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trash-gobby · 2 years

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∞ When You're a Stranger ∞ Chpt. 2

Summary: The Emerson family has been through enough in Santa Carla. With the looming threat of David's vampire gang hanging over their heads, the family flees to the cooler and hopefully quieter town of Hawkins, Indiana.

However, what they think is going to be a peaceful fresh start turns out to be anything but. New school, new life and a new terror waiting for them in Hawkins.

A/N: This feels a lot rougher then the first chapter, so any feedback would be awesome!

Chpt. 1 <--- Back a Chapter ∞ Forward a chapter ---> Chpt. 3

Word Count: 3.3K

Pairing(s): Will be revealed as the story unfolds.

Character(s): Michael Emerson, Sam Emerson, Lucy Emerson, Laddie Thompson, Star, Steve Harrington, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers, Will Byers, Dustin Henderson, Lucas Sinclair, Maxine "Max" Mayfield, Billy Hargrove, Joyce Byers, Jim Hopper, Eleven/Jane Hopper, Mike Wheeler

Link: The Lost Boys, Stranger Things

Rating: PG

Warnings/Triggers ⚠️: None.

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The bell on the door chimed merrily, with the strong mouthwatering smell of freshly brewing coffee and sizzling pancake batter. Even in the afternoon, Brenda's Diner was still stacking them up high and sending them out to hungry customers.

A beleaguered looking waitress dodged a young couple as they were leaving, carrying four plates of food, two on each arm. How anyone could balance that much while moving at the speed she was, pure magic and willpower.

It was a rather popular spot, tons of locals parked at the counter which wrapped around almost like a bar looking into where you could see part of the kitchen. A pair of western saloon style doors separated the customers from the rest of the workers in the kitchen from the distraction of the busy lunchtime rush.

The '50s style decor hadn't changed much since the place first opened back in '52. All the gaudy black and white tile floor and vinyl red booth seats had definitely not aged well. Although the jukebox from the period was still in perfect working condition and had been updated with the latest hits. However, despite the shortcomings in appearance and the occasional issues with the plumbing in the washroom crapping out (no pun intended), the food was always right on point, the staff were kind, and Brenda was a local staple of the neighbourhood.

It was a Sunday, so the place was packed full of people. Families, people getting off work or taking their coffee breaks and young teens either hanging out with their friends or there on a date. The energy was that of any other Sunday, light and filled with mirth.

However, at a table tucked into the back-most corner of the diner, tension and gloom had latched itself into the atmosphere. The couple sat quietly over their food and drink. Both were deeply taken up, wrapt in conversation.

"I know it hasn't been easy, but I'm sure once your finished with it, and let me have a look it won't be as bad as you think." Reaching over the table Nancy took Steve's free hand in her own as a gesture of comfort. She hoped at least that he would see it that way.

"I just hate writing. I can never really get what I want to say across right. I wish they had scoring a perfect three-pointer as something for college applications instead of this torture." Steve ran the fingers of his free hand through his perfectly quaffed hair.

Nancy wanted to be more comforting for him. To be there in the way a girlfriend is supposed to be. However, no matter how much she tried to be present her mind was simply not fully able to be there.

Barb was gone? That's what that girl, Eleven, had said right?

What did that mean exactly. Gone could mean the obvious. Dead. However, gone could mean other things to. It was to vague, not concrete enough to make it truly real.

On top of that there was also the matter of what to say to Barb's parents. How was Nancy supposed to sit there and say nothing to them. Leaving them with nothing but their own thoughts on the matter felt almost cruel.

"Would you kids be wanting the bill or some more coffee?" Nancy was snapped out of her thoughts by Laurie, and older waitress who often wore an excessive amount of makeup caked onto her face. She looked more clown than woman.

“No thank you, the check is fine,” Steve answered.

“One bill?”

“Yes, thanks,” he answered before Nancy could even object. It had started to bug her a bit, him always paying for their meals. It was such a small menial thing, but it made her feel like a child that needed to be helped, not someone who could be self sufficient.

“Alright dears,” Laurie snatched up their plates, turning to Nancy before she left.

“Do you want a to-go box for this?” Nancy had basically spent most of their little date picking at her BLT, only managing to get through a quarter of it.

“Yeah sure.”

“You alright, you seem kinda.. like your not really here,” Steve leaned forward, one of those compassionate worried expressions he’d been giving her ever since he really figured out what had happened to Barb was plastered on his face.

“Sorry, thinking about finals,” Nancy hoped the lie sounded convincing enough.

“Those aren’t for months.”

“Yeah, but it pays off to be prepared.”

“You know, over preparing can sometimes be just as bad as not being prepared. You cram all that stuff in your head and it all just gets mixed in the end.”

“Speaking from personal experience,” Steve and Nancy both chuckled at this comment. He had been studying like mad to the point where he’d been exhausted after his finals. Said he’d probably forgotten most of the information he’d soaked up working together over the weeks leading up to them.

“Here you are dear,” Laurie swooped back in with the packaged food placing it in front of Nancy and the check in the centre of the table.

She made to casually snatch it but Steve’s reflex’s were much quicker then hers.

“It’s on me,” Flashing one of those winning smiles.

“It’s always on you, let me cover it for once,” she hoped that her playful tone and return of his smile would circumvent the mild frustration she was feeling.

“I’m the one who had a part time job in the summer, I should cover it,” He was insistent and as much as Nancy was bothered by it, she didn’t want to push the subject.

Steve placed the cash on the table, counting out the crisp bills from his wallet and leaving a change tip, before the both of them made their way through the busy diner and out the front doors.

Brenda's was located right in the heart of town, so exiting the building, Steve and Nancy looked out onto the semi-crowded local streets. The local supermarket was fairly close and the parking lot was nearly completely full. Typical for the day before the start of the working week.

Steve had managed to snag a pretty good spot across the street from the hardware store at the end of the block which Nancy and Steve were currently on. Taking in the cool fall air, they both made their way to the car.

"Oh, have you seen the new people who were moving in across the street yet?" Steve asked curiously.

"No, I just saw the sign and that's really it. From what the Carmichael's told my mom, they ended up getting a really good deal from one of their friends in California. That friend had some family members who were looking to relocate and they worked out a reasonable price. But I have no idea who exactly is moving in."

"If the Carmichael's know them, then they're probably just as boring as them," Nancy nudged Steve playfully at this snide comment, earning a warm smirk in return.

Reaching the corner of the street Nancy walked around to the passenger's side of the car as Steve unlocked it. For a moment her eyes caught sight of someone she recognized, stopping in her tracks. Mrs. Holland was leaving the supermarket, a brown paper bag of groceries supported in the crook of her arm. She looked thinner and haggard. The lively colour which once graced her skin before was now gone, replaced with a waxy waned complexion.

God, what Nancy wouldn't give to change the past. Make things turn out differently. If only she'd been there for Barb.

"Nancy," Steve this time brought her out of her distracted state leaning over to the passenger side and looking to her through the window at her.

"Sorry, I just... I thought I saw someone I knew. It's fine." Sliding into the seat quickly, Nancy ignored the concerned look of her boyfriend.

Hopefully they could find something to talk about on the way back to her place. More and more their time together seemed to start being filled with awkward silences instead of the kind of comforting silence that once could fall into with their partner.

Pulling out onto the street the couple began their way back toward the nice suburban area of town where the Wheeler home was located. The streets were straightforward, simple for a town which should feel just as simple and safe. However, after all which had occurred last year Nancy didn't know if she could Hawkins either of those things.

Would it ever be the same again? What if all the bizarre otherworldly crap just kept coming back up to the surface? A literal other world underneath their own was something unpredictable, and if those strange creatures which Dustin Henderson dubbed the Demogorgon could come through, then what else?

It had been five months since all of the horrific bizarre events had occurred and for a while the anticipation had started to ware Nancy thin, but now that sense of tension had just become numbed by all the 'real world' stuff she had to deal with. Exams, tests, assignments, Steve. It all took up the space which that tension and fear of the unknown was meant to occupy.

"So, do you think you'd be able to look at my paper before school tomorrow? I have to go help my dad before he goes off again on another business trip," Turning onto the long stretch of forest road which came before reaching Nancy's neighbourhood, Steve caught her eye in the rearview mirror.

"Yeah, that's totally fine. We can get there early, maybe get some coffee along the way." She could see the nervousness written on his face.

Eventually it would be her turn to figure out what she would have to do for her future, and now that she thought about it... She wasn't so sure what she even wanted. She knew she didn't want to settle for being a housewife to a man she didn't love. The very thought made her want to toss herself into the quarry. Nancy didn't want to make the same mistakes as her mother, living life stuck in limbo.

"Do you ever think about just leaving?" The thought just came out before she could even stop herself.

"You mean leave Hawkins?"

"Not just Hawkins, all of it. Just leave all the garbage here and get out, for good," Nancy studied Steve's expression carefully as he took a moment to pause and think. His eyebrows scrunched slightly in contemplation of her words. He looked more concerned then deep in thought about what she was asking.

"I'm not completely sure I'm following."

"What I mean, when you think about what you want out of life, do you ever feel like you could get that literally anywhere else but where you are."

"I mean, I guess I can see where your coming from. Sometimes I feel like that, but then I remember that you're here and it makes all the stuff we deal with worth it," Steve said, looking over to Nancy, with an expression of genuine affection before focusing back on the upcoming turn into the residential area.

She didn't feel like he was really following her. Was she really the only thing in his life making the monotony of staying in Hawkins worth it? Did she want to be that only thing?

Bringing her eyes back to the road, she watched as Steve turned onto Piney Wood Lane. The houses were spread out enough that there was plenty of room for kids to explore and play.

Nancy could remember being around Mike and his friends age. She used to do all sorts of fun things, but she also didn't have the kind of friends Mike did. That tight knit group who had so much imagination geared around exploring every nook and cranny of the town.

The woods had started to creep in more and more over the years, to the point where some people had to come out and do some remodelling of the amount of trees around the homes. Nancy liked their presence though. Strangely it was more comforting than invasive. Even with her little experience being sucked through that portal located in a tree the year previous.

As they passed the last gap of forest, they came up to the former Carmichael house. It was one of the smaller houses on the street, which suited the former occupants well. They had been an older couple who often weren't in town as much as the other locals. They travelled a lot and had longed to move for a while. Only fitting that they finally got their wish.

Parked in the driveway of the house was a off-white volvo with red detailing. The trunk was open and Nancy could make out a young boy crouched in the back and hauling out a duffle bag. He was wearing an offensively brightly coloured pattern shirt and board shorts. Typical of the loud Californian style, and in deep contrast to the much more subdued Hawkins colour palette.

The front door opened and a older boy who looked around Steve's age lumbered slowly out with a box in his arms. He had sharp defined features, a handsome face which was surrounded by shorter curly dark brown hair. He called out to the younger boy in the back of the car something which Nancy couldn't make out.

However, she was jolted from her staring by Steve's BMW braking suddenly, causing both of them to be thrust forward against their seatbelts.

Nearly in front of the car, a large husky was standing in the middle of the street with a chew toy between its jaws. Standing next to the dog was a small child, probably a couple years younger then Nancy's brother. He looked wide-eyed up at the at Steve and Nancy.

"Jesus, I didn't even see him," Steve said as he rolled down the window.

"Laddie!" A young woman had now appeared from inside the house and was jogging over to the boy in the road.

She was striking. Nancy hadn't seen any girl in town like her before. Opening the passenger door and getting out of the car, Nancy hung by the open door.

"Why are you playing in the middle of the road, you know that's dangerous," the girl said sternly, her brows thuroughing in concern.

The young boy, Laddie, rushed to her side with the husky following quite unconcerned behind him.

"I'm so sorry, I told him to be careful." Her eyes were a deep brown like Steve's. However, they seemed warmer in colour. Her hair was long and curly almost wild in it's quality.

Nancy had also never seen someone who dressed like her. A jacket that looked in part like it had stitched on additions from golden fringe on the shoulders to similar colour embroidery around the opening collar. Her long flowy dark maroon skirt flowed against her hips and legs with the light breeze.

"I-it's okay. Sorry, we didn't see him at all. We should have been paying more attention," Nancy said, composing herself as best she could. For some reason this stranger made her feel self-conscious. Nervous.

"Hey, yeah, I'm so sorry. Is everyone alright," Steve was leaning out the window on his elbow looking between Laddie and the girl looking as nervous as Nancy felt.

"Don't worry. No harm was done."

"What's he done now?!" The boy from crouched in the back of the car had seemingly finally noticed this interaction. Nancy hadn't noticed that he was wearing headphones, which was why he hadn't reacted to the sound of Steve's loud brakes. The other older boy had, having finally jogged up behind the girl.

"Sam, just get your stuff inside," The older boy called over to the other one, before addressing the group: "Everyone alright?"

"Yes, no one's hurt."

"Your the people moving into the Carmichael's old place right?" Steve asked, from what Nancy could see, sizing up the older boy.

"Yeah. I'm Michael, Emerson." The older boy introduced himself, holding out his hand to Steve, which he shook in turn.

"Steve Harrington, that's my girlfriend Nancy."

"I live right over there," Nancy pointed a little farther down across the street to where her house was located not far away.

"That's great. We'll be able to get more acquainted then. I'm Star, this is Laddie and this is Nanook," Star looked down to Laddie ruffling his hair as she each of them. She then landed her eyes back on Nancy with a small smile.

Her smile was infectious, causing Nancy to shyly return it. She must be the kind of girl that gets all sorts of attention from boys, Nancy thought to herself. She seemed welcoming and much more mature. Comfortable in the way in which she carried herself.

"You guys must have had a long trip coming all the way from California," Steve said, interrupting Nancy's thoughts once again.

"Yeah, it was pretty brutal, but we survived," Michael, the older boy replied.

"We should be getting back to unloading though, as much as it would be nice to chat for longer," Michael added, looking back over to the still mostly half full Volvo and the overturn box he must have dropped when he stopped to come over and check that no one had been hit by Steve's car.

Nancy could see that Steve was sizing Michael up, staring intently but trying not to be too noticeable about it. She wasn't sure why. It wasn't like he was trouble, although he certainly had a bit of a rebellious look. At least he was nice, in fact they all seemed nice as far as their short acquaintance had revealed.

"It was nice meeting you, even if it was a bit odd," Star addressed Nancy as she said it, smiling once again. Returning the smile Nancy ducked down through the open car door to say goodbye to Steve.

"Hey, I can just walk home from here."

"You sure you don't want me to walk you to the door?"

"No it's alright. I'll see you tomorrow before school to look at your paper." Before Nancy could duck out again to begin her short walk home, Steve reached out and took one of her hands in his.

"Hey, thanks Nance. I really couldn't do this without your support." Leaning in Steve kissed her gently, before leaning back.

"You'll do fine. I'm sure It'll be a lot better than you think," Nancy said before finally leaning back out of the car and making her way towards home.

As she heard Steve's maroon BMW's engine gearing up, and doing a u-turn to head back to wherever he needed to be for the rest of the day, Nancy looked back over to the former Carmichael's home. Star and Laddie had disappeared, presumably back inside, but Michael had gathered up the box he had been holding earlier and was rummaging through the back of the car for something.

