#on the other hand i was mildly queasy this morning and i do not wish to be re-queased

[unopenablebox]

layover in new jersey. very cold in this airport

[random-thot-generator]

Better Not to Know + Pt. 3

KYLE 'GAZ' GARRICK x FEM READER

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Summary: You and Kyle have "the talk." Cue the angst.

Warnings/Tags: explicit language, brief references to sex, profanity, pregnancy, pregnant reader, angst, hurt no comfort, Kyle acts like an ass, BUT there are reasons, no use of Y/N

(Notes: trying to imagine how awkward it would be to tell your random hookup that he's your new baby daddy. Sorry, no beta. Embrace the imperfections.)

banners & dividers by: @saradika-graphics

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The windows are steamed in the small sandwich shop, rain still pattering down outside.

The smells of baked bread, cold cuts and coffee permeate the air, with a sweet hint of fresh-baked cookies that make your tummy rumble. You now wish you had eaten your lunch before going to pick up your boss' dry cleaning. You really were feeling peckish now, or perhaps it's just nerves making you feel queasy.

You smile up at Kyle— well, it's more like a grimace, but you murmur your thanks as he slides a cup of hot water your way, taking his own seat. He watches you dig through your purse, quirking his brow up when you pull out a packaged tea bag. It's peppermint, something that one of your mates at work suggested you drink to help quell the morning sickness. It usually settles your stomach, but you aren't sure if anything can help that anxious feeling making your gut clench and roil.

You're not ready for this. Not at all.

Your gaze slides past Kyle as you take in the quiet atmosphere of the shop. The table he chose is in the corner, just beside the large plate-glass window with the shop's name painted in stylized letters across it. It would have felt intimate, even romantic to be sitting across from him at the small café table in such a setting, if not for the way he was staring at you. In truth, he still looks mildly shocked and… disappointed?

He's facing you with his own paper cup clasped between his big hands, hands that you still dreamed about every night. Your dreams didn't do his hands or the rest of him justice. He's still one of the most beautiful men you've ever seen. Is it really any wonder that you decided to keep his baby?

Giving your head a slight shake to clear those thoughts from your mind, you concentrate instead on dunking your tea bag, praying you don't look as freaked out as you feel.

You can feel his eyes on you, studying your face before inevitably dropping to your expanded waistline again, something he's been doing since he first saw your very pregnant state. You can tell he's gearing up to say something and try to prepare yourself for it, whatever it may be, but what he says still catches you off guard.

"So, I take it ya've met someone since I saw ya last?"

You blink at him with a confused frown. "Met someone?" you repeat, already shaking your head.

He makes a vague gesture at your midriff. "Your man," he explains, brows dipping together over his sparking, dark eyes. "The father," he finishes in a low mutter.

Your mouth falls open in surprise. Oh, Christ. He thinks you've met some other bloke, that you're carrying some other man's child. It strikes you as absurd, but then again, why wouldn't he think that? He hasn't seen you in over five months, and he knows nothing about you. Nothing at all. Even worse, you now realize that he may have met someone else himself in that time. There might be some bird in his life that you don't even know about yet. Your shoulders slump with an inward groan. You really should have thought this through before agreeing to his invitation.

Giving a more emphatic shake of your head, you murmur, "No, no one. I'm not seeing anyone, not with anyone. It's just me and little bug."

His face clears, and he almost seems relieved by your response before his brows knit together again. "Wait a bloody minute," he mutters, peering into your eyes. "You mean the father's not in the picture at all?" It sounds more like a demand than a question.

God, how do I explain this, you fret, the words already stuttering out of your mouth. "I-I… well, um… actually no he isn't, but—"

Kyle shifts closer, his body tense, shoulders rigid. "Ya sayin' the sorry wanker scraped ya off?" he asks, his voice incredulous and rising enough to draw a few stares from nearby patrons. You notice his hands are clenched into fists on the table.

Your mouth works, but nothing else comes out. God, this is not going as you had hoped. He's not even yet contemplating the idea that the baby might be his. This is going to totally blindside him. How are you, a bird who obviously makes impulsive life decisions on the fly, go about telling a virtual stranger that he's about to be a father?

This is not going to go well...

You're seriously wishing you had begged off his invitation now. You should have put him off, shouldn't have even entertained the notion of telling him yet, at least not until you had come up with a reasonable excuse. Yet what excuse could you give, other than to admit that you had been shockingly irresponsible about the whole thing.

You've always been the responsible one. Never a risk taker, always cautious, careful, no matter the situation. That's not to say you were indecisive, but you usually gave more thought and consideration to important matters like this. Truly, this streak of impulsive behavior you've been displaying of late is insanely out of character for you. You're smart, always on top of things, always responsible, reliable, but for the last five months, you've been anything but that. You blamed it on the hormones, but sitting face-to-face with Kyle again, you're not so sure.

A responsible, intelligent woman would have gone to the chemist's first thing the next day for a Plan B pill. She would have taken herself to the bloody clinic to get checked over to make sure she didn't catch anything after fucking a stranger in the raw. Hell, a responsible bird would have gone straight home from the club and showered, cursing herself for being so stupid while scrubbing the dickens out of her snatch with lots of soap and hot water.

You did none of those things, though you knew you absolutely should be doing all those things. You just... didn't.

Ah, but what did you do?

You went home from the club, kicked off your shoes and fell into bed, not even bothering to pee before passing out, but still gave yourself time to relish the ache between your legs. The next day, you thought about going to the chemist for a pill, but then vegged out on your couch instead. You piddled about your flat, doing dishes and laundry and ordering Chinese for dinner, not bothering to step one foot out your door. Jesus. You even tossed your cum-stained knickers into the wash with a bloody smile on your face, reliving the memory of how well he fucked you.

You knew better, you knew, and yet you did nothing.

You glance up at Kyle and wonder if there's a chance that you can get out of this, but as soon as you look into his eyes, you know that's not going to happen. There's no way you can confess to your own negligence concerning the pregnancy, but you also know that there's no backing out of this either. He's sitting stiff as a board in his seat, eyes locked on you as he awaits your answer.

"Um, well... N-No. I wasn't... um, scraped off. The father, he uh..." You draw in a shaky breath. "I've not had the opportunity to tell him yet, Kyle."

He blinks, confused. "He doesn't know?" He takes on a slightly perturbed expression. "But you're showing. Why haven't ya told him yet? Is he the type of bloke who would scrape ya off?"

That, you honestly don't know. Sure, Kyle seems like a decent enough bloke, at least, that's what you've gathered so far from your short encounter at the club and this brief exchange, but how could you know for certain? You begin to feel ill again at the thought of telling him the truth. Picking up your peppermint tea with a shaky hand, you take a sip, letting your eyes slide off to the side.

"I don't think he's that type of man," you reply. "I mean, I really don't know, but due to the circumstances… hmm…" Christ this cringe. "To be honest, I didn't know how to get in contact with him to let him know. We didn't get around to exchanging phone numbers. Or uh... names."

You say this softly and with obvious hesitance as you finally meet his gaze head-on, letting your eyes flick up to his to relay the deeper meaning of your statement. Then again, maybe you shouldn't have said anything at all, judging by the way Kyle is now looking at you.

No, check that. He's not looking at you; he's glaring at you. And he looks bloody furious.

Kyle settles slowly back in his chair, his face going empty and blank as he takes you in. You can almost see the wheels in his head turning as he processes the information you've just laid out for him. His beautiful lips press into a hard, thin line as he continues to stare at you.

"How far along are ya, exactly?" he asks, his words clipped, eyes intense.

Oh, boy…

"Five— " you croak out, then clear your clotted throat and try again. "Five months. Just a little over five months," you answer in a husky, shaking voice.

Kyle goes completely still, his dark eyes unblinking. You could see him doing the math in his head, saw understanding dawn, saw his expression go slack then morph into something cold and maybe a little bit scary. You feel your heart begin to thump hard in your chest as he leans forward on his elbows to pin you with a hard stare.

"Are ya tryin' t'say that's my baby?" His words are quiet, but his eyes and body language are terrifying.

Biting your lip, you're unable to reply. He does not look happy, not in the least. In fact, he looks right pissed, not that you can blame him for that. For a brief moment you consider lying to him, telling him that it's not his baby, just to wipe that chilling expression off his handsome face, but in the end, you simply nod in confirmation before looking down at your hands twisting in your lap. You flinch when he throws himself back in his chair with a scoff, and you hate the way he's looking at you now.

"Well, that's bloody convenient, innit?" he blurts out with a mean bark of laughter. He shakes his head, eyeing you with clear disbelief and not a little disgust. Huffing out a snide chuckle, he mutters to himself, "Should've bloody known it was too good t'be true. Fuck me." He turns his eyes away as if he can't bear to look at you anymore, and the snub hurts. It hurts something awful.

You feel embarrassment radiate from your body in a scorching tidal wave of heat as more eyes turn your way at his outburst. The prickling, hot sting climbs up from your chest to your neck then sets your head on fire. You can't bear to look at him either, so you drop your nervous gaze to watch your hand as it rubs soothing circles over your protruding stomach, instead. It's more self-soothing than anything else, but you hope it calms the baby as well. He's begun to stir, shifting inside you in reaction to your heightened anxiety.

"I-I-I know this is a big shock, Kyle, but I—"

"Is that why ya were gaggin' for it raw?" he demands, cutting you off. Someone gasps behind you, low murmurs and whispers tweaking your ears. "Fuck, was that your plan all along? Get up the duff by some poor sod, sit back and collect a check every month?"

"What?" you breathe out, stunned at his accusations.

"This whole 'chance meeting'," he sneers, using air quotes. "Was this your play all along, hoping to sucker me in or would any dumb sod ya fucked do in a pinch?"

You rear back as if he landed a physical blow. It feels like your head might explode, his cruel words causing the blood to pound in your ears. You can feel your entire body trembling now, fury and shame coursing through you as a cold, empty feeling settles like a stone in your gut. This is too much, more than you can stand.

Shooting up to your feet, hand splayed protectively over your stomach, you accidentally bump the table. Your tea topples over to run off the edge, but you ignore it as you snatch up your coat and the dry-cleaning bag from the neighboring chair. Hitching your purse up on your shoulder with a shaking hand, you try to hold back the tears stinging your sinuses and burning the backs of your eyes.

"This was a mistake," you mutter in an angry, quaking voice, meant more for yourself than him, but he hears it all the same and nods.

"Yeah, you're right. Huge fuckin' mistake," he agrees, his eyes boring into you as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Breaths panting, you can feel your heart constrict. Christ, he just accused you of trying to trap him, as if you'd use your own baby to try to hook a man or extort money. Fuck him. Fuck. Him. You don't need him, never needed him or any other bloke, for that matter. You make your own way just fine, been doing it for bloody years. You'd planned on raising the baby by yourself, anyway, because you thought you'd never see the handsome stranger you met in the club again. Your baby doesn't need someone as cold and cruel as Kyle Garrick in his life, even if you'd secretly hoped that he would want to be a part of it.

Crossing paths with Kyle again was just dumb fucking luck. You should never have attempted this, should have pretended that someone else was the father or better yet just kept your bloody mouth shut to protect yourself and your baby. God, what a stupid, naïve fool you've been, pining over a man that only really existed in your head. The reality of that man is nothing like what you imagined. Not even close.

Seething with rage, burning with shame, you shuffle away from the table, ready to make a beeline for the entrance when Kyle's hand clamps around your wrist, bringing you to a halt. He glares up at you, eyes snapping with dark fury, his beautiful mouth twisted into an ugly sneer.

"Don't appreciate ya playin' games, pet, tryin' to fob off some other bloke's git on me. A DNA test would prove you're lying, and I'm not dumb enough to not ask for one, no matter how good the pussy was. I'm not one to play with, sweetheart, but ya should consider yourself lucky. Try that with another bloke, it might not work out so well for ya next time. Hope ya've learned your lesson."

A tear escapes to track down your face as his words crack open your heart. "Yeah, Kyle. I learned my lesson very well. Thanks for that, mate." Jerking your arm out of his grasp, you hurry away, not even bothering to grab your umbrella in your haste to escape him.

Kyle fights the urge to follow you, hating that he made you cry, but at the same time wanting to punish you more for dangling something as tempting as a baby in his face. That was a bridge too far for him, offering up that false hope when he knows there's little to no chance of it ever happening.

It's not something he shares with many people. It was a stupid accident during training that resulted in an internal injury that gave way to infection. It was just a little lump in his ball sack and a low-grade fever, but the doc delivered the devastating news once the infection was cleared up. Scarring in the tubes that deliver his sperm. He's shooting blanks, essentially.

He watches you bump into a couple entering the shop, hears your teary apology as you push past them, sees you throw up your hand to deflect the rain. His eyes catch on your brolly leaning in the corner and he snatches it up, opening his mouth to call after you, but you're already out the door and hurrying away before he can even get to his feet. It's not raining too hard, but you'll probably end up soaked through in no time, running out without your umbrella. Didn't even bother putting on your bloody coat before running away.

From him.

His hand clenches around the umbrella, the thin metal spines creaking, then he releases a breath, his grip easing. As fast as it surged through him, his anger is already beginning to ebb, the feeling replacing it making his shoulders slump in abject defeat. Disappointment hangs like a shroud around him, his elation at finding you again leaving a bitter taste in his mouth now.

He thought the universe had seen fit to give him a second chance, bringing you back into his orbit. He'd hardly been able to think of anything else but you for the last five months, only to be confronted with the reality of the woman he'd so badly misjudged. And to think, he went back to that club every night for two weeks in the hopes of seeing you again, cursing his luck when he was deployed and had to leave. He should count it as a blessing that you never showed. Still, it stings, the loss of that hope.

Pushing away from the table, he stands, ignoring the stares and whispers as he takes up his dry-cleaning bag and your umbrella then heads towards the entrance himself. Once out on the sidewalk, he can't stop himself from staring off in the direction you went, but he doesn't spot you among the crowd. Ignoring the twinge of guilt he feels, he turns in the opposite direction and walks away.

-

part 2 | part 4

[mewtagen-mau]

Entry 1

I lost everything. But a blank journal is easy enough to come by, so at least I can start my musings again. From scratch. I suppose.

As you might surmise, today was…eventful, to say the least. Probably the most excitement I’ve had in my entire life. Not the good kind. More of the ‘fighting for your life’ kind.

It started normally enough. It had been a frustratingly loud morning with all the travelers from out of town here to participate in the Swallowtail Festival. As the morning wore on I eventually came to the decision that I could not concentrate in these conditions, and decided I might as well see what all the fuss was about. At the very least there would be a free meal involved.

So I made the walk to the town square—despite my leg’s protests that it would have much preferred me staying indoors and working as much as I would. I really should have taken something for the pain before I left home, but the noise had been so distracting. I hadn’t been thinking straight.

Thankfully I caught the smell of fish in the air—cooked fish with curry, being handed out as samples by dear Ameiko. If there was one thing that could motivate me to stay and see this festival through, it was Ameiko Keijitsu’s cooking. So I made my way to her stall, while the droning of people making speeches on the stage helped to silence the crowd somewhat. I only caught pieces of what was said. Sheriff Hemlock was his usual no-nonsense self and brought down the mood a bit asking for a moment of silence for those lost in the fire a few years back. I hadn’t been in town back when it had happened, but I paid my respects none-the-less. My heart does go out to them.

There was a bit of an awkward pause when Lonjiku Kaijitsu was meant to make an appearance and give a speech of his own, but apparently he had come down with some illness. Nothing severe, I hoped. I wasn’t terribly well acquainted with the man, but I do get vials for my potions and extracts from the glassworks from time to time. And Ameiko is a good woman, so I wouldn’t wish ill on her father.

Speaking of Ameiko, she greeted me and two other customers who had come to her stall at about the same time. One was a man I’d seen in passing around town before, Nanel. The other must have been a visitor from out of town, because I would know if I’d seen a ratfolk around before today. I later learned their name to be Kyrsa (actually крыса, but I have some difficulty replicating letters from the ratfolk’s language so for now I will be writing it how it is pronounced.)

Ameiko offered us a sampling of her delicious fish, and a strong ‘concoction’ she’d brewed up. I told her I was always interested in a new concoction. The other two customers seemed to decide to follow my lead, and both also agreed they wanted to try her new drink. Ameiko poured us three shots. I downed it. It burned, but compared to some of the things I’ve downed before in the name of science, this was easy to keep down.

Apparently the other two customers did not agree. They both looked rather queasy. I laughed it off and told Ameiko that stuff packed a punch. She decided that was a good name for the brew—punch. I can’t disagree. She offered me a jug of it, which I was happy to accept. Sometimes you just want something strong to finish out the day, and you don’t want to leave your quiet comfortable house to go get it.

…Well, not that I have that luxury now.

I am getting ahead of myself.

Ameiko asked if any of us wanted another. I agreed to the obvious challenge in her tone. Apparently the other two, despite both looking like another would send them running for a place to lose the fish they’d just eaten, did not intend to back down from the challenge if I was taking her up on it. They both agreed they wanted another as well. Ameiko seemed mildly bemused by this as she handed us another. I downed it with the same ease as before. It hit hard, but I knew how to handle myself. Nanel seemed to have mastered himself as well, as he looked less sickly than before and seemed like the alcohol had hit him less severely this time.

Kyrsa was true to my prediction, and went running for the nearest bushes.

I chuckled to myself, said my farewells to Ameiko for the time being, and went to find something else to pass the time. I eventually wandered into a crowd of people gathered around one of the local shop owners, Ven Vinder, who was running a game of trivia. Unlike many of the other games held within the festival, this one actually drew people in with the promise of a prize.

I think myself a well-read catfolk, so depending on the subject trivia would be…trivial.

And to my great fortune the trivia was a matter of numbers. A question of how many people live in the town of Sandpoint.

There are currently exactly 1240 people living in Sandpoint. I’ve counted.

Apparently my calculations had been right on the dot (and of course they were, I was very meticulous when I counted them all). As a prize I won a Cure Light Wounds potion—which he quietly admitted was probably not quite up to my own standards. That was a tad disappointing, to be sure, as I could brew these up with just a few hours and the right ingredients. But it proved vital later that day—sometimes it is not what we want that is actually what we need.

I milled about the festival for a while longer, considered returning to Ameiko’s stall for a bit but there were more people there now and I didn’t much relish the idea of spending time in a crowd. I eventually drifted to the edge of the festival and spent some time regaining my composure from all of the sounds and smells and people. It was all a bit overwhelming, to be sure.

