#u ever have a chapter turn out to be so difficult it nearly makes u stop writing entirely

[kryptznnn]

♛- PLAY-HARD IV

1st part / 2nd part/ 3rd part / 4th part

Series Masterlist ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☀︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆

➸ INTERESTS; - olo'eyktan!jake x fem! omatikayan reader

➸ BACKGROUND; - working alongside Moat has helped you and your family in various ways, as a way to repay her for your free working she pairs you along side Toruk Makto to aid him in small departments he needs assistance in, but more importantly to find a Tsahik suitable for the Olo'eyktan, but he isn't always cooperative. Thankfully things have turned out for the better, Jake and you being close, but what does that mean for the future of the omatikayan people?

➸ WARNINGS; - wc. 3.4k, slight age gap (25 & 21), takes place after the great war, slow burn, arguing, angst, fighting, confessions, crying/tears, mentions of abandonment, screaming, fluff, jake being crazy kinda and y/n being a dick a little, make-up, bruises, injuries⭐️, romantic tension, small kisses.

➸a.i; - had enough fluff and smut i’m an angst kinda lover so i’m gonna hurt all of u guys with this 🙇🏾‍♂️ do not hate me for this i’ll make it up in the next chapter😭 (NOT PROOF READ, i’m literally dead rn i’ll edit more tmrw if anything’s wrong, currently working on chapter 5 and a neteyam drabble so i’ll be updating way more this week).

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*na’vi translation will be provided*

“Someone seems cheery” Mo’at spoke, upon your arrival to her tent where multiple other women were, either helping injured warriors or practicing their own form of medicine from herbs you originally would use alongside Mo’at. You smiled and greeted her softly, asking her what she meant by her statement.

“Nga tíran nemfa syura txantan na aylahe tsawke” [You walk in, energy brighter than the sun] She rolled her tongue, to which your tail swished slightly, grinning even larger. Understanding what she meant, you practically seemed in a good mood, and more than usual, as if you’ve been spending all morning helping the children in the village, which you’d usually do to start off your day before visiting her (if ewya let you from the late hours you’d wake up).

She just chuckled to herself and saved a seat beside her for you to begin helping her with other warriors and younger women learning the ways and traditions of the tsahik.

Soon after everyone left you stayed afterwards, as always. Already eating another meal and having chats with Mo’at, catching up with one another.

“Have you found someone for the olo’ektyan?” She asked, standing up slowly to begin cleaning the small messes left behind from the previous na’vi inside. You hesitated before answering, not knowing exactly to say. “He’s very difficult, but no I haven’t-“

“No? From the way you’re glowing and the left over evidence of what you two have done are you SURE you haven’t found someone for him?” She laughed, quickly getting a reaction out of you, quickly placing your hands on the side of your neck and collarbone, to which he had left love-bites on.

“We haven’t done anything. He hasn’t done anything, we both remain unmated” You stated, turning your head the other way, not really wanting to get into this type of conversation. “If you do end up mating it must be soon, the clan is in need of a Tsahik, I won’t always be here forever.” She stated sharply, turning to look at you and grabbing a nearby broom, cleaning slowly. “You know better than anyone I’m not prepared to be Tsahik, there are thousands of other na’vi women that could take my place-“

“I’ve raised you for nearly 13 years of your life and taught you all I know, if you aren’t ready now when will you ever be ready?” She asked, quickly cutting you off, you sighed and quickly tied your hair back, beginning to collect the bowls and left over remedies around, knowing she was right. It wasn’t your fault you were scared, you were young and had over 100 years until you’d die from old age and part of you didn’t believe you’d be able to. Maybe you’d let down your clan rather than helping them from the goodness of your heart, you weren’t as strong-hearted and wise as Mo’at, nor as smart and powerful as Jake. Sure you were a skilled shooter, whether with archery or with the earth weapons, Jake himself made sure of that, but fear consumed you. “Maybe it is not the placement of Tsahik you fear, maybe it’s the placement that comes with it..” She pondered, pausing and turning to you, to which you slowly glanced up at her, sighing softly.

“I can serve my people.” You stated, she nodded as if she was waiting for you to repeat those words. “But can you serve your olo’ektyan?” She asked quickly, watching you pause and sit there, your ears lowering slowly as you stood up in front of her, a small pout on your lips. Without a doubt even if you couldn’t always please your people you’d be able to support and help to your best ability, especially in the healing specifics, but things between you and Jake would change, which is something you COULDN’T risk. She finished sweeping and took you into a soft hug, as if she understood the situation you were in and how your mind was. For some reason it’s so much easier to fixate and plan out someone’s life for him on the sidelines, but on the front lines things seemed horrible, especially stress, that was something your simply couldn’t handle.

“You love your people, and you’ve done nothing but love what i’ve taught you and new people that have come into your life, do not be afraid of failure and don’t be afraid of change, be open to i-“

“Is the Tsahik still here? Oe tìkin srung si” [I need help] You heard a hoarse voice ask, quickly de-attaching from Mo’at to turn towards the back and collect a bowl with the herbs and bandages from before, ready to help whoever it was that was injured at the door. “Wha-“ You stopped dead in your tracks, dropping the bandages in your hand and nearly dropping the bowl as well out of shock.

It was, “Za’yukto, you seem as if you were attacked by a Palulukan” Mo’at joked, not realizing the shock that overtook your body. You weren’t sure what shocked you most, the fact that Za’yukto was here or the fact he was here injured so badly after seeing the bandage around his head, the injury you inflicted. You slowly picked up the bandage and tightened your grip on the bowl filled with herbs, making your way over to Mo’at quickly and setting them to her side, where she made Za’yukto sit. “Y/n can you please help with the bruises inflicted on his back?” She asked, it barely even being a question, quickly pushing you to his backside to which you tensed up. Taking a deep breath and exhaling slowly, swallowing your feelings and putting your work first, soon finishing quickly, as Mo’at soon finished afterwards.

You payed close attention to the injuries he had gotten, knowing well he was obviously attacked, but not by any animal, by a person obviously. Thankfully for you both there weren’t any open wounds, just bruises, which you took note on. The entire time he did nothing but place his head down, in a sense of shame you would’ve guessed, making you more curious, when Mo’at had finished with him however and moved away he began apologizing to you numerous amount of times for what he did and what had happened and asked how your injuries were, you only nodded and showed him your injuries, in the process of healing and if anything doing better than his now, not really wanting to spark conversation with him, thankfully he was smart enough to realize that and spent the rest of the moment in silence.

Soon after you finished and Za’yukto departed, Mo’at sent you on your way,, but not without making sure you took her advice to heart.

Most of it did most of it didn’t, knowing she could tell you as much as she wanted but it wouldn’t really truly leave you, you’d have to deal with your own problems alone, whether present or future, and honestly you prayed that time wouldn’t ever come.

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You soon arrived back to Jake’s hut, greeting him and smiling. He soon asked how your meeting with Mo’at was, you ignored the question not wanting to get into the previous conversation you had just had with your god-mother, asking him how he was and what had happened after you left, to which he didn’t want to respond to your question as well, leaving you puzzled.

“C’mere” He said, motioning towards his lap, to which you smiled and obliged, sitting promptly. Soon you guys continued your conversation, sharing short laughs and flirts back and forth, until Jake went up to hold your hand to which you saw his hands bruised and his knuckles busted and dry with blood. “What’s this? What happened to you?” You asked, now turned fully to him, searching in his eyes for an answer, which quickly darted away as he licked his bottom lip. “T‘s nothin, I just had an accident” He lied, his eyes still looking away, scanning the room. You frowned, taking his other hand to see the exact same marks and discoloration of his skin, “Why didn’t you ask me to help you! Let me get some-“

“No, it’s fine i’m okay” He said, gesturing he was fine, flexing his hands, balling them into fists, and wiggling his fingers around to show he was okay, which you didn’t believe. “You were fine this morning when I….” You paused.

He was fine when you left, and so was Za’yukto, you completely forgot you both crossed paths before leaving this morning. All of a sudden you come home and he refuses to talk about what happened when you left, and was lying to your face right now. What didn’t help his case was the fact that bruises were found all over Za’yukto and yet Jake remained untouched, the only bruises being on his hands, the same hands that he must’ve used to inflict the wounds on Za’yu. You weren’t wrong with your hypothetical thinking earlier, whatever had harmed Za’yukto was obviously someone, just not who you expected.

You quickly let go of Jake’s hand, standing up slowly and dusting yourself off, “Za’yukto came by to Mo’at’s hut this morning, asking for assistance.” You stated sharply, looking dead at Jake to which he looked up at you then down to his feet, his tail flicking quickly while his ears lowered softly. “He had so many injuries inflicted into his skin I was scared it would’ve battered his soul. Oeng Tsahik keng hangvur fyape hoan te’ekon ni a palulukan” [Our Tsahik even joked how he was attacked by a palulukan] You clicked quickly, watching Jake’s lips shift, pursing slowly. “Did it feel good? Beating on him like th-“

“Don’t do that.” He cut you off, stating harshly and he hunched over a little, his elbows resting on the plump of his thighs, as he looked up at you, now clearly upset. “Don’t do what Jake? Don’t tell you what you did was wrong? Because it was, and I didn’t ask you to do it, you did it on your own account to make you feel better about yourself.” You spat, pointing at him, he stood up abruptly hands on his hips as he huffed. “I’m suprised he was even able to walk into the ten-“

“I did it for you!” He shouted, throwing his hands in a fuss to which you quickly scoffed at. “You missed the part where I told you I didn’t ask you to-“

“Oh for fuck’s sake y/n, you came into my home sobbing and hardly even speaking to me out of fear, you know better than anyone else that I wouldn’t have just let him get away with i-“

“Oh yeah? Well I had it handled, if you were paying close attention he already had a bandage on his head, from my inflicting, as I told you!” You shouted back, slowly taking a step back when hearing his tone. “I’m not some damsel in distress I can protect myself and deal with my own issues, I’ve been doing it long enough.” You said, placing a hand on your hip to see Jake’s irritated expression. You heard him mumble something under his breath, and to which you quickly asked what he said, and for him to say it loud with his chest, thinking it was some sort of insult.

“I did it because I love you, I’m in love with you y/n, I don’t want to see you hurt, you don’t understand how much it hurts me to see you hurt, trust me kid if I knew this would’ve hurt you I never would’ve called him here in the first place.” He confessed, slowly stepping up to you with his hands out, attempting to take his hand into yours, to which you kept back, refusing.

“Was that supposed to get me to jump back into your arms and act like all is normal?” You asked him, upset at his confession, he furrowed his brows at you taken aback. “What’s that supposed to mean? That my love for you is fake? You got some damn nerve talking about how I feel when I don’t even know how you feel, I could be standing hear arguing with you for no goddamn reason, you probably don’t even love me, hell even like me!” He shouted pointing at you, hissing momentarily and baring his fangs, you bit down on your bottom lip softly, staying silent.

You did love Jake, that you were sure of, even Mo’at was sure of it, and you were sure that you’d expressed it in every way possible to him. He wasn’t wrong however, you never really told him, everything just happened so quickly you didn’t know what to do or say, you couldn’t say anything. Your mouth quite literally stayed agape until you kissed him, which you had hoped closed things up, but it obviously didn’t. Being apart of Jake’s everyday life in the future didn’t scare you, you already had played the role well as his assistant and honestly you enjoyed it, but playing the role as the Tsahik? His wife? Completely different, you couldn’t see yourself fitting into the shoes of your adopted mother and especially not the man you loved, you were mortified. All you could do was look at your feet, a huge lump in your throat and tears prickling the corners of your eyes, you tried to open your mouth, only slightly gasping for air, afraid your words would only do more harm, cursing yourself internally.

“Nga yawne lu oer.” You said softly, but loud enough for Jake to hear, pausing before watching as he came closer to you, now standing directly in front of you. “Doesn’t sound like you mean it.” He deadpanned, searching for some sort of anger to trigger, which he did.

“I have had eyes for you since the first day you landed with Toruk into our sanctuary and pleaded your oath to my mother and to Tsu’tey. My heart has yearned for you ever since I laughed at your complaints to her in the healers tent, since the first day I’ve worked for you, since the first time you ever hugged me or caressed me. I love you Tsyeyk Te Suli.” You said harshly, whipping your head up at him and jabbing him in his chest, clearly taken a back by your confession slowly raising his hand to place over yours, the tears now burning your eyes before falling, heating your cheeks up.

“I would give up so much for you, I owe you so much y/n, I am of your creation, patience, time, care, and love. I wouldn’t be the man I am today, I wouldn’t be the ruler I am today if it wasn’t for you, but I cannot do this alone, I need every piece of y-

“I cannot be by your side, I am not fit to be.” You quickly stated, cutting him off briefly, still not looking up to him, to which changed shortly after he placed his hand under your chin, guiding your head up slightly so you could look at him. He had tears in his eyes. “I cannot be the wife you need me to be and I cannot be the Tsahik our people need, those places are meant to be filled, but they cannot be filled by me.” You cried, now watching as Jake’s ears down-poured, and a tear rolled down his cheek, which he didn’t bother wiping away. “You say you cannot be the wife I need when the wife I need is you, you’re all I need y/n. You aren’t alone and you don’t ever have to be, whatever it is that you’re scared of don’t be, I’ve seen how you’ve interacted with the children and elderly here, how much they adorn you and constantly ask for your assistance, you’d make a wonderful Tsahik, you’re mother has preached it millions of times and has honored you as if you’re gold, calls you ewya’s daughter. I will always be here waiting for you, I will not have another woman, I will not settle for anyone else who is not you. I will not rest until I do have you, you are all I want, all I need, all I have, please.” He begged softly, cupping your face to which you cried more, slowly resting your head on his chest, staining his skin with your tears.

“I’m sorry” You mumbled into his chest, to which he smiled softly, your mumbles tickling him slightly, he kissed your now dry hair and massaged your back slowly, nodding and apologizing as well. “It’s a large responsibility you know? I get why you’re scared, but you can’t possibly do a worse job than me.” Jake joked, earning a faint laugh from you which made him chuckle, thankfully lightening the mood.

Soon after you two made up with one another you remained in physical contact, wiping each others tears and holding hands or hugging constantly, blabbering small nonsense to one another about your relationship and your young undying love, what the future held for you and how you would announce everything afterwards towards the clan and Mo’at, not wanting to let the other go. You helped Jake with his knuckles and to which he thanked you, brushing his hands against yours softly, just to interlock them.

“I wanna take you somewhere, it’ll help you get outta all this.” He said, tapping the side of your head lightly, tightening his grasp, you blinked several times before smiling, asking him where. To your surprise he remained discrete, saying it was a secret and he wanted to make up for the argument that erupted earlier, you just obliged. “As long as I don’t die” You kidded, earning a soft hum in response from him as he grinned at you, kissing your forehead, encouraging it would be the complete opposite of that.

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Jake soon after had you trailing behind him, his hand interlocked with yours as he guided you through the forest, giving you heads up of whether to jump or duck or turn since he had blindfolded you. Being raised within the forests your whole life didn’t help, unfamiliar of the path he was taking you on all you could do was giggle in response, until coming to an abrupt stop.

“We’re here pretty” He said, indicating you to remove your blindfold, which you did eagerly before looking up, the pink and purple luminescent lights quickly indicating where you were, “Vitraya Ramunong” [The Tree Of Souls] You muttered in disbelief, quickly placing your hand up to your lips to hide your large smile.

It had been so long since you’ve been here, you missed it entirely, the feeling, the melodies, the connections and joy it brought you. You quickly thanked Jake, jumping into his arms giddily, to which he wrapped his arms around you, laughing in response.

“Most of the time when I would go to Mo’at for assistance with Olo’ektyan duties she would send me here, to connect with the past one’s or even the past Toruk Makto’s to create a connection with them and ask for advice, t’s helped me a lot.” He said, quickly dragging his fingers between the tendrils and branches of the tree that hung to the blue mossy floors. You smiled at him intently, doing the same and frolicking around, to which he followed you like a small child. You soon decided to follow his advice, making your way to gently grab one of the tendrils while reaching behind you, gently taking your kuru and bringing it up towards the branch and watching as the tendrils of your kuru make the bond with the tree, gasping softly.

Jake just stood there, watching you in awe, the way your skin glowed underneath the lights, and the small smile on your face. The way in particular of how you held your queue, and how your tendrils practically danced towards the branches, creating an effortless bond, smiling softly and standing beside you, repeating your actions and then exhaling softly.

Mo’at was right, the arguments and obstacles that have been placed between you and Jake were meant to make you stronger, inseparable maybe.

This night would prove that for sure.

⭐️🕷️Taglist 🕷️⭐️

@igotmajordaddyissues @dani111 @call-me-doll-face @shadowmoonlight0604 @bigbootahjudy @innercreationflower @taleiak @bunniparadise @ellabellabus07 @anangelwhodidntfall

[shirohige-pirates]

Just Like Fire

CisFem Reader x Portgas D. Ace

CW: angst, language, erotic, violence, serial killer, stalking, poisoning, over-bearing controlling parents, attempted forced marriage, possible dub-con, Munchausen by proxy (aka Factitious Disorder), wildly cute and fluffy despite the warnings. 18+ only

Summary: You're Sabo's biological sister in this AU. After college you moved in with your dear brother and his two sworn brothers in order to avoid going back home. You and Sabo despise your family equally.

Tags: @fiestynatureweeb @nalleanna @airwolf92 @art3misa635 @sleepisfortheweakpooh @ghostfacefricker6969 @harahettania @mfreedomstuff

Chapter 22: 3 to 1

When you and Ace arrived at the All Blue it was still busy. You were there about ten minutes before closing and while no new customers were coming in, at least half the tables were still occupied. A severe-looking man with cropped green hair had been standing guard at the front doors, but he’d let you and Ace through.

“Zoro turns away customers for Sanji when the place gets busy to this point. Business is good, but getting your staff home at a decent hour is more important, at least to Lyn and Sanji.” Ace says as the two of you work your way through the restaurant to the bar.

The bartender that Ace had pointed out the last time gives you both a smile. “Ace, are you here to help close?” She asks and he nods.

“Sabo’s sister needed to talk to Sanji about something, so we volunteered to help free up some time for him, what can we do to help?”

“Ah, if you can get the tables and booths cleaned up that are empty, that’d help. Zoro can’t help until we can lock up, and we’re going to be a bit with the last few tables tonight.” She says, and looks toward you. “I’m Lyn.” She reaches out a hand, shaking yours.

“Quill,” you say. “Sabo’s mysterious sister.”

“Ever worked in a restaurant?” Lyn prompts, and you can tell from her grin she’s expecting you to say no before you even say it.

“Ah, no.”

Her grin breaks into a full smile. “It’s okay, there’s plenty of easy stuff to do. Our dishwasher could probably use an extra set of hands, how’re your shoes?”

“My shoes?” You question looking down. “I’ve got the sneakers I wore camping earlier on.”

“That’s good, better’n being in heels. I’ll introduce you, don’t worry, Duval’s bad at winking, but if you can help him stack trays he can get the dishes washed faster.” Lyn nods for you to follow her, lifting a section of the bar and having you come back.

The kitchen is brighter than the front of the house, and there’s almost eight other people back there. One of them is a tall man who would probably tower over Ace, with blond hair and a smile that seems a bit strained. Lyn introduced the two of you and had Duval show you how to stack trays so you could help him out.

It wasn’t difficult work, but it was more physical than you were used to. Grateful for your nap earlier and the fact that you weren’t fighting against your mother’s “medicine” anymore, you managed to be more of a help than hindrance; Duval only had to fix a couple of your trays.

Once the last of the customers are gone and the place is nearly closed up and cleaned, you, Ace, Lyn, and Sanji are sitting in a back booth while the last couple of employees finish up and leave.

“Luffy said something about you needing to ask about my brothers,” Sanji says, an apologetic look on his face. “He’s never been one for details, so I don’t know why you wanted to talk about them, but if there’s anything I can do to help you, it would be my pleasure.”

You smile, and then bite your lip a little. You make a few more gestures before Ace takes your hand in his and gives you a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m… technically, betrothed to Ichiji.” You finally manage to say and watch as both Lyn and Sanji’s eyes go wide and their jaws go slack. “Aside from the obvious fact that I don’t want to marry him, I’ve also recently learned that I am, in fact, cursed.”

Lyn’s mouth closes, but Sanji’s goes almost wider, he murmurs a swear under his breath in a foreign language and you nearly snort.

“My parents don’t know yet, and I don’t know what curse I have either,” you continue. “At least not yet, but my parents are my problem, and the details of my curse aren’t something I can control. What I need to know, what I was hoping you could tell me, was that if I tell Ichiji I’m cursed, what’s he possibly going to do?”

Sanji stares blankly for a moment, and then opens and closes his mouth a couple times before closing it and furrowing his brows. He’s quiet as he takes out a cigarette and lights it, barely inhaling before billowing smoker into the ceiling.

“Ichiji won’t marry someone who’s cursed.” He says flatly, but despite his words it doesn’t look like he’s thrilled about whatever else is on his mind. “What he’ll do in reaction is hard to say. He could lose his cool the moment you tell him, or he could decide he simply doesn’t care. The real problem would be the old man.

“Judge could make the whole thing a spectacle.” Sanji continues. “I don’t think he’d get the Celestials involved, but he could ask for heavy restitution from your family.” He pauses, shock crossing his face for a second before he takes another drag. “Er, if I can ask, how’d you learn you were cursed so late in life?”

“Oh, well… um. It seems my mother has been poisoning me most of my life,” you admit quietly. “And I think my curse saved me, but I was so weak I couldn’t do anything else with it.”

“Your mother did what?” Lyn questions before putting her hands over her mouth. “I’m sorry, I just, that’s horrible.”

“Haaa… yeah, and it’s okay. I mean, it’s not okay what she did, but I mean, you don’t have to apologize.” You clarify.

“Well, if that’s the case I can’t imagine you’ll be upset if Judge goes for your family then.” He says with a shrug. “I could be there when you meet with Ichiji, if you want? I might be disowned, but I’m not disavowed, he can’t lash out at me without any repercussions.”

You shake your head. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t think he’s been particularly invested in any of this himself. He’s had a sense about Ace and I before I did, but even that didn’t bother him. He might be relieved, honestly.”

Sanji shakes his head. “No, relief isn’t really something he can feel. But you’re right, he might just not care.”

“The only thing that leaves then, is telling my parents.” You say, letting out a long slow breath and leaning your head on Ace’s shoulder.

“When are you meeting with Ichiji?” Sanji prompts and you look at your phone.

“Six hours? We’re supposed to meet for a brunch.” You answer.

