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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 1 year

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North To The Future [Chapter 5: Sabotage]

The year is 1999. You are just beginning your veterinary practice in Juneau, Alaska. Aegon is a mysterious, troubled newcomer to town. You kind of hate him. You are also kind of obsessed with him. Falling for him might legitimately ruin your life…but can you help it? Oh, and there’s a serial killer on the loose known only as the Ice Fisher.

A/N: With the completion of Chapter 5, we are officially 1/3 of the way done with this fic series! In my opinion, things start to get really interesting in Chapter 6 so I am sooooo excited to have reached this little milestone. Thank you so so so much for reading and for your enthusiasm, questions, rants, analyses, theories, memes, and general emotional investment in NTTF. I go back to re-read your comments/tags ALL the time and they help keep me motivated to get new chapters out asap. 🥰💜

Chapter warnings: Language, alcoholism, addiction, murder, veterinary medicine, discussions of sex, questionable decisions, Kimmie-related chaos, Trent flexing his athletic skills.

Word count: 5.6k.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing): HERE.

Taglist: @elsolario @meadowofsinfulthoughts @ladylannisterxo @doingfondue @tclegane @quartzs-posts @liathelioness @aemcndtargaryen @thelittleswanao3 @burningcoffeetimetravel @b1gb3anz @hinata7346 @poohxlove @borikenlove @myspotofcraziness @travelingmypassion @graykageyama @skythighs @lauraneedstochill @darlingimafangirl @charenlie @thewew @eddies-bat-tattoos @minttea07

Please let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist! 💜

It’s November 29th, the Monday after Thanksgiving. It’s also your lunch hour.

You yank open the glass front door of Caribou Crossings, the souvenir shop where Heather works. It’s mostly abandoned now that tourist season has ended, and the unloved relics stare at you with cold, oddly sentient eyes: the owls carved out of cedar wood, bears carved out of jade, Russian dolls, miniature totem poles, plushie salmons. You climb over the counter and sit on the floor behind the cash register, your back pressed to the wall and your arms linked around your knees. Heather is breaking open rolls of coins to restock the register, probably unnecessarily; you are the only two people in the store.

She asks, wrestling to get quarters out of a particularly stubborn wrapper: “How’s it going?”

“Not great.”

“Have you fucked British Kurt Cobain yet?”

“We’re not speaking.”

She puts down the roll of quarters and looks at you. “What happened?”

You shrug, trying to act casual, trying to not let your voice crack. You don’t think there’s any threat of tears; you’ve cried so much in the past four days that you seem to be out of them. Your eyes are perpetually pinkish, puffy, exhausted. Despite your herculean efforts to remain hydrated, you have a constant low-grade tension headache that throbs like a bruise, misery trapped beneath the skin like blue-violet blood. “It’s a long story. He came over for Thanksgiving dinner.”

“Okay.” Heather is perplexed. “And then he, what, drunkenly dropped the turkey on the floor? Tried to hook up with your mom? Offered to show you his collection of murder supplies?”

You smile wearily. “No. I told him that he had to get sober. And he freaked out, he was yelling, he was saying I don’t have any right to try to control him because he’s not mine and never will be. He said I was trying to use him to bail myself out of my spineless, unfulfilling life.”

She scoffs. “Well that’s not true.” Then she observes your face. “Is it…?”

You shrug again, feeling like you’re back in high school, petulant and powerless. “There are a lot of things I want to experience, a lot of places I want to go. But I haven’t done anything yet. Because I can’t tell my parents that I don’t want to stay in Juneau forever and run the vet clinic.”

This must shock Heather, but she doesn’t show it. “I can’t imagine that they would want you to stay if it made you unhappy.”

“No, they wouldn’t try to stop me. But it would break their hearts.”

There is a long, uneasy silence. At last, Heather says: “I think you should come to Ursa Minor tonight.”

“I don’t want to see Aegon.”

“I mean, Dale would probably kick him out if we asked.”

“No!” you shout, too quickly. If he doesn’t have his preferred place to drink his demons away, he might leave Juneau long before the six month deadline.

Heather raises an eyebrow. “Do you want to see him or do you not want to see him?”

You glower at the wall strewn with large, framed photographs of the Northern Lights. “I want him to apologize.”

“I have many talents, but I can’t make that happen for you,” she says. “Look, is it possible that Aegon will be at Ursa Minor? Yeah, totally. But other people are going to be there too. Me, and Joyce, and Kimmie, and Trent and all his dimwitted muscley friends…there are going to be people who care about you. There are going to be people who can help you through this. We can comfort you. We can distract you. We can curb stomp that Greek boy in the parking lot if he doesn’t behave himself. There are a lot of options.”

Lyrics from The Distance, unexpected and unwelcome, spin around in your mind like a vinyl record: She’s hoping in time that her memories will fade. “I’ll think about it.”

“Can I interest you in a complementary Juneau-themed trinket? Glacial mud mask? Moose nuggets? Birch syrup? A slightly sinister-looking stuffed salmon?”

“No. I’m good.”

Heather asks with a straight face: “Do you want me to kill him?”

You laugh, your first real laugh since Thanksgiving. “No, thank you very much, but no.”

“Seriously. I could make it look like the Ice Fisher did it. No one would ever know.”

You gaze up at her from where you sit on the floor. “I love you.”