As I returned, it appeared our local Desnan priest Father Zantus was about to make a speech and call us together for the feasting part of the festival. I was eager for that, if only in the hopes of getting more of Ameiko’s delicious curried fish.

Unfortunately, that was not meant to be.

Because as Father Zantus began speaking, there was a scream. And then chanting. Many voices chanting the same horrible verses. A goblin war chant.

Violence exploded around us. I had never seen the atmosphere of a place change so completely so quickly. One moment everyone was joyfully celebrating the festival, the next there was panic as the goblins descended violently upon any fleeing citizen they could catch up with. And the smell of smoke was in the air. They were trying to burn the town to the ground.

That little ratfolk, Kyrsa, was the first person near me to react. They spun around, brought up their hands, and a spike of ice flew across the square and impaled the nearest goblin. The goblin staggered forward towards Kyrsa, but his injury hampered his movements.

I didn’t get a look at how Kyrsa’s fight ended, because two more goblins were stalking their way towards me and a rabbitfolk in a tabard (with Aroden’s symbol on it?) with a blade in hand. I later learned his name was Tabot. Tabot the rabbit in a tabard. With Aroden’s holy symbol on it. Alright.

I called out to the goblins in their native language, informing them that they were being very disruptive and they should go away. The goblins jeered and one said since I spoke in their tongue they should rip it out. My tongue, I mean. Disgusting.

Well, I gave them a chance.

I changed my stance to put more weight on my good leg and pulled my blade free from my cane. Then I removed a volatile concoction from my belt. I hadn’t exactly brought this to the festival with intent to use it—it was something to work on if my hands got fidgety. Improving them, I mean, they were already finished. I wouldn’t throw a prototype in the middle of an actual battle where lives are on the line.

I tossed the concoction at the nearest goblin. My aim was imperfect, but both goblins were still caught in the radius of the explosion that followed.

The two singed goblins charged at me and Tabot. I didn’t see how things went with Tabot’s goblin, because the one that went after me was the one who had been slinging around threats. And they apparently intended to attempt to go through with them, as they slashed their blade across my face in an attempt to cut out my tongue.

I shifted around so I had both of the goblins in my line of sight. Something had peppered Tabot’s goblin with sharp thorns. Between that and the burns it had sustained from the explosive, that goblin was on its last legs. I decided to take a risk, hoping that Tabot would repay the favor in kind. I swung my blade at the more badly injured goblin and felled it—rather than the other that had just sliced me.

Tabot did, indeed, repay the favor. He darted around to my side and in one quick fluid movement he ended the last goblin’s life.

Well…last of that batch.

The chanting was still going, and we heard more sounds of fire and violence coming from the other side of the square. Kyrsa was the first to begin darting in that direction. They were the first to spot the chanting goblin and the two goblin minions with him—and they lifted their hand for a spell. Unfortunately, it appeared that the goblin chanter resisted whatever the ratfolk had cast.

I saw that this was going to be a fight of endurance not a sprint, so I drank my Mew-tagen, the modified genetics of a lion granting me greater strength and a hardier body.

As I approached the fight, Nanel dove under the stage nearby just in front of me. I hadn’t even realized he’d been in the fight with us until the split second I saw of him there. He may have been injured and trying to get away from the fighting for a moment to reconstitute himself.

It seemed he chose poorly, as two of the goblins ran over to crawl under the stage with him. Only one made it under. He yelled something, but I didn’t make out the words.

A moment later there was a scream—the goblin’s scream—a grisly crunch, and a sound like…something eating?

My fur was standing on end imagining just what else might be under that stage. Admittedly any thoughts of Nanel’s safety had fled my mind, I was just concerned about what kind of horror we might be facing next.

I barely registered it as Tabot charged past me and took out one of the other regular goblins. I risked a step closer to the stage, to take down the last goblin remaining that wasn’t the chanter.

The chanting stopped, although the sounds of violence continued throughout the town. The goblin seemed to have run out of stamina. It likely didn’t help that he now had a bolt sticking from his shoulder—courtesy of Kyrsa I assume, since they were the only one with a crossbow in the square in that moment.

Tabot tried to attack the final goblin, but his sword swung wide.

Something fast and made of writhing vines lunged forward from beneath the stage. It sounded like it spoke to Tabot, but it was hard to make out in the chaos of battle. What I know for certain is that part of the plant opened up and it was a big gaping mouth with too many sharp teeth, which tried to snap closed on the goblin.

The goblin avoided that attack too.

The plant thing seemed to be on our side, at least for the time being, so I dragged my way to its side and tried to stab the goblin as well—to equally poor effect.

The goblin stepped back and cast a spell, but it was ineffective.

Kyrsa shot the goblin with their crossbow again, and it struck true. A spellcaster and a good shot. Quite surprising for such a timid little thing.

Tabot and the plant continued to have little luck against this goblin.

I decided that the definition of insanity is trying the same thing time and again and expecting new results. So I stepped back, and instead of trying to stab the goblin again, I unclipped another explosive from my belt, and threw that instead. It struck true—right in the goblin’s shit eating face. It didn’t have a face, or a head, after that.

Father Zantus called us over, hailing us as heroes, and asking if we needed healing. I wasn’t at my best, and Tabot looked worse for the wear. So did Nanel, who reappeared a moment later apologizing profusely and letting us know he’d gotten into a scuffle with a goblin under the stage. I wondered if he’d seen the plant thing—which seemed to have slinked off somewhere, probably off hunting more goblins elsewhere in the town now that there were none here.

After Father Zantus healed us, Kyrsa informed us that they heard something coming from down the road. We were going to have to be ready for another fight. I quickly produced the two Potions of Cure Light Wounds I have—the ones that weren’t my Extracts—and gave one each to Nanel and Tabot, as they seemed the sort who got more into the fray. I don’t think Kyrsa got touched during that entire first fight together, despite throwing ice and shooting bolts around like a bringer of death.

We gathered together, ready for whatever was to come.

We weren’t expecting some ruffly nobleman and his dog to come running down the road with goblins in tow. The man begged for our help, then hid behind some barrels. Deciding he’d stick around for moral support or something.

What followed was a harrowing fight for many of us. Two goblins and a third atop a goblin dog ran into the square.

As I’m coming to expect, Kyrsa was the first to react. They shot a bolt at one of the goblins—which unfortunately got its attention.

One of the goblins on foot and the mounted goblin went after Tabot and Nanel. Both rider and goblin dog attacked Nanel with a viciousness I don’t think I’d ever seen in my life.

Nanel fell—not dead, but he was bleeding on the ground.

Tabot used his own potion of Cure Light Wounds to heal Nanel, waking him from the brink.

I used the moment to throw a bomb at the foot soldier—once again I misjudged against such small opponents, but it ended up being a boon as the bomb landed directly between the goblin and his mounted leader—catching goblin, leader, and mount in the blast.

I was feeling quite satisfied with myself, when I heard some worrisome sounds from where I’d last seen Kyrsa. I turned to see they were badly bloodied, barely still standing, with the other goblin foot soldier baring down on them. They had some sort of spectral armor cast around themself which had just saved them from a potentially leather blow—but who knows how long their luck would last. I decided to help luck along a little, and swooped in behind the goblin. I stabbed him through the shoulder—right around the same place Kyrsa had first shot him.

That got his attention. With his focus on me, Kyrsa could get a little breathing room.

The goblin and I exchanged blows—each just barely dodging around the attacks of the other. If the goblin had more finesse or I were more graceful on my feet, it might have been mistaken for a beautiful sword duel. As it was it probably looked more like a couple of flailing fools swinging weapons we didn’t know the hilt from the blade.

I found my opening when Nanel crept up behind the goblin. I requested his assistance, and he acquiesced. Nanel brought his quarterstaff down around the neck of the goblin, giving me the opening to stab it through the heart. The goblin laughed, saying I stabbed them both, but then looked up and saw Nanel was just fine. I pulled back, and told the dying goblin that I had enough fine control over my blade to keep from skewering an ally. Then I went looking for my blade’s sheath, because my leg was killing me and I really wanted my cane back with the fighting out of the way.

The nobleman came out from hiding and thanked us for saving him. He introduced himself as Aldern Foxglove. He proclaimed himself the most important noble in town. The others seemed like they might contradict him, so I simply stated that he was likely the *only* noble in town and won by default. He seemed to take this as a compliment.

I can see why my mother didn’t want a thing to do with nobility, if even a fraction of them are like this Foxglove fellow.

Once Foxglove was on his way—after telling us to come find him at the Rusty Dragon in the next few days so he could thank us properly—Father Zantus again heaped praise at our feet. Not really necessary. What else would we have done? We were in town, the goblins attacked, and two of us were from here. We were hardly going to sit back and let the place burn, if only in self defense and to protect our livelihoods. Although obviously the less loss of life the better. I am glad that our actions helped divert much of the goblins’ attention away from more vulnerable people.

After we spoke to Father Zantus and Ameiko (who offered us all free rooms at the Rusty Dragon for the next week), we naturally gathered up anything the goblins had on them. Since I have a good head for numbers I went through the gold they had, calculating how much we found on them. I suggested we split it evenly between the four of us, since we’d all played an equal role in fighting off the goblins. The others agreed. So we split up the gold, and I gathered anything the others didn’t want to go pawn off at the markets.

We did find one thing we wanted to keep though—a Potion of Cure Moderate Wounds. What in the Nine Hells. How did goblins get ahold of such a powerful potion? I’m not even skilled enough to make a potion of this quality yet and I’ve been practicing alchemy for years now!

The others decided it would be best if I held onto the potion, as the resident alchemist. I did not raise any arguments to the contrary.

Then we went our separate ways.

That should have been the end of things. Kyrsa and Tabot would move on with their travels, Nanel would continue doing whatever he does, and I would continue with my life.

That is not what happened.

As I finished in the markets one of the local messengers approached me. He told me he had some unpleasant news. He seemed uncomfortable, like he didn’t want to be delivering this particular piece of news. I asked him to go on.

He informed me that my house had been burnt down.

I was shocked into silence, so he continued. Talking about things like how sorry he was, and how they would search the wreckage for anything that survived. I wasn’t listening. I was moving towards the street I lived on as if possessed, not all there. My feet moved automatically, dragging me closer and closer to what I didn’t want to see but also had to see for myself.

The smoldering bones of what I’d called home.

Everything was gone. My books. My experiments. My notes and journals and ideas—my hopes and dreams. All up in smoke. Just like that.

As I stared at the ashes, trying to process this, I saw something that stood out to me. Even in my worst moments, I have an eye for detail. And there was something out of place. I stepped into the wreckage, ignoring the messenger’s warning that I probably shouldn’t go digging through the rubble by myself. I dashed aside some ashes, and sure enough my eyes had not deceived me. There had been a wrapped torch placed within the house itself.

The goblins had been burning buildings from outside—maybe even throwing torches through broken windows—but this was set with purpose. This had been placed here by someone who wanted to make sure this building was reduced to cinders.

The pieces clicked into place in my brain. The goblins hadn’t done this alone. Someone else was pulling the strings. Someone who, for some reason, had targeted me specifically.

That feeling of unmoored loss and desperation were immediately replaced by one thing: determination. I was going to find whoever did this and bring them to justice. And I knew exactly the people to help me.

I made a beeline for the Rusty Dragon, knowing that the three I had allied with against the goblins were all staying there. And sure enough, all three of them were sitting at a table together in the common room. I made straight for them. Kyrsa asked me if everything was okay—apparently my mood showed on my face. I told them no, it was not. I went into detail about what had happened with my house. Then I asked them if any of them were planning on sticking around to look deeper into the goblin attacks. Tabot asked me why we’d look deeper into them—was there something to look deeper into?

I told him yes, and explained the evidence I’d found of someone working with the goblins. Once I was done, the others all agreed that whoever was in league with the goblins needed to be stopped before they made another move against the town. I also gave the others their share of the funds from the loot I’d sold. Tabot insisted that he only take a cut of his portion and I have the rest. It was a blow to my pride to take his charity, but I also did just lose virtually everything I owned except for what I’d had on me at the festival and a bomb launcher I’d found that a goblin must have dropped by the ruins of my home. If nothing else, extra funds meant more ingredients for potions which would go right back into helping bring down this traitor to the town.

I also made a proposition to the others, that if we were to work together for this, I could get them potions at half the price of what they could buy them for at the store—just the cost of materials. I would normally never make this offer—a cat has to eat after all—but these are extraordinary circumstances, and as I said above any potions I make right now will go towards our common goal.

After we’d hashed out these details, Sheriff Hemlock entered the Rusty Dragon and made his way over to us. He thanked us for helping with the attack, then voiced the same suspicion I had—that someone from the inside had set up this attack. I told him the evidence I’d found that he was exactly right. He told me that, for now, we should keep that knowledge between us. Seeing as we don’t even have any suspects yet, it could be anyone. We don’t want to clue in our little fire bug that we’re onto them until it’s too late for them to run.

With that agreed on, the sheriff told us that he’d actually come looking for the four of us for a separate reason. Apparently something strange was happening at the temple’s mausoleum to the former head of the temple, Father Tobyn. He was one of the victims of the fire five years ago, the one the Sheriff himself had alluded to during his speech. Father Zantus wanted to consecrate the crypt, but the sheriff had asked the priest to wait until he’d had ‘some adventurers’ take a look. Some adventurers were us.

We agreed to help, as the timing was a bit too coincidental to be a coincidence. Maybe our firebug had also done something to the crypt, and maybe there were clues. But it would have to wait for the next day—everyone was exhausted from the goblin raid.

Ameiko arrived about an hour later. She had a conversation with Tabot and Kyrsa—something about Tabot wanting a smaller room and Kyrsa wanting to sleep in Tabot’s room, and a lot of miscommunication about the intentions behind that. Tabot, being the absolute pinnacle of a paladin that he is, wanted a smaller room so that Ameiko could still rent out the big room to customers and make more money. Kyrsa wanted to sleep with Tabot because they were afraid of sleeping alone—or something along those lines, I quit paying attention and went up to my own room around that point.

I’ve also been given a large room with two beds—the same as the ones Kyrsa and Tabot were giving up, and which I assume Nanel would not be. I pushed the beds together to make one large bed, and now that I have finished putting my thoughts down on paper I intend to…try to sleep.

[companionwolf]

Toy Soldiers Ch 15

At dawn the next morning they reach the haven-- the Commander slows, waves at the Outpost that stretches above the other buildings. Someone waves back, comes down to meet them.

They're tan, with black hair and a hoodie. They look the Commander over a few times. "I know you," they say eventually. "You haven't been here for a while."

"I got stuff to trade," says the Commander.

Hoodie-person looks them over one more time, and then nods. "Alright, come on in them," they say, showing them toward the general goods store of the haven.

The human gets what they came for-- packs of water, and the last pieces they needed for the purifier. The general goods manager takes the data pads despite not knowing a way to read them, saying they'll ask XCOM for help.

The Commander holds back a frown, leaves with their gains and asks around for a place to get a drink-- they're directed toward the makeshift bar in the corner of the haven.

They sit near the entrance, sipping a beer and turning Tygan over in their hands. "They took good care of you."

He was fond of me, the toy says. He goes quiet for a moment. I do wish I knew what had happened to him.

If it helps, says Central, I don't know for sure what happened to my boy.

Ah, your first human was a child?

A sense of a nod.

My condolences to his loss, Tygan says. I can only imagine what you saw-- you were in one of those cities, weren't you? The fallen ones?

Central transmits a nod again. I didn't see a lot, facedown in the mud--

I did, says Shen. Be happy you missed it.

I saw some of it, says Kelly quietly. It was… Yeah, it's better you missed it.

Tygan does not speak, but is barely able to contain his curiosity from leaking through. Shen sighs

You still want to know, she says.

And before anyone can say anything else, the images come--

Of the Fog Pods off gassing, the humans caught in their tendrils consumed by the tendrils, the others fleeing.

Of slowly emptying streets, of the shambling masses that grow bigger and bigger.

Of survivors picking through wreckage, of the Lost bearing down on them, turning them too.

Of the Reapers hunting the Lost, picking them off from the roof, the bodies bleeding inhuman.

Ah, says Tygan. He sounds queasy.

"Enough trauma, more alcohol," says the Commander. Central frowns as they shotgun the rest of their drink.

I worry about you, he says.

"It's fine," they say.

Because it's you, yeah, we know that excuse, says Shen, with the sense she's rolling her eyes.

This an ongoing problem? Tygan sounds mildly concerned.

"What did I just say?" The Commander waves the now empty bottle around as punctuation. "No more talking about problems!"

Central transmits quiet worry; Shen annoyance, Kelly a shrug. Tygan speaks again: What do you want to talk about instead, Commander?

They move to get up.

"Commander?"

Someone is standing there, looking at them with wide eyes-- gray hair, brown eyes, a mouth turned down. The Commander blinks once, twice.

Colonel Jay Kennedy stares back at them.

And they can't help it.

They gather him into a hug, and the Commander--

The Commander cries.

The soldier allows them to cry into his shoulder, muffling their wails against his jacket with a 'I'm here, I'm OK, you're okay'. They peel back from him finally, wiping their eyes with the back of their wrists.

"I thought I was alone," they manage.

"Few of us made it," he says gruffly. "Me, Yolanda, some of the rookies, some of the staff."

"Are you all here?"

"Nah," says Kennedy. "We spread out. Easier to avoid ADVENT that way. Some of them bee lined straight for XCOM when it resurrected, though." He frowns. "Why aren't you with them?"

"With XCOM?"

Here we go, says Shen.

Kennedy nods, sits down besides the Commander. "I thought it was you that got them running again," he says. "When I heard it was some random, I didn't believe it."

"You don't know what I've gone through," they say. "I've got my reasons for staying far away."

"But you're here," he says.

"I'll be leaving as soon as I'm done talking with you," they answer.

Kennedy frowns again, deeper. "They could really use your help," he says. "Lot of what ADVENT is doing tactically these days reminds me of how you used to command. Worth a shot to try and give them an idea how to combat that line of thought."

The Commander's turn to frown. "I don't want anything to do with the resistance," they say, and stand up.

"Commander, please." Kennedy's voice breaks a little at the end. "You don't have to stay or join, just.. give them some advice. Plus some of our people from the war are there and I know they'd love to see you're alive."

The Commander sighs.

Kennedy stands up as well. "Think about it?" he asks. "I'll meet you here in the morning tomorrow if you… if you are still around."

The Commander gives him a curt nod and ducks back into the bar, ordering another stronger drink that they take and sulk to the back of the place with.

You're not going to go, says Kelly.

Commander, I think you should, says Central. I think it would be good.

