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@jukeboxjulian
on my wedding night
me: *sobbing*
my wife: what’s wrong
me: I can’t believe a girl likes me
auroragraham·:
When the door opened to reveal not only Julian but a shirtless Julian, Rory had the wind knocked out of her for at least the fourth time that day. She begged her body to stop shaking and crying but it of course did not obey, opting instead to tremble even harder as Julian pulled her inside and left an invisible burn in the shape of his handprint on her nearly blue wrist. The thick fabric of her shirt clung to every curve, chilling her to the bone in Julian’s air conditioned apartment. She kept her shoulders up by her ears, shaking wordlessly as she watched Julian bustle around his apartment to help her.
(OOC//literally no TW at all but this shit is long as hell so I would like to spare y’all)
Keep reading
TW/OOC: steaminess at the end but mostly this is just long so sparing everyone on the dash
auroragraham·:
Rory wanted to stay in Julian’s arms forever, completely crushed by the weight of his love until she couldn’t breathe. His touch stole the chill from her arms, lighting a fire inside her that warmed her from head to toe. She buried her face in his collarbone, her tears soaking into his neck as clouds moved in over the city like an ominous warning. The clouds were familiar to her, signaling what was sure to be a violent storm uncharacteristic for California. In that moment, she would’ve stood in the eye of a hurricane if it meant she could stay with Julian without fear.
When he pulled back from her, she knew she looked a mess. Her windswept hair stuck to the tracks of tears on her face and her lips were split from being so chapped. Rory had never been good at internalizing her feelings, so, for the past two weeks, she’d been chewing on her bottom lip until it bled and scabbed over. She took both Belle’s leash and the pearlescent hot pink guitar pick he held out for her, turning it over in her fingers. It meant more to her than anything she’d ever received and all she wanted to do was press it back in his hand and walk away. Why did she feel that way?
She held Belle’s leash so tight her knuckles turned white. Tears continued to race down her face and she stood at the mercy of her heart like a wounded soldier going back to battle. Beaten and broken down, Rory just wanted to lay in bed, wrapped in the comforting leather of Julian’s jacket and never see the light of day again. She could find someone to take care of Pancake. That way, nobody would need her anymore and she could let the earth swallow her whole, popping a daisy up in her place.
Julian joked with her a bit, obviously trying to make her feel better, but she wasn’t able to muster a smile. He was making this so difficult. Everyone else had been able to let her go so easily—why was he holding on so tight? Why couldn’t he let her go?
“Julie…” she said softly, her chin trembling as she drew a shaky breath. He kept talking and put her hand to his chest where she could feel his hummingbird heartbeat. Their gaze met and the tears welled up again, pushing against the dam and threatening to break through. She touched his chest with her fingertips, pleading with the universe to stretch this moment like taffy and make it last forever.
But she knew it couldn’t. She knew she had to end it because Julian never would.
I need you to be brave. Please, baby. Please.
She took her hand back, curling into herself as she looked down at the ground. The sun had all but disappeared overhead as dark, stormy clouds took its place. How fitting. Of course it would start looking abysmal and sad just as she made the decision to shatter this sweet boy’s heart into a million pieces. Putting both hands on either side of his face, she pushed their foreheads together and stood there for a moment on her tiptoes. She connected their lips in a soft, small kiss that would hopefully tell him everything she couldn’t let herself say.
Pressing Belle’s leash back into his hand and closing his fingers overtop of it, Rory clenched his hand and softly lied, “I don’t want you. You’re not good enough.”
Rain started to fall softly around them and she took a shaky breath before shrugging out of his jacket and placing it on the bench behind them. She didn’t bother looking back at him as she walked away, tears welling up in her eyes like lava. They spilled over and she ducked into an alleyway, pressing her back up against the brick wall and trying to catch her breath as sobs wracked her body.
What she’d thought was the red grimace before had only been a yellow frown. This…this was the red grimace.
—X
Three hours after she’d said goodbye to Julian, Rory realized what she’d done. She’d taken her beautifully broken boy and smashed him against the pavement until only dust remained. Her chest felt empty, like she’d ripped her own heart out and left it there with what remained of Julian’s.
The storm outside mirrored the inside of her head. The wind swirled through the streets violently, picking up scraps of paper and plastering them to dripping wet store windows. Howling and hammering, shutters opened and closed and balcony plants crashed to the street below. This storm would surely cause the city damage, but no more than Rory had caused on her thoughtless rampage earlier that day.