What an interesting family. Nancy wondered what their stories were. If they could be that different to her experience growing up in the mostly average forgettable town of Hawkins.

Mostly she was curious about that girl, Star. What a strange name. It seemed fitting though. She gave off an energy which Nancy couldn't quite put her finger on. Whatever it was, it felt a bit magnetic, intriguing.

Before Nancy looked away from the house, she caught a glimpse of a woman opening one of the large sets of windows on the second floor, letting out the stale air. Catching sight of Nancy, she waved. Nancy waved back politely, before turning up her driveway and putting her focus back onto getting home.

Inevitably, she would end up meeting the new family again when her mother decided drag Nancy and Mike to bring them her famous 'welcome-to-the-neighbourhood' fruitcake or lasagna dishes.

It would inevitably be awkward, but a part of Nancy was looking forward to it. The idea of meeting people who had come so far and from somewhere as alien to her as California had an appeal.

However, for now she needed to focus on the immediate issues of her life. Steve, Barb's parents and school.

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markymarkmit · 1 year

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Branding a decentralized product

This case discusses global wine production in four concentric circles: 1) Wine 2) "New World" wine 3) Chilean wine, and 4) Concha y Toro. Given wine production's fragmented nature, it seems that perception is tied to a region (circle 3 - Chile), and it is therefore important for producers from a region to work together to create a high-quality perception (game theoretic incentives to defect from a coalition notwithstanding). The case shares a salient example of this not being done - the 1998 flooding of the Japanese market with low-quality Chilean wines, which Chilevid was unable to fully reverse despite 7 years of effort.

Before doing deep analysis, I'm inclined to prefer the quality route proposed by the CEO. Sure, the French brand Piat hadn't succeeded at their push for quality, but they are solving a different problem: they are a low-quality producer in a high-quality region. Unlike Black & Decker and Toyota, Concha y Toro will have a hard time creating a separate brand with a separate set of cognitive associations as wines are normally thought of by region (e.g. the Japan case). I also feel they will struggle to differentiate themselves from very efficient low-quality producers such as Carlo Rossi and Yellow Tail.

I would have liked to see more insights about the customer decision journey in this case. What are the steps on the customer's journey? My regular-customer wine buying experience includes the following:

Exposure to various wines in a non-buying context - e.g. last night when my friend offered me an incredible pinot noir (Loop de Loop) which is the best wine I have tasted this year.

Stimulus to buy - I am invited to an event where it would be good for me to bring something and when I am too busy to prepare a dish. I then consider which store offers wines with a good price / quality tradeoff.

In-Store - I segment by which wine my friends are likely to want given their background and context (sophisticated wine drinkers or meat dish => dry red, younger / less sophisticated / light vegetarian or fish dish => middle of the road white). I then look for bottles in my typical budget range ($10-20) and scan with Vivino to look for a good rating. I may default to a wine I have had good experiences with in the past (e.g. Atom), a region + grape (e.g. CA Cabernet), or a winery I trust (e.g. J. Lohr). I may also ask the clerk.

Post-buying experience: How do my friends feel about the wine? I generally won't get much feedback, and the feedback I get may or may not have anything to do with quality. This is where I will shy away from North Dakota wines despite quality - perception is reality.

How can Concha y Toro leverage each of these touch points to foment the perception of quality for Chilean wines? Here are some initial thoughts:

Exposure to wines in non-buying context: Find ways to get excellent Chilean wines into the hands of wine influencers. This could include placing Chilean wines in wine tasting classes, grabbing space in online wine forums and Instagram circles, etc.

Stimulus to buy - Know the beachhead market for quality wines - e.g. educated upper middle class people ages 25-45 - and ensure availability of quality Chilean wines where they shop.

In-store - Free samples of Chilean wine, pay attention to Chilean wine section and Vivino ratings and comments, and talk with store owners and clerks.

Post-buying experience: See what consumers like - it may not be the same as professional sommeliers - and ensure that available product stacks up well against it.

#2023mitsloanbrandingsb

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nowegood · 1 year

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I spent all day today volunteering at the animal rescue base.

Meal Improvement Day. It was Chinese New Year, so the management of the base set the food day for the first day of the year, which was today. I arrived just in time for the first pot to come out of the oven, so I was assigned the job of building the fire and adding wood to the stove. After two large pots of chicken were cooked, the second volunteer drove to the base and the three of us sat on a small bench to de-bone the chicken and finish separating the meat from the bones.

The doubts in my head. When I first walked into the sanctuary the day before yesterday, I thought it was so different from what I had imagined. As I entered the cat dormitory for the first time, the stench almost made me run. The three litter trays side by side were full of large clumps of urine and faeces, and there was nowhere to put my feet. The cats in the better dormitories are kept in a small room of about 4 square metres, while the cats in the poorer dormitories are kept in the same small cage, with their urine and faeces spilling out of the litter tray onto the sleeping blankets, which are then crushed into cat poo cakes and finally fused to the blankets. If anyone comes, the kittens howl in despair, but as there can be up to four or five cats in a cage, the scene ends up being one of cats and kittens stacked on top of each other. Whatever the cat's dormitory, it is completely unfit for any living creature. Yet none of these scenes in front of me will be shown in the public and daily videos of the sanctuary. I bet any cat lover who saw the living conditions of these cats would have the same thought as I did: Is this cat abuse? The pictures are of the litter tray routine, taken on my first day at the sanctuary. Almost every litter tray is in this state.

My finger was bitten by a kitten that hadn't eaten for days. The second volunteer, whom I will call Auntie Wang, lives in the city and even has to take the highway to come to the rescue base, costing nearly 100 yuan in petrol each way. I believe that anyone who comes to the rescue base with good intentions and overcomes a lot of hardship is full of enthusiasm and motivation. So when she saw that the cats' actual living conditions and condition were very different from what was advertised on social media, Auntie Wang's dissatisfaction was written all over her face. So after we finished improving the food, Auntie Wang pulled me in and insisted that she and I clean up one of the cat dormitories. It was a cat dormitory hidden behind the fire and cooking room, with a shady backdrop and no sunlight, and two two-metre high 2 ✖️ three-tier cat cages holding nearly ten cats. I randomly approached some of the cats to check their condition, keeping my right hand relaxed and defenceless as I approached the cage, but before I could react, two very frightened sounding kittens almost jumped up and pounced on my right hand in two directions, and when I looked back and pulled my fingers away, I found that my index and middle fingers had been bitten open in two places and blood was flowing continuously.

After treating the wound (I just rinsed it with tap water in the sink where I usually wash the dishes, not expecting iodine or bandages to be available here), I returned to Auntie Wang's house. I returned to the cat dormitory, where Auntie Wang had finished changing the litter in the two litter trays. I fetched a bucket of water and filled each wiped tray with water. Almost as soon as I left the cage, the kittens rushed to the water bowls and drank from them within seconds. Auntie Wang was so distraught that she kept saying, "How long has it been since I fed the kittens?" as she ladled water from the bucket to refill the bowls. I then filled the kitten's bowl with cat food and put it in the cat's cage, and the same scene happened again - the cat food was eaten in no time. Auntie Wang was so angry that she slapped her head and said to me, "No wonder the kittens bit you, they're so hungry, they haven't eaten for almost four or five days. With the help of Auntie Wang and myself, the work of changing the litter, washing the bowls, filling the water and food bowls and cleaning the cages was completed in an orderly fashion. At that moment, the base manager pushed open the door of the cat dormitory and warmly reminded us: 'Please finish the work as soon as possible and follow us to another part of the base, we should shoot the video.

#animal rescue

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thecatchat · 2 years

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The Thoughts of Judgment

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"Stand clear of the closing doors please."

As the subway car pulled away from the station, Karl could finally feel Judgment relax their grip on his shoulder. Glancing around the dirty train car, it seemed like they were the only two people in there. It was a bit strange to see it so empty during the busiest time of day. Maybe it was because Judgment was double the height of most people with a wingspan twice as wide. Maybe it was because of the sword and gun they openly flaunted with a marching pace that meant business. Maybe it was because their wings and hair were actively engulfed in flames.

Actually, now that he thought about it, it was probably the fire.

The fire fizzled and died as soon as the station was out of sight, Judgment sinking down to the floor as the exhaustion caught up to them. They leaned against one of the poles, resting their head against it before a slight bump in the tracks informed them why it was a bad idea.

It was the first time Karl had been able to get more than a glance at them since he'd been kidnapped. He'd only seen the spell being cast and an explosion of fire when Sapnap and Quackity got fused together into Judgment. He didn't even realize what had happened until he'd been saved by them. They had burst through a wall and only said a breathless, "Call us Judgment," before they tucked him under their arm and whisked him away from weird wizard cult people.

Quackity's slacks and shirt were peaking out behind Sapnap's chest plate and metal boots. Their sword and gun hung securely on Q's leather belt and Sapnap's beloved bandana held their hair out of-

Their eyes. All four of them. One pair stacked on top of the other, pale white over dark brown. The pairs moved separately from each other, except when they blinked. All four blinked at the same time. He'd never see that before. It was strangely beautiful, being able to see a hint of the thoughts running through their head.

"You're staring," Judgment suddenly said. They easily lifted him into their arms and started checking him over. "Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine, just getting lost in your eyes," he reached up and brushed the side of their face with his knuckles, "All four of them."

"All- what?" They sat down on the floor with their brows scrunched up in thought. The top two were furrowed just a little to the right and the bottom two were scrunched looser, just like they normally would. They were so easy to read yet they looked so different.

Karl let his hand and eyes travel down their face. Sapnap's nose, broken and mended time and time again to the point where it was always a little crooked. Quackity's lips, scarred and chapped from the times he'd gotten injured from knife fights or fist fights throughout the years. A distinct jawline and a rounded chin. A small bit of scruff and a notch in one ear. One or the other. It was beautiful. They were beautiful. They-

They weren't okay.

Their grip had tightened. All eyes were unfocused. Shallow breaths had the slightest tremor to them, only noticeable by how he was pressed against their chest.

"Hey," he softly knocked on their chest plate, "What's wrong? Are you hurt?"

"Hm? Oh, no, not at all. Just... I- We-" their wings stretched out and around to encircle both of them, a wall guarding them from the empty train car. "We were so focused on finding you and getting you to safety. We didn't give ourselves time to stop and... process everything."

"Oh."

He hadn't thought about that. Sapnap and Quackity being so consumed with worry for him that they didn't pause long enough to look in a mirror. He'd assumed they would have at least done a quick once over to make sure they weren't injured or missing anything important when they merged. Nope. Their top concern was his safety and now that they had it, everything else was crashing on top of them at once.

Normally, he'd distract them with something when they started to freak out from dimensional shenanigans. Quackity always calmed down after something exciting and physical. Running from the law, getting into a fight, anything that got his heart pumping with adrenaline seemed to help. Sapnap was a bit more reserved, needing a task to focus on. It could be fighting something, grabbing a needed item, or even just counting to a certain number as long as he had something to do. Now how to combine them? He couldn't put himself in more danger, he couldn't even get out of Judgment's arms. Something exciting to focus on.... oh right, duh.

"Can I kiss you right now?"

Judgment's face flickered through many expressions before settling on politely confused. At least, he assumed it was politely confused. It was hard to tell with the two sets of eyes. He put one of his hands on their shoulder and the other reached around to tilt their head down.

"I just thought that maybe you'd like a bit of a distraction from your thoughts. Plus, I get to kiss both of my lovely boyfriends at once! It's a win-win."

Their face softened immediately into a loving smile with the slightest hint of blush. "That sounds like a good idea," they replied, holding him a little higher so they didn't have to strain their necks. They hovered just above his lips.

Karl waited a moment before moving in to connect. Their chapped lips radiated warmth and dug familiarly into his own. It made him feel safe. He felt like nothing and no one would ever be able to hurt him in these soft feathers of fire. He could have sunk into the feeling and stayed in it if it wasn't for one small fact.

Judgment wasn't moving.

They weren't moving to hold him tighter like Sapnap would or to deepen the kiss like Quackity does, or even move their lips. He stayed pressed together for a few more seconds to test if it was just a delayed response. Nope. It was like trying to kiss a mannequin. He would know what that's like... it was a really weird dentist appointment.

Pulling away, he looked up and saw them frozen in thought. They were aware of him moving but caught up in their own head. When two trains of thought coild head on and neither fall off the track, then nothing goes anywhere. At least, that's what he imagined was happening.

"Hey," he held their face in his hands and gently massaged their cheeks until he was sure he had their full attention, "I think I get it. You're both so different, so wonderfully unique in so many ways, that it's hard to find any middle ground or work out a compromise. Yah?"

They didn't say anything back but the tension flooding out of their face and relief pouring in said more than enough.

"How about we do one at a time?" They seemed confused but not unopposed to the idea so he explained, "Like, following one of your guy's lines of thinking for a minute then following the other person's. What's the words- oh! Taking turns. That's it."

He could see the moment they took his advice. Their shoulders rolled back, the wings folded away and the bottom pair of eyes closed. He adjusted his hold on him into more of a bridal carry and everything started to feel a little warmer.

"This... is a stranger situation than normal," Sapnap started hesitantly, adjusting to being in control of a body that wasn't his own, "but I'm glad you're safe. Both of you are safe. This is certainly a perspective changer. Being able to constantly hear each others thoughts is, for lack of a better term, informative."

Sapnap kissed him gently on the forehead. He hovered there, taking in Karl's comforting weight in his arms. It was nice to be able to hold him close like this. Despite all the strange and distressing changes this whole situation caused, he had to admit there were some benefits as well.

He wasn't quite sure how long he stayed like that but he was brought back to reality by a slight tugging on the back of his mind. "Quackity wants his turn now. I'll talk to you again once I'm back in my own body." He gently put Karl down into his lap, running his fingers through his hair with pure adoration, "Stay safe. Well, as safe as you can manage."

Sapnap's eyes closed. The wings folded out but didn't surround them again. Instead it simply rested against their back like a blanket. Their hold loosened and shifted so he sat up a bit more, now lying back against their shoulder instead of held in a bridal carry. The air started to cool as Quackity's eyes opened.

"Heya doll," he said with an exhausted tinge to his voice, " 'dis'll be one hell of a story for ya ta write down. Glad yer in one piece for it. Sapnap said everythin' that i was gonna say. He did say it in a sweeter way though. So, instead of chinning, 'm just gonna snuggle ya."

And that's what he did. Sitting there with Karl loosely in his arms, he tucked him under his chin and gently rubbed his back. His wings fluttered with joy as he felt Karl burrow further into his chest like they were a couple of snuggle pups. He had so many more things to say to him but they could all wait til later. Right now, he was just happy to see the normally hyperactive man staying in one spot: his arms.

Some indecipherable gibberish played over the speakers. All eyes snapped open and Judgment looked for the source of the voice.

"Ah," Karl said as if he'd heard the voice in perfect clarity, "We're almost at our stop."

"Our stop?"

"Yah, our stop!" He giggled and wiggled out of their grip. He stretched out a hand in offering as he declared, "We've got to go kick that cult leaders honking butt then get you both back to your own bodies now don't we?"

Judgment smiled lovingly like Karl had just told them that they were the most beautiful person on earth and wasn't about to go fist fight a cult leader.

