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torreshalstead · 10 months

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Your eyes in my life - Chapter 18

Summary - The night of Kim’s final layover as a flight attendant ended with a one night stand with a stranger she met across a bar. 6 years later, that same stranger walked into the 21st District and was assigned as her new Rookie and her life was thrown upside down. She hadn’t seen Adam since that night in LA. But she saw his eyes every day. In the eyes of their daughter.

Chapters - 18/?

Chapter Summary - After a heart to heart and a late night, it’s too late to head home so Adam crashes at Kim’s.

Notes - this didn’t end quite the way I planned but Kim had some feelings and I just rolled with it! Hope you enjoy! AO3 Link

Adam hadn’t planned on staying so late at Kim’s but Annabelle had wanted him to read to her before bed and he wasn’t going to turn down an opportunity to spend more time with her, so three chapters later she had finally fallen asleep.

Tucking her in and placing a gentle kiss to her forehead, he headed back out to the living room, not before taking a moment to lean against the door frame and watch her sleep. He remembered hearing stories of how parents could watch their children sleep for hours, peacefully gazing as the minutes ticked by. Before her, he could never have imagined doing so but now he struggled to tear himself away.

‘She’s beautiful isn’t she,’ Kim said softly from next to him. He had been so transfixed on his daughter's sleepy breathing that he hadn’t noticed her appear.

‘She really is,’ Adam agreed with a warm smile.

‘A beer?’ Kim offered and when Adam nodded she wandered back into the kitchen. Adam stole one final glance before closing the door softly and joining her, the apartment suddenly missing the sounds of Annabelle’s constant chatter and excitement.

Adam thanked her when Kim passed him a beer, twisted off the cap and took a long gulp. ‘I needed that,’ he said, wiping the back of his hand across his mouth with a little chuckle.

‘Are you really okay with cutting your Dad out of your life?’ Kim asked suddenly. It sounded like the question had been on the tip of her tongue all night and Adam silently thanked her for waiting until Annabelle was asleep to ask it.

‘If you’d have asked me before today, I don’t think I could have given you a solid answer,’ he said calmly, taking a seat on the couch and smiling when Kim sat down on the other end of it and casually rested her legs across his lap. ‘But now, I think becoming a father has made me realise just how much of a lousy one he really was.’

Kim made a noise of acknowledgment but allowed him to continue, quietly sipping her beer, eyes fixed on him.

‘I see how much of yourself you give to Annabelle, how much you’ve had to sacrifice for her and he never did anything like that. I mean my sister pretty much ran away from the city just to be away from him. We were never his first priority and now it confuses me more than anything else. I’ve not even known Annabelle for 2 months and yet I would put her first every time, anything she wants, needs, I would go to the ends of the earth for her.’ Adam took a long drink from the bottle. ‘He knew us our whole lives and still wouldn’t pick us over a poker game or drinks with his mates. We were just baggage to him. And I’m done even letting him have an impact on my life anymore.’

‘You’re a wonderful father Adam,’ Kim said quietly after he fell into a thoughtful silence. ‘I hope you know that.’

Adam pulled his eyes away from where he had been picking at the label of the bottle. ‘Thanks Kim.’

The pair fell into a comfortable silence, and when Kim held up the TV remote in a silent question, Adam nodded. She scrolled through Netflix and settled on Friends, her most recently watched TV show, the familiar scenes flickering to life across the screen.

It was comfortable, sitting here with Kim, the TV playing, Annabelle asleep in the other room. Adam had unconsciously begun drawing circles on Kim’s legs where they were still resting across his lap, his fingers dancing delicately across her skin.

They didn’t need to talk, the weight of the previous conversation still lingering in the air. A couple of episodes later, Adam glanced at his watch.

‘Shit, it’s late. I should get going,’ he said, making a move to stand but Kim didn’t shift.

‘You can stay if you want,’ she offered with a shrug as if the offer wasn’t completely out of the blue.

‘I don’t want to impose,’ Adam countered. In reality the thought of staying and being here when Annabelle woke up, maybe making her breakfast or getting the chance to take her to school, well he’d love to.

‘You wouldn’t be, this couch is pretty comfortable,’ Kim chuckled, patting the couch cushion with a grin.

‘You got a blanket?’ He asked, raising an eyebrow at her.

‘I have many,’ she got up and opened the chest in the corner, a selection of multi-coloured blankets becoming apparent. She tugged out a blue fleece one and threw it over to him. ‘I’ll go grab you a pillow too but make yourself comfy.’ She disappeared for a moment but reappeared, a purple pillow tucked under her arm.

Adam wondered for a second if it was one from her own bed, he’d later find that to be the case when he fell asleep awash in the smell of her emanating from the soft fabric.

‘Goodnight then,’ Kim said with a slightly bashful smile.

‘Goodnight,’ Adam murmured quietly, watching as she disappeared into her bedroom, the door closing quietly behind her. ‘Sweet dreams.’

——————————————————————————

Adam was awoken to a little giggle, opening his eyes he saw Annabelle sitting on the arm of the couch watching him sleep. He supposed it was only fair as he had done the same last night.

‘Morning you,’ he said sleepily, stretching and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

‘Why did you sleep out here?’ She said, a huge smile on her face, her legs kicking back and forth.

‘It was late after your Mom and I finished watching TV and I was sleepy so she said I could sleep over,’ Adam said, trying in vain to flatten his hair that he was certain was sticking out at all kinds of angles.

‘Why didn’t you have a sleepover with Mommy then?’ She asked, her legs still kicking.

Adam had to stop his eyes from widening like saucers at the thought. ‘Because your Mommy has her bed and I fit just perfectly on this couch,’ he said, thinking quickly for an excuse, gesturing to his legs and how they took up the length of the cushions.