“I know, bitch.” Heather grins. “Wear something slutty this time.”

~~~~~~~~~~

You’ve spent a lot of time in your bedroom since Thanksgiving; you don’t want your parents to see you upset. They know something, of course, but they don’t interrogate you. They don’t intrude. They probably assume that you’ve broken up with Aegon—not that we were ever dating to begin with, you think sullenly—and, furthermore, that this is a painful yet indisputably wise course of action. It is a productive sort of pain, a necessary pain; it is like the deep maroon ache of a healing bone. It hurts less now than it would if you had stayed with him, married him, had children with him, attempted to build a life with him like a sandcastle razed again and again at high tide. It hurts less than if you had let yourself fall in love with him.

Oh, but didn’t I?

Alaska was purchased from Russia in 1867, just two years after the American Civil War ended, and was soon widely regarded by the still-recovering nation as a hopelessly remote and burdensome error. This impression was reversed only by the discovery of gold and the subsequent mass migration of miners to the territory beginning in the 1890s. After the booming gold industry came fishing and logging and oil and military bases, but gold was Alaska’s first saving grace. This is what you are thinking as you pencil on your black eyeliner, dust your eyelids with sheer gold glitter, paint your lips a vivid, glossy crimson. You stare at your reflection in the bedroom mirror, surrounded by photographs of your family and your friends, high school and college and vet school. There’s one image that doesn’t quite belong. It’s a cutout from one of those infinite travel magazines, a Ford Mustang convertible soaring down the Pacific Coast Highway in Southern California. The man behind the wheel—tan, beaming, carefree—is wearing sunglasses and a neon green tank top. The convertible is bright red; it is nearly the same shade as your lips.

You slip into a dress you haven’t worn in years: black, short, off-the-shoulder sleeves. Ever-practical, you opt for black boots instead of heels. When you arrive at Ursa Minor, Heather is wearing a sequined hot pink tube top and white leather pants. Joyce is wearing—to Heather’s abject horror—overalls, a rainbow striped T-shirt, and a massive mustard yellow scarf that nearly swallows her into oblivion. By a pure and unfortunate coincidence, you and Aegon match. He is sitting at the bar in all black: black turtleneck sweater, black jeans, black combat boots, black sleepless shadows under both of his eyes, a black mood that sweats out of his pores like a fever. Randomly, you remember the gold chain necklace he was wearing on Thanksgiving. It didn’t look fake, and it didn’t look cheap. To your knowledge, it is the only thing of significant value that he owns. It is a peculiar luxury for him to possess.

So what? Maybe he stole it. Maybe he traded drugs for it. Maybe he got it off a corpse that he strangled and then sank into cold, silent darkness beneath an ice-covered lake.

But no, you don’t believe that. You never did, and you still don’t.

Heather slurps down her Sex On The Beach. “Is this your revenge dress? Are you invoking the spirit of Princess Diana in this fine establishment tonight?”

You gaze miserably at Aegon. He is peering down into the caramel-colored bubbles of his rum and Coke. The stereo is playing Shania Twain’s Whose Bed Have Your Boots Been Under? “He told me he’s an awful person. That’s the worst part. Like he told me over and over again exactly what to expect and I didn’t believe him, because I was just…just…I don’t know.” Infatuated. In love. Blind. Naïve. Hopeful. “Stupid, I guess.”

“I hate men.” Heather glances to the bar. “Except Dale, he’s okay.”

“The fictional ones aren’t all bad,” Joyce says, flipping a page in her newest fantasy novel. This one has a pirate on the front, his billowing white shirt mostly unbuttoned and his long hair flowing in the wind like a hero’s cape.

“I’ve had a horrendous fucking day,” you moan. “There’s the Aegon thing, there’s the I’m never going to get out of Alaska thing, there’s the I’m going to die alone thing, and then on top of all that, I had to euthanize Ms. Ruland’s cat right before we closed.”

“Sylvester Stallone?!” Heather cries. “Sylvester died? That black and white homicidal little maniac? With the super long whiskers? Jesus, that’s tragic. I’m sorry.”

“In all fairness, he was like a gazillion years old. He probably remembered when dinosaurs roamed America. But it was still awful. Ms. Ruland was a mess. I felt totally unprepared, totally useless. I’d practiced in vet school, of course, but I’d never euthanized an animal I knew before. It was horrible trying to comfort Ms. Ruland. It was horrible seeing someone walk into the clinic with someone they loved and then walk out alone.”

Heather and Joyce nod with sad, sympathetic eyes, wanting to help but not knowing what else to say. You gulp down your pineapple-flavored Bacardi Breezer. Aegon must have complained about the Shania Twain music; Dale switches out the CD and the opening notes of Sabotage by the Beastie Boys rockets out of the stereo.

Kimmie throws open the front door and blusters into Ursa Minor, shaking the snowflakes out of her hair and wearing a sleek, skin-tight, metallic silver dress and matching platform heels. She looks like a disco ball; she looks like a mirror. She canters to the bar like a racehorse and orders herself a Miller Lite. She says something to Aegon. He mumbles back, still peering into his rum and Coke. She tries again. He shrugs and downs the rest of his drink. He glances at you—almost glaring, almost sad—and then orders another rum and Coke.

“Oh no,” Heather mutters. “Oh no, oh no, Kimmie, no.”

The front door opens again, and Trent and his friends spill inside in a loud, riotous swarm. They order beers at the bar—Trent fist-bumping Aegon, several of the other guys descending upon Kimmie to make bungling attempts at seduction—and then they migrate over to the pool table like a honking, brainless flock of geese. Trent breaks off to make a pit stop at your booth.

“Hi,” he says, smiling as he sips his Heineken.

“Hi,” you reply. Heather and Joyce’s eyes dart between you and Trent.

He points to the spot beside you, which is presently vacant. “Do you mind if I hang out for a while?”

“I think you’ll regret it. I am currently extremely depressed and boring.”

To your surprise, Trent doesn’t act like a dumbass. His voice goes gentle. His face collapses into soft, attentive pity. “What’s there to be depressed about?”

Well, you see, I accidentally fell in love with your maybe-murderer alcoholic homeless friend and in a completely unforeseeable turn of events he ruined my life. “I had to euthanize a cat today.”

“Oh, that sucks,” Trent says. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s my job. I should get over it.”

“No, seriously, I’m sorry.” Trent tosses his hair off his forehead in his patented horse-like maneuver, and then his gaze comes back to you. “Your job is to help animals, so I get that not being able to fix one would be really tough. But I know you’re still great at your job. I know you did everything you could.”

You stare up at Trent. Heather stares up at Trent. Joyce, having completely forgotten about her fantasy novel (a rare occurrence), stares up at Trent. Trent swallows a mouthful of Heineken; stray beads of it drip down his full lips and stubbled chin.

I couldn’t fix the cat. I couldn’t fix Aegon. I can’t fix myself.

“You can hang out if you want to,” you tell Trent, scooting over to give him space. He grins and slides into the booth, tall and broad-shouldered and tossing his hair around again, looking like goddamn Seabiscuit. You steal a glimpse of the bar. Aegon’s jaw has fallen open; he’s gaping at you with scandalized disbelief, with something like horror. You move a little closer to Trent. And Aegon, at last, turns his attention to the dramatic, irritating, captivating Kimberly Barbieri.

“So, Trent,” Heather begins slowly, apprehensively, then picks up steam. Beside her, Joyce picks up her book. “How is the salmon genocide business going?”

As you half-listen to Trent talk about fishing, which somehow—as all topics seem to do with him—leads back to football and his high school glory days, you drink your Bacardi Breezer and watch Aegon with sharp, narrowed eyes. He has relocated to the barstool next to Kimmie. He appears to be asking her questions—tentative, stilted questions—and she replies with animated laughter and calculated little touches: her fingertips grazing his wrist, her palm briefly pressed to his shoulder. You hate the way Aegon talks with his hands, those gestures which had been becoming so familiar to you. They put an ache in your chest like a nest of barbed wire.

“Bro!” one of Trent’s friends is calling from the pool table. Others are waving encouragingly. “Bro, come play! Come play! Broooooo!”

“Looks like you’re being summoned,” Heather says.

“Oh, wow, I guess so.” Trent turns to you, nervous. “Do you…uh…would you…maybe…like to join me?”

“What, playing pool?”

“Yeah.”

You try to consider this in earnest; your mind is so tangled up in Kimmie and Aegon and everything that’s transpired over the past week that the words barely sound like English. Playing. Pool. With Trent. “I don’t think I know how.”

“I’ll teach you,” he offers, quite willingly.

“Okay, maybe. Give me a few minutes, I need another drink first.”

“Want me to grab a Bacardi Breezer for you?”

“Thanks, but I’ll do it. I haven’t decided which flavor I want next yet.”

“Cool,” Trent says. He slips out of the booth and gives you one final, mock-stern, smiling warning. “Remember, I’m going to teach you how to play. Meet me at the pool table. Don’t forget. Don’t disappear.”

“I’ll be there,” you promise. He departs. You say to Heather: “I probably won’t be there.”

“Why not?” Heather asks. “You’re hot. You’ll be even hotter when you’re bent over a pool table lining up your shots. The Greek boy is already sad, but I want to see him devastated.”

“I don’t think I have that power.”

Heather smirks and wiggles her slender eyebrows. “I disagree.”

Across Ursa Minor, Kimmie leaps off her barstool and leaves Aegon to guzzle his rum and Coke in peace. She approaches your booth sheepishly, like a dog that knows he’s chewed a considerable hole in his owner’s favorite La-Z-Boy recliner. “So,” Kimmie says to you, nervously kneading her glass bottle of Miller Lite. She’s so fucking cool, you think mournfully. Cool girls drink beer, cool girls are lighthearted and fun, cool girls don’t take guys too seriously, cool girls never ask about the future. “You and Aegon.”

You drink the last of your Bacardi Breezer moodily. “What about us?”

“You aren’t…like…together, are you?”

“No. No way. I’d rather date O.J. Simpson.”

“Well…” Heather begins, and you kick her under the table. Bitch! she mouths, rubbing her shin.

“Okay,” Kimmie sighs in relief, a smile breaking across her face. The Christmas lights reflect off her silver dress; she glows, she radiates. “Good. I was hoping he wasn’t off-limits, but I wanted to check with you first. You know, in accordance with Girl Code.”

“How courteous,” you note.

Kimmie marvels dreamily: “He looked so freaking good strumming that guitar.”

“Um, Kimmie…” Heather begins again. You glare at her ferociously. Heather pivots. “He’s probably the Ice Fisher, so you should keep your distance.”

Kimmie laughs. “Aegon? The Ice Fisher?! I don’t think so. You have to be sober to meticulously kidnap and murder people. Besides, from what I’ve heard he’s slept his way through like half the souvenir shop cashiers, and none of them ended up dead.”

You stare down at the table despondently. Heather, floundering, puts her fist through the figurative In Case Of Emergency Break Glass box. “He has syphilis.”

Kimmie gasps. “Really?!”

Heather deflates. “No. Well, actually, I don’t know. Maybe. It’s certainly possible. We should assume the worst.”

Kimmie, for once fully in on the joke, winks. “I’ll let you know once I’ve investigated.” She strolls back to the bar in her short mirrorball dress, shimmering and lithe like a snake’s skin.

“To be clear,” Heather tells you. “I was not in the half of the souvenir shop cashiers that Aegon boned.”

“Great. Thanks.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?! Why didn’t you tell her that…that…?!”

“That what?” you snap. “She asked if we’re together. We’re not. We never were. He made that crystal clear. And if he’s not going to get sober, I’m not going to get involved with someone like that.” Someone like Jesse. Someone like the man my mom still carries scars and bruises from, not in the flesh but in the soul.

“But…but…” Heather frowns at you with pained, condoling eyes. “You…you love him. Don’t you? You look like you love him. You look…and I mean this in the most compassionate way possible…you look fucking terrible. You look like someone died, and I’m not talking about Sylvester Stallone the geriatric cat. Joyce?”

Joyce gives you an evaluative glance. “Yeah, you look terrible.”

At the bar, Kimmie is leaning all over Aegon and giggling about a story he’s telling. His hands move in dramatic, expressive gestures. He is, for the first time tonight, smiling. There’s a jolt like knuckles jabbed beneath your ribs. There’s a profound, inky despair. Kimmie grabs Aegon’s hand—he has callouses on his fingertips, you think randomly—and leads him over to the pool table. As soon as they have vacated the area, Heather drags you to the bar.

“Dale?” she says. “My good bitch needs a Bacardi Breezer. Maybe two Bacardi Breezers. Maybe three. I think I’ll be driving her home tonight.” She turns to you. “What flavors do you want?”

“Apple,” you reply morosely.

“Okay, one apple, what about the rest?”

“All apple.”

“Goddamn, you really are fucked up about this. Dale, three apple Bacardi Breezers, please.”

He lines them up on the counter. Heather sits with you as you drink them one after the other, gradually feeling warm again, feeling a little lighter. When you peek back at the booth, Rob has appeared there and is discussing—politely this time—the plot of Joyce’s fantasy novel with her. She looks almost vaguely interested in his existence.

“Hey Dale,” Heather prompts. “What’s the secret to everlasting love?”

Dale chuckles huskily and runs a hand over his thick, wiry beard. “You’re asking the wrong person. My wife ran off with a cruise ship singer, remember?”

“Oh yeah,” Heather says apologetically. That was around six months ago, at the start of tourist season; the guy was an Elvis impersonator. “My bad.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m better off, I think. Now I don’t have to pretend to like her soap operas anymore. Or her tuna casserole.” He guffaws and ambles away to serve a pair of middle-aged locals seated at the other end of the bar.

When you’ve finished your last Bacardi Breezer, Heather slaps your shoulder encouragingly. “Alright, you ready?”

“Yup,” you say, swaying a little as you hop off the barstool. You stumble and bump into Heather, laughing. She steadies you with a massive grin. She’s delighted; she’s relieved.

“Good. Now get your ass over to the pool table and do your best impression of Demi Moore in Striptease.”

You have no intention of doing that. But you do—with Heather’s stabilizing grip on your waist—make your way to the pool table. There is a crowd pulsing around it: Trent, Trent’s assorted jock friends, Aegon, Kimmie. Aegon is standing in the background and nursing his—fourth? fifth? tenth?—rum and Coke. His face is vague and his eyes groggy. Still, he is beautiful. He’s so beautiful you almost blurt it out before stopping yourself. Kimmie is lining up a shot to break the balls out of their triangular configuration. Her silver hoop earrings glint under the Christmas lights. She is covered in male gazes like the sheen of ice on a lake. The white cue ball collides with the pyramid-shaped conglomeration; the balls go flying in every direction. The solid green ball—number 6—disappears into a pocket.

“Booyah!” Kimmie cheers. There are claps and whistles. Aegon just stares blankly, gnawing on his lower lip, that chronically disobedient lock of hair resting on his cheek.

“You’re majorly talented,” Trent’s friend Gary swoons. Kimmie bats her eyelashes at him and then checks to see if Aegon noticed. He didn’t. Kimmie, flustered but trying to hide it, takes another turn but doesn’t manage to sink a single ball.

“Hey!” Trent welcomes you warmly. He slings an arm across your shoulders, which ordinarily you would shy away from. Now, you lean into him, your body melding with his, your muscles loose and sinuous. Aegon does notice this. His eyes are a dark, dangerous blue: riptides, maelstroms, trenches miles deep. Good, you think. Maybe I can get him jealous enough to reconsider. Maybe I can make him want to change. “Want to shoot for me? I’ll show you how.”

You smile up at Trent. “Yeah. Let’s do it.”

He passes you a cue stick with large, rugged hands. “So you’ll need one of these…and then you have to chalk it…” He presses a tiny blue cube into your palm. You rub chalk onto the tip of the cue stick, feeling ridiculous.

“And what’s the purpose of this part? Superstition? To give me false confidence?”

Trent chuckles. “To help the stick get better contact with the cue ball.”

“So you’re an expert, huh?”

“I am athletically gifted.”

“Does pool count as a sport? I’m skeptical.”

“Pay attention,” he teases, flipping his hair out of his face. Seabiscuit strikes again. “Now Kimmie sunk a solid ball, so the solids are all hers. Ours are the striped ones. If we can sink all the striped ones before Kimmie sinks all the solid ones, we win. And you don’t want to sink the black 8 ball until all our balls are already gone. That’s the very last step.”

“Sink striped balls. Don’t sink solid balls or the 8 ball. Okay. Got it.” You take aim, your sights set on the striped blue ball, number 10. This is somewhat difficult; thanks to your plentiful Bacardi Breezers, the pool table feels like it’s listing like a ship. The tapered shaft of the stick is balanced awkwardly on the back of your hand. “Am I doing this right…?”

“Here,” Trent says, and then he gets to work repositioning you. He touches you without asking, which you don’t object to under the circumstances; Aegon’s face is flushing a gory, wrathful red. Trent spreads your fingers farther apart, adjusts the angle of your elbow, pushes you between the shoulder blades to lean a bit lower over the pool table. The hem of your black dress creeps up your bare thighs, fluttering like a whisper. Aegon aggressively chugs the rest of his rum and Coke, the ice cubes clanging in the glass.

You take your shot, and the white cue ball whizzes across the pool table. It ploughs into the number 10 ball and sends it down into the abyss-like pocket closest to where Aegon stands.

“Yes!” Trent roars. He swoops in, picks you up with startling ease, whirls you around once before setting your unsteady feet back down on the floor and accepting thunderous back-slapping from his hoard of friends.

“Wow,” Heather murmurs, mostly to herself.

“Ugh, you whore!” Kimmie jeers, but she’s clapping and giggling too. She’s still the main character tonight, and she always will be, and she knows this like she knows the lines in her own palms. She’s just that kind of girl.

“Another round, another round!” Trent’s friends are chanting, and then they stampede together off to the bar to procure more beer. Kimmie, tottering in her silvery platform heels, moves to join them.

Abruptly, Aegon catches Kimmie’s forearm and pulls her to him. He whispers in her ear; her eyes go wide, her breath hitches, her glossy lips split into an exhilarated smile. And then they dash out of Ursa Minor together, stopping just long enough to grab their parkas off the coatrack by the door. They’re gone. They’re both gone.

You sputter to Heather: “What…? How…? No, they can’t! They can’t—!”

“What do you want me to do?!” she hisses back. “Tackle them before they can make it off the premises? Tie Kimmie to a chair? Force her to take a vow of celibacy? You didn’t tell her that he was off-limits when you had the chance. This is the consequence that we all have to live with.”

“Oh my god.” The room is spiraling around you. You feel nauseous; you feel ice cold. He wasn’t supposed to leave with her. He wasn’t supposed to…

“Uh, are you okay?” Heather asks.

“No,” you choke out. Aegon and Kimmie! Aegon and Kimmie!!! “I have to get out of here.”

“Well you can’t drive home like this—”

“I know. I’ll be back.” You push by her, snatch your parka off the coatrack, dive out into the starless, frigid night.

There’s no one in the parking lot, no one on the street. You make a hard left and walk with no particular plan down towards the harbor, your shaking hands jammed into your parka pockets, tears streaming down your face. The wind whips at you, howling and old, older than the creaking wooden planks of the dock beneath your boots, older than all of humanity. You pass bobbing sailboats and fishing vessels until you come to the end of the pier, sit there cross-legged and sobbing, gaze out through blurred vision over the Gastineau Channel. It separates mainland Juneau from Douglas Island, which began—like so much of Alaska did—as a gold mining settlement. You remember the sparkling gold eyeshadow that you applied in your bedroom just a few hours ago. You don’t feel very valuable at the moment. You feel unworthy. You feel alone.

It is silent except for the waves and the wind. It is very dark; the sky is clouded, and the illuminations of Ursa Minor and the streetlights are faraway. When you hear the footsteps behind you on the pier, your stomach drops; they’re too heavy to be Heather’s or Joyce’s. But when you twist around, it is Trent that you see in the dim, shadowy light.

“Hi,” he says, raising a hand. “Heather told me that you ran away.”

“Hi. I guess I did.”

He hesitates, flips his hair, drops down beside you at the edge of the pier. “You okay?”

You sigh heavily and swipe the tears from your cheeks. “Yeah. I’m just having a really bad day.” Like an absurdly, phenomenally, exponentially bad day.

“I know what that’s like.”

I doubt it, Trent. I really do.

You sit there together in the quiet, watching the sparce light flick off the crests of waves, staring at the bright dots of houses and shops across the channel on Douglas Island. Trent puts his arm around you. You let him, and—partially for the warmth, partially for the healing sensation of being desired, being cared for—lean your head against his chest.

After a very long time, you ask dully: “What do you like about working on a salmon boat?” It’s almost enough to make you wince. It’s the kind of pedestrian, unimaginative question that Aegon would make fun of. But Trent seems to consider it carefully.

“I like being outside,” he says. “I like the fresh air, I like the scenery. And I like how working with my hands helps me get all my frustrations out. I’m a better person when I stay busy. Commercial fishing can be intense sometimes, don’t get me wrong, that’s why I’m trying to get into the Forest Service. But I like it enough.”

“What do you like about me?”

You can hear the awe in his voice. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. There was a time when I didn’t care so much about things like that. But now that I’m older and I’ve started to think about settling down…I feel like you’re the right kind of girl to do that with.”

You look up at him. He beams down at you like a full moon. And then he kisses you. He’s warm and strong and handsome in that obvious sort of way, but he’s something else, too: a little forceful, a little rough. Rough isn’t always a bad thing. But it’s like you can glimpse the silhouette of someone else beneath the surface, stars veiled by clouds, the shadows of fish under ice. He doesn’t feel anything like Aegon. He doesn’t patch the wound that Aegon left in you at all.

I wonder where Aegon is right now. I wonder what he’s doing to Kimmie.

When Trent breaks the kiss, you tell him that you have to go. He walks you back to Ursa Minor, his mighty palm on the small of your back.

