#maybe i should apply the worrying half hour method again.....

[dokyeomini]

i do still get like this unexplainable anxiety at night

[ssahoodrathotchner]

Lover, Please Stay

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Reader

Summary: you get shot and Hotch worries about you while trying to keep it together. 

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: swearing, shooting, blood, injuries, hospitals, some angst and then fluff, mostly just wanted to write some worried!Hotch 

A/N: here we go! this is my first fic, so enjoy

Masterlist

---

As far as dates go, getting shot in the stomach twice was definitely not the way you wanted the night to end. Especially because you actually cared about the man sitting across from you in the dim lighting of the restaurant and you definitely had something else planned involving him, your clothes hitting the floor, and then the wall, kitchen counter, possibly the sofa, and of course, your bed and maybe the shower—but all that would have to wait as you slump back in your chair, stunned and bleeding. To his credit, however, Aaron Hotchner is not about to let the man who shot you get away with it, and swiftly tackles, disarms, and subdues the shooter, in record time, you think hazily to yourself with a small smile. After making sure the unsub won’t do anything else –not that he could even if he wanted to– Aaron turns to you. Eyes wild, he finds you –rather dramatically if you say so yourself—bleeding out and losing consciousness. So much for after-dinner plans.

“How romantic,” you gasp out and suddenly at your side, Aaron tips you out of your chair and lays you on the ground, immediately shedding his jacket to apply pressure to your abdomen and the growing red spots staining the dark green dress you had worn tonight. Fuck you loved this dress. And his jacket.

“….Sweetheart? You still with me?” Aaron’s voice wavers, and you realize he’s leaning over you and trying to gauge how you’re doing, aside from the obvious, of course.

You huff a laugh out—big mistake—and a small cry tears out of your throat as the pain in your midsection makes you regret your actions. Turning your head with a surprising amount of effort, your eyes float over him, taking in the way his hair sticks up, the frantic gleam to his eyes (tears?) and then down the black button-down he wore to his bloody hands on your body. You try for a reassuring smile—it doesn’t land—and then there’s some sort of commotion on the other side of the restaurant which you belatedly realize is the stampede of patrons out, as the ambulance slams to a halt outside, sirens blaring.

“Love, y’need t’figure this out,” you grit out, knowing that he won’t—can’t—argue with you as you look up at him.

“Y/N...”

“No, Aaron. Get th’ team,” your eyes are closing and breathing is getting harder so you stop, and hope that he figures this out. He has to. You know Aaron will want to protect you and go to the hospital this instant, but you can’t let him do that just yet. Not this time. It’s not everyday a BAU agent gets shot in a crowded restaurant in front of her boyfriend, who is also a BAU agent. It’s too weird to be random and the rest of the team needs to get here now.

The next few moments pass in a blur of shouting and pain, as you are lifted on to a stretcher and poked and prodded. Tiredly, you try to keep your eyes on Aaron, but in the noise you find your head rushing and with a sharp pain in your stomach, you fall into darkness.

Barred from climbing into the ambulance with you, Aaron has never been so scared and enraged. The ambulance screeches towards the hospital as he quickly fires off a text to the team –you’ve been shot, it doesn’t look good, meet him at the restaurant. And then he sits on the sidewalk. And thinks. And seethes.

How could he not have noticed the man advancing toward your table sooner? How could he not have noticed how out of place the man looked and the way that he kept a hand in his jacket pocket? And finally, why didn’t the man shoot him before getting taken down? Head in his hands, Hotch lets out a sigh before clenching his fists and closing his eyes, waiting. There are police officers milling around, taping off the restaurant and the unsub is in a car around here somewhere, or maybe already on his way to the police station, but Aaron can’t shake the fear in his mind. He should be speeding off after the ambulance, keeping you company, and pacing the hospital lobby until he knows you’re okay. You need to be okay. But your words ring in his head, figure this out, and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t at least try. You need him to try. He needs to focus.

A hand claps down on his shoulder and Aaron jerks his head up to find Morgan and Prentiss looking at him with sad eyes. Accepting Morgan’s hand, Hotch stands, and after a beat, straightens up and becomes SSA Aaron Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, and not Aaron Hotchner, concerned and, quite frankly, terrified boyfriend.

“Garcia is pulling security footage from the restaurant and surrounding area. She’s also keeping tabs on the unsub at the police station and will let us know as soon as the cops figure out who this guy is.” Morgan says as Hotch looks around at the crime scene that’s sprung up around him.

“Unless she figures it out first,” Prentiss adds “which she probably will, it’s Garcia.”

A black SUV pulls up, and Reid, Rossi, and JJ emerge. Rossi immediately takes stock of the blood on Aaron’s hands and the usual chaos of a crime scene. Reid looks shaken to his core, and JJ isn’t much better, although she is valiantly trying to put on a brave face if only for her own sake.

“Aaron, you should be at the hospital. We can handle this,”

“Dave, she told me to figure it out. It was one of the last things she said and if I don’t and she…” Aaron trails off as the rest of the team looks at him, worried.

“I need to do this for her,” he says softly, thinking of how you looked as you were whisked away by the ambulance. How you passed out, face contorted in pain and then still.

“Hotch…” JJ lays a hand on his arm and squeezes.

“We got this. You can run point from the hospital with Garcia,”

That shakes him a bit.

“Garcia is running point from the hospital?” he wants to smile, but he can’t. Not while you’re possibly fatally injured.

“Of course she is,” says Morgan with a small smile.

“She went directly there after you texted us. She said she doesn’t want Y/N to be alone, ” Spencer supplies, and Hotch can’t help but be startled by how much he appreciates the thoughtfulness of his team in this moment.

Looking around the circle, he realizes that he doesn’t have to take on the investigation and your injury alone. No shit, he can hear you say. That’s what they’re here for, dumbass. Teamwork.

Halfheartedly, he tries “but the police need to take my statement and—“

“—and they can do that from the hospital after we’re done here, I’m sure they’ll make an exception for the Unit Chief of the BAU since his girlfriend got shot,” Rossi finishes for him. “Aaron. Go.”

“Come on, Hotch, I’ll drive,” and as JJ pulls him into the SUV, he watches the rest of the team disperse amongst the police and crime scene techs with a determination and focus he wishes he could emulate right now. Instead, he tries to focus on getting to you and how good it’ll feel to hold your hand again.

---

The ambulance ride is blurry and the lights are too bright and the noises too loud as you slide in and out of consciousness after initially passing out. Vaguely, you hear something about a perforated something or other and blood loss, but that’s really all you can understand before going back to being unconscious. Again. If only falling asleep was this easy.

---

Aaron never particularly liked hospitals, but now, with your life in danger, he hates them. Striding into the lobby, JJ at his side, his eyes find Garcia, furiously typing and wiping away tears as fast as she can. As his feet carry him to the desk, JJ breaks off to comfort Garcia.

“I’m SSA Aaron Hotchner, and I’m here for Agent Y/L/N she should have arrived half an hour ago with two GSWs to the abdomen,” his voice is surprisingly collected, as the nurse looks up at him from her computer.

“She was rushed into emergency surgery almost as soon as she got here. I don’t have an update for you now, Agent Hotchner, and it could be awhile until I know something for sure,” the nurse replies with a sad smile.

With a curt nod, Aaron walks over to Garcia, who now has JJ’s hand firmly in her own. Upon seeing him, Garcia springs up and sets her laptop and JJ’s hand aside to instead throw her arms around her stoic Unit Chief. Stunned but not unwelcome, Hotch reaches around to hold the crying tech analyst. Pulling back from the embrace and sniffling, Garcia looks at Hotch and her eyes widen almost comically.

“Blood. Oh my God, blood,” she states in a hurried breath and it’s only then that Hotch realizes that his arms and torso are covered in your blood still; he hasn’t had a chance to wash it off. Looking down at himself, his vision blurs for a second and the weight of his appearance takes a toll. Stumbling to the bathroom as JJ and Garcia reach for him, he staggers through the door and to the closest sink before throwing up. Leaning heavily on his hands, he hangs his head and catches his breath before turning the tap on. Slowly, methodically, he cleans his hands, then up his arms. Splashing water on his face he looks in the mirror, noting the bags under his eyes, the way his hair sticks up on one side, and the dried blood on his black shirt as it catches the shitty fluorescent lighting.

You’re laughing at him and he can’t help but smile back at you. In the light of the restaurant he loves the way your eyes shine when you look at him. Something catches his attention out of the corner of his eye, but you’re still laughing and he loves the way you look when you laugh. Bang. There’s screaming. Bang. You slump in your chair across from him. His stomach drops and there’s a roaring sound in his ears and years of training take over. The unsub stands still, gun in hand, and Aaron moves. Takedown. Push the gun out of reach. Hold the guy down. Swift punch to the face and the guy is out. You make a sound—a whine? a scream? his name?—and Aaron turns. You. Hands on your stomach, but Aaron can see the blood seeping through your fingers. Gently, as gently as he can, he gets you to lie on the ground and uses his jacket to try and staunch some of the bleeding. Your eyes flutter and he calls your name, asks how you’re doing, something to keep you awake and talking and with him and—

A knock on the door draws him out of his mind and JJ pokes her head in.

“I found a sweatshirt in the back of the SUV and thought you might want to put it on instead of having to stay in your shirt since…” she trails off and gestures to his bloody clothes.

Wordlessly, Hotch takes the sweatshirt from her. It’s one of his, he knows that, but he can’t remember why it’s in the SUV, especially because he hasn’t seen it since—You. You had it last. Inhaling your scent off the piece of clothing almost shatters him again and he holds the sweatshirt to his face as he tries not to cry. Slipping into a stall he slowly undoes his shirt before crumpling it up and dropping it on the ground. Pulling the sweatshirt over his head, he takes a moment to collect himself before stooping down for his shirt and walking out the bathroom door back into the waiting area.

Sitting next to Garcia he can see that there’s a picture of the unsub on her screen, as well as general demographic information and stuff streaming past that’s too fast for him to read.

“Garcia, what have you found.” Business as usual. Except for the part where he doesn’t know how you are or if you’re alive.

“Well, Sir, the bastard who shot Y/N is Parker Harrison and from what I can tell, he’s a creep. Like look-through-your-windows-and-take-photos-while-you-change kind of creep so—“

“—so it’s weird that he came up to you two in a crowded room and shot Y/N when there is nothing that Garcia’s found to suggest that that’s even something Harrison would even consider,” JJ finishes while continuing to glare at the photo on the screen.

Hotch sighs and puts his head in his hands. Again. Rubbing the bridge of his nose, he looks at JJ.

“Call the rest of the team and let them know that we know who the unsub is, but he doesn’t fit the profile for the crime and see if they’ve found anything out of the ordinary.”

With a nod, JJ moves to her feet and goes out the front door to make the call. Garcia makes a noise somewhere between frustration and surprise before renewing her furious typing. Aaron looks towards the nurse at the desk, the same one he had spoken to earlier, and catches her eye. She shakes her head and he tips his head back against the wall behind him, eyes closing.

---

You don’t think you’ve died. At least, not yet. Maybe this is some fucked up afterlife precursor, but you really, sincerely, hope you aren’t dead because that would suck for you and for Aaron. And Jack. And the team. Fuck you really hope you aren’t dead, but the fact that you can’t feel your body really isn’t helping you figure out what the hell is going on. There’s pressure building in your chest and as it expands, it feels like you are going to explode. You fight against whatever is happening—it hurts, dammit—and then back to nothingness.

---

He waits for hours. Pacing, sitting, standing, silent. Garcia mumbles to herself as she works, and calls the team with possible updates, but Aaron can’t bring himself to focus on anything but you. JJ comes and goes, standing, sitting, pacing, leaning over Garcia’s shoulder. She calls Will and the team a few times to give or get updates and for that, Aaron is grateful. He knows he should be doing more, as Unit Chief and as the person you told to get the unsub, but you you are his focus. He nods when Garcia shows him something and shakes his head when JJ appears with food and coffee. And he waits. At some point a police officer shows up and Hotch mechanically rattles off what happened. There isn’t much he can say since they have the shooter in custody already. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the team show up and all of a sudden Hotch is suffocated by the amount of people in the waiting room. Prentiss moves to JJ’s side and Morgan to Garcia’s, talking quietly. Reid and Rossi trade glances before descending on Hotch.

“Any news?” Rossi asks, but Hotch shakes his head.

“You guys find anything at the scene?” And Hotch is hoping for something anything to make this make sense.

“Well, according to the security cam footage, the unsub was dropped off at the restaurant and then walked inside, bypassing the hostess and making his way to your table. It seems like Harrison knew exactly where you were going to be and when, which is concerning. But after you take him down and he got to the station, he didn’t talk—and still hasn’t which indicates that he may be trying to protect someone which furthers the idea that he really didn’t come up with this on his own given that his previous criminal record didn’t indicate that he would shoot someone that he deemed a target, although Garcia is currently going through the contents of his electronics to see what she can find and—“ Reid is effectively cut off by Rossi, who states “and so we still don’t know enough about this guy to draw any concrete conclusions, but this isn’t an ordinary unsub and if he does have a partner, we need to figure out who that is before someone else gets hurt; possibly someone on this team.”

Aaron frowns to himself at this information. He thought that the team would be able to find something find more about Harrison, but it seems the universe is making him wait not only on you, but the fucker who shot you as well. Collapsing down on to the nearest chair, Aaron tries to come up with a plan, a preliminary profile, something that will help him figure out what exactly you’ve been drawn into. Staring down at his shoes, he fails to notice the way the team looks at each other, and then at him. With a sigh, Prentiss moves from JJ’s side to Hotch’s and sits. He doesn’t look at her, or even acknowledge her presence, but doesn’t shake off the hand that she lays gently on his shoulder as he continues to study his shoes.

It’s well into the early hours of the morning when the team is alerted to a development in your wellbeing by the loud squeak of the swinging door that leads to surgery. Half asleep, Rossi wakes the others from their various levels of slumber as Aaron stumbles to the doctor after he announces your name, eyes wide and hopeful.

“First, Agent Y/L/N is alive. She coded in surgery about two hours ago,” Aaron swears he stops breathing “—but we were able to revive her and finish stitching her up and repairing the internal damage. The bullets entered her abdomen and tore through her large intestine, and she did suffer more blood loss that I had hoped, but in time, she will recover.”

Aaron’s breath rushes out all at once and he almost collapses with the weight of his relief. He hears the gasps and murmurs of the team behind him which confirm their own happiness that you are alive.

“Can I see her?” the words leave him quickly, and he knows you won’t be awake, but he needs to see you. Needs to make sure you’re still here, with him.

“As you can imagine, she won’t be awake for quite some time. Her body has sustained major trauma, and we will be keeping her under watch for at least a week, depending on how long it takes her to wake up and then the rate at which her body’s healing process takes place. However, you may see her, one at a time, and are welcome to be here during official visiting hours tomorrow.”

Without turning to the team, Aaron nods and gestures for the doctor to lead the way, mind spinning with relief and worry, a dizzying rush of feelings at knowing that you’re alive. Stopping outside of a room, the doctor looks at Aaron before opening the door and stepping aside. Making his way to the side of your bed, Aaron can’t help but take stock of your appearance. Eyes tracing your face, fingers lightly following the same path before coming to hold your hand as he sits in the chair next to your bed. Exhaling slowly, he raises your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles, eyes finding your sleeping face and finally, Aaron allows some tension to leave his body. You’re here you’re here and you’re alive and breathing.

---

Your return to actual conscious reality is slow, to say the least. The steady beeping of your heart monitor catches your attention first because it’s just so damn annoying. But hey, it means you’re alive—what a relief—so you really can’t find it in your hazy mind to care too much about the incessant beeping noise as you drift into consciousness. The next thing to draw your focus is the scratchiness of the sheets surrounding your body—are hospital sheets purposely so uncomfortable?—and the way that you can feel someone holding your hand. Aaron. Fighting to open your eyes damn those fluorescents you manage to squint your way awake. Well, as awake as one can be after what you just went through, but it’s an improvement to whatever semi-alive state you had been in even if you are still in a moderate amount of discomfort.

“…Sweetheart?” there he is. You squeeze his hand and turn to see him more fully, eyes raking over his face. Teary-eyed and smiling, you’ve never seen him look more handsome (okay besides when he was wearing his black button-down and black jacket at dinner before you got shot, but that’s obvious).

“Aaron,” his name leaves your lips on a breath and you smile back at him as he kisses your hand before leaning over and kissing your forehead.

“I was so worried, Y/N. So worried about you,” he continues down to your nose, your cheeks, and finally, finally, he presses his lips to yours. Hands intertwined with his other one coming to cup your face, you pull apart just enough to look each other in the eye. And to think you might not have survived to do this ever again. The thought is enough to bring tears to your eyes and as they fall down your cheeks, Aaron kisses your forehead again before leaning his head against yours.

“You’re okay, Sweetheart. You’re here, I’m here, the team is in the waiting room. We’re all okay,” he says gently, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You continue to cry, soft whimpers escaping you as the pain in your midsection sets in and you realize how much you could have lost if you died.

“Th’ team. Need t’see ‘em,” you mumble through your tears, and Aaron nods before reaching for his phone and texting someone, staying by your side the whole time. Your tears continue to fall, but Aaron’s presence and steady reassurance calms you and soon you’re just staring at each other, hands clasped, reveling in your closeness.

A nurse enters the room and checks your vitals on all the machines you’re connected to before remarking on how good it is to see you awake and then she’s gone; Aaron doesn’t leave your side.

A swift knock on the door turns your head, and a smile breaks across your face as the team shuffles into your room and gathers around your bed. You watch them as they come in, looking for injuries or something out of the ordinary. However, they’re all okay, looking at you with sad hopeful eyes, but they’re okay just like Aaron said.

“You’re okay,” you whisper, wide-eyed.

“We’re okay? Mama, we should be checking on you. You’re the one whose been unconscious for a day and a half,” Morgan chuckles.

“’M okay. Good. Great. Sp’tacular,” you assure them with a smirk and a wave at your general hospital-chic appearance. You don’t have to turn to Aaron to know he’s rolling his eyes as the others let out small laughs at your answer.

“Glad you’re awake, Y/N,” Rossi states with a smile as Reid nods behind him.

“We were worried,” JJ adds.

“Don’t you ever do that again! I mean it,” Garcia says, pointedly. You huff out a laugh and grimace as your abdomen twinges in pain. Note to self: don’t do that again. You catch the rest of the room in a collective wince out of the corner of your eye, but your focus is now on Aaron, as he leans impossibly closer to you, gauging your level of pain through his furrowed brow.

“We’ll be back later,” Emily suggests, laying one hand on JJ’s arm and another on Reid’s shoulder. “Get some rest, Y/N.”

“Will do,” you grit out, pain subsiding only slightly in your stomach. Your eyes shut and over the sound of your heavy breathing, you hear footsteps retreating and the closing of the door. Aaron’s hand brushes your hair back off your forehead and comes to rest on your cheek. With your eyes closed, you realize just how fucking tired you are now that you’ve confirmed everyone is fine with your own eyes. You squeeze Aaron’s hand, and as you give in to your exhaustion, you feel him kiss your knuckles with a sigh.

“You’re okay,” he whispers, and then you’re out.

---

You wake up to a hushed argument taking place between Morgan and Rossi at the foot of your bed and surprise surprise Aaron’s scowling at both of them.

Fighting through a yawn, you mumble, “G’morning, everyone,” pointedly glaring at Morgan and Rossi who at least have the decency to look sorry for disturbing you.

“Afternoon, princess,” Morgan says with a nod. “Nice to see you awake again.”

You roll your eyes and can’t help but notice the careful way Aaron’s watching your face for any signs of discomfort. Squeezing his hand—has he let go of it since he got here? A thought to pursue at a later time—you turn your attention back to the agents at the end of your bed.

“What have I missed?” Rossi looks at Aaron before taking a breath and facing you.

“We think the guy who shot you has a partner and we’re trying to figure out who it is.”

Well shit. Schooling your face into a somewhat neutral expression, you repeat “…a partner…?” and something akin to fear washes over you. There’s someone out there who wants you dead. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Steeling yourself, you look over at Aaron for confirmation and the hard look in his eyes is all you need. Fuck. Sinking further back into the pillows behind you, you stare at the ceiling and try to fully comprehend what you’ve just learned. Breathing deeply, you try and quell the panic that’s rising in your chest. Shit. Now what happens. Eyes clenched shut, you address the room.

“So, what now? There’s another guy so what do we have on him what do we know has the unsub said anything that might help us? Something? Phone calls at weird times, unusual credit card activity, change in schedule, unexplained absences from work, something has to stick out,” Your words rush out before you can stop them.

“Well—“ Morgan starts but you cut him off, rambling.

“—and what’s the name of the unsub anyway? What’s the name of the fucker who shot me two times?” you ask, eyes flying open at the realization that you only know him as “the unsub” and not his actual name.

“Parker Harrison,” Hotch states with enough contempt for you to stop and squint at him, worried.

“Sounds like an asshole,” you remark, but Hotch doesn’t smile like you thought he would.

It’s at this point that Morgan wisely makes some excuse about seeing if Garcia has found anything new and he herds Rossi out the door before the other man can protest. The click of the door behind them is deafening as you continue to watch Aaron’s face while he stares down at your joined hands on the bed. Tracing your knuckles, he doesn’t elaborate on the unsub and so you wait. You focus on your own breathing, Aaron’s hand in yours, and his presence next to you.

However, there’s only so much silence you can take when you have so many questions that you would like answered. Tugging on his hand, you wait for him to look up at you before speaking.

“Aaron, who is this guy?”

Silence.

You try again.

“Aaron, I can’t help you profile the partner if I don’t know who Harrison is. Let me help you catch this fucker,” and that catches his attention. With a small quirk of his lips, he exhales and leans closer to brush some hair out of your face.

“You shouldn’t be profiling or working at all, Y/N. You got shot. You need to rest,” he says as his hand settles on your cheek.

You snort and roll your eyes. As if.

“I can multi-task, love. Also, I need to work this case. Do you really think I’ll be able to rest and recover knowing there’s someone out there who wants me dead? Harrison is the first step to figuring this out and I can help, Hotch. I’m a profiler and he’s an unsub. This isn’t anything we haven’t faced before and we will catch him. So, once again, I’m asking you to let me help,” you implore. “I’m on bedrest, not dead. I can be semi-useful, even while lying in a hospital bed.”

With that, Hotch sucks in a quick breath and his eyebrows pull together.

“But you did die,” he says lowly. “You died you were dead. The doctor said you coded on the table. I could have lost you,” and with that last admission, his voice breaks. Bowing his head, the slight shake of his shoulders is the only sign you have to know that he’s crying. Crying over you. Oh, Aaron. Carefully sliding over in your bed—ouch—you pull on Aaron’s hand insistently.

“C’mere, love,” you whisper, and Aaron maneuvers his way on to the bed. Has he always been this tall or are hospital beds just smaller than normal ones?

Slowly, mindful of your injuries even in the midst of his own emotional turmoil, he curves himself around you as tears continue to fall. You lift your hand to card through his hair at a steady pace and eventually, just rest your hand on his face, catching tears and brushing them away. You raise your other hand, which is still holding his, to your lips and softly kiss his fingertips.

“I’m here. We’re here and we’re okay, and I love you,” you repeat gently until the shaking in his shoulders subsides and his breathing evens out to match yours. Holding your hand to his face, Hotch gives it the gentlest kiss imaginable before clearing his throat.

“I love you too, Sweetheart. So much. I was scared you weren’t going to make it, and then to find out you almost didn’t?” he trails off with a heavy sigh.

“It’ll take more than a few bullets to take me away from you, Aaron Hotchner,” you say. “I mean it.”

Instead of responding, Aaron nuzzles the top of your head and moves impossibly closer to you on the bed.

“I just—“ he stops. “I waited for hours to hear how you were doing. I was basically useless to the team because all I could think about was you and how you told me to get the guy and figure it out, but I couldn’t. Not without you.”

“Oh, Aaron,” you shift so you can smile at him warmly and then he’s leaning down to you, cradling your face, and kissing you with a desperation that makes your heart ache. You return his kiss with all the reassurance you can offer. I love you. I’m here. I’m alive. I’m sorry. Tilting your head, you move a hand to his chest, over his heart trying to do what you can to get closer to him. I love you I love you I love you. 