Noah was right. Of course he was right. She’d been given a beautiful gift in the form of a damaged, caring boy who wanted nothing more than to give her the world and crumpled him up in her destructive, blood-stained hands. If he was irreparably damaged, it would be her fault and she couldn’t let that happen.
Without grabbing a jacket, she left out extra food for Pancake and locked up her apartment. In only a t-shirt, shorts, and a pair of slip-on Vans, she let her legs take over and lead her to Julian’s place.
Every other person in the city was shuttered inside, doors locked, cars covered by hail blankets or safely in the garage. Rory walked against the wind, struggling up a hill as each raindrop hit her in the face like a hot oil splatter. Her t-shirt had soaked through in the first 30 seconds outside and, thanks to the sideways sheets of rain and pitch black streets, she got turned around more than a few times before reaching a familiar building.
Standing outside for a moment, she contemplated turning around, changing into pajamas, and snuggling into her own warm bed to wallow in her thoughts. Would going upstairs really help the situation, or would she only hurt him more than she already had? It was a classic Rory move—she always went back for more, even if it would only end up making the whole thing worse.
Before she could make up her mind, she was standing in front of his door with the guitar pick squeezed between her fingers for bravery. She shivered violently, dripping all over the hallway until she was standing in a puddle made of rainwater and tears. Bringing her shaking hand up to the door, she knocked as loud as her frozen knuckles would allow without breaking.
Please answer, Julian. Please.
Julian felt numb. That was the only word he could use to describe this feeling – the hollow, weeping emptiness within him that hadn’t seemed to leave for the past three hours. He’d given Rory everything he possibly could. He’d laid his soul out for her, bare and broken, in the bright San Francisco sun. He’d promised her he would fight for her, tooth and nail – whatever it took to keep her. And she’d still spoken the truth, then left without another word.
auroragraham·:
TW: mentions (no descriptors) of assault and also this is long AF and i don’t want to frick up the dash sorry i have no self control
TW: mentions of abuse, brief mentions of suicide and descriptions of blood and also this is loooong
well, well, well, if it isn’t the feelings i’ve been trying to avoid
auroragraham·:
The two weeks following her meeting with Julian and subsequent leaving of his apartment felt like six lifetimes. Her days passed in black and white, disappointing and flavorless. San Francisco had lost its charm and become loud and dirty. The strangers on the street seemed to look at her with pity, knowing she’d just ruined what could’ve possibly turned her life into the fairytale she’d always dreamed of it being.
Getting home that day had been nearly impossible. The sun had set while she’d been in Julian’s apartment and by the time she got outside, flustered and tear-stained, dusk had fallen over the city like a weighted blanket. The sky hung heavy overhead, nearly crushing her as the wind whipped around her with its icy claws scratching down her bare arms and legs. After pulling her hair up into a ponytail, she realized she’d left her scrunchie back in Julian’s room, alone on the floor and lost forever.
Caught in an iron grip, her heart ached more than it ever had. After her last relationship, she didn’t think it possible but here it was, the pain doctors had warned her about as a child when asking her to rate her pain. They’d pointed at colorful charts with different faces ranging from a bright smile to a red grimace. When she was 7 years old and went to the doctor for a bad cold, she’d rated her cough a red grimace, ever the dramatic little girl. In reality, it was probably on the lower, chartreuse end of the spectrum where the mouth made a straight line. It meant uncomfortable, but not unbearable.
This was the feared red grimace and she was caught in the undertow, waves lapping over her head and forcing water into her lungs every few seconds. The sobs that wracked her body on the walk home from Julian’s nearly broke her in half. Her insides burned and churned and the wind chapped her face. There were a million times she nearly turned back, but a billion more that told her to keep walking. This was for Julian, for his own good. He didn’t know it yet, but she’d saved him.
For a few days, all she did was lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, only getting up to feed pancake and refill her water bottle. The silence in her apartment haunted her, but she couldn’t bring herself to listen to music or turn on the TV. Enjoying anything when she felt so guilty didn’t seem right.
Noah had been right. She ruined everything. She’d spent the last 2 years trying to convince herself he was wrong, that he was hateful and mean and abusive and only said those things to her because of his own issues. Tangled in her sheets and wearing the same t-shirt she’d taken from Julian for the fourth day in a row, all of her hard work had been undone. He was right. He’d always been right, even if he’d delivered the news in crushing blows and violent screams.
