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stuff-from-the-void-matron · 3 years

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Laurel Wreaths & Animal Teeth (10)

(technoblade x fem!reader)

(a/n: y’all seemed to like chapter 9 so here’s chapter 10! I know, I know. still no technoblade! BUT! he WILL be arriving soon~ very soon. >:3c but for now just enjoy the rest of the utter nonsense that’s the election. and remember! reblogs and comments REALLY make writing the next chapter possible. if y’all lose interest then so will I. so reblog and comment y’all! <3)

There was an eerie silence hanging over everyone in attendance. Nobody quite knew what to say, or even how to react to this startling new information. Not a soul spoke as a few people on stage and in the audience shared confused glances, not even whispering their questions to each other lest they shatter the heavy stillness. At least that was the case before HBomb hopped up out of his chair and gave a loud and cheerful “WHOO! NEW PRESIDENT!” that successfully slam dunked everyone back into the moment at hand.

Suddenly you were surrounded by noise as everyone started talking at once.

Meanwhile you remained mostly unaware of it, well more like distantly aware of it.

You stared up at the stage, locked in place from how floored you still were.

What in the absolute hell was Wilbur talking about??

You can’t have won! Because you weren’t running!

So there’s no way for you to WIN something you were never actively competing for!

There had to be a mistake. Maybe this was just some more of their silly pranks and japes before they read off the real winner, which actually wasn’t that huge of a stretch for this SMP if you were being honest. Or at least that’s what you were telling yourself anyways. Vaguely you could hear voices talking all around you, but it seemed far away, so you weren’t really registering what was being said. You were mostly just staring blankly at the stage, not really seeing any of the people up there as you tried to process what just happened.

It took Tubbo grabbing your elbow and shaking it to snap you out of the almost trance like state you'd slipped into. You looked down and he actually looked excited, but you could also see shock in his expression as well. You looked behind you to the rest of the crowd and some were clapping and cheering while others stood silent, shocked like you if you had to hazard a guess. You looked back up at the stage when you heard Tommy calling you to come up with them. You were still sorta frozen but thankfully Tubbo nudged you forward, reminding you that you needed to move. Silently you made your way up to the podium, mouth feeling dry and stomach feeling like it was full of stones.

Now that you were zoned back in you could hear the arguing coming from the podium. You were sort of dreading coming face to face with Wilbur, already knowing how… not great he took Schlatt winning from the original timeline. And he apparently knew and was friends with the ram hybrid. So you couldn’t see him being happy you won.. But when you got to the stage where the others were you couldn’t focus on Wilbur because all at once your vision was overtaken by Tommy, who was babbling about how you won! And how the hell did you win?? You weren’t even running! And how he’s pretty down they lost but at least Quackity and George didn’t win! (that got a ‘fuck you!’ out of the Spanish speaking young man) You gave a weak chuckle and said you’re not sure how or why you won but it was crazy indeed.

Quackity, Schlatt, and George were the most vocal about not thinking the results were fair. Though to be clear, Wilbur didn’t look thrilled either, but he was doing his best to look professional or put together you guessed. Or at least not blow up in front of literally everyone. You kept an eye on him while Tommy led you up to the mic and told you to give your first decree as president. But you sorta… didn’t want to be president. You hoped you wouldn’t upset anyone by not accepting the job. But you didn’t think you’d make a good leader. So you turned away from the mic, hoping nobody but the ones beside you on stage would hear when you asked if you had to accept the role.

This caught all the mens’ attention and Wilbur was quick to give you an out, saying no you didn’t technically HAVE to accept the presidency. In fact if you weren’t ready or willing to fill the role then the runners up, aka him and Tommy, would happily do so for you. But then Quackity, Schlatt, and surprisingly Fundy said that wasn’t fair either since both Pog2020 and Schlatt/Swag2020 were tied with the amount of votes. And you had to admit, that didn’t seem fair. But Wilbur perked up and you’d swear in that moment he was the embodiment of the ‘lightbulb above head’ phrase. Then he grinned and turned to Fundy and Niki and asked to speak to them before urging them and Tommy off the stage, leaving you and Schlatt/Swag2020 on the stage alone.

Not wanting to leave everyone in the audience hanging, you gave a polite smile and assured them that the others just wanted to…. recount the votes! They weren’t sure Wilbur counted them right so they figured recounting with some other witnesses there would clear things up! The crowd shared confused glances but it was Tubbo who yelled out that that sounded sus as hell! And if he were you he’d think they were trying to cheat or something! You snorted a laugh but assured him it was alright and you didn’t think they’d be that ballsy~

-0-

Fundy and Niki followed behind Wilbur and Tommy, the latter of the two males just as confused about what Wilbur was up to as the pair behind him. But then they all gathered in the white house and Wilbur turned to the members of Coconut2020 and said he had a proposition for them! The brunet said that since it was clear that you weren’t really up to being president, his tone derisive like your refusal of the position was tantamount to spitting in his food, then if Fundy and Niki agreed to combine their votes with Swag2020 then Wilbur could be president again and things could go back to normal!

But the blonde woman and fox hybrid didn’t look convinced.. Niki said they’d just be giving them their votes so they could win, while they got nothing? Fundy frowned and asked what positions he and Niki would have in the Pog2020 cabinet if they joined their votes with theirs. Here is where Wilbur hesitated, unsure what positions he could give them. But then he smiled and said Niki would be the First Woman, since she was the first woman to join L’manberg! And Fundy would of course be everyone’s Little Champion! He couldn’t help but baby talk his son, he’d never been able to take Fundy seriously, not really anyways. What with his alert little triangle ears, furry face, soft little paw beans, and fluffy tail. He was just too cute for Wilbur to take him seriously. Even now. But it was this attitude that would be his downfall. Because it’s what caused Fundy to snap.

“No, Wilbur! This is serious! I’m not some baby for you to dress up and prance around! I’m a fucking adult! I have my own house, I pay taxes, I fought in a war for fucks sake!” the hybrid shouted, clearly upset.

Wilbur was shocked but tried to calm Fundy down, not fully realizing how mad his son was until the red haired male practically snarled,

“I’m not going to sit here and hand over the votes Niki and I earned just so you can treat me like a child!”

Without another word he turned on his heel and stormed out of the white house, leaving three stunned people behind. Tommy looked up at Wilbur, opening and closing his mouth, wanting so badly to say something, maybe lighten the awkward mood but not knowing what or even if he should speak at all. Meanwhile Niki just sighed and gave Wilbur a soft disappointed look. She knew Wilbur loved his son, and that often translated to him babying the hybrid. But she’d warned him, as kindly as she could, that it seemed to upset Fundy that his own father wouldn’t treat him like anything but a kid. She’s not a parent herself, so she figures it must be hard for a parent to see their child as anything but a child, even after they’ve grown.

But she can see Fundy’s side too. It must be massively frustrating to be looked upon like you’re just a kid. Especially since Wilbur doesn’t even treat Tommy, his own younger brother, as a child as much as he does Fundy. And she’d seen first hand how Wilbur’s attitude towards Fundy, whether or not the brunet intended for it to happen or not, did in fact influence how others treated the red furred hybrid. She’d seen Tommy, Tubbo, Eret, Sapnap, and even herself a couple times sort of not treat Fundy with the respect you’d show to a fellow adult. She tried her best to kick that habit, and her and Fundy’s friendship had really blossomed thanks to it, she thinks. But she believes Wilbur just pushed his son to his breaking point…

“He’s right, Wilbur. You can’t keep babying him. He’s a grown up now..” Niki said neutrally.

Then she let out a tired sounding breath of air and turned to follow after the fox hybrid, saying she would go check on him. But she also said Wilbur needed to talk to him later, man to man, and make things right. Said brunet looked rather flummoxed, not sure what the hell just happened. It was Tommy who broke the silence by giving an almost weak sounding ‘holy shit’. Wilbur turned his perplexed gaze to his brother and asked what the HELL that was all about! Said blond winced and gave a sigh while awkwardly scratching the back of his head, not thrilled with the weird turn this conversation took, but answered Wilbur,

“Ehh… looks like you and Fundy have some unresolved personal issues, bud..”

Wilbur barked that this wasn’t the time for Fundy to let some personal vendetta against him cloud his reasoning! They were in the middle of the do or die of the election! If they couldn’t get Fundy and Niki to agree to join their votes with theirs then they won’t win! And they’ll be in a tie with Schlatt and Quackity! Wilbur jerked his hands down, like he wanted to slam them against a table or something. But instead he just viciously scrubbed his fingers through his curly hair, feeling embittered with everyone around him. All he’d wanted was to lead HIS country! Like he rightfully should have been able to! All this election bollocks and now he was having to try and convince HIS OWN SON to help him stay president?! If it were him and Phil needed help he’d give it! Well he would if Phil were ever fucking around..

The sound of a crowd cheering caused the two to whip their heads towards the area where the stage was before they looked at each other. Not a word was spoken between them as they both took off in a run towards the stage, wondering what happened and what they were missing. They rounded the corner of the building to the left of the stage to see you smiling and waving daintily to the crowd. Not sure what they’d missed, Wilbur rushed up to Niki and asked what happened. Did you accept the presidency already??

Niki raised an eyebrow at her friend and nodded, saying you’d finally relented and accepted the role as president after she and Fundy came back from ‘recounting the votes’. Niki hummed and said she figured that you finally accepted the results after it was made clear that if you didn’t then everything would be stuck in a tie. But then Niki’s reflecting mood brightened and she said she really thought you’d do a good job as the new president. Even joking that you had to be better than Schlatt.

Niki never voiced it out loud but she’d been worried Schlatt and Quackity would win. Schlatt was the biggest worry for her. To his credit, he was actually a really funny guy and she could see why Wilbur was friends with him, they just had a good chemistry and their senses of humor bounced off each other well. But… Schlatt could also be blatantly power hungry and hateful if not kept in check from the few times she’d met him or heard stories about him from Wilbur. Niki felt like giving him the amount of authority that came with being president would only end poorly. And Quackity was an alright guy in her opinion but he could be vindictive and petty too. She got the vibe that any amount of power given to him would instantly go to his head and turn him into a jerk.

But again, these were just her personal (and not spoken aloud) opinions…

She always hated being mean to people and saying hurtful things. So she kept her opinions to herself more often than not. Unless it was super important anyways. So instead of elaborating on Why she was so relieved that Schlatt and Quackity hadn’t won she instead flashed the two members of Pog2020 a smile and said it had been a fun race, and despite all the drama she really thinks Tommy’s friend will do a good job. Then with a keen raise of her eyebrows the blonde suggested with a cute smile,

“Oh, maybe you could be a member of Reader’s Cabinet! I’m sure she’ll be needing a vice president, secretary of defense, treasury, and other positions!”

Niki was honestly just trying to cheer up her friend, but the cheerful smile slipped off her face at the dark look that crossed Wilbur’s. She grew concerned when she saw how hard he was clenching his fists and gritting his teeth. His behavior over the last few weeks had been slowly worrying her, but this was starting to make her anxious. And when he started marching towards the stage she shot a panicked look to Tommy, who could do nothing but give her an equally worried and confused face before they both tried to hurry after their brown haired friend. But he got up onto the stage before either of them could grab his arm, and Niki was about to call after him but he reached your side, clearing his throat and alerting you to his presence.

You looked down and saw him standing at attention next to you, hand outstretched for a handshake and a polite but serious smile on his face. You were surprised, thinking he was handling this with more grace than you’d expected, but a feeling deep in your gut was still on edge. You knew the destruction Wilbur Soot was all too willing and capable of doing in the selfish pursuit of keeping power over the country he made. The lives of his friends and family be damned. So while you really really wanted to hope that Wilbur will be better since you won over the other parties… you’re also highly skeptical that he will manage to keep his sanity.

But instead of showing any of your reservations you instead simply smile and shake his hand, thanking him for congratulating your win and promising him you’ll do your best with the presidency and taking care of L’manberg. And if you noticed how his smile looked a little too angry at the edges then you didn’t say anything..

So instead of dealing with the mess that was Wilbur Soot you focused on the crowd and let go of Wilbur’s hand to stand at the sort of comically short podium and spoke out to the people you were now responsible for,

“Well, this all was certainly unexpected..”

Chuckles erupted from the crowd at that, making you feel a bit better about all of this. At least you weren’t the only one to see how wild all of this mess was.

“I’m actually really shocked! I wasn’t intending to run for president but I suppose life has other plans for me. But regardless, I’m honored you’ve all put your faith in me to lead you. I swear to do my absolute best for you and help L’manberg flourish.”

Applause from the crowd made you give a genuine smile. Perhaps this wouldn’t be so bad?

-0-

In the audience, watching this all unfold behind a mask and tapping his foot, stood the familiar looking figure in a green hood. Hanging around next to him was Sapnap in all his black and white dressed glory. And at some point George had gotten bored with the drama on stage and had left Quackity’s side (not that the duck hybrid had even noticed or cared) and wandered over to stand with his two friends. They watched Wilbur hand over the presidency to you and George made an off hand comment that Wilbur sure didn’t look pleased with losing, a smug laugh in his sleepy tone. Sapnap snickered but stared at you and elbowed his taller friend, asking in a curious tone while subtly gesturing to you,

“Speaking of, why didn’t you tell us you’d let someone new on the server, Dream?”

His friend glanced at him for a second longer than normal before replying with a tense tone to his voice that he hadn’t let her on. That caused both Sapnap and George to jerk their heads up to look at him in visible confusion. While George stammered through a series of ‘what’s’ and ‘wait hold on-’ Sapnap was loudly questioning what the hell he meant. The mask wearing player shushed them both before looking up to see if anyone had heard them or looked over at the twos’ loud exclamations. Thankfully nobody had. So he sighed and led them a bit further away from the crowd and explained that he’d not authorized any new members to the server. and it was true, he hadn’t. But both hybrids still looked confused and George asked, clearly puzzled,

“Well then how did she get on the server?? Nobody else can let people on, right, Dream?”

Sapnap nodded but stopped when their taller friend let out a flat hum before shaking his head ‘no’. That caught the shorter twos’ attention so he elaborated by asking them,

“Who on this server is known to have Creative Mode?”

The two blinked before it dawned on them and they looked even more shocked than before, only now it was coupled with anxiousness. Sapnap harshly whispered to the two, asking why the hell fucking GOD himself would actually let someone onto the server?? DreamXD never bothered with players and stuff, only being rumored to be seen by players if they broke server rules. George added on that this all sounded really weird. And an idea hit him and he couldn’t help but voice it.

“You don’t think… she’s linked to DreamXD.. do you? Like working for him or something?” he asked a touch nervously.

The other two didn’t say anything, not really knowing what to say to that. Sapnap could only shrug while the tallest of their group remained silent, none of them having any answers to the string of questions they’d just let loose.

They would just have to wait and see it seemed.

-0-

@lady-bee-fechin @kacchasu @putridjoy @lunawritesstories @galaxypankitty3030 @paradigmax @zachariethememerie @killmewithafanfic @trinity-1002107 @hufflepuff-demigod @truthdaze @exorcisms-with-elmo @redbloodtea @heythereimhaylz @olyink @jackalopedoodles @nikkineeky @artsimatsu @hufflepuff-demigod @corpiet @beepa99 @anxiousnarwhale @bananaaddictmilkshake @realitycanbeajerk @lostandsouciant @thegeekisheere @sparkling-gayyy

#technoblade x reader #techno x reader #technoblade #dsmp #dream smp #mcyt x reader #c!tommy #c!tubbo #c!wilbur #c!fundy #c!niki #c!quackity #c!schlatt #c!george #c!sapnap #c!dream

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xwing-baby · 3 years

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Impulse: Part 1 (Javier Pena x Reader)

Summary: Top of your class, the DEA have sent you to Colombia to be the poster child for their new ‘placement program’. You’re thrown in at the deep end into the drug war. With Agent Pena as your mentor, what could possibly go wrong?

Warnings: ANGST! Explicit drug and alcohol abuse from the beginning, depressive thinking/intrusive thoughts, swearing

Word Count: 4.8k

A/n: My first ever Javi fic, of course I had to make it the angstiest thing I’ve written in a long time!! This is part one of the first part of the story which is also the end of the story... just had to make it confusing for you.

Disclaimer: I do not have any experience with cocaine or addiction, all writing is based on my own research and is not a good representation of how it really is! Don’t do coke kids, it’s never good.

Part 2

---

Four in the morning, the sun was just above the horizon and you were stumbling home from yet another party. Enough tequila swam through your system that you didn’t really think about the wellbeing of your neighbor when you tapped on his door. You wanted to keep going. Javier, you decided, would make the perfect company. And maybe you could continue that kiss you had not stopped thinking about since it happened four months ago! You grinned devilishly at the thought and knocked harder on the door.

“Javi! Javier!” You rapped on the door. “Javier Peña, abra la puerta!” You sang, leaning all your weight on the door as your world span fast around you, “Javi,”

“What?” Javier opened the door suddenly, causing you to fall into him. You laughed as you caught yourself on his arm. You had woken him up, he was dressed in a wrinkled t-shirt and sweatpants with his hair bushy and wild.

“Hola!” You grinned up at him, not hiding the way you checked him out. You were obviously drunk and high, eyes red and shining brightly even in the dim light of the apartment block hallway. Javi wrinkled his nose as the smell of you hitting him, tequila and cigar smoke clung to you.

“Again?” Javi sighed heavily. This was the third time this week you had woken him up, accidentally or on purpose, coming home drunk. He was starting to worry about you.

“Si,” You grinned from ear to ear, You were in more of a state than last time. For one you were still speaking Spanish, something Javi had rarely ever heard you speak. You must have been with your local friends, he surmised. “No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido!”

“It’s not fun, you’re a mess. Get in here,” He pulled you by the arm into his apartment, shutting the door behind him.

“Eres enojado?” You asked, still grinning. You walked backwards into his apartment, tripping down the step and landing with a thud on his leather couch. You cackled with laughter.Javier frowned and put his hands on his hips, of course he was annoyed at you! It was four in the morning and you both had work the next morning. You dramatically flopped back on his couch and huffed at his grumpy attitude, “It’s only polite, Javi! They gave it to me!”

“It’s poison!! He exclaimed, “Why would you do that to yourself?”

“It’s helping,” You proclaimed.

“It’s not helping anyone, you’re gunna fuck up sooner or later.” Javi warned, as he had done many times before.

“I got that list,” You protested, “That was helpful!”

“And what will you do when they work out that you stole it?”

“No lo sé,” You shrugged. You reached into your pocket and grabbed the last of the coke you had been given. You wanted a little more. You pulled the tin out of your pocket and placed it on the coffee table at your feet.

“You-,” Javi started before he noticed what you were doing, instantly he was on you, “Para!” He exclaimed as he snatched the coke from your hand before you had time to open it.

“Necesito!” You whined, pouting at him. You were lying, you didn’t need it. You wanted it, a lot.

“No,” Javi snapped.

“Lo siento, Javi,” You pleaded with him, eyes locked onto the packet in his hand.

“You’re not though, are you? Fucking look at me!” He yelled. You startled and looked up at him as tears pricked your eyes. “Quit it. Now. You know what this shit does, stop it. Whatever you think you’re doing is not worth it, okay?”

“Pero-“

“No. Me vale!” He cut you off. “You’re better than this, Y/n,”

You sustained eye contact for a moment. The room was deathly quiet, he glared at you with fierce intensity. You had never seen him so angry, if you weren’t so drunk you would have instantly buckled under the pressure. The only thing your drunk brain could think of was how hot he looked, you wondered how rough he would be with you if he was this angry. You couldn’t help the snigger that crept up in your throat at that thought. You clamped your hand over your mouth to stop the laugh, Javi rolled his eyes and shook his head in disbelief.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry!” You laughed, “It’s just you can’t look at me like that and not fuck me!”

“Jesus christ,” Javier pinched the bridge of his nose. What little patience he had for you was running out fast. You continued to laugh.

“Can I stay here?” You asked.

“Take the couch,” Javi waved you off, his back turned heading back to his bedroom.

“I can’t sleep with you?” Your voice was laced with innuendo, he knew what you wanted. A part of him was tempted, your dress left very little to the imagination, but he knew he couldn’t do it.

“You’re drunk and high,” Javier said plainly, “and we’ve spoken about this before. No,” He was firm with you. He hated having to reject you for a second time but he wasn’t a complete monster. He wouldn’t sleep with you in this state.

“Worth a try,” You laughed, thankfully giving up quickly. Javi shook his head and walked away again, “Muchos gracias, Javi,” You called after him. He shut the door.

You woke up as the early morning sunlight pushed through the windows. You groaned and turned over, finding you were not in your bed but on a couch. Startled, you sat up and nearly screamed when you recognised the apartment as Javier’s. Luckily you were still fully dressed with your shoes still on, nothing had happened. Memories of how you got there were blurry, you remembered knocking on his door but had blacked out after that.

The clock on the wall said it was six am. You could go upstairs to your own bed clean up and hope that maybe Javi wouldn’t hear you and confront you about it.

You stood up from the couch, trying not to think about all the things the man had done on it, and grabbed your jacket from the ground. As you stood up the strength of your hangover kicked in, you grumbled. That was when you noticed the discarded coke packet on the counter. You stopped. You knew you shouldn’t pick it up, you didn’t need it. But the taste caught at the back of your throat and you found yourself wanting it. It was undeniably addictive, you had promised yourself you wouldn’t take it this far but the foul substance had made its bed.

“Go home,” Javi’s voice broke you out of the trance. He was only wearing sweatpants, hair mussed up from sleep that you had most definitely disturbed more than once. He pulled the cocaine off the table and threw it into the trash before you could reach it. You gulped, shame rising like hot steam through your lungs. You grabbed your things and left, running straight upstairs to your own apartment.

It was still early but you knew you weren’t going to be able to sleep again. Shame was swirling up in your throat. How ironic that a DEA agent was addicted to the thing she was meant to be stopping? But you weren’t addicted, you reasoned with yourself, you were fine. This was no different to when you lived off Redbull for a month during finals, it was a matter of changing some coping mechanisms. It was a reaction to the stress of being so close to Escobar yet so still so far. You could change it, you had control.

You made a coffee, instant and black. It was bitter and disgusting but it would keep you awake. You collapsed onto your tired old couch and flicked on the tv to a telenovela rerun. You barely understood what was going on but the hilarious overplayed drama was light enough to stop you swimming into the depressing pool of thoughts currently threatening to drown you.

Eight o’clock came and you were ready to go to work. You were used to this routine now, hungover and tired, you knew you weren’t at your best but until this morning nobody knew about your slow descent into chaos. You weren’t surprised to find Javi’s truck gone without you. All you could remember from last night as how mad he was, and his face this morning only proved it. You dreaded seeing him.

Luckily, you were spared the hassle of public transport by Steve who trundled down the stairs after you and offered you a ride. The conversation was light and everything seemed normal for a moment. You got to work, Steve ran off after a call from Javier leaving you with a mountain of paperwork to hunt through. For once you didn’t care, paperwork didn’t judge you.

A few hours passed and the boys returned. You did your best to ignore them while they bickered, hoping that you could melt into the background, until someone tapped on your desk.

“Hey, I’m talking to you Rookie,” Javi’s voice made you look up. “Come on, we’re going,”

Before you could say anything he threw your jacket at you and you had no choice but to follow him outside. You tried to rack your brain for why Javi would be taking you anywhere today, especially after this morning. You had expected him to ground you, to be impossibly angry at you, not take you out. You climbed into the passenger seat of the truck and Javi didn’t say a word. He didn’t look particularly angry, he looked stressed but he had looked like that since the day you got down here. He was silent, letting the radio play between you, when all of a sudden he reached over and turned it off.

You looked over at him, expecting him to start his lecture but he didn’t. He let the silence sit between you for the rest of the journey. Somehow it was worse, you’d rather he got mad at you and shouted. It was just unsettling.

Finally you pulled into the embassy, you flashed your badges at the gate and parked. Fear was starting to grow now. Was he going to get you fired? He wouldn’t bring you down here for that surely? He would have called and said what he wanted, he hated coming down here unless he had to. You stayed quiet, too scared to ask, and followed him inside.

Javi greeted the assistant at the door, as smooth as ever somehow managing to melt her in her chair in five seconds. You smiled and waved to her, she scowled at you as soon as Javi had turned his back.

“He’ll be in a minute,” The girl called after you as you entered the Ambassador’s office. You took one chair, Javier took the other, in front of the large mahogany desk.

Unlike Steve and Javi you didn’t see the ambassador often, often left in the office while they had meetings about things higher than your post. Your heart was beating so hard in your chest you thought it might burst. You rubbed your hands on your jeans and fidgeted in your seat. Why in hell were you here?

Before you could bring up the courage to finally ask Javi the Ambassador walking into the room. You stood up immediately to shake his hand, Javi stayed seated.

“Y/n, nice to see you again,” The ambassador smiled kindly as he shook your hand. “Agent Peña,” He greeted the agent next to you, who nodded casually.