Breaking for air, Aaron presses one last lingering kiss to your forehead before settling back into your side. Heart racing, you smile contentedly at the man in front of you before trying to get comfortable. Leaning just a little too far forward, your breath leaves you in a whoosh before the pain sets in, letting you know you’ve overdone it just a bit—and just when things were getting good, too. Ever the protector, Hotch readjusts your pillows and presses the call button for the nurse as you let out a whimper. Soon enough, a nurse makes her way into the room and asks you how you are—brilliant—and what level your pain is at—an eight—before giving you a very welcome round of pain meds.

As your body relaxes and your mind starts to drift, you turn your gaze to Aaron, still by your side. He kisses your cheek and then your forehead softly as you close your eyes. Safe for now.

[dodo-begone]

LOYAL BACK, AND READY TO TALK ABOUT THE LOYALTY ENCHANTMENT AGAIN :) (I apologize in advance bc I wouldn’t be surprised if half of what I type makes no sense. I’ve gotten like three hours of sleep in the past two days and I may or may not be losing it bc of it—)

Began thinking about the concept of the eggpire getting ahold of a yandere’s darling and using Loyalty III (like from the story) on them. This mainly involves the idea of the eggpire ordering y/n to fight the yandere(s) in hopes of said yandere(s) surrendering and/or giving in.

Scenario One: the yandere(s) panic, because, clearly, their darling has no choice but to fight them!! They’ll save you!! And everything will be okay!! Little do they know, y/n didn’t even need the enchantment to pick a fight. Y/n’s been through hell and back thanks to the yandere(s) and though they don’t like the concept of being controlled like a puppet, at least they’re not being ordered to do something they wouldn’t want to. If anything, the enchantment makes it easier, because it takes the heat off of them when their yandere(s) gets pissed. Clearly it isn’t y/n’s fault, even if they were a little more brutal than was necessary...!

Scenario Two: y/n has stockholm syndrome thanks to their yandere(s). And with being forced to fight them? Y/n is in for a world of pain. Perhaps they attempt to strike their yandere(s), only to sob and collapse to the ground. With their choice of inaction, the enchantment burns, and y/n begins screaming in pain, curling in on themself as they clutch at the enchantment’s location. Imagine how the yandere(s) would react omg. Bonus points if y/n wasn’t just asked to hurt the yandere(s) but to kill them. (...Eggpire orders y/n attack and or kill Michael)

ILL SHOW MYSELF OUT NOW HAHAHA

Now I know this won’t do anything; BUT SLEEP LOYAL!!! YOU NEED SLEEP!! Sleep may be hard but try to sleep plz 🥺

Okay but this shit? IT’S THE SHIT!!! SO GOOD!

I’d like to introduce a third scenario; the yandere killing their darling to “save” them from the enchantment. They should respawn and they don’t know how enchantments work. That’s the only reason this would happen. But hey, it’s an interesting idea-

Anyways onto the ones you brought up: Just sayin Techno and Philza would be in the first category. They used some fucked up methods to make you theirs, most likely. Killing you friends in front of you, chaining you up in the basement without food, depriving you of human contact.. You know, the typical stuff. But it’s still harsh and you hate them for it. Absolutely loathe them. Finally you can get some revenge for the fallen and yourself without too much repercussion.

Now the second I’d feel would apply to Dream and Sapnap, maybe Eret and Foolish (god so many). They each have their way of getting you to love them and it is much softer than the ones in the first method. And maybe they had been working on you longer, so you bonded with them for sure. Maybe they didn’t know the Stockholm hadnt kicked in until that moment. It’s heartwarming yet heartbreaking all at the same time- omg you love them back!? Yay!!! But you’re in so much pain because of it D: Don’t worry, they’ll save you!!!

YOU CANT DO THIS TO MY HEART NOT MICHEAL NOOOOO

Owndjdbwb okay then- I’ll be waiting for your return :D

[yukipri]

Marco’s Bauble Part 4 - a One Piece Mermaid AU Text Story

Next part of Marco’s Bauble! Was posted in advance on Patreon ^ ^

In which the Whitebeards gossip

Contains mention of Marco x Luffy.

Continues off of, and should be read after:

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 1

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 2

👒🐟Marco’s Bauble Part 3

~~

Namur values his crew's privacy. And given that he doubts he was even supposed to see Marco's secret, he absolutely can't disclose it to anyone.

Which is why he's snuck into Izo's room at ass o'clock in the morning, when everyone but the morning shift is asleep, but Izo's awake because he takes a few hours doing his hair and makeup.

"This had better be good, I don't usually enjoy an audience before I'm presentable," Izo says.

Namur doesn't really get what's unpresentable about Izo now. Sure he looks different, with his ridiculously long hair still loose and spilling to his waist, pulled back from his face with a seemingly simple band that Namur saw Izo drop a small fortune for. Izo's plucking up various bottles of liquid lined up on his vanity, methodically shaking a few measured drops into his palm before patting them into his face. Namur doesn't see any difference before and after the drops are applied.

"It's...it's not my secret to tell, but no one else seems to know, and I need to talk to someone, it's too big for just me," Namur says, reluctantly. "But you can't tell anyone, Izo, I mean it."

Izo just hums in response, and Namur sweats. He seems to be doing a lot of that these days. Maybe he needs to take a few days to just swim, being above sea level for too long can be stressful for fishmen.

Because this is already seeming like an increasingly bad idea. Izo isn't known for being particularly good at keeping secrets; if anything, he's a known gossip. That being said, he's also one of the best listeners aboard the Moby (it's how he gets his info), and more importantly, is the third best person to go to for good, thoughtful advice.

The best person to go to for advice is, of course, Pops, but Namur wilts at the mere thought because it really, really isn't his place to talk to Pops about this without Marco's consent. And unfortunately, the close second for Best Person to Go to For Advice is none other than Marco himself, everyone's Big Brother and caring Mother Hen Supreme.

And, well. It's not like Namur can go to Marco to talk about Marco.

"Well, I'm waiting," Izo says, and apparently he'd gone through his entire lineup of six little bottles of mysterious liquids, and is now blotting some paste onto his skin with a weird brush-like contraption. Namur squints, but can barely see any difference between the areas with the paste and without.

"Please don't tell anyone, unless they already know," Namur stresses again, praying.

"Yes, yes." Izo continues blotting.

"Marco proposed to someone."

Izo continues blotting.

Namur sweats.

Izo's hand gradually slows, and Namur realizes he's finished covering his entire face. Namur sees zero difference.

"Just so we're clear," Izo says, as he finally turns to face Namur. "When you say 'Marco,' we're talking about the fire chicken one, and when you say 'propose,' we're talking about the marriage, weddings, and babies type?"

"Babies?!"

No, no, that actually hadn't crossed Namur's mind, but it's there now, and he knows logically that devil fruits don't work like that, but his mind is suddenly filled with the image of an entire school? flock? of tiny colorful winged merbabies, and he's oh, oh NO they're so cu--

"Namur! Focus, please!"

Namur blinks. He doesn't know when it happened, but one of Izo's eyebrows is more defined than the other now.

"Yeah, that Marco," he confirms. "And I, I don't know about...the last thing, but yeah, if successful, usually the kind that results in marriage type."

Izo's oddly calm, and is facing his mirror again. He frowns momentarily, but then smooths his expression and begins applying his other eyebrow. Namur realizes that Izo's able to keep his face so smooth because he wants to draw on his face evenly, and that's actually quite impressive. Though, he has no idea why Izo needs more eyebrows, when he already has perfectly normal ones growing on his face.

"Who's the boy who stole the stupid pineapple's heart, it must be someone we know," Izo says, voice light.

Namur wasn't exactly planning on disclosing this much, he'd just wanted someone else to help him think of how best to support their brother's potentially upcoming union, but Izo's definitely not taking no for an answer, and that's a fight he knows he can't win.

"It's Ace's little brother, the one Thatch went to go fetch," he says reluctantly. "And even though she's his 'little brother,' she's apparently a girl, and a mermaid."

There's a clatter, and Izo curses. Namur tries to peer at Izo's face in the mirror, and notices a weird black blob by his eye that Izo's now trying to delicately smudge off. It wouldn't have been there in the first place if Izo hadn't been trying to poke himself in the eye with the weird brush thing. Namur really doesn't get this makeup business.

"You're telling me," Izo growls, and Namur flinches at the irritation, though he gets the feeling it's directed mostly at the eye blob. "That Marco's straight? I could have sworn he was gay!"

Namur blinks at Izo.

Izo blinks at Namur through the mirror. The eye blob makes his face look slightly crooked.

"Oh, right," Izo mutters, picking up his brush with face distorting ink again. "I thought Marco only liked guys like that, so it surprised me that he likes a girl. Maybe he's bi. Don't worry about it, it's a dumb human thing."

"Oh," Namur says, and yeah, he's heard vaguely about humans being weirdly obsessed with only liking a specific gender or two. It's a very foreign concept that Namur doesn't really get because it doesn't exist on Fishman Island, and romance stuff rarely comes up on the Moby, shockingly enough, or at least in front of Namur. But he's glad Izo doesn't seem too upset, because that would upset Namur. Namur's never met Ace's little brother, but he imagines she'd look so very charming next to Marco, given how in love Marco looked when he was sending off his proposal. He wants to root for them.

"Although, hm, does Ace know? I doubt he'd be very happy about Marco sweeping his dearest little brother off her feet, er, fins," Izo says, seemingly more relaxed now that his face distorting paint is cooperating. His face is now even, although his eyes actually do look different now, more like the Izo Namur usually sees. It's fascinating.

"I don't know," Namur confesses, and he's suddenly feeling very glum at the thought of their little fire cracker baby brother not being happy. Even though Ace didn't formally join, he's still their littlest brother, and Namur's very fond of him, and has honestly lost track of the number of times he's dived into the sea to fetch the reckless kid. He was honestly devastated when Ace said he was leaving. It's alright now, now that Namur knows it was just to bring home Marco's future bride, but he hopes Ace will be supportive too.

"And how did you know he was proposing?"

At this point, what does it matter what else Namur shares? "Well..."

By the time Namur's done answering all of Izo's questions on Fishman Island courtship and Marco's respectful application of it, Izo's done with his face.

"Well, that was certainly a fascinating talk," Izo says with lips the color of a raw fish's innards. "Now I'll have to kick you out before I do my hair. At least I finished my face."

Namur knows he's been excused. "Thank you for your time. Also, it looks very nice, your face," he says politely as he gets up. It seems awkward not to comment on it, after having watched Izo work so hard on it for the past half hour. "Although it looked nice before too. I like the eye paint."

Izo pauses contemplatively, then nods. "That's an acceptable compliment. Thank you. Now, shoo."

~~

"So, who's the wedding for?"

Izo jolts as Haruta settles his tray on the other side of the table.

"What wedding?"

"Don't play dumb. You're planning a wedding. I noticed some of our books were moved in the library, and you were the only one who was in there before me. You were looking up Grand Line marriage traditions, and going through shitty wedding magazines that no one's touched in a decade," Haruta rattles off as he stirs his soup, and Izo inwardly curses.

He thought he'd placed them all back where he'd found them, but alas, apparently nothing gets by Haruta's observation skills, and his talent for butting into business that has nothing to do with him.

"And given the selections, I'd say it's not for you." Haruta continues, as though he knows Izo's tastes by heart and sadly, he probably does, and not just Izo's but the whole crew's. "So someone's getting married, or they're thinking about it, and you're planning. I want to know who."

"You're a nosey little shit," Izo says, because he knows there's really no point in denying it to Haruta without tangible evidence, which he lacks. He's also too tired to deal with this shit, because he did his hair in a hurry in order to make it to the library before everyone woke up, which means it's slightly less perfect than usual. And being anything less than perfect is a truly exhausting business.

"Mm-hmm," Haruta says, and momentarily seems distracted by his plate. There's a tiny, almost imperceptible frown on his lips, and Izo only recognizes it because he'd had the same thought.

The food's by no means bad, and they have many fine cooks on the Moby. It's just, it's a little different, without Thatch's personal touch. Izo hates that their brother's temporary absence is so tangible. Damn him for going on his little vacation.

They continue their meal in silence, and Izo hopes that Haruta's forgotten, his mind having moved on to terrorizing other innocent brothers. Izo thinks he might be able to get away, when Haruta gets up right alongside Izo to return his tray.

"So who is it?" he repeats, as though they hadn't just sat in thirty minutes of silence, and Izo wants to tear out Haruta's hair in frustration, because Izo would never tear out his own hair for any reason.

"It's none of your business, don't you have work to do?"

"My work is knowing stuff. Tell me."

"This isn't something you need to know. That's what I'm telling you."

"Nice try. Lemme guess. Is it Marco?"

Haruta laughs at his own joke, and promptly walks into Izo's back. Izo tries to get over his momentary freeze, but the damage is done.

"Holy shit, it's MARCO?!"

"What happened to Marco?" Vista has the absolute worst timing in entering the cafeteria, because he's standing directly in front of them. He already has his sword sheaths removed from his belt, no doubt so he can polish them in a corner after he's done eating, as is his usual ritual.

Haruta's eyes are blown wide, and Izo wants to stop him but no one can out-talk Haruta when he wants to talk, so it's like watching a cannonball hurtling towards an inevitable collision.

"Marco's getting married."

Vista never drops his swords.

Vista's swords clatter to the ground.

And now everyone inside the cafeteria, and those in the line forming outside behind Vista, all stop to stare.

~~

~~

Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

And as always, comments/reblogs/tags always immensely appreciated!!! People sharing their thoughts with me motivates me to write so much more, and update more frequently, so thank you so much for everyone who’s so kindly done so in the past!! ;A;

(The next part’s already up on Patreon if anyone wants to read in advance <3)

❀ ❀ Send YukiPri an Ask! ❀ ❀

Read the next part: Marco’s Bauble, Part 5

~This ask has been added to the Mermaid AU Text Headcanons Compilation post~

[busterkeatonfanfic]

Chapter 7

When Nelly opened her eyes, she couldn’t remember what day it was, what time it was, or most of all where she was. The bed sheets smelled like a man. Buster. She sat straight up, hardly noticing the clanging in her head.

She scrambled to the edge of the bed and tried to tear off the sheets that were twisted around her middle. She saw as she swung her legs over the side of the bed that her dress and girdle had ridden up around her waist, but she was still wearing her cami knickers. Whatever had occurred last night had not apparently involved their disposal. 

A wave of nausea and dizziness seized her before she was able to stand up. Her head ached so badly that she ran her hands over it, suspecting that she’d fallen and hit it. The exterior was intact, but the interior … It was in agony. Her very brains felt hot and swollen. 

“Hello?” she said. The suite seemed empty, but she couldn’t be sure. “Hello?”

When no answer came, she reached for the half-full glass of water on the nightstand and drained it. She had a raging thirst and scanned for the bathroom so she could fill the glass again and relieve herself. She had to pee like a racehorse. She got up and was forced to hobble on her way to the en-suite. Her misadventures had led to one thing at least: a twisted ankle. She remembered a phonograph and a rolicking jazz tune that made her feel the lightest and gayest and youngest she’d ever felt in her life. She remembered Tommy now, how good-looking he’d been. She remembered dancing for what seemed like hours. She was in such a good mood that she’d even danced with the men who weren’t handsome. She groaned at the memory of the other men as she relieved herself.

There was water in the round basin at the bottom of the skeletal shower and the bathroom felt slightly humid. A towel hanging on the bar confirmed that Buster had come and gone.

At least she thought it was Buster. That part she remembered too. Vomiting her guts out and Buster Keaton squatting opposite her in his white undergarments … doing what? It was fuzzy. She vaguely recalled a desire for a pillow, but he must not have given one to her because she woke up in the bed. She couldn’t remember how she’d gotten from the blind tiger to the hotel room. She tried and failed. It was a big black spot, a blight on a reel of film. Buster had not been at the blind tiger as far as she remembered. 

At the sink, she drank four glasses of water total, then rinsed her sour mouth. Her face was pale and haggard in the mirror. She looked about twenty years older. Suddenly, her heart hammered at an alarming thought. It wasn’t Sunday, it was Saturday. What had made her think it was Sunday? They were filming today! She was hours late. 

Her eyes scanned around the bedroom for a clock. She spotted one on the mantel and rushed to it. A quarter to noon. 

“Damn!” 

She ran into the adjoining salon, hoping to at least find her handbag. She did, half-spilled on one of the seemingly dozens of ornate chairs that dotted the room. The handbag held no powder or rouge, but at least it had lipstick and her tin of mascara. She dashed back to the bathroom to apply it. Her hair was another story. There was no hairbrush in the handbag, just a small backcomb that was impotent against the rat’s nest of tangles confronting her. She was out of bobby pins. Her dress was wrinkled and covered in lint, not to mention that she stank of sweat and stale booze. She would have to go back to 22nd Street unless she wanted to get fired on the spot for improper dress. Also, her stockings were nowhere to be found. She looked on the chairs in the salon, underneath the bed, on the mantel, and in the sheets and bedspread. Nothing. She even peeked, blushing, in Buster’s closet and his bureau drawers. She did find a sterling silver men’s hairbrush on the bureau. She also discovered a bottle of aspirin in the medicine cabinet and washed down four capsules without a second thought. 

As she considered the sterling silver hairbrush, she felt guilty. It was expensive and she didn’t want to get it clotted up with her long hair. Promising herself she’d use her own comb to clean it afterwards, she sat on the bed trying to get the tangles out. The hairbrush smelled like Brilliantine. It seemed important not to be seen wandering the halls of the prestigious Hotel Senator with the unbrushed hair of one of Macbeth’s witches. Maybe she could call and have some bobby pins brought up—but that would alert hotel staff to the fact that there was a Girl in Buster’s Room. From her first encounter with him in his dressing room, it was clear that he had dalliances, but she wasn’t sure how discreet they were. For all she knew, an enterprising maid might sell a story to the papers for some extra money at the first opportunity. She brushed her hair and tried not to think of how terrible her head felt. 

Her situation went from bad to worse when a doorknob rattled in the salon. Of course. The staff tidied the suite every day. She considered hiding under the bed, but it was too late. From her position, she watched an arm come through the door, shortly followed by a leg, shortly followed by Buster himself. 

Of all the things she might have expected to come out of his mouth when he saw her, it wasn’t, “You’re awake.”

Before she had a chance to do much other than stammer a response, he was in the bedroom. He took off his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe, saying, “How do you feel? Feel like eating?”

“I’m sorry,” she said, feeling rather weak and desperate. 

“I’ll order sandwiches and coffee. You look like you could use some coffee.”

As soon as he’d exited the room, she frantically pulled the strands of her hair out of his brush and padded to the bureau to return it. Job accomplished, she sat on the sofa rather than the bed, noticing for the first time that there was a rumpled sheet draped over the back and a pillow lying on one end. From them, she deduced that she had run Buster out of his own bed. 

“Relax,” said Buster, appearing in the doorway and startling her. 

“Am I fired?” she said, looking over at him. 

He looked surprised. “Fired?” A half-smile played on his lips as he realized what she was driving at. “Oh, for being young and silly and frivolous? No.”

“I am terribly sorry for last night,” she said soberly. “I kicked you out of your bed and you—when I threw up, you—”

He waved her off. “Don’t worry about it.” As if he’d peered into her mind that very second, he added, “Nothing happened between us, don’t worry about that either. Why’s your hair look like that?”

“Like what?”

“Brushed on only the one side.”

“I don’t have a hairbrush in my bag.”

He squinted, clearly confused. “How’d you get half of it brushed then?”

She flushed what she could only assume was a violent red. “I borrowed your hairbrush.”

“But you only brushed half?”

She was going to die of mortification right here in Buster Keaton’s hotel room. That’s how she was going to go, rest in peace Nelly Foster. “I didn’t want you to know I’d used it, when you came in just now. I hadn’t asked permission.”

He cocked an eyebrow. He strode over to the bureau, then to her, and dropped the hairbrush in her lap. “All yours,” he said. 

“Thank you. Do you think,” she said, not meeting his eyes, “you could have some bobby pins brought up?”

“Sure. Need anything else?”

She shook her head. “I’m just going to go back to my room to change before I head over to the set.”

He sat on the foot of the bed. “You’re not going to the set today, you’re going to rest. How far away is your room?”

She thought. “A mile, a mile-and-a-half? 1911 22nd Street. I didn’t mention it last night?” 

Buster grinned. Nelly had seen him smile, but never up close and never with full teeth. His teeth were very straight on top and he had a dimple in his right cheek. She was keenly aware in that moment of how extraordinary it was that she had ended up in the bedroom of Buster Keaton’s hotel suite, never mind that her methods were nothing short of disgraceful.

“You mentioned a lot last night, but I couldn’t get that address out of you to save my life.”

“Oh no,” she said, her stomach sinking. She shielded her face with her hand.

“You’re a lot of fun.” He stood up and squeezed her shoulder on his way out of the room. “I’m going to call for those bobby pins.”

As he used the telephone, she hastily brushed out the rest of the tangles, swiped her hair from the bristles, and set the brush on the nightstand next to the bottle of aspirin. Pretty soon there was a knock at the hotel door and she ducked into the bathroom, partly to relieve herself again, mostly to hide from whoever was delivering lunch. She looked in the mirror, tried for a moment to make her hair and her face more presentable, but gave up. The lipstick and mascara would have to do. She also gave her teeth a hasty brush with a finger and Buster’s toothpaste.

Feeling shy, she stepped into the salon where a silver tray sat on a cart. “Sit down,” said Buster. He handed her a small plate that held a chicken sandwich. “There’s soup here too. Something asparagus, I think.”

Nelly took a bite of the sandwich and found that she was ravenous. The sandwich gave her an excuse not to talk. As she ate, she considered how she would politely remove herself from Buster’s company and sneak away before he changed his mind about not canning her. Her bare legs made her self-conscious and she tucked them under her on the chair as she ate. The silence didn’t seem to bother Buster. He dipped his sandwich in his soup and ate, glancing at her once and awhile.

“I can’t find my stockings,” she said, after she’d finished her sandwich. “Do you know where I put them?”

“You threw them out the window.”

“I what?” she said, not sure she’d heard right. 

“Of my car.” Buster blinked without expression, the famous frozen face she knew so well from pictures.

She was bewildered. “I don’t remember that.”

“You were hot,” he said, with a small shrug. “By the way, I noticed the ankle.” He gestured. “You should ice it when you get back to your room.”

“I don’t remember turning it,” she confessed. 

“What do you remember?” he said, his eyes probing hers.

She told him about drinking and dancing in the blind tiger. She also told him about the gap in her memory between dancing and winding up on his bathroom floor. “I am really, terribly sorry about that,” she said again. More of the incident had come back to her and she remembered how he’d dragged her into the bathroom and held her hair back as she vomited. 

He waved her off. “I’ve seen worse. I want to talk to you about something serious for a moment, though.”

A hot-cold rush of dread ran through her insides at his words, but she kept her hands steady on her cup of coffee and tried to make her face cool and calm. 

Buster finished the rest of a second sandwich, dabbed at his lips with a napkin, and put the plate on the bottom of the cart. “You know that tall man, the one with the blonde hair?” He paused, looking at her.

“Tommy,” she said. Why she should feel so guilty about Tommy, she didn’t know, but under Buster’s gaze she somehow learned that consorting with him was a horrible mistake.

“Is that his name? Well anyway, I’ve fired him. If he ever comes around again to bother you, come straight to me.”

She must have looked as puzzled as she felt, because he went on. 

“When I walked into that speak-easy last night, they were trying to get you into a room with them. A whole gang of them, and he was the ringleader.”

She was horrified beyond words. Tears filmed her eyes, but she blinked them back. On top of the spectacle she’d made of herself the previous night, she was not going to cry in front of him.  “I don’t remember that at all,” she said, her voice feeling weak.

“I know you don’t.” He reached over and laid a hand on her knee for a moment. “They got you as drunk as possible for that very reason. Just be careful from now on, okay? Take a few girlfriends when you go out.” He withdrew his hand. “Here.” He took a red box out of his pocket and handed it to her. It was decorated in violets and labeled INVISIBLE HAIR PINS. “Do your hair up and I’ll drop you by your room before I go back to the set.”

Back in the bathroom with Buster’s brush, she saw she no longer needed rouge. Her cheeks were in a high flush now, partly from the effects of last night’s imbibing, partly from their conversation. There was no crimping iron to be found, so she made do with a hasty chignon, patting down the flyaways with Buster’s Brilliantine afterwards.

“Ready?” he said, when she returned to the salon.

She felt hot and ashamed walking through the halls of the Senator and down the stairs next to him, but he didn’t seem to care if they were spotted together. She kept her eyes on her feet as much as possible. Even though they hadn’t slept together, no one in the hotel knew that. No one in the hotel knew either that she’d almost been raped by a gang of men last night, but all the same it felt like she was wearing a scarlet letter. 

