knew that the choices he made for all calculated and thought out - he was never one for rash decisions, “the choices I made helped become the man I am now. And look where you needed up - a therapist. A successful therapist. That counts for something, right?”

“I know....I know you did. I understand that now. A small part of me still thinks I would have rather have been with you, Frankie,” you said softly, turning to face him and resting your head on your knees, “even looking back on everything now. I wish you would have let me come with you -”

“So what?” he almost snapped and you jumped slightly at the sudden change in his voice, “you could have been some military wife that’s never happy?”

“I would have been happy with you!” you retorted with just as much edge as he had given you, “I would have been happy if I got to be anywhere with you. You were my everything, Frankie, and that never changed.”

“You would have been alone half the time,” he sighed heavily, “and I never...I never wanted you to have to worry if I was dead or alive or if I was coming back at all.”

You remained silent as you mused over his words. He had a point...if you had been with him, when he was overseas, you would have been wondering every minute of every hour if he was alright or not. That was a fate almost as cruel if not more so than what you were put through.

“I wanted you to have a chance at happiness,” his tone softened as he looked at you with big brown eyes. They were full of emotion, holding so many things inside of them, “without me you had a shot.”

“I thought I did too,” you agreed, your lips trembling effort to keep from crying. Gods, you felt like you had been crying more recently than you had in many years, “turns out we were both wrong.”

“Yeah?”

“In some ways I wished I’d just gone with you anyway,” you shrugged and he made a small sound. You were both stubborn fools in your own ways, “in some other ways I wish I never met you.”

It felt like his whole world stood still as he cautiously met your eyes. Now those were words he never thought he’d hear you saying. He opened and closed his mouth a few times before stumbling over his words, “w-what? I thought…”

“If I had never met you, I never would have missed you,” you explained, “I never would have gone through the heartbreak of you leaving, of loving you and looking for you in everything and everyone else, never finding you. I would have been…”

“Maybe you’re right…”

“Yeah...but I’m not,” you concluded, “because if I had never met you, I would have never been loved by you, or gotten to love you. I never would have...discovered how to be myself. You showed me that it was okay to be different from my family, to be my own person. It worked...even if I got lost along the way and things changed. At the end of the day, it was you. And just when I was about to make the biggest mistake of my life, you came back. Out of all the times. That-that has to mean something right?”

Just like that every piece of his heart that had felt like it had hardened and decayed over the years seemed to come back to life. His heart started racing in his chest as he stared at you, long and hard, and you stared back with just as much ferocity and intensity. You were thinking the same thing he was - the timing, you both coming back together, it couldn’t be for naught. It just couldn’t. The universe was a strange and wondrous thing, but maybe...maybe this time it was getting it right…

“M..maybe…” Frankie stood up as you tried to collect your thoughts and slowly strode over to you. Extending his hand slowly, he held it out to you and you stared at it for just a moment, contemplating taking it. Taking his hand was a lot more than just the simple action of taking his hand, you were both well aware of that fact. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you let him help you to your feet, and you stood directly in front of him, “Francisco.”

His large hands found your face, his touch gentle and saccharine as you relished in the feel of his soft, yet calloused skin on yours. Your lips parted slightly as he traced over the highs and lows of your features, making it a point to commit this version of you deep into his mind, just like he had twenty years ago when you were younger. His thumb swiped along your lower lip and your body was practicing screaming for him to touch you, to kiss you, anything.

“You are still as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on you,” he whispered, inching incrementally closer and yet not close enough, “honey bee, I loved you then and I never stopped. I will never stop.”

“Francisco,” it was a soft plea as your hands found his wrists, gripping onto them tightly and vowing to never let go, “please.”

Please kiss me. Please don’t ever leave me again. Please just love me.

It was so many things all in one simple word.

“May I kiss you?” he leaned in and his lips were practically ghosting over yours, his breath warm and sweet. You nodded quietly before closing the almost nonexistent gap between your bodies, weaving your arms around his neck as his hands found purchase on your hips.

It was slow, sweeter almost than honey as he kissed you, and you allowed yourself to get lost in him. If you thought kissing him back then had been amazing, this was that and then some. Every part of him melded perfectly against you, an ease to your movement like neither of you had to think or even try. It was like it had always been meant to be. In some ways, you supposed it was. It was always supposed to be you and your Frankie.

“I love you, Frankie,” you murmured against his lips when you parted for a breath of air, “it was always you.”

»»————-　♡　————-««

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themoonandotherslikeit · 3 years

Text

Painted - Chapter One

“Every portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter.” - Oscar Wilde, The Picture of Dorian Gray

Y/N has moved on, her scars are barely noticeable anymore, and she’s finally stable. Or at least she was.

10 years after the worst day of her life, Y/N found herself staring face to face with an unimaginable horror. In the wake of her worst nightmare come to life, she finds herself reunited with the man that saved her all those years ago - Agent Dean Winchester who had left her a decade before broken and wanting.

Dean Winchester has spent the last 10 years trying desperately to forget Y/N and the tragedy that he pulled her out of, but when she called asking for his help he dropped everything to come to her aid as he knew he always would.

Can Y/N and Dean solve the mystery that has resurfaced after all this time? Will they be able to resist the pull between them? Or will this be the final brush strokes on a canvas, sealing their fate for good?

No Beta currently, all mistakes are my own!

Pairing: Dean/Reader

Tags: Dark!Fic, Agent!Dean, Serial Killer Fic, Smut etc.

Chapter One

Everything has a color. To Y/N, violence was red. She pulled back her arm, her fist colliding with the heft of her punching bag with a soft thud . One, two, kick. She liked training alone, it centered her, cleared her mind. She didn’t have to worry about pulling her punches, avoiding the knees when she kicked. The biggest danger was the skin on her knuckles, which were expertly wrapped.

It all started as self defense, a way to ease her mind as she walked back to her Jeep on the dark nights, but it had evolved to something else altogether. She didn’t fight because she was afraid, she fought because she was pissed . She was pissed that she had to learn to defend herself; that other women did. She taught classes so that her community would be safe, so that they’d find less women abandoned in ditches beaten to death.

But when she was alone, it was something else completely. The why of the thing was a mystery most of the time, even to her. People used to ask her if she was afraid she would see him again. She wasn't, not really. But she kept fighting anyway, and she would be lying if his face wasn’t the one she pictured every time her fist collided with the bag.

The beat of her music throbbed in her ears like an angry heartbeat as she went for an uppercut that rattled the bag. She was panting, sweat rolling down her temple. Each hit was a beat of her heart, causing the bag to come alive. With each swing she made, it swung back at her. She was strong, and she wasn’t holding back. One, two, kick.

Her watch chimed to alert her that she hit her workout goal for the day, but she had more fire within her that needed to be extinguished. It was a long workout, even for her, but she had a lot on her mind. If she was thinking about the ache of her knuckles and burning in her biceps, she was less likely to obsess over the things she couldn’t control. So she hit the bag again and again.

The sun was starting to speckle through the blinds on the storefront window, making the sweat on her arms glisten like diamonds. She considered, just for a moment, how the coast would look against the purples and oranges of the sunrise. She could have a coffee and just enjoy the silence. Or she could keep fighting. That answer was easy. She didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty in life. She hadn’t for a long time. All of the colors had lost their brightness, the depth that he used to talk about so frequently. The thing that kept him mixing until it was just right.

She hadn’t thought of him in so long, so when the thought came to her, she didn’t react fast enough to the bag swinging back toward her from her last hit. It collided directly with her face, sending her backwards onto the mat. A loud, painful crack echoed through her skull as her nose collided with the bag. She laid there for a moment, groaning. She tried to sit up, her nose throbbing and her mouth filling with blood from the hit. “Fuck me,” she whispered to no one in particular.

Trauma was black. According to her therapist, there were different types of trauma. Y/N learned that they all could be sorted into one of three main categories: acute trauma that results from a single incident, chronic trauma that is repeated and prolonged such as domestic violence or abuse, and complex trauma which is exposure to varied and multiple traumatic events, often of an invasive, interpersonal nature. More so, there was capital T trauma and what she called little t trauma . Capital T was the big stuff, the stuff that wrecks a person in an irreparable way. Little t was less so. It is possible for a traumatized person to get over a little t trauma.

In Y/N’s life she’d seen her fair share of trauma. Probably more than a thirty-three year old woman should’ve. She’d seen trauma happen to others, happen to herself, and continue to happen in case after case that she worked. She saw trauma that others didn’t. The kind of trauma that couldn’t be seen from the outside. The kind of trauma that a person inflicts upon themselves.

She was always told that trauma healed over time, like a bruise, but for her, trauma was a cut that kept reopening. It was a scab that she couldn’t stop picking at, a bruise that seemed to deepen to a darker purple before it ever yellowed. Her eyes stung from the hit, and she wiped her nose with the back of her hand.

The only way she knew how to heal was to move on, leave the trauma behind. Her therapist told her to imagine herself placing the memories in a box and locking them away. Sometimes, when she was alone, she could hear that box screaming, banging, and begging to be opened. She resisted the urge, especially today.

She forced herself to stand, her head spinning. She leaned against the wall to regain her balance before she walked out to her car, her head tilted back. She could feel the blood roll down the back of her throat since it was unable to escape her nostril. She’d be pissed if she broke her nose, but, from what she could tell, it seemed intact even though it hurt like a bitch.

Her headphones were askew, but still playing her workout mix. She adjusted them and spit some blood from her mouth. She wouldn’t be thwarted by a fall; no, she wouldn’t be taken down so easily. If she fell in the gym and no one was there to witness her humiliation, did she even fall? The answer to that depended on if anyone would notice her bruised nose after the fact. If they didn’t, as far as she was concerned, she had a perfect refreshing work out with no issues whatsoever. Maybe with enough makeup her secret would remain her own.

10 years earlier

The sound of his paintbrush swiping delicately against canvas was soothing to Y/N. She sat on the edge of the bed, atop black satin sheets, resting on her hands, her back arched and her legs spread just right. Her long strawberry hair fell down her shoulders in loose waves onto the sheets.

“Just like that,” Lucifer murmured, a blonde wave falling into his eye. He was focused, his tongue partially out of his mouth, his eyebrows knitted together. She wasn’t able to see the painting from her vantage point, but she knew what it was. It was always the same. I just can’t get you right, he’d complain, his voice laced with pain and disdain. She thought he made her more beautiful than she ever could be on her own.

When she’d met him, he was so focused on his art. He would eat, sleep, and drink his paintings. His clothing was speckled with oil colors, his fingers calloused from gripping paint brushes for hours on end. She found him sexy and mysterious. She was dying to know the man behind such beautiful pieces of art.

It didn’t take long for his obsession to shift from his art directly to her. He doted on her endlessly, showering her in flowers, candy, candlelight dinners. They made love constantly. He couldn’t get enough of her.

“Let me paint you, Y/N,” he’d purr between her legs. “I just want to paint you.” It took her weeks to say yes. She’d always brush him off, blushing and insecure. “You’re exquisite. Please let me paint you.”

She struggled to deny Lucifer’s requests when he asked as his breath tickled the inside of her thigh. It was hard to deny him of anything , if she was being honest. The first time she said yes, he arrived in her bedroom and asked her to drop the floral robe she was wearing. He’d seen her naked dozens of times, but she was still nervous, vulnerable, staring at him. She brought him a bag, insisting that he look inside before she disrobed.