“Ask him how far he had to travel,” Sanji says. “If he’s not in town for business and has been traveling just to meet with you, pay for that brunch yourself.” He asserts. “Even if he has been in town for business, you should still probably do that.”

“Will that help keep him calm?” You question, lifting your head off Ace’s shoulder.

Sanji nods. “Be extra polite.” He shudders. “Stoke his ego if you can manage it. He and the others are real bastards about rights versus commoners. I maintained my rights even though I didn’t want them because the Government stepped in, but with a curse… tch.”

“He’ll know that the government will bury my ties to my family.” You admit. “Yeah, I was already thinking about that. Not that it’ll make any difference if reparations are demanded.”

“You’re still royalty?” Ace questions, looking at Sanji.

Sanji shakes his head. “I sold my rights to fund this place.” He says. “But even with my rights sold my blood’s still legitimate. Ichiji and the others can’t treat me like a commoner without repercussions. Honestly, it might be the only reason the restaurant’s never been targeted.”

“But, two more months and it won’t matter.”

“Huh?” You and Ace make the same sound at the same time and Lyn and Sanji both smile.

“Germa’s only in town for another two months. With all the other islands and seas, they’ll probably never end up back on this island again.” He explains. “After that it won’t matter what my brothers think, they’ll be too far away to do anything about it.”

Ace sinks back into the booth, relaxing. “You scared me, I thought you two were going to sell the place and go elope or something.”

Lyn laughs. “We promise we’re not going to sell this place any time soon.”

“Noticing a distinct lack of promising to not elope.” You say, raising your brows a little and smiling.

Both of them flush and Sanji clears his throat. “Nami-swan and Robin-chan wouldn’t forgive us.” He insists, and Lyn nods.

“We don’t have plans to elope, but if we have to.” She lets the thought hang and you nod in understanding.

“Oh, uh, are you two busy on the fifteenth?” You question, shifting the conversation. “I figure the least I can do for all your help is invite you to enjoy delicious food with us as the 1st division celebrates my birthday. Though I suppose I could volunteer to help with closing a couple more times.”

“You’re welcome to help out here whenever you want, but it’s certainly not required. We’re both happy to have been able to help.” Lyn assures you.

“I’ll be happy to bring a large order of appetizers,” Sanji says, a bright smile on his face. “It’s been a while since I cooked for them.”

Ace puts his arms up in celebration. “I’ll let Thatch know, and he can work out the details with you.” Ace hugs you, his cheek pressed to yours. “Your first birthday here and we’re all gonna be so blessed.”

You could feel your face go hot at the exuberant display of affection, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. “You sound like Luffy.” You tease.

“Oh, we’re not going to be able to tell him about this. He’ll whine constantly for the next two weeks and then he won’t sleep the night before.” Ace sighs, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck, not releasing his hug.

“A-Ace.” You stammer, you can feel the familiar sensation from before and you’re worried you’re going to set Sanji’s booth on fire.

Ace looks up and into your eyes and smiles as he lets go. “Oops.” He looks just about ready to lean in and kiss you, and you’re torn between wanting to let him, and not wanting to do so in front of others just yet.

“Look at you, positively smitten.” Lyn says, eyes on Ace. “If I remember correctly, you were in here just a few months ago -.”

“S-saying absolutely nothing interestin’!” Ace exclaims, giving you a little space without leaping fully to the other side of the seat.

“Ah, true. True.” She agrees with a grin. “I’m sure I have you mistaken with someone else who was ready to swear off all manner of love and dating. Dramatically convinced that there wasn’t any one in this whole wide world that was going to be able to-.”

“Lyn, mercy, please.” Ace begs.

You can feel the heat rolling off him as you turn your head, giving Ace a pointed stare while Lyn hums softly in amusement. To Ace’s credit he looked caught somewhere between embarrassed and adorable. He put his arms in front of his face to shield himself from the inquiring look you were giving him, and so you moved just a little bit closer.

“Don’t ignite.” You admonish, poking his side playfully and causing him to yelp.

“You’re in my restaurant,” Sanji starts, trying to cover the pink on his own face. “And I feel like I’m the one intruding.”

“Ah, ha ha, sorry about that.” You lean away from Ace. “With, with that we should probably get going. We’ve kept you both as it is.” You admit, scooting out of the booth.

Lyn hands you a card after she gets up. “The numbers for here, and both our personal cells.” She explains.

“If things go bad with Ichiji, let us know.” Sanji clarifies. “I can’t promise I’ll be able to do much, but I don’t want anyone in that family thinking they can do whatever they want.”

“Appreciated.” You tuck the card away, hoping that things go smoothly. You’re certain that Sabo would break the law without a second thought if Ichiji did anything, and you know Ace would too. There were too many people willing to step up for you, and considering the complications of nobility in relation to the laws, you were more worried for others than yourself.

[tortoisebore]

CAN YOU RAMBLE ABOUT THEIR FIRST TIME CUDDLING / HOW THEY CUDDLE AFTER THEIR COMFY IM REAL TOUCH STARVED

EEEEEEEEEE i’m stressed & tired & i’ve been writing angst for like two weeks so i think we all needed this

((i’m putting this in the context of my fic bc we’re doing a little time skip for chapter 10 & this particular little snippet of their relationship isn’t being delved into & i feel like we all deserve to know ab it 👹))

just barely nsfw under the cut like BARELY a few sentences

the first time they actually have a cuddle would be after they fucked for the first time obvi. we’ve talked ab what happened after The Door: they’re both sappy losers that got so entirely overwhelmed in the five minutes they were actually having sex that it became quite an emotional & earth-shattering moment, so obviously they’re going to be clinging to each other like saran wrap for hours after.

so they lie around in bed for a while & i’m a firm believer that sirius “always touching people” black has an innate need to be touching remus everywhere after they have sex, like toes to head he needs to be plastered to him, so he worms around & ends up just sprawling out on top of him, which is like….,definitely making it difficult for remus to breathe & sirius’ complete dead weight on his chest isn’t necessarily a pleasant experience but he’s not ab to ask him to move. so he just loops his hands around his back & draws all these little shapes and patterns into his skin with his fingers while sirius wraps his own hand around his arm bc he has a particular strange fascination w his biceps. and they probably get the giggles for a while bc they’ve both been pining after each other since the second they met & they can’t believe that actually just happened, but then they settle into a sweet little silence and just lay there together for a while

and in his head remus is getting all weepy because he didn’t think he’d ever get to have sirius close like this, to be free to touch all of his pretty, soft skin and feel his hair tickle his chest every time he exhales and brush his thumb over the little freckle below his eye when sirius looks up at him, all flushed cheeks and half-open eyes and a perfect, sated little smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

and sirius is up there having an out of body experience bc he’s finally calm. he’d spent so long being on edge over his feelings for remus, and he’d spent the entirety of that week stressed about what to do about those feelings and thinking it was too late & he missed his chance—but now that he’s here in remus’ bed and he’s apologized and professed his love and it was all reciprocated, and they’ve finally figured out where they stand, he can breathe again. the feeling of remus solid beneath him, tracing those little shapes at the small of his back, touching his face and smiling when sirius can’t resist and leans up to kiss him—it’s the most tethered and grounded he’s felt in a long time.

eventually remus convinces him they need to shower & he offers to let sirius go first, but sirius just looks up at him like 😐🤨 “wtf do u mean i can go first, we’re going together u idiot.” so sirius lets him up but immediately glues himself to remus’ back so he has to awkward-shuffle to the bathroom & work around the inconvenience of having a person pressed against him while trying to turn on the taps and get towels and all that, but the shower is nice and warm and it’s easier to move around once he manages to convince sirius he should wrap himself around remus’ front rather than his back. but now he’s getting distracted bc sirius is kissing his neck & smiling all innocent when remus tries to be like “can you stop for one second & let me get my literal cum out of u please.” but that plan backfires & just turns into him pressing sirius’ chest to the wall & eating him out until he’s begging for round two & they almost die when remus nearly loses his footing while trying to lift sirius up enough to fuck him against the wall

the first few weeks after they get together they’re absolute insatiable losers, like they can’t be in a room together for longer than five minutes without having to leave & go for a quickie at whoever’s place is closest. eventually that wears off enough that they can exist within twenty feet of each other without immediately wanting to jump each other’s bones, much to the relief of all of their friends & anyone who has ever been jostled out of the way when they’re sprinting out of buildings to get home.

so they settle into some kind of a routine and start spending lots of time at remus’ place because it’s quiet and he doesn’t have roommates. so after classes or practice sirius will just go there and stay for the rest of the day. and most of the time remus is at the kitchen table working on schoolwork when he gets there, and he’ll give sirius a sweet little smile and be like “hiii :))” and sirius will give him a big ole hug from behind over the back of the chair bc they haven’t seen each other in eight hours & he was going insane with it.

on those kinds of days he usually manages to convince remus to take a break after a while and come sit on the couch with him, where sirius will cuddle up to his side and wrap his arms around his middle while remus tells him about his day. and he’ll put a hand on sirius’ knee or hold his hand while he talks & again, sirius feels calm.

other days remus will get home & sirius is already there, which happens more and more frequently after he gives him his extra key like two weeks after they started seeing each other. and he’s not secretive about how much he likes having sirius there when he gets home—sometimes he’ll be at the table in the chair across from remus’ with his laptop and textbooks and a giant coffee, working on an assignment for one of his history or french courses, and he’ll smile and stretch and hold out a hand until remus comes to him, pulling him in and kissing him all sweet and saying “there’s a coffee for you in the fridge.” other times he’ll be sprawled out on the couch talking on the phone or reading and he won’t say a word, he’ll just make grabby hands like 🥺🤲 until remus comes to him. and he’ll just plop down right on top of him, wiggle his arms under him to wrap around his waist and rest his head on his chest, and sirius will run his fingers through his hair and play with the curls at the nape of his neck and trace lines up and down his spine until remus either dozes off or they turn on whatever show they’re watching that week.

and some of it carries over to group outings and dinners out—they’ll sit next to each other and remus will have a hand around sirius’ shoulders or loose around his hip, maybe pressed to his knee or holding his hand if they don’t have much room. and sirius will shuffle in close in a booth or scoot his chair as close as possible and lean into his side, drag his fingers absently up and down remus’ arm or wrap a hand around his bicep, maybe get a hand up the back of his shirt when he leans forward if he’s lucky. and sirius is much more touchy-feely in public than remus is but remus loves it, loves feeling desired and wanted by the person he loves even when other people are around.

so yes they’re big physical touch people and even bigger fans of cuddling, and they’ve practiced enough self-control now that only 50% of their dedicated cuddling time ends up turning into especially handsy sex.

[clare-with-no-i]

BOND AND FREE. SATURDAY. 

CHAPTER SIX: THE BALLADS OF THE FAITHFUL, PART I

Exactly one week on from the mid-March attack, Dumbledore announces the findings of his investigation to the students.  Lily struggles with feelings of unrest and attempts to use her new club to channel her energy.  A full moon rounds out the tumultuous month, and the students prepare to break for Easter Hols, with some questions still unanswered and others still unasked.

[pathetic-gamer]

I FINALLY BEAT SILVER SNOW ON MADDENING MODE I don't wanna talk about how long it took lol (the final battle took 38 turns and an embarrassing amount of time)

recap below:

Okay, it's been a WHILE since I actually finished the run - I'm updating it now (1/2023), but originally posted it in 10/2021. This is normal behavior.

so, the original post:

Ingrid best girl w her almost 800 battles lmao

And of COURSE I used the wayseer to lock down the pair I would die for

the update:

I decided to update this because, after giving all the other runs detailed recaps, I thought it would be fun to write down the things I remember about this one. It was my very first maddening mode run, and, despite having already played the entire game four times before this, there were some very basic mechanics I didn't know about. For example: I didn't realize you have to actually equip skills until well into part two LMAO. I basically brute forced my way through nearly the entire run, and I'm actually kind of proud of that.

This was foreshadowing for my Triangle Strategy run, where it took me five chapters to realize you could keep your EXP after losing a battle and eight chapters to realize there are mock battles you can use to level up your units.

Ingrid was, of course, the final MVP, but I don't remember who was the overall MVP because I foolishly didn't clip the recap thing.

I don't remember the majority of the final pairs, but I know I s-supported Seteth and we got netteflix and sylvgrid. I've decided that Seteth is the absolute best s-support in the game. "Courage, my love!" YES

Units and final classes:

Byleth: enlightened one

Linhardt: bishop

Petra: wyvern lord

Dorothea: dancer

Felix: assassin

Ingrid: falcon knight

Annette: dark flier

Lysithea: gremory

Balthus: war master

Constance: dark flier

I remember chapter 13 being absolutely hellish, since the only eagles I was using at the time were Petra, Dorothea as a dancer, and Linhardt (who is a lover, NOT a fighter). I made like a dozen attempts (okay fine, two attempts) at that battle before finally accepting that I wasn't going to be able to save everyone, so I let Caspar die. That was the first time I had ever actually let someone go, and I'm not gonna lie it was kind of devastating. (Whether or not I wrote a fic about it is between me and the Goddess...)

Enbarr infiltration was a nightmare and I ended up having to just have Ingrid and Petra do it alone and win by the third turn, Petra taking Hubert and Ingrid taking Jeritza. Also working on a fic about that one, but it's coming out to around 30k words, I think, and still isn't finished.

The final battle was incredibly difficult and I'm still having war flashbacks about it over a year later. Balthus was a walking disaster and i think 70% of the Divine Pulses I used were on him (and yes, you bet ur bottom dollar there's a tiny little fic about it.). By the time I got to the end of my last successful attempt, I was actually making a list of which units I was okay with sacrificing for the sake of victory (they ended up all surviving, dw). I think it took me around 12 hours to beat (failed attempts included, of course), and I believe I made a total of four tries? The final attempt took something like 34 turns.

so there's the recap from memory! It was very hard and very fun and I will remember it fondly forever lol

Anyway. Luv u bye

[jeonqqin]

man up. [m] | pt. 2

h. jisung x reader | netflix teen rom-com au

— ❝Even with classes, annoying brothers, and an unrequited crush, you still figured your first year of college was going pretty well. Until you managed to get your first boyfriend, and suddenly your brother and his stupidly attractive best friend were attached to your hip for the whole damn ride.

or alternatively;

Why did Jisung care about you so much, and had his eyes always been that pretty?❞

WORD COUNT: 5.2k

CONTAINS: brothers best friend au, teen rom-com au, sorta crack fic, love triangle au, college au

WARNINGS: nopee, well ji looking at readers butt?

A/N: are u team Chan or team Han?

▸ request

CHAPTERS:  01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 +

blog masterlist | ⟲ fic song

© jeonqqin 2020

After your afternoon class with Jisung, he quickly noted that you were absent for the rest of the day.

Sure, you didn’t have any other classes, but normally you would be hunkered down in the library with your nose stuffed in some sort of book, or wandering around campus with Felix at your heels. You were either cramming due to your procrastination or roaming around procrastinating. Jisung also knew you weren’t a fan of staying in your small dorm room since your roommate loved flaunting the fact that she had a boyfriend and how she wasn’t shy about anyone witnessing their ‘acts of love’.

So he really had no idea where you were, and it bugged him a little more than he would like to admit.

But outwardly, he didn’t want to show just how worried he was. You were his best friend’s sister, it wasn’t his job to make a fuss about something so trivial. It would be weird if he went looking for you… but if Minho just so happened to get word of his little sister’s sudden disappearance, Jisung would have to help his dear friend search for you.

It was only common courtesy.

“Minho, I think Y/n was kidnapped.”

“You WHAT?!”

Okay, starting the phone call with that probably wasn’t the best choice, but what other choice did he have. Jisung was an impatient guy.

“Yeah, I don’t know what happened.” He replied casually, already able to hear the panic on Minho’s end of the call. “She was here and then she wasn’t.”

Not only was he impatient, he was a(n idiot) songwriter; his words articulate and poetic.

Minho was silent for a second before cutting back for the call.

“I texted Changbin and he said she just ran off.”

Jisung frowned. “Do they know where she went?”

“Apparently to beat some sense into me.”

The two friends knew then where you were and a rush of panic filled their chests all at the same time.

“Fuck—”

“—Chan.”

Jisung nearly dropped his phone in the process of hanging up, immediately taking off towards the familiar apartment.

His worst nightmare was coming true—Chan was an unknown in Jisung’s mind. He was handsome, charismatic, and an older guy, so it was realistic to imagine you falling head-over-heels if you were to ever meet him. Unfortunately, it seemed like fate wasn’t in his favor and he was in deep shit if you were really at the apartment alone with Chan.

Alone with Chan.

He shivered at the thought.

The only brightside to the ordeal was that Minho was also aware of the dangerous situation. Out of everyone, he would be the only one to prevent any feelings from sprouting between you. Jisung counted on Minho every time and he never once failed to preform.

Dear god, he hoped he didn’t decide to stop now.

Arriving at the complex, he almost rammed full speed into Minho, who was also going as fast as his legs could take him. They only shared one glance before trampling over their feet to get up the stairs, no doubt bothering the neighbors along their way.

Minho was the one to swing the door open, his head on a swivel as he walked in. He was ready to break up any inappropriate business with as much force necessary—he didn’t care if Chan’s bicep was twice the size of his head, he had leg power on his side. And if he saw your tongue anywhere near Chan’s, Minho was going to be swinging.

“Chan?”

“Y/n?”

Thud.

There was a crash behind the closed door of the office, and both heads perked up at the sound.

Minho hurried forward, arm outstretched to grab the door, “No. No no no—”

Jisung never wanted in his life to see you involved with someone else. With your pretty eyes hooded and shining with desire, and your chest heaving heavily against the tight fabric of your blouse. It had been difficult enough to watch you fill out and grow into an attractive woman, he didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that you were old enough to meet other guys and moan their names.

He certainly didn’t want to hear you moan Chan’s name—of all people, why Chan?

“Shit, Chan—”

Jisung felt his face heat up as Minho pushed the door open, ready to pull his friend away to avoid the scene on the other side.

“—get your head away from my ass! The power strip isn’t even near there you prick!”

“Hey,” Chan defended with a laugh. “In my defense, all you said was it was over here somewhere. How do I know that somewhere isn’t next to your ass?”

The position that the two of you were in was compromising—though not in the way that Jisung had originally expected. It caused the two newcomers to freeze, their brains struggling to really understand what was happening.

The two of you were surrounded by thousands of cables and wires, black foam scattered across the floor as well. You were on your hands and knees, the only visible part of you was your bottom half with your head tucked underneath Chan’s mixing table doing who knows what. As for Chan, he was crawling around same as you, on his hands and knees with an extension cord wrapped around his shoulders.

“Uhm…” Minho gaped, eyes unable to focus on one part of the scene.

Jisung had no trouble at all, his eyes locked solidly on your raised ass.

You turned your head to look over your shoulder, eyes locking with Jisung’s and immediately widening. You couldn’t be in a worse situation—fucking hell.

In your haste to get out from under the table, you slammed the top of your head against one of the sturdy table legs and winced as Chan cracked up from your side.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in class—Jesus, ow…” You asked, your hand moving up to rub the forming bump.

“What’s going on?” Minho asked, his eyebrows brushing his bangs.

“Y/n wanted some help with her stats class and I needed someone to help me upturn this room and make it into a recording room.” Chan snorted at your little dramatic groans, completely unfazed by the growing frustration on Minho’s face.

But before Minho could say anything to Chan’s statement, Jisung stepped in.

His lips twisted sourly, “I thought Seungmin was going to help you with your stats stuff?”

You shook your head with a huff. “I will not subject myself to that kind of torture and I refuse to let anyone convince me otherwise.”

“Well you could’ve asked me.”

Defeated and jealous; Jisung could no longer hide it.

The two older boys could see it clearly in the way he looked at you with big sad eyes, though neither of them said anything. Chan’s brows furrowed in thought, it looked like you had someone else infatuated with you.

You laughed. “Uh-huh, because you’re the resident genius here. Jisung, you dropped two of your classes last semester because both professors were minutes away from giving you an administrative failure.”

“Yeah, yeah. Jisung’s head is full of rocks—” Minho dismissed, unsympathetic towards the scandalized boy next to him. “Why the hell are you turning my storage room into a junkyard?”

Chan finally stood, pulling the cord from his neck and throwing it to the side in favor of helping you up.

“It was already a junkyard, bundle-boy.” You said, voice clipped and annoyed. Who wouldn’t be after smashing their head against a solid piece of metal? “We were renovating.”

“Like hell you were. I thought I said no to the recording room?”

Minho’s rage was just about completely directed towards Chan, but to your surprise, the guy gave minimal to no reaction. His face stayed indifferent, wide shoulders relaxed and eyes set.

You’ll be dammed, the fucker wasn’t scared.

Chan wasn’t afraid of your brother.

There was someone on the planet who didn’t go running when Minho looked at them funny, and he was standing right next to you in his beautiful sleeveless glory. If you weren’t currently suffering from a possible concussion you would be dropping to one knee and popping the question then and there.

“Oh, so what you said earlier was a no?” Chan (very unconvincingly) feigned innocence. “Sorry, the phone connection must’ve been bad.”

“I was yelling to you from the other room.”

“These walls are very thick, Minho. It’s your apartment, you should know that.”

“Do you want to be homeless?”

“Define; home.”

That was it, he was your one true love.

As Minho began to cross his arms over his chest, squaring up to Chan with the glare of a certifiable killer, you slid out of the way to avoid the oncoming fist fight.

Or explosion, whichever route Minho decided to take.

But then the unthinkable happened—Minho sighed, dropping his arms to his sides and turning towards you.

Both you and Jisung stood speechless, because you just witnessed someone give Minho an attitude and not get beat down afterwards. Hyunjin had once attempted the same thing and had been chased around the quad for a good forty minutes until the taller man had gotten tired and your brother had become uninterested.

Felix told you that they were both reemed during dance practice that night for being too tired to execute their choreography.

Minho shook his head, “You and Changbin were probably going to convince me anyway. Might as well save the wasted time and get it done now.”

Either your brother had a fat crush on Chan, or the Lee Minho was afraid of someone.

You knew Chan was older than him, but someone had to have some sort of super power to keep Minho from kicking their shins and shoving a knee in their face.

“What is happening…?” Jisung wondered, eyes wide and mouth open.

Chan smiled, striding over to clap Jisung on the shoulder, making the shorter boy jump in surprise.

“Good news. We’re getting a recording studio.”

And you would like to get married to one Bang Chan please.

You joined Chan’s side.

“Now you can finish that song you were working on.” You said, nudging Jisung’s shoulder.