They waited in silence outside the grand hotel doors for the valet to bring Buster’s car around. He didn’t seem to have anything to say and she was too mortified to make small talk. When the green Duesenberge rolled up and the valet exited, Buster held open the passenger door for her. She assumed it must have been the car she’d ridden in last night, but her only memory of it was from the parking lot in River Junction. She sat beside Buster in silence as he took a right on J Street. When they had come to Joe and Maggie’s house, he went around to the door and helped her down from the car.

“Don't look so glum,” he said, before he let go of her hand. “Everything’s okay. And ice that ankle as soon as you get in, hear?”

[kittenshift-17]

I'm a fic writer and I'm currently starting to get writing burn out. do you have any tips for getting through this? (I'm even burnt out from reading fanfic, so I don't even know what I'm doing with my life at this point)

Oh my gosh, I have an answer for this!!! Mostly because I have been living that feeling for about 8 months now and I know it's killer.

So first thing I recommend is set aside a day for yourself where you have nowhere to be. You got plans, rearrange them. You're gonna take a nap. A long one.

Tell yourself the following about writing: "It will be there when I'm ready. No one is depending on my writing solely for their survival. My mental health matters too."

And then have a glass of warm milk or a chamomile tea if you're lactose intolerant. Go to the bedroom. Jig the temperature to whatever provides you optimal comfort - for me, it's fan on high, air con set to as cold as it goes, and (I shit you not) 9 blankets. It's a weight thing, but I'm too cheap to buy a weighted therapy blanket.

Anyway. Do these things. Tuck yourself in. If you have a lover, ask them to tuck you in and request a lingering forehead kiss if they don't offer one of their own volition. If you don't have a lover, grab a pillow, you're gonna wanna spoon that bad boy (I do this every night, much to Boyfee's amused irritation 🤣). Turn off your phone, or set it to silent with no alarms, no notifications, and no means for interrupting your nap before you're good and ready.

Now, if you're anything like me, 3 things are gonna try and happen. Either you're brain is gonna start pointing out that you're not tired and could be better using this time. Or it's gonna start the guilt-cycle about needing to write, to read, to be in any way productive. Or, the worst one, "all that bullshit" is gonna start with the gag-reel of guilt and regret and embarrassing memories from your past.

And no one wants that shit, so we're turning that part of the brain off. Here's my method:

1. Think about your story. No, not about how you said you'd have a chapter ready this week. Think about the story. The actual plot. The characters. The hook. Doesn't have to be your main WIP. It can be anything. Any story. Old. New. Freshly invented. Doesn't matter. The idea is to actively think about a story and engage your imagination. Think about the characters. Call their image forth in your mind. Do they have dark hair or light? Are they short or tall? What are they wearing? Why are they wearing goth-metal get-up? Are they undercover? Is it a phase? Have they finally hit on their signature look? It's kinda hot, right?

2. Think about their motives. What's the plot? Are they going somewhere? Why are they plotting world domination? Did they have too much Red Bull this morning? Is a sugar crash imminent? Are they diabetic? This could take a turn. Oh, hey look, hypoglycaemia has resulted in a hot doctor appearing on the scene! No one should look this good in scrubs, right? It's literally not fair. Wait... hot doctor is saying something. They have a nice voice.

3. Let your imagination run wild. You don't need to remember the details. Pretend it's a dream until it becomes one. If you wake up with the burning urge to write, all the better, but that's not the point of this exercise, so don't be afraid to think up crazy shit you would never dream of writing. The goal is to trick the brain into pleasant distraction and to lull yourself to sleep.

4. When you wake up, take it slow. You've got nowhere to be. You took the day for you. It's a weekend. Chill. You don't have to get out of bed for another 4 hours if you don't want to.

5. When you do get up, find your favourite movie from the last decade. Grab yourself a cup of tea or a juice, something to snack on (sandwich is my go-to), throw on the movie, and watch it. Sit down, snack, and enjoy something you've loved for a long time. If you're not a TV person, seek out songs more than 5 years old on your play list. I recently tried this and happened upon all the songs I was listening to when I started a bunch of my oldest WIPs and shook a bunch of new ideas loose.

6. Go for a walk. If you're unable to walk, find a way to get out of the house, be it walk, roll or hobble. Go to a park and cruise around for half an hour. Take it slow. Remember, you have nowhere to be today. This is your you-day. You're here for nature and fresh air, not exercise. This is purely a Zen moment. Find a park bench and cop a sit for a while. Look at the other people in the park. What are they up to? Is that a Mum's group jogging by with strollers? A little old couple sharing an ice-cream? Are those ducks in the pond? They're cute, right? They like sweetcorn and lettuce. You should come to the park more often and bring them some lettuce to munch on.

7. Think about your writing some more. This time, the process of it, and what drew you to the hobby, rather than stories and plots. Why are you working on your WIP? Do you enjoy it, or has it become a chore? This is supposed to be a hobby, right? You're giving your hard-written words away for free if you're writing fanfic, so why are you busting yourself to meet self-imposed deadlines? Do you even still like your characters? The plot? Do you want to invest the effort of continuing the tale?

8. Say these words to yourself: "It's okay if I've had enough."

9. Say them again. "It's okay if I've had enough."

10. When you go home, don't do any writing today. Indulge another hobby. Draw a picture, even if you're not very good at it. Knit something. Glue tubes of spaghetti to paper if you want. Play the sims, or valheim, or candy crush. Literally anything that isn't writing. Find something else to do. Engage a different part of your brain. You're tired of the same old fandom, same old characters, same old tropes and same tired stories. That's okay. That's human nature.

The important thing to remember is that you're in control. You have the power. If you never want to write another word, that's okay, you know? If you want to write something else, something different, something fresh, do it! I do it all the time. I cycle through WIPs for 18 different fandoms just to keep things fresh and avoid burn out on any one story, trope, or fandom. Switching to a new fandom is like flipping over a rock and finding a live snake underneath - terrifying, but damn it gets your heart racing!

And this can be applied for non-writers too. Your life is up to you to navigate. You're the captain of your own ship and you owe no one anything beyond basic respect, kindness and decency. Speaking as someone who's job has been ruining her life for 8 months and burning me out so much that between September and December, I didn't write a damn word because I was all outta spoons making it through each work day, I get it more than I ever hoped I would.

The best way to stave off burn out is to force a hard reset of yourself. If you're worried about backlash from your readers if you take a break, post to notify them that you're taking a small hiatus for your mental health. Anyone who minds terribly much and is rude about it needs to remember that life is already hard, and they need not add to it.

Trust me, love, no one will mind overly much if you need a rest. Take a nap. Take a walk. Feed the ducks. And dive into something else you enjoy for a few days. I've found some of my best writing falls out of a factory-reset inside my own head. Maybe you will too.

Xx-Kitten

[captainkappa]

Fanfic:: Bad Habits

Cobb, never one for knowing when to keep his mouth shut, asked, “Do you do that often? Cauterizing yourself?”

Mando paused. “I used to.”

My second bingo fic is up! It’s really pulling its weight in terms of getting me a bingo and is actually the first fic I thought of for the event!

Huge shout out to @staranon95 for betaing and helping out with the ending!

AO3 Link

-=-=-

When Cobb got called out of Mos Pelgo by Boba Fett of all people, he could handle it. He’d been prepared for a fight, but what he’d gotten was a job of all things. A couple of Zygerrians had set up shop outside of Mos Espa with the intent of revitalizing their corner of the slave market and Fett wanted them taken care of. Cobb had accepted, after the promise of payment and that Fett wasn’t doing this to “knock off competition in the market.”

When he walked out of the palace, coordinates in hand and he saw Mando – his Mando – standing stiff as a board beside his speeder, Cobb could handle it. He could handle it better if Mando gave any indication of remembering him, but he brushed it off. Mos Pelgo was a tiny town and Mando probably had way more important journeys in the months since he landed in Cobb’s neck of the woods.

When their speeders got blown up, Cobb could handle it. They both saw the gunman pop up before he fired, leaping off their speeders into the warm sand, ducking behind dunes as twinned explosions went off. They hadn’t known the Zygerrians were anticipating them, but they jumped into the fight all the same.

Leaning up against the heavy desk of the slavers, taking inventory of his injuries, Cobb was getting real tired of everything the day was throwing at him. He was just glad Din had stepped out to comm Fett with their situation; mission complete with all the slavers dead, but their speeders were unsalvageable and the slavers seemed to not own their own transport.

Cobb’s knee was going to complain for a couple of days, he’d gotten singed in a couple of places, scraped elsewhere, but there was really only one place that needed immediate attention; his shoulder, assumedly when he tackled that man right when he had busted in through the building. The armor, more ill-fitting than the Mandalorian armor, but still functional, had protected his vitals, but the vibroblade had skimmed off to clip his shoulder. It wasn’t so deep as he needed to panic, but it was deeper than he would've liked.

He was applying pressure when Mando walked in. Except for the tiredness weighing him down and scorching on the armor, the armored man looked the same as he did when they rolled up to the place.

He rolled his shoulders before leaning against the wall. “Shand says pick up in four hours.”

Cobb’s hand slipped from his shoulder. “What? What’s the karking hold up?” The outpost wasn’t that far away from the Palace.

“Minor sand gusts. Nothing terrible, but they can’t fly through it. And with it being the middle of the day…” He trailed off, not needing to explain to a local how everything shut down until at least one of the suns was leaving its apex.

A flair of pain pulsed from Cobb’s shoulder. He hissed, eyes snapping shut until the pain faded. He readjusted his grip, blood slipping through his fingers.

“Great. Do you have a medpack?”

“On the speeder.”

Cobb snorted, but the movement bit into his shoulder wound. “Dank farrik.”

He gritted his teeth against the pain and looked around the room again. It was a cushy office space, not a well-stocked med-station. Even so, they had been prepared enough to have blasters on hand. Surely assholes of this caliber would have something-

There.

He hobbled over to the cabinet, shoving aside a dead slaver in his way. He picked up the bottle and uncorked it with his teeth as he walked back to his seat, half falling into it.

“Spotcka?” Mando asked.

“Multi-purpose. Great for bar fights.”

Cobb tore off his scarf one handed, half choking himself in the quick movement. He took a swallow for himself – Maker knew he deserved it – then poured enough onto his scarf for the majority of it to turn a dark maroon.

He slapped it on the wound, hissing as the alcohol burned. With his elbow, he nudged the bottle to Mando.

“Go on, clean yourself up. Alcohol does great at carbon scoring.”

He took the bottle and stepped away from Cobb, into a corner of the room untouched by the bloodshed, setting it on a small table. Cobb shrugged to himself. If the man wanted to treat himself in peace, he wouldn’t judge. Maybe he wanted to remove the helmet for a drink. He wouldn’t pursue the matter.

There were larger issues at hand, either way. He slowly lifted the scarf and folded it to a point to better clean at the edges of the injury. The angle wasn’t great, but he had enough faith in himself to clean out most of the grit.

He brought the sweat drenched shirt cuff to his mouth and bit down as he pressed deeper in, not wanting to disturb the silence between the two of them with his cries as he got more dirt and sand out.

His arm dropped and he let in a big gulp of air, the rank smell of sweat getting to him. As he breathed in the dry air, he realized it wasn’t the smell of sweat that was tingling his nostrils.

It smelled like burning.

He turned and saw Mando hunched in the corner, running a sparking instrument over his bicep. It didn’t look like any medical instrument Cobb had seen and even if it was, he suspected that wasn’t the type of thing a person used on themselves, especially with the bit-back groan that escaped the Mandalorian.

“What the fuck are you doing!?” Cobb exclaimed

Mando’s head snapped up, tool skittering off in the wrong direction across his skin, leaving an angry red trail. He cursed, turning it off before answering.

“You said to clean myself up!” he said, defensiveness thick in his voice.

Cobb pulled himself up, his knee screaming at all of the movement, but he’s not about to let Mando get off easy with this. He drags a side table over, the lamp falling off with the sharp movement. He sits unceremoniously down beside Mando.

“Not if it meant making your arm a damn fricassee. Lemme see.”

That bucket of Mando’s didn’t move, but with a sharp movement, he pulled back the torn sleeve of his shirt to reveal the half-cauterized wound. The bleeding was sluggish, staining the fabric an even darker brown. It definitely looked deep, so why hadn’t he said anything?

Cobb bit back his scowl. “Gimme that,” he said, nodding his head at the tool in his hand.

“It’s deep.”

“So? Burns can get infected too. You’re just coming at it from a different angle. Same sarlacc, different pit. Now gimme.”

Din handed over the offending piece, which Cobb put out of arm’s reach on the counter.

“Now, hand me the spotchka.”

He did so and after his speeder getting blown up, the fight going south quicker than expected, the long extraction time, and his shoulder smarting like nothing else, Cobb wasn’t particularly nice. He let a splash of it run down Mando’s arm, causing him to jump back and hiss.

“What was that for?”

“To clean it!”

He knew he should be more worried that Din hadn’t considered a safer, less painful method of taking care of himself, but right now he was angry, so he splashed more spotchka on the wound. Mando’s hiss was quieter this time.

Cobb moved to press his own scarf on the wound, but paused when he saw how much of his own blood he had already got on it. None of this was sanitary, but he had to draw a line in the sand at some point. He looked around for something else to scavenge. There was a thin blanket thrown over a couch that would have to do. Cobb leaned back, ripping a strip from the blanket. He ripped it in two, soaking one in alcohol and setting the other aside.

He glanced up and saw Mando continue to stare at him. Even in the armor, the way he held his arm close to him made him look like a skittish anooba.

“I gotta… make sure it’s clean,” he said, holding up the soaked cloth. “It’s deep,” he added lamely.

But that seemed to be enough, as Mando relaxed his arm, holding it out. Cobb gently took his elbow, pulling it even closer. He stilled underneath him as he ran the cloth over his arm.

If the silence before felt comfortable, now it was oppressive, or maybe it was because both of their breathing felt too loud.

Cobb, never one for knowing when to keep his mouth shut, asked, “Do you do that often? Cauterizing yourself?”

Mando paused. “I used to.”

His free hand flexed at his side before rucking up his sleeve further. There was more burnt flesh, jagged, blackened raised lines of various sizes. He felt his stomach dip out from underneath him.

“Stars.” Cobb ran a finger around the edge of one fully healed absentmindedly. He pulled away as he felt the shiver run up Mando’s arm.

“Shit, sorry.”

“No, I’m fine,” Mando said, a rasp to his voice that argued otherwise.

Cobb wasn’t a stranger to folks who jumped at sudden touches. There were deep buried memories of a time when he jumped at the slightest friendly touch. Took years to teach that out of a person; most people in Mos Pelgo had experience with it or helping someone through it.

Cobb straightened up, putting a little distance between him and Mando.

“Do you want me to… keep cleaning it?”

He shrugged with his one good arm. “Can’t tie a knot with one hand.”

Pragmatic, the bastard.

But if Mando could be stubborn, so could he.

“I can tie the bandage, but you could clean it. Whatever you’re comfortable with Mando.”

Mando’s voice filled the room with an unexpected gruffness. “I said it’s fine.”

“Alrighty then.”

Cobb quickly went back to cleaning the wound, much more aware of Din’s reactions than he was before, but Mando didn’t say anything else. Cobb made sure to clean beyond just the initial cut, making sure the burn l when he startled Mando didn’t get infected as well.

When he finished, he tossed the dirty scrap into a corner of the room. He picked up the clean scrap and tied it tightly around the cut.

“Probably need stitches on that, but it’ll hold.” Cobb glanced down at his chronometer. They still had an awful long time till Boba’s buddies made it out to them. “You hurt anywhere else?”

For what felt like an awfully long time, Mando stayed silent, before saying, “Might have broke my finger.”

“Let me see.”

Din held up his hand on the same arm, stripping it of the glove in awkward, jerky movements. A visual check revealed nothing looking out of place, no obvious bulging or bruising, but Cobb knew from experience that sometimes broken bones could be tricky.

“I’m gonna have to… try and feel it out.”

He goes rigid, barely moving.

Cobb holds up his hands placatingly. “We don’t have’ta! You can probably… do it yourself?”

“No, no, you do it.”

“Alright, partner.”

Cobb wasn’t a medic by any stretch of the term, but years of enslavement meant that he could tell a fracture from a break from a healed bone. Poke at something long enough and he’d find the break. He started with Mando’s hand, taking each finger in hand and feeling them up. The tendons in Mando’s hand stuck out prominently, the tension evident.

“How’d you come to meet a man like Boba Fett?”

“They followed me for the armor. Nearly shot me for it and then he helped me with another matter.”

“That involve the kid?” Cobb winced internally at the question. He was trying to relax the man, get him to open up more, but he had noticed the absence of the little green guy, and if Mando brought the kid to a krayt dragon fight, then he brought him everywhere.

Mando stilled, but the tension in his hand faded. If there was something he knew about Mando, one of the few things was that he thought more than he spoke. That didn’t mean he thought before he spoke. Cobb remembered how he volunteered Mos Pelgo without asking, but there was still intention behind his words. As Cobb moved on from Din’s fingers to his palm, he imagined that this was what was going on in Mando’s brain.

“The kid is safe.”

If that’s all Mando was offering, he’ll take it. “That’s good to hear.”

No reaction with the bones of his palm, and with his hand more relaxed, Cobb moved down to his wrist and immediately, Mando hissed.

“Ah, there it is. Don’t move.”

Mando’s wrist stayed in the air as Cobb ripped up more strips of blanket. The room was starting to smell now with scents that Cobb didn’t want to be familiar with but he was. He hoped it wouldn't sink into his clothes.

He came back to Din’s wrist and began binding it as well as he could with the limited supplies. Mando remained still, not ramrod straight like he had been, but still as not to interrupt Cobb’s work trying to make sure his wrist didn’t move in the bindings.

When he was halfway done with the scrap, trying to calculate whether he needed to tie another scrap to make it longer, his shoulder twinged in pain, making its annoyance at being forgotten known. He bit back a hiss.

“Hold that there- good,” he said, letting Mando hold the bandage in place while Cobb reached for the spotchka with one hand, pressing the hole with another.

He took another drink, pain already numbing.

“Probably shouldn’t have all this alcohol”

“Probably not, but it’s great before and after a fight. Best damn drink I had of my life was after the krayt dragon. Shame you weren’t there. Should’ve invited you.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Cobb paused, bottle halfway to his lips for another drink.

“You were dead set on leaving. And if I may be so selfish, I couldn’t bear to look at that armor off my body any longer.”

Din nodded slowly. “I’m… sorry I left you with nothing.”

He finished taking a drink, a wry smile on his lips. “Yeah, you left us with no krayt dragon.”

“I mean no protection.”

“The krayt dragon was most of our problems anyway. And this-” he tapped the center of his chest plate “-has served me well. Well, mostly.” He tipped a little spotchka into his shoulder, hissing as he did so. Had the bleeding started slowing down?

Mando held out his unbandaged hand. “Here, let me.”

“I can handle it, Mando.”

“Din.”

Cobb stopped, brain trying to process what he had said as Mando continued.

“My name is Din. You patched me up, so I’m patching you up.”

Cobb was about to shrink back, to go back to drinking, but then he looked at the slope of Mando- Din’s shoulders, the tilt of his head, the steadiness of his hand. And then his shoulder twinged again.

“Alright, partner, but I gotta get that wrist set first. Not gonna have you mess up my good work tryin’a dote on me.”

Din nodded and Cobb got right back to work on his wrist. No sooner had he finished wrapping up Din’s wrist was Din reaching for the now torn up blanket, slicing at it with a knife he pulled from his boot.

“Should be clean.”

A snort – an actual snort – came out of Din’s helmet. “Should be, dropped half the damn bottle on it.”

“Hey, I’m drinking for two.”

Din just shook his head before leaning over, wrapping make-shift bandages over his shoulder. This close, Cobb thought he would be able to feel Din’s breath if it wasn’t for the helmet. They had never gotten this far in each other’s spaces that first time he met, and suddenly he felt himself freezing in place.

After a few seconds of silence, with Din pulling the bandages into place, Din spoke up, “You asked if I cauterized myself often. I did, until I met Grogu. Stopped doing a lot of stuff once I got him. I think losing him… made it easier to pick up those habits.”

“I get it.” Din’s helmet tilted up, and Cobb shrugged with his good shoulder. “I do, I have lifetimes of bad habits I’ve lost and picked back up. It takes a lot to get out of those habits.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t say hi earlier.”

Cobb let out a sharp laugh. “I’m just glad I saw you again. Wasn’t expecting to ever again in my lifetime.”

Din started wrapping the bandages tighter. “Really?”

“Yeah, you were made for spaces bigger than Mos Pelgo, than Tatooine.”

“Hold this for me?” Cobb took the end of the bandage from him. Din took the other end and started twining them together, Cobb trying to help as he realized he was trying to tie a knot.

Cobb was about to think his comment would go unnoticed, when Din said, “A Mandalorian keeps their word.”

Cobb’s gaze snapped up and he tried to find Din’s eyes in that black visor. Was he misreading the intent in his voice? 

The moment was broken by Din sharply tugging on the knot. Cobb bit back a curse as Din leaned back.

“Well, we’re not gonna bleed out at this rate,” Cobb said, testing out how much movement he had.

“Boba should have better medical facilities.”

“Oh, is the high and mighty Fett gonna share with the people?”

Din tilted his helmet. “Do you… know why he came back?”

Cobb shook his head. “I was too busy making sure he paid me fairly.”

So, Din explained Shand’s and Fett’s plans for Tatooine, talk of abolition and ridding the planet of corruption. It wasn’t talk that Cobb had heard before, especially not someone who better had the manpower to put weight behind the words. It was enough that Cobb didn’t outright laugh in Din’s face at the idea. And if it meant he got hired to take out a few slavers in the meantime, it might be worth it.

Hired with Din as well…

He inhaled sharply as he forcibly steered his mind in another direction. He succeeded in distracting himself only when he got a lungful of the scent of death. He choked and coughed on the feeling. He was just glad that Din didn't pound his back, not sure if his body would be able to take it, but Din’s hand rested on his knee.

“’M fine, I’m fine. We should see if Boba can get us out of here sooner. That or we have to start moving bodies.”

The two looked around the room, neither wanting to move anything in their injured states. Din nodded, pulling out his commlink.

Fett’s voice piped through the speaker. “Djarin, how are you two doing?”

“Good, patched up as best we can, but a transport would really be nice.”

“Gettin’ real rank in here, Fett!” Cobb called out. “And Din said you had bacta to spare which I’d really appreciate!”

He heard the crackly laughter through the speaker. “Does this mean you two are getting on better?”

“I- yes?”

“Good, transport will be there within the hour.”

“Wait, what happened to four- Boba?!” Din shouted as the call clicked off.

Cobb couldn’t help the unexpected laugh at Din’s outburst, even as the movement pulled on his bandages.

“What was that about?” he asked when he had the air to breathe.

Din sighed, tucking his comm back into his belt. “I haven’t a clue.”

“Do you want to sit outside?” Cobb offered. “Might be some shade now.”

He watched as Din’s gaze swept the room.

“Sure, can’t smell much worse out there.”

The two less so walked out of the building than they did hobble, Cobb’s knee flaring up quicker than expected, forcing him to lean on Din, but there was a corner of shade they could sit under.

They settled, side by side, barely an inch of space between them. The desert in front of them was calm, with most critters burrowed underground until at least two suns started setting.

Cobb turned his head just enough to look at Din.

“I know it’s a late invitation,” he started, “but would you want to come back for a drink once we’re properly patched up?”

Din turned to look at him, and Cobb was struck with how much easier it was to see himself in the helmet than it was to see Din.

“Sure, just no spotchka.”

Cobb huffed out a laugh. “Alright, partner. No spotchka.”

[myhoneststudyblr]

Introduction

With mocks all over now and the run up for GCSEs well underway in my school and many others, it’s got me thinking about last year when I was in this position like all the year 11s this year. I remember it being such a stressful and quite obscure thing because I had never done external exams before and I didn’t really know what to expect. I thought I would share some of my own experiences and advice and maybe quash some myths. I hope this will help and if anyone has anymore advice or specific questions feel free to message me or add a comment below.

Also while I will be focusing on GCSEs because they are exams that I have experience with, a lot of this advice will apply to other exams so don’t be put off!