He stared at the bag, confused.

“They’re body paints,” she explained. “I thought you wanted to paint me.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise. They made love on the apartment floor, painting designs on each other's skin until she was swollen and wanting, gasping his name into the night.

When she woke up in the early hours of the morning, she found him painting her image onto a canvas laying splayed out, covered in swirls of sex and paint. “Don’t move,” he instructed calmly. She wanted to be angry, but she still felt drunk from being ravished, and his eyes examining her were sensual and slow. She watched his wrist spin and curl, and a chill ran up her spine.

“Lucifer, how much longer? ”

“You’re just so beautiful, Y/N. You know that, right?”

“No,” she murmured, and his eyebrows knitted together.

“We will fix that,” he promised. “You will always be this beautiful.” He was talking to her, she logically knew that, but from her vantage point she could’ve sworn he was speaking to the canvas.

Present

Y/N entered the code to unlock the front gate to her property, leaning half out her car window. Thankfully, her bleeding had stopped, but her upper lip and chin were still crusty with blood. She looked like a mess, if she was being honest, but the only one there to judge her was her chocolate brown pit bull, Castiel, and Y/N figured that Cas wouldn’t care much either way.

The iron gate opened with a groan, sliding to her right. She slid back into her seat and shifted out of park to pull forward down the driveway toward her house. It was modest, nothing too big or magnificent. The outside was grey brick, a two story home with a large green yard and a pool in the back. As she pulled up, she could already see Castiel’s nose pressed against the window, her head through the thick curtains. Y/N smiled, her heart warming at the sight. She wiggled her fingers at Castiel in a small wave.

Castiel greeted her at the door, his tail wagging excitedly. She knelt down to pet his chin only to be met with deep blue eyes and a pink tongue. “I know, buddy. I need to shower somethin’ fierce.”

She kissed his nose and murmured. “I’m good. We’re good.” Half the time she wasn’t sure who she was trying to convince. She locked the front door behind her and kicked off her shoes. Her arms ached and her heartbeat was still residing in her sinus from her fall. She let her hair out of the tie that kept it up in a high ponytail, letting it fall down her back. Her head was sore from her hair being up for hours. She massaged her scalp with a wince. Everything hurt and she couldn’t wait to wash her problems down the drain and start fresh.

Her work out clothes were discarded on the bathroom floor, the sound of running water and the steam accumulating in the air were already starting to soothe her. She took a deep breath in through her nose with a wince before stepping into the shower and closing the curtain behind her.

Y/N faced the water, letting the heat roll down her skin. The water ran brown from sweat and blood. She braced her hands on the walls of the shower to keep herself steady. She closed her eyes, letting the baptism wash her worries away. Time has a way of wrecking a person, she knew that much. It gave a false sense of security, a sense of growth and change. She spent so much time trying to put her past behind her, locked away inside of a box.

She opened her eyes and looked at the half sleeves covering her wrists and forearms. The flowers and vines twisting around her arms, climbing, and growing out of thick, pink scars - creating something beautiful out of tragedy. She had hoped, when she got them, that they would help her heal and forget. She could laugh now at that naive girl who thought anything would let her forget. Time heals wounds, yes, but the greatest ones still ached in the cold and the rain.

Suds from soap and shampoo swirled down the drain, and she reached down to turn off the water. She wrapped her hair in a towel and slipped into her robe. She could hear Castiel whine outside of the bathroom door, unusually unhappy with not being able to see her. “You’re good, Cas,” she called out, wiping the fog from the mirror. She examined her nose. It was a little swollen and already beginning to bruise. She cursed to herself and just hoped that it’d be dull enough that her painted foundation would cover it. The last thing she needed was to worry those around her.

Castiel scratched at the door again, and she opened it, her dog circling her legs impatiently. “What is your deal?” Y/N reached down and scratched behind her ear, eliciting licks from Castiel.

Towel drying her hair, she stepped out of the bathroom and rounded the corner. Her eyes were heavy, and her head pounded from the hit. She needed coffee, bad . As she turned the corner, she stopped dead in her tracks, her towel falling from her hand. Castiel whined insistently, nudging Y/N’s leg with his nose. She stared face to face with something so familiar that it made her gut tighten, acid crawling up her throat.

A painting hung at her eye level in the hallway near the bathroom. Fine brush strokes of pale peach skin, strawberry twists of hair splayed out on black satin sheets, flushed cheeks, parted lips, and freckled legs spread out, exposing a delicate pink vagina tucked between them.

Y/N stared at herself. Her eyes closed, her swollen mouth, her pink cheeks on a face and head that belonged to her. Her freckled neck blended downwards onto heavy breasts with dark nipples and a mole under the right that she’d never seen before.

Her knees were weak, and she stumbled back, bumping into Castiel and tumbling backwards. She fell, hitting her tailbone on the wood floors with a hard smack . Tears burned in her eyes, from pain or fear she wasn’t sure. Castiel came to her, licking her cheek in concern.

Anxiety crept into her chest, pressing down heavily. She gasped for breath and clamped her eyes shut. She pictured the box inside of her mind, thrashing and pulsing with anger, begging to be opened. Tears rolled down her cheeks, and she forced herself to stand on shaking legs. She made her way to her bedroom and quickly spun the code on her safe, pulling her gun from it. She clicked the safety off and held it in front of her.

With each room that she checked she only found an emptiness that overtook her home with a heaviness that seemed to engulf her completely. Nothing seemed strange or out of place other than the large depiction of her naked body that hung on her wall.

She kept her gun positioned outward and pulled out her cellphone, dialing the number that she could never forget. All she could hope for was an answer, and as a ring met her ear she let out a sigh of relief. It had been so long, she had expected a disconnected tone. She pressed the phone closer to her ear as she heard his voice.

“Y/N?”

“He’s back.”

------

Chapter Two

Read on A03 Here

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yeti-the-infinity · 3 years

Text

hanami

matchaloveblossom - founder's trio festival day 1

Kojiro and Kaoru were from respectable families themselves once upon a time, but even back then they had not been permitted to visit Adam’s family estate due to the fact that they were pierced up, loud-mouthed, skateboarding hoodlums that had once landed a teenaged Ainosuke in a holding cell for an hour and twenty-three minutes.

It’s part of the reason they eventually agree to Adam’s invitation. The other parts being that 1.) Adam will not stop asking, 2.) they are trying to give Adam a second chance, and 3.) they want to see what he’s planning.

Adam spends the better part of the first hour of their visit leading Kojiro and Kaoru on a tour of the Shindo estate’s sprawling gardens. He lists off the names and meanings of flora and fauna like poetry before leading them across a stream over a whimsically ivy-hung stone bridge and into a grove of vibrant, sweet-smelling cherry blossom trees.

As Adam steers them both by the arm into a small clearing, they set eyes on a large blanket sprawled across unnaturally healthy grass. A hefty picnic basket weighs the center of the blanket down, with a bottle of a wine poking out of its top, and a cat has settled itself just beside this, snoozing in the warm, breezy afternoon.

“Well, isn’t this fucking adorable,” Kojiro croons, the first to settle on the blanket, kneeling, one leg stuck out as he pops open the basket and peers inside. “Did you do all this yourself, Adam?”

Kaoru recognizes that Kojiro’s gauging how much effort Adam put into this versus Adam’s servants, trying to understand how much this gesture matters.

“Yes.” Adam shoos the cat away with a feign of his boot and a canine snarl and then lowers himself gracefully onto the blanket as if he hadn’t. He sprawls onto his back, not unlike the cat had been sleeping, and crosses his arms. Kojiro catches but ignores the mild glare he receives before lifting small containers of strawberries, cherries, and sliced peaches out of the basket and retrieving three stemless wine glasses.

“Not all of us went to culinary school, sweetheart,” Adam drawls and kicks at Kojiro’s thigh across the blanket. “You could at least pretend to be impressed. Wouldn’t want to hurt my feelings.” He pulls a long face, his hands flutter over his heart, and Kojiro snorts.

Adam turns toward the shadow stretching above him and reaches out both hands, his long fingers callused for an aristocrat’s, but clean. “Sweet, delicate, Cherry Blossom, will you kiss my feelings better? You like it don’t you?”

Kaoru smothers an indulgent smile with the back of his hand and makes a show of surveying the picturesque, sugar-scented, sunny grove, with its swaying pink trees. Petals drift on the wind like fresh, warm snow, and Kaoru’s always been partial to the trees he had been nicknamed after, even if sweet, delicate cherry blossom had once been an ironic title given to a teenager who enjoyed getting into brawls and beefs and generally didn’t lose them.

It’s difficult to argue that the scene is not idyllic.

“It is very beautiful here…” he allows, his eyes gradually drifting back down to Adam and Kojiro, sprawled comfortably on the blanket. They look fairly idyllic themselves, well-dressed, casual, relaxed. Kojiro with his sleeves rolled up, to show off his absurd muscles as he pours out a Riesling, liberally as always, and Adam licking sugar from a strawberry a little too slowly. “And I see you brought wine, so, I’d say I’m content.” Kaoru lifts his sandal delicately onto the edge of the blanket, feeling for rocks underneath. The garden is immaculately manicured and all is smooth as he folds himself neatly by Adam’s legs. “Although, I didn’t expect we’d be roughing it…”

“Hm.” Adam’s hum stretches too long, his smile a little nasty as he rises to sit, the better to hold his wine glass—the better to reach out with his free hand to run his thumb across Kaoru’s cheek, just before pinching it. “You must be misremembering my proclivities.”

Kaoru snaps teasingly at Adam’s fingers with his teeth—he knows better than to rap at them with his fan—and Adam retracts them with a smug smile, as Kaoru mutters, “I remember them just fine.”

Kojiro pretends to ignore their antics, his eyes shifting from the trees to the picnic arrangement, drawing both of their gazes as he replies to Adam as if he hadn’t paused, “No, he’s right. It’s… nice… Just not exactly your usual fare.”

Adam holds Kojiro’s stare for a moment in recognition of the challenge in it. Kojiro seems to both tease and approve of Adam’s softness at once and it makes Kaoru’s stomach flutter faintly.

Adam breaks the gaze with a downward glance and then sighs. “Mm, yes, well,” he tilts his glass, making the wine swish, “my therapist might have suggested it.” Adam’s gaze shifts to Kaoru, because Kaoru asks more often, “And I do rather like this one. I think I’ll continue courting her a while…”

“You have your therapist giving you dating advice now?” Kaoru bats back, the muscles of his jaw stiffening.

“Not exactly,” Adam dodges and frowns back, fine lines between his brows, and leans forward to smooth Kaoru’s hair and give him his wine glass, since Kojiro had been distracted from pouring a third. “Relax. There you are, pet.”

Kaoru’s lip juts out, eyes narrowing, and he gives Adam’s shoulder the mildest of bats with the back of his hand. “I am not your pet.”

“No, of course not,” Adam sings, fond yet dismissive. He looks perfectly aware he has the upper hand as Kaoru accepts the glass and leans unconsciously into another caress of Adam’s palm, also callused, against Kaoru’s cheek. Kaoru’s skin is faintly pink from the blatant attention, and Adam wonders dimly and not for the first time if that’s why Cherry Blossom really wears a mask.