"Right, of course." They hoisted themselves up to stand as tall as they could. Unfortunately, the subway was not designed for ten feet tall demon-avian hybrids to comfortably stand in. It was designed for normal people. Very inconvenient.

As they waited for the train to slow and the doors to open, Karl climbed on top of the chairs, pressed a kiss against their cheek and chirped, "Love you two."

They would do anything to hear him say it again. Funny how love can truly make all rational judgment go out the window.

"We love you too."

The train finally started to slow to a crawl as the same helpful voice from before said, "Stand clear of the doors please."

----------

HELL YAH!!! I FINISHED IT!!! I actually went back and read this all the way through for errors which I don't usually do so this is some high quality stuff! @inkytrinket-irii one of three!!!

#if sad check this tag #karlnapity dimensions #ksq dimensions content #ksq dimensions lmao #karl/inbetween #karlnapity dimensions writing #karlnapity dimensions content

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knjoodles · 4 years

Text

learn to love; jungkook | 04

pairing: teacher!jungkook x singleparent!reader

genre: angst, fluff

word count: 3.5K

summary: raising your daughter alone while simultaneously watching your ex-husband live the life of his dreams away from the two of you hurts. badly. it hurts a little less, though, when you find an unlikely friend while looking for help.

lowercase intended.

psst! this chapter is a game-changer AND has a character named after one of my followers! i hope she sees it and enjoys it. 💞

01 | 02 | 03

your alarm clock woke you, it’s piercing siren startling your eyes wide. groaning and fluttering your eyes to adjust to the sudden morning rays warming your somnolent face, you glared at the flashing red numbers across from you, reading a proud eight a.m. “fuck,” you mumbled, sinking your head into your pillow. your head pounded sparingly as you buried your head further, your attempt at drowning out the gentle pain failing.

what had happened last night? nothing devastating. you're not one to irrationally act out; you always think about seyoung first. the last thing you can recall is throwing your shoes off and bag to the floor and essentially passing out on your bed after attending a team dinner. your days never seem to end, it just feels as though you have small pockets of time to breathe in between your busy schedule. when your five-minute break is up, though, it's back to work.

you slowly arose from your cozy, welcoming bed and stared at the pillow sitting next to you, one that you'd clung to all night judging from its evident crumpled form in comparison to the other pillows sprawled across your bed. ouch. it sits where hoseok would lay.

shaking your head to ensure you wouldn't have any regressive thoughts at eight in the morning, you pulled your comforter back, swinging your legs across the bed and perching comfortably on its edge. gazing at your feet, you sighed quietly, thanking the heavens it was saturday but dually cursing it for your support group session being today. you hadn't told anyone about it, not even sooyoung. this was for you, and you alone. you trudged from your bed to the master bathroom, scrubbing your teeth.

it was at this moment that the sweet aroma of a saturday morning breakfast wafted from your kitchen to your bedroom. you inhaled it peacefully, the fragrance calming you and clearing your mind. you finally left your bedroom, shuffling towards your kitchen and living room. you silently apologized to the heavens for scolding it about the support group and thanked it once more, being reminded that you wouldn't know what to do half the time without sooyoung.

"morning!" a voice sang from your kitchen. "i see the zombie finally decided to rise from sleep?" it chuckled, the sound of what seemed like waffles sizzling. your stomach growled at the thought of biting into one and you returned sooyoung's laugh, the patter of your daughter's feet against the tiled floor growing louder as she ran towards you. "seyoung, be careful! i don't want you slipping!"

"it's okay, sooyoung auntie!" your daughter assured, her smaller frame finally finding you. "mom!" she giggled excitedly as she wrapped her arms around your waist, tugging affectionately. "you're finally awake!" she moaned, pulling on your large cotton shirt. "you know, i thought you died! so i called sooyoung auntie, and she told me you were alive. but i didn't believe her, so i asked her to prove it! and she told me she couldn't prove it this early in the morning. it wasn't even that early!"

"seyoung-ah, what part of four in the morning isn't early to you?" sooyoung complained, her voice ringing through your home, body still not in view. peeking her head past a pillar separating the three of you, she scowled, annoyed, slapping another waffle onto a stack on a plate. "i was busy dreaming my dreams and this little one wakes me from my beauty sleep! at four in the morning! seyoung, if i didn't love you so much, who knows what i'd do!" she groaned. you and your daughter chuckled in unison, her small hand dragging you to the table to sit with her and sooyoung.

"this is the first time i've made blueberry waffles, so don't expect a master chef level plate," sooyoung grinned as she placed the large pile of waffles in the middle of the table. "seyoung was okay with normal waffles up until she spotted the blueberries in the fridge. after that, she wouldn't stop tormenting me to add them in!" she joked, sitting down across from you.

"torment?!" seyoung squealed, eyes wide, a smile cracking across her cheeks. "all i wanted was some pancakes, auntie!" she pat the table playfully, sooyoung pinching her cheek lovingly. "and, you said yes!"

"and, i said yes," sooyoung repeated, looking over at you. "you both know i can't say no to seyoung! it's like refusing to eat a feast in front of you after you haven't eaten for days. what do you expect me to do? starve?" she jested, earning an eye roll and a grin from you. no one failed to make you laugh like your very dramatic sooyoung.

"yeah, yeah." you bantered, serving yourself two warm pancakes. "gosh, sooyoung, these smell incredible," you gushed as you cut a piece swiftly, wanting to savor it immediately. it instantly melted in your mouth, the flavor of the warm fruit bursting into your mouth. you smiled brightly, chewing vigorously and holding up a cheerful thumbs-up. your daughter did the same, earning a giggle from sooyoung as she studied the two of you.

"you guys look exactly alike," she murmured as she took a portion of waffle into her mouth, nibbling contentedly. swallowing, she continued, "just the same. it's like someone copy-paste in real life."

seyoung turned to you, her face crinkled into a joyous grin. she placed her petite hand on top of yours, squeezing it tenderly. "i'm pretty, just like her! my mom is the prettiest lady in the world."

"that she is!" sooyoung chimed in agreement, pointing her fork with a half-eaten chunk of waffle on it at seyoung. "no one can compare, except for me. i humbly accept second place, madam (y/n)." she bowed teasingly.

"no, seyoung, you're the prettiest! and what about yebin? she's pretty too, right?" as much as you hated mentioning yebin, you knew you had to encourage seyoung to form a relationship with her 'step-mom'. you had to be the bigger person and you have to ignore the urge to scream at her every time you see her face. that's what being an adult is. hiding your feelings and pretending that you're generally okay.

"eh," seyoung dragged, filling her mouth with a large piece of waffle. "not as pretty as you," she assured between chews. "yebin's scary when she takes off her makeup." her unintentional attack on yebin prompted sooyoung to sputter in amusement, bursting into laughter.

"you're even starting to talk like your mom!" sooyoung exclaimed, resting her head on the table to mask her cackling. "i can't," she gasped, throwing her head back and covering her mouth. "you guys are getting more and more alike every day!"

you smiled at your excited daughter, who was now drawing a large smiley face using maple syrup on her plate. admiring your best friend cackling in front of you and your daughter being undeniably herself, you sat contempt, knowing life was good for the time being.

"next time?" sooyoung started as she slipped on her shoes, her purse dangling from her shoulder. "call me. if you ever need an extra hand around here, i'll come as soon as i can. promise you'll call?"

"promise." you reassured, nodding politely. seyoung hovered behind you waving to her beloved aunt as she departed. "thanks for the breakfast and lunch, soo. you know i couldn't have done it without you." you dart your head around to spot your daughter, finding her peering behind your leg. "seyoung, say bye to sooyoung!"

"bye, sooyoung auntie! come back soon! i want to make chocolate pancakes next!" seyoung called as sooyoung walked to her uber. "please come back!" seyoung repeated hesitantly, "i won't wake you up early again!"

"good." sooyoung nodded, climbing into the passenger seat. "i'll see you monday, (y/n)! enjoy your weekend." sooyoung closed the door of the car and the uber sped off, you and your daughter lingering in your front lawn until she was out of sight.

"what are we gonna do today, mommy?" seyoung turned to you, eyes full of curiosity.

"well, i wanted to keep it a surprise, but i may or may not have scheduled a sleepover for you and ailee!" you exclaimed, grabbing your daughter's hands excitedly.

"a sleepover?!" she squeaked, ecstatic as ever. "a sleepover with ailee!" seyoung jumped up and down, her pigtails swaying. "thank you, mommy, thank you!" she followed you inside, slipping off her sandals. you glanced at the clock, noting that it was currently around two o'clock.

"ailee's mom expects us at four, so go and get ready! i'll drop you off." you smiled, leading her towards her bathroom.

"you're not staying? even for a little bit?" seyoung turned, pouting. "why? are you not friends with ailee's mom?"

"no, no, ailee's mom and i are still friends! mommy just has a lot of work to do." you reasoned, crouching down to eye-level with your daughter. "i wish i could stay, baby, but duty calls!"

"okay," she replied half-dejectedly, waddling into her room to fetch her clothes to shower. you felt relieved your daughter hadn't tried to pry. you were just getting help for the two of you.

seyoung, excited as ever to finally have reached ailee's house, practically leaped out of her car seat and beelined towards the door. you dashed after her, finding it difficult to keep track of locking your car and your wild daughter all at once. "seyoung-ah!" you called sternly, making her almost immediately stop and apologize profusely. after assuring her that she didn't make any large mistake, you took her by the hand and led her to the front door, making sure she walked confidently next to you — a tip you'd read in a parenting journal.

the door swung open as excited squeals sounded from either side, ailee and seyoung basically grabbing each other to hug tightly. chuckling at the two running off to play, seyoung's backpack still in your hand, you glanced at ailee's mother, mai. "they're really excited, huh?" she exclaimed, watching them clamber up the stairs. "here, let me take that," she offered.

"of course!" you replied, placing the bag in her hand. "i can't thank you enough for taking seyoung in today. i would've called her nanny, but today was so busy, and —"

"it's no issue," mai interrupted, smiling assuringly. "we all know how hard you work. and after you alone juggled both of our kids after my husband's accident, well," she turned, making sure your kids weren't there. "it's the least i could do. do you want to come in? i can get some coffee going,"

"i'd love to, but i can't," you explained. "i've got a meeting of sorts to get to soon. i'll pick seyoung up around ten tomorrow?" you asked, adjusting the sleeve of your sweater.

"that works perfectly. call me if there's anything important!" she called, waving to you as you departed towards your car.

"likewise!" you responded, waving politely and climbing into your car, waiting until their front door shut. why did you always find yourself on the verge of losing it in this exact position? in front of mai's house, in your car, right in front of the wheel. and, mimicking the way you always react to these situations, you rubbed the leather of your steering wheel, stopping yourself from resting your forehead against the horn and letting it ring until you felt satisfied. it was time to go to that potential shitshow of a support group, and you didn't know how to feel. pain? fear?

you thought your divorce from hoseok would be the worst you've ever felt. and granted, it partially was, but at least you were sure of yourself. sure that you didn't want anything to do with this anymore, regardless of how much you loved him. but now? you didn't even know if you wanted this. the worst feeling to you was clear now; it was uncertainty, because uncertainty can corrode you and all your confidence in ways nothing else can.

and, again mimicking the way you always react to these situations, you pressed the gas and drove, preparing yourself for both the worst and the best.

the community center was cold. that was your first thought.

dozens of people filed into the large auditorium, all trying to catch a glimpse of the one directory they offered to guide attendees to their respective support groups. after standing on your toes for what felt like hours, you finally read, 'divorcees and widow(er)s support group, room 613'. you found your place to go, but did you really want to walk into that room?

there that uncertainty went again, eating away at your confidence like a parasite.

you have to go, you reasoned to yourself it's not just for you, it's for seyoung. she'll catch on to what's going on eventually, you can't let her see you weak! with the reminder of seyoung fresh in your mind, you took the elevator to the sixth floor and searched thoroughly for room 613.

"excuse me?" a voice asked from behind you, startling you. "are you lost? 'cause i am, too."

you snorted at their comment, turning around to face them fully. a tall, muscular man stood in front of you, voice deep, hair slicked back handsomely. "oh," you muttered, stepping back to make eye contact more comfortably. "yeah, you could say i'm lost," you nodded, darting your head to either side of the hallway. "i'm looking for room 613. do you know where that is?"

"613? i'm headed there myself," he replied awkwardly. the two of you stood together silently, both not knowing what to say in panicked silence. "i, uh, i'm park chanyeol." he introduced himself bluntly, offering his hand.

hesitating, you finally took his hand, shaking it firmly, the way you do with customers or partners. "i'm (y/n) (l/n)." you responded.

"(y/n) (l/n)," he repeated, looking towards the ceiling. "that sounds familiar, do i know you?"

you cringed internally. one of the reasons you became a producer was to avoid being recognized in public, to avoid the constant attention, to avoid the all-eyes-on-you treatment artists are forced to undergo. so, as a result, when someone does recognize your name, you get a sudden urge to become a hermit. "long story short, i'm a producer."

"ah, i see." chanyeol replied, hearing the hint of apprehension in your voice. "well, (y/n) (l/n), we're in the same boat, so let's find the room together." thankful he understood your tone, you set off with chanyeol, trekking across the hallway to find the infamous room 613. to your annoyance and surprise, the room seemed to be hidden away from the rest of the hallway, and out of numerical order.

chanyeol opened the door for you and let the both of you in. room 613 was larger than what you expected; the room seemed to be at least three times as big as the other rooms, with many people filling up seats and talking amongst themselves. you didn't expect this many people to ever show up to a support group, but you stood corrected. not knowing where to go, you glanced at chanyeol, who motioned for the two of you to head over to the tables supervisors had set up, which were lined with water and general snacks.

pouring two plastic cups of water for the both of you, you looked again at chanyeol, who was tapping his foot on the floor, glancing at the clock restlessly. "hey," you started, immediately getting his full attention. "tell me about yourself, chanyeol."

a small silence between the two of you.

"but, only if you're comfortable!" you stammered, hoping, praying that you didn't push any buttons within the first hour of meeting someone.

he laughed at your uneasiness, dimples revealing themselves. "it's no big deal. uh, my wife and i recently divorced after i caught her cheating on me. is this it? is this the sharing thing they wanted us to do?"

you chuckled, amused. "yeah, i think it is. and, it's a small world; the exact thing happened to me, but with my husband. do you have any kids? i have a daughter."

"thankfully no," chanyeol answered, now visibly more comfortable. "we were planning on it, but that was before she cheated on me,"

you nodded, understanding where he's coming from. you never told hoseok, but you'd always wanted to have a son with him alongside seyoung. and, like chanyeol, you never got there because of someone else's mistake. "i'm sorry you had to go through that." you sympathized.

"i just need this to finally get over everything. i'm sorry you had to go through that too, especially because you have a daughter," he stated, caressing the back of his neck. "hey, if you can do it, so can i, right?"

"yeah. and if you can do it, so can i." you repeated, smiling at him. the two of you shared a laugh at your new paired saying as the facilitator called everyone to the circle of chairs in the middle of the room, asking everyone to take a seat. you and chanyeol sat side-by-side, the both of you somewhat relieved that you weren't in this completely alone. at least there was someone who gets how you're feeling and just how painful it can be.