“You too, Sir,” You tried your best to sound confident. The Ambassador sighed heavily as he sat in the leather chair, took a sip of the water at his side and began the meeting.

“So, I got the call from your coordinators this morning, they’re coming down on Monday for the review. I thought we should have this meeting together to discuss things before they come down,”

Your six month review! That was what you had forgotten. Half relieved that your mentor hadn’t brought you down here to completely humiliate you, you smiled and nodded. With everything going on you hadn’t noticed the months fly past so fast, you barely remembered what day it was anymore.

The Ambassador carried on with the meeting, unaware of your panicking. You nodded along, answering his questions in short yes or no answers, he then moved to Javier. As your mentor he was the one in charge of delivering your progress onto your coordinators. You watched him speak, sound not registering anymore. You hoped to god that he wouldn’t throw you under the bus and tell the entire truth, he knew how much this meant to you surely he wouldn’t.

Nervous, you stuffed your hands into the pockets of your jacket. You almost had a heart attack when you felt something inside. A small metal tin, rounded and rusted. You immediately knew what it was and froze. There was coke in your pocket. Javi gave you a sideways glance, as he noticed you stiffen up suddenly.

You wracked your mind for where the hell the tin had come from, until you remembered. This wasn’t your jacket, Maria had given it to you a few months ago and never asked for it back. You hadn’t worn it before today and had no idea that your friend’s stash lay inside the pockets. You tried to stay rational, tried to listen to the important conversation happening around you but your hand stayed clamped around the drug in your pocket. It would help you concentrate, it could calm you down. You could take it and nobody would notice.

“I- I’m sorry can you excuse me for a moment?” You blurted out, interrupting the ambassador. He frowned at you, surprised by your interruption. You had gone white with panic, obviously clutching at something in your pocket but he didn’t think anything of it. He nodded and you ran out the room before he could verbally release you.

You tried to remain calm as you ran through the halls of the embassy, it seemed like everyone was watching you. They knew exactly what you were doing, they were judging you. You ran into the first women’s bathroom you could find, quickly checked nobody was in any stalls, and locked the door behind you.

Throwing the package on the sink like it was burning through your hand, you stood over it, watching it intensely like it could jump away at any moment. The voice in your head kept tempting you, calling you weak and useless, to do it to get rid of it. Nobody would know if you took it. You’ve given in this far why not do it. It will help you calm down. Take it.

As if you were possessed, you unwillingly opened the tin and poured the powder onto the surface. There wasn’t much there, barely a pinch full, hardly anything at all. You couldn’t just leave it there now, someone would definitely know it was yours. They all knew why even bother hiding it anyway. You should take it. You were too weak to resist it. Take it.

And you did. The chemical shot straight to your brain giving you the brilliant feeling you had been missing. You sighed in a relief as you felt every anxiety fade from your body. It wasn’t that bad, you feel better with it, the voice in your head said. You weren’t wrong. You did feel better. You looked it too, your cheeks had colour again, you smiled and laughed to yourself as it took hold.

You brushed away the excess powder and unlocked the door. You nearly jumped out of your skin when you saw Javi leaning against the opposite wall. His arms were crossed over his chest, judging you with a cocked eyebrow. He had been waiting for you. You sighed and rolled your eyes immediately walking away from him.

“Don’t stand outside the women's bathroom’s Javi. It's creepy,” You snapped as you passed him.

“You missed a bit,” Javi commented, following closely behind you.

“Fuck off,” You grumbled. Despite yourself you wiped your sleeve over your nose. He was right.

“Shooting up in a bathroom is real low, Rookie, even for you,” He snarled. You continued walking down the hall, ignoring him. You were as angry at your actions as he was but you didn’t have control anymore. You couldn’t stop yourself, “Hey! I’m fucking talking to you,” Javi grabbed your arm and sharply pulled you backwards, pressing your back into the wall and trapping your body between his.

“You’re hurting me!” You complained, shoving him off you with as much force as you could give. It didn’t get you far as he pushed you to the wall again with as much force. Your back slammed against the cold stone hard, no doubt bruising it.

“Then listen. What the fuck is the matter with you?” He snarled, “Doing that shit here? Or anywhere in fact! You are completely out of control,” You ground your teeth, seething with anger, “Do you have no respect for yourself?” You struggled against him, trying to get away again to avoid the question, Javi held you in place. “Not going to say anything?” You looked away, purposely turning your cheek to him, “Get a fucking grip or I’m sending you home,” He growled.

You didn’t answer, staring at the patterned tile floor. Finally he gave up. With a grunt he let you go and stalked away down the corridor.

As he disappeared around the corner, a tidal wave of anger and frustration flooded your system. You kicked the line of chairs next to you, crying out curses as you sent them flying across the corridor. The metal clattered against the stone drawing people out of their offices, they all stood from their doorways and watched you, judging you. You heart hammered in your chest, chest heaving for air and you glared back at them all. You let out a deep breath and turned on your heel, leaving the mess behind you, and walked outside.

Despite himself, Javi had waited for you in the parking lot. You jumped into the passenger seat without a word, slamming the door hard to get your point across. You couldn’t tell if you were sweating from anger or the drugs coursing through you. Neither of you said a word for the journey. Javi had said he needed to, and you weren’t able to string together a coherent sentence for everything you wanted to scream at him yet.

You were too focussed on the music playing from the stereo to really notice where you were going. The rhythms and lyrics seemed to float around you and soak into your skin. You didn’t see Javi’s furious scowl when you unknowingly started to dance in your seat, something you couldn’t help but do when listening to Columbian radio no matter your mental state. You were having a good time until the car stopped and the music was cut abruptly. Snapping out of your trance you looked around and realised you were at your apartment.

“Get out. You’re done for today,” Javi said, his voice was eerily calm and you knew to be terrified. Quiet Javi was always the angriest.

“What?” You asked dumbly.

“Get out!” He leant over you and pushed the door open. You frowned, but slipped out the truck and did as you were told. Javi pulled the door shut behind you and rolled away, leaving you standing on the sidewalk opposite the apartment building completely dumbfounded.

You were stuck to the sidewalk, staring at the building. The sun beat down on you, scorching your skin yet you couldn’t feel it. You were numb to everything.

Your first thought was to find Maria and get more coke to hide further into yourself and avoid the awful shame creeping up your neck. The speed the thought entered your head petrified you. Your control was slipping through your fingers like sand and your body was screaming to move. Everything inside you told you to give up, that this was the tipping point and you might as well jump because what was the point in pretending anymore. If Javi knew what was the point in trying to cover up how much that narcotic had taken over your life. There was no point at all, you might as well enjoy the feeling whilst you could.

You turned to leave, letting go of all self control. Your legs knew where to take you, you didn’t even need to look where you were going. But you did, when three steps from your original position you crashed into a woman carrying a bag of groceries. She yelped, the sudden sound snapping you back to reality.

“What are you doing standing out here? Shouldn’t you be at work?” Connie startled you when she touched you, you had barely noticed her approaching. She frowned, concerned, when she took in your glazed appearance, “Sweetheart?”

“I’m okay,” Your voice cracked as tears filled your eyes.

“Oh darling, come inside. Come on,” Connie walked across the road, expecting you to follow but you didn’t. You couldn’t bring yourself to move, you wanted to run in the opposite direction. You knew if you went inside you would have to tell her what was happening, you didn’t want to make her as mad as Javi was already. “Y/n? Sweetheart you’re scaring me, what’s wrong?”

“I fucked it all up,” You whimpered as you began to cry.

“Come with me, I’ll get you some water,” Connie bartered, still you didn’t move. Too scared to admit to her what was going on, “Just come inside, please,”

Finally, you nodded and followed Connie into the building. She walked you into the apartment, sat you on the couch and left to get a glass of water. You hadn’t stopped crying, everything in you was telling you to go and get more to calm yourself down again. You knew not to believe the thoughts but they scared you tremendously. You have really gone too far now.

Connie passed you the water, and you drank it gladly. She crouched down in front of you, pressed a hand to your forehead and checked your pulse trying to work out what was wrong with you.

“Did you take something?” She asked. You tried to shake your head and deny it but the way she’s looking at you, sternly but with so much care in her eyes, you couldn’t lie to her. Your no turns into a yes and you instantly recoil from her each touch, hiding in your hands. “What was it?”

“It was only meant to help,” You cried into your hands.

“I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what happened,” She pressed.

“Maria gave me some coke, and it was fine and fun and it helped me get that list from them,” You started to babble, all your words tumbling from your mouth before you could get them into any sensible order, “and everyone was so excited and then I went out kept doing it and then yesterday I ended up at Javi’s and I was tired and-,”

“Slow down,”

“It’s my six month review, and I got so worried then I found it in my pocket! I didn’t know it was there and I just did it! Then Javi caught me again and he kicked me out here!”

“Do you know how much you took?”

“Like a tiny bit but I’ll be fine in an hour but-,” Tears slipped from your eyes once again, “What am I going to do?”

Connie didn’t know what to say. She knew you had been going out more with some new friends, Steve had complained because he was always woken up by you when you came back drunk from a party. That's all she thought was going on, you were partying, drinking, like you should at your age. But as she had come to learn, a lot of things in Columbia were not what they seemed. It seemed the darker side of life here had managed to get it’s claws well and truly into you. It broke her heart to see you like this, so broken up.

You stayed with Connie for the rest of the afternoon, sat on the couch riding out the end of you high. TV kept you company and Connie chewed her nails trying to work out what to do. She thought should call Steve, but if Javier was the one to drop you off here, he probably already knew. She wondered how long it had been going on for, she didn’t get to see you as much as her husband and his partner, whenever she’d seen you you seemed fine, if a little hungover at times. When she thought about, all three of you had taken on destructive habits to cope with the hell you saw every day. Steve was becoming more aggressive by the week, while she knew she was safe she didn’t like what she saw when he flipped out. Everyone in the building knew about Javier’s escapades and now you. It was upsetting to watch from the outside, she couldn’t imagine what it was really like to go through.

You woke up half an hour later, muddled and more tired than when you’d fallen asleep.

“Feeling better?” Connie asked with a sympathetic smile.

“Feel like shit,” You muttered. Your head pounded and the heaviness still sat in your chest. That was the kicker, the coke could mask feelings very well but every time you sobered up they were still there waiting. You sighed heavily, pushing yourself to sit up where you’d slumped over, and rubbed your face with your sweaty palms. “What am I going to do?”

“I don’t know sweetie, but I’ll be here to help you,” Connie said kindly, as she sat on the couch next to you. You felt awful for dragging her into all this, yet another person you had let down, ”I think you should tell your boss? Or you’re coordinators, maybe they’ll help,”

“I’ll be sent home!” You protested, tears filling your eyes once again, “I don’t want to go home, not now!”

“You can’t keep it to yourself, it will only get worse,” She said, you nodded sadly and cried on her shoulder as she pulled you in for a hug. “I suggest a hot bath, watch some cheesy movie- I managed to find that Indiana Jones movie on tape. I know you love Harrison Ford,”

“That sounds nice,” You smiled weakly. Connie let you go and grabbed the movie along with a bottle of wine for you. You gathered yourself together, enough to get yourself from Connie’s couch to your own at least.

“I’m sure Steve won’t notice it’s gone. Go and chill out and watch the movie, have a bit of normality for a change. You’ll feel better I promise,”

“Thank you Connie, you’re a really good friend,”

“It’s no problem sweetie, like I said I’m always here for you,”

Connie gave you another tight squeeze before you left. Iin the hallway you heard the clatter of Javi’s keys in his door below. You wanted to apologise to him, you wanted him to help you! You wanted things to go back to how they were before all this but you knew Javi wouldn’t talk to you. He’d displayed his distaste for the people that fell under the powder’s spell before, he wasn’t going to help. He had trusted you to sort it out yourself but now it was abundantly clear you couldn’t.

Once again your brain reminded you how easy it would be to get some more coke to cheer yourself up. You could go downstairs and walk down the street, find one of your friends and be happy again so quickly. You didn’t have to feel this pain.

This time, you ignored it and locked yourself in your apartment. You took yourself to bed immediately, not even bothering to turn on any lights along the journey through the tiny space. You fell on the bed face first. As soon as your body hit the soft material you curled up as tight as you could and began to cry.

You had failed. You had let your team down, let your coordinators down, let your classmates down and let your family down. You didn’t even want to think about the conversation you would have to have with your mom as to why you were coming home six months early from a placement you fought so hard to get. You thought you could handle it, but you couldn’t. You failed.

Part 2

Translations (disclaimer I'm sorry if these are wrong I've been learning Spanish for all of 3 months hence the limited use)

Abra la puerta - open the door

No lo siento Javi. ¡Es divertido! - I’m not sorry Javi, it’s fun!

Eres enojado - are you angry?

No lo sé - I don’t know

Para!- stop!

Lo siento- I’m sorry

Pero- but

Me vale - I don’t care

The next part will be out next Friday! Want to get tagged? Let me know!

Tag list: @beskar-tano @buckysbeloved @beskarbabs @all-hallows-evie @harrys-stan @browneyes-djarin @themidnightsun-12

gunna be cheeky and tag some mutuals i think may be interested? @ithinkwehitametaphor @wille-zarr

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sunshineandaisies · 3 years

Text

Tuesday

Words: ~3.3k

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: language, mentions of blood/injury, a tad bit angsty?

Note: I haven’t written anything new in the marvel fandom for 4+ years now, so this is me dipping my toes back into it before I start working on new series that I have planned. And because I hate myself sometimes, I decided to write something for a character I’ve never written for, our smol bean peter. Hopefully I did okay???

A typical Tuesday for you was, well, normal.

You’d go to school, mildly pay attention in class, and do your best to stay out of whatever drama was currently overtaking the halls of Midtown High. When the final bell of the day rang, you walked home with your headphones in, playing loud music to drown out the sounds of the city. You’d get home from school, maybe have a less than healthy snack, and watch a random television program until your mom was trying to pull you away from the couch for dinner. After dinner was eaten - and the dishes were cleaned and drying, because you needed that weekly allowance money - you shut yourself in your room to work on homework and to subsequently procrastinate that homework by playing mobile games on your phone. Usually, you’d end up falling asleep with one of your textbooks open to the page you’d been in the middle of reading and with your phone slowly dying in your hand because Candy Crush was lighting up your screen and draining the battery.

Pretty uneventful, right?

This Tuesday, however, was anything but uneventful.

You should’ve known from the moment that Peter Parker spilled chocolate milk on your white top at lunch that the day was going to be anything but your typical Tuesday. It only got worse when he shoved a handful of napkins onto your chest, dabbing at the stain while stammering and blushing and being so frustratingly cute that you couldn’t bring yourself to yell at him for practically pawing at your chest in the middle of the cafeteria.

It didn’t end there.

Your locker jammed between fifth and sixth period, preventing you from grabbing the calculus assignment that you had spent hours trying to complete over the weekend and making you unable to turn it in on time. The worn strap of your backpack finally broke on your walk home from school, and you were forced to carry the heavy bag in your arms, making the limbs numb and tingly by the time you finally reached your apartment. Your mom had picked up a rare night shift at the hospital at the last minute, leaving you to fend for yourself for dinner – which, in normal circumstances, would have been fine, but the Moroccan place down the street that you ordered from had given you the wrong food and you were too hungry to call them and have the order corrected.

You figured that would be the end of it. You figured that there was absolutely no way that anything could go wrong as you spent the rest of your evening actually working on homework, sprawled lazily across your bed, and bopping your head in time to the music coming through your headphones.

Oh, how wrong you were.

It had to be nearing midnight when you were startled from your chemistry homework by the sound of banging on the fire escape outside your window. You paused your music, slightly startled and more than a little confused. Sure, there were occasionally stray cats that somehow found their way to the metal platform outside your window, and sure, sometimes those cats where assholes and pushed each other around every now and then – but this…that thump either came from a very, very large cat, or someone was outside your room.

You got your answer when a very sweaty, very tired looking Peter Parker stumbled through your window and landed face down on the floor, groaning softly. Your mouth soundlessly opened and closed, opened and closed, opened and closed as you tried to find your words, but the Spider-Man suit that he wore and the red mask clutched tightly in his hand had left you absolutely speechless.

You easily stared at him for five minutes, trying to process what had just happened. Did Peter Parker really just crawl through your window and then pass out on your floor? Was Peter Parker fucking Spider-Man? Was Spider-Man – the Spider-Man – in your bedroom? Did Spider-Man touch your boobs today?

“What the fuck?” you finally spoke, startling Peter as he looked up at you with wide chocolate eyes before panic sunk in and he jumped up to his feet abruptly, which in turn only served to startle you more and make you repeat, “What the fuck?”

“Y/N?” he asked, as if he wasn’t sure that it was truly you that sat in front of him. “Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered as he started to pace, pulling at his hair nervously. “Mr. Stark is gonna kill me.” He glanced back up you, eyes still wide. “This isn’t what it looks like.”

“It looks like you’re Spider-Man,” you countered, eyes flitting over the tight suit before focusing on the mask in his hand. “You’re Spider-Man, Peter.”

“Okay, so- so maybe it is what it looks like, but I-” He cut himself off, and you could tell that he’s struggling to explain the entire thing away. Finally, he sighed. “Okay, yes. I’m Spider-Man, but you can’t tell anyone. Please, Y/N. No one else can know about this.”

You nodded slowly, abandoning your textbook and sitting at the edge of your bed as you stared at one another awkwardly. “Don’t tell anyone. Got it. But, like… Are you- Can I ask questions?”

“Um, yeah, I- I guess.” You watched him scratch the back of his neck nervously as his checks tinted pink. “Ask away.”

“First question – why are you in my room?” It seemed like the obvious question to ask. If Peter – Spider-Man – hadn’t crawled through your window in the first place, you wouldn’t even need to ask him any questions at all.

You had to bite back a laugh as you watched his eyes widen momentarily as he finally took in his surroundings, his gaze lingering on the few photos you had of you and your friends hanging on the walls and the stack of books that sat on your desk just waiting to be read. “Your room? I, uh- To be fair, when I crawled through the window, I thought it was my room.” You opened your mouth to interject, but he continued, “I live here. Well, not here, here, but in this building. With my aunt May. We live here. In this building. I must’ve swung to the wrong fire escape.”

“Swung?” you asked, his explanation providing more questions than answers. “Like with your webs?” He nodded, his eyes never leaving yours. “And you swing around the city and fight bad guys?” Another nod. “You’re Spider-Man.”

He paused, as if thinking his answer through. “Yeah.”

“This is wild,” you commented more to yourself, leaning in closer and poking at the material of his suit. He stayed completely still as you prodded the suit some more, feeling the thick fabric beneath the pads of your fingertips. You let out a short laugh and looked up at him, repeating, “You’re Spider-Man.” You laughed freely then, and the little smile he gave you was enough to make your heart pound wildly in your chest. “Don’t worry,” you assured him once the laughter died down, “your secret’s safe with me, Parker.”

You could almost feel the tension and nervous energy leave his body, and you watched as his shoulders slumped forward, finally relaxed since he first realized that you saw him as Spider-Man. “Thank you, Y/N. I know I’m asking a lot, but I- It’s really important.”

You smiled. “Don’t worry about it, Parker. My lips are sealed.” You mimed zipping your lips and locking them before throwing away the key, and it made a small burst of laughter escape his lips. “Besides, you have more things to worry about than me telling the world that you double as a superhero after school hours. Like our Spanish test in first period tomorrow.”

“Spanish test t- Shit!” You watched his eyes widen again at the reminder of the test that you both had to take in eight hours, and you couldn’t help but laugh as he quickly scrambled towards the window. Halfway through your window, he glanced back at you with a soft smile curling his lips. “I, uh- Thanks again, Y/N.”

“You’re welcome, Spider-Man.” You winked, and he was gone, crawling up the wall to the fire escape above yours. You crouched down at your window and listened for a moment longer as the sounds of Peter hauling his body over the rails of the fire escape and the opening of a different window – presumably his – echoed through the alley between your apartment building and the building next to it. Knowing that he’d be able to hear you, you called out, “Goodnight, Peter,” and shut your window.

After that night, your typical Tuesday was anything but normal.

Your mom started to regularly work night shifts on Tuesdays, and while there were no more mishaps with incorrect takeout orders, no more chocolate milk spilt on shirts, and no more jammed lockers, there was Spider-Man.

Peter was quick to realize that every Tuesday night, you would leave your window slightly open just for him regardless of how cold the autumn air outside was. Some nights, he crawled through your window as early as eight. Other nights, you didn’t see him until nearly midnight. Some nights, you would spend hours going over chemistry and calculus homework with him – because, seriously, Peter Parker may just be the smartest sixteen-year-old you’ve ever met – and discussing his latest superhero escapades. Other nights, you simply sat together on your bed, sharing candy as you talked about school, friends, family, and everything else that happened to come up in the course of your conversation.

The easy friendship you had formed with Peter had confused a few people, to say the least.

His best friend, Ned, had openly stared at you with wide eyes the first day you sat beside Peter in the cafeteria, and your friends looked at you with confused expressions before quickly following suit and taking a seat at the table. MJ – who you thankfully already had somewhat of a tentative friendship with thanks to a history project during freshman year – simply lifted her gaze to you, shrugged her shoulders in greeting, and returned to the book she was reading. Flash was quick to make a mean comment about Peter once he noticed you and your friends sitting at the table, but after you made a passing threat of sharing his Spider-Man fanfiction with the school, he scurried back to his own table with his tail between his legs.

Peter, though. Peter looked at you with such a tender expression that made your heart flutter uncontrollably in your chest and your cheeks flood with warmth as you settled into your seat beside him. You playfully knocked your shoulder against his and made a quip about Spanish class that made him laugh before falling into easy conversation with the others, though your mind never drifted far from the way that your thigh was pressed against Peter’s or the way that his pinky finger would occasionally brush over yours.

That first day you sat with Peter in the cafeteria had a domino effect. Over the course of a few weeks, you spent an increasing amount of time with Peter, both during school and outside of school hours. You walked home from school with Peter every day (or at least every day that he didn’t disappear for Spider-Man duties); you joined him, Ned, and MJ for movie nights on Fridays; and you even had dinner with Peter and May on the rare nights that you spent hours studying in Peter’s bedroom rather than alone in yours.

But the domino effect didn’t stop at just changing how you typically spent your days.

Without any warning, you found yourself falling painfully in love with the nerdy boy that lived in the apartment above yours and that masqueraded as a crime fighting superhero in the evening and on weekends (though you knew that if he were really needed during school hours, he would find an excuse to disappear from class for as long as Spider-Man was needed).

You thought about telling Peter, you really did. Every time he crawled through your window, a wide smile on his face and his cheeks tinted pink from the exertion of swinging through the city, you thought about telling him how he made your heart race in the best way. Every time his fingers brushed against your arm as you walked home or across your fingers as you sat in the cafeteria, your thought about telling him how he made your skin tingle pleasantly with just the slightest touch. Every time he appeared at your place with sandwiches from Delmar’s and spent hours on your couch watching old sitcoms, you thought about telling him how moments like that were what made you happiest.

You thought about telling Peter, but you never found the courage to speak up.

Your friendship with Peter was too valuable to risk losing it because of your feelings, and you didn’t miss the way that he would look at MJ when she wasn’t paying attention, the way that he would go out of his way to speak to her in the halls between classes, the way that he seemed so in tuned to everything that she was doing and saying. Your feelings would fade eventually, so you kept them to yourself and told yourself you were content with just friendship.

It was only fitting that it was a Tuesday night when everything changed nearly three months after Peter mistakenly crawled through your window.

Despite the December chill and the light dusting of snow on the fire escape outside your window, you left the window cracked open just enough for Peter to easily pull it open and crawl inside. It may have made your room almost unbearably cold, but it was nothing that fuzzy socks, a comfy sweatshirt, and a heated blanket couldn’t fix.

It was later than usual when Peter finally arrived, stumbling through your window when he finally managed to open and it, and it didn’t escape your notice that his fingers had left bloody streaks on the glass pane of the window.

“Peter!” You heart leapt to your throat as you scrambled from your bed to support him, and he slumped forward, struggling to stay on his feet. “Pete, c’mon. Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Stabbed,” he mumbled into your shoulder. “He had a knife.”

You were not prepared for this. Absolutely not. No one had ever told you that being friends with a superhero would mean them stumbling into your apartment at two in the morning with a fucking stab wound. “Okay. Uh…” You led him to your bed, helping him lay down before scanning your eyes over his body. And just as he said, there was a large slash across his abdomen, his red suit staining an even darker red as he bled from the wound. “Shit, I- Pete what do I do? Tell me how to help you.” You tugged at his suit with shaking hands, trying – and failing – to pull the material away from his body. “How do I take this fucking thing off?”

You stepped back as his hand pressed against the spider symbol on his chest, and the suit instantly enlarged, allowing you to pull it away from his body and to bunch the material around his hips. (If it hadn’t been entirely inappropriate given the circumstances, you most certainly would have taken your time appreciating the sculpted muscles on Peter’s chest and abdomen).