On the fourth day, Rory dragged herself out of bed, changed her clothes, and went back to work. She fumbled through her day, burning herself on the milk frother, scorching a hole in her apron, and nearly lighting a sandwich on fire. Everything hit her and painted the world gray, getting progressively darker each time the door opened and Julian wasn’t the person coming inside. He was avoiding her, respecting the space she’d all but begged him for, and as much as she appreciated it, she hated him for it. Everyday she prayed he would come in for an Earl Grey, sit at his spot by the window, and look over at her wistfully and everyday she was let down.
The display case of the cafe was filled to the brim with her stress baking, each creation more intricate. She’d learned how to make the perfect pie crust from scratch. Her creme brûlée had a caramelized top that let out a sickeningly sweet crack at the slight touch of a spoon. Braids, twists, savory, sweet—Rory had made it all in this time of distraction. Her apartment had become a revolving bakery door and although the Jukebox Cafe was profiting off her sadness, the hole in her heart that was usually filled by chocolate chips, buttercream frosting, and the perfect lavender white chocolate scone was starting to open back up with every passing day.
There were days she yearned to have his phone number so she could call him up and tell him how stupid and rash she’d acted, that she was a product of a traumatic past but if he was willing to look past it and help her heal, she would leave the door unlocked for him. However, she didn’t have his phone number and that made everything much easier and much harder at the same time. She wanted to hear his voice again, whether it be a whisper or a scream.
The Tuesday after their ill-fated meeting, she saw his name on a small marquee outside a bar while on an uncharacteristic nighttime walk. There was a line outside of excited looking girls and the bouncer was slowly letting people inside the already packed venue. Her heart fluttered thinking about seeing him again and without another thought, she got in line, paid the cover fee with whatever crumpled cash she had in her pocket, and ordered a double vodka tonic.
When the lights on the stage came up, illuminating his familiar face, she nearly broke into a million pieces. He looked exhausted, like he’d slept just as much as she had in the past few days. She met him in every dream she had, rendering her nights sleepless in a desperate attempt to stop running into him.
His voice rang over the microphone and plunged a dagger into her heart, twisting it with every syllable. She finished her drink, her brain TV static. She fought the urge to push past everyone and get to the front of the room so she could touch him, just one more time.
Three songs in, she ordered a shot of vodka. Five songs in, she ordered a shot of Fireball. Seven songs in, she asked for tequila. Every bit of alcohol running down her throat in a warm stream rendered her a bit more reckless. With a bit of liquid confidence pooling in the bottom of her stomach, she lined up to meet with him after the show behind a rather large crowd of people.
At the first sight of his smile, she turned and ran. He was happy without her around. Even drunk, she knew that much. She couldn’t ruin that for him, no matter how badly she wanted to take him in her arms and kiss him in between apologies.
She spent the next morning with her head in a trashcan, her stomach full of only regret and the desire to move past what she’d done to him.
Two weeks After Julian, she’d switched her leggings to a real pair of jeans. She fastened her favorite enamel pin to her apron strap. She made a latte without burning the milk and smiled as she dropped it off at the table. For the first time in 10 days, she felt a little bit more like herself. While her heart still felt like it was cast out of iron, heavy and unflinching, she could feel it starting to crack.
“Getting your usual today, Jim?” She asked the old man who came in every single morning promptly at 8:24AM for a single black coffee and a scone. Her baking excursion had made him very happy, though she was sure he would change his mind if he knew the reason it had started.
He nodded curtly and placed $3 in the tip jar. “Looking more like yourself today, Miss Rory. Glad to see you feeling better. Must’ve been a nasty flu bug!” He took his coffee to-go, crunching the scone bag in his wrinkled hands and walking out as if he hadn’t just made her entire day that much brighter.
Then, the gift basket had shown up that afternoon and the hole in her heart ripped back open like it had been blown open with a shotgun.
Her favorite flowers, her favorite food, her favorite scent…there was no doubt this had come from Julian. His attention to detail gripped her and squeezed the air from her lungs. Thank God it was the end of her shift, so she could pick the basket up and run upstairs with it, blinking back tears.
Everything was handmade and delicate. This basket looked like her insides spilled onto a plate, ripe for the taking. She turned everything over in her hands, tears making gray pathways down her face as she silently cursed herself for choosing today to start wearing makeup again. She wiped her tears and took everything out of the basket, finding an envelope with a note stuck to the front. Graphite came off on her fingers when she ran them over his messy letters and imagined him hunched over, painstakingly choosing each word to send to her. Her careful, considerate Julian.