"hi, everyone!" the facilitator's voice echoed through the room, loud, clear, and confident. "my name is lee chaerin, and i'll be the 'leader', if you will, of today's support group! a reminder, in case some of you are unsure, this is the divorcee, widow, and widower support group. if you're in the wrong room, please consult the new directory outside!" she announced. as a few people shuffled quietly out of the room to find their place elsewhere, she clasped her hands together. "again, my name is lee chaerin. i'm a trained psychologist and have been studying psychology for nearly twelve years at this point. cool, huh? my hope for this support group is that i help all of you heal, even if it's just a little. i want to make sure that all of you are okay, and can help each other while helping yourself!" she rested her hands on her hips and smiled, sighing contentedly. "i know that no one really wants to do this, but it's important. let's all go around the room and introduce ourselves, what we do, what happened, and what you hope to gain from this support group! after this, we'll split into groups to share our in detail stories and learn from each other. sounds like a plan? great."

that type of introduction was a nightmare in reality. ever since you were ten you despised introducing yourself that way, and today, once married with a daughter, you feel the same way. some things never change.

you weren't allowed to reach for your phone for the next two hours. they say that phones ruin the human experience because they allow an escape from awkward or undesirable situations. whoever 'they' are, they sure as hell are right.

you tried your best to pay attention to everyone's name and goals for the group. you wanted to, but with the number of people surrounding you and how much was on your mind, it was tiring to listen past their occupation.

"hi everyone, i'm youngjae," the conventional 'hi, youngjae' sounded from the group in a monotone state, defining the core of everyone's mood at this point of the support group. "i'm a songwriter for jyp entertainment, and my goal is to heal so i can focus on my job. my wife and i divorced after some internal issues." youngjae motioned to the man sitting next to him, nodding in his direction.

not that you'd know, though. you were staring at your feet.

"hi, everyone, my name is jeon jungkook." a man's voice stated, making your head shoot up from the ground. the sudden movement made his eyes dart towards yours, and the two of you sat frozen, only seeing each other, eyes locked. "i'm a teacher, and my goal is to stop thinking about her every day so i can move on." his voice became audibly quieter, but it didn't matter. the room was dead silent, anyway.

you couldn't even hold your mouth open. your jaw and chest tightened. you didn't expect him to be here.

you broke eye contact to eye his hands, his index finger and thumb of his right hand seemingly toying with a ring that was no longer there.

a ring that was no longer there.

your eyes met again. the air was tense and suffocating; the panic that filled only the two of you created an atmosphere only you and jungkook could feel.

he broke eye contact, his glance now on his lap. his voice now barely a whisper, he spoke, still loud enough for you to hear. "i lost my wife in a car accident about a year ago. she was hit by a truck while she was coming home to me."

—

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theamberwriter · 3 years

Text

Ficmas Day 1: One More Sleep [Tenya Iida]

Pairing: ProHero!Tenya Iida x Fem!Reader

Song: One More Sleep by Leona Lewis

Word Count: 5.4k

A/N: I tried to get this done a few days ago, but I was just so tired 😭 Anyway, I hope that you guys like it!

Tenya rubbed his eyes groggily, staring at the ceiling. He rolled over to look at the clock on the nightstand. 3:43 AM. How frustrated he was by this. He should've been asleep hours ago. He sat up, deciding it was no good. Sleep wouldn't come, not until you were here by his side.

He checked his phone for the date. December 21th. Four. More. Days. Five more grueling, restless nights. Tenya figured he should've been used to this. Spending time apart. Your relationship had been that way since the beginning. You traveled for work while he stayed put. Doing the hero gig he'd always dreamed of.

But now - so close to Christmas - it was impossible to think of anything else but you. Here. In the bed you'd spend nearly a year deciding on because he insisted you had to look at all the options first. Your side was barely worn. It made his heart ache in ways he was too stubborn to admit.

Tenya wondered if it's be too cruel to ask you to stop. To stop traveling. To stay put, just for a little while. No more calling at wild hours. No more flickering signals or long distance fees. Just you and him. Together in the home that you'd bought. The place you made love and fought and kissed endlessly to make up for lost time.

But when was enough, enough?

He swung his feet out of bed, put on his glasses, and slid on his slippers. A blue bathrobe hung from the best post. It was one you'd bought him last year from somewhere over seas. You had said it reminded you of his eyes. Apparently you'd worn it considerably before gifting it. It was drenched in your scent by the time it reached his hands. The collar smelled like your shampoo, the rest of smelling of your favourite spray. You'd bashfully admitted you wore it because you missed him. And this one little thing made you feel closer.

Your smell had been washed from it by now. But he silently wished it was still there as he put it on. He only flicked on a few lights as he made his way to the kitchen. A warm cup of tea on a cold, snowy night sounded wonderful. Tenya looked out at the piling snow as he waited for the water to boil.

He worried your flight would get delayed. Or worse – it'd be put off until after the storm passed. Sure, he'd video chatted you early that evening. But he felt like he'd die if he had to wait even a single day more than he already had to. He ran a hand through his hair. What a funny thing love was.

Tenya had never expected you to come into his life. He never really expected to share love with anyone. It was just another thing his brother talked sweetly of. Telling him, “Tenya, you'll know when she's the one.” Tenya breathed his brother's every word like gospel.

Except for that one.

What had Tensei meant by you'll know – it wasn't very informative. It didn't help too much. It only kept him guessing as he passed attractive women. Until Tenya found you. It wasn't love at first sight. Not entirely. But the first words he thought when he saw your face? I just found my wife.

It had been such a nauseating, powerful experience. One little glance as you said 'hello' from your new spot at a desk in his agency. Tenya had rushed away, and left out the back so he wouldn't have to pass you again.

It was the single most powerful moment in his life.

Many things had changed over the years. You were one of those earth shattering experiences for him. Breaking open the egg that was the world. Showing him more than he would've thought possible. Four years ago, that thought that he'd fall in love with a stranger and get married to them just two years after would've seemed ridiculous. But here you two were.

You worked as a travel writer. Going to exotic places. Trying new things. Meeting new people. While Tenya was living his dream. Fulfilling his brother's legacy as Ingenium. He never thought being alone could feel so hollow and bitter and cold. He'd never really felt lonely when he was alone, until you two made a home together. Tenya worried that home was too boring for you. Surely it had to be after seeing so much of the world. It gnawed at him. No matter how much reassurance you gave him that coming back home to him was always the best part of the trip.

Tenya contemplated his tea as he poured in the water. Watching as a deep red color soaked out from the leaves. Only four more days, he kept reminding himself. Five more nights, and she'll be with you. But the mantra didn't help at all.

Tenya went to his reading chair by the window. Yours was next to his, a table separating them. Your side was stacked with books. Even your chair had a few on it. Bookmarks spouted from a few. Tenya was sure you'd never finish them. But watching you try was endearing nonetheless. Your wedding picture sat on the table, along with a vase of your favourite flowers. He went every day to get one while you were away.

He counted twenty three. Twenty three flowers. Twenty three days apart. But only four more until you were back in his arms. Until he could kiss you and hold you. Feel your warm skin against his own. They'd made you stay longer, so you'd have writing material through the first of the year. Didn't they know you had a husband and a dog to get back home to?

That picture encapsulated the best day of his life. A face splitting grin on his own. You wore a goofy smile because he'd made you laugh. Tenya cried when he saw you come down the aisle. Though he desperately tried to hide them. You teased him later about that. He simply covered you with kisses.

A small lump formed in Tenya's throat as he watched your dog slump sadly down onto the floor in front of your chair. He rolled his eyes up at Tenya and whined, his tail wagging only once. Things just weren't the same with you away. Tenya blew on his tea with a sigh.

“I know boy, I miss her, too,” he said softly. Then took a sip. The hot tea did nothing to warm the cold that settled in him.

Only four. More. Days.

Tenya didn't sleep much after that. Dozing on the couch until the morning light woke him up. He was very stiff and chilled to the bone. Like someone had left a window open. Tenya searched the house, simply pushing the heater up when he found no cause for alarm.

Tenya was very surprised as he let the dog out. The snow was ludicrously high. Five feet, give or take. He was willing to say give. Your poor pooch could barely get down to use the bathroom. Tenya just knew he was going to have to shovel a path for him.

Was his ideal morning bundled up and shoveling snow? He was fairly sure that no body's was. But he diligently donned his his coat, hat, scarves, gloves, and snow boots. Being a good dog father and shoveling a path down into the yard.

Tenya chuckled at the thought of you out here last year in the snow. A hair dry plugged into the side of the house. He yelled at you about the hazard, trying to argue that a hair dryer was not the most efficient way the clear snow. You started a snow ball fight after that. You'd both gone in drenched, and took a nice, hot, steamy shower together. His body tingled warmly at the thought, his face (and quite a few other places) feeling hot.

After shoveling, it was shower time. Then he made himself and the dog breakfast (yes, he makes the dog's food because he is a very good doggy daddy). After was time to tend to all the chores he'd been putting off in the wake of his depression. This included wrapping your gifts. Tenya knew you'd be home for Christmas, but it'd been too painful to wrap them before. Between his loneliness and the excitement that bubbled in him at the thought of you coming home in a few days, he felt numb but jittery. One canceling the other out.

And there was still so much to do.

Ochaco and Izuku had accidentally, inadvertently invited themselves over for Christmas. They wanted to throw a party. And somehow Tenya had gotten wrapped up in it all. He hadn't been able to get a hold of you to try and talk them down. So he did the responsible thing and said he'd take care of it all. They gushed about what to bring and who to invite, he just had to take care of the house and making sure everything was perfect. He supposed this was a sort of coming home celebration for you, so it didn't annoy him quite as much.

Tenya measured the dimensions each and every package he wrapped. Then he measured the wrapping paper. The process was tedious, but it ensured every piece of paper was used to the fullest. He pulled off the smallest pieces of tape that he possibly could, so he didn't waste the roll. Honestly, Tenya thought of how you might react as you opened them all. The excitement, the embarrassment, the sheer happiness that he wanted so much to bring you. He'd gone overboard, sure. But you were worth every penny. And all the burnt fingers. The thing he'd tried to make you did not go as well as he wanted. But Tenya just knew you were going to love it.

After wrapping, he figured having a nice tree to put them under would help. He'd only gone out and bought one. Nothing was decorated. That was something you two usually did together. There wasn't a tinkle of a light anywhere to be seen. Though he knew Ochaco and Izuku expected the place to look as warm and cozy as it always did this time of year.

The decorations were stored in a closet under the stairs. You had made it a giant Janga tower. Honestly, Tenya was a little scared to pull everything out. If he was crushed to death by decorations, no body would know for days. He studied your tower for a while. Thinking about when you'd put them in. You had struggled tremendously. He'd just chuckled. Tenya always thought everything you did was endearing. In it's own sort of way. In the love touched way.

When Tenya was sure nothing was going to fall, he started to pull things out and organize them into piles. Garland, ornaments, outside lights, indoor lights, the tree angel, upstairs decorations, table runners, stockings – he sprinted through the house as he sorted. He planned to start upstairs, then work his way down.

By the time he finished the upstairs it was early evening. He'd missed lunch, stopping only briefly to feed the dog. Now it was dinner time. He had no gumption to cook, though. So he heated up leftovers and sat at the table. Tenya stared at your empty chair as he ate. It was made up with a place mat, and a book, and your favourite mug.

Three more days.

It surprised him in the morning when there was a ring at the doorbell. Tenya had been up, working slowly at things around the house. He wasn't planning on company. Nor for Ochaco and Izuku to be standing behind the door. They had their own bags and piles of things in their arms. They grinned widely at him.

“What a surprise,” Tenya said, then moved aside. “Come in out of the snow. I hope the roads weren't too bad.”

They nodded and ducked in. “Thanks!”

“Most of the snow is melted already,” Ochaco pouted. “Izuku and I built a snowman yesterday, but he was just a pile of mush things morning!”

Izuku looked around, clearly surprised by the bare walls and shelves and tree. “Tenya, you haven't started decorating yet?”

Tenya looked away ashamedly. Eyes wandering on their own to a picture of you. His guests' eyes followed. Ochaco's grin dropped.

“Oh,” she said, putting her stuff down. “You're probably waiting for [Name], right?”

“Tenya, if you didn't want to have the party, you could've said something,” Izuku insisted.

Tenya had tried to tell them he didn't want to throw the party. Not at his house anyway. But they were so excited that they didn't listen. “It's fine. [Name] is coming home on Christmas. It'll be nice to have everyone here to welcome her back. I've just been putting it off. I didn't want to decorate alone.”

Ochaco hugged him tightly. “I'm sorry, Tenya. We're here to help!”

“Yeah!” Izuku looked disproportionately determined for the task. But Tenya was glad that his friend was as enthusiastic as ever. He needed the energy boost. “We're going to make it amazing for when [Name] comes home! You have nothing to worry about.”

The pair ran off, doing what, Tenya didn't know. But he sure was glad to have friends like them. They helped him finish decorating downstairs. And he made them lunch. Soon everything was dripping with sparkling lights and garlands and glitter. Three stockings hung on hooks that suctioned to the wall, one for you, one for Tenya, and one for the dog. He hoped to add more stockings in the near future. But how was that going to happen when you were barely home together long enough?

Ochaco and Izuku treated Iida to dinner that evening. Taking him to a restaurant down the way. They chatted quietly, mostly going over holiday plans.

“We're going to my parents' on Christmas Eve,” Ochaco noted, looking over the menu. “Then Deku's mom and All Might are coming with us to the party Christmas day. I hope you don't mind.”

Tenya shook his head. “No, it'll be nice to see them.”

“Are you doing anything Christmas Eve? You could always come with us,” offered Izuku.

“I'm going to my parents house. Tensei and his wife will be there.”

Ochaco's eyes lit up. “I didn't know he got married!”

“Not too long before I did. She's a lovely woman, and takes very good care of my brother. We're all very grateful to her.” Tensei smiled lightly, thinking about his brother's wedding. It'd been a very beautiful ceremony with many tears. He was best man, and dreaming about the day he was going to propose to you.

They ate and talked and laughed. For just a little while, Tenya felt like himself. Izuku and Ochaco walked him back home. It was dark now, and cold bit through their coats.

“Oh, before we go – I have invites for you to pass out at your agency.” Ochaco produced a stack of envelopes from her pocket. “Could you give them out next time you go in?”

“I managed to get a few days off to prepare for [Name]'s arrival, but I can run them in tomorrow,” Tenya said, taking the stack.

“Let us know when you're back,” said Izuku. “We'll help you decorate the outside.”

Tenya shook his head. “You've already done so much, I couldn't ask for more.”

“It's really no problem. We don't mind helping.”

“Very well, then.” Tenya nodded. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

As Tenya shut himself in for the night he sighed, leaning his head back against the door.

Just two more days.

Tenya set off bright and early the next morning. The air was still frosty and the sky looked like it wanted to flood the ground with more white. He was going to try and make this trip quick. He'd been getting increasingly pitying looks. He didn't want to hang around long, to see their eyes boring holes in him.

He hesitated at the doors, watching as his breath floated up to the sky. Even with gloves on, it felt like the cold seeped through from the door handle. Tenya didn't bother going to his office. He stopped at the front desk. The woman there smiled up at him.

“Good morning, Mr. Ingenium,” she greeted. “How can I help you?”

