Tumgik
#especially since my POTS has kept me from being able to write...
deathbycoldopen · 2 years
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
...goodnight.
A few weeks late, but I can’t get this scene out of my head...
[Image description: A five-page comic depicting a dream sequence from Critical Role campaign 3 episode 3. Imogen, a young woman with purple hair, feeds a horse on an idyllic prairie when a bolt of red lightning crashes behind her. She turns to find an ominous red storm looming above her, and she stands frozen in fear as a sourceless voice tells her to run. She runs away from the storm and toward a distant farmhouse as the sky turns red and more bolts of lightning seem to chase after her. She reaches the farmhouse and glances behind her at the storm, only to stare in horror: an older man who resembles Sir Betrand Bell stands directly under the storm. In the last panel, she holds out her hand to stop him as he heedlessly, proudly even, steps deeper into the deadly and unnatural lightning storm.]
Do not repost. If you enjoy the art please reblog!
177 notes · View notes
badassbuchanan · 3 years
Text
Be Mine?
Tumblr media
REQUEST: Could you write something where the reader has never had a valentines so bucky goes all out to celebrate valentines day with her? Like she just feels so loved at the end of it? Thank you💖
Warnings: smut; unprotected sex, fluff, hand job, pussy rubbing, romantic 
Word Count: 4884
A/N: I’m sorry, I tried but romance isn’t my strong suit - anyway, happy V day!
I tossed my hand carelessly through my freshly washed hair, trying to make it look somewhat decent as I made my way through the compound. “Meet me by the elevator at six.” That’s what Bucky’s text had said yesterday, and that was the first I’d heard from him since our conversation earlier in the week. 
“If you don’t get a better offer by valentines day, we should just do something together.” Bucky suggested as he absentmindedly scrunched up his nose. We’d been chatting over a pot of tea in the kitchen after listening to all of our friends’ special plans for the upcoming romantic holiday. “Otherwise we’ll be the only two in the compound without a date.”
“I don’t really do valentines dates.” I shrugged matter-of-factly, my heart sinking as I felt a soft blush of pink cover my cheeks. Dates in general had always been a touchy subject with me, but especially valentines day dates. I’d never had one. Ever. In my life. And it was embarrassing for me to admit. 
My comment didn’t get past the clever brain of the Winter Soldier, a soft frown of curiosity appearing on his chiseled face as he lifted his mug to his lips. “What do you mean, you don’t do valentines dates?” He emphasised the word ‘do’, blowing gently on the hot beverage before taking a sip. 
His eyes were fixed on me, patiently awaiting my response as I felt my heartbeat speed up. “I just don’t.” I shrugged innocently under his stare, noticing the little frown lines which appeared on his forehead as he processed my answer. 
“You think Y/N’s ever met a guy good enough to take her out on the most romantic day of the year?” Sam’s voice immediately had Bucky’s eyes rolling, turning his head to the side to watch the chuckling avenger stroll into the room. “You’re dreaming, cyborg. Even I wouldn’t try.” 
“It’s not that!” I jumped to my own defence, not wanting Bucky to think that was the reason I’d turned him down, because it wasn’t. Bucky and I had been great friends ever since he’d arrived from Wakanda, we felt somewhat connected by the commonality of the enjoyable silence and peacefulness of being alone. Something which people like Sam would never understand. “I’ve just never had a date for valentines.”
Bucky was a selfless guy and I knew he’d only offered to spend his valentines day with me out of kindness. He was an extremely handsome super soldier with a charming personality and a heart of gold. He’d be able to get a valentines date with a beautiful girl with a blink of his eye. 
“I guess I’ve never really felt strongly enough about anyone in that way.” I elaborated vaguely, looking between Bucky who was giving Sam a fed up look and Sam, who had grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge and was happily leaving the room with a chuckle, knowing he’d done his job of winding Bucky up.
“It doesn't have to be a date.” Bucky pressed his lips together in a small smile, his voice softening as he looked over at me, his steel blue eyes shining bright. “We can just hang out like we usually do.” 
I smiled over at him sweetly, thankful for his understanding nature. “Okay, sounds good.” I let out a soft chuckle as his smile widened at my answer, taking another sip of his drink as his heart skipped a beat. 
I arrived at the meeting point right on time, deciding to wear a pair of distressed denim shorts with a floral top tucked into them after much deliberation. I was nervous. I didn’t know why, I’d hung out with Bucky hundreds of times before. But it was this damn day putting so much pressure on something as simple as two friends hanging out. 
The compound was particularly quiet where the rest of the team had already left for their dates. The silence only made the loud beating of my heart more evident. Bucky still hadn’t shown up. He’d probably found himself a proper date for tonight and forgot to tell me. 
“Hey F.R.I.D.A.Y, has Bucky left the compound recently?” I asked softly, fiddling with my hair as I prepared for a lonely night of movies. 
“No, Miss Y/N. Sergeant Barnes is currently in the south living room.” The AI answered immediately, the response surprisingly me as I raised my eyebrows. The south living room was an extravagantly decorated room of the compound, hardly ever used other than for special occasions and honourable guest visits. 
“Thank you, F.R.I.D.A.Y.” I spoke as I pressed the button for the elevator, my nerves calming a little as I tried to guess Bucky’s reasoning for being in that particular room. I stepped in the elevator, feeling the metal contraption move between floors. So maybe he hadn’t blown off our date - correction, ‘hang out’. Maybe he’d just forgotten where he’d arranged to meet me.
I stepped out of the elevator and wandered down the darkness of the hall, only illuminated by the soft light coming from the living area. I dragged my fingers along the cream coloured wall absentmindedly, the quiet sound of a song playing made me tilt my head questioningly. “Bucky!” I called out as I neared the entrance to where the AI had informed me of Bucky’s whereabouts. 
My breath got caught in my lungs as I turned into the doorway, my body completely still as I widened my eyes in shock.
“Bucky, what’s all this?” I whispered softly, my heartbeat speeding up as I looked in at the busy super soldier standing in front of me. 
“Crap, is it six already?” Bucky mumbled to himself as he rushed to light the candle in his hand, placing it carefully on the coffee table. He looked up at me with an innocent smile as he shoved the lighter into his back pocket.
He was standing near the roaring fireplace, the floor almost fully engulfed in rose petals. He’d strategically placed candles and flowers on the mantlepiece and the coffee table, a rug thrown down of the floor with pillows and a bottle of champagne ready for us to indulge. 
“Y/N, please don’t be mad.” Bucky begged as he saw the stunned look on my face. I tried to process what was going on, why he’d put all this effort in, but instead, I just stood there speechless. “I know you said you didn't want this to be a date but I just-”  “Bucky, it’s beautiful.” I spoke with eyes full of tears, my hands shaking slightly as I stepped further into the room. I’d only ever seen such a romantic gesture in movies, I’d never in a million years expected that one day it would happen to me. 
Bucky watched intensely as I walked towards him, his eyes softening into a smile as he realised I wasn’t upset with him. He sighed out in relief, holding his hand out to tug me close to him as I continued to admire the gorgeous set up he’d put together.
“You said you’d never had a date for valentines day,” He spoke deeply, shaking his leg nervously as his eyes stayed glued on me. His hand kept hold of mine as I looked up at him, attentively listening to his words. “Well neither have I.”
“Are you telling me that Sergeant James Buchnanan Barnes, even back in the roaring forties, never had a valentine?” I gasped in a playful tone, although I truthfully was surprised to hear his confession. Bucky was a catch, I would’ve thought he’d have been spoilt for choice back in his youth.
He rolled his eyes with a chuckle, reciprocating my gaze as his fingers absentmindedly massaged my palm. “Well at least I didn’t say I’d never had a date because I’d never found anyone good enough!” He raised his eyebrows accusingly, his lips falling into a sassy pout. 
“That was Wilson!” I reminded Bucky with a tilt of my head, a small smile playing on my lips as his gorgeous eyes bored into mine. I felt myself get carried away in the moment, tugging him slightly closer as I admired him.
“I made us some chocolate covered strawberries.” He mumbled shyly, a proud smile on his face as his eyes flickered down to my lips absentmindedly. 
“You really thought of everything, didn’t you?” I sighed out contently, walking passed him to sit down on the rug. I crossed my legs and looked up at Bucky who followed my lead, sitting down on the soft material next to me. 
I watched carefully as he leaned over to grab the flute glasses in his metal hand, his other grabbing the bottle which he sat between his thick thighs. Bucky’s arms tensed as he pulled the cork out with a pop, the soft music still playing in the background filled the silence. 
My heart fluttered as I gazed over admiringly, my fingers fiddling nervously with the blanket beneath us. Bucky’s brows furrowed as he focused on pouring the liquid into the glasses without it spilling over the top. 
I smiled maybe a little too widely, catching Bucky’s attention as he looked over at me innocently. “What?” He chuckled with a charming smile, placing the bottle down carefully away from where we sat. 
“Nothing,” I smiled back at him, too lost in the bliss of the moment to stop and think things through. I could feel myself falling for him, fast. The vulnerability of it worried me, but Bucky made feel safe. “You just get these cute little lines here when you frown.” I spoke sweetly, lifting my hand to touch between his brows delicately. 
Bucky smiled as he watched me, entertained by the mesmerised look on my face. “I think you’re the only person in the world that thinks frown lines are cute.” He chuckled softly, leaning over to hand me a glass of champagne. 
“I don't think frown lines in general are cute.” I corrected him, rolling my eyes with a cock of my eyebrow, our fingers brushing slightly as I took the glass from his hand. 
“Oh, so you just think they’re cute on me?” He smirked teasingly, watching my face blush pink as he caught me out. He lifted his glass to his lips, sitting closer to me now from where he’d handed me the glass of champagne. 
“Gosh, you really love making me blush, don’t you Barnes?” I sighed with a shy smile, sipping the fizzy alcohol as I watched Bucky’s smile widen. His eyes travelled up and down my body as I shuffled to sit with my legs sideways, leaning on my hand which moved me closer to him. 
“Hey, can I tell you a secret?” Bucky’s voice dropped to a serious tone as his heart started beating a little harder. I detected a slight hesitation from him as he coughed shyly, his eyes glued on mine. 
“Mmh hmm.” I nodded sweetly, my eyes softening as I tilted my head to the side, my finger circling around the rim of the glass as I anticipated his confession. 
“When I originally suggested we do something for valentines,” He looked down at his lap nervously, a small smile of his lips as he thought carefully about his words. “I wanted to ask you, you know, not just because we were going to be the only two people without a date.” 
Butterflies fluttered in my tummy as I shyly looked down into my lap, trying to hide the smile that had appeared on my face. “What was the real reason?” I asked curiously, my voice softening to match his. 
“Well, because I think you’re the greatest girl in the whole world.” He answered deeply, his eyes flicking up to my face just for a moment as he smiled at how happy I looked. “You’re beautiful, smart, generous, accepting, funny.” 
“Is this just another way of you getting me to blush again?” I cut him off, teasing him accusingly with a raise of my eyebrows. It broke the tension, Bucky scoffing softly as he took another sip of champagne. 
“No, that time was an accident.” His ocean blue eyes caught mine as he responded, both of our hearts beating a little faster than usual at the new depths of our relationship we were exploring. 
“You could’ve asked me, you know.” I spoke as I watched Bucky lean over to grab the chocolate covered strawberries he’d made from the table. He looked back at me as the plate lifted into his hand, waiting for me to clarify. “On a date. I would’ve said yes.”
“You would have?” Bucky’s eyes softened as he sat back down, strategically sitting so close that our arms brushed together. He offered me a strawberry after throwing one into his mouth, placing the plate and our champagne flutes safely on the marble base of the fireplace.
“Of course,” I nodded quickly as I ate the chocolate covered fruit, catching any of the excess juice with my tongue. “Bucky, you’re the most loving, kind, handsome, brave, loyal guy I’ve ever met.” 
Bucky held his breath as he listened to me speak, the both of us feeling so loved in a world of so much pain. “You’re not scared of me?” His voice cracked slightly as he furrowed his brows into a frown.
I confirmed my answer with a shake of my head, my heart aching a little at the thought of him worrying about people being scared of him. 
“I could never be scared of you.” I admitted softly as an intense moment started to build between us, which neither of us were able to control.
I felt the tension between us boil over, noticing Bucky’s eyes dropp to my lips as I instinctively leaned closer to him. I let my hot breath linger on him for a moment before I pressed our lips together. 
Bucky’s metal hand immediately rose to cup my cheek, keeping me close as he kissed me back, the taste of strawberries on our lips. I felt butterflies in my tummy as his stubble scratched against my skin, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. 
I sighed out in satisfaction of his mouth on me, his kisses sweet and gentle as I pressed my palm flat against his solid chest. I felt his pecs move with the rhythm of his breathing, my cheeks flushing a light shade of pink as I felt myself wanting more from him.
He was touching me with such delicacy, as if he was scared he would break me. I shuffled forward as Bucky breathed into the kiss, his hand snaking around to grab the back of my head. He pulled me against his lips harder as my hand slid up to hold the side of his neck.
I parted my lips encouragingly, mimicking his action by tugging him closer by my hand on his neck. Bucky grunted softly into the kiss which was becoming needier with every second. 
I whimpered into the kiss, our heads tilting as our lips collided. My palm held onto his strong jaw, his stubble scratching my hand as his metal fingers ran down the side of my body.
I sat up a little straighter which leaned me further into Bucky, the palm of his hand supporting me at my waist. I hummed contently between kisses, Bucky’s eyes falling to where my lips were moving to connect to his again.
I gave him a sultry look as I pulled back from his mouth teasingly, lightly tugging on the thin material of the white t-shirt he wore. Bucky immediately took the hint, removing his hands from me as he pulled the top over his head.
He shook his hair back into place as he threw the shirt carelessly next to him. I couldn’t help but stare at his body in amazement, running my fingers up to where his metal arm fused to his flesh.
Bucky’s lips pressed back onto mine, a small whimper escaping my lips as his tongue pushed its way into my mouth. I felt my wetness seap down onto my cotton panties, sliding my thigh to rest on top of his as he let his hand quickly move over my ass to grab the back of my thigh.
Bucky grunted softly as he tugged on my bare leg, the silky flesh under his metal palm had his cock stirring in his pants. I took the hint, shifting myself to sit straddling the super soldier’s lap.
It was as though all of our built up emotion had exploded in a moment, our touches getting riskier as we roamed each other’s bodies. I let Bucky’s bottom lip sit between mine, sucking on it slowly as his tongue ran over my top lip.
“Is this okay?” Bucky whispered against my lips, our chests heaving as I nodded in response. I closed my eyes when I felt Bucky’s lips travelling across my cheek, leaving little pecks in their path. 
I massaged the back of his head, my fingers dug deep in his long hair. I let out a shaky breath as Bucky’s lips reached my jaw, his tongue wetting my skin with his open mouthed kisses. 
I tilted my head to the side, granting him more access as my other hand clung to his strong bicep. His metal hand held the back of my neck, supporting me as my body gave in to the pleasure. His flesh hand tugged the hem of my top out of the shorts before letting his palm slide underneath the material.
Bucky groaned against my neck as his hand came into contact with my lacy bra, his kisses getting sloppier as they reached my collarbone. “Tell me to stop.” He huffed out as he tried to control himself, not wanting me to feel pressured into anything.
I shook my head softly as I turned my head to look at him through half closed eyes, overwhelmed by the amount of pleasure and love I felt. “I don’t want you to stop.” I whispered vulnerably, Bucky’s head lifting to look at me with his gorgeous blue eyes.
He leaned in to press his lips back against mine, a whimper escaping my lips as I rolled my hips down onto his. A groan erupted in his throat, his hand travelling back down my body as he gripped the material of my top in his hand.
I leaned back momentarily, balancing myself with my palms on his bare chest as I helped him lift my shirt off of my body.
Bucky panted as he took in my semi-naked body, his hands rubbing the start of my hips needily as he watched me let my top drop on the floor. I leaned my hands back behind my body, making quick work of undoing my bra to let my boobs bounce freely.
I could feel his hardened bulge pressing against the inside of my thigh, his eyes fixated on my tits as he moved his lips onto my chest. I whimpered softly as his hot mouth left wet kisses on my breasts, his tongue flicking over my hardened nipples. 
Bucky’s hands hugged my body tightly, pulling me as close as he could as he sucked on my tits. I ran my hand through his soft hair, biting my lip as I closed my eyes in ecstasy.
Bucky’s metal palm slid down to my exposed lower back, holding me against him as he flipped us over. My back gently hit the blanket, Bucky’s large frame hovering above me as he moved his lips back up for another kiss.
My hands slid down his toned chest, over the chiseled abs of his stomach until I reached the button of his jeans. I tugged the waistband away from his skin gently, a little huff escaping his lips as I did so.
I broke the kiss to focus on what I was doing, Bucky’s head dropping into my neck as I popped open the button of his jeans. My head flew back, little moans escaping my lips as Bucky nipped at the base of my throat softly. 
My fingers pulled open his zipper, my pussy clenching as I slid my hand into his underwear. My touch was greeted by his hard cock, heavy in my hand. Bucky huffed out softly, his eyes closing as I felt my way down to his balls. 
I gasped softly at how big he felt, his lips kissing a strip up up the front of my throat and chin. His lips reconnected with mine as I circled his swollen tip with my thumb, smearing the leaking pre-cum. 
I lubricated my hand as much as I could with his juices before wrapping my fingers around his shaft. I tugged on his member gently, feeling his whole body tense at the foreign feeling. I hummed into the kiss, my pussy aching with need as I imagined how he’d feel inside me.
Bucky moaned as my hand jerked him off, his hips bucking to meet my touch as he hovered above me. He kissed me with so much force that my head pressed hard against the floor, softened slightly by the blanket. 
I felt his cock twitch in my hand, his hips jolting forward as he tried to control himself. Bucky lifted his flesh hand from the floor and moved it down between our bodies, his fingers tracing down my bare skin. 
His eyes immediately dropped to look between our legs, he licked his lips as his fingers came into contact with my shorts. Bucky’s jaw clenched as I squeezed his cock tighter, keeping my eyes trained on his gorgeous face.
Bucky skilfully flicked open the button on my jeans, his lips dropping to kiss me as he snaked his hand beneath the material of my panties. I gasped as he cupped my mound, my wetness leaking down onto his palm. 
My fingers dropped from around his cock, clinging to his bicep as he rubbed my pussy. My hips bucked up to meet his touch, needier than ever for his attention. I moaned into the kiss, my tongue flicking his as I arched my back off of the floor, feeling Bucky sit back from where I was. 
I looked up at him innocently, all baffled and horny as I watched him hook his fingers into the waistband of my shorts. In one swift motion, but slid my shorts and panties down to my knees. I wiggled my legs, helping him get them off the rest of the way as he sat back on his knees. 
“So beautiful.” Bucky mumbled as he looked down at my naked body, his cock standing proudly against his stomach. I bit my lip shyly a I sat up, my arousal dripping down onto the rug. 
Bucky crawled closer to me, his flesh hand running up my bare thigh as his cock throbbed desperately for attention. I breathed shakily, my arms wrapping around his neck as he pushes the last of his clothing down his thick thighs before kicking them behind him. 
He hovered over my body as I laid back down, now being cradled by the pillows he’d decorated the floor with. I could feel his big member against my thigh, trying to nudge its way into my warmth. I whimpered needily, bending my knees and pressing the heels of my feet against the blanket.
“Just let me know if this gets too mu-“ Bucky cut himself off with a moan, his nose crinkling in pleasure as he felt my hand wrap around his cock again.
I guided him to my entrance, encouragingly rubbing his throbbing tip into my wetness. My hand pulled away when I felt him pushing into me, filling me up with his big cock.
I let out a sensual moan of half pain and half pleasure as Bucky’s lips parted, a shaky breath escaping them as we felt my pussy clench around him.
My thighs clenched too, squeezing around his hips as his thick length slid out from where it was half sheathed inside of me. Bucky was going at a painfully slow rate, sliding his cock a little deeper into me with every thrust.
His lips dropped down onto mine, kissing me gently as he stretched my tight little pussy with his cock. The feeling of his thick length inside me made me dig my fingernails into the muscly flesh of his back.
I whimpered against his lips, my face screwing up in pleasure as he pulls his head back for a moment to admire me before crashing his lips on mine again.
I lifted my legs to wrap around his waist, my hips desperately bucking up to him in need. Bucky used his flesh hand to balance as his metal one ran up my leg, over my waist and up to my boob, squeezing it gently.
I cried out and arched my back into his touch, still in disbelief at how good he felt inside me. His cock filled me up again as he let out a grunt, breathing heavily as his body stilled.
Bucky moaned against my lips as he felt my pussy squeezing his cock, both of us lost in the overwhelming feeling of our bodies connecting. I pecked his lips over and over as he started rocking his hips back and forth slowly, making my tits bounce with every thrust.
His balls slapped against me, the sound filling the room as I let my mouth hang open. Our breaths met in a hot mix as Bucky squeezed his eyes shut in pleasure.
His hips jerked with each thrust, feeling himself rubbing against my walls as my pussy lips hugged his length. Bucky shuffled forward on his knees, deepening the thrusts as he picked up the pace.
I whimpered out softly, the new angle hitting all the right spots as my pussy welcomed his size, his cock soaked in my juices. “Bucky” I breathed shakily as I wrapped my arms around his neck, hugging him tightly against me. Bucky’s head fell perfectly into my neck, his little grunts intensified in my ear now.
A shiver ran through my body as I inhaled his manly scent, overwhelmed by the emotion and euphoric feeling of the moment. I felt my pussy tingle with pleasure, already close to my high as Bucky fucked his cock into me.
I tugged on his hair lightly when I felt his lips on my neck again, both of his hands pressed into the blanket either side of my head as he nudged his hips forward, sending his cock deeper into me. Bucky moaned into my neck, his cock twitching inside of me as he became overwhelmed with the feeling.
Bucky stopped his thrusting with such a suddenness that my eyes opened, a worried look washing over my face. He panted breathlessly, gripping my hips and supporting my back as he picked me up, sitting back on his knees with me on top of him.
I let out a moan the new angle impairing me on his cock as my arms stayed clung tightly around him. Bucky groaned full of pleasure, kissing me slowly as he started thrusting up into me, using his new position to his advantage.