They swallow a mouthful of bitter. "I don't want to," they say. "Doesn't that matter? That I don't want to?"

It wouldn't be forever, Kelly says.

How about we go see what they've managed and then connect them with the factions? says Shen.

They might know something about Asaru, Central adds.

The Commander buries their face in their free hand. "If I go," they say, "will you all finally stop nudging me about it?"

I can't make any promises, says Central.

They huff and roll their eyes, taking another swig of their drink. "Typical."

Look, it'll be a good thing to do, he says. Connect the factions with XCOM - they'd be one hell of a fighting force together.

"Yeah, ok, fine," they say, gazing into the bottle in their hand, swishing the content around. "If you all are there, I'll go.'

Where else would we be?

"Touche, Shen," they say, and finish their drink off. "Guess we'll go meet Kennedy in the morning, then."

I WILL bitch at you if you don't, Central says.

Me too!

The Commander laughs a little.

"My accountability partners," they murmur, gently touching the top of each toy's head. "Yeah, I'll go."

[aficwhore]

As I Lay Dying...(Part One)

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader, Team x Reader

Warnings: violence, language, near death experience, reader injury, slight fluff

Word Count: 2,655

Summary: After having a dry spell the team go on a case, the unsub is kidnapping and killing women around the reader’s age and appearance. As she goes undercover the plan falls through, will she survive? (slow burn, sort of?)

A/N: So I wrote the first half of this and it was super long, like way too long, so I decided to split this into parts! Please let me know if you liked it and if I should post the last parts as well! Feedback please!!!! <3

Reader POV:

My neck started to strain as I intensely stared at my computer screen. Deciding to take a break from my paperwork and reports, I shove my chair back with a huff.

“Anyone else need more coffee?” I asked as I made my way from the bullpen to our small kitchenette, earning a few no’s and hums from the team.

I rinsed my mug of my coffee leftovers. I reached to pull the fresh brewed coffee pot, pouring most of it into my cup and adding a small dash of creamer and sugar. as I leaned against the counter, sipping my caffeine, Penelope struts in, “Hey baby cakes!”

“Hey,” I smile sheepishly, taking another swig of my drink.

“What’s with the gloomy energy? Did something happen, love?” The blonde questioned sincerely.

I shrugged, “We haven’t had a case in a while, not that it’s a bad thing, but I’m sick of sitting and staring at a screen all day.” I explained as I pulled myself up onto the counter.

She laughed, “Darlin’ I do that everyday! But u know you’re not used to it, so i hope you get a case soon, wait, no-“

We both burst into giggles, knowing what she meant. “Woah what’s so funny in here?!” Emily inquired, while stepping into the room.

“Pen here just said how she HOPES we get a case soon.” I chuckled.

“Oh god, i hate to say it, but me - fucking - too.” Emily chimed in. She walked over, taking the last of coffee into her cup, leaving it black. “Y/n, you better get back to your desk before Mr. Boss Man sees you goofing around,” she smirked, leaving Penelope and I alone again.

I rolled my eyes as I slid off the countertop. “Well thanks for the horrible wish Garcia,” I snickered, nudging her side as I passed by, heading to my dreaded workspace. I walked by Spencer’s desk, he leaned back in his chair, feet propped up. I took the opportunity to smack the back of his head lightly earning a quiet yelp from the genius.

“What was that for?!” Boy wonder squealed. I shrugged hearing Morgan snicker. With a loud sigh, I threw myself in my rolling chair, causing it to spin me around. Already stricken with boredom I started bouncing my leg, leading to my chair to start squeaking. I ignored the noise, struggling to focus on my report I was supposed to be writing. Just when I began typing someone yanked my chair and I away from my desk.

“Baby girl, we get it, you’re bored, but damn you’re annoying,” Morgan spoke, his voice laced with laughter.

Blushing slightly, I complained, “I’m sorry! i can’t take another day of paperwork! I just can’t! how do you all manage it?!”

“We are just as irritated Y/n, we'll get a case soon, ask Hotch to take a break and go walk around or something. Just please stop the noise.” Derek said, patting my shoulder. When I stood up, Hotch rushed into the room.

“Conference room in 5, we got a case.” Aaron huffed.

I excitedly jump up, “YES! FINALLY!” Earning stifled giggles from Emily, Spencer, and Derek.

We all rushed to the conference room, files and pens in hand, eager to get out of the bullpen for a little while. “Okay, so we have a case in Arlington, Texas. Three women were found dead in several construction sites, gagged and tied with burn marks across their chest. Two other women were reported missing two days ago, possibly taken by our unsub.” Rossi explains with a hardened look making its way to his face. 

“Okay team, wheels up in 30.” Aaron chimes in, breaking up our silence. 

As a whole we head to the desks and grab our to-go bags., tidying up our workspaces, to be ready for our reports when we get back. “Y/n, can you sit with me on the jet, I want to sleep and you’re the only one who really lets me sleep on their shoulder and keeps me warm.” Spencer asks with a quiet voice. 

“Of course pretty boy, anytime for you,” I answer with a smile. The both of us walk to the jet side by side, hand brushing against each other, his skin soft and cold compared to my warm one. We stayed quiet the whole time, until we made it into the jet, situating our bags and settling in. Spencer takes a window seat at one of the tables, I sit next to him as Hotch makes his way across from us. 

Once everyone is settled and ready to go, the jet starts us on our journey. Soon after Spencer begins to snore while his head lay on my shoulder. “What book are you reading now, Y/n?” Hotch questioned, nodding his head towards the novel in my hands. 

Lifting it to reveal the title, “Full Dark, No Stars, by Stephen King.” He raised his brow in examination. “It’s a novel composed of four different stories. They’re about murder, love affairs, such and such.” I slightly giggled.

Aaron chuckled, “Don’t you get enough of that stuff everyday? On the job?”

“The writing fascinates me, I don’t know why, maybe the same way romance novels entice ‘normal’ people.” I claim as I shake my head, shrugging a little.

“You’re something else,” the dark haired man added, going back to the newspaper in front of him. I turn my attention back to my book, getting lost in the pages. Spencer shifted in his sleep, laying down in my lap, tucking one of his arms underneath my legs, pulling me closer. Just like instinct, I used my free hand to play with his beautiful long hair. He began to softly hum from relaxation.  It seemed like hours, with Spencer contently asleep on my thighs and my hand tracing shapes on his chest. 

I felt a light tap on my shoulder, “Pretty boy still asleep?” Morgan examined from the couch next to us on the other side of the aircraft. I nodded. “Good, because we need to discuss the issue at hand.” I slowly closed my book with a confused look, placing it gently on the table. “The unsub is after women like you, about the same age, same height, same hair color. We don’t want you to feel pressured to do anything but-” 

“I’ll do it,” I cut Derek off. I looked at Aaron who was now listening.

He cleared his throat, “Are you sure? We knew Spencer would disagree if we asked while he was awake. If you are comfortable with this, we can brief you on our plan.”

I bowed my head in agreement. “Can we just keep it from this one?” motioning to the doctor snoring in my lap. Both men nodded, leaving the conversation at that. The jet filling with silence again as everyone, but us three, slept.

A bell rang above us, letting us know that we’d be landing in a few. I mildly shook Reid awake. His darting his eyes open and making eye contact with me.“Are we there?” he asked groggily. 

“Yea, sleep good babe?” The nickname causing him to blush, the nickname was platonic, or used to be until recently, now you called him it because you began to fall for the young man, hoping he would pick up what you were putting down. Though you made several attempts to make your flirting noticeable, Spencer seemed to dismiss them, or maybe not pay attention to them. 

“Y-yeah, I slept good, I was warm the whole time, thank you.” He spoke, patting you on your leg where he slept previously. 

Emily stood up and stretched with a yawn. “Damn my back hurts, JJ took up most of the couch.” she grumbled. 

“Okay? You kept twitching in your sleep!” JJ countered with a groan. The two girls gather their things. Rossi remained quiet, putting his papers into his satchel and packing up. 

“Alright, we’ll head to the hotel, get a few hours of sleep and get to work first thing in the morning.” Hotch explained as he exited the aircraft, Spencer and I trailing behind. The short ride to the hotel was very quiet, everyone was already half asleep. As we arrived, Hotch spoke sleepily “Okay same as usual, double up, the rooms should have two beds, so Morgan and I, JJ and Emily, Spencer and Y/n.” He handed us our keys and made his way to his room.

JJ stretched and yawned out “Yep, definitely headed straight to bed.” Emily giggled and nodded, the two of them leaving us behind with a ‘goodnight’.

“I’m not tired so I think I’m going to head to the bar for a little bit,” Derek shrugged, picking up his go bag and waving at us as he left the lobby.

“Looks like it’s just you and me Boy Wonder,” I gleamed.

All Spencer responded with was a warm smile and leading the way to our shared room. We didn’t talk the whole walk, it was a comfortable silence. Once we reached the door, Spencer stepped back to let me use my key on the lock. With a content sigh I threw the door open to reveal a single bed and a tiny bathroom. No words were spoken as we settled in, each getting into our pajamas, and doing our nightly routines. He was the first to finish and dive underneath the covers of the squeaky bed without hesitation. We had shared a bed tons of times, but only for me recently, it made me a little nervous.

“Spence, can you maybe scoot over more?” I ask quietly.

“I’m on my half, there's plenty enough room for you still.” The genius spoke into the darkness of the room.

“Oh, okay, I just wanted to make sure we both had space.” I lied, queasy at the fact that I was going to sleep close to my best friend who I was in love with. Walking over and slightly pulling the cover back, I slid into the sheets, careful to avoid Spence.

“If you’re cold, you can come closer, I know how you like to sleep warm.” He suggested, lightly turning to his side for you to cuddle up to him.

Clearing my throat, “N-no, I’m okay. Thanks though, goodnight.”

He stayed hushed for a second, he seemed to be taken back by my response. “Oh...Okay.” He then rolled over, facing his back to me.

As much as I wanted to, I couldn't, especially with my current situation. I didn’t want him to know that I love him, well I did, but I was afraid of what he would think. Does he love me back? Is this all just in my head? What should I do- and just like that, my rambling had put me to sleep.

The next morning I awoke to a light breath fanning across my face. Confused, I open my eyes to reveal a sleeping Spencer, pulling me tight against his chest, with my head in the crook of his neck. It was nice and serene. But it came to an end when I finally realized that I was cuddling him. I got up as quickly and as quietly as possible, careful not to wake the doctor. I rushed to the bathroom to get dressed and get the hell out of there.

But as soon as I attempted a run for the door, “Y/n? What time is it? Are we late?” Reid asks groggily.

“Nope! I just promised the girls I’d meet them downstairs for coffee!” I mislead, hurrying out the door and towards JJ and Emily’s room. Banging on the door I pleaded, “Please tell me you’re awake! I need you to open the door!”

The door swung open, “Woah woah! Slow down? What happened?!” Em questioned as you stepped inside to see that both her and JJ were up and ready.

“I don’t want to talk about it, can we just go get coffee or breakfast? Please?” I panicked.

The girls exchanged a look but nodded and followed me down to the small cafe the hotel had.

The walk down was quick, no one spoke. That was until we sat at a small table after ordering our coffees.

“So, you want to tell us what that was about?” JJ raises an eyebrow at me.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I forced a smile.

“Oh you mean the fact that she’s in love with a pretty boy and has been trying to avoid her feelings?” Emily questions, knowingly, causing me to choke on my coffee.

Trying to dab the spilled coffee off my blouse I ask, “How do you know that?! I mean- what?”

The two girls giggle at me. “Just a hunch,” the brunette quirks. “Relax, it’s obvious he feels the same. He’s absolutely crass about you. Someone can barely say your name and the boy blushes.”

JJ nods in agreement as she sips her mocha. “You can’t avoid it forever Y/n, what's the worst that can happen?”

“Yea, I guess you’re right, I just don’t want things to change between us.” I explain.

“The only reason why they have right now, is because you’ve been making it weird! Stop that!” Emily states while waving her hand in the air to make her point stick.

“Okay okay. I’ll stop.” I lauroll my eyes with amusement. “But today, I have to focus on going undercover. Especially behind Spencer’s back for the most part.” I spoke, furrowing my eyebrows in worry.

“Y/n, it will be okay. All you have to do is dress up, walk a few street corners, and we’ll get the unsub. It’ll be done and over with and Spencer would have nothing to worry about. You’re a strong woman who can fend for herself.” JJ told me, in hopes to alleviate my stress.

I nodded, trying to ignore the growing pit of nervousness in my stomach.

“Hey pretty ladies, nice to know you didn’t give us the option of coffee and gossip this morning.” Derek claims as he makes his way to the table with Hotch and Spencer following shortly behind him.

Spencer caught my eye. He seems pissed off, a mean look splayed across his face. “Y/n, we need to talk.”

In shock I look at the faces which surrounded me at the table, “Um yea, let’s go out into the lobby.”

Spencer quickly left me behind as I timidly arose from my seat and chased him.

“When were you going to tell me?!” He forcefully asked.

“Tell you what?” I attempted to answer.

“That you were going undercover! That you were going to put yourself in harm's way?!” He slightly shouted.

This angered me, “I didn’t realize that I had to run my OWN decisions by YOU! Last time I checked, I was a grown woman. This is for the better, to stop this murderer! You are NOT my father, you are NOT my owner, and last time i checked, you are NOT my boyfriend!” I exclaimed back.

Spencer seemed taken back, his face showed shock and dismay. He was speechless, a hint of sadness in his eyes.

“What? NOW you don’t say something? Unbelievable Spencer.” I exaggerate, turning on my heel and leaving him to himself in the hotel lobby.

To Be Continued...

[fleeting-queen-of-pepperland]

Nowhere Girl

Paul McCartney x Fem!Reader

Category: Fluff

Warnings: None, I think!

Word Count: 3K

A/N: So...I was listening to She’s Leaving Home and then I kind of remembered the whole train bit of “A Hard Day’s Night” and I came up with this! Hope you like it! xoxo 

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

The streets were nearly empty, covered in a thick fog that would remain there for the two hours left until sunrise. The air was mildly cold, and humid. The only moving thing was apparently the lone figure of a girl that hastily made her way down the street, attempting to reach the train station in a great hurry, constantly looking behind as if she expected someone to appear at any moment.

She walked in and walked over towards the counter, where the barely awake seller rested his head against the palm of his hand. 

“Good morning,” Y/n said politely, trying to rein herself and keep her voice from trembling. “One ticket, please,”

“Of course, darling,” the man replied with a kind smile. “where to?” 

“Where to?” she repeated the question, gazing upon the board that contained the arrivals and departures. The only fault in an otherwise flawless plan. The last thing in her mind was where she’d go if she succeeded. 

She needed it to be far away. However, the amount of money she had brought with her wasn’t quite enough for something as remote as she would’ve liked. Still, the feeling of proximity to the school made her stomach feel queasy. 

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows as another crazy scheme lit up in her brain. No crazier than the one she was partaking in at the moment, though. 

“Actually, I’ll think about it for a bit,” she replied, smiling at the man before her and walking away from the booth. The man’s sleepiness hadn’t gone unnoticed by her, and so she pretended to leave the station, just to hide around the corner and wait patiently for about ten minutes. 

Y/n covertly peeked around the corner and caught a glimpse of the ticket seller already asleep, his face seeming to melt over his hand as he rested his arm upon the counter. With a mischievous smile, the girl tiptoed her way past the ticket booth and onto the boarding platform. However small the station was, several trains stopped there either to refuel or as a quick connection on their way to their final destination, which was exactly what she needed. 

“Am I really going to do this?” she whispered to herself, a faint vapor coming out of her mouth as she exhaled deeply to give herself some courage. 

The sound of a train entering the station made her knees wobbly. 

“Alright, this is it. Now or never. Come on, Y/n, you’ve come too far to back out now.” 

As a matter of fact, she hadn’t objectively gone that far. It took her only twenty minutes to reach the station on foot, but as the doors opened before her and she took her first steps inside, mixing with the commuters that exited the train, in her mind, she’d well be boarding a ship to America. 

Quickly, Y/n slid inside one of the empty compartments and sat, smoothing her navy skirt in a nervous reflex. Oh, how she wished to sit by the window and gaze at the speeding landscape, but she had to be on the look for any approaching inspectors that could endanger her whole plan. 

As time passed, more people began filling the compartment. Fortunately, most of them were serious looking business people who were too busy reading the newspaper to mind her presence. Normally, she’d attempt to start a conversation, even if it was merely out of restlessness.  But she was too lost in her own thoughts for that. 

Even then, none of what was happening around her felt real. Two months back, Y/n was sitting in her dorm, perhaps reading one of the many photography magazines she secretly owned, and what she was doing now was nothing but a hopeful thought. 

She didn’t know what had finally pushed her to see it as a real possibility rather than the fantasy of a frustrated young girl, but one day she decided enough was enough, and if her parents refused to accept that being a housewife was not her ultimate goal in life, then she was left with no choice but to force them to acknowledge it by living her life on her own terms. 

A relieved smile bloomed on her lips, but it was short-lived as she heard a voice asking each passenger to hand in their ticket a couple of compartments ahead of hers. 

She immediately stood up and, attempting to look calm and collected, Y/n made her escape through the door and rushed down the hall, in the opposite direction of the voice and still unsure on where to go. 

Perhaps she could leave the train when it arrived at the next station?

No. That sounded too much like giving up, and she was fairly sure she hadn’t traveled far enough yet. She didn’t want to get cocky or underestimate the school’s authorities, nor her parents. She was, after all, an underage runaway.

As she turned around once more to make sure she wasn’t being followed, Y/n’s race was cut short when she collided with someone else. 

“Oh, sorry.” she promptly apologized. 

“It’s fine, are you alright?” a male voice replied. She looked up at him and nodded nonchalantly, the first thing about him that she noticed were his eyes, tawny and gentle, with large eyelashes. 

“Are you sure?” He spoke, just as gently and even sounding amused. “You look like you really are in a hurry and...well, I’m quite sure you can’t miss the train and we won’t get to the next station anytime soon.” 

Another set of steps approached them, the voice that accompanied them made Y/n instinctively look back before she tried to squirm around the untimely kind boy standing before her. 

“I’m alright. Excuse me, please.”

But he didn’t move. He pursed his lips thoughtfully and looked in the direction the voice came from before lowering his eyes back at her. It only took one moment for Y/n to realize he knew. However, he smiled mischievously and grabbed her hand before gesturing to the other side of the train. 

“Come on, follow me.”

Y/n didn’t think she had much of a choice. The space was limited, the time was running out and someone with such pretty eyes couldn’t possibly be that bad...right? 

