#bcckettsims

A long, deep sigh escaped the blonde as her eyes darted around the room, looking for soft place to land. There were questions she was prepared to answer--that she had prepped and rehearsed her whole life. Questions about her momma, her father, the incident, her leaving, Mr. Worthington--but never Bennett. Bennett was always someone on her side. Or least, not against her--and at one point in her life, they were one in the same thing. She never felt like she ever had to defend herself against him--he’d never done anything particularly wrong to her (apart from what brother always do to their younger siblings--though it wasn’t exactly something that bothered Magnolia very much to begin with). 

But then Momma sent her away and things...changed. She didn’t hear from him--but what could she have expected? Charlotte Barnes controlled everything in her perfect little life, and when she couldn’t, it was sent away. So no doubt she had done the same with him. But even so, her heart hurt to think that she hadn’t been important enough for him to rebel against those stupid rules. Then again--it wasn’t like she had reached out to him either. The door swings both ways, Magnolia. Chewing her lip, she tucked a piece of her hair behind her hear.

“I never said I don’t trust my brother,” Her tone felt harder than most other times she spoke--but she had recognized that talking about her family would always have a certain painful quality about it, at least in the beginning. But she took a breathe and tried to relax--she could answer this question. “It’s complicated. Very complicated. But I never said I don’t trust him.

“I just--I spent fifteen years of my life thinking not a single soul in my family cared about me, thought about me or remembered I even existed. And yes, I should have reached out--but I was already rejected once, what could I safely assume could happen if I tried again? It’s not something a person can handle multiple times. I’m not strong enough for that. People think I’m brave or strong or whatever, but I’m--I’m really not. Not like that. I can only handle so much from my family before I just...can’t anymore. Bennett’s my older brother, he’s like this...beacon--or was--and I felt really...it really hurt when he sided with Momma.” Quieter now, she played with her fingers as she thought. “Y’know, I used to write him stories all the time, as his Christmas present. Before Mrs. Whetstone taught me to bake, all I really had was writing. I wasn’t good with my hands in creating things but I always could write something and people seemed to enjoy it. Or at least I did. So I’d write Bennett stories--sometimes about him being a hero or a funny situation or anything, anything at all. And for Christmas--the one day of the year that the Barnes household was normal--I’d give the story to him. Sometimes it would take me all year to write it. 

“When Momma sent me away--I stopped writing. I put all those ideas and dreams of being an author aside and just...moved on. Clearly life was not going to be the way I had envisioned it so it was time to find something else. But I never stopped writing Bennett’s stories. Every Christmas I’d place his stories in a box and put it under my bed, only to be brought back out the next Christmas. I don’t know why I never stopped writing them, it seems kind of silly. But I think it was the thing that tied me to him--that and reading Pride and Prejudice. It made me remember that at one point, I did have someone in my family who loved me. Who wanted me. And maybe that’s dramatic or whatever, but I was fifteen years old when my own mother sent me away for good. I was allowed a few dramatics. 

“I know I went on a terribly long tangent on this, but I think it’s to say that while I do trust him--I don’t...I’m terrified he’ll leave again and I’ll lose him a second time. I wrote those stories as a way to keep hoping things weren’t the way it seemed--so I think the thing he could do is just....stay. Even when the bad stuff happens, even when the hard stuff goes down. I just....I need my big brother. I really do.”

Lia cleared her throat and looking nervously at the ground. “But you’re--you’re not gonna tell him this, right?” ( @bennettbarnes )

✺: something my muse loves and never gets tired of

{ tw: violence / fighting + knife mention + blood / injury }

“I guess there’s an obvious choice here?” Nico paused, kinking the scarred eyebrow upward pointedly. Both brows creased downward after a moment, Nico’s lips rolling together as he attempted to gather his thoughts on what way he wanted to go about telling this particular story. It was a vivid memory in his mind, considering the traumatic characteristics of it. He recognized them, but he was never really one to dramatize the things that happened to him. He remembered how upset his mother had been, how his friends had been terrified for him. Even in the couple of people he had told in Chicago, it was clear in the concern on their faces that he tended to be just too cavalier about what had happened to him. So maybe he needed to ruminate a little bit on what he was going to say, so he didn’t just say it like he had any other time - ‘yeah got in a fight in school, almost lost my eye. It’s fine, though, ‘cause I, y’know.. didn’t.’ Clearing his throat, Nico rolled his shoulders back. “I used to get in fights sometimes, back in high school. Kids were shitty, y’know? They always had something to say to me, some shitty comment. Lot of the times it was something about the fact that I’m not white, couple times it was about the language barrier, then there were the comments about the neighborhood I lived in.” He was rambling a little off topic, he realized, so he took a pause and rerouted. 