Waves of pleasure mercilessly washed over me, only being intensified by the way Bucky was watching me fuck himself on top of him. He leaned his head back to watch me, his hips lifting to meet my movements as his arms clung to my body.
His eyes were soft and full of lust, his lips dropped into a pout as he watched me whither on top of him, overwhelmed with pleasure. I moaned with as gasp as my orgasm suddenly took over, my body pulsating on him as I rode out my high. 
I leaned forward and kissed him deeply, our tongues playing as he kept me in place despite how my hips were jolting at the throbbing of my clit. Bucky’s face dropped into my neck, his hot breath against my skin as I felt his warm cum spurting inside of me. I sighed out in satisfaction as Bucky grunts, wave after wave of cum filling me up.
He kept me close, our breathless bodies pushed together as we sat there in the afterglow of our orgasms. I’d never cum so hard in my life, the gentleness and love of Bucky’s actions had only topped the experience.
I turned my head and smiled lazily, kissing his swollen lips as my fingers ran through his hair. Bucky reacted by leaving soft pecks on lips over and over, his softening cock still buried inside of me.
“Y/N.” Bucky whispered softly, his breath still warm against my lips as his hooded eyes gazed into mine. “Will you be mine?” 
“Your valentine?” I softly asked, holding him tightly as I thought about the coldness I would feel once his body retreated from mine. 
“No, forever.” Bucky replied hopefully, making my heart stop as a wave of emotion flooded through my body. 
“Forever’s good for me.” I smiled as my eyes filled with tears, nothing but love for the man in front of me as I connected our lips in a gentle kiss. The perfect end to the perfect day.
tag list:
@harrysthiccthighss
@annestine
@bestofbucky
@be-patient-be-good
@nothing0is4here
@velvetcardiganbucky
@sexwithhiddlesbatch
659 notes · View notes
twstedtales · 3 years
Note
Congratulations on gaining 150 followers!! 🎉 Your writing is amazing so you deserve every one of them! For the event can I request J, L, O, and Y for Azul?
Hehwhwhwhw thank you for the sweet words, anon-chan! And I'm glad you found my writings amazing enough ^^
150 Followers Event | Masterlist
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Jealousy: Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?
Azul gets jealous fairly easily, but you won't be able to tell because he would tuck in on himself like a hedgehog trying to look bristly. 
When he sees you with another person getting all touchy and buddy buddy as if personal space isn't a thing, Azul would instantly feel the ticking of his pulse threatening to burst. 
He would act as if it was nothing, his perfectly curved business smile on his lips and his posture impeccable as usual. The cue word was act, don't try to push your luck too much, so I suggest you to get better at reading him more, especially since Azul has a very volatile temper.
Once he had enough of pretending that everything's alright and that he was fine, Azul would have planned your grand escapade. Of course, he won't just burst out loud here and then but he will make sure to show the other party that you weren't available on display. That you were already taken...and how much Azul would happily put them in their rightful place.
"You’re mine! You hear me? Mine! And mine alone." He gritted out as you two finally got the chance to be alone, away from others that threaten his place in your side. "They can try to steal you away from me...but there's no way I would let them.” 
Tumblr media
Love Confession: How would they confess to their s/o?
Azul is a meticulous and careful businessman. It would take a rather long time for him to confess because he wants to make sure that every detail, every moment and every second is planned out. 
He wouldn't risk being turned down and rejected harshly, so he planned his confession down the drain. He would write ten pages of paper dedicated to confessing his love, though if one squinted closely at his choice of words, you would notice how it was as if he was selling and flaunting himself to you. 
Azul would brag about his achievements and abilities and how of an excellent man he was. And how you wouldn't regret choosing him and stuff.
Although at the day of his confession, Azul would find himself chickening out and unable to remember the words on his ten pages confession even though he already made sure to remember every detail of his plans. His heart was palpitating so hard in his chest he was afraid it's going to leap in his throat.
He had planned a perfect dinner at Mostro Longue, a perfect background music, and a perfect confession. So, why in the name of the Sea Witch was he still so nervous? At the end of the day, with his nerves wrecking him, Azul had accidentally blurted out "I love you please date me", an unplanned confession to you, no thoughts head empty, further infuriating his heart.
With an embarrassed groan from his throat, Azul buried his face with his hands. But you just laugh at how cute he was, letting him know how his adorable love is returned. "Please forget what I said...I have a better confession here if you would allow me read it aloud…"
"Absolutely not," you giggled as you wrapped your arms around him to prevent him reaching out to his chest pocket where he kept the ten pages confession. "That was just so adorable it's impossible to forget...heh."
"I want my octopus pot now…"
Tumblr media
On Cloud Nine: What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?
Azul's actions when he's in love were both obvious and not. Obvious to those who were greatly observant and knew him by heart and not to the rest of the student body. 
He would still try to keep his professionalism to you even though you two were a couple now. He wanted to make sure that you had seen him as a reliable, cool and responsible partner. He doesn't want you regretting your choice of choosing him after all...or dumping him for that matter.
It would just 'click' to the rest of the school when they saw the two of you hold hands, but even then he would keep his calm facade even though he was burning in embarrassment on the inside. Though he was also fond of showing you off to everyone; he was proud that out of all the people who wanted to pursue you, he was the one you chose and who won the war. Azul would be highly smug about this to the point you would roll your eyes.
"Now that I have you here " Azul smugly commented as he reached out to your hand. He made sure to lock his gaze intently onto yours as he kissed the back of your hand with so much fluidity and sweetness. "There is no way that I’m letting you go.”
Tumblr media
Yearning: How will they cope when they're missing their partner?
I think one of Azul's coping mechanisms when he was missing his lover is to bury himself at work, just so he could alleviate his attention far away from thinking about you.
He would take more requests from his potential-slaves-clients than usual. Just so he wouldn't have to deal with the strange, gripping feeling in his chest mixed with the boiling unease on his stomach. 
Overworking seems to be much better than overthinking where Azul would battle his own mind mocking him. To avoid the taunting whispers on his ears that you have had enough of him and that you won't be coming back to him.
The feeling of yearning is kind of new for Azul, so he doesn't quite know how to deal with it. All he knows is that he wanted you back to his side, telling him that you won't leave him again for a long time, and your gentle assurance that you would always stay by his side.
"Tell me, angelfish, tell me you won't leave me, that you won't abandon me." Azul whispered in a sultry voice as he ensnared you captive in his embrace. "I want all your attention, devotion, validation—You already know I'm a selfish and greedy man, I’ll do anything for you to give it all to me.” 
Tumblr media
96 notes · View notes
alby-rei · 3 years
Text
[Arthur Week, Day 3] Midnight Snacks
a/n: in which MC (ft. accomplice Dazai) wants to make the resident flirt, Arthur Conan Doyle, jealous. Why? Who knows! But what I do know is that it ends up working in his favor rather than MC’s... wait, what?
a/n 2: changed the title cuz it was bothering me xD nothing else changed.
My entry for @scummy-writes​‘s Arthur Week! 
Day 3: Coffee and Fudge || Writer’s Block
[Pairing]: Arthur x You/gn!MC, (pre-relationship)
[Characters]: You, Arthur, Dazai, Sebastian
[Word count]: ~2300 words
[Rating]: T
[POV]: 2nd Person 
“...and all of a sudden, I hear Mozart yell ‘stop releasing chickens in my music room!’ but Dazai didn’t even flinch!” You brought a foam-covered hand up to your mouth to cover your laughter.
You and Sebastian were cleaning the dishes together after lunch time. You’ve made it a habit to catch up on your day and share observations with Sebas, as pretty much no one steps into the kitchen around this time.
Well, that is except—
“_____~!”
Except Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, naturally. He must’ve finished his writing session and been wandering around the mansion, as is his trademark since your arrival.
You closed your eyes, hoping the man would walk past the kitchen without checking. You weren’t exactly in the mood for flirty games with the mystery writer, especially not after dealing with a haughty music teacher in Mozart. Sadly, luck was not on your side, today.
“I’ll tell you the rest later,” you wipe your hands with a towel. Picking up the tray of plates and cups to put them in their rightful places, you didn’t pay the writer any mind.
“After this I gotta find Dazai,” you said as you opened a cupboard. Your turned around to find Arthur leaning on the door frame, and your tone shifted dramatically, “Oh! Arthur, funny to see you here.”
Sebastian knew that tone very well. It was your sickeningly sweet voice that you dedicated to either (a) dodging conversation, or (b) planning something against that person.
“I’d say the same to you, ___, but you’re always in the kitchen. I couldn’t help dropping in to check on my favorite bird,” Arthur leaned against the door frame, flashing you a grin and a wink.
“Oh please, don’t talk about birds after what happened this morning,”  You caught sight of your target at the end of the hallway, “aaaand I have to go, see ya!” 
You duck under Arthur’s arm while his guard was down. He twirled around to follow you, but you evaded him, calling out to Dazai. Arthur stood in his tracks, as he watched the japanese author stop for you, and you beamed up at him.
“Dazai-san, I’ve been wanting to ask you for something, if you’re… free,” you noticed mid-sentence that the chicken that was still nestled in his arms.
“Hm?” His piercing yellow eyes brightened, “I’ll always have time for you, Toshiko-san.”
“Bawk!” The chicken… agreed, supposedly.
You laughed sheepishly, “That’s very sweet of you, I was actually interested in learning about your writing style and get some advice. I’ve been going through some terrible writer’s block.”
“I was working on a short story earlier, it’s in my room. Want to come with me?” He began to lead her towards his room.      
“I’m honored! I’d love to, Dazai-san.”
Oh yes, you were definitely planning something, Sebastian noted.
As the two of them walked away, Arthur stood glued watching the scene. Sebastian had been poking his arm the whole time, but he didn’t budge. Even shaking his entire arm didn’t spur any sudden movement from him.
“Sir Arthur. Earth to Sir Arthur,” Sebas continued tapping his shoulder and pinching his arm.
“Huh? Oh…” His gaze held an odd expression, one that Sebastian hadn’t seen from him before—a hint of sadness, maybe even frustration. But it was quickly replaced by his signature grin as he finally took notice of me, “Sorry, Sebas, I must’ve been blocking your path, got to go!”
And just like that, he scurried off.
After a moment’s pause, and after making sure the hallway was clear of esteemed residents, Sebastian did much the same, but in the opposite direction. He has notes to take, pronto. 
~*~
You and Dazai sat in the lounge room, having passed by his room, and Dazai collected his writing material.
“You have really pretty hands, Toshiko-san. I’ve heard you playing in Mo-kun’s piano room, you’re a wonderful pianist,” Dazai held your hand delicately in his, as he ran his thumb over your knuckles.
“Thank you, it’s something I take a lot of pride in,” your heart swelled from the warmth of his compliment, “but I’ve been much more interested with writing as of late. Actually, I’ve always wanted to write a novel.”
“Oh? I admire your ambition. How can I help?”      
“Well well well, what do we have here?” A third voice chimed in.
Right on time, as you expected.
“Have I interrupted your little rendezvous?” Arthur walked slowly and purposefully, as if he had caught them red-handed doing something they shouldn’t.
Internally, he was trying his best not to jump to conclusions. That would be uncharacteristic of him, after all. You weren’t tied to him in anyway, so there was no reason to feel so jealous that you went to Dazai for writing help instead of him. He didn’t even know about it!
So why was his heart pounding so loudly in his head while his eyes were fixated on their linked hands?
Dazai withdrew his hand, occupying it with his writing pen instead. He shot Arthur a smile with closed eyes.
“Of course not, we were just talking, Arty.”
“…Don’t call me that,” Arthur narrowed his eyes, “and second, I’d like to steal ____ now.”
“I’m sorry, Arthur, but I want to talk with Dazai a bit to improve my writing.”
Being shot down so directly caught Arthur off-guard; his insecurities getting a hold of him. For the first time, he found himself at a loss for ways to turn the conversation in his favor. At the moment, if he persisted, and you kept turning him down, he wouldn’t be able to let it down for the rest of the day.
Instead, Arthur straightened himself, fixing his tie, “Well then, I’m heading to the pub soon enough to find me a pretty skirt for the evening. Have fun, you two, I know I will.”
He huffed childishly, going out with a wave. Dazai turned to you with a polite smile.
“Do you think it worked?”
“Oh, he is definitely salty, thanks for agreeing to this, Dazai-san.”
“Any time, Yoshie-san, what are housemates for?” He smiled fondly at you.
“You’re a great actor, didn’t even flinch!”
“Ah, but who said I was acting?”
He got up with his writing tools and stepped out of the lounge before you registered what he said.
“Wait… what?!”
~*~
Later that evening…
…Well, more like around midnight, you just happened to catch the insomnia bug and were heading to the kitchen, as all people naturally do when they’re insomniac. You switched on the lights, thankful for the dimness of the lanterns in the kitchen. Scanning your options, your eyes settled on the coffee pot that sat quietly in the corner. Thoughts of a certain mystery writer gnawed at you, but you darted them away and walked past the coffee pot to get a glass of water instead. You leaned forward, filling her glass with bleary eyes that refused to slumber but also refused to open properly.  
Suddenly, you felt a touch to your backside. Eyes cracking wide open, you spun around and swung your makeshift weapon of glass at your offender. The offending mop of ash blue hair felt the full force of the blow, and the glass shattered across the floor.
Well crap.
“Ow… If I’m not mistaken, I’d say you were trying to kill me there, ____.”
For the love—.
“Arthur what the hell were you trying to pull?! Bloody hell! You made my heart drop.”
In a flash, his body was pressed against yours, caging you between his arms and the kitchen counter. The crunch of the glass under his shoes was the only sound in the room. You saw a small stream of blood start to fall by his ear.
“I was going to prepare myself a midnight snack with my coffee, but it seems I already found one ready for a taste test,” he licked the back of his fangs.
“At this hour??” It was well past midnight by now, and caffeine was the last thing you’d recommend anyone at this time. 
You felt his breath on your ear before he inhaled your scent. It was comforting to him as much as it was intoxicating to his senses.
He sighed, “____… I can’t get you out of my mind, no matter what I do.”
His arms circled around your waist, pulling you away from the countertop and flush against him, instead. All sorts of alarms were going off in your mind despite the drowsiness, with your instincts telling you to push him off.
“But then, you started avoiding me. And then… Sebastian and Mozart and even Dazai took you away from me,” he sniffled.
You pushed him off gently but still within his arms, as you stared at his face. There was a pink dust across his cheeks and a redness in the corners of his eyes.
“Arthur, are you… drunk?”
His frown flipped into a grin as he nuzzled his nose into your disheveled hair.
“Oh, don’t be silly, dear. I may have been out drinking, but I can bloody well hold my liquor. Theo can vouch for me on that.”
(a/n: no, he can’t lmao)
The sight of him in a somewhat vulnerable state, as well as the smell of his cologne, made it hard for you to properly fight him. Plus, you felt bad for crushing a glass cup on his head. Speaking of which…
“Is your head okay?”
“Hm…” He brought a gloved hand to his forehead, feeling a dull pounding in its wake, “I must say, you got me good, even the most daring fools never landed a hit on me yet.”
Just how thick is his skull to endure that?! You were both dazzled and frightened by their realization. 
With one of his arms off of you, you took this chance to escape, but you slid on a shard of glass and would have fallen face first onto the floor had Arthur not pulled you against him and taken the impact of the floor to his own shoulder. He laid on his back, clutching you protectively against his chest. He groaned with pain, but he pushed it aside to check on you first.
“Clumsy tonight, are we, or are you seriously trying to kill me?” He chuckled wryly.
Before you could even blink, you felt your vision do a 180-flip, and you were suddenly beneath him, away from the glass shards that littered the floor. The scent of his cologne flooded your senses again, as he smirked down on you with a drunken lopsided grin.
“I was absolutely livid when I saw Dazai hold your hand. Was that part of your plan, darling? Well, I’ve taken the bait.”
You flinched, your body wide awake to every touch and caress of this man. You bit your lip to avoid playing into his hands. You were still in control of the situation, you thought. His lips descended to your jaw, barely brushing your skin, like he’s testing your limits. Instinctively, you sighed, unaware of the breath you’d been holding.
Ok, maybe you weren’t entirely in control, either.
“Arthur…” You commanded, trying to regain some semblance of control back.
This was not part of your plan, however, and you were quickly losing grip of all reason and logic. You needed to get him off and away from you before you acquiesced to his ministrations.
“But don’t worry, ____. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to.”
He drew back from you, staring down at you with an uncharacteristic tender look. He continued.
“The effect you have on me is not one I’ve felt with any woman I’ve ever encountered before. It’s confusing—maddening, even— and I can’t escape it… because I don’t want to,” he sighed in surrender, “I want you, ___.” 
It was a look of pure love and affection that shone in his eyes. His half-opened shirt invited your gaze to roam his body, and his thick-rimmed glasses framed his features in such an alluring glow that outshone the dimness of the kitchen. His hair looked softer than usual, too. Your hand twitched at the thought of running your fingers through those ash blue locks. Your mind was thrown into a whirlwind with the influx of new information, one that dented your rationality. Your desire to get closer to him wrestled against your impartial stoicism, threatening to crack the armor around the stone gates to your heart.
“Hey Arthur,” you started, twirling a lock of his hair with your hand. It was ever-so-slightly damp; he must’ve bathed in le thermae earlier.
“Yes, ____?”
Damn that seductive voice of his, you shooed away that thought as soon as it entered. You chose to focus on something much more pressing at the moment. 
“We need to get you bandaged up. You’re bleeding terribly from your head.”
~*~
It took a lot of convincing, but Arthur finally acquiesced to your persistent request.
“There, all done,” you stepped back from Arthur, who was sitting hunched over on his bed.
You were both settled in his room with his medical bag open on the desk and his equipment strewn all around. You didn’t exactly know what to do to treat Arthur’s wound, but you insisted on doing it for him… with copious amounts of instructions from him.
“I brought you some fresh coffee and fudge, as an apology.”
“At this hour?” He mimicked your tone from earlier. You rolled your eyes at his childishness.
“And here I am trying to make it up to you, and this is how you show gratitude?”
You huffed indignantly, ready to head out and leave the unappreciative writer to his own devices.
“Hold on, now,” he gripped your wrist before you could fully turn away, “you’re the one who smashed glass on my head, so you owe me a favor.”
“…a favor on top of tending to your wounds and bringing you coffee?”
“Oh, indulge me, won’t you? You did those of your own volition.”
You sigh, “Depends on the request, then.”
“Feed me,” he perked up with no hesitation or embarrassment in his tone.
You wanted to turn him down, to tease him about his child-like excitement, but you couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes. Those eyes held a very powerful hold over you though you blame it on your own tiredness outweighing your better judgment.
“Alright…” You moved aside his things to sit next to him, leaning towards the table to drag the tray closer to yourself.
“Open wide, you incorrigible baby.”
143 notes · View notes
hellimagines · 4 years
Text
Collateral -- JJ Maybank (Part One)
Masterlist
Summary: JJ’s stunt with Barry bites him in the ass when the angry drug dealer kidnaps you and decides you’re JJ’s collateral for the stolen money.
Warnings: kidnapping, violence, angst, mentions of child abuse and drug use
Pairing: JJ Maybank x fem!Routledge!reader
Word Count: 4,800+
A/N: I started writing this after binge-watching Outer Banks, and before I knew what was happening, I had written 20 pages of this and hadn’t even gotten to the climax… So, this has clearly been broken up into parts. I have part two already finished, and I’m almost finished with part three, but I’m not uploading them tonight because I want this to see the light of day first, and gain some love before I do anything. Please let me know what you guys think of this! I know there isn’t a lot of mushy-feely stuff in this chapter, and it’s mainly angst but, I had so much fun writing this, so please give it a chance and tell me what you think. Also, it’s canon divergent because I tweaked the DCS storyline and everything after John B. finds the first gold bar.
|Part Two|Part Three|Part Four|Final Part|
Tumblr media
Your shift at The Wreck had been a long and strenuous one, more so than usual, because Kie hadn’t shown up for her night shift which left you to pull a double and cover for her. In your opinion, the nighttime customers were always worse than the morning customers since they typically consisted of kooks and tourons who expected the best of the best and nothing less. You had a short fuse, similar to your boyfriend, and would often get snippy with customers who complained about trivial things: their drinks having too much ice, their salad too much dressing, or their Chef’s Board not enough cheese or the wrong kind of cheese. Kie’s dad kept you on morning and afternoon shifts as much as possible due to the locals of The Cut coming to the cafe during those times, and your ability to make them feel at home while they ate their toast and sipped their coffee. So, having to work a night shift unexpectedly without a break from your morning shift left you feeling exhausted and detached from the world.
As peeved as you were with Kie for pulling a no-call-no-show, you were more worried than anything; especially when you noticed JJ wasn’t waiting outside to walk home with you like he normally was. You hadn’t heard from any of the other pogues since yesterday, when you had to go to work and they went over to Crain Mansion in search of the gold. You would’ve gone with them, but you couldn’t risk missing another day of work and possibly being fired. After your shift yesterday (and noticing the lack of blond curls outside the cafe), you had headed home with the plan to meet up with your friends and learn of any new updates--but, when you arrived, nobody was there. You waited around for the rest of the day, but when 10 o’clock rolled around and nobody had shown, you retreated to your bedroom and fell asleep. When you had woken up around 5 a.m to get ready for your shift at work, you were relieved to find JJ curled around you fast asleep, and your brother, Sarah, Kie, and Pope passed out together on the futon in the living room. They had a pot cradled between the four of them, but you thought nothing of it as you got ready for work. You left behind a note, asking them to stop by The Wreck when they woke up to fill you in on whatever you had missed, but they had never shown up. 
Now, as you locked up The Wreck at the end of your 10 o’clock shift and waved to the cooks and other wait staff as you all parted ways, your worry only increased. The Cut was warm and humid as you made your way toward the chateau, forcing you to shed your work shirt in favor of the tanktop laying beneath. Your hair was pulled into a high-pony, and while it had been sleek and put together at 6 o’clock this morning, you now had frizzed strands falling into your face and the bottom of your hair was sticky from an exploded champagne bottle earlier that night. Your feet ached and your hips felt unbalanced from the constant speed-walking and maneuvering around tables and patrons, and you wanted nothing more than to collapse against JJ in your room and sleep for a solid 12 hours straight. Before you could do that, though, you had to continue your thirty-minute walk to said paradise and make sure everyone was okay. 