Kaoru swats Adam’s palm away when he lingers too long, but Kaoru does not flit his golden eyes away from the ruby ones that stare longer.

“You’re our beautiful Cherry Blossom,” Adam sings.

Kaoru can see Adam’s eyes flicker with devilry as his lip curls. “Joe’s our pet.”

Kojiro grunts an objection. “Come say that to my face why don’t you?” he challenges from over Adam’s shoulder, smiling and rising up to his haunches, all rippling muscle.

“You are our tiger,” Adam flirts, pleased with the response, crawling across the blanket on all fours, with more catlike elegance than either of the other two. “Big, strong, fiercely protective. Overly fond of very bold prints.” Adam reaches his target, and Kojiro leans back to let Adam climb into his lap. Adam sportingly tugs open the collar of Kojiro’s loud sky-blue shirt with its pattern of palm leaves, as he straddles Adam’s thighs.

Kojiro laughs, bright and overwhelming as direct sunlight, as Adam rests one hand on his collar bone. The other plucks one of the various blossoms Adam had collected in his coat pocket earlier and tucks it prettily behind Kojiro’s ear, smoothing back green curls with his thumb. “A tiger lily for a tiger man.”

Kojiro bares his teeth at Adam with a sly smirk, and then his eyes shift Kaoru’s way, smile warming, tone mocking, “I’ll take that over gorillaany day.”

Kaoru rolls his eyes, sips at the wine, and watches Kojiro’s brawny arms wrapping Adam’s broad chest as Adam shifts in his lap to watch Kaoru. Heat rises under Kaoru’s skin, and he feels a bit like a steaming up kettle as he exhales slowly.

“And how does your therapist feel about your fascination with pet play?” Kaoru counters, closing his eyes to better appreciate the feeling of the sun with its fuzzy pink cherry blossom glow heating the bare skin of his cheeks, neck, ankles…

All the sun, of course, he tells himself.

“Need I remind you your skateboard calls you Master, darling?” Adam counters quickly enough that he may have had the comment on standby for just such an occasion.

“I…” Kaoru grimaces.

“Yeah, wait a second.”

Kaoru finds himself saved by Kojiro who wraps his hands around Adam’s which have absconded with Kojiro’s wine glass and is lifting it daintily to his lips.

“What exactly are you focusing these sessions on, Adam,” Kojiro echoes, “that led to sappy, romantic picnic?”

“Oh, the usual.” Adam gives an exaggerated eye roll, ruffles his own hair in mild exasperation. “We’ve been talking about healthy outlets: ways to relax, destress, let off some steam without…” Adam swishes his hand in a euphemistic circle, “maiming anybody.”

Kaoru tenses, eyes flickering open and finding Kojiro’s already on him, soft with concern. Adam is oblivious, head leaned back on Kojiro’s shoulder, watching the flowers above shift and shimmer in the breeze like a mirage. Adam’s hand shifts restlessly with his explanation, “Not an entirely fruitless effort, I suppose. Recently, I’ve been experimenting with yoga and the sacred art of meditation, and my therapist suggested hanami.”

Kaoru’s shoulders relax again hearing him sound so comfortable with such formerly foreign concepts.

“Meditating and connecting with nature, huh?” Kojiro’s hands have wandered from Adam’s arms to his chest, roaming with a thoughtless kind of ease. “Well, look who’s turning over a new leaf.”

“Everyone could do with taking a little time to stop and view the cherry blossoms,” Kaoru says, voice unusually soft, shifting closer to the center of the blanket, where the basket had been. Petals polka dot the warm fabric, and Kaoru scoops up a handful, leaning forward to lift them over Adam’s head. “Here, let me help you appreciate them properly.” They flutter down his face and broad chest, catching on his hair, his cheek, his lip.

“Full of yourself, are you?” Kojiro teases, flicking a few petals from Adam’s shoulder.

“I deserve it,” Kaoru counters, eyes still focused solely on Adam’s.

Adam chuckles quietly, as Kaoru touches the petal sticking to his lip, and then Adam kisses his palm and wraps his wrist in his hand.

“Not just view them, Cher,” Adam purrs, “breath them in, admire them, meditate with them, worship them… and I thought…” Adam sets down his glass and reaches for Kojiro’s wrist, drawing Kaoru and Kojiro’s hands together, watching their fingers intertwine.

Kojiro’s grip is firm and Kaoru’s tightens to match it. Their eyes meet, always, Adam observes, with that sharp sizzle of tension and the thick underlying glow of trust.

Adam eases himself off of Kojiro’s lap, squeezes their wrists and releases them. “…Who would know more about viewing Cherry Blossom in all his glory than you, Kojiro?”

“My glory?” Kaoru smirks but his eyes flicker nervously between them, his fingers twitching. “Why don’t I like the sound of that?”

Kaoru watches Kojiro’s pupils dilate as a smooth, confident smirk slides across his face, his expression beginning to mirror Adam’s.

Kojiro’s knuckles bump Adam’s shoulder. “You know I never pass up a chance to show off.”

Adam reaches to the shoulder and begins to shrug off his suit jacket. “I’m going to have to insist that you do. For my therapy.”

Kaoru’s scoff catches in his throat and his voice comes out a little thin, “Need I remind the two of you,” Kaoru pauses as Kojiro lifts their folded hands and kisses the inside of his wrist, and Adam crawls to kneel at Kaoru’s back, his hands settling possessively on Kaoru’s shoulder blades, “where we are right now…?”

“In a grove of sweet, ripe cherry blossoms…” Adam’s fingers knead hard into Kaoru’s back, and Kaoru can’t help but lean into the warm, certain attention.

Kaoru’s head rests against Adam’s slow, steady heartbeat, his chin tilting up as Adam’s face draws closer. Kaoru can feel Kojiro’s lips pressing and nipping their way up his arm, drawing the flowy fabric of his sleeve up to his shoulder. “Ah…”

“Flowers waiting to be outshone by a more…” Adam whispers, his tongue tracing Kaoru’s lips before Kaoru leans up to close the distance. Adam’s kiss is firm but brief. “… superior specimen…”

Kaoru feels a faint pinch in his bicep and a low pained noise comes from Kojiro’s direction. Kojiro watches a string of saliva pass between their lips, before the distance closes again with a muffled squeak from Kaoru that might have been inspired by Adam’s teeth or Kojiro’s hands dropping to wrap Kaoru’s slender, muscular thighs, effortlessly easing them up onto Kojiro’s thick, stony ones.

“Ko… Kojiro,” Kaoru scolds, voice thin, half-breathless, hand reaching out and grabbing blindly for Kojiro’s arm, as the hands slide slow and hot up his thighs. “You big, thirsty galoot—” The heels of his palms trace the grooves of Kaoru’s hips on their assent toward the belt of his trousers. “We’re out-outside…mm.”

Adam’s fingers press briefly to Kaoru’s lips.

“Hm, so, what?” Kojiro purrs, his massage spurred on by the way Kaoru melts and rises against his hands.

“On private property…” Adam tacks on, sliding his chest down Kaoru’s back and wrapping Kaoru’s hair around his hand. “You said you’d help me appreciate you properly.” Adam’s lips find the back of his neck and Kaoru’s eyes flutter half shut. “Let us appreciate you, Kaoru. All of you.”

“I have not had enough wine,” Kaoru insists smooth and articulate as ever, leaning the back of his neck into Adam’s teeth, sliding his hands along the muscles of Joe’s upper arms, “to take off all my clothes in the middle of your garden, in the middle of the day…” Although the thought of skateboard rough hands on his bare skin makes him sound increasingly less certain with every breath. “Why don’t you ask Six Pack Joe here?”

“I can get you more wine,” Adam muses into the nape of Kaoru’s neck, and gets swatted in the shoulder by Kojiro for his trouble.

“You spend so much time appreciating my muscles,” Kojiro answers, and Kaoru watches Kojiro’s tan arms stretch as he grasps the collar of Kaoru’s shirt. “Maybe I just want to return the favor, Lord Cherry. What, too intimidated?”

“Our tiger’s muscles might be intimidating, but you’re captivating in your own right. I’ve seen you at S and on the news. People line up to see you too.” Adam’s hands wrap Kaoru’s stomach and reach toward the lower buttons of his shirt, as Kojiro’s thumb presses in on the top one. “What are you so afraid of, Master Cherry?”

“I’m not intimidated by you, musclehead,” Kaoru leans forward to butt his forehead against Kojiro’s, the challenge straining his face slipping into a more thoughtful expression as he worries his lip, “I suppose I’m just afraid the three of us, the two of you, are too good to be true. But…”

He realizes Kojiro and Adam have gone still. Their playful expressions hardening with concern, maybe guilt, and it’s contagious.

Kaoru shakes his head, feeling the light delicious pull of his hair against Adam’s immobile hand. “I don’t want to feel that way anymore.” He meets Kojiro’s eyes and burrows further into Adam’s chest, “I want to let you see all of me, touch all of me, have…” “We’ve got you, Kaoru,” Kojiro leans forward to brush their lips together carefully.

“There’s no safer place in the world…” Adam’s tone is half comfort half-threat, as he presses his lips to the back of Kaoru’s neck once more and begins to pluck open the bottom of Kaoru’s shirt. His touch is almost unfamiliar, his palm smoothing over Kaoru’s abs careful as if he’s cradling a flower blossom. “Yes, I know.” Kaoru closes his eyes, giving into the friction of their hands, feeling the warm air on his chest mingle with the damp, mind-dazzling softness of their lips, their kisses falling everywhere like petals. “I trust you.”

#shows up 7 days late with a day 1 fic #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #matchaloveblossom #cherry blossom #lovematchablossom #shindo ainosuke #kojiro nanjo #kaoru sakurayashiki #adamcherryjoe #foundertriofest2021 #sk8 fic #adam #joe #my writing #hanami

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sylvies-chen · 3 years

Note

Brettsey please “so not to be rude or anything but i’ve been coming to this cemetery at this time on this day every week for fucking years and i’ve always been alone up until now seriously what the hell” au

Ok anon I REALLY have to apologize because this request has been sitting in my inbox for probably a month or two now but I didn’t get the inspo to finish this until last night. That being said, I got this into a short little oneshot so I hope you enjoy!!

Tags: alternate universe, grief, mourning, light emotional hurt/comfort, meet cute

Word count: 2922

183 days.

It’s been 183 days since Sylvie last visited Julie. 183 days thinking about how things should have been different. How Julie was supposed to survive, how her and Scott and Amelia were supposed to be a family. How Sylvie was supposed to reconnect with her, to finally know the woman who had given Sylvie her own life’s blood.

She was supposed to have more time.

Instead, Sylvie ends up feeling like more of a stranger to Julie than ever. The last time she visited was the funeral, and that hadn’t done much for her in terms of closure. If anything, it made her feel more out of place. Random strangers came up to her, asking how she knew Julie. Sylvie can still remember the confused looks on their face as she’d told them Julie was her birth mother who had given her up at sixteen years old, and the awkward condolences that came stuttering out of their mouths afterwards. She’d felt too guilty eventually, and left early. Who the hell was she anyway, to be tainting everyone’s view of her birth mother at her own funeral?