‘Can we have pancakes for breakfast?’ She asked, clearly satisfied with his answer and happy to change the subject.

‘I think we probably can but maybe we check with Mom before we make a mess of her kitchen,’ he said with a grin.

‘Who’s making a mess of my kitchen?’ Kim said cheerfully as she walked into the living room, smiling at the sight of Adam and their daughter on the couch together.

‘Adam’s going to make us pancakes Mommy!’ Annabelle exclaimed, bouncing over to her and throwing her little arms around her legs.

‘Now that sounds like a perfect breakfast,’ Kim smiled, throwing a wink over at Adam.

‘Only if I’ve got a helper,’ Adam said standing up from the couch. Annabelle pulled away from Kim and her hand shot up in the air.

‘I can help!’ She said loudly, her grin just as loud as her voice.

‘Alright then,’ Adam announced, walking over to the kitchen, pulling out the step stool he had spotted the previous evening and lifting up Annabelle to stand on it next to the counter. ‘Now we start with mixing the dry ingredients, do you think you could be my master mixer?’ He asked Annabelle seriously, his brown eyes twinkled as he looked down at the excited little girl.

She nodded fiercely, and he chuckled lightly.

Kim watched from the corner, marvelling at how easily Adam instructed Annabelle to make her favourite breakfast staple. She smiled widely when Annabelle declared they must have chocolate chips in them and giggled when she stuffed some in her mouth when Adam’s back was turned, and feigned innocence when he asked why the pile was significantly smaller than it had been.

This was what Kim had always imagined when she had pictured having a family of her own one day. Lazy mornings making breakfast together, the father of her children bringing her breakfast in bed, her children, the perfect mixture of her and him, beaming with pride at their creation. For years it had been just her and Annabelle, and although it wasn’t what she had thought it would be when she was younger, she loved every second of their lives together. And yet, now when it was the three of them together, it was like maybe there had been a piece missing all along. The three of them worked perfectly together, Adam was an amazing father and she could tell how much Annabelle already adored him and loved having him in her life. And Kim loved it too. Loved having someone else who understood just what an incredible kid she had, someone she could turn to, someone to share this all with. And she was glad it was Adam.

There was a part of her last night who didn’t want him to stay on the couch and not because she wanted him to leave. It had been years since she had fallen asleep in his arms on that fateful night in LA, but she would be lying if she said she didn’t remember it clearly. And remember it well enough to know that she wanted to do it again. But it was complicated. She couldn’t just invite him into her bed after all this time. He might not want to for a start, and that would make the situation incredibly awkward. And even if he did, there was still the matter of work. She was his supervisor, he still had another 4 weeks until he passed his probationary period and she would no longer be his training officer. It was inappropriate to invite her rookie into her bed, no matter how much she wanted to.

So she had settled for letting him sleep on the sofa and letting her dreams be filled with images of him instead. It might still be inappropriate but there was nothing in the FTO handbook that said one couldn’t dream about one’s rookie. And there definitely wasn’t a caveat if said rookie was also the father of one’s child.

Kim obviously found Adam attractive, she’d have never danced with him or spent the night with him in LA if she didn’t. But seeing him here, in her kitchen, covered in flour, dancing around with their daughter. His attractiveness was off the scale. And when he grinned and winked at her, she would have to admit that she was a little weak in the knees

#burzek #Adam ruzek #Kim burgess #Chicago pd #burzek fanfiction #chicago pd fanfiction #one Chicago #burzek fanfic #chicago pd fanfic #burzek fic #chicago pd fic

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satonthelotuspier · 4 years

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Fur and Feathers

Honestly I’ve had so much lovely feedback about this, so unexpectedly because it was a stupid idea for an AU that got super angsty (it’ll get better!), its definitely a good motivation to write.

Please accept this angsty of a second part of XiCheng.

XiCheng Part 2

“How long are you going to bear a grudge, Jiang Cheng? Don’t you think you’re being a little too...catty?” Wei Wuxian asked him from the limbs of a nearby tree.

It was a hot summer’s day and Jiang Cheng had stripped down to his trousers, taken his hair ornament out, and paused on the bank, ready to take a cooling dip in the lotus lake.

“I’ve managed three or four years so far, Wei Wuxian, I’m going quite strong” with those words he launched himself into the water.

Honestly, his inner cat squirmed at being in the lake; it was particularly times like this that he wished he was a tiger like Jiang Yanli, an inner tiger would welcome a cooling swim on a summers day. His animal would prefer he stretched out on the grass and soaked up the sun, until he got too hot then did the same in the shade of a tree.

He surfaced, pushing his hair back and wiping the stream of water out of his eyes, “Inner cat me doesn’t understand freckles or sunburn on fair skin” he muttered to himself.

He yelped as he felt hands grab him around one leg, and he was pulled back under the water by Wei Wuxian, who had joined him.

Drawn by the Jiang Sect heir and it’s head disciple’s yells and shouts some of the other disciples made their way to the banks of the lake and were soon stripped and had joined them in their play.

It was a lazy afternoon. Wei Wuxian and Jiang Cheng rarely got to spend their time doing nothing of any worth these days and it was a nice change of pace for them.

Later they moved to sit on the banks of the lake under the shade of trees, drying off in the warm air before they stirred themselves to return to Lotus Pier.

Wei Wuxian tried to talk to Jiang Cheng again about his stubbornness.

“Honestly, it’s been so long, why are you still avoiding Lan Xichen?”

“Does it look like that’s what I’m doing?” Jiang Cheng asked innocently. “I’m just going to see my good friend Nie Huaisang in Qinghe”

“At the same time as the Lans are planning to be at Lotus Pier on a diplomatic visit”

“Is that happening next month too? Unlucky timing” Jiang Cheng shrugged, and laid back against the tree roots. His cat wanted to take a quick nap in the warmth, and Jiang Cheng the human wasn’t averse to the idea.