As you left the hustle and bustle surrounding The Wreck and the docks, and ventured further into The Cut, you felt the tension beginning to ease out of your body at the familiar surroundings. As much as you loved The Wreck, you were not a fan of the kooks and tourons that migrated there throughout the night, bothering you during and after your shifts. As expected, the night held the worst of the batch, with alcohol and other drugs filtering their systems and giving them loose tongues and firm hands. Even though you could handle yourself and those who tried making a move on you, you never felt at ease or safe while leaving The Wreck; unless JJ or your friends were with you and you didn’t have to check over your shoulder every few feet. Crossing the imaginary threshold between The Wreck and The Cut always eased your mind, allowing you to slow your steps and cease checking your shoulder. This was also primarily because on The Cut, people knew who you were--not only as a waitress, a pogue, or (Y/N) Routledge, but as ‘JJ Maybank’s girl’. It pissed you off to no-end that people referred to you as ‘JJ’s girl’ more than your own name and you’d often chew people out on it, but you couldn’t deny the protection (and love and warmth and all-things-JJ) it gave you. You and JJ had been dating for two years, and while you loved him more than life and he loved you more than surfing, you often wished you could be seen as your own person: as (Y/N). Regardless of your annoyance at being solely known as JJ’s girl, as you walked the barely-lit streets of The Cut in nothing but a tank top and shorts, you were appreciative of your unofficial title. Very few people were walking around this late at night, but those who were offered you a simple nod or kept their eyes trained on the ground as you passed by, a complete contrast to the tourons near The Wreck. You expected this to continue until you reached your house, no longer looking over your shoulder for an unwanted kook or a touron that didn’t know the rules. 
You turned another corner, now only fifteen minutes away from home, and rolled your shoulders to try and release some of the built-up tension you gained from your shift as you walked. You closed your eyes for a brief moment, letting your muscles relax and a gentle breeze from the ocean to cloud your senses. Just as you were about to open your eyes and continue forward, you heard footsteps approaching you from behind. Your eyes shot open and your body turned but before you could see who it was, you felt the barrel of a gun press against your lower back. The metal was cold against your tank top as it dug into you, the owner’s hand coming up to grab your shoulder and keep you from moving away. 
“Maybank shouldn’t be leaving his things unattended, especially ones as pretty as you,” a voice muttered into your ear, jabbing the gun harshly into your spine. You froze, trying to place the voice to a face as you heard a vehicle approach and stop beside you.
“I’m not a thing, actually,” you retorted, keeping the fear out of your voice as the man behind you jerked you forward toward the black SUV. The backdoor swung open, but you couldn’t see who was driving it or if there was anyone else waiting for you inside. “What do you want? JJ isn’t his dad, whatever Luke’s done to piss you off is his own problem, not ours.”
The man laughed sharply in your ear as he shoved you forward, causing you to drop your shirt and tumble off the sidewalk, and your torso to fall into the backseat. You yelled out when the man grabbed your legs and pushed your body into the car, your body bending painfully as he slid in beside you. The door slammed shut and the man backed you into the corner of the SUV, caging your body against the door. Your hand shot down to the door handle, yanking on it to open the door and let you fall out, but it didn’t budge. 
“Child lock, snowball. You’re not going anywhere.” 
You looked up, finally able to see the man’s face as he grinned down at you. His grill shined each time the SUV passed under a streetlight and the black hair dangling in his face tickled your nose from how close he was. Instantly, you brought your foot up and kicked him in the stomach, pushing him away from you as you struggled to sit up. 
“What the fuck do you want, Barry?” you snapped while the dealer across from you laughed loudly and held onto his stomach. 
He smirked at you, “I forgot how much of a kicker you were, snowball.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have been tryin’ to sell blow to fucking 8th graders,” you shot back, glaring at him. “Now tell me what the fuck you want.”
He raised his hands in surrender, the smirk never falling from his face. “I want my fucking money back. You little shits stole 25k from my goddamn house.”
“What the fuck are you on about? The last time I went to your shithole was a year ago to buy an 8ball,” you scoffed. 
“And while I do miss the revenue you brought me during your time as a cokehead, I’m not talking about you, snowball. Your boy, your brother, your brother’s new whore, the ex-kook, and Heyward’s son stole from me. I know you’re too smart and levelheaded to pull a stunt like that, and the ex-kook and her boyfriend have too much going for them to fuck it up by crossing me. This means it was either your boy or your brother,” Barry explained, his jaw tight with anger as he spoke.
“First of all, Kie and Pope have names. Second of all, they’re not dating. Third of all, what makes you think it wasn’t Sarah? From what I’ve heard, the Cameron’s have a history of robbing you blind.”
“Because my sister is too much of a pansy to pull a stunt like this, and she doesn’t even know who the fuck Barry is.” Your head shot up at the new voice, and you made eye contact with Rafe in the rearview mirror. “You dirty pogues have corrupted my sister.”
“I see someone’s been bitched,” you chuckled with a roll of your eyes. Rafe’s foot slammed on the break and caused you to slam into the back of the passenger seat with an oomph. He turned around, his arm already raised to throw a punch, when Barry grabbed it first.
“Chill the fuck out, Country Club. Can’t go beaten on her just yet. Now hurry the fuck up and get us to the hanger.” Rafe’s nostrils flared at Barry’s demand, and after a moment of his fist flexing in Barry’s hold, Rafe relented. He jerked his arm back and continued driving in silence. “Don’t piss off the driver, snowball,” Barry tsked, waving his finger in your face.
“Look, why would JJ or Birdie steal 25 thousand dollars from you? You know how much JJ despises you and your business because of what it’s done to his dad and the hole I fell into last year, and my brother doesn’t even know who the hell you are. It doesn’t make any sense.” 
Barry chuckled, “I see they’ve kept you in the dark. Did they tell you about the gold they found? That they tried pawning off to me this morning?” At the frown on your face and your furrowed brows, Barry laughed even harder. “Oh yeah, they brought in a seven-pound chunk of gold to the shop this morning. Offered ‘em a cashier’s check worth a couple thousand, but your boy is quite the negotiator. So, I sent them to the warehouse for the cash they wanted.”
“And let me take a wild-fucking-guess: on their way, you jumped them, stole the gold, and left them with nothing but dirt under their nails?” 
Barry grinned at your words, his tongue sliding over his grill as he laughed. “See, this is why they should’ve brought you along! Would’ve saved them from all the trouble they’ve gotten themselves into.” 
You rolled your eyes, “Well fuck, no wonder they stole from you. You stole from them first, Barry. An eye for a fucking eye, it’s the way of the jungle ‘round here. It’s the only damn law you follow.”
“You’re right, it is the only law I follow. Which is why you’re here, snowball. You see, before I could complete my task, they jumped me and stole my wallet and the gold. You’re smart, I bet you’re starting to see the problem now. No gold, no wallet, no 25k,” Barry seethed, the smirk falling from his face as he leaned forward, pushing you back into the corner of the seat. “JJ Maybank stole from me, plain as day. If I had seven pounds of gold in my hand it would be different, I wouldn’t be as pissed. But, you see, I don’t. So, as you said, it’s an eye for an eye. And what better to steal from JJ Maybank, than the only thing he cares about? The only thing he owns?”
“He doesn’t own me, so jot that down.”
Barry threw his head back and laughed loudly, shooting an unnerving feeling down your spine. Rafe laughed along, though anyone could tell it was forced as his eyes darted from the mirror to the road. “This entire goddamn island knows that he owns you, snowball, and you damn well know it too. Which means until I get my money back, you’re my collateral.”
--
The bruises decorating JJ’s torso ached with each step he took, but he had to keep moving toward the chateau: he had to prove to the others that he was good. He had to prove that he could do the right thing with the money he stole. Even if his dad couldn’t do the right thing, and wouldn’t let him back in the house without another beating, JJ could do the right thing and be good. Even if he stole the money it didn’t matter, because Barry stole his life, and Barry didn’t deserve the money, and Barry wasn’t good. The money would pay off his restitution, and you wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore and Pope wouldn’t have to feel guilty or worry about it anymore, either. Nobody would have to worry about him anymore, and it would all be good. 
But as JJ limped up the chateau’s steps, repeating to himself that, ‘it was all good, he was good, and everything would be good,’  he wasn’t expecting for the screen door to slam open and for John B. to body slam him into the ground. The blue thermos shot from his grip as he was flung down the stairs, and JJ couldn’t bite back his scream of pain when his already-aching body slammed into the dirt. He didn’t get a second to gather his bearings before John B. was pummeling his fists into his stomach and his arms and his face and anywhere else he could land a hit. JJ couldn’t even lift his legs to fight off his best friend from beating on his twice-battered body.
“This all your fault!” John B. screamed, his face an angry red as tears and spit rained down onto JJ. “He took her because of you!” He ceased his punches only to wrap his hands around JJ’s throat, squeezing and pressing down in an attempt to strangle the life out of his best friend.
Faintly, JJ could hear Pope, Kie, and Sarah screaming, but he couldn’t understand what they were saying. His entire body felt cold but his head felt hot, and the buzzing in his ears was growing louder and louder until it was all he could hear. He could see John B.’s face above him, his lips moving as he screamed and sobbed, and JJ could see his own blood splattered on his best friend’s jaw and shirt. Black spots began to dance in front of his eyes, moving inward until he could only see the murderous rage filling John B.’s eyes. Just as the darkness settled over him, he felt John B.’s weight lift off of him and air came rushing back into his lungs. For a few seconds, all JJ could do was choke on the air whilst his body convulsed, and someone rolled him onto his side in a desperate hurry.
“-eathe, breathe JJ, come on.” Someone was talking to him, rubbing their hand up and down his back as he continued to shake. He still couldn’t see anything and he couldn’t tell who was talking to him and rubbing his back and all he really wanted to do was blackout for a bit. A harsh slap against the center of his back had other plans, causing the air to finally force itself into his lungs. JJ began to cough violently, continuing to choke on the air that was now entering his body. He tried pushing himself to his knees as he dry-heaved onto the ground, but his shaking arms and legs were too weak to support him.
Pope was yelling in the background, “Chill the fuck out, JB! You almost killed him!”, his voice bringing JJ’s senses back to where they belonged. 
“He fucking deserves it! He’s the reason she’s gone!” John B. yelled back, his voice deeper than JJ could remember. JJ blinked a few times, trying to focus on the bloody grass in front of him while his two friends continued fighting in the distance. 
“Hey, just keep breathing,” the person helping him - who JJ now recognized as Kie - soothed, pulling his sweaty hair out of his face as more blood dribbled from his lips. She was upset, JJ could tell by the way her hands were shaking and the sound of wet sniffles every few seconds. He opened his mouth to ask what was wrong, who John B. was talking about, but all that came out was a harsh wheeze from his burning lungs and even more blood. “Don’t- don’t say anything. Please, JJ, just… just breathe for a few minutes,” Kie whimpered before a sob slipped from her lips. 
He did as she asked and allowed his eyes to close, his body sinking into the ground as he focused on regulating his breathing. After a few minutes, JJ could hear John B. storm inside the chateau, kicking JJ’s crumpled body on his way up the stairs.
“John B., stop it!” Sarah yelled as she followed him inside. 
Pope came and knelt in front of JJ, wrapping an arm around his shoulders to help him sit up. “You fucked up, JJ, worse than I ever thought possible,” Pope sighed as he adjusted JJ against the railing. 
“What-” JJ broke off to cough into his fist, ignoring the blood that splattered across his hand, “what happened?” His voice was hoarse and barely understandable, but Kie and Pope knew what he was saying. 
“You stole twenty-five-thousand dollars from a drug dealer. One of the most nefarious drug dealers on this island, that’s what happened,” Kie said, standing up and pacing in front of the blond. “What did you think was gonna happen, JJ? That he’d let it go?”
“What did he take? The HMS Pogue?” JJ rasped, looking up at his friends in confusion. “(Y/N)’ll be pissed, but we can get it back, or I’ll buy her and John B. a new one with the money.” His thoughts didn’t make sense inside of his pounding head, but he still voiced them regardless. 
“How are you so stupid?” Pope yelled, causing JJ to flinch as the other to shot to his feet. “Why would John B. try to kill you over a boat? Don’t you think (Y/N) would be out here yelling at you, too?”
“My girl doesn’t yell, you know that, Pope,” JJ shook his head. “She’s got work and the boat- the boat is all they’ve got left of Big John,” JJ said, coughing a few times. His head was foggy and his vision was still blurry, so he couldn’t see the mentioned boat sitting on the dock to his left.
“No, JJ,” Kie sighed, “Barry didn’t take the HMS. He took (Y/N). He left a note on the van--he wants his money back, plus the gold, and an extra 5k in exchange for (Y/N). He’ll be back in a week to make the trade.”
“He didn’t say what he’d do to her if we don’t give him what he wants but… it’s not something that needs to be said,” Pope whispered as he carefully watched for JJ’s reaction.
A cold chill fell over JJ, causing him to shiver violently despite the warm temperature outside. “You’re lying,” he spat, forcing himself to his feet. Pope and Kie backed up, steering clear of his sudden burst of energy. “You’re fucking lying, she’s not- she’s not gone, he didn’t lay a fucking finger on her. Barry knows better. You just… you just want me to return the money, that’s it, she’s fine, she’s inside right now, she’s-”
“JJ, stop, please,” Kie cried as JJ spun around, tripping over himself in his haste to run up the stairs. Pope grabbed ahold of him before he could make it very far, pulling him away from the house and John B.’s anger. JJ flailed in his grasp, but he was too weak from the lack of oxygen and two beatings his body had just endured, to fight Pope off. 
“She’s fine!” he screamed, not noticing the tears that were falling from his eyes. “I told her I would protect her, I promised nobody would ever lay a finger on her! She’s inside, and she’s fine--Barry didn’t fucking touch my girl, you’re lying,” he sobbed, straining against Pope’s hold on his biceps.
“Why would we lie about this?” Kie yelled back, suddenly overwhelmed with having to watch JJ fall apart like this in front of her. “Why would your best fucking friend try and beat you to death if it wasn’t true? Why would the gold have been included in the letter? Huh JJ? Do you think (Y/N) would have ever gone along with something like this?” she screamed, her voice hoarse from crying as well.
“We’re telling the truth, JJ. She’s gone,” Pope said, holding onto JJ even tighter as his thrashing momentarily increased. 
JJ let the words wash over him, the truth of his mistake settling deep in his bones. The guilt, and the grief, and the anger weighed him down, and before he could stop himself, he let out a deep, guttural, inhumane scream of agony. Pope couldn’t hold him up anymore as JJ’s knees gave out, his entire body collapsing to the ground while he screamed. His throat burned more than it had before and he didn’t notice when his voice gave out, leaving him a mess on the floor with spit and blood dribbling from his gaping mouth. Pope cradled JJ to his chest, crying into his best friend’s shoulder while Kie fell beside the two, trying to get JJ to breathe again through her own tears.
--
Half an hour later, you were pulling up beside a hanger at the very back of a storage facility. You knew kooks used this area to store their boats, planes, cars, and other expensive things when they weren’t intending to be used in the near future--so you weren’t surprised when Rafe got out of the van and opened up the hanger, revealing a vintage boat and a handful of different furniture. With hurricane season already underway, and summer having begun, you knew kooks weren’t going to be visiting the storage facility very often, meaning there wasn’t a high hope that someone would stumble across you. 
“Welcome to your new home, snowball,” Barry leered, before opening the backdoor and dragging you out of the SUV. He kept the gun pressed against your waist while leading you into the hanger, leaving Rafe to pull the SUV around the corner. It was cold inside, much colder than you were expecting, and you had to fight to keep a shiver from trickling down your spine. “You and I are gonna be real comfortable in here for the next week, maybe longer if your boy doesn’t come through.”
‘He’ll come through’, you thought to yourself, worry spiking inside of you at the mention of JJ. You looked over your shoulder as Rafe came into the hanger and loudly pulled the door down behind him. “So, what? You’re just going to keep me locked up in here until you get what you want? I have a fucking job, Barry. I’ve already called out enough as it is, pulling a no-call-no-show for an entire week is going to get me fired.”
Barry reeled around to stare at you, an incredulous look on his face. “I’ve just kidnapped you and held you at gunpoint, and you’re worried about your damn job?” he asked, waving the gun in front of your face for emphasis.
“Uh, yeah, no shit. My job is the only reason DCS hasn’t snatched me and my brother into the system. Mr. Carrera has agreed to help us maneuver a few technicalities with DCS--so long as I take on extra shifts when needed, and show the fuck up. Plus, a week’s worth of zero tips means bills won’t be paid and stomachs won’t be fed,” you scoffed, knocking the gun away from your face.
“I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in, snowball-”
“Ay, nuh-uh, Country Club. Get your own nickname,” Barry cut in, prompting you to raise your eyebrows.
“But you-”
“Nope. Get your own.”
Rafe paused, glaring down at you in thought, before nodding to himself. “I don’t think you understand the situation you’re in, Maybitch-”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” you groaned, pressing your fingers to your forehead in exasperation. ‘It’s got a nice ring to it, though, and JJ would eat it up… Could even get a laugh out of Pope, I bet,’ you couldn’t help but think.
Barry knocked the gun against Rafe’s shoulder, shutting him up with a look of annoyance. “Your boy has gotten himself in a lotta trouble, 25k worth of trouble. So until I get my fucking money, you’re not going anywhere,” Barry simplified.
You pouted in mock disappointment, “Could you at least write a note to my boss?” Barry groaned with a roll of his eyes before he nodded his head at Rafe and directed him toward something you couldn’t see. “Look, I’m gonna be honest with you, Bear. JJ and the others have probably spent the money already. JJ’s got restitution to pay, Pope has an interview he needs a suit for, Kie’s been wanting a new surfboard, and Birdie’s been wanting to fix up our boat with somethin’ pretty. There’s no way they’d let 25 thousand dollars burn a hole in their pockets.”
Barry chuckled darkly with a shake of his head and turned your body around. He forced you to face the spot he had sent Rafe to, where you saw a metal chair bolted to the ground with Rafe stood beside it. He held a boat chain, a lock, and zip ties in his hands and a wicked grin was cracked along his face. Barry moved your ponytail out of the way so he could lean his chin on your shoulder, taking satisfaction in the way your body trembled. “Trust me, snowball, after they see how well you’ve been treated at Hotel Barry, they’ll find a way to get me my money. And you,” he paused to laugh softly in your ear, “you’ll be providing me all the information I need on where to find the rest of that gold.”
‘I’m so fucked.’
--
All Writing Taglist (OPEN): @sophster1881​ @alilcloudy​
3K notes · View notes
enmy-writes · 3 years
Text
Just Let Me Help You
Summary: Zuko, trying to keep is girlfriend safe, unintentionally gains the trust of the Gaang after a showdown with Combustion Man.
Word Count: 2728
Fandom: ATLA (Avatar: The Last Airbender)
Pairing: Zuko x Fem!Reader
Genre: Mostly fluff, is fluff-angst a thing? Idk guys I’m soft, you tell me.
Rated: 18+
Content Warnings: Profanity, some gore graphics (brief mentions of blood, killing, murder), uhhhh that’s it I think I’m sorry if I forget anything else.
****Huge shout-out to my friends Kenz and Jenna for editing this and hyping me up. Hopefully, since this semester from Hell will be over soon, I’ll be able to write more. Please request things! Thank-you all for supporting this and let me know more of what you want to see in the future :) Also, feedback is always welcome. Enjoy!****
_____________________________________________________________________
They had landed the war balloon days ago, stalking the tired and defeated Team Avatar and trying to figure out how the complicated Fire Prince would convince the people he chased for months that he wants to help them now.
(Y/N) was stoking the hot flame provided by the fire bender, making sure the coals were burning a cherry red before she added leaves and herbs into a pot to make a stew for the two to enjoy. Her eyes followed Zuko as he paced back and forth, practicing what he was going to say when he finally decided to confront the rebel group, lips turned upward in an amused smirk.
“Hey, Zuko here…” she heard him say before he started rambling a bunch of nonsense about his past; from his discovery, to Azula, to his father-- all the tragic topics. It took him about three minutes, but he finished with a hopeful look in his direction.
“Well?!” He clenched his fists at his side in a nervous gesture, only wanting to get this right.
The girl on the log cleared her throat before speaking, obviously hiding her laughter from the sensitive boy. “Well… it’s perfect. I especially liked the ‘Hey, Zuko here’ part. I’m sure that Aang and his friends with be very pleased to finally learn your name instead of thinking you’re called ‘Angry Ponytail Hotman’.’’
He groaned loudly, rubbing his eyes with clenched fists. The melodic laughter from his companion tempted him to give up his quest and just run away with her and live a happy life free of his father and his destiny… whatever that may be.
Still laughing, (Y/N) stood from her log by the fire and made her way to Zuko, coming up behind him. Her arms slid right around his slim body, holding on tight as she tried to pull his mind from the depths of his insecurities.
“Zuko, love.” Her voice is soft, but intense. “Just go down there. I won’t lie, they might not take you right away. You have done a lot of damage to them and their goals.”
His warm hands slide down the tops of her forearms and slide between her chilled fingers, entwining them together as Zuko grips her like she’s holding him down on the land they’re on.
“I… I just…” He struggles to get his feelings out, finding it hard to convey how he feels even to the girl wrapped around him.
She shushes him. “I know.” Is all she says, as they stand there in a momentary comfortable silence before she detaches from him to continue dinner.
____________________________
Zuko had told her to stay behind, that he’d be back to either get her or because he failed to convince the group that he came to support them, instead of harm them.
“Zuko! I could easily be an alibi for you. A reason for them to trust you!”
“No. End of story. They could attack me and you’re in Fire Nation clothes. You’re staying here.”
A staring match between the two only lasted a few seconds, but (Y/N) let it go; remembering Iroh’s advice that sometimes the boy has to do what eases his mind to grow.