*disclaimer*

these are just my own experiences with GCSEs and therefore are by no means universal. I have tried to draw from the experiences of friends and other people I know as well but everybody is unique so not everyone is going to be the same. BECAUSE OF THIS, not all of the advice will suit you and the way you learn. But I would suggest that you try at least a few of the tips just to see if it works.

Mocks - What do I do with them?

By this point, I think everyone will have done their GCSE mocks and probably have their grades back for them. Mocks were a very stressful experience for me because I hurt my hand literally the night before my first exam so I could barely write and I was in a lot of pain for the whole week of doing them. Because of this, I got very very stressed and then started to get worried that the same thing would happen in my GCSEs.

This leads me into my first point mocks are not the real thing: they are very much a trial run and I would say that nothing can really compare to the real exams. By the time you get to your second or third actual GCSE exam you reach a point where you don’t even think about the actual process of all the stuff you have to do before the exam because you are so focussed on the information. Furthermore, if you get grades that you are disappointed with, try not to be worried by that because they, in the grand scheme of things, do not matter

Do - learn from where you went wrong

Don’t - see a mock grade and get stressed out that you are going to fail the whole subject at GCSE

I know this is very easy to say but genuinely lots of people I know went up at least one grade from their mocks. Your mock grade is not an iron clad prediction of what you will get at GCSE

Now that you have got your grade, what do you do with the exam???

First, all of my teachers gave us back the paper to look through and then went through the mark scheme for each questions. THIS WAS SO SO HELPFUL!

If you get the paper, and you get a bad grade or one that is lower than what you were expecting, this is what I would you suggest you do:

Take a deep breath

Remember that this is only your mock grade not the final thing

Resolve yourself to actually learn from this

Read through the paper: did you make a silly mistakes? Did you keep making the same mistakes? Was there a particular question and topic that you lost lots of marks on?

Make notes on the mistakes

Ask the teacher to either give you the mark scheme or through the paper with you - I personally found this really useful because a lot of the time you can use the mark scheme to make notes for each topic and write processes, definitions, etc, using exactly what they want

Make a list of the topics that you found particularly difficult so that these can be your priority for revision

Key point - use your mocks as the spring board for your revision. They are there to point out any weak areas of your knowledge.

Pre-Study Leave Revision - “I haven’t done anything!”

After mocks I planned to get very serious with revision. I was going to dedicate 5 hours a week for all my revision during school time. In the Easter holidays i was going to stick to my revision timetable and I was going to do 6 hours a day. I was going to finish all of my notes for all of my subjects by the end of the Easter holidays.

I did not manage to do ANY OF THAT

My biggest advice for revision before study leave is to give yourself a break. Remember that you are still in school and are in probably the most stressful school year you’ve had yet.

You need to prioritise your studying and use your time wisely rather than put impossible standards on yourself which only make you more stressed when you can’t achieve them.

What should your priorities be:

Do you have any exams before study leave starts? If so, dedicate a little bit of time each weekend to revise that. For me, these were my German and French oral exams and these were the exams people in my school got most stressed about so make sure you’ve had plenty of practise

HOMEWORK!!! This may seem odd because at this point you may be thinking that your teachers shouldn’t be giving you homework and should just let you revise, but actually the homework they give, in my experience, can be really helpful. It is basically revision but you also know that someone is probably going to check whether you’ve done it so you’re more likely to actually do it

If you have time, but DON’T stress yourself trying to make time, do some past papers or make some notes

Revision Techniques: Past Papers vs Notes

Which method is better?

Honestly, neither. In fact you need to use a mixture of both to get the best out of your revision.

Note Taking

Pros:

writing out information is a good way to learn it

you need to know the information at least vaguely to properly be able to do past papers

it’s more studyblr aesthetic

Cons:

it’s very time consuming

you could be focusing more on making the notes look pretty than actually absorbing the information

there is the danger that you could spend so much time learning the information that you don’t actually have time to practise exam technique

Past Papers

Pros:

exam technique and learning to recognise what the question is asking for is really really important

you need to be able to practise doing the papers under timed conditions

you can start to see trends in the types of questions that they put on the papers

Cons:

they’re pretty difficult to do if you don’t know the information

sometimes it can feel like you are just answering questions rather than actually learning and revising

it’s a lot harder to refer back to the past papers to check information

As you can see, there are pros and cons to both so you can’t just rely on one method to get you through exams. here’s how I combined the two to maximise my revision:

I downloaded/printed off the specification for each of my subjects

I went through all of my class notes to see if there were any gaps in my class notes compared to the specification - if there were I would use my textbooks to make notes on it

Go through the specification again. Rank (eg through traffic light colours) each sub-topic on how confident you feel with it. [note: think carefully about this one and actually be honest with yourself. It’s very easy to just think you don’t know anything and make it all red- but in reality you are going to know quite a lot)

Make notes on your worst topics. And try to make notes in a way that is actually constructive and lays it out in a way that you can conceptualise it more. For example, in chemistry, I just could not ‘rates of reaction’ to click. It was one of the easiest topics but for some reason I could never answer the questions right so I make a mind map (before I had just written bullet points) and condensed my notes to one A4 page so I could refer to one the most important pieces of information.

Once you have finished making notes on your worst topics, do two past papers without any notes

Go through the past papers completely with the mark scheme. In a different colour pen to the one you wrote with, actually write the answers from the mark scheme on the past papers

Then, make your notes for the topics from the past paper mark schemes. For example, in biology, which has loads of content to learn, I would write processes, such as protein synthesis and generic experiments, using all of the key words given in the mark scheme. This meant that I always would hit all the key marks

Repeat this for each past paper you do and eventually you will see that you are no longer losing marks

Why this works:

You are making sure you know enough before starting the past papers

You are practising exam technique

You are making notes on the gaps in your knowledge using exactly what examiners want- which means lots of marks

Because you are doing lots of past papers, you can start to see themes and trends in past papers and the types questions that come up all the time

Study Leave

before my study leave, I didn’t think I would get much work done because I had been so bad at doing work and focusing on revision In half term and Easter but here’s a little bit of reassurance if you are thinking along the same lines as I was: study leave is completely different to a half term

I’m not entirely sure what exactly makes it so different but for me and pretty much everyone I know, it wasn’t actually that difficult to revise and stay focused during study leave. Maybe it’s because all you really have to think about are GCSEs or maybe it’s the sort of adrenaline of exam season but I was able to be more focused than I have ever been before.

Here’s my tips to help you:

Stay off your phone: you can either use an app like forest to make sure you stay off your phone during revision time or just turn it off completely

Prioritise your study schedule: there is no point studying for a biology exam that you have in three weeks if you have a history exam this week

Prioritise your studying: there is no point studying a topic that you already know like the palm of your hand if there are three other topics that you are not sure on

Stay hydrated and well fed: have healthy study snacks and lots of water. Also don’t feel bad if you need some more unhealthy snacks As a treat after exams or after finishing a particularly long day

Get a good night sleep as often as possible: taking GCSEs is extremely tiring. I can’t tell you the number of times I came home after a long day or week of exams and just completely wiped out. So it’s really important to sleep as much as possible even though I know pulling that all nighter is very tempting

Lean on your friends and others in your year: everyone is going through the same thing and there is also going to be someone who can help you. I found GCSEs to be one of the most uniting experiences in my school life

Summary

Use mocks to find the gaps in your knowledge

Before study leave, don’t set unrealistic revision goals, instead focus on completing homework

During study leave, use a mixture of notes taking and past papers to revise

Use past paper marks schemes to guide your notes

Prioritise your studying during study leave

Sleep well and stayed healthy

I hope this was helpful and if anyone has any other questions or more tips feel free to reblog or send me an ask/message

- Sophie x

[crushaa]

Explaining the long break and how I got diagnosed with ADHD:

This is a post about mental health. There’s a TLDR at the bottom :) 

“Apply yourself, Cien. If you wanted to pass this class, you would be trying.” 

When I was 15, I got my tonsils out. I got the same kind of statement from a few friends and even family members; “Oh yeah, they used to take EVERYONE’S tonsils out! Even if they didn’t need it, it was the cure to everything. But now everyone’s got ADHD, so that’s the new trend.” 

Around the end of July 2019, I was running out of steam. I still had plenty of creative energy, but I couldn't understand why I wasn't able to work on anything anymore. The truth is that I knew I would hit another music block, and I wouldn't be surprised if anyone else expected it too. My posting history has always been very irregular, even back in high school with long unexplained breaks in between new songs. Knowing it would happen, I felt confident in my ability to tackle it and change my pattern of behavior.

I never thought it would last this long. With each month passing by I began to feel guiltier and guiltier, trying to find out why I couldn't do it. I'd sit in front of an empty FL Studio project for hours, and all my Paint Tool Sai canvases never had more than a few lines.  As the months went on, some pretty dramatic life events took place- various family deaths, 2 near death experiences myself, an abusive doctor. For whatever reason, I just could not recover. 

I used the tragedies as excuses as to why I couldn't do it. It would be reasonable to not be able to do anything. My antidepressants were definitely working for the first time in my life, but why couldn’t I work? I spent the New Year holiday feeling just as guilty and frustrated as ever…. I couldn’t do it anymore. I decided that I was going to go back to my doctors loaded with new theories and ideas as to what could possibly be wrong with me. It never occured to me to tell anyone I couldn’t write more than 2-3 songs in one year when it’s literally my job to write music. 

I began speculating the possibility of another psychiatric disorder, and that made me nervous. Would she think I was lying? Or faking it? I could no longer stand the treatment from the nurse practitioner who had been treating my psychiatric illnesses. I’d always been very uncomfortable with how she treated me, but she’d found the rare genetic disorder I had. I felt that I owed my progress to her and that I should stick it out. But I was still leaving her office in tears at the end of every session. An off color comment, passive aggressive reminders to take my medication, the feeling that I had no say in my own treatment plan… it was too much.  But she was the only one in town who was available to see me. So I went, and I was administered an MMPI by a psychiatrist in that same building. At the end of February, I’d get the results.  

The next appointment with her was the last time she’s ever going to see me. The results of the test had come in as inconclusive, and my world fell apart. She asked what I thought of the results, and I answered truthfully. I told her I was afraid that she saw me as a hypochondriac. 

“Well what if you are?” I didn’t answer. “Well, you are,” she went on with a cocky smile. 

She began to tell me it was my own fault. She told me I had brain damage. But it was fine, because she told me I could be treated for believing I was still sick. 

It affected me deeply, for days I couldn’t stop crying or eat a full meal. The guilt, frustration and embarrassment swallowed me whole; the problem was me. Of course I was making it up. I felt suicidal for the first time in 4 years. There was no point in trying anymore because I as a whole was defective. This world would be better off without a lost cause like me. 

I pulled myself out of this headspace for a while one day, and realized that a HEALTH CARE PROVIDER made me feel this way. 

WHERE WAS THE BRAIN SCAN, BITCH????

 All the guilt, embarrassment, shame- it morphed into a new red hot burning rage. I fired her immediately and revoked any permissions she had. I went to my primary care doctor and asked him to prescribe me my psychiatric medications while I looked for a new psychiatrist, to which he agreed. I asked him for an ADHD test, but he wasn’t comfortable doing it himself. He referred me to a psychiatrist with a 6 month waiting list who then tried to refer me to the abusive nurse practitioner. I set up the six month appointment wait and began to look into doctors in other towns.

On Monday, April 6th, I went to go see a different doctor for something completely unrelated and walked out with an ADHD (Inattentive type) diagnosis. And now less than a week later, everything about my life has changed. 7 long months of executive dysfunction came to an end in the 1 hour it took for the first half-pill to dissolve. Hot damn. 

It felt like everyone else in the world was allowed to use the sidewalk to get from place to place, but there was a rule that I had to dodge incoming traffic to get anywhere. Now, I can use the sidewalk too. I am relearning everything that I know. 

I am no longer ashamed that I have the GPA of a baked potato. I know that I am not lazy, I am not stupid, and this was NOT my own fault; I was sick and nobody knew. The signs were there, but how we view ADHD has changed entirely since I was a child! People still called it ADD. So why was it so hard to get diagnosed in this day and age?

The stigma has shifted into something far more dangerous than I’ve ever realized it was. I don’t hear “I have ADHD OO SHINY” jokes anymore, you know? We believe it to be a grossly overdiagnosed behavioral disorder meant to punish children for having a lot of energy. We wave it off, calling it the new tonsil removal surgery trend. Of the three types of ADHD; Predominantly Hyper-Impulsive, Predominantly Inattentive (that’s me!), and Combined Type; a mix of the two, there tends to be more stigmatized attention towards the hyper-impulsive type. We believe in what we see, breaking the first rule of mental illness: Just because you can’t see it doesn’t mean it’s not there. 

This leaves those suffering from both inattentive type and combined type to rot. Attention deficiency itself doesn’t have much of a stigma because it isn’t even seen as having a seat at the ADHD table. This is catastrophic and will continue to destroy lives because people don’t feel hyper enough to even consider that they might have ADHD. In turn, those who are told to try harder, apply themselves, stop procrastinating, and to stop being so lazy do not receive the proper care they need. Those who suffer without treatment get worse over time; they lose confidence in themselves, they don’t start new things in fear of the inability to finish, they break promises to friends and family with the inability to follow through, damaging important relationships beyond repair. 

My confidence has been shattered. I was the artist who failed art class. College was never an option because I knew I’d go straight back to failing every class I took. I feel like I am a burden and the token “lost cause” of my family, the one everybody worries about because I’m not right in the head. I’ve grown to become a reclusive, bashful adult who struggles to make and answer phone calls and emails. ADHD devastated my life in deeper ways than my OCD, my PTSD, my anxiety or depression ever could. 

The number of diagnoses are going up because we can recognize it better. This is not a bad thing- science is evolving to show possible causes of the disorder itself. We know not to smoke while pregnant anymore, we know not to eat and drink high fructose corn syrup, we know not to sit in front of blue light screens all day, and we’ll continue to learn.

As soon as I started my medication, I was able to start taking care of myself and working again. The symptoms of my other mental illnesses began to let up, and I felt like a human being for the first time in my life. I have control over my own emotions- I can walk on the sidewalk with everyone else, I am free. 

However, it’s going to take the rest of my life to unlearn the methods I came up with to perform basic self-care functions. It will take many years to gain confidence in myself, to make phone calls without shaking or to even consider the thought of college, potato grades and all. But my mindset has transformed from “I can’t” to “Maybe I could try,” --a first for me. 

Question everything, don’t settle for the minimum, and don’t stop fighting. Thanks for reading this post. I'm hard at work on Propaganda part 2 and hope to post it on May 31st. See you then :-) 

TLDR: ADHD destroyed my life in ways my depression, anxiety and other mental illnesses never could. The stigma surrounding ADHD is shifting to become more dangerous than it has been in the past.  

We live in a society.

[rhinoswriting]

5, 4, 3, 2, 1! (Luke Hemmings One Shot)

Summary: Told from an unnamed, female-presenting character's perspective. Luke and the reader confess that they have feelings for one another at the New Year's Eve party she hosts.

3.3k~ words • Fluff

***********************

I was frantically mixing my cake batter together when I heard my doorbell ring. I wasn't expecting Michael to turn up until 4pm. So either he was uncharacteristically early or I was running further behind schedule than I thought. I glanced at my watch as I trotted from the kitchen to the front door. It was 4:07pm. I could feel the stress and panic expand in my body. I was stressed enough when I thought I was just 20 minutes behind schedule. I was actually running over an hour behind. I knew hitting snooze would be a mistake.

"Hey!" Michael greeted me with his usual Labrador level of cheer when I flung the door open.

"I'm so glad you're here," I confessed, the words tumbling out of my mouth as fast as I could form them, "I'm running so, so far behind schedule."

"Chill; it's fine." Michael chuckled while pulling me into a friendly hug, "I'm here to help set up, so we'll make up time."

"You're stealing precious seconds," I mumbled into the front of his shoulder as I tried to end the hug, "I needed my cake in the oven 15 minutes ago. It won't have cooled enough to ice properly before people arrive now."

Micheal unwrapped his arms from around my torso to let me run back to my cake batter in the kitchen. He followed behind with an amused smile and calm energy.

"What can I do to help stop you freaking out? Decorate? Set up the bar? Pour snacks into bowls?" Michael asked as I searched a cupboard for a cake tin.

"AH-HA!" I exclaimed, grabbing a cupcake tray and grinning manically, "Cupcakes don't take as long to bake! We've got 15 minutes back!"

"Shit, I didn't realise you were stressed to the point of deranged." Michael half-joked.

"Shut up and prep the bar." I ordered while starting to spoon batter into paper cases, "Please!" I added as an afterthought behind him.

Just as I'd put the cupcakes in the oven and set a timer, Michael reappeared in the kitchen.

"Right, the bar is all set. I've also put anything that look potentially breakable in the nearest cupboard or drawer." He informed me, "Also Luke texted me, so I talked him into coming over to help too."

"You are a life saver, Cliffo." I smiled, now feeling a bit more relaxed.

The two of us then went about checking off various tasks to get my house party-ready. About 25 minutes in my doorbell rang.

"That'll be Luke!" I called out to Michael as I made why way to the door, "Heya! Come on in." I greeted Luke as I pulled the door open.

Luke walked through the door, his duffle bag hung off his shoulder, and smiled down at me,

"Everything going okay? You look more flustered than Mike let on."

"I'm great. I'm great." I assured him, "We've made up some time and now we've got you too. So it's fine. I'm fine."

"Whatever you say," he chuckled, "Let me go dump my bag in your room so I can get changed later and then I'll be your devoted servant ready to follow orders."

~

"I'm going to need to head off," Michael announced after checking the time of his phone, "It's nearly 6 and I've gotta go walk to dogs, eat and get ready. I'll see you guys at 8."

"See ya in a bit!" Luke called after us as I walked with Michael to the door.

"Thanks so much for helping, Cliffo." I said as I hugged him goodbye, "The place looks great and I feel a lot more relaxed now. See you later."

I waved him off down the front path. Once he reached the gate I closed the door and headed back to the lounge.

"So what's left to do?" Luke asked when I re-entered the room.

"We're going to the kitchen to ice those cupcakes. And after that it'll just be a case of getting ready ourselves." I smiled at him gratefully, "We should even have time to start pre-drinking now that we've regained some time. Thanks for your help."

"No worries," he said returning my smile and then headed to the kitchen, "Now let's get icing."

After such a rushed, blur of a day it was unbelievably calming to methodically ice and embellish cupcakes with a friend I had such a comfortable connection with. It made me imagine the two of us playing out homely scenarios in romantic bliss. But that was an ideal world. In the real world we were just two friends with natural chemistry, so I tried to curb my imagination.

"Are you bothering with any new year's resolutions?" I asked, knowing that conversation would keep my mind from wandering back to its dream world.

"I always break them and only half-heartedly make them in the first place." He responded as he dropped little, silver sugar balls onto the lilac icing I had just swirled onto a cupcake, "Getting in shape is always one; listening to critics less; getting at least one full night of sleep next year would be nice too."

I laughed at his last resolution as I placed a loveheart sweet on another cupcake.

"What about you?" He asked.

"Getting in shape would be one of mine too if I weren't so lazy," I began, "I'm thinking of going vegetarian, so maybe that too. I might start dating too, now that I'm settled in the city, but it's still a bit terrifying."

"Yeah, the dating scene here is rough." Luke responded flatly.

"Well, it looks like we're done here." I chirped as I placed the last of the 20 cupcakes back on the counter. I smiled down at the four rows of cupcakes, with their lilac icing, silver balls and carefully centered loveheart toppings, "We did good! Now let's get ready so we can get drinking!"

Luke followed me into my bedroom, where he had dumped his bag earlier. As he began pulling out the crumpled clothes he had haphazardly stuffed in the bag earlier, I opened my closet door and began picking our various items. In the end I had four potential outfits draped over my left forearm.

"How dressed up are you meant to get for a New Year's Eve party in your own home?" I inquired, not knowing which outfit to go with.

"It's your house and you're the host, so get as dolled up as you want I guess." He answered; his hand hovering between a shirt and a t-shirt he'd laid out on my bed, not sure which one to go with.

"That's not the helpful answer I wanted," I teased before continuing, "What are you wearing then? I'll gauge my outfit off of yours."

"It's currently between this vintage Guns n' Roses tee or the pale yellow shirt. Which d'you think?"

I walked over to my bed for a closer look at his two options. I told him to go with the vintage GnR t-shirt as it went better with his black skinny jeans and wouldn't show alcohol stains as easily as the pastel lemon shirt. He then proceeded to carelessly stuff the shirt back into his duffle bag and switch the t-shirt he had on for the Guns n' Roses one. He was so used to dressing rooms that a quick shirt change in front of someone wasn't a big deal. Nevertheless I still politely attempted to avert my gaze and turn my attention back to my outfit for the night.

Using his outfit as guidance, so I was at least on the same level as someone that night, I opted for my distressed Metallica t-shirt and my favourite leather-look mini skirt. As I wasn't as comfortable getting changed in front of people, especially those I had bottled up feelings for, I told Luke to go and grab the denim jacket I knew he kept in his car.

"It'll complete the look." I told him when he questioned why I was telling him to get a jacket for a house party, "I'll get changed and started on my make-up while you get it. Then we can concoct some cocktails."

Once Luke had left my room I slipped out of my bike shorts and loose v-neck and into my chosen outfit for the night. I looked at myself in the full length mirror attached to the closet door and did a few little half spins to check out how I looked from various angles. I loved the look. I particularly liked the subtle flash of my bright red triangle bra through some of the little holes and tears in the black fabric of my Metallica t-shirt. It gave me an added touch of confidence.

I already had make-up on; but it was just foundation, mascara and the nearest brown eyeshadow I could find to fill in my brows. I pulled my liquid eyeliner pen from my make-up bag and began outlining a wing. Just as I was finishing up my second eye, Luke entered my bedroom again.

"Jesus! You made me jump!" I exclaimed when I first caught a glimpse his reflection behind me in the mirror.

"Sorry," he laughed, "I left the front door ajar while I ran to the car. Didn't want to disturb you and get you all stressed again."

"Aww, well thanks I guess," I said awkwardly while applying my berry red liquid lipstick, "Right, I think I'm done." I announced turning to face Luke who was leant up against my doorframe.

Luke straitened up to standing and unfolded his arms, moving his hands into his pockets.

"You look great," He smiled sweetly down at me, "Really great."

I thanked him as I approached him and linked my arm through his. Arm-in-arm I led him to the bar area Michael had set up at the far end of my lounge.

We were both on our third cocktail, sprawled out on my corner sofa and listening to Nimrod when guests started arriving.

"Ayyyy! Cool Guy Cal!" I greeted Calum at the door, who was shortly followed by Roy, Ash and Sasha.

Michael, Georgie, Joel and Christina were next to arrive. Shortly followed by Rian and Bailey. Then Alex, Lisa and Jack turned up and the guest list was complete.

By 10pm everyone was suitably drunk, my carefully crafted playlist was being appreciated and the party was in full swing. Like all good house parties, the kitchen was nearly as crowded as the lounge.

"Coming through! This lady wants a snack!" I declared as I tipsily weaved through Jack, Ash, Christina, Luke and Georgie to get to the snack bowls.

"Really? Tiny pretzels?" Ash asked with a mischievous grin, "I thought Luke over here would be your first choice snack."

"Aha, you're funny." I said sarcastically. I hoped my cheeks already had an alcohol flush so no one would notice that his sly comment had made me blush.

"No, no, she said she's ready for the dating scene here. So I'm just those bar peanuts that have been left out for a questionable amount of time." Luke jumped in, randomly gesticulating with the cup in his hand.

"Oh shut up; you are not. You know you're just as good as tiny pretzels." I scolded him before turning to Ashton with the cupcake I had just picked up with the loveheart that read 'Bite Me', "This is specially for you, Ash."

"'Bite Me', ooh that cuts deep." Ashton chuckled before taking a bite, "I stand by what I said though." He spoke through his barely chewed mouthful.

I simply rolled my eyes at him and made my way back to the lounge to pour another drink.

I was still at the bar area, sipping my cocktail, while chatting to Alex and Lisa when Acting Like That began to play.

"Oh, oh my god, okay, I'm sorry but you guys are going to need to excuse me a sec." I apologised as I dashed into the middle of the crowd in my lounge, where I hoped to convene with the four 5SOS boys.