You inspected the damage, your eyes burning with unshed tears and the fear you felt increasing exponentially the longer you looked at the gash that marred his skin. It wasn’t too deep, but it was deep enough to nearly send you into a panic. “We should call 911, Pete,” you told him once you found your voice, though it was still thick with fear. “I- I don’t think I can help you. I don’t know how to-”

“Hey,” he whispered, his warm hand curling around yours and squeezing reassuringly. “I know you can. I watched you stitch that pig up in biology at the end of the dissection a few weeks ago.”

“I just didn’t want to leave it cut open like that,” you defended, though you knew there was really no need to. “But a dead pig is much different than a living human, Peter. I don’t…” You took a deep breath, squeezing his hand even tighter. “I’m scared, Pete.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. I promise.” He let out a hiss of pain, his jaw clenched tightly. “Your mom has a first aid kit, right?” You nodded. “Get it.”

You did as you were told, grabbing the first aid kit from the cabinet in your mom’s bathroom before returning to Peter. You worked slowly after you had cleaned his wound as well as you could and threaded the needle. Your hands shook as you started stitching the wound back together, careful to not make it any worse than it already was. Peter hissed in pain each time you poked the needle through his skin, but he whispered reassurances to encourage you. Soon, his abdomen had been stitched together, and while it certainly wasn’t pretty and would definitely scar, it looked stable.

“Thank you, Y/N. I don’t know what I would do wi-” he began, but you cut him off.

“Don’t,” you hissed. “Do you have any idea how fucking terrified I am right now?” The tears you’d been holding back while you stitched him up finally spilled from your eyes. “Do you have any idea how much it fucking hurt to see you like this?”

He sat up on the bed, bracing himself on his elbows. You didn’t miss the way he winced in pain from the movement. “Y/N, I-”

“I’m not done talking, Peter,” you snapped, wiping your tears away with the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “I get that you’re Spider-Man, that you feel responsible to protect the city and do whatever it takes to stop the bad guys, but- Fuck, Pete! You could die!”

“But I won’t!”

“You don’t know that!” you shouted, your lip trembling as you sat next to him on the bed. You lowered your voice to a whisper and repeated, “You don’t know that, Pete. You just don’t. Tonight, you got lucky. But what if next time, instead of a knife, they have a gun, and you get shot.”

He glanced up at you sheepishly, his chocolate eyes pleading with you to stop crying. “I heal fast,” he tried to reason, but it wasn’t enough to appease you. You looked away, but a gentle hand on your cheek brought your attention back to him. “Besides, I’m pretty motivated to not die. I can’t take you on a date if I’m dead.”

You opened your mouth to argue with him before promptly snapping it shut. Did he really just say that? Was it the pain and the exhaustion talking, or did he really mean it? “Date? Did you just- What did you say?” It was definitely the pain and exhaustion talking, right? It had to be.

He leaned forward and rested his head on your shoulder, and you froze, concentrating on the way his warm breath ghosted over the skin of your neck. “A date, Y/N. Uh, if you- I mean, only if you’d want-” You giggled as he stumbled over his words, tilted your head slightly to rest atop his. The action must have soothed his nerves, because he took your hand in his and confidently said, “I wanna take you on a date, Y/N.”

Your lips curled up into a wide smile, unable to contain how absolutely giddy you felt in that moment. “I’d like that, Pete,” you told him. “But we really need to have a conversation about superhero safety.”

He laughed, but it was cut off by a groan of pain. “We can probably do that.”

And unsurprisingly, your first date was on a Tuesday.

#peter parker #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x fem!reader #spider-man x reader #spider-man x you #spider-man x y/n #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker reader insert #spider-man fanfiction #spider-man reader insert #marvel reader insert #marvel fanfiction

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giowritess · 4 years

Text

straight to my head [henry cavill]

masterlist

Pairing: Henry Cavill x bestfriend!female!reader

Request: “Hi! May you please write a Henry Cavill one where you’re hanging out with him and you have feelings for him but haven’t had the guts to tell him but that day your sister called you and you started speaking in Spanish to her about Henry but little did you know that he actually knew Spanish and he teased you about it. Happy ending please, thank you!”

Warnings: cursing, some angst, fluff

Word-count: 2,697

Author’s note: HEY GUYS! I can’t believe I’m finally posting my first writing piece here on Tumblr! It’s my first attempt at writing this kind of fanfiction (well, the second, actually), and I truly hope you like it, especially you, dear anon, who requested this. I did some changes, hope you don’t mind. This one was based on the song Straight to My Head, by You Me At Six, and I’d really like if you listened to it. A big thank you to my best friend, @naturiz for the Spanish part, and a big shoutout to my amazing beta/daughter/friend/love of my life @amirahiddleston <3333 I’d be lost without you!

gif credit goes to @b-n-a-o

Straight to My Head

You had never been the kind of person to enjoy dancing.

Yet, here you were, jumping, moving and swaying your hips to the beat of your favorite song in the middle of an empty dance floor. A little tequila-and-other-alcoholic-beverages-induced, yes — but you were happy, not even minding the glances you were getting. All the stress that had built up in the past few weeks had finally left your body, and you had your friends to thank for that. They were the ones who’d dragged you down here, to a cosy small pub. It had been way too long since the last time all of you had spent time together, and everyone seemed to benefit from a bit of fun and forgetting the real world.

Exactly as you were doing right now, completely oblivious to everything and everyone else. How good it felt to be trapped in your bubble, with nothing but your fuzzy mind and your favourite song.

“Didn’t know you could dance, y/n,” Henry teased, not far from you. You could even hear the smirk in his deep voice.

“Shut up, idiot,” you replied, snapping out of your bubble and walking closer to your friends.

“Seriously, though,” he insisted, grinning like a kid, “those were amazing dance moves. You should teach me.”

You just rolled your eyes, making him laugh, and tried to hide your smile. Your relationship with Henry had always been playful like this, ever since you met a couple of years ago. You two had been through a lot together — it was quite a fun and exciting journey to follow his success as an amazing actor that close, which meant celebrations, parties, even a few premieres.

As the boys got ready to play some pool, you stood in the back with a beer in hand, watching him — always him and no one else. You sighed as you watched him move with the ease and gracefulness of a cat. A big, fluffy cat who seemed to be serious and almost dangerous on the outside, but was nothing more than a playful little kitten on the inside.

The dim lighting in that corner of the room sent shadows over his godly features, the sight sending warmth up your core. He was always the most handsome man in the room. And in your head.

That was where he was. He’d taken over your thoughts ever since you met, and there was nothing you could do to take him out; he was already at home and wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. You tried as hard as you could, even dated other people, but it was pointless. You still fell hard for him anyway.

But Henry was your best friend, and you were his. You talked about everything, helped each other with everything — even his own love life. It hurt you. Like hell, but there was nothing you could do about it but listen and be there for him when he needed, just like he did for you. His friendship is one of the most precious things on Earth to you, but that is all you were meant to be. He was yours, but not in the way you truly wanted.

Which was why sometimes it got too hard for you. Sometimes you had to step back and pull yourself together when it was too much for your heart. Seeing him with other women, especially when you knew he was happy, was far more than you could take, a pain you couldn’t avoid.

You straightened yourself up and dropped the bottle on the table. You needed to sober up. Being drunk around Henry was always a dangerous idea — you were a complete mess. Crazy, unpredictable and suddenly brave. The possibility that you’d end up saying or making anything that could lead to regrets and ruining your friendship was a giant risk — one you couldn’t take. So, you always tried your best to be as sober as possible, but tonight you desperately needed the freedom and release that only alcohol could give you. And he happened to be around.

“Be right back,” you muttered to no one in particular, making your way towards the ladies room. They were too entertained in their game to miss you, anyway.

Thankfully, the bathroom wasn’t crowded, just a few girls who seemed half your age, many who had probably got in with a fake ID. You went straight to the sink and splattered the cold water in your face one, two, three times. But it was the girls’ conversation that caught your attention.

“Did you see Henry Cavill playing pool by the back? Jesus fucking Christ, that’s Heaven made of flesh,” one of them said.

“Can you believe our luck? Gotta be fate,” the one applying mascara in front of the mirror replied.

They laughed together and started to make their way outside.

“I think I’m gonna try my luck, who knows,” you heard one of them say as they left the bathroom, and you gripped the sink with both hands, taking a deep breath.

You had no right to be angry with their words. In fact, you understood a-hundred-per cent how they felt — you felt that way almost all the time, too. But fuck. There was no way in controlling the anger that was taking over you, as well as the few lonely tears that escaped the corner of your eyes. There was nothing you could do about it but simply accept it. That was your job as his best friend.

After a few deep breaths, you pulled yourself together, and finally mustered the courage to leave the bathroom. Your anger alone, still tingling through your face, your arms, your fingers, had sobered you up some seventy-per cent by now. You stopped by the bar to buy some chocolate and was met with one of your friends.

“Hey y/n, wanna play some pool? We need someone,” he asked.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, eating the chocolate before you walked back to the pool table.

You grunted at the scene in front of you. The girls from the bathroom, one sitting in the back with her arms wrapped around one of your friends and the other one — the prettiest one, with long, dark hair and a beautiful black dress that hugged her body in the best way — tangled up with Henry, laughing and touching him whenever (and wherever) she could. Which meant all the time (and everywhere).

It wasn’t that this kind of thing didn’t happen often — it did, in fact; of course it would, when your group of friends had you as the only woman. And you didn’t care for your other friends, they could do whatever they wanted if it’d bring them a bit of happiness, even if momentary. But Henry was… Henry. He would never be like everyone else, and you couldn’t fool yourself or your heart to believe that.

“Girls, this is y/n,” your friend said, and the girls smiled at you.

You tried your best to look sympathetic.

“Hey, I’m Devon,” the one in the back waved at you.

“And this is Julia,” Henry told you and motioned at the girl beside him.

With another deep breath, you smiled and hoped it looked real enough.

You didn’t know what happened to you. You’d never been this jealous, you’d always been able to control your emotions and prevent them from rising to surface. But that night felt completely different. Probably because of all the alcohol, but there was no way you’d be able to look unaffected.

“Ready to kick some asses?” your pair asked, handing you the stick.

“Born ready, baby,” you replied, applying chalk to the end of the poolstick.

Julia was Henry’s partner, of course. He had to show her how to properly hold the stick and how to play, but you had your doubts if she truly didn’t know or was just pretending. Well, you’d pretend if you were in her shoes.

It was no surprise when you made the first ball — you had a natural talent for the pool. Especially when drunk. And angry.

The chocolate in your mouth felt bitter because you kept hearing Julia’s giggles and saw the way Henry touched her. Every fucking time she was going to play, he had to be glued to her back, lingering touches on her hand, her arms. It began to piss you off way more than you imagined.

You made a ball. And another, and another, and another. Four in a row, leaving only two of your balls on the table.

“Fuck, y/n,” your partner said, and laughed, clearly a bit shocked. “Where did that come from?”

“What can I say,” you replied, “the effects of anger.”

The game soon came to an end, you made the victory hit. You started another, trying your best to focus on the game and nothing else. But it was hard. It was so fucking hard when Julia and Henry didn’t even pretend to play properly, due to their drunken stupor and lust for one another. When his lips went closer to her ear, you finally snapped. There was no way in fucking hell you were going to endure that. No. Enough.

“I’m through,” you stated before dropping the stick on the table.

You didn’t care about the stupid game. All you wanted was to leave the pub, to get away, and cry and scream and fill up your sister’s inbox with countless messages rambling about it.

That was exactly what you did the instant you crossed the door, drinking in the cold night air and fishing for your phone. After finding her contact, your fingers started to fly across the keyboard, but you realized that wasn’t enough for how angry you were.

“No puedo creer lo enojada que estoy por eso [I can’t believe how mad I am],” you started. Of course, it’d be in Spanish, your mother tongue: it was the only way you truly could express your anger.

You weren’t even sure what you wanted to say, but you had to say something, to get it out. There was a pressure in your chest that’d only be alleviated after you opened your heart to someone, obviously your sister.

“Tú no creerías lo tan enojada que estoy. ¡Pero ugh! ¡Simplemente no puedo controlarlo y no mames eso me deja demasiada enojada! [You wouldn’t believe how mad I am. But ugh! I just can’t control it and that makes me so fucking angry!]”

You sent that first audio message to her. You didn’t even have an internet connection, so she’d only receive it after you connected to wifi or something, but it didn’t matter. You just had to speak. Get it out of your system.

“Dios, desearía que pudieras verlo con tus propios ojos todos los toques y coqueteos. Simplemente me mandaron por un tubo y no sé cómo enfrentarlo, sabes? No hay ninguna explicación más allá de la verdad, que él debe haber entendido, de todos modos. O no, apuesto que Julia lo mantiene demasiado ocupado para que yo ocupe su mente [God, I wish you could see for yourself! All those touches and flirting. It just pushed me off the edge and now I don’t even know how to face him, you know? There’s no explanation besides the truth. Which he must have already figured it out, anyway. Or not. I bet Julia is keeping him too busy for me to occupy his mind at all],” you said in a single breath. There. Now you felt as if the weight was off your chest.

After pressing the “send” button, you took a much needed deep breath. The cold weather had a calm, soothing effect on you as you breathed in the night air; you could feel yourself getting calmer. Still angry, yes, but a bit calmer.

So trapped in your own space, you almost jumped when you heard his voice.

“No hay nada que nunca pueda sacarte de mi mente [There’s nothing that can ever keep you off my mind].”

Even in a perfect Spanish, his deep British accent was still present.

Oh, my, god. There he was, behind you, and you wanted to bury yourself six feet under and never, ever come out.

“Henry!” Your voice was a shriek. “I… I’m… I sh…” you stuttered, not knowing what to say. You could feel your heart pounding violently against your chest.

What to say, what to do, how to act. You had no idea Henry even spoke Spanish, and you sure as hell hadn’t expected him to follow you outside. Díos mio. Had he heard every single word you just said? You were glad that it was dark, ‘cause your face must’ve definitely been on fire.

“I’m sorry,” he said, making you look at him with a visible question mark on your face. “For making you feel like that. I did want to affect you, though, and I’m quite glad I did.”

“What? Henr—”

“See, y/n,” he interrupted you, “I had a theory, and you just proved it.”

He came closer, his beautiful face stepping under the thin lightning which made his baby blue eyes to shine. He hovered above you, like a lion over his prey, but you weren’t intimidated at all. Though confused and with your head spinning as fuck.

“My theory was that you and I feel the same way about each other,” he continued, getting closer and closer at each word that left his lips.

Díos. Were your dreams coming true? Was this real? Were you dreaming, or even seeing properly? You could hear your speeding heart, and you wondered if he could hear it, too.

“Henry, I… I’m… I’m lost in translation here,” you replied, your weak voice almost a whisper.

He had to say it. You needed to hear the words coming out of his very own lips, otherwise, it wouldn’t be real.

A low chuckle came from him. He left very little space between your faces when he got even closer and cupped your face with both hands.

“I’ve been falling in love with you ever since you entered my life, love,” he said. Your knees were weak, and you felt as if you were going to fall dead on the ground. “But you never gave me any signal that you felt the same. Until I started to notice the small details. Your face, your eyes, your hands. Your words, your expressions. The little things gave you away, y/n.”

The warm touch of his big hands on your face, all the love and tenderness with which he spoke every single word made your heart swell. No one had ever spoken with that much affection towards you, no one had ever held you that gently as he did. Your best friend. Your soulmate.

“So? Am I right then? He asked playfully, chuckling because you hadn’t said anything yet.

You felt as if a lightning bolt had just gone through you, your skin prickling.

“Yes!” You instantly said, feeling some tears on your eyes. “Yes, Henry, yes. You are. I don’t even know for how long I’ve loved you. I was… I was scared of ruining our friendship. I’m sorry, if I’d kno—”

He shushed you with a gentle kiss, timidly placing one of his hands in the back of your neck. You placed your hands on his broad shoulders.

“No regrets or apologies,” he murmured, touching your forehead with his. “Though I do regret the method I used to prove my point,” he said, chuckling. “I’m sorry. I was getting desperate and running out of options. I just couldn’t bear to spend another entire day being nothing more than friends with you,” he explained, his eyes locked with yours. One of his hands started tracing the line of your bottom lip. “Not being able to touch you, to kiss you… God knows how torture it was to be around you all this time.”

It was your turn to laugh. He felt exactly like you did, then.

“Henry?” You whispered. “Come home with me?”

An affirmation, an invitation, an order? You didn’t know. But all that mattered was his answer.

“Yes.”

A/N: I hope from the depths of my heart that you enjoyed it! For now I do not have a taglist, but if you’d like to be tagged in my future works, let me know <3

xoxo, Gio

#writing #fanfiction #gio writess #FIRST REQUEST #henry cavill #henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill imagine #henry cavill fluff #henry cavill smut #fandom #dc

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currentfandomkick · 4 years

Text

I have no excuse on this, just saw the prompt and wrote. inspired by @virgil-is-a-cutie‘s post where Marinette was from Gotham and moved to Paris, many liberties taken on timeline though, and with @justafanwarrior‘s comment on it

Marinette blinked a few times when her parents told her the first time that her grandfather on Papa’s side died, and they were going to move into his old bakery.

She was twelve.

She was getting ready for Tim (who’s elven and should not be allowed follow Robin without backup). She just finished working on a bit of embroidery for his suit when the Wayne Gala came up.

She didn’t know how to feel other than dread. (new country, language lessons, culture shock, losing her friends, her connections, her room and so much more).

She was quiet, nodded, and got ready for bed on time.

She whispered about it to Tim, who she watches out for. Because he’s small, an idiot with a very nice camera and she has to. Its her job to—she caught him when he almost fell and they were ten and nine. Like Jason caught her once. (She was so much smaller then, barely remembered the place but she slipped and Jason Todd caught her and told her to always watch her step because no one else will do it for her. well, she decided that she would watch hers and other people’s. because someone should, so why not her?)

She hadn’t seen Jason for years though. She knew he’s a Wayne now, but Waynes and Drakes have some weird rivalry thing and the Dupain-Chengs cater for the Drakes. So she hasn’t seen him in their neighborhood, not around her family’s business (or her ‘Uncle’ Oswald’s) or anywhere really.

Instead she saw Tim who she decided a long time ago was hers to watch out for.

She couldn’t take him to Paris though.

Tim didn’t like it any more than her. They both know they can’t stop it.

But Marinette made sure he was better at looking out and watching before she left.

It was a year of renovations to make the bakery and house above ready for them. Marinette was moved in the summer. She hugged Tim tight before she left, on one of their rooftop runs for fun (the memory, their last run ever) rather than BatWatch.

They didn’t know Robin saw them for a moment and was ready to give them a Big Lecture, because why would they? They were just moving to breathe, moving to scream in silence and ignore everything they don’t get to control. They were roof top running to have some control in a situation neither of them had any.

Marinette and Tim dropped down to her house, since it was over… for good.

“No going out there again since I can’t go too.”

Tim nodded, crying against her. She cried tooo. They both hated it.

Marinette moved to Paris the next day, beginning of summer. Beginning of the extra crazy as Gotham summers were always ripe with more rogues and more time and more ‘help’ than the rest of the year.

Marinette missed it. She was in Paris helping her parents do a grand opening. It was a success. Maman was glad they got out of Gotham, murmuring it would be better for Marinette. Marinette disagreed, but didn’t contradict her or Papa who was so much happier in Paris than in Gotham. He missed his home city.

(Marinette missed Uncle Oswald showing up at random to make sure no one was doing anything ‘untoward’ to her or people she said he should help. Paris seemed to have a different breed of ‘untoward’ that were well hidden. No one kept them in check. No Batman here to try, no Uncle Oswald to warn her, and no Jason to remind her to watch out for herself.)

On the first day of school Marinette was thrown into being a superhero. Ladybug—she should have used Ladybird or Coccinelle because it was so American but she panicked and now she’s a very American Named Hero of Paris. She prayed no one made the connection.

When Jason Todd died and made the news in the middle of her first year, she cried. A lot. She was Ladybug and couldn’t afford to be akumatized but her parents knew that even if Jason wasn’t around for her since she was little, that she kept those memories close, kept those pictures and wished him the best. They were grieving too—he was almost their son (they tried so hard to get him to stay, but he didn’t want to. He had a mom to care for and Marinette should have asked Uncle Oswald for help when Catherine looked off to her but she didn’t. She was seven and Jason begged her not to say anything so she didn’t.)

She was doing good as Ladybug. (more like putting out fires than fixing the problems, but she did only have observing Batman and Robin to go off of, and none of what she saw was the detective work.) She took down akumas, was working on becoming a good guardian in the future (the kwami admitted she and Chat were the only candidates… the temporary heroes weren’t even in the running) and becoming a better designer. (She now works for Jagged and Clara on the design itself, they have official seamstresses that build her creations to her standards and specifications. She handles the fittings and adjustments when her schedule allows.)

Then Lila showed up and Marinette didn’t get how they didn’t see through the lies. Marinette will admit her lies in French are just… bad. Thankfully they all write it off as her mistranslating her thoughts and her speaking five languages (English, Italian, Spanish, French and Mandarin) rather than it being an attempt at lying. She’s better in English, okay?

But Lila’s were outrageous, even for their school. Maybe it was Gotham, (Uncle Oswald murmuring how to spot a con and a manipulator a mile away, Jason reminding her to be suspicious of every good and too good deal offered, especially with nothing backing it) but she didn’t put too much into Lila on sight.

Then the Ladybug lying and things escalated.

Chloe caught the Drakes talking to one of the events her parents were catering to. Janet was inspecting Marinette’s latest work while Marinette let the woman analyze her choice before being dismissed with a “You have improved, but do try using that sewing machine for your seams next time.”

Tim had been standing with her and they were allowed to escape the crowd to catch up. Tim was not shocked to find out she’d taken to destroying people in Ultra Mecha Strike III on a city wide scale (she won) while Tim was working on more professional photos and debating taking up a sport to be more well rounded (he’s thinking baseball or track because of the running) and they both skirt around her design success because it could jinx it.

Not long after Chloe makes an effort to get along with Marinette. Marinette made a few things clear: she’s not a lackey and neither is Sabrina, that Chloe needs to stop using her family to get out of everything, and that Chloe needs to apologize for hurting people intentionally.

Unsurprisingly, this didn’t go over well the first time.

Sabrina did get close to Marinette instead (Marinette had no issue with this) and joined the girl gang.

Marinette was still skeptical (daughter of a cop versus anyone from gotham is a recipe for disaster) but so far Sabrina just needed to be given normal friend treatment en masses to calm down her obsessive tendencies. It may have reminded Marinette of Tim and his obessions. Kind of like how Marinette took to Alya (superhero obsessed like Tim, and protective like Jason) so she was quick to get used to her.

Chloe did make amends that year (slowly) and kept doing so.

Chloe and Marinette did agree on one thing: Lila is a scam and they didn’t want the class falling for it. So Marinette made suggestions to keep her friends on track for their interests (actually practice, don’t wait for opportunities) while Chloe took to openly opposing Lila as the one Lila can’t touch.

It kept Marinette safe from her attempted manipulations. Chloe was all for it—as Bustier isn’t able to cow Chloe the way Marinette knows the woman would try on Marinette. And language miscommunications could make her seem more complacent and get her in more trouble for not being as complacent as Bustier wants her to be.

Then came the anniversary. The first one. (and the one where Tim is a Wayne now, thanks to Janet passing and Jack being found negligent.)

Lila made the mistake of talking about Jason. Like he was nothing. Like he was a problem and rude and cruel. And a creep.

“I mean, not to speak ill of the dead but…”

“Then shut your trap.” Marinette stuck to Italian. Alya stiffened as Italian had become Marinette’s ‘I am emotional and need you to understand’ language as far as the class was concerned.

“Oh, I didn’t mean to be insensitive…” Lila said in an almost convincing act. Almost.

“Well you are Rossi,” Chloe glanced at Marinette, as she didn’t know what the connection to Jason was.

“I mean, its not like he was much than a…” Lila shut up as Marinette was stalking forward and this? this was not was Marinette was supposed to do. Throw a fit, make a fool of herself, something like that.

Marinette only saw someone trying to drag Jason through the mud. Everyone moved away when Marinette approached (like Uncle Oswald in a silent rage) and she didn’t quite remember what happened from there.

She did remember ending up at the principle’s office with her parents and Lila’s mom.

Who was finding out a number of lies Lila told and Marinette could feel a Talk coming on for her. (Good.)

But then it moved back to why they were there and Marinette saw red as “She was talking about Jason.”

Her parents stilled as that was (almost) family.

Maman was smiling too wide then as “What were you saying about him?”

Lila squirmed as she repeated words that were Wrong.

“She made it sound like he was nothing.”

Tom was the one that terrified them all then, turning to Miss Rossi. “So you mean to tell me your daughter was insulting a child who was murdered that my family was in the process of adopting before he vanished when his mother died and was taken in by the Waynes.”