The empty pot gleamed an orange glow from the flames, a light in the dark woods that surrounded the two as they lounged by the fire.
(Y/N) was carding her fingers through the upset prince’s hair while he stared at the sky; confused. His emotions spilling onto (Y/N). He didn’t talk much about the encounter, only enough to tell her that they wouldn’t be helping the Avatar defeat his father anytime soon. Rather than pressure him, she offered her solace with calming actions rather than words.
The two had met in their early childhood, (Y/N)’s father being the leader of the Yuyan Archers and of course the Fire Lord wanted the talented girl to meet his… troubled son. In hope that she could help bend his son into the ruthless leader the nations needed to proceed him. Though they didn’t see each other as much as they should have due to (Y/N)’s schooling, the two quickly became close friends and were often found with Lady Ursa quietly running around the palace grounds.
His banishment led to (Y/N) perfecting her skills, and becoming the master she was destined to be, given there was no more distraction. No one could understand her in the way that Zuko did— they fit together like they were made for one another. Where he was hotheaded, she was cool; Where he was nimble and direct, she was resourceful and hidden. The two were the perfect set of opposites who ultimately balanced each other. And one without the other was a heartbreak everyone could see.
When she heard the news of his return, she rushed to the palace; radiant as ever. In an instant, the two fell back into where they left off;  barely any words needed between the two. Her fingers and lips had trailed over his scar often in those few days, brushing away the tears and insecurities that came with it.
Leaving the Fire Nation with Zuko wasn’t even a debate in her mind. She was tired of the life of lies and torment that her nation inflicted upon the world. She had spent the last two years relocating and rebranding people who were targets to the Fire Nation. In total, about one hundred innocent lives were saved from her dangerous missions. Her skill level was better than even her father’s, and she prided herself in her abilities. (Y/N) was truly a professional in her art with the eye of an eagle.
When she caught Zuko writing a letter to her with packed bags on his bed, she instantly went into the shadows and caught up with the boy easily, hiding in the balloon behind the engine for a while until it was too late for him to turn back. It was hot and the most uncomfortable thing she has ever done, but she regrets none of it. She joked with the boy; how did he not question a pile of fabric behind the piece of equipment that holds fire? She let it go after he hugged her close and cried for a while.
“Don’t do that shit again, Zuko.” Her voice was stern, though her voice stern, she held him close. She ghosted her fingers over his tense shoulders; the shoulder that carried such burdens. She pressed her fingers into his shoulders; trying her best to rub the tension from his body. 
“I won’t. Never again. Don’t leave me, I need you.”
A rustle of leaves and broken trees in the forest near the edge of their little camp put the two into defense, instantly gripping her perfectly crafted bow and quiver. Her ears pricked at a slight movement and she aimed her bows in the direction of the noise without even looking. Suddenly, green clothes fill the area as a younger girl makes her way into the clearing. Startled, Zuko sends a wave of fire towards the intruder, burning the girl.
Everything happened fast.
(Y/N)’s left foot—her plant foot—sunk into the ground and twisted inward, releasing a loud crack into the air. The Earth girl was long gone now; Zuko had been screaming at himself when he heard the cry of pain and the sickening noise that left the lips of his girlfriend.
The earth has released its hold on her, but the damage was done. She kneeled, trying to hold back tears but failing as they kept streaming down her face in a pain response. Zuko’s own eyes filled with tears as he ran over to her, helping her sit down and take the tension off of it.
The joint was already beginning to swell, black and blue and purple and yellow starting to show up in swirls around the area. Zuko carefully tried to feel the injury, barely touching the girl in fear of hurting her more. (Y/N) sighed, pushing his fingers away and ignoring his protest. She rotated her foot outward, cringing at the pain, but crying out when she turned it the other way. Zuko cupped his hands around her ankle, hands heated slightly to hopefully alleviate the pain.
“Baby… it’s okay—”
“No, you’re hurt! I knew this would happen!” He cuts her off with a panicked yell. (Y/N) places her hands on the sides of his face, forcing his eyes upon hers with a slight wince of discomfort.
“It’s most definitely, at worst, a fracture. I can still move it outwards without a lot of pain. It’s, like, a week off my foot at most and then another week with a splint and a crutch. I am okay, Zuko.” They stared at each other for a solid minute, saying nothing.
"Promise?" Zuko whispered.
"You think I would lie to you, Zuko?" She says as she wraps her pinky his for good measure
They turn in not too long after, (Y/N)’s ankle wrapped up in some extra clothes for stability. Zuko’s arms hold her to his chest as they slip off into the world of dreams.
_________________________
Oh shit. She thought from her perch on top of the cliff edge. The assassin that they have also been trying to find has been blowing up the place, really testing the stability of the edge of the cliff in shakes after shakes like an earthquake. Zuko had told her to stay at camp, but unfortunately for Zuko; (Y/N) was never that good at listening to commands.
She was sitting down, watching the Avatar, his friends, and her boyfriend try to figure out how to win this fight against the combustion bender, feet dangling over the edge. She didn’t want any pressure on her foot from standing on it; settling for the dull throbs of pain coming from the force of gravity alone.
Some third eye. (Y/N) thought to herself as she watched her boyfriend get too close to being blown off the edge of the cliff, wincing. She quickly strung her bow, aiming it at the man. She smirked, a devious smirk, and aimed it in a precise location.
Zuko was still trying to talk the man out of it when suddenly, his eyes went blank and the grossest sound he has ever heard reached his ears. Everyone watched the man, confused as to why he just stopped. It’s not until red trails down his forehead and around his nose in a slow trickle that they look at his eye.
In the middle of the red eye, that at one point seemed indestructible; an arrow sat; a perfect shot — his perfect shot. "Bullseye!" (Y/N) howled, her voice resonating in his ears.
In the midst of Zuko's panic, he failed to recognize the cliff he was standing on becoming increasingly unsturdy; turning he locked eyes with the archer. A ghost of a smile graced her lips, pride radiating off of her. Though he was angry, he couldn't help but share her pride. He locked eyes with his girlfriend who was sitting nonchalantly on the cliff edge above them all, waving nonetheless, when he told her to stay back. It’s then that the earth beneath him rumbles and falls, taking him with it.
“Zuko!” She screams, jumping to her feet; a loud crack coming from her ankle, buckling under the pressure and bringing her to her knees.
With a hobble in her step, (Y/N) climbed down the cliffside. The tears ran down her face at a ferocious pace, making her way over to the cliffside, a loud sob relented from her mouth as she saw Aang helping Zuko up over the edge of the cliff. 
"Spirits, Zuko!" She breathed, limping her way over to him and hugging him tight. "I should kill you, you fucking idiot!" She sobbed, pulling him into her chest. 
Zuko huffed out a laugh, wrapping his arms around her. He took deep breaths, calming his nerves from his near death experience; he focused on the feeling of her hand carding through his hair to grip it tight, and the hold on his shoulders. As he calms down, he remembers that he told her to stay put; and he sharply pulls away.
"I told you to stay at camp!" He huffed, "I told you I was coming back for you!”
She scoffs pushing on his forehead with two fingers. “In case you have forgotten, Zuko, I have authority issues. If I weren’t here, who would be saving your stupid royal ass? No one! You’re welcome, by the way. He wasn’t going to negotiate, Prince Pouty, and you and everyone else here is no good to the world dead.”
“You—You---You could’ve been hurt! (Y/N)! Or worse!” His protest was a whisper, trying to make the scene more private as he’s aware of the crowd around them.
“Zuko, love, I can handle myself. I’m a master at my craft--.”
"—your craft of carelessness, you could've been killed—"
"—but I wasn't Zuko!"
"That's not the point." His voice stern, making it clear that the conversation was done for now. (Y/N) simply nodded, pulling away from him and fixing her clothes.
Aang, Toph, Katara and Sokka watched the two as they argued; watching as they continuously tried to out-care the other. They watched as the two eventually stopped arguing, instead remained staring, as if daring each other to speak
“That was a ... nice shot? I guess?" Aang spoke, clearing his throat and drawing the couples attention to him. "He's definitely you know, dead."
(Y/N) smiles at the boy. “Thank you, Avatar, for helping save this dumb ass from falling off a cliff.” She gets up and bows to him. Zuko suddenly picks her up, the world turning sideways as he put her bridal style in his arms.
“Stop putting weight on your ankle!”
“I’m literally showing respect to the person who just helped you, is that a crime?”
“What if you break your ankle so much that you have to cut it off.”
“Oh, now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Okay well you were first when deciding to sit on the edge of a cliff with a broken ankle.”
“You’re right! Sitting is dangerous. Next time, I’ll make sure to stand so at least I’ll have a better chance of reacting if the cliff side starts falling from under me. Oh wait, you were standing, and you still fell.”
Zuko sets her down on a broken rock that’s suitable enough for her to sit on. “Will you just shut up already and let me help you.” He reaches for her ankle, but she moves it from his grasp. Their eyes meet again and narrow in competition.
A mess of limbs as the (Y/N) evades the grip of Zuko, occasionally slapping his hands away if they get too close.
Sokka tilts his head in confusion and opens his mouth. “Is he—is he actually caring for someone?”
Aang nods. “I think? I don’t know, they’re kind of fighting a lot.”
Toph cringes, “Guys, I think it was me who hurt her in the first place. Last night at their camp. Zuko instantly stopped trying to help me when I heard her scream.”
“Guys… I think I’m supposed to let him be my master. I mean, he did just risk everything to save us.” Aang says, eyes locked on the one member who he cares more about than anyone.
Katara, still holding off on agreeing, looks to the two Fire Nation kids again.
“Ow! You bit me! Are you crazy?!” Zuko yells, shaking his left hand out.
The stranger girl laughs cheerfully. “Only crazy for you, stupid.”
And a phenomenon occurs. Prince Zuko of the Fire Nation blushes and looks down at the ground, a huge smile on his face.
“I hate you.” Is all he says.
“Yeah, I love you too.”
Katara, seeing the humane side of the prince, finally lets her guard down and walks over to them. Zuko’s eyes widen at her proximity, but the water tribe girl holds his gaze.
“I’ll heal the girl if it gets you two to shut up. And you have to find dinner for tonight.”
Katara’s eyes widen again at the sight of the crying prince who suddenly bows to her feet, thanking her with his whole heart. He then turns to his smiling girl beside him and pulls her into a hug.
“Thank you, (Y/N). For everything.”
“I’ll always help you… stupid.”
412 notes · View notes
Text
Delicate. — Part 1.
word count: 2.6k
a/n: Here we are fam, i gotta be honest with y’all, this is heavily inspired in the fact that i watched Miss Americana twice this month, what resulted in me going through my taylor swfit phase again. Pls bare with me, i haven’t written anything like this before.
catch up here!
Tumblr media
They said artists become what they are because deep down they are as insecure if not more than normal people. Because they craved constant validation in what they do. 
At least it was the case for Y/n. 
A girl who has built an entire system around being accepted by the public, someone who their major source of happiness is provided by strangers all around the world. When you are living from the approval of strangers and that is where you drive all your joy and fulfillment, one bad thing can cause everything to go down. Y/n has spent her whole life trying to please the world so they would like her, so what she has achieved over the years would last. 
When the world turned their back on her, Y/n had no choice but to disappear, because she thought that was what everyone wanted. Even then, she made her choices around what she thought would make them happy.
Y/n knew she could not hide forever, but for now, it was a necessary evil she had to take. Deciding to take a break from everything was the healthiest decision she has ever made, shutting down her social media, getting out of the city and going back home with her family was exactly what she needed. 
"Mom was sad she couldn't pick you up from the airport."
Seventeen-year-old Jensen, whose driving license was still new and fresh, was the one who picked Y/n up when her flight landed. In complete honesty, she did not like using a private plane, but she could not risk someone seeing where she was going. Jensen was good at driving, well, he has not crashed into a tree yet, so they were safe. 
"She would've brought Chase and scare Pandora and Lizzie." 
Jensen chuckled. "She's obsessed with him. I haven't started college yet and she's already thinking about turning my room into Chase's." 
Her parents’ house was a gated property away from others since it was safer that way. Y/n would not stay there the whole time since she had her own apartment a little closer to town. Her luggage, as well as her cats, were picked up separately and taken to her home, she would go there after lunch with her family. Jensen parked next to a black range rover that belonged to their dad, meaning both of their parents were home. 
Y/n threw her backpack over her shoulder as she stepped out of the car, eager to finally reunite with her family, especially her mother. She is in desperate need of a tight hug, a mug of hot chocolate and a shoulder to cry on. Y/n did not realize how mentally drained she was until she saw her mother open the front door. 
"My baby!" Louise exclaimed, embracing her daughter in a tight hug. "How was the flight?" 
"It was fine. I'm starving though." 
They walked into the living room and Louise closed the door behind them. Y/n dropped her backpack on one of the couches and sighed in relief. “Where’s dad?” Jensen went straight to the kitchen and opened the fridge.
“Get the white wine.” Y/n told him.
“It’s too early to drink that.” Louise took the bottle from Jensen’s hands and put it back in the fridge. “Dad’s outside. We bought some roses that will look beautiful by the pool.”
“You’re buying a lot of plants lately.” Y/n pointed a big vase full of daisies, her mom’s favorites, on the kitchen’s island. 
“I like supporting local business.” She shrugged.
“That and she’s obsessed with the owner of the flower shop.” Jensen chuckled, cracking open a water bottle. 
“Hey! That’s not true.” 
“Mom, you there like… every day. Who needs new flowers every day?”
“Shush.” The elder woman faked offense then gigged. “Handsome young man, he is. I’ll take you tomorrow.” She turned to Y/n. 
“Oh, no, mom. I’m going to lock myself in my apartment and try to write.” She said, making Louise scoff. “I’m serious!”
“I know you are. But living like a hermit is not going to do you any good.”
“I agree, sis.” 
Y/n rolled her eyes, knowing they were right as always but did not want to admit it. The truth was, she wanted to write some songs, so badly, but could not find the right words. She was hoping to get some peace and quiet to get her ideas and emotions in order again. Before any of them could say anything else, David entered the kitchen while taking off his gardening gloves and smiled widely when he spotted Y/n.
“And who do we have here?”
“Hi, dad.” Y/n smiled at him brightly before wrapping her arms around her dad, who hugged her back just as tight. 
“Good to have you home, darling.” 
The family of four sat on the kitchen island and started to catch up. Jensen talked about his different college options and how he was considering getting a summer job this year. Louise kept talking about how nice the owner of this flower shop was, making emphasis on how he was also single. Y/n didn’t know what she was trying to do, but she didn’t pay much attention either. 
Overall it was nice for Y/n to get out of her head for a little bit, and her family was always a great help for that. She knew she still had a lot to deal with, and she would probably get a call from her publicist and a lot of other people soon, but for now, she just wanted to think about anything else that wasn't the whole world hating on her. 
"How are you doing, Y/n? Be honest." Her mom asked after they stayed alone in the kitchen.
"Been better." She sighed. "I don't want to think about it, mom."
"You have to talk to someone, sweetie. I know your team cares for you and is trying to handle the situation, but you can still talk to me."
"I know, thank you. I'm just trying to figure it what I'm going to do."
Louise sighed. "You sure you don't want to stay here? You have your room and everything."
"Thanks for the offer, mom. But I sort of want to be on my own." She said. "But I'll come for lunch every day, I promise."
Although Louise wasn't convinced by her daughter's words, she chose to not push it. She knew Y/n had her own ways to express her feelings, and she'd talk whenever she felt like it. So she let her go, making her promise she'd come to visit soon.
"Do you need a ride? I'm going to town anyway." Jensen offered, taking the keys of his car from the little plate they kept on the table beside the front door. 
"Yes, please."
The drive to her apartment wasn't a long one, and in less than ten minutes she was opening her front door and being greeted by her two beautiful cats rubbing themselves on her legs. Y/n sighed, thinking about how much she needed to unpack now that she was here. The truth was, she didn't know for how long she'd be staying here, but she figured it'd be a long time so she packed a lot. Now she kind of regretted it because she would probably be in her pajamas all day anyway. 
After cleaning Pandora and Lizzie's sandbox, Y/n decided to grab an acoustic guitar and try to come up with some melodies. She wasn't quite sure about any lyrics yet, but it was always good to have a little something to start a song. 
She went from playing the guitar to play the piano, hoping she'd get more inspirations somewhere. But she had nothing. Not even one decent note. She was empty. 
"Don't pretend is... mhmm. Think about the... No." She groaned and slammed the palm of her hands on the keyboard, growing frustrated. Why all of a sudden she couldn't even rhyme? Maybe she needed a break, or perhaps she was tired from her flight and tomorrow she'd be able to write something.
//
Turns out her writer's block was here to stay. A week has passed since her arrival and Y/n hasn't been able to finish one single song. Everything she started ended up being erased or in the middle of her living room after the ripped the page off her journal. 
"I told you, you shouldn't hurry. Inspiration will come eventually, it always does."
"I guess. I just have nothing else to do other than play scrabble with you and write songs, or at least try to."
"Let me take out then." Louise started and Y/n shakes her head. "C'mon, let's eat somewhere or buy groceries and I'll cock at your place." Y/n looked at her mom and realized she wouldn't stop until she accepted, so Y/n offered Louise a nod. "Marvelous. There's this little café that I absolutely love. You'll love the owner."
"What is it with you and the owners of local shops?"
"They're my friends. Oh! We could drop by Blossom House. You could use some flowers around your house so it would look like somebody actually lives there."
"Stop dragging me, woman."
Louise drove them to this café called Furry Cakes, which turned out to be a cat café. Y/n obviously lost it as soon as they walked in, and nearly cried when she saw all the kittens, and absolutely shed a tear when the girl behind the register said every kitty except for one named Chaster was up for adoption. She felt like a little girl all over again when her mom told her she couldn't take every single kitty home. 
Y/n was wearing a hoodie that was twice her size, plus some big sunglasses she refused to take off, even inside of the café. She was praying she wouldn't get recognized as she knew people were dying for a picture of her, see how she was after the entire world canceled her. 
"We'll leave the car parked here, the flower shop is just around the corner." Louise pulled from Y/n's hand to make her walk faster. There weren't a lot of people on the streets and she was grateful for that, she hasn't gotten a proper walk in what felt like ages. 
They stopped outside a modern-looking building with a big, bright sign that read 'The Blossom House'. It was simple yet cute. The pair stepped in and a little bell ringed. Y/n looked around, admiring how everything looked like it was straight out of a fairytale. There were little pots hanging from the ceiling and she looked up, she saw the ceiling was pure glass, which made the whole place brighter. Flowers weren't really her thing as she could barely keep them alive, but seeing this amount of flowers all in the same place... made her somewhat happy and warm inside. 
She was so deep in thought she didn't even realize her mom left her and was nowhere to be found. It doesn't look like it from outside, but the shop was actually big and very spacious. It was also empty right now, not even an employee was around, so she decided to have a look on her own. It looked like they had all kinds of flowers in here, which made her even more excited because that meant they had-
"Azaleas? They're also my favorites." A deep voice interrupted her thoughts. She jumped on her place as she wasn't expecting it, which made the person behind her chuckle. "I didn't mean to scare you, sorry."
"It's okay..." She turned around and it was fair to say that was she saw stunned her right away.
In front of her, a gorgeous looking man was standing there with a bright smile on his face. She noticed the two dimples poking at each side of his face, making his smile even more beautiful. His emerald green eyes were the greenest eyes she has ever seen in her life, she believed. He had crinkles by his eyes due to his smile being wide. But to her, the icing of the cake was the beautiful mop of chocolate curls he had on the top of his head. She suddenly felt the insane urge to run her hands through it just to see if they were as soft as they looked. 
"Harry, darling!" Louise appeared out of nowhere and wrapped her arms around the man, who only chuckled while reciprocating the greeting.
"Hello, Louise. What's it gonna be today? Tulips? More daisies?" Oh God, he's British. Y/n thought to herself. 
"Gosh, you know me so well. I'm actually here just to look around, I see you found my daughter though." She smirked.
"I surely did. I'm Harry, nice to meet you, love." He offered her a hand for her to shake.
Y/n was a little surprised by the pet name but took his hand nonetheless. "I'm Y/n, nice to meet you too."
"I want her to get some plants for her house." Louise spoke again.
"Well, you're in the right place then." He said. "Do you want them for your garden?"
"No, uhm... I don't have one. I live in an apartment."
"Personally, my favorite to keep indoors are Begonias." Harry guided the two women to a different section of the flower shop and pointed to some pretty ones in pink color. "But I also enjoy Daylilies, although they're a little harder to maintain."
"Yeah, maybe not those then. I'm not very good at keeping plants alive."
"She killed a cactus once." Louise mentioned. 
"No way." 
"I didn't know they'd drown if I watered them more than once a week!" Y/n defended herself. 
"Amateur mistake." He joked. 
The truth was Y/n was too busy to have a garden, she was always traveling and didn't stay too long in one place so even if she tries to have one, it'd be dead by the end of the month. 
"What plants are cat friendly? I have two at home."
"Bromeliads are cat friendly, they're easy to maintain too."
They looked around for a little bit. Harry said a fun fact about every type of flower Y/n pointed out, never failing to make her laugh. The funny thing was, it didn't look like Harry knew who she was. Either he hasn't recognized her, or he didn't know about her. Which by the way, not to be a narcissist, would be highly unlikely.
She ended up taking a couple of new plants home, starting to grow excited about them. It was true, her apartment could use a little more life to it, and now she was sure her new plants would do that for her. Harry was wrapping everything for them while he stood behind the counter.
"Oh, here. This one's on the house." Harry handed her a pot with some beautiful blue Azaleas. She took them with a growing blush on her face, a blush that went deeper when their hands brushed with each other. "Try to not kill them though." He teased.
Y/n rolled her eyes as her mom chuckled behind her. "I'll report their aliveness back to you, you'll see."
"You better. Have a nice day, ladies. I'm guessing I'll see you around, Y/n?"
"Sure, I'm uh... I'm living here right now."
Harry smiled at them one last time before they exited the shop. After the door closed behind them, Louise turned to Y/n. "He likes you."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"What do you say if we invite him for dinner sometime?"
"Like, at your house?" She asked surprised.
"Yeah, why not?"