“You’re so stubborn, Jiang Cheng” Wei Wuxian complained, settling down next to him. They cat-napped for a while, before stirring themselves to go back to Lotus Pier as the sky began to dim towards dusk.

“I really think you should reconsider going to Qinghe next month, Jiang Cheng, you’ve snubbed the Lans for too long now, its being noticed”

“You’re just unhappy because it’s upsetting your boyfriend’s brother” Jiang Cheng rolled his eyes; when Wei Wuxian was giving him lectures on etiquette the world was upside down.

Wei Wuxian made an exclamation of annoyance. “Lan Zhan isn’t my boyfriend, we’re friends, Jiang Cheng”

Really? Jiang Cheng wondered if Lan Wangji knew they were just friends, because not from what he had seen of the second Jade of Lan, who was softly, quietly in love with his oblivious sibling.

“Friends would be something you’d know more about if you didn’t have such a terrible personality” Wei Wuxian continued, and he hip-checked Jiang Cheng off of the wooden walkway they traversed, and back into the lotus lake.

“Wei Wuxian!” he yelled as he surfaced. Once he got out of the water he was going to change into his cat body and claw Wei Wuxian into a million tiny pieces. He swam back to the boardwalk and hefted the bundle of now-sodden robes he’d been carrying onto it. He was about to heave himself up when a long, slender hand was offered to help. He took it without thinking, and he was lifted out of the water almost without any help on his own part.

He gained his feet, then followed the arm the hand was attached to, and up to a face he hadn’t expected he’d see in the next hundred years.

“You!” he exclaimed, his temper flaring at having been caught off guard, and incredibly vulnerable.

“Jiang Wanyin” Lan Xichen greeted him.

Rather than enact the respectful greeting he should give the First Jade of Lan, he bent to scoop his wet robes up, turned on his heel and marched off.

“Jiang Cheng, if I tell Madam Yu what a rude little wretch you’re being you’d be in serious trouble” Wei Wuxian called after him.

“That’s fine, Wei-gongzi, I caught Jiang-gongzi at a disadvantage, sodden and half-dressed is no comfortable state to greet guests in”

Jiang Cheng ground his teeth as he continued to stalk back to Lotus Pier, honestly couldn’t Lan Xichen have shown some of this forbearance in the Cloud Recesses when he’d verbally attacked Jiang Cheng for hiding his cat form when trying to offer comfort to the older boy?

“The only disadvantage Jiang Cheng has is his personality” he heard Wei Wuxian complain before he passed out of hearing.

***

Call him childish, but he had his things together in a pack and was ready to set out for Qinghe within the hour.

Except he couldn’t find Sandu. He had definitely had his sword with him when he entered his room yet it was now nowhere to be found. It was impossible that it had just grown legs and walked away.

Therefore there was only one, sable-flavoured possibility.

He stomped out of his rooms and went to bang on Wei Wuxian’s door.

“I want my sword back, Wei Wuxian”

“I don’t have it” Wei Wuxian told him shortly, throwing his door open.

“Who else could have taken it but you in your little weasel form?”

“I’m a sable, check the beautiful fur coat” he flickered between forms, knowing it would irritate Jiang Cheng. It did.

“I don’t care, I want to leave. Don’t pretend it wasn’t you”

“I didn’t say I didn’t take it, Jiang Cheng, I said I don’t have it. Look, it’s been so long, it’s time to let it go. All you’re doing is convincing everyone you’re a spoiled little brat at this point”

He was so angered by the fact he was trapped here, and by Wei Wuxian’s chiding, he was rendered speechless. He stalked back to his own rooms and slammed the doors shut.

He paced and he brooded.

He shifted to cat form, hoping to diffuse the feeling. He shredded his blanket and put some rather nasty scratches in his bed frame, then he began to angrily groom himself. Calmer after taking some of his frustration out on furniture and his own hygiene he sank into a crouch on top of his ripped blankets, tail still flicking back and forth with the remnants of his irritation.

***

Later he was asked to attend his parents in his father’s study. Jiang Cheng arrived to find, as expected, Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren in attendance too, as well as Wei Wuxian.

He had two choices; to act like the spoiled brat Wei Wuxian had accused him of being and no doubt draw his mother’s ire, or act like the perfect son of the perfect hosts.

He would probably take more personal satisfaction from the former. Until his mother had him whipped, that was.

Instead Jiang Cheng sat primly neat at his place, made all the correct shows of respect to their visitors, sipped tea, and looked like he was paying close attention to the exchanges.

In reality he considered the question of Sandu. It was highly likely his sword was in his mother’s possession, as Wei Wuxian had assured him he didn’t have it. He didn’t really like his chances of continued survival if he dared to try and steal it back, however. Which meant there would be no sword travel to Qinghe yet.

He could walk, or try to buy a horse at one of the farms on the way, but then he’d be travelling across country without his sword for defence and he didn’t enjoy that idea at all.

There was a sudden clatter of several cups in the study, which told Jiang Cheng he had missed something important. Or controversial.

He glanced at Wei Wuxian, who looked ashen, then at Lan Xichen, who also looked disturbed.

He wished he had been paying attention to understand what had shocked them both so.

“Respect Shufu, Jiang-zongzhu, Yu-furen, but Wangji’s heart is already spoken for” Lan Xichen had cupped his hands and lowered his head in a bow as he spoke the words. Jiang Cheng wanted to know what Lan Wangji being in love with Wei Wuxian had to do with whatever was being discussed amongst their elders.

Although he was beginning to experience a sinking feeling in his stomach as he had an inkling.