~~~~~~~~~~

Heather drives you home, shellshocked. She asks, in reference to your confession about the kiss on the pier: “So…uh…do you want to talk about it, or…?”

“No. Definitely not.”

“Are you and Trent…like…a thing…?!”

“I don’t know. He seems to think we are.”

“Oh god, oh god, oh my god.” She rubs her forehead with one hand, her astonished eyes on the indigo-black horizon.

When you get home, your dad is already asleep. Your mom is straightening up the kitchen, wiping off countertops and scrubbing dishes in the bubble-filled sink. When you ask if she needs any help, she bursts out laughing.

“You’re the one who looks like she needs help,” she says. “What happened at the bar?”

You grimace down at the floor. “A lot of things. A lot of things.”

“Nothing you feel the desire to share?”

“No. Not quite yet. Can you drive me back to pick up my Jeep tomorrow?”

“Sure. Why don’t you take a nice bubble bath and then go to bed?” she suggests. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Do you need a snack? I could make pancakes. Or a grilled cheese.”

“That’s really kind of you, but no thanks, Mom.” I’ve completely lost my appetite.

You sulk in a bubble bath for a while, drag yourself out, brush your teeth and hair, try to rub the night off every part of you like smoothing rough edges off a gemstone. When you wander out into the hallway, your eyes catch on the door to the attic, a rectangular outline in the white ceiling. You are mostly sober by now, and yet still the idea that strikes you seems ludicrous at first. It’s a muddled, disjointed thought. It might be a dangerous one.

If I can learn more about Jesse, maybe I can understand Aegon too.

The box of journals is up there, you know, dusty and untouched and waiting. The rope hangs invitingly. You pull the door open and unfold the ladder. You climb up into the attic, turn on the single naked lightbulb, and push aside bins of holiday decorations and family heirlooms until you find a small, unlabeled cardboard box that’s sealed shut with duct table. You peel back the tape and peek inside the flaps. The box is filled with thin leather journals in a variety of colors: olive green, navy blue, rust red, earthen brown. You gather the cardboard box into your arms and carry it down to your bedroom, slipping it discretely beneath your bed to live beside childhood stuffed animals and mounds of old yearbooks. You close up the attic and then venture downstairs to get yourself some water to stave off a blossoming hangover.

Your mom is at the kitchen sink, washing a plate with a green Scotch-Brite sponge. “Did I hear you up in the attic, ladybug? Do you need help finding something?”

“No, I got it.”

“Okay.” But she studies you, puzzled. She’s going to worry unless you explain.

“I don’t want to make you talk about it,” you say. “And I don’t want to upset you. I’ll never mention it again. But just so you know, I want to read the journals. For my own reasons. That’s why I was up in the attic. I was bringing the box down to my bedroom.”

“Oh.” She freezes, stares out the window over the sink, goes vacant. “That makes sense. That’s fine.”

“Mom, are you alright?”

“Of course, ladybug.” There is nothing outside but night. You can see her reflection in the glass like a mirror. Long, slow seconds tick by. “It seemed like he was getting better,” your mom says, her voice faint and weightless, an untethered balloon, a feather on waves. “That’s the strange part. At the very end, it seemed like he was getting better.”

Then she lets the plate sink beneath the pearlescent bubbles, wipes her hands dry on a dishtowel, and goes to bed without another word.

#aegon ii targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii #aegon x you #aegon targaryen x reader #aegon targaryen x you #aegon targaryen ii #hotd fanfic #aegon x y/n #aegon x reader #aegon targaryen ii x reader #aegon targaryen ii x you

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banana789 · 1 year

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You are Betty's best friend and are crushing have been crushing on Veronica since she arrived in riverdale. You three are really close but you still struggle to talk to her because of how shy you are. Betty decides to help, much to your dismay.

This is set around season 1 and 2 and Archie and Veronica never get together, instead Betty is still crushing on Archie and he likes her back. (Grundy never happened)

Y/n's pov

As I slowly walked through the halls of Riverdale high I kept my head down. I have known the people around me for years yet I only know half of their names and I'm sure even less of them know mine. I generally try to keep to myself. However I wouldn't class myself as a loner, more the shy nerd who prefers fantasy to reality and always has her head in a book. My only close friends being Betty and her group. Me and Betty met in preschool so I find myself more confident around her, more comfortable to be my nerdy self, meaning she has to listen to all my rants about Marvel or whatever book I'm currently reading. But she can't complain after all the lovesick rants I've heard about Archie.

All of this aside me and Betty have always been there for eachother, she was the first person I came out to and I was there through all the nights she would cry over Polly and her family. It was the two of us against the world.

Until Veronica arrived in Riverdale.

However things did not go how i thought. When Betty first told me she would be showing the Veronica Lodge around thought that she would give the tour and that was it. Veronica would instantly bond with Cheryl and the cheerleaders and become the queen bee. But as soon as I saw her in pops that night with Betty and Archie my opinion of her changed.

Flashback

I slowly sipped on my chocolate milkshake as I sat with Betty and Archie, smiling at how red my friends face was becoming while talking to her crush and at how painfully obvious it was about the unspoken love between the two.

As Betty began to tell Archie how she has been thinking about them and their friendship I suddenly felt awkward at how I was sandwiched inbetween the wall and Betty so not wanting to ruin the moment by asking her to get up so I could leave them alone I got 'The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo' out of my bag and began reading. The conversations happening between the characters drowning out my friends voices. That was at least until I heard a soft unfamiliar voice next to us, asking Pop about an order for Lodge.

I looked up and was met with a pair of beautiful brown eyes looking back at me. The girl gave me a kind smile as she stood at our table, as I saw her eyes flick down to my book I suddenly became embarrassed and kept my head down ,realising how antisocial I must have looked.

I was pulled out of my thoughts by Betty nudging my side, pointing her head towards Veronica. I looked back up to the girl with a stunned look .She giggled and gave me a small smile before repeating her question.

'I just asked how the onion rings were here' she laughed.

Shocked that she was even looking at me,I struggled to reply.

'Really good' I replied quietly, shocked I didn't stutter.

I felt myself blush as she smiled and nodded at my reply then ordered a side of onion rings.

As she began to talk with Betty and Archie I once again tried to keep to myself and get my nerves under control simply nodding as she asked us if we went to riverdale high then going back to staring at the front cover of my book that was now laying forgotten on the table.

'Veronica Lodge'

As I heard her introduce herself I was filled with shock, this was the girl who me and Betty were showing around tomorrow. Well Betty was showing her around but I know she would drag me there too, trying to encourage me to be more social. As she shook hands with Archie and began talking to Betty I began to get nervous and gave a pleading look to Betty .She seemed to get the hint and introduced me so I wouldn't have too.

As she declined Archies invite to join us I felt both disappointed and relieved. Before she left she looked over at me and gave me a warm smile.

'That's a great book by the way' she said in a soft voice, then gave me a quick wink and walked away.

After she left both Betty and Archie teased me relentlessly about how red I was , both knowing I had developed some type of feelings towards the girl.

Back to present

I smiled as I replayed the memory from a few weeks ago in my head.Since then Veronica had hung around with us a lot and I found myself becoming more confident around her. I had even ranted to her about Wandavision once. She made a comment about how cute I was when I talked about it.

Her and Betty had also convinced me to join the River Vixens. However by convinced I mean they literally dragged me to the gym. There were several threats from Betty about burning my favourite book but Veronicas puppy dog eyes alone had me agreeing.

I was once again pulled from my thoughts as I felt a familiar raven haired girl appear at my left and loop her arm through mine as I felt my face already beginning to blush.

'I though we were meeting at my locker?' She asked in an adorably confused voice. As she pulled us to stop and stand by a classroom door.

'We are ... I was just heading there now' I said quietly, proud I didn't stutter.

'Well you walked straight past me' She said a she giggle shaking her head.

' Honestly, you need to look where your going or one day your gonna get yourself hurt' she scolded softly , looking into my eyes.