"I have to keep a low profile, mother. For all I know he could be tweeting about I just exited his shop."
"Don't let the paranoia ruin the possibility of forming new friendships... or more." Louise sent her a wink.
"Okay, that's enough."
Y/n brushed her off, trying not to think much about it. A new friendship sounded impossible at this point of her life, let alone pursuing a new relationship with someone. She had made up her mind, she was better off being alone.
457 notes · View notes
faintingheroine · 3 years
Text
Wuthering Heights Reread - Chapter 3
This chapter is a bit overwhelming, since it is the chapter that is comprised of the most diverse parts and has the iconic ghost scene, but I will try my best.
“While leading the way upstairs, she recommended that I should hide the candle, and not make a noise; for her master had an odd notion about the chamber she would put me in, and never let anybody lodge there willingly. I asked the reason. She did not know, she answered: she had only lived there a year or two; and they had so many queer goings on, she could not begin to be curious.”
Heathcliff has forbidden people to lodge in Catherine’s room, which is unsurprising since it is more or less kept as it was during her childhood.
Zillah has been at the Heights for a couple of years since she had taken the job from the unnamed housekeeper who left a couple of years after Linton’s coming to the area. Zillah claims to be incurious about the goings on at the Heights which does fit her apathetic character but which raises the question of whether she had let Lockwood to lodge in the room solely for the sake of charity as this would imply or she was curious about the haunted room.
“Too stupefied to be curious myself, I fastened my door and glanced round for the bed. The whole furniture consisted of a chair, a clothes-press, and a large oak case, with squares cut out near the top resembling coach windows. Having approached this structure, I looked inside, and perceived it to be a singular sort of old-fashioned couch, very conveniently designed to obviate the necessity for every member of the family having a room to himself. In fact, it formed a little closet, and the ledge of a window, which it enclosed, served as a table. I slid back the panelled sides, got in with my light, pulled them together again, and felt secure against the vigilance of Heathcliff, and every one else.”
I was able to properly visualize the oak-paneled bed for the first time in this reading. Apparently this type of box-beds were fairly popular in Northern Europe to keep one warm during the cold winter, but here the bed encloses the window which might defeat this purpose.
This bed is the symbol of Catherine’s childhood and Catherine and Heathcliff’s connection within the story. Its solitary state and it enclosing the window may symbolize them having no one but each other and the outside world. It also resembles them lying in a coffin together which is effectively what happens at the end.
“The ledge, where I placed my candle, had a few mildewed books piled up in one corner; and it was covered with writing scratched on the paint. This writing, however, was nothing but a name repeated in all kinds of characters, large and small—Catherine Earnshaw, here and there varied to Catherine Heathcliff, and then again to Catherine Linton.”
These carvings basically both summarize and prophesy the story. Earnshaw-Heathcliff-Linton is Catherine’s life story, the reverse - Linton-Heathcliff-Earnshaw - will be her daughter’s, the potential “Catherine Heathcliff” actually being realized through Heathcliff’s own machinations. Only in Wuthering Heights a teenage girl experimenting with her potential husbands’ surnames can have a prophetic, almost mythical significance.
“It was a Testament, in lean type, and smelling dreadfully musty: a fly-leaf bore the inscription ‘Catherine Earnshaw, her book,’ and a date some quarter of a century back.”
“Quarter of a century” is most likely close to the truth. Catherine’s diary entry that is featured in the text must be from November 1777, 24 years almost to the month before Lockwood reading it in 1801.
“Some were detached sentences; other parts took the form of a regular diary, scrawled in an unformed, childish hand. At the top of an extra page (quite a treasure, probably, when first lighted on) I was greatly amused to behold an excellent caricature of my friend Joseph—rudely, yet powerfully sketched. An immediate interest kindled within me for the unknown Catherine, and I began forthwith to decipher her faded hieroglyphics.”
Catherine is characterful and rebellious even in her first introduction. She is also effectively portrayed as an antagonist of Joseph.
Note the use of “hieroglyphics”, Catherine’s childhood memories are given the status of something mysterious and important, just like with the carvings. I love this.
“‘An awful Sunday,’ commenced the paragraph beneath. ‘I wish my father were back again. Hindley is a detestable substitute—his conduct to Heathcliff is atrocious—H. and I are going to rebel—we took our initiatory step this evening.”
We first hear Catherine through her own voice which is significant. She is thoroughly sympathetic in this anecdote, acting like a typical tomboyish character except for her harming the religious book given to her by Joseph. She is thoroughly empathetic and caring towards Heathcliff, and I don’t think that this should necessarily be negated through her narcissistic identification with him. They have a beautiful friendship and they are each other’s only allies in a loveless and cold household.
“All day had been flooding with rain; we could not go to church, so Joseph must needs get up a congregation in the garret; and, while Hindley and his wife basked downstairs before a comfortable fire—doing anything but reading their Bibles, I’ll answer for it—Heathcliff, myself, and the unhappy ploughboy were commanded to take our prayer-books, and mount: we were ranged in a row, on a sack of corn, groaning and shivering, and hoping that Joseph would shiver too, so that he might give us a short homily for his own sake. A vain idea! The service lasted precisely three hours; and yet my brother had the face to exclaim, when he saw us descending, “What, done already?” On Sunday evenings we used to be permitted to play, if we did not make much noise; now a mere titter is sufficient to send us into corners.”
Lockwood’s religious dream about Jabez Branderham is clearly influenced by him reading this. In this reread I really noticed how much Lockwood’s two dreams are a consequence of what he read in Catherine’s diary.
Mr. Earnshaw was known to be quite religious, but he did let the children play on Sundays. We must remember that Heathcliff was his favorite though, I am not sure if he would let that if it were Catherine only.
Hindley’s first line is actually “What, done already?” rather than what I posited it to be here. I was mistaken. Still the diary entry introduces us to Hindley’s character and this introduction reflects his character and his role in the story pretty efficiently. He is a tyrant but a fairly incompetent one.
“You forget you have a master here,” says the tyrant. “I’ll demolish the first who puts me out of temper! I insist on perfect sobriety and silence. Oh, boy! was that you? Frances darling, pull his hair as you go by: I heard him snap his fingers.” Frances pulled his hair heartily, and then went and seated herself on her husband’s knee, and there they were, like two babies, kissing and talking nonsense by the hour—foolish palaver that we should be ashamed of. We made ourselves as snug as our means allowed in the arch of the dresser. I had just fastened our pinafores together, and hung them up for a curtain, when in comes Joseph, on an errand from the stables.”
Hindley insisting on perfect sobriety and silence is clearly ironic.
Hindley and his wife’s relationship is clearly portrayed as sexual here. Hindley doesn’t actually care about Catherine and Heathcliff’s religious education, he just wants to be alone with his wife. Catherine and Heathcliff are disgusted by this display of affection which is fairly normal considering their ages.
Catherine and Heathcliff isolating themselves does resemble the isolation of the oak bed.
““Maister Hindley!” shouted our chaplain. “Maister, coom hither! Miss Cathy’s riven th’ back off ‘Th’ Helmet o’ Salvation,’ un’ Heathcliff’s pawsed his fit into t’ first part o’ ‘T’ Brooad Way to Destruction!’ It’s fair flaysome that ye let ’em go on this gait. Ech! th’ owd man wad ha’ laced ’em properly—but he’s goan!””
I love the books’ names, especially “The Broad Way to Destruction” being the name of Heathcliff’s book. If Wuthering Heights is ever adapted as a Kill Bill style duology, let the first film be named “The Broad Way to Destruction” and the second “The Helmet of Salvation”.
Catherine remembers her father as better than Hindley, but here Joseph praises how he was physically violent to the children. This is a reflection of how Catherine’s nostalgic view of the past may be better than the way things actually were, as it always is with nostalgia.
“‘Hindley hurried up from his paradise on the hearth, and seizing one of us by the collar, and the other by the arm, hurled both into the back-kitchen;”
Graeme Tytler notes how the kitchen is the place of punishment or the residence of the servants, but also the most resilient part of the house; a lot of significant events happen in the kitchens of WH and TG, and the kitchen is the only part of Wuthering Heights that will not be shut down after Cathy and Hareton’s marriage.
“I reached this book, and a pot of ink from a shelf, and pushed the house-door ajar to give me light, and I have got the time on with writing for twenty minutes; but my companion is impatient, and proposes that we should appropriate the dairywoman’s cloak, and have a scamper on the moors, under its shelter. A pleasant suggestion—and then, if the surly old man come in, he may believe his prophecy verified—we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.’
I suppose Catherine fulfilled her project, for the next sentence took up another subject: she waxed lachrymose.
‘How little did I dream that Hindley would ever make me cry so!’ she wrote. ‘My head aches, till I cannot keep it on the pillow; and still I can’t give over. Poor Heathcliff! Hindley calls him a vagabond, and won’t let him sit with us, nor eat with us any more; and, he says, he and I must not play together, and threatens to turn him out of the house if we break his orders. He has been blaming our father (how dared he?) for treating H. too liberally; and swears he will reduce him to his right place—’”
An important question is whether this scamper on the moors is the same one as their fateful visit to the Grange. There are many indications of them being one and the same. They both feature the dairywoman’s cloak, they are both on a Sunday, they both happen after the children are banished from the sitting room, and they both lead to a difference in the situation of Catherine and Heathcliff’s friendship. But on the other hand Nelly presents Heathcliff’s demotion as happening before their visit to the Grange. I don’t know. It probably is the same incident since the Grange incident is arguably the most pivotal event in the book and it would be fitting if this were the anecdote that Lockwood read before his encounter with the ghost. And there are many details pointing to them being the same incident. But it is still debatable.
“we cannot be damper, or colder, in the rain than we are here.’” - This is heartbreaking and points to why Heathcliff and Catherine had connected so much with the moors. The “inside” didn’t have a place for them.
What I like about this diary entry is that apart from the possible relation to the Grange incident there is nothing extraordinary or exceptional about it in the context of the book. It is probably a typical day at Wuthering Heights. It probably sounds familiar to people who were raised in an oppressive and abusive household.
“Alas, for the effects of bad tea and bad temper! What else could it be that made me pass such a terrible night? I don’t remember another that I can at all compare with it since I was capable of suffering.”
I just like the “bad tea and bad temper”.
“I began to dream, almost before I ceased to be sensible of my locality. I thought it was morning; and I had set out on my way home, with Joseph for a guide. The snow lay yards deep in our road; and, as we floundered on, my companion wearied me with constant reproaches that I had not brought a pilgrim’s staff: telling me that I could never get into the house without one, and boastfully flourishing a heavy-headed cudgel, which I understood to be so denominated. For a moment I considered it absurd that I should need such a weapon to gain admittance into my own residence. Then a new idea flashed across me. I was not going there: we were journeying to hear the famous Jabez Branderham preach, from the text ‘Seventy Times Seven;’ and either Joseph, the preacher, or I had committed the ‘First of the Seventy-First,’ and were to be publicly exposed and excommunicated.”
I think this is a very well-written account of how dreams work. Especially the first sentence of the paragraph, yes sometimes one dreams while also being half-awake and still half-aware of one’s surroundings. And the way he rationalizes the illogical stuff in his dream and directs the course of the dream according to that rationalization is great. The portrayal of dreams in the novel is ahead of its time.
“We came to the chapel. I have passed it really in my walks, twice or thrice; it lies in a hollow, between two hills: an elevated hollow, near a swamp, whose peaty moisture is said to answer all the purposes of embalming on the few corpses deposited there.”
And here, my friends, is why Catherine’s corpse didn’t decay. No, Heathcliff wasn’t hallucinating, her corpse genuinely didn’t decay. Catherine Earnshaw’s corpse is a bog body. She was buried in the churchyard and the peat almost buried her grave. The reader doesn’t even have to independently know the concept of a bog body to come to this conclusion, the author explained how it works here.
“The roof has been kept whole hitherto; but as the clergyman’s stipend is only twenty pounds per annum, and a house with two rooms, threatening speedily to determine into one, no clergyman will undertake the duties of pastor: especially as it is currently reported that his flock would rather let him starve than increase the living by one penny from their own pockets. However, in my dream, Jabez had a full and attentive congregation;”
This kind of points to a hypocrisy, people were really particular about Heathcliff and Catherine going to the church as children but not enough to actually aid the pastor. On the other hand there are less mentions of the characters going to chapel in the second half of the book which might be related to the dilapidated state of it, but it also might be a coincidence. I will pay closer attention to it when I reach the second half of the book in this reread.
“Jabez had a full and attentive congregation; and he preached—good God! what a sermon; divided into four hundred and ninety parts, each fully equal to an ordinary address from the pulpit, and each discussing a separate sin! Where he searched for them, I cannot tell. He had his private manner of interpreting the phrase, and it seemed necessary the brother should sin different sins on every occasion. They were of the most curious character: odd transgressions that I never imagined previously.”
This religious dream is the most puzzling part of Wuthering Heights since it doesn’t seem to be directly related to anything else in the novel. But it bears some significance for the rest of the novel: It heightens the impact of the ghost dream since it is now not the only dream Lockwood has dreamt. It is clearly a reflection of how much Lockwood was effected by Catherine’s diary entry with his dream being about an overly long religious service. It is also related to the rest of the novel with its themes of forgiveness, revenge and the misuse of religion.
I would like to hear the odd transgressions Jabez came up with, I bet they were funny.
“The four hundred and ninety-first is too much. Fellow-martyrs, have at him! Drag him down, and crush him to atoms, that the place which knows him may know him no more!’
‘Thou art the man!’ cried Jabez, after a solemn pause, leaning over his cushion. ‘Seventy times seven times didst thou gapingly contort thy visage—seventy times seven did I take counsel with my soul—Lo, this is human weakness: this also may be absolved! The First of the Seventy-First is come. Brethren, execute upon him the judgement written. Such honour have all His saints!’”
I love how the transgressions here are an overly long religious service and yawning. This religious dream was much less serious and obviously allegorical than I remembered. It is interesting that Lockwood was the first to use violent language.
“With that concluding word, the whole assembly, exalting their pilgrim’s staves, rushed round me in a body; and I, having no weapon to raise in self-defence, commenced grappling with Joseph, my nearest and most ferocious assailant, for his. In the confluence of the multitude, several clubs crossed; blows, aimed at me, fell on other sconces. Presently the whole chapel resounded with rappings and counter rappings: every man’s hand was against his neighbour;”
This is foreshadowing of the cycles of revenge in the rest of the novel, where the victim of the vengeance isn’t always the original wrong-doer.
“What had played Jabez’s part in the row? Merely the branch of a fir-tree that touched my lattice as the blast wailed by, and rattled its dry cones against the panes! I listened doubtingly an instant; detected the disturber, then turned and dozed, and dreamt again: if possible, still more disagreeably than before.”
I did forget about this passage. I remembered this as a “dream within a dream” situation but no, the two dreams are clearly two separate dreams, Lockwood remembers waking up and sleeping again.
“I thought, I rose and endeavoured to unhasp the casement. The hook was soldered into the staple: a circumstance observed by me when awake, but forgotten.”
Heathcliff soldered the hook of the window of Catherine’s room after Cathy had ran away through it to see her dying father for one last time.
“I must stop it, nevertheless!’ I muttered, knocking my knuckles through the glass, and stretching an arm out to seize the importunate branch; instead of which, my fingers closed on the fingers of a little, ice-cold hand!”
The absence of any blood on Lockwood’s hand or the glass not being broken are indications that this was a dream after all. This does not necessarily mean that the ghost is not real, she could have haunted Lockwood in his dream just like she had presumably done when Heathcliff had slept in the room. But in this reread I have given more credence than ever to the idea that this was a mere dream of Lockwood’s and the ghost is not real. Lockwood’s first dream is clearly influenced by Catherine’s diary entry and so is the second one. In the diary entry Catherine was a sad child wandering on the moors in the cold, and that is also what she is in the dream.
“The intense horror of nightmare came over me: I tried to draw back my arm, but the hand clung to it, and a most melancholy voice sobbed, ‘Let me in—let me in!’ ‘Who are you?’ I asked, struggling, meanwhile, to disengage myself. ‘Catherine Linton,’ it replied, shiveringly (why did I think of Linton? I had read Earnshaw twenty times for Linton) ‘I’m come home: I’d lost my way on the moor!’ As it spoke, I discerned, obscurely, a child’s face looking through the window.”
It is interesting that in the diary entry she yearned to leave Wuthering Heights and scamper on the moors, and in the dream the ghost tries to get in Wuthering Heights.
She is “Catherine Linton” because she had only become truly lost and left Wuthering Heights when she had become a Linton. For all of the disorder and violence of Wuthering Heights Catherine feels that she belongs to there. Which is what some children in abusive households might feel, since this is what they are used to.
“Terror made me cruel; and, finding it useless to attempt shaking the creature off, I pulled its wrist on to the broken pane, and rubbed it to and fro till the blood ran down and soaked the bedclothes: still it wailed, ‘Let me in!’ and maintained its tenacious gripe, almost maddening me with fear.”
Despite his mamma’s boy antics Lockwood has a latent potential for violence, throughout Chapter 2 he wanted to beat up someone. Now that he has encountered someone both weak and scary he becomes truly violent. This scene is also the first indication of how dark and violent Wuthering Heights really is and especially of how violence in it is depicted so nonchalantly rather than being sensationalized and especially focused on.
“ ‘How can I!’ I said at length. ‘Let me go, if you want me to let you in!’ The fingers relaxed, I snatched mine through the hole, hurriedly piled the books up in a pyramid against it, and stopped my ears to exclude the lamentable prayer. I seemed to keep them closed above a quarter of an hour; yet, the instant I listened again, there was the doleful cry moaning on! ‘Begone!’ I shouted. ‘I’ll never let you in, not if you beg for twenty years.’ ‘It is twenty years,’ mourned the voice: ‘twenty years. I’ve been a waif for twenty years!’ Thereat began a feeble scratching outside, and the pile of books moved as if thrust forward. I tried to jump up; but could not stir a limb; and so yelled aloud, in a frenzy of fright.”
20 years is interesting. 20 years ago Catherine was a 15-16 years old engaged to Edgar. This is probably a reference to how Heathcliff had run away about 21 years ago, which is interesting since later in the book the scene adult Catherine returns to is their first separation when she was 12, but here she seems to be haunted by her engagement to Edgar and Heathcliff running away. And 20 years ago, at the time of the engagement, Catherine was 15 years old, not an adult but certainly not a child in the way the ghost is. Is it simply an indication that the ghost lacks logic? Does it point to how Catherine had never really been able to grow up after the age of 12? Is it a reference to how dying at the age of 18-19 she never really had the chance to grow up? Is it proof that this is just Lockwood’s dream after all?
This scene is actually kind of frightening. Not when you are reading it in a Gothic novel in 2021, but it probably was mildly terrifying when it was 1847 and you weren’t expecting to encounter it. It could be fairly scary in an adaptation with the right cinematography and music and to be fair to Lockwood I would be horrified if it happened to me.
“At last, he said, in a half-whisper, plainly not expecting an answer, ‘Is any one here?’ I considered it best to confess my presence; for I knew Heathcliff’s accents, and feared he might search further, if I kept quiet.”
Heathcliff does not truly expect the ghost to be there, which is interesting.
“With this intention, I turned and opened the panels. I shall not soon forget the effect my action produced.
Heathcliff stood near the entrance, in his shirt and trousers; with a candle dripping over his fingers, and his face as white as the wall behind him. The first creak of the oak startled him like an electric shock: the light leaped from his hold to a distance of some feet, and his agitation was so extreme, that he could hardly pick it up.”
This is just a really good scene. It paints a very vivid picture.
A conservative older man on YouTube referred to Heathcliff’s face being as white as the wall as proof that he is white. As I have explained here this is clearly just a literary device to emphasize how scared and shocked he is. At most it might prove that he is not very dark skinned, but many non-white people can get pale when sick or shocked.
“Oh, God confound you, Mr. Lockwood! I wish you were at the—’ commenced my host, setting the candle on a chair, because he found it impossible to hold it steady. ‘And who showed you up into this room?’ he continued, crushing his nails into his palms, and grinding his teeth to subdue the maxillary convulsions. ‘Who was it? I’ve a good mind to turn them out of the house this moment?’
‘It was your servant Zillah,’ I replied, flinging myself on to the floor, and rapidly resuming my garments. ‘I should not care if you did, Mr. Heathcliff; she richly deserves it. I suppose that she wanted to get another proof that the place was haunted, at my expense. Well, it is—swarming with ghosts and goblins! You have reason in shutting it up, I assure you. No one will thank you for a doze in such a den!’”
It is easy to find Heathcliff’s physical mannerisms and reactions overly melodramatic and extreme and even I do sometimes, but I think in this case his anger and shock are wholly understandable.
Zillah might have left or been fired because of this reason. If I recall correctly she isn’t there when Lockwood visits the Heights in Chapter 31.
Did Zillah really wonder about whether the room is haunted? I think that she probably did. She might have wondered about it because it is shut up or she might have heard gossip about it.
“Scarcely were these words uttered when I recollected the association of Heathcliff’s with Catherine’s name in the book, which had completely slipped from my memory, till thus awakened. I blushed at my inconsideration: but, without showing further consciousness of the offence, I hastened to add ‘The truth is, sir, I passed the first part of the night in—’ Here I stopped afresh—I was about to say ‘perusing those old volumes,’ then it would have revealed my knowledge of their written, as well as their printed, contents; so, correcting myself, I went on ‘in spelling over the name scratched on that window-ledge. A monotonous occupation, calculated to set me asleep, like counting, or—’”
Lockwood is a well-drawn character and his mental processes are very well-described in this chapter. I love how he tries to save face here, it is really relatable.
“‘What can you mean by talking in this way to me!’ thundered Heathcliff with savage vehemence. ‘How—how dare you, under my roof?—God! he’s mad to speak so!’ And he struck his forehead with rage.”
Heathcliff is offended by the slander against Catherine or maybe he just can’t bear her being mentioned in any way.
“Not liking to show him that I had heard the conflict, I continued my toilette rather noisily, looked at my watch, and soliloquised on the length of the night: ‘Not three o’clock yet! I could have taken oath it had been six. Time stagnates here: we must surely have retired to rest at eight!’