He was just going to ignore the sudden wave of excitement at the fact that you remembered that he was working on a song.

“Yeah, I guess so.” Jisung laughed tensely. “Looks like I’ll be around more often.”

“Yeah, definitely…”

You nodded absentmindedly, eyes locked on the exposed skin of Chan’s arms. Chan himself didn’t acknowledge your stare, but couldn’t help the smug smile that slid onto his face.

Jisung watched the exchange and groaned, looking over to glare at Minho for failing him the only time it truly would end badly for him. Because of course Minho had to be soft for Chan and of course Chan had to be moving in.

Why couldn’t Chan just be ugly?

“Okay,” Chan sighed, placing all the wires he held into a pile on the floor. Suddenly, he turned to you, “You held up your end of the bargain. Let’s work on some stats, huh?”

Your eyes widened for a second, caught in headlights.

“Oh,” was your smart reply. “But we didn’t get to finish?”

Chan waved it off. “The only reason we tried to get it all done was to make sure Minho couldn’t say no. Now that he’s accepted it, we don’t have to rush.”

As much as it bothered him not to finish a project.

You laughed at the little punch Minho threw at Chan’s shoulder on his way out of the room, mumbling something about “going to bed before Changbin comes home to beg for food”. He also made sure to pinch your cheek before leaving.

After swatting at Minho’s hand, you grinned.

“Okay, well… Let’s figure out how we’re going to do this.”

Chan mimicked your smile with a nod.

No way, Jisung thought as you followed his older friend out into the living room, no fucking way.

You just left him without an acknowledging glance his way, and all of a sudden he had a really terrible feeling about leaving you and Chan alone together. Anything could happen—kissing, fucking, god forbid you talk to him. You could become closer and gain feelings for the guy, which would not be a hard task considering Chan was basically the human embodiment of the sun and every damn person seemed to be pulled into his orbit after the first meeting.

Dammit, it was even difficult for Jisung to be mad at him. The guy was too lovable.

Cursing under his breath, Jisung all but ran into the living room to prevent any and all touching or deep talks, because heaven knew how much Chan talked about deep shit.

Ew, he sounded like Minho.

“You don’t have any notes at all?” Chan asked, eyebrows raised. “What do you even do in there?”

You let out a sigh.

“Stats is where I usually do my biology work.”

“Then what do you do in biology?” He questioned bluntly, his eyes skimming all the lost files on your computer that you had given up on ages ago.

“That’s where I write all my essays. The teacher—”

“—never stands up from his chair.”

With wide eyes, you laughed in surprise. Your mouth formed many words but nothing stumbled out, perhaps for a good reason because what you had in your head wasn’t very coherent on its own.

So you just pointed at the snickering Chan, “You…?”

His head shook and your mood dropped.

“I don’t do work for other classes,” he corrected, the mischievous smile slowly sliding onto his lips giving you a little hope back. “I actually produced a whole song in that class.”

Was Jisung dreaming or were you looking at Chan with those big bewildered eyes? Was that what was happening right in front of him? Could he be seeing things?

For once he really hoped he was going insane.

“I knew I wasn’t the only one that slacked off in that class!” You chirped, bouncing a little in your seat.

“And I still got a one-hundred on my exam.” He told you pointedly before passing on the laptop and leaning back on the couch.

Normally, smugness wouldn’t have been attractive to you but on Chan it was something else. His eyes lit up in a way that was almost pretty.

There was a pull towards him as he just sat there and looked at you. It was something that set you on edge in the same way it put you at ease, he just had such a conflicting presence and you really didn’t know how to process it. So your body pushed you forward on it’s own, and with no complaints from him, you felt your hand come to rest on his knee—

But out of the fucking blue, Jisung was throwing himself between you two, his thinner body fitting snuggly in the unfilled space. You sputtered and Chan nearly yelped, holding his hand to his chest to placate his thudding heart.

“Jisung—what the fuck?”

“Did you just jump over the back of the couch?” Chan frowned looking over his shoulder to really determine the path Jisung took to get there.

Jisung smiled obnoxiously, “I just figured I’d help you guys out. Considering I’m also in that class.” He wiggles a little more to separate the two of you even more. “And three brains are better than two.”

“Not when yours is nonexistent.” You quipped, feeling your lips pull into a pout at the intruder.

“Ah, how I love your humor.”

Jisung poked your nose with a tight lipped smile.

Sending Chan a look of apology, he shrugged, falling back further into the couch.

“Sure, why not?” Was his response, shoulders lifting up and falling back down with a huff. “Let me help you set up some proper notes.”

Jisung brought his hands together once to create a near deafening sound that had you even more irritable. His happy-go-lucky mood wasn’t funny when you were on the receiving end of the annoyance.

One nice thing—you couldn’t have one single nice thing ever.

Between your brother and his dumb best friend (that you may or may not have sorta feelings for) you couldn’t do anything. Your prime years were being wasted on sucky romance movies with Felix and Hyunjin and cat fights with Jisung. You couldn’t afford such bullshit for much longer.

“You know I love you, Y/n.”

“Stuff your love up your ass.”

The rest of the week passed by smoothly with minimal conflict on your end and grades that didn’t have you contemplating slamming your face into a wall. On weekends you usually spent most of your time at Minho’s apartment while Changbin dicked around at the gym and your brother slept for the forty-eight hours that he had to himself. You could watch movies and finish your homework with no distractions.

That was until Chan decided to move in and steal your attention every moment he could. You were even starting to suspect that he was doing it on purpose after the time he walked out of the bathroom in only a bath towel and responded with a “oh, I didn’t notice you there”.

You also concluded that Felix was a snitch and no longer deserved your friendship, because once you shared with him your encounter with Chan, everyone in your group of friends was wired in to everything that concerned you and Chan.

Especially Jisung. Which eventually caused—

“Jisung why the hell are you following me?”

The boy in question didn’t bother to acknowledge you, instead he simply continued to walk at your side, hands stuffed deep in his pockets and hair just a little messier than usual, “What do you mean? This is how I get to my next class.”

You snorted. “Last time I checked, you had dropped your two-thirty class. And even then, it was on the other side of the building.”

Jisung couldn’t help but roll his pretty brown eyes.

“Stalker…”

“Says the guy who’s been up my ass all day.” You chirped, taking pride in the way he glared at you.

Jisung threw his hands up in frustration. He knew what he was doing was out of character, sure. But did he want to be called out on it?

“Can I not hang out with you? God, Y/n. We’ve known each other for years, I’d think you’d get used to me being around.”

You merely shook your head with a laugh, continuing forward.

“You’re really something else.”

He snorted, “So you’re being an adult now?”

“When am I not the adult when I’m with you? There’s no room for stupid energy with you around.” You replied cheekily

“Well I’m sorry for hogging all the ‘stupid energy’, damn…”

The way that Jisung held up the air quotes for “stupid energy” had your cheeks aching from how hard you smiled.

“Well, I’m going to lunch with Felix and Hyunjin right now. So unless you want to be subjected to their combined stupidity, I would suggest you go back to your dorm.” You sent him a small smile over your shoulder, just barely missing the way he tripped over his feet because of it.

Felix had called you in a rush right as you were getting out of your last class of the day and asked you to come eat lunch with him and Hyunjin. It was a one sided conversation that lasted almost ten seconds but you figured you had no other choice but to comply. Whatever reason he had for being in such a hurry was enough for you to listen.

“But you can come if you want, Sungie. I’m sure they won’t mind.”

Sungie.

It had been a while since you last called him that nickname—possibly way back when you were in primary school. It sent chills down his spine to hear you call him that again.

Jisung caught up to you easily, slinging his arm around your shoulders just as he used to when you began calling him Sungie. Over the years it had started to put a strain on him since he found it hard to differentiate what was friendly and what was too friendly. He had a girlfriend after all, and there were only so many things he could do with other girls that was acceptable.

But of course you were just Y/n. The little sister that bothered them all day and called him Sungie.

He didn’t have to feel embarrassed to hug you or tease you or hide his insecurities behind stupid pick up lines. Now matter how much it made his heart pound in his chest, you were still Minho’s baby sister—you were Jisung’s baby sister.

“I’d like that, my dear.” Jisung said, stuffing his free hand into his pocket and pulling you closer.

So close that it almost felt domestic.

Y’know, as domestic as it could get with someone who was like a little sister to him. He had a beautiful girlfriend too, so the domestication was more like a… family comfort and less like how it would feel if you were married and he was allowed to hold you as close as he wanted—

“Ah, you’re warm,” you hummed, making a small fuss of tucking yourself further into his hold. “It always looks like it’s going to be nice outside, but it seems like the weather changes its mind just as much as Hyunjin.”

You didn’t notice but Jisung was completely lost to everything you said after “you’re warm”. He just continued to hum and nod as if his brain wasn’t completely fried.

Jisung was in the midst of a mental breakdown when you somehow managed to lead him to the small restaurant right outside of the university. It was a popular place since it was so close and dolled out cheap food in a matter of seconds, which definitely appealed to its main demographic.

You spotted Felix’s head of purple hair immediately, a bright smile etched onto his face as he spoke animatedly to the waiter standing at the ready. The boy was cute, black hair and pretty dimples that made him appear younger. He also looked friendly with Felix with how he spoke with a wide smile that showed his perfect teeth.

You approached the table, shrugging Jisung’s arm off of you and ignoring his whine in protest.

“I made it,” you announced, gaining the attention of your friends—

And fuck.

You met eyes with Seungmin sitting in the seat beside Felix, and felt your shoulders slump as he flashed you a smirk.

“Glad you could come, Y/n.” Seungmin all but sang at your visible distress.

But Felix had a hold on your arm before you could respond with attitude, tugging you dangerously close to the waiter at your side.

“Y/n, this is Jeongin—” Felix gestured towards the boy who lifted his hand to wave. “He’s a school friend of Hyunjin’s.”

“It’s my last year.” Jeongin added with a shy laugh.

Peeling your eyes away from Seungmin, you got a good look at the boy in front of you. The unexpected cuteness both startled you and made your stomach flip. You really had to withhold from squealing and pinching his cheeks. He was so cute.

You smiled genuinely, “It’s nice to meet you, Jeonginnie.”

A small wave of red covered his ears at the sudden nickname, his long eyelashes fluttering in surprise.

Jisung just about combusted in his spot. He was getting pretty sick and tired of keeping tabs on all the boys you managed to hook around your finger, it was starting to get out of hand. Okay, maybe he was the stalker.

In a bout of frustration, Jisung grabbed your hand and interlaced your fingers, sliding into the booth beside Hyunjin and tugging you after him. You made a noise of surprise as your ass connected harshly with the cracked red cushion of the booth, sending Jisung a glare.

Though, he kept his eyes on the table, avoiding the amused looks on everyone’s faces, even going as far as swatting away Hyunjin’s poking fingers. But for whatever reason, he couldn’t bring himself to release your hand from his.

Jisung’s palm was sweaty in your hold, but strangely enough it was something that you didn’t mind.

Jeongin looked between you and Jisung for a moment before quickly coming to some sort of realization that only Felix seemed to understand. His mouth formed an ‘o’ shape and a small smirk was suddenly on his lips as he asked what drink you would like.

Whatever that was about, you didn’t like it.

“I’ll just have a water.” You answered skeptically, finally managing to pull your fingers free of Jisung’s grip.

“Water for me too.”

Jeongin didn’t bother to write down your orders, instead he just nodded and left with that same goofy smile on his face.

Why did your friends have to corrupt the poor kid?

You sent a glare towards Felix, ready to grill him about what the hell just happened but his eyes were on something else above your head, his lips forming into the same smirk that Jeongin had on. Whatever what’s either above you or behind you was either a stupid compilation video of League of Legend funny moments or your next victim.

“Care for one more?” Came from behind you.

And both your and Jisung’s heads swiveled around at a dangerous speed to see the beautiful image of Chan, and damn was he beautiful. He was dressed for the weather, arms now covered in a long black sweater that hugged every one of his muscles so so nicely, and instead of sweatpants, he was wearing jeans. You could definitely tell the difference between a casual day around the house and one where he was going to be seen out in public—was that makeup?

And Jisung frowned. It had been going so well.

It was his turn to send Felix a glare.

The purple haired boy mouthed something along the lines of “girlfriend”, but Jisung couldn’t (could) really make it out.

“Sit down.” You managed to choke out, motioning toward the table.

“Hey!” Felix greeted, standing up to fully embrace Chan in a hug.

You were floored.

“You know each other?”

Felix’s eyes flickered towards you, “We both grew up in Sydney.”

And you thought your eyes were going to pop out of your skull.

“You’re Australian?” You gaped, watching Chan as if he had sprouted a new head.

He then proceeded to spout off some heavily accented words that you could barely make sense of, and you could feel your heart practically flutter in your chest. After meeting Felix, you never thought you’d ever find an Australian accident sexy as hell—but Chan’s was, in fact, very sexy as hell.

“Wow,” Hyunjin whistled. “What does it take for one to become Australian, because fuck.”

You didn’t think you would ever agree with Hyunjin so much in your life.

Chan snorted. “I think you have to be born in Australia unfortunately.”

“Or you know,” Felix tossed sarcastically. “Live there.”

“Damn. Always the catch.”

You sighed, almost going as far as face-palming yourself and/or slamming your forehead against the table.

Instead you just sent Chan an embarrassed smile. “You can sit down if you aren’t planning on running away.”

“Thanks.” He laughed.

Unfortunately for you, there were already three people in your booth and he wouldn’t be able to fit beside you.

Fortunately for Jisung, there were already three people in your booth and Chan wouldn’t be able to fit beside you.

But when Chan began to slide in the seat next to Felix, Hyunjin suddenly jumped with a yelp, glaring at the suspicious looking Felix in front of him. The two had a very strange conversation with their eyes before Hyunjin was huffing a sigh and maneuvering himself to slip under the booth and (clumsily, you may add) pop out on the other side of Seungmin, ignoring the spectacled boys' complaints as he sends Chan a smile.

Stupid plotting assholes.

“Just wanted to sit next to my… uh—”

“Boyfriend?” You supplied, blinking at him dully.

“Yeah, my boy—hey, fuck you!”

“Sorry, were you waiting to tell people?”

He took the liberty to be the kicker instead of the kickee and sent his foot into your ankle, making you hiss with a glare.

Felix nudged Chan’s hip to direct him into the spot beside you, his mouth open in a wide smile as you are further squished between both Jisung and Chan. With one boy being very broad and the other being very clingy, you barely had any room at all.

“Y/n, you look a little cramped, why don’t you scoot over here a little more—?”

“Jisung, if I get any closer to you, I would be on top of you.”

Hey, he wasn’t completely opposed to that plan.

Jisung certainly would rather have you on his lap than Chan’s. He couldn’t even think about that without grasping for your hand again, though you were too fast and managed to wiggle out of his grip.

“Yeah, Y/n. Why don’t you just scoot over?” Hyunjin sang, his mouth curled up in a coy little smirk that he always had carved onto his face.

“You scheming little—”

But your words were cut off by the clearing of a throat.

Seungmin leaned over the table, and the way his sleeves were rolled to his forearms was suddenly very noticeable. He looked at you with the intention to kill, and had he not been a prudish reincarnation of the devil, you would’ve thought he looked hot as fuck.

“Do you want me to retell the little incident that took place at last year’s Christmas party?”

A collective gasp went around the table, Chan being the only one who was absolutely clueless.

Felix whispered something under his breath about how “that was sworn to secrecy”, and Hyunjin’s wide eyes stuck to the side of Seungmin’s face like glue.

Even Jisung broke out of his jealous stupor to gulp.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would.”

That was the true form of Kim Seungmin. 

“What? Do dinners like this happen all the time?” Chan asked. “Do you ever actually eat?”

As if on queue, Jeongin stepped up to the table, notepad in hand and wide eyes sparkling. “Are you guys ready to order—?”

But Felix was dragging the boy down to his height, whispering something quickly into his ear, causing his eyes to widen. After enlarging, his gaze flickered back and forth between you, Jisung and Chan. 

“I… will give you guys a few more minutes.”

Jeongin scurried off and you wanted to kill everyone at the table. 

“Well, I’m going to answer my own question here and say no. There will be no eating food today.” Chan hummed, tossing his menu onto the table similarly to a petulant child. 

You huffed. What did you ever do to deserve any of this?

With both boys at either side of you, it seemed to create a visual representation of the conflict in your mind. And Seungmin looked like he was ready to pass out with how hard he was trying to hold in his laughter as Felix and Hyunjin simply smiled your way. 

To say that the two boys were completely clueless, would’ve been an understatement—

With Chan too busy thinking about all the food he wouldn’t be eating and Jisung preoccupied trying to grab ahold of your hand, they didn’t once notice the way that the three little devils stared holes into their heads. 

“I literally can’t stand any of you.”

[daisylovesatla]

very rough draft of the start of a zutara fan fic

AU where Aang and Katara don't end up together cuz it doesn't make sense that it would be written that way but anyway, I wrote some pages about what would happen if Zuko's lightning bolt actually hurt him a lot more than it did...my ADHD brain can't remember where I saw that AU from but when I do I will tag u I promise...anyway it's Katara by herself at the palace healing Zuko and then the rest of the Gaang arrives from the Earth Kingdom, where Aang and Suki and Toph and Sokka were all fighting against the fire nation's ambush, cuz it would take more than like. a week probably to get to the same place as Zuko and Katara. Anyway I hope it makes sense I'm tentatively posting the first chapter in case everyone hates it but it's only 3,000 words I think.

(eta the ao3 link)

Book 4: Reconstruction...:)

Book 4: Reconstruction

I need some fresh air. She sighs to herself, rubbing her sore wrists and rising up from the cushion she was kneeling on. Keeping her eyes closed, afraid of the emotions that would flood through her if she snuck a glance at him while she wasn’t intensely focused on his injury, pouring all of her energy into that one spot, both emotional and physical.

It has been two weeks since the comet, and she has been doing all that she can to support him, to try to do something that could in some small way, return the favor for his sacrifice. As soon as her back is to Zuko’s bed, she opens her eyes, and is confronted suddenly with the bigness of this place. The tall, melodramatic metal doors that weigh way more than they need to, the beds with far away canopies rustling above them. Just the mattresses here are the size of her entire igloo back home, and even though it isn’t the first time she has been surrounded by superfluous opulence like this, something about this place feels particularly daunting.

She can sense his pulse, slow, but steady, consistent, as his blood flows through his veins and with it, water. Even when it isn’t a full moon, Katara is able to feel the water in everything, including the people she is surrounded by. She has yet to decide if it is an advantage, or only makes it harder to navigate through the world.

Her legs feel like lead, and she struggles to ignore the dryness of the room, the fires lit in their mantles 10 feet above them sucking all of the moisture out of this space, the lack of water, of that familiarity, making her feel like she is choking, as her breaths become more and more shallow and her heart continues to beat faster and faster, only worsening whenever the memories of that fateful, final Agni Kai come rushing back to her, making everything feel so much worse.

No, I can’t think about that right now. Katara closes her eyes again, and takes a deep breath, trying to replicate the breathing technique Aang taught her the first time he saw her meditating. In through my nose, out through my mouth, that’s what Aang taught me. She tries not to think much more about Aang than this. Too much has happened. Aang is expecting an answer, she is sure of it, an answer she can’t give him. Yet there is a hope swimming just below the surface in her, that this now or never attitude leading up to his battle with Ozai would no longer be there in him, that fire gone, the flames put out.

I have no answer right now, she decides, as she finally gets her legs to take the final steps towards the door. Yearning for a sense of coolness against her increasingly warm skin, she presses her hand against the door, and lets it ground her as she pushes it open, nearly jumping as it creaks and struggles to with each inch that she can shove it open. What is it with rich people and big doors? She chuckles to herself as she remembers storming Ba Sing Se, when things were so simple and yet not simple at all.

Running her fingers through her thick, curly hair trailing down her back, she sucks in all the air that she can in this hallway with much better circulation, finding it easier to keep her balance and move forward. The war may be over, but she is anticipating many battles are going to be fought in the coming weeks and months, battles over territory, freedom, the right to the throne. She has to heal Zuko so that he can advocate for himself, she determines, as she envisions Ozai’s loyal courtiers’ unfounded complaints with Zuko taking the role of the fire lord. She worries for him and she worries for herself. A water tribe peasant, Azula called her during the Agni Kai. Despite her strong demeanor, her ability to inspire other people to recognize their own worth, it is still difficult for Katara not to internalize this when she knows she is surrounded by enemies, no matter how much Iroh tries to reassure her and the rest of them that this is not the case. She has spent far too much time being attacked and assaulted by members of the Fire Nation to naively assume that with a change in power, a change in attitude amongst the people will quickly follow.

Many citizens are still loyal to Ozai. They still see her and Sokka and the rest of the Water Tribe as peasants, as savages with too much power. They are still afraid of waterbenders altogether, as gossip and rumors spread around the nation about Hama in the weeks following her imprisonment. She feels a pang of guilt for how it turned out with her. A Southern Waterbender, alive after all these years that she feared she was the last one, the only one, the one expected to carry on this legacy all by herself. Finally, somebody who understood her struggles, intrinsically, who had fought for so many years to be free, suddenly imprisoned again by people from the same nation that had stolen her away from her home, because she could not let go of her anger against them, like Jet.

She does not want to think about the revenge Hama tried to take on that people. How misdirected it was. How she never wants to be as full of rage and anger and resentment that she would start to do something as heinous.

It doesn’t change that that is how many people from the Fire Nation see her people. She can’t blame Hama for that, it would be wrong to expect any one person to be a representative for their tribe, their culture. “This is all so complicated,” Katara mutters under her breath, as she struggles to breathe, to let herself be free of these thoughts. Her anger, always there, ready to burst out from inside her in the form of an uncontrollable explosion.

Katara barely notices how far she has walked from Zuko’s room, until suddenly she hears a familiar voice call out to her. Startled, she looks up from the floor where she was mindlessly staring as she strolled and sees Sokka and Suki waving over to her from the other side of the hallway.

“Sokka! Suki!” She cries out, as she runs over to them, as fast as she can. “You’re here! You made it!” As she gets closer, she notices the crutch Sokka is leaning on, and her stomach feels like it is full of sand. “Are you okay? I can try my best to heal it, but I’m pretty worn out right now…” She glances at his bandages on his leg and starts to think up the best method for healing him after so much time has passed since his injury. “I’m sorry, I wish I had gotten to it sooner…” Katara begins, but she is interrupted by Sokka,

“Hey, it’s okay! For most of my life you haven’t been able to heal me when I get hurt, so it’s not like I’m not used to being in pain,” he teases, and then lets go of Suki who he was leaning on, as he goes to embrace Katara.