“I need you to distribute these to all of the staff and heroes,” he said, pulling a large stack of envelopes from his coat. He'd spent the entire night trying to remember all of the staff at his agency.

“Can do.” She took the envelopes. But she didn't shift her gaze. “You look tired, sir. Are you doing okay?”

“There's a lot to do, is all. My wife will be home in a few days.” Tenya cleaned his glasses, looking for an excuse to break eye contact.

“Right,” she bit curtly. “Your wife.”

Tenya leaned on the counter, hoping to charm her with a smile. He was far too tired for this today. He was going to have to hire a new secretary sometime soon. “Izumi, it would mean a lot if you could pass these out to everyone. I'd be very grateful.”

The woman softened. “Anything you want, sir.”

He nodded. “Thank you.”

Tenya left swiftly, before he had to endure anymore one sided flirting. The distaste his secretary expressed for his wife got tiresome. Along with her not-so-subtle hints for him to have an affair with her. He had more important things to worry about. Like making sure you came home to a magical display.

“Izuku,” he started, phone to his ear as he walked down the road. “I just left I should be home....soon....”

“Okay Tenya!” Izuku cheered from the other side. Then there was a long pause. “Tenya?”

But the man was distracted by the window he was passing. “I'll call you back when I get to the house.”

“Wait, is something wro –”

Tenya hung up, staring at the window display. It was perfect. It was just what he was looking for to top off the season. You were going to love it. He rushed in, demanding the display in the window. He wasn't usually the type. But he was just too excited. The clerks gently packaged it, tying neat bows around the box. Tenya had to stop himself from sprinting full force down the road.

He rushed a message to Izuku when he got home. But there was no hope of sitting still for him. By the time Ochaco and Izuku got there, he'd already had half the outside decorated. He was on the roof, hooking up the lights. He waved down at them.

Ochaco floated up the rest of the boxes for the roof. Izuku nearly floated away as he tried to help finish the lights. Tenya caught him and hauled him down. It felt like they were back in UA as students with the ensuing chaos.

Tenya treated the pair to a home made dinner. They had a few drinks and some laughs. But honestly, he just wanted to chug through the next few days. Today was the twenty third. Two more days to Christmas. Two more days to you coming home.

The trio examined their handy work when the sun went down. The house glowed and twinkled. It really did look like a winter wonderland. Tenya just knew you were going to love it. He was looking forward to seeing your face as you watched the display they made.

Just a few more days.

The morning of the twenty fourth was a lazy one. He didn't want to get out of bed. Tenya wanted to lay there until the following night. When you'd be there with him. To finally warm the thorough chill that hadn't left him in days.

But eventually he pulled himself up, going to the vase in the living room.

“Twenty five,” he muttered, slipping a flower in. “Twenty six....you'll have a very big bouquet this time, [Name].”

Tenya set to breakfast. He'd lost all his fire from yesterday. He was a tired shell now. He was so sure you were going to love what he found for you. But now one, long agonizing day laid ahead of him. The house was decorated, inside and out. Presents were wrapped. The tree was ready. Filled to the brim with perfectly packaged gifts, awaiting your arrival.

Tomorrow would be the party. You'd arrive after dark, hopefully with people still around to greet you. You wouldn't have to worry about a thing. Ochaco and Izuku were going to take care of all the other little details. All of the invites read a potluck and BYOB. In the meantime, he had to wait the day out. The only thing he had to look forward to distract him was seeing his family later that evening.

Christmas morning was to be lonely. Then, by three, the house would start filling up. By eight, you should be walking up the front entrance. By 8:01, you'd be in his arms and smothered in kisses. With any luck, you'd be making love by midnight.

Tenya went out and shoveled snow again. More than two feet had fallen in the night. The more snow that fell, the more he worried the weather was going to be too rough for your plane. He needed you, sooner rather than later preferably.

The day seemed to crawl away. Only a few minutes had passed every time he glanced at the clock. Had it always been so difficult to entertain himself? He'd already showered, made lunch, brushed snow meticulously from the front porch and back deck. He uncovered all of the decorations he'd put up the day before.

He was impatient by the time he had to leave to see his family. Even the ride there drove him crazy. The road seemed to stretch. The cars squeezing from every side. Would the tedium ever cease?

As the evening with his family began, he discovered it would not. Even as he laughed with his parents and brother, as he listened to stories and shared a few. His eyes never left his watch for long. It didn't go unnoticed, but it was left unmentioned. Just a look exchanged around him.

They knew, of course. That he counted down every second until he'd see you again. The light and fire you brought into his life was wonderful to see. But how they wished you didn't leave so much.

Tenya went to bed when he got home. But sleep didn't come. Not for a very long time. He tried to force himself asleep, just a single thought leaping in his head.

One. More. Night.

A new tickle of joy danced in his chest as he realized the day. Christmas. You were going to be home. He was going to be counting down the hours until he saw you.

Tenya zipped through his morning. Shoveling the fresh few inches of snow. Hand making the dog's food for the next week. Making breakfast for himself, showering, and pulling out the outfit you'd picked over video call a week ago. Just a red sweater with stripes and snowflakes and charcoal grey slacks. He spent time cleaning, making sure every inch was dusted.

He had his fire back – until he checked his phone just after lunch.

[NAME] (Wife)

My plane is being delayed. I won't be home until tomorrow. I'm so sorry, my love, I wanted to be home for Christmas. So, very much....

Tenya felt a little bit of himself break. He slumped in his reading chair, phone discarded on the table. He stared blankly ahead of him. His worst fear had come true. One more day had turned into two. And with this snow, two could easily turn into three or four.

Ochaco and Izuku came not too long after. They knocked on the door, rang the door bell. The dog barked. Eventually they tried the handle, letting themselves in. They exchanged a worried look as they spied their friend. They could see the hollowness of his eyes.

“Tenya...?” Ochaco whispered.

“She's not coming,” he muttered numbly.

Izuku put a hand on Tenya's shoulder. “What do you mean?”

“[Name]'s flight – it's been delayed. She won't be home until tomorrow....” Tenya could barely scrap his eyes to his phone. He didn't want to look at it. To see anything else that might ruin him.

“But she'll be home, at least.”

“You don't understand. You two have each other. Tensei will be spending the holiday with his wife. And I have her. If [Name] isn't here....”

Izuku and Ochaco glanced at each other again.

“We'll still have a good time, Tenya,” Ochaco said, trying to cheer him up.

“Yeah, people will start to be here soon! You won't even know she's missing!” Then Izuku began to panic. “Not that we don't want her here. But maybe getting your mind off of her will help. Not that you shouldn't miss your wife on a holiday but –”

Tenya chuckled. At least something was normal. Izuku eased some at the sound. He and Ochaco set up the kitchen, while Tenya put away anything he didn't want broken. You never knew if someone was going to get rowdy.

As the first people showed up, the booze flooded in. Tenya had only meant to have one. But he was having a self-pity streak. One became two, two became three. Different Christmas mixes that people brought, some made right in his kitchen; homemade egg nogs, and Christmas cocktails, holiday ciders. He claimed they were just to try. Normally, he'd be following people around. Putting down coasters, ensuring that they didn't slosh on the couch, making sure no one was scuffing up the floors. But Izuku was already doing a pretty good job of that. Probably to make sure Tenya didn't have to worry. But it left him too idle.

Tenya chatted with his co-workers as they came. They complimented his house, saying they wouldn't have expected anything else from an Iida. He went around, greeting everyone. Thanking each person for coming. Each drink numbing just slightly more. He spent a good deal of time talking to Izuku's mom and All Might.

He was caught in the middle of an inescapable conversation with his insufferable secretary when Izuku came to tap him on the shoulder. His friend pointed towards the entrance to your house. Tenya's eyes followed his arm, going wide at what they found. They swept to the clock on the wall – it only read 5:23. In alarm, he triple checked what he was reading, to be sure he was right. With a puff from his quirk, Tenya launched himself.

You screamed as he tackled you. He kept you upright, making you didn't fall. Tenya smooshed your face with too many kisses to keep up with. He squeezed you tightly in his arms. You could smell the liquor on him. Since when did he drink? You hoped this wasn't the start of a bad habit.

“[Name]! You're here!” he exclaimed in disbelief. He held you at arm's length, looking you up and down just to be sure you were real.

You laughed, nodding. “Yeah!”

“But your plane –”

“I – uh – I lied.” You glanced away from him, your face hot. “My flight was actually bumped up. I wanted to surprise you. I wasn't expecting you to get stupid drunk.”

Tenya sunk to the floor, and pulled you into his lap. He was so cute with his goofy grin and the pink dusting on his cheeks. He rubbed his cheek against yours. Your guests chuckled at the sight. You pulled him in for a long, hard kiss. So glad to finally have him in your arms. You could feel every bit of his body against yours. You had to calm his hands as they roamed freely over your body. They were dipping into places that shouldn't be caressed in public.

Finally – no more counting the days.

No more nights between you.

No more hours to wait.

You two were together. And it was the sweetest feeling in the world.

“Why wouldn't I have been upset by the delay?” he rambled. “I've missed you, and I didn't want to think of another day without you here. I needed a little boost. Drinking was perhaps not the best choice.”

Tenya clung to you all night, never letting you out of his sight. Seeing everyone was lovely. You really couldn't have asked for a better homecoming. The lights he'd put up outside were spectacular. And the warm cozy air your home had taken on was supernatural. Or maybe it was just because you were glad to be home.

It was nearly midnight when everybody finally left. Ochaco and Izuku had stayed to help you clean. Tenya wouldn't let you go long enough to do anything. You were about to force him upstairs when he stumbled over to the tree.

“No, no, no – you have to open this. While it's still Christmas. Please,” Tenya pouted, and forced a little black box with a shimmering silver lid into your hand. The childish pout on his face was adorable, but he really should've been getting to bed.

“Tenya –”

“Open it.”

You eyed him suspiciously, but planted yourself on the couch. He adhered himself to your side. He held you closely, head on your shoulder. A red ribbon was tied lovingly around the box. It was always too beautiful to unwrap. You had a suspicion Tenya hadn't done this himself. He packaged things neatly, but aesthetics weren't his forte.

You pulled the ribbon, then peered into the box. You looked at him, then in the box, then back again.

“You did not go out and spend a fortune,” you scolded.

Tenya shrugged. “You deserve the world.”

“Tenya!” But you couldn't deny it was beautiful.

It was simple, with a thin silver chain. Hanging from the end was a pendant. It had your birth stone in set on the part where the chain went through. And there was immaculate scroll work around the edges. Tenya took it briefly from your hands, the pressed the sides.

The front popped open. A lump pressed in your throat. A miniature of your wedding photo was nestled inside the frame. Tenya turned it over, revealing both of your initials along with your wedding date on the back.

“I left the other half open, for when we have a family of our own,” he muttered drowsily. “I love you more than the world. I'm very happy you're finally home. I'd be very happy if you didn't have to leave again.”

“I love this. I love you,” you murmured in reply, then turned your head to kiss him.

You put the locket back in the box, then helped him stand. You hauled Tenya upstairs, and got him changed. He insisted on brushing his teeth, even though he coud barely stand up right. The necklace took up a home on your night stand. You were going to wear this every day that you could. It was your new favourite piece of jewelry.

Once you were settled into bed, he immediately took you in him arms. He hummed in content.

“How would you feel about being a secretary?” Tenya slurred, nuzzling his nose into the back of your neck. “I'm going to need a new one soon. Mine is gonna get fired.”

You sighed. “I actually wanted to talk to about that. I wanted to wait until you were sober. But – I'm going to quit my job. That way I can be home with you. If we want a family....I'm also tired of spending so much time away from you. You can't imagine how lonely the world is without you with me to see it.”

Tenya sighed. “I want your....baabbeeezzz...”

You chuckled. “Tenya? - Love?”

A light snoring told you he was out cold. You smiled to yourself as he snuggled closer to you. You relaxed into him. You'd been waiting for this for ages. Or, it felt like ages anyway. You didn't want to be away from him anymore. Coming home to the one you love? It was amazing. But getting to stay home with them? That was the best Christmas gift you could ask for.

147 notes · View notes

lilacsandwhiskey · 3 years

Text

*all pictures belong to owners

Pairing: Drake Walker x Riley Brooks

Author’s Note: Hello my friends! My first fanfic on tumblr, whoop whoop! This story takes place in a AU where Drake and Riley met a year ago, but reconnect in New York. Please submit in my ask box if you’d like to be added to a tag list 😘 This story will be 18+ for language, NSFW, etc. Will write in warnings when!

WARNINGS: Mention of drugs and cancer.

Pixelberry owns characters

——————

Riley’s POV*

I'll say it - I believe in fate.

I believe that things will come to be when they are supposed to be. Whether it's a job, a new home, a relationship, going to college, whatever it may be - it was fate that you were supposed to be in that sector of life, that you are supposed to experience things, that bring you to that moment.

I heard of it with my parents - the high school sweethearts, who broke up right before college, growing up and meeting each other right after. They fell in love, had two kids, and we lived the normal picture perfect life. Except we didn't.

From the outside looking in, life looked beautiful. But, deep down, everyone had their secrets, everyone had their burdens, and that was what life really was. My dad was struggling to pay the bills while my mom was in and out of the hospital, in which we had ended up finding out she had terminal cancer. Cancer took a toll on her body, leaving her almost lifeless and fighting with everything she had. My brother was into drugs, and well, I ended up dropping out of college because I couldn't handle it anymore. I moved back in with my dad for a couple of years, taking care of my mom, until she lost her battle to cancer. We all had our problems.

A year later, my brother made the decision to check into rehab, and moved back in with our dad. My dad encouraged me to continue where I left off, go back to school and finish in New York. I moved to New York but I never brought myself back into college. I moved in with my best friend, Daniel, who I met in college and also dropped out around the same time I did. We ended up working together, following each other in between jobs, and making the most of life as we knew it. That was until six months ago, I made the decision to finally be an adult and be on my own. At twenty-five, I was stuck in between knowing I had plenty of life left and longing for normalcy and steadiness.

I found myself in a small apartment in Brooklyn, not far from where I had just moved. Daniel and I continued to work at our hell-hole of restaurant, bartending and waitressing. But, I had my own responsibilities. I was proud of myself for once - making a move and doing this on my own.

Now I sit here, thinking about how every twist and turn and decision left me here. I often think back to a year ago, when I offered the most ridiculous adventure and opportunity of my life with four foreign men - but I was smart enough to say no. I was sure I was going to get murdered, because let's be honest, who just gets offered that after twenty-four hours of knowing them? I thought about the jobs I had interviewed for that would've changed my life that I never got. I thought about what would have happened if I would have went back to school, where I'd be at. What if I had never gathered myself together and moved out on my own? Would I ever have found independence?

I got up off of my couch, recognizing that it was almost dark and I hadn't eaten a single thing all day. I had woken up early to apply for jobs, thankful for the day off, but hadn't taken a true break all day. I hopped off the couch, tugging my cropped hoodie over my head, grabbed my bag, and walked out the door.

As I locked my door, I recognized that the once vacant apartment next to mine now had boxes outside the door. The door was wide open. I peeped my head right into the door, calling out a small "hello," and didn't receive a reply. Shrugging my shoulders, I headed down the stairs of my complex and walked towards my favorite take-out place.