‘Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,’ said my host”
Yet more discourse about when to go to bed. Yet another difference between Lockwood’s habits and the habits of the locals.
“‘Always at nine in winter, and rise at four,’ said my host, suppressing a groan: and, as I fancied, by the motion of his arm’s shadow, dashing a tear from his eyes. ‘Mr. Lockwood,’ he added, ‘you may go into my room: you’ll only be in the way, coming downstairs so early: and your childish outcry has sent sleep to the devil for me.’”
Regardless of what the reader thinks about Heathcliff in general, this is a very poignant scene.
Heathcliff is weirdly helpful to Lockwood in this chapter. And it isn’t just because of the ghost thing either, he tells him to spend the rest of the night in this room even before hearing about the ghost. Heathcliff isn’t unnecessarily horrible to people who are unrelated to his revenge and he doesn’t actively dislike Lockwood.
“A sensible man ought to find sufficient company in himself.’
‘Delightful company!’ muttered Heathcliff. ‘Take the candle, and go where you please. I shall join you directly. Keep out of the yard, though, the dogs are unchained; and the house—Juno mounts sentinel there, and—nay, you can only ramble about the steps and passages. But, away with you! I’ll come in two minutes!’”
I find Heathcliff ironically calling the company of oneself “delightful company” interesting. It might point to his growing unsatisfaction with solitude or the fact that he is never truly alone because of Catherine’s spirit.
I like to think that he is subtly making fun of Lockwood’s encounters with the dogs here. He might be nicer and more sentimental than usual in this scene but he won’t just pass up the chance to make fun of someone.
“I obeyed, so far as to quit the chamber; when, ignorant where the narrow lobbies led, I stood still, and was witness, involuntarily, to a piece of superstition on the part of my landlord which belied, oddly, his apparent sense. He got on to the bed, and wrenched open the lattice, bursting, as he pulled at it, into an uncontrollable passion of tears. ‘Come in! come in!’ he sobbed. ‘Cathy, do come. Oh, do—once more! Oh! my heart’s darling! hear me this time, Catherine, at last!’ The spectre showed a spectre’s ordinary caprice: it gave no sign of being; but the snow and wind whirled wildly through, even reaching my station, and blowing out the light.”
Lockwood is surprised by Heathcliff’s superstition which belies his apparent sense. Heathcliff isn’t visibly “mad”. He is rude and asocial but normal at the first glance and can function normally. He has a very specific obsession with a very specific thing.
This scene is our first introduction to Heathcliff as a romantic figure and I have to admit that I find this scene to be one of the rare truly romantic moments in the book. I really like the saying “my heart’s darling”.
“There was such anguish in the gush of grief that accompanied this raving, that my compassion made me overlook its folly, and I drew off, half angry to have listened at all, and vexed at having related my ridiculous nightmare, since it produced that agony; though why was beyond my comprehension.”
A rare instance of Lockwood being truly empathetic and not making a show of it.
***
The three paragraphs following this are really good slice of life depicting all the characters at the Heights slowly waking up and resuming their occupations. I am not quoting them since I don’t have much to say on them, but I really like the movements of everyone and the general activity in the farm house.
It also makes one realize how irrelevant a character Lockwood really is. We assume he is more relevant to the story and the characters than he actually is because he is the one telling the story. He is probably relevant to Heathcliff and Zillah because of the ghost incident and he is obviously the friend of Nelly, but he is nothing to Joseph, Hareton or Cathy. He is a curiosity as a rare visitor, but he isn’t actually relevant to their lives or their stories in any way.
“He stood by the fire, his back towards me, just finishing a stormy scene with poor Zillah; who ever and anon interrupted her labour to pluck up the corner of her apron, and heave an indignant groan.”
I do kind of pity Zillah here. She is trying to do her job and being scolded at the same time. I think she either left or was fired because of this.
“And you, you worthless—’ he broke out as I entered, turning to his daughter-in-law, and employing an epithet as harmless as duck, or sheep, but generally represented by a dash. ‘There you are, at your idle tricks again! The rest of them do earn their bread—you live on my charity! Put your trash away, and find something to do. You shall pay me for the plague of having you eternally in my sight—do you hear, damnable jade?’”
I think “bitch” is the word being censored here. Ironically, as one of the book’s first reviewers remarked, this actually ends up bringing more attention to the word. Heathcliff expects everyone in the household to work, male or female, but it is important that he uses not one but two sexist insults against Cathy here, “jade” is a word meaning “bad-tempered woman”.
“‘I’ll put my trash away, because you can make me if I refuse,’ answered the young lady, closing her book, and throwing it on a chair. ‘But I’ll not do anything, though you should swear your tongue out, except what I please!’”
I love Cathy.
“Heathcliff lifted his hand, and the speaker sprang to a safer distance, obviously acquainted with its weight. Having no desire to be entertained by a cat-and-dog combat, I stepped forward briskly, as if eager to partake the warmth of the hearth, and innocent of any knowledge of the interrupted dispute. Each had enough decorum to suspend further hostilities: Heathcliff placed his fists, out of temptation, in his pockets; Mrs. Heathcliff curled her lip, and walked to a seat far off, where she kept her word by playing the part of a statue during the remainder of my stay.”
It is interesting that Heathcliff cares about decorum? I am guessing that he doesn’t want to lose a tenant by beating up a young woman in front of him.
“My landlord halloed for me to stop ere I reached the bottom of the garden, and offered to accompany me across the moor.”
Heathcliff being helpful.
“It was well he did, for the whole hill-back was one billowy, white ocean; the swells and falls not indicating corresponding rises and depressions in the ground: many pits, at least, were filled to a level; and entire ranges of mounds, the refuse of the quarries, blotted from the chart which my yesterday’s walk left pictured in my mind. I had remarked on one side of the road, at intervals of six or seven yards, a line of upright stones, continued through the whole length of the barren: these were erected and daubed with lime on purpose to serve as guides in the dark, and also when a fall, like the present, confounded the deep swamps on either hand with the firmer path: but, excepting a dirty dot pointing up here and there, all traces of their existence had vanished: and my companion found it necessary to warn me frequently to steer to the right or left, when I imagined I was following, correctly, the windings of the road.”
Nice description of the road. Sometimes you should just stop and appreciate it.
Some critical essays point to this loss of signs as a mirror of how Wuthering Heights itself doesn’t provide an interpretive framework for the reader. It certainly gives the feeling of uncertainty and being lost in the narrative.
“The distance from the gate to the grange is two miles; I believe I managed to make it four, what with losing myself among the trees, and sinking up to the neck in snow: a predicament which only those who have experienced it can appreciate. At any rate, whatever were my wanderings, the clock chimed twelve as I entered the house; and that gave exactly an hour for every mile of the usual way from Wuthering Heights.”
I know that Lockwood is “ridiculous” but I really relate to him here.
“My human fixture and her satellites rushed to welcome me; exclaiming, tumultuously, they had completely given me up: everybody conjectured that I perished last night; and they were wondering how they must set about the search for my remains. I bid them be quiet, now that they saw me returned, and, benumbed to my very heart, I dragged upstairs; whence, after putting on dry clothes, and pacing to and fro thirty or forty minutes, to restore the animal heat, I adjourned to my study, feeble as a kitten: almost too much so to enjoy the cheerful fire and smoking coffee which the servant had prepared for my refreshment.”
“My human fixture and her satellites” is very telling of how Lockwood perceives servants.
This is foreshadowing of how relatively normal death is in this place.
It is funny that two chapters in a row end with a drink being given to Lockwood as refreshment.
@dahlia-coccinea
18 notes · View notes
poedameronloverx · 3 years
Text
Who’s Looking After You?
Life in Lockdown - Masterlist
Poe Dameron x F Solo Reader
Hey everyone! Hope you’ve all had a lovely week. Here is the next part of my series. 
Big mentions of covid again this week so if that’s going to upset you then I full understand if you want to give this a miss. Also mentions of anxiety.
But we also have more of reader bonding with BeeBee and a nice wee heart to heart between her and Poe. And then there’s Finn asking the questions we all want the answer to!
Tumblr media
Month 3 – May 2020
Rose's illness came and went without too much drama. Her symptoms suggested COVID but she hadn't been as ill with it as a lot of other people had. Poe had a few symptoms too, they started off pretty mild. He decided to stay in the house just incase so you had taken over BeeBee's walks. The little dog was confused at first, wondering why his best friend wasn't walking him but he soon got used to it and was happy to be out with you. You and Rose were taking turns to look after Poe. Finn was still keeping out of the way due to his work, so the two of you were working around one another and your work schedules to check on how Poe was feeling. After a few days he started to feel worse, his throat was sore and he had no energy. You made him soup and checked in to make sure he was looking after himself.
“Sweetheart, you're going to get sick” he protested as you moved his pillows around to help him get comfortable.
“I'm not worried about me, I'm worried about you!” you replied “And I'm going to continue to worry about you and take care of you until you're back to your normal self!” 
You fussed around him some more, making sure he had everything he needed before you had to head back to your desk for a zoom meeting.
“So, when are we going to talk about it?” Finn asked, a few nights later as you sat down to dinner with him and Rose.
“Talk about what?” you asked
“This sexual tension between you and Poe”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh come on! You can't pretend, it's so obvious that you like him and it's obvious that he likes you so once he's better you should do something about it!”
“Wait, did he say something?” Rose asked “Because you didn't tell me he liked her back!”
“Hold on!” you butted in “You told Finn?”
“I'm sorry! I know I should've kept my mouth shut but it's Finn and he promised me he wouldn't tell Poe!”
“And I didn't!” Finn replied “But I just think you two deserve to be happy and being together would obviously make both of you happy!”
“You guys need to stop getting involved. Poe doesn't like me in that way and that's totally fine. He's my friend and I don't want to lose that if you guys make this awkward so please stop!”
“We won't make it awkward” Rose replied “We won't say another thing”
You couldn't sleep that night, everything Finn had said was going round on loop in your head. BeeBee slept soundly at the foot of the bed, he'd taken to sleeping in your room most nights. You climbed out of bed and looked out the window. The rain was falling onto the peaceful street. It had been raining for a few hours and puddles had already formed everywhere. You decided to head downstairs to get a glass of water, the lack of sleep was beginning to annoy you. When you walked into the living room, you were startled to see a figure sat on the couch.
“Poe? What are you doing up?”
“Couldn't sleep” he replied “I'm feeling a lot better so I figured there was no harm in having a little wander round the house since everyone was in bed!”
“As long as you’re alright” you replied
“I am, wanna sit with me for a while? You’ve been taking care of me so you’ve probably passed any risk of catching this”
“Yeah, may as well since I’m wide awake”
You could feel him staring at you, he hadn't put the lights on in the living room. Only the small lamp in the dining room was giving any light.
“Tell me honestly, are you doing okay? You had all the stress with your dad being ill, then you looked after Rose and now you’re looking after me. Who’s looking after you sweetheart”
“Honestly Poe, I’m fine. Keeping busy keeps my mind off of not being able to see my family. I like looking after you guys. I enjoy walking Bee, I like making the soups you’ve taught me and when I’m not working I like cooking dinner for us all”
“You’re too good to us. Even just letting Finn and I move in and completely throw your life into even more chaos by taking over your home”
You glanced at him and smiled.
“I like having you here” you replied “It’s good to have a group to hang out with. Rose and I would bicker about stupid stuff when we just spent weekends together. We would’ve been a nightmare alone for all these weeks. I like being able to spend time with her but then have the option to walk away from her and hang out with you. I’m not going to lie and say these past few weeks have been easy and amazing because they haven’t, they’ve sucked. Not knowing if my dad was going to be alright or not whilst not being able to see my mum was torture. Then Rose getting ill and now you, I feel like I’ve constantly been worried and my anxiety has been terrible but I really am alright”
“Can we make a deal then?” Poe asked
“What kind of deal?”
“Well I’m worried about you and how much you’ve taken on, so how about once a week you have an evening to yourself? Run a bath, or just have a lie down. Whatever you want. It would just make me feel better to know that you were taking a break!”
“Alright, deal” you replied “Now tell me what else is on that mind of yours?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well Poe Dameron, I can basically see the cogs turning under that beautiful hair of yours. So tell me what's on your mind”
He sighed “My work is struggling. The pandemic has hit us hard and they don't know if we'll be able to keep going. I might lose my job”
“Oh Poe, I'm so sorry. Is that why they stopped you guys working from home?”
“Yeah, there wasn't enough work for us so they told us not to bother. We're still going to get paid for now but I really don't know how long that's going to last for”
“I'm sure something else will come up” you replied “And if not, you know we're all here for you. You'll never find yourself out on the street”
“Thank you sweetheart, that really means the world to me!”
A few days later, you were getting ready to take BeeBee his walk. You’d been working that morning, once you’d finished you had time to make a pot of soup for lunch, re-organise the living room and dust every surface in the room. BeeBee was very set in his ways and always knew when it was walk time. He wouldn’t let anyone forget it either, his usual tactic was slowly wandering over to where you were and nudging your ankle with his nose. You were just putting your coat on when Poe walked into the room.
“I’m feeling much better and I’m going stir crazy in this house. Fancy some company?”
“I dunno, what do you think BeeBee, should we let your dad tag along? He might cramp our style!”
The Corgi wagged his tail with excitement when he saw his best friend was ready to take him out for the first time in over a week. BeeBee had always enjoyed the attention you gave him whenever you went to see Poe and Finn, or if they’d brought him over, but living together had meant you and the little dog had bonded a lot more, especially when you had to walk him. He was spending a lot of time with you rather than Poe.
“I think he’s alright with it” you chuckled
“I think he’s replacing me” Poe pouted “You’re now his favourite person in the world”
“I mean, can you blame him? I’m awesome!”
“That’s true! But don’t let your head get too big or you won’t fit out the front door!”
Rose wandered into the room, she smiled when she saw Poe putting his coat on.
“You’re feeling better! That’s great”
“Much better. And I absolutely cannot wait to go outside”
“Enjoy the fresh air! But remember if it’s too much, you need to rest”
“I will Rose, thanks. I’m sure Y/N will take care of me and make sure I’m not over doing it”
“Damn right I will”
The walk was nice, you took it at a slow pace so Poe wouldn’t get tired too quickly. BeeBee seemed to have an extra spring in his step now that his dad was back walking him. You did a lap round the park before Poe said he was tired. You found a bench and let him sit down whilst you threw a ball for BeeBee. When the dog got bored of the game you sat down next to Poe.
“You doing okay?”
“I’m fine sweetheart, thanks”
“Do you fancy a coffee or anything?”
“Nah, just your company is enough for me”
You ducked your head, hoping he wouldn’t see your embarassment. You smiled as BeeBee ran around chasing after a bird that just wanted to sit on the grass. May had been an extremely difficult month with Rose and Poe both being ill, Poe’s job being at risk and not being able to go and help your mum look after your dad. 6 weeks of being in lockdown had been hard, your anxiety was flaring worse than ever and some days felt more of a struggle than others. You were glad to be with your friends and BeeBee. Facetime had been a lifeline to keep in touch with your parents, your brother and sister in law and your two nephews. You just hoped it wouldn’t be too long until you could see them in person.
So thats us for this week. I hope if you read it you enjoy it and as always your comments and suggestions would mean the world to me. I’m kinda lagging behind with where I wanted to be with this series in terms of how many chapters ahead I had written so if you guys have any suggestions of things you’d like me to write in this then please do let me know <3
38 notes · View notes
sword-of-the-writer · 3 years
Note
It's so great that you're getting more confident in your own writing!! Can I request “I kept every letter…” (72) with Yuri please? Maybe it had something to do with a reunion after the timeskip? Ooh, maybe include a letter or two (but only if you want)! Also if you haven't done the DLC then maybe Sylvain? Ily 💖💖💖🥺🥺🥺
I kinda hate how this ended up but at the same time I’m aware of the fact that I’m currently in a a mindset where I don’t like anything I do soooo yeah. But it was fun to write! So thats a plus! I just didn’t bother proof reading ngl...
Also omg am I ever bad at naming fics ugh don’t look at it
Disclaimer: The way I wrote the reader character implies a lot that they are experiencing depression due to the losing time, general melancholy, and so on. Please don’t push yourself to read this if that could be triggering to you! Its not worth it!
The Letters You Sent || Yuri Leclerc
Days seemed to turn to night every time you blinked, and months seem to pass with every breath.
It all seemed to blur together, those five years of many battles and little hope, except for the only thing that seemed to keep you tethered to reality.
Every so often, about 2-3 weeks apart, you would receive a letter from one of your old classmates.
The first had more than caught you by surprise. A traveling merchant had said something strange to you, strange yet oh so familiar... you quickly returned to him and his wares once you had pinpointed where you had first heard such a phrase, but the man only laughed and insisted you take a beautiful porcelain jar.
Later that night you had opened it up, finding a curious little letter inside.
You only knew of one person who would have the influence to get a merchant on board with such a clever plan, especially considering how heavily monitored mail and trade had been by the empire.
Thus your discreet correspondence with Yuri Leclerc had begun.
The two of you tended to talk about everything but the war. It was almost as if you were exchanging amorous notes back and forth like school children. Almost as if there was no war to speak of.
And truthfully, it’s all you had to hold on to the world around you.
Until the letters stopped
You swayed and stumbled through the next four and a half months, barely remembering any of it.
At one point, you were visited by another old classmate, Ashe, who helped pull you away from your melancholic routine. He had come to visit between battles, insisting that the two of you go back to the monastery for the promised reunion. You shrugged in indifference, to which Ashe pouted.
You gave in with little protest, as you didn’t have enough strength to fight against Ashe’s decisions. This only worried the freckled boy more and more as he saw just how hard the war had hit you. You were almost lifeless... nothing like what he remembered from your academy days.
You stopped to put up a makeshift camp when night fell, and thats when Ashe pulled an actual response from you. Finally, something more than a shrug!
“What happened, [Y/N]? Clearly, something happened.” Ashe asked softly, face downcast as he anticipated a reply
“I’ve never been much of a solitary person, being alone for so long has really gotten to me.” You admitted, though skipping the details about losing time as you thought it’d only worry the boy further
“I... I’m sorry. We all went our separate ways... but I...”
You knew now that Ashe was consumed with guilt by this. He looked to you not with pity in his eyes, but guilt and concern.
“Well I.. I was exchanging letters with Yuri for a time. Through an old merchant.”
“Oh?” He looked up, “Well, lead it to Yuri to find a clever loop hole. We barely have been able to send letters between the kingdom territories not controlled by the empire.”
“It’s that bad, huh? I suppose I really took the letters for granted.” You sigh
“When was the last time he wrote?”
“The last one I received was...” you paused to think. How many days had past? “Four... four and a half I think?”
“Weeks? Well—“
“Months”
“Oh, I see.” He nodded, “though that doesn’t mean—“
“Whatever it does mean, isn’t anything in my favor. He’s dead... He’s captured... He just doesn’t want to talk to me anymore... the options aren’t good.”
Ashe fell silent, unable to muster a counter argument that made any sense. Looking away, you sigh.
“You won’t be alone anymore, though.” Ashe spoke up
“What?” You turn back, eyes wide with curiosity
“You won’t be alone. I’ve heard that both Sylvain and Felix intend on making it to the reunion, and so I can only imagine who else will be there. You’ll be surrounded by people who care about you.”
“I—“ you pause, sighing “you sound like you’re trying to convince me to go, despite us being halfway there.”
Ashe chuckled “ah, you’re right.”
“Lets just get some rest.”
The next day also seemed to blur by, but that was more in the sense that Ashe’s horse was going so damn fast. And then, of course, there were the thieves.
You were the most excited you had been since you read the neat and loopy words scrawled across the parchment neatly placed in that porcelain pot. It really made you fight with more vigor than you had felt since you left.
In the aftermath, you a familiar mint haired silhouette.
“The professor is alive?” You gasped, pushing past your other classmates “oh professor! I’m so glad you’re alive!”
“I’m glad to find that all of you are alive as well,” they answered back “I’m sorry for being away for so long.”
Everyone’s spirits seemed high, including your own. You even seemed to forget about the letters sent by a certain someone! At this point, everyone started to crowd the previously dead professor to question them, and so you shirked away to the back of the crowd.
“Well now, you were quite concerned for the professor, but not me? Thats harsh.” A familiar sing-songy voice teased
You were paralyzed in your spot, unknowing what to do as your thoughts raced a mile a minute. So he was alive? You were overjoyed!
Except that meant... the letters...
You turned on your heal to face the man. He was still taller than you despite how you had grown, his hair had grown out somewhat, and by the goddess he was still stunning!
“Yuri?” You had to mumble, almost as if you were sure he was only your imagination
“Who else? You seriously didn’t forget such a pretty face, did you?”
Disbelief turned to anger the longer you looked at his teasing smile. Why had he stopped sending letters? And then why is he picking on you now? It didn’t make sense.
“Why are you saying such things when you were the one who cut contact with me! Did none of it matter to you.”
Yuri didn’t seem surprised by your words, though clearly they still rubbed him the wrong way.
To avoid causing a fuss, Yuri pulled you aside.
“They did. Do, I mean. I kept every letter.” He huffs
You felt a flutter in your heart from his response, but you still pressed him for answers, “Then what was with the last few months?”
“The last— right.” An exasperated sigh left the man’s lips as he held his head in his hands “the merchant demanded more and more money each time— I had to think about Abyss first.”
“Oh.”
“I wish I said something in my last letter, I do, but I didn’t think it would be the last.”
“I... I’m sorry for thinking the worst.” You admit, the anger now long gone “I just... thought you were... y’know?”
Yuri’s hands lifted to your shoulders and gave them a reassuring squeeze. You melted at his touch.
“You think I’d die that easily?” He laughed “while I was waiting this whole time for you to come back?”
97 notes · View notes
aphrodites-law · 4 years
Text
A Bit of Clarity 🍂 (9/?) The visions had started last autumn, a year ago now. It had caused a bit of chaos for some, a bit of clarity for others. Two days ago, Clarke Griffin had been perfectly fine managing both her Café and her stress. But now she was curious - so deeply curious about the vision of herself entwined with the aloof Lexa Woods that it was leading her to complete distraction. (ao3)
[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6] [part 7] [part 8]
When she opened the café the following week, Clarke didn't expect the first customer to be Gustus. He walked toward her with a slight hunch in his shoulders, holding a large paper bag in front of him.