'Oh haha sorry' I said rubbing the back of neck giggling.

'Adorable' I heard her whisper under her breath with a smile.

'We should get to the locker rooms , Cheryl's gonna kill us if we're late' She said.

Once again looping her arm through mine and pulling me down the hall. As I stood still flustered from the Adorable comment.

As we strolled into the Vixens locker room we were shocked to find the usually busy area completely empty.

'Oh crap, it must have started early' I said panicked as I did not want to suffer the wrath of Cheryl.

'Hey hey don't worry, she didn't tell us so we did nothing wrong. Maybe everyone else is just late.' Veronica said , rubbing my arm, trying to reassure me.

' Let's just get dressed and go to the gym' She said with a smile.

I nodded and slowly walked over to my locker next to Veronicas. I opened it up to get my cheerleading uniform out trying to reassure myself that Cheryl would not be mad. She was really scary.

I jumped as I heard Veronica gasp beside me. I looked over and saw her looking at the inside of my locker. In it were pictures of various movie characters, as well as pictures of me with my friends, including one of me and Veronica that we had recently taken at Pops. I quickly slammed the locker shut , embarrassed. I'd forgotten I'd put that in there ,what if she thought it was creepy.

'Awwwww you have a picture of us , that's so cute' she gushed with a big smile on her face. As she gave me tight hug. I once again began to blush.

'Can I see the others?' She asked as I was now holding the locker door closed . Stupid faulty lock.

I suddenly shook my head with a pout , embarrassed that she might also see all the movie pictures, even though she already knows I'm a nerd.

She smirked and squinted her eyes at me .Giving me a determined look as she tilted her head .

Uh oh . This was the same look that had she'd given me the other night.

Flashback

I sat next to Veronica as 'Notting Hill' played on the tv. I had been fighting to stay awake for the past 20 minutes. Personally I didn't like rom coms , I prefer superhero films or just tv shows .I also found then unrealistic but that just might be me being bitter about my non existent love life. But this was my first sleepover alone with V and I wanted her to be happy so I agreed to watch it.

I suddenly heard a loud gasp next to me and felt a pillow get thrown at my head. I jolted awake and sat up , looking over to see Veronica glaring at me with an offended look on her face.

'How can you be asleep?!! This is one of the most romantic movies of all time? ' She exclaimed.

I giggled at the shocked look on her face and quietly replied

'I don't know, I think Rachel getting off the plane for Ross is better' I said with a small smile on my face.

Veronica gasped loudly again and glared at me. My smile dropped as she got up from her seat on the floor in front of the tv and began making her way over to me on the sofa. She smirked and squinted her eyes at me, giving me a determined look as she tilted her head.

Before I knew it she has pinned me to the sofa, kneeling on my arms and looking down at me with an evil smile. She slowly leant down and whispered in my ear .

'Take that back'

I was basically going into gay panic at this point but for some reason I replied with a 'never'.

Veronica sighed and pouted but just as I though she was going to get up she suddenly began relentlessly tickling me .Running her hands all over my ribs and stomach ignoring my squeals. Only shouting over my laughs for me to take it back . As I felt myself becoming breathless she stopped . She looked into my eyes. That evil smirk still on her face .

'Now ,are you ready to admit that this movie is sweet and romantic or do I need to find out if you feet are ticklish.' She threatened once again holding her hands up in the air. I gasped knowing my feet were extremely ticklish and whispered what she wanted me to say.

'I'm sorry what was that I couldn't hear you?' She said with laugh

' Notting hill is sweet and romantic' I said, slightly louder.

Veronica smile at her victory and looked down at me .

'Sorry about that' She said with a laugh, then she leant down and kissed my forehead .I once again felt a blush on my cheeks.

I felt my eyes travel down to her lips and noticed hers lingering on mine too. I slowly felt her beginning to lean in before we were interrupted by the sound of the oven going off.

' Oh the pizza I forgot' she said with a laugh as she jumped off me and ran to the kitchen . Leaving me on the couch flustered .

'Greys anatomy is more romantic tho I mumbled as I sat up.

'What was that?' She shouted from the kitchen.

'Nothing' I yelled back , not wanting a repeat of what just happened. Well not the tickling part anyway.

Present day

I quickly began to retreat as I saw Veronica step towards me and reach her hand towards my ribs. Instantly opening the locker for her, she looked at me with a smirk as I once again began blushing .She smiled as she saw a picture of me Betty, Archie and Jughead as kids. Her smile turned into a smirk as she saw a scene from Notting Hill amongst the pictures of scenes from my favourite movies at the back if my locker .

'Ha I knew you'd like it' She stated with a victorious smile. I had mainly out that in there because of made me think if Veronica but I had to admit that the movie had grown on me.

'I still think Rom coms are unrealistic though, I mean I dont even have the confidence to tell you I like you now , let alone after a big fight . ' I gulped as I realised what I had just said . Fear consumed me as I froze on the spot and quickly looked down to the floor . I had just told Veronica I liked her . We hadn't even known eachother for a month and we were becoming really good friends and I've ruined it. I was consumed by panic as I realise I could have ruined Betty's friendship with Veronica too .

I was brought out of my worries by the feeling of a soft hand on my chin, gently lifting my head up so that I was gazing into those beautiful brown eyes.

'Don't worry, I haven't had the confidence to tell you I like you either. I'll admit that part is a little unrealistic sometimes.' She said with a loving smile as she tucked a stray piece of hair being my ear. Before leaning in and giving me a soft kiss on the lips. She slowly pulled back and looked onto my eyes.

'Y/n , you are the most adorable little nerd I have ever met. And before you get insulted that I called you a nerd I want you to know I mean it as a compliment. I really like watching you rant about Marvel and watching you cute expressions when your reading a book. I really like the way you will sit through a Rom com because you know it makes me happy and how flustered you get when I compliment you. Exactly like you are now. But most importantly I really like you. I was hoping that maybe you would like to go to the movies with me on Friday? We can can watch the new Doctor Strange and I promise if anything bad happens to Wanda I'll listen to you rant about it afterwards and cuddle you during the film'

At this point I was as red as a tomato. Scratch that I was even worse .I stood there with my mouth open as I held onto Veronicas hand that had moved it's way down to my waist . Suddenly realising I had been quiet for quite some time I suddenly began stuttering out an answer

'Uh .. yh ..I mean ... yes definitely ... Sorry V I would definitely love to go ... kinda scared for the movie tho ... But yes definitely '

Veronica cut me off with a laugh and a peck on my lips. Stopping my nervous ramble .

The sound of a cough at the doorway cut us off as we both jumped apart and saw none other then Cheryl Blossom stood at the doorway. I quickly hid behind Veronica , not wanting to face the gingers wrath as we were definitely late for practise.

'What are you two doing in here , I told Betty to tell you practise was cancelled today' She said in a frustrated tone.

Me and Veronica both gasped as we realised that Betty had probably 'forgotten' to tell us knowing we would be alone in here together.

'Sorry Cheryl we weren't told' Veronica explained as she pulled me out from behind her.

'Ok whatever 'She said harshly. Then in a softer tone she added

'I wont tell anyone by the way. Even though it's been painfully obvious that you two lovebirds are crushing on eachother.'She said with a laugh as she walked out.

Me and Veronica both gathered our things and walked out, holding hands.

'Ok I need to go speak to my English teacher so why don't you go and meet everyone in the cafeteria and I'll see you there'. Veronica exclaimed as she gave you a peck on the lips. She knew we how much you hated talking to teachers.

'Finally' We heard a voice say behind us. As we turned around we saw Archie stood there with a big smile plastered on his face .

'You knew we liked eachother?' Me and V both said, shocked that everyone seemed to know except us .

'Of course I did, congrats guys. Ive gotta go but i want details later'He said with a laugh as he headed to football practise.

'Hey Archie' I called after him , an evil idea popping into my head .

'Betty wants you to meet her at Pops after school. She has something she needs to tell you' I explained

'Ok tell her I'll be there 'he shouted back as he jogged to practise.

'But y/n we're meant to meet Betty at Pops... ?'

She gasped and lightly slapped my shoulder realising my plan. Shocked to see this new side to me.

'She did it to us' I replied with a quiet giggle.

Veronica giggled and leaned in to peck me on the lips

'And I'm so glad she did'.

#Veronica Lodge #Riverdale #Veronica x fem reader #Veronica lodge x reader #gxg #cute #shy #nerd #Riverdale x reader

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olderthannetfic · 9 months

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Tumblr seems to be sliding in a downward spiral, and it feels like the start of the end of a fandoming era for me. I've been through it before; platforms are born then die, and life fandom finds a way. I'm just not looking forward to floundering for a bit, and dreading what the next hub will look like.

AO3 isn't really a place geared or meant for the same thing, and that's fine. My only fandom-related activity took place on AO3 only for a few years between my leaving LJ and joining Tumblr, and I lived ;-) But during that time, I was my own little island in fandom. Reading, leaving a few comments, not being super active. It's only when I found a community again that I was back to being really active in fandom once more.

And it's not that I actually use Tumblr to post about myself, but I do use it to read and reblog cool things - art, gifsets, science stuff, discovering new fandoms, and the like. I'm not sure where else I could find my people, with sameish purposes. The other sites I've tried didn't fill that niche in a way that suited me, in part because of how they look and work, in part because of who and what is(n't) there.

I have DW & PF accounts just to be safe, but I'm not very fond of group chats Discord-style - and without Tumblr, IDK how I'd even hear of new communities where I might pop in once in a while, loins girdled and everything. The micro-blogging platforms are not what I'm looking for either. Sure, I can follow a few DW comms and blogs; I already occasionally do and I will be more consistent about it if I must.

But one of my greatest fear is that the next platform will be phone-based, app-only, or some such BS - and that is something I just won't be able to deal with. Phones are tiny, it's uncomfortable to write anything, I don't like touch screen and much, much prefer a proper keyboard and a mouse (copy-pasting on a screen? (x_x) << it me), art/pics are too small to properly appreciate, a phone isn't comfy to hold for a long time for me, and the app system means you have no control over anything as a user… and that anything there must be Apple Approved, dick-free, blood-free, and tasteless. And I say this as someone who's pretty much uninterested in sex IRL or in my entertainment ;-) I still support and want the tits, the gore, the everything, and as long as I have the tools to curate - oh, wait. Curate things myself? That's not something that's popular these days, is it? It's not going to generate money, if I'm happy ;-)

So… I guess I'll play some more on Neocities, and see if anyone wants to have webrings again? (it would be fun and nostalgic, but not really viable on a large scale; people who haven't known those would just laugh and point and go on the InstaTok of the time).

So here is my little cane-waving rant of the day! I know things evolve and change and that in ten years I'll be rolling my eyes at my moping. It's only that I feel tired of moving from one shitty platform to another, of fearing I won't adapt (or more accurately won't want to adapt given the annoyance/benefit ratio) to whichever new place things will move in a few years. It's saying goodbye to a former home, moving, and hoping you'll make another home elsewhere kind of sniffles today!

We already know the next platform. It has been Discord for a few years now.

If you want the one after Discord, I think you're looking at waiting things out for quite a few years (or until Discord makes a major misstep as a company).

True, real time chat is not for everyone, but small discords with well-chosen channels can operate more asynchronously. Just like a lot of people who hated the look of Tumblr early on eventually capitulated, a lot of chat haters have jumped ship to Discord already.

Realistically, 90% of fandom always goes where the action is, no matter how much they claim the features make that space impossible, and 10% disappears.

We might get the 10% back on the next platform or they might leave fandom for good. There were LJ-haters who resurfaced post LJ era.

But as for where you'll find out where people are... probably AO3 author's notes.