Damocles paled as Miss Rossi had made it sound like she was getting back at Marinette for bullying her (something everyone but Bustier had denied vehemently. Especially Chloe and Chloe’s word outranked Lila’s) but with all of this… it seemed more like Lila was the issue.

Lila was trying to process the new information. Marinette was going to kill her was her conclusion.

“Miss Rossi could not have known of that connection,” Damocles said, eyeing the girl with something guarded.

It wasn’t more than a day later the school was introduced the Marinette’s uncle.

“Now, which of you is the one that angered my little birdie?”

Marinette groaned as she didn’t call him. Nor had her parents. (He was watching them then. Great. She thought that stopped when they left Gotham.)

Apparently terrorizing her classmates (and the school’s staff) was enough for him. Lila was now at juvie for truancy (the only charge that stuck) and away from Marinette.

She figured that was it.

It was not…

Six months later…

“Tim Tam?”

Tim grinned at her. “Hey Marebear!”

He was at Dupont, grinning like a loon at her. She said screw decorum and scooped him up and twirled as he is still too tiny.

“Okay, I love that you’re here but why?”

“Heard there was a problem in Paris you neglected to tell me about.” Tim gestured for them to go into the car behind him..

Heroes was her first thought. And Hawkmoth, but its Tim so heroes are his focus.

“I figured we were staying out of old habits.” She was a hero, not stalking them.

“We are.”

Marinette raised an eyebrow as she knew that tone, and it meant he had an idea. She slipped into the car with a wave to her classmates.

“What do you know,” she began with.

“Ladybug purifies and fixes, Chat Noir destroys. Good guys. Anything animal themed is a hero, expect Mayura. Bug themed besides Ladybug, Toss-up. Hawkmoth is who needs to go down.”

Marinette filled in the blanks on powers for public heroes. She shrugged on the blurred possible hero (MultiMouse) and let Tim rattle on and on.

“So I was thinking, why hasn’t anyone looked for outside help?”

Marinette blinked a bit as… “The Mayor was told it was a joke by Green Lantern when they asked for help the Stoneheart Army.”

Tim furrowed his brow. “Which one?”

“There’s more than one?”

“Hair color.”

“Weasely looking, that’s all I remember.”

“That was the ginger who is hated by the JL members, and should not count. Want me to ask Batman?”

“Should I be surprised the Waynes have him on call?”

Tim smiled at her, the one that they used when their parents told them to play and they went roof running and were never caught.

“Never mind. Do you need me to contact Ladybug or Chat Noir?”

“Well, I am talking to Ladybug.”

Marinette knew how to play this off. “And Batman and Brucie are the same person because the butts match.”

“Well, yeah, it would make being his Robin a little harder if they weren’t.”

Marinette took a deep breath before hitting Tim upside the head as “you idiot!”

“Hey, hey! Someone had to!”

“Nightwing!”

“Didn’t want to—not the way he needed!”

“I, urgh! Wait—then Jason—”

Tim softened. “Yeah.”

Marinette hit her head agains the back of the seat. “He told me to always watch out for myself and…”

Tim pressed his shoulder to hers. “I know.”

The rest of the ride was silent.

“How did you…”

“Ladybug, your new haircut and word that speech you made on your debut? A lot like what I found from Jason’s things.”

Marinette may have blushed. A bit. Okay, she had her heroes and hers didn’t wear scaly panties—wait. He did, she just didn’t know that at the time.

“No telling me Chat’s identity.”

“Haven’t figured him out yet, but I would love to see your theories on who hawkmomth could be.”

“Needs the funds to run a butterfly garden, and knowledge to do it in secret, local too, and probably a parent to a Dupont student.”

“That should narrow it down.”

A few weeks later, at fifteen years old, Ladybug and Chat Noir defeated Hawkmoth (with Robin playing intelligence, and refusing to take credit). Chat didn’t want to do the reveal after.

Marinette figured it out when he sneezed at a pigeon.

They met up still, but Chat needed a purpose and Marinette was the guardian. She and Tikki exchanged a look. Marinette called Tim.

“Hey Tim? Remember that group project you mentioned? I don’t think I can help, but I know someone who could use an invite…”

Marinette is sixteen when Red Hood makes a splash in Gotham. Tim was there at the time, so was Adrien.

She didn’t know what happened (they won’t tell) and she won’t press… them at least.

Uncle Oswald answered her questions. New crime lord, and he has a bone to pick with the Bats.

Marinette convinces her parents to let her stay in Gotham. Jagged offered his townhouse for when he’s on tour and she can’t go with (she has so many commissions, so no touring for her).

Chloe and Sabrina manage to convince their parents its okay. (Sabrina’s dad was a particularly difficult sell until Marinette’s Uncle Oswald offered to have them guarded by his men. In person. Marinette is convinced he has a team watching her at this point, and is glad she’s retired as Ladybug. It’d be dangerous if she wasn’t.)

Alya somehow got an internship in Metropolis (Marinette wasn’t glaring at Tim for that, she was disappointed he meddled so much Superman caught on and had his girlfriend offer the girl a spot.)

Nathaniel and Nino couldn’t make it for the summer, but both managed to visit.

Thankfully neither of those visits coincided with her own run-in with Red Hood. To be fair, it was at the old bakery location. Now run by a friend of Papa’s who uses a different set of recipes.

Marinette was there and making some of the old recipes for old time’s sake. One of the baker’s was from Papa’s staff before they left. Most of the new staff were a bit sketchy, but nothing that raised Gotham Red Flags.

She blinked a few times during the encounter as Red Hood burst in (it was still light out… she thought at the time) and paused when he saw her.

“You’re the old owner’s kid?”

She didn’t get what her family had to do until… Uncle Oswald. Great. Human Bait-time.

“Pretty sure the kid left town with her family.” Not a complete lie, but an easy deflection like Jason taught her. She’s not as snarky as him (as he was).

Red Hood, she couldn’t tell what that did for him (stupid Helmet) but he did grab what she was and say “yeah, no way the kid would botch a macron like this.”

She really wanted to deck him for that one. As it was her specialty asshole.

He did leave after that and she may have told Jagged and Oswald she’s going to spend a week or two in NYC with Audrey to keep her mind off of it…

Then Tim had her over with Adrien (who Marinette is now convinced is a Wayne ward in all but name since he lives there now) and Just Their Luck, Red Hood decided to break into the Batcave.

Tim went off to defend it, and Marinette sighed as this is her life and she isn’t a hero anymore. Ladybug would be recognized and easily connected but…

“Trixx, Let’s Pounce!”

A fox hero? Unlikely. One illusion spell later (and Bruce, Tim, Alfred, Adrien suiting up) and Red Hood was knocked out.

Alfred was the one to tell her to stay up stairs as “This isn’t something you need to see Miss.”

She dropped the transformation and put her hands on her hips as “This guy tried to kill Tim who I’ve been keeping from dying since he slipped on a ladder in the middle of winter like an idiot. And is already looking for me.”

The group exchanged a look at that.

“How long?”

“He said I couldn’t be me because my macrons were wrong,” Marinette grumbled, ignoring the real question.

“He did what!” Adrien gawked at her.

“Marinette!” Tim was not happy.

Bruce was looking at her like she was the weird one.

“Oh no, you don’t get to look at me like that. I’m not the one fighting crime in as my fursona and teaching other people to do the same.”

Apparently Red Hood was not actually out cold. How does she know this?

He started laughing.

Bruce was sputtering, Alfred was unreadable, Tim was bring pink and Adrien was nodding along as he was one who started calling Batman and other heroes ‘the furrious furries’ when Batman and Robin were brought up as helping them with Hawkmoth over a year ago.

It was strange to think of it as a year ago.

(a year ago she thought Jason was dead, that Hawkmoth was impossible to find and still crushed on Adrien).

Now Jason is alive, Hawkmoth was defeated ages ago and that crush? Gone with that thing called distance and perspective.

Instead she was staring at the guy who broke into the Batcave and implied he was going to kidnap her two weeks ago, if she was herself, and didn’t because her macrons were ‘wrong’ when he clearly has no taste.

“Hey Pixie.”

Her brain shorted as… “Jason what the fuck.”

Her summer was a weird one. Jason was alive, Uncle Oswald and him were doing business, and since Marinette was in shock still, she went to Uncle Oswald’s unannounced (he tells her when he plans to be busy) so she walked in on Red Hood and him arguing over something and…

“Is this karma for helping Tim when I ten?”

Red Hood took one look at her, then Oswald, and it clicked.

“Pixie, why didn’t you tell me this Thing was your Uncle?”

“Mari dear, please tell me your association with this, this brute.”

“He came back from the dead and didn’t tell me,” Marinette told her Uncle as that she could process.

“Ah. That… explains nothing. Mari dear, we’ll talk about this later, feel free to go to the park until I send someone to fetch you.”

“No, I think Pixie will stay right here and find out what you do.”

Marinette did the logical thing one does when a dead almost-was-your-brother turns into a crime lord and is talking to your ‘Uncle’ who you know has a shady reputation.

Get the hell out of there.

She grabbed her things (she kept them in the suitcases just in case, because Gotham) and joined Uncle Jagged on tour because right now? She needed something a bit less insane. And Jagged qualified.

She would love to tell you she went after Red Hood, or helped Tim and Adrien, she would, but she’s the guardian and that means staying out of on-going wars of many kinds.

It also meant she was able to defend herself when Jason Fucking Todd decided to crash a Wayne Gala that Uncle Jagged and Uncle Oswald were insistent that she attend. Clara and Adrien and Tim joined in. Chloe and Sabrina and Alya combined forces to convince her to attend, while Nino consoled her with pats and good music.

Jason Fucking Todd announcing he’s alive at said Gala, and making a scene before chatting up Bruce and the Wayne Clan (There is new girl named Cass. and she did see a blond with Tim, she thinks its Steph but it could be one of his Titan Friends since she saw Superboy looking like less of a fashion disaster for once with a fast talking ginger that she’s pretty sure is the current Kidflash).

Marinette was so glad she was on the other side of the room, and out of the spotlight.

Jason Fucking Todd catching her the next day when she was getting coffee, was not in her plans.

“So, Pixie Pop, we have some catching up to do.”

And she is not bitter he vanished out of no where. That she thought he was dead when she was a little kid and mourned for months, only to find out he’s a Wayne now. Then not be allowed to see him because of the Wayne-Drake thing. Or that he really died for real and then came back without telling her. Or that he became a crime lord on top of it all and Tim a few scars that line up with what Oswald heard of Robin and Red Hood fights that were brutal.

Nope.

Not.

At.

All.

“We do, but I have an appointment already, and you already know how to contact me, so bye.”

He didn’t, but Tim did. And that meant he had to fix things there.

She’s not sure how to feel about her almost-brother and his attacks on Tim. She’s not sure how to process all of this but she can put some distance, right?

Wrong.

Jason Freaking Todd decided to make up some BS story about having taken time to get better and being grabbed by a goddamn cult and it took him time to escape. (Tim told her it was close to the truth the cult was some group called the League of Assassins… she just. Why. just why?)

Then he decided (re: Alfred Apparently knows Gina, who told Maman and Papa) to get her parents involved in making her talk to him.

How? How does he do this from another continent where he runs his (technical) criminal enterprise?

He just shows up after Tim figured what he was doing and told Alfred.

And now Marinette has to talk to her almost-brother-that-died when she’s elbows deep in a design rut and is far more willing to kick his ass than run (or think about talking to him).

“Pixie pop,” Jason grinned.

Marinette refused to respond on the principle. Her parents were downstairs, and she’s trying to make a nice silloutte but can’t and Fuck Off Jason.

“So, uh, I’m alive.”

“Uh huh.”

“I don’t kill people that don’t deserve it.”

She narrowed her eyes as “Tim.”

Jason scratched the back of his neck. “Okay, I was really messed up for a while.”

Marinette rubbed her forehead. “And.”

“You know of anything called the Lazarus Pitts.”

She did. Also they drive you insane (re: beyond reason) with one use.

“I was recovering from them and mostly have the Pitt Juice out of my system.”

“Bruce?” because he’s batman so what can’t he do at this point?

“A friend of his.”

Cryptic, but she doesn’t want to focus on him.

“So, what have you been up to?”

“Fashion.”

“Oh, what kind?”

Somehow she managed to soften a bit and give real answers. Maybe it was because Jason mentioned debating trying school and vigilantism (apparently he goes after abusers and drug lord and people who target kids and pregnant women and okay, she’ll check with Tim later and all for it being the truth but… she wants this to be real.

At seventeen Marinette meets a ten year old Damian Wayne, who is insistent Tim is not a Wayne.

Marinette is ready to throw hands with a teeny tiny assassin child.

Adrien is too.

Tim says he was just leaving, so Marinette makes the “mature” decision to follow him to San Fransico with Adrien on her heels.

They were not expecting Red Hood to show up a week into their stay (Uncle Oswald was expected to pop in and complain about her not being in Gotham, but Red Hood (not Jason but Red Hood)? Not on the list of visitors.

“So you’re telling me this kid tried to start shit with my Replacement?”

Marinette raised an eyebrow and nodded.

Red Hood told her to give him three weeks to fix it.

Somehow, it worked. And Apparently Nightwing was in the doghouse with some of his former teammates? She wasn’t sure how that worked.

She did know that Tim is sixteen, switched to Red Robin (she helped him design it as he’s bad at it and he wanted to look like he was 30 in his first design. 30. Just. No.) and said he had a thing to do.

Marinette and Adrien shared a look.

“I’ll watch the kwami.”

One list of kwami-care later, and Marinette switched to online classes for the year to keep her not-technically baby brother/her idiot out of trouble. Did she mention ninjas were involved? They were. it was a nightmare and she may have let Red Hood know about the League and he may have shown up to help her keep Tim from getting brainwashed.

Oh, and only at that point did anyone bother to tell her about Bruce being missing-missing not just Off-World or on a real vacation-missing.

Tim explained his hunch (because it is a hunch Timmy, and now we have a semi-solid theory) and she just sighs and calls Adrien to meet her in Gotham.

Fluff won’t tell them where (spell stops it) but confirms Bruce is lost in time. Jason is shocked, Dick and Damian are processing, Alfred is bordering on tears and Tim is victorious.

He also calls up the teen titans for help and they get Bruce—Tim and Adrien’s Father figure, not Batman.

She shakes her head and lets them have their reunion, kwami content at her side.

She goes back to Paris as its home now, and works on rebuilding the order in between nagging Tim about his health (he fears only her and Alfred apparently) and harassing Jason about doing his coursework (apparently she, Maman, Papa and Alfred are all effective there).

She’s able to say her parents were right about Paris being good for her, but she doesn’t think Gotham is bad for her.

hope you enjoyed!

#maribat #my fic #my writing

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lovemesomesurveys · 3 years

Text

Have you ever shared a shower or bath with someone as an adult? No.

What kind of pizza toppings do you like? This question has come up a lot it seems lately.

When did you first take a shot of alcohol? I was honestly 21. It was apparent because I took a shot a tequila and as I was dying my dad handed me his beer and I took a big swig of it. Now, if you know me that says it all because I don’t share drinks. At all. With anyone. I grabbed it and drank without any hesitation at all hahaha. Everyone was shocked.

Did you babysit for money when you were in middle school? I only every babysat my brother and a couple of my cousins, but yeah my parents did give me money for that.

Who is your favorite band? How long have they been? One will always be Linkin Park. We go back to my middle school days.

Has the last person you kissed ever been to your house? Yeah.

Have you ever been to a spa? Nah. I honestly haven’t had an interest in going to one.

When talking on the phone, do you place it against your left or right ear? My right.

What’s your favourite Lunchables meal? I loved the Nachos one.

Do you like Bob Marley? I’m familiar with his music, but I’m not particularly a fan.

Have you ever eaten at Golden Corral? No.

Do you sit and eat dinner at the same table with your family? No, we don’t have a dinner/dining table. Are you listening to any music right now? If so, what are you listening to? No, I’m listening to an ASMR video.

Who was the last person to make you genuinely smile? My mom.

Is there something you want to say to someone but can’t/won’t? Yes.

Do you like men who have a sensitive side? Yes. There’s nothing wrong with that.

Have you ever tried to get someone into a certain band/artist? Yeah.

Have you ever carved you and someone else’s initials into a tree? No.

Do you like Dairy Queen? I haven’t been to one since I was a kid. I see commercials for it a lot and it looks good, but I just never go.

Is there a song in a different language that you can sing? Yeah, some Spanish songs.

How do you feel about bands that use pyrotechnics in live concerts? It can be cool.

Ever fallen down a hole? No, not literally. Thankfully. I fall down rabbit holes a lot, though.

Do you like bananas? I love bananas.

How long do you normally spend in the shower? Like 30-40 minutes.

Have you ever been a featured member on any website? No.

Have you ever had any weird pets? I mean, my doggo is pretty quirky and silly haha.

Are you currently talking to/texting/instant messaging anyone? Nope.

Have you ever experienced insomnia? I have insomnia.

Do you like egg nog? I do.

Would you ever wear Converse with a prom/formal dress? Nah.

Do you prefer hot chocolate with or without marshmallows? Gotta have marshmallows.

How many different people of the opposite sex have you cried over? A few.

Would you rather be a surgeon or mortician? Omg, I absolutely could not do either one. Nooooooo.

Would rather be a musician or a painter? Musician. I wish I had some ounce of musical talent.

Would you rather write your own book or make your own movie? Write a book.

At home, do you have a trampoline? No.

When you are about to go to bed, do you put on some sort of noise? I have my TV on low for some background noise, but I always listen to ASMR before bed.

What is your favorite Christmas movie? I have several.

And what about your favorite Christmas song? I love the classics.

What is your ultimate favorite stocking stuffer? Gift cards are awesome.

After Halloween, do you sort out all of your candy into little piles? Aw, I always did that as a kid.

When you listen to music with headphones, do you keep the volume low enough to hear surrounding noise faintly, or do you blast it? I want to be able to hear surrounding noise. I want to know if someone is calling out my name or comes up behind me. I’m super jumpy. It’s also good to just be aware of your surroundings.

What did you have for breakfast this morning? I had a homemade egg and cheese mcmuffin with spinach and garlic.

What’s the largest animal you’ve ever had as a pet? My doggos.

Do you own any kind of helmet? No.

Out of everything currently in your refrigerator, what food or drink is your favorite? Currently, I’d say my leftover pizza, my Starbucks Doubleshot drinks, and my pack of Yoo-Hoos.

What’s the worst injury you’ve ever had? The one that made me a paraplegic.

Do you like the taste of cough syrup? Ew, nooo.

What is something you like to have conversations about? Interesting stuff? ha.

What all is in the trunk of your car? I don’t have a car of my own; I don’t drive.

Do you ever put fruit on your cereal? No.

Is your heat or air conditioning currently on? No, but I have 3 fans going right now.

Have you ever fallen off of a horse? I’ve never been on one.

Which do you value more, your appearance or your intelligence? Those who see me can see it’s clearly not my appearance. Intelligence is important, but I don’t think I’m all that intelligent. But yeah, learning and being aware are things I want.

When was the last time you drove something other than a car or truck? Uhh, does wheeling around in a wheelchair count? ha.

Were your grandparents present when you were born? My grandma was.

If you drink/smoke, how often do you do these things? I don’t do either.

What do you think of fast food? I like it, I don’t care.

What website do you spend the most time on and why? Tumblr and YouTube for sure. I enjoy them.

What’s the most amount of time you’ve spent online? Is this usual for you? I’m on throughout the day. When it comes to travel, what kinds of places intrigue you most? I’m such a tourist, so I enjoy touristy things. I like checking out the shops and museums. I don’t know, I just like checking out as much as I can.

What is the farthest you’ve walked in one day and what made you do it? A friend and I walked all over this large city while there vacationing.

What is something important that’s often on your mind lately? My current situation with my health stuff.

What about something unimportant, but you can’t stop thinking about it? Hmm. I don’t know. My mind is pretty much just focused on all the bad shit I’m dealing with.

Do you like oatmeal? If so, what kinds of things do you like in it? I do. I like condensed milk, brown sugar, and cinnamon.

What was going on the last time you felt nostalgic? I’ve been feeling that way a lot these past few weeks I’ve noticed. Like, having/craving things I used to enjoy as a kid. Like my latest Yoo-Hoo obsession, for example.

How much attention do you pay to the movements of the stars and planets, and do you believe they influence anything? None.

What is the most difficult or involved video game you’ve ever played? Hmm. Perhaps the Life is Strange series.

Which accent do you find most sexy, alluring or appealing? British or some Southern accents.

Which accent do you find most annoying, disturbing, or bothersome? None of them.

Can you cry on cue? Is it any kind of useful? No.

Does it take you a while to actually get jokes? Not usually.

Can you wear socks to bed or does it annoy you? Yeah, I always wear socks.

Have you ever bleached your hair? Yep, several times.

Do you like jelly beans? Just the black ones, which is a super unpopular opinion.

Do you have trouble sleeping when it’s storming? No, I love it.

Who was the last person you know that graduated? (high school or college) My brother just graduated UC on Saturday.

Were you happy or sad when you found out your babysitter was coming? My babysitter was usually my aunt, who I’ve always been close with, so I looked forward to it.

Did you have a boyfriend in kindergarten? No.

Did you ever read the Magic Treehouse series? Nope.

Who was your best friend in elementary school? I feel like it switched a lot until like the 5th grade.

Did you ever watch The Land Before Time movies? Yes.

Did you collect anything when you were a kid? Rocks. It was something my Nana and I did together.

Did you get an allowance? Yes.

Were you into American Girl dolls? Nah.

Were you friends with your childhood neighbors? Yep, yep.

What was your biggest fear when you were a kid? All bugs. That hasn’t changed.

Did you ever play the "Reader Rabbit" computer games? Awww, yeah.

Did your parents let you drink soda growing up? Yes.

What was your favorite kind of cake as a kid? I’ve always loved white cake with buttercream frosting.

#personal #text #survey #surveys

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danidclgado · 3 years

Text

Downtown Apartment w/ @scott-gallego

This might have been the first time in her life where Dani wasn’t able to spend Christmas or New Years with her family, but that didn’t stop them from forcing her into a facetime call so they could tell her everything she missed. Dani was standing in the kitchen eating a bowl of cereal with her laptop on the counter. Her grandmother was telling her who actually made the best tamales this year and which one of her uncles fell into the rose bush after a few too many beers. “Comiste mucho? Te estás asegurando de que Scott coma lo suficiente? Hiciste tus resoluciones?” Dani’s grandmother asked, to which Dani replied simply and without too much concern, “Sí, sí, sí...” Dani should have expected the scowl that came from her grandmother not but two seconds later that caused her to smile for the first time since she got on the call. “We’re fine, we ate a lot and everything is fine over here” She finally said with a sigh. While Dani had grown up speaking Spanish, she didn’t speak it very well, not to mention she had the accent of a fourteen year old boy taking Spanish 101 for the first time, so she always tried to stray away from her mother tongue. “We’ll make our list of resolutions when he gets home, okay, Jesus” She said, taking another bite from her bowl of Fruity Pebbles. “No uses el nombre del señor en vano” Her grandmother was quick to shout, which only caused Dani to roll her eyes. Thankfully, Scott seemed to have come through the door which gave Dani an easy excuse to hang up her call, “I have to go, but I’ll call you tomorrow, okay bye” She said rather quickly before shutting her laptop down. Of course, she wouldn’t call, she never did.

Putting her bowl in the sink, Dani gave Scott a glance, “My grandma wants us to write our resolutions and send them to her. I think it’s urgent” She said sarcastically with a smirk, “I don’t know, my family does it every year –– we write them all down and then throw it into a bonfire and it’s stupid but I think we should try and do it, if only so my grandma will shut up about it.” That and perhaps she and Scott could align with what they wanted out of the new year together. “My first one is to maybe get a better job?... eventually, maybe down the line somewhere. I mean it’d be nice, but Southwood is also nice, but I don’t know, it could be nicer, you know?” She tried not to think about it anymore since that meant she’d just go on an even longer tangent, “What about you?”

#c #c: scott

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artificialqueens · 4 years

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Fool for You (Crygi) - Frankenvenus

After realising she has fallen for her straight best friend, Crystal’s therapist recommends she write her crush love letters. So instead of communicating her feelings, she scribbles then down and slips them into Gigi Goode’s locker.

A/N~ I hope you like this cause it took forever. I finished it super late at night and I did read through it twice but I apologise for any errors.

Crystal stormed her way into her therapist’s office, throwing herself onto the pink sofa that she sat and rambled on for an hour and a half every week. Her therapist looked at her bemused as the blue-haired girl uttered the words, “I’m in love with my best friend.”

Her therapist, Widow, huffed out a sigh, placing her clipboard down on the coffee table in front and pushing her glasses slightly down her nose, “Well. That’s a common issue for young queer folks like yourself.”

Crystal groaned and rolled over, displaying her puffy eyes and messed up bangs, “But I thought I was immune to it.”