She hasn’t been to visit Julie’s grave ever since. All Sylvie had done was stay with parents for a few days to clear her head. A few days turned into a few weeks, and then a few months. Today marks month six of her stay there. Her parents had told her they’d be happy to have her. They hadn’t been receptive to the idea of Sylvie meeting Julie in the first place, so they were more than willing to help her through the loss. The only condition was that she had to go to therapy and work through her grief, which Sylvie happily agreed to. But last week, her therapist suggested she visit Julie’s grave to get ‘true closure’, whatever that means. It’s a strange idea to Sylvie but nothing else seems to be working. Her boss had assured her that Fowlerton was much too peaceful (the polite way of calling the town boring, and rightfully so) and it would do just fine without its favourite paramedic for a few days. So, reluctantly, she accepted.

That’s why Sylvie’s now halfway through an hour-long drive to Chicago, all the way back to the cemetery. She buys hydrangeas at a tiny flower shop she passes by when she first enters Chicago territory. They’re Julie’s favourite. They were Julie’s favourite

Her fingers anxiously tap at the wheel when she finally pulls into the cemetery. It’s a dreary Sunday, grey clouds hovering in the sky bringing the prominent threat of rain. The graveyard is empty when she gets there, from the looks of it, except for one single person. Out of the corner of her eye, she can see a man around her age sitting on a bench near a grave, his eyes observing her curiously from over his shoulder. He’s not someone she knows-- she doesn’t really know many people here in Chicago after all-- but she ignores his lingering eyes. Shades of grey stick out against the field of green and wilted flowers are scattered across other tombstones. It feels like a ghost town, for lack of a better term. It’s gloomy and it looks like no one’s visited this place in a while. Even for a cemetery, the sight is a depressing one.

Sylvie slams her car door shut and takes a deep breath. Relax, she thinks. Just a quick drop by to see her, place the flowers, and then leave. You can get through this.

She makes a beeline towards Julie’s grave, less than 100 feet away, and stops dead in her tracks when she gets there. Her feet feel heavy in her pink rain boots, sticking out like a sore thumb against her black coat as she observes the tombstone.

Julie Walters

Loving wife and daughter

1973 - 2019

Sylvie doesn’t know how to feel reading those words. A whole life, one she only scratched the surface of, reduced to a mere four words and eight numbers. It’s underwhelming, and she doesn’t know whether to feel relieved that Julie’s entire being wasn’t etched onto stone or insulted that they could summarize her in so few words.

Maybe it’s for the best. What else would they put on there anyway: that she was a flawed human who left behind a child who she wasn’t ready to have, only to die before she could see her second daughter years later when she was finally ready for one? When she was finally ready to reconcile with her first born? Yeah, it was definitely for the best.

She places the bouquet of hydrangeas on the wet grass next to the tombstone and stands back. Man, this is harder than she thought. The words are there, racing in her head, but they don’t come out. Every time she wants to say something, it gets caught in the back of her throat.

Sylvie’s trying to pick from a list of infinite questions and countless ways to begin when she feels a chill on the back of her neck. At that moment, a voice comes from behind her. “Hi, are y--”

“Ah!” Sylvie shrieks, the voice startling her. She nearly jumps out of her skin as she turns around in shock, only to see a guy standing in front of her. It’s the same guy, she realizes, that had been staring at her earlier. Now, up close, she guesses that he can’t be all that much older that she is. He has blonde hair that’s short at the back and longer at the front, his eyes a soft shade of blue-green. His jacket and boots are a little worn but other than that, he looks completely normal. Except for the fact that he’s the only other person in this whole cemetery, and he just came up to her from behind without making a sound.

“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he assures her, his hands up in surrender.

“Oh, uh, it’s okay.” Sylvie lets out a big breath, shaking off the nerves from the jumpscare.

“Not to be rude or anything, but I just-- I’m usually the only one here,” he explains awkwardly.

“Are you a groundskeeper or something? I can leave if you guys need me to.”

“No no,” he laughs bashfully, scratching the back of his neck. “I work in construction, actually. But I’ve uh.. I’ve been coming here the same time, every Sunday for years now to visit my dad. Nobody’s ever here when I am, so I figured you must be new.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offers. So okay, he’s not such a creep after all. Actually, he’s kind of sweet. “He must have been a really great dad, for you to be visiting him every week after all these years.”

“He… had his moments,” the man explains delicately. “Honestly, he wasn’t the most affectionate guy. I guess I just don’t want to end up like him. Jaded and cruel.”

Sylvie nods understandingly, because she gets it. Her parents are loving and supportive, but she’s had some exes that have put her through the ringer. Her first real love, Harrison, had been manipulative and heartless. She’s always hoped that these awful guys wouldn’t change her for the worse either.

“Sorry, I don’t know why I’m saying all of this. I’ll get out of your hair,” he offers. “But uh, here. Take this.” The guy holds out a single rose, which Sylvie accepts.

Her eyebrows narrow in confusion at the gesture. “A rose?”

“Yeah, well, my dad has been getting a dozen roses a week from my family since I was 17, he won’t turn over in his grave if he gets 11 just this one time. I’m sure whoever you’re grieving could use it a lot more than he could.”

Sylvie’s confused expression softens into gratitude, a faint smile pulling at her lips. This guy, whoever he is, didn’t have to do this for her. It’s a sweet gesture. He really does seem nice. No catches, no mind games, just simple and kind. She hasn’t met a guy like that in a while, at least not one her age. “That’s actually really sweet, thank you.”

“Of course.”

“I’m Sylvie, by the way,” she introduces herself awkwardly. Everything about this situation is awkward, frankly. But she extends her free hand anyway. “Sylvie Brett.”

“Matt Casey. I wish it were under nicer circumstances, but it’s nice to meet you.” His smile is wide as he takes her hand and shakes it. It’s confusing, but it makes Sylvie smile all the same.

“You seem awfully cheerful for someone who’s in a graveyard,” she observes.

“Like I said: I’ve been doing this for a while. I’m sort of all talked out now,” Matt explains with a shrug.

“Right,” she nods. “I wish I could relate. Normally I’m the one who’s cheerful and talkative, but it’s hard with this sort of thing. Everything I want to say just doesn’t seem to come out. Sometimes, I think if I start talking…”

“You’ll never stop?” He guesses.

“Yeah.” How did he know?

“Well I can tell you from experience that you definitely do stop talking at one point. I got all talked out two years ago. I looked around one day and realized I was talking about types of screwdrivers to my dad’s grave with no one else around. Eventually, you’ll run out of topics like I did. And then new ones will come, and you’ll talk some more, and then you get quiet again and then you just… stop talking.”

“I hope so. I’m a big talker-- I mean seriously, I never shut up-- but I just… I don’t know where to start with this one,” she explains.

“If you don’t mind me asking, who are you visiting?”

“Julie Walters.” She points to the tombstone in front of them. “My birth mother.”

“Oh. I’m so sorry.”

Sylvie’s heard those six little words before. She had to stomach every single insincere, fake utterance of sympathy when she was at the funeral. But for some reason, the way Matt says it to her makes her think he really means it. She’s not used to people meaning it when they offer their condolences. It’s strange. Then again, this whole interaction is strange. “It’s okay,” she brushes it off.

“It’s not. At least, it doesn’t have to be,” he soothes. Something about his voice is so horrifyingly comforting. It’s calm and low, and it feels like warm tea and honey in her ears. It’s enough to make her want to burst into tears right then and there .

Sylvie takes a deep breath and then, before she can stop herself, breaks the silence to ramble. “I love my parents, you know? They raised me, they fed me, they’re responsible for the person I’ve become. But I’d always wondered where I came from, why my birth parents gave me up for adoption. And when Julie sought me out, I panicked at first. I wasn’t ready to give up that fantasy in my head of who she was, to have all my questions answered. But now I’m standing here, visiting her grave for the first time in the six months since her funeral by recommendation of my stupid grief counselor, and I… I just can’t stop thinking of all the questions I was too scared to ask. And man, it sucks.”

Matt stands there and nods understandingly, his gaze unwavering even as she turns her eyes towards Julie’s tombstone.

“I’m sorry,” she continues, wiping tears from her cheek. “We just met, and I’m rambling, and--”

“No no, it’s good for you,” he assures her. “ And I don’t mind it, I-- I like hearing you talk.”

“Oh.” Sylvie looks around, unsure of what to say. This Matt Casey guy, whoever he is, hasn’t run for the hills by now which is strange to say the least. But weirdly, it’s comforting.

“You’re right, you know,” he continues, switching the subject. “It sucks. Life… life sucks.”

“Yeah, it does,” she agrees, letting out a small laugh. This makes Matt laugh a little, which makes Sylvie laugh even more, until they’re both smiling and giggling in a cemetery like a bunch of blushing lunatics. It’s quite possibly the weirdest thing Sylvie’s ever experienced and yet somehow, it’s exactly what she needed. A bright light in the vast sea of darkness.

“You’re smiling again, that’s a good sign.”

“It is,” she agrees. “Am I crazy for that? I mean, I’m smiling and laughing in a graveyard with somebody I just met. Isn’t that weird?”

“A little,” he admits with a shy laugh. “But you’re not crazy. Sometimes people need a little bit of weirdness in their lives.”

“I guess stranger things have happened,” Sylvie shrugs playfully.

“Yeah.” He flashes her another smile before turning his attention towards Julie’s grave and facing it with her. Sylvie stares at the marked stone. She fondly remembers the few memories she had with Julie, and the countless ones they never got around to. It’s unfortunate, really, but it feels more manageable with someone there. Even if it’s someone she barely knows. Matt stands with her for a moment, the peace and quiet taking over. It’s nice. Sylvie’s never had silence be so comforting; it’s always made her anxious and uncomfortable up until now. Matt sure is a puzzling guy in that sense. She sneaks a peek at him through the corner of her eye, this guy who’s supporting her even though they just met. He’s lost someone too, he could be going back to his father’s tombstone. Instead, he’s staying there with her. Sylvie decides at that moment that Matt Casey is an unfailingly kind, weirdly solid guy. And, admittedly, a little attractive. Ok, a lot attractive.

“Hey, and don’t worry,” she adds after a few minutes of silence, “about being like your father. We aren’t our parents. And you seem… good. That’s all you can ask for I guess, is to be one of the good ones.”

“Thanks,” he nods, his eyes filled with a bit of confusion and a bit of something else Sylvie can’t quite place. Wonder, almost.

Sylvie turns back to Julie’s grave, tracing over the words with her eyes. Suddenly, it doesn’t feel so scary. Sylvie’s still sad, and wounds take time to scar over, but it doesn’t feel like she’s bleeding out anymore. She sighs, and she can sense the weight on her shoulders blowing away into the wind.

Unfortunately, when the sorrow blows away with the wind, it brings in the rain.

“Oh god,” Matt groans, wincing while looking up just on time to catch a raindrop in his eye. He squints and turns to Sylvie, who’s standing there laughing. “I didn’t see this in the weather forecast for today.”

“Me neither,” she giggles. “Today’s full of unexpected things, I guess.”

“It is.” He gives her a shy smile, nodding in agreement.

“Do you mind the rain?” She asks, looking up at the gloomy sky with a smile on her face.

“No,” he replies gently.