“Um, this one kid, his name was Matt, Matt Thompson.” Unfortunately he remembered the name very well, just as much as the face that went along with it. “He was on the football team, one of those fuckin’ meatheads that acted like he owned the place and everyone just kinda let him act like that, right? He was typically one of the main people who liked to terrorize me at school. Used to shove me around and shit, he was bigger than me, it was easy. When I wouldn’t react to the shit he said, he’d get physical. That’s usually how the fights started. Well, this particular fight, he-- um.. he said something about my mom. And it’s not worth repeating, but it’s worth stating that it was fucked up, and I swung first. It didn’t get very far into it, and like-- it all happened really fast. Like one second I’d hit him, the next my back was slammed into a locker. I remember feeling like.. rattled? I’d knocked my head a little, but it was the after that part that was like-- I didn’t really know what was happening? At first I thought I’d started crying, because I could feel that my face was wet, but after a couple seconds I realized it was only the one side of my face.” Nico paused, swallowing thickly. “It was weird because I was so... mad for a good chunk of moments that I didn’t feel it at first. I still wanted to hit this other kid so bad that the pain took longer to register, but when it did-- I remember almost passing out. I saw the pocket knife in his hand, and I remember for a quick second I thought ‘that’s new.’” A dry laugh left him, gaze shifting downward.

Twisting his lips to the side, Nico cleared his throat once again, collecting more of the memory to speak on. “He shoved me after the fact, so I’d hit the ground. At this point, my face felt like it was on fire. I could see blood on the floor, too, but I realized I could only see it out of one eye.” A thoughtfully questioning look scrunched up Nico’s features as his head shook just barely. “Everything after that honestly just-- I don’t remember it all? Principal got involved, Dana had called 911, she was crying. I think I did finally pass out? ‘Cause I don’t remember going to the hospital, I just remember being there. I was unconscious for like four hours or something like that, I know it was a stretch of time. When I woke up there, I had bandage wrapped all the way around my head, pretty much the whole side of my face was covered. The knife had gone kinda,” He lifted a hand, trailing the tip of a finger down along the notable scar on the right side of his face - a little above his brow, through it, down over his eye, and about two inches down into his cheek. “The doctor told me and my mom that I was ‘really lucky’,” He had to pause to scoff, a roll of his eyes following. “Because the knife didn’t really go in my eye socket, it kind of just grazed it. There was a little bit of surface damage to my eye itself, but the doctor was ‘so sure’ that it would heal, given the right amount of time and treatment. There was still enough fear of me potentially losing my fucking sight, though, that they kept me in the hospital for a couple days, ran a bunch of tests and shit. It was really up in the air and confusing. My mom was a fucking wreck the whole time. I-- I think I kinda just went through all the motions, kinda checked out a little. It was all pretty rough all around.”

Nico smoothed a hand down his face, feeling the rough, lifted skin of the described scar beneath his palm, before he scratched gently at the edge of his jaw. That was definitely one of the most detailed accounts of the injury he had ever given, and it felt heavier, saying it all out loud. Typically he was more casual about it, more dismissive. Despite it meriting the acknowledgment of its traumatizing characteristics, Nico had never really been one to dwell on the drama of it all. He knew the effect it had had on his mom, and even his closer friends. He’d numbed himself to it for the sake of being okay for them, and even in the few years it had been since it happened to him, that stuck. It felt a little weird, admittedly, speaking more seriously about it. Shrugging his shoulders sharply, Nico cleared his throat for a third time. “Everything’s good, though, y’know. Alive. Got my eye still. No big deal, life goes on.”

laughter :   my  muse  hears  your  muse  laughing  uncontrollably  and  approaches  to  see  if  they  are  okay.

the lobby was usually pretty calm. sometimes the loud clicks of suitcases against tile floors or the occasional upset guest that preston would always scoff at. but this stopped the second he heard the loudest booming laugh that actually had him stretch his head around the corner to find beckett the one celeste had told him had grabbed her heart. 

"Christ, Beckett. If you’re in the business of getting your ass handed to you in a public place, you’re doing a fucking stellar job, aren’t you?” 