Finally, both of them reached an empty cubicle. 

“Come on, get in.” he whispered and closed the door after her, casually leaning against it, discreetly blocking the view inside as the inspector finally appeared. 

“Ticket, please.” He requested. The boy nodded and took his ticket out. After checking it, the inspector moved as if to enter the compartment.

“Oh, there’s nobody else in there, mister.” he promptly said. “All of my friends went to get coffee a few moments ago, I’m just saving their seats. They must be in the next cart.”

“Is that so? Well, I better go check, then. Have a nice day.” 

The boy nodded his head to return his regards before walking back inside and smiling at the girl before him. 

“Well, that was easier than I thought it would.” 

“Thank you...” Y/n replied trailing off, realizing she didn’t know who she was thanking. “Sorry, I don’t think I got your name.” 

“I’m Paul. And don’t worry, it was nothing.”

“It was, believe me. I’m Y/n.” 

“Pleasure to meet you Y/n.” Paul responded, gifting her with a soft but nevertheless charming smile. 

Y/n just returned the gesture and leaned back on her seat, intertwining her fingers and resting her hands on her lap with a relieved sigh. Although she expected him to leave immediately after, Paul didn’t move. 

“If you don’t mind me asking, how does a girl like you end up traveling alone without a ticket?” 

Y/n hesitated. She wondered whether telling him the whole story was a good idea. A part of her was afraid he’d tell once the word of her escape came around, knowing very well they’d start looking for her the minute they realized she was missing. The sun was starting to slowly rise, meaning the classes would soon begin and since absences were uncommon and promptly looked into, it wouldn’t take long for them to begin the search. 

However, Y/n felt strangely compelled to come clean. He had already helped her no questions asked, and he kept looking at her with true interest and even a bit of concern. Besides, there was something familiar about his face that she couldn’t quite recognize, as if she had seen him before, however impossible that appeared.  Finally, she gave in. 

“I ran away.” she answered “I am -was- a student at Saint Catherine’s. It’s this all-girls Catholic boarding school nearby. My parents enrolled me about two years ago, but I couldn’t stand being there for one more minute.”

“Nuns don’t particularly stand out when it comes to having fun, do they?” he quipped with a lopsided grin. 

“It was madness! No music other than those awful chants, no books that didn’t belong to the syllabus, let alone magazines...no, that was not my place.”

“So you ran away,” he stated, an approving and even gingerly impressed gleam took over his eyes. Y/n pressed her lips together tightly and nodded. 

“So,” she continued, slowly regaining her cheerful disposition. “Business or pleasure?” 

“You could say both, I think.” Paul affirmed, straightening his back with a boyishly smug smirk. “Me and me friends are on our way to play on a television show,” 

“Oh, so you’re in a band?” Y/n replied in awe before pursing her lips and looking down at her hands bashfully “I’d ask if it’s anything I’ve heard, but I’m a little bit out of date on music.” 

“Didn’t you girls find ways to sneak things inside?” he inquired, that playful smile tugging at the edge of his lips again. 

“Of course we did! But they never lasted long. The number of snitches was surprisingly large, and I didn’t want to end up locked inside the chapel praying for forgiveness because of Little Richard.” 

“And how did you wound up there? I thought Saint Catherine’s was for...how do they call them?” he cleared his throat and faked the accent of a grumpy, old man, going as far as curving his lips down and frowning to get in character. “Immoral, misled, no-good hussies.”  

Y/n bursted out laughing at his silly interpretation, covering her mouth with the back of her hand and shaking her head. 

“Well,” she breathed out after her laughter slowly died down. “Wait, so you have heard of Saint Catherine’s?” 

“Sort of. My friend John used to go out with a girl back home. It started to get quite serious until he found out she had her fair share of lads sneaking in and out of her bedroom window. Last thing we knew of her, she was sent to Saint Catherine’s. I can’t remember her name, I just remember she was missing a chunk of her tooth, right here.” Paul pointed to the edge of his front tooth, and Y/n gasped, amused. 

“Oh my god, that’s Chippy Charlie!” 

This time it was Paul who couldn’t help but laugh at the nickname. With that specific detail, there was no way it could’ve been anybody else. He tried to stop snickering, but couldn’t as Y/n continued. 

“She is still the worst! She is the Patron Saint of Snitches of Saint Catherine’s, I swear, it’s like she gets paid for it! I was tempted to pull a prank on her as my parting gift, but she wasn’t worth the unnecessary risk. But, you know, whether a girl is or not a misguided hussy depends a lot on whom you ask. My one-way ticket was telling my parents I only intended to get married after I made it as a photographer, because I’d hate to marry some twat who believes I depend on him for anything at all. And they lost their plot.” 

Paul remained silent, obviously pondering what she had just said as the girl before him intrigued him more and more. When he opened his mouth to reply, a new choir of voices was heard approaching them.

“...know where the bloody hell did he go? I thought I told you to stay together!” 

“Come on, Eppy, aren’t you making a fuss over this? It’s not like Paul could get lost on the train.” A second voice replied with a trace of mockery. 

“And even if he did, I don’t understand why we had to come with you to look for him,” a third voice complained, to which the first one snapped. 

“Because I now know that I can’t leave any of you alone or you’ll just do as you please!” 

“Don’t we do that even when we’re not alone?” 

Paul cursed under his breath and looked over at Y/n.

“Alright, ready to return the favor?” She looked at him questioningly and shook her head, unsure of what he meant. So, he hurried to explain. 

“Just tell them there’s nobody in here but you, alright?” 

Without giving her further explanations, Paul looked around and finally found a spot right next to the door where he could hide, the door itself preventing whoever came in from spotting him. Y/n quickly turned to the window and took the most natural and aloof pose she could think of, until she heard the door being opened and the first voice, which belonged to a suit-clad man in his thirties  with small, worried eyes, addressed her. 

“Sorry to disturb you Miss, but have you seen a young man walking by this cart?” 

“No, I don’t think I have, I’m sorry.” Y/n replied with a soft shrug and an apologetic grin, to which the man nodded understandingly and retreated a bit. 

“Wait, Brian, wouldn’t it be a better idea for us to wait for you in this cart while you look for Paul? After all, we’d hate to slow you down.” the second boy trailing behind him said, smiling flirtatiously at Y/n. However, Brian was having none of it. 

“Of course you’d like that, wouldn't you, John? Come on, let’s go.” 

despite the evident disappointment on his face, John begrudgingly followed until the four men disappeared through the door that led to the following cart.

“Alright, the coast is clear.” Y/n said as Paul left his hiding place and returned to his seat, this time choosing the one next to her. 

“Thanks.” he said, “They’re great but sometimes I need a break from them, you know?” 

“Who were they? Was that the John you mentioned earlier?” Y/n inquired. 

“That’s him. The whole band, really. And Brian, our manager.” 

They remained in silence for a moment, both of them looking out of the window thoughtfully until the first buildings began appearing, silently announcing the end of the train’s journey as it began approaching the city. Y/n felt her stomach flip at the prospect of being alone in such a big place, surrounded by thousands of strangers and having essentially nowhere to go. She hadn't doubted her plan as much as she did right then. 

“So...for how long will you be staying here?” she asked, absentmindedly tapping her fingertips against the cold glass. 

“I don’t know. Perhaps two or three days. We’re on tour so I don’t think we’ll be here for long. What about you?” 

“I don’t know,” she finally replied with a long sigh. “I brought some photographs I took with a smuggled camera with me. It’s the closest thing to a portfolio I’ve got.” 

Shortly after it entered the station, the engine came to a sudden halt. Both of them stood up and made their way out into the hall until they finally reached a door and left the train. 

“Well...it was nice meeting you, Paul.” Y/n said, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear and looking around with a tense smile, attempting to hide how overwhelming the city truly was to her. 

“Good luck, Y/n.” he replied, returning her smile, with an almost imperceptible glint of sadness in his eyes. She made her way around him and began walking away. However, she hadn’t given ten steps when someone lightly tapped her shoulder. She turned around to find Paul standing before her with a sheepish smile. 

“Hi,” he said, uneasily rubbing the back of his head. “Listen, I was thinking...I might know a couple of people who could help you out. You know, with the photography thing and all that.”

He took a scrap of paper out of his pocket and handed it over to her. The name of a hotel and a room number was scribbled on it. 

“Just call me when you’ve found a place to stay, tell me the address and I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning so you can meet them. If that’s alright with you, I mean.” 

“Really?” Y/n asked, looking at him with wide eyes. He nodded with a soft smile and shrugged dismissively. However, she couldn’t help but tackle him in a hug, throwing her arms around his neck and quickly pecking his cheek when she pulled away. 

“Thank you so much.”

“It’s nothing,” he assured, clearing his throat and scratching the bridge of his nose nonchalantly in an attempt to hide the blush that crept onto his cheeks. “Just...call me, alright?” 

“I will. Until then, see you.” Y/n said with a huge smile across her cheek, hugging him one last time for just one second before pulling away and turning around as fast as she could to keep him from noticing she was equally flustered from the whole ordeal. 

When she was a little bit far, Y/n turned around and waved at him before the crowd engulfed her. 

Somehow, the city didn’t look as big and scary as it did just minutes before. There was just one thing picking on her brain: she was certain she had seen Paul somewhere before. But where? There was no way she could’ve seen him whilst being inside Saint Catherine’s. The only males in there were the boys from the magazines the other girls smuggled in. 

Unless…

Y/n stopped in her tracks and furrowed her eyebrows. Yet, no memory came immediately to her mind, and as the woman behind her loudly cleared her throat to urge her to keep walking, she decided to put it to bed. She’d remember eventually. 

Back at the platform, Paul was pulled out of his thoughts when he heard his name being called from behind. He turned around to find his three bandmates rushing towards him. The shortest one approached him and placed a hand on his back, shoving him forward. 

“Paul, what are you doing here in the open? There’s a crowd coming this way and they’ll skin us alive if we don’t hurry. Bri is waiting for us with a car, come on.”

John looked in the same direction Paul had been gazing at and smirked.

“Alright, who was that?” 

“What? Who? Nobody. Let’s go, we don’t want to keep good old Eppy waiting.”

“Oh, no, we’re not going anywhere until you tell me, so you better hurry.” 

“Just a girl I met on the train. She wants to be a photographer and I told her I’d introduce her to someone who might be able to help her.” 

“Can we talk about this in the car?” Ringo asked again urgently. 

“But Paul, dear, you don’t know any photographers.” John retorted, ignoring Ringo and smirking mockingly. Paul smirked back, feeling more confident and shrugged as he began walking away.  

“Well, Brian must know someone. I’ll just ask him.” 

“And since when did you become Sir Paul McCartney, defender of the helpless?” 

He insisted, following his friend no matter how much he tried to quicken his pace. Paul didn’t reply, and an even wider smile began taking over the other boy’s features. 

“Oh, I see. You fancy her, don’t you?”

“Come off it! I barely know her, we just met.” Paul argued, mentally cursing how easily he was blushing at his bandmate’s words, knowing very well he wouldn’t just let it pass. 

“Alright, alright, but if you do meet her again, say you introduce her to us, your dearest friends, would you mind if I took her out for coffee?” 

As he was just saying this to playfully mess with his friend, John was extremely entertained by Paul’s expression when he turned to look at him. 

“Oh, piss off Lennon.” he muttered before running off to the back of the station to meet Brian. 

“Aye, aye, cap’n!” John exclaimed, laughing loudly before rushing after his friend, the four figures once again making their way across the platform to avoid the inevitable crowd of maniacs that was probably waiting for them at the main exit.  

[ejzah]

A/N: This idea was originally suggested by @mashmaiden and is the next in a series about Deeks at FLETC, but deviates from canon. I put took me a very long time to figure out and I’m still not sure if I am fully happy with it.

In a previous fic, an instructor had asked Deeks to speak on his experience when he was tortured by Sidorov. Since this deals with some events from Descent/Ascension, there is mention of violence, trauma, and PTSD symptoms.

***

A Matter of Experience

Deeks let out a very long breath as he waited for other students to arrive. After a lot of consideration, he had decided to grant Flores’ “offer”. He still absolutely hated the idea, but he knew he was technically doing Flores a favor. Plus, Flores wasn’t wrong. Most of the current candidates had never experienced anything as traumatic as he had.

He hoped they never would.

The night before he’d spent a couple hours going over a rough draft of his presentation. Deeks had also covered some ground rules with Flores. Although he had no control over what questions his classmates would ask, he reserved the right to refuse to answer.

Pulling in another long breath, he closed his eye and rolled his neck a couple of times.

“You ok, Deeks?” Flores asked, actually looking concerned. He had an odd mixture of ruthlessness and deep understanding which didn’t necessarily work well together.

“Yeah, fine. I’m good.” He felt vaguely queasy and restless, but he wasn’t about to tell Flores that. “We never discussed what I should do if no one has questions,” he added. “Do you have a back up lecture?”

“Oh believe me, there’s always questions with this case. We’ll be lucky if we get out on time.” He seemed to realize that he sounded a little insensitive. “Based on what I’ve heard about you, you can handle this Deeks. But if you changed your mind, I won’t judge you.”

That strange feeling of embarrassment returned, but he didn’t have time to evaluate it or respond to Flores as other students started trickling in.

Deeks had purposely chosen a chair to the side and a few rows in where he wouldn’t be too obvious, but could get up without too much trouble. Flores gave them a couple minutes to settle and then walked to the front of the room.

“Good Morning, everyone. I hope you’re all managing your classes alright,” he said. “For today’s class we will be focusing on case study 9.”

He paused as the majority of the class flipped to the appropriate page. Deeks’ pulse pounded faintly in his ears and he swallowed twice, closing his eyes briefly. Even if the details weren’t burned into his memory, he’d reviewed the case, just to be sure he wasn’t caught off guard.

It was surprisingly straightforward, not overly gratuitous and Flores reviewed the details with surprising speed. There was no getting past the pictures though. They were graphic, nauseating. He knew the exact moment everyone saw them and heard someone behind him whisper his name.

When Flores ended the lecture, which was over much faster than Deeks would have liked, he nodded to Deeks and added,

“Now some of you may know that one of your colleagues was involved in this case and he was kind enough to agree to share his experiences with us.” Deeks stood up, joining Flores at the front of the room. “Please welcome Marty Deeks, former LAPD Detective.” Flores gave him what he guessed was supposed to be a supportive pat on the arm and then sat down a few feet away.

It was clear that many of the candidates hadn’t made the connection between him and the battered guy in their text book, but as he glanced around, realized that maybe half the class were watching him with the same strange reverence Omar, Jake, and Charlie had when they first met.

Clearing his throat, he pulled in yet another shallow breath and glanced down at the small stack of notecards in his hand, then stuffed them in his pocket.

“As, uh, Instructor Flores said, I’m Marty Deeks,” he started, pausing to clear his throat again. “But most people just call me Deeks. If any of you have spent more than a few minutes around me, you’ve probably figured out that I have a terrible habit of talking too much.”

A couple people chuckled, but most stayed silent, some looking curious, others intrigued, and a few, mainly Alan, outright suspicious. He’d expected some skepticism since, as usual, he didn’t fit into the mold they expected.

“Like it says in that case study, Agent Hanna and I were captured and held by a Russian arms dealer. They took turns torturing us-“ He swallowed harshly, holding back the shiver that crept up his spine and continued. “to gain information about a colleague who was undercover.

“They had us in separate rooms, but I could still see what they were doing to Agent Hanna. I couldn’t do anything though because I was bound to a chair. I could only watch as they electrocuted him and wait to see what else they had planned for me.”

Before he could continued, Alan raised his hand, his gaze almost defiant and angry as he waited for him to respond.

“Did you have a question?” Deeks asked mildly.

“What was it like?” he said, watching Deeks eagerly, and maybe with a touch of disbelief in his voice as he eyed him. “The case study mentioned that you experienced dental trauma, but it didn’t really go into detail.”

Flores started to intercede from behind him, but Deeks held up a hand, holding him back. If Alan wanted details, he could give him details. He’d avoided the guy as much as possible and put his arrogance and aggressiveness down to immaturity, but now Deeks was truly annoyed.

“No it’s ok.” He smiled tightly at Alan. “One guy shoved this metal device in my mouth so I couldn’t close it. Then Sidorov got out a drill and demanded to know the truth. The whole time I was lying my ass off, trying to keep it together even though I knew he was going to stick that thing in my mouth.”

His breath hitched a little as he felt the phantom pain of the drill bit obliterating his teeth. Someone swore under their breath and Deeks felt perverse satisfaction when Alan squirmed uncomfortably.

Forcing the memories back, he took a couple of slow breaths and then added,

“I ended up with multiple broken teeth, damage to my mandible, and shredded gums-so yeah, dental trauma as they so nicely put it.” Maybe that was going a step too far, but it seemed pointless and Flores had wanted them to know what it was really like. “It took years for me to stop flinching when I heard a drill or to make it through getting my teeth cleaned without almost knocking the hygienist’s lights out. To this day, it’s probably the single most horrific thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Everyone’s eyes were on him, the anticipation and tension almost tangible. A woman-he thought her name was possibly Maria-raised her hand and Deeks nodded for her to speak. Unlike some of her peers, she wasn’t staring at him like he was a particularly interesting soap opera.

“You said it took you years to get over the trauma,” she started a little hesitantly. “Exactly how long did it take?”

“I wish I could tell you that there’s a point when it no longer affects you, but it never really happens,” Deeks said with a gentle smile, sorry he couldn’t give her the answer she so clearly wanted. He saw her face fall and he realized just how young she was and probably pretty horrified at this point. “The memories and dreams and all the other symptoms can lessen over time. They never go away though. That trauma, those scars, they are with you forever.”

“So you’re saying there’s nothing we can do about it?” Another student asked, sounding annoyed and maybe a little scared. “If something like this happens to us, we just live with the trauma for the rest of our lives.”

Deeks shook his head.

“No, there’s a lot you can do. Go to therapy, let the people you love help you, and whatever you do, don’t isolate yourself.” A memory of eating bad takeout with Kensi when he was at his lowest point and added, “Whatever you do, don’t try to face if alone. Believe me, your friends and family will be everything.”

The questions continued for the remainder of the class and as Flores predicted, they went over by 15 minutes. Deeks was completely exhausted and a little shaky, but overall not as much as he had expected. He would probably pay the price for being so explicit about his injuries with a resurgence of nightmares.

“Nice work,” Instructor Flores complimented him as he was packing up his notes and untouched book. “I didn’t expect you to be that...open.”