She can feel hot, somehow still dry, tears flow down her cheeks as she relaxes into this hug. While news had spread quickly from the Earth Kingdom to the Fire Nation about Toph, Sokka, Suki, and Aang’s victory in Ba Sing Se, her stomach had been twisted with worry the entire time they had been apart. A lot of it could have been hearsay, and until she got to hug her friends and brother in person, she could not let go of her unease. Hell, the talk of Caldera City was Zuko’s honorable triumph, but nobody who knew the truth of the aftermath of this battle had let it slip to the public that Zuko was in critical condition right now. Only Iroh, Katara, and some of the servants who were helping take care of meals and other menial tasks knew. It would throw this world into even more chaos if every day citizens knew there was a chance that Zuko wouldn’t…no. I don’t want to think about that future. I simply can’t. The guilt overwhelms Katara, but she pushes these negative feelings away and struggles to focus on the present. Sokka’s voice brings her back to the present, as she can feel his quickening heartbeat against her chest, and his tears dripping onto her robe. “We were so worried about you and Zuko, Katara. I’m glad you’re okay.”

She stammers, as she realizes it’s time to break the news to a few more people, wishing Sokka hadn’t let go of her as quickly as he did. She desperately missed her brother, and they hadn’t ever been apart for this long before, in all their side journeys in the past year, and hunting trips prior to that.

“Yes, I’m ok,” she lets the words spill out of her before she has a chance to choke on them, “But, well. Zuko...Zuko got really hurt.” Immediately, she can see the blood drain from both of their faces, and she grabs their hands, trying to comfort them despite not having the ability to comfort herself. “I’m healing him, but it’s still going to take a while. We have to just wait for him to recover.” She smiles, weakly, and fears it looks more like a grimace. “I’m glad you guys are back, though. It’s just been me and Iroh watching over him since the fight.”

Suki squeezes her hand, and the sadness and sympathy mix together in the look she gives Katara. “I’m really glad you’re okay. We’re here for you guys,” her smile sweet and boring into the deepest parts of Katara as she finishes speaking. Katara is taken aback, as her skin crawls with the thought that Suki understands, already, what happened at that Agni Kai, even if she doesn’t know the full details.

Sokka furrows his brows, and she can feel his warmth and fear as he nods in agreement with Suki. “Toph and Aang are in the courtyard with the Turtleduck pond, can we go see him with them?”

Of course, a practical response from Sokka. She knows better though. He is close with Zuko in different ways than Katara, but this was crushing for him too. She tries her best to smile reassuringly, as she fights back tears that are full of frustration and fear and anger and a deep, hollow grief that she hasn’t felt since Aang was struck by Azula, what feels like years ago but was only 4 months ago. In these four months, so much has changed, including feeling ready to face Aang. That kiss, just up and leaving, wasn’t ok and Katara wasn’t going to accept any excuses about it, just apologies.

He left everyone to go off on their separate missions, never really knowing whether or not those separation missions would be worth the danger they were putting themselves in, and that blind faith she was able to put in him when they first met was starting to get really old.

“So?” Suki chimes, pulling Katara out of her own thoughts.

“Oh, sorry,” she blushes, “I spaced out for a second. Um…” she tries to come up with an excuse for her sudden zoning out. “I’m worried about leaving Zuko by himself for a long time, and it’s been about twenty minutes so, I better get back, but stop by with everyone, sure.”

Suki gives her a quick squeeze of the arm, as they both walk off a few minutes after listening to Katara’s directions. Her chest feels tight, and she turns in the opposite direction as them, going back to Zuko.

They still don’t know how he got hurt. She doesn’t want to tell them, after so many instances of Toph teasing her about Jet and Haru, and well, she doesn’t want to hear it. Especially when Toph can feel her heartbeat. That damn seismic sense, she chuckles to herself, trying to let herself joke around a little bit.

Suddenly she is back in front of the door. She tries to shake off her anxieties and pulls the door open, the cold handle no longer soothing her but sending chills down her spine. This time, she keeps her eyes open as she walks back in, and all of the feelings she had been able to push down while talking to Sokka and Suki started to bubble up to the surface again, her cheeks feeling hot and dry, too dry. She wished she could bend a cloud of mist around herself, but knew that all of her energy had to be devoted to healing Zuko.

His familiar heartbeat suddenly found itself back on her radar, and she tried to hold back her tears and desire to just collapse and give up. But it was her duty to heal him. Her duty to heal him, the Fire Lord, just like it was hers to heal the Avatar. There was no way that any Northern healer would be willing to come down to heal the Fire Lord, nor would they be able to get there in time. So even if there were people more skilled, more capable, she knew that in order to maintain balance, it was her job to keep his heart beating.

[hufflautia]

Where it all started [Part 1]

Chapter 1 

Sometimes links don’t appear on posts. if you can’t see the link to “Chapter 1”, my masterlist is pinned to the top of my blog, and you can find it there.

Summary: Slytherin’s parents have another argument, but at this point, no one’s surprised. After all, they’re her parents. It would be abnormal if they didn’t argue. However, this one’s a biggie. The fight ends with the slam of a door and her dad packing his bags into the car and getting ready to leave. Desperate for him to come back, Slytherin’s mom forces her to go to him with a message that will surely make him stay. Buckle up folks, for this is where it all began. 

Slytherin stood on the sidewalk as she watched her dad pack up his things into the van. 

She dug her fingernails into her arm, her heart stinging with ache as her dad turned around with a smile on his face, a failed attempt to reassure her that it was going to be ok. It was all gonna be ok. After all, this was normal, right? It’s not like it was unusual that her dad was leaving again to go back to Florida, where the homewrecker waited for him, her outstretched hands eagerly opened up to him and his credit card. 

However, this was the first time he left abruptly. A spike of sorrow stabbed at Slytherin’s heart as she thought back to the sound of her parents’ door abruptly opening; soon after, she could hear angry stomps that quickly descended down the steps of the staircase. 

She could almost hear the hiss in her ear as she stood in the archway of the living room, watching her dad leave in the far distance. “Tell him that Ravenclaw’s crying,” her mother spat, pushing her towards the front door. “Quickly, before he leaves!” 

Slytherin internally sighed. How typical. Instead of resolving their relationship issues by going to couples therapy, her mom decided to throw all those burdens onto her daughter, who had already grown tragically used to being used as her puppet. 

She decided not to argue against going after her dad and trying to guilt-trip him into staying home as her mom wanted. Otherwise, she would be lectured on how she’s selfish and wouldn’t do this small thing for her mom, how she’s basically ruining this family by letting her dad leave, how family is so fucking important and manipulating her dad into staying would be vital to their happiness as a whole, how family this and family that. 

You get the point. Slytherin certainly did. That’s why she was currently standing awkwardly behind her dad, staring at his back as he lifted boxes into his car. 

“Um, Raven…” She paused. Her throat felt dry and tight. Swallowing with difficulty, she tried again. “Ravenclaw’s crying.” 

It wasn’t the crying itself that mattered. That wasn’t the main reason why her mom rushed her out the door to deliver the message to her dad. It was simply the fact that it was Ravenclaw who was crying. Let’s just say that he and his dad had a complicated relationship. 

Things were never the same between them after Ravenclaw sent an angry message to him via text when he was in Florida a year ago. The contents of the message reeked of disdain for his constant infidelity. When his mom found out, she shoved the phone into Slytherin’s face in the dead of night and asked if she knew about this. The glaring light from the screen nearly blinded her. 

Slytherin read the text messages through squinted eyes and could make out a few curse words here and there. Though she was slightly disoriented from the sudden ambush of information, it was clear to her that her brother resented their dad for what he did.  

That made Ravenclaw’s anguish even more useful in their mom’s opinion. Seeing the tears streak down his face when he heard that his dad was leaving again, she had a glorious idea. Perhaps if her husband knew of their son’s sorrow, he would reconsider his abrupt departure. After all, it was Ravenclaw who was crying. 

If it were Hufflepuff, that would be understandable—she can get quite emotional sometimes. But it was Ravenclaw, who was usually guarded and distant. One might suggest that he was secretly broken inside. But that’s not the point, at least not in his mom’s opinion. The main thing she was concerned about was that she could use his misery to her advantage! Maybe if her husband knew of his sadness, he would feel guilty enough to stay behind. After all, if his son, who despised him, was upset over his departure, perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to stay home and endure his wife’s temper for a little while longer. 

Slytherin’s words did produce somewhat of a reaction. Her dad didn’t turn around for a while, but when he did, his eyes were slightly red and puffy. It was evident that he was trying to hold back his tears. One might think that this means that he’ll stay. He seemed distraught over the news that his son was crying because of his leave. Surely, he’ll stay, right? 

It wasn’t enough. Nothing ever seems to be enough.

“I’ll be back soon, okay?” He hugged her briefly and gave a light squeeze as a sign of reassurance. As a silent message that it was going to be ok. Even though everything was most definitely not okay. A thousand hugs and gestures of reassurance wouldn’t change this. 

Slytherin didn’t react angrily to his refusal, the unspoken declaration of No, I will not go back home. In fact, it seemed as if she didn’t react at all. However, if one were paying close attention, they would notice the sparkle in her eyes dim. But maybe there wasn’t a sparkle to begin with. She had been enduring this shit for so long that she forgot what it was like to be normal, to feel like the white kid you see in commercials, the one who seemed to radiate mirth, a type of energy that said, I don’t have a care in the world because life is so fucking great and I can’t stop smiling. She didn’t even bother to smile, a common facial expression when one is in a difficult situation and tries to diffuse the somber atmosphere by slapping a facade on their face, the corners of their lips upturned to form a grimace that resembles some sort of a smile—a twisted kind of smile, that’s for sure. Why should she pretend that everything was okay when it wasn’t? Instead, she merely nodded in response. 

When her dad pulled away to pack the last box into the trunk, she took a deep breath to diminish the familiar sense of abandonment that flooded her senses, to clear the warning signs that flashed in her mind. He’s leaving! Your dad is leaving! He’s abandoning you again. You’re apparently not important enough for him to stay. 

She stared at the ground, only looking up when she heard the sound of a car door slamming shut. The resounding click was all it took for the waterfalls to finally pour from her eyes, for it was at this moment when she realized that this was actually happening. This was no dream—it was reality. Her sad, devastating reality. Tears blurred her vision as she watched the car drive away, leaving her in the dust. 

Slytherin gasped in erratic breaths between her broken sobs as her eyes hung onto the tiny speck that resembled her dad who was driving 

away, 

away, 

and a-w-a-y.

Through the jumble of thoughts that clashed in her head, one thing was clear. Her dad was her dad, but only sometimes. 

Tears streaking down her face, she tried to soothe her pain with the belief that he would be back soon. If only she had known that it would be a while before he returned. If only he hadn’t left. Perhaps things would’ve been different for her if he stayed, for this was where it started. 

This marked the beginning of it all.   

Comments and reblogs are a writer’s gold!

MASTERLIST ; sometimes links don’t appear on posts. if you can’t see the link to “MASTERLIST”, the masterlist itself is pinned to the top of my blog. check it out if you haven’t already! 

Author’s note: HI! Were you surprised to see that I posted two fics in a row?? I hope you enjoyed this. Most of it was unfortunately based on what happened to me a year or two ago. I based Ravenclaw on my brother, who did actually cry when my dad was leaving after an argument, and yes, my wack mother did force me to run after my dad to tell him. One of the few differences is that I’m not a drug addict and I’m fine now so dont worry. 

Idk how I feel about this series, it is a lot darker from what I usually write. I know I’m gonna have to write more for creative writing class, so maybe i will continue it. I will try to think of how to turn these fics into something more positive, because this stuff is very heavy and depressing. however, that will be a little difficult because the plot itself is naturally drab. however, i will try to think of a happy ending for Faye/Slytherin. 

Shall we look at some wholesome pictures? 

lmaoaoa i pasted this picture from the internet and tumblr glitched and pushed the pic all the way to the top. imagine seeing this dog at the beginning of the fic, that would be funny :’) 

AWWWWWW I THINK THIS MIGHT BE MY FAVORITE

ok hold up i just realized that is probably a stuffed animal 😐 this is so embarassing lmaoaoa when i saw it i was like THAT IS SO FRICKIN CUTE

OK WAIT WTF NOW I THINK ITS AN ACTUAL DOG??? CAN SOMEONE HELP AND TELL ME IF ITS REAL OR NOT?!! at first, i thought it was real, but then i looked at the paws and it looked kinda fake and i was like this dog is too fluffy and wholesome to be real. BUT THEN I LOOKED AGAIN and i think the owners just put the pooh outfit over the dog?? what is going on with my brain.. but at the same time, its 2 am for me rn so maybe i should get some sleep BUT FIRST, LETS LOOK AT MORE DOGS <3 (lmaoaoa i feel like my friend would say “gosh ur such a hufflepuff” (menna im talking about u lmao omg hey gorl)) 

After seeing this gryffindor pup, i immediately searched up “dog costumes hufflepuff” lmaoooooo

OK THATS ENOUGH DOGS FOR NOW. Part 2 is coming soon. I already have it ready but I might not post it right away. 

That’s all for now. Be sure to let me know what you think. TOODELOOO!

TAGS:  @slytherpuff-shenanigans @lokijiro @xxkitsurikaxx @sara-is-boredd @skylee-skz   @determinedpines @draco22malfoy @pancakes-and-sugar  @casteel08 @indigosimon1998 @tell-that-to-my-feather @the-ugly-duck0 @prettyblueskylark  @okiguessimawitchnow @daisyinmyheart @peachyblue @korra4321 @shoyoockbby  @ravenflowersposts @walkinganomaly @parkerthemarker02 @hummingbird-hufflepuff @bumbblebeeeeee @luciferswife16 @iknow-im-cute @maisen98 @shadowsinger11 @tuonglam03 @fanfic-reblogger @mygc0re @rellasworld @sha3thehunter @croctusjuice @jadefox05 @d0uxs @charleii @kaylenthegreat @hufflepufflepukwudgie3897 @insertlongnamehere @trashpannda @ihate-myname @nowheredreamer @history-geek101 @strawberrypanda99 @nikkijovanic @hannanshi @sirenofthe7seas  @johannamariemst @badass-like-damon  @willow-salix @remmyswritings @x-whatsupdoc-x @dracosvftie @hitchhiker-of-the-galaxy @akerlizzie @thatfann @justanxiousme @another-witch @bucinjisung @elegantcroissantplaidpony @treefroggo @narritydream @hufflpuffles @adreameratdawn @leftpeanutturtleegg @turbulentbluebird5 @geekgirl69 @praiseourlordduck @quakemebacktothe50s @nomad-of-the-realms @stardustzainy  @theblackwolf21 @crakencc @introvertedrae @cryinbisexual @bojelina @cocoqueenstheword @manicpixiedreamtarot @velvetstrawberry @jxmpsuitx @simpering-simpleton @urfaveslytherin @asterinatlas @simpforkpop @pufflehuff929 @morallyambiguoussimp @applekenm @chunwest @oncergleekpotterhead @no1-importan @qiaopao  @dulduldoldul @schlongbottom @vickeyunicorn @peanut-in-the-goal @hufflepuffgirly @flvrqnce @nothingtoseehere812 @maxwellsgang @1d-killed-me @betacaroteno-lanudo @dragon-slayer-fairy1 @thatonebislytherin @dragonsandbread @justanotherperson @sophiexteresa @hmilkwhoney @writertwiddle @questionsbecameourocean @anomiatartle @coldsweetharmony @dont-hyuck @fixstationed @kindawannadietbh @trippy-morgan @xo-angel-ox @fangirlgeekandfreak @evolnura @mossy-axolotl @verylovelystars @boilyourteeth @megand2017 @malfoys-demigod @booksntings @joshirlangford @staymoarmyzen @poojxshxh @hedgepuffgirl @alverniaphi @verifiefangirl-mainblog @purpleskymalfoy @roxy3457 @rayanicaraynbow @jess-harrywars @starrysonic @tonksichu @lauxtbs @tumlbr-trasher @chelseasosa @thebiggestnaturaldisaster @swagangelhorsepickle @princessstoopid @pymmoon @emilyaneliperry @pond-waterr @pandapillow @saraleo95 @astrartss @trentalexanders @theoriginaljohnwatsonsblog @nevilletheplantboi @just--another--hufflepuff @yoongifiess @ajdqueen @annie-mcl @coloring-bud @majorfangirl37 @eatacrackerandstop @weasleytwinswheezes @imscaredofhorses @dontmindmeimjustabox @glitterykidlightmug @multi-fandom-nutjob @littleemotionalpanda @thewitcheswords  @blueberry-9-pancakes @worldsbestdilfbecky @qixnsriess @inexperiencedpotathoe @notsowiseravenclaw @captiniminnie @ruinyourface @da-fox-rangerrr @inkedintothepaper  @happy-puff @grandcyclecreation @dawinehouse @catiwisspuff​ @aasa2102​  @mae-25​ @sydthekidd98 @kokichismango @xxavaloraxx​ @iamahufflepuff​ @adoregin​ @sunnniiee @lewispoolerpayton @dumbbitch85​ @bumblebirbs​ @diggorycullen​ @protectorofsk8topia​ @silverhetdanes​ @zuko-28​  @beardedhumanoid​ @arianatorpotterhead​ @shipping-book-keeper​ @marvelenthusiast10​ @i-cannot-do-aesthetics​ @a-huffleing-lesbean​ @kaslec​ @hufflepuffwritess​ @mouthfacereborn​ @kodeinekissss​ @ihavenocontrolofmylifeeither​ @pinqgchuu​ @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum​ @clementines-x​ @stressy-depressy​ @sweetinvisiblewriter​ @absentmindeduniverse​ @asnowpuff​ @theofficialgaybestfriend​ @violayaxley​ @sunshinyyb @colettedelaurel​ @theoriginalsherlockholmesblog​ @i-have-a-bad-feeling​ @jpow345​  @gay-disaster826​ @bloodyxheaven​ @autumnpleaves​ @froggy-failure​ @toomanybandstocare​ @pink1babez​ @untitled-2424​ @sleepdeprivedgurl​  @chaseanders​  @wolfpack-arts-industries99​ @nugnugchick​ @queenofwordsandnerds​ @ganjeolhiddaeng​ @wordy-escapades​ @writtenfoxscreams​ @w0odr0ses​ @coolpetsmcubandit​  @crypticcandi​ @widowsgranger​ @fantasyprincess101​ @wiiltedflowers​ @aestheticworldd​ @miniaturefunnytraveldonkey​ @bucketofdeadroses​ @uwuplsh​ @softedits-exe​ @cel3stialone​ @sofiapeachyy​  @wanderaven92​ @eunnieah​ @marsupialsgotbloodyears​ @eurydicedior​ @neonuzumaki​ @uhhhem​

[crystalninjaphoenix]

Kindness & Kidnapping

A JSE Fanfic

I’ve written something that’s less than 6000 words for the first time in a year, whoo! I was planning to include more plot but after a while I realized there was too much to put into one chapter so I broke it into two. And now, this chapter is short, but it has some important and...interesting developments. Let’s just say, Anti makes his move. I don’t know what to say beyond that, so just read on ;)

You can find the other stories under the pw timeline tag!

It was a bright morning outside, but Chase didn’t know that. He was inside, sitting at a hastily-done computer setup inside his closet. It was cramped and dark and honestly kind of dusty. But he hadn’t wanted to keep this setup out in the open. Because this was the computer he’d been using to access Anti’s website, and if he kept it out in any other room of the house, he knew he’d keep glancing towards the windows and doors, waiting for something to happen.

Though...nothing had happened in the past week or so since he’d first found the website. He’d told the police about it, contacting that detective, Nix, who was in charge of the search for Jackie and JJ. Nix had been really appreciative, saying that this was a helpful clue and the police would be right on it, but he’d warned Chase to not go looking at any websites like this again. “These are dangerous,” he’d said. “And many of them use trackers to gather information or worse.”

Yet here he was. First thing in the morning. Staring at a creepy hitman website while sitting in his closet.

Part of his mind was yelling at him to stop. That even though he’d waited a few days before accessing the site again, that didn’t mean anything. This was dangerous. But...he couldn’t help it. This was the first time he felt like he was doing something, like he was actually helping the search for his friends. So, he stayed there.

His study of the website mostly consisted of scrolling through the anonymous reviews and trying to find ways to look at the source code. Chase...wasn’t that good with computers. Despite the fact that recording videos and putting them on the Internet was his job. He’d basically absorbed all his knowledge from Jack and his editor and only knew how to do things like editing because of that. Anything beyond what was required for YouTube was a mystery to him. But he was trying.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and he gasped, then felt silly. It was just a text notification. Sighing at his own jumpiness, he took out his phone and looked at the message on the screen. It was from Marvin. Hey do you know any quick ways to get food? Other than ordering.

Oh? Chase responded. Are you out of bed this early? Thats a 1st. And he didn’t just mean because Marvin was having trouble getting out of bed recently. Marvin never woke up before ten, even before JJ disappeared, so this was strange.

Luna was yelling at me because i forgot to fill her bowl last night and i couldnt deal with it anymore so i got up and thought i might as well get breakfast.

Thats great bro. As for food I bought you some microwave mac n cheese and noodles.

Marvin instantly replied, I’m not eating fucking noodles for breakfast. That’s weird.

Chase laughed a bit. Sorry, Marv. I know your sense of order is a big thing for you, but sometimes you need exceptions.

This time, the reply was slow. The typing bubbles appeared and disappeared a couple times before finally: i just cant. maybe another time.

Ah. Of course, even if he was out of bed, Marvin was still struggling. Chase thought for a moment, then said, Alright, Marvin. No problem. How bout toast and butter? It takes five to ten minutes depending on how much you want it burnt. That was a frequent go-to for him. I know u have bread and butter, too.

Alright. Thanks.

No problem. Chase paused, then added, Hey I was gonna go visit Jack again later today. Do u think youd be up for coming with?

Another long pause. I dunno. Ask me again when it’s closer to time.

Got it. And with that, Chase set his phone down and returned his attention to the website.

About an hour later, he gave up. He couldn’t find any clues at all, and reading this was really starting to get to him. Carefully standing up, so as to not knock over the computer setup in the tiny closet, he turned off the monitor and CPU, then edged around to the closet door. He hesitated, feeling uneasy anxiety rolling in his stomach, then slowly opened the door.

Nobody was outside. Well, of course not. He took a deep breath, and stepped out into the hallway. It was time to get ready for the day.