“Me neither.”

They stand there, hoods pulled away from their heads, letting the rain wash over them. There’s no shelter in sight anyway. They talk for a while about Chicago, about their lives, their friends, things that make them happy. But then they fall into a comfortable silence, smiling peacefully in the rain. Sylvie only moves a few times to brush raindrops off of the bouquet of flowers she’d placed at Julie’s grave. She looks at it, the name and the date etched in stone, and she doesn’t feel sick anymore. No questions unanswered, no bitterness. Her loss feels manageable.

She’s okay. More than okay.

“Hey, this might sound a little crazy, and I know we just met,” Matt starts after a while, “but would you want to… go get dinner or something?”

“What, like a date?” She snorts at her own joke, the idea being very nice in theory but impossible. It’s seriously impossible that this guy is actually asking her out, right?

“Er, yeah,” he nods. “Like a date.”

Oh. Okay, so he was asking her out. This is unfamiliar territory for Sylvie. She’s been asked out before, of course, by the small-town idiots in Fowlerton. But by an admittedly very good-looking stranger, under these circumstances no less? It’s a bit of a bizarre situation. That’s the crux of it, though. Matt Casey, whoever he is under all these sweet, charming layers, doesn’t feel like a stranger. Somehow, through one chance encounter, it feels like catching up with an old friend.

When she considers the facts, she’s had fun today. Every interaction they’ve had has come with such ease, and from a place of goodness and light. Yeah, maybe it’ll go absolutely nowhere. But one date in a public place won’t hurt her. She’s in Chicago for the rest of the weekend anyway. If anything, going out with someone like Matt Casey would do her a lot of good. And she hadn’t realized it until now but god, she really really wants to. So she does.

“I’d like that,” she finally replies while brushing rain off of her coat.

“Yeah?” He asks to make sure, his face lighting up with hope and slight excitement. Sylvie finds it adorable.

“Yeah,” she assures him.

He nods and grins excitedly as he leans in closer, and Sylvie feels the happiest she’s felt in a long time when he finally replies. “Me too.”

#this is a little rushed lol #also ik if i met anyone at a cemetary i would be weirded out but i tried to make this cute???#i just hope i was successful lol #brettsey #au prompt request #alternate universe #meet cute #light emotional hurt/comfort #mourning

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thepossibilitiesofus · 3 years

Text

1/18/2021: Growth, Hurt, and Romantic Fantasies

Note: I haven’t written in quite some time, and when I sat down to start getting some of this stuff off of my chest, I was almost paralyzed by the amount of things I felt the need to express. I started writing this when I was in quite the spiral, so I may not have managed to maintain a contiguous thread. However, I’ve found that life typically happens in the order it needs to, and if anyone reading this takes anything away from it, I would be quite contented.

I’m growing up, and things are starting to get more and more complicated. People like to judge you, and the decisions you make in your life. They act as if they truly believe that they would make better decisions than you do, if they were in your shoes. But what they cannot seem to learn and grow enough to realize, is the fact that they are not you, and cannot judge you based off of their life experiences. Everyone loves to think that they know better, and that they know how to avoid the “mistakes” they believe you to be making.

Those types of people like to say “it’s not complicated, there’s very clearly a right choice here.” And I would like to assert that these types of people are so privileged (or rather, quite disadvantaged) that they have obviously never had to deal with problems that didn’t have a black-and-white answer. These are the kind of people who turn out to be miserable, hurtful people--if they never choose to turn inward and really evaluate who they are and what they believe.

But, it’s time for me to take back my power. I’m not going to let myself become a victim of the actions of those around me. The past couple of years have been fucking hard. I have been traumatized many times over, without the support needed to heal and recover. Yet, I have fought my way to the space I inhabit now. I have looked at the people around me with a heavy heart and realized that my needs were not being met, so I decided to meet them myself. I’ve learned that there’s no guarantee that anyone will be able and willing to give you what you need, so you need to be able to provide for your own needs.

I was hurt recently by a person that I trusted to not hurt me the way that they did. I was very clear and set boundaries, and I ended up putting up with a lot more shit than I should have. I don’t regret the choices I made, because as much as I hate to admit it, I still have feelings for this person. At the end of the day, I grew and learned a lot as a result of my relationship with them.

Before the truth came to light, I had already started to realize that I needed more, and I knew that this person was incapable of giving me the “more” that I wanted. Still, I couldn’t help but hold out hope that maybe I would be worth growing for. This person made me feel things that I was scared to feel again, but at the same time, I was exhilarated. I would dance around while listening to songs that reminded me of them, and smile to myself when memories of our time together randomly came to mind. I started creating a playlist of songs that reminded me of them, and actively supported their interests and pursuits. I’ve come to the point of realization that what happened has nothing to do with me. My worth is independent of their realization of what they’re missing out on. They aren’t there yet. And that’s okay.

It hurts, badly, when you are hurt by someone in a way that could have been avoided if they were a little more mature, or if they had chosen to direct some energy toward genuine self-reflection. But it is so much easier on yourself when you have the strength to forgive them, and understand that they just couldn’t be where you wished them to be. Love is not selfish. Love encourages growth for the sake of growth, not for the benefits you receive from that growth.

When I was really struggling with this, my amazing therapist provided me with just the analogy I needed. There are people in this world that are gardeners. We move through life, planting seeds and tending to them the best we are able. We water, feed, and love those seeds as best we can. Sometimes, those seeds fall onto hard soil, and they never get the chance to develop. Sometimes those seeds are planted, but take more time to bear fruit than you will be around for. And sometimes, we get lucky and get to witness the beautiful flowers that result from all of that hard work and delicate care. And love... love is appreciating all of those moments equally. Self love is being able to pick up and move on, instead of spending precious energy on uselessly tilling infertile soil.

Something I will no longer stand for, is being made to feel ashamed for wanting what I want. I’m not ashamed to want to love deeply and to develop relationships that are irreplaceable. I believe that loving others well is the bravest and strongest thing a person can do, because it’s hard. Not everyone has what it takes to receive love well, and to reciprocate love well. This makes them no less deserving of it. If anything, they’re probably the ones who need it most.

Women are made to feel stupid for wanting love and care from the people they meet. Our lives, from the time we are little girls, are saturated with messages telling us that romance is what will make us happy. That we will bear the brunt of the pain from rejection, but that it’ll be okay because in the end, we find the one person who is worth it all. We’re the ones who are shamed when we find the strength to dare to have the hope that--maybe it’s true. Maybe, just maybe, we will be loved in the way we deserve. We wonder, if maybe, it’ll be the person in front of us who will be the one who does. Even if we start to see signs that this won’t be the person, we can’t help but to recreate the countless romantic fantasies we’ve witnessed through popular media, of the person realizing their mistakes; of them genuinely trying to work towards growth in order to be more deserving of our love. We’re made to feel terrible for daring to want this, even though we’re already the kind of woman someone would be downright blessed to get the time of day from.

To all the people who can relate to this in any way, I would like to pass on a really great piece of advice that I received recently (I believe you will agree that my best friend drops straight facts). “If you have to feel around for growth, then it’s not enough growth.” Do yourself the favor of not taking on the responsibility of deciding whether you can trust someone again. You’ve done enough, and it’s time to direct that energy back into yourself. If they are worthy of your trust, they will prove it through their actions.

#personal #long post #growth #learning #love #hurt #growing up #trust #romance #swearing tw

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squidcalamarium · 5 years

Text

An open letter to three people

I would write this (and post it) on some other social media platform, or even write it out in a google doc, but that all feels either more vulnerable or impersonal than I want this to be. I understand that posting about my Feelings on tumblr isnt really all that private, but here all I am is what I say I am, and that matters more than anything really.

Anyway

This is going to be really long.

Five years ago, when I was 15, I identified as agender and pansexual. I was struggling a lot with feelings of "greyness" accompanied by intense bursts of anxiety, and both would make me cry. I cried a lot. I cried a lot for years. I still cry fairly easily but thats beside the point because I dont cry As Much, now. I dont cry as much as I used to, and it's not as painful as it used to be, because I have you three.

I was 14 and scared of myself when I met my first real best friend, at a mutual friends birthday party. I used to struggle with accepting a lot of things about myself, before I met her. Before I met you, I was disgusted by the way I looked. Not because I thought I was fat, though I struggled with that some, no, the main reason was my skin. I was raised believing the darkness in my skin was something to be ashamed of. Not ever directly, my grandmother would never ever tell me, her perfect granddaughter, that her skin tone was shameful. But it was in everything around me, from the age of 8 to 12, that taught me that being Half of something that's supposed to be Opposite of another, is wrong. The distinction between Right White and Black as Sin.

You helped me see past that. You helped me be able to look back at pictures of myself from when I was in elementary, middleschool, yesterday, and not have to look away. I was a really cute kid, looking back. I dont have to fight myself when my mom posts pictures of me from years ago on Facebook anymore. I know I'm not ugly. I know I never was. Now.

It struck me when I was 14, a year after getting to know you, that I didnt think my skin was ugly anymore. That I could like features about myself again. I cried when I realized that. I started to explore myself in other ways, after that, because I could finally look past how I Looked into what I Am.

I tried out genderfluid for a while, scared to admit I wasn't a Girl. At 15 I tried out agender, and like I said above, that was probably a product of my hormonally increased depression. It was also because I was scared to admit I Was A Boy. It's easier to say I'm nothing than it is to say I'm something.

It's hard, learning to accept one aspect of yourself only to struggle immediately after with another.

I dont remember much about this stretch of time in my life, and my timeline is incredibly blurry. I remember when I first met my two best friends, but I dont remember when I first met my girlfriend. Probably because we just weren't very close at the time. It was middleschool, after all. We met through a mutual friend and never really got to spend any time together until highschool. Anyway, back on topic. I think I was about to talk about how I learned to Love again.

For a Very long time, I was scared to even say the words "I love you" out loud and in a coherent manner to another human being. Saying "I love you" felt like a weakness, something vulnerable that once said, would be used against me. It had been, before, but not by you. Which you? All three of you.

Love, too me, used to be something sacred and delicate that could be ruined if I said it to freely. To say it would be to give someone the opportunity to hurt me, and no matter how many times someone said they loved me, I couldnt say it back. I was like this for so long, and it hurt so much.

Love, too me now, is still something incredibly special, but also something that should be said freely. Love is a feeling best felt shared. Love isnt just Romantic, and it never has been. I love flowers in fall, I love the feeling of summer rain, I love the color pink, I love the Concept of goblins, I love my hair, I love my girlfriend, I love my best friends. I love being able to say "I love you" without feeling like I'm pulling rocks out of my lungs. I love being able to say "I love you" without feeling the blood grow heavy in my skin and fear suplex my heart.

I love knowing I'm loved just as much as I love them.

I love knowing no one is going to fight over who I love more. Knowing I love you all differently and just as passionately. Knowing I dont have to be scared of being abandoned.

When I learned how to love without being scared, and how to trust in others, I was able to accept more about myself. I was around 17 when I accepted the fact that I'm a man. I'm not a girl, I'm not nothing, I am genuine to myself. I struggled a lot with accepting that. I was scared of myself.

Before I came to that conclusion, and went a little bit wild, I met my other best friend. He helped me find peace in myself.