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spop-romanticizes-abuse · 7 months

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Yk, the worst thing about catr@dora is that it's literally abandoned the rare toxic sibling dymanic that is rarely shown in media. That not all siblings are going to be positive towards each other. That usually under the abuse, children will start to hate their own sibling because of their declining mental health. And it disappoints me even more that people are enclinged to actually make excuses why Catra and Adora aren't siblings, when they so painfully are.

Like- I was abusive towards my sister because my mother never actually cared for any of us and neglected us. I was psychotic and attacked her out of nowhere, and she was ignored. And the thing is? I can see myself in Catra, at least my past self. I can see my sister in Adora. I can see my mother in Shadow Weaver. And it makes my stomic turn to see them become canonical pairing, that Catra doesn't have proper redemption arc with the realization that she was an AWFUL person and that people are happily shipping them. And even worse when people try to attach "They are siblings" to other pairing to make them look insignificant and incetful whan in fact, it's c//a that is incestful by its nature. Sorry for the rant here, I just really hate the missed potential here and a little hurt as abuse surviver, and partially the abuser myself. I redeemed myself a long time ago and made amends with my sister, but it doesn't change the fact that I see myself as a monster for my past mistakes.

Even the A:TLA Comics were better at handling toxic siblings and I despite them.

first off, don't worry about ranting! it's always good to hear about different people's experiences here! also, i totally agree. i feel like people have kinda agreed as a whole that any conflict between siblings isn't that serious and "that's just how siblings are".

i rarely talk about my own experiences here but i've also been in a similar relationship with my sister, except i was the adora in the situation. my sister was abused by our father and she started using many of the same techniques on me, especially the emotional abuse. she would constantly belittle and insult me, try to control every single aspect of my life, and guilt trip me for things that weren't my fault. whenever i tried to tell people about it, they'd just brush it off as "you'll get over it, it's not that deep".

so it made me validated to see catra and adora in spop too, but at the same time it gave me the ick because i went into the show knowing full well that c//a was going to be a thing. there have been other toxic sibling relationships in media but very few that were as abusive as c//a. usually it was just sibling rivalry, and not much more.

so yeah, i completely get you. it's a real shame because they had the potential for a very interesting dynamic and character arcs.

if catra was the scapegoat child who always craved validation, her arc should not have ended with being adora's girlfriend. she should have gotten the time to explore herself, heal from her trauma and be her own person.

similarly, adora as the golden child should not have ended up with the person who put the most pressure on her and guilt tripped her. she should have gotten someone who lets her exist without having to be strong and capable all the time.

but yeah, c//a stans will still say that we're just being insensitive and toxic, instead of actually reading what we post. i hope you're doing better now, and your sister as well!

#spop critical #spop #spop salt #spop discourse #spop criticism #she ra #anti catradora #anti catra #spop catra #anti c//a #antic//a #anticatra #anticatradora

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poognthebrainbois · 3 months

Text

Rant/vent about current denial spiral under the cut - some context first: (*extremely brief mention of abuse/SA, medical history mention)

Had a fight with my mom about why I "still think it's DID." There were a lotta layers to that conversation, including:

- My (our) experiences don't line up with all the "research" she's done about DID

- according to her, co-consciousness doesn't exist and "you would have no idea there's another person [controlling your body], you can't be 'standing behind, watching.'"

- she doesn't trust anecdotal/personal experience of actual systems because "that's just people on the internet making up whatever they want"(paraphrase)

- she had also never heard of OSDD before. Even though she claimed she knows all about the DSM-5.

(medical trauma/history mention)

- I was never *physically abused or SA'd, therefore I don't have trauma. (She doesn't believe in emotional/verbal abuse, and all my *medical trauma/history was during/right after my birth (I was born 10 weeks early, had a surgery while in the NICU) so it doesn't count [I can't disagree with that])

(Might make a separate vent post about what we consider possible trauma that she "doesn't count")

- she told me "it sounds like you found something and stuck to it" (paraphrase) (meaning I learned about DID and just decided that was my problem.)

- made the same sweeping generalizations as always about my entire generation "wanting to be different" and "wanting to have something wrong [with us]"

(Again, I could make a separate vent post about what she says during literally every argument)

- told me (us) to "stop saying 'we' for Christ's sake!" (We will not.)

- she decided I (we) need to bring her "actual sources" of why I (we) believe it's DID/OSDD.

Which meant to us that we were gonna stay up all night doing extensive research.

Or that was the plan, before the denial set in.

(Recreation of Denial spiral below, just to throw it out to the void and be able to come back to it later to disprove I guess?? Could be triggering (lots of repetitive phrases, disbelief of trauma, derealization/depersonalization, there's a lot in here.)

What if she's right and I'm not a system? What if it's not DID or OSDD and I'm just desperate to make it into something? What if I actually don't have trauma and I'm secretly an endo??? (Any headmate tries to talk to me) You're not real, shut up. Why did I do this to myself? I ruined my life over something that's not even happening! Why did I let it get this far? Why am I still perpetuating this if it's not true?? It was never a problem until I did weed and "opened doors" that was just weed! I'm making up trauma that's not real! I want so bad to be traumatized so I can feel justified to be mad at my parents when really I'm just an entitled little bitch who's never had anything happen to them and needs to pretend they're worse off than they are! She has real trauma! She's actually been through real abuse and they've never done anything to me other than yell and that doesn't mean anything and I'm just a crybaby for being scared of getting yelled at they never actually threaten me (why do you remember the "I'll give you something to cry about" threat/phrase then???) and I cried over nothing all the time for no reason and I've just always been afraid of nothing. I can't believe I'm actually sitting here thinking about doing all this research just to prove a point?? Just to prove her wrong? That doesn't mean anything! That's not a good reason! I shouldn't even bother. This is a waste of my time. I should just tell her she's right and move on. It's not DID and (Losing my train of thought trying to write this, Jesus) I've just convinced myself it is but it's not. I've made it out to be more than it is so they'll care and that didn't work anyway. I can't believe this is happening right now. There's no way I got this far. That all of this really happened over nothing. They were just characters in my head! Why did I ever start believing more than that when I don't have trauma! Nothing that bad has ever happened to me and all these thoughts that keep coming up are fake and even if some of this stuff was trauma it wasn't in my childhood so it's not relevant. I spend too much time on the internet and I shouldn't just believe all of this stuff. What do I think I'm actually "relating" too? I should've just left it at Maladaptive Daydreaming and been fine. I've made everything worse for myself. There was a reason I stopped doing research on DID years ago! 'Cause I don't have trauma and I can't sit here and pretend I do. Why am I doing this?

(Etc etc etc. Front changed while writing this. I've been in co the whole time but Parker needed to step back for their own comfortability.)

We went back n forth for a while about a bunch of this stuff. Had a number of headmates hop in co-front just to prove a point, only for Parker to continue to tell them they're not real and it's "all me and I'm faking" bro you are at that point proving a point to yourself but okay.

Anyway, eventually Kiara took front and started on research anyway. We were up til 5am. Didn't finish but marked all our tabs so we could go back and finish it up the next day (yesterday). Did not get back to it yesterday 'Cause Parker got anxious.

We now have a deadline to present this shit. We've got a psych appointment tomorrow morning and Mom's leaving on Thursday to visit a friend. So we should get to it today. But they're really not ready for that conversation. Unfortunately we (Lio) told our psychiatrist that we might actually get to that conversation with our parents before our next appointment so now Parker feels like we have to. And if we don't then they'll be anxious about it the entire time Mom's gone which is also not productive.

There's a worry that if any of the rest of us try to explain it then it won't be taken seriously because we're not them. This whole situation is exhausting. We weren't planning on trying to have this conversation yet and now we're so rushed and there's a lot more pressure.

In any case, there's a chance we'll post an update if/when it happens.

If you've read this far, any kind of support would be appreciated. <3

-❤️

#system denial #abuse mention #spiral #emotional abuse #verbal abuse #depersonalisation and derealisation #pooger.txt #fuckboi/pos #dissociative system #osddid #did osdd #system vent #vent post #personal vent #endos dni

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codenameredkrystalmatrix · 8 months

Text

Colours (Savage Opress X Reader)

Their colours change as he spends more time with you. He changes as he spends more time with you. (Cross-posted on AO3)

Red

When you found him at a wreckage site on Phu, his burning eyes and scowl told you he wasn’t the friendliest being. While he was passed out, you tried going through what was left of his flight log. The only pattern was that there was no pattern…

“Listen. Either you come with me, or whoever you’re avoiding catches up. And between and me, you don’t look ready for what they could be packing.”

A nod.

You’d bluffed well, and for your reward, were now the caretaker of a raging Zabrak male. His name (which you found out when he just about screamed it at you during a rant) made sense. Savage Opress. Any conversation you tried to have was shut down either with silence or a snarl.

He would stare daggers into your back while you worked. You couldn’t help the way your palms broke out into sweats. Things were getting out of control when you realized you could barely even pilot your own ship with him nearby. It was just…overwhelming. You’d thought it over and had decided that it would really be better if you both went your separate ways. At least, that was the original plan.

A bone-chilling scream echoed through the rooms. You jumped out of your cot, knocking your head against the wall in your wild twisting. Swearing, you doubled over and stayed put until you could stop seeing stars. But the screams weren’t letting up. Every urge in your body was telling you to get back to bed, huddle up and forget you heard anything. This was too much for you- how could you help? His health was none of your concern. Nothing would save him from whatever demons were-

“Hey! Wake up!”

You didn’t quite know how you’d gotten there so quickly, but you dismissed it. His eyes snapped open, and immediately the pupils narrowed. Sitting up from the floor where he’d been thrashing, he slumped. You realized your hands had found their way to his shoulders.

“Bad dream?”

He rose and silently sat cross-legged in another corner. Whatever he was running from, it haunted him. In such a state, you didn’t have the heart to leave him alone.

“I can’t afford any parts for this ship, got that? So, you better stop denting my floors.”

Still nothing. You huffed, returning to your room. Cargo deliveries had just gotten a little more complicated.

Black

If there was one thing that was certain about your fellow traveller- he knew his way around combat. He’d slash his way through opponents with speed and brutality that made you shiver. The problem of running into a couple of goons was often resolved in seven seconds- maximum. But for the bigger fights (like intercepts by rivals of your clients), he’d put himself in serious danger, and sometimes narrowly miss death.

In the dim light of the medical room, his eyes were flat and dark after times like those. Half-closed, and drifting in and out of awareness, they seemed almost lifeless. Only the slight rise and fall of his chest showed he lived. You tried to be gentler with him, asking how he felt after he’d fully awakened.

“I live.”

“How about I help out a bit? I know a couple older tricks.”

“I will tend myself.”

“You pass out halfway through it.”

Another stare, so you continued. “That won’t help. I’ll do it, so you get back into fighting form quicker.”

He didn’t object- either to you patching him up, or to you rubbing some cream in so slightly older injuries healed better. After one such session, you saw him looking at you.

“You cannot feel the Force.”

“Nope. Why?”

He couldn’t answer that. There was just…he wasn’t sure what to call it. The Dark Side only offered anger to suppress the pain for a while. There would be no true healing for him. But this...what he felt around you... was not unfavourable.

His skin was soothed with the creams. He slept more deeply with the scent of herbal oils lingering in the room. Savage found himself stretching his limits, battering his body to be melded together again under your touch. Something prevented him from drawing on the full depth of his anger. So, he avoided meditation altogether. It had always been a waste of time better spent in combat.

“I swear- it’s like you want to get killed.” You griped, working some ointment into his lower back after a more serious run-in.

“It would not be something I avoided.”

He regretted speaking, as his words caused your hands to still.

“Savage? You…”

“I am tired.”