Deeks grimaced, realizing that he’d basically taken over the class and gone completely off script from what they discussed.

“Sorry, I guess I got a little carried away.”

“No, you got the point across. And that’s what they needed.” Flores patted his arm and nodded his appreciation. “Thank you.”

Deeks left the room, intending to skip lunch and go straight to bed until his next class. Maybe he’d get in a quick call to Kensi. The sound of her voice sounded very appealing and comforting right now. He was about halfway down the hall when someone called out,

“Deeks!” He groaned, recognizing Alan’s distinctive voice and turned as he approached, not up for dealing with him at the moment. He stopped a couple feet from Deeks, eyeing him warily.

“Was Everything you said in there true?” he asked and Deeks rolled his eyes, huffing out an exasperated sigh.

“No, Alan. I just made it up so I could get free implants,” Deeks answered derisively. “Now are you done trying to intimidate me? Talking about the guys who drilled holes in my mouth is a little bit exhausted.”

Alan flinched, but didn’t back down.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you.” He glared at Deeks as though he’d done something wrong.

“So implying that I embellished a case to make myself sound better isn’t an insult?” Alan muttered a fairly creative curse under his breath and then said,

“I’m sorry for what I said the first time we met. I was wrong about you, ok?” He shook his head, jaw clenched like the words were almost painful for him to say. Looking at the ground, he admitted, “Look, I’m struggling with a lot of the courses.”

“And you’re telling this to the guy you hate because...?” Deeks asked, not overly surprised to hear that Alan wasn’t doing well. He’d heard quite a few stories about him clashing with instructors among other things.

“Because I need help and you seem to actually know what you’re doing,” Alan said bluntly, apparently past his embarrassment. “So what do I need to do?”

Deeks blinked at him for a second, resisting the urge to laugh. Even in a moment of crisis, the guy was still making demands.

“Well one thing that I always have to remind myself about is to not let yourself get cocky.“

Alan gave him an incredulous look and shook his head.

“What? That’s your expert advice? Don’t be cocky.”

“A piece of it. It’s easy to get full of yourself. I do it all the time, but there’s always room to grow. New things to learn,” Deeks told him with a shrug.

“What could you possibly have to learn?” Alan asked acerbically. “I’ve seen you in most of these classes and you don’t even break a sweat. It’s freaking annoying.”

Deeks actually did laugh then and nodded.

“I do have a lot of experience. Like you pointed out, I’m the old guy.” Alan didn’t look amused so he sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “Look, if you want you can join the study sessions I have with some of other guys. But if you do, you need to lose the attitude because there’s not time for that.”

Alan clenched his jaw, but nodded in apparent agreement.

“I’ll think about it.” With that he turned abruptly, adding a terse, “Thanks.” As he walked away.

Deeks just watched him go, shaking his head, and glanced down at his watch. If he hurried he could maybe just squeeze in a half hour nap and the call to Kensi.

***

A/N: I know this one ends a little abruptly, but I figure I’ll be writing more in this series.

[kusunogatari]

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Two | Domino Effect ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Jiraiya ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Vulgarity, blood ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

Sometimes, a single, seemingly-innocuous action can begin a chain of events that no one could have predicted.

She begins the day so nervous, it feels like she’s going to throw up.

It’s only been three weeks since they moved here. Three weeks to adjust to a new city, new neighborhood, new house...and now, a new school. Ryū hasn’t even unpacked all of the boxes in her room. But today she starts the final year of her high school experience knowing absolutely no one, and dreading having to start completely over.

A knock sounds on her door, and she spins around to it, immediately feeling foolish for being so jumpy.

Catching the movement, her father perks a brow. “...everything okay in here?”

“Yeah, just…” Her arms lift in a gesture of general hopelessness. “...y’know.”

Jiraiya softens into a warm smile. “I know this is cliche to say, but...it’s gonna be fine. Rough at first, I’m sure. But you’ll find a niche eventually. ‘Just be yourself’ and all that stereotypical fatherly advice, hm?”

She gives a flat snort. “...I guess so. I guess I just wish it wasn’t so close to the end...feels like it’ll be over before I even settle in.”

Sighing, Jiraiya rubs at his neck. “I know, I’m sorry honey...but wherever work calls, you have to follow. I know your mother wasn’t sure about this move, but…”

“But, that’s how it goes,” Ryū finishes quietly, having heard the sentiment more times than she can count since word of her mother’s relocation was broken to her. “I’m not...mad or anything. I know there wasn’t any choice. I just have so much to...start over with now, and when I already have a new phase coming up in just a year with college.”

“Believe me, your mother and I talked about it for weeks when this whole thing came up. She didn’t want to go, either. None of us did, really. But you’ll get it figured out. I know it’s a shakeup you weren’t expecting. But it’ll work out in the long run. Just keep your head up.”

“...I will.”

“Well...I’ve got breakfast all ready. Want any?”

Ryū’s face turns a bit queasy. “I...dunno if that’s a good idea. I don’t feel so good, and...I’d rather not give my stomach any ammunition.”

In spite of himself, Jiraiya laughs. “That’s fair enough. You sure you don’t want me to take you?”

“I’m a big girl, Dad...I can handle it.”

“All right. Well...I’ll be ready for you to sob on my shoulder when you get home.”

“...thanks.”

Fetching her stuff, Ryū heads out to her car and tosses it into the passenger seat. She still has plenty of time to park, head in, and find the right classroom for her first period class. Thankfully she and her parents got a tour a few days ago, and it...mostly stuck.

Now to put her memory to the test.

The parking lot at the end of the building is mildly empty, and she finds a decent spot. Doing her best to blend in with the crowds heading inside, Ryū tries to look far more nonchalant than she’s feeling.

Whether or not it works...she can’t really tell, too focused on staring straight ahead and going over her mental map.

First thing is first: find her locker, put away anything unnecessary, and then head to first period. Should be simple enough, right? It’s crowded, but she knows the number, eyes flickering between the plates on the doors and her path to avoid bumping into anyone.

Once in place, it’s a matter of recalling the combination. Or, rather...looking to her palm where she’s scribbled it: one less thing to have to memorize quite yet. It opens at her urging, and she shrugs her bag off her shoulder just as her neighbor shows up.

And oh gosh...what a neighbor they are.

She gives a glance, and then does a double take. This guy is huge! Tall, bulky, and from her position to his right...she can see a pattern of scars along the side of his face.

For a moment, her eyes go wide in shock. What could have happened to -?

“Heads up!”

Behind them, someone barrels into the pair of them...or rather, mostly into her neighbor, clipping her in the process.

“Hey!” she cries out at the impact, having to catch herself as not to end up in her locker.

Beside her, the guy isn’t so lucky. A book, notebook, and several utensils clatter to the floor in a racket. Immediately, laughter breaks out.

And Ryū forgets where she is.

Puffing up like an angry bird, she calls, “Watch it, jerkface!” Of course by then the perpetrator is too far away to bother responding, but...it makes her feel better. Under her breath, she mutters, “What an asshole…” before taking a knee beside her companion and picking up his things just as he kneels to do the same.

They both pause, each with a few items in hand. While Ryū’s expression is clearly surprised, his own is heavy with suspicion, wariness, and a clear expectation of being treated poorly.

“...I’m sorry about that,” she then mumbles, handing over his things. “That was so rude…”

“You better get used to it.”

His blunt reply sees her stagger for a moment. “...y-yeah, I...guess so. I’m Ryū, by the way. Are you a senior, too…?”

For a moment he doesn’t reply, going back to gathering up his things. Seems he’s...maybe not so friendly…?

“...uh -?”

“Obito. Senior,” he then offers, and again she’s taken aback by his clipped response.

“Oh, well...nice to meet you…?”

He just scoffs, turning his back and leaving.

Ryū, left in the wake, just...blinks.

A domino falls.

...well that was odd. Mulling the interaction over for a moment, Ryū just sighs before fetching her things and heading to her first class.

Not a good first start, but...hopefully it’ll get better.

Class, however, isn’t exactly a great time to make friends. Teachers give their lessons, students either pay attention or slack off...and then they’re shuffled off to the next one.

Come lunch, she hasn’t had a chance to say a complete sentence to anyone else.

And now for the hardest part...finding a place to sit in the lunchroom.

Thankfully she’s early enough she finds a mostly-empty table, sitting and simply eating her food. And then -

“You’re in my spot.”

Almost choking on a bite of rice, Ryū stifles a cough as best she can looking up to see...the boy from earlier? “S-sorry. Was just, um -?”

Rather than complain further, he just...sits next to her.

She blinks.

With rather obvious gusto, he starts shoveling food into his mouth. Guy must have an appetite, though...with his size, she can understand why. Must take a lot of fuel to keep him going. Suddenly feeling rather small and a bit intrusive, she pokes nervously at her own tray. The nervous indigestion she felt when she woke up threatens to make a second appearance.

“Thanks for this morning.”

She flinches a bit at his words before the meaning registers. This morning…? Oh! When his stuff fell! “Y...yeah! Sure. Nothing got lost, did it…?”

He shakes his head, mouth full.

“...o-okay. Well that’s...that’s good.”

...she gets the feeling this guy doesn’t talk much. Or if he does, it’s not usually pleasant. So the thank-you brings a little hopeful flutter to her chest. Maybe she made a good impression…?

“You’re new, huh?”

...is it that obvious? “Yeah, I...just transferred. I moved three weeks ago.”

Obito gives her a glance, expression a bit calculating. “Senior year...that sucks.”

Her shoulders wilt. “...yeah. My mom had to move for work, so...the rest of us followed.”

“Have a lot of friends back where you came from.”

“Um...a few. I really miss them now, though…” She tucks a few stray locks behind her ear. “...not very fun being the new kid this late in the game. You’re...the first person I’ve really talked to yet.”

“Lucky you.”

Her brow gives a slight furrow of confusion.

In response, he nods his chin out from their table. Ryū follows the gesture and then balks.

While not everyone, a fair number of people are giving their table a glance, whispering and looking concerned.

“You might be able to guess, but...I’m not very popular. Sitting next to me might not be the best decision if you want anyone else to talk to you.”

“...but…?” She looks back to him, now far more confused. “Why would anyone dislike you?”

“I’m not a very nice guy.”

Ryū studies his face for a moment. “...you’ve been pleasant to me.” Blunt, sure...but not rude, or mean.

“You helped me this morning.”

“Well of course! Why wouldn’t I? I don’t know anything about you. I’m not going to make any assumptions. You needed help. I gave it. It’s really not very complicated.”

It’s Obito’s turn to look her over, chewing one of his last bites. “...you’re pretty naive, aren’t you?”

She sniffs. “I know there’s bad people. I’m not denying that. But more often than not, bad people are just someone mistreated who need the kindness the world has yet to show them. Being bitter and throwing that bitterness back at what made you that way doesn’t make you bad. It makes you unfortunate. And that can always change. Very few people are stuck being as bad as others make them out to be.”

He blinks.

Another domino falls.

Lunch ends without much further surprise, Ryū making her typical pitstop at her locker as Obito does the same. Neither of them speak to each other, but the tense, awkward air of this morning seems to have lifted. Between each of their last few classes, the same silent camaraderie falls over them.

And then the day ends.

Shoving things into her bag (by some grace, she’s avoided any major homework on her first day: just some reading to do before Wednesday), Ryū shuts her locker door with a small sigh.

“So...how would you rate your day?”

Ryū hums in thought at Obito’s question. “I’d say...a seven…?”

“That high?”

“Well...nothing bad particularly happened. So I can’t count that against the score. But not much good really happened either, so it’s mostly neutral. Except one thing.”

“And that is?”

“I think I might have made a friend.”

Obito blinks, eyes widening just a few degrees in surprise. “...you sure that’s one of the good things?”

“A friend is always a good thing, right?”

“...depends on the friend.”

Another hum. “...well, I guess we’ll have to see. But they’ve made a pretty okay impression so far.”

“You might not want to hold your breath on that.”

A smile threatens to lift her lips. “Guess that’s up to them then, isn’t it?”

He just scoffs, turning and heading down the hallway.

Ryū, however, gives a little laugh to herself before taking another exit closer to the parking lot.

“Sooo...how’d it go?”

Barely in the door, Ryū blinks as her father questions her. “Uh...okay, I guess.”

“Not catastrophes?”

She snorts as she shuts the door behind her. “Not really, no. I might’ve made a friend.”

“Oh really! Is she nice?”

“He is...um…” A pause, nibbling her lip. “...I’m not sure yet. But his locker is next to mine, and we ate lunch together.”

Jiraiya perks a brow at he. “...I see. And by ‘not sure’ you mean…?”

“I mean I’m not sure. He’s a bit...strange. Kinda closed off. I think he doesn’t really have any friends, so maybe he’s kinda new to it.”

A wariness colors her father’s face, but he doesn’t voice any concern...yet. “...huh. Well, could be worse, I suppose. Get your homework done if you’ve got any and we’ll start dinner before your mom gets home.”

“Okay!”

A few days later, Ryū arrives at the lockers first. Admittedly she’s a little early, so...she not-very-subtly lingers, deciding she’ll wait to see if she can say good morning to Obito before they have to get to class.

But something else happens first, instead.

With a loud bang, a body is flung against the lockers just to her left, and Ryū feels her heart leap to her throat, entire form tensing in fight or flight. Stumbling back, she spots Obito, teeth gritted as he’s pinned against the metal doors. Across from him is another student she doesn’t recognize.

Clearly, they’re having a...disagreement.

“Fuck you, man! Keep your creepy comments to yourself, no one gives a shit!”

Gripping his agitator’s wrists, Obito spits back, “I dunno, seems you give enough of a shit to do this…!”

“You think you’re a tough son of a bitch cuz you can rile people up? Guess what, asshole? All that’s gonna do is make sure you end up sad and alone. Maybe if you stopped being such a prick, you’d actually -!”

“Hey!”

Both of them turn to Ryū. Her face is hardened into a glower, grey eyes steely. “The hell you want?”

“For you to let go of him and go cool off. Keep this up and you’re both going to end up in detention or suspended. If you want to fight, save it for after classes.”

“This has nothing to do with you, so fuck off y’dumb b-”

With a grunt, Obito launches forward and slams his brow into his opponent’s, forcing him to reel back with a pained cry. Straightening and fixing his rumpled shirt, he offers, “Watch your mouth when you’re talking about my friend.”

The word earns a jolt, Ryū losing her edge with a sound of surprise. He...he said -?

“If she’s really gonna sink to your level, that’s her decision. Anyone dumb enough to put up with you deserves what’s coming to them.” Steadying himself, the other teen staggers off, the gathered crowd starting to disperse.

“...do I want to know what that was about?” Ryū decides to ask, giving Obito a glance.

“Misunderstanding,” is his only explanation, turning to his locker.

“...are you hurt?”

“No. And next time, you might want to keep your mouth shut. He was right, that was none of your -”

Ignoring his rebuke, Ryū pushes a shoulder to get him to face her.

“What are you -?”

“You’ve got a split in your brow,” she cuts in, reaching into her backpack for a small first aid kit her mother insists she take with her. “It’s going to drip on your clothes, so hold still.”

“I don’t have time for -!”

“It’ll only take me a minute. My mom’s a doctor, I know what I’m doing.” Taking out a sanitizing wipe, she cleans off his brow, ignoring his flinch as it stings along the split. Gauze then presses to the wound, a few checks given to ensure it’s stopped bleeding. Then out comes a butterfly bandage to pinch it shut. “...there. See? Quick and painless.”

He tries to reach to touch it, but she bats his hand, making him balk at the rather forward action.

“Don’t touch it, your hands probably aren’t clean. Leave it alone.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

“I told you, my mom’s a doctor. I got my bedside manner from her,” she replies, giving him a cheeky glance. “...besides, I’m not about to let my friend walk around with a split forehead. Try not to headbutt anyone else today, okay? I’d rather not have to do that again.”

Rubbing a spot away from where it split, Obito watches her quietly as she replaces her kit.

“What was that really about?”

“Nothing. I said something stupid, and he got mad.”

“What did you say?”

“You’re really nosy, aren’t you?”

Her arms cross. “I’m trying to figure out why someone would want to beat the tar out of you. And what possessed you to do whatever it is you did. You realize there’s better ways to get attention, right?”

Something in her words makes him scowl. “Technically I didn’t start it. He did.”

“And…?”

He seems to weigh his options. “...I was supposed to graduate last year. I’m a year behind. People give me crap about it, it pisses me off, so I mouth off back.”

Ryū blinks, not...expecting that. “...you were held back?”

“Kinda hard to keep up when you spend six months of a year in a hospital, and another two in physical therapy. Not everyone cares about that particular detail, though. They just assume I’m stupid.”

Understanding slackens her face. Hospital…? Is that where the scars…? “...he was mocking you about your repeating a year?”

“...yeah. So I jabbed back. Surprise, he didn’t like it. Go figure.”

“...well I can’t really condone fighting fire with fire, but...it does sound like he started things.”

“I don’t like just sitting and taking anyone’s shit.”

“And what did mouthing off get you? Besides a mild beating? Was that really satisfying enough to make you feel better?”

He doesn’t have a retort, so...Obito reverts back to scowling.

Ryū heaves a sigh. “...there will always be jerks. But picking a fight with every single one is only going to get you into deeper trouble, Obito. You know the truth about your grade, Don’t pay anyone else any mind about it. Just finish up your last year, and then you can put it behind you. No one will care once you’ve graduated, okay?”

“Tch…”

She softens, laying a hand on his arm. “...I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Next time someone gives you crap, then...tell me.”

His eyes drop to her hand, and then lift to her face. “...what -?”

“And then I’ll give them what for myself.”

“...you? Really?”

“Yes, really. What?”

He studies her for a moment, and then snorts. “...yeah, okay.”

The third domino falls.

“Hey...can you give me a ride?”

Turning from her locker a few weeks later, Ryū gives Obito a glance. “Sure. Where do you need to go?”

“...I’ll give you directions.”

Brow furrowing slightly in concern, Ryū nonetheless leads the way to her car, Obito in the front seat and directing her where to go.

...they end up at one of the city’s cemeteries.

For a moment, Ryū sits in her seat, uncertain. But Obito gets out without a word, and she has little choice but to either sit and wait...or follow.

She tries the latter.

They trek a ways inward before he stops at a small plot. Four graves bear the Uchiha name. And judging by the dates...they would be Obito’s parents and paternal grandparents.

As Ryū looks closer, she stiffens. The matching death dates for his mother and father...are eighteen years ago today.

It’s the anniversary of their passing.