But still, that anxiety followed him. And he couldn’t help but remember the notice that Anti had put at the top of the website. Something about business being closed until something was “taken care of.” That just...sounded very bad. And Chase couldn’t help but think about what might be happening to Jameson and Jackie.

—————— 

Nearly a month had passed since Anti had taken JJ. For nearly a month, Jameson had been stuck in this room with Jackie. And with no means of escape that he could see. He’d looked, of course. But even with Jackie’s help, they couldn’t find a way out of the room. The closest thing he could think of was somehow unscrewing the door hinges, and he’d actually spent about a week trying to do that, but without any tools, there was no way those hinges would budge.

The only opportunity that he could see was when Anti visited, which he did often. But even that would be difficult to pull off. Jameson and Jackie might have numbers on their side, but Jackie was pretty weak after almost a year of captivity, and JJ had never been that athletic. Still, he was starting to consider it. Maybe Anti wouldn’t be expecting it, if he could just convince Jackie that they could do it, and if they could find an opportunity...

But even if they were going to try, today would not be the day. Anti had come into the room for one of his visits, which were becoming worryingly frequent, and Jackie had decided to hide in the attached bathroom. Jameson refused to look at Anti, in the vain hope that he’d go away if he didn’t engage.

“Jamie.” Anti pulled a chair away from the table, and then indicated the one across from him. “Come s...sit down.”

Jameson shook his head. He folded his arms, and stayed where he was, standing next to the bunk bed.

Anti stared at him for a while, then sat down. It didn’t ease the tension at all. For some reason, Jameson still felt like he was looming over him. “Alright. F-fine.” He paused. Waiting. Watching him with his mismatched eyes. Today, the fake one was brown, not green. Odd, but it didn’t lessen the intensity of his gaze.

After a few silent moments, Jameson couldn’t take it anymore. He slowly walked over to the table and sat down. God damn it. Why was just the silence enough to get him to respond?

“Ah, there we are.” Anti smiled. “About time. You’re always so...so tense, Jamie, when you really shouldn’t be. I won’t h-hurt you.”

What do you want this time? Jameson signed stiffly.

“Why do you keep asking that? I don’t want...anything, I just want to...talk.” Anti leaned back in the chair. “I don’t understand th-this. You’re so...different. And I’m trying, you know. Know. You know—I know, by now, that this wasn’t the best starting point. But I’m trying to...to get everything back to the way it was. You want that, don’t you?” His voice was soft, like he was talking to an easily startled animal. Or a child.

No, I don’t. Jameson said firmly. I don’t want everything to go back to how it was, because back then, you were making me help you throw bodies in the river.

“That was a mistake, okay? Oka-ay?” Anti sighed. “I shouldn’t...should never have gotten you involved in all this. So, I’m not going to, ever again.”

Jameson laughed. You’re a bit late for that! Maybe you should’ve thought of that before you kidnapped me!

“That was another mistake, and I’m sorry that you f-f-feel I was out of line. I can see what you...what you mean. But you’d never talk to me otherwise, let alone go anywhere with me.” Anti’s fingers tapped an irregular rhythm on the table. “But I can pr-promise you, no more dead bodies. Ever. Ever again. You’ll be safe.”

He sounded genuine, and JJ had to admit that at least there was still a part of him that cared about—no! Jameson stiffened and pushed away that softening feeling. It didn’t change any of this. Anti still abducted him, and he was willing to bet that ‘safe’ to Anti wasn’t the same as ‘safe’ to him. It would be more of this, most likely. Trapped inside, unable to go anywhere, always under Anti’s watchful eye. Why was he even continuing this conversation? Jameson balled up his hands and shoved them under his arms, physically preventing him from saying anything more.

Anti’s expression shifted slightly. “You’re being so difficult, my god. We’ve been doing this for a-a-a month and gotten nowhere. If you would just li-listen, we could go—past—move past this.” The tapping rhythm increased slightly, nails on wood. “But alright—okay. Fine. Yes. I-I-I have a pro—” And then the tapping stopped. Anti’s eyes suddenly widened. “Oh. That’s it.”

Jameson leaned back a bit, waiting for something. Those last words sounded like a threat. But—

Out of nowhere, Anti slumped forward onto the table. JJ gasped and stood up. In an instant, he was moving automatically, rolling Anti’s head to the side and looking for anything dangerous nearby. There was nothing. Could he breathe? Was this a good position, or should he move him? He should’ve recognized it, Anti was having difficulty with his words, he knew that was a sign—Wait, the watch. The watch he was wearing around his neck, the chain it was on had tightened a bit. JJ grabbed the chain and adjusted it so it was more loose.

A few seconds later, Anti gasped, and pushed JJ away. He stepped back.

“I...fuck.” Anti blinked, eyes glancing around the room. For a moment, he was confused. JJ could see the recognition slowly fade back into his expression. “Thwshnnbad.”

JJ watched anxiously. For a moment, he glanced over towards the door. But...he just couldn’t. Not now. Maybe he was too nice, but it just felt cruel to try and leave after that.

Anti took a few deep breaths, then looked over at JJ. “You helped.”

Jameson hesitated, then nodded.

“Hmm.” Anti didn’t say anything, but there was a look on his face that made Jameson squirm a bit. Almost smug. Almost. There was a fair share of gratitude that prevented it from being fully self-satisfied. Anti reached for his pocket, and after a few tries, pulled out his phone. “That was...not that long?”

Just a few seconds. Maybe fifteen or so, JJ said. No twitching or jerking. 

Nodding, Anti tapped on his phone for a bit. “It’s...been a while,” he said quietly. “They’re not that bad anymore, you know.”

Unsure what to say, Jameson just nodded again.

A few moments later, Anti took a deep breath, and returned his phone to his pocket. “Anyway. As...I was saying. I have a proposal.”

Immediately, all Jameson’s sympathy was gone, replaced by cold fear. What is it? he asked warily.

Anti didn’t answer for a bit. Instead, he reached inside his jacket, and pulled out a small keycard. “Do you know what this is?”

A card? Like...for a hotel?

“No, not for a hotel.” Anti smiled a bit. “Though I guess...it’s sort of like it.” His eyes darted towards the bathroom door, slightly ajar. “He’s been telling you about what happened. With him and the doctor.” It wasn’t a question. So Jameson didn’t answer. But he didn’t have to. “Did you ever meet that doctor?”

Jameson started to shake his head, then reconsidered. Once, he said. He thought I was you.

“We do look similar. Even more so than all these...these doppelgangers do to each other.” Anti tried to twirl the keycard around his fingers, but failed. It fell to the table, and he quickly picked it up again. “So, you only met him once. Hmm...I expected you to interact with him more. You’re part of this...this friend group now. I thought, surely, they’d introduce you to each other. Well, I guess they tried. I’m assuming it didn’t go well.” He paused. “But still. You’re a good person, Jamie.”

What are you saying? Jameson almost didn’t want to ask.

“You wouldn’t want anything to happen to him, right?”

Anti fell silent, but Jameson didn’t dare to answer. He couldn’t. 

“This keycard happens to give me...access to the hospital where he’s staying,” Anti continued. “I’ve already been there. I know how to get him out.”

Don’t hurt him, Jameson said, all color gone from his face. Please.

“That depends on you. Well, and our friend in there.” Anti indicated the bathroom door again. “Originally, I was going to use him, but then I thought, that didn’t stop that doctor woman from leaving. But he might try to leave himself, especially with the two of you...here. Together. So I thought I’d use something that’ll affect both of you.”

He hasn’t done anything to you. Leave him alone.

“That doesn’t mean he’ll never do anything,” Anti suddenly snapped. “The cops know I exist now. It’s only a matter of time before they start to ask him questions.” The anger drained away. Now his face was still, unreadable. “Besides, that didn’t stop me before.”

Why did you even take him in the first place? Jameson asked. Why? It wasn't for your...work. All of this could’ve been avoided.

“I was...curious. He thought I was his friend Jack, you know. When I ran into him that night. And I thought to myself, this man is clearly delusional. But I figured it would be easier to play along. After he realized what happened, he explained his whole condition to me, and I wondered. I wondered how I could use that.” Anti’s smile was sharp. “It’s not every day an opportunity like that runs into you on the street.”

Jameson backed away, horrified. Too late, Anti noticed his reaction. And for a moment, he looked hurt. Then angry. Sad. And finally, determined. “Think about what I said.” He stood up, and headed towards the door. For a moment, Jameson considered following him. But he hesitated for a second too long, and Anti was gone, the door locked behind him.

The room was silent. Jameson stood there for what felt like forever. Then he moved, walking towards the bathroom. He slowly pushed open the door, peering inside. “Hmm?” he hummed.

“Down here.” Jackie was sitting on the tile floor, up against the shower in the corner of the room. The bathroom was sparse and small, containing only the necessities of a toilet, sink, and shower, along with a bonus medicine cabinet that was empty. There was nowhere to sit except the floor.

JJ stepped inside. Did you hear all of that?

Jackie nodded silently. His hands were covering his head, fingers digging into his scalp. Tears threatened to spill out of his eyes, and judging by the tracks, a few already had. “H-he can’t—Schneep is going to—he won’t be able to—”

It’s going to be fine, JJ said, kneeling next to him. We won’t let anything happen to him.

“The—the only way to make sure of that is—but you can’t—you could get away if you—but not if he’s—”

It’s going to be fine, Jameson repeated uncertainly. I’ll make sure that it’ll work out. Maybe I can get Anti to listen to me. We can find a way. The police would notice Henrik disappearing, they’ll find us.

Jackie choked on a sob. He pulled his knees up to his chest and folded his arms on top of them. “They haven’t,” he said quietly. “They’re...not going to.” And he buried his face in his arms, shoulders shaking. 

Jameson didn’t have anything to say to that. All he could do was stay close, and hold Jackie tight as he cried.

—————— 

It was a lovely day outside. For late-November-near-December, that is. Though the sun shone bright in a cloudless sky, there was still a chill to the air that forced people to wear jackets, or even coats. But Schneep didn’t mind. He hadn’t been outside in so long that anything would feel refreshing.

Silver Hills had itself a back garden where some patients could spend time. It was fenced in, for safety, but it was still quite large. Dr. Laurens had told him the news at the end of yesterday’s session: she’d gotten approval for some supervised time outside. Schneep had been hesitant at first. Some of his old paranoia and fear resurfacing. When he’d been with Anti, he hadn’t been allowed out without permission. And even when he had permission, Anti always found a way to keep an eye on him, either via cameras and GPS or by accompanying him himself. What if—what if this was another trick? A test? And if he failed the test—

No, of course not. Everything was alright here. There were other patients out and about, going on walks along the paths and stopping to look at flowers nearby. Schneep watched them from where he was sitting on one of the garden’s benches. He twirled his medical bracelet around his wrist. They’d also finally decided that he could wear clothes—besides the standard issue white shirt and pants—again. As long as they didn’t have any hard fastenings or dangly bits like strings, but that was understandable. So now the bracelet was the only sign that he was a patient here. Which was the same as everyone else. That...helped, actually. Somehow.

“Schneep? Is everything alright?”

“Hmm?” Schneep blinked, realizing he’d been gone for a while there. Oliver was nearby, as always. In this case, sitting at another bench nearby, far enough away to give Schneep his own space but close enough in case of an emergency. “Yes, I am fine. It is just a bit chilly.”

“Well...you’re not wrong there,” Oliver muttered. The orderly uniform was short-sleeved, and evidently, they weren’t allowed to wear anything over it.  His arms were covered in raised goosebumps. “Anything else?”

“No, I was just thinking.” Schneep looked down at his lap. Laurens had given him one of her notebooks and a box of markers. He’d said that he wanted to try drawing, like they’d done in one of their sessions, and she’d been encouraging. So now he was trying to draw the gardens. It was hard. He wasn’t particularly artistic, and he was pretty sure a twelve-year-old could do better than him. But it was...nice. Focusing. Grounding.

Oliver nodded, and went silent. Schneep returned to his paper. The markers were a bit annoying, since they couldn’t be erased. But it was fine. He worked around the mistakes.

Quite a bit of time passed before he was ready to go inside. A few clouds had appeared in the clear sky. Schneep stood up, closing the notebook. Oliver looked over at him again. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, I’m going back to my room.”

“Alright, then.” Oliver stood up as well. “Let’s go.”

They made their way inside, winding through the halls and then up the stairs. It was so good to have his old room back, from before that tiny, featureless room on the first floor. Apparently those rooms weren’t supposed to be lived in for that long, a fact that the lovely Dr. Newson had neglected to mention. But that was in the past. Now he had a window! And some battery-powered lamps, and a bathroom joined to the room, and more furniture than a bed and a single table. It was amazing.

“Alright, here we are.” They stopped outside Room 309 and Oliver unlocked it with a swipe of the key card. It was only ever unlocked when nobody was inside; another difference between this one and the tiny first-floor room. “You remember to push the button if you need anything?”

“Yes, yes.” There was a call button on the wall inside. Pressing it would bring an orderly to the room, hopefully within minutes. “I remember.”

“Great. I’ll be around.”

“Thank you.” Schneep opened the door, adjusting his grip on the notebook and box of markers before heading inside. “I will be seeing you, then.”

Oliver smiled a bit. “Of course. See you.” He waved a bit, then walked off, disappearing down the hallway. Schneep waved after him, pulling the room door closed shortly before he started to turn the corner.

By now, it was solidly in the afternoon, and the sun was shining its beams directly into the window. Schneep blinked in the sudden brightness, then once his eyes adjusted, he walked over to the table and put down the notebook and markers. He opened up to the page with the garden drawing and considered it. Not bad, really. For someone who wasn’t an artist. Jackie and Marvin would’ve done much better. Maybe they could have given him advice, if they were here.

It would be some time before dinner. A little over an hour, judging by the numbers on the digital clock on the table. In the meantime, he could get some reading done. The room had a shelf, and Laurens had been providing him with some books for it. He was just barely starting a new novel, but it had already sucked him in. Yes, that was a good idea. Get through a few chapters of that.

Schneep headed over to the shelf, running his fingers over the spines of the books until he reached the one he was looking for. He was just about to pull it off the shelf when there was a movement in his peripheral vision.

He stiffened instinctually. Even though he’d been seeing strange movement in his vision for years now, he’d only been uneasy about it ever since his time with Anti. But he wasn’t supposed to acknowledge it. It was better that way. Just ignore it, just ignore it, just ignore—

There were footsteps behind him. And he couldn’t help but turn around. The first thing he saw as he turned was the door to the adjoining bathroom. It was open. Hadn’t he left it closed? Could he have not closed it all the way? Then some sort of shift in the air could’ve opened it, causing the movement he saw?

No, that theory was disproved when he saw the second thing of note in the room: a man. Who hadn’t been there before. He was wearing the orderly uniform, but Schneep didn’t recognize him.

No.

No, he did recognize him.

His eyes were a different color, and his face wasn’t scarred, but there could be no mistaking him. Anti.

Schneep froze. No. No, it wasn’t real. He was just hallucinating. He’d done the same a few days ago, thought he’d seen Anti in the rec room. That couldn’t have been real. So this couldn’t be real. So it wasn’t. If he just ignored the hallucination, it couldn’t do anything to him. Slowly, he turned back around. He reached with trembling hands to take the book off the shelf.

More footstep sounds. He saw in the corner of his vision the image of Anti again. Anti was circling around him to his left, staring, watching, staring, watching—why is everyone always watching him?!—No, no, don’t let it get to him. It wasn’t real. He pulled the book off the shelf, and knocked down its two neighbors in the process, grabbing those as they fell. It was fine. Everything was fine.

He took a few deep breaths and turned away, taking the three books to an armchair near the window of the room. The image of Anti watched him, watched him with interest, curiosity. He always did that. He’d done it in the beginning, when he’d trapped Schneep in that house with him, always curious about how far he could push his limits.

“Es ist nicht real,” Schneep said to himself. Just a reminder. It couldn’t be real. How’d he get into the room? The front door hadn’t opened, and it was impossible for him to be inside beforehand. The room had been locked. Nobody could get in without unlocking it with a keycard. “Es ist nicht real. Es ist nicht real.” It was impossible.

Footstep sounds. Schneep could see the image of Anti approaching out of the corner of his vision. He didn’t turn his head, and focused on stacking the three books on the window sill. “Es ist nicht real, ist nicht real, ist nicht real, nicht real, nicht real,” he continued to whisper under his breath. “Nicht real, nicht real, nicht real.”

The image reached out and—

It grabbed his arm. 

He felt a sharp pain.

Panic flooded his system. Schneep screamed and spun around, picking up one of the books and throwing it at the man. The book connected solidly, hitting with enough force to snap the man’s head back and cause him to let go. He yelled out in pain.

No, someone was here. It wasn’t a hallucination. Someone was here and they weren’t supposed to be. Schneep ran across the room, heading for the door.

“You—!” The man recovered quickly, and ran to the door as well. He was faster, and Schneep skidded to a halt as the strange man who looked like Anti blocked the door. 

Okay, no door then. Schneep’s eyes scanned the room, and—the call button! Of course! He lunged to the side. The man saw where he was going, and pounced.

Schneep’s hand landed on the button for a split second before the man grabbed his wrist. He started to yell for help, but the man covered his mouth. “Shush,” his voice hissed as he wrapped his other arm around Schneep’s torso.

No! Schneep immediately started struggling, kicking his legs and trying to wriggle free. For a moment, his right arm pulled away, and he hit the strange man in the face. But the man was quick, and recaptured the escaped hand before it could do any damage. “Calm down, you’re going to be asleep in a few moments anyway,” the man said. “Don’t make this hard on yourself.”

That voice—it was—but it couldn’t be. It was impossible—how would he get inside? That—no. Schneep’s thoughts swirled in broken fragments, unable or unwilling to finish and come to the natural conclusion. He shook his head and continued to struggle. The man’s grip was firm. Unbreakable. It was...a familiar feeling.

There was something on his hand. Something powdery, chalky. Like...some sort of makeup. Like...something that could be used to hide blemishes. Or scars. It was on his right hand, the one he’d used to hit the man’s face.

Where Anti’s scars would be.

No...it wasn’t possible. This couldn’t be happening! It wouldn’t be—was it all a trick? All of it? Was he always planning to come back? Or maybe it was all in his head—no. He refused to believe that one.

Strangely, the longer he struggled, the slower his movement became. Sluggish...weak. And Schneep recognized these effects immediately. A sedative? But when...oh. Oh, that sharp pain he’d felt when he had grabbed him...that was a needle, wasn’t it? It was too late, wasn’t it?

Too late...yes, his vision was starting to waver. Schneep gave up on the weak escape attempts. They weren’t doing any good, anyway. Maybe he’d managed to hit the call button, and someone would be coming. Maybe...maybe they could...stop this...help him...please...please...

He looked up into the eyes of his captor and the world faded away.

[savrenim]

hi hi hi. so I just got into the Hamilton fandom, I swear I am four years late where did everybody go, and, well. I am apparently a hamburr shipper. bcs that is my life now. anyway I saw your fic ifmlam and I swear it is my favourite of all the fics I've ever read (and trust me I've read literally thousands). I love it so so much, how do you write fics like that??? I cried about four times during the whole thing, I stayed up till 4am reading it even when I had to wake up at 7 because it is just. that. good. I could not stop thinking about it for days afterwards and ifmlam has just ruined me. I can't think of listen to Hamilton without thinking of ifmlam anymore.

on to my qursttion: is it abandoned? of course it's perfectly FINE if it is. don't let anyone tell u differently, your fic is YOURS and u are amazing.

but pls I really need closure from ur fic, it has been haunting me if its abandoned or ongoing and I've read ur other fics and they are just chefskiss and thank you so much for writing them all. thank you thank you thank you, I will never be able to thank you enough for writing this fic and for everything it's done for me. I am probably thousands of miles away but I am sending you virtual jugs through a co.puter screen right now.

(don't feel pressured to reply to this or update it flam, I know how overwhelming it can get with so many messages and after a while u get desensitized to it. u can literally reply "thx. itfmlam is abandoned" and I would still be amazingly star struck. anyway has gotten way too long and I need to sleep and I'm sorry u probably won't see this so I'm just talking to myself right now but bye!!)

and thank you so so much for writing itfmlam.

aaaah hello anon!

thank you so so much???? I am so??? honored??? that ifmlam rates so highly to you, and also that you've read my other fics??????

the answer to the "is ifmlam abandoned" question is probably the worst possible one, which is pretty much "I do want to finish it, both for the folks that still want closure as well as it bothers to me have abandoned projects that are in the public eye/ already partially published, but also, it is last on my current writing projects list"

my current actually active writing projects list, kind of in order of priority, is

I'm literally three chapters away from being Actually Fully Done with the not-quite-first-not-quite-second let's call it 1.5th draft of an actual?? full?? original?? novel?? Opus which of course then goes out to beta readers and then gets who-knows-how-much edited and then maybe beta readers again if a lot does change and then a copyeditor my mom, my copyeditor is my mom, and maybe my little brother he's one of the betas but is very good at catching typos and then I!!! get to publish it!!!! which is the single thing I am most excited for!!!!!!!!! this should be closed up in the next week or two, and then take a while for people to actually read the draft and get back to me.

I really desperately want to finish my open-but-like-90%-written fic, which means we raise it up, the final chapter of to the bottom of the river bc I realized that it was kind of incomplete, and the second chapter of a buried and a burning flame because any more work there will need to wait until the author publishes the next book in the series. this should be closed up in the next month or two.

Speedwrite the draft of the second book of the Opus series so that hopefully by the time book 1 edits are happening, I have an almost complete draft of the second book. this is mostly me side-eyeing myself about taking nearly four years to write the first book, but that is solidly in part because I had so many other open projects which point 2 is about clearing that docket. this should be done in the next year.

And then just have my major projects be, at least until books 1-5 are written and published, books 1-5 of that because that is arguably the first major 'plot arc' of the series, so if I'm looking for a pause point on writing, that's probably where to stop.