“Attachments hardly enter into a political alliance, Lan-gongzi” Madam Yu told him, her face impassive.

“Of course, Yu-furen. Forgive me, but it seems unnecessary to me to involve Wangji, who’s interest lies elsewhere…” there was an infinitesimal pause by Lan Xichen where he worried his lip in an unusual show of indecision, “...when I have no such prior reservations, and have as much to bring to the alliance as Wangji” his eyes darted to Jiang Cheng’s briefly, then away again just as quickly.

You have to be joking me.

Jiang Cheng sat in absolute stillness, if he had been in his cat form his tail would be flickering back and forth in irritation.

If his ability to fill in the gaps he had missed was accurate he was being offered up in sacrifice to a political alliance with the Lans, just as Jiang Yanli had been married off to Jin Zixuan to cement ties between the Jin and Jiang clans.

Jiang Cheng understood logically why the clans were forming strong alliances through his generation; show the Wens the other large clans were a solid, like-minded unit and it would keep their autocratic aspirations within check.

Perhaps it was also fair to say Lan Xichen was the sacrifice rather than Jiang Cheng; he had offered himself up in his brother’s place, most likely because he knew Lan Wangji loved Wei Wuxian.

And yes, Wei Wuxian loved Lan Wangji despite the odd friendship he imagined the two were in, Wei Wuxian just needed more time to realise friendship wasn’t the only thing that Lan Wangji wanted from him.

Jiang Cheng couldn't justify ruining Wei Wuxian’s chance at happiness just because of his distaste for the elder Lan brother. But did it have to be the Lans?

“What about Nie Huaisang of Qinghe Nie?” he spoke before he had time to judge the inherent insult in his words; and by the time he realised it was too late to retract them.

Despite the direct insult he had just offered the Lan clan, his suggestion was the ideal solution to Jiang Cheng’s mind.

An alliance with a large, influential sect, and marriage to one of his best friends. If he had to marry for political reasons why not to Huaisang? They got on well, they had fun together, they knew each other well enough for there to be few surprises. A solution that pleased everyone.

Except one person, as his mother was happy to tell him, “Nie Mingjue wouldn’t let you within a thousand Li of his brother for the purposes of marriage. He has been vocal enough of his unhappiness at your continued friendship. Considering what ill-breeding you continue to show I can hardly fault his objection” if Jiang Cheng had a sharp tongue it was learned entirely from one woman, and she excelled at using it.

Jiang Cheng flushed and lowered his eyes, neatly silenced.

He felt Wei Wuxian’s hand nudge his in silent comfort.

The Lans had borne the insult with their famed poise, but Jiang Cheng could see something a little like fire in Lan Qiren’s eyes. It seemed Wei Wuxian wasn’t the only son of Yunmeng who was able to anger the de facto leader of the Lan clan.

He knew what he had to do. “I beg Lan-laoshi’s and Zewu-jun’s forgiveness for my unintentional insult” he apologised, and Wei Wuxian squeezed his hand once in support.

Madam Yu hardly allowed them to respond before she returned to the initial topic.

“So, is it to be Lan Wangji or Lan Xichen who is given to the Jiang sect in marriage, Lan-laoshi?”

There was no doubt how torn Lan Qiren looked when confronted with the choice.

“Your nephew, whichever it may be, will be treated with the utmost respect and kindness as a member of the Jiang clan” Jiang Fengmian spoke for the first time in a while.

“I have no doubt, but thank you, Jiang-zongzhu” Lan Qiren inclined his head, then looked at Lan Xichen.

“Shufu, it’s the right choice to make” Lan Xichen urged, and eventually Lan Qiren nodded once in agreement.

***

The youngsters were dismissed shortly after the agreement had been reached, so discussions on the business side of a betrothal could be discussed, no doubt they were negotiating dowries and fixing a date for the wedding.

Jiang Cheng had been asked to escort the first young lord of Lan back to his accommodations, no doubt to give the newly betrothed a chance to interact with each other.

An opportunity Jiang Cheng intended to take.

He was rude, and followed Lan Xichen into his rooms, where he trapped him against the wall, a hand by his head.

“Did you know this was going to happen?” he demanded.

They were of a very similar height, so he should have only had limited ability to intimidate the other; but oddly Lan Xichen seemed to shrink away from him.

“I had no idea, Jiang Wanyin. I was merely told we were attending for diplomatic reasons” he seemed to remember his spine then, “I know you hate me, but you cannot blame me for ensuring Wangji has a chance at happiness”

“How very self-sacrificing you are, Xichen-ge” Jiang Cheng mocked as he back away.

The other sighed, “Can we not just put it to rest now, Wanyin? We will have to live with each other going forward, there’s absolutely no reason we can’t be civil with each other”

Jiang Cheng had a daily demonstration of how unpleasant an unhappy marriage was in his parents; he supposed he had no right to expect his own to be otherwise.

“I don’t intend to spend enough time in your company that it will matter” he shrugged, and on that rather abrasive note left Lan Xichen’s rooms.

***

They were married several weeks later, neither party was able to pretend enough interest to have any input into the planning process. Indeed, it hardly felt like a wedding at all to those few guests who attended; they being mainly family members of the grooms. Their marriage was finalised quickly and almost impersonally.

After a single night in the marital bed to fulfil the stipulations of the marriage agreement the young Jiang sect heir left Lotus Pier for an extended stay with his close friend Nie Huaisang in Qinghe.

His new spouse, Lan Xichen, formerly sect heir of Gusu Lan was left behind at Lotus Pier to begin his new life in a new sect in solitude.

Part 3 to follow, will be relationship development. With a Wei Wuxian twist.