"Hello, Clarke."
"Hi, Gustus. How are you?"
"Lexa said you were looking for help in the kitchen. Am I too late?"
Clarke blinked in surprise. "Not at all."
Gustus set the bag on the counter. "I don't have much of an education and I don't know proper baking terms. I haven’t worked for anyone in twenty-five years, but I have made and sold baked goods on my family's apiary since my childhood."
He pulled out several containers. "I've brought honey muffins, blueberry tartlets, and a chocolate-walnut pie. Please, have a taste when you can."
"You're… applying to work here?"
Gustus nodded. "I'd like to help in the kitchen."
It was certainly unorthodox, but they had yet to find anyone and Clarke's mouth had already watered at the smell of the pie.  
"Gustus, are you sure this is what you want? The hours can be long and we can't afford to negotiate on salary for now."
"Money doesn't matter to me. I have my own land and grow my own food."
"What about your apiary?"
"A hobby more than a business these days. The market made me realize how much I miss…" His eyebrows furrowed as he thought of the word.
"People?" Clarke guessed.
He stroked his beard. "But not so much that I would leave the kitchen."
Clarke chuckled. "I see why Lexa likes you."
"She may pretend otherwise, but Lexa enjoys company too. She would not write the way she does if it weren’t the case."
"No, I don't suppose she would."
They both looked toward the entrance when a customer walked in. Gustus moved to the side.
"I won't keep you longer. Thank you for humoring an old beekeeper."
"Wells will have the final word, but he's badgered me to get more of your honey so the odds are definitely in your favor."
Gustus inclined his head gratefully, a heartwarming sight given he was a foot taller than Clarke and quite intimidating at first glance.
"Have a good day, Clarke."
"You too. And thanks for the treats!"
* * *
Clarke walked over to Lexa's table later that afternoon, finding her deep in research on her laptop with her half-eaten croissant on her plate. They hadn't been able to speak much between orders, but Lexa had looked her way at times and Clarke had managed to catch her eyes. Each time made her stomach swoop, but Clarke was determined to be the one to surprise her for once.
She put her hand on her shoulder and kissed her cheek.
"Hi, you."
Lexa turned her head with a slight blush. "Hello."
Clarke sat in front of her, propping her chin on her hand. "Oh I get a hello today. Very formal."
"Is hello formal now?"
"With that tone and those glasses? Yes."
Lexa took off her reading glasses. "Am I being kicked out?"
"Not at all. Stay as long as you want. You can even stay after closing hours."
Lexa's eyes fell to her lips- Clarke's knowing grin. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"Mm probably not."
Lexa closed her laptop. "So. Saturday. Doors open at 7pm."
Clarke sat up. "I'm excited. Though Wells has already warned me he'll poison my coffee if I drop any spoilers."
Lexa had offered tickets to Lincoln's play again, though this time she had made it very clear she intended it as a date. Clarke was thrilled to go to the theater after so long, especially since the play was fully booked for a solid six months. Nowhere Ground was a critical darling and word of mouth had worked like a charm.
"I was thinking we could hit Cocoa Street after," Lexa suggested. "Try some of the food trucks?"
"A woman after my heart."
Lexa smiled, her hand inching toward Clarke's on the table. "I figured I'd keep the upscale restaurant for our third date."
"Oh there'll be a third date?"
Lexa looked up from their hands, fingers not quite yet touching. "I would hope so."
"Well I don't know, I'll have to see if you have game."
"I thought you'd gotten a preview already." Lexa's fingers brushed against hers.
Clarke bit her lip. "Not that kind of game."
"What kind, Clarke?" Lexa asked smoothly as her thumb brushed over the back of Clarke's hand.  
Clarke shook her head and sat back, letting go of Lexa's hand. "Nu-uh. I'm not falling for that again."
"What's that?"
"That- look. And your voice. You know what."
Lexa let out a small laugh. "I really don't."
"It's like a switch you have. It drives me crazy. But I'm not falling for it. I see you."
"Alright, I'll just be broody and quiet then." Lexa cleared her throat, amused. "Did Gus stop by today?"
Clarke brightened. "Yes. Speaking of, very sneaky of you. Wells is already raving about the chocolate-walnut pie."
"I'm glad. Gus kept asking me if he should make more. I'd never heard him so nervous."
"I didn't even know he baked."
"Never in a professional setting like this, but I can vouch for his impeccable manners. And his food."
"How did you meet him anyway?"
Lexa picked up the last bite of her croissant. "When I was doing research on the Mountain Men, I found out his property is the closest to the bunker site. A few miles down the mountain but still - I figured he had some information that could help me. I introduced myself; said I wanted to honor their story…"
"And you charmed your way into his life," Clarke guessed in a fond tone.  She still had a few minutes before Gaia started side-eying her for flirting on the clock (not that it was a regular instance, but Lexa did come in often these days…) and then got Harper to ask endless questions to fuel their gossip mill. "I'm glad you did. I think he'd fit right in."
Lexa nodded, giving her a soft smile while they lingered in their last few seconds of privacy.
* * *
When Saturday night finally came, Clarke thought she might burst from the anticipation. Lexa lived close to the theater, so Clarke had suggested she be the one to pick her up before they walked over. She'd settled on her fancier boots, tights and a red dress, ever aware of the increasingly cold nights. She had her coat on but left it open when she finally arrived, fully leaning on the power of her own cleavage tonight. Slow didn't mean she couldn't have her fun.
"Wow. Um. Hi," Lexa breathed out as soon as she opened the door, eyes darting south of Clarke's lips.  
"Now I get a hi," Clarke replied with a grin. She extended the flowers she'd brought on the way. "For you."
"Oh they're beautiful," Lexa said, genuinely surprised. Clarke wondered if she’d ever gotten flowers based on that expression alone. "Thank you," Lexa murmured.
"You're welcome," Clarke hummed. She waited for Lexa to come closer to reach for the sleeve of her shirt. "This is new."
"You don't like it?" Lexa asked.
Clarke almost scoffed. She was fairly certain Lexa knew exactly what she was doing, with her tight slacks and her dark green shirt just a hint sheer enough to see the outline of her bra. Paired with her loose curls and faint perfume, Lexa was already making her dizzy and it was incredibly unfair.
"I didn't say that," Clarke replied, pretending not to notice Lexa was going to kiss her. "Aren't you going to invite me in?"
Lexa frowned briefly, only to smile a second later as she realized what game Clarke was playing. She'd asked for slow and it seemed like Clarke was taking it to heart. Perhaps a bit too much.
"Please, come in."
While Lexa went to find a vase, Clarke looked around. The apartment was on the small side, but during the day it was most likely brightly lit thanks to the two large windows. The balcony was filled with plants and flowers just as Gaia had once told her, but she hadn't mentioned the various hanging pots throughout the living room. Of course she couldn't have known. Clarke wasn’t sure if she was the first date Lexa had invited here since moving, but the progress in their relationship wasn’t lost on her. She’d never imagined being inside Lexa Woods’ apartment; not even when they’d started their little dance. It had seemed like another world. 
Lexa came back with a vase that she set on the table by the window. "They're lovely," she reiterated.
"If I'd known you were so into plants I would've gotten a succulent or something."
Lexa looked around. "Oh those - the hooks were already there when I got here. Indra said the woman before me used to hang candle lanterns. I think she's relieved this place isn't a fire hazard anymore."
"Gaia said you're her favorite tenant."
Lexa smiled sheepishly, but didn't further comment. She glanced at Clarke's neckline before clearing her throat.
"Are you ready?"
Clarke nodded. "Very."
Lexa stepped closer. "You know… I sort of imagined this going differently."
"Oh?" Clarke asked, rooted in place.
"I figured after we'd kissed things would become easier," Lexa explained as she stopped inches from Clarke.
"You imagined us kissing?"
"Yes," Lexa answered honestly. "But I told you that before."
Clarke remembered the confession Lexa had made that night at the café and felt desire pool in the pit of her stomach again. How she’d thought about her; how she’d wanted this- them. She reached for Lexa's shirt, pretending to toy with one of the small buttons.
"It seems like we imagined a lot of things you and I," Clarke replied, swallowing. 
Lexa brushed her nose against hers, testing her. Clarke felt her warm breath on her mouth and nearly tasted sweet mint. Her heart beat loudly in her ears until finally she gave in, tilting her head and pulling Lexa in.
The kiss was slow at first; Lexa's full lips pressing firmly against hers. Then Clarke felt her hand cup her neck and Lexa angle for something else, something deeper. She moaned when their tongues brushed and Lexa played with hers, chasing, teasing, while the lingering smell of the flowers mixed with her perfume and saturated Clarke's senses. It felt like she was drunk.
It wasn't the small hello or goodbye kisses they'd exchanged in the week; the hesitant pecks that had preceded the date that had seemed so far away on Monday.
"Are you sure this play is good?" She asked, slightly dazed.  
Lexa shook her head, kissing her once more. "It's horrible. Mediocre. Let's bail and stay in."
Clarke let out a small laugh before kissing her again, deeper and slower, wondering if her heart would ever calm down tonight.
"If only."
-
[part ten]
83 notes · View notes
shadow--writer · 3 years
Text
If I Catch Fire Then I Change my Aim
HA I DID IT (hm de dum . song lyric titles will die with me and holy fuck I should make a master list of this bsery). Finals kicked my ass and I, of course, bit back but I am back on the writing bullshit of everyone’s nightmares.
Maeve x Lucas. Amani slaps some sense into one of the two dumbasses. 3.9k (how am I still surprised by this? I have learned time and time again I cannot stfu)
TW: mention of past abuse 
@dela-png
The day was warm. She had her door open as she finished organizing her herbs. It did absolutely nothing to help the deep pit in her stomach.
Her bangs kept falling into her face, she had tucked the handkerchief away again. Every time she looked at it she saw the raw hurt on his face. 
And that was a distraction. 
In her line of work she couldn’t afford distractions. 
Even so she was distracted. By the pit in her stomach even though it had been...weeks. Again. He misunderstood what she said and didn’t come back. 
She rubbed her temples with a low groan.  
They were both idiots. 
Morons. If there was another word for it, that could be applied. 
She did regret cutting him off, but judging by his reaction to her little nickname, it was for the better. She was fine without him. Yeah. She was fine without…the nice feelings he brought. The flowers. The food. 
Mmhmm yeah she could go on just fine. He was just one person in a large world of many. 
Ugh but someone tell her heart that. 
She groaned, laying out on the counter, the worn surface cool against her cheek. Pining was the worst. Especially when it was unrequited pining. Well sure it wasn’t unrequited before but now it for sure was. 
Even if he did prop her tables up again and bring her lunch one last time. 
After taking her words in the totally wrong way. 
She huffed. 
Why did this have to be so complicated? It wasn’t fair.
She really had to go and fall for the guy who was like a dense hyperactive puppy (a very cute one but this wasn’t the time). Oh and then she had to let her trauma string her along like a little puppet. 
Ugh he was right. Of course he was. Three years and she still wasn’t over anything. 
She stretched out her arms, now resting her chin on the counter. She really should be over him. Over the words he used against her still ingrained in her very being. Gods she was just an idiot. 
He was right about one thing. She did muck up every relationship she’d ever had. 
She hated admitting he was right. But of course he was right, he was always right. He always had to be right. He got angry when he was wrong. 
She pushed herself to stand, pressing the heel of her palm to her eye. Always right. 
She chuckled without humour. Yeah right. 
She moved away from the counter, staring at the chipped blue paint she couldn’t scrub away. The pain was still a little raw. She knew it was an accident and he just took her words the wrong way. But it still hurt to see him look at her that way. Such unabashed hurt and anger. 
Almost worse then when she rejected his kiss. 
She turned away from the pain, chewing on the inside of her cheek. She was never going to get over Lucas if she kept thinking about him and dragging the pain out. She just needed to bury her feelings. Bury the hurt. 
This was all fine. 
Maybe once things calmed she’d go home. Lucas didn’t want to see her again anyways.
She would just be a hazy memory in a few months time anyways. His first heartbreak. 
She bit her lip. Ouch that hurt to think about. She knew she was someone's bad memory. But she didn’t want to be his.
Maybe if she were different it would be okay. 
Who was she kidding? She couldn’t turn back time anymore than she could fly. 
It was her biggest self indulgent dream. To be able to fly. Sometimes when she was standing alone with the breeze, she felt like she could take off and never land. 
Great. She was starting to sound like her Mhamó. Always had her head in the clouds. 
The door slammed open, yanking her from her musings. 
In the doorway was a fully healed, and very angry looking Amani. 
Oh great it was ‘piss-everyone-off-o’clock’. 
She shifted a bored look at the angry lady in her doorway. “Oh and how may I help you this fine afternoon?” Her voice was dry and filled with sarcasm. Was it so much to hope that she’d be left alone just once in her life?
She was still recovering from her clinic being raided. 
“I can’t believe you’d not only have the audacity to dump him like that but insult him in another language.”
Ah. So this was how today was going to pan out. 
Lovely. 
She crossed her arms. “Audacity? What I do and chose to do are none of your business nor your concern. I did it to protect him.”
“From what?!”
“Me.”
“Oh boo hoo.” She chucked a nearby pot at Maeve. She dodged, the glass shattering. Great more for her to clean up. “Protect him from yourself?! What a load of bullshit!”
“You are a spitfire,” Maeve replied, dodging the box of masks that were thrown at her next. “But I’d appreciate it if you stopped throwing my things. Most of them are new.”
Amani snarled. “I hear you’re a spitfire as well. I wonder what I’d have to do to get you to insult me in another language.”
Her gaze at Amani turned icy. “It takes quite a bit to push me over that edge.”
“Liar. You did it to Lucas.”
“I did no such thing. He took a detour off a cliff to get to that conclusion. You do know languages are used for things other than insults right?” She dodged a stool. Amani was getting increasingly more pissed off. 
Just-fucking-wonderful. This is what she gets for helping Will at the dock. This is what she gets for being nice. For catching feelings. And then trying to break things off knowing she was going to muck things up. 
Hateful stars above. 
“That’s-” Amani let out another frustrated growl. “True I guess.”
“...you two really like jumping off cliffs to conclusions. Astounding.”
Amani’s eyes were narrowed into slits. The gold paint on her lips shone in the afternoon sun streaming through the windows. Maeve could admit she was almost pretty. 
You know, if she wasn’t currently trying to kill her with her own stool. 
“I thought you liked him.”
“I did.”
“Past tense?”
Maeve kept her gaze, hands trembling at her sides. She hated Amani’s tone. “And what of it?”
Amani searched for something on her face, a smug grin creeping across her face. “Ooh you like him. You still fucking like him.” The expression darkened again. “So how could you?!”
“My reasoning is my own.”
“I am his best fucking friend, you think he doesn’t tell me this stuff?!”
“He can tell you his side of things. But that is only half of the picture,” she said, keeping her tone level and cold. She could feel her anger bubbling in her gut. Amani was right to be mad. She and Lucas were both right to be mad. “What happened on my side of things with me is with me only.”
“Don’t you have friends to talk to?”
“No. Not here I don’t. I didn’t see the need for them.”
Not after what happened the first time. 
Amani froze. “That...is a terrible way to live.”
“Oh great a lecture. And I thought you were pissed at me. Come on now, lay it on me. Let’s see what you can do.”
“Oh don’t get me wrong I’m fucking pissed. But holy fuck do I feel bad for you. Cutting off people who want to be your friends?”
“You included in that?”
She shrugged. “Uh yeah. We were on the same wavelength. I liked you. Well, when you weren’t being a bitch.” Alright, she did deserve that one. “And then you fucking went and ruined everything with him.”
“If ruining it is how he stays away from me, fine.”
“What’s got you so fucking scared?!”
She flinched, nails making little crescents in her palms. She was easy to read when you looked for the signs. She was scared. She was terrified. 
“He does,” she whispered, letting go of everything. If Amani wanted to know, fine. 
She didn’t...she didn’t want to hold onto it by herself anymore. 
And fuck she knew her sisters would beat her over the head with the dumbassery she pulled to spare her own feelings. 
“Why?! Did he do something to you?”
Her head snapped up. The words made her remember the faces at the market. “What? He’s never done anything to me. He’s only been...a sweetheart.”
Amani’s shoulders drooped a bit. “So then why did you leave? Why are you so scared of him? He’s not...that way anymore.”
She pursed her lips. That way anymore? The fuck was going on? 
“If you want to know, fine. Fine! Throw my own shit at me, berate me and then have the audacity to ask questions now but fine. I did like him. But I don’t want him getting close to me.”
“Why not?!”
She fought back angry tears. Ugh she hated being pushed to this point. Hated it! “Because I am a fucking selfish person.”
“This is being selfish? This is the OPPOSITE of selfish!”
“Maybe me wanting him to be around was selfish and too much for me to ask for!”
“For what?!”
“Myself! I don’t deserve anything he’s given me. I don’t deserve his affections. I don’t deserve anything like this!”
“And why the fuck not? Why do you think you don’t deserve any of this? Because I can tell you for a fact that’s not just you speaking there.”
She froze. “I- It’s just-”
“You fucking like him! Still! Don’t past tense me,” Amani said with a low exasperated sigh. “And holy fuck you two need to learn to talk to one another.”
“Like...his palm said,” she whispered to herself. 
“Huh?”
“Nothing.”
“Even if you still like him...why did you just...leave him like that? Say those things? Push him away? ‘For his own good’, bull-fucking-shit.”
It was her turn to growl. “I said this! But I’ll say it again to get it through your thick skull. I’m pushing him away because I’m fucking selfish okay?!” Her voice was starting to crack. She was starting to crack. Under the scrutiny. 
Under the fact someone was willing to listen to her.
“I’m not some perfect thing. I don’t know what he’s told you or what he’s made up about me but that’s not me.”
Amani’s eyes widened. “Hold on...Maeve?”
She threw her hands in the air, blinking back tears. Cracking and shattering. She hit her breaking point. 
Weeks now. Since she first told him to leave. 
Another few after he took her words in the wrong way. 
She...fucking gods, she missed him.
“I’m just...I’m selfish, okay?! I don’t want him falling in love with an idea he’s made up. I don’t want him falling for me and then realizing he doesn’t really like me. I don’t want him falling in love with me, period.”
She shocked the other woman into a jaw slack expression. 
She scrubbed her eyes, she didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to cry. But now that she was, the tears just wouldn’t stop. 
“I’m tired. I’m tired of love. I’m tired of romanticizing everything. I’m tired of loving, giving and then being broken. I’m tired of people loving me and then deciding that they need to change me. Because they don’t really like me.” Tears were freely streaming down her face now. “I’m not perfect.” Her voice cracked over the words.
They were true. 
The rung true.
She was a broken mess. Fuck, she hated love for the longest time. It only got worse. 
A festering wound.
“I’m tired of being changed like I’m not a fucking person. People will always find something wrong with me. People don’t like how...weird I look to them. And it’s not even weird!” She was yelling, her voice breaking. “So what if I glow? So what if my hair has some weird silver metallic looking streak in it. My tattoos aren’t even that odd. So then why?”
She sniffed. “Why is it that I’m always the issue? My personality is too much. I talk too loud. I’m too crass. I argue too much. I’m not quiet enough. I am not good enough for anyone.”
There was a pause. 
She was really letting this all spill out of her. The dam had been broken.
“Holy shit, what the fuck happened to you?”
“Eloquently said,” she replied with an eye roll, staring up at the ceiling. She willed the tears to stop. “Love fucking happened. And I hate it. I hate having to...second guess everything so he likes me.” 
She wasn’t talking about Lucas. She wasn’t...really talking about Lucas. She never had to second guess herself around him. 
And that was refreshing. It was so refreshing that it scared her. 
“Because I...” She let out a low whine, an embarrassed heat rising to her cheeks. “Because I like him. And I don’t...I don’t want to like him like…” she waved her hands around. “This.”
“But you do.”
She lowered her gaze to meet Amani’s again. “What if he doesn’t?”
The look Amani shot her was both exasperated and withering. “...he tried to fucking kiss you. He gave you his copy of Thumbelina.” She flinched at the mention. That wound was still fairly fresh as well. 
She had...read it so many times. She didn’t know why she read it so many times. It was nothing special. Fluff with a happy ending. But...maybe it was the thought of being a little closer to him through the words on the paper that brought her pause. 
Amani continued on her tangent, ignoring Maeve’s reaction. “He brings you things to eat. Holy shit he talks about you all the fucking time. He gifts you flowers. What more evidence do you need!?”
“Gifts are not evidence.”
“Flowers, Maeve. He brings you flowers. Why can’t...why are you still doubting it? Why not like him openly? Why?”
She finally let the truth out. The doors opened and her chest was cut open again. Heart on display again. She hated being this vulnerable. Hated it.
But it was...nice having someone to talk to. Even if she tried to kill her with her own stool.
“Amani, I am not perfect. He might make me out to be. He might see me as such. I don’t know. But I am awful, Amani. I’m an awful awful girl.” Amani’s brows furrowed at her word choice. Every time she said it she thought of sugary sweet words. A beautiful lie. 
A hand around her throat. 
“I’m a terrible person.” She sniffed, holding her arms. She was spiraling. Always spiraling. “I’m selfish. I push people away when they need me. I’m mean. I’m flighty. I’m stubborn…too stubborn. My temper gets the better of me. I’m an awful person.”
“Having a temper doesn’t make you a bad person,” Amani said, her voice now softer. It was different from how angry her tone was. “None of those things make you a bad person.”
Eyes glittering with unshed tears, her head snapped up with her tone. “Then what am I?!”
“Human.”
Maeve froze at the rawness of Amani’s voice. “You’re human just like the lot of us. You’re no angel, believe me. Neither is he. Neither am I. We all have done things we regret. That’s what makes us fucking human. You put him on this pedestal like he’s innocent in all this. He’s not. I know better than anyone.”
She swiped at her eyes, sniffling loudly. Amani slowly shuffled closer. “But how we love makes us human. It doesn’t even have to be romantic but, you don’t just like him. You love him, don’t you?”