None of them disappointed me. Hearing their call to arms (a.k.a. the opening bar of the song) we formed a tight circle of five and went crazy. As we sang passionately and jumped around I noticed where Luke had positioned himself in relation to me and remembered Ash's comment from earlier in the kitchen. I never thought Luke would like me back, but here he was closer to me than anyone else. And what was comparing himself to stale peanuts earlier meant to mean? I shook the thoughts out of my head. It was New Year's Eve, I should be having a great time with my friends, not fixating on the behaviour of one of them.

"Want to grab a refill?" Luke called into my ear as Acting Like That transitioned into Afterglow.

"Sure," I responded while also trying to catch my breath from all the jumping around. I hooked my arm through his, did a little skip-step and headed back to where I'd run off from Alex and Lisa moments ago.

"Too cool to dance to your own song?" I teased Alex when I saw he was still stood by the bar.

He just laughed my comment off as he stepped to the side to let Luke and I access the whole array of bottles and their potent liquids. As Luke was busy pouring mixer into his cup Alex caught my eye, raised his eyebrows dramatically and looked in Luke's direction. I mouthed the words 'don't you start' at him and shot him a warning look. Alex raised his hands, palms facing me to signal defeat and gave a small nod before swivelling on his heel and disappearing into the crowd of my sweaty, drunk friends.

"Sooo, I'm like a pretzel to you?" Luke asked with a sly grin as he looked down at me and placed a cocktail umbrella in my refilled cup. I couldn't tell if he was mocking me or not by bringing that remark up.

"Yet you think you're a stale peanut to me. I'm not having the conversation I think we're about to have if we keep using salty party snacks as an analogy." I chuckled before taking a huge gulp of my drink. I had a feeling I was soon going to need all the liquid confidence I could get.

"Want to go somewhere a bit more private then?" Luke asked leaning down to make sure only I could hear him above the music. Which meant I was also the only one to hear the nervous quiver in his voice. I found his apparent nervousness both sweet and incredibly reassuring, considering my own nerves.

I responded by nodding coyly, suddenly too nervous to even form words. I couldn't believe I was about to have this kind of drunk chat with Luke. I was so scared of having my heart ripped out half an hour before midnight on New Year's Eve. I genuinely couldn't say with confidence which way this was going to go.

Luke took my free hand in his and led me to my bedroom. It was a good call. We'd have no privacy in the garden because of the guests who were smokers, as well as my huge french doors all the non-smokers could watch through. And we couldn't have a drunk bathroom chat, because I only had one bathroom so an impatient line would form within minutes of locking the door.

I shut the door once we were back in my room and pressed my back against it. Luke was stood in the middle of the room, a few steps from the foot of my bed. He had his fingers pressed together so his hands formed a triangular shape which he held up to his face, covering his nose and mouth. He took a breath in and as he released it, his hands slid from his face up into his hair to push his curls back. Then he finally made eye contact with me.

"Look, party food aside, I've got to know how you feel about me." Luke stated, with a hint of pleading in his voice, as he took a few steps closer to me.

"Honestly," I started, "Whoa boy, I am not drunk enough for this. Crap," I took a second and exhaled deeply, "Okay. Luke, despite my best efforts to bottle up my feelings and just see you as a friend's like the others, I can't. I really fucking like you."

"So you do have feelings for me too?" Luke tried to clarify.

"Too?" I queried, meeting his gaze for the first time since admitting my feelings. I wanted clarification as well; I wasn't going to let my heart soar based on a drunk assumption.

"Yes, too. Of course I have feelings for you." Luke admitted, stepping further towards me. He placed a cupped hand on my cheek as I took a step away from the door and closer to him, the distance between us now almost completely gone, "Since you came into my life you've made every day better. How could I not fall for you when you're you?"

My heart now had permission to soar as high as it damn well pleased.

"Knowing you has made me happier too," I beamed.

Luke mirrored my beaming smile upon hearing those words. Then, with his hand still cupped on my cheek, he tilted my face a fraction higher before our eyelids fluttered shut and the gravity between our lips took hold.

It was an incredible kiss. And not just because Luke was a great kisser. It was incredible because, in a strange way, it was such a relief. After all the time spent pinning and denying my feelings, it was such a relief to feel Luke's soft lips on mine and realise what a fool I had been.

After a solid minute of kissing someone cleared their throat behind us. Luke's hand slid from the small of my back to the side of my waist; I loosened the arm I had draped around his neck; and our lips parted as we turned to see who had just announced their presence behind us.

"While I'm sure as shit glad you two are finally hooking up, we've got a countdown to do in a matter of minutes." Alex said before wrangling us out into the garden with everyone else, "I FOUND THEM MAKING OUT!" He declared to everyone as he came out into the garden behind us.

Some people wooped, some people awwed and then there was the almost in-sync "fucking finally" from Michael, Calum and Ashton. Seeing their reactions made me so happy and let me know that whatever this grew into, it was right.

Luke took my hand again, interlocking his fingers with mine, and we walked to the back of where our group of friends had congregated in the garden to view the myriad of fireworks soon to be set off across the city.

"One minute to go!" Christina called.

Luke placed a soft kiss on the top of my head before raising our linked hands over my head so they came to rest on my hip, with his arm wrapped around the back of my waist and my arm around the front of my waist.

"Thirty seconds!" Christina chimed again, "Twenty seconds! ... Eleven!"

Then we all joined in together,

"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

As our friends cheered the new year in and fireworks began popping in the sky above us, Luke's lips found mine again. It was a brief kiss. Luke pulled his lips away and then pressed his forehead against mine,

"Happy New Year" He whispered in the softest voice.

I grinned up at him,

"Happy New Year, Luke." I whispered back before returning my lips to his.

[rigelmejo]

listening reading method updates

Some updates because I’ve done Listening Reading Method maybe 10-15 hours within the past week and wow is it worth doing (for me) if done properly:

First some notes of what “properly” means for me: It means I’ve done step 2 at some point (since I’m using all books I have at least vague prior context for whether its this past year or in life I’ve seen them before). It means I do step 2 first. Then I do step 3, with parallel text so I keep my place OR do it in Pleco (doing step 3 in Pleco is strangely super effective for me).

So, I’ve been testing my general listening comprehension. How I’ve tested it: listening to some audio file of a chapter I did with L R method, and see if I can understand it better. So no text aid. Also generally some time gap (at least a few days) between when I did L R, and when I listen to test my comprehension.

Limits of test: this is not new material - I have both prior context of the plot, and doing L R method on the material before means I have intensively studied that audio material with L R method at one point. I’m trying to find some ‘totally unknown’ stuff to test with too we’ll see.

Benefits of the test: its easy to compare my progress, because I’ve listened to these audios many times so I know where my ‘comprehension’ of them was at a few months ago. I can more easily compare.

---

So anyway, has L R Method helped listening comprehension? YES god oh my god. 

I listened to Chapter 9 of Guardian’s audiobook just falling asleep, because I didn’t feel like full on L R Method the chapter (I have done Listening Reading Method for chapters 1-8). I could understand enough to follow the entire main plot and all the main scenes - a few descriptive sentences lost me, but I got all the action-related (touched reached stood cried shouted left side pocket held objects movement and set phrases priest uses for certain expressions), key emotion related (like sad cold warm kind sharp worried investigated pushed shivered and set phrases I remember priest using for certain expressions) details, and got all of the main dialogue (this part context helps for though since words like reincarnation and sundial are fairly new to me and I only understand since I already ran into them in previous chapters I’ve done L R Method with). 

I was freaking FLOORED I could just listen and enjoy the story, so today I listened to chapter 1 again. And YEP - same thing applied. I could follow all of the main plot, main scenes, and certain details. I totally missed the part where he talks about his aunt/uncle but I heard his bad grades, got the letter for a job notice, how he hates phone calls, his plan to go, him getting to the place, what the place looked like and Wang Zheng and all the scenes at the job - so like I mentioned, actions/emotions/real objects being interacted with I can mostly follow. The paragraphs of description background (like Guo Changcheng’s upbringing and how his uncle got him a job) are harder for me to catch everything - I am guessing because there’s more description phrases and less straightforward action=response. (For example - xiao guo sees Lao Wu, they respond, so its easy to follow, or he sees Wang Zheng and faints, or he walks into the courtyard and reads the address - all of these moments directly focus on things and react which is easier to follow). 

For the first time I can say I can listen to just the audiobook and follow it enough to enjoy the plot and what’s mainly going on without any text aid. And I’ve only done the listening reading method for 8 chapters! That’s 40-50 minutes a chapter, around 360 minutes or 6 hours. 6 hours spent Listening Reading Method Guardian, and I already see a huge boost in what I can comprehend in listening! (I also did some random L R method chapters of other stuff so add 1-2 hours - that’s still like 8 hours total... that ain’t much). 

Last time I listened to guardian audiobook without any text aid (a few months ago), I could hear some words I knew and some phrases, and had a vague understanding of when he got to the job (heard courtyard and si ming hao), met Lao Wu (i heard him report for duty), when he talked to zhao yunlan and got generally welcomed, met Wang Zheng and thought ‘he has no feet’ and got scared. No fucking details. The vaguest impression of the main plot mainly because I’ve read the chapter before and knew the scenes coming. But that was still eons better than Before That - around 6 months ago i listened to chapter 1 like 5 times until i could hear some phrases instead of just isolated words. 

This time, I could follow things because I could HEAR what was actually going on, not just because I heard some keywords. I could clearly hear the details about Guo Changcheng entering the courtyard, reading the address and special investigations name, go up to Lao Wu and report in and Lao Wu greet him warmly and excitedly mention how lucky it is he came today that their boss is there! And fawn over how cool the boss is, and all the specifics of the convo with Zhao Yunlan (and half of his appearance like how he’s handsome and heroic looking and had a hand in his pocket and seemed cold until he noticed them and smiled and acted warm and friendly). And all the scenes were like that - like with Wang Zheng I could hear all the details of Guo Changcheng freaking out, eventually noticing her head had been cut and it wasn’t a necklace it was like sewn on and how he passed out. It was soooo much better ToT. The amount of comprehension is sooooo much higher than the last time I tried to listen! It shocks me how much better! This is enough comprehension to actually listen and just enjoy it. ToT

So yeah, I’d say Listening Reading Method, as I’m doing it right now, is making noticeable improvements in my reading skill and listening skill. 

So yeah I’m super curious how listening comprehension is gonna be 20 chapters into Listening Reading Method. 

What I do think this would be good for, if you were studying short term? If you wanted to understand a specific audiobook - doing L R Method with the book until you can listen to the rest. It would probably take a short enough amount of study to do within a month if you already have some skills in the language (since this is with 6-8 hours of study). I saw someone once do SRS Flashcard study based on a show they liked in a foreign language, and within a month they could watch that show they liked without english subs and follow the main plot. I think L R Method with a novel works kind of similar - its intensive study on one story. So within a reasonably short amount of time (10-50 hours maybe, something that can be done within a month) you can get enough comprehension skill of that One story to understand it ok. 

I imagine you need to do L R Method longer, and with either a word dense material (lots of varied vocab) or else multiple stories (ideally different authors and genres), in order to get broader listening skill improvement. Like right now my listening skill in general seems to have improved somewhat... but its more like ‘listening to a show without subs’ is now easier. Not like I can turn on a brand new audiobook and follow it this well. So some slightly easier listening activity is now easier, but for other audiobooks I am probably comprehending more but the listening skill improvement is NOT as drastic as it is specifically with Guardian. 

Testing listening comprehension with materials I have not L R Method with:

Alice in Wonderland (story is shorter/simpler than novel): I can follow it mostly when listening only. I can follow it near entirely (know exactly what’s going on just a few words I don’t recognize) if I’m looking at the video (since it has pictures for context - like watching a show). My listening comprehension drops noticeably if I do NOT look at the video visuals for an aid - since I am used to Alice in Wonderland hitting the original novel beats, not this shorter movie-based version. This level of comprehension makes sense, as its written simpler than Guardian so I should have an easier time following details in this. But lack of context means I have to put more effort into figuring out what scene is what if I don’t have any visual cues. So easier ‘written’ audiobook material is much more comprehensible now (easier than Guardian even since I know most words), but I still need context like an image or prior awareness of the overall plot or else I need to pay more careful attention to follow everything: https://youtu.be/HqCg5y8Nwhg

Sherlock Holmes 血字的研究: Some benefit just like Alice in Wonderland in that I have broad context (I know Watson and Sherlock live and work together to solve issues, Watson is a verteran and doctor). First 5 minutes I can vaguely tell its probably Watson narrating, that he lives in London, that before he might have been injured (I heard bing like sick or?) - I’m truly not sure what happened, and now after 5 minutes I heard ‘great friend’ and ‘touched shoulder’ and ‘gaoxing’ so happy. So I’m guessing Sherlock and Watson are interacting now. What improvement in my listening comprehension I can Notice - is that words stick out, phrases, and sentence structures (like finally, since, therefore, actions). So I feel if I paused I might be able to look up some words I notice but can’t understand, to follow along better. As the 2 of them have their conversation I can catch SOME details and I could probably follow what’s going on IF I had some prior context (like what the general case is about). But I only hear - its a pity, what happened last night, poor lad, fangzi, destination. So i’m not sure if someone died or was hurt or what happened the other night?? But again, conversations seem to be the easiest part to follow. For this particular audiobook I almost feel like if I just kept consistently listening or re-listening, I could understand more... like I probably know more words than I’m catching, but since my brain’s working on trying to catch the main gist plot right now its not grasping any details I might otherwise be able to notice. No prior context of plot, no image - hard lol. Unlike guardian, I cannot follow most of it. But I can catch bits of each scene, most clear are the dialogue parts (but cause I have no surrounding contexts I’m still pretty lost). Also the clear action parts are easier to follow (he spoke, moved, reacted to something). Mostly the lack of context is what’s making me struggle. In the descriptions I hear a lot phrases and words I recognize, but I’m struggling to comprehend them together. Unfortunately context is mostly in the description parts I can’t figure out lol. https://youtu.be/J1sbP6_3680

I suspect an audio DRAMA might be a little easier now. Since they’re mostly dialogue, and dialogue seems to be what I’m finding the most improvement in (from very vague to some of the clearest comprehended parts). I listened to tian ya ke audiodrama a few days ago and it was doable to follow along with - but that was before more Listening Reading Method, and of course my prior context (having seen the show/read part of the novel) means it was muchhhh easier to follow cause I had enough context to guess which scene each moment was supposed to be - so I didn’t have to figure out overall context, just details. 

[floralguccistyles]

six: imperial death march

I had always found the bright yellow walls of Doctor Thorne’s office comforting.

My first appointment with Doctor Thorne, the walls had been the first thing I noticed. I had never been to a therapist before, although I probably should have when I was younger. Doctor Thorne wasn’t an intimidating woman by any means, but I think the idea of having to see a therapist was daunting enough for me to be terrified walking into her office on that first day. I had been expecting clinical and sleek. Instead, the walls were yellow, she had colorful art littered around the room, and the chair I sat in was velvet and blue. 

I was sitting in that chair now, ankles crossed and body sat up straight to assure her I was listening.

“Has he tried to contact you since?”

Right. The topic of conversation had, inevitably, strayed to Harry. Just as I had gotten over talking about the trauma he caused me in secondary school, he had appeared back into my life, seemingly intent on proving that he had changed. Doctor Thorne didn’t mind. But I did. I felt like I was allowing him to invade into my thoughts. Last session, we had talked about my small bout of insecurity when I had run into Jeff and Glenne, and now we were discussing how I felt when Harry contacted me about the Lord of the Rings books, which had been about two weeks ago. 

“No.”

“Do you think you’ll respond if he does?”

I didn’t know the answer to that. Honestly, I think it would depend on my mood. If I was having a good day, I might have replied. It would have been short and not very communicative, but I had told him on his birthday that I hated holding onto this anger and hurt and I had meant it. But I also hadn’t forgotten the many nights I had spent crying over him and his friends. I told Doctor Thorne as much. “I don’t know, honestly. I want to get over this, but...it’s difficult.”

“I’m not expecting you to find it easy. Ultimately, the choice is up to you, Petra. If you decide it’s best for your mental health that you want Harry out of your life, you get to make that choice. If he’s changed, like he said he has, he’ll understand.”

Doctor Thorne was right, as always. Lately, we had been working hard on putting myself first without feeling like it was selfish for me to do so. It was taking some work, but I think with Melody and Doctor Thorne, I was getting better at it.

I left Doctor Thorne’s office with the promise of seeing her two weeks from today. Her office was fifteen minutes from the yoga place Melody and I usually attended, so I usually took the tube there. I would be going to yoga alone today. Melody usually joined me, since she had the time slot right before me at Doctor Thorne’s office, but she had to rush out and get back to work because Trennan had, like usual, messed something up and needed her help. That meant it was me, the tube, and the small cereal bar I had in my purse in for the long haul.

When I walked into 360 Yoga Fitness Center and Spa about twenty minutes later, the woman behind the front desk smiled at me. She was used to me coming every time I had a therapy appointment. She signed me in easily and I made my way into the usual yoga room, setting my mat down on the floor and taking the time before class started to stretch. Melody had texted her apologies for not being able to make it earlier, but I honestly didn’t mind doing yoga alone. I would have preferred having her here with me, but there was something relaxing about it just being me alone with my thoughts.

My phone buzzed quietly from my bag. As there were only a couple people in the room and the instructor wasn’t in yet, I figured it was okay to check it really quickly. Pulling it out of my bag (and remembering to silence the alert vibration while I was at it), I spotted the message from Harry easily enough.

harrystyles: What are you doing today?

He must have had burning ears. I stared at the message for a second, crinkling my nose in distaste. I hadn’t been lying to Doctor Thorne when I had mentioned Harry hadn’t tried to get in contact with me since those messages about Lord of the Rings, but to be completely honest, I didn't expect him to try it again. I had hoped my running into Harry and his new friends might have been a part of my life that was slowly coming to a close, but alas, I guessed wrong.

Not bothering to respond, I tossed my phone back into my bag as the instructor walked in. Hopefully Harry would get the hint that I didn’t exactly want to talk to him. 

“Good morning everyone!” My instructor said, much too peppy for my taste but that was because Melody usually made everything a little more palatable. “We’re going to start nice and easy today. Let’s go ahead and do some basic stretches first.”

I was happy that none of the poses during the hour long class were too difficult, like some of them had been in the past. Once the session was over, I packed up my stuff, sweating from every pore I could ever imagine on my body, and pulled out my phone to text Melody that I was on my way to my flat in case she wanted to come over after fixing whatever Trennan had managed to muck up. 

harrystyles: It’s important, promise.

I rolled my eyes. Nothing could be more important than the hour-long shower I was going to take when I returned to my flat. The passengers on the tube looked at me with wrinkled noses because I was sure I smelled less than pleasant, but I didn’t care. Once the twenty-three minute ride was done, I hopped out and immediately beelined for my shower, waving quickly to Ms. Wilcox as I passed. 

Shedding my clothes almost immediately, I hopped into my shower and started scrubbing my skin vigorously. Melody had a key to the flat, so I wasn’t worried about her not being able to get in if she came around, so I decided to take my time and maybe shave my legs. It had, admittedly, been a while since the task had been done. I had long since been out of actual shaving cream, so I just lathered my generic body wash onto my leg, the smell of vanilla overpowering my senses. My razor was in my hand, dragging up my leg when I heard the knock on the door.

It made me jump, and consequently, cut my leg. It started bleeding almost immediately, and I threw the razor onto my soap dish and started cursing at it. The water cascaded over the cut, providing a little stinging sensation but not nearly enough for it to be super painful.

“Coming!” I shouted, turning off the shower. I wrapped my hair in a towel and threw on my bathrobe. My plasters were in my kitchen cabinet, so my leg would bleed until I could get the door and hobble to the cabinet. “Shit,” I groaned when I stepped out of the shower, nearly slipping on the water that had sloshed onto my floor in my haste to get out.

I made it to my front door with minimal injuries, despite the fact that blood was now dripping down my leg at an alarming rate. When I pulled the door open, I can honestly say that seeing Harry Styles with two iced coffees in his hand was the last thing I expected to see.

“Hi, sorry, I know you probably don’t want to see me, but—” he cut himself off, eyes actually zeroing in on what I was wearing. “What are you doing?”

I narrowed my eyes. “What the bloody hell does it look like I’m doing? I was mid-shower, you asshole.”

“You’re bleeding,” he announced stupidly, his eyes locked on the blood on my leg. It was really unfair how much blood came out of a razor cut. I didn’t even feel the sting of it anymore, but the amount of blood it was producing was as if someone had taken a hammer to it. “What happened?”

“Christ, just come in.” I grabbed his wrist, the one holding the iced coffee with the least amount of liquid in it, and pulled him roughly inside my flat, closing the door behind him. While he stood dumbfounded in my foyer, I made my way to the kitchen and grabbed a plaster. “Why are you here, Harry? And how did you even get my address?” Lifting my leg onto the counter, I wiped the blood away with a wet paper towel.

“You weren’t answering my messages. I asked Bailey for your address.” He appeared in my kitchen suddenly, setting the coffees on the counter. “Is your leg okay?” 

And then, with a delicateness I wasn’t aware he would even possess, he gently put his hand on the back of my knee, inspecting the cut. It was starting to turn red with blood again, so he reached out his hand to grab the plaster between my fingers. “Stay still,” he ordered, tongue poking out a little in concentration. He folded back the plastic on the plaster and methodically stuck it to the cut on my shin, patting it with his finger once he was done. “There.”

I didn’t bother saying thanks, due to the fact that I still didn’t know why he was here and I briefly had lost my breath. 

“I’m sorry for interrupting your shower, but you weren’t responding and I knew you’d hate me forever if I didn’t tell you. John Williams is at the studio I normally record at, and he wants to meet me.”

It took me a few seconds to process what Harry had said. My thoughts were still on the gentleness in which he had applied the plaster to my cut. When his words did catch up to my brain, my eyes widened. “John Williams is in your studio?”

He nodded enthusiastically. “Jeff’s with him now. But he’s only going to be there for another thirty minutes, so we’ve got to go.”

“John Williams,” I repeated, just to confirm, “as in the guy who did the musical scores for Jaws, Indiana Jones, and the entire Star Wars series?”

“Yes, Petra. So get clothes on and let’s go!”

Normally, I would never voluntarily put myself in a car with Harry Styles. It was setting myself up for nothing but negative emotions and feeling bad about myself. But this was John Williams he was talking about. The guy who single-handedly made some of my favorite movies awesome because of his incredible music scores. 

Which is the only reasonable explanation that I shouted “OH MY GOD!” in Harry’s face before making a beeline towards my room.

My hair still had conditioner in it, my legs were only half shaved, and I was pretty sure I hadn’t rinsed all the soap off my arms, but I wasn’t going to let that stop me.

I threw the towel on my head somewhere on the floor of my room and slammed the door shut so I could strip off my bathrobe. I figured with my hair still wet and me generally looking like a wet rat, there would be no problem with wearing casual clothes. Plus, Harry had been in jeans, a graphic shirt, and Vans. Hurriedly drying my legs off so they wouldn’t stick when I tried to slip into jeans, I slid them up and over my thighs with only minimal stomping around. I briefly debated on wearing a Star Wars shirt, but figured that was maybe a little too “crazy fangirl” so I settled on a striped shirt with a bralette under it. 

“Petra, we’ve go to go!”

“I haven’t brushed my teeth! I can’t meet John Williams without having brushed my teeth!”

“I have Listerine strips in my car!”

Figuring that was the best I was going to get, I slipped my feet into Vans without even bothering to put socks on (which I would scold myself for later, but John Williams was waiting) and ran into the living room, where Harry was staring at the picture on my little shelf.

It was when my grandmother had come to visit. She had her arms wrapped around me so tightly that I thought I was going to pass out, but I hadn’t ever wanted her to let go. She was a beautiful woman, with dark hair and eyes so brown they almost looked black. “Is that your grandmother?” he asked, touching the corner of the frame reverently, like it was a piece of artwork he needed to preserve. 

“Yeah.” I swallowed roughly. I never really looked closely at the picture because it always made my eyes fill with tears. It reminded me that I’d probably never see her again, or see Cuba in my lifetime. “Her name’s Yelina.”

“You look like her.”

I wasn’t emotionally ready to unpack that statement, especially with Harry. “Let’s go.”

Harry drove an ostentatious and expensive looking Mercedes Benz. I couldn’t decide if the color was a very light gray or light blue, but I didn’t pause to debate over it too much before I was yanking the door open and plopping myself down into his passenger seat. He made his way to the driver’s side way too slowly for my taste, but he eventually wiggled into the driver’s seat and handed me the iced coffee he had gotten for me. “I didn’t know what you usually drink, so I just got you the same thing I get.”