Obito doesn’t say anything. He just clears away some old dead flowers, replacing them with new ones from his backpack. Then he just...stands there, seemingly lost in thought.

Ryū can’t help but feel a bit...intrusive. But he doesn’t tell her to leave, and as she quietly steps up beside him, he doesn’t flinch as she gently leans against him. She doesn’t speak, knowing there’s not really anything to say.

A domino tilts dangerously far.

Trying to think of a kind sentiment, Ryū hesitates for a long moment. As one comes to mind, she tilts her head up and over to look at him.

Just as he tilts down and over to look at her.

Suddenly their faces are only a breath apart.

Both of them freeze, eyes wide and expressions slack in surprise. Ryū finds a heat building in her cheeks, suddenly flustered.

It’s Obito who moves first, reverting his posture with a clearing of his throat.

Ryū in turn tucks back down, trying to calm the tapdancing of her heart.

“...thanks for...taking me. It’s way too far to walk.”

“Of course...I’m glad I could help.”

A silence blooms and grows, neither sure what to do next.

“...well, I...should take you home. I’ve got chemistry I need to get done…”

“Yeah…” Obito turns, heading back toward the car with Ryū right on his tail.

...and after a moment, she gently takes his hand without a word.

Silently, he squeezes it.

The domino topples with a clatter.

     I....really struggled with this so idk if it really worked, but...I tried? Meg wanted bully!Obito so...this is my attempt xD Little interactions building up to something bigger. idk my brain is dying ahaha      It’s late and I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, so...I’ll stop there =w= Thanks for reading~

[phanontour]

Turning the Page

Summary: Dan gets a tattoo to cover up his old self-harm scars. Word count: 2,493 Warnings: Mentions of self-harm scars and low self confidence. Author’s Note: This fic is quite important to me as I’m most likely getting a self-harm cover-up in the next few months, and so writing this was partially my way of coming to terms with my own self-confidence issues. Most of the things Dan thinks in here are things that I myself have thought, so hopefully it should (mostly) be an accurate portrayal of what it’s like! This post is: okay to reblog if you feel like it!

It’s a big day.

Dan steels himself in front of the ornate mirror in their shared room and stares almost blankly at his right arm, clad with the black material of the hoodie he had pulled off the floor this morning and thrown on in a half-asleep haze. His collection of various jumpers, hoodies and long-sleeved shirts has grown greatly over the years, and for once specific reason.

He just can’t show his arms in public.

It seems like such a trivial problem, but it’s a major inconvenience in his life. Dan has been forced to cover up since he was eighteen years old and fresh out of high school, thrown into a life he hadn’t wanted or been prepared for. At first it was only having to wear bracelets over one wrist, but that quickly grew into jackets, long-sleeved shirts and jumpers that he wouldn’t take off no matter the temperature. He’d blame it on his aesthetic.

In truth, Dan would like to be able to wear something with short sleeves on a warm day when he doesn’t feel like melting. He’d like to be able to doodle on his arms and let a friend rest a reassuring hand there. It just isn’t feasible – not with the way his heart jumps into his throat and a queasy feeling settles in the pit of his stomach at the very thought of doing it.

Dan’s arms are covered in scars. And his waist. And his thighs, but his arms have sustained the worst of the abuse by far. Tiny little scratches that were blamed on the next-door neighbour’s cat had blossomed into huge gashes that nearly got him hospitalised and deep red cuts that had refused to heal properly.

Line after white line mar the surface of his skin; some are bigger than others, and some are raised up more. They’re all a constant reminder of the hatred he had been caught up in, the self-destruction that he had to deal with. He hates them all.

With a deep breath, Dan pulls up his right sleeve, runs fingers over the bumpy surface of the skin for the first time in what feels like forever. He normally tries to avoid even looking at it if he can, and he’s hesitant to show even Phil, preferring to keep at least a shirt on at all times when he’s with his boyfriend. Scared of that one part of him, the part that he’d done himself without realising that it would be permanent and there would be a time when he no longer wanted it.

“Dan?”

Dan pauses. Breathe in, he thinks, and out. It’s only Phil, and he’s not likely to judge, not even about this. Phil has always been far too kind, something Dan hasn’t ever deserved. Not with his faults and his anger and his stupid blind hatred.

Not with his scars.

“Yes. I’ll be out in a second,” Dan murmurs, catching sight of Phil in the mirror surface and instinctively pulling his arm toward his chest. “Just – Just a second.”

It’s all he needs, because today is the day when this all ends. He’s been improving his mental health over the last few years by seeing his therapist and taking medication and actually turning his life into one that resembles one that a functioning human being would have, and it’s helped. Drastically, in fact. He’s able to cope when a depressive episode comes on, and he no longer feels the itch to hurt or the want to stop the numbness by feeling the only thing he can feel – pain.

It’s time to close this chapter of his life, and Phil will be there supporting him through this, just like he’s done with everything else. He’s too kind. Dan still doesn’t deserve him.

He steps out into the lounge, sleeve drawn down again. It can only be described as elation when Dan realises that this is the last time he’ll have to wear long sleeves, provided that everything goes smoothly today. He grabs the nearest raincoat off the coat hanger by their door and they make their way out side by side, locking up the apartment behind them.

They don’t speak for the first half of the journey, but Dan is never unaware of Phil. He’s there – as always – offering silent support and a shoulder to lean on should Dan require one. It’s reassuring to have such a constant in his life.

“How are you feeling?” Phil whispers to him, arm brushing up against Dan’s and offering the silent reassurance that Dan has come to depend on. “Are you sure you want to go through with this? It’s not too late to cancel the appointment.”

Dan considers it, pauses for a moment. He’s come too far to back out now. The decision had been final when he had made it, and he’s sure he won’t regret it in the future, even if there are still moments in which he doubts this choice.

“I want this. I need this. I can’t live in this constant state of fear over someone seeing – or someone judging me for what I’ve done to myself,” he explains quietly, voice dropped low in case somebody around them knows them and has decided to eavesdrop. “I’m not ashamed of my mental illness, but I’m ashamed of my reaction to it and the results it left, and this will help me feel more confident displaying the scars.”

Phil only nods, and Dan knows that he can’t fully understand. As silly as it sounds, Dan envies the fact that Phil’s paler arms are unmarked, clean. Despite going through some darker times on his own, Phil had somehow always managed to find the silver lining of the situation and pull through without any lasting scars. Or, well, any visible ones anyway. Nobody can escape mental scarring.

Twenty minutes later and they’re standing in front of their destination – a tattoo shop in downtown London, hidden away amongst other busy shops and restaurants. Dan has never felt intimidated by a shop before, but this one is a little daunting all of a sudden. It’s bright tattoo design displays have Dan questioning his own tattoo idea, but he’s being steered inside before he can spend too much time thinking about it. The comforting weight of Phil’s hand on the small of his back as they go in doesn’t go unnoticed.

“Um, hi.” Dan greets the worker at the front desk, unsure of how he was supposed to act in a shop like this. It must be pitifully obvious that it’s his first time here. “I have an appointment for a tattoo around noon?”

“Name?”

“Daniel Howell,” he says quietly, glancing back over his shoulder to where Phil’s standing admiring some skull tattoos in the corner of the shop. “I made the appointment over the phone last week.”

The employee doesn’t even glance up. “Sit over there, please, and we’ll bring you over the paperwork shortly.”

He does as he’s told, sits on the mildly uncomfortable chairs in the corner, and tugs on Phil’s arm when he has the chance. Dan’s anxious now, heartbeat fluttering nervously in his chest as he waits, tries to get Phil’s attention in order to take his mind off of it. Soon enough, he’s being handed the paperwork on a clipboard and having a black ballpoint pen pushed into his other hand, and he has to brace himself before looking down, swallowing the anxiety that’s risen in him and settled in his chest.

Dan signs where he’s told to, reads over the agreement one more time. He’s not regretting the choice at all, but he does wish he could skip the painful part of it and only reap the prettier end results. By the time he’s finished reading it over, he’s been gripping the clipboard so tightly that the tips of his fingers have gone white. Dan barely blinks when Phil glances over his shoulder to skim over the words there as well, doesn’t move when Phil’s hand lays on his shoulder.

Instead, he stands and hands the clipboard back to the employee he had been talking to, before he’s being ushered over by what he can only guess is one of the establishment’s artists. Dan has already thought about what design he’ll get, and he has a vague idea, but no idea on how to bring that idea to life. He’s not artistic at all despite being fairly creative, and so he’s unimaginably thankful that he won’t have to be the one who draws up the finished product. (If he was, the tattoo would probably end up being a few messy lines.)

“So, what design were you thinking of going for today?”

Dan lays out his idea, how he wants it to be related to the things that have helped him overcome this. He wants to lay them bare, have them there as a permanent reminder that he has things to live for. That there are events in his life that have been happy. That he doesn’t need to be strong all the time, because nobody is strong all the time. He’s chosen select things in his life and career that remind him of good memories, combined them into the shape of two feathers spanning the length of his forearm. It was just an idea – and one that he had thought to be too complicated to ever be made into a reality – but once the artist has drawn it out Dan finds himself to be on the verge of tears.

He barely says anything after that, simply pulls up his sleeve and sits back on the chair when prompted, arm on the little armrest that’s pushed beside him. Dan had already specified that the tattoo would be a scar cover up when he had made the appointment, and so it seems that they’re already well-prepared for that. Deciding not to think about it, Dan leans back on the chair, closes his eyes. He wants to open them and see the scars covered, finally revel in the kind of confidence he wants. He’ll be able to wear short-sleeved shirts in videos, be able to hug fans properly and without distance between them. After all he’s been through – all the trials and the pain and the moments in which he thought he wouldn’t make it – a confidence boost is a much-needed thing. Hopefully that’s exactly what this will provide.

Dan sits there for two and a half hours straight. The tattooist offers him several short breaks, but he only braces himself and shakes his head. The buzzing of the tattoo gun has become a familiar sound by the time it’s over; the way the tattooist wipes a cloth over his arm every few seconds to clean off the spare ink a normal feeling.

The pain comes and goes. It’s not as bad as he had expected it to be, but it’s by no means a gentle procedure either. Some bits are worse than others, and the few lines across his wrist ache so much that Dan fights the urge to cry out.

Two and a half hours, and it’s over. It’s permanent. He’s done it, covered the one thing that made him ‘ugly’ in the eyes of society. The one thing that made people look and whisper and point as they weren’t sure how to react to the fact that his skin had been marred by something he’d done to himself in a moment of stupidity.

“We’re finished here,” the tattooist says, taking his foot off the pedal for the gun and placing it to the side. “Just give me a moment to wrap it up and then I’ll bring you over to the mirror, so you can see it properly.”

Dan focuses on his breathing pattern while the film is wrapped in layers around his forearm. Breathe in, breathe out. He’s okay. He’s done what he came here to do, survived doing it, and now he won’t have to worry about it anymore.

When he stands, it’s on shaky legs. It takes a minute for Dan to just calm down a little, and then he’s wandering over to the mirror that’s fixed to the wall opposite them. After years avoiding looking at his arms, it still feels rather unnatural for him to want to look. With one final moment of anxiousness, Dan pauses, bites down on his lower lip and looks into the mirror.

“Oh my god?” he squeaks, and Dan’s sure there’s a stupid smile spreading across his cheeks. “Oh my god.”

It’s stunning. Silver, black and gold swirl together on the feathers, each little strand made out of words of the things he loves. The feathers stand out proud, remind himself to take flight and keep on reaping whatever life has to offer. The scars that had haunted him – and the history that came with them – are completely covered now. The chapter has been closed, and Dan can finally move on.

“I’m assuming that’s a good ‘oh my god’?”

The tattooist is smiling as well, as though he understands just how pleased Dan is with this work of art. Perhaps he does. There must be other customers that come to get a scar cover up. In that way, Dan is only one of many who have asked him to perform this job, but he Dan doesn’t even have it in him to care.

The tattoo was already paid for, and so Dan’s quick to rush out back into the main part of the shop, practically flinging arms around Phil as soon as he’s there, breathing him in grinning into his shoulder. He doesn’t move for a few minutes, and when he does it’s only to pull away and hold out his arm for Phil to see. It’s not that Dan needs Phil’s approval (he would have still done this either way, because it’s his decision), but he would quite like it.

Phil doesn’t offer much in terms of words, only leans down to press his lips to the exposed skin of Dan’s arm, just above where the wrap over the tattoo ends. His smile only mirrors Dan’s own, and Dan feels as though he’s floating. He no longer feels like Dan Howell, the boy who hurt himself because he had no other outlet. He isn’t the person that will sulk in the corner to avoid stares and get odd looks for wearing black jumpers out in public on warm days anymore, because he doesn’t have to do that.

There are many words that have been used to describe him before. Dan Howell. Young, pretty, dark and depressed. It can only be described as euphoria when he’s finally ready to rip that page out of the book and start a new one; and for this one he’ll write the words himself. Daniel Howell. Bright, confident, and most importantly, happy.

[inopinion]

Date at the Docks

The Virals Series by Brenden Riechs and Kathy Reichs --- > needs more fanfiction, so I’m here to help.

Thanks to a tuna fish sandwich, I did not have to face down an entire evening of wedding planning. Kit had a simplistic desire to be married in a place of natural beauty, and so he proposed we drive out to Cape Romaine Wildlife Refuge. Whitney, of course, wanted something more traditional with a modern flair and thought Boone Hall Plantation and Gardens would be exactly the southern charm she needed. She’d made an appointment with their event planner, had planned a picnic, and packed the bug spray. Diner was to be al fresco at the end of a self-guided walk of the refuge. I was still in mildly hot water over my attendance record being mailed to his office rather than where I could intercept it. My grades hadn’t dipped more than a couple percent and so he was holding me hostage on principle. Plus he thought wedding planning as a family would be the exact start we needed in this new life of togetherness. Blargh.

But, like I said, thanks to a tuna fish sandwich and Hiram’s impossibly sensitive stomach, Mr. Blue had to wait at the dock for an additional twenty minutes. It was exactly the time I needed, as the text came just when Hiram staggered to the docks.

Can’t miss the appointment at the plantation. Feed yourself. No going out.

I texted back: Hiram should be here any minute, maybe five more?

He replied: Can’t. Late as it is.

Kit accepted most of my excuses on face value, it was one of the better aspects of our relationship, but showing some interest in the activities of Whitney��s designs got me bonus points, so the small white lie really hurt no one.

“Never again,” Hi groaned. We hadn’t even cleared the dock before he was over the edge.

Shelton and I shadowed the two middle-school kids that also lived on Morris to the front of the boat.

“So, what’s the plans for the weekend? Bank heist?” Shelton adjusted his glasses and kept one eye on Hiram’s folded form.

“Calculus. I haven’t started the assignment yet.”

“Oh, tisk tisk. It’s a killer. Took me all night last night to get through half. I’m gonna be hitting up the Call of Duty tonight though, little treat for keeping my nose clean for two weeks.”

“Have fun.”

“Yeah. But we’re going out tomorrow, right?” Shelton alluded to the pre-planned boating expedition to our favorite beach on loggerhead.

Even without my abilities, I felt like I needed to see Whisper and her pack. Like watching them would help me remember that connection. There was a good chance I’d come away upset or crying, but still, I needed to see them. “I assume so. I haven’t heard otherwise,” I shrugged.

Shelton raised an eyebrow. Ben was our ride, always, but he’d only managed to slip a few texts to Shelton on a friend’s phone in the last two weeks. His resilience through the class skipping wasn’t quite as high as mine and an emergency conference with his parents rendered him without a phone, without a car, and without a social life. It’s been a bit of a hard start for our relationship, as in a non-starter. It still stung a bit that every message seemed to go to Shelton, all three of them. I shouldn’t mope about it, but still, I was feeling more than uncertain about what exactly I should be expecting now that we’d assigned the labels of boyfriend and girlfriend to each other.

Another volley of overly loud vomit kept me in the here and now. I’d be at the docks in the morning, waiting to see what had changed from our last group ride out to Loggerhead. At least if it got weird, I’d have Coop and the wolf pack to keep me distracted.

Unfortunately, Friday nights had little in the way of televised entertainment. So while I attempted to procrastinate and put off the complexities of nested integrals, I made plenty of headway, enough to question if I had the right assignment. I even sent a confiramtion text to Shelton and got a positive response. But by seven o’clock, all my problems were done and what remained of my weekend assignments was seventy pages of reading for AP English. I turned my attention to The Age of Innocence and let the TV play in the background.

An hour, eight o’clock and I could imagine Kit and Whitney taking in the beauty of the refuge and I sort of wished I was there. Sort of, not really, okay I would love to see the refuge and I wouldn’t mind a little more time with Kit. Besides, the wedding was important to him and he was undeniably important to me. As my stomach growled, I could even admit I wished I had a little bit of Whitney’s picnic basket.

Lazily, I palmed my phone up off the table and gasped. It was still on silent from school which had meant I’d missed a message from Ben.

At my dad’s tonight, you around?

What did that mean? More importantly, in two weeks of radio silence, did I even want to come clamoring to his sudden beck and call? Shouldn’t I at least feign being angry? A glance at the time stamp - 7:12 - and at least I wouldn’t look desperate replying.

I wrote: Just finished some homework. What’s up?

What’s up? Yeah, that’s how you hook ‘em. I waited. Two minutes. Three. I turned on the notifications so I’d at least hear it and went to address my hunger in the kitchen. I made a sandwich, tossed a couple slices of meat to Coop and eyed the baking show on the TV with little interest. Still, no reply. What a start, maybe an ending. It hurt, not that I’d dare let it show, because what was there to hurt over?

Three fast raps on the door and butterflies swarmed my stomach and floated up into my throat. Was he skipping the electronic communications? Ben had cut off shorts and a trim, black t-shirt that looked slightly too small for his frame. It might have fit him in the spring or at Christmas, but he’d grown both taller and stronger in the time I’d known him. His hair was tucked back behind his ears and a slight pink coated his cheeks. Those long lashes saved him sweeping away those prickly thoughts I’d just been fostering.

“So, you wanna come out with me?” He fought the smile that threatened to crack his face.

“Yeah, sure. Where?”

“Just the dock,” he shrugged, then added, “Is that okay?”

Ben looked legitimately worried, like I wasn’t known to hang out on docks with moody boys and would be offend to partake. Coop rushed the door.

“Lead the way.”

His hand slipped out of his pocket and extended for mine. Would I ever get used to it? His elbow bent and pulled me into his side, which seemed like an expert move, had he used it on other girls? How many other girls? Why was I having dumb, over analyzing thoughts in the first place. I turned by attention to the feel of him: warm and solid; the smell of him: men’s sport deodorant and docks; and his body language: stiff, but not anxious. I took a deep breath of the salt air and shrugged my shoulders a few times to relax. It was Ben, just Ben. Just Ben-the-boyfriend doing the first boyfriend things… no sweat.