Widow chuckled slightly and leaned towards where Crystal lay, brushing her hair from where it stuck itself in her lip gloss, “Do you need to rant to me about it? You know that’s why I’m here, sweetie; to listen.”

The young girl groaned again before sitting up, straightening her back and recounting the events of her day.

It had started off a normal Thursday. On Thursdays, she would usually peddle to her best friend Gigi’s house before school began so they could scribble down fake absence notes for phys ed, then Gigi would hop on the back of Crystal’s bike and they’d cycle the last half mile to their high school. It was routine for them. Never weird, never crossing any lines. It had always been the two of them, best friends, since middle school. So when things shifted, it took Crystal by surprise.

“I wanna do something different today instead of just sitting in the library until Phys Ed ends. I’m sick of the librarian shutting us up. We literally aren’t even loud,” - Gigi had said, fixing her dirty blonde ponytail in the school bathroom mirror after the bike ride messed it up.

Crystal had agreed with her, before asking her if she wanted to try something new. Although Gigi was her best friend, she hung out with the stoners whilst Gigi hung out with the high-fashion Instagram girls. The dirty blonde had never tried weed, and Crystal never offered - but today she did, and Gigi was eager.

The two of them snuck to the abandoned bike shed at the back of the school, covered in ivy with smashed windows. It was a spot that only Crystal and her friends Daya, Daegen, Lux and Tiff knew, so Gigi was curious to see it.

“This is so cool,” Gigi had gaped, finding a spot in the corner while her friend rolled her a joint. Crystal had to assure her multiple times that they wouldn’t get caught, but Gigi didn’t shut up until the sizzling rice paper was placed in her mouth. The older girl talked her through how to inhale it properly, and soon enough Gigi was coughing the smoke into the air.

“Can you feel it in your chest?” Crystal had asked, and when Gigi nodded, she said, “Good. That’s how you know it worked.”

They sat there, minds foggy, trying to hold conversation despite their thought process and immediate short term memory being cut off every few seconds. At some point, their pinkies intertwined, followed by the rest of their fingers. And then, Gigi was nestling her forehead into the crook of Crystal’s neck. That’s when it all tumbled down on the latter.

The contrasting feeling of the coldness from Gigi’s skin against her own warm, buzzing skin sent jolts of emotion through her, and the gentle brush of Gigi’s wavy locks against her jaw caused her heart to squeeze itself in a way that was unfamiliar to her. It didn’t seem too serious to Crystal whilst she was still in her high, but when the effects of the weed began to fade by fifth period, the sudden feeling of need for her best friend’s touch remained in place.

Her mind kept travelling elsewhere during fifth and sixth period, which happened to be double Spanish. Jaida had to pinch her multiple times, bringing her back down to Earth. Jaida didn’t question Crystal’s behaviour too much though, because the latter wasn’t usually focused in Spanish class anyway, and that’s why she was failing.

Gigi had debate team practice after school on Thursdays, so instead of going home together the same way they would travel to school, Crystal biked alone. She had her earplugs in, blasting Clairo like usual and wondering what the hell it was that she felt today. It wasn’t until ‘Sofia’ by Clairo came on did everything click in her mind. Something about the lyrics ‘Standing here alone now, think that we can drive around, I just wanna say how I love you with your hair down’ made her realise that oh, she wanted to be able to call Gigi her own, and not just platonically. Then she almost crashed her bike.

She swerved into a fire hydrant, gratified that her bike sported thick mountain bike wheels to soften the hit. Luckily, she didn’t fall off - she just got a fright. She decided to walk her bike the rest of the way home, which thankfully wasn’t far.

When she reached home, she spread herself across her bed and allowed herself to make connections that she should’ve made before. Why else could she never take her eyes off Gigi’s plump lips? Why else did people at school assume they were a couple because they were so touchy all the time? Why else did she feel such tremendous jealousy whenever Gigi showed even the tiniest bit of romantic fondness towards someone that wasn’t her.

Her mom knocked on her door, reminding her that she had her therapy appointment in an hour, and that led back to the present.

“That seems like quite the epiphany,” Widow smiled warmly, passing Crystal a tissue box when tears began to spill over, “Normally falling for a long-term best friend is something that you realise over time, but not for you apparently.”

“I think maybe I’m just an oblivious fuck,” Crystal sniffled. “But even if I realised it today, years ago, or tens of years from now, she still wouldn’t like me back.”

“Well, I’m not your friend’s therapist, but we can’t be so quick to assume.”

“Once you see the girl, you’ll know. She’s a hardcore ten. I’m a five, at best.”

“Crystal, remember what we went over…” Widow began, and the blue-haired girl finished the sentence.

“…Instead of self-deprecation, tell yourself you’re the best person ever, no matter whether you believe it or not - yeah, I get it,” Crystal rolled her eyes, “It’s just hard when you know it’s not true.”

“Well, I have a little tip I give my clients when they’re in a similar situation to you. The whole unrequited love thing,” the older woman got up from her seat and walked towards a cabinet, pulling out a packet of fresh, plain envelopes, “I usually tell them to write their crush love notes. It’s up to them whether they send them or not, or whether it’s anonymous or not, but they can be very therapeutic when needing to express bottled up emotion. Do you see where I’m coming from?”

Crystal raised a brow and tilted her head to the side slightly, the hint of a smile on her lips. She actually didn’t mind the idea.

“That’s actually super cute,” she giggled, taking the stack of envelopes from her therapist, “Thank you.”

As soon as Crystal got home, she sprinted to her room and grabbed an old notebook from the back of her stationery drawer. It was a plain A5 paper notebook, but spread across each page was a ginormous red opaque One Direction logo. Crystal had got it for Christmas about a decade ago, but it had only been used a handful of times for random sketches and one draft of a Louis Tomlinson and Harry Styles fanfiction.

She grabbed an ink fine-liner from her art pot which she would normally use for her pointillism artwork and began the first letter.

You don’t know who I am. Well, you do but like, not who is writing this. I hope you aren’t scared or anything - cause that’s the last thing I wanna do. I promise I’m not a freak. Well, I sorta look like one but, I know you aren’t one to be bothered by that kind of thing. It’s beautiful, you know. The way people look at you and assume you’ll hate them for who they are cause you’re so pretty and popular, but then you’re just as wonderful on the outside as you are within. That look on your face when you meet a new person drives me nuts. The way you look like you’ve swallowed the sun. Radiant. Always.

Sometimes I wish I could just tell you how I feel about you to your face, but I think you might faint out of disgust. You do that a lot. I sound like a stalker, but I promise I’m not. I think I’m just smitten.

She finished the letter, reading it over to make sure her handwriting looked unrecognisable. Although Gigi wasn’t the most observant person, she and Crystal were so familiar with each other that she was bound to notice her unique handwriting. She also made sure to spray it with an old perfume that she never wore, so Gigi wouldn’t connect their scents. Gigi always made comments about how she loved Crystal’s perfume, so the blue-haired girl had to take precautions. Her strong scent of cocoa and vanilla was bound to rub off on the paper, so she sprayed it with a men’s cologne that she had likely shoplifted years prior, spraying it onto the paper from a distance.

Although Widow had given her the option not to post the letters, Crystal felt like the weight of her crush wouldn’t be eased unless she actually posted it. So, she placed it into the envelope and slipped it into Gigi’s locker the next day at school when the blonde wasn’t around, her heart pounding in her ears with anticipation and verve.

She sat through her first class of the day, social studies with Daya, desperately trying to take her mind off the painful wait. Daya ranted to her about dinosaurs and how everyone’s perception of how they looked was wrong, but Crystal hardly paid attention. She would nod every so often, just so Daya wasn’t insulted, but she wasn’t really in the conversation.

After social studies, she shared a free period with Gigi. She made her way to their meeting spot in the library after the bell dismissed them from their first period, and sooner than she would’ve liked, Gigi was marching across the library towards her with the smuggest grin on her face.

“Oh my God Crystal Elizabeth you will never guess what I just found in my locker,” she squealed as quietly as possible, sliding into the seat opposite Crystal’s.

“What?” Crystal raised a brow, her mouth full of skittles. Now here was the hardest part - pretending to be shocked.

Gigi reached into her blazer pocket and pushed the familiar envelope towards the older girl, who plastered a confused look on her face. The dirty blonde gestured for her to open it, so she complied. She pulled out the letter that was already likely covered in her own fingerprints and unfolded it with a faux-expression of excitement.

“What the fuck is this?” she chuckled, trying to suppress the shake in her fingers as she held the letter.

“A letter. From a secret admirer,” Gigi beamed, placing her beautiful shaped chin into her palm and flashing her angelic white teeth. Wow, Crystal was more whipped than she thought.

“This is so dumb,” she lied blatantly, and to her surprise, Gigi frowned.

“You think so? I think it’s so sweet. And shit… whoever wrote it has a way with words,” she exhaled, tugging her plump, peachy lower lip between her teeth.

Crystal’s breathing hitched and she felt her skin redden. She assumed Gigi would find it painfully corny, but it seemed like she felt the opposite. The blonde promptly took the letter back from Crystal’s grasp, taking a look at it once more. The older girl wished she was imagining the blush that began to cover Gigi’s face, but it was definitely there.

“I hope they write again. I wanna play Nancy Drew,” Gigi smiled sheepishly, taking Crystal’s hand suddenly, “Will you help me, you know, try and crack the code?”

“Sure!”

Fuck. Crystal felt like Hannah Montana.

They spent Saturday together, drinking on Crystal’s roof and gossiping about their own respective friend groups, however, the conversation kept moving back towards the letter. Gigi was conflicted on whether or not she knew the person, but her repetitive use of he and him pronouns when she referred to the secret admirer caused Crystal’s blood to simmer.

When Gigi left the next morning after spending the night on Crystal’s couch, the blue-haired girl was quick to begin her second letter.

I hope these letters haven’t made you uncomfortable in any way. The look on your face when you read it tells me they haven’t though. What I want to tell you though, is that I’m not what you think. I hate to disappoint you, but I’m not a boy. I’m a girl. I don’t know if you like girls. If not; I’m sorry, but if you do; so do I. I like you a lot. All I want is to make you smile.

She spent Sunday at the skatepark, smoking with Daya, Daegen, Lux and Tiff, before slipping the note into Gigi’s locker first thing on Monday morning. The two of them, as well as Gigi’s friends Nicky and Jaida, all shared music class first period of Mondays. Whilst Crystal was pulling her viola out of its case, Gigi suddenly began dangling the envelope in front of her nose.

“Another one!” Gigi grinned, her voice cracking with adorable excitement. She took a seat beside Crystal and opened it. “I haven’t read it yet.”

Crystal watched her friend’s face with anticipation whilst she read the letter aloud, quiet enough that surrounding people wouldn’t hear. Gigi’s eyes widened as she read it over, and her grin faltered into an unreadable expression.

“What does it say?” Crystal questioned nervously.

“The person who wrote it isn’t a guy,” Gigi sighed, scratching the top of her head, “It’s a girl.”

The tanned girl pursed her lips, not knowing what to say next.

“Wow, uh. So… what do you think about that then?” she queried stupidly.

“About what?”

“You know… a girl liking you…”

The blonde crossed her legs and looked away from Crystal, “A pair of tits isn’t gonna stop me from loving this girls way of words. The anonymity is sexy. I should’ve known a man wouldn’t have the mental capacity to do something so romantic.”

This could not be real. Crystal felt like she was lucid dreaming.

“So you like… girls?” she pressed.

Gigi turned to her with a glint in her eye, “No gender or sex will stop me from wanting to kiss someone pretty.”

Oh.

“What? Are you homophobic or something?” Gigi added, and Crystal simply laughed.

”As if! Have you seen me? I think I should get ‘flaming lesbo’ tattooed on my cheek. I just didn’t know about you…” Crystal rushed out before she could even think about it. Never did she think she would come out in that way. In her mind, for most of her life, she had anticipated coming out in a very deep, emotional way - likely crying on Gigi’s bed. This was nothing of the sort.

“You’re a lesbian? Wow. I should’ve known,” the blonde simpered, and Crystal shoved her shoulder playfully.

When my therapist recommended I write these, I thought it would help me get over you, but fuck I think I’m falling harder for you. That floral outfit you wore yesterday was so cute. When you walked into class, it lit the whole room up. You truly are God’s favourite, huh? Just kidding I don’t believe in God, but whoever sculpted you took their time.

“Crystal look at this one! This is the most poetic piece of artwork I have ever read,” Gigi gaped, rushing towards Crystal after the latter had waited outside her human biology class for her.

The older girl took the letter and read through it, biting hard on her lower lip whilst Gigi watched with a smile, “It’s cute,” she said.

“It isn’t just cute! It’s… beguiling!”

“Do you even know what that means?”

The blonde groaned as they began to walk through the hallways together.

“I think you’re jealous because no one is writing you captivatingly beautiful love letters.”

Crystal shrugged and continued walking, eventually bumping into Daegen and going for a much-needed smoke. The blue-haired girl didn’t want to come off as cold to her best friend, but she feared that if she said too much, Gigi would make the connection. She smoked in silence, allowing Daegen to rant about her weekly argument with Daya that would likely be resolved by Friday. Occasionally she would nod, but she kept quiet.

It was surprising to Crystal that Gigi appreciated the letters so much. She thought the blonde would find them creepy and stalker-like, and perhaps fear for her own safety, but the opposite reaction was apparent. So now Crystal didn’t know what to do. Gigi was falling for her words, but she didn’t know it was her.

Apparently Daegen had been saying something because suddenly the girl was snapping her pink acrylic covered fingers in front of her eyes.

“Are you listening to me, Crys? I asked what you were planning on doing for Halloween this Friday?”

Oh. Crystal had almost forgotten that she had been working on her Corpse-bride inspired Halloween costume since July, putting her entire soul into the concept and causing her fingers to bleed with the many late nights of sewing layers of tulle. Everything with Gigi must have been really getting in her head - so much so that she forgot about the object of her whole summer.

She was too old for trick or treating now, unfortunately, but she had been planning to have a small get-together (edging on a party) with her remote friend group as well as others. Gigi had promised to attend, after spending the last two Halloweens with the popular kids getting shitfaced at college parties.

“Don’t you remember? I’m throwing a party. My dad is out of town for work and my mom is spending time with our grandma. The house will be empty,” Crystal grinned, puffing a cloud of smoke into the air.

“Crystal Lucia Elizabeth throwing a party? Who would’ve thought,” Daegen smirked, “Is Geege coming?”

“Yup,” Crystal said, her smile faltering slightly as she popped the ‘p.’ Daegen didn’t press on, so soon they were both putting their cigarettes out and heading to their next class.

Word of Crystal’s Halloween party spread like a virus, and the prominent conversation around the school was what everyone was wearing. Thankfully for Crystal, most of her friends were art kids, so instead of wearing a slutty (insert random occupation) costume, they’d all be wearing actual thought-out looks.

At lunchtime, Crystal and Gigi sat under the bleachers together, sipping Yakults and talking about their days. The blue-haired girl asked Gigi what she’d be wearing to her Halloween party, but the blonde wouldn’t tell her.

“It’s a surprise.” her eyes were glinting smugly. Gigi was a seamstress, and everyone knew it. She would create intricately designed, beautiful outfits and sell them to big names on Instagram. Crystal often wondered why she hadn’t just dropped out of school, considering it seemed like she had a strong career set in stone.

But oh boy, Crystal knew whatever it was that Gigi was planning to wear would sweep her off her feet. Figuratively and literally - she was quite clumsy.

I can’t wait to see you at the Halloween party tomorrow. I know you’re going to look ethereal. You always do. It’s so hard to look at you without kissing you. I don’t know why I would ever think you would kiss me considering I’m not even half as pretty as you, but I will continue to manifest it as long as you’re in my life. I think I love you.

“She said she loved me in yesterday’s letter,” Gigi shouted through the wind, holding onto Crystal’s waist tight as the latter peddled through the neighbourhood.

“Do you love her?” Crystal replied, thankful that her friend was unable to see her expression at that moment. She couldn’t think straight with Gigi holding her in that way.

“I mean. I guess I have to talk to her face to face. For all I know she can’t speak for shit in real life. She said she’s going to your party tonight. Maybe all will be revealed…”

Crystal breathily laughed out a response as she turned into the school gate. She knew she wasn’t ready to come clean yet. Gigi would simply have to wait another day.

The day passed in a blur. The girls skipped Phys Ed as per usual, but instead returned to the library again for extra revision instead of going back to the bike sheds to get high like last time.

Friday night took a painfully long time to come, but when it did, Crystal could hardly breathe the entire day. She managed to flirt her way out of sixth-period history so she was able to speedily bike her way home to make a start on her eccentric Halloween makeup. People were set to begin arriving at 9 pm, and there wasn’t much preparation to be done aside from throwing a couple of fake cobwebs around the place and placing stacks of red solo cups on the kitchen counter. Her makeup would take at least an hour and a half, so as soon as she got home she took a five-minute shower before beginning the look.

She painted her entire body a silvery grey before carving out strong cheekbones with black paint, giving her an undead appearance. She shaped her brows in a way that would make her look constantly mournful. She slipped her dress on, threw on four different silver necklaces, pulled her voluminous black wig over her head, and clipped the vail to it carefully. After admiring her masterpiece through her phone camera for a few minutes, the doorbell rang. It was Lux and Tiff, who had texted to say they were arriving early.

“Oh my God,” Crystal squealed as she opened the door, revealing the two girls. Both of them were dressed in beige prison outfits, and it quickly clicked to her that they were supposed to be Alex and Piper from Orange Is the New Black. “Lesbians, I assume,” she grinned, but the two girls in front of her were too busy gaping at her own outfit.

“Wow. You are Tim Burton’s wet dream,” Tiff said, pushing past Crystal and entering her home.

“No, I’m not. I’m not white, remember,” Crystal joked.

Lux had brought her large overpriced speaker to blast music. She heaved it into the living room and plugged it in, immediately starting to blast Stupid Love cause she was that girl.

Luckily for Crystal, her neighbourhood adored her. Her street was predominantly old women, but instead of constantly yelling at Crystal for dressing slutty, partying and smoking weed on her roof, they would simply envy her recklessness.

After an hour of pre-shots, people began to arrive. Most people brought their own alcohol, but it was clear that many of them were already drunk before they even arrived. Crystal remained in the foyer, leaning against the wall, singing along to Lux’s music and answering the doorbell whenever it rang. Every time the ringing echoed across the house, she’d subconsciously pray Gigi was on the other side, but for the first two hours, it never was.

Nicky, Jaida and Gigi all arrived at once, and Crystal felt herself get cotton mouth for a second when she looked over them all. Nicky was dressed in a basic white gown with her blonde hair down, however, she was absolutely drenched in fake blood and she wore a small prom queen tiara and sash. It was obviously a Carrie cosplay, and Crystal adored it. Jaida had her entire body painted green and wore a black catsuit over it, cosplaying as Gamora from Guardians of the Galaxy.

Crystal complimented their costumes first, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Gigi. Her Halloween costume wasn’t as bold as they had been in the previous years, but there was something about it that took Crystal’s breath away. The blonde had her hair down and curled in smooth waves and she was wearing a loose white dress with a victorian-Esque corset pulling her waist in impossibly tight. She had dripped wax below her eyes, giving a crying illusion, and her makeup was a shimmery purple, making her look angelic. Yes - that was her costume - an angel. Strapped across her back was the largest pair of faux feather angel wings Crystal had ever seen. They were reminiscent of the ones a Victoria’s Secret models would wear, and they shimmered under the moonlight.

“Holy fuck…” Crystal blurted, before squeaking slightly.

“I know right? They’re so fucking heavy,” Gigi giggled before hopping in and air-kissing Crystal on each cheek, “You look so good, girl.”

“Thanks,” Crystal smiled, deciding that she would no longer be taking doorbell duty. She wanted to enjoy herself, so she walked through to the kitchen where Daya was doing body shots with some guy she had never seen before and promptly decided to join her.

Every so often, she would catch Gigi dancing and knocking things over with her wings. She didn’t mind if Gigi ended up shattering a vase. She would glue up every fragment of china for her.

After her second shot, Crystal made her way to the living room with Daegen to observe people’s dancing, and that’s when she saw them.

There was this guy from Gigi’s geography class that she never shut up about. His name was Toby, and he was one of those ‘hipster boys.’ He was a self-proclaimed feminist but probably cried about rejections from women on the internet. Every time Crystal saw his lanky frame enter a room, she felt sick and fantasized about decking him. There was something about him that was just so irritating to her, and every time he stuck his tongue out at her friend or wiggled his eyebrows like a fucking loser, Crystal wanted to cave in on herself.

And there he was, in her home, dancing with her best friend to ‘If You’re Too Shy’ by The 1975, grinding against her cause her angel wings were too large for the roles to be reversed. Gigi was biting her lip and grinning wide - evidently drunk - and she flipped her hair and bounced to the upbeat synth. Nicky was cheering her on from the couch, and Crystal wished she could just shut the party down. So much for Gigi falling in love with her words? Now she was grinding over some flimsy incel that looked like he would have to be pegged by a woman in bed.

It only got worse from there. The blonde caught Crystal’s eye and she walked up to her slowly, her hand still intertwined with Toby’s. Her words were so slurred that the older girl almost didn’t catch them, but she heard Gigi say: “Hey Toby was wondering if your bedroom was free? All the other ones are occupied but I’m desperateeee.”

Crystal had to hold back the mouthful of vomit threatening to spill from her lips. Gigi was so incredibly drunk, and it seemed like Toby was sober, so the entire endeavour didn’t sit right with her at all. She mentally cursed herself for being so generous, because before she could even register what she was doing, she was pulling a small key out of her bra and Gigi and Toby were rushing their way upstairs.

“Fuck, Crys. Have some respect for yourself,” she mumbled when she was out of earshot from her friend. Decidedly, she made her way to the garden where she knew Daegen was smoking with Tiff. She had to ease her mind.

“Fuck, Goode, you’re so hot,” Toby grunted, carelessly pulling Gigi’s wings off her arms. Gigi’s mind was hazy and she couldn’t think or speak properly, so she wasn’t able to tell the boy that the wings were handmade and extremely fragile.

“Thanks,” she slurred as he began to undress her, “Wait.”

“What?”

“Let me try and find a condom.”

She hopped off Crystal’s bed and somehow managed to find her way to her friend’s chest of drawers. She found panties and tampons among many other things, but she couldn’t find a condom. She reached the final drawer and frantically poked around for one. Then she grabbed something, and suddenly she sobered up.

It was a red A5 notepad with a black swirly binder. On the red cover, Gigi spotted five faces; Zayn, Niall, Liam, Harry and Louis. She chuckled slightly, before opening the notebook. Her heart dropped. If the familiar 1D watermark print paper wasn’t enough to make the connection, the titular scribble saying ‘Love letter for Geege draft’ at the top sealed it.

“Are you okay, Gigi?” she heard Toby ask from the bed.

The blonde paused and furrowed her brow, not sure what to do next. “Um. I can’t do this. Sorry.”

“But it was gonna be so good… You look so fine…” “Not tonight, Toby. Sorry.”

Her tone was serious, and Toby knew not to cross her. The boy watched as she pulled her dress and wings back on, and squinted his eyes when she saw a small red notebook in her hands.

“What’s that?” he pressed.

“Get out. Crystal wouldn’t want you in her room.”

After muttering a few disgusting insults under his breath, he left the room, leaving Gigi alone on her best friend’s bed with an overwhelming amount of thoughts.

Downstairs, Crystal had a growing concern as to where Gigi was, because she swore she saw Toby leave with another girl on his arm. Instead of being petty, she decided to be a good friend and creep up the stairs. To her surprise, her bedroom door was wide open. Upon entering, she realised it was empty. And then she saw the small A5 One Direction notebook wide open on her bed, and knew it was time to shut the party down.

It didn’t take more than fifteen minutes to get everyone out, but she was still met with groans of annoyance due to it only being little after midnight. Daya stayed back to help Crystal clean up, but the blonde knew something was wrong.

“Crys? What happened?” she asked, placing a hand on the girl’s shoulder. Her other hand was occupied with a large bin bag filled with chip packets, put-out cigarettes and paper cups.

The small motion of comfort caused Crystal to break down, tears tumbling down her cheeks and creating streaks in her white face paint. Patches of caramel skin showed through as she cried more and more.

“No one… touched you… did they?” Daya questioned, dropping the trash bag and wrapping her arms around her friend’s waist.

“No,” Crystal sobbed, “I don’t really wanna talk about it. I’m fine. I just have to figure out a couple of things.”

“Do you need me to stay over?”

“No. It’s fine. I need some alone time.” The house was back to its usual state after twenty minutes, then D aya’s Lyft arrived and she left. Crystal found herself in front of her vanity, scrubbing at her face with cotton pads in an attempt to remove her many layers of makeup. She turned on her ‘Sad Girl Hours’ Spotify playlist whilst she cleaned herself up and continued playing it when she slid into the bath.

Gigi knew.