It was coffee, but I could taste lots of caramel and vanilla in it as well. It was a little too sweet for my taste, but it would do. Also, the more I drank it, the less I had to talk to Harry. That was a win-win for me.

Harry looked over at me and grinned. “Your hair is still dripping.”

“I look terrible and I’m about to meet John Williams,” I commented, letting out a nervous laugh and taking another long sip of the coffee.

“You look beautiful, Petra.”

I looked over to him and snorted. His mouth turned down at the corners when he heard the sound. “Harry Styles calling me beautiful? Never thought I’d see the day.”

“Yeah, well I was an asshole when I was younger. You’ve always been beautiful.”

The lump in my throat made it hard to talk. So I didn’t try. I simply leaned back in my seat and stared out the window, avoiding Harry’s gaze and the tension that sat between us. His hands gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles were white, and I wondered if he was thinking about all the shit he had said to me when we were younger.

Harry’s studio was about ten minutes away driving, which left us about twenty minutes to meet John. When Harry pulled into the parking lot, I had to restrain myself from throwing the door open before he’d come to a full and complete stop. He handed me a Listerine package and I took two, barely even noticing the stinging taste of the alcohol as I ran my tongue back and forth over them to get them to dissolve faster. Then we were out of the car and walking towards the building, Harry slipping shades on over his face despite the fact that it wasn’t sunny out. I wondered if he knew that putting sunglasses on did nothing to hide his identity. 

Jeff was standing in the lobby of the recording studio, standing next to an older gentleman with white hair, a matching white beard, and glasses perched on the tip of his nose. I felt myself stop breathing (and stop walking) and only remembered to inhale when Harry put his hand on my back and pushed me forward slightly. “Jeff,” Harry said, and the two men turned to look at him, “sorry I’m late. You must be John.”

“The man of the hour,” John replied, giving Harry a twinkling smile. I wanted to cry, but figured that would be a bit unprofessional. “I just listened to your solo album. It’s incredible, son. My great-granddaughter is obsessed.”

“It’s an honor to hear you say that, sir,” Harry said, shaking John’s hand. I saw the moment John’s eyes flitted over in my direction and think my soul might have ascended. “This is my friend, Petra. She’s a fan of your work and I knew she’d want to meet you.”

John smiled at me, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Pleasure to meet you, Petra. Are you in the music industry too?”

“I...I run a podcast, actually,” I managed to stutter out.

“How interesting. What about?”

“Various things. Mostly I have guests that worked on big franchise movies or books.”

I didn’t realize Harry hadn’t taken his hand off my back until I felt him squeeze my shoulder reassuringly. I wondered if he could feel me shaking. “Petra’s writing a book herself. Her podcast is absolutely incredible to listen to.”

“I’ll have to listen sometime. You ever talk about Star Wars?”

“We’ve discussed Star Wars a lot. We actually had one of the costume designers on once. It was incredible.”

“Next time I’m here in London I’ll have to drop by. My grandkids listen to podcasts and they’re always trying to get me into new ones.”

“We’d love to have you,” I assured. Inside, I was trying to keep myself from doing something embarrassing.

John and Harry chatted for a little while longer, but it came time for John to leave for the airport to catch his flight back home to America. He shook Harry and Jeff’s hand and even gave me a hug. Harry rolled his eyes behind John’s back when he saw the tears gathering in my eyes, but gave me a smile to assure me that he was just joking about it. Then, John left and the three of us stood in the lobby of Harry’s recording studio in silence for approximately five seconds.

And then I burst into tears.

Jeff looked horrified. If he had grown up with me, he might have known how incredible that moment was for me. As he hadn’t grown up with me, he probably was wondering what the hell was wrong. Harry didn’t hesitate for a single second to grab tissues and press them into my hand so I could wipe away my tears.

“I’m sorry,” I said, directed more towards Jeff since he probably thought I was absolutely crazy.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Petra. It’s overwhelming, I know,” Harry said, rubbing my arm comfortingly.

I hated crying in front of Harry. There was a prickling to my skin, like I was hyper aware he was watching me geek out and be an emotional nerd. He had seen me cry over things when we were younger, and back then he had given me shit about it. Now, he just stared at me and gave me soft smiles. I didn’t know which one was worse. Because at least I expected his taunts. The smiles I didn’t really know what to do with.

“Sorry,” I said again to Jeff after I finished crying. I was sure I looked a sight, with my wet hair and tear-streaked cheeks, but Jeff just smiled.

“S’alright, Petra. You okay?”

I nodded, unable to speak.

“Thanks for inviting us, man. I’m gonna take her home.”

Jeff waved us goodbye and Harry and I left, walking to his car in silence. My coffee was still in there, though it was so cold that none of the ice had melted. I buckled my seatbelt in silence, still feeling like an idiot for crying in front of him but also feeling elated because I had just met John Williams. Harry handed me another tissue that he kept in his middle console and I took it without speaking.

The drive back to my flat was incredibly awkward.

He pulled up to my flat parking structure in record time, but he didn’t make a move to get out of his car. He simply turned off the engine and sat for a little while, giving me time to gather my thoughts. “You okay?” he whispered.

I nodded. “It was...really nice of you to think of me. I appreciate it.”

“Then why do you look like I just told you I was gonna kill your dog?”

I snorted. “I don’t have a dog.”

“You know what I mean, Petra.”

I was embarrassed to tell him, but I knew that after the massive favor he had done for me today, he deserved the truth. “I was embarrassed to cry in front of you, especially about something like that. It just reminded me…”

“Of when you cried reading the last Harry Potter book and I made fun of you,” he answered when I trailed off. “Shit,” he mumbled out, his body slumping into his seat. He threw his hand over the bridge of his nose, pinching it with his index finger and thumb. We sat in silence for a little while longer. “I...I feel so fucking ashamed. How is it that I’ve managed to fuck over someone so completely that they’re afraid to show any emotion?”

“I don’t know,” I whispered, unable to refute his words. 

“I’m so fucking sorry. I don’t even know why you came with me today. If I were you I would have given up on me a long time ago.”

I wanted to. I wanted to be angry with him, to stomp out of his car and slam his door shut and never speak to him again. I wanted to talk to Melody and call him a raging twat and curse the ground he walked on. But I thought of today, of how he had gone out of his way to introduce me to John Williams. I thought of him sitting alone in his house, watching the Lord of the Rings trilogy and I thought of him sending me those flowers after my disastrous date with Peter.

“I want to,” I decided to tell him. He deserved honesty. “But...I think deep down, I do know you’ve changed. It’s just going to take a long time to get over the past. I’ve been talking about it with my therapist.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. We’ve been discussing ways to help with my self-esteem and confidence. We're trying to work on forgiveness too. She says that I should only let you back into my life if I’m sure that it’s a good idea.”

“She sounds like a smart lady.”

“She’s the best.” I looked over to him, finding his eyes already on me. “It’s taking me time, Harry. It’s as much me as it is you. I’ve got to feel confident enough to let go of the past. But...I really appreciate today. And I appreciate you trying.”

He nodded. “I’m proud of you, going to therapy and all that.”

“Thanks. I just need to work on being proud of myself.”

I unlocked the door and opened it up, grabbing my iced coffee cup so I wouldn’t leave the trash in his car. “Thanks for thinking of me today. I’ll see you later, yeah?”

“See you soon, Petra.”

Once I shut the door, he started the car back up and backed out of my flat complex. I stupidly watched his car drive away before I walked away.

~

When Melody had first told me about Cassandra and Vera, I had thought she was exaggerating. I figured no roommate could really be as awful as Melody was making them out to be. The first time I had met them, I was optimistic that they would prove Melody was just being picky about friends.

She hadn’t been.

I had only been to Melody’s flat a handful of times, due to the fact that mostly, we spent our time at my place. Her flat was more grandiose than mine, with three big rooms and two bathrooms, but it was cramped with Cassandra and Vera’s things. I couldn’t even see a touch of Melody in the foyer of the flat, which was where I was standing because when Vera had lazily answered the door, she had given me the barest of greetings before gesturing me inside and retreating back to her room. I could hear Cassandra prattling around in the kitchen, but couldn’t see her because I hadn’t actually been invited inside and unlike Melody being comfortable at my place, I wasn’t comfortable at hers.

“Melody’s coming,” Vera said, appearing almost out of thin air. In the two minutes she’d been done, she’d changed into leggings and a workout tank, but her eyes still looked sleepy, like she’d much rather go back to bed. “Cassandra’s making smoothies if you want some.” Before I could express my gratitude and politely decline, Vera whispered, “They’re shit. She puts kale in them.”

“Oh.”

Melody came out of her room and I don’t think I’d ever been so grateful to see someone in my life. I hated talking to Vera and Cassandra. At least Derek, Vera’s creepy boyfriend, wasn’t here to stare at my boobs. “We’re headed out. Please don’t set the flat on fire.”

Vera sneered, an ugly expression on a rather pretty girl. She had pretty auburn hair that verged more on brown than red until she was in the sun (which was rare in London). She had moved from Canada to go to school in London because her boyfriend had already completed his first year of uni. She was taller than me but shorter than Cassandra and had hazel eyes. “I’m not a child, Melody,” Vera snapped.

“Who’s there?” I heard Cassandra ask from the kitchen. She trailed into view, clad in nothing but tiny pajama shorts and a tank top that had a strap falling off her shoulder. Cassandra could have been a supermodel if she’d wanted to be. She was toned from playing volleyball since she could walk and had long blonde hair. The second her eyes landed on me, her mouth dropped open. “Oh my God, Petra! Is it true?”

“What?” I asked dumbly.

Cassandra rushed over to me with the speed only she and Usain Bolt could possess. “Is it true you’re dating Harry Styles?” she screeched. I think I may have lost hearing in my ear. “You’re everywhere! People got pictures of you in his car yesterday. Everyone’s trying to find out who Harry’s new mystery girl is, but the second I saw the photo, I knew it was you.”

“You were with the raging twat yesterday?” Melody asked, raising an eyebrow.

Cassandra tried to say “he’s not a raging twat!” at the same time Vera snorted out a laugh. Meanwhile, I was processing what Cassandra was saying.

There were pictures of me with Harry. I knew logically there were probably paparazzi that followed him around everywhere because of his career, but I hadn’t even thought of the possibility that we had been photographed. “Can you show me the pictures?” I asked Cassandra, who eagerly nodded and pulled out her phone, scrolling through twitter. #HarryStylesMysteryGirl was trending. 

“Christ, Petra,” Melody mumbled under her breath as we scrolled through the Twitter tag. “Do you know how many people have to be tweeting about that to get it trending?”

I didn’t want to know.

Melody seemed to sense I was either going to pass out or throw Cassandra’s phone across the room, so she gently pried it out of my fingers and handed it back to her roommate. “Right, well, we’ve got to head out. See you later,” Melody told her two roommates, grabbing me by the elbow and tugging me towards the door.

“Say hi to Harry for me, will you? And if you could get his autograph, that would be ace!” Cassandra called before the door to Melody’s flat shut behind her.

“You see what I have to deal with?” Melody asked, pinching the bridge of her nose. We stood there in silence for a couple of seconds before she eventually let out a deep breath. “Okay. Want to start at the beginning?”

That’s what I loved about Melody. She let me explain things at my own pace. I told her about the events leading up to the pictures that had apparently been taken of us, on our way to meet John Williams. I told her about the weird moment Harry had bandaged my cut and how he knew my grandmother’s name was Yelina. I also told her about our (technically second) hesitant truce with one another before he had driven off. 

She listened quietly. And then, she sighed. “I know it seems like he’s trying, Petra. And maybe he really is. But you’ve got to be careful, okay? The things he and his friends said about you...those aren’t things someone easily comes back from. If his fans knew about some of the stuff he’d allowed that dick Nathan to say, they’d burn him alive. And now there’s pictures of you out there and fans are nasty.”

“I promise I’m being careful.”

“That’s all I can ask for. Also, don’t go on Twitter for a while. At least until the hashtag dies down. I don’t want you to see anything negative.”

Another thing I hadn’t thought about. If fans saw the picture of me with Harry, I knew most of them would be supportive even if there was absolutely nothing going on and there would never be anything going on. But some fans would be nasty and make fun of me simply because they were jealous. This was a promise I could easily make to Melody. “I won’t.”

“Good. Now can we go get food? I’m starving.”

We stared at each other for a moment before we started laughing. It was always nice to know Melody and I were usually on the same wavelength. 

~

My phone beeping woke me up.

I had been folding laundry on my couch while the old Wonder Woman show played on the telly. I guess mid-fold I had fallen asleep on my couch, which would explain why the piles of clothes I had worked so hard on now looked like clumpy messes. The telly was still on, but it was some other show now and my phone was lit up on the table in front of me. I blearily glanced at the time, cursing when I realized I had fallen asleep around seven and therefore probably wouldn’t be going back to sleep anytime soon, since it was already one in the morning.

harrystyles: I’m so sorry Petra.

Blinking, I tried to go over in my head what he had to be sorry for (besides the obvious). Why? I typed back, still feeling a little sleepy and more than a little confused.

harrystyles: They got pictures of us and found out your name. You’re all over Twitter.

I had known they had pictures of me, but last I checked I was still the “mystery girl.” Despite the promise to Melody, I opened up Twitter and saw my name was trending. I didn’t dare click on it for fear that I would find nasty tweets that I didn’t need to see. 

harrystyles: I totally understand if you’re upset.

Not your fault, I typed back. I figured if he was feeling bad enough to message me about it at one in the morning, I should at least cut him a little slack. Plus, my message was true. It wasn’t his fault. He had been in such a rush to get me to John that he had forgotten, for a moment, who he was and what the consequences of that were.

harrystyles: Still. You okay?

I’m fine, I replied. Don’t worry about it.

harrystyles: I just don’t want this to ruin our chances of ever being friends.

For Christ’s sake, Styles, stop blaming yourself. Don’t you have better things to do at one in the morning?

He never responded, but I assumed he had fallen asleep. As for me, I decided to finish up the laundry, fixing up my piles that had been crushed underneath my back. It was a rare night when Melody wasn’t staying at my place, so the flat felt quiet without her there. Once I finished up with my piles, I walked them down to my room, glancing down at my phone when it beeped again.

harrystyles: I’m outside.

Outside where?

harrystyles: Your place, obviously.

Sure enough, I heard a knock on my door fifteen seconds later. When I looked out my window, there was a different car in the lot than the Mercedes. I guess it made sense that he would have more than one, but seeing another expensive car made me wonder just how much money Harry made doing his music. I padded my way over to my front door, opening it up. I was sure I looked a mess, with my glasses askew on my nose and my hair in a terrible messy bun that resembled a rat’s nest more than hair, but I couldn’t bring myself to care. It wasn’t like I was bombarding someone at one in the morning.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I wanted to make sure you really weren’t mad at me.” He had one hand slung in the pocket of his joggers and was wearing a black sweatshirt that actually looked really comfortable. His other hand was behind his back.

“You couldn’t have done that at a normal time of day?”

“I figured we were both up. I brought you something.”

Raising a brow, I waited until he pulled his hand out from behind his back. Once he did, my tired eyes widened. In his hands was a tiny little potted succulent, a pretty green flower that also looked like a cactus. He shoved it into my hands like he was a nervous teenage boy, the hand that was holding it immediately retreating back into his pocket.

“I know you liked the other flowers and this one is harder to kill,” he explained.

“I didn’t kill the other one!” I was slightly offended. Did he think I just went around killing plants? “I’m a great plant mum.”

His small dimple appeared when he lifted the corner of his mouth in a grin. “Well I didn’t know that and I didn’t want it dying on you.” I moved to put the little succulent on the table near my front door. “You’re really okay with the Twitter thing?”

“It’s not ideal,” I said, shrugging my shoulders, “but there’s nothing we can do about it now.”

“I know your own Instagram’s on private, but try not to post anything too personal to the Alien Crossing account. Don’t look on Twitter. I don’t know if you already have or not, but sometimes people say nasty things.”

“Harry, believe it or not, I’ve got practice with people saying shitty things about me in regards to you.”

I said the sentence without really thinking about it. I think I had meant it offhandedly, like a kind of last minute joke or something, but I knew the second it left my mouth that it was the wrong thing to say. His shoulders slumped, like he was a helium balloon that someone was slowly draining, and the grin dropped from his face almost immediately. “Right,” he said in a cold voice. “I’d better go. Just wanted to check in.”

Even with our small truce, we still found a way to fuck things up. His reaction made me annoyed. What right did he have to that kind of reaction? He was the one who had said the shitty things about me. He didn’t deserve to feel chagrined when I tried to make a joke out of it. “Probably,” I said stiffly, my voice a couple of degrees colder.

He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but thought better of it. Without so much as another blink in my direction, he turned on his heel and walked back to his car.

I had to remind myself to unclench my jaw as I closed my front door. I don’t know why his reaction had made me so angry, but it was just a reminder that Harry Styles, at his core, was selfish. He only cared about himself and how my actions made him feel. How I made him uncomfortable when I brought up how awful he had been. My steps were heavy with anger when I marched back to my room, opening up my laptop with a little more force than necessary. 

Here’s something one should know about me. When I felt like I was being attacked or I had made someone upset, instead of trying to cheer myself up, I wanted to know all the nasty things people were thinking about me. Doctor Thorne called this “bad validation.” Like if Harry thought I was being mean for making that joke, suddenly I had to see someone else saying my voice sounded annoying on AC. It was like this terrible reassurance that I so badly didn’t want to seek out, but I couldn’t help it.

Which was why I opened Twitter.

My name was the first trending hashtag.

I had never once Googled myself. Googling myself felt weird. Also, I had never really had a reason to. While AC was popular, it wasn’t so popular that I could walk in the street and be recognized. Mostly, it was my voice that people recognized. This meant that I had never really seen people commenting on my appearance, which was why most of my self-confidence issues were about my actions and personality.

Until now.

She looks way too plain to be seen with him. Please tell me they aren’t dating.

Gross. She looks like a drowned dog.

Who the fuck is this bitch? And why does she go out in public looking like that?

I slammed my computer shut.

My room was silent, save for my angry breathing and the beating of my heart. Standing stiffly from my desk chair, I walked back out into my living room and to my couch, where I still had some piles of clothes that needed to be put away.

The echeveria plant stared back at me when I looked up at it.

I didn’t like the fact that my heart stuttered a little when I looked at it. It just reminded me that he had come, at one in the morning, to make sure I was okay. And then everything had gone wrong, like everything in my life inevitably did. Forcing myself to walk over to it, I picked up the tiny white pot it was in and set it next to my shelf, where I had the picture of my grandmother.

And then I sat on my couch and tried not to cry as I folded the rest of my laundry.

[ketsuyuki-hibana-typed]

Requested by @michakune

So, heyooooo guys! I'm back

Not enough dumb-dumb Giyuu, I guess. Oh, just a reminder if you're western (because some cultures are different? Idk), I'm following the Japanese method on how to take care of sick person.

Tomioka Giyuu x Sick!Reader (ModernAU)

"(y/n), just stay on the bed."

"I'm not that sick..."

"You are, you are really sick. I'm going out to buy the medicine Kanae told me. So, rest."

You pouted. Giyuu didn't take it to his heart, his priority now is how he turned down your fever as fast as he could.

Giyuu might not has experience in taking care of sick person, but he Googled and had just called Tsutako for some advices.

He sticked the cold plaster onto your forehead, also, not forgetting to put mouth mask on your face. Slowly, he wrapped you in big haori to make you warm, and made you sweating faster.

"Rest." He kissed your forehead. Your reddened face, your half-lidded eyes, your heavy breath, Giyuu couldn't see you like this, not in sick state.

When he went out to drugstore, your stubborn ass moved from the bed, put off the haori. You're trying to do house chores like usual.

Because, we talked about Giyuu here. If you let him do all of these, this house will be a mess jungle.

But after you putting the laundry, you could feel a sharp pain attacking your head and it became heavier. You huffed your breath, slowly dropping your body and sagged your back on the wall.

Maybe, he's right.

When he came home, he was panicking because he couldn't find your figure on the bed. After checking and calling out your name, he finally found you ded on the floor

You didn't really recall but you remembered he called your names and brought you back to the bed. When you opened your eyes, you saw his worried face, seems like ready to call ambulance.

"Gi- Giyuu I'm fine, no need to-"

"Didn't I tell you to not move from your bed?!" He started to scold you. You knew you deserved to have long lecture, but after that, he just sighed.

"Don't scare me like that again." He tugged you again inside the haori plus the blanket. "I will make porridge for you."

You nodded.

Since Giyuu can't 'trust' you anymore, he locked the room to make you stay on the bed.

Wait, porridge? Could he cook? Now, you couldn't really sleep, thinking about him.

He walked to the kitchen, stared at the stoves, refrigerator, and the shelves.

Actually confused where he should start because he's not knowing a single goddamn thing about how to cook porridge.

And yet, he acted like hero who will feed you and hoping you say, 'It's delicious, Giyuu!'

Well let's try. Maybe Giyuu could make a decent but probably not really great on your taste bud. But at least, you could eat it.

He couldn't reach Tsutako this time. He started to surf again on the internet, tried to find easiest recipe.

So anyway- remember that I mentioned Giyuu is a dumb-dumb?

Now, make it 'Giyuu is a dumb-dumb-dumb man' because he forgot that the spare key on the bedroom is inside the wardrobe, so you could easily slipped off.

Well, actually, you wanted to let him cooking for once, but you abolished that mind when you sniffed burnt smell outside the room.

You grabbed your blanket, unlocked the door and stepped quickly towards the kitchen.

"Oh My God, Giyuu."

You saw him holding burning napkin, pans and pots were everywhere.

"I'm- wait how did you go out."

"Nevermind me, your hands are burning!

You tighten your haori around your body, walking towards him and pulling his hand to the sink. You turned the water tap, it started to flow under his hands.

"You don't need to do this for me." You pointed to the first aid box on the wall, signed him to apply ointment for his burns.

"But you have to eat something..."

"If you still insisted-" You sat down on the dining chair. "I'll guide you. You do as what I told, how is that sound?"

"I want you to rest but... I can't reach Tsutako-nee san either. Seems like I had no choice. No one sells porridge at this hour. Please tell me if you felt worse."

"Will do."

So, you told Giyuu on what he should do, what he should put first, where he could find the seasonings, and how long he had to wait until the rice became porridge.

"How do I rinse the rice?"

"Like this." You raised from your seat, walking towards him and guided his hand from behind, telling him how to make spin motion inside the aluminium bowl.

"I'm sorry, it will be fine now. So please go back to bed."

"Are you sure."

"I will not fail this time." He escorted you back to the bedroom.

When the porridge was ready, he's bringing the food on small table.

"Be careful, it's still hot." He patiently fed you, wiping your mouth from the mess.

"It's delicious."

"Really?" He smiled softly. "I'm too afraid to taste it."

Seeing you happy and content made him relieved that his cooking wasn't that bad.

After eating, Giyuu checked your temperature again.

"Still high..." He put off the plaster from your temple, sticking his forehead onto yours, tried to figure out if the thermometer didn't lie. "It's burning. You should really rest now."

"But I'm sweating. Shouldn't it be fine soon?"

"You'll be fine. Do you want to change your pajama?"

You nodded. He helped you putting off the layers, wiping your back with warm wet towel.

"Um... Giyuu... I could do... The front by myself."

"Oh, right." He hid his blush, averting gaze to another side.

After changing clothes, Giyuu gave you the medicines he bought earlier and make sure you drink them all. He put the new plaster on your forehead.

"...the plaster is cold." You shuddered.

"It decreased your fever." He swiped your bangs, hold the face mask by the ear loops and placing a loop around each of your ears. "Now rest. I will accompany you until you sleep."

He climbed the king size bed, positioned himself under the blanket. He gave 'hand-pillow-, pulling you closer to his chest. He patted your back, busy kissing your top head. His feet was tangled with yours.

"Um, Giyuu, you shouldn't sleep with me. You'll catch a cold too."

You coughed under his chest. He startled a bit, asking if you need water or something. You shook your head.

"No, I'll be fine." He continued to caressed your back. "Get well soon, okay?"

"Uh-hum."

"Tsutako-nee san will come to visit you tomorrow."

"Giyuu."

"Hm?"

"I'm sorry. We couldn't go to hot spring because of me." You curled into him while clenching his shirt.

"What are you talking about? It's not your fault."

"But... You've booked-"

"Don't worry about the money. I'm more concerned about your health, so you should too."