There are two or three other short side projects (a weird fun second person short story tentatively titled witch-queen, a collection of four short stories Memoirs about a not-so-evil necromancer and the shenanigans he gets up to trying to rule a kingdom, working title Perfectly Normal Recipe Blog which is a collaborative project about a perfectly normal recipe blog that definitely doesn't include anything out of the normal) that will happen when they happen

There are other projects that are on the backburner -- The Numanok Files, a series of probably 12-15 short novellas about a mercenary/ bounty hunter esque person in space whose specialty is dealing with hauntings, but, like, 80% of their jobs is actually "you are effectively a space home inspector pointing out faulty wiring reacting to solar flares/ there's a weird alien fungus/ it's carbon monoxide okay change your atmosphere filters" and 20% of it is punching ghosts; there's a post-post apocalypse novel that I want to write that I know characters and general pacing and half the setting but need to work out the other half and figure out how much aesthetic I want to commit to; there's Strangeside7 aka spacerace book that is my reaction to how much I love how Redline the anime movie commits itself to "no we are about a race, like 60% of the screentime is just fully going to be an utterly ridiculous sci fi space race"; there's even a ridiculous YA trilogy that I would have to completely transplant the setting but might end up writing because the interplay between angel-physics and physics-physics was one of my favorite things in the world. and I guess the weird ridiculous technically a sequel series to ifmlam that was going to be published as original books that was basically me having fun with 'okay I fucking love star wars prequels old rotting space bureaucracy galactic republic style' except with seers and that also still might happen because it does have some of the coolest sci fi concepts and honestly I thiiiink that's all?

but the tl;dr of that timeline is I'm trying to finish a punch of projects Right Now, so that I can write books 2-5 of Opus, and then when I'm done that (which honestly, my average fiction-writing output is close to 100k a year. if I'm concentrating purely on one project, and writing books that are about 100k, we are talking four years. although my job situation is super up in the air in that period and writing might get put solidly on the backburner as I try to make it in academia, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) I will re-evaluate which projects go next, and that's when ifmlam is likely to come up for review.

I do not have any expectations that I will make it as an original author. I'm planning on posting all of my stuff online for free, but, like. it is incredibly difficult to convince people to try out even a piece of free and easily accessibly original work even if one has a huge following, I am a very small fanfiction author, and from what I can tell the majority of the people who are interested in my work are mostly interested in me finishing ifmlam. writing is a hobby for me, and while I'm writing mostly for me--and hence the for me bit at least for the next five years is pretty solidly going to be this series that I am deeply excited about and have sunk my heart and soul into every single aspect of--I'm human, and I don't really like shouting into the void, and I expect if I spend five years publishing to absolutely no response I will either stop writing for a while and do other things gods know my life is busy enough, return to fandom in general to write some other fanfic about whatever I get deeply into, or return to a work that I actually get response to. so ifmlam will probably start getting worked on a bit at that point one way or another. unless, of course, we are in the incredibly rare timeline in which I do make it as an original author, there are people who are deeply hyped for my original works and an actual demand for them, in which case as you may have noticed there are enough ideas there to keep me busy for a decade or two, and they will just get my full attention instead of fanfiction*. in this timeline, I will do what I was considering doing a few years ago, which is officially declare ifmlam otherwise abandoned and make one more giant chapter update which is a full and cleaned up outline of what I was going to write, interspersed with the scenes already written, and have ifmlam be given at least that closure.

*I want to make it clear that I very much love fanfiction and am proud to have been a fanfiction author and in my heart of hearts would keep writing it forever, I just also have a lot of ideas for characters and settings and magic systems and Aesthetics and I have been biting at the bit to write something that is //mine// and all mine and only mine for a while, I don't see original work as superior so much as there are a dozen fandoms that I am currently in and bursting to make content about except oops these fandoms currently only exist in my head, and I want to correct that

of course given how much as writing is my vent activity and I write what I'm in the mood for, there's a chance I'll feel ifmlam cravings before then, just... expect it to take a couple of years for an update, but also for there to be an update one way of another in a couple of years? but as for right now, I'm turning to original writing, because that is what brings me joy.

but I am really deeply honored that it brought you so much joy!!! and while I will never publish spoilers in a public place, if you message me off anon I am perfectly happy to give a run-down of my current plans for the ending, bc I know "wait a couple years and see" is not the most satisfactory of answers! and hey maybe you'll be like me and once you've given Opus a try you'll decide you like it better too, it does have Seers although they are deeply different Seers than in ifmlam but imo it's very gay and fun and at least politics on one side

[detectiveinchicago]

Sparks Fly: Chapter 10

Chapters list here

Note: Hi guys! I’m sorry for taking so long with this chapter. I had problems with chapter 9 too, Tumblr deleated chapter 9 idk why. Thank u for all the comments and reviews, you are amazing. If you want to be tag in this story please let me know. English is not my first language. Enjoy xxx.

DISCLAIMER: GIF IS NOT MINE.

WARNING: Bad language, mental illness, PTSD and drugs mentions. 

What smell was that? Lemon maybe? Caitlyn could feel her head throbbing. She was going to need an urgent Tyrol. Why did her eyelids suddenly feel so heavy? How long had she been asleep? Light. Why was there so much light? Couldn’t someone turn it off? Even with her eyes closed, she could feel the white light. She opened her eyes slowly as she concentrated on the beeping of the machines.

“You’re awake.” Why was Kenny even talking to her? God, was last night a dream? Judging by the pain in her shoulder, she could tell it had been real. She finally finished blinking and turned her head on the pillow to see him. He had a bruise on his jaw she was sure he hadn’t in the warehouse. 

“Who did you fight with?” Caitlyn asked in a raspy voice, “What happened to your face?”

“Your brother punch me” Kenny replied

“Oh, God” Caitlyn muttered “I’m sorry” she added embarrassed 

“He’s furious that you didn’t tell him we were married” Kenny informed her, “I think you missed that little piece of information, it was a beautiful family reunion”

“My brother and I are not exactly on good terms” Caitlyn replied with a small cough.

“Were you ever on good terms?” he asked raising his eyebrows, pouring a glass of water and offering it to Caitlyn

“Thanks” Caitlyn drank “FYI, the relationship is worse than ever, did Will intervene?”

“To be honest, he was more concerned about your medical history.”

“Of course” Caitlyn replied, “Did you ...?”

“Yes, no latex, no penicillin, and no opioids” Kenny informed her. Caitlyn smirked, he still remembered it.

“Did Will try to stop Jay?” she asked out of curiosity

“I think he was too shocked to think” Kenny said, “Jay tried to make me his punching bag in the waiting room” He said. Caitlyn lowered her gaze to look at his knuckles and Kenny seemed to read her thoughts “I didn’t hit him, I have my anger under control, thank you very much for asking” replied the annoyed by his gesture.

“I said nothing Kenny” Caitlyn replied

“But you thought about it” he replied, getting up from the chair next to her bed.

“Why are you coming if you’re always going to be mad at me over nothing” Caitlyn rolled her eyes

“Well, even if you haven’t been there for me when I needed you, I’m here for you” Kenny replied dryly before heading out the room. Caitlyn leaned her head against the pillow. Perfect. Yet another problem to add to the list. She closed her eyes. Maybe she should get some more sleep. Her shoulder was killing her. Where were opioids when she needed them?

“Caitlyn! Your husband told me you were already awake”

Dammit. She just wanted to go back to sleep.

“He’s not ... Never mind” Caitlyn mumbled “Good to see you again Dr. Marcel”

“I’d say the same if it weren’t because every time I see you you’ve been stabbed,” Dr. Marcel said and Caitlyn smirked, “And because you altered Maggie’s waiting room”

“Sorry about that” she wrinkling her nose “I’m sure it was a disaster”

“I thought it was going to be worse, to be honest” Dr. Marcel replied as he took some notes from the monitors and a nurse walked through the door “Dr. Choi and I were ready to intervene but your husband never raised a finger” he informed her as Caitlyn raised her eyebrows.

“Really?” she said “We have been separated for almost five years, technically he is my husband but we are not together” Caitlyn commented to the doctor as the nurse changed her bandage.

“Maggie must surely still be mad at Jay for disturbing the order in the ED” The nurse told her with a small smile

“Will told me that Maggie rules the ED” Caitlyn answered causing a laugh from both

“He’s not wrong” Dr. Marcel replied, “You don’t want to mess with Maggie”

“I’ll write that down for future references,” Caitlyn said with a brief smile.

“Since the stab was in your shoulder and provided that no nerves were damaged, you just needed 48 hours in here so you will leave tonight”

“Tonight? I have slept for almost a day?” Caitlyn asked 

“Yes, it’s 6AM so you still need to wait for tonight” Dr. Marcel answered, “You will need to rest Caitlyn for a few weeks and you won’t be able to chase anyone for almost a month until you come back here”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, “I forgot how much I hate to be hurt”

“You guys need to get a hobby” Dr. Marcel answered shaking his head “Cops keep telling me how much they hate to on desk duty”

“I don’t have time for a hobby and all the hobbies I have are sports” Caitlyn told him while the nurse finished taking a blood sample. 

“I would also recommend you to take painkillers” Dr. Marcel added writing something down in her file. 

“Opioids?” Caitlyn asked while he looked at him.

“He told me you have some history with oxy” and by “he”, Caitlyn assumed Dr. Marcel was talking about Kenny “But we have to sedate you to remove the bullet and then we gave you small doses of painkillers” 

“You must have seen my file, I had a lot of things when I was a teenager and I was really closed with oxy” Caitlyn said. 

“Don’t worry but you will have to monitor your pain in case you need them” Dr. Marcel informed her “How much pain from one to ten do you have?”

“Maybe a seven” Caitlyn answered

“That’s not so bad,” Marcel told her, “We can work with that, I will see you next week, if you feel your pain increasing you call me” He finished before getting off her room. 

“Hey “ O.A greeted standing at the door with Jess, Clinton, Hanna and Sheryll.

“Hey guys” Caitlyn smiled briefly

“How you feel?” Sheryll asked, sitting in the chair that Kenny previously occupied.

“As if a truck had hit me” Caitlyn replied sitting on the bed

“You were lucky the guy had such poor aim” Clinton replied, “He was close to the neck”

“Please” Caitlyn replied “I’m a tough bitch, he needs more than a stab to kill me”

“I told you she will say that” Hanna told Clinton.

“What happened with the case?” Caitlyn asked.

“It turns out that this guy was a psychopath as we expected, but he was medicated, sometimes he had these breaks where he went out to kill” Jess informed her about the case “He stopped taking the medication, accumulating the prescribed pills and with that, he drugged his victims “

“We think he started accumulating pills a year ago after his mother died,” Sheryll added.

“I took the trouble to take a picture frame of her mother, look at this” Hanna said handing her a bag of evidence. Caitlyn took it and raised her eyebrows.

“She looks just like Amelia Roberts” Caitlyn observed.

“And similar to all his other victims” Hanna added, “She was an exotic dancer before she became a prostitute”

“We talked to some neighbors, and they lived in the same house their whole lives, the neighbors said that the mother was quite a character and not in a good way” Sheryll informed her.

“How many victims?” Caitlyn asked.

“Fifty-five at the moment but labs are still running” Jess replied.

“And the lipstick?” Clinton added, “The mother had a box full of red lipstick”

She took a brief nap after her friends left, promising to meet them that night for a drink at a bar called Molly’s. They were going to join her brother’s unit for a job well-done celebration. They had discovered who the murderer was and he would spend a lot of time behind bars.

“Hey” her brother Will greet her “Marcel told me you looked good”

“It still hurts though” Caitlyn commented giving him a small smile.

“You and Jay must stop getting shot or stabbed or you’re going to drive me crazy” Will muttered taking a seat in the chair next to her while Caitlyn giggled “Kenny was still here” Will committed causing her to turn to look at him, “I told him to go to rest but he seemed to be angry when he left“ he added curious

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, “He’s always mad at me”

“You know Jay wanted to kill him when he found out, right?” Will added by pouring a glass of water to his sister and handing it to her.

“Dr. Marcel told me, did Kenny hit him?” Caitlyn asked curiously to see what story her brother was going to tell her.

However, Will confirmed Marcel and Kenny’s story.

“He didn’t raise his hand” Will shrugged “Jay was being a jerk, I probably would have hit him if I were Kenny.”

Caitlyn shifted uncomfortably in bed for having judged Kenny too quickly, although she would continue to maintain that her husband had gotten angry with her for no reason.

“So ...” Will began, “Are you going to tell me how this all happened?”

“We got married and then we weren’t married anymore” Caitlyn replied and her brother rolled his eyes “Truth is, nobody ever made me feel like Kenny”

Will raised his eyebrows “That’s a revealing confession isn’t it?”

Caitlyn rolled her eyes “Shut up”

“Why didn’t you get divorced? You’re not together, ” Will asked curiously.

“It was too painful at the time to see us again and then it was just easier to stay married, the taxes and all that” Caitlyn replied distractedly, although she never believed she could have the courage to let Kenny go for good.

“Are you telling me you didn’t get a divorce because of your taxes?” Will asked, raising his eyebrows.

Caitlyn glared at him “It’s harder than you think, Kenny will probably always be my great love”

Will nearly choked on his glass of water, “Excuse me?”

“It’s ... difficult” Talking about her feelings with her brother was harder than she thought “My feelings are complicated; God, I’m doomed” Caitlyn snorted, resting her head on the pillow.

“I couldn’t tell you if it’s bad or not, but he seemed worried about you when you came” Will commented, scrutinizing her.

“PTSD sucks” Caitlyn told him “It’s what ruined my marriage”

----flashback----

Even though Kenny had PTSD he had never had major problems, yes he had nightmares, yes he sometimes had bad and terrible days, and yes he had seizures but Caitlyn knew herself that coming back from the war was more than difficult. That’s why she didn’t judge him. She understood him and tried to give Kenny space when he needed it.

However, they had a case where a veteran sniper with PTSD, a war hero, had killed five people after his best friend, another soldier, committed suicide. Caitlyn knew that her husband was struggling. She had mixed feelings about the case, but Kenny was showing signs of stress. The night before she was sure that he had not closed an eye and he was quiet. 

That night Caitlyn had fallen asleep while Kenny was still watching television. However, she woke up hours later to moans and complaints coming from her husband. When she settled into bed still half asleep herself, she saw Kenny shifting between the sheets and murmuring in his sleep. Caitlyn looked at him carefully. Should she wake him up? That was probably her first mistake.

“Kenny” called Caitlyn moving him by the shoulder and approaching his face “Kenny, wake up”.

Kenny opened his eyes suddenly and Caitlyn received a punch that destabilized her and made her back up before she could even move, Kenny had her arms immobilized to the bed.

“Kenny!” Caitlyn moved to escape his grip “Kenny!” she exclaimed again as he left her arms and started choking her “Kenny is me” she said raising her arms and trying to touch his face as she felt the air escaping from her throat “Ken ...” she repeated unable to finish his name due to lack of air.

When she saw spots in her vision and as her arms tried to touch her husband’s face, she moved her legs and kicked him in the testicles. To which Kenny responded by coming out of his reverie and leaning over on the bed in pain.

Caitlyn crawled out of bed to the floor as she tried to catch her breath. Once she could stop seeing dots in her vision, she got up on shaking legs and locked herself in the bathroom. She slid through the door to the floor and sat there as she tried to get all the air back into her lungs. Caitlyn knew how PTSD worked, she believed that everyone who returned from the war somehow had PTSD, if it wasn’t for the war it was for life.

She didn’t judge Kenny, but she had to admit that being attacked by the person sleeping next to you in bed was scary on another level. You think she would be used to that kind of thing and she was, but not at home, in the place where she was supposed to be safe. She hated to admit it but it was the same feeling she had when she was still living with her father, walking around looking over her shoulder because she never knew when she was going to get a bottle from the back. And she hated to admit it too, but Kenny in that state scared her a little. She knew that in her work she looked fearless and reckless, but deep down she just wanted to feel safe and have someone to hug her at night.

Caitlyn walked over to the mirror and noticed that her cheek was swelling and that her neck had grip marks. She got out of the bathroom and went to the kitchen in search of ice to get high; she sat on the couch while tilting her head, holding the ice.

He had already suggested therapy, a dozen times at least, Caitlyn had begged Kenny to go to therapy for him and when she noticed he didn’t want to do it she asked him to at least do it for her. It didn’t work either. He insisted that he was fine.

Caitlyn leaned back in the chair with her head spinning and fell asleep. The next morning, she awoke to the sound of the coffeepot and as she remembered what had happened the night before, Kenny offered Caitlyn a cup and sat next to her. They both sit in silence, taking the first sips of coffee. Kenny reached out and ran his fingers across Caitlyn’s neck. She just looked at him and pouted.

“I’m sorry” He said finally.

“I know” Caitlyn replied.

“I’m sorry” Kenny repeated “I didn’t come to tell you yesterday because I thought you wouldn’t want to see me”

Caitlyn fell silent and took another sip of coffee.

“You’re good?” she asked after a while.

“Yes,” Caitlyn replied turning to look at him “It doesn’t hurt, but I’m going to report sick for work on Monday, I don’t think the swelling will go down by then” She could tell that he felt guilty, however that wasn’t enough for her.

----flashback----

“Do you have PTSD?” Will asked her.

“Nope, Kenny used to but I think we all have PTSD, if it’s not war, it’s life” Caitlyn answered looking at him “He used to have episodes and he refused to go to therapy” she added “so I left, I didn’t want to repeat cycles”

“Like dad?” Will asked curiously 

“Yes, like dad” Caitlyn answered briefly and Will could tell she was in a bad place “Dad got the worst out of me”

“What do you mean?” Will asked, raising his eyebrows. 

“He made me feel on the edge all the time” Caitlyn answered looking aside “I never knew what was going to happen, he made me feel anxious”  

“Dad was complicated”

“Dad was more than just complicated,” She said “I was just a teenager and he was such a bad person, I was supposed to enjoy the senior year and instead I ended up almost drunk every day”

“How could you…?”

“I ended up in hospitals, a lot” Caitlyn explained “And doctors gave me oxy, a lot”

“At that time I thought you were still going to Stanford” Will whispered “I’m sorry” he added taking her hand into his.

“It’s okay” Caitlyn said, “Truth is; it was easier to explain my injuries since I used to be an athlete, doctors believe me”

“I’m sorry” Will repeated.

“I know, I’m afraid that I will become addict to oxy at any second, the doctor once told me I wasn’t abusing pain killers because I was in real pain because of my injuries” Caitlyn confessed “But I realized know that I was really closed of becoming an addict”

“I saw your medical record, you needed those painkillers,” Will told her “I wished that Jay and I had been more attentive”

“I know you tried, I mean, I have been angry all these years but you are trying now and that’s enough for me to talk to you at least,” Caitlyn said with a little smile “Because Jay is definitely not talking to me”

“He is just trying to do things right” Will added

Caitlyn rolled her eyes “You should have seen how he looked at me when we were working, he hates me”

“He doesn’t hate you, he is just angry” Will told her. 

“If you say so” She answered unconvinced 

“You should talk to him” Will suggested. 

“I will not talk with him, if he wants to talk then he should come to me” Caitlyn answered. If there was one thing Caitlin and Jay shared, it was that they were both stubborn when it came to pride. Will doubted either of them would give their arm to twist.

“You are both so stubborn” Will said, shaking his head.

“Stubbornness is in the family” Caitlyn answered briefly.

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

Tag list:

@proceduralpassion @lovecatystuff @bethii1 @give-jack-a-lightsaber @thevelvetseries @lovingfanofupstead @thetwit @anotheronechicagobog @sadsot @chicagogirl2019 @cpdfan231 @bxrgesses @onechicago-upsteadrhekker​ @slytherinwitchy​ @itsdesiree86​ @halstudandruz​ @hereforthedale​ @cactiem​ @nhcwdw​ @anotherfan07​ @pinkrockstar19​ @rochyu​ @mollyc70​

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Eccentricity [Chapter 9: Now I Love Your Shadow And I Love Your Curls]

Series Summary: Joe Mazzello is a nice guy with a weird family. A VERY weird family. They have a secret, and you have a choice to make. Potentially a better love story than Twilight.

Chapter Title Is A Lyric From: “Til I Die” by Parsonsfield. 

Chapter Warnings: Language, references to sex, violence, and drug use.

Word Count: 7.6k.

Other Chapters (And All My Writing) Available: HERE

Taglist: @queen-turtle-boiii​ @bramblesforbreakfast​ @maggieroseevans​ @culturefiendtrashqueen​ @imnotvibingveryguccimrstark​ @escabell​ @im-an-adult-ish​ @queenlover05​ @someforeigntragedy​ @imtheinvisiblequeen​ @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhyee​ @deacyblues​ @tensecondvacation​ @brianssixpence​ @some-major-ishues​ @haileymorelikestupid​ @youngpastafanmug​ @simonedk​

Field Trip

“You want to go to Chicago with me?”                

I coughed, having almost inhaled a chunk of pineapple off my slice of GrubHubbed pizza. We were sitting on the grass outside Forks And Spoons under the shade of the maple trees, which were turning from jade to ruby to amber to fool’s gold, rejoining the earth they once rose from one fallen leaf at a time. It hadn’t rained in almost four days—was that some kind of record?!—and the leaves littering the ground crunched when I stepped on them, which I did purposefully and often. The breeze was soft and whispery and temperate. I could get used to this whole having actual seasons thing. “What, in like a hypothetical, at some point in my life kind of way?”

Joe smiled. His U Chicago hoodie of the day was black. “No, as in this weekend.”

“Really?”

“The Cubs have a game on Saturday, and it’s supposed to be rainy and overcast the whole time, and I just thought...” He shrugged, toying with a piece of pizza crust before tossing it to the squirrels. He’s nervous, I realized. How the hell do I have the ability to make the sexy undead Italian man nervous? “It might be nice for us to be able to get away for a few days. Away from my family. Away from Charlie. Not that I don’t appreciate the ambient noise of his snoring from the living room couch, it’s super endearing, I seriously consider dating him instead of you at least twice a week.”

“Go for it. Charlie could use a rich husband. His pension is pathetic.”

“You wouldn’t miss me?”

“I am not necessarily opposed to clandestinely seducing my sugar daddy stepdad should the occasion arise.”

Joe crossed himself like a nun passing tattooed, cursing, lip-pierced teenagers on the sidewalk. “Lord, protect me from this harlot.”

A weekend away. No Charlie, no constant and chaotic whirlwind of Lees, no Ben. I hadn’t spoken to Ben since our misadventure in the Lee kitchen; if he wasn’t avoiding me of his own volition, he was following orders to stay away. Joe claimed that they’d talked it out. I wasn’t sure if I believed him. “I accept your invitation. Although, truthfully, I’d rather get hit by a bus than watch an entire real-life, no-commercial-breaks baseball game.”

“I accept your acceptance. And I’ll throw in a visit to the Shedd Aquarium, just for you. They have baby sea otters.”

“Sweet.” I checked my iPhone. “I’m gonna be late for Chemistry.”

“Anything fun planned?”

“We’re doing a lab involving hydrochloric acid. I’m highly concerned that Ben will accidentally spill some on himself. The miraculous instantaneous healing thing might raise a few questions.”