Tran, the owner of the restaurant, winked as he gave me the discount he and his wife always gave me. "Thank you, Tran." I gave a smile before grabbing packs of soy sauce and walking out the door with enough food to feed a family.

The sky began getting darker as I quickened my pace to the complex. I walked through the door, recognizing someone was attempting to open the door with his foot. He had three boxes stacked up tall. "Here, let me help you with that." I said, grabbing the door and opening it for him. "Can I grab a box from you?" "That's okay, but thank you." I watched as the man struggled to find the first step of the stairwell, moving his foot backwards and frontwards. "Here." I pushed my bag of food up on my shoulder and urged the smaller box off the top of his stack.

I followed the man up the stairs to the third floor, the same floor as me, and recognized that he must be my new neighbor. Walking through the door, there were boxes piled up against the walls, and a single couch placed directly in front of the television. That was the only things that seemed to be unpacked yet. The man set the boxes in a separate pile as I stood behind waiting for him.

"Thank you for that. Those were my last boxes and I was attempting to make that my last trip." His accent was thick and familiar as he turned around to grab the box from me. When my eyes met his face, I instantly knew that I had seen him before. He must have recognized me because his eyes grew a little wider, but another word didn't come out of his mouth as he turned and placed the box on top of the others.

"Don't I know you?"

#trr fanfic #trr fandom #choices trr #the royal romance #drake walker #drake x mc #liam rhys #maxwell beaumont

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birdskullz · 3 years

Text

24hr Laundry

about 4k words • short story • scifi / horror

to celebrate the first day of camp nanowrimo AND receiving my first rejection letter ever, i'm gonna share the story that got rejected!! even so, i'm proud of myself just for finishing something, so enjoy, and happy camp everybody!!

If you've ever walked into a twenty-four-hour laundromat, you've walked into them all. They might not share the same layout or use the same model of machines, and the colors will differ from place to place, but the experience is consistent. Almost dependable. You can count on the sounds of laundry going and fluorescent lights buzzing, the smells of detergent and fabric softener. You know what to expect, and you take some comfort in that when you go to wash your intimates in front of strangers.

However, there's an air of impermanence to a laundromat, especially if it’s located in a strip mall. Despite standing open while countless businesses spawn and die around it, there's a lingering threat that the laundromat might not be there the next time you need it.

Mallory Fisher was no stranger to laundromats. As a junior in college, she had the process cleaning her clothes down to a science. The tiny laundry rooms on campus demanded that she be as quick and efficient as possible; they also demanded that students pay outrageous prices, nearly ten dollars to wash and dry one load. None of the other students seemed to flinch at the expense. It wasn't their own money they were spending. But Mallory just couldn't afford it anymore.

She decided to try out Mr. Scrubs' 24hr Laundry, a medium-sized facility in a strip mall about a five minute drive away from her dorm building. Wedged between a pizza parlor and a jewelry store, it seemed nice enough. The prices advertised in the window seemed even nicer, with wash and dry only costing about a buck fifty each. Mallory silently congratulated herself as she walked through the propped-open door. She'd beat the system. What a deal.

When she crossed the threshold, she was hit with a wave of déjà vu. She glanced around the place, and it felt like her eyes had looked at the same things in the same order once before: the vending machine by the front window, then up the row of dryers, then to the box TV mounted on the back wall. There was the older man sitting under it, reading the paper with his legs crossed just so. The weight of the clothes basket on her hip felt so familiar, so right. A strange prickle began to crawl up the back of her neck.

Mallory shook it off, knowing that she'd never set foot in Mr. Scrubs' before. She'd read somewhere that déjà vu was just the brain catching up with the eyes, nothing special about it. She could only remember it happening maybe twice before now, and each time it had been more of an inconvenience rather than anything to worry about.

The girl studied the place as she walked in further. It looked like it hadn't been renovated since the late eighties, but it wasn't the cute kind of retro that was trendy at the moment. The floors were a checkered pattern and grubby, the kind where the white tiles always looked dirty and the black ones had faded to gray. The machines seemed too big. The aisles between them seemed too cramped. Old neon signs buzzed in the front windows at a different note than the fluorescent lights overhead, which added a faint dissonance to the air.

Mallory noticed she could feel the discrepancy between the notes resonating in the base of her skull. She also couldn't tell if it was too bright or not bright enough; either way, seeing felt like a chore. Hopefully, she wouldn't be there long. Otherwise she might get a headache.

There didn't seem to be an attendant working since they didn't offer a dry cleaning service. There were only four other people there, which Mallory was glad for. The fewer people who had to witness her in her worn-out leggings and holey sweater, the better. She quietly headed for a washer in the back left corner and opened the round door. She bent over her laundry basket and started loading in her clothes.

"I wouldn't use that one, dearie," a wavering voice said, "It's broken."

Mallory turned and saw an older woman standing at one of the plasticky blue tables. She was working through a mountain of clothes in the rolling cart next to her, folding what looked like enough laundry for a small army. The woman wasn't looking at her, instead rather enraptured with her tedious work, so Mallory wasn't sure who she was talking to at first. Still, she surveyed her washer. It didn't seem like there was anything wrong with it, not that she was an expert on cleaning machines. But then, she spotted a piece of paper face down on the floor by her feet. She knelt and turned it over.

The page read "Out of Order" in messy, scribbled lettering.

Mallory stood and sheepishly tried to reattach the sign to the washer door. The tape was too old and thin, and frankly covered in too much dirt, grime and lint to work anymore. So instead, she pulled out the shirts she had already thrown in and tucked the paper into the door as she closed it. Then she opened the next washer down and began loading her clothes again.

"Thank you. You saved me the embarrassment," she said over her shoulder, even though her cheeks burned.

"It's no trouble. I can't remember the last time that washer worked, but Larry refuses to get it replaced," the woman replied.

"…Larry?"

"Yes, Mr. Scrubs himself. Mr. Cheap suits him better if you asked me."

Mallory gave a light laugh at that. She closed the washer hatch, turned and leaned her back against it. She thought the woman was a little aloof at first, but now she seemed genuine. She liked the way the red bandanna covering her limp gray hair brought out the apples of her cheeks. Her casualness put the girl at ease, encouraging her shoulders to loosen. She hadn't realized they'd gotten so tight. Plus, it seemed like she was being let in on some hot gossip that she couldn't get anywhere else. She wanted to keep the conversation going.

"Have you been coming here long, Mrs…?" Mallory trailed off, waiting for her matronly acquaintance to fill in the blank.

"Doyle. But please, call me Claudia," the woman said. That was nice, but despite not being a child anymore, Mallory would rather die than call this woman by her first name. Mrs. Doyle would be just fine. "And yes, for a good ten years or so. What about you, dearie? I've never seen you in here before."

"I'm Mallory. And I've been using the college laundry rooms up till now. I just couldn't take the prices."

"Ah, that's where they get you. Tuition just isn't enough, is it?"

"Tell me about it," Mallory said with another laugh.

The two continued on talking as the younger woman put in her detergent and the older kept folding. Topics ranged from Mallory's major (marine biology) to Mrs. Doyle's grandchildren (five in total). There were stories shared and helpful tips passed from one woman to another. The conversation was so refreshing and easy and warm that Mallory got lost in it, and she jumped when her washer chimed, signaling the end of the cycle. She kept talking with Mrs. Doyle over her shoulder as she began switching her load over to the dryer.

"Mallory, hon, don't you separate your clothes?" Mrs. Doyle asked her.

"Oh, I guess I don't. I mean, throwing everything in one load and washing it on cold hasn't done me wrong yet. Saves money too."

"Well, how about that. I suppose you could teach this oldie a few things, couldn't you?" Mrs. Doyle had finished her folding. She took out several bottles of laundry adjacent items— detergent, fabric softener, bleach, dryer balls— from the bottom of her basket to make room for the clothes. Mallory offered to help bring them out to the woman's car, but Mrs. Doyle assured her that she could manage just fine.

"Well, it was nice meeting you, Mallory," she said when she had everything together, "Maybe I'll see you again sometime.”

"Most likely! This place is nice," Mallory replied warmly.

Mrs. Doyle turned to go, and Mallory turned toward the bench seating under the TV. The seats were open now, the old man having left a bit ago, and the small table held a thick layer of magazines. She selected the trashiest one she could find, sat down, and buried her nose in it. She had about forty-five minutes to kill and she was sure she could blow through at least half the stack.

"And dearie?"

"Yes?" The young woman looked up.

"Don't stay too long. I know this laundromat doesn't close, but some places just aren't meant to be open much later than this."

Mrs. Doyle gave her a long, serious look. Her cheery demeanor was gone, replaced with a sternness that felt like it was reserved for naughty children. Mallory was confused. She had walked in around six-thirty, which meant it couldn't be much later than seven o'clock. Of course, the nights were getting longer and the sun was starting to set, but she was sure she'd be out of here and back in her dorm room long before nine. It was sweet of the old woman to worry though.

"Sure, Mrs. Doyle. I'll leave as soon as this load is done."

That seemed to satisfy her new acquaintance, and with a stiff nod, the older woman again turned to go. Mallory looked back down at her magazine, but as she did, something caught her eye. A bottle of Clorox bleach sat abandoned in the rolling cart.

"Oh, wait, you forgot your—" Mallory began as she got up to grab the bottle. But when she looked, Mrs. Doyle was gone.

"...bleach.”

In fact, she found that everyone else had left too. She hadn't noticed anyone else leave, save for the old man. She’d been too caught up in talking. It was strange seeing the laundromat empty. It seemed larger now that she had it all to herself, and the electricity hummed louder without the presence of people to mask it.

She felt weird just standing there, holding a bottle of bleach out for no one to take. Even though there was no one to see her, she felt stupid. Better to leave it in the cart, she told herself. Mrs. Doyle would be back for it. As Mallory started back toward her seat, she felt like the déjà vu was coming over her again, that prickle coming back with such a vengeance that it felt more like a shiver. But instead of the uncanny sense she’d already done this, it felt more like she was between something. She didn't know what she was between, but she knew she was neither here nor there. Just between, and she didn't know which side to return to.

Mallory’s legs felt unsteady, and her fingers found the hem of her sweater, wringing and twisting as she came to a stop in front of the coffee table. She would have kept messing with it until it was threadbare, but she got a hold of herself. Mrs. Doyle had just left, and there wasn’t any reason to freak out. Being alone made it feel like she’d overstayed her welcome, that was all. Even so, the girl craned her neck to look for a clock that would tell her she was overreacting. But there wasn't one anywhere. The only indication that any time had passed was the darkness in the parking lot that the streetlights did nothing to keep away.

She paced the length of the laundromat to look out into the lot. Had it been that dark a minute ago? She was desperate to know the time. Her phone was in her car because she didn't have any pockets in her leggings. God, why couldn't women's fashion be functional too? Mallory knew she should go and get it, but staring out into the empty expanse of asphalt, unnaturally yellowed by the streetlights, made her think of all the things that could be out tonight. A man in a dark hood, a formless monster watching from the shadows, a crack in the ground waiting to swallow her up.

Impulsively, she kicked the door stopper away. The door swung closed too fast, no mechanism to keep it from slamming. Bang! It was so heavy that the store-front windows wobbled on impact. She doubted the glass would save her from anything trying to get inside, but she stole back a little sense of security, a little normalcy from it.

When she turned, Mallory noticed that her dryer was not the only appliance running anymore. She stared at the "out of order" washing machine, watching it shudder as it ran. When had it started? It wasn’t running a second ago, was it? She eyed the rest of the space warily, wondering who could have started a load without her seeing them. Mallory inched forward to peer into the clear door that served as a porthole view into the washer drum.

There weren't any clothes inside.

Water began to seep out of the door then, soap frothing around the rim like the machine had a bad case of rabies. Mallory began to back away slowly, both out of fear and to avoid getting her shoes wet. Embarrassment started to make her cheeks flush again. She felt like a kid again, a kid left home alone who made too big of a mess, with no hope of cleaning it up herself before her parents got home. If she could have afforded to buy new clothes, she might’ve bolted right then and there, the majority of her wardrobe yet to be dried be damned.

Her heart sank. She knew she couldn't do that.

With a stubborn determination born out of her tight budget, Mallory paused to take a breath and clear her head. She was an adult, she could handle a little water. It wasn't her fault the washer was leaking, and it would be unfair of Larry to blame her for it. He wasn't even here, nor did he hold any sort of authority over her. It wasn't like she was an employee. It wasn't like she was responsible for any of this. But despite telling herself that, she still aggressively searched for a mop or even some rags, just anything to soak up the water and erase the evidence of anything going wrong under her watch.

There, behind the counter where an attendant was supposed to sit: a mop with a cheap plastic handle. It sat in a yellow rolling bucket, leaning into the corner. Mallory warily eyed the misbehaving washer, half convinced that it might explode as soon as she let it out of her sight. Then she dashed around the counter.

Just as she got the mop in her hands, the fluorescents gave up the ghost and the laundromat went dark. Layers of sound began stripping away— first the hum of the lights, then the buzz of the vending machine and whatever else had been running in the background. Mallory cautiously stepped out from behind the counter. At least the neon signs in the windows were still on, reading "Open 24hrs" and "Self-Service" in bright red and blue. Their light reflected off the chrome of the appliances, mixed with the shifting texture of the TV's muted, staticky glow.

The washer thumped loudly, like an unbalanced load was being tossed around inside. As she edged closer, the mop raised defensively, even that stilled. Mallory passed the trusty dryer holding her clothes, doing it's job in the face of adversity like a good little machine. She reached out and patted the top of it in a silent thanks, keeping her eyes trained on the broken washer.

She stopped short when it’s hatch swung open.

The Out of Order sign rocked back and forth in the air, falling into the puddle below.

A thick tentacle burst from the circular void within the machine. It was nothing more than a blur, lunging straight for her. On impulse, she batted the thing away with the mop and sent it hurtling toward the wall, which it smacked against wetly. A dark gooey liquid splattered across the peeling wallpaper, like bug guts against a windshield. The limb then recoiled, yanking itself away and arching up into an 'S' shape, mimicking a cobra ready to strike. Mallory ran for the other end of the laundromat before it got the chance.

Something slimy got a hold of her ankle, tangling around it like seaweed in the ocean. She stopped, looked down. Another squishy tentacle curled around it, cold and wet and sticky. Before she had time to pry it away, the gray limb ripped her feet out from under her. In the next second her hip connected with the floor, a loud thump audible beneath the clatter of the mop. Hot pain sprouted while cold water soaked her side through. She didn't have time to care. The creature started to drag her body through the puddle, reeling her in like she was the catch of the day.

The girl's hands scrabbled uselessly along the checkered tiles. She needed a hand hold, a purchase, anything to stop the living winch from dragging her into its machine-washable lair. She risked a glance back toward it, and noticed a mouth had come out of the shadows of the washer drum. Three circular rings of horrid yellowed fangs snarled from inside, like a garbage disposal made of flesh. It sounded like a garbage disposal too, deep growls and horrible gurgling filling the girl’s ears. More tentacles poked out of the machine, wriggling in a way that discouraged the idea of bones. Mallory had come across many invertebrates in her studies, but all of them had been dead in a lab tray. Was this karma? Panic shot through her chest and she flailed her arms more desperately. Her hand managed to catch on something, closing around it in a death grip, only to discover she had a hold of one of the rolling carts.