“You…I…Savage. You’re…”

The Force within you reached out to him, begging in ways words could not articulate to not say that. It stretched to someplace within his hearts, hurting for him. What…was this? Turning to look at you, he tried deciphering your intent, but found nothing that the Force had not revealed. A little tremulously, you laid a hand on his chest.

“I’m really sorry.”

And, if he were almost any other being, Savage Opress would have broken down into tears. As it was, he simply closed his eyes.

Brown

Once he noticed, it was impossible to ignore it. He liked that little path in the Force that bent around the shape of your being. It reached out to him- like what he’d imagine a loth-cat’s tail would be like wrapped around his soul. Not the insidious coaxing of Mother Talzin, or the durasteel-cold of Count Dookoo. And not the white-hot mass of rage that had pulsed from his brother. It was quieter. He could feel the fear that most beings did around him, but something just under that drew him in. He stayed with you more to sense it.

You noticed his thoughtful silence. Maybe some air would do him good. “Would you like to come to the markets with me?”

A silent stare. Not pointed, but not exactly welcoming either. He did, however, nod after a bit. After that first trip, he made it a habit- standing as soon as he saw you with your bags. He’d lift things too heavy for you and offer protection. Well, “offer” wasn’t quite the word. It was more that he’d stay at your side and chillingly glare at anyone who stared at you for more than 3 seconds. During one such trip, you saw a parent walking with their child.

“Ever thought about it?” You cocked your head in their direction. He looked up at the sky, eyes less harsh than they used to be, but distant. Something…heavy came over him.

“I kill.”

“You killed. You can stop.”

His head darted down to you, expression asking.

I can?

He seemed surprised that he could be anything besides a monster. That left you with food for thought once you re-boarded.

After another unsuccessful meditation upon leaving your side, Savage stood. He looked to the corner of his area, where you’d left a costly lotion. What little rage he had mustered faded away, bringing clarity. It wasn’t that he’d been prevented from using his anger. It was that there was less anger in him to be used. Should he be worried about that?

He'd ignore it. He’d only wanted to be strong enough to fight alongside his brother. Dark power meant nothing if it could not bring him back. In any case, he felt too tired to tread that path any longer. There was another he wanted to wander down.

You worked around and with each other, settling into a routine over time. Savage served as your very-effective bodyguard and co-pilot, working the guns as needed. Your financial situation stabilized, and improved. So, it was time for a little treat.

“Ta-da!” You walked in with two boxes. “Gotcha some stuffed puffer pig.”

You sat in the opposite seat of the cockpit, passing him his food. If you hadn’t been so busy enjoying your algae crisps, you may have caught the surprise on his face, that melted into satisfaction as he ate with you.

As you took his box from him to throw it away, your shoulder brushed against his. A pleasant thrill caught him off-guard. He must have reacted outwardly, because you glanced at him.

“Everything ok?”

Catching your free hand, he guided it to his chest. Another floaty feeling. He leaned in and manoeuvred himself until you were nestled against his chest the way he’d seen others do. Unease, worry that you would break away. But despite that, every cell within him sang.

“You could have just asked, Savage.”

And when you tightened the embrace, he became convinced there was power in you that the Jedi and Sith could only dream of. Something that somehow both weakened him and eased the tension from his body. You couldn’t respond to any of his questions when he asked, and he could tell you were being truthful about your lack of Force-sensitivity. He let it drop, content to experience the effect you had on him.

Yellow

Sometimes you’d brush fingertips. Other times, his hand fit itself in the small of your back. Others, he’d simply stand behind you, fascinated by the soft curves of your body against himself. You’d glance back, and…was that a smile on his face when you teased him? Even the way he moved was shifting. His predator’s stalk was slowing- stretching into a smooth, easy stride that often directed towards you. Something fond peeked through his once-impassive stare.

Once, as you sat in the cabin, he took one of your hands to the base of one of his horns. Under his guidance, your fingertips rubbed the flesh at the point where they started to jut out. His torso relaxed, and carefully- making a choice and surrendering to a wish- he laid on your thighs. You continued slowly, in awe of what this gesture was doing to him. When he looked at you, his eyes seemed to hold the beginnings of peace. You beamed.

He…could cause happiness? Savage could not for the life of him believe that he was the reason for those looks. He wanted to see them all the time. Was there more he could do? After cycles of deliberation, he approached. He reached forward, forward, but then stopped. Was this a mistake? What if you frowned or glared at him? His hearts squeezed. He couldn’t remember if, before this, his hands had ever trembled.

You took them halfway. Thumbs slid along bruised and cybernetic knuckles alike. Then, with all the gentleness in the galaxy, you stretched up and kissed his cheek. A gasp, and his eyes widened.

“I’ll take it slow.”

Over time, many more caressed his cheeks, forehead, nose and, eventually, his lips. Every time, he’d close his eyes, letting relief flow through his jaded body. His meditation sessions grew once more, but with the addition of this beautiful creature sound asleep in his lap. He felt himself smile when you were like that. It was no longer the Dark Side that fuelled him.

Days were spent stealing embraces while you worked. Fingers always lingered more than what was strictly necessary. During lazier times, you’d set the ship to autopilot while you relaxed in the cockpit. He’d have you snuggled against him, planting the occasional forehead kiss. And as you responded gently along his neck and shoulders, he’d hold you just a little closer.

Nights were spent on his bed, where scented oils were massaged into his aching muscles. Contented rumbles would fill the ship, and, with either tenderness or near-unbridled passion, he’d kiss every inch of you in gratitude. Instead of nightmares, peaceful blackness waited on him as he closed his eyes.

…o0o…

If there was anything you loved about him, it was how close he kept you. Be it the way his hand always found yours as you walked together, or the way his arms steadied you in your weakest moments. In your current position, his organic arm was wrapped around your torso as you laid on his chest. The cybernetic one had been taken off- something he did only when he was sure he could have a long, peaceful moment with you. And that he’d had- being able to rest after a successful delivery.

Harsh lines made up his face, but with a relaxed expression that softened you. Reaching out, you traced the path of the bridge of his nose, then across to his cheekbones, along his jaw…

His chest vibrated with a hum. You giggled at that, and the corner of his mouth turned up. Savage rolled over to straddle you. The pads of his fingers skimmed your wrist, and he left a tender kiss to the nape of your neck. As he pulled back, those eyes finally opened to the colour you saw most in recent times. The colour of the flowers you’d decorated his horns with after you’d raced through a field. That of the bracelets he’d given you as a declaration and a promise. That of the new sunrise of hope in your lives.

Beautiful, burning, heart-melting…

Gold.

#x reader #fluff #star wars #savage opress #savage opress x reader

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lythea-creation · 2 months

Text

Caught on Camera - Shams x fem reader (Chapter 3)

Chapter 1

Previous Chapter

warnings: bullying

word count: 900

-------------------------

“Are you serious? Why would you hang out with Shams?”, I complained.

“Why shouldn't I?”, Nadeen shot back. “Sarah just dropped me out of the blue. At least Shams doesn't care what others think about her. She seems to be reliable.”

We were on our way to a table to eat lunch together. Actually I had looked forward to it until Nadeen had enlightened me about her weekend.

How was I supposed to warn Nadeen about Shams without talking about Sham's filming? After all we had a deal.

“You just said that she doesn't care about what other people think. Do you really want a friend who doesn't care about your opinion?”, I inquired.

“(f/n) … what is your problem with Shams?”, Nadeen questioned.

I stared at her dumbfounded for a second, not sure of an answer.

Before I could think of one, I suddenly bumped into someone.

Last second I managed to get control over my tray to avoid spilling my food.

To my surprise it was Sarah. But of course she was not alone due to her newest fame. Tasneem, Hiba and their friends were with her.

“(f/n), I'm sorry! Are you okay?”, she immediately apologized.

“Yeah, it's okay. I'm sorry, too. I wasn't really paying attention where I was going”, I confessed.

We sent each other a short smile as a sign that we were not holding a grudge over it or anything.

When I tried to move on, Hiba intervened by placing her arm in front of me.

But instead of addressing me, she started talking to Sarah: “Are you kidding? You're at the top of the food chain now. You don't have to let her get away with this without consequences.”

Then she emptied her full cup of water over my head, draining my whole upper body as well as the food I was still holding in front of me.

“What the hell?”, Nadeen exclaimed.

I was too shocked to react at first.

Sarah was looking apologetically at me, but did not intervene either.

As a turmoil of emotions was bubbling up inside of me, I put down my tray and hurried to the bathroom.

On my way I noticed Shams sitting at a table on her own as usually, her camera in hands. Of course she had filmed the incident!

Tears of anger were pricking at the corner of my eyes as we glared at each other, before I continued my way.

When I arrived in the bathroom I slipped out of my shirt and placed it onto the sink to wring out my wet hair. Then I moved on to drying the shirt under the hand dryer.

It was no use though. It would take forever to dry it up.

I flinched as I heard the door open and quickly held the shirt in front of me to cover myself.

“You gotta be kidding me! What are you doing here?”, I yelled at Shams. “Can you please just leave and use another bathroom?”

“No, I'm here because of you. I ...”

I did not give her a chance to explain herself and instead interrupted her: “What? You didn't want to miss out on filming the continuation of the incident before? What were you hoping to see? Do you want me to break down? Or did you wanna film me without my shirt on?”

“Why are you always so aggressive toward me?”, she wondered. Her voice was surprisingly calm and stoic.

“Well, you always seem to be there during my worst moments, filming everything. I just saw you filming the incident with Hiba as well. And now you're even hanging out with Nadeen. She's my only true friend”, I ranted.

“I did film the incident”, she confirmed. “But it's not you who's looking bad in that scene, but Hiba. And I wouldn't show it to anyone without your consent … as I already promised. Neither did I film anything that happened in the changing room last week. And by the way, I didn't mean to steal Nadeen away from you or anything. She just seems cool and was having a hard time. So I figured we could hang out and maybe become friends. And right now I just wanted to check on you after Hiba was being such a bitch. But if you just want to keep on hating me, I guess I'll leave.”

Shams turned around and grabbed the door handle.

“Wait!”, I called out. “I'm sorry.”

She faced me again, her hand still on the door handle.

“You're right. I was being a jerk”, I admitted. “I only wanted to see the version of you I had pictured in my mind. Honestly I'm not even sure why.”

Shams let go of the handle and fidgeted something out of her bag.

“You can borrow it if you want to”, she offered me a spare shirt. “I don't think yours is gonna dry in time for the next lesson if you don't put it outside in the sun. And you can't really go out without wearing it. So ...”

Hesitantly I took the shirt from her. I thanked her with a shy smile.

She smiled back at me and I had to admit that it was kinda cute.

Suddenly I wondered why I had pushed her away to begin with.

--------------------------

Next Chapter

Thanks to sunwoniie for the suggestions again! I hope u all like the story so far. Feel free to send more asks!

Tag List: @sunwoniie

#al rawabi school for girls #shams x reader #fem reader #lgbtqia +#angst #romance #fluff #drama #female reader

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angelpuns · 10 months

Note

RANTING ANON IS HERE!!!! Omg the new comic update- I love that Leo hates "Clone" Donnie bc he yelled at him it's so honest to how kids act in real life- and the fact that he wants to go back is so cool because he is just such a kid. And the fact that instead of just wanting to go home he wants to be the hero and save his dad and that's what he focuses on and it's so cool! And the comparison between how lil Leo things the real Donnie acts and how the Clone one acts is so, so amazing because it shows that Donnie was so impacted by everything that he became a different person! A lot of people tend to think about their kid self and how they'd react to how they are currently and how different they are, seeing that shown through how Leo thinks the real Donnie acts vs the Clone is so amazing and I love the little implications- <3 amazing comic, 11/10, have read over and over for fun.

AHHH TYSM???? sobs repeatedly at all your nice comments!!!!