“Hm,” Joe replied. But he wasn’t looking at me; he was looking at my bandaged hand. And he wasn’t smiling anymore.

“Joe, I’m fine.”

“Yeah.” He took a preoccupied swig of his Dr. Pepper. Solemnity never seemed right on him; it was like he was wearing somebody else’s skin. “You’ve mentioned that.”

“Hey. Mob guy.”

Now his eyes flicked to mine.                              

“No more sad spaghetti.”

“Okay.” He surrendered, took my face in his hands, gave me a kiss on each cheek and then one quick parting peck on the forehead. “You win. I’m not sad. I’m ecstatic, actually. I’m gonna be eating my weight in hotdogs and mustard-slathered pretzels on Saturday. What’s there not to be ecstatic about?”

“The fact that your license says you’re only twenty and consequently can’t get a beer?”

Joe blinked, remembering. “Fuck.”

I drained my Diet Coke, flung my pizza crust to the skittering grey squirrels—no eerie albino forest friends today—and pulled on my backpack. “See ya. Have an awesome time in Game Theory.”

“Thanks, I probably won’t!” he chimed, waving, grinning compliantly; and yet did I still sense some lingering menace of disquiet, of fear? I suspected I did. Chicago would cure everything.

Ben tensed when I walked into Professor Belvin’s classroom, ran his fingers through his unruly blond hair, peered fixedly down at his notebook and feigned obliviousness. There was already a metal tray of Erlenmeyer flasks, labeled bottles of solutions, burettes, goggles, gloves, and an unassembled ring stand crowding our small table by the open window. Autumn air poured in like seawater through cracks in the hull of a ship.

“Guess who’s gonna see the Cubs play up close and personal this Saturday?” I announced.

He pretended to have just noticed me. “...You...? But that doesn’t sound like you.”

“It was Joe’s idea. I’m acting like I’m not totally thrilled and freaking out about it, but I am. Don’t tell him.”

Now Ben was the one staring at my bandaged hand. His green eyes were large and unfocused.

“I’m fine,” I insisted.  

“Sure,” Ben returned noncommittally.

I started skimming through the packet of lab instructions and setting up our titration experiment as Professor Belvin circulated through the classroom, observing, commenting, offering suggestions and critiques. My wounded hand—still sore in the lull between Advil doses and relatively useless—was quite the embarrassing hinderance; I fumbled with a large glass flask and almost dropped it.

Ben shook his head and reached out to stop me. “Here, oh my god, this is so pitiful, sit down. Please sit down. I’ll set it up. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thanks.” I peeked at his notebook. “Your handwriting is atrocious. Haven’t you had like a century to work on that?”

“Penmanship was never at the top of my to-do list, tragically.”

“What language is that, anyway?” The phrases scrawled in black ink in Ben’s notebook definitely weren’t English. Or Italian. “Elvish? Are you a lowkey Lord Of The Rings fan? Magic and self-sacrifice and nearly insurmountable evil, I could see that being your thing.”

He smirked, struggling with the ring stand. “It’s Welsh.”

“Welsh,” I repeated, perplexed. “Welsh...like how Gwil is Welsh?”

“Precisely.”

Professor Belvin checked in on us, nodded in approval, reminded me that I was always welcome to stop by at bowling league activities, and resumed his wandering.

“Gwil still speaks it,” Ben continued. “The rest of them speak it too. At least enough for basic communication.”

“I didn’t know,” I said, fascinated, examining the long, unfamiliar words riddled with Ls and Ws and Cs. “But that must be very useful.”

“It is. Welsh is nearly a dead language at this point. It’s like talking in code. I always refused to learn it on principle...or maybe I was just being difficult. I would study other languages, Arabic, Japanese...but not Welsh. That was always Gwil’s language. Their language. It was a Lee thing. But now...”

“Now you’re sort of a Lee too,” I finished for him, smiling.

“Whatever,” Ben said, hiding behind his bangs.

I watched him as he at last tamed the ring stand, secured the burette, placed the Erlenmeyer flask. Then he began reading the labels on the solution bottles. “Guess what else.”

“What, Baby Swan?”

I grinned, showing off my unremarkable, entirely benign human teeth. “I’ll bring you back your very own U Chicago hoodie.”

That night, after a pleasantly prosaic dinner with Charlie—burgers, one veggie and one of the conventional variety, and milkshakes at Danny’s Diner—I started packing a small, Arizona-sky-blue suitcase as sparse raindrops pattered against the roof and moonlight streamed in through the open window. Then I ticked off my mental inventory.

“Jeans, sweaters, pajamas, socks...”

I pawed through the top drawer of my old, scratched dresser—the same one that had once upon a time been Renee’s—and contemplated the bra and panty options. Would my theme be comfort and practicality, or feral impenitent seductress? Friday and Saturday in Chicago would be our first nights alone together. That had to be significant, right? After some deliberation, I gathered a handful of lacy, transparent, and/or exceptionally skimpy lingerie from Victoria’s Secret that Jessica had more or less forced upon me during a shopping trip in Port Angeles last month. As I dropped them into the open suitcase, I glanced up to see the albino owl outside my open bedroom window.

“You never know,” I told the owl, shrugging.

It leered judgmentally back at me with those gory red eyes.

“Oh shut up. How many eggs have you laid in your lifetime, Casper The Unfriendly Ghost? Probably like a bazillion. Freaking feathery trollop.”

The owl had nothing to offer in its own defense.

“Why don’t you ever come around when Joe’s here? I’m sure he’d love to meet you. He’s pale and weird too. Although I like his eyes a little better than yours. No offense, Snowflake.”

The owl blinked, tilted its gaze at me, ruffled its feathers and sent the raindrops that had gathered there flying in every direction.

I slid my iPhone out of my back pocket, spun around, and snapped a quick selfie with the owl in the background. “Say cheese, Marshmallow!”

The owl immediately unfurled its wings and flapped off into the trees, vanishing.

“Huh. I guess homegirl is camera shy.” I texted my selfie to Archer, typing out with my thumbs: I am the Steve Irwin of Forks. Behold, one of my many forest friends.

Archer replied a few minutes later: WOW! Pasty and mildly disturbing. Exactly your type. :)

“Yours too, apparently,” I murmured, smiling in my empty room.

I went to my full-length mirror with the plastic, teal-colored border, briefly appraised my reflection, felt a dull swell of approval for what I saw there. The version of myself that had once been so consumed by fears of inadequacy seemed impossibly far away, maybe even fictitious, a dream so vivid I could mistake it for truth. Three things were taped across the top of the mirror: Joe’s Official Citation!! No More Sad Spaghetti!! post-it, his Official Whatever You Want Pass, and a photo of us dressed up together and standing in front of the limo in the Lees’ driveway just before the Calawah University Homecoming dance. I peeled off the Official Whatever You Want Pass, carefully folded it into a neat little square, and tucked it into my wallet.

When the rain began to pour and thunder rolled in off the Pacific Ocean, I closed my bedroom window; but I remembered to leave it unlocked for Joe.

Departure

“Got your license?”

“Yes, Dad,” Joe sighed.

“Got your airport snacks?”

Joe held up the gallon-sized Ziploc bag filled with pumpkin and white chocolate chip cookies. “We’re ready to rock.”

“Call me when you get there safe,” Mercy fretted, hugging me and then Joe. “And Joseph, sweetheart, you make sure you keep an eye on her. She’s never been to Chicago before, it’s a big city, and O’Hare is an absolute nightmare, it’s so easy to get lost...”

“I don’t think he needs any reminders, love.” Dr. Lee laid a hand on her shoulder, stroked his neatly-trimmed beard with the other, watched us with a vague and wistful smile.

Mercy went back to trimming the flowers she had spread out across the kitchen countertop, white calla lilies that she threaded one by one into a translucent sapphire blue vase. “Now don’t forget to say goodbye to your brother. He’s out back feeding the new ducks. And I expect these ones to stick around for a while, thank you very much.”

“Mom, I don’t need to say goodbye to Rami. I’ll just think it. Really loudly.” Joe rubbed his temples with his fingertips and squeezed his eyes shut. “Peace out, you nosy bastard.”

“Joseph,” Mercy pleaded.

“Okay, okay, I’ll go say goodbye. Don’t get all aggressive. Don’t take it out on the flowers.” Aggressive...what a joke. I doubted that Mercy Eleanor Lee, formerly Martin, had a single aggressive bone in her immortal body; not even the infinitesimal stapes of her inner ears or the sesamoids of her feet.

“They’re calla lilies,” she replied dreamily, tending them like children. “And they symbolize love, and beauty, and fidelity...”

My nostrils itched and burned faintly in dissent. “I think I’m allergic to them.”

“You’re allergic to fidelity?” Joe asked, raising his eyebrows. “That’s it, now you’re definitely not getting my reclaimed virginity. No ma’am. I am not hit-it-and-quit-it material.”

“Oh sweet baby Jesus,” Mercy murmured.

“I’m going,” Joe said, showing his palms in capitulation and disappearing out the back door. I dragged my suitcase to the front one, politely declining Mercy and Gwil’s offers to help.

Lucy—her bleached hair in a high half-ponytail and wearing polka-dotted black tights, combat boots, a plaid miniskirt, and an extremely Octoberish orange sweater—was sitting cross-legged on the roof of Gwil’s Volvo. God, he’s such a dad. “Have a nice time,” she chirped artfully.

I opened the hatch of Joe’s Subaru and threw my suitcase inside. “Why do you sound like you already know I will?”

“I might have some relevant clairvoyant insight.”

“No way.” I stared up at her, stunned, my hands on my waist. “But you can’t see me, right...?”

“True. But this vision wasn’t of you. It was of Joe. You just happened to be there.”

Interesting. Very interesting. “And what transpired in this vision?” A night full of hot, steamy, blissful vampire sex? A girl could dream.

Lucy closed her eyes, recalling it fondly, maybe even cherishing it. “You were sitting in the stands of a professional baseball game. I could hear the crowd roaring, the umpire’s trumpeting interruptions. Blue and white...everyone was wearing blue and white. And you were there together—Joe a vampire, you human, side by side, almost entwined—shouting to each other over the thunderous noise and laughing and pushing nuggets of soft pretzels into each other’s mouths. So happy. I’d never seen Joe so happy.” Her striking pale eyes came open. “And he’s someone who’s already rather prone to happiness, as I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“I have,” I agreed.

“He’s never been serious about anybody else. I hope you know that.”

“I know that’s what he tells me.”

“It’s the truth,” Lucy insisted. “I would know if it wasn’t. Rami would know, Ben would know. Joe...he’s kind of the opposite of you. He’s always been the easiest to read. He’s the one Rami hears most loudly, the one who shows up most often in my visions. He’s clear, you know? Uncomplicated. Authentic. And what you mean to him...it’s something everybody sees. It’s a contagious sort of lightness, of joy. So thank you for that.”

And if whatever mysterious genetic switch that renders me immune to your talents wasn’t flipped, I’m pretty sure I’d look the same way. “I should definitely be thanking you,” I said. “You guys have a pretty cool existence going on here. And I’m so grateful to be invited into it.” For however long this lasts, anyway.

“None of us really invited you,” Lucy demurred. “We just let it happen.”

“So everyone knew I was coming? Because you saw it?”

“Everyone but Joe.”

“You never told him?”

“No. Not even now.” Lucy turned sharply towards the trees, as if she heard something in the soaring western hemlocks that swayed drunkenly in the wind. After a moment, she continued. “I’m not sure if I can even explain why. It wasn’t that I feared changing the timeline or something...my visions always come true regardless. Always. But I guess...” She tugged on her short half-ponytail, pondering. “I guess I didn’t want to cloud any of his decision-making, any of his emotions with the specter of the inevitable. I wanted whatever he felt for you to be completely organic. And it is.”

I considered her. “You are extremely thoughtful for someone who spends as much time shopping as you do.”

Lucy laughed in a high-pitched, almost juvenile trill, netting her fingers beneath her chin, her elbows resting on her bent knees. “I do like to shop. I didn’t always though.” She peered off into the trees again, this time pensively. “Did Joe tell you anything about my life before Gwil saved me?”

“Aside from the copious hippie jokes, not really.”

She nodded, her eyes far-away and still lost in the forest. “Gwil and Mercy are inordinately wonderful people. My biological father and mother, unfortunately, were not. And maybe they couldn’t help it, because from what I understand their parents were monsters too. I don’t think of them very often now, not even to resent them. But when I was alive I burned with it, with all that hatred, with all that bitterness. Every bruise was another log on the fire. Every screaming match or hurled plate was a splash of gasoline. So I ran away and found what I fancied to be a new family, and I lived on basement couches and out of vans and in abandoned buildings, and I explored increasingly inventive ways of putting that fire out.”

The October breeze cascaded through the trees, carrying echoes of birdsong and disembodied distant voices and the scent of pine. It reminded me of Joe.

“Chemically speaking,” Lucy said, “that first hit of heroin, that first high...it’s the best you’ll ever feel in your entire life. Nothing else will ever compare. Not skydiving, not backpacking through Southeast Asia on some Pulitzer-prize-winning journey of self-discovery, not winning the lottery, not the births of your children, not falling in love. And once you accept that, what’s the point in stopping? Everything you ever experience will live in the shadow of that needle. You’re twenty-five and you’ve already seen the endgame. You’re born, you suffer, you catch a glimpse of paradise, you pay bills and push shopping carts down the aisles of grocery stores and insipidly smile your way through your husband’s work parties until you die. What’s the fucking point? So I didn’t stop shooting heroin. And the whole time, I knew it was killing me. That’s what they don’t tell kids when they force them to make those idiotic classroom promises to never do drugs. You know it’s killing you, but you don’t care. Because it feels so goddamn good. Because it becomes the only sliver of your existence that doesn’t cut like glass beneath your skin. Sometimes you love things so much you let them kill you, isn’t that ridiculous?”

I wasn’t sure how to answer her; still, I heard my own voice: “Yes, it is.”

“It took dying for me to see that life is worth living. That there’s magic in the mundane and the frivolous. And that there’s beauty everywhere if you bother to look for it.” Lucy uncrossed her trim legs, leapt gracefully off the Volvo, and—with definite but not unkind scrutiny—pulled at the collar of my thrift shop sweater. “Even in your very, very, very misguided fashion preferences.”

The front door of the Lee house swung open, and Joe jogged out, carrying his suitcase. Gwil, Mercy, Scarlett, Rami, and Ben appeared on the porch to wave us off.

“What’d you do?!” Joe demanded, pointing at Lucy.

“Nothing,” she quipped.

“You guys gotta stop doing this!” Joe exclaimed. “You know what you’re doing, you know exactly what you’re doing, you gotta stop cornering people and forcing them to listen to your creepy tragic backstories! Nobody freaking asked!”

Lucy chuckled patiently and stood on her tiptoes to hug him goodbye. “Have fun.”

“You know it.” Joe tossed his suitcase into the Subaru and opened the driver’s door. “Ready, Baby Swan?”

“Almost.”

I walked to the wrap-around porch, climbed the steps, held my hand out to Ben. My stitches had almost completely dissolved over the past week, and the clunky impediment of bandages was no more. Joe crossed his arms and watched from beside the Subaru with an uneasy frown, but he didn’t try to stop me. He nodded to Rami, so subtly I almost didn’t notice. Rami nodded back.

“I will miss your melodramatic brooding immensely,” I told Ben. “Please do some fun family stuff while we’re gone. I’ll see you soon. Dan eich bendith.”

“Dan eich bendith,” he replied, taken aback. And then, after a moment’s hesitation, he ignored my outstretched hand and embraced me, his grasp so strong and yet so careful. His scent like crisp leaves and salted caramel and autumn sieved into a bottle unfolded in my lungs like an opened book.

“I Googled that especially for you,” I whispered. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m in awe.” His words were characteristically sardonic, but I heard warmth in them as well. When Ben pulled away, I saw that everyone else was smiling. Mercy had tears in her eyes.

I retreated back down the porch steps and met Joe by the Subaru. “Okay, mob guy. I’m good.”

He slid on his sunglasses, shook his head, flashed a proud and toothy grin. “You definitely are.”

All the way down Route 101 to the Seattle-Tacoma International Airport, we listened to Joe’s classic rock mixtapes and my NOAA Ocean Podcast episodes, reviewed the weekend itinerary, ran through the bare essentials for me to understand an MLB game (“Which I am totally not excited about whatsoever,” I informed Joe, who knew enough not to believe me).

When the Boeing 747 ascended above the clouds and unimpeded sunlight poured in from the other passengers’ windows, Joe put on a black sleeping mask over his sunglasses and reclined his seat, tried to nap, passed the time until he would be safe beneath the curtains of the sky again.

Somewhere over the Dakotas, as I leafed through a book about the Great Barrier Reef for my Marine Botany class, Joe’s hand bumped mine. “Hey,” he said drowsily, seriously; and I braced myself for some emotional declaration, some dire warning, some grave realization of the futility of what we agreed—almost always wordlessly, and yet unfailingly—was love.

“Yeah?”

“It’s an emergency.”

“Uh oh,” I replied, smiling now.

“Flag down the flight attendant and get some more of those honey roasted peanut packets,” Joe said. “I’m starving myself back to death over here.”

The Windy City

The bat cracked deafeningly against the baseball pitched at nearly a hundred miles per hour. It was a home run. The crowd erupted into mindless, primal shrieks of conquest; and when Joe jumped to his feet, clapping and cheering and nearly spilling his blue-and-white bucket of popcorn, I found that I did as well. I screamed for the team of a city I’d never lived in, sank back into my seat beside Joe, nestled against his chest as his right arm closed around my waist and hauled me in closer, as his left hand teased me with a soft pretzel nugget hovering just out of reach. And in that moment, I felt like Lucy, snatching Polaroids out of the space-time continuum of the present and the future and the past. There was where Joe and I were right now, of course; the day we had met each other in the nonfiction section of the Calawah University library; the dance floor at Homecoming; the first night he snuck soundlessly into my bedroom window; all those years we still had left to spend together. Not forever, but perhaps long enough.

“I like this baseball thing,” I told him over the roar of the crowd, twirling my fingers around the curling locks of dark hair that stuck out from under his Cubs cap. Or maybe I just like you.

“Whew, thank god.” Joe wiped his forehead with the back of his hand in mock relief. “Now I don’t have to break up with you.”

After the game—a 5-3 Cubs victory, close enough to keep the spectators’ blood pumping throughout—we boarded the L, held onto the metal railings as the packed train car bumped and swerved along, and disembarked in Little Italy. Historic brownstones were interrupted by a freckling of pizzerias, Italian ice stands, and sports bars spilling out shouts of triumph and despair. We were staying in the Four Seasons with a view of Lake Michigan; but we had an hour of daylight—albeit chilled, dreary, and forever threatening rain—left in our Saturday. Tomorrow would be the aquarium, and then dinner before catching our flight back to Seattle, back to the greenery and fog and eternal dampness that I was beginning to think of as my home. Had I really only left Phoenix two months ago? Had I ever really lived there at all?

“So,” Joe said as we walked under shedding green ash and black cherry trees, his arm draped across my shoulders. “Guess what the University of Chicago has. In addition to a killer Economics PhD program, which yours truly will be graduating from in approximately 2027, astonishingly aged not a single day. Maybe he’s born with it, maybe it’s Maybelline.”

“Hideous sweatshirts?” I guessed.

“One of the best Marine Biology departments in the world. And the affiliated Marine Biological Laboratory up in Massachusetts, where they send their PhDs to do research.”

“Wait, seriously?” I stopped abruptly, the heels of my boots squealing against the sidewalk. “You mean...for me?”

He rolled his eyes. “No, for my other girlfriend who is also inexplicably super obsessed with the ocean. I clearly have a type.”

“You want me...to come to Chicago...with you...after graduation? For like...a five to seven year commitment?”

“Sure, why not?”

“Well, that just sounds...serious.”

“Huh. What do you know. I guess we’re serious after all.” He took my hand and pulled me gently forward, leading me down West Taylor Street. He seemed to have a destination in mind.

“How is this going to work for you, anyway?” I asked, beaming uncontrollably now, trotting along beside him. “Living in a place that isn’t Washington or Scotland or Alaska?” Chicago was cold and cloudy for a lot of the year, true, but few cities were Forks-level wet and sunless. Forks-level tyrannically depressing, I would have said two months ago.  

He shrugged, unphased. “Night classes. Sunglasses. Faking a chronic illness so I don’t have to leave our house. I’m really good at that one. Plus I can get a doctor’s note any time I want one. I’ve got connections, you know.”

Our house. He said OUR house.

Joe came to halt in front of a stately yet plain brownstone which now operated as a trendy bookstore, the kind that sold six dollar lattes and hosted anarchist poetry slams on Friday nights.

“Is this where we’re going to crack hipsters’ kneecaps as a bonding activity?” I asked.

“This is where I grew up.”

I looked again, studying the earth-colored stone quarried over a century ago, the wrought iron railings that framed the front steps, the rectangular windows revealing the illumination and shadows of other families’ lives. “Joe,” I said softly, leaning into him, searching for my words.

“There were eight Mazzello kids: Joseph, Charles, Mimi, Salvador, Donna, Lucia, Bianca, and Giuliano.” He rattled them off like a jingle from a fast food commercial. “And I was the oldest. So when my dad dropped dead of a heart attack in the middle of his shift at the Zenith Radio factory, it was my job to step up and figure out how to keep everyone fed. I was seventeen and completely hopeless at school back then; Sal was always the smart one, the disciplined one, he ended up as a math professor at Loyola University. I was just some directionless, grieving kid who never shut up. But there was a place for boys like me in Chicago in the 1920s. The mob could get you money. The mob could turn that same incessant chatter that got you bruised at school into something useful. And the mob could give you a family.”

Joe watched the brownstone solemnly, meditatively, his hands in his pockets.

“My mom sobbed for an hour the first time I brought home an envelope full of bills with Hamilton’s face on them. She knew how I got it. But how could she say no, how could she tell me to stop? We’d never seen money like that. All my siblings could finish school. My sisters could have new dresses on days that weren’t Christmas and Easter, my brothers new shoes, Sal the glasses he needed so badly. My mother always had something to put in the offering plate at church. And once you were in the mob, it wasn’t exactly easy to leave. But they took care of their own. After I died, they sent my mother money for years, until her own children were established enough to support her. That’s when I learned that money wasn’t just something that put food on the dinner table or kept the lights on. It’s a way of showing loyalty, of giving people peace and comfort and meaningful choices in their lives. It’s how I’ve been taught to give back to the world. So I guess I shouldn’t have disparaged my fellow vampires back in Forks, because there’s a slice of my tragic backstory, Baby Swan. Now you know. And you should know everything, since we’re in this thing together. Or maybe I just want you to.”