#XiCheng #angst #Shifter AU #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fic #mo dao zu shi #grandmaster of demonic cultivation #the untamed #Shay's stuff #Fur and Feathers AU #lan xichen #jiang cheng

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tortleofwar · 4 years

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Malcolm

It wasn't even Monday and things had started to go downhill. Malcolm rounded the corner to his restaurant and was greeted with the sight of shattered glass and an alarm going crazy. Shaking his head he trudged through the puddles to reach the front door. Once inside Malcolm poured himself a glass of Crown Royal and sat at the bar. This night could only get worse if he was blamed for this.

Malcolm had gotten the alert about the restaurant an hour ago and jumped out of bed immediately. While racing down the stairs he'd forgotten his keys and locked himself out. No keys meant no car. So Malcolm had to walk throw the the rain with no umbrella or coat to protect him from the storm. His soaked and muddy attire gained stares and giggles as he made his way through the busy downtown streets.

Cars splashed him as they drove past. No taxis would stop to pick him up and the building was an hour away. Whoever broke in would surely get away with whatever it was they were looking for. Malcolm's pm prayed the cops showed before he got there to sort everything out. But his prayers fell on deaf ears that night.

After finishing his drink, Malcolm walked through to see what the damage was going to cost him. The front windows and glass door alone would total close to $6,000. That deserves another drink. It would take months to pay off a loan that size. Malcolm walked to the back, glass in hand.

Multiple utensils were missing but nothing too important. Dishes shattered on the floor. Some food items were missing, but Sunday was Malcolm's shopping day to restock the business. For the life of him, Malcolm couldn't think of who would do this and how no one saw it. The streets were packed, cars flew past at least once every two minutes, and the cops had yet to arrive.

Swirling his drink Malcolm headed to the front to top off his glass. He looked up to see three cops with guns pointed and fearful looks in their eyes. Malcolm raised his hands as he rolled his eyes.

"Here we go again." He thought as the three cops trained their weapons on him. "Ain't this about a..."

One cop put their gun down and walked carefully towards him. Malcolm could see her Auburn hair under her cap and a pair of green eyes staring at him. The last time he got lost in a pair of green eyes was Helen ten years ago. The chances of this being her were slim.

"Malcolm Little?" A soft voice called out quizzically. "From Drover Way?"

Malcolm had left that part of his life behind. If someone knew him from there he'd have been better off with the cops shooting. In an attempt to garner good will Malcolm responded.

"Yeah. That's me. Who are you?"

"Guns down guys. This guy couldn't hurt a fly let alone rob a joint like this." There was a slight giggle to her words as she waved off her partners. Returning her attention to Malcolm she asked, "You don't remember me do you?"

"Helen?" Malcolm guessed. His hands were still raised as he tried to get a better look at her. "Is that you?"

"Helen was my daughter. You two were nearly inseparable." She removed her cap and shook out her ponytail.

"Mrs. Williams?" Malcolm stumbled over her s words as he looked her up and down. "It's been decades. You look great."

"Thank you darling." She posed playfully and approached for a hug. During the embrace she whispered, "It's Ms."

Malcolm pulled away and tilted his head at Ms. Williams. Although his heart had belonged to Helen, he’d have been lying if he said the thought never crossed his mind. But now wasn’t the time for that. He broke the eye contact and noticed the awkward stances from the other officers. Walking behind the bar he lifted three glasses and pointed to the wall.

“I assume there needs to be a report filed. Pick your poison and I can tell you what I know.”

Behind the bar was a wall of alcohol. Different rums, vodkas,and other exotic glasses were lined up on three shelves. Malcolm slid the glasses out to three stools and gestured for them to sit. The two male officers raised their hands to decline while Ms. Williams bounced onto a stool. She stared up at the shelves looking over each bottle.

“We are still on the clock. To imbibe in any libations would be against the rules.” Cop 1 waved his hands while shaking his head. “We just need to get the report and we can move on.”

“We can wrap this up in five minutes and be on our way.” Cop 2 looked at Ms. Williams. “Deputy if you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ve only got 30 minutes left on my shift.” She turned to look at her peers. “I can get the report and have it back at the station if you guys want to leave.”

“Are you sure?” Cop 2 looked Malcolm over again. “We wouldn’t want to leave you in a dangerous situation.”

“She laughed at this remark. “I told you he couldn’t hurt a fly. Besides, when it comes to me, he knows to be on his p’s and q’s.”

Malcolm blushed and shook his head as she said all this. He’d already started to pour his third glass to sip on. The cops looked at each other and shrugged. Turning for the door they looked back one last time.

“I could cuff him to the bar if it would make you guys feel better.” She teased them and winked at Malcolm. “I’ll take my cruiser home for the night. Will you guys let the Captain know what went down.”

Her laughter could be heard as the cops left the building. Turning her attention back to the wall, Ms. Williams continued to gawk at the selection. Her brow knotted, she sighed and slumped down.

“I could really go for a sweet wine right now. Drink off the day's worries.” She reached for a notepad and turned to see a bottle of Tokaji Aszu on the bar. With a smile she pushed her glass forward. “You’ve traveled I see.”

“I needed something to take my mind off of this place.” Malcolm swapped her glass for a flute. “No matter how far away I got though, my heart always wanted to come home.”

“Is that why you came to your parents’ restaurant tonight?” As she sipped her wine, she looked around writing details about the building to file in the report.

“This is actually my business. My parents have more experience running a business so I left them in charge while I take online classes.” Malcolm moved around the bar to sit next to Ms. williams. “If you don’t mind me asking…”

“Helen has fallen off the map. The last time I saw her was when you two split. Jessie picked up a guitar and left town. That boy has always had a flair for presentation. He’s part of that band Swaying Hills.” She took another sip of wine. “Aleina is actually getting married next Autumn. They are coming back here and having a small ceremony. I hope everyone can get back in time for it.”