I was not in the best place, when I was 16. I almost did a lot of things when I was 16. I dont think I tried to kill myself, but I also dont remember a lot of my teen years. He would know better, the kind of place I was in at the time. He helped me get through it.

Sometimes, when you catch yourself in a rut and cant seem to find a way out and just end up digging yourself down deeper, you need someone to call you an idiot. You need someone to go "maybe instead of resigning yourself to pacing back and forth forever, you could try and climb. You could try and dig into the walls and climb. Just stop trying to pretend it's okay, and ask for help."

I decided from then on out that I was going to treat myself better. That I wouldnt seek out self deprecation, and I wouldnt dwell on things that made me feel bad. It was hard, and it Still Is, but I'm better now. I'm better than I was. I still have the screenshots of the texts he sent me. They're on a blog I used to Write my Woes onto, but now its just an archive.

I am no longer my Own Worst Enemy.

When I first got with my girlfriend, I was kind of in the middle of losing my mind, and I ended up breaking up with her. Awful decision, really, but it needed to happen. I needed to grow as a person, into someone who deserved her even a Little Bit.

I still dont think I'm good enough for her, not by a long shot, shes a better person than I'll ever be. But she loves me anyway. Shes seen me when I looked my worst, when my brain was at its worst, and she still loves me. I dont think ill ever measure up to be what I think she deserves, but I try.

She motivates me, more than anything, to keep trying. To keep going. I almost didnt make it past 19, despite everything I still almost gave in, I almost gave up. I refuse to hurt her like that though. I can't hurt any of you like that.

I cant give up now, not when I have a future to look forward to, and that above all else is what she gives me. Its what you give me. A future to look forward too, to want to earn, to achieve.

I have never really had any solid idea of what I wanted out of life as I gotolder. Usually I'd go for more vague things, like "I want to be an artist and make money from my crafts" and "I want to be a therapist for tweens and young teens, to help them understand themselves." But besides that, I had nothing. What kind of life would I lead, outside of these Career Paths?

Now, I know I just want to be yours. For as long as you'll have me.

I'm 20 now. I am a man, and I don't really want to bother much with a label for my sexuality besides saying I'm queer. I have two best friends, one like a sister another like a muse, and my girlfriend. I have a cat named chelly and a dog named princess.

My life isnt where I want it to be, but I'm a better person now than I was before.

I'm better at Being a person than I ever have been.

Because everything I am now I had the potential to become, and everything I will be I have to potential to become.

There are a finite amount of resources in me, and the more I learn the better I am at using them.

I still get upset just as easily now as I did before, I can still spiral just as badly. I can still cry just as quickly. It's just that now, I know what to do to calm down a little quicker. Now, I'm nicer to myself. Now, I know how to redirect my emotions and my thoughts.

I'm still everything that I was before, just with more experience. The same parts, just rearranged more effectively than before. I'm as quick to comfort myself as I am to comfort others.

And it's all thanks to them. It's all thanks to you.

Thanks you.

I love you

#my insomnia is kicking my ass right now #i have a final tomorrow i have to be ready for #and am i ready?? no #am i concerned? kinda #should i be more worried ?? probably #either way my brain isnt shutting the fuck up so i guess ill just write it out #this isnt as good as the one that didnt post in the facebook group #but im kinda glad it didnt post in there bc facebook is weird and it might of posted to my actual main timeline #and that would of been bad #note how i avoided using names in this?#yeah thats why its not as good #op #long post #rlly rlly long post #its 3am

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warmau · 6 years

Text

{Special} College!AU Irene

my other gg college aus: momo

major: literature

minor: korean history

clubs: edits the university webpage, part of a writing tutors club

sports: was a part of the gymnastics team, but left to focus on studying (the coach still wishes she’d join again)

irene has a nickname on campus, whether she’s aware of it or not - people don’t know, but everytime she walks by someone somewhere whispers to their friend “look, it’s the princess”

who gave her the nickname is unknown, wendy is sure it came up after someone anonymously posted a photo of irene in some online forum for the ‘top prettiest university students’

but irene tells her it doesn’t matter, she doesn’t like it anyway

especially not when she’s just trying to talk with a professor or one of her fellow tutors and someone mentions the nickname a little too loud

“isn’t it flattering though, people think you’re beautiful?” joy figures once, but irene just shrugs her shoulders

“i’d rather people respected me as a person, commented on my writing or on my work ethic. beauty isn’t everything.”

wendy watching her with wide eyes: oh my god everything you say sounds like a motivational quote. teach me your ways

but irene really does mean it,,,,she works hard - has been able to keep a scholarship even when her class load is over fifteen credits,,,,

she loves literature, and if people would take the time to know her,,,,they’d figure out she’s actually a bit of a nerd

loving everything from young adult fiction to hard korean classics

she knows waaaaaaaay too many historical facts off the top of her head, can name every district in every city of korea, and has specific planners for specific classes

all highlighted and neat, just like her personality

although her looks are known on campus, irene keeps to herself and her small group of friends

she’s interestingly enough friends with sehun - who has on many occasions had to walk her from one class to another because of nasty creeps who would try to talk to her

people like to rumor that they’re dating, but sehun and irene always laugh about it,,,,,sehun jokingly calls her a geek while she jabs back that he’s all face and nothing else

of course, as friends they’re just joking, but still - neither of them quite enjoys being the center of dumb college lies

unlike joy, who likes wearing fashionable clothing or wendy who has shown up to class several times in pajamas, irene has a comfy casual style

joy calls it “the gap mom” look

irene is perfectly fine with that, she likes her loose jeans and button downs

she has her own dorm room, which seulgi and yeri use as their own personaly therapist suite most of the time

but also irene has made it so cozy and comfy, lots of purple and fresh flowers. she’s an angel,,,,moving on

you’re one of those people whose kind of,,,unsure where you’re going in life,,,,

college is as much a learning experience for you as it is an adventure,,,,but adventures cost money so you find yourself needing some resume help

a friend of yours recommends a writing tutor they once had and you look down at the name they scribbled onto your notebook

“irene?” you pause, shifting your backpack over your shoulder “the princess?”

you vaguely know what she looks like, stoic and intimidatingly pretty

you wonder if it’s worth it to ask for her help ,,,,,,you could just submit your resume as is

but you decide to take the risk and head over to the library, surprised to see that irene is in fact there

even though she looks absolutely immersed in her work, you can see that there’s a group of annoying looking guys draped over their chairs just ogling her

some people walk by with their phones out, not even hiding their attempt to take photos

you cringe, thinking it must be hard for her to live like that

but again, she looks unfazed. a black curtain of hair falls elegantly across her shoulders and a laptop along with a neat pile of books keeps her distracted enough

trying to ignore all the things going on around her, you slip into the seat opposite her

“hi, are you tutoring right now?”

she finishes typing her sentence then looks, you see her look you over once - probably to figure out if you’re here for real or just to bother her

but then her gaze falls on the resume in your hands

“there’s a spelling error right there. i can even see it from upside down.”

she comments, one slender finger taps the part of your resume which reads “education”. you look down. you misspelled ‘currently’

shocked, you stare at it for a while more

irene continues typing, but then stops momentarily

“well, let me see the rest.”

you hand it over to her obediently, sweating a bit as you do.

pulling a pen out of her bag, she quickly gets to work

“mistake,,,,,,run on sentence,,,,,capitalize this,,,,,” she murmurs to herself as she works

you just silently observe, then look up to see that there are eyes on you know - it must be the consequence of sitting beside ‘the princess’

a good ten minutes later, irene has read over your resume twenty or so times, she hands it back

“edit it, then show it to me again.”

you gape at the amount of corrections one little resume has, but then turn to look at her again

she’s fallen back into her typing, flipping the pages of the open book beside her with ease

“i,,,,,,when are your tutoring hours?”

she motions to the schedule up at the front desk of the library

not once, did she hold your gaze for more than a minute,,,,

it’s mesmerizing

two days later, you’re back with your fixed resume. you don’t want to admit it, but you’ve chosen something nicer to wear and this time approach her with the intent that you’ll ask for help

but also,,,,try some small talk

unfortunately, all the staring and whispering gets to you before you can even sit down

irene, who just has her planner out, puts it away and takes your resume

she begins circling and correcting again, talking to herself

but when she hands it back - you stop her

“listen, i would like it if we could work on this together. but this place is ,,,,,,,,,,, stuffy. can we go somewhere else?”

irene looks taken aback, as if no one has ever asked her that

but then her eyes narrow suspiciously

“will we really only work on the resume?”

you realize that people have probably tried to pull things like this on her to get her into coming on dates

you redden in embarrassment, but nod,,,,,you don’t have any other intentions

so irene gathers her things, you two walk out of the library and you faintly hear someone go

“the princess took interest in someone? where are they going?”

you two decide on some place off campus, somewhere with less prying students

irene orders tea, without sugar and you get some coffee. you want to ask why her preference seems so,,,,,uncommon

but irene jumps quickly into explainging her corrections to you

surprisingly, her calm and clear voice make it all easy to understand

and after working together, you get a sense of what you were missing and what you should fix

irene takes a sip of her tea only after it’s gone cold, checks her watch and asks if you have anything else you need help with

under her eyes, a smoldering dark brown, you feel like there’s something hidden

she seems so automatic, so protected and alert

you feel kind of bad,,,,,,that she has to be so cautious because of the people around her

even here, where there are barely any kids from the university, random people - some twice her age - keep throwing looks her way

irene hyper focuses on you, refusing to meet their eyes

“i um,,,,,,,,im actually pretty bad at grammar -”

“i see that.”

you look at her, slightly hurt by the bluntness of her statement

she seems to read your expression and for the first time you see her face soften just a bit

“i mean, i see that it’s an area that needs work,,,,,,”

her voice gets a little more quiet “im sorry, i didn’t mean for it to come out that way.”

you pause, but then give her a warm smile

“it’s ok, i know it’s just the way you talk.”

she shifts, her hands neat in her lap

“what do you mean?”

you put your resume back into a folder in your backpack and shrug

“you always get right to the point. you don’t waste time. i think you’re always rushing to get things over with.”

irene’s face softens again, but this time you see her eyebrow twitch

she doesn’t look at you, just at the mug of coffee you’d finished

“if i waste time,,,,,,,,people get the wrong idea.”

it’s quiet between you two, the noise of other peoples conversations and the music in the cafe feels the weird empty void

you notice the details of irene’s plain shirt, the small silver necklace that rests on her collarbones - the slope of her nose and lips, perfectly aligned on her delicate face

then she gets up, nearly knocking over her tea, “if you need anymore help, the writing tutors have many different hours.”

she turns, heading toward the door to leave and you get the sense you’ve just been brushed off

“she’s scared she told me too much” you mumble, collecting your own things and getting up

on your way out, someone touches your shoulder and says “whose that girl you were with? is she an actress? an idol?”

you shake them off and can’t resist glaring, before you leave without a word

since your resume is done, you don’t have any reason to go to the library

but you can’t help it, you want to see irene

but you manage to keep away, long enough that it doesn’t seem creepy for you to stroll though the non fiction shelves

peeking over to see irene, helping another student with their work

but one afternoon, as you’re making your way to one of your club meetings - a familiar looking figure stops in your way