She couldn’t even think about why Gigi was snooping about in her drawers, she just knew that Gigi knew. Gigi finally made the connection. Crystal’s mask of hiding behind her romantic words was gone. There was no coming back from this. Part of her wanted to slide her body down the white acrylic bathtub surface, submerging herself in the water and remaining there until her lungs couldn’t function without another breath.

Instead, she simply sat there, neck and below beneath the steaming water, eyes shut. Her mind swarmed with escape plans. Would transferring to another school be worth it? Her current school was the best in the district. Should she give it up merely to run away from her problems? Should she face the issue head-on and talk about it with Gigi? Yes. Will she? Absolutely not.

She clambered out when the steam from the water began to make her dizzy. She straightened her blue hair every morning, but it had returned to its curly, frizzy state when it became dampened by the water. She rang it out into the sink using a hand towel, droplets of water falling from her naked frame. Everything was calm. The only thing that could be heard was the occasional sniffle - for Crystal was still crying sightly.

But, like all things, the peace came to an end when Crystal heard a clattering noise come from her bedroom. She yanked a towel from behind the bathroom door before hesitantly making her way back to her room, gasping when she saw someone climbing through her window. Instinctively, she grabbed a tennis racket that was hanging in the corner of her room.

“Jesus Christ - put that down!” the intruder gasped, and Crystal realised that it wasn’t an escaped prisoner coming to steal her and hold her captive in their trunk - it was Gigi.

Part of Crystal wanted to hit Gigi across the head with the racket painstakingly hard so the blonde’s memory would be wiped, forgetting the humiliating events of the day, but instead, Crystal just placed the racket down and covered herself tensely. She was still in her towel, and her hair was still dripping down her shoulders. She likely looked a mess, but it was too dark to notice.

“It’s almost 3 am…” Crystal whispered. Although she didn’t ask anything, it was clear her statement meant ‘why are you here?’

Gigi’s eyes trailed over to the blue-haired girl’s bed where the notebook still sat. Crystal had been afraid to touch it.

“Listen, if you’re going to ridicule me, do it on Monday, cause I’m too tired for this-” the older girl began, but Gigi stepped closer towards her.

The blonde had removed her costume and had her face now bare of any makeup. She was just stood there in black sports leggings and a pink sweater that was three sizes too large, swallowing up her slender frame. Her hair was damp and now in plaits, and her eyes were as puffy and tear-stained as Crystal’s, yet somehow still so beautiful.

“I’m not going to ridicule you, Crys,” she whispered, “I just wanna know… Was it you all along?”

Crystal didn’t wanna say it. Her body had never burned so bad, despite being bare and dripping with water. It was impossible to look Gigi in the eye, so instead, she looked at the gathering dust on the floor, gulping instead of responding.

“Answer me, Crys.” - she was getting closer.

“I don’t know if I can- if I can say it-” Crystal stumbled, her voice cracking under pressure.

Gigi stepped into Crystal’s bubble suddenly, reaching for the latter’s shaky hand. She took it in her own and pressed a soft kiss to it. “Don’t be scared to talk to me. We are best friends, remember. We vowed to always be transparent with one another - so I need you to tell me.”

After too long, Crystal finally met Gigi’s sparkling blue gaze. She swallowed back yet another lump in her throat before nodding. “It was me. I wrote them. All of them.”

The older girl swore she heard Gigi’s breathing hitch, but if the blonde was shocked in any way, she didn’t show any sign of it.

“I wanted to believe it was you, but when you seemed so disinterested in the letters, I began to question it. I never knew that you could write in such a way, Crys,” Gigi smiled sadly, reaching over to catch a tear spilling from Crystal’s eye with her thumb. The touch seemed to burn, sending electrifying sensations through both of them. “Did you truly mean everything you wrote in those letters or was it all a big joke to make me feel special?”

Crystal gasped slightly and furrowed her brow.

“Gigi Goode… You are special. When we got high during Phys Ed and you were all touchy I- I realised that I liked you. Even though it hasn’t been long since I realised it, I know my attraction to you has been there from the start. It started to become impossible to be around you without telling you how I felt, so I wrote it down in letters and hoped I could send the feeling away.”

Crystal was crying now - hard. She was a crier, and everyone knew it, but there was something about the quiet whimpers escaping her lips at that moment that took Gigi off guard.

“I wish you would’ve told me but, I can’t blame you. It’s terrifying,” Gigi sighed, stepping even closer. “I can’t even begin to explain how those letters made me feel, Crys. They made me feel like I hold some significance in somebody’s life. That someone might want me. That I am good enough for someone. You made me feel all that.”

In a bold move, Crystal was reaching towards her friend and tucking an escaped wisp of blonde hair behind her ear, “I can’t imagine a world where you aren’t good enough, Geege.”

“Your letters made me feel so loved,” Gigi sniffled. “Do you love me, Crystal?”

Crystal parted her lips, her hand still lingering by the side of Gigi’s face. It was a make or break moment.

“Yes,” she breathed, and then Gigi was leaning in.

The blonde paused before their lips could meet, looking for a sign of approval in her friend’s eyes. Crystal nodded, and that gave Gigi what she needed to finally press her lips against the former’s frown. They instantly became so content like that, lips moving together so perfectly like they just fit.

It was so gentle, to begin with, Crystal’s hand barely touching the side of Gigi’s face - but then the blonde’s fingers grabbed the top of Crystal’s arm, pulling her closer and prying her mouth open with her tongue. Their lips shifted clumsily against each other, but it still felt so right. Crystal tasted like teardrops and pineapple juice, and Gigi tasted like mint.

As the kiss became more and more heated, Crystal figured out what to do with her free hand. She took Gigi’s hand and led her towards the knot that held her towel together, staring at the blonde with dark, lustful eyes.

“I want you,” Crystal said, like it was a promise, “I need you.”

“I’m yours,” Gigi replied, pulling the knot loose and watching as the towel dropped by Crystal’s feet, showing off tanned curves glistening in water drops, begging to be marked.

They pulled one another in once again in a knee-weakening kiss, their noses colliding with each other as the passion fogged their minds. Soon, they were falling onto Crystal’s bed, and Crystal was watching whilst Gigi undressed herself in front of her.

“Promise me we’ll do this, and then we will talk everything out?” Crystal asked whilst Gigi was pulling her leggings off.

The blonde pressed a gentle kiss against Crystal’s cheek before whispering, “Of course. I love you.”

While Crystal watched Gigi hook a naked leg over her own, all she could think was: Widow VonDu needs a pay rise.

#rpdr fanfiction #crygi #crystal methyd #gigi goode #lesbian au #high school au #friends to lovers #frankenvenus #concrit welcome #s12

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ofbarreras · 3 years

Text

hey everyone ! first of all, i am SO excited to finally get to write with you all ! i’m a, and i write eddie barrera aka ritenuto ! i’m 23, est, she / her. currently, when i’m not watching way too much tv or reading, i’m in college. thankfully, i’m technically on winter break now. below is eddie’s intro, but his full bio can be found here. his connections page is here, but it’s empty because i want to plot stuff out with people. lastly, here is a list of headcanons that is being regularly updated. all of the ones on his intro can be found there.

stats

full name: eduardo barrera

nickname: eddie

gender & pronouns: cis male, he / him

orientation: bisexual / biromantic

age: twenty-two

occupation: none

status: deceased

history

tw: anxiety, mentions of a panic attack, death

growing up, eddie’s parents had very high expectations for him. he really does believe in his heart that they just wanted what was best for him, but always having to be the perfect son did a number on him. even now, he tries so hard to please others that he forgets to put himself first.

for a.... very long time he was a popular jock ( rip ), except he was the quiet, nice jock who just sits with the douchebags. he played soccer and hated it.

he taught himself to play the piano when he was eight, and it’s his favorite thing, honestly. any time he’s stressed or upset, catch him jamming out on the piano.

eddie’s always known he was an anxious person, but it wasn’t until his first panic attack when he was fifteen that he realized how bad it was. playing the piano definitely helps, but he still has his rough days.

being in the band helped too, of course. joining a rock band wasn’t something his parents loved, but it made eddie happy. he loved his time with the band - it was the best part of his life.

eddie went to ucla on a partial academic scholarship. the rest of the money came from his parents, as well as the part time job he had to help cover his own rent. because his parents paid for things, he really didn’t have many options with what he majored in, so he technically has an econ degree ( y i k e s ).

dying hasn’t been easy on him. he’s coping...somewhat. he’s just really lost right now. i don’t think he knows whether or not he wants to move on, or whether he wants to try to keep the band going. i think he’s really struggling with what to do next in general.

headcanons

eddie has a little sister, isabel aka izzy. they used to get on each other’s last nerves, but he did love her. she was about three years younger than him, and he’s so weirded out by the idea of her now being in her mid 30s. if he ever did decide to go see a member of his family, it would probably be her. but also he’s really unsure as to whether he wants to see any of them, or if that would just hurt too much.

used to be a classical pianist only sort of guy but obviously branched out once he joined killer conclusions. still, i feel like he may not have had quite the impressive musical taste as some of his bandmates. he absolutely loved backstreet boys and britney spears. sorry dali !!! but also he’s a big fan of fleetwood mac.

disaster bi. literally anyone at all flirts with him and he’s like “is this love ?” he had terrible luck with love when he was alive, and i’m not sure it’s much better now that he’s dead, honestly. but who knows. not me.

eddie is third generation. he’s colombian on his mother’s side and mexican on his dad’s, and he’s bilingual. around the house, the barrera’s mostly spoke spanish, unless they had guests over. they made sure that eddie and izzy still felt connected to both colombian and mexican culture.

he was raised catholic, but he stopped going to church after he moved out. he considered himself to be more agnostic at the time of his death, and at this point is like “that’s too much to process on top of everything else, thanks.”

as much as i love classical pianist eddie barrera, a part of me would love for him to learn a second instrument at some point. give him some musical range !!!!

he was such an absolute teacher’s pet in school, oh my god. like he doesn’t mean to be a suck up, but he likes rules and being liked. so he ended up often being the kid that adults trusted.

eddie is a short king. he’s only 5′7′’ but we love that for him.

he’s gone by eddie for as long as he can remember, but i think it would be excellent for someone to call him eduardo at least once.

he sings harmony sometimes and that is it !!! well maybe the occasional duet, but nothing more than little solos here and there. the thought of singing a full song by himself is terrifying.

if he had been able to chose his own major, i think he would have picked music tbh.

eddie can absolutely chicken out of things. he does it often. if he has enough time to talk himself out of doing something, he will - which is why he needs people to push him.

team mom, now and forever. 100% the friend who has to be like “this is the dumbest idea you’ve never had.” definitely the voice of reason. also, once he’s close to you, he can be a bit snarky. like, i think he definitely calls people dumbass very affectionately.

he can come across as distant and almost maybe even a little bit aloof at first ? he’s just not great at letting people in right away, it takes him some time usually. but if you manage to get past that, he’s the sweetest guy. he has such a big heart and he’s absolutely so loyal to his friends. he would do anything for the people he cares about, almost to the point of being self-sacrificing. again, he puts his own needs last, so he would give up anything for his friends in a heartbeat.

#( eddie | intro )#phqs.intro #tw anxiety #tw panic attacks #tw death

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lambourngb · 4 years

Text

So I moved my Sunday update to tonight in honor of @jumbled-nonsense ‘s birthday. Last Year’s Wishes is at 88, 076 words, give or take. 16 scenes to write, 13 days until the end of the month. My guess a little less than 29,000 words to go. Here’s a late addition to the story that I wrote the other day, Alex visiting Mimi. The rest of the story lives here. From the outside, Sunset Mesa Assisted Living and Memory Care of Roswell looked similar to a resort clubhouse. It was a sprawling two story facility that spread out into sweeping wings with bright red roof tiles and Spanish arches. It was only the glaring lack of a golf course that kept it from being mistaken as a leisure destination.

Since Maria had transferred the care of Mimi there, Alex had been making a point to visit at least twice a month. His first visit had coincided with being on base, and while the uniform had garnered admiring glances from the staff, Mimi had spent the afternoon addressing him as “Jesse”. His skin crawling, he had made a note to carry spare clothes for any subsequent visit.

He had spent his childhood and teenage years borrowing mother figures from his friends, ever since he was 8 and his own mother had left. First Michelle Valenti, licking the cinnamon sugar off his fingertips when she made offered her hojarascas to him and then when Kyle had turned from friend to foe in high school, he had embraced Maria’s mother with her warm hugs and bold insistence on being himself, no matter who that ended up being. Mimi holding him tight, whispering in his ear that this was temporary, all while he felt so isolated and alone that maybe falling asleep and never waking was the better option, meant the world to him. It was not an exaggeration that he had considered harming himself at the ages of 14 and 15. It would have been entirely too easy with firearms readily available in his father’s house, never far from reach.

For that alone, Alex would do whatever he could for Mimi.

He scrawled his name in the visitor log, noting the frequency of Maria’s name above his. A pang of regret held him close as he thought about how complicated that friendship had become. It had once been the rare source of consistency in his transient life. Alex looked up at the charge nurse with a smile.. “How is Mimi today, Delores?”

“About the same, although thankfully she stopped leaving glasses of water everywhere.” Delores met his confused smile with a shrug, “Someone showed her Signs.”

“I thought alien related films were banned from movie night?”

“We had a new hire. They didn’t know, so for a while it was water, water everywhere with Ms Deluca. We’re back to Will Smith now, which I can deal with because that man is fine.” Delores took the guest book and gestured to the day room. “She’ll be glad to see you.”

Alex forced a smile and walked over to the brightly lit and cheerfully painted day room. As nice of Sunset Mesa was, and it was very nice compared to his experience with VA hospitals, it was still a place where families hauled themselves there out of obligation and their elderly relatives drifted like gray ghosts in the hallways.

Mimi Deluca was the outlier, at least thirty years younger than the youngest resident. She was never combatant, and seemed to help the staff when she could with the other patients. At a glance a newcomer would mistake her as a volunteer, except for the fact she wore slippers instead of the orthopedic shoes popular with the nurses.

As soon as he drew near to her, she stood up from the soft overstuffed loveseat in the corner with a beaming smile, “Alex! Come here hot stuff and give me a hug.”

Alex mirrored her smile and wrapped his arms around her, absently noting she felt thinner in his embrace. “Mama Deluca!”

“My, married life is treating you well.” She patted his stomach teasingly. Her hands were bare of jewelry but still elegantly straight fingered and absent of age spots. “That husband of yours is feeding you well.”

A sharp pain radiated inside, as he kept his smile intact. Mimi, instead of mistaking him for Jesse, had started commenting on being married to a handsome man and it coincided heartbreakingly with his first visit after Michael had moved in. It was easier and harder to just go with it. “Are you calling me fat?”

Mimi beamed, and pulled him down to the loveseat. “Never, honey.”

The rest of the day room was largely quiet, with a group of residents staring at the flat screen television showing old game shows in the background. Mimi took his hand, and held it firmly. Her hair was resplendent as usual, cascading down her shoulders.

Alex remembered from his original research for Maria that Sunset Mesa had sported a salon with someone on staff who knew the proper care and treatment of black hair, and every visit he had made had so far born that as true. “You look beautiful as always, Mimi. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine honey, can’t complain. But you, you are such a mix of happiness and stress. You know you will worry less once all the secrets are out.” Mimi lifted her finger to gently press on his forehead, forcing him to smooth his expression at the teasing touch.

“Secrets?”

“The pieces want to be together, Alex, and that goes for the truth.”

He shivered at the repetition, but it wasn’t unusual. Mimi had often picked up repeated sentences from old conversations. Hearing her repeat Michael’s steady words from his bunker was still disconcerting. “You know I can’t talk about my work.”

“Hmmm. Now you sound like your father, but I wasn’t talking about that.” She smiled again and then put her arm around Alex, encouraging him to tuck into her side like he used to do as a teenager. “Tell me about your husband.”

“Michael’s fine. We went to Tinnie’s the other night. You would have loved our waiter.”

“He was hot?”

“So hot. Looked like he stepped out of a J Crew catalog.”

Mimi laughed, delighted. “You’re making that up. I don’t believe you even noticed what that waiter looked like, too busy staring star struck at your hubby.”

“I plead the fifth.” Alex smiled, holding her hand in his with an affectionate squeeze. “He’s been busy at the garage, and I’ve started back at the base again until my commission is finished.”

“Work, work, work, Alex. It’s good you did dinner out together, you should keep making these efforts with each other. I’m telling you, things have a way of working out, without your intervention. Just stick all your troubles in the vessel. It knows what to do.”

Alex tensed in her hold, tipping his head up to meet her gaze. As he suspected, she wasn’t focused on him at all. “Vessel?”

“The ships, Alex. They weren’t just for moving from point A to point B. And what is distance but a state of mind?” Mimi threaded their fingers together, admiring the skin tones with a hazy joy. “These hands, the intent is what matters, for ill or for will. For better or worse.”

He closed his eyes briefly and summoned an even tone to keep her calm. Sometimes the talk of aliens, real or not, could send her into an agitated spiral. “I’ve tried to keep my intentions pure.”

Mimi laughed again, “don’t con a psychic love. I was young once. Sex is still one of the best uses of our earthly forms.”

The conversation, like usual with Mimi, had slipped completely out of his control. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I am not discussing that with you, Mama Deluca.”

Abruptly, her head shot up to stare toward the door of the day room. “Oh. Oh my sweet Maria. She’s breaking her own heart again. Unrequited love is such a sharp blade to kiss.”

Alex twisted to look over to the doorway half expecting to see Maria standing there. The hallway was empty, just Delores behind the check in desk. He frowned a little concern at the look of sorrow on Mimi’s face. “It might not be? Unrequited that is.”

“You can change your hair, you can change your name, but you can’t change your heart, Alex.” She sighed again, “Aliens might be able to, they have that type of power, you know. The vessel will hold you tight and make you someone else. It’s a change that is so complete you’re remade.” She gently traced circles on the back of his hand. “But this town has had enough of that type of whitewashing. When you think about it, it doesn’t matter what is buried or planted, some flowers will never bloom in Roswell.”

Alex nodded thoughtfully, and noticed the flash of dark hair and bright clothing just outside the doorway at the front desk. Just as Mimi predicted, Maria was here, chatting warmly with Delores as she signed the book. “I should go, looks like Maria is here too. You’re a popular woman today, not that it isn’t surprising.” He kissed her hand gently, and shifted to his feet, feeling the stretch on his right hip. “I love you, Mimi.”

“I love you too, Alex. You should bring that husband next time. I promise not to steal him from you.” Mimi winked devilishly at him, “not that anyone could. He’s been yours forever.”

He shook his head, pressing the sharp knot of want down deep inside. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Alex turned, hoping to escape from the day room exit before Maria caught sight of him.

#fake dating your ex because of the feds #ex-lovers-to-fake-lovers-to-friends-to-real-lovers slowburn #post-season 1 #will be writing this fic forever haha #happy birthday maura!#alex manes emotion having disaster #roswell new mexico #malex fic in progress #wip alert #another bit to share for motivation #its getting harder to find non-spoilery bits #i should just hurry up and finish this monster

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wunderlass · 4 years

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Heart-Shaped Box

For RIPRoswell Day Three: grief, joy, remembrance, acceptance.

We don’t see Halloween celebrated in season one, but the timing of the finale suggests we’ve passed it by somewhere along the way, probably in the six weeks that passes between episodes eight and nine. It’s implied that Liz and Max haven’t seen each other much, if it at all, during those six weeks. For the purposes of this story, I’m going to act like they did cross paths a handful of times while Liz worked on a cure for Isobel.

Thanks, as always, to @maxortecho for her beta skills. All Spanish errors are mine. Anything Max gets wrong about the traditions are a clueless white girl taking advantage of having a clueless white boy to write about.

For A. 13 years. You picked an apt day to die. No altar, no roadside memorial, but a candle for you tonight.

A cluster of aliens swarms down the street, heading for the patrol car and quickly surrounding it. There’s no escaping them now.

Max slumps back against the headrest and heaves out a weary sigh. Cam is still inside Beam Me Up and they aren’t going anywhere until the kids have finished trick or treating down this road.

Aliens. All of them: ET, Yoda, Buzz Lightyear, a bizarrely adorable xenomorph, and an entire galaxy’s worth of Star Trek characters. It’s a beloved Roswell tradition at Halloween, and one he’s always hated.

One of the kids, a preteen in a generic little green man mask, is jiggling the handle of the car. Max grabs the bucket of candy and rolls down the window to distribute it out to the delighted mass.

They’ve moved on by the time Cam saunters out of the coffee shop, and he doesn’t think it’s a coincidence. She hands him his tea and stares after the motley crew.

“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to it. There’s nobody in sheets pretending to be ghosts. No little witches on broomsticks. Every last one an alien.”

“There are always some rebels,” Max replies.

“Oh yeah?”

“Isobel always had to be a princess. The closest compromise she could reach with my parents was Princess Leia.”

“Is she even an alien?”

“As far as Iz was concerned, she was from a galaxy far, far away, so she couldn’t be human.” It was hard logic for their mother to argue with, especially not when Isobel argued it so decisively. Almost as if his sister was identifying with the idea.

“And you?”

“Me? I wanted to be Harry Potter.” He ducks his head, grinning to himself as he remembers his yearning for a pair of spectacles. He’d practiced drawing a lightning scar on his forehead with his mother’s eyeliner.

Cam laughs. “Figures.”

“Yeah. But my mom insisted I had to keep up the tradition, so she put me in an old bathrobe and sent me as a Jedi instead. I didn’t have the right hair to be Luke Skywalker though.”

That hadn’t been so bad, out of the options. He’d never had to go as a murderous alien, or the little green man, a reminder of his origins and the loss of his people in the crash. His costume had sent Max down a rabbit hole, watching the movies and then discovering all the tie-in novels, marveling at the powers the Jedi had and wondering if they came from the same galaxy. Max didn’t have powers, not yet, just his bond with Isobel, but Jedi powers seemed like a cool trade-off to being an alien. Maybe even better than being a wizard.

Until he got his powers and then it wasn’t cool at all.

“That sounds on your level of nerdery,” Cam says. “And your mom was right, Jedi is cooler than Harry Potter.”

“Hard disagree. If I wasn’t in uniform, I’d be in my wizard robes right now.”

It’s not true. He hasn’t put on a costume since childhood, and this night of all nights isn’t one he observes with any merriment anymore. Instead, it’s a countdown until midnight. That’s the only holiday—holy day in the traditional sense—that he honors these days.

That’s private though. For after their shift is over, under the cover of darkness. When he can head to the cemetery gates.

The cemetery is quiet and still, its gates locked early to keep out any teenagers who might decide it’d be a special kind of thrill to run riot through it tonight. Max has nudged the patrol in this direction several times in their circuits of the city, and Cam was far from suspicious: given Sheriff Valenti’s stern warnings to keep their eyes on it, it made good business sense.

Max left Cam at her door half an hour ago and made his way here instead of heading to his own home. This is the tenth year of his tradition, but the first time he’s visited Rosa’s grave since Liz returned to town. Not since that night he caught Liz herself here after midnight. He doesn’t want to intrude on her, not when he’s promised her space, not when she has every right to her grief and he has no right to her time.

It must have been harder for her to clear the gates—for him, it’s an easy spring and drop onto the path on the other side, flashlight clutched between his teeth. The gates really don’t serve much of a deterrent to anyone, teenagers or drifters alike, but the place is silent around him. Silent as the grave.

He knows he can come up with a better metaphor than that.

Doesn’t matter. He’s not here to write. Tonight he is here to remember, to honor Rosa in ways her family no longer risk publicly. Using the beam from the flashlight, he picks his way through the rows of graves until he finds her. Shoved in a back corner, the grass a little long around here, like even the caretakers don’t want to do right by her. The gravestone is thankfully free of graffiti—he brought stuff to clean it off if he needed to. Instead, from his rucksack he gets out what he’s here to bring.

He’s sure he does this all wrong. It’s not his tradition, and he doesn’t know anyone he can ask for more information, except for Liz. Then she’d know, she’d have to know, and he’s not sure if she’d understand. He isn’t doing this for atonement. He’s simply doing it to keep the memory of a girl who died far too young alive, in his own fumbled way.

Besides, he’s been doing it so long he’s kind of made his own traditions, and it would feel weird to change them now. Even if it was to correct himself.

The first thing out of the rucksack is the bouquet of marigolds. They’re a little crushed and wilted after a day in his locker at the station, but they’re vibrant against the night. He lays them in front of the stone, and though the grass almost swallows them, their orange glow refuses to be diminished.

Next comes the pan de muerto he picked up earlier in the day. They’re only wrapped in a little paper bag, so he’s sure the only thing consuming them year after year are rats, but it was in the list when he Googled all those years ago. He doesn’t even know if Rosa liked them. He’s not even sure if he likes them: after all this time, he’s never been able to bring himself to try one. They’re too associated with the girl he’s offering them to, and the thought of swallowing them chokes him, guilt rising like bile.