“That sums up my curiosity. Is there anything you need for the report Ms Williams?”

“Aside from the obvious damage, what else was taken?”

“A few utensils from the back. Some of my pots and pans are also gone. I’m not worried about the food they took. Today is my market day. Mom drags me to every store to make sure we have the freshest ingredients.” Malcolm looked her over again. Straightened hair, horn rimmed glasses, and a uniform. He could have been in love if it were another woman.

“Alright. Do you have any idea who might want to hurt you or who would do this?” She shook her glass to signal that it needed a refill.

With a chuckle, Malcolm slid off the stool and proceeded around the bar. Vanessa’s eyes followed him as she pretended to write in her notepad. With a lick of her lips and a shudder she returned to her work. Malcolm refilled the glass and opted to stay behind the bar.

The conversation bounced between work and catching up. Vanessa polished off a bottle and a half of wine before they were finished with her work. As she headed for the door Malcolm watched her hips sway with the seductive expertise of a woman. The girls he’d been bedding paled in comparison to what he was seeing. Dirty images filled his mind as Malcolm’s eyes trailed up her body. He eventually locked eyes with Vanessa and turned away embarrassed.

Pleased that she could still catch the eyes of young studs, Vanessa leaned against the doorway. Her pose caused the frame to draw full attention to her breast. Vanessa waited for Malcolm to return his attention to her. She slowly stroked the frame while eying him.

“How are you going to lock up with the front exposed like this?” Vanessa’s voice was heavy with seduction. Malcolm’s shifted posture told her it hit its mark. So she continued while bending to touch the bottom of the frame. “If you have the wood for this job, I’m sure I could help you finish it off.”

Malcolm was biting his lower lip and twisting his face. His thoughts of her were not what he should have in his head. This woman had raised the girl he once thought was his soulmate. Maybe it was the wine or it could have been the circumstances, but she was teasing him and Malcolm wasn’t the type to back away from a challenge.

Once he’d regained composure, Malcolm proceeded to the front room. He drew down the solid metal walls that were normally used to keep the store safe at night. Malcolm brushed past Vanessa close enough to smell the perfume she was wearing. He pulled down the other wall with a look of superiority. Malcolm returned to Vanessa who had returned to her original leaning pose.

“That should do it.” Malcolm gestured for her to lead the way. “After you.”

Vanessa’s sway was not deterred by Malcolm’s efforts. Evident in her walk and twirl to lock eyes as she moved towards the cruiser. Malcolm gave enough space to get a good view of her body while remaining close enough to let her know he was interested. As she slid her hand over the roof and Malcolm got closer, Vaness pushed out her rear to bump into Malcolm.

In an instant Malcolm was slammed into the cruiser and pressed into the door. He felt Vanessa’s breasts heave as her breath brushed past his ear. A look of shock and concern coated his face as he looked back to see what she was doing.

“Assaulting an off duty officer is a VERY serious offense Mr. Little.” Vanessa’s free hand started patting him down starting at the shoulders and running down his side. Eventually she got a handful of cheeks. The concern left his face as only surprise could describe what Malcolm was feeling. Vanessa disappeared for a brief second and found its way to his crotch.

“A hidden weapon? I’ll have to take you to confiscate this and ask some questions.”

Vanessa slapped on the cuffs on the crowded street and shoved Malcolm into the back seat. She slammed the door and got up front. Malcolm sat in surprised silence as the car turned down back roads and sped through intersections. Eventually the streets began to look familiar and Malcolm realized they must be heading to her house.

As they approached the house Vanessa showed no signs of slowing down. Malcolm gawked at the house as they passed it. The color and life itself looked like it had been drained from it. An eyesore on the neighborhood if he was being honest. Vanessa turned down another street and drove to the end of a cul de sac. Malcolm used to play ball at the house they parked at. Mr. Jerome would always play against the kids two on one, but he never lost a game.

Vanessa pulled into the driveway and got out. She opened the back door and let Malcolm out. As he marveled at the house she shoved him up the path to the front door. In a flash it seemed like he was inside. Warm lighting greeted him and the yelp of a small dog. Vanessa didn;t undo the cuffs as she led him away.

“Searge we got a serious offender here.” The once approaching yelps began to fade as if redirected.

“That’s a well trained dog.”

“Shut up criminal.” Vanessa barked. She leaned in to lick at his ear. “Thank you.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Malcolm figured it was best to play along rather than fight this. Why talk yourself out of a good time? “This is extreme misuse of power.”

“I got you on camera. Assaulting a uniformed officer.” Vanessa threw Malcolm onto a couch. “And sexually no less.”

“Look, it wasn’t even like that. I was just trying to get past you.” Malcolm looked around noticing the interior decor. It was filled with various flowers and light colored birds. “My bad if you took it that way.”

“So you’re saying I got the facts wrong?” Vanessa leaned down. Malcolm noticed half of her buttons were undone. Underneath her uniform was a black lace bra fitted to show ample cleavage and give the girls a lift. “I didn’t find this dangerous weapon on you?”

Vanessa reached again but this time her face showed confusion. She looked from his crotch to his eyes with bewilderment in her face. Malcolm shrugged.

“You have to warm up the engine before you take it for a drive.” He lifted his brow seductively. “But the ride always brings satisfaction.”

After hearing his words Vanessa backed away and undid her belt. She swayed and gyrated her hips as she turned away from Malcolm. She looked over her shoulder as the sound of her zipper was heard. Vanessa walked backwards to wiggle her butt in Malcolm’s face as she pulled her pants down. To his surprise there wasn’t anything underneath. Malcolm looked on, licking his lips and enjoying the show.