“so,,,,,,,i hear you’re messing around with the princess?”

wendy has her hands on her hips, a smug expression on her face

you shake your head “more like, she helped me with my resume and then told me to take a hike.”

wendy falls into step beside you and pokes your shoulder

“you’ve got it all wrong, do you know how shocked i was when i heard her say your name last night? she say it and asks if i know what you’re about, who are, blah bla-”

you stop immediately and wendy almost continues on without you, teetering backwards to ask what you’re doing

“she asked about me?”

wendy plays with the straps over her overalls and nods “crazy isn’t it? irene only cares about two things; her friends - which is me and three other girls and,,,,,,,,,,the history of the korean peninsula. yet,,,,”

her mischievous eyes flick up to meet yours with a grin “yet last night she was interested in you.”

with that, wendy turns on her heel and walks the opposite direction

she’s almost out of sight when you call out to her

“hey, do you know where -”

wendy smiles and cuts you off, “ill tell her to meet you outside the gym tonight at 8. don’t be late!”

in awe, you watch her actually disappear this time

,,,,,,,,,,did you just get yourself a date,,,,,,,,,,,,with the princess,,,,,,,,,

at ten before 8, you get to the gym - shocked to see irene already there

instead of her usual relaxed outfits, she’s wearing something slightly more feminine - an off the shoulder sweater and even small heels

she looks,,,,,,,,,,,beautiful under the lights of the gym and you almost run away because there is just,,,,,,,,,,,no way,,,,,,,,,,,you can even compare

but, you push yourself to meet her and when she looks up - you can’t believe it again - she looks,,,,,,,,,,shy

“wendy,,,,told me you wanted to see me here,,,,,,,”

you try to think of something cool to say, something to save your image but you just spill out “she told me you had asked about me,,,,,,”

now she really looks flustered, hiding her mouth with her small hand

you find it adorable,,,,,,,did she learn that in a movie????

it’s quiet again, but you don’t want it to be anymore - this is a once ina lifetime opportunity so you just go for it

“do you want to,,,,,,,,go out? on a date?”

irene has probably heard those words a million times before, but this time - she agrees

and you find yourself on cloud nine as you and her take the bus into the city

the only thing you can think of is a cliche movie, and you’re not sure if that’s going to be good enough - till the movie theater you pass is playing a documentary on the fifth reublic and irene’s eyes literally light up

“i’ve wanted to see this for so long! i just wrote a paper on this era!”

you see her clap her hands, asking for two tickets with such enthusiasm that you didn’t know she had

“i guess you like history?”

you ask as you two settle into your seats, the place practically empty due to the fact that it’s a documentary of all things

irene nods, a genuine smile on her face, “i love this country, so i devote my time to learning about it.”

she turns and you see that this irene is not the irene on campus

this irene,,,,,,is the real one,,,,,,the one who has passions and emotions and doesn’t have to put up some wall just some so creeps won’t ruin her day

the documentary is,,,,,boring for you - but you sit through it because irene keeps whispering facts to you and getting giddy, and her happiness is enough to sustain you

afterwords, the two of you eat at a local place - you notice that irene’s nails are even painted

small, fancy rings decorate her fingers and a golden pin keeps her hair from falling into her face

she,,,,,,,,,,,really did this for you

“can i ask you something?”

you say, and irene closes the menu, taking a drink of water and nodding

you completely forget what you wanted to order and lean a bit closer

“why did you ask wendy about me?”

she nearly chokes a bit on the water, setting it down and dabbing at her lips with the napkin

she doesn’t answer till she’s thought it over

“you said something, about how i don’t waste time and rush places.”

you nod, “and you said you did it because otherwise people would misunderstand.”

she seems nervous, hands playing with each other in her lap unlike usual

“what i meant was, if im nice and open people see that as an invitation,,,,,,for feelings. when im ,,,,, curt and blunt they just think im mean,,,,that im some,,,,,”

you finish the sentence for her - “princess?”

a weak smile falls over her graceful features and she agrees

“you’re someone,,,,,,,who figured it out. you’re right. im always rushing so people don’t have time to ,,,,,, feel anything toward me. or in any case, act on those feelings.”

you sit back,,,,,wondering then,,,,,,,,, “then what about this? this is,,,,a date after all. which means,,,,,,,,,,feelings at some point will be invovled.”

irene tells you that that’s true, but that’s ok,,,,,,,because this time she thinks she might have feelings too

“how,,,we’ve only met twice for my resume-”

irene shakes her head, “ive seen you around with wendy before. i know,,,,that you’re not all that interested in studying,,,,but that you like doing things your own way,,,,you have a freedom that i wish i had.”

the waiter arrives just in time to cut off the conversation at a good part

irene orders without hesitation, and you just say “whatever she’s having.”

irene laughs at this and you ask her why

“oh nothing, it’s just,,,,,you can be really forgetful can’t you?”

you don’t understand it then, but you and irene are two completely different people - your personality has parts that she wants and vice versa

walking back to campus from the bus stop that night, irene keeps her hands crossed across her chest, too scared to let the hang at her ides,,,,too scared that you might hold her hand

and not because she doesn’t want it,,,,but because she does

you say your goodbyes, and it ends without even a hug,,,,,,,

but to your surprise, the next morning as you’re walking to class - wendy beside you complaining about some homework

irene turns the corner and stops short when she sees you

before marching right up to you - determined look on her pretty face - and kissing you with the most passionate force you think she can muster

wendy’s dropped jaw makes irene smirk with some kind of victory as she takes your hand and pulls you away

“w--w--w---what w---w--was that for?!?!??!” you touch your lips and feel a burning sensation on your skin

irene shrugs, then after a while adds “to make sure wendy knows what’s going on.”

and finding about slightly jealous irene is how your relationship begins,,,,,and it’s wonderful because she only gets more interesting from there on

you see the real irene more often, nerdy girlfriend who reads ten books a week and can recite her favorite dialogues from memories

she laughs at her own inside literature jokes

her own history jokes

and you might not get them,,,,but you laugh along with her because it makes you so happy to see her happy

her walls don’t all come down in a moment though - there are a lot of late night talks on the steps of the library, near the river, or outside of her dorm

where slowly, but surely irene spills some of her best kept secrets to you and only you

sometimes you just sit beside her, keep your hands to yourself and respect her by listening

other times she moves her small frame into your amrs and you just hold her

she mumbles once that she has never known how comfortable the warmth of someone else could be,,,,,not until she met you

you stroke her hair, and she almost becomes a mess of a thin girl in your hands - delicate but still strong as she gets up and says something about studying for her finals

she is,,,,,literally the worrywart girlfriend you see in movies,,,,but in the cutest was possible

she always makes sure you have an extra sweater, bandages, water, etc.

“you need to drink at least 8 cups of water a day.”

“i need at least 8 kisses a day.”

“,,,,,,,,,,,,do you think that’s clever? go drink a cup of water.”

don’t think her courageous kiss in front of wendy is her usual means of pda

tbh,,,,she doesn’t like pda in the least. so the most you can do with others around is hold her hand under the table

just because irene thinks it’s the mannerly thing to do

this, of course, does not stop yeri from pestering you two to be more of a “couple” to “hug and kiss” till you both see stars

joy just aids the attack on you two by insisting that you guys start telling them all about your dates, her shrp eyes locking on yours as she mouths “you better remember your anniversary with her or i will GET YOU”

,,,,,,never before have you seen such a wild group of friends - you don’t understand how irene fits in

but seulgi gives you a big grin and goes “She’s the Mom.”

more than a chocolates and teddy bear person, irene is a new books and candles person

she once describes your smell as one of her favorites and you tease her about it until she pinches your cheek and tells you to cute it out - pink blush evident on her face

people think irene is gorgeous when she’s walking around, doing simple things

but people don’t know that irene is SUPER gorgeous asleep - it’s like watching a painting,,,,her long eyelashes on pretty skin - her cute parted lips

she once fell asleep on your lap after being up for three days on finals and you didn’t dare move an inch - you’d feel like you were disturbing an angel,,,,

not a fan of couple items, but did agree to get matching headbands at the amusement park, only to hide her face when you tried to take a photo together

you’ve heard the phrase “you’re the luckiest person on earth to be dating her” over a million times and guess what? you freaking agree

as she gets more comfortable with you and skinship, you notice she loves linking arms with you - which is cute and childish but makes you swoon either way

cooks for you, but gets nervous before you try it,,,,,,

and you make yourself eat everything, even if your full because you love her so god damn much

makes adorable little noises when you kiss behind her ear, then swats at you because “it’s ticklish!” but you know it’s because it gets her excited

you found it, one time after you guys were watching a sappy romance movie, that irene actually loves that kind of stuff - she literally cried during titanic

you guys will sometimes makeout, but irene insists the lights have to be off for even that ksdhfd

every now an then you leave flowers tapped to her dorm door, and you deny that it’s you but she ofc knows it’s you and it makes her smile every time

the amount of times you’ve tried to fight one of the creeps coming after her and irene has to hold you back while wendy is the one to tell them off has been,,,,too many to count

you know she doesn’t like being called “the princess” so you start calling her “the angel” instead and she still gets all fussy over it - but you can tell she likes it more

and she is an angel,,,,your angel

ill be doing more college!au ggs soon! also commissions are open~

#red velvet scenarios #irene scenarios #redvelvet scenarios #rv scenarios #girl group scenarios #bae juhyun #irene #red velvet irene #red velvet imagines #irene imagines #rv imagines #redvelvet imagines #red velvet au #irene au #sfw #college!au #girl group scenario #gg scenarios

1K notes · View notes

justasmallbloginabigklainefandom · 7 years

Text

The Great ATOG Reread; Grey part 7

I’m back.

Also, hi again @cinnamon-t

Chapter 20

Mike closes his eyes for a second. "I know how important what you two do is. So yes. I wouldn't change what I do with my life for a second, I know this is right. But still I . . . sometimes . . ." Blaine thinks about Kurt, and Kurt's conviction when it comes to clothing. Kurt never thinks that what he does when he's not a superhero is frivolous, he takes it as deadly seriously as he does when he's rescuing people. It's not just saving the flesh and bone that matters. People need lives worth living. People need lives that are valued and valuable, lives they want to live. For Mike and Blaine there will always be bodies to repair; it's Kurt and Tina who give those mended bodies lives worth going back to. "I know what you mean," Blaine murmurs, because sometimes when he sees the flush of creation on Kurt's face, sometimes under the pride he does think . . .

IT IS TIME FOR ARTIST COHEN-CHANG TO GO TO HER FIRST GALLERY!

Also, it’s interesting that we got this small moment between Mike and Blaine. We knows Mike wanted to be an artist once. Ash has showed us that, even though he doesn’t regret it, he never chose to become a doctor.

But Blaine? He’s always been an almost physical therapist and there’s no “if” or “but” because he wants this. He chose this because of a traumatic experience, but for the first time he admits (to the reader) that he has considered art.

The actual show is really touching. Tina’s photos are very succesfull and both Kurt and Blaine get to see what they’ve achieved.