Third, he pulls out the cardboard cup to put next to the bread. He had to quit leaving thermoses out here, knowing they were only getting broken or stolen. This is the cheaper, more environmentally friendly option. Others might have brought a bottle of tequila, but he cannot in good conscience leave that for Rosa. Instead he brings her tea: good tea, his favorite, now cold but still aromatic.

And lastly, his calavera literaria.

It’s not in Spanish. It has no humor to it, because that’s never been his strong suit, and to joke with her or about her is too intimate for a girl he barely knew. But the little poem he writes for her every year is the best he can do, a small exchange of his soul for hers. This, he tucks down into the grass, hoping it will be rotten long before the grass is cut or anyone comes to the grave.

He doesn’t say a word. He can never find the words when he’s here, not like he can when he has a pen in his hand and the entire year to think of what to say to her next. The hundred ways he can apologize and it never be enough, never fix what happened. Rosa would probably laugh if she got a chance to read these poems, like she did when she read his letter to Liz. Laugh, shove him away, remind him he’s a stupid boy. And he wouldn’t stop her.

His ritual complete, Max wends his way back to the gates. The wind rustles through the grass, and he almost wishes he could hear it whispering to him, the sound taking on a voice. What words would it say to him? Forgiveness? Not likely.

But the wind is just the wind. This is just a field on the edge of the desert, where the people of this town plant their bones and pretend their loved ones are here when they visit. The dead are just the dead, and there’s no changing that.

The cruel irony of this night is that to get home from the cemetery, he must drive along the road where he staged the crash with his siblings. He has learned to avert his eyes when he passes by—if he does, instead of taking the long way around, but that’s not feasible at this time of night. He’s in that state of exhaustion where he’s becoming wired up again, and that makes him a dangerous driver. It’s not much of an issue on roads as quiet as these, but he needs to get home and find ways of subduing himself.

Instead he grips the wheel and tries to keep his gaze off to one side, away from the three memorial crosses wedged into the roadside dirt. All he needs to be aware of are headlights, ahead or behind, otherwise he can drive half in a trance and he’s only a danger to himself.

Just this once, there are headlights. And they aren’t on the road. They’re stationary, at the side of the road.

He’s alert enough not to slam the brakes, instead allowing his Jeep to roll to a stop near the lights. His eyes adjust to make out the scene through his window, and he swallows.

A car is parked beside the memorial, engine off but lights on. A car he recognizes.

He should keep driving, but it looks weird now he’s slowed down. In fact, she’s turned to look at him, her brow wrinkled in question, her stance alert, tense. She’s expecting trouble.

He rolls down the window to show who he is, to prove she’s in no danger.

“Liz,” he says over the rumble of his engine. He’s not seen her in a few weeks, not since Isobel went into the pod. She’s a sight for sore eyes, but one he tries not to look at too intensely, averting his eyes into the shadows around her. It’s like trying not to look at the sun during an eclipse. It’s like trying not to look at god. It will be painful afterwards, but it might just be worth the pain.

She smiles, but it’s tense. Things are still weird between them. Things will likely always be weird between them, and he knows better than to hope for different. She deserves her anger.

He knows better than to ask her what she’s doing here, especially given that she’s clutching her own garland of marigolds. Rosa’s makeshift cross is upright, a sorry rarity.

Max wonders if Liz has ever built an ofrenda for her sister. It seems unlikely, given what he knows of her scattered adulthood and the emotional ties she’d cut with Rosa.

There’s nothing to say. So he says the first stupid thing that comes into his head. “You’re not in costume.”

Her breath hitches and her fingers tighten around the flower stems.

“Sorry. That’s--”

“I don’t really celebrate Halloween,” she says. “Not since Rosa…it doesn’t feel right.”

He thinks that’s the end of it. The awkwardness lies heavily between them, a veil he cannot breach. But where he shrinks into silence, Liz seeks to escape it.

“She always did the most elaborate costumes,” she says. “She only learned to sew so she could make her own costumes, and she’d paint my face for Día de los Muertos. I loved them so much, I always insisted she painted my face for Halloween too, even though she told me it was silly, that everyone in town dresses as aliens so we had to as well.” It’s the word aliens that brings her back to the awkwardness, her voice trailing off as she finishes the sentence.

“I remember,” Max says fondly. “Rosa with her face painted silver, but you with floral patterns all over your skin.”

“Papi always goes overboard at Halloween, and we hated it. We thought it was so cheesy. It was one of Rosa’s earliest acts of rebellion—she wanted to be a bruja. Or Selena.”

Liz is smiling, though sadness tugs at the corners of her mouth. She shakes her head, looking away from him, her gaze tracing the road he has just driven down.

“Where are you coming from at this time of night?” she asks, and the question is so unexpected that he stills, glad her stare hasn’t returned to him. She always can see him. Through him.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you,” she says, and it’s almost teasing. “There’s nothing much that way. Nothing except…” She pauses and looks back at the roadside cross “...Rosa.”

“I laid flowers on her grave.” The words are out before he can stem their flow.

Once again, she takes him by surprise. “That’s you?”

“I didn’t know anybody ever noticed,” he replies.

She nods. “My father goes on Día de los Muertos. It’s safer that day than any other day—the other girls weren’t Mexican, their families don’t visit that day. Only the other Mexican families do, and they look after papi.”

Max resists the urge to cringe until he folds into himself. To think that Arturo might have read his poems…

“He said somebody was visiting her grave,” she continues. “But he thought it was maybe a boyfriend of hers. Certainly no gringo.” She smiles again, and this time it’s teasing, light. “Though this does explain why you’ve been wasting the pan de muerto. You’re supposed to eat it, not give a whole bag to the local rodent population.”

He takes a deep breath. “I know…I know this doesn’t—”

But she silences him with a shake of her head. “Not tonight.”

She turns her back to him, crouching to place the marigolds underneath the wooden cross. For a moment he thinks this is a dismissal, but when her hands are free she turns back to him.

“Come on, pull over. I’ll show you what you’re missing.”

It takes a few moments for him to get context. She crosses to her car, reaches into the passenger seat, and brings out a little white cake box. He knows what’s in it. Shame and bile rise in unison.

The only thing he can do is follow her instructions, pulling to the side of the road and turning his engine off to give himself a moment to collect himself.

Then she’s at his window with the lid open on the box, the sugar crystals on the pan de muerto sparkling in the stark brightness of the twin headlamps. He doesn’t smile, but takes the offering reverently.

It’s soft in his hand, softer still between his teeth. Sweet, delicate, a hint of anise. This isn’t what his guilt tastes like.

Liz closes the lid, watching him as he chews. She doesn’t say anything, and for the first time he notices the lack of anger in her expression. He never thought she’d look at him without a hint of fury, but either she’s cloaking it well or she’s forgotten it in this moment. He grasps the moment, commits it to his memory for when her anger returns.

He doesn’t choke on the first bite, or the next, or the next. Maybe he won’t choke on it after all.

#roswell new mexico #riproswell #fic #rnm echo #liz ortecho #max evans

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architectuul · 4 years

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Boxing Boxes

is a temporary associated project of the last Lisbon Architecture Triennial, which was accepted by the community of the Portugal Novo neighborhood and in such way became a permanent public installation.

The Mexican architect Daniel De León Languré started this process of the social cohesion of the community of Olaias, a marginalized area of Lisbon, creating an open-air gymnasium that involved local agents and inhabitants. We meet Daniel in Lisbon during the official opening of the installation.

Where did you study and what did you learn in Mexico City?

Studying in Mexico City is like a huge opportunity, as the city is one of the biggest in the whole world and there is always an opportunity for experimentation in the field of architecture and arts. After finishing my studies at the university I tried to develop an office, where I could experiment in these fields. There is always a sense of tolerance in the architecture of Mexico City, sometimes due to the earthquakes, but also because of the lack of planning. One could learn how to take advantage of these things and experiment with them in order to find new solutions and answers.

Does have an education in Mexico a double meaning while there is a possibility to study either at the public either at the private university?

I think that there are some very good public universities, where you can learn a lot from very well-educated professors, which also studied abroad. UNAM is a huge public university, where you can meet a lot of people with different interests and that can enrich your perspectives. You can’t have this opportunity if you frequent a private university as the faculties are smaller and you can’t compare the resources of private and public institution.

In your projects you work with communities therefore are your social projects like an urban acupunctures than built houses; Why?

I was always interested in the public realm but as a junior architect I didn't had a chance to make project in a legal or formal way. At the beginning I started to experiment with my colleagues, first we did some small experiments mostly payed with our owns salaries. We acknowledged that if want to make some changes, that would last longer and with a greater impact on our community, we should start to think in the kind of commissions that could be the ones we should look for in order to had better and stronger consequences. Well, there were none, we didn't win no competition. But maybe that was not even the right question to ask or at least that was not the one that interested us the most, and we started to work in self-committed projects. The project doesn’t need to be just buildings, we could work more with experiments.

You have been present at the Lisbon Triennial of Architecture 2019 with a project Boxing Boxes?

The project is much older that you have seen it in Lisbon. It has started as a research and finished as a build installation; a continuous steel tubular structure placed in a sand box in the Northern neighbourhood in Lisbon. We use a “Boxing Boxes” name to avoid the gym term. It is not a gym but an open typology. Some people mentioned me Lisbon Architectural Triennial and how the team would be compatible with the project and that is how we started to think in Lisbon as a place to materialize the research.

It was very difficult for me to manage this project from so far away but the it was a great help that the Lisbon team, composed mostly by the local young atelier Gato Morto and Ensaios e Diálogos Associação, explain me more about places and problematics. We had frequent reunions via Skype with organizational team of the Lisbon Triennial, members of the neighbourhood of Portugal Novo, boxing gym managers, among others. The Lisbon team had reunions with the neighbours to explain which demands were included into the design.

You were entering into this public space of the specific neighborhood in Lisbon?

The project is located in the Portugal Novo neighbourhood, a social housing complex done in the 1970s that has never been completed. It left homes, areas, educational and recreation facilities unfinished. People have told me that today is almost the same situation as it was in the 1980s. There is a sense that time hasn’t passed in 30 years. Due the irregularity of those settlements a great number of vulnerable African, Indian and Roma immigrants have come to occupy the neighbourhood and had difficulty with communication and interaction.

Most of the strength of the project is due the location. In the beginning I had an idea that maybe the project could be placed in a more central place in Lisbon or even close to the main museums like MAAT Museum near the river. But later we felt that if it was there it could almost betray its own principles. We were searching for a place with the power of negotiation where community shall benefit from the project and accept it because they had a lack of infrastructure.

Just before we selected Portugal Novo as a definite point of intervention was the help with the Lisbon team that told me more about the neighbourhood, their experience in knowing some of the actual neighbors, the possibilities of a greater impact for both the team, neighbourhood and Trienalle and finally the interest associations such as Aga Khan Foundation had in the implementation of a temporary project there.

What is important in the planning of the project?

The most important thing I believe is the management. I was always afraid that the people from the neighbourhood might think on why should they accept a project from a strange Mexican guy, who has ambitions to experiment in their neighbourhood and invade their public space. Sometimes they were asking if they will need to pay for the use of the installation or if they will need tickets to use it. They also asked if it is going to be temporary or permanent and we were not clear about the answers. That shows how fundamental were the management skills of both Mexico City and Lisbon team towards the community. We involved their wishes into the design, supporting their needs to modify the installation if they want. I was also communicating with people after and before the inauguration not to make them feel being used as now the installation is theirs.

How did you communicate with the audiences to attract them into the project?

Online, with calls also writing many emails. We as a team from Mexico City and Lisbon try to present them the project together. For example: I made some architectural images in order to present the project, but these images were understandable only for architects and not for general public. Therefore, after some conversations I had to make some other images, texts and strategic communications thinking in a broader public.

I landed in Lisbon one week before the opening, the installation was built in four days. It was very quickly. I wanted to be there when the first type was installed because I could solve doubts and be able to meet and talk with the neighbours. I was able to take care of the installation but also to be aware of the people that were exploring it. In few days we were in Portugal Novo many hours per day trying to have the best results.

We organized some reunions, meeting and introduce the idea to the president of the neighbourhood and to some other important social actors. Finally the opening was organized as a multicultural lunch that allowed people to know each other with the Triennial organizers, journalist, architects, neighbours, people that worked there. We wanted to do it in the horizontal way so we shared the common meal and time.

To talk and to listen. How did you communicate?

Sometimes in Spanish as some of the Roma immigrants who live there have a strong connection with Barcelona. Most of them know Spanish. With Gato Morto I used to talk in English, and since I know a little Portuguese, they were very kind and helped me translating whenever I neighbor wanted to talk with me. Sophia, Maddalena and Claraluz were very empathetic in that sense, maybe because all of us were actually all immigrants from Mexico, Brazil, Barcelona, Cabo Verde, India, etc.

Is temporality an advantage or a disadvantage in the implementation of this project?

In this case temporality was both an advantage and a disadvantage. A disadvantage when you realize you can’t plan activities in a long term the activities because originally in two months from the opening the installation was planned to be brought out. You have to schedule all in a few weeks or months. An advantage when you know that the neighbours might be willing to accept the project if you tell them that it will be there just for few weeks.

Thankfully, after the opening they had so many good opinions they started to think that this remporary project could become permanent. We first asked the community what they think about it and when they saw that so many children and adults were interacting with each other and the public realm was not about fighting with the immigrant group but about having a place to discuss common themes as a community, they were willing to accept it as a permanent one but with a possibility to modify it.

The most important thing in the whole story is probably that you got trust from the residents?

I believe there was a coincidence of getting the trust for the project but also getting the trust from the neighbourhood and the local authorities. I believe there were also a happy coincidence of factors such as the creation of a new local association of Portugal Novo and the search of some legitimacy through some nice and quick results. We manage to integrate a team with them and the communication was therefore much easier.

What shows the Boxing Boxes installation is that you succeeded to connect different generations in the public space; did you plan this or it just happened?

Although we didn’t plan it, it was in the wish list. We knew that the ambiguity of the installation could facilitate such connection. In the general perception if we had to assign one to each, a playground is more for children and a sport facility is more for adults. One of the greater assets of Boxing Boxes is that its open design can join both adults and children to enjoy a space like this. We wanted to soften and blur the difference between playing and practicing sport since the place gives a chance to experiment with people from another age, another immigrant group and another neighborhood.

Do you have, besides Gato Morto, some other person or group in Portugal Novo that you are still attached and you still communicate with?

Yes, one example would be Nuno Furtado. He was the president of the neighbourhood society of Portugal Novo called AMPAC Olaias. His family is part of the immigrant group from Cabo Verde and he told me that when he was a child in this neighbourhood, he always had to move to another neighbourhood in order to play. He was very excited about the opening, telling us how well the kids were playing in the installation and how he enjoyed the situation because there was a lack of public life in the streets, which makes the streets feel insecure. With kids playing the parents are somehow forced to be occupy the plaza during the night. All of a sudden, the night was also this time of play, sport and integration. After that he also started to play with children, that was one of the best moments that we had.

#architecture #Lisbon architecture triennial #installation #experiment #interview

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witch-of-letters · 5 years

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Our Work Is Never Done, Part 1/2 (Ezio Auditore x Reader)

Word Count: 4073

Summary: You are a Spanish Master Assassin who has accepted the contract to kill a low-ranked Templar in Rome. Ezio decides to lend you a hand, but even that doesn’t prevent the mission from going south.

Author’s Note #1: I’m really trying to break the ice mountain called ‘Writer’s Block’, so writing this fic and posting it is the first step to doing so. The plot is rather random, but it worked for me as it wasn’t that difficult to think through (my brain has difficulties with writing short stories though, lol, so that’s why I decided to divide the one-shot into two parts for easier reading).

Please note that there are rather negative references to the Christian religion, and the Reader is described as a fervent atheist. My work is purely fictional and is not meant to offend anyone. So without any further ado, relax, sit back, and enjoy reading this fic!

Author’s Note #2: Translations are at the end. Cursive - thoughts/emphasis/Italian. Bold cursive - places/Spanish

Feedback and comments are much appreciated ;3!

Chapter 2

“Come forth and browse my wares! Fabrics from all over the Mediterranean sea!”

“Jewels! Buy some jewels! Necklace for a lady, a ring for a man!”

“Freshly baked pastries! Straight from the oven!”

Perched on the roof of a building, you watched as the merchants tried to turn people’s attention to their wares. Some of them took notice and approached the stalls, others simply ignored all the shouting, preferring to only look and move on. If it weren’t for the fact that you were on a mission, you would definitely buy some kind of trinket (courtesy of being paid handsomely for completing the contracts).

For once, your target was an actual Templar rather than a sleazy and greedy noble, or some other little villain. Normally you preferred to leave them to the assassins of lower ranks, finding that while ridding towns and cities from evil was all good, your skills were still wasted on rabble. You weren’t named a Master Assassin for nothing.

Soon enough, your target, Antonio Vello dei Campo, walked around the market, seemingly disinterested in what the merchants were offering. He even turned down a gently spoken offer of a generous discount by a woman, whom you saw attracting people with her beauty and charm. Judging by the bulky men at his sides, he was being escorted by them, very likely for protection from attackers. They glared at anyone who stared too long at their master. A pathetic attempt at intimidation, but it was enough to make the folk turn their eyes away.

You contemplated your options of attack. Usually, the contractors didn’t care enough to specify in which fashion the intended target had to be killed, leaving only the small description on a parchment. Antonio wasn’t that important of a Templar. Sure, he had a lot of connections in both Italy and France alike (most of them made through arranged marriages with his family members), but he didn’t care enough to further all of his Order’s goals, making him a rather untrusted member among his comrades. That is why your reward would only be some 1500 florins. A big disappointment for you.

As he moved further into the market, you stood up to follow his party, using your Eagle Vision to keep track of him (something that only your closest friends and family knew - especially the Auditores). And while you were more silent and stealthier than La Volpe himself, you still prayed to whoever was above, that no guards would spot you on the roofs. They were annoying enough to be a huge nuisance to the assassins.

Getting rid of his bodyguards would be an easy feat as you often come across such brutes in your travels. You knew all their weaknesses, and no matter what kind of armour they wore, they would always fall by your blade. But then again, you couldn’t just underestimate them. Such behaviour can often prove to be fatal when one isn’t careful.

Continuing to keep an eye on him, you quickly and carefully moved across the roofs. From the sidelines, it looked like a graceful dance, with the way you moved your limbs. Your friends and comrades loved to point that out, much to your embarrassment. You knew that you were very skilled, of course, but you were not the one to brag about it, and that’s what Ezio loved about you.

*****

Unbeknownst to you, his heart always clenched at the mere mention of your name, finding out one night after fighting the traitors within the Spanish Brotherhood that he had fallen in love with you. At that moment, he couldn’t help but let his thoughts go back to Cristina, his first love. He had long ago let her go, as he couldn’t be with her while avenging the deaths of his father and brothers. He even beat up, or rather tried to talk sense into her fiancé to be a good and loving husband to her, for Dios’ sake! But when he thought about you, he knew he would do things for you so much more than that. Aside from you being very skilled and humble, he loved your divine beauty - the way sun shone down upon you, putting your auburn locks ‘on fire’; your freckles that dotted your cheeks and forehead; and your athletic figure, putting all the other girls to shame (with the exception of Claudia, of course). He loved how you were able to speak many languages besides your mother tongue with the greatest of ease. He loved how kind and caring you were to children. He loved how you aided him in searching for eagle feathers for his mother. And he loved how passionate you were about changing the world for the better. He loved everything about you, but even he had his own insecurities.

For one, he knew that he had a reputation of a womanizer (something he was never actually proud of), and he didn’t want you to think that you would be just a ‘fling’ to him. For two, you had rarely reciprocated his attempts at flirting with you. While you had mentioned that you were very bad at flirting with men and women alike, he could never have imagined that you would be so oblivious when it was being directed at you instead. For three, he was afraid of being rejected. You were his best friend and he was yours, but even that couldn’t assure him that you wouldn’t tell him ‘no’ if he were to confess his feelings. He was a grown man, but with you, he felt like a shy little boy twiddling his fingers.

Despite Maria being in a catatonic state for a long period of time, it didn’t stop her from being observant. She saw how much attention her second-born gave to you, always looking directly you with a gleam in his eyes that she could only describe as ‘being in love’. After you gave her the eagle feathers to complete Petruccio’s collection, she was immensely grateful for your support, already thinking of you as her second daughter. She could only pray that Ezio would man up and buy a ring for you.

To Claudia, you were a complete stranger at first. You were a foreigner and an assassin on top of that. You were glad that Ezio had spoken to her about you, believing that face-to-face introduction would go easier that way. It did, of course, just not as warmly as you had envisioned. She wasn’t rude to you, but she still held herself with pride and a certain coldness you had a rather hard time shaking off. But after many attempts at befriending her, Claudia finally caved in, surprised that you were so relentless. From then on, she became your second confidant - someone, with whom you could speak about your growing feeling towards her brother. Boy, was she glad to start making future plans for your eventual wedding (as Ezio had confided in her about his feelings for you too). She wouldn’t, of course, dare to say such a thing out loud. Well, only to her mother, that is.

Mario, oh Mario, was more than very welcoming. When he first saw you, he immediately went for a hug which you returned wholeheartedly. He was glad that Ezio was making friends while travelling (and he secretly hoped that you would keep him from falling over the edge with his vengeance). When he brought Ezio to his study for a talk, he told him that you were a keeper and that he shouldn’t let you slip through his fingers. He even mentioned he would be glad to attend your wedding, making Ezio choke on his water in surprise. You didn’t forget to tell him how much you loved his uncle’s joviality. After all, you did need someone to lift up your spirits after botched missions, or whenever one of your friends/allies was killed.

Everyone around you saw that you were meant to be together. Where he was hot-headed, you were calm. Where you were shy, he was confident. You completed each other. You were soulmates.

*****

Antonio didn’t stop walking until they reached Basilica di Santa Maria Maggiore. The square in front of it was large, and far too open for your liking. You did not want to kill him in public, even though it was easier to do. Thankfully though, he entered the church. You would have to wear a perfect disguise...as a pilgrim.

“It is a good day, is it not?” Ezio’s voice brought you out of your thoughts, effectively stopping you from proceeding with the mission.

“Ezio! What are you doing here?! I’m on a mission!” you spoke with clear irritation. You hated being interrupted like that. He got the clue though.

“Mi dispiace, Y/N. I didn’t realize.”

“No, you didn’t,” you glanced at him,” but my target is in that church. Have to go inside and finish him off.” You didn’t care if you sounded rude, crude, or bloodthirsty. It was just a part of the job, and you didn’t care how you worded your sentences.

Ezio squinted his eyes at the building, ”You need any help? I’m available.”

“Of course you are,” you huffed, but without any malice whatsoever. You couldn’t stay mad at him for long. “Come along.” Before Ezio could respond, however, you were already scaling down the wall. Once you reached the ground, the two of you split up, so that you wouldn’t garner the attention of the guards positioned in small groups around the square.

Avoiding them on any other day is fairly easy, but today, they seemed to be on high alert, eyes trained on people like hawks’ are trained on their prey. As far as you knew, there were no important celebrations planned today nor was the church being closed off for the visit of some nameless ruler within Italy. So to remain unseen, you had to blend in within the bustling crowd of people. Thankfully, no one seemed to care about a suspicious-looking hooded person walking around them (much to your - and Ezio’s - initial confusion at the people not recognizing the assassins moving right next to them, as you were quite sure that wearing a hood in public was the most recognizable of all assassins’ trademarks).

Despite you hailing from Spain and training under the hand of the then-leader, Benedicto, La Volpe was the one to teach you how to remain unseen in the crowd. While he himself never gave out any of his secrets, you still pointed them out, much to his shock and surprise, having never expected to be so translucent in his actions (at least in front of you anyway). You even knew his real name, which he pleaded you not to reveal it to anyone. You understood him. Very few people did.

From the corner of your eye, you spotted Ezio, calmly moving forward like he was just a regular person enjoying his day. You admired that about him - how he never seemed to be nervous or indecisive when he was on a mission, and sometimes, you wished you could be the same (as many of your former friends and comrades have pointed out how tense and serious-looking you were when working for your Order - you simply did not take the duties of an assassin as a joking matter). And while neither of you were great thinkers like Leonardo, you still had that certain air of wisdom around you, having seen things that most people would never see in their lifetime. Knowledge was power, and both of you recognized it. Your shared experience within the Brotherhood was what made you two unique in a way - you understood what being a real assassin entailed, and how much one had to sacrifice for the sake of others.

Only a few moments later, you arrived at the east entrance of the church, walking into shadows. To blend in with the pilgrims, you had to shed your assassin robes for a dress or remain in your own pair of breeches and a white shirt (which were quite form-fitting and would most certainly attract the attention of men inside the building).

“What next, uccellino?” you heard from beside you.

“Get me a new dress, for one. I want to get inside but not by sneaking.”

Ezio placed his hand under his chin in thought and hummed, “I see. Perhaps we can ask a servant for a spare change of clothes for us both.”