On the dock, he had one pole already cast into the water, another, presumably for me, sitting on the dock. Three buckets and a cooler. An already opened bottle of fancy root-beer was next to one bucket (his seat).

“So, what I miss? Felonies? Misdemeanors?” he asked, dropping my hand to take his seat and open the cooler.

He pulled out another bottle and dug his keys out of his pocket, digging deeper for his pocket knife. He used the bottle opener even though it was probably a twist off. But, sure, cool points, I guess.

“I’ve been on psuedo-house arrest, so not much. Wedding crap, homework, mostly. All-in-all, quiet. You?”

“Well, grounded. Redefining nothing.”

“How bad were the grades?”

“Three B’s. Nothing major. I’ve done worse at Bolton, but apparently the standards are different now that I’m at Wando.”

Ben lifted the second pole and offered it to me. I examine it and confirm it’s the same one from the last time we went fishing. The lure is the same shiny disk and feather combination. I lean over and look at his bucket. Nothing in it but water.

“We can toss them back. But I was hoping for dinner,” he smirks. “You remember how to cast?”

“Yeah, I think so.” Setting the feed, holding it with my finger I pulled the pole back and launched the line out beyond the dock into the deeper water. Ben’s lips were tight and his smirk never slipped. “What?”

“Nothing. You fish how ever you wanna.”

“What I do?” I insisted.

“Nothing. Just… I mean, fish like cover. Under the dock, by the boats, but you try the open water,” he waved his hand at his own line that dipped below his father’s ferry boat.

“Fine, I’ll reset it,” I started reeling it in. “Call it practice.”

“Sure, practice,” he sipped his soda and then got quiet. “Not the best first date, eh?”

I watched the lure under the gentle waves then pop through the surface. Was this a date? A first date? Did this count? It was after school, almost dark, no parents, no friends, he even brought refreshments. His hand curled into a fist on his knee, those Blue-moods coming to the surface. “It’s a very Ben first date.” I offered, kindly and with a smile. For good measure I pulled the pole back and released it, landing off the end of the dock.

“What’s a Tory-date? You know, for next time?”

“You have to ask?” I raise an eyebrow and glance at Sewee parked in it’s slip down the dock.

“Always wolves with you.”

“Use my predictability to your advantage,” a small nudge from my knee and he slid his bucket closer to me.

“How’s this supposed to go?” Ben asked, looking at the water, watching his line. We’re shoulder to shoulder like we have been on countless occasions, but I can’t recall ever having quite the same queasy feeling.

“I dunno. New to me.”

“I sorta didn’t think much past this.”

“Well, this is nice,” I declared, sipping from the soda in my hand. I see his on his knee, palm up, offering. His fingers are slightly chilled from the glass.

“So, why’d you text Shelton?”

His hand flinches in mine. “Only number I have memorized. Two-zero-zero-seven. Double-oh-seven. I had to borrow a phone from a friend. Only let me the once because he almost got it confiscated.”

“Oh. Okay.” More silence, the lapping waves, the bugs coming out for the night. Coop dashed through the grass and onto the dock, sticking his head into the space between Ben and I.

“Chaperons,” Ben groaned, pushing Coop away and getting licked for his effort.

“Oh, yeah, did you get rules?” I asked.

“Rules? About?”

“Me.”

“Oh, no, not specifically about you, just about girlfriends, but I don’t even know if my mom remembers it.”

“You’ve dated before?”

“Like middle-school, before Bolton. You?”

“Nope, not really, well, about the same, I guess,” I blushed at the memory of those make-out sessions behind Dunkin Donuts.

“So, rules?”

“Oh, Kit made sure we had the talk and everything. Apparently, seventeen-year-old boys are single minded. I think my existence sort of freaked him out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Kit was seventeen when—you know—I happened.”

“Oh. Right. Well, I mean, that’s not gonna happen like right away or anything.” Instant awkwardness. I created instant awkwardness.

“Look, it better to be upfront about things, right? Talk about them? Anyways, Kit says we can’t hang out alone at each other’s houses, curfew—strictly enforced—and he wants to know if we go places where we’re going and when we’ll be back.”

“Okay. Sure,” Ben nodded. “But this is okay, right?”

“Yep.”

Then Ben’s arm moved around my shoulder, a smooth movement that tickled my stomach back into butterflies. “And this is okay?”

“Mmm-hmm.” My breathing stepped up and the sweat kicked on. His face next to mine, his arm pulling on my knees, rotating me on the bucket so we faced each other, his right knee between mine. “This is okay?”

Dear God, Ben had moves. Good moves. Moves that melted me and made my skin pimple into goose bumps. I nodded. Leaning forward our lips touched just slightly, enough for his breath to puff onto my chin. Then the line jerked and his pole fell off it’s prop. Stretching low and fast like a cat, Ben gripped the pole before it fell off the deck. I laughed at his sprawl, his bucket rolling into the ocean and riding on the waves four feet below. He cursed and reeled, keeping the fish on the line and eying the bucket for drift. I reeled in my own pole and while he fought his fish into the dock, I used mine to hook the handle on the bucket and drag it over to the ladder.

“It can’t be that small,” Ben groaned, the silver fish coming up in a leap. “It fought like a monster.”

“Making fish stories?” Kit approached. Coop trotted up the dock to great him.

“Hey, Tory, it’s nine-thirty. You got until ten.”

“Yep, sure thing,” I chirped wondering exactly how much he’d seen. Thankfully, it was getting darker by the moment and maybe my flush would fade before Ben had the fish unhooked and back in the water. Kit lingered, like he wanted to burn my scarlet permanently into my skin.

Coop circled around me, watching Ben’s fish come up over the edge of the dock. It flipped and kicked it’s tail wildly, still fighting in the air. Ben grabbed it and balanced his pole against his side. He grinned while he examined his catch.

“What is it?” I asked more to pull me away from Kit who just wouldn’t disappear.

“Croaker,” he held it up, holding it by it’s mouth.

“Cute.”

“People usually say, ‘a beauty’ but I don’t think ‘cute’ is really a term for fish.”

“Maybe I wasn’t talking about the fish,” I grinned. Ben rolled his eyes and tucked his hair behind his ear. Definitely cute. “Well, mercy or no?”

Ben glanced at the bucket and then back to the fish. “It’s not my favorite,” he lied and tossed it back into the oceans.

He wiped his hands on his pants, glanced at the path up to the condos and found it vacant. “Before anything else gets in the way—” he took the two steps he needed and crushed his lips into mine. His lips were tight with an exhilarated smile and his hands firm in how they held me still. Maybe it would be an awkward transition, but having that first real kiss out of the way was a big start.

[tackyink]

Okay. OKAY.

...

*deep breath*

SO. This is rather short and probably won’t make much sense on its own, but that’s why I’m posting it here. Other reasons are that it’s rather personal, that it isn’t going to be regularly updated and that apparently somebody came up with a similar idea and posted it just this week. What were the chances? Anyway. There’s more poorly written stuff that I need to redo before sharing. This is @luckystarchild‘s fault, by the way. Go read her fanfiction if you haven’t yet.

If this were the last day of your life, my friend Tell me, what do you think you would do then?

I’d always liked September.

I’ve always associated it with new beginnings. The start of the school year and the hope that it would be better than the last. New books and pencils. It was the month when the unbearable summer heat died out, when I met two of my best friends, when I changed schools after ten years in the same place, when I cut my hair short willingly for the first time, when I got my first real job after a drought of two years right after college.

Septembers gave me hope for change, and I’d learned long ago that I didn’t know how to live without it.

I was twenty-eight and hoping for another change. Anything would have been welcome at that point – getting fired, switching jobs, moving to another country – as long as it got me out of the hole. But of all the things I wished would happen, death wasn’t even at the bottom of the list.

I rather liked being alive. That was why I didn’t take to kindly to dying.

Or, more precisely, to my body dying.

I had joked a million times with my friends about going to the Spirit World when I eventually kicked the bucket. It didn’t happen, of course, because the Spirit World isn’t a thing in our world, but things didn’t go according to plan, exactly.

I wouldn’t know the mechanism of what had happened until years down the line, but I should start this story from the beginning. The moment where the wheel of fate got jammed and began revolving backwards for me, so to speak.

It was early morning, and I was heading to my work at a small marketing company located at the posh part of the city.

The rain was coming down hard that day, but I didn’t mind. It made the trek up from the subway station more pleasant.

My workplace was on a crossing of a long street with lots of transit during the day. Pedestrians and drivers alike, most hailing from that same district and on their way work, lived by the motto, ‘Screw traffic signs, I have money.’

Just on that street, I had witnessed two accidents during the last year and heard about another one. One I saw from the balcony of my office, where a biker got stuck under a truck. My coworkers and I never found out if he survived, because the paramedics rushed to the scene and blocked it from view with tarp screens. Just a few months prior, a pedestrian had been hit by a car and died at the opposite end of the street. And another time, as I made my way to the office, I saw a car turn from the wrong lane and hit a biker that flew, along with his vehicle, just a meter from me. Had it happened five seconds later, I would have been caught up in it as well. The biker wasn’t gravely injured, but he told me as we waited for the ambulance that it wasn’t the first time the same exact thing happened to him on that street.

It checked out. I’d nearly been run over three times, on a crosswalk just a bit further down, by bikers that took a turn in the wrong direction to park. Nobody seemed to think that traffic rules applied to them.

So I was always extra careful when walking up that street, never standing too close to the edge of the sidewalk, remembering daily how close I had been to getting a motorbike to the face.

It happened on that same crossing, precautions and all.

I was waiting for the light to turn green as cars drove by, looking at my now wet sandals and legs, and I didn’t have time to register what happened next before it was too late. A car turned from the wrong lane, again, and in order to avoid a crash, it swerved to the right at the last second.

The road was slippery from the rain and the oil. I saw the car skidding towards me in slow motion, blinding lights, heard the sound of brakes and screams and smelled the burnt rubber and the dirty water as I fell. I cried in pain and hit the pavement, acutely aware of the yelling of the witnesses and the blood seeping through my skirt. My head ached like it never had, and I remember thinking that at long last something had managed to crack it. I tried to move and failed.

I heard people talking to me, blurs in motion before my unfocused eyes, but I was quickly losing consciousness, and this time it didn’t feel like the other times I had passed out. But as always, no matter how much I tried to fight it, my body was firm in its decision to shut out, and I was helpless as I felt my eyes close and the world go black.

There was no light, no movie reel of my life, no gates to Heaven or Hell or anybody to pick me up, only the sensation of being pulled out, forcibly removed.

And then, I woke up.

At first, I thought it had all been a dream.

Then I felt a dull pain on the back of my head, and I winced at the ceiling lights when I tried to open my eyes. I heard sounds of people moving and people talking around me, but I was in a haze until I was able to focus my eyes.

I was in a hospital room, which meant I hadn’t died. There was an IV attached to my hand that I tried not to look at because it made me queasy, but that, along the headache and a slight pain on my hip, were the only signs that I had been in an accident. It hadn’t been as bad as I thought. Death cheated once again, I could add that one to my Tumblr list.

I looked at the people in the room. An Asian family that I assumed was visiting another patient, and a nurse and a doctor, Asian as well.

I wondered where my parents were, but maybe they had gone outside or they hadn’t had time to come yet. I didn’t think much about it until the doctor began talking to me in Japanese. I caught something about waking up, but my Japanese wasn’t exactly great and I was too groggy to decipher what was being said to me.

“I don’t understand,” I replied in Japanese, a thankfully ingrained response after years of lessons.

The doctor seemed confused. He said something else.

“I don’t understand what you are saying,” I repeated.

He frowned at my reply while the man and woman behind him stared at me with concern. There was also a little kid sitting in a corner of the room. He had stark black curly hair, a face peppered with freckles, and beady black eyes framed by thick glasses. Clutching a book he had been reading, he watched me with obvious interest.

The doctor took out a small lantern from his pocket and checked my pupils. He barked something at a nurse and the woman left the room in a hurry, then returned his attention to me. He checked my neck and my head, asked if they hurt. I said I had a headache. I felt proud of remembering the specific word for headache, too.

“Do you only speak Japanese?” I asked him as he ran his tests. “English? Spanish?”

The adults in the room shared alarmed looks. The doctor asked the man and woman something, and they denied it and launched into an unsure explanation. I didn’t get what was so strange about what I had said. As far as I was concerned, the weird thing was being spoken to in Japanese as if I had to know it. It was pure luck that I’d been studying the language for most of my twenties.

I let out a tired sigh, already knowing the answer to my question, and resigned myself to waiting until somebody saw fit to call someone I could communicate with.

A high-pitched, self-assured voice spoke up in English. “I do.”

My eyes flicked to the kid. I had never felt so much gratitude towards one in my entire life, of that I was sure.

“Thank God! What’s going on? Where am I?”

He blinked, looking thoughtful, and for a moment I feared he hadn’t actually understood, but my worries were unfounded. “You were involved in a traffic accident yesterday,” he said. “The paramedics tended to your wounds at the scene and brought you to the hospital, but you went into cardiac arrest in the ambulance and have been comatose until now.”

I noticed the kid avoided looking at me when he spoke, and that he was using some big words for someone his age. I had been that kind of kid, too, but from an adult perspective I understood how out of place it sounded. His English was also better than mine, which could have been mildly ego-puncturing in a different situation, but I was too busy feeling relief to think about that.

He said I’d been in an accident and fallen unconscious. That matched what I remembered. What I still didn’t understand was who were these people and why were they here, getting all wound up over me instead of my family. I had to ask.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but who are you?”

The kid, who until then had regarded me like I was a rat lab in the middle of an experiment, faltered. The man and woman stared at me with alarm.

The doctor said, slowly, maybe hoping that I wouldn’t have so much trouble understanding, “You don’t know them?”

The way he asked, expressionless, coupled with the shock of the other people in the room, made me finally realize that something was very wrong and I hadn’t grasped what it was. “No.”

The woman covered her mouth with a hand to hide a gasp, and the man beside her didn’t know whether to look at me or at the doctor.

The doctor asked something that I only vaguely understood as relating to me. When I didn’t reply, the woman approached my bed and asked me, teary-eyed. “Do you remember us, Satori?”

The words took a few seconds to sink in. I turned them around and around, trying to find an alternate meaning that I wasn’t catching. I didn’t. Who was Satori? They had confused me with someone else, though how they had managed it boggled the mind. I’d had my ID on me when I got hit by the car, and I was whiter than mayo on wonder bread.

I felt incredibly awkward when I spoke. “I am not Satori.”

Her face changed as if I slapped her. She broke into sobs, and the man that accompanied her put an arm around her shoulders and tried to comfort her. I felt awful. Meanwhile, the doctor, who appeared to be quite composed, told me, “Your name is Satori. These are your parents, and this is your brother Yu.”

They were all looking at me, waiting for my reaction.

“You’re wrong,” I tried scrambled to say my mangled Japanese. “I don’t know them. I am not Satori.”

The doctor listened, but there was no reaction on his part, too lost in his own thoughts to reply. I was sure that if I paid enough attention, I’d hear the wheels in his mind turning.

The nurse came back with another one, the doctor said something to them, and then he said to me something, that, again, I didn’t understand. The nurses got to work and drove my bed out of the room while the doctor stayed behind to talk to the family.

My family, I’d soon learn.

This was a mistake so gross that it was difficult to believe. How on earth had been those people able to confuse me with their daughter?

Every person I came across in the hospital was Japanese as well. The only explanation I could find, however feeble it was, was that I was in a private hospital that catered to Japanese expats. It didn’t make any sense, but neither did the whole situation.

I went through a scanner, several physical examinations and a blood extraction during which I managed not to pass out with great difficulty. I let myself get carted around, since nobody was listening to me and nothing that was being done to me seemed dangerous, but I was at a complete loss for what was happening until I asked a nurse to go to the bathroom, and she brought me to one in a wheelchair.

I noticed something off as soon as I got up from the chair and started walking, but I attributed it to the after effects of the accident, the painkillers and the overall weirdness of the day.

I caught sight of a reflection out of the corner of my eye.

I hadn’t even meant to use the mirror, but when it happened, I had to turn and stare, because for a second I thought I’d imagined what I saw in it.

The person staring back at me was a young girl with wavy black hair past her shoulders, parted by a white bandage stained in brown-red, dark brown eyes, and a face full of dark freckles.

I moved, and she did as well.

I felt my chest constrict, my breath shorten, and my heart accelerate as an all familiar pain burst inside of it. I saw the girl go deathly white in the reflection as a cold sweat covered my body – her body – from head to toe. I’d never suffered a full blown panic attack until that day, but there was a first time for everything, it seemed.

Even swapping bodies with a teenage girl.

[mynameistori]

entry 3 (aug 21)

Hello~

Continuing along with 1 post every 5 ish days (just a weird trend I’ve noticed; I write randomly), here’s the entry I’ve been meaning to write about since it happened -- the night with Pretty Boy. I was debating between this and writing about Balloon Boy, but I think these words were itching to be typed out just a bit more. Who doesn’t like some spice over a shit ton of fragmented angst? Well I guess this story gets a little angsty at the end… Disclaimer: This is more of a recollection about the events that happened that night, and less about my relationship (friendship) with Pretty Boy. I’ll talk about that timeline in another entry.

Though he doesn’t remember much about that night, I actually remember quite a lot though the middle gets kind of fuzzy. Pretty Boy had finished his exams that day, so he, Sk8ter Boi (AHAHA I’m so sorry if this identity ever gets out), and I wanted to have a celebratory drink session. My penthouse apartment has a terrace on the second floor, so that’s where we decided to drink. We didn’t have that much alcohol, but we had some hard alcohol - tequila (two small bottles), vodka (one small bottle), and soju (about half a bottle). I brought a speaker upstairs, and we played some music to dance to as we mixed drinks for each other.

I got drunk within the first hour and threw up the first time about two hours in (I’m not that lightweight and have only vomited once prior so this surprised me). I remember Pretty Boy catching me in the kitchen and washing away what had gotten caught in the drain. He asked if I was okay and told me that he didn’t want me drinking any more that night. We went back upstairs and told Sk8ter Boi that I was being cut off. We continued to dance and chat, and I learned that Sk8ter Boi had a crush on another member of our dance group (I didn’t define this in entry 1 so let’s formally define it as KPC - kpop dance club), Tol Bun (who is actually someone I’d swing the other way for). Pretty Boy already knew about the situation and how insecure Sk8ter Boi felt about Tol Bun, but after reading some of their chat, I agreed with Pretty Boy’s opinion on the whole thing and told him that it didn’t look like she was disinterested and to just go for it.