Vanessa kicked her pants into a corner and turned to face Malcolm again. His eyes drank in her sexy visage. Toned legs, wide hips, and ample breast all laid out in front of him. Malcolm tried to reach but was reminded he was still cuffed. Vanessa walked towards him as she undid the rest of her buttons. As she approached her smile grew.

“I see we have found that weapon you hid so well earlier.” Dropping the shirt on the ground, Vanessa crawled towards Malcolm. “By the looks of it we could be dealing with a magnum. Thick. Heavy. Fully loaded.”

“Look ma’am. If you’re so convinced I have a weapon then search me thoroughly and find out for yourself that I’m innocent.” Malcolm locked eyes with Vanessa and lifted his chin for her to get closer. “When I’m proven innocent, I expect to be compensated for my wasted time.”

“I intend to search you thoroughly. Make no qualms about that.” Vanessa climbed up Malcolm’s body and stopped when she was eye level with him. “And what you see as a waste, I see as building police/community relations.”

Vanessa kissed Malcolm hard and forced her tongue into his mouth. When she broke the kiss Malcolm found a metallic taste in his mouth. He pushed out a key and looked down at Vanessa.

“If you can get out before I get you off the game continues.”

#AndreWrites Stories

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daebakinc · 5 years

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I Still - Pt 2

Pairing: Jimin x Reader/OC Genre: Fairytale AU, Angst, Romance Word Count: 3.9K Summary: Jimin’s punishment for offending a goddess is confinement to the Garden of Loneliness. Doomed to spend all eternity there, alone and hidden behind a mask, only Fate herself can intervene to aid his redemption discover him: his one true love. A/N: Inspired by The Untold Truth by BTS. Parts: Prologue, 1

All the books you had read could not have prepared you. Nor all the love songs ever sung, nor the stories of true love told by the generations. No human creation could ever encompass or convey the spark of power held in a single kiss. That simple press of soft lips against soft lips set a tingle through your nerves, set them ablaze. If one could drink lightning, you imagined it would still pale in comparison. You felt alive.

Although you had never kissed a man in your life, you knew you were ruined for any other. Although you did not know him, did not even know his face, you knew this man was as much yours as the ruins you found him in. There was no other truth in the world but this.

As suddenly as he kissed you, Jimin pulled away as if torn from you. His chest labored to rise and fall and those miserable eyes held only shock. You could only imagine your face held some kind of the same dazed look. How else could one look when their world was turned on its head, never to return to the ignorant innocence of how it once was.

“I-” his tongue flicked out of his mouth to lick his lips, “I always know her creations. They’re cold. They have no warmth. But you…”

Your hand reached up to graze your quivering lips. How could a single kiss affect you both so? Was it the magic of this place or something more? You leaned against the tower, your legs too weak to hold you upright any longer.

Jimin stepped closer again. His voice was unsteady with wonder. “You… you are warm. You are human, are you not?”

You nodded.

Jimin yanked you from the tower to enfold you in his arms. The mask was cold against your shoulder where your cloak had slipped to expose it. Jimin pressed his face closer, all but burying it in your skin as a child does to his mother’s in the wake of a nightmare. Without conscious thought, your hands found his back, anchoring him against you. As your mother did when she still showed you tenderness, you ran your fingers delicately up and down his back. Slow strokes to draw the trembling from his skin and the desolation from his heart.

For how could there not be when he clung to you so after learning you were a daughter of Eve. How long had Jimin been alone for him to react as if you were the dearest person in his heart? How long had he been tormented by the silence and an isolation so complete it would starve the soul and reduce the mind to the delirium of speaking of thousands of years and inhuman creatures of cold?

“Jimin,” you whispered. “Who did this to you?”

When he did not answer or stir, you shifted to try to see his eyes. Jimin’s grip tightened, an animal whimper escaping his lips.

“I’m not leaving, I promise. But Jimin, who did this? They must be punished—”

“No.” Jimin stumbled away from you. His eyes were wild, holding the same mindless panic of a spooked horse. “We cannot speak her name! She must not find you here! She will punish us both! Go!”

You reached out to him, your own heart infected with Jimin’s palpable terror. “Jimin, what—”

“Go!” Jimin scrabbled at your shoulders, pushing you towards the outer wall. “However you came, go back! Do not return! Leave before she finds us!”

“Who?” you shouted back, whipping around.

But all you saw is Jimin’s back as he fled into the tower, melting through the wall of sand.

“Wait!” When you tried to follow, the tower wall rebuffed you, solid as the stone surrounding it. “Jimin!”

The window at the top of the tower remained dark and not a sound but your own breath and heart broke the stillness. No rush of storm or attack heralded the immediate coming of that or who Jimin so dreaded. Indeed, all was just as it was in all its strangeness.

You circled the tower, searching with your hands and eyes for another entrance, but it remained as obstinate as you. No door or window appeared, no weakness beneath the churning sand. The mystery of the man and this place did not allow you to give up so easily, but even though its golden threads had not pierced the sky, dawn had to be fast approaching. You had to return; the penalty for being caught out of bed during hours no respectful lady would be about would be confinement to your room for a week. More if your parents were not in a forgiving mood.

Stepping away from the tower, you shouted, “I will be back tomorrow! I’m not afraid of anyone!”

The door into the tower was just as you left it. As you crossed over its threshold, you looked back over your shoulder. The unearthly flowers still glowed, the tower and statues still stood. You could not hope dearly enough that it was not all a dream.

“I’ll be back,” you promised yourself. You would.

Cutting two strips from your petticoat after you closed the door, you tied one to the handle. The second went around a bough of wisteria above the door. In such a place, you could not be sure if it would let you find the door twice unaided.