You had to suppress a laugh at the thought of Ezio looking like he wanted to pray to the God he didn’t believe in. He narrowed his eyes at you, “What is it?”

“Nada. Nada. It’s just that I have a hard time with picturing you as a devoted pilgrim wanting to do all that stuff with drinking ‘Jesus’ blood’, ‘eating a piece of his flesh’, and making a cross in front of yourself.” To think, any other religious person would strike you down for that comment alone. You really don’t care about that though.

“So you’re saying that I don’t have the looks of a pious man?” his eyes were glaring at you, but his voice was teasing.

“No, you don’t have the ‘looks’ of a pious man, you have the ‘looks’ of a handsome asesino,” you retorted.

“You think I’m handsome?”

He was, but you didn’t dare to admit that out loud, so instead, you just walked inside the church to find a servant, leaving your enamoured friend behind.

Soon enough, you spotted a young girl (perhaps of the age of twelve) carrying a crate full of candles. Before she could walk out of the room, you jumped in front of her, making her shriek in surprise. You quickly put your hand on her mouth while making a ‘be quiet’ gesture.

“Promise me you won’t scream,” you told her. The poor thing looked frightened, wanting to run away the moment you released her. Ezio was watching from the corner, unseen.

The girl looked around frantically, trying to see if she had an escape route or if she could grab anything to help her push you off of her. Grabbing her chin with your free hand, you forced her to pay attention to you.

Looking her right in the eyes, you repeated, “Can you promise me that you won’t scream? I am not going to harm you, little one.” The girl gave you a single nod, no glimpse of a lie in her hazel eyes. You released her.

“Di cosa hai bisogno da me?” she spoke.

“We want some regular clothes for us both,” you gestured at yourself and Ezio. At the sight of him, the girl's eyes widened. He wasn’t that tall of a man but he still looked intimidating with his dark robes and Altaïr’s armour on.

The girl motioned with her hand to follow her downstairs to the lower level of the church. ‘Servants’ quarters. Of course!’ you remarked, mentally cursing yourself for not thinking of those before. Yes...you and logic were not as good friends as anyone else might think. That didn’t stop you from being very skilled in other areas though.

Without breaking your quick strides across the long hall, you glanced around from beneath your hood, noticing that not one soul was inside. It was a bit strange but not overly so since it was almost noon and they were most likely just performing their daily duties. Ezio, on the other hand, did not feel at ease at all. While he has never seen anything like that before, he knew that children could be used for sinister purposes as well as any grown-up, mostly for leading men and women into ambushes by lying; playing on their innocence to charm their way into people’s hearts, or even getting paid for killing their hirers for killing their enemies (and even that was a rare case). Dread was twisting his gut.

No sooner than his chain of thought had ended, did they arrive in a well-lit room with a lot of big cupboards.

The girl approached one of them, pressing her hand on the wooden door, “I vestiti di cui hai bisogno sono qui, signora.”

You took a look inside. There were plenty of simple shirts and breeches. Even a couple of brown-coloured dresses. Good enough for you both. With no further thought, you grabbed a pair of each, tossing one to Ezio. You did hope they would fit him, or else, they would tightly cling to his physique...distracting you. Walking into an adjacent room, you redressed quickly, and neatly folded you assassin robes before hiding them in an empty chest.

“Are you ready?” you heard Ezio asking.

“Si. Let’s get going.” You walked a few steps before suddenly pausing in the doorway, “Wait a moment. Where’s the girl?!”

Ezio looked around. Indeed, the girl had vanished, probably the moment you started taking off your robes. His heart clenched at the thought of her running upstairs to rat them out, but he had to remain focused on your task. Come what may, you two would have to improvise if it came to Antonio being alerted of your presence.

Sighing, you continued walking back to the stairs while subtly checking if your blades hadn’t fallen off of you. The Bells signalling the start of a mass were already being rung. When you reached the ground floor again, you saw a sea of standing men and women before you, neither your target nor his bodyguards in sight. Even by briefly activating your Eagle Vision you couldn’t spot them.

“Fuck,” you quietly swore under your breath, already getting frustrated at how your mission was proceeding. Ezio noticed the brief furrow of your brows, not enjoying the sight of a frown on your beautiful face in the slightest. Even he tried using his special sight, but like you, he had no luck. Was this Antonio that slippery of a bastard?

You pulled Ezio in the middle of the huge room and made the sign of a cross on your chests. It felt absolutely distasteful to you, for you did not believe in ‘God’. If he ever existed, why hasn’t he shown his face? Did he think of you ‘mortals’ as too inferior to actually see it? You never believed in all that bullshit the church was propagating and its priests were spewing, and yet, you couldn’t deny that people needed something to believe in, even if it was a ‘nobody’ above your heads.

The head-priest started with a simple ‘Preghiamo’, before reciting the prayers. People around you murmured along, some of them with heads bowed, others were keeping their eyes on the man and their hands clasped together. You acted as the latter, not daring to miss Antonio. After a few minutes though, you started to fidget, just waiting to dash forward and out of the stuffy room. At the end of each passage, everyone murmured ‘Amen’.

You jolted a bit when a rough hand was placed on your shoulder.

“Calmati, amore,” Ezio whispered, attempting to calm you down with his smooth baritone voice. It helped, but you turned your head to the side to prevent him from seeing you blush at his use of the word. The man had too much power over you already.

“We need to get going, Ezio,” you whispered back. “We’ve been here for some time already and we still haven’t spotted him. My guess is that he’s still within these halls, as I haven’t heard the guards opening the big door.” With that you swiftly moved away from him, gently weaving through the throng of people until you reached the entrance to the side passage leading further into the church. Ezio was right on your heels.

“I can’t wait to get out of this dress! Ugh!” you pulled at your scratchy collar. “But unfortunately, we don’t have enough time to change our clothes.”

“I rather like seeing you in one. You wear them too rarely.”

“I am a woman, but in our line of work, they’re simply impractical. They’re good whenever I need a disguise but they simply won’t do for assassinating people...or escaping enemies.”

“True.”

“There,” you pointed at the stone rafters above, ”we climb them, get a better view of this place. Before you get that thought inside your mind though,” you waved your your finger at him, “do not look up.” You immediately started scaling the wall, not being that mindful of your dress, of course.

Now, while Ezio once loved looking up the skirts of women, he dropped doing that the moment he realized he was in love with you, the thought of it suddenly becoming disgusting to him. He wouldn’t dare to allow such indignity to happen. Not from himself. Not from anyone. Instead of retorting back, he kept silent and followed you up to the rafters. He too wished he had his assassin robes on. No good would come out of it if you two got spotted by either the priests or Antonio’s entourage.

“Shhh, be silent for a moment.” You listened closely to all the sounds around you.

The water dropping onto the stone ground below.

The murmurs of the praying pilgrims behind you.

The sound of someone unsheathing their sword -

“Wait! Did you hear it?!” you inquired urgently, stopping Ezio from moving altogether.

“The sound is coming from over there,” he pointed at a small but heavy-looking door at the far east corner.

“Then let’s get to it.”

Thankfully, that part of the church was empty of the priests and the servants, making it easy to sneak around. You doubted that Antonio’s room had more than one door, but even then, you could be wrong, as the door could lead into basement instead. Normally, you would do some reconnaissance in order to plan ahead and keep the chance of a failure to a minimum, but now, you’d have to improvise.

“We have to go inside through that door. I see no other ways to enter the room.”

Ezio cast a glance at his steel gauntlet, the hidden blade ready to be sprung out at any moment. You readied your own.

With a quick inhale, you opened the heavy door with force...only to find Antonio lying in the pool of his own blood. Your eyes widened at the sight. You and Ezio arrived too late, but you had to keep your head cool and eyes focused.

Turning him over, you saw the wound in the centre of his chest, dark red blood staining his overcoat.

“Stabbed through the heart. What a painful way to go…,” you murmured quietly as you closed the man’s eyes with your hand. Ezio put a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s not your fault, Y/N.”

“No, it isn’t, but it doesn’t make me feel any better about it,” you paused, looking at Antonio’s corpse again. “Did his guards kill him?”

“Possibly, since I don’t see them in here.”

“Ah, then I guess that his ignorance of his superiors’ orders has finally caught up to him. He never was a ‘good’ Templar. Still, he could’ve told us at least something, but now, he’s dead and his lips are forever sealed. I’ll have to tell Mario about this.” Before you could leave though, Ezio pulled you into his embrace which you gladly returned. No words were spoken between you because they weren’t needed. They were unnecessary.

Suddenly, the heavy door closed behind you with a loud screech. You ran towards it, trying to pull at the handle, but it didn’t budge in the slightest.

“¡Maldición! ¡Estamos atrapados!” you shouted angrily. Ezio knew enough Spanish to understand what you meant, and he couldn’t help but be angry himself (something that hasn’t happened a lot in the past few years). You saw some kind of smoke coming from under the door.

“Are they starting a fire behind it?!” You were not comfortable with the thought of being burned alive, even if it was beside the man you loved.

“I don’t know, but...wait, do you smell it?”

“Smell what?”

“Something sweet and...calming.”

Indeed, when you inhaled the air, it had a whiff of sweet vanilla and jasmine, almost instantly calming you down. Something wasn’t right though as your eyelids kept getting heavier and heavier, and all of your senses became dull. The last thing you heard before your mind shut down completely was a confused ‘What-’.

Translations (Spanish):

Dios - God

Nada - Nothing

¡Maldición! ¡Estamos atrapados! - Damn it! We’re trapped!

Asesino - assassin (male)

Translations (Italian):

uccellino - little bird

Calmati, amore - Calm down, love

Mi dispiace - I’m sorry

Di cosa hai bisogno da me? - What do you want from me?

I vestiti di cui hai bisogno sono qui, signora. - The clothes you need are here, lady

Preghiamo - Let us pray

Tagging: @sassenach-on-the-rocks // @marshmallow--3 // @assassins-and-hidden-blades // @bangtansugababy // @imagines-of-the-creed // @kittitt // @kisstheassassins // @iceboundstar // @unreadpoppy // @ass-sass-sin-o // @one-who-hunts-eagles // @deejayers // @lefrenchfrye // @mavriarch // @theswordofeden // @mindadarksight // @undertastic-dork // @storminwomanform // @fanfic-reblog-central

#ezio auditore #ezio auditore x reader #ezio auditore da firenze #ezio auditore imagine #ezio auditore one-shot #assassin's creed #assassins creed #assassin's creed brotherhood #assassins creed brotherhood #assassin's creed one-shot #ezio x reader #creedwork

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runewooddk · 4 years

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London the one and only.

The Whisky Show London turned into so much more!

In late September, we finally were on our way to the legendary city of London to attend the monumental World Whisky Show London put on by The Whisky Exchange. This is certainly the place to be if one fancies whisky more than occasionally. We were quite enthralled by the spectacle it was. The finest of the fine whiskies were abound, and the place was flush with pillars of the whisky industry for the last 50 years. Guys like Sukhinder Singh, Richard Paterson, and the one and only Ronnie Cox were at arms length. We even had the pleasure of getting to know Mr. Cox and the whiskies over at The Glenrothes quite a bit, and we were totally blown away. The only way to put it is: There is simply nothing like being there. These guys all have stories that would make a king a little jealous, and it’s just a complete thrill to savor a dram of 39 year old prized whisky and hear a few stories of the adventurous paths they’ve taken to reach the top of their game.

In fact, we were quite new to The Glenrothes and we had the great fortune of getting intimate with the whisky through our own little adventure. After working for years until we are short of breath day in and day out to build our cabinet business, we had the momentous honour of being followed on Instagram by The Glenrothes Distillery. The feeling of such a seemingly small, yet fulfilling validation is enough to energize us for another decade. The problem was, we had never really tried any of their whiskies. We had heard and seen great things about them, but simply hadn’t crossed paths directly with the liquid itself. We had to fix that without question.

Tristan Stephenson is a bit of a pillar himself in the bar and cocktail world for those who may not have heard. We were tipped off to his significance during a previous trip to London by Chris at a cool little Camden Lock distillery called Half Hitch Gin. After looking into this guy Stephenson a bit, we visited a nice subtle speak easy in the Marylebone neighborhood known as Purl London which he founded. The place is a monument to all things revered in such an establishment, the highest attainable quality combined with creativity and utmost class, but in the basement under the streets of Marylebone with jazz to whisk you back to another romantic era.

Shortly after visiting Purl, I noticed Tristan had started a quite talked about whisky establishment called Bar Black Rock. This such place became one of our top destination priorities on a future London round. One simply needs to experience the attention to detail of such a talented and respected man. Upon arrival at Black Rock, I stated to my comrade Nicholas that there’s only one way to go in terms of drink selection: The Glenrothes would have to be the dram of the evening. They happened to have a nice bottle called the Whisky Maker’s Cut, and we were off. I have nothing but great things to say about the bar, the staff, and especially The Glenrothes Whisky Maker’s Cut. This whisky is really our style – bringing lovely orange peel, vanilla, and nutmeg with a lightly toasted wood and slightly chocolate finish. The guys working the bar were completely knowledgeable without taking themselves too seriously at all, the giant tree table laying through the middle of the place with the brass spouts was beautiful to say the least. The whole experience was captivating, and completely hyggeligt. Sláinte to Stephenson and the whole Bar Black Rock with their unpretentious whisky vending machine, and their great humor about them in the finest of environments again – in the basement.

At this point we were fairly determined to make a solid impression on the guys at The Glenrothes Distillery. It seemed like the stars had maybe started to align. We entered The Whisky Show and took the rather long route to their stand to let the crowds die down a bit, to cut away some of the noise before we made ourselves obvious. This meant thankfully we had the pleasure to try a couple of quite nice rums and whiskies around the show on our march. We certainly were very glad to make use of the nerve calming effects. When we finally presented ourselves at The Glenrothes counter, we were anxious but we had a plan. We ended up in front of no other than Ronnie Cox. The guy is to the Scotch whisky industry something like what Christopher Columbus was for Spanish exploration, he has changed the world and made a well respected name for himself in the process. The amazing thing is that Mr. Cox was receptive to our pitch. He thought we had an interesting concept, an elegant design, and appreciated our ambition. He shared a couple stories from the ages, and sent us off with a taste of their iconic 1976 Single Cask UK Exclusive. The company of Ronnie and the rare whisky with it’s notes of fudge and coconut made the moment quite unforgettable and nearly indescribable. Our life will be complete if we can sit down with Ronnie someday in a proper setting for such a dram, with a whisky of similar caliber and truly enjoy such a moment, perhaps even at a Runewood cabinet.

The following day, we made plenty of time for our good friends at Stauning Whisky who have achieved the unimaginable and have themselves become the new generation of icons in the whisky circles. We finally got to sample some of their acclaimed Heather whisky, and we were really blown away. Thank the good whisky gods we managed to pick up a bottle when it first went on sale after hearing back on the first round of tastings. We are really glad to know these guys, and love where they are taking the whisky.

Well what does one do after spending the afternoon tasting whisky at Old Billings Gate of London? The best idea we could drum up was to head over to the Savoy and sip a few cocktails. These guys at the American Bar and at Thames Foyer show class beyond imagination. Cocktails and piano to perfection provide an experience of a lifetime. Just keep in mind, your wallet may leave in poor health.

The final stint the last day, after my parter Nicholas headed back to Denmark, should have been wandering around London with my freshly acquired bottle of SMWS “A Delectable Confection”, which I bought for my father - beings he managed to make 60 years, and taking photos while enjoying a beer or two before flying back to Denmark myself. However, fate would have it another way. The rain drops dotting the pavement in the picture below give a bit of foreshadowing to the final stretch.

British weather being lovely as it is, had completely jammed up Heathrow. Of course, I was put on standby getting home since I arrived at the airport a little tardy. So I sat and waited anxiously, and they finally sent me with fast track through security to get to the plane. The uncertainty in the outcome had made me completely forget I had a most precious bottle of liquid, which of course needed to be checked at the counter. So off I go to security and they try telling me I need to give them my whisky. Well I had no choice but to plead with them like a school kid who just got caught writing on the bathroom wall. I suppose I haven’t completely lost the charm since the fantastic Collin at Heathrow Terminal 5 had one question for me: What’s more important – your flight or your whisky? Everyone reading this knows the answer to that one. So I bailed on going home, called my wife and infuriated her like a sensible husband would, and went about “returning to British soil” to collect my whisky – receiving nothing short of a noble favor from Collin, and wait for the next day’s flight to Denmark (of which at the time there were exactly 1 British Air flight each day to Billund DK at 18:35).

The interesting part of the story is that, as a result I now had the opportunity to attend PAD Art London at Berkeley Square the following day Tuesday October 1st, 2019. I ventured over to say hello to our nice comrades at Egevaerk Denmark who make some breathtaking furnishings, but the gravity upon that day is that it would happen to be the day I shook hands unbeknownst with John Makepeace. I realized about 10 minutes into the conversation who exactly I was speaking with and basically went through the roof. What a down to Earth, likeable, and intelligent man Mr. Makepeace is, truly can’t be overstated. It seemed like we really connected, and the only reason I’m able to believe that is because of my ignorance of not knowing I was speaking to a legend in British furniture and architecture for the first part of the conversation. The guy is an inspiration for genuineness, and the act of moving forward with a well rooted respect and understanding of the past along with the foundations around oneself. These are the virtues to which we hope to adhere.

Needless to say, London didn’t disappoint as it never does.

#runewooddenmark #runewooddk #runewoodnordic #whisky #london

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the-gay-cryptid · 5 years

Text

On Religion

As some of you know, I attend a catholic school and have done so since I was the tender, gullible, impressionable age of 5. I was also, of course, raised catholic. Which, for those of you spared the experience, should know means “I grew up catholic but hated it and I’m still not comfortable outright saying I’m not anymore because I feel guilty.”

I don’t often talk about religion here, but I’ve been rereading The Poison Wood Bible for school (fantastic book by the way, easily one of my favorites I’ve ever read) and it’s really stirs up my emotions surrounding my own religious upbringing, so here we go.

Until I was in the fifth grade, I had no idea religions outside of Christian, Jewish, and Muslim existed. I was also taught that Muslims were savage, oppressive, violent people and the all Muslims wanted to kill everyone who wasn’t Muslim. So. Just to give you perspective. I was also led to believe that Jewish people weren’t as bad, but they were just misguided and stuck in the past.

Around seventh grade, I began to suspect I was gay. Thankfully I’d become somewhat desensitized to that good old catholic guilt by having it beat into my very being since before I comprehended object permanence. But I didn’t want God to hate me, so I decided I had a crush on this boy. He was nice to me and we liked the same shows and he had a smart ass sort of attitude towards the less mature boys that I appreciated. So obviously since I enjoyed this boy’s company I must’ve liked him.

But I was still curious about my sexuality in relation to my religion. So I took every opportunity to ask about it in “religion” class. Despite the name, we only talked about The One True Religion. I got different answers depending on which teacher I asked.

Senora Baskin, our Spanish teacher who spoke shitty Spanish and was obsessed with Mexican culture and said it saved her from getting an abortion, told me that the pope said being gay wasn’t a sin, just being in a gay relationship. So I could be gay, but I could never date, get married, or even kiss a girl.

Mrs. Shaver said that gays go to hell. She also told a kid whose dog had died that all dogs go to hell because animals don’t have souls. She also told me I’d go to hell for listening to music with cuss words in it. Imagine that: a class of kids going through their edgy phase, listening to MCR and other punk bands of varying quality being told they were going to hell. I didn’t much value Mrs. Shaver’s opinions anyway.

Mr. Miller sort of stuttered a moment, then told me that he wasn’t actually allowed to talk about that. That’s when I learned catholic schools usually don’t talk about the shit the church is against. We don’t get to debate gay marriage, abortions, or the death penalty. We are not supposed to think critically or form our own opinions, because the opinions of a higher organization should replace our own feelings.

I eventually asked my mom. She told me about a gay couple she was friends with. They were married, but not in the eyes of the church. So any time they had sex, they had to go to confession and apologize for sex outside of wedlock. I didn’t like that solution either.

In eighth grade i sort of just shrugged and said “well. Guess I’m gay then.” I made an effort to bring it up in class more. Gay rights, not being gay. I’d never tell anyone, that would be horrible! I did come out to a few of my close friends, mainly because i realized I really wanted to kiss my best friend.

Freshman year, my religion problem amped itself up. The rhetoric was all the same. I was hearing the same lessons over and over and over again. I’d heard the same things since I was five, just in increasingly complex terms. I finally admitted my serious issues with my religion. My mom told me I didn’t have to be Catholic. I could be Baptist, Presbyterian, Episcopalian, Jewish, even Muslim. I just couldn’t be polytheistic or Mormon. I decided that it wasn’t worth fighting about and didn’t bother telling her I wasn’t sure I believed in an anything. The only thing that would hurt her more than me not being christian, would be me being an atheist.

Religion had been important to her when she was little. She’d been bullied mercilessly, abused by her older brother, had a rocky relationship with her step father. On church retreats, she found camaraderie and comfort. It’s where she met her best friend. They’re still friends, and seeing them together they might as well still be stupid teenagers who don’t need anything but each other.

Sophomore year, I came out to my whole family as gay. It was good. I also met the best religion teacher ever: Mrs. Khouzam. She is, to this day, one of my favorite teachers I’ve ever had. There was Mrs. Rae, who lent me more mature books and encouraged my love of writing, and Mrs. Fava, who taught me that I was allowed to have any opinion I wanted, but it had to be backed by facts rather than a person’s skin or the opinions of my parents. Mrs. Khouzam loved God unconditionally. And she loved us.

She was the Mother Mary incarnate, and I loved her with my whole heart. She reminded me of the paintings of women who cradled ragged men like their children. She just exudes mother. Because of her, I began to love my religion again.

Then junior year that was ruined.

Mrs. Langomez was a short, stout woman from the Philippines who spoke too softly and disregarded our opinions with a quiet reminder of Jesus. We wrote journal reflections in her class, and I’d long since abandoned giving the vague “I love Jesus” shit for opinion questions on my work. I told her out right that I had serious issues with Catholicism and that I was gay. She only wrote on my paper that she glad my family accepted me.

Then it went to absolute shit. I sat in my desk on the front row and watched this woman I had only rolled my eyes at and joked about with my classmates give a 40 minute power point presentation on why homosexuality was a sin. She described how god designed men and women to love each other, and since gays couldn’t procreate in the normal way, they were incapable of real love. Being gay damaged one’s soul and relationship with god. She said there were special religious retreats for gay people to strengthen their relationship with god and overcome their gay urges.

I was..horrified. Humiliated. Furious. Hurt. I just sat there, staring at the board with my fists and jaw clenched. I glared at her. I ignored her as I left. My classmates snickered at how stupid she was. I joked that I wanted to punch her and we laughed. It was their quiet way of saying they didn’t agree with her.

I shook the whole way to lunch and explained what had happened to the lower class men I ate with. And like a dam breaking, I felt that horrible weight in my chest. I grabbed a friend’s water bottle, trying to drown my crying before it could rise. I shook and shuddered and bit my lip and tried everything I could to stay steady. A few classmates sat with me and held my shoulders and told me Langomez was stupid. I admitted it was the first time I’d ever faced someone who so clearly hated me on the basis of my sexuality.

I couldn’t stand to stay there, so I left for the office with my backpack and told them I needed to go home. I’d already texted my dad. The principal saw me crying and asked if something had happened. Mrs. Langomez stood at the printer, half watching this. I told the principal I was fine and just needed to go.

I cried the whole way home. My mom called the principal and told her why I’d been so upset. I sent her an email later that night, explaining in better words than I’d be able to say, that it had been gut wrenching to sit somewhere I’d thought was safe, and be told in textbook language that I was a sinner and a perversion and incapable of love. I was promised an apology from Langomez that I never got.

It’s true that there are Catholics like Mrs. Khouzam. People who love unconditionally. But there are Langomez too. Hateful people. And they don’t all yell and scream. Sometimes they’re quiet and passive aggressive and pity you for being gay. And I couldn’t let that go. I was tired of the conflicting rhetoric. I was exhausted of grappling with god.

So senior year came. Langomez had moved to Japan with her husband in the military. My current teacher is a young woman who graduated from my high school in 2013. I don’t ever hide my sexuality. The whole school knows. We don’t talk about homosexuality in her class, because senior year theology is about vocations.

But I stopped taking communion. It felt horrible to cross my arms over my chest after so many years of cupping them in front of me. I nearly had an anxiety attack as I walked down the aisle. I imagined god striking me down then and there.

I only tell people I was raised catholic now. I once told my current theology teacher that my relationship with Catholicism felt like an abusive one. I was dragged up and down. I was shamed and ridiculed. I was dismissed and ignored. I don’t give a damn if not all Catholics are like that. I’m done having to take that gamble every time I meet one.

I’m not an atheist at least, which makes my mom happy. I believe in a Something. Maybe a polytheistic Something. I’ll figure it out when I’m somewhere I can learn it outside the context of catholic propaganda.

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