Giyuu put off his chin from your head, propping your body up and making you look his face. His thumbs made circle motion on your cheek.

Your teary eyes, heavy breath, and feverish face in this weak condition really made him sad.

"Hnn, Giyuu... I really wanted to kiss you. But I'm afraid that the fever will-" He cut your voice with quick kiss on your mask-covered lips.

"Your face became more reddened? Does the fever raise again?" He sticked his temple onto your plaster, his hand was cupping your cheek.

"That's not it... Suddenly kiss me like that... It's not fair..." He let out soft chuckles. You closed your eyes, sinked in his chest and heard his slow heartbeat.

Giyuu actually wanted to cry. He can't focus on anything but you, especially when he left you to buy medicines. He looks like totally calm, but if he could be honest, his heart can't take it, even though you're not in verge of death or anything.

He felt like he was incapable to take care of you. He didn't know how to do it properly.

He didn't know how to make you better.

"Giyuu."

"Yeah?"

"You shouldn't worry about me too. Thanks for everything you did to me. I will be better soon so you should rest too, okay?" You said before sleep.

Giyuu was just being quiet and exhaled in relief.

"I know."

[ellewritesathing]

So Close - S.S. XXXII

Summary: The universe has a funny way of putting the things you want right in front of you, but just out of reach. Stiles and Y/N have been best friends ever since Scott brought him home, but when Stiles realizes that he might want to be something other than best friends, she leaves to go to some fancy private school up North. Now that she’s back though … maybe he’s got a shot? A Teen Wolf AU in which the reader has always been so close to Stiles and yet so far.

Masterlist  Prev. | Part 32

Word-count: 4.6k+

A/N: hands up who thought we’d survive getting to senior (technically junior) year?

The good news: You survived months of professional assassins trying to murder everyone you loved and months of being held prisoner by an evil fox spirit, and you passed all your finals. You were a junior now. The bad news: It was a full moon and you were chained to a tree to keep from murdering your aforementioned loved ones. And the blood on Liam’s hands didn’t make it any easier to stay in control. 

You’d been through this so many times with Isaac, Erica, Boyd, Malia, Scott, and Liam, but you never understood how much the moon changed them. You knew about it, on paper, but actually experiencing it was a completely different story. 

As cheesy and disgusting as it sounded, focusing on Stiles was the only thing that kept you in control. You’d tried other, less cliche, methods with Scott to prepare but none of them stuck - at least not the way listening to Stiles’ heartbeat stuck. 

He was nervous tonight, but not because of you or Liam. He was nervous because tonight was the first phase of his grand plan for the pack to stay together after senior year. If you were going to be stuck in Beacon Hills for another year, you weren’t sure how you fit into that grand plan.

Lightning struck overhead and Stiles’ heart leaped for a second. “Do you think it’s been long enough?” he asked Scott. 

“Yes!” Liam yelled from the tree next to you. 

“Hey,” Stiles said as they turned to look at the two of you. “We’re trying to have an adult conversation over here. Not you, babe. You’re-”

“Alright, that’s disgusting and you’re only two years older than me,” Liam said. “And I’m fine. Just let me go.” 

“Are you sure?” Scott asked as he hopped off the Jeep’s hood. He made his way over with the key for all the locks and chains as the sky rumbled overhead. 

Liam complained some more about how of course he was sure and you just tried to not look like you were dying as they came over. 

“It’s not that we don’t trust you,” Scott started, doing his best to keep the peace. 

“It’s that I don’t trust you,” Stiles said - peace be damned - before looking over to you. “Again, babe, not you-” 

“It was one slip up!” Liam whined. 

“Slip up?” Stiles repeated. “A dozen calls to the Sheriff's Department about a ‘monstrous dog-boy’ running around the streets of Beacon Hills naked. That slip up?” 

You frowned as Stiles helped you out of all the chains. His hands were warm and you leaned on him more than you should have when he held you in his arms. Focusing on staying in control and blocking out the impending storm was a lot more tiring than you expected. “Hey, biscuit, why were you naked?” 

“It was really hot out that night, okay?” Liam said defensively. “Let me go. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re in complete and total control?” Scott asked. 

You wanted to say something about the blood but something in Liam’s face changed your mind. He’d been so sweet with helping you these past few nights; it kind of felt like you owed him one.

“Yeah,” Liam lied. “Complete and total.” 

“Great, then let’s get on the road,” Stiles said, squeezing your arm for a second before letting go to scoop up all the chains. 

You walked ahead with Scott so you could get settled in the backseat of the Jeep. You sighed and leaned your head against the window as you tried to breathe. Scott was leaning in through the window and looking at you when you opened your eyes again. 

“Are you okay?” he asked. 

“I think so,” you said. “Still a little new at this.” 

“You’re doing great,” Scott said with a smile. He tapped against the side of the Jeep before moving out of the way so Liam could pile in.

Liam and Stiles had been arguing from the moment they got in the car to the moment Stiles pulled over to check what was wrong with the Jeep, and the ceasefire was only because you and Liam had to stay in the car. Liam looked at you for a second before offering you one of his earbuds. You shook your head and he shrugged before popping one in his ear. 

You yanked it out as lightning struck the ground about fifty feet away. The sound made your skull want to explode. “Did you see that?”

“See what?” Liam asked. 

The lightning struck again and the two of you jumped in your seats. Both of you scrambled to hang out the Jeep’s windows, despite the strike still ricocheting through your head. 

“Guys!” 

“Yeah, give us a second, please,” Stiles said, ripping another piece of duct tape for the engine. 

“Just stay in the car, okay?” Scott asked. 

“We’re still in the car but-” you were cut off by another lightning strike, this time maybe ten feet away from where Scott and Stiles were fiddling with the engine. 

Stiles’ heartbeat raced. “That was close,” he said, sounding calmer than he felt. “Very close.” 

Scott slammed the Jeep’s hood shut a second before it kicked back to life. You’d never seen the two of them jump like that because of an inanimate object. Well, excluding that time in sixth grade but you tried not to dwell on it.

“Okay, will you please get in the car now?” you asked, voice strained. You didn’t like the sound of Stiles’ heart beating like that and you definitely didn’t like how close that lightning was. 

All the excitement made you lose control for a second and you dug your nails into your palms to keep your cool. Pain made you human. Pain made you- Stiles slipped his hand through the gap between the door and his seat. Maybe pain wasn’t the only thing that made you human. 

You held his hand the rest of the way to Malia’s. Usually, you were the one that got smushed into the middle seat, but tonight you made Liam do it. No one seemed to mind until he brought up Malia’s super secret summer school adventure.

“You told him?” Malia asked. 

“Oh, no. All they said was that you had to go to summer school ‘cause the principal said your test scores weren’t good enough and you might have to repeat junior year,” Liam said with a smile. 

“We should’ve left him chained to the tree,” Stiles mumbled under the wrath of Malia’s glare. 

Malia tightened her jaw and you reached your hand over Liam to find her. “Hey,” you said gently. “I went to summer school too, remember?”

Malia didn’t say anything else for the rest of the drive to the hospital, and you didn’t think she’d say anything else while the two of you waited in the hospital for Scott and Stiles to get back. 

“I still don’t know why you and I are here,” she said eventually, arms crossed over her chest. 

“Because I’m not a senior and you’re undetermined?” you asked, turning around to look at her. You closed your eyes for a second to block out the hospital lights. 

Malia didn’t notice. “I just think … shouldn’t we wait until we know for sure?” 

“Probably,” you said with a sigh. “But this is really important to Stiles, so even if I’m not technically allowed at Senior Scribe, I’m still gonna- Oh, here they come. That’s still so weird.”

“You get used to it,” Malia shrugged.

“-Like what?” Scott asked when they were close enough. 

“Like, uh, ‘Don’t worry, we’re not exclusive. Go have fun with other guys,’” Stiles said.

“What? No, no way,” Scott said. 

Stiles turned to you and Malia. “Uh, ladies, if you were going away and the person you’re dating said ‘Don’t worry, go have fun,’ what would you think they were talking about?” 

“You mean fun like sex with other people?” Malia asked. 

You popped your head around her to look at Scott and Stiles. “Or fun like bowling?”

“Okay, yeah, now I’m worried,” Scott mumbled as he pulled his phone out to check something. Some paramedics rolled a patient passed you and he looked up to your mom. “Hey, Mom, where’s all this coming from?” 

“A jackknifed tractor-trailer on 115 caused a major pile up,” Mel said over her shoulder. 

“Okay, okay, there’s only one way back into Beacon Hills from the airport,” Stiles said, taking a breath. “Kira’s never gonna make it.”

“I can get her,” Scott said, already walking out the door. “You guys head to the school. Lydia’s probably already there. We’ll meet you by midnight-” 

You hated the sound of that plan. “Scott, is that really such a good idea with the-”

“By midnight,” Scott said. “Promise.”

---

Siles hadn’t wanted you to stay at the hospital with Liam, but he gave in when he realized that you’d have to wait in the Jeep in the storm and remembered how much you hated storms. It was a good thing too because Liam came running up to you in the waiting room maybe half an hour after everyone left babbling about Scott and something that attacked Parrish. 

After getting some clarification, the two of you ran to the school. The blood pumping through your body and the power in your muscles made you feel alive again. You hadn’t felt like this in such a long time that you almost didn’t want to stop.

Then you remembered that some guy with power-stealing talons was after your brother. 

It took a second to process the scene in front of you: Scott had been thrown against the wall and Kira was crumbled a few feet away from the biggest, angriest werewolf you’d ever seen. 

Your second was up and you ran at him from behind, legs wrapping around his waist and using the crook of your elbow to cut off his air supply as you applied pressure to the back of his head with your other hand. He struggled against you but your grip was too tight. He slammed you against the wall and you could have sworn your ribs started cracking the second time he did. When you started losing your grip, you panicked and gripped a fistful of his hair to pull his neck to the side. You sank your teeth into his neck. 

It was revolting. 

Metallic. 

He used your surprise to slam you into the wall again, this time coming loose from your grip completely. He picked you up off the floor by your neck, sliding you up the wall as you sputtered his blood back onto his hand. 

That’s when it happened. He dropped out of the sky and made a bee-line for where you were fighting for your life. The taloned werewolf dropped you to deal with the new threat. 

You spat out any remaining blood on the concrete and tried to breathe again as you watched them fight. The new guy clearly knew what he was doing but that didn’t stop the big guy from knocking him down and going for Scott again. 

He sank his claws into your brother’s stomach just as Liam and the others got there. You struggled to your feet but Scott had it handled; he rose up and broke the werewolf’s arm before pulling the leftover claws out of his stomach. 

“I don’t know who you are or what you thought you were going to do, but I’ll give you a choice,” Scott told him. “You can stay and I’ll break something else. Or you can run.” 

The werewolf looked between Scott and the rest of you. 

“I’d run,” Stiles said.

The taloned werewolf hobbled out into the rain and disappeared into the dark as you ran over to Scott. He pushed away your attempts to check on him, instead using his sleeve to wipe your chin. He didn’t seem happy with the result but the others were closing the distance and he didn’t have the time to fuss anymore. 

Your friends made a semi-circle around Scott and appraised the new guy. He wasn’t one of you, but he helped.

The new guy laughed as he came over, amused by everyone’s clear distrust of him. “You don’t remember me, do you?” he asked. “I guess I look a little different since the fourth grade.”

“Theo?” Scott asked. 

Your eyes shot over to Stiles’. Theo Raeken? your look asked. 

No way in hell, his look answered. 

“You know him?” Malia asked. 

“They used to,” Theo said. “Trust me, I never thought I’d see you guys again. Couple of months ago, I heard of an Alpha in Beacon Hills, and when I found out his name was Scott McCall … I just couldn’t believe it. Not just an Alpha, but a True Alpha.”

“What do you want?” Scott asked.

“I came back to Beacon Hills - back home with my family - because I want to be part of your pack,” Theo said.

“Sorry,” you said. Theo’s eyes drifted to you and you couldn’t tell if he was impressed by how much you’d changed or by the bloodstains on your chin. “We’re at capacity. Try again next year.” 

Scott turned to you with a sigh. “Y/N-” 

“No, Scott, it’s okay,” Theo said. He was dangerously calm. “I’m here to stay, so you guys take your time. Think about it. You know where to find me.” 

--- 

“And?” you asked as Stiles piled back into the Jeep. He sighed as he slammed the door shut behind him. “Did your dad buy your pretty please?” 

“No, but he did buy my threat to rope Parrish in, which worked just as well,” Stiles said, pulling his seatbelt out and buckling it in. “Theo’s got a speeding ticket.” 

“That’s it?” you asked. 

“What do you mean that’s it?” Stiles asked. “One single speeding ticket from eight years ago, signed by his dad. That’s suspicious. Who speeds?” 

“Everyone speeds. You speed,” you said. You bit your lip and tapped your fingers on your leg. “But I still don’t trust him.” 

“You don’t?” Stiles asked. “Didn’t you used to have a crush on him?” 

“Ew, no!” you scoffed. “I hated that little creep.” 

“But you were always so mean to him,” Stiles said. “I thought that meant you had a crush on someone in the fourth grade.” 

“Well, I was in the third grade and back then being mean to people just meant you didn’t like them,” you said. You interlaced your fingers with Stiles’ over the gearshift. “Besides, you’re the only one I’ve ever had a crush on.” 

“Aww, you had a crush on me?” Stiles asked. “That’s kind of lame, babe.” 

“We’re literally dating.” 

“Still.”

Stiles always drove you to school on the first day, and you thought that would make you feel less nervous but your nerves sky-rocketed the second you got into the school. Everything was too loud, too bright, and too overwhelming. So when Stiles found you between fourth and fifth period saying he and Scott were going to interrogate Theo, you jumped at the chance.

Theo didn’t seem to mind your presence in the locker room so much, but Scott didn’t seem to like you skipping classes on the first day of school. It was difficult to care about Scott’s disapproval when you knew you’d have torn the throat out of the next kid who asked to borrow a pencil.

Theo’s story about skateboarding and getting injured was convincing enough. The details made it seem real and the parts he skipped kept it concise; either you and Stiles were paranoid or he was a really good liar.

“Right. So why aren’t you part of his pack then?” Stiles asked. You and him were leaning against the lockers a few feet away from where Scott and Theo were talking, but you were pretty sure they could feel his distrust from all the way over there. “Why didn’t he come back for you?”

“Because, by the time of my first full moon, he was dead,” Theo answered. 

“And you know this how?” you asked.

“I met another one of his pack a couple weeks later,” Theo said, nodding his head at you. “He told me the Alpha that bit me was killed by two of his own Betas. They were twins.” 

Scott looked over at you and Stiles. The twins had to be Ethan and Aiden, but they had to kill their whole pack to get in with Deucalion. Did they let someone live like Kali did?

“Scott, listen to my pulse,” Theo said. “I’m telling the truth.” 

“Right, or you just know how to steady your heart rate while lying your ass off,” Stiles said as he pushed himself off the lockers.

“Why would I lie?” Theo asked. 

“Because maybe you’re not who you say you are,” Stiles said. 

“Okay, uh-” Theo took a breath and looked over at Scott. “In the fourth grade, you had an inhaler. I had one too. I remember this day where I ended up in the nurse’s office with an asthma attack. A bad one. I was waiting to be taken to the ER, you were waiting for the principal. You told me what would happen when you go to the ER for asthma. How they give you oxygen, an IV of prednisone. You made it sound easy. Like everything would be okay.” 

Stiles rolled his eyes next to you but you put a hand on his shoulder. You were trying to focus on Theo’s heartbeat and that was difficult with all the sarcasm next to you. 

“I’ve been by myself this whole time. Everybody knows that lone wolves- they don’t make it on their own,” Theo continued. “I swear I’m that same kid from fourth grade. I was hoping you are too.” 

The bell rang out before Scott got the chance to answer. Theo mumbled something about making a good impression as he left and you and Stiles drifted closer to Scott. He seemed convinced but you knew Scott wouldn’t do anything without Stiles’ blessing. 

“No,” Stiles said. “Don’t give me that look.”

“We have to give people the benefit of the doubt sometimes,” Scott said.

“Not this time!” Stiles argued. “I’m right. There’s something off about him. I can feel it.” 

“You can’t seriously trust him after all this time, can you?” you asked. 

“You trusted Isaac after not seeing him for years,” Scott said. “You trusted him more than me, remember?” 

“That was different. That was Isaac,” you said. The second bell rang out and you sighed. “We’ll talk later, okay?” You squeezed Scott’s arm and kissed Stiles’ cheek. “I’ll meet you guys in the library after school.”

As you left, you could still hear the two of them bickering over the benefit of the doubt. Scott had a point, but you didn’t like Theo when he was ten years old and you sure as hell didn’t like him now. 

You put your bad feelings on hold as you got through the rest of your day, and you couldn’t mention them during your study session at the library. Malia got seriously annoyed when people interrupted her train of thought, and you weren’t going to be the unlucky victim of one of her glares. Thankfully, Stiles took your place. 

He burst through the library and slapped two pieces of paper down on the table in front of you. He leaned on the back of your chair as he waited for one of you to say something. 

“So you found something?” Scott asked. 

“Another signature,” Stiles answered. “This is Theo’s dad’s signature on a speeding ticket from eight years ago.” He tapped the speeding ticket to prove his point before moving onto the next piece of paper. “And this is his dad’s signature on a transfer form to Beacon Hills High School from just a few days ago.”

“How did you get his transfer form?” Kira asked.

“You didn’t break into the Administration Office, did you?” Scott asked. 

“No, I did not break into the Administration Office,” Stiles scoffed. You tilted your head up to look at him. “What? Okay, I might have broken into the Administration Office. Can we just focus on the signatures, please?” He tapped the papers again. “They’re different.”

“They’re sort of different,” Malia said.

“They’re completely different!” Stiles said. “Come on. Look: the garlands don’t match, the undulations of the sinuous stroke are totally off. And look- look at this. Perfect example of the Criminal Tremor.” 

“So now, Theo is Theo, but his parents aren’t his parents?” Kira asked. 

“Someone’s not someone,” Stiles said. 

You slid the papers around and looked at them. Malia was right about them being ‘sort of different,’ but how many receipts had you signed that your signatures looked nothing alike? The key to a good forgery was getting it as similar as possible, and these signatures were pretty damn similar. 

“And when I figure out who that someone really is,” Stiles continued, “Someone’s in big trouble.”

“But no one’s actually done anything wrong,” Scott said hesitantly. 

“Yet!” Stiles said. “If Theo’s parents are both psychotic killers, then obviously we shouldn’t trust him, right?” 

“My parents are Peter and The Desert Wolf,” Malia said. 

“Okay-” Stiles rubbed his forehead. “It’s fine. You know what? I’ll figure it out myself. Alright? I don’t need you or you or you.” He paused when he saw the look on your face and relented slightly, “Okay, I kind of need you, but not right now. Right now, I don’t need anyone!” 

Stiles blew out of the library just as quickly and dramatically as he came in. 

You sighed and started closing your books. Shoving your books into your bag, you said, “I’m gonna follow him. You coming?” 

“Duh,” Scott said. He was already standing with his bag on his back.

---

You and Scott stood next to the Jeep for what felt like hours waiting for Stiles and Liam to get back. While you did, you argued about why you couldn’t follow them through the woods (because you’re not there to spy on them!), Scott asked you why you were skipping classes on the first day (because you just needed a break!), and the both of you wished they’d just come out of the damn woods already. 

It wasn’t that you and Scott didn’t get along, it was just that things were more intense since you’d died. Everything was heightened and the only person that really understood that was Scott, so he got the worst of your outbursts. To be fair, it never lasted long. The two of you had made up long before Stiles and Liam showed up.

“Find anything?” Scott asked. 

“Nope,” Stiles lied, heading for the driver’s side of the Jeep.

“I fell in a hole,” Liam said with an unusual smile.

“Right on, buddy,” you said, putting an arm around him and walking him a few feet back to give them some space. 

The Jeep started stammering again when Stiles tried to turn it on. He called your name and asked you to get in the front seat and turn the ignition when he asked. You did as he said as he popped up the Jeep’s hood. You tried the Jeep and it sputtered again. Scott tried to talk to Stiles and he argued. You tried the Jeep again and it faltered. Scott tried to talk to Stiles again and he exploded. 

“Why can’t you trust anyone?” Scott asked. 

“Because you trust everyone!” Stiles yelled. He slammed his fist into the engine and you felt the vibrations in your seat and the impact in your bones. 

You started opening the door but Liam reached out for your arm across the gearshift. “Stiles-” 

“Are you okay?” Scott asked.

“I’m fine,” Stiles lied. His heart was racing, but that didn’t shake out the sound of his fist hitting the metal out of your head.

“It could be broken,” you said quietly, mostly to yourself than to Liam or anyone else. “He could’ve broken his hand.” 

You couldn’t focus on anything else until the Jeep kicked back to life underneath you. Looking up, you met Stiles’ eyes through the windshield - you didn’t know who looked like more ready to cry. 

“Get in,” you said. “I’ll take you home. Scott can take Liam.” 

“But I-” 

“I can take you home,” Scott said. He nodded at you as Liam got out of the car. The two of them drove away before Stiles even got in the car. 

The door came to a deafeningly quiet close and you didn’t know what to say to him so you didn’t. You didn’t realize this was bothering him so much. Maybe it wasn’t this specifically, but this in general. The ever-changing this.

“Look, I know you think I’m crazy but I just don’t trust him, okay?” Stiles said. He was trying so hard to keep his voice level. “There’s something about him. Something off. I can feel it and I- I just need to prove it.” 

“I didn’t think you were crazy,” you said. “I’ve never thought you were crazy, Stiles. Not now. Not when you were in Eichen. Not even when you were thirteen and convinced me that stealing a police cruiser was a good idea.” You shook your head and started the car. “I just wish you’d talked to me.” 

“I know,” Stiles said with a sigh. He rubbed his forehead again, and then he winced at the pain in his hand. “I’m sorry.” 

Neither of you said anything for the rest of the drive home, but after five minutes, Stiles moved his hand over to yours on the gearshift. It was cold, still a bit shaky, and it made your heart race just like it always did. 

The first things you did when you got to the Stilinski’s was shower and get changed. Melissa said she’d take you home after her hospital shift, but you weren’t sure you could wait that long to get something to eat. It had been a long day. Rubbing your face, you stumbled back to Stiles’ room. 

He was sitting on his bed, staring at his conspiracy boards, but he leaned over and grabbed a very familiar metal bottle from the nightstand. “Come on, it’s been at least 12 hours since you had anything.” 

“Stiles, I can’t eat in front of you.” You looked down and knocked on the door frame. “It’s pretty morbid.” 

“Babe, I’ve seen morbid and this isn’t it,” Stiles said. You weren’t convinced so he held out the bottle again. “Please? Then we can get some sleep.” 

“Okay,” you said softly. 

You sat on the floor in front of his bed and unscrewed the top. The sticky sweet smell hit you like a ton of bricks and you downed it in a matter of minutes. It felt like a disgusting breath of fresh air. 

Stiles put a hand on your shoulder and you rested your head on his knee. He ran a hand through your hair and the two of you stayed like that for a few moments before you got up and sat on the bed with him. 

“Why does it feel-” you started with a sigh as you pushed some hair out of Stiles’ face “-like everything’s already overwhelming and depressing?” 

“Because school started and everyone always tries to kill us when school starts,” Stiles sighed. He pressed a kiss to your temple and pulled you into his chest. Listening to his heart like this was always better than using super-hearing to listen from afar. 

“I won’t let anyone kill you,” you said, fingers tracing patterns on his chest. 

“Yeah, I know,” Stiles said. His arms tightened around your waist. “No matter what, right?” 

“I think we might have to find a new thing,” you said. “The nogitsune … why don’t you just tell me you love me?” 

“I love you,” Stiles said without missing a beat. 

You leaned up and kissed his jaw. “I love you too.”

Part 33

Tagged: @ietss​

[magioftheseas]

Burdensome

Summary: Sometimes, Hanako gets annoyed that he's the only one of the group with secrets.

Rating: G

Warning: None, really. I guess implications to Hanako’s vague past?

Notes: I honestly wrote this just to see if I could come up with a simple enough idea that would then be made into a fairly short fic. I’m trying to get more productive in my writing, see, so sometimes I have to resort to methods like that. In fact, I was so fixated on the idea of completing this before the day was over (and I had like, two hours before it did) that I ended up missing the deadline for applying to a zine I wanted to apply to. Now THAT’S burdensome.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

The world is filled with secrets. He’s known from the beginning that there are a lot of things that are kept from others. Crushes, concerns, dreams, ambitions, motivations—the deepest aspects of a person were often the most hidden.