I laid my palm against his cool and flawless face, ran my thumb lightly across his cheek. “You really are serious about me.”

“I am alarmingly serious about you.”

“Even though this thing of ours has an expiration date?” Since I can never become a vampire. Since I will never have the distinction of being a permanent fixture of the Lee coven.

“That’s not a problem for today. That’s a problem for ten or fifteen years from now, whenever you decide you want to settle down and have kids and do the whole Great American Dream bit. You’ll be sick of me by then anyway. You’ll be dying to get away from us. Hahaha, get it? It’s a pun. Dying to get away from the vampires.”

I couldn’t imagine ever being sick of Joseph Francis Mazzello. Still, ten or fifteen years felt almost as good as forever to me. Fifteen autumns, fifteen Christmases, fifteen journeys around the sun that he avoided so deftly. “Why me, Joe?” I asked, incredulous. “You could have anyone. Any human, any vampire. Why me?”

“Because you’re you,” he said simply. And his mystified dark eyes added: What kind of a question is that? “You’re smart and you’re hilarious and you actually care about the world, about where it came from, about where it’s going, about people and places and animals that you’ll never meet. You’re indomitable. You’re fearless almost to the point of recklessness. And yet you’re so kind. You’re even nice to Ben, and humans are never nice to him...they’re either horrified or confused, or they’re too busy fantasizing about him to remember that he’s a real fucking person. But you’ve always tried to see the good in him. Even when he didn’t deserve it.” Joe shook his head, marveling. “And yeah, I’ve...I’ve screwed around, full disclosure. I’ve done the hookup thing. And it was great for what it was. But I never wanted more. I never felt some gnawing, sentimental, Hallmark-channel need for connection, to understand who they were as people. And then I met you, and...I want to know every single goddamn thing about you. I want to know your favorite color, what books you read, what the hell is so appealing about pineapple pizza, what you dream of. I feel like I could never get tired of trying to understand you.”

A refrain circled through my mind like a whirlpool, dragging every other thought down into oblivion: I love him, I love him, I love him. “Blue,” I said at last.

“What?”

“Turquoise blue, like the sky in Arizona. That’s my favorite color.”

The smile, slow and wonderous, rippled across his face. He took my hand again. “Come on.”

Joe led me onwards, down a few blocks and around a corner, as the muted sun receded from the sky and the first stars took its place, pinpricks of celestial light in a blanket of violet, azure, amber, rust. He stopped in front of the Church of Saint Lawrence, established in 1902 according to the sign mounted on the brick wall that faced the street, perhaps the same church that he had once visited with his family as an impatient child, snickering with his brothers and sisters and kicking the back of the pew in front of him with shoes that never fit quite right. There was a fountain bubbling with transparent water, a statue of the Virgin Mary at the center, coins made of copper and nickel and zinc glinting through the water under corridors of silvery luminance cast by the streetlights.

“I lied about not having my own superpower,” Joe informed me mischievously, not at all serious.

“Oh, did you now?”

“Absolutely.” He opened his wallet, rooted around, pulled out a penny and handed it to me. “I can make wishes come true. So go ahead.” He nodded towards the fountain. “Make your wish.”

The penny was worn and nearly indecipherable, but I was just barely able to read that it had been minted in 1928. The same year Joe was turned. “Joe...I can’t just throw this away!”

“You’re not throwing it away. You’re exchanging it for a wish. Now wish.”

I closed my eyes, chose my wish, tossed the penny into the fountain. The plink it made when it hit the water was bright and yet mournful somehow, like windchimes, like flickering candlelight.

“Outstanding job,” Joe complimented.

He was so visibly proud, so content, so faultless. The streetlights threw shadows across the sidewalk, the fountain, the whole world it seemed. I laced my fingers behind his neck, gazing up at him. “What are we doing tonight, mob guy?”

“I’m so glad you asked. You see, we have options.”

“Let’s hear them.”

“Door Number One,” Joe began. “It’s been a long day, and you’re exhausted from the illustrious honor of witnessing a Cubs victory firsthand. So we go back to the hotel, find some shark documentary on tv, order room service, shower, and drift off into a peaceful slumber. Just like last night.”

“Not bad. How about Door Number Two?”

“Door Number Two. You’re tired, but not that tired. We go back to the hotel, find that same aforementioned shark documentary, but totally ignore it and make out instead. Maybe we even round second base, in the spirit of the Cubs. Whatever you’re up for. Then we shower and drift off into a peaceful slumber.”

“Even better,” I said, and I meant it. “And what’s Door Number Three?”

Now Joe became jittery; his eyes darted to the fountain, the church, the cars that rolled lazily by. He was so desperate to conceal his hope, to not impose any undue influence upon me. I felt infinitesimal, almost weightless drops of rain against my cheeks, my collarbones, the downy undersides of my arms. “Well, uh, Door Number Three is...it’s...well...uh...it’s...”

Door Number Three is a home fucking run. “I want Door Number Three.”

“Really? Because you don’t have to say that, you can say no, that’s completely fine, it’s more than fine actually, it’s awesome, it’s totally cool, I’m seriously fine either way, and you can obviously change your mind whenever—”

“Wait.” I broke away from him, yanked my own wallet out of my purse, found the Official Whatever You Want Pass, hastily unfolded it, and presented it to Joe. “I want Door Number Three.”

He barked out a shocked laugh, accepted the pass, studied it in disbelief. “You are full of surprises, ma’am. It took me a hundred years to find a woman like you. And I don’t think I ever will again. Makes one wonder if this whole eternity thing is all it’s cracked up to be.” He tucked the pass into his pocket and kissed me beneath the streetlights, beneath the stars. “So there’s one tiny caveat to my wish-granting superpower.”

“Yeah?”

He smiled impishly, nudging the tip of my nose with his. “You have to tell me what you wished for.” He was joking, as he almost always was; I didn’t have to tell him anything. He wouldn’t press the issue. I doubted that he was really expecting me to answer at all. And yet I wanted to tell Joe; I yearned, for once, to be as clear as Lucy had said he was.

“For you and me,” I replied in little more than a whisper. “And for forever.”

Home

The only thing that startled me was how profoundly unstartling it all was, how wholly uncomplicated, how effortless.

I didn’t feel like a different person afterwards. I didn’t feel that some latent spark of lust, of carnality had been ignited, had singed through me, had left me forever marked like the heights of children ticked off on a doorframe over decades; I felt neither ruined nor awakened, no wiser, no older, no more enlightened as to the incalculable eccentricities of the vast and enigmatic universe. I felt only happiness, and exhausted satisfaction, and a deep, dreamless peace that engulfed me like frothy fingertips of waves dragging pebbles and shells back into the sea. I felt only a homecoming that was measured not in miles but in soul.

We slept in as the morning sun rose over Lake Michigan, bought Ben a hoodie (black, of course, per his usual aesthetic) from the University of Chicago gift shop, strolled unhurriedly through the dimly-lit, relentlessly blue pathways of the Shedd Aquarium. As I stood in the glass tunnel and watched sawfish and blacktip reef sharks soar by overhead, Joe linked his arms around my waist, tucked his chin into the dip of my collarbone, kissed the slope of my jaw.

“What do you think?” he asked, perhaps a touch apprehensively. “Could you get used to the Chicago life for a few years?”

“I would be tempted to kidnap some of these guys and bring them home to live in our bathtub. But yes.”

And Joe murmured, smiling, his lips to my temple: “That’s illegal, ma’am.”

Our flight back to the West Coast took off after dusk, and there was no blinding sunlight for Joe to avoid; only immense glooms of clouds and gleaming distant stars and the unfathomable void of space, cursed with crushing pressure and darkness like the cervices of the ocean floor.

Fifteen years might not be enough, I thought, resting my forehead against the cold airplane window as the city lights died behind us, as Joe’s hand weaved through mine on the armrest. But forever sounds just about right.

Larkin

There once was a boy born in a stone cottage with a dirt floor in a vanishingly inconsequential village just west of Clifden, Ireland. It was February 9th, 1672, bitterly cold, miserably wet, and the sea was murderous with storms. His mother was illiterate, as her mother had been, and as her mother had been as well, all the way back to people who painted mammoths on cave walls with their fingers; she was thirty-three and already exhausted with living, her seven children forever underfoot, her full and ruddy cheeks perpetually smudged with dirt from the field and ashes from the fire. Her husband was a failure and a drunk, but half a day’s worth of work once or twice a week was better than none at all; and as much as she never would have admitted it, he was a tether for her in a world that was often, as she had learned, both lonely and cruel.

She gave the baby boy a name—a strong Irish name, none of that audacious English rubbish—that meant rough or fierce, just like the sea that rose and ruptured against the rocky cliffs outside. He would need to be rough to survive in this world. He would need to be fierce.

He began like all the other children had been: sweet and yet anonymous, yielding, needful, worryingly small. She rocked him absently with one arm as she stirred the stew pot with the other. She sang to him, told him stories long before he could comprehend them, tales of the Lord and the saints and all their malevolent adversaries: serpents, pestilence, demons, dragons. She tossed stray sticks to him so he could carve pictures into the dirt floor and keep out of the way as she labored with the laundry or the sewing. And he grew, and he grew; and there was nothing remarkable about him at all, that boy speckled with mud and soot and the perpetual bruises of children mostly left to their own devices, that boy with pallid skin like his mother’s and black hair like his father’s and eyes so light and vibrant a brown they were nearly gold.

The boy was a baby, and then a child, and then a young man. And his mother realized one day—all at once, as a mother does when their attention is divided among so many other lives, when the children’s analogous faces bleed into each other and even their names sometimes escape her, even those names that she had chosen herself from the stories her own mother once passed to her through threadbare whispers—that people had a habit of following him, of listening to him. That there was an ether of allure that hovered around him like the mists that clung to the precarious, crumbling cliffs that touched the sea; that there was something like what the heathens called magic. And when the war came, that boy who was no longer a boy left his mother’s stone cottage and enlisted in Clifden, lied about his age, signed his name with an X because that was all he knew how to spell. But he was sure to tell the man who handled the ledger that he did have a real name, a good Irish name, a name apt for a soldier, a name that his mother had told him meant rough or fierce: Larkin.

There are men who join wars out of loyalty, principle, love for their homes; and then there are men who join to escape their homes, perhaps to forget them entirely. If you were to consult that ledger signed in a pub in Clifden, Ireland in 1688, you would read that I fought for Ireland, for the Catholics, for Christ the Lord and all his saints. But what I really fought for was my own resurrection: to take that boy stained with dirt and ignorance, drown him in the blood of other mothers’ trivial sons, and dredge up some greater version of myself that I had always known existed, that was hidden somewhere in the netlike darkness of the marrow of my bones.

People follow me, and they always have. I couldn’t tell you why. When I called them to enlist, when I thrusted swords and pikes into their calloused farmers’ fists, when I told them they could fight and live to see their wretched homes again, they believed me. I climbed the ranks like a ladder, like a mountain made of bones. And all those other mothers’ sons laid down for me so I could walk across the bridge of their spines to what I mistakenly assumed was invincibility.

At the Battle Of The Boyne, my horse was shot out from under me. A Williamite caught me beneath the ribs with his dagger. And as I bled out, staring up at the sky and impatiently waiting for the pain to vanish as my consciousness withdrew like low tide, I became aware that someone was lifting me, holding me, spiriting me through the battlefield and then the wilderness; and that my pain, in a disconcerting turn of events, had swelled to a vicious and unrelenting inferno.  

Three days later, I woke to find that I was resurrected again, this time as something more than human. The man who turned me was blond-haired, light-eyed, agile and yet gentle, ancient and yet ever-changing.

“I thought you’d survive,” Nikolai said in a thick Slavic accent, standing over me with a kind smile. Then he helped me to my feet. “You have greatness in you. It sweats out of your pores, it’s in every word you speak. What a shame it would be for all of that to go to waste.”

He taught me everything: how to read and write, how to hunt, how to dodge the sunlight, how to survive an existence that was both theoretically endless and yet forever on the precipice of being cut short. He introduced me to the Draghi, to vampires who were remarkable for their ferocity, or their creativity, or their curiosity, or their cleverness, or all those things at once: Victorien, Honora, Elizabeth, Kestrel, Zhang, Sergei, Ana, Gwilym. And most crucially, Nikolai showed me that my human talents were magnified several times over, that his own followers were not immune to them, that there was power in collecting exceptional individuals like pieces of china stacked in a locked cabinet; and that if I could learn to climb immortal bones, the ladder never needed to end.  

You never quite get used to the power, to the invincibility, to the promise of eternity. You never take it for granted. It hits you, again and again, in ceaseless and victorious waves. Once I was a barefoot toddler who sketched dragons and Catholic saints from the stories my mother told me into the dirt floor of our drafty stone cottage. Now I live in palaces with marble floors, with spiral staircases and libraries and gold-dripping ballrooms, with unobstructed views of any sea I choose. Now I am the dragon.

My phone rang, and I checked the name on the screen. Then I answered. “Hello, beauty. How’s the other side of the Pacific treating you?”

And Liesl answered, in a soft and astonished voice: “I don’t think Lucy can read her. I don’t think any of them can.”

I could feel it again. Another wave, crashing through me like the ocean, like the unstoppable rolling of time: power and insatiability and exhilaration. I smiled in my twilight-lit study as long-dead stars rose outside and the wind howled like wolves over the East Sea. “You know what to do.”

[omg-imagine]

⊱ Forget Me Not (1/15) ⊰

Pairing: Keanu Reeves x Reader

Summary: After you wake up from a coma and realize that your memories from the last five years have been erased, Keanu works to bring back what you have lost.

Words: 2k

Warnings: Mention of car accident, injuries

A/N: This is my first attempt in doing a series and I’m super excited/nervous. Everything’s mostly outlined already and I’m hoping to post a new chapter every Sunday.  If you’d like to be tagged in this, let me know! 

As always, I hope you enjoy!

The heavy rain poured down from the dark skies, battering against the roof of Keanu’s Porsche like a hail of bullets. Loud roars of thunder filled the gaps of silence every few minutes, followed by bright flashes of lightning that illuminated the world outside. The wipers moved impressively fast as they tried to sweep the droplets of water away from the windshield. Still, they could barely keep up with the torrent of rain hammering the city of Los Angeles.

Turning down a corner, Keanu cursed under his breath when he realized that the road was flooded. He quickly made a U-Turn back onto the main street, his tires skidding across the wet pavement. He searched for an alternative way that he could take, but the chaotic storm only made it more difficult for him to do so. He could hardly see what was ahead of him, and he was beginning to lose his patience.

Fortunately, Keanu was able to find an access road leading to the freeway. He knew it wasn’t safe going twenty miles above the posted speed limit, but he had already lost too much time trying to navigate through the storm. All he cared about at that moment was that the faster he drove, the quicker he got to you.

He could still remember every word of that phone call from nearly an hour ago. It was from an unknown number, and initially, he didn’t want to answer it just in case you decided to call him back. But something in his gut told Keanu to answer, and he did. It had been a nurse on the other line saying that you were in an accident, and you were rushed to the emergency room in critical condition. As soon as he heard that you were hurt, he was already running out of the door.

His eyes glistened as he thought back to the moment before you had left your shared home in such a haste. Keanu blamed himself for giving you a reason to leave the house while a storm raged outside. He should have held back his tongue, took your car keys, and convinced you harder enough to stay. If only he had done just that, you wouldn’t be in this situation right now.

The rest of the drive to the hospital was a blur. After driving for fifteen minutes when it should have taken Keanu at least thirty, he finally arrived in front of Cedars-Sinai Medical Center. He parked his vehicle in a nearby lot before rushing towards the entrance, the pitiless rain soaking his hair and clothes in an instant. Reaching the glass doors, they parted for Keanu to step inside, and he immediately headed to the main desk ahead.

“Hi, I-I’m here for my partner, Y/N Y/LN,” he managed to say as he caught his breath.

The nurse nodded, checking her system for your information. “Yes, I was the one who called. Your name was listed as Y/N’s emergency contact. According to the last update on here, it says that she was wheeled into surgery about thirty minutes ago, Mr. Reeves.”

“Is she going to be alright?” Keanu asked wearily, hoping that her answer was what he wanted to hear.

It wasn’t.

“We don’t know yet, sir,” she replied sadly before placing a clipboard on top of the counter. “You can sit in the waiting room until the procedure is over. In the meantime, we need you to fill out these papers on her behalf.”

With a nod of his head, Keanu walked down the hall with the paperwork and a pen in hand. The waiting area was stark and quiet. The television mounted on the wall was playing a movie, not that there was anyone paying attention to it. There were a couple of other people scattered in the room, though most were asleep due to the late hour of the night.

Keanu took a lone seat in one corner of the room, ignoring the uncomfortable sensation of his drenched clothing sticking to his skin. He then pushed his long hair back, letting out a deep sigh. The adrenaline had finally subsided, and he had the opportunity to just breathe. He already knew that this was going to be a long wait, and he didn’t want to spend the whole time mulling about the things that he could have done to prevent this. As a start, he decided to concentrate on filling up the paper with your information first.

Most of the questions it asked were basic, nothing that Keanu couldn’t answer. After being together for nearly five years, he knew everything there was to know about you. He knew all of your favorite songs, the foods you liked and disliked, the names of your closest friends, and more.

You had been nothing but kind and understanding to Keanu from the moment you two met. It wasn’t an easy life living under the public eye because of his job as an actor, but you’ve always handled it so well. No other person he has ever dated had made him feel so happy and complete. To him, you were the most precious thing in the entire world, and he has never loved someone so deeply until you came along.

God, why did he have to screw up so badly?

Keanu set aside the clipboard and buried his face in his hands. He needed to call your parents and tell them what had happened. With a sharp exhale, he fished out his phone from his pocket and called your father. As the phone rang in his ear, he planned inside his head how he was going to break the news.

“Hi, Keanu,” your father greeted. He sounded as if he had just woken up, which he probably did. It was only five in the morning where they lived on the east coast. “Is everything okay, son?”

Son. Keanu was very close to your parents since the day you introduced him to them. They had quickly taken a liking on him, seeing that he was the first man you’ve dated that treated you right. Your parents loved Keanu as if he were one of their own, and it broke his heart knowing that this was all his fault.

“I’m sorry for waking you up, but...” Keanu began, his voice starting to break as he tried to find the right words. “It’s Y/N.”

“What? What happened?”

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Keanu told your father about your current condition. As expected, your parents would be taking the first flight out of New York to be with you. After an exchange of reassuring words, the call ended, and Keanu couldn’t hold back any longer, letting his tears finally fall.

An hour went by, then another and another. The clock on display made time felt as though it was moving much slower, making the wait much more unbearable. Keanu would glance up, and in every instance, he swore that the second hand would linger an extra minute at every passing second.

The padded chairs didn’t bring much comfort throughout the night. Every so often, he would walk around the room, stretching his legs for a bit before returning to his seat. Despite exhaustion threatening to take over, Keanu pushed it aside for as long as he could. He was afraid that if he dared to shut his eyes, he would see the nightmare that was already haunting him even while awake.

Keanu did whatever he could to pass the time. He texted his mother and sisters about where you were, not expecting an answer right away because he was sure they were still asleep. He then attempted to read some of the outdated magazines available and watched whatever was on the television. He even resorted to simply staring at the window and watching the rain as it pelted against the glass.

But none of them were enough to distract Keanu. All he could think about was your well-being, and how you didn’t deserve to go through this. He didn’t want to lose you, and the mere thought of it was scaring him. You had so much life left to live, and it wouldn’t be fair for the universe to suddenly take it away.

Eventually, the storm relented, and the skies that were black shifted to blue, signaling a new day of life. The sun rose slowly yet surely, its natural light bringing a sense of calm to Keanu. For a brief moment, he basked in the peacefulness, only wishing that you were there with him to enjoy it.

“Mr. Reeves?”

Keanu turned around, his eyes catching sight of a doctor standing before him. He instantly pushed himself up from his seat, extending his hand for a shake.

“Keanu, and you must be Y/N’s doctor.”

“Yes, my name is Dr. Henderson,” the older gentleman introduced. “How are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright, I guess,” he replied with a slight shrug. “How’s Y/N?”

“Well, when Y/N first arrived, she was in bad shape, but we managed to stabilize her. The car accident caused a lot of internal bleeding that we were able to stop during the surgery,” Henderson explained as Keanu took in every word that was said. “Unfortunately, she’s not out of the woods yet. She did sustain severe head trauma, and as a result, she’s currently in a coma. We won’t know the extent of her injuries until after she wakes up.”

Keanu lowered his head, releasing the breath he was holding. “And when will she wake up?”

The doctor sighed, and that’s when Keanu looked up, seeing the uncertainty painted on the other man’s face. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reeves. We don’t know how long it’ll take. It could be days, weeks, maybe even months.”

“Okay,” was all that Keanu could say after a while. “Can I see her?”

Dr. Henderson gave him a sympathetic smile and a nod. “Of course.”

Henderson led the way as Keanu trailed closely behind. The walk to your room seemed endless. Every hallway they turned down to looked the same as the last. The blank white walls of the hospital felt cold, constricting and unwelcoming, it was becoming a place where a person like you shouldn’t belong.

Soon, they reached the foot of your door, your last name printed on a placard just below the room number. All Keanu had to do now was push down on the handle and open the door. His mind prepared him for what he was about to see. But as soon as he entered inside, it was worse than what he could imagine.

He crossed the room with cautious steps, afraid that if he were loud enough, it might disturb you. Your body was hooked on many machines, none of which he could possibly know what for other than they helped keep you alive. Once he reached your bedside, Keanu saw your delicate skin littered with the reds of your scratches and the blues of your bruises. Seeing you this way made his chest tightened, and if he could, he would trade places with you so that you no longer had to suffer.

Your body laid very still, and it was unnerving for Keanu to witness. Bringing a chair closer, he then sat down beside your bed, reaching out to hold your uninjured hand. He asked himself how you could look so peaceful after experiencing so much pain. If you had been awake, you would have surely given him a smart answer, and the two of you would then laugh about it.

Keanu felt the tears pricking his eyes as he continued to grasp your hand in his. He would do anything in the world just to hear the sweet sound of your laughter again. Though he was unsure of what tomorrow and the following days would bring, he knew that he would be right there by your side, waiting for you to wake up from your deep sleep.

Because despite everything that has happened, Keanu loved you, and he made a vow that he would never give up on you no matter what.

Part 2

Tagged: @penwieldingdreamer​