But it was the rolling cart with Mrs. Doyle's bottle of Clorox.

Somehow, Mallory's luck hadn't run out. Two of the cart's wheels were twisted the wrong way, which put up enough resistance to slow the monster's relentless pull. She managed to get an arm over the lip of the cart's basket and reached for the Clorox bottle with the other. It was close enough to touch, but just out of reach of grabbing. Her fingernails skittered over the smooth white plastic, useless.

The creature jerked her and the cart backward, sending the bottle spinning. The handle of it bumped into the palm of her hand. Mallory let out a strangled noise of triumphant disbelief.

Another jerk, another foot closer to the load of laundry from hell. As a kid, this was just the sort of thing she would have been terrified of, but she was an adult now. She could handle this. She'd worked her ass off to pay her own way through college, played the capitalists' game and nearly won, and she wasn't about to die here and waste it. She tossed a defiant glare toward the gaping tunnel of teeth and then let go of the cart.

The thing sensed the slack immediately and heaved her up into the air so fast that she almost hit the paper tile ceiling. She dangled there for a moment, upside down, feeling like an animal caught in a snare. The tentacle began to reel her in again, slow and methodical. The mouth began to drool, the blue saliva oozing over the teeth and to the floor. Mallory thought the spit looked way too much like her dollar store detergent to be funny.

As it pulled her in, she twisted herself so she could brace her feet against the machine's chrome finish. For a heart stopping second her wet sneakers slipped against the smooth metal and she almost lost her footing. She'd have to make this quick. She struggled to unscrew the child-proof cap on the bleach. At her resistance, more tentacles began throwing themselves around her middle. The maw smacked impatiently, the webby membrane functioning as lips throwing mucus everywhere. The girl gagged when the smell of its breath wafted towards her face: the pungency of dirty water and mildew.

Finally the cap came away with a hard yank. The monster yanked at her too, making the bleach slosh in the bottom of the bottle. Mallory wasted no time in dumping as much of it down the thing’s throat as she could. It wasn't easy— as soon as the Clorox met the creature's gullet, it screeched horribly and started jostling her around. Its grip loosened and she hit the floor with a splash. For a moment she lay there, stunned, watching the mob of tentacles pulse, writhe, and flail above her. It was disgusting, like watching night-crawlers squirm in the bucket before being used as bait.

Spurred on by adrenaline, Mallory scrambled up and grabbed the washer door. She slammed it as hard as she could, but it bounced back into her waiting hand. It was just like any other time she hadn't closed one hard enough, save for the wet squelch and pained, keening squeal that followed. Again she threw the door, and again it came back to her. The clutch of tentacles slapped at everything they could reach, trying in vain to recapture their prey. She smacked one away that came too close to her face.

One more hard slam, and the tentacles wilted in defeat. They began retreating, hastily slithering back into the washer drum. As soon as the monster had folded in on itself enough, Mallory shut the door and threw her weight against it to keep it that way. Her feet slipped in the water. The machine shook and rumbled as the thing writhed within, bumping against her cheek painfully.

Gradually, like the end of a normal spin cycle, the machine quieted down. Mallory refused to let go at first, sure that the creature was just playing dead. When she worked up the nerve to back away, her posture was stiff and tense in case it lunged for her again. The air conditioning kicked back on then and she shivered, her wet clothes making her chilly. They clung to her and she felt like she’d been dipped head to toe in a vat of detergent. Mallory huffed angrily. She was sure she'd never get the monster's mucus out of her clothes, and the irony of it wasn’t lost on her. All this just to wash her clothes at a cheaper rate? How annoying.

She stood there for another moment, just breathing. In and out.

The odd sensation she’d been feeling, the uneasiness in her mind, was gone. She wasn’t between anything any more, and she could only hope she was back where she came from. But where had she been? What was that? Did that really just happen? How the hell did that monster-octopus-kraken-thing get into a washing machine in a land-locked state?!

A loud ding came from Mallory's left and she jumped away, crashing into the dryer next to her. She stared at the glowing green light just a few feet away. When she realized what it was, she sunk to the floor in relief, not caring about the puddle in the slightest.

Her laundry was finished. Her clothes were clean.

#real writer #writer #writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #horror short story #scifi short story #my writing #my post #horror writer #reblogs are much appreciated!!#my first rejection wowowow #:')

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cassandra-starflower · 3 years

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I would like to compile my favorite lines (the ones that crack me up) from Cassiopeia Potter Bashes a sQuirrell, some of which were written by me and others of which were written by @selenestarflower.

“Vernon worked at a large drill company, Grunnings, where he sold drills and yelled at people. He was so good at yelling at people that he’d been promoted several times.” (Chapter Two: Harry and Cassie and the Mysterious Letters)

“According to the Dursleys, they had been orphaned in a car accident. This was not actually true. Not that they were aware of that.” (Chapter Two: Harry and Cassie and the Mysterious Letters)

“Harry and Cassie Potter did not sleep in two of the bedrooms in this four-bedroom house. Instead, they slept in the cupboard under the stairs. It was very crowded.” (Chapter Two: Harry and Cassie and the Mysterious Letters)

“They’d shared the cupboard under the stairs for as long as either of them could remember, though sometimes they supposed they must have had a crib for a while.” (Chapter Two: Harry and Cassie and the Mysterious Letters)

“Harry…”

“Yeah?” Harry looked up from where he was absently tracing lines on the kitchen table (currently groaning with presents for Dudley).

“Is this burning?”

Harry got up and came over and looked. “Nope.”

“Thanks.” Cassie went back to glumly staring at the bacon.” (Chapter Two: Harry and Cassie and the Mysterious Letters)

“The snake lifted its head and winked at them. Harry winked back. Cassie blinked. (Winking was hard, okay?)” (Chapter Two: Harry and Cassie and the Mysterious Letters)

“Harry startled to his feet and tucked the letters with his (Well, it said Hadrian but that could just be a spelling error or something) and Cassie’s names on them into his shirt.” (Chapter Two: Harry and Cassie and the Mysterious Letters)

"Thirteen and a half inches, yew. And phoenix feather of course. The very wand that gave you those scars. Curious, indeed, how fate works in her twisted ways. He did great things you know. Terrible. But great. And I see from your wand, and your scar, Mister Potter, that you shall do great things too. The nature of which… is up to you."

Harry looked slightly traumatized. Cassie didn’t blame him one bit.” (Chapter Six: Ollivander Puts Silencing Charms On His Feet and You Can’t Convince Me Otherwise)

“Harry peered around the doorframe, just ahead of Cassie. She scurried over and peered around the frame above him, using her old levitating trick that she used nearly exclusively for Scooby-stacking with her brother.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were sitting at the breakfast table. Uncle Vernon had the paper open on the table, and Aunt Petunia appeared to be knitting. Cassie hadn't known their aunt had hobbies.” (Chapter Six: Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, AKA What The Fuck)

“Somehow the twins had convinced the Dursleys to drive them to King's Cross. There may have been some blackmail. There may have been some manipulation. The point was, the Dursleys were driving them to London, and the twins were packing.” (Chapter Six: Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, AKA What The Fuck)

“They stood awkwardly for about five minutes before they spotted the entire colony of redheads with trunks making their way toward the wall separating platforms nine and ten.” (Chapter Six: Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, AKA What The Fuck)

“To Cassie's eternal frustration, she and her brother would probably actually be able to pass as an above average tall person if one stood on the other's shoulders. They were tiny. (Chapter Six: Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, AKA What The Fuck)

"I'm Ron Weasley," the boy said while swinging his trunk up with ease. Tall people.” (Chapter Six: Platform Nine-and-three-quarters, AKA What The Fuck)

“Cassie made a brief and fairly useless attempt to corral her long and notoriously difficult hair before giving up,” (Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat)

“Cassie made another attempt to corral her hair. The last thing she wanted was to be set on fire by a magic candle.

There was a stool with a raggedy hat. Cassie could almost hear Aunt Petunia shrieking about the dirt.” (Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat)

“Also, the hat could rhyme.” (Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat)

“It turned out Annoying Blond was named Draco Malfoy, which was one of the most pretentious names Cassie had ever heard.

And her name was Cassiopeia!” (Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat)

“So the sudden quiet when the Headmaster stood was nice.

Then he started talking.

Excuse me.

FORBIDDEN THIRD FLOOR CORRIDOR?

Might die?

What?

None of that seemed legal.

Also.

Forbidden Forest?

Why on earth would the forest be forbidden?

Cassie made a mental note to explore. Whatever was in there must’ve been really cool and interesting.” (Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat)

“And now, the school song!”

The what now.

Cassie ended up grimacing her way through the entire thing. She didn’t have anything against singing as a general rule, but why? Why, God, why?

Was this punishment for some evil deed she had done in a past life?

Why did this song not have a tune or a time signature or anything?” (Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat)

“Password?” the lady asked, because apparently paintings did that in the Wizarding World.” (Chapter Seven: The Sorting Hat)

“In the first week, Cassie decided that this school needed some changes.

First of all, History of Magic, which should have been fascinating, was, a, taught by a boring ghost with a monotonous voice, and, b, apparently starting with goblin rebellions.

Secondly, Professor Quirrell should not have been a teacher, since he was apparently terrified of his own subject and also smelled really bad.” (Chapter Eight: Let’s Face It, Hogwarts Should Have Been Shut Down at Some Point During Harry’s Time There)

“Also, it was absolutely one-hundred-percent not her fault that she, Ron, Harry, and Hermione were now on Mr. Filch’s shit list. None of them had known that was the certain-death third-floor corridor, after all. If it was anyone’s fault, it was Ron’s, for trying to force a locked door.

Even if it had been just a broom cupboard, it was probably locked for a reason.” (Chapter Eight: Let’s Face It, Hogwarts Should Have Been Shut Down at Some Point During Harry’s Time There)

“(Also, moving stairs? Really? Someone was going to die toppling off of a staircase some day. Not to mention it seemed like the floor plan changed on a daily basis. What even was this school.)” (Chapter Eight: Let’s Face It, Hogwarts Should Have Been Shut Down at Some Point During Harry’s Time There)

“In Transfiguration, they were given a demonstration involving McGonagall turning her desk into a pig and back again, which sent Cassie down a mental rabbit hole about how it must feel to be an inanimate object briefly turned into an animal. Was it terrifying? Or was Cassie ascribing human emotions to non-human beings?” (Chapter Eight: Let’s Face It, Hogwarts Should Have Been Shut Down at Some Point During Harry’s Time There)

“Cassie whipped out her own wand, nearly brained herself with it,” (Chapter Eight: Let’s Face It, Hogwarts Should Have Been Shut Down at Some Point During Harry’s Time There)

“it was nearly time for their first Potions class with Professor Greasy, who had been giving Harry in particular murder stares for the last week.

Cassie did not like that at all, given that her brother had never done anything wrong in his life, ever, let alone to this grown man whose name neither of them knew.

So.

She was just going to make herself so annoying that he would hate her instead of Harry.

What could possibly go wrong?” (Chapter Eight: Let’s Face It, Hogwarts Should Have Been Shut Down at Some Point During Harry’s Time There)

“(Cassie couldn't contain a snort. As if poison wasn't premade and sold at stores.)” (Chapter Nine: All Those Hours Studying Victorian Flower Language Finally Pay Off)

“The room fell quiet. Cassie could see that Hermione was practically wiggling next to her, eager to prove her expertise in first year potions.” (Chapter Nine: All Those Hours Studying Victorian Flower Language Finally Pay Off)

"Yeah, were you? Mum says you were," Psyche Lestrange added, eyes gleaming, clearly seeing an opportunity to sow chaos.

"He was?" Ron said, "why isn't he in Azkaban?"

"What’s Azkaban?" Lavender Brown asked, looking stressed.” (Chapter Nine: All Those Hours Studying Victorian Flower Language Finally Pay Off)

"Kick him!" Psyche suggested eagerly. Blaise stared at her with an awed look on his face.” (Chapter Nine: All Those Hours Studying Victorian Flower Language Finally Pay Off)

“Instigating a riot in your first potions class, which led to fourteen hospitalizations, a broken table, and three missing baby teeth.” (Chapter Nine: All Those Hours Studying Victorian Flower Language Finally Pay Off)

"Yeah, he should've just told us," Harry agreed, "then Cassie wouldn't have broken his kneecap."

"Yeah!" Cassie said, "and it's not our fault Hermione and Ron and Lavender threw that table at Crabbe and Goyle."

Dumbledore sighed.” (Chapter Nine: All Those Hours Studying Victorian Flower Language Finally Pay Off)

“Hermione’s thick curls were tangled by the wind (and by existing),” (Chapter Eleven: Cassie Makes a Hit List)

“The aftermath of Harry nearly dying was… no one caring, apparently.

Cassie had to do everything herself, it seemed.” (Chapter Eleven: Cassie Makes a Hit List)

(Plus, a link to the fic! Cassiopeia Potter Bashes a sQuirrell)

#ella writes #Cassiopeia Potter Throws a Wrench Into Things #el rambles on

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whiskey-dreams-and-lullabies · 4 years

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The words scrawled on the paper in front of him blurred, his handwriting shaky, hastily written as his ears listened to the now familiar sounds outside. Grunts, groans, growls, fingers dragging along wood and glass. They knew he was in here, could smell him, his sweat, his blood, the sounds the walkie made, static bursts now and then,maybe even his desperation.

But he didn't care.

Not even a little bit.

The small cabin was isolated, and it was currently surrounded by the undead, at first only a few, but more and more drawn by the second. He hadn't checked in over an hour, but he could tell by the sound. Once fairly quiet, now maddening, a low roar as they fought to be the first in.

But, he didn't move from his seat at the old table. His pen kept moving rapidly as he wrote. Wrote everything. Thoughts. Fears. Resolutions. Resignations. Thoughts coming faster than he could write. Two pages full of the things he couldn't say, didn't dare speak out loud. Things no one would ever read, a manifest to be lost until some other lost soul stumbled across this place in the future. And even then, the words wouldn't make sense, the names within would mean nothing.

They may try to picture Judith or Carl, laugh at the name Jesus, assuming the author was some deranged religious nut, wonder about Negan. But, they wouldn't understand the desperation in his words, the hurt, the loss. After all, it wasn't written for them, or about them. It was written only for himself, in these moments, maybe his last moments on this earth. And he was oddly okay with that. At least he'd written it all down.

And with each word scrawled out, images flooded his mind's eye, memories, voices, the moments that made him, him.

Voices so vivid, his eyes lifted at times to search shadowy corners for the source, shaking his head before returning to his writing. Every few minutes, he brushed at the steady stream of blood that dripped into his eye from a head wound, ignoring completely the stitching that had torn in his side. Maybe he should be more worried about his injuries than the paper, but he wasn't. That was secondary. The pain an annoyance, but something he was used to. He wouldn't bleed to death here, the bullet wound hardly that serious after days with stitches, the head wound a long cut that would too heal. After all, head wounds bled the most. He hadn't passed out, and although touching it sent waves of pain through him, it wasn't fatal. He'd had worse. He'd survived worse.