(TW: ASSAULT) Inside the envelope, she found a police report filled out in the same scrawl as the note. It was all of Julian’s information, filled out and ready to turn in. Her eyes scanned the page for the reason and she saw it haphazardly at the bottom: SEXUAL ASSAULT.
A strangled gasp escaped her lips and her grip tightened on the piece of paper, crumpling it slightly. He thought he hurt her? Was that why he was avoiding her as carefully as he was? She nearly threw her heart up so she could throw it across the room, getting rid of it for good. All this time, she’d been making this about her when it had always been about Julian. (END TW)
Without bothering to change, she gave Pancake a quick pat on the head and promised him she’d be back later that night. She left the police report on her kitchen counter, ink smudged from her sweaty, nervous grip. She needed to find Julian and she needed to find him now.
Asking around a bit got her to a park near Jukebox that was near empty. The sun shone down on the electric green grass and Rory nearly found herself distracted by how nice it all seemed. She frequented Dolores Park, but this secluded, small oasis was right up Julian’s alley and perfect to Rory. Of course this is where he would be, somewhere beautiful and unassuming.
She searched for him in the faces of strangers, becoming more and more desperate to find him with every passing second. She needed to set the record straight, she needed him to know he had never and would never hurt her. This was all on her and always would be. _Look at the mess you’ve gotten yourself into now, Aurora. What a surprise, hurting those you claim to care about the most. _Noah’s voice echoed between her ears and she swatted him away like a mischievous fly—this was not about her insecurities, this was about Julian.
Before she could find him herself, she was nearly run over by a slate gray pitbull chasing after a ball with an excitement only legal for a dog. Rory jumped backwards to avoid the charging animal, following the dog with her eyes as she trotted back to her owner. To her _Julian. _
Even though she’d been looking for him for nearly half an hour, seeing him so close froze her to the spot. Her knees locked up and her feet refused to move towards him. She clenched and unclenched her fists at her side, squeezing her eyes tight. Come on, Rory. Just talk to him. Don’t be such a baby.
Half an eternity later, she found herself walking towards him with her head down. She tugged at the ends of her cropped t-shirt as if it would magically grow and cover her midriff and give her more of an appropriate “confrontation” outfit. Why hadn’t she grabbed a sweatshirt? Why hadn’t she thought this through? What was she doing here, in front of the boy who had turned her inside out for the world to see and poke fun at?
“Hi, Julian,” she said quietly, thinking that was the best place for her to start. Was there a good place to start a conversation like this? “Is this Belle?”
TW: descriptions of abuse/domestic violence
✗ closed starter || julian x jeremiah ( @jeremiahgrey )
Californians were spoiled. Julian had heard about this concept before, but it usually only extended to Angelenos and out-of-touch celebrities who paid $13 for a green juice every morning. But, as he stood, neck craning as far as it could to see the mountainous redwood trees crowded around him and Jeremiah, Julian knew that he was spoiled, along with the rest of the people who lived in San Francisco. They were a stone’s throw from the ocean and a car ride away from the most breathtaking trails he’d ever seen in his life. It was a miracle anyone got anything done with all the beauty surrounding them.
Julian had met Jeremiah a few years prior. He was a bit of an oddball, but Julian was pretty odd himself, so the two of them made the perfect team. Jeremiah was always the person he thought of when he wanted to go hiking, or when he, for whatever reason, wanted to torture himself by going on a run. The two hadn’t caught up in some time, and once Jeremiah had mentioned he hadn’t been to the Muir Woods, Julian knew it was time for another outing with his curious friend.
“I still… don’t understand how we live in the same world as these trees,” Julian murmured, awestruck by the power of the redwoods around him. “I also can’t believe you’ve never been here before. You’ve lived in SF how long? We’ll have to do the super long trails around here. It’s mindblowing.” Finally looking back down to Jeremiah, he flashed the other boy a bright smile and continued walking along the path. “How have things been with you?”
“you’re so sweet!” thank you i have abandonment issues
Friend: Wanna hang out tomorrow?
Me: I actually performed an Activity yesterday. Please wait the three day recovery period to submit another inquiry
✗ closed starter: julian x rory
TW: continued mentions of domestic violence/abuse/assault
we all deserve a “did you eat” person in our lives
soft baby (✿◠‿◠)