The lad really is so torn between staying behind and saving everyone or just trying to get home fr!!! I def think Kid Leo is the 'I can do it by myself' type til it gets too difficult for just him to do it. reghfjjrwjfre ALSO YEAH IM SO GLAD YOU NOTICED ABOUT THE DONNIE THING, Leo definitely trusts him the least cause THIS Donnie acts so differently than 'his' Donnie. I really think that if Donnie just took a step back and tried to remember what it was like to be a child he probably wouldn't have scared Leo off so badly!! (I say this like I'm not in control of the narrative bur truthfully I'm just lettin stuff play out and watching lmao)

I'm really glad you're enjoying it though and I hope you like the rest of this arc (it is a LONG one) and all the....stuff that happens :D

#HAPPY STIMMING AHHH #TYSM #IDK HOW TO EXPRESS HOW HAPPY THUS MAKES MEEEEE #tytytytyt #ty to everyone for reading my comics #it makes me so happy to make art for other people to enjoy #and then seeing them enjoy it #happy happy happy

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rosegirl6140 · 1 year

Text

How Stella Differs From Other Female Abusers

I’ve been confused on why I didn’t have a similar disdain for Stella as I did for other female abusers such as: Beatrice Horseman, Shadow Weaver, and Odalia Blight. I was confused until I asked myself: how does Stella differ from all of these women? That’s when it finally hit me all of these women, Stella included are narcissistic, power (and or status obsessed), psychopaths but Stella lacks something that they all have: control. Beatrice Horseman while having a lavish life similar to Stella was always calm and controlled in her rants to her son which of course made them all the more terrifying and worse, believable for a young child because it sounded like she was saying a fact instead of something out of anger. Same thing with Shadow Weaver, most of the time she was passive aggressive and yes had moments where she flew off the handle but she knew how to manipulate a situation to go in her favor like when she manipulated Catra into helping her escape or what she did to Glimmer for most of season 4 even though she was still technically a “prisoner.” She also had a lot of authority within the Horde and was in control of a lot of people before Catra stopped her. Odalia was in charge of a whole company and always tried to frame every petty, manipulative, and controlling thing she did to Amity as her “helping her daughter fulfill her potential” or something which was really a vain effort to have something to brag about.

Stella however has barely any control over anything at all. She got into an arranged marriage with Stolas when she was barely older than Octavia. She lets her emotions get the better of her all the time. She still obsesses over what the rest of the Goetia family thinks. Whenever there’s a problem she just throws money at it. She doesn’t say things with sadistic coldness she screams it out with white hot rage which is raw and feels real (not for good reasons but still). Stella also seems to run to her brother. The only real things she has control over are what parties she throws. She is dependent on other people and she hates it so she bullies them into thinking she has control when she doesn’t which again is terrible and no one should do that. She has never had to do an actual thing for herself and is basically an overgrown child. They explain how her outfit can look juvenile as well in this one re-design video but my computer is being stupid so I can’t post it. Stella has never made any big decisions for her life and just did what her parents asked of her. The closest thing she made to a decision was her paying someone to kill Stolas for embarrassing her. I think on some level she realizes this and that’s why she hates Stolas so much because she had no choice in her life and she takes it out on him because she’s too scared of what other people think to leave.

All the women above made choices: Beatrice Horseman chose to abandon her safe and steady life to run off with her horrible idiot of a husband after he got her pregnant and instead of admitting that she made a mistake she just took it out on Bojack, Shadow Weaver she worked her way to the top and became a respected sorceress only to throw it away for a desperate grab at more power while endangering a child and then started abusing other children because she was so convinced that she was entitled to power, Odalia built an entire company with her husband and handles most of the business but only cares about her kids if they make her look good and will actively hurt them to get her way. Stella however did what her parents asked of her to maintain her safety, comfort, and security. She got married to a man who didn’t even find her attractive and whom she has nothing in common with. This would be frustrating for anyone but with Stella’s anger issues it made her extremely abusive and taking it out on him (again this is obviously horrible and I don’t condone).

In her mind she did everything she was expected to do even if it made her miserable and in return she gets her husband humiliating her in the worst way imaginable over and over again. I hope the show gets better and treats her anger issues like a serious problem that negatively impacts her too. And goes into detail about how she struggles with it because she has little to no control over it. Stella is pretty much the product of her environment and I want to see her be more than that.

#vivziepop #THE OWL HOUSE #the owl house odalia #she ra netflix #shadow weaver #hazbin hotel #Bojack Horseman #beatrice horseman #stolas #stolas goetia #stella goetia

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gayerthanevertbh · 2 years

Text

dearest johansson || s.j

pairings: scarlett johansson x fem!reader

summary: both of you were infamously toxic for each other. you hate her, she hates you too. maybe things got a little too out of hand.

warnings: slut shaming, degradation, talks about drugs (briefly), cheating (both sides), hatred, sexual theme (brief), sensitive topics (talks about suicide, drugs, and more). please read at your own risk.

a/n: this is heavily inspired by the movie malcolm & marie. although, i had a little twist. let me know if you want part two.

masterlist

There’s a difference between staying married and staying in love. The word marriage seemed to be like a job – a work that has to be done every day. You cook for your wife, you make love with your wife, and you give them the best reassurance if they need it. But, what if the idea of being married becomes shit to you? I feel that all the time ever since Scarlett has become this whole new persona bitch. She was meaner – sometimes sweeter – and can be very demanding. As she said in an interview once, she was a little controlling. I mostly agree with that.

Staying in love can be hard to admit because I, for a fact, wasn’t in love anymore. Well, maybe that’s just me angry talking; I probably don’t mean it. But as time passes, it could be true. It’s not because I envy Scarlett’s work. In fact, I praise her talent and her brilliant mind. But she can be a total prick sometimes. Maybe all the time.

Getting out of the car was relieving from all of her rants about this guy who seemed to be praising the role that she played in Marriage Story. She said that the man was oblivious, horrific, and completely dull when I thought of him as a swell man. For the most part, I wasn’t hearing her part. I guess I was too tired to think or speak.

“What do you want for dinner?” I asked, opening the door with the keys and maneuvering myself in; inhaling the homey scent. Scarlett hummed and flopped her entire body on the couch, rubbing her eyes roughly.

“Ramen? I don’t know,” she murmured, laying her head on the armrest. “Did you like the movie?”

I nodded, not knowing what she really asked, but I still nodded in courtesy. I can’t believe I’m still being nice to a narcissistic woman who requires attention. Why am I still in this relationship?

“Tell me verbally, come on.”

I could throw a whole blender at her if I could. But, I chose not to. That would be too brutal and could ruin my entire career for it, so I sighed but rather deeply and replied with a nonchalant tone, “I liked the movie, Scarlett.”

I could hear a fainted laugh and without even a blink of an eye, she was hugging me from behind – her head buried into my neck as she squeezed my waist, whispering with lust: “You are so fucking sexy, you turn me on so much.”

Now, I wasn’t as turned on as her but I like the way she squeezed me if I had to be honest. Though, I was still pretty upset with her for what happened to this fine evening. I turned my head over, trying to shake her off, and continued to unwrap the noodles from the plastic. Scarlett scrunched her eyebrows in confusion. It was as if I wasn’t appreciating her act in her new movie – it wasn’t about that, it was because I had no recognition for it. All the hard work she’s done, I was there. I picked up the pieces when she was frustrated and didn’t know what else to do. I had to put up with her yelling at me or someone, then take her back home whenever she was severely intoxicated.

Scarlett Johansson has been infuriating lately.

“What seems to be the problem?” Scarlett asked, chuckling it all off as her hands tried to touch my waist – but I flinched quickly. She scoffed but then smiled, “Baby, what’s wrong? Come here.”

I turned around, dropping the packets of noodles on the countertop – making a loud slam – and pursed my lips together way too tightly. I responded with a tone of authority, “Make your own god damn noodles how about that, hm?”

“First of all, calm down,” she demanded, with her hand lifted in the air. “Second of all, what’s going on? Did I do something wrong–”

I grabbed the bowl from the dishwashing sink and placed it on the counter, not afraid that it might break, and poured the noodles in it. She watched as my anger rose until it was clogging inside my throat, wanting to roar it out. I snapped my head to the side and said: “Figure that out yourself.”

“Y/N–”

I turned on the lamp that was at the center of the table and placed her warm bowl of noodles that was nearly fresh. Though, I can say that it was instant. Either way, it was unhealthy enough to eat. I pulled her to a chair that made a loud screeching sound and continued, but with a louder voice, “All you did this night was to fucking talk about your work and you never even gave me attention throughout it!”

Scarlett crossed her arms, trying to act like a victim, and responded with the same voice as I had – although a little meaner.

“Y/N, I had to. I had to thank everyone who made this film with me… of course, I’ll talk to them all night!”

“Don’t fucking pull that shit with me,” I cut her off with an evident scoff and removed my earrings that were gifted from her on our 1st anniversary. She sighed, pinching her nose bridge, and replied: “Can you come back here? You don’t just walk away from this.”

I lolled my head to the side, flopping my hands on the side of my thighs, and responded with a monotone voice, “If you can talk to your people and thank them all night, then I might as well not talk to you. I’m just being fair.”

I walked away like I was in a movie, although it wasn’t. This was reality, and it sucked. Scarlett sucked her lower lip in – as if to control her anger – then quickly blabbered the nastiest thing a person could say: “You are so fucking ungrateful! Everything I do isn’t enough, huh? You’re just some skank that I fuck all the time and–god, I even married you! You are fucking deranged, Y/N. DERANGED!”

These words don’t hurt me as much, they were always there. I wasn’t innocent either, I would shamelessly flirt with men that never meant anything to me. In my defense, Scarlett never gave me that much attention for so long. I had the right to. Although that comes out very badly and it makes me look like I have no sympathy or morals.

I took off my dazzling purple dress that had a low V-cut on my chest. Scarlett bought it for me the day before the premiere happened, it was the only time I was grateful for. I could say that I liked living that wealthy life; having an A-List wife, going to the fanciest restaurants, and owning a couple of yachts, I was living every girl’s dream life.

Until I became sick of it. So sick that I wanted to kill myself. Though, I’m speaking metaphorically.

Scarlett sighed, her nose flaring with such pure anger, and grabbed the bowl. She ate it with her chopsticks, munching it loudly so that I could hear it from a distance. She sniffed, wiping her nose with the length of her finger, and said with a hoarse tone: “For a woman like you, you’re fucking mental. I mean, I gave you everything, literally everything! And you complain about this one single thing? It’s ridiculous.”

With that assumption, I marched my way back to the kitchen and pointed at her with glaring eyes. I was upset about her saying that, let alone of her not knowing what really went downhill. If she only knew, if she only thanked me, we weren’t having this conversation.

“You’re a drug addict,” I tell her, which was kind of a fact. “You sniff that shit all day long until you want to fuck me and I would say no! You tried–Oh my god, you’re sick as I am.”

Scarlett threw her fork across the room and yelled with spit flying out of her mouth, “I would not fucking rape you! Yes, I do admit I snort that shit but I would never EVER lay my hands on you.”

“Bullshit Scarlett,” I laughed, clapping my hands together – as if it were pure comedy; which it was. “Fine, maybe not in bed. But you ask for so much! I’m not even your wife anymore, I’m your god damn personal maid who cleans up your mess all the time!”

“I never asked you to do it,” she said, clearly annoyed but leaning more to anger; her face shows it all. “I never asked you to fucking clean up my mess!”

“But I did it because I love you!” I started loudly, my nose prodding with anger as both of my fists clenched so that I could feel it through my skin. Scarlett clenches her jaw, hard. She swirled her tongue all over her cheeks – making me angrier. I continued helplessly, “I’m your wife. And I have to take care of you, who else will?”

“Maybe one of your fucking suitors.”