He knows this well, and yet—

Those two are a bit different.

“Hanako-kun, what’s up?” Yashiro would ask, and the young exorcist would also glance his way. They both had such wide, honest and open gazes. “You’ve been staring for a while.”

“I was thinking,” Hanako says, waving his hand with his usual smile. “You two are way too easygoing.”

“Coming from a spirit!” Minamoto bit back as Yashiro similarly protested.

“I have plenty of worries not in the least thanks to you!”

“That’s not what I mean,” Hanako laughed. “You two are also pretty naïve, aren’t you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean, Hanako?!”

“Yeah, Hanako-kun! What do you mean?!”

What do you think?

Irritation nips at him. His smile twists the slightest bit.

Normal people have secrets. Normal people have baggage that they wouldn’t share with the world. I’ve observed the students here enough to know that hasn’t changed over the decades. You two, on the other hand...

Open books. Both of them. Even with their torn pages.

“Never mind,” Hanako chirps. “I was just thinking.”

“I bet you were,” Minamoto huffed as Yashiro pouted.

“I swear, Hanako-kun. It wouldn’t kill you to be more honest with us sometimes. You’re way too secretive.” She does pause, however. “O-Of course, I only expect you to tell us things when you’re ready.”

“Yeah, what senpai said.”

Even with the verbal agreement, there is a flicker of aggravation in the young exorcist’s eyes. An open book. Hanako already knows what he’s thinking about. It’s obvious. Too obvious. Minamoto Kou was a simple man of simple concerns, after all. He wanted to be respected, but he wanted to protect those around him. His family, friends, Yashiro—and the other Mitsuba.

Even now, Tsukasa lingers between them like blood in the water. They’re both just too afraid to bite because matters could escalate and that wouldn’t be ideal when Yashiro’s always a factor. That—and Minamoto was kind. He and Yashiro were both kind people. There was that, too.

Kindness was often granted as a privilege. It shouldn’t have been such an easy, accessible resource.

It’s cumbersome—how much the two humans that Hanako is closest to just don’t act like normal humans.

Yashiro was tugging at Minamoto’s sleeve, and she sways him into resuming their cleaning. With a sweet and disarming smile, the matter is settled and discarded. It might not ever get brought up again, because these two aren’t the types to hold grudges.

They’re kind. They’re just very, very kind.

How infuriating.

--

“Is there a reason why you’re giving those two attitude all of a sudden?” Tsuchigomori asks him. “You’ve got them complaining to me about you, Honorable Seventh. And y’know—I can’t exactly reprimand you as your teacher anymore.”

“And yet, you’re reprimanding me,” Hanako pointed out, tucked between the curtains. “I assume you do want me to stop.”

“It’s just troublesome behavior,” Tsuchigomori says with an impassive shrug. “Troublesome for them, for you, for me. Rather than just bottling it up, you should just vent.”

“It is annoying,” Yako chirped up in the midst of grooming her tail. “Those brats are going to keep on whining and it’ll soon be troublesome for everyone.”

“Don’t think we asked your opinion, dumb fox,” Tsuchigomori muttered, to which she hissed back.

“It’s hard to nap peacefully when everyone is as gloomy as you!”

“It’s because,” Hanako spoke up. Immediately, Tsuchigomori turns to face him, ever attentive. “I’m frustrated.”

“With what, exactly?” Yako asked, muffled against her tail. “Don’t tell me you’ve gotten bored of them.”

“Oh no, they’re still plenty fun to mess with.” Hanako waved his hand. “However—don’t you think it’s weird? Yashiro and that boy are both so simple. They don’t really have any deep dark secrets.”

“They don’t,” Tsuchigomori confirmed. “As transparent and blatant as they come. Do you feel awkward, then? Like you don’t fit in? You’re already an apparition, Honorable Seventh.”

Even as a human, I wouldn’t have fit in with them. Even acting as a human, I had to distance myself from them.

“Keeping secrets may be natural, but it is a burden you must undertake if decided.” Tsuchigomori inhales, sighing out smoke. “Even so, don’t act out so much.”

“They’re both still bratty garbage humans,” Yako murmured, ever unimpressed. “Tasteless and tactless.”

“I’m sure you’d make tasty udon,” Hanako cheerfully remarked.

Yako snorted, but curled up into an unassuming ball all the same.

“Honorable Seventh.”

That smile on Hanako’s face remained, even when stared down by Tsuchigomori’s stern, knitted glare.

“Do those humans make you feel inferior?”

Yako’s ear twitched, but she mercifully kept any further commentary to herself.

“Maybe a little,” Hanako admitted, laughing. “I get it. I’ll apologize. I’m sorry for the trouble, sensei.”

Tsuchigomori didn’t look remotely reassured or convinced.

Haven’t you prodded a little too much already? I could still squash you like a bug.

Aha. Those thoughts sound like something Tsukasa would say.

Hanako leaves without another word.

--

“You don’t have to say anything.”

Yashiro speaks the second he slinks in. She’s not looking his way but her hands are fisting into her skirt.

“It’s not like I don’t understand—sometimes people have a lot more going on. I get frustrated, too, when I see Aoi able to laugh off guys confessing to her. Aoi’s really carefree. Sometimes I envy her so much that I get upset.”

Hanako blinks, tugging at his collar awkwardly.

“Yashiro...”

“I know!” she exclaims. “So don’t—don’t treat me as if I’m shallow just because I might not have as much going on as you do! I’ll have you know I have plenty going on!” She turns on him, fierce despite her tears. “I-I actually really want to have a bunch of rodents! And I want to have a huge garden! A-And not only to I want to marry a handsome boy—I also think I want kids! A-A boy and a girl! It’s too early but—who knows! Having beautiful children might be really, really fun! I don’t know—but I think about it! One time I dreamed about my own daughter making fun of me for my legs! And I woke up crying!”

She was still crying right now, in fact.

“I’m going to graduate and I still want to be friends with Aoi even though she’s inevitably going to an elite college that I could never dream of attending! I-I also want to make more friends. I-I heard that—once you get to college, people start caring a lot less about their appearances...! But that because everyone’s all matured, they’re still super attractive...!” Yashiro blubbers. “I-I’m gonna graduate, I’m gonna go to college, I’m gonna grow up, I’m gonna get my garden, my rodents, my husband, my children, and, and, and... I’m still going to visit you if I can... Because I don’t want you getting lonely. Even if Tsuchigomori-sensei teaches here forever, I—I’ll worry about you, Hanako-kun.” She sniffles. “I’ll worry...a lot. What if you completely go off the deep end without me and Kou-kun? I’m—so worried!”

“Are you saying I’ll become a villain out of loneliness?” Hanako asked, mildly offended, mildly amused. “I was lonely before I met you for a long time.”

“That might make it worse,” Yashiro mutters. “Losing your friends is awful, even if you were friendless before.”

Friendless. I wasn’t really friendless. That said. That said...

“The fact that you’re so compassionate really does irk me,” he said. “Yashiro—you’re way too kind. Please be careful.”

“Or I’ll be taken advantage of, you mean?” Yashiro’s frown deepened, her cheeks darker. “I’m not helpless, Hanako-kun. I’m not always going to need you to save me. I’ll do my best to manage on my own. As well as I can.”

“I believe you. After all, I have underestimated you in the past.”

“Hanako-kun...” Yashiro huffed and she stomped forward. Raising her hand, she furiously ruffled Hanako’s hair. “You’re so immature! Don’t act like you’re not!”

“H-Hey, Yashiro.”

She knocks off his hat so that she can ruffle him harder.

“Immature! Childish! Bratty! Meanie! Hanako-kun!”

“Y-Yashiro, cut it out!”

Yashiro finally laughs at him. Hanako glares back, but then, after a while, his expression twists.

“Sometimes, it’s so heavy I can’t move. I should be glad you can move about so freely.”

Yashiro shakes her head, smile strained but sympathetic.

“We’re friends, Hanako-kun. If you want me to shoulder the burden with you, all you have to do is ask.”

I won’t. I refuse.

But Yashiro does hug him, and it’s far too easy to fall into her embrace.

She really isn’t one to be underestimated.

“There, there,” Yashiro coos, petting his hair. “There, there. Just let Nene-nee help you.”

Hanako chortled.

“I’m half a century older than you.”

Yashiro chuckles.

“You’re still a child, Hanako-kun.”

Still a child. She really is naïve. As if all I am is a child that desperately needs reassurance and validation. I needed more than that. We both did. But, still. Still, still, still.

Hanako’s lips pressed closely together as he buried his face into her shoulder.

I guess this is still nice.

[xteenwolfwritingsx]

You Know Better - Part 35 - Bloodbath

-gif source unknown-

Story Description: Peter and the reader develop a slow relationship.

Part Description: The final fight of the story.

Warnings/Labels: Needles and injection. Violence.

Approx. Word Count: 3,500

A/N: DISCLAIMER: I am not a medical professional, I know nothing about giving shots/injections so the description here should not, dear god, NOT be used in any way as a model for real life. I am also terrible at fight scenes and know very little about a multitude of weapons. AKA I have no idea if a single shotgun blast would put a small hole in a concrete wall. Just suspend your disbelief here with me, alright?

Story Masterpost

“What the hell are you doing?” you ask violently. You go back to the door, feet practically stomping on the cement floor. Chris swiftly steps aside out of your way, freely letting you try the door handle. It’s a large bar of steel that lifts up, but neither pushing nor pulling with all of your might gets it to budge. If that isn’t enough to confirm the door is locked, the little pin pad you notice on the wall next to it clearly saying LOCKED in red letters, is. “What is going on?” It’s less a question and more of a demand.

You try the door handle one more time and your right hand doesn’t just cramp, it practically cries out in pain. You hiss, grabbing your hand and pressing your thumb into your palm trying to ease it. The sensation spreads up towards your elbow and you look down at your arm, somehow expecting to see the pain physically worming its way through you, but of course you see nothing but your skin.

“That’s going to get worse,” Chris tells you methodically as he sets the sword case down on a table and turns to rifle through a cabinet full of little glass medicine bottles.

“What are you talking about?” The pain starts to fade, but you don’t let go of your hand. “What the hell is going on?”

“Sit down and I’ll explain,” he tells you. His voice is calm and confident, but you catch the worried look in his eye and the way his hand is just slightly unsteady as he pulls out one of the bottles. That scares you more than him locking you underground, so you don’t argue and take a seat on one of the metal stools by the table. “We’re staying here until it’s done.”

“Excuse me?” you scoff. “We have the sword!”

“We have an empty case.” Chris reaches over and pops the lid to prove it to you. “I put the sword in Peter’s car when you two were talking.” He turns his back to you, digging through drawers and cabinets, gathering medical supplies in his hands. “Kayla poisoned you.” He drops the supplies on the table in front of you. Bottles of clear liquid, sterile syringes, needles, gauze, the latex tubes you recognize people use for tourniquets. Nerves start to flood you.

“What are you talking about?” There’s a small stutter in your words. Chris pulls a stool next to you, metal scraping against the concrete. He slips on a pair of latex gloves and pulls gently on your right arm, turning you to face him and extending your arm, delicate underside facing up. “Chris?”

“That cut on your neck,” he points with one hand. “The sword was laced with a potion.” Your arm hovers in the air compliantly as he slips one of the tubes underneath your bicep and ties it off. You wonder if you should be questioning what he’s doing, but honestly, even after locking you in a bunker, you knew he wasn’t going to do anything to hurt you. “We don’t know exactly what it consists of, but we know it’s slowly going to kill you if we don’t stop it. It’s pumped through your blood stream. The faster your heart beats, the faster it enacts. So try to stay calm.” As he explains, he readies a needle, drawing clear liquid into a syringe. “This is going to help slow your heart rate. It might make you feel a little dizzy.” As if your head wasn’t already spinning with all of this? He puts the syringe between his teeth and flicks his fingers against your vein. The short sting of his tapping gives way to the cramping up your arm and you flinch. He tears open a packet containing an alcohol wipe and swipes it over your skin.

You hiss sharply and try not to move when he pierces you with the needle. Your eyes dart up to the ceiling, hoping if you don’t watch, the pain will fade. Why did it have to go into the vein? Couldn’t it have just gone into the arm like a damn flu shot?

It’s over in a moment and Chris is pressing gauze hard into your arm in place of the needle. He throws the syringe back onto the table and unties the tube around your arm. The rush of whatever drug he gave you is instant. The pain in your arm turns to a warm tingle and your head gets cloudy. Chris grabs onto your arm and you realize it’s because you were swaying in your seat.

The dizziness fades and you’re left in a slow-motion state of mind. The thoughts in your head are racing, a hundred questions and a hundred concerns drifting across your brain, but as your heart slows, so does everything else. When you move your body, it feels like you’re dragging it through mud. You move at a normal pace, but it feels so slow.

“I trained for this,” you say, unsure if your voice sounds different or if it’s just echoing around in your head. “And now… nothing?”

You fought so hard to be more than useless, to learn how to protect yourself and your friends. And it didn’t matter. Here you are, hiding out in a bunker alone because you got yourself poisoned. You’re not sure if it makes you angry or if you want to burst into tears. How are you still the damsel in distress?

“The hope is that when she’s dead, you’ll be cured.” Chris tells you, continuing to hold your arm with one hand and apply pressure to the injection site with the other.

“So, let’s go kill her,” you argue even though your voice sounds a little groggy as it reverberates between your ears.

“There’s a chance that after she’s dead, it will get instantly worse.” You groan in response. That isn’t the answer you want. “And since we don’t know exactly  what she used, we need to be where I can get to everything I have to save you.”

“Peter?”

“It was his idea,” Chris assures you, slowly lifting the pressure from the crook of your arm to see if the bleeding slowed, then tapes the gauze down. “He cares about you.” It is such a simple statement, but it sends a rush of warmth you can feel physically fill you. You blame the drug in your system instead.

“I should be out there. This is what I trained for.” Chris gently swivels you on the stool so you can lean forward on the table. It makes you a little woozy as the room spins faster in your vision.

“There will be plenty more battles for you to fight another day. You’ve already done your part for this one.” Chris pats your back gently before standing and moving somewhere behind you.

“Yeah, right.” You put your head down on your forearms and close your eyes.

“You’ve been more integral to this than you think,” he tells you. His voice sounds far away and it’s hard to concentrate on. “You ran headfirst into a fight with a Cerberus. And came out alive, I might add. You insisted on facing a madwoman to help us take her down and ended up risking your life in the process.” If it didn’t feel like so much effort, you’d mock him right now. Blah, blah, blah. None of it feels like anything.

You can hear him shuffling about behind you, glass rattling and boots thumping on the floor. The pain in your arm has dulled, but it’s also crept closer to your shoulder. Normally, you’d be more worried, but whatever drug Chris gave you is making it nearly impossible to fear to invade.

"Besides all of that," Chris continues. "You’ve managed to get a hold on Peter.” You perk your head up just enough to make sure you heard him right. “That in itself is an impressive feat.”

“He’s not a bad guy,” you defend, sensing the disapproval hidden beneath. You are done with other men judging whatever your relationship is. There’s a long pause before Chris speaks again.

“You make him better.” You suspect the only reason a blush doesn’t tint your cheeks is because of the drug.

“Or maybe all it took was someone treating him like a person,” you counter. The bite you want to have in your tone doesn’t quite make it out. Chris doesn’t respond.

Some time passes. You’re really not sure how much. It could have been moments or it could have been an hour. Everything is still swirling around in your clouded mind. Suddenly a cold hand suddenly slaps down on yours where it rests on your upper arm. It startles you and when you lift your head to look, you see Chris pulling your hand away from your right arm. You’re surprised to see the scratch marks along your bicep, even more surprised to see the blood under your own nails.

“Does it itch?” Chris asks roughly. Did it? Clearly you had been scratching, digging at it even, but you don’t remember doing it. And it was only moments ago. Your mouth hangs open, fumbling for words.

“It’s numb,” you finally say. You don’t actually feel anything there. No itching. No pain. You attempt to move your arm and find you’re able to do so easily. At least it’s not paralyzed. “Is that bad?” Chris doesn’t answer and instead pulls his phone out of his pocket. “Chris?” The snap is back in your voice and you notice you feel a little less groggy. You can feel your heart start to beat a little faster.

“How far along are we?” he asks into the phone, simultaneously starting to rifle through a drawer. You have half a mind to grab him and make him talk to you. The one who could be dying. “What?” Chris pauses in his searching for just a moment. You wouldn’t have even noticed had you not been trying like hell to analyze what was happening. “Okay. We’ll be here.” He drops the phone on top of a counter and turns towards you. “Peter’s almost here.”

“What?” Nothing was making sense. “Why is he coming here? I thought-” You’re cut off by a hard, echoing knocking on the bunker door. Both of your heads snap to the metal, Chris’s eyes flashing to the pin pad to make sure it still said LOCKED.

You breathe a sigh of relief when you hear Peter’s voice on the other side of the door, calling your name. You lift yourself off the stool, legs still a little weak but able to hold your body up. Chris is swiftly at your side, holding onto your elbow and at first you think he’s going to help guide you to the door, but instead he holds your firm, pulling you back when you try to move forwards.

“Open up!” Peter bellows. His voice is surprisingly clear for coming through a very thick steel door. You look at Argent with a questioning frown on your face and you’re about to ask him what the hell he’s doing when he lifts a single finger to his lips, motioning for your silence. “You gonna let me in, pet?”

Your blood runs cold and Chris sees the realization dawn on your face with widened eyes and mouth snapping shut. You look again at the steel door with a lot more fear than you thought you had in you.

Peter never calls you pet.

The pounding on the door gets more persistent, more violent. Chris gives a tug on your elbow and leads you to the far wall. He presses your back into it and pulls a needle out of his pocket. Quickly and without any sense of gentleness, he slaps his palm over your mouth and uses it to anchor onto your jaw, turning your head painfully to the side.

The needle pierces through the tender flesh of your neck, but your cry of surprise and pain is muffled in Chris’s palm. Your eyes roll up at he pushes down on the plunger, a cold liquid spreading through your neck and shoulder. A chill runs down your spine as things get foggy again for just a moment before everything looks sharp.

The sound of banging against the door sounds brisk and quick, your blood starting to run a little faster. Isn’t that bad? Heart pumping faster, blood pumping faster, poison spreading faster. Your breath quickens, the thoughts in your mind racing almost too fast for you to keep up.

“Do not panic,” Chris whispers, each word slow and deliberate, forceful in his tone. “You’re going to be fine.” His words bring some comfort, but not enough. You still don’t know what the fuck is going on.

Chris leaves you just long enough to grab two knives out of a weapon lock and put them in your hands. Your right arm throbs dully inside your muscles but your grip is solid. The blood underneath your nails looks much brighter.

The pounding on the door has stopped and the only sound that echoes so loudly in your ears, is the electronic buzz of the door unlocking. The red LOCKED instantly changes to a green OPEN. Chris puts his body in front of you and cocks a shotgun you hadn’t noticed he grabbed. Your hands instinctively squeeze the knives. They weren’t yours, but they would do.

Defiant and confident, you sidestep around Chris and plant yourself next to him. You aren’t hiding behind him. You don’t need protected. You aren’t the fucking damsel. He looks at you from the corner of his eye, but doesn’t protest.

The bunker door swings open and everything in your body hums. Not to your surprise, Kayla stands in the door. Her hands are balled into fists, placed firmly on her waist and cocking out her hip. It’s unnerving to hear Peter’s voice pass through her lips as she teases, “What? Don’t I get a kiss?”

Whatever Argent shot you up with makes you react a half second quicker than he does. The blade releases from your hand in a wild throw right before Chris pulls the trigger. The sound of the shotgun is nearly deafening to you and you flinch away from it.

The bullet still reaches her first and it’s what she reacts to. With a wave of her hand, it’s sent off to the side, blowing a small hole into the wall and kicking up dust. Your knife surprises her though, the blade sinking into her right shoulder and causing her to cry out in pain. You transfer your other knife into your dominant hand and get ready to throw it.

Your arm seizes, pain shooting up through it and into your chest. The pain buckles your knees and as you hit the floor, you feel like you can’t breathe. You wheeze as you try to inhale, the breath shallow and sharp, getting stuck in your throat. You see Chris’s boots step out in front of you, shielding you as you try to regain yourself. There’s another gunshot and more screams and then suddenly Chris is swept away to the side, colliding with a glass cabinet.

Kayla’s sharply-pointed-toe shoes replace his boots in front of you and you squeeze your eyes shut, willing your body to work the way you want it to. Your first knife clatters to the floor next to your face, blood spattering off the blade as it hits. You reach out with a shaky hand, trying to grab it. The witch tsks above you places her shoe over your hand, not enough to hurt but just enough to stop you from grabbing it.

She bends down and her cold fingers wrap around your throat. Holding on tightly, she lifts you to your feet. The squeeze around your neck shoots a fear through you that overrides the pain. Your feet fumble underneath you but eventually plant firmly on the ground. You swing your knife in front of you, trying to make any kind of contact.

You don’t see it, but you feel the resistance of flesh as you swing and her fingers loosen around your neck. She hisses in pain; only a flesh wound. The side of her hand chops down at your wrist, hitting the knife from your hand. In the next instant, she lands a punch on your jaw.

“Stubborn little bitch,” she seethes at you as you try to clear your sight. Your head is ringing and your face is throbbing. She lands another blow to your stomach but doesn’t let you double over as she regrips at your throat and shoves you back into the wall. “What the hell is so special about you?” You claw at her wrists, trying to pull her away to no avail. She shoves you harder into the wall and somewhere through the pain that’s digging down right to your bones, you get an idea.

You squeeze your hands around her wrist and press back, putting your weight into your shoulders against the wall. You breathe in as much as your constricted throat allows and using her pressure on you and hanging off her wrist to quickly lift your feet off the ground and drive them into her middle. It has the desired effect, causing her to stumble back and release you.

You collapse to the floor on your knees, coughing and heaving in air. Knives! you think. Get your knives! You don’t look for Kayla, don’t bother to see if she’s recovered. Your eyes are getting blurry again as you search the floor for your weapons. You see Chris, slumped on the floor amid glass and avert your eyes. Focus!

You find one of them, the one that had already been sunk into Kayla’s shoulder. You reach out for it, the handle sticky with splattered blood. About the time you get a grip on it, her hands are clawing at you, turning you over onto your back and straddling you. You don’t waste time, the adrenaline and whatever drug rushing through you. As she spins you over, you sink the knife into her side. The nails of her fingers puncture into your chest as she screams and you feel them elongate, reaching deeper inside of you. Warm blood starts spilling onto your skin.

You don’t notice the sound of footsteps running down the stairs, your ears too filled with screams and pain and the rush of your own blood to hear them. The roar from the doorway is harder to miss and instead of filling you with terror like it would anyone else, it allows you to exhale in relief.

Before Kayla can even react, she’s shuddering above you, Peter having run up behind her and sunk his claws into her back. The digging of her nails in your chest ease as her face turns to one of shock and fear. Your hand is still on the handle of your knife and you give it a twist inside of her. Blood starts leaking from her mouth and when she coughs, it sprays across your face.

“I told you not to go after her,” Peter’s voice growls above you. She’s suddenly torn away, Peter violently pulling her off you. She slides off the edge of your knife easily, blood pouring down your hand as it leaves her.

As he throws her across the room, you feel yourself give in. Your eyes stare at the ceiling and you try desperately to breathe. You don’t feel your hand land on the floor, but you hear the knife once again clatter down. You hear voices, but don’t hear what they say. Shadows dance in the corner of your eyes and there’s one more gunshot before things finally slow down.

Peter’s face is suddenly in your range of vision as he rushes to his knees next to you. His eyes are wide and there’s a worry, a primal fear you haven’t seen in him before. You go to lift your arm, to brush your hand across his face to comfort him, but no matter how you try, it doesn’t move.

“I-“ you try to speak but your breath is weak and your chest constricts in a cough. “Can’t move,” you whisper. You see him reach out but can’t feel if he’s touching you. You want to care, want to be afraid. Instead, you just feel so tired.

“Argent!” Peter calls frantically. “Antidote! Now!” You don’t really feel his fingers as he brushes away the blood spots on your cheeks, but you feel the warmth of his skin and the sting of a fresh bruise on your skin. “You’re going to be okay,” he tells you. You don’t need werewolf hearing to know he doesn’t quite believe it.  “You have to be okay.”

You manage to give him a soft smile before you close your eyes and let go.