The second time I felt like throwing up, I remember waiting in front of the sink for a while. Eventually Pretty Boy came downstairs and of course my stomach finally decided that it wanted to spew out some alcohol. I remember telling/pleading/arguing with Pretty Boy to go back upstairs or to (because who wants to vomit in front of a cute boy let’s be real) and him refusing to do either. I think the last thing I told him was to please turn around, and he either did that or covered his eyes with his hands, I can’t quite recall. After that, he asked me if I was okay and I told him I hated him (for not giving me any privacy) as I pulled him into a hug. The most skinship I had ever given him before this was hair ruffling and contouring his face for a dance cover, so I wonder what was running through his mind as I did that, with his likely-sober-than-mine mind.

I went back and forth between the terrace and main floor a couple more times after that, a few times for the washroom or my bedroom and once more for the kitchen sink. I remember Pretty Boy following me down a few times, and me asking him if he was following me, and him replying “do you think you’re going to go downstairs without me noticing” or something along those lines. I simultaneously liked and disliked what he was doing -- I didn’t want him catching me the next time I needed to throw up, but I also haven’t had anyone care for me in that way before so it was very heartwarming. Some time after that, I threw up a third time without him catching me. :)

I remember Pretty Boy telling me to go to sleep around 1 am. I had work the next morning at 7:30, which meant I had to get up at 6:30 (yes I still agreed to drink and accept the consequences), so sleeping while I could was the best choice. So I sat at the foot of my bed and wrapped my sheets around my body. Some time after, Pretty Boy told me that our other friend West Coast Wonder had arrived, and that I should sleep despite how much I wanted to go up and say hello. He asked me for my phone and set my alarm for me, and went back up to check on the others.

He came to my room multiple times after that, I don’t remember why. By then, I was feeling extremely cold, so I kept telling him to not leave me. He always did though, and eventually he told me that the others were leaving and that he was going to walk Sk8ter Boi home. I told him to come back afterwards, and I think he said goodnight. He closed my door and  few moments after I heard the suite door close, and my heart sank in my chest.

I messaged him some time later, thanking him for taking care of me and telling him goodnight as well. A couple of minutes after that, he told me he dropped Sk8ter Boi off and asked if I still wanted him to come over. I told him “of course”. At this point, I was about 3/10 drunk as opposed to the 10/10 drunk I was before, so I told him to hurry up and I’d wait for him in the lobby while dancing BOSS (by NCT U). He eventually showed up and we made our way back to my bedroom.

I remember Pretty Boy looking at my lips and leaning in, like a movie or drama. I let him kiss me, and we proceeded to make out for the majority of the next two hours, among other things. His hands roamed all over my body, and we kept shifting positions. Sometimes I’d be straddling him, or curled into his side with my head on his chest and leg over his body, or being a little spoon, or he’d be on top of me. He asked me if I normally slept with a bra on, and I told him no. He then unclipped it with ease, and I took it off, putting it in the corner of my bed with my stuffed animals. He also attempted to pull down my shorts multiple times, but I always stopped him. I think I wouldn’t have minded so much if I wasn’t in the process coming off my period that night, but I also had worries about how it would affect our relationship in the long run. It would definitely complicate a lot of things (to be shed light on in a future entry, as stated before) and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to do this two nights before he was supposed to move out of Waterloo and I wouldn’t see him until January. So I kept telling him, “maybe when you come back from SF.” At some other point during the night he asked me, “why do you always wear my clothes?” and I think I told him something along the lines of “pink is pretty” but I really wanted to say something like “because it reminds me of you”. In hindsight, I probably should’ve said “because I like you” since he doesn’t remember much anyway (more on me taking his things another time).

I think I treated him as if he was my boyfriend that night though the most I did was unbutton his shirt a little, focus on his very sensitive neck, and leave a hickey on his chest. It was hard to think of anything in a platonic way because I already had a crush on him and though very intoxicated, he was acting the way I had always wanted my boyfriend to be - slightly dominating and very touchy/intimate. He smacked the back of my thigh at one point and called me babe some other time, and I wanted to make him mine so badly. But my sobriety and loyalty stopped me. Not even a pretty boy who couldn’t stop saying my name would cause me to betray a friend so badly. I remember telling him I didn’t want to fall asleep because I didn’t want this to end and for him to leave. He said that I’d see him later that day. We went to sleep at 5:30 am or so, and I went in between being awake and asleep for most of it. I woke up before my alarm and turned it off so I wouldn’t disturb Pretty Boy, who was sound asleep.

Before I left for work, I wrote a note for Pretty Boy and left on top of his phone. I told him when I’d be done work and which fridge shelf was mine in case he wanted to eat something before I got home. I would also bring food home if he was still there by then. I didn’t want to leave, because I knew that the dream I was living would disappear the moment I stepped through that door. But I had a responsibility to fulfill, so I left.

At work, I felt shitty. I felt mildly queasy at times, and my throat was extremely shot. Sometimes I would lose focus and feel lightheaded for a few seconds, but luckily there was only me and my favourite coworker, Korean Baerista, at the front. Thankfully, she loves working cash and I love working bar, so my throat wouldn’t have to suffer too much. Obviously I worked a little slower than usual but with exam season pretty much over we didn’t have a lot of customers. Throughout my shift my mind kept going to Pretty Boy and wondering if he was still sleeping. I wanted him to still be there when I got back home, so I kept looking to the clock and wished for time to pass by faster.

I wanted to catch the next bus so badly I actually forgot my jade bracelet in my work locker. When I remembered later that day at about 3 or 4 pm, I decided against walking all the way to campus just to get it. Little did I know that I wouldn’t be getting it for about another two weeks (I actually still don’t have it -- I’m heading back to Waterloo tomorrow). I forgot that it was a Friday, and the locker area is only open from 8 am to 5 pm on weekdays. To stack more against me, I would be heading home the next day (Saturday) and I’d find out from Korean Baerista about a week later that I didn’t have any shifts for the rest of the summer (thanks supervisor, I didn’t make vacation plans just for you) so I wouldn’t need to return to Waterloo earlier.

When I got home and opened my bedroom door, he wasn’t there. I kind of expected it, but it honestly felt somewhat like a one night stand and I could feel my heart breaking because I let myself get too attached. He didn’t even leave me a message, so I decided to thank him for making my bed (I don’t normally make my bed). He didn’t message me for a while, and I would later find out that he actually felt really sick and ended up having a panic attack because of it and went to a clinic. I wished he would’ve told me about that. I waited for him to come to KDC’s usual hangout spot despite how tired and sick I was (I tried sleeping after work but couldn’t partially because my heart rate was elevated enough to cause me discomfort) because I believed that we would see each other that day.

We did end up seeing each other later that night, but only for a very short time. He had asked me to return his windbreaker because it was actually his friend’s (Mr. Off-White, which is what I actually call him because I don’t know who he is) and he would be dropping by to pick it up that night. He really wanted to drop by the KDC hangout to say bye to everyone before he left the next day, but he was too exhausted. So I offered to drop it off at his place, and he eventually accepted. I asked for another jacket of his in exchange though, so I’d have something of his while he was away. As I waited for him in the lobby, one of my a cappella friends (Melodica) who lived across the street spotted me and asked if I wanted to come over (super random, I know but they’re a friendly bunch -- I also had a crush on Melodica for a short while). Pretty Boy showed up after that though, and he handed me back my jacket (I wanted to trade it for Mr. Off-White’s windbreaker) as well as the jacket I asked him for. I asked if he was okay, and I kept asking him if he was sure. Melodica decided to say bye at this point (sorry Melodica >_<) and I said farewell to him. I asked Pretty Boy if he needed any help packing. He said no and that he wanted to go back up to lie down because he was exhausted. I already knew that it would be the last time I’d see him, but I let him go anyway. He wasn’t mine. I couldn’t worry about him too much.

He later told his mother about going to the clinic and how sick he felt and he ended up going back home later that night. He’d move out some other day. Our conversation level/dynamic after that and even now is a bit different, and he even forgot about my conversation once for 3 days. I ended up messaging him, “forgotten or avoiding? I won’t resent you either way”. He also trolls me a lot more now, and me being the serious person I am, don’t usually take jokes very well. I don’t know what to do about it.

For me, that Saturday was an extremely difficult day. I had no motivation to eat anything though I felt hungry. I took my time packing up some stuff to bring home with me, and when I had finished about 3 hours later, it was extremely hard for me to leave the apartment. I honestly felt like I was going through a break up because of how empty I was and how much I longed for someone else’s touch. I eventually left to get McDonald’s before leaving for home. Luckily my family wouldn’t be home until the next day, so I had time to compose myself.

Sorry for the massive post. I’m still trying to get over Pretty Boy and hopefully by the time he’s back, I’ll be able to face him as if nothing happened so he can maybe get with my friend NomNomCutie who likes him a lot (insert scream of frustration and depressing sigh).

tori

[conkedinthehead]

Kai, Alone

Kai wipes his forehead, splinters and dust smearing across the sweat there as Kai blinks at the stinging moisture trying to creep into his eyes. His eyes, they burn; he's been awake longer than he wants to think about, longer than he really should, but still he carefully lifts the next piece of wood in place and shifts it precisely, lining it up perfectly with the pre-drilled holes in preparation for fastening it together. Several finished cabinets rest on the floor behind him, still unwrapped; he'll check them all, doing last touchups before packing them carefully, when he finishes the last ones. But for now he grabs his level, checking that the structure is even and square.

Kai's muscles ache, his hands near to cramping. He's thirsty, too, but he knows without looking that everyone in the house will be asleep, that if he goes in now he's liable to wake at least his father, which he doesn't want to do. He's already begged off two meals, pleading necessary speed to finish this project before the end of the week. In truth, he's far ahead of where he needs to be. But I can deliver them tomorrow, if I finish, he thinks, straightening tiredly before reaching for his driver, resting near him on the floor. They'll be happy to have them early. And then I can— can do something else. His mind stutters awkwardly over the what, clearing it uneasily and quickly sweeping it into a dark corner of his mind before he bends again over the cabinet, power tool whirring loudly.

Several hours later Kai straightens for the last time. His back is complaining at him, and his mouth is pasty-dry, sticky and sour with long-delayed thirst. The cabinets are all finished, double- and triple-checked, and made perfectly sound and perfectly level, each piece carefully and precisely slotted in place. Kai's hands are nicked and scraped, his arms dusted with curly wood shavings and grit, his forehead smeared with grease and his eyes tired but relieved that this task is done. He blinks and looks up at the sound of the door opening, eyes struggling to focus on the figure there. His heart skips a beat— but, "Dad," he says softly, his voice welcoming but with an oddly sad note, warming quickly so as to hide the betrayal. "Hi. Good morning, I guess." He looks over at the small windows; the light has indeed grown, and he lifts a hand to rub the back of his neck tiredly, his sweat-stained shirt sticking to his body uncomfortably.

Dan's eyebrows go up at the sight of the finished cabinets, lined up pristine and tidy on the floor, every one finished. "Good morning," he says mildly, then, "Hungry?"

Kai shakes his head, not even taking time to think. "Not really." His stomach groans in protest, but he ignores it. "I just want to finish these, wrap them up so I can bring them over this morning."

Dan's eyebrows go down at that, and he looks at his son with a slight worried frown. "They're due?" he asks briefly, a real question in his voice. Kai winces at the mild reproof and answers after only a slight hesitation.

"Well, no, but, if I get them to them, they can install them faster, you know? And it's good to be moving, out and doing something." He rests a hand on the nearest cabinet, its surface smooth and even.

Dan watches his son with mixed compassion and worry shading slowly across his face, and he says quietly, "Come eat anyway. Keep me company."

Kai swallows a little sickly, but then forces his mouth into a smile that softens into a real one when he focuses on his dad. "Okay," he says softly, then, "Do you want me to clean up first?"

Dan looks at his son again with a hard-to-read expression, then says, "Sure. Take a little, I'll get coffee started." Kai nods with a stronger smile and straightens, his back popping and lungs expanding at the motion.

"Oof. Sounds good." He pauses next to his dad, wanting to pat his arm but stymied by his filthiness.

Dan has no such hesitation as he brings his own hand up to pat his son on the back. "Get clean. I'll see you."

Kai nods, then makes his way out of the detached garage and into the growing light. He notices with surprise that it's later than he thought—no longer the light of pre-dawn, but the vibrant gold of growing day. He clatters carelessly up the stairs and into the bathroom, stripping efficiently and turning on the stream of water. As it starts to steam, he looks at his reflection in the mirror: grimy face, serious and with notes of sadness around the eyes, restless expression, lines of tiredness tugging at the corners. Wreathing steam coils around him and grabs his attention, and he steps into the hot water thankfully, hissing at the heat and stinging and letting the water sluice away his thoughts and distractions.

As Kai comes down, his mind is refreshingly exhausted and blank. He flops down in a chair just as Dan pours the second cup of coffee, picking it up to hand to him as Kai murmurs an appreciative, "Thank you." The nutty-rich flavor floods over his tongue, scraping it clean of stickiness with its astringency, and landing in his stomach with a palpable thud. Dan's already put down a plate in front of him; Kai wants to protest, but it's just toast and jam, and with a suppressed queasy look he picks it up and nibbles. It soothes his stomach like a hand smoothing a rumpled comforter, and he sighs and relaxes, taking a larger bite and sipping coffee.

Dan sits down opposite to him and quietly starts eating his own breakfast, his eyes fixed on his son. Kai gets most of the way through his breakfast before belatedly wishing that the coffee in his hand was tea, green tea. It usually sits more smoothly on his insides, and he lifts his head, mouth open to ask— But then the memories flood back, all the memories he'd been hedging out with cabinets and plans and wrapping and deliveries, meticulous motions covering great force of distraction in his mind, now stripped away. He can't take another bite, another swallow, his throat suddenly clogged with tears, and he drops his head, lip trembling, trying to swallow the feelings away into silence. The silence echoes, and he realizes dully that Dan must have noticed, must have seen; but even that thought can't catch the tears that have already forced themselves out, dotting the plate and the table with betraying wetness.

Kai startles when his dad's hand comes to rest on his shoulder, gripping gently but firmly, supportive. "'m sorry— Dad—" he forces out, but can't speak more. His father's response is to stand and come to his side, hugging him without reserve, without expectation. Kai leans against his dad in the hug, sobs crowding in his throat, but stuck, he refuses to release them. He swallows them, sick with effort, and scrubs the back of a wrist across his face. His dad's hold is calming, but the loneliness in his chest makes him feel like he's being torn into pieces. "'nks," he whispers, then more strongly, trying to stand. "I— I'll— I need to finish—" He'll go back out to the garage, bury himself in the project so deeply that he can't remember, won't remember, won't feel anything but satisfaction in his work. It's the only thing to do, but—

Dan's grip doesn't release him. "Kai," he says softly but with velvet-wrapped iron in his tone. "Go sleep. You have to sleep."

Kai wilts in his grip. "I, I'm not—" tired, but he is, he's nearly falling now that he's standing, head spinning. "I don't—" need it, but he does, he can barely think, and his hands are shaking, now. "I had c-coffee," he says, then looks up at his dad, trying to smile. Dan's expression is gentle but intent, and he shakes his head.

"Decaf. If I have to walk you there myself I will." He means it. Kai can see it in his eyes. But he can't face the thought of that bed, their bed, his bed, the empty bed, going in the room to see absolutely nothing unexpected there—

"I, I c-can't sleep there, Dad," he whispers, then lowers his face, ashamed. Dan's grip tightens, and Kai doesn't resist, but his father's hands are gentle as they come to turn him and propel him toward the room opposite.

"The couch is fine." Dan's voice is pragmatic, and Kai lets out his breath. The couch is a little better, they, they didn't, well, rarely slept there— He pauses in involuntary surprise as he sees that his dad has already laid down sheets, a blanket, and a pillow. His father's hands release him, and he turns his head to see his dad watching him with a worried look.

Kai finds he's really smiling, though once again his burning eyes are swimming, and he impulsively steps forward and hugs his father, voice thick. "Thank you," he mutters, then yawns helplessly, his jaw near to splitting. "W-wake me… in… not too long," he mumbles, sitting abruptly on the soft surface and fumbling his socks off, his feet delightfully cool as he swings them up under the soft sheet. "I haf'ta… d'liver those. Today."

Dan watches his son's eyes close, then gently tucks the blanket in and around him. "Don't fret," he says quietly, then brushes a gentle hand over his boy's smooth forehead where sleep has already wiped away his stress and sadness, relaxed into exhausted repose. Dan stands there a moment more, watching his eldest son freed of his efforts to flee his memories, then runs an absent hand through his hair, leaving it standing up every which way. As he goes out his eyes are thoughtful and sad, and he heads upstairs to sternly tell his younger sons not to trample around like elephants, for their brother's sake. It's hard to watch, this. He glances into Kai's room—it's quiet and empty, almost blank and deserted-feeling, and he sighs again, his eyebrows drawing together in worried determination before he knocks on his other sons' door.

Kai sleeps, and sleeps. He sleeps dreamlessly, which is a blessing, at least in the beginning; empty quiet, calm, healing. But as the light shifts angle and slants through the crack in the curtains, he begins to dream; strange worlds, weird sights, sounds and tastes unlike any on Earth. But there's always a constant, a flash of blue, or is it brown? Definitely brown, those eyes, and warm, and with eyelashes as soft and long as a wren's wing, and laughing lips and a face so alive, and when the eyes land on him and crinkle with delight Kai opens his mouth to laugh, joy filling him—

Kai opens his eyes, his expression amazed and delighted. But as consciousness seeps in, the color seeps out of his face, and he sags back against the couch and drags his sleeve over his eyes, trying not to cry. Alone. Still alone. Only alone… He's doing everything he can, but it's pulling him apart, piece by piece, until he doesn't have anything left. At least I can still work. I can, I can still build. I can make something…

Something that isn't a relationship, whispers his traitorous mind, and he chokes, not breathing for a moment before the tears start and he rolls to bury his face in the couch pillow, drowning again in the sadness and solitude, his hands empty. He has to push through. It's all he can do. He can't stay here like this; and God knows he can't go back, he can never go back… Kai swallows hard, then lets the tears flow for a while, his heart aching. I'll try. I'll keep trying. Just a little longer, and a little longer still. Things, things have to get better. They have to…