I couldn’t defend myself from that. But, there were no regrets about it either. Maybe because those men treated me with respect while Scarlett was the one who’s degrading on me all the time. I’d say she wasn’t so decent lately, especially towards someone like me. Her wife.

“You knew the reason why,” I said, the tip of my fingers pressed hard against the cold dark wooden table. She knows that I was infuriated, but she liked it. She loved it. “You know damn why.”

“Doesn’t give you an excuse to cheat on me.”

“I wasn’t–Oh my god! You still don’t get it, do you?” I scoffed loudly, rolling my eyes and she noticed how rude I was. She clenched her jaw and tried grabbing me by the neck but I immediately slapped her arm, making her reatract back and held onto her arm with a hiss.

“What the fuck?!”

“Let’s not forget you were flirting with other women too,” I stated with my nose flaring with anger. “I only did that because you never gave me the simplest attention! I mean, was there something wrong with me? Truly, there it was! You are so ignorant, Scarlett. It’s fucking exhausting.”

Before Scarlett could speak, I turned around and looked at the drawers that were near in front of the lounge room. I brought out a document that looked like caramel and placed it on the table, making a loud bam sound. She knew what it was, it was fairly obvious. Despite the look I was giving her, how angry I was, she knew that it was that paper.

“I forgot to mention that I filed for a divorce,” I tell her with my hand around my waist while my other one was at the edge of the table. I chewed the inside of my left cheek and added, “I want this marriage to be over.”

Scarlett harshly grabs the document and pulls up the paper, looking down that I have signed it. It was a little smudged – probably because I was in tears while doing it – but anyway, she stared into me and shook her head.

“No.”

I quirked my eyebrows in disbelief. “You have to sign that. I no longer want to be with you anymore.”

“This is fucking ridiculous!” Scarlett threw her hands in the air and removed the scarf that was wrapped around her neck. “We–You can’t just give up!”

“Didn’t I cheat on you?”

“And I also did, didn’t I? But here we are, fighting!”

I scoffed as I crossed my arms tightly around myself. “You called me a skank not just five minutes ago! Yes, I did say that you are a drug addict but you keep saying the nastiest words at me, ever since you’ve become so distant.”

Scarlett laughed, but in sarcasm. She presses her index finger and her thumb across her forehead, feeling her temple thump with pain. Everything was happening so fast, it was like she didn’t have time to explain on her side. In just a few minutes, this marriage might fall into pieces and it’s not something she wishes for.

“I’m sorry baby, okay? I shouldn’t have called you that,” there was some sincerity in Scarlett’s tone but I wasn’t convinced that she meant it. She smiled, way too softly, and continued, “I was just angry. You know, I can say things when I’m angry.”

Was that an excuse? Scarlett is being manipulative about it, she’s trying to brainwash me that calling me a skank is an okay thing – when it’s not. I wasn’t going to fall for this, ever again.

“I won’t change my mind about this one.”

She took a few steps until her body was behind me and wrapped me around like a blanket, her arms hugging my lower waist. Scarlett sighed and kissed the exposed skin on my neck and muttered, “I’m sorry, baby. Let’s forget about this, please. Let’s not do this.”

I was falling a little back when her lips were all over my neck as if trying to swoon me over to forgive her little act. But, she still doesn’t get why I was so upset. I might as well have been delusional at this point, and maybe she was too – I’d say we both were.

“Scarlett,” I sighed through my nose and dropped her hands from my waist, hard. I turned my head and shook my head, “I’m sorry, but I really can’t be with you anymore.”

I left the room and stripped off my clothes, feeling the cold harsh breeze against my sensitive skin. I could hear a caded sound of Scarlett yelling and going out of the house with a loud slam of the door. We lived in the woods where no obsessed paparazzi could find us, I merely suggested this idea to her, and she agreed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Scarlett stomps her foot on the ground repeatedly, almost as if she’s going insane – which she was. This wasn’t supposed to happen, they were going to have the loveliest night until her psychotic wife – which was me – was going nuts into something that wasn’t worth fighting for. Scarlett never meant to cheat on her, maybe she was also exaggerating it. There was no cheating, it was just simple flirtation.

“Fucking slut, doesn’t know her fucking place,” she mutters with her lips dried up to the cold wind and sat on the log that was near in the dark woods. “Acting like she’s the fucking victim, fucking whore! You are a slut! A skanky whore!”

I could hear her so clearly, yet so far. And, I wasn’t even offended by her words at this point. It was painted all over me; I wouldn’t be surprised if the article calls me a skank. I was one, I was.

I took a short warm shower while Scarlett was having a tantrum outside, it felt like peace for once. I was alone, bathing myself with lavender soap, and thought about possible ways of murdering my wife. Well, not in a literal sense. She was getting sick in the head, or maybe that’s just me. I got out, did my skincare, and wore a white tank top along with black sweatpants.

Once I was done, her tantrum seemed to stop. She came back in with her puffed eyes and grabbed the nearest bottle of whiskey, taking a large mouthful of it. She goes to the living room and sees me on the floor – lying like a painless body.

Scarlett sits down near me and holds my leg gently. She mutters, “I’m sorry for the fighting and screaming. I shouldn’t have yelled at you like that.”

I nodded, closing my eyes.

“It’s fine.”

Without opening my eyelids, Scarlett was above me, kissing my trembling lips. I stilled when her hand was on my waist, pinning me back down on the floor while she inserts her tongue inside my cold mouth. We kissed, maybe for a while, until I pushed her off with a giggle erupting from my voice.

“We probably shouldn’t do that,” I murmured while Scarlett nips on my chin, then to my bottom lip like some hungry animal. She shook her head and whispered close to my nose:

“I want to fuck you here right now, baby.”

“But Scarlett,” I teased, with a fake pout as our bodies danced together for attention. “Maybe it’s a bad idea.”

“How come having sex is a bad idea?” she asked, groaning impatiently as her right hand groped my breast – making myself moan quietly when she began to massage my breast roughly. “You love me, don’t you baby girl?”

“Of course I do, honey.”

She smirks and pecks my lips before saying: “Then I can fuck you, hm? Come on, it’ll feel good.”

“We are literally fighting–”

Scarlett groans with frustration and stands up, waving her hands in the air as she begins to feel angry again. She says with a yell, “We never have sex anymore, and now you have to ruin it.”

I scoffed and leapt at her, pointing hard at her chest with my index finger – which hurt a little. I said, mocking her tone: “You are being a bitch! When I tell you it’s a bad idea, you storm off like some fucking kid.”

“Are you fucking blaming this on me?” Scarlett turns around and takes the whiskey bottle from her hands, pouring it all over my chest like some slob. She smirked, throwing it across the room that made a loud shattering sound – I almost flinched.

“See, look what kind of a slut you are.”

With the adrenaline rush I was holding back, I grabbed her by the neck but unsuccessfully pushed her against the wall; she had her grip on me, too tightly. I screamed with so much terror, “You are such a pathetic woman! You treat me like I’m nobody, yet I will give you everything!”

She let go of both of my hands and saw how red my mark was around her neck. The blonde huffed, muttering something, and walked behind me, throwing her hands in the air and screaming back.

“You are an attention seeker! You don’t want me,” she says, laughing wearily. “You want fame! Money! Not my love!”

Somehow, I think Scarlett has become a douchebag without a doubt. When I look at her, I feel sick and numb. It’s like I don’t even know who I’m talking to at this point or who I love. With all the degradation she has given me, I don’t see the point of being in love with her. She’s sick.

“You make me feel awful, Scarlett,” I stated with a trembling unmelodic voice, which was embarrassing in this situation. “I wish you could fucking kill me instead of loving you. You make me feel sick whenever I have to be with you, I want that divorce paper to be signed by this morning. I do not want to be with–”

“You’re so ungrateful! A fucking slut with no self-esteem,” Scarlett yells, her veins popping up in her neck as she slams her hands on the countertop with a slightly red face. “I hate you!”

“Well, I hate you more!”

“I HATE YOU THE MOST!” she screams as tears fill up in her eyes, wiping them roughly with her arm, and continues to scream – her voice wavering. “I will fuck every woman in this town and make you realize how unimportant you are to me. You are nothing but the woman I saved from despair.”

The audacity she has said makes my skin prickle with such anger that it is inflaming throughout my body. But, she was also not wrong. Scarlett did save me from my awful past, but I was the one who worked for it. Not her. Although, I did thank her for everything that she has done for me. Have I ever heard her say that from her mouth? Not even once.

And that’s why my anger is above my head, it’s because Scarlett never shows appreciation for me. I do deserve better than that. I do know my worth.

I played with my tongue around my cheeks and turned around, looking at the empty kitchen and finding a knife that was left unused. Then, being delusional as I was, I grabbed it and played with the point against my finger. Scarlett’s eyes widens with fear and took a step back – her hands in the air to stop me from stabbing her; which wasn’t the point at all.

“Y/N, you have to drop that right now.”

I shook my head, smiling like a psychopath, and whispered in a soft tone: “Do you know how much I have wanted to kill myself because of you?”

There was a broad silence, but she shook her head. You see, this is why I want to file for divorce. Because of these little things, she cannot notice them at all.

“Well you are incredibly blind, Scar,” I chuckled darkly, using her nickname to threaten her more – which it worked. I pointed out the know how much I appreciate you doing for me. And, I can’t get a simple thank you?”

“Y/N–”

“No,” I cut her off, wiping the tears from my eyes as I walked closer to her weakening body. “You don’t understand how much I want to die because of you. I can’t believe we are playing this kind of part in your movie. How ironic is it?”

My wife looks at me and then at the knife that was dangerously close to her, she backed up a little until she fell on the floor with a thudding sound; making her whimper in fear. She whispers in a defeating voice:

“Baby–My love, drop that now, please. Let’s talk about this.”

I rolled my eyes playfully and murmured, “Fine.” she watches me as I drop the knife on the floor, making a clinking sound that was surrounded by the room. I knelt on the floor, feeling my tears dry up on my cheek, and told her nonchalantly,

“You make me sick every day, Scarlett. I do hope you understand where I’m coming from. It’s not about cheating, no. I am so glad that I flirted with those men; because that makes you realize how pathetic you are to me.”

We both stared at each other with such intensity that I could hold onto it forever. I’ve always wanted this moment, this moment of the idea of scaring her. I was doing the right thing. Although, I didn’t want to kill her – more like to myself that I want to kill.

It was never her, it was me. But, it was also her fault for becoming this person that I barely recognize.

“You’re the love of my life,” Scarlett whispered with a trembling voice as our stare began to soften. “You… you’re my everything. Don’t leave me, please. You can’t.”

I scoffed, smiling while I bowed my head down. I know what I was doing in this situation, I wasn’t dumb. This is what happens when you have the shittiest wife who degrades you every second. I was sick of her, and I know she felt that with me.

I lifted my head and my eyes watered from even thinking about the past mistakes that have happened to me. She sympathizes with my pain, but not really knowing how much burden I was carrying with her.

“Who helped you when you couldn’t be recognized by people anymore?”

She nods her head at me, saying silently that it was always me. Scarlett whispered, “You. It’s always been you.”

“Exactly,” I nodded with her in agreement. “And, did you hear me say thank you each time you rise up?”

She nods again, see how pathetic she is?

“Thank you for realizing how much of a wife I was to you,” I responded with a louder voice, standing up from my own two feet and walking away from her weak self. I realize that I will never have to see her face again, and I thank god for that opportunity. I felt free, somehow. When I don’t look at her, I feel freedom.

I yelled, “Sign those damn papers. I’m out of your god damn house.”

#scarlett johansson x reader #scarlett johansson #scarlett johansson angst #scarlett johansson x you #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff fanfic #a’s oneshots!#a’s nsfw!

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