“I...I don’t know,” Maeve admitted. Her tone was deathly soft, soft enough that she could only feel the way her mouth moved around the words. It was the first time she’d said it out loud. “I don’t know and that’s what scares me. What if I do? What do I do then?”
“You tell him.”
She felt her whole body flinch, tear streaked cheeks tacky. “What?”
“You heard me. Tell him. If you love him don’t keep it to yourself. Dumbass is dense as a brick but I’m sure he loves you too. It’s not...this doesn’t feel like a ‘like you’ situation. I dunno it’s just…I see it in his eyes. The way he looks at you, how he talks about you. Lord you should hear the way he talks about you. I haven’t seen anything like it.”
“He doesn’t really love me,” she said bitterly. Always in denial. 
Amani smiled, it looked a little tense with her frustration. Her eye twitched. “Yes, he does. I know my best friend. He’s head over heels and you hurt him.”
“Because that’s who I am. I hurt people.” She clutched her stomach. “I hurt him because I’m selfish.”
“Why?”
She wanted to stop running. 
From everything.
And just let the floor swallow her whole.
“I don’t want him getting close to me,” she whispered to the floor. “I don’t want him to see the mess that I am. I don’t want him to see all my broken pieces. I...I don’t want him to leave.”
Years. It had taken her years to open herself up again. So then, why him? Was there even a reason? 
Amani moved to gently reach out to clean her tears away. “He’s broken too, you know. He’s been broken down and pieced back together many times. Sometimes pieces get left behind. Sometimes they go missing. But I have never seen him light up the way he does when he talks about you.”
“I don’t deserve him.”
“Gods Maeve, it's not about deserving him. The world doesn’t deserve him. Fucking hell if we’re talking about it, I don’t deserve him. But it isn’t about that. It’s about want.” Amani huffed softly. “So tell me, do you want him?”
The word was choked around her lips, threatening to drown her. It sounded cheesy to her own ears but it just...felt true. “Desperately.”
Amani smiled, it was softer now, tilting her head up with a hand. “Then go for him. Show him how you feel. Sounds sappy as all hells but love him without holding back. If you really think you’re the only one who has reservations about this, then you’re wrong. He was a mess when you first told him to leave.”
“A...mess?”
“An angry sad mess to be sure. Oh and don’t forget how embarrassed he was. And then the self depreciation. He’s gonna give me grey hair.”
Maeve snorted. “You and me both.”
“Well you already have some.”
“It’s silver thank you.”
“Silver shmilver. Back to my original point before you distracted me.” Amani booped her nose. She wrinkled it at the touch. “Show him what good can be in the world if you look for it.”
“I’m...not good.”
Amani let out another huff, grasping Maeve by the shoulders and staring dead into her eyes. Normally she was fine with intense eye contact. 
This was a little too intense. 
“Yes, you are.”
Maeve’s hands shook. Those evil vile hands. The hands that failed to save so many people. 
The ones that burned.
“How good can I possibly be?” she spat out. “How much good can someone see in me? I’m just me.”
Amani sighed. “First of all, you’re going to give me a headache. Second of all, I have never seen him so...different. Almost...happier? Whenever you’re mentioned he lights and perks up and I’m embarrassed for him.” Maeve felt her ears redden. Amani looked at her, unimpressed. “I see the feeling is mutual. Goddess you two are going to make me sick. But, I think that’s good.”
“Is...is it?”
“Yes dumbass. Did you not hear my spiel? I am not going through it again. If Lucas ever found out I’d be this sappy singing his praises to the girl he has affections for he’d never let me live it down.”
Maeve chuckled, rubbing at her eyes. 
“Oh I mean that. Don’t you dare laugh, he remembers the weirdest shit. And if you think you can get away with all your problems and then having them rise to the point of cutting him off, think again. He will lord it over your head. ‘Remember the time you tried to cut me off?’ and shit. That is, after you two fucking apologize to one another. Lord one bad thing and he jumps to a conclusion and you close yourself off.”
“...you jumped to the same conclusion.”
“That’s the past! It’s behind me now.”
“...it was literally twenty minutes ago.”
“I’m a different person now.” Maeve sighed, making Amani crack a grin. “Glad you’re not crying anymore.”
She bristled. “Me crying a bad thing?”
“No but now I’ve seen both you and Lucas really cry for the first time and let me tell you, that was an experience.”
“I...made him cry?” Awful. Vile. Evil. 
“Uh yeah. He kinda broke down. Not a pretty sight. Didn’t get up for a while. Then the miscommunication about the whole ‘nickname insult’ thing was just salt to the wound.”
“Why was he crying over me?”
“Well he’s in love for one thing.”
“...is he though?”
“I am three seconds away from smacking you. But yes, congratulations you were the first person he cried over. A feat in itself but why’d you think I was so pissed?”
“Maybe...I am terrible.”
Amani’s glare was once again, disapproving. “But, holy fucking god, I see it’s had a similar effect on you. Shit, you two are just so fucking dumb it’s unbelievable. You don’t get love like this every day and you just push it away. Why?”
“It’s…” Her eyes darted around to rest anywhere but on Amani. “...not love.”
“Mmm sure, that’s not what I see but you do you I guess.”
“Even...if it was love...why? Why him? And why...me? Why now?”
“You think I know? Sometimes it just happens. It’s not some dumb fuckin ‘fate’ thing. It just happens. I’d say it’s part of being human. It’s part of our connections. Sometimes you love romantically, other times not.”
“How do we know it’s...not something...else?”
“You really like making this harder for me. God damn. Because of the way he looks at you. The change in him. Bitch the way you look at him. Holy fuck. The way he looks and talks about me is different from the way he looks and talks about you. And that’s fine. I’m his best friend, and you’re...you’re…”
“...me?”
“Something new. Something exciting. Something terrifying. He’s lived here his whole life, you and I are something new to this place. But...even then, you’re different, the feelings he has for you are different. He asked me how to go about kissing you. Bitch what other fucking evidence do you fucking need?”
“He asked...how to kiss me?”
“Yes! He was scared to. Then of course you rejected it, which, nice fucking going.” She winced. Okay she deserved that one as well. “But what more do you need? I’ll ask again, what more fucking evidence do you need me to provide? At the very least he likes you a lot.”
She chewed on her lower lip, reopening the small cut she had worried into it days prior. “And...if he does...what do I do then?”
Amani looked ready to strangle her. “Uh duh. You go for it. All love is is a leap of faith. Why not jump?”
“And if I fall?”
Amani sighed, but the grin creeping onto her face was crooked and her eyes filled with a strong light. “Well, he’ll be there to catch you.”
6 notes · View notes
be-dazzled · 4 years
Note
may u please do kiss prompt no. 11 for sasusaku? thank you!!!!!! 🤧
Writer’s Corner: Alright, my first SasuSaku so please be kind to me. Hahaha. I was never confident with my SasuSaku writing skills and only jumped on the train years too laaaaate. But I hope you guys can imagine them in here. Enjoy!
Masterlist
---
#11 when one stops the kiss to whisper "I'm sorry, are you sure you-" and they answer by kissing them more
"I'm home." Sasuke announced into a deserted living room and shut the main door behind him. He unwrapped himself of his black cloak and walked deeper into the house to look for a shock of pink hair or one as dark as his he equally missed.
"Sasuke-kun!" Green eyes met his dark ones as he was walking into the kitchen where he was sure he would find his wife. "Welcome back, Sasuke-kun."
Sakura walked up to Sasuke wearing a smile that reached her eyes, both hands, he noticed, kept behind her. He returned her greeting with equal warmth. In the past few years that he was bound in marriage with Sakura, Sasuke has finally learned to muster his own smile – one that reached his charcoal eyes. His feet moved closer towards her, having a mind of their own, bearing the other lesson he learned being a married man – that a travelling husband must give his wife a kiss upon his return. Sasuke hesitated for a moment; his skill as a Supporting Kage urging him to clear the room of innocent eyes that might be wandering around. That's when he saw the cloud coming from the pot on top of the stove.
"You're making something?"
The moment his mind comprehended, his stomach started to grumble. It was only then that Sasuke realized he was so in a hurry to come home that he had forgotten to feed himself.
"Yes." The chirp in Sakura's voice earlier was now gone. "Go rest for a while in the living room. I know you are tired, Sasuke-kun."
Sasuke noticed the change in her features – her shoulders slumped and her bright expression dulled.
Oh, she must be disappointed, he thought. But Sasuke could only allow himself be guided by his wife back into the living room, nudging him at the back with one hand, while he noticed she still kept the other hand behind her, quite suspiciously, if he might add. He finally sat on the couch, as his wife instructed, and waited for something special she promised for his return.
"It won't take long, Sasuke-kun." She informed him, glancing at the wall clock to check the time. "Sarada should be home soon."
She quickly turned around away from him and Sasuke was now certain his wife was hiding something. He caught her free hand as she motioned to walk back into their kitchen, pulling her back with a force that threw her off balance.
"What do you have there in your hand, Sakura?"
And landed on his lap.
Sasuke quickly noticed the sudden change in Sakura: failing to meet his eyes and burning red at their intimate position.
"N-nothing, Sasuke-kun." She lied, hiding away from him whatever it was she was trying so hard for Sasuke not to find.
Sasuke scoffed at his wife forgetting that, just like her, he was a ninja too. In a blur of movement, Sasuke was now in possession of a very familiar soft-bounded book. His eyes rounded in shock, confirming the title – Make-Out Tactics. His mind has yet to wrap itself around the idea when his wife snatched the book from his grasp and lied through her teeth.
"I-I… I confiscated it. The boys… they…" Sasuke pretended to be listening, watching his wife stutter for an excuse. Truth be told, it didn't matter to him whether it was true or not. It shouldn't. They were both adults, now. "Well, the boys… they…"
Sakura kept glancing at him – embarrassed and equally guilty. But Sasuke's eyes never held any judgment, especially, not against Sakura. Never against Sakura. Suddenly, getting lost into his dusky eyes, Sakura realized that it had been awhile since she stared into his deep dark eyes. Once he held her gaze, the Uchiha couple fell into that magical trance, that hypnotic spell where nothing and no one else mattered around them – just Sasuke and Sakura.
And when her gaze drifted down his lips, it occurred to Sakura, it had been a while since she last touched him.
Sakura cupped Sasuke's face, leaned in and claimed the lips she now desperately missed. The kiss tasted the same: his lips as soft and the first touch as warm as the summer that he had stayed at home longer than usual. The way he made her feel when he returns those kisses, it never changed.
Their kisses always started slow, as if they were trying to reorient themselves of each other. Sasuke was always cautious, always considerate about Sakura's feelings, afraid that he might do something she wasn't comfortable with. Worse, he was afraid he would do something to hurt her. Through the years that they both accustomed themselves with each other, to the point that when he was alone in his travels, when the sun sets and he closes his eyes, he could see her – his wife, his Sakura – and remember every single intimate detail of her body – the ones only he was allowed to see. Even after then, he still had those reservations, he still had those fears holding him back until his heart reminds him that this was Sakura, his wife, and the restraints that held him back from fully loving Sakura broke in one full swoop.
Sasuke parted his mouth beneath Sakura's and pushed his tongue between her lips. She moaned against his lips and made that little muffled sound he loved when his own tongue touched hers. Because Sasuke also took a page or two out of that book.
His wife tasted the same – sweet and minty and a tinge of something that was only Sakura – his Sakura. As their kiss turned more urgent, Sasuke started to feel the familiar heat that would propel their passion into something he wouldn't be able to control. With the way his wife was responding to him, Sasuke knew she wouldn't be able to control herself either. He sought her hand, the one caressing his face with so much tenderness, clutching it in his and, mustering all the self-control he had to pull away from the searing kiss, he asked, "I'm sorry, are you sure you–"
But her jade eyes were already clouded by the lust she had been deprived of for those days that he was gone and with that wanting look on her face, Sasuke knew, his wife was past the point of no return.
Sakura shoved him against the back of the couch, shifting in her position to straddle him between her legs and kiss her husband fully and hungrily in the mouth. Sasuke allowed her to take the lead but it didn't mean that the husband had no more tricks up his sleeve. He wanted to make her feel good the way she made him feel good. And Sasuke knew exactly how. He brushed his knuckles against the exposed skin of her stomach and his wife could only take an inward breath from the sensation of his electric touch. She always liked that – his skin teasing her heated flesh. Sasuke continued, grazing his fingertips up to her abdomen and stopped at the bottom of her bra. Sakura reflexively pushed herself up against Sasuke, pushing against his touch.
"S-Sasuke-kun…"
He flattened his hand and pushed it up under the cup of her bra, warming up her naked breast. Sakura gasped, mouth slightly parted while her husband continued biting on her lower lip and kneading on her left breast. Hot skin to hot skin, his brazen actions set her body on fire.
And then, a familiar voice travelled into the room, "I'm home!" and startled Sasuke into jumping off the couch too quickly, dropping his wife on the floor and hitting her head on the table.
"S-S-Sarada!"
"Oh?" Her dark eyes, the same as those round orbs staring stupefied at her. She beamed at her father, greeting him with the warmest smile. "Papa, you're back!"
Her feet started to move towards him when Sakura popped up under the table.
"What's with you, Sasuke-kun?" Sakura was visibly irritated, massaging the back of her head as he glared at her husband, whose face was twisted in an unreadable expression.
"Mama?"
Sakura shuddered, recognizing the small voice. She turned around to confirm that Sarada's class had ended.
"S-Sarada!?"
"What were you doing under the table, Mama?" The young Uchiha inquired, throwing her parents a very suspicious look.
Sakura glanced at her husband, whose face turned white and then into a deep shade of red. So, no help from there.
"I-I was… I was just," Sakura crouched down on the floor, pretending to, "looking for something. I dropped it earlier." She just wished her daughter would buy this little lie.
"You mean this?"
Sakura poked her head above the coffee table to find her little Uchiha dangling the obscene book she threw on the floor earlier in Sarada's hand. Sakura raced across the room and snatched the forbidden book from her daughter, hiding it again behind her, which was useless considering the little Uchiha had probably seen the title already.
"I'll go check on my–Ah! It's burning!" In a split second, Sakura disappeared into the kitchen where the burnt smell was coming from, leaving her husband to deal with the aftermath of one late afternoon of passion.
Saved by the burning smell.
Now, Sasuke… he needed to find his own escape from the questioning eyes of his little peanut.
"I-I… I should help Sakura."
Both parents escaped into the kitchen. The cowards.
"What's up with them?" Sarada asked particularly no one and chalked their odd behavior up to them just being weird parents.
81 notes · View notes
kashpaymentsonly · 3 years
Text
Hello, Tumblr.
My name is Aakash. I’m 20 years old. I’ve lived in the US since I was 2. I’ve really come to love this country. I fell in love with the individualism, the ability to give no fucks, the strength and pride of the people who fight against that which harms them whether it be the government itself or their fellow citizens, the adoration of the people for those who can’t fight and must be fought for, the desire to protect the helpless and the disabled and the vindicated and the disrespected and the traumatized, the lack of fear that’s born in each new generation.
I’m not much of a talker in real life when it comes to social movements. I can’t argue with my parents who’ve been brainwashed by Indian societal norms to think that their way is the only way. I can’t argue with the law or with people in power without fearing for myself and my family’s safety. I can’t argue with my brother who was raised not by my parents but by white gamer YouTube, which makes him believe that the wage gap between men and women isn’t real, that the country isn’t as bad as most people make it out to be.
But I talk with my friends. A lot. We know and we realize how dire the circumstances are here. We realize that America may have ruined the world a lot. American corporate greed has completely destabilized the Middle East and left those countries in war and continuing wars in order to make money. American corporate greed has allowed a fucking monster like Donald Trump to rise to the highest office in the land and let demons like Mitch McConnell decide that American corporations are more worth saving than American people. American corporate greed leads to the death of thousands upon thousands of people yearly because they’ve created so many problems that they claim have nothing to do with them or are not that bad: oil spills, climate change, insulin price spikes of more than 1000%, and many more. Half of America’s problems could be solved if corporations stopped fucking using any excuse to make a buck off of or despite people’s suffering.
And the government hasn’t helped. They haven’t been helping for a while. They’ve been lining the pockets of corporates for as long as I can think of. They don’t care about us. They haven’t been caring for quite a while now, and I’ve been angry with no means of solving anything. And it feels like these petitions and stuff aren’t making a difference. It feels like nothing is gonna change. We were in the negative numbers with Trump. The country was dying. Joe Biden will bring it back to 0, but that’s it. We have no guarantee that he’ll keep his promises. No president we’ve had has kept all of his promises.
I don’t trust the government or anyone who works for them. I just don’t. I know they will have to someday make some kind of decision that goes against what we want. That goes for some of the Reps that we love: AOC, Ilhan Omar, Rashida Tlaib, Ayanna Pressley, and others. They will not be able to give us everything. But they can’t give us the little bit they want to if Congress is still ruled by the Republicans. (Please vote. Georgians, especially, vote for Jon Ossoff and Rafael Warnock. I know they’re not what you want. They may never be. But they’re a chance to save this country. For those of us who can’t vote, vote blue so we don’t lose our fucking futures.)
But I’m not saying this to promote one ideology or one way of life. This country is a melting pot, or so it claims proudly. And we are all struggling. We are all suffering. The only ones who aren’t are the rich and the government. They rule us. The kings of the old days had less power than these fools. Those guys couldn’t watch and observe our every fleeting thought, our every movement and question and claim. Those guys couldn’t keep track of every single thing we do. But they couldn’t escape rebellions and revolutions. They couldn’t avoid the wrath of the lower classes. They couldn’t run away from uprisings of the ones they hurt most. And neither can our government.
Y’all know something? I read a lot as a kid. I was obsessed with it. I couldn’t make friends because I was so awkward, and books were my escape from reality. I read this book in high school for a summer reading assignment of some sort. It’s a book called Little Brother, written by Cory Doctorow. It’s a fantastic book. Neil Gaiman himself said it was one of the greatest books he’d read in the year it was published, I believe.
Marcus, the main character, uses cryptography and other topics related to computer science and engineering to fight against the excessive surveillance measures initiated by the state of California and the Department of Homeland Security after a terrorist attack destroyed the Bay Bridge. He describes in detail how the DHS treated him and his friends after they were detained as possible terrorist suspects. The book outlines his fight against them, and a second book, Homeland, was released after Little Brother. I haven’t read Homeland yet, but I’ve been reading Little Brother again recently. It’s the reason I’m writing this post to begin with.
I find myself relating deeply to the struggles of feeling violated and judged and threatened by the government that was created to protect the people it governs. I got so stressed reading the book because it mirrors the America of today. I recognize without question the horrors America has committed against other people, and I don’t say this to diminish those atrocities.
But America is not a functioning country. Not really. People from other countries, specifically India and similar developing nations, seem to think that all is well for the average citizen in America, except for these past 12+ months of COVID-19. But this belief has been crushed this year. Things are “well and good” for the average white male in this country. But for every other demographic? Not so good. Minorities have been hit harder by the effects of the pandemic than any other group. Native people are about twice as likely to die from COVID-19 than white people. Black people have to deal with system racism, police brutality, injustice from the justice system, housing inequality, discrimination from employers, mistreatment in schools towards black kids, and so many other problems. Black trans women have been attacked and killed in horrifying numbers just this year.
This country is not in a good place. It’s barely getting back to almost not dying. But that means we need to keep fighting. We need to keep going. Don’t give up just yet. Seriously. This is a fight for our future. For our kids’ futures. For our grandkids’ and great-grandkids’ and descendants’ futures. This is to keep the distant future bright for those who are gonna see the light, even if it’s fucking bleak as shit right now. I know how you’re feeling. I get it. I see anything about the pandemic or anything about the country, and I just want to shut down like an old computer.
But there is so much to fight for. Don’t give up. Don’t be scared. Even if your fight involves telling a neighbor to not be a racist piece of shit, fight. Do as much as you can. Do as much as you’re able. Some of us can’t fight as loud and proud as the others, for whatever reason. Fight however you feel is right, and do what you have to do (within reason) to protect the future. And I mean the future of everyone. America is a nosy bitch. We’re in everyone’s business, even though we don’t like everyone being in our business. If we want to help the rest of the world and pull this useless imperialistic colonialist behavior out of those countries we’re occupying, we need to fight. We need to make a fucking scene and remind our representatives and senators and president that
WE GAVE THEM THAT POWER. THAT THEY’RE ACCOUNTABLE TO US. THAT WE ARE THEIR BOSSES. AND THAT IF THEY WANT TO GO SUCK CORPORATE COCK, THEY SHOULD DO IT WHEN THEY’RE NOT IN OFFICE.
Believe me, I know I’m talking big talk. But I think we can do it. We’re the generation that has MILLENIALS being like, “What the fuck, are you kids insane?!” We’re the generation that will throw fucking tear gas back at the pigs with no hesitation. We’re the generation that will throw hands with a Nazi and knock that bitch out cold. We’re the generation that scared a fucking governor or some shit into actually making policies to stop/reduce police brutality. We have achieved so much. We can keep achieving.
Our parents call us lazy. Our elder siblings and the millennials call us delusional or dreamers. I call us fucking revolutionaries. No revolution started silently. Every revolution started with a scream of anger, belting out into the world,
“I WILL NOT SIT SILENTLY! COME FIGHT ME YOURSELF, YOU EVIL BASTARD!”
No revolution lasted a day, either. Keep going. Keep fighting. Don’t let any adult tell you what to do. Trust no one over 25. By 25, most people get some kind of job and try to just make it through each day. They’re lost in trying to survive and not lose their minds. They just say, “Can these people just calm down? What’s all the fuss about?!” But they forget what it’s like to be young and righteously angry about how horrible your country is doing. They forget what it feels like to see your home going to shit. If you see anyone over 25 being passive and taking what the government or corporations give them without questioning it or if you see them complaining about everyone being upset and arguing and protesting everything, remind them what it’s like to be young and angry and why you’re protesting. Do not stop until they join you in the battle for everyone’s future.
I know this went on forever, but I really hope I got my point across. Sorry it was so long, but I’m not sorry I wrote this.
Keep fighting. Keep screaming. Keep going. You’re not alone. You’re never alone.
17 notes · View notes