But, he had to take a break, his fingers cramping up, wrist tired, eyes exhausted. Maybe curl up on the small for in the corner and get some sleep, or at least rest for a bit before continuing.

The sound the chair made as he shoved himself away from the table riled up the walkers outside, made them louder, more insistent on getting in. On feeding. His gun, his prized weapon that had been by his side for so long sat on the table, four bullets remaining, out of reach. Three to use on the undead, the last, as always, saved for himself. His axe laying out as well. Ignored much as the gun was.

Instead of laying down, he moved to the nearest window and looked out, meeting the dead eyes of a walker stationed there, rotted teeth clacking together as if he could taste Rick through the window. And, as had been happening all day, a loud voice in his mind, a baby voice. The ‘Daddy!’ that had him turning, half expecting to see Judith, eyes lit up, bright smile as she ran to him, blonde curls dancing across her shoulders. But of course she wasn't there, he was alone, well he had plenty of company, just not the kind you'd invite to Sunday brunch.

“What the fuck, Rick?”

The annoyance in that voice, how done he sounded. Rick turned, an empty room, but he answered quietly regardless.

“Stop glaring, asshole,” as if Negan could hear him. As if he was really standing here judging him like that for getting himself in this predicament in the middle of nowhere. “How much ya wanna bet I can make it out in one piece?”

He could easily imagine the look that would earn him, Negan wanting to forbid him from trying, but definitely knowing better than to say the word ‘'can't” around him. Could see him rolling his eyes, barely holding in the anger, reminding him, ‘'This is why I shot your dumbass’ once more. It almost brought a smile to his face.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah” he muttered quietly, the imaginary Negan crumbling away and giving form to Jesus who was by far much more judgemental than Negan and much more wordy about it.

“Always gotta play the hero. Stupid ass” with that look. That look Rick hated so much because it was full of disappointment, as if Rick had let him down, which he seemed to do a lot of to a lot of people.

Everyone expected so much from him.

Be the perfect father.

Raise her right.

Be the perfect leader who solved everyone's problems.

Fix it Rick, we have no food, no supplies, you're the leader, fix it! We need you. We're counting on you.

The perfect mediator.

The problem solver.

And of course, the perfect husband.

Stop pissing him off.

You're a failure, Rick.

Can't do anything right for anyone.

Fuck your pride.

The expectations were too much, people needed too much. He was one guy. One fucking guy who everyone depended on. All issues were his fault, every problem rested on his shoulders. “If only you'd..then this wouldn't have happened, Rick”

Story of his life. Pressures mounting, everyone placing him into a neat box where he was expected to stay.

His life was no longer his, belonged to other's, and he was simply the good little soldier.

“You're the leader Rick, it's your job to provide for these people.”

Which is how he'd come to be here in this god forsaken little cabin in the middle of nowhere. Alone and clearly outnumbered.

Because he was the leader.

It was his job. And no one could be bothered to help, everyone scared to make runs anymore, eyes looking anywhere but at him. No one giving a fuck. No one sitting at home worried about him even though he'd been gone for hours. Probably already written off as dead with a new leader being nominated as he paced. Fair though.

The chances of him leaving this cabin were slim to none.

So, he returned to writing. Wrote it all. The city, the farm, the prison, Terminus, the people, the friends, the foes, the kids, the triumphs and the heartbreak. Why leave anything out. Page after page after page until he reached the last one finally. One final blank page to be filled. One last memory.. He would leave nothing out. A final story.

A story that was both tragedy and comedy, heartbreaking and hopeful. A story that ended in one fateful decision, a single gunshot that would echo for decades in those that remembered. The aftermath leading him here, to this place, alone, writing his heart out. Destiny finally played out maybe, the only way their story could end. After all, they weren't meant to be, polar opposites, yet exactly alike. The extreme of both sides of the same coin. One cocky and over confident, the other broken and stubborn. How many ways could a story like theirs end?

Only with one dead. The other the victor in the little games they played. Drawn to each other for all the differences, the flaws. Each determined to be the better, to outdo the other, to prove they were in charge. Hatefully reminding the other how insignificant the other was, yet unable to go their separate ways. Tearing each other down to build themselves up, refusing to cave. Except for once. One night that for most would have changed everything, but for them only drove a deeper wedge.

Too many unresolved issues and the more he wrote, the more regrets he had. The list of things they'd done wrong only grew. And he wrote it all. Unbiased, harsh words leaving behind their truth, a truth they'd never acknowledge to anyone let alone themselves.

And finally, finally he was done. Papers spread all over the table, his legacy, his story through his eyes. He put them in a neat pile, these blood stained papers stacked neatly, ready and waiting for the next fool to stumble across this cabin in the future. Maybe someone someday would read them, would understand his words. Maybe they'd imagine the people contained within and would feel for them, feel their pain and their joy. He doubted it. But, he felt lighter, he'd gotten it all out and was no longer holding everything inside.

Now he was ready.

Injured and all, he was finally ready.

It was time to go home.

Standing, he stretched out aching muscles, loosening up before holstering his treasured gun, checking the rounds a final time before doing so. A slightly crooked grin grew as he readied himself, kneeling to tighten his boots, lifting his shirt to check his side.

Axe gripped tightly, the familiar weight oddly comforting, and last but not least, the walkie tucked safely away, turned off for the moment, silenced. He wouldn't need that right now, he could turn it on if he survived, and if he didn't, well, it wouldn't much matter anyway.

Drawing a slow breath, he headed for the door, a brazen move he knew, but a necessary one. He wasn't one to back down after all.

Holding the doorknob, he bowed his head sending a useless prayer to a God he didn't even believe in, it was more for himself anyway, then yanked the door open.

His eyes squinted in the bright sunlight, momentarily blinding him, leaving him vulnerable for a split second before focusing. A confident grin forming as he eyed the walking closing in from every direction, the smell nauseating, far more than he could fight, all eyes on him.

As he liked.

“Here we go” he murmured before stepping outside, the door pulled shut behind him, his legacy neatly waiting for the next chapter to be written.

#RickGrimesAU

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broken-hearted-butterfly · 2 years

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I have a doctor's appointment coming up in roughly two weeks, and it's my first appointment with a gp since I've moved out. I'll be discussing the pain in my back, the genetic nutrition condition, stabbing pains in my abdomen, and I'll be asking about another antidepressant. That will be the fifth or sixth psychiatric drug I'll have been given, after the first four weren't effective, after I physically couldn't take one of them; I still have so many benzos, I didn't need a refill but they gave me one anyways and proceeded to send it to the wrong pharmacy. No drug had worked yet. I just need information, something, anything will be better than nothing, being pointed in any direction will be better than nothing. All of that, even with the stacked injury of having broken a bone on my staircase.

Having to re-enter the job market and not feeling able. I already worked a standard retail job and experienced depression like I never had before, able to work without a hitch but crying in the evenings and blankly staring out the window in the mornings. I went into sensory overload on the clock and got overwhelmed enough to lock myself in the bathroom and cry at least three separate times. It doesn’t sit well with me at all to say that I just don't feel cut out for the standard workforce, that my chronic conditions make these jobs and associated tasks so much more difficult and consuming for me, and for the answer to be to simply keep looking, because I'm left with no choice and have to get something, oh something will fit, no matter how I can barely feed myself during the day, employment won't be an issue. And I suppose it wasn't, with all the times I knew I wasn't eating enough while I was working, ignoring how faint and dizzy I was starting to feel when I didn't have the energy to take care of myself in the first place. I still don't.

Messaged by an uncle I'm not particularly close with, he wanted to send me a card for my birthday in May, he asked where to send it to, telling me that there has been some communication about my leaving, with the only detail being just that, no reasoning behind it. I asked if he would use my chosen name, and he agreed without a hitch. I want to tell him I'm trans. I'm not close with any extended family, most are either estranged or dead, but I can try again, as an adult and as someone who is in recovery and aware of what made communication so difficult for me as a child. It just hinges on acceptance, he seemed genuinely concerned when I'd gotten covid and my family hadn't said anything (because they didn't believe me), I don't know how much I'd want to divulge, but I at least want to see if I can get at least someone in the family to act as a supportive force. And if I lose, I didn't know him that well anyways. It seems likely that this may go well, but of course I'm still nervous.

Need to go out and take care of some things, but just not having the energy. Needing to learn how taxes work, having to print out some papers, return a book, get more money for bus fare, I'm just exhausted and wound up and beyond frustrated with how so few things seem to work for my health.

#🦋💕.txt

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dreamofasupernaturalchamber · 3 years

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Dabb's Dream of a Red Chamber: Death's Library (Bo Ming Si) and Dean as Qin Keqing

I've seen a lot of SPN meta on this website, and in typical fashion, I'm YEARS late to the game. But I think there are some things that can only be understood in retrospect, and SPN's structure is one of them. What I'm trying to say is this: when Dabb took over, he turned Supernatural, a Western show about saving people and hunting things, into Dream of a Red Mansion, a Chinese literary classic about inter and intra family conflicts, class conflicts, political conflicts, and above all-- women.

Yes, I know how absurd this sounds. Why on earth would Dabb do that? My guess: because there is no surpassing Dream of a Red Chamber when it comes to metafiction-- the answer to the question "why metafiction?" will probably devolve into speculation about the network, so I won't get into it now.

What really tipped me off was that scene in 13x05, where Dean tries to commit suicide, but ends up Death's library instead. Some necessary background info: there is a scene in the first few chapters of Dream of the Red Chambers where Baoyu takes a nap in Qin Keqing's room (which is scandalous in its own right) and is transported to Taixu Huanjing, a dream world of goddesses in another dimension. The English translation? Taixu = The Void (note how this corresponds to the Empty, which makes its first appearance in 13x04), Huanjing = Dream World. Baoyu comes upon Jinghuan Xianzi, the goddess in charge of this world, who then takes him into a library called Bo Ming Si-- the Office of Unlucky Women-- and shows him books containing the fates of all the women in his family.

Does this sound familiar? Because it should. Here's a screenshot of Bo Ming Si from the 2010 adaptation:

A screenshot of Jinghuan Xianzi leading Baoyu through Bo Ming SI:

A screenshot of how the books are kept:

Now let's take a look at Death's library (pics from Superwiki):

Look at how the books are stacked in both shows. The reason they're stacked horizontally in Dream of a Red Chamber is that Chinese books tend to be very soft. The reason they're stacked horizontally in SPN is???

But that's just a coincidence, you might say. But Dabb doesn't just stop there. He borrows symbols, motifs, character relationships, family conflicts, and more from Dream of a Red Chamber-- he even borrows the structure. I'll talk about the structure and the motifs in another post-- today I'm here to talk about Dean.

Readers familiar with Dream of a Red Chamber might ask at this point-- is Dean Baoyu? No. (I'll talk about Cas, Jack, and Baoyu in a separate post.) So who is Dean?

Billie tells Dean that "every notebook on this particular shelf tells a version of how [he] die[s]." Let's see what Jinghuan Xianzi tells Baoyu-- he's shown three volumes titled "The Twelve Beauties of Jinling." The main volume records the ladies of his household, the second volume records the concubines, and the last volume records the maids.

Dean gets multiple notebooks because he's a combination of multiple characters from the first volume-- he starts off as Qin Keqing, who has multiple identities in the book, despite dying within the first thirteen chapters. Who is Qin Keqing? She is:

- the younger sister of Jinghuan Xianzi.

- the one who teaches Baoyu the matters of love in the dream world. She is his sexual awakening, and even though she doesn't do anything more scandalous than let Baoyu sleep on her bed in the human world, her brother is Baoyu's introduction to gay sex.

- the wife of the first and only son of the legal wife of the older branch of the Jia family. In other words, she's the wife of the future head of the household.

- there are theories that she may be the daughter of a prince who lost power, but I doubt those count for much here.

- she "dies from illness" but according to the "The Twelve Beauties of Jinling," she hangs herself after everyone learns that her father-in-law raped her.

- her death signals the beginning of the end of the four major families; her funeral is far too lavish, as is her coffin (it's made from wood that was originally reserved for a prince's funeral), and it's hinted that this is the beginning of the end of the Jia family, because they've reached above their station.

Now let's see how this matches up with Dean. We know that he:

- has played the reaper and has a special connection with Death.

- teaches Jack about romantic love in 14x06.

- is the head of the household.

- is possessed by Michael at the end of S13, an experience that's coded as rape, and is suicidal for most of S14 as a result. He then brings back a special coffin, which later causes Jack to lose control, which marks the beginning of the end for the Winchesters. Of course, the coffin scene references other media too. Angel comes to mind.

Now let's talk about Qin Keqing's best friend, Wang Xifeng. I'm not implying that Dean is anything like Wang Xifeng (although a case can be made that her panci might have influenced Dean and Cas's storyline, but that's a separate post). I bring up Wang Xifeng purely because I want to compare Dean to Lady Wang, Wang Xifeng's aunt and Baoyu's mother. If you're a Dean stan who's read Dream of the Red Chambers, you're probably livid right now. But think of it this way-- Lady Wang is a victim of patriarchal feudalism, and while Dean isn't a woman living under this sort of oppression, Dabb alludes to a similar power structure, and there's a reason why there are so many posts comparing Dean to the Eldest Daughter.

Late season SPN is where Dabb explores female-centric themes in a male centric show. Yes, I find this absurd too, but that's the choice he made. It's why Amara exists. It's why he brought back Mary. It's why S12-15 is extremely domestic. And it's why he covers a range of female experiences through Dean.

Let me go back to Qin Keqing. If she hadn't died, she would have been in charge of running the household, and she would have done an excellent job. But would she have been happy?

No.

The only other woman who matches Qin Keqing's talents is Wang Xifeng, and she dies relatively young. If she'd lived-- would she have turned into her aunt? Lady Wang is described as "wooden," but we know from Grandma Liu that before she married into the Jia family, she had a fiery personality, just like Wang Xifeng. Marriage turned her bitter. Indeed, Baoyu remarked that marriage turned women from pearls into dead fish eyes. And even though Dean isn't married, the role he plays in his family and his conflicts with Cas (and his resulting dislike of Jack) are very similar to the problems the legal wife of a wealthy man in ancient China would face. Or rather-- they're very similar to the problems the wife of a wealthy man/noblesman in a patriarchal feudalistic society would face. He probably would have identified with Catelyn Stark in GOT.

I'll probably write another post exploring how Red Chamber influenced the intra family conflicts in SPN, but before I do that, I want to talk about one more thing: Qin Keqing's nickname is Jian Mei, which means Both Beauties; she's considered to share both Daiyu and Baochai's beauty. Am I saying that there are shades of both Daiyu and Baochai in Dean's late season characterization? Yes. Dabb leans toward Daiyu = Dean and Baochai = Sam, although he plays with Baochai = Eileen too. Let me give you the shorthand for what these women stand for.

Daiyu = rebellious, bucks societal conventions, dies from a broken heart when Baoyu is tricked into marrying Baochai.

Baochai = obedient, adheres to societal conventions and thus the patriarchy, marries Baoyu but is then cast away because Baoyu decides to become a monk.

Tomorrow, I'll go into greater detail on how Baoyu, Daiyu, and Baochai appear through Cas, Dean, Sam, Jack, and Eileen, and how these choices tie into the finale.

#spn meta #dean winchester

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