“Fall...in love?” Nic felt her chest tighten at the word love--what a loaded word. Taping her fingers on the table, her mind wandered to the last time she could really articulate those feelings to someone else. Nic didn’t often go around thinking about love much lately. The idea was...well it didn’t seem like it really was her thing. She’d royally messed up Beau and her’s relationship--and she didn’t even want to think about the other way she’d lost love in her life. So the concept of love made her panic--her chest tightened and her breathing would get shallow. It didn’t seem like a great idea for her to be talking about it to begin with. But yet--

There was always a small smile that playing on the corner of her lips when someone mentioned Bennett--one that she’d expertly deny if anyone could catch it. Not a smirk--smirks always had a bit of sarcasm laced within them, but a smile. Soft and...light, not weighed down by all the things that she carried so heavily on her shoulders. Depending on the context of the mention, her stomach might even erupt into butterflies--it was clear that Nic might have a crush on her roommate. But would she own up to that? Well, that would require to own that thought for herself and that....was a tall order for the blonde.

“I--uhm,” She cleared her throat, suddenly feeling uncharacteristically nervous. “I mean, I don’t know if I can answer what circumstances I’d fall in love but I am a sucker for humor--and someone who has a good sense of humor. Y’know, someone who doesn’t take themselves to serious, likes adventure, can shoot the shit with me? Someone that if I say ‘the moon is made of cheese’ they look at me and ask what kind. But also someone who...can hold me accountable? I don’t know if that makes sense. Someone who is fun, definitely someone who can cook-- please, I’m begging because I cannot live off of ramen the rest of my life. Someone who wants to watch the football with me and roots for the Bears, even when they aren’t their favorite team.” She takes a deep breath and her eyes stay locked on the table. “Honestly, though--I think I’d probably fall in love with you if you just...stay. In the good times, the hard times--when I’m being an asshole and when I’m not. I don’t know, I’m not good with any of this love stuff and we all know I’ll probably mess it up. But I--I don’t always want to be bad at it. I feel like I’ve learned something from the past and I--maybe I can be better?” God, this wasn’t answering the question at all, was it? “I--and I’m not saying I have a crush on him, ok?” She paused, though she wasn’t sure if she was trying to convince herself or those around her. “I think all he’d really have to do his be himself. He’s a pretty great--couldn’t take much for someone like him to have people falling over themselves for him, yknow?” ( @bennettbarnes )

Nic scoffed as she adjusted herself casually. “Why are we so interested in ruining relationships all of a sudden?” The blonde rolled her empty bottle on the table; this was not something she liked thinking about. Nic didn’t have many true relationships left--whether because of her own inability to compromise or innocuous choices that proved catastrophic, it wasn’t exactly in her wheelhouse to keep them going. And losing Shawn...

“He’d have to do something big--I’m so goddamn stubborn that a small annoying thing will never do him in. Once I pick someone--I’m there. Better or worse. Whether I want to be...” She trailed, thinking about Beau. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be close to him, but it was painful sometimes. It was aggravating others. And sometimes--sometimes it was really peaceful. “Whatever he did, it would have to be huge. Like telling me I was only hired because I was a woman.” She put a little too much pressure on the bottle and it slipped out of her grasp--though Nic’s reflexes caught it again pretty easily. She could feel her shouders tensing at the thought. “Oh, that would piss me off something fierce. I spend all this time trying to prove I’m just as good as those dumbass guys on the force and he literally has a front row seat to it and he still sides with them? That shit would--it would send me.” It was just a thought experiment Nic, take a breath. A few more moments passed and her anger subsided, so she went back to thinking. 

“I mean, truly I like to think I’m a pretty lowkey person--well, maybe not to some people. Oh, there’s a question you could ask Shawn--is Nic a lowkey person? I’d be damned curious to know what he says. Probably not. He’d probably say something like ‘she’s a raging weirdo who curses like a sailor and eats too many pizza rolls like its her whole personality’ to which I’d say yes and if you’re not doing that, what’s the point of living?” A chuckle passed through her lips and she shook her head. There was a long pause for a moment and Nic’s eyes looked directly at the person asking her. “Actually, there is one thing that he could do--anyone really--that would ruin our relationship. If someone ever disrespected Liam Roger’s name--he got what’s was coming to him, it was his fault, it’s not that big of a deal, you’re better of--” The last option making Nic stop mid sentence to collect herself. “If those words ever passed through anyone’s mouth it’s over. Don’t fucking talk about my brother that way--don’t even go there. You think you’ve seen me angry? No, you’re seen me annoyed. You’ve seen me frustrated. But angry? Seething? You want to know what I could really do when I’m upset--go ahead, say something about Liam. I dare you.” The aggression that laced her voice frightened even her--though she wouldn’t say that in this space. Her eyes had darkened and her face was set--it was a firm line for her and she’d fight to protect him--just like he had done for her. 

“Anyways, none of that would ever happens so its a moot point. Now, how about some onion rings?”