Normally people vanish from his life after he helps them, ghosts. But here are all his ghosts again, warm-fleshed and alive, the centre of their own huge and busy lives, and he views his memory of them again through their own eyes now: a horrible thing that happened and then was done, and now they have the rest of their lives to get on with. And it feels so much better. So much better to know they're there, and he's not just shovelling continuously at the pile that only ever grows, it turns out that the rock he rolls up a hill every night actually scrapes a path to make things easier for the next person walking it. They're alive. They are happy ghosts living their lives. They are good ghosts, people he will never know but that's okay. They can know themselves. Their friends and family will know them still. They will not be cold lost things. Their own ghosts are not just dark things, there's the memory of someone there when they needed them the most, too.

Of course, shit happens.

First of all, we got ANOTHER anti-super thing. Jesus, why do people keep thinking that supers think they’re better than others because they have powers? Sure, there must be some kind of elitism, but that is not representive for all supers, same way Deaf elitism exists.

Second....

Well...

Fuck.

When I first read it, I thought it was lazy writing. Either introduce Sebastian in the beginning of the story, or don’t introduce him at all. Maybe it’s because before Grey, I always felt like an evil Sebastian in a later moment in the fic felt like ‘the last resort’, as if writers were stuck and thought; HEY, SEBASTIAN!

(or maybe it’s because I have done that once)

Back then, I didn’t know what was coming, but holy fuck the moment the big reveal happened, I said: “SHIT I TAKE IT BACK.”

Sebastian is yet another nod to the main story (first Jesse, then Schue, now this bag of dicks), and the main reason for problem 2, aka Blaine longing for some sense of normalcy.

By the way, I’ve added a problem no. 3 for Kurt. Like I said, as a reader you start to see the Ghost, Phalanx, Kurt, and Blaine as four different people, but Kurt takes it to a whole new level.

So, recap:

Blaine

Sidekick

Normalcy

Afraid of himself

Kurt

Losing grip

Normalcy/Blaine’s longing for that shit

The Ghost vs Kurt

He says, "I tripped." Tina looks across at him. Blaine has gone stiff under him. Kurt doesn't rescue anyone. Kurt doesn't throw someone down underneath himself to shield them from glass and shrapnel. Kurt is pathetic, that's the point.

And Blaine is kind of livid?

'I tripped'. And every person in the room apart from Blaine and Mike and Tina looked at him and believed him.

And I understand, but I also understand why it was instinctive for Kurt to pretend he’s pathetic (problem 3, you see)

While Kurt’s dwelling on problem 3, Blaine’s dwelling on problem 2. Sebastian. This isn’t like that one time glee did a similar storyline in 3x17, this is about Phalanx fading away from Blaine’s mind.

Phalanx can’t have kids.

Blaine fucking wants them.

He thinks, The longer you have to justify it to yourself, the less innocent it is.

Is it bad that I’ve always resented Blaine for this? He’s a smart man and he knows Sebastian wants more than just coffee, and he knows Kurt’s overly uncomfortable, and fuck, he knows that he’s making excuses to justify him hanging out with Sebastian.

And yet, he still continues.

Who else still continues nagging someone? Draxie.

Chapter 21

Blaine’s realising that Kurt’s third problem is a thing. Phalanx is a mask for Blaine, but Kurt is a mask for the Ghost, and Blaine thinks that’s very fucked up.

He’s still not aware of problem 1, though, and that problem is growing and growing and Kurt is kind of panicing because of it.

Mike knows and he thinks he can help the Ghost, but he completely misreads the situation. Mike sees it as help, the Ghost sees it as betrayal. Luckily, one good thing comes out of this crapfest: the Ghost realises Dr. Pillsbury is in love with Schuester.

Oh,

The door to the rec room opens again, and they all glance across at Agent Sylvester, who says, "Did you two slackers want to say anything to me?" The Ghost watches the screen, which Phalanx can barely see in his panic, hands weak on the controller, and says, "No." "Didn't think so. There will not be a next time, Casper." He looks across. Phalanx no longer dares to move. The Ghost says, "If you'd prefer that then that's fine. The next time we won't contact you first. We just won't turn up." Santana's eyebrows raise. Phalanx's mouth has gone dry. Agent Sylvester says, very, very evenly, "That's how you want to play it, spook?" "No," he says, and they're both far too calm. "I'm tired of playing. No more games." Silence. The entire room feels ready to crack. Agent Sylvester says, so utterly relaxed, "As you wish." The door closes behind her. Phalanx's hands are shaking. Brittany is a cringe on the sofa, Puck's eyes are wide with alarm, Santana is openly staring.

For the first time, the team sees the Ghost in his glory. He’s not the pathetic, wrongly hero-shipped weirdo, but they see what Phalanx sees every night.

Of course, it can’t go right with this fucking team. Brittany is completely oblivious to the fact that her girlfriend is a bitch, and Santana can’t handle that so she hurts the Ghost in the way that hits him the most.

Fandom is fucked up, kids, and that is why y’all need JesusGhostly.

Chapter 22

He has no way of knowing, and he never will, if they're someone who might have watched that movie. How paranoid, how insane will that drive him, he can't think like this and he knows it but any person he passes on the street (Be honest: any man he passes on the street. He doesn't know how to fear women in this respect.) he's as nervous of as if their eyes alone threaten. Because what if they - watch. Like. Think about -

Well done, fandom, you fucked up big time. You really have no idea what you’re doing. Such a good thing no one knows about this, because Ghostly will have your fucking heads.

Righfully so.

Then again, Ghosly might’ve ignored them all. She’s too caught up in her own problems. Her mom’s condition is getting worse, and BB is still distant.

(gathering flowers so very delicate a girl) (If you're quoting fucking poetry at me again)

Ghostly has a soft side for BB, but she’s not willing to do something with it, which overly frustrates Draxie.

Meanwhile, Sebastian overly frustrates Kurt.

What a bag of dicks.

You know... When I find myself in times of trouble/Jim Cantiello comes to me/Speakong words of wisdom/’He’s a slut, and a pig, and a slutpig’

(I miss Jim Cantiello I hope he’s okay.)

Kurt still has one big advantage: he owns New York. It might sound weird, because how the fuck can someone own a city???, but Kurt does own this city like no other.

Chapter 23

First, fuck Sebastian. What a bag of dicks.

Second, ohohohohoh the showdown with Incendiary is about to start and Phalanx has no idea what the Ghost has planned.

Brittany folds her arms. Santana looks at her, looks around the room; everyone's looking at her. Which, Phalanx thinks with a little twinge of spite as her eyes flick over them, barely betraying her sudden isolation, gives her some idea of how the Ghost always feels.

By know, everyone knows Santana takes pride out of humiliating others, and the Ghost just happened to be the easiest to target. It gives her pride, but also power, because she is oh so right.

Until she isn’t. She never was, but now she realises that absolutely no one wants to jump on her fuckthisshit train, not even the love of her life.

We know Incendiary is a bitch, but we also know the Ghost is willing to talk to his villians, because they’re still people after all. Sometimes, that goes wrong and people take advantage of it (fucking Brody), but sometimes it makes everything more easier.

The Ghost looks so strangely sad while she screams at him, and Phalanx touches his wrist, and is beginning to think . . . "- because you're just sick an' wrong to them an' they won't love you for you crawling on your belly after them, they despise you for it but not as much as I do, why would you want to help them, why should we ever give a fuck about them -" . . . that she's not actually talking about supers and people without powers anymore.

A part of me is all “cool motive, still murder”, but I guess that at moments like this, you have to be like the Ghost.

The queer Latina super; Phalanx realises how easy it is to look at Santana and see a villain, and how anything she does, to other people's eyes, just backs up their first impression. 'First impression', what a disingenuous name for prejudice, and he feels this, he really does, even her body must make people look at her and see . . . because he knows what they see when they look at Kurt's stance, and he knows how he as a teenager was over-anxious of every movement, every way he held himself, what would make him 'obvious', what would give him away - ? Curve of Santana's hips, full lips, long-lashed and very dark eyes, coffee-coloured skin, long dark hair and the shape of her cleavage whether she covers it or not; people look at her and they see 'trouble' . . .

I can already hear the voice of my social sciences teacher in the back of my head, saying: “etiketteringstheorie”

Whereas Phalanx is also willing to talk with others, he does not have the patience. Only the Ghost could make amends, because only the Ghost would continue looking past that mask. Phalanx would’ve given up, thinking it won’t help anyway.

Oh, btw

I think that might enter our Top Three Wankfests of All Time list, displacing the *last* time we had EXACTLY THE SAME ARGUMENT?? (My personal top three also contains that poor super who came to us for help and got shat on, fuck all of you who did that, and the 'could Phalanx be a PoC?' debate that just got real bad real quick people oh my god -_- )

Oh fandom, what to do with you. No matter how right you guys are (I mean, a) clothing indeed is not consent, b) the way y’all treated that super was really fucked up, and c) yeah, he’s PoC), stop shitting on each other. The Ghost is capable of talking to Incendiary as a normal human being, so why can’t you?

Why aren’t people sensible enough to see that’s also a solution? Why won’t Agent Sylvester talk?

There’s no more game.

The Ghost has underminded her authority and he’s showed the others that they can do that too.

Chapter 24

"We'd look after him." Puck says, and the Ghost closes his eyes, and swallows, quite hard. He has to trust in that. In the strength of Blaine's happy heart, and other people loving him the way he deserves to be loved. He has to trust in that. He whispers back, "Thank you."

Puck is very level-headed, and that’s what the Ghost needs. Mike freaked out, Phalanx would be out for kill, but Puck? He’s basically like Zuko in Avatar. “That’s rough, buddy.”

Away from that team, the problems are back and to absolutely no one’s surprise, Blaine is on that fucking rollercoaster of emotions again. At this point, I’m this close to contacting the Efteling to tell them they should open a new ride called ‘Phalanx’ and it will be the deadliest one the Efteling has ever seen.

Sebastian is really reminding him of problem 2, so when Kurt calls (or texts) him, he can’t help but feel some resentment.

Sure, Sebastian is a bag of dicks, but he makes Blaine feel normal. Is it bad that Sebastian flatters him in some kind of way? His life with Kurt is such a mess right now. He and Kurt are kind of rocky, and so are the Ghost and Phalanx. Sebastian on the other hand... makes him feel... well... normal. He’s just a normal guy getting hit on by another normal guy. And he likes it, not because he likes Sebastian, but because it’s normal.

And Kurt took him away from that normalcy. He is drunk and he’s afraid and for fuck’s sake, Kurt, why? Why must you text Blaine while he had a moment of being a normal guy?

That night, Phalanx does get a fucking wake-up slap.

"My fucking boss." she chokes there. "Fucking fuck. What am I supposed to complain? He hasn't touched me yet -" He closes his eyes, and lays a hand on her back, and feels guilty on the behalf of every fucking man on the planet. It's nearly forty minutes before her sister gets there. They sit on shields, and she picks the tissue apart in her hands, says to the snowflakes she teases out to fall around her shoes, "You're 'overreacting' until it happens and then you should've said something earlier."

He immediately calls it a night and just flies back to Kurt as fast as he can, because Kurt isn’t overreacting. It’s just that Blaine has no idea that problem 1 exists, and Kurt keeps bottling it up.

(And Rachel being an annoying shit isn’t helping, like wow girl, why are you still like this?)

#lb 2017 #i really enjoyed calling sebastian a bag of dicks #lb reading #atog grey #the great atog reread

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