With quick steps, you raced back through the forest and into the village. It was as you left it with not a soul awake or about. The hearth was still cold, not yet awoken from its sleep to provide the meals of the day, when you passed it. You hid your clothes beneath your bed, slipped your discarded nightgown over your head, and crawled into bed. As you rolled over to settle in for the few hours of sleep you could steal, you glanced out the window. And froze.

The moon should have been sinking below the horizon in meek deference to the day. But she had not moved. She still hung high in her nightly reign, scarcely moved since you escaped your home. As if time had stood still the entire time you were in the garden.

Goosebumps crept across your skin despite the down blanket cocooning you. Jimin’s words arise and ring in your mind.

The door was sealed thousands of years ago. As I cannot leave, no one may come unless by her will….

Could you truly have encountered… magic?

The ghost of Jimin’s kiss lingered on your lips when morning finally came, Sleep having withheld her blessings. Yet you could scarcely believe it to be real for magic did not exist in the world. Not in yours…

You waited until your father had ridden to his office and your mother went to call on the other town matrons to enter the kitchen. After your mother had deemed you no longer a child and instead a young lady, it was forbidden territory. No need for gentry to mingle with the help. In fact, quite the opposite.

But you preferred it to any other room in the house. Herbs hanging from the rafters and lemon water used to clean filled the air with a welcoming earthy smell, the kind that instantly sets all hearts at ease. There was no fussiness, nothing that had to be kept clean and polished and perfect. Everything had its place and function, beautiful in its simplicity and value.

When you were younger, you played under the table, pretending to be a hungry dragon, kept at bay only by the sweet scraps slipped to you. The stool is where you sat with a cup of tea, sniffling as your scraped knees were tended to. To you, it is everything a home should be.

In the center of it was Noemi. Your nursemaid, your teacher, your mother more than the woman who bore you. Although you were now too old for a nursemaid, she had been retained as cook and head of household. She was the one who asked after your day, encouraged your zest, showed you what love could be. One of the very few.

“Not even midday and you look like a nymph,” Noemi smiled, waving a flour covered hand to wave you over. She wiped her hand on her apron before gently plucking at your hair. “Wisteria? I didn’t see you go out into the garden.”

“I walked around the house,” you lied, eyes on the purple petals in her hand.

So last night might not have been a dream. The tower in the garden… the man in the mask… Jimin… the kiss.

“Unescorted?”

You rolled your eyes at the teasing twitch in Noemi’s smile. Sitting at the table, you carefully avoided the flour and took an apple slice from a bowl. “I don’t need someone to escort me around the garden within my own walls. Mother’s being ridiculous.”

“She’s just worried about you looking the part of a proper lady so you can make a match. I’ve heard tell your father is looking about for one for you.”

“He can look all he likes, but there’s no one around here rich enough for him. I’ll end up an old maid.”

The apple started to taste sour in your mouth. Other girls your age were already wedded and bedded with flocks of children, this you knew. But you had far better plans, much more to do before you were willing to be tied to a man, let alone one you did not love.

To change the topic, you asked, “Noemi, do you know of any stories about a man cursed to live in a tower for eternity?”

The older woman did not stop kneading the pie dough. “You devoured my myths when you were younger, but what has you interested in them again all of a sudden?”

“No reason. Simply an odd dream I had.”

Noemi paused thoughtfully. “A man locked away in a tower. Now that’s not the sort of thing you hear every day. I can’t say I have heard of it.”

“Oh. Well, it was only a dream.”

That night, you ran faster than you had ever before to your ruins. They appeared unchanged, giving no indications anything had happened the night before. No tiny bejeweled bird darted from the flowers and vines as you tiptoed around the central enclosure. At the bend, you hesitated with your toe just out of reach of the moonbeams. Your heart pounded, dropped into your stomach. You could not tell which caused its unease: the possibility you had indeed dreamed a fantastical dream, or that that dream was an actuality.

You stepped forward, turned your head, and there they were. Your two strips of petticoat marking the door to the garden. The Garden of Loneliness, Jimin had called it.

Your fingers trembled as they wrapped around the handle. Dangerous hope wound tight round your chest. What if the door would not open? What if the space beyond was a normal garden and the tower within a decaying ruin like the rest? What if Jimin was not…

The door swung open on its own, pulling you along with it, deeming your spiraling thoughts intolerable and making the decision for you.

Just as the night before, the same sight greeted you. A blanket of flowers shining with their own light surrounding ghostly statues and in the center of it all, the tower of sand. But tonight, a light was in the high window. Your heart jumped involuntarily. He was there.

The light moved then faded, like a lantern being lifted and carried away.

You jumped behind a battered statue of a youth with a billowing cloak, pressing to its chilled side, and waited.

An arch opened in the tower, sand peeling away in a curtain of diamonds. Jimin, clothed and masked as he was before, stepped out into the moonlight. You stopped breathing, worried the sound would give you away.

A little longer, you would wait. You needed to speak with him, find the answers to the questions that slept like hot coals in your soul. But if he ran away again, you might not have the chance.

“Goddess?” Jimin called.

You ducked your head in alarm. He had seen you.

Looking down, you searched for the stray edge of cloak or dress that gave you away. You saw none. You were completely hidden behind the expanse of the statue.

“I know you can hear me,” he said, his voice roughening with impatience. “Goddess!”

His bootsteps moved away from you. You risked a peek around the statue’s shoulder.

Jimin stood on the edge of the garden in a patch of open grass just large enough for his feet. He was looking up at the wall, or perhaps up at the muted heavens.

“Is this some new trick of yours? Making me dream you sent love to me at last? Is it?”

He grasped at the vines that formed a mass of woven branches stretching towards the sky. Against your bated breath, they held his weight.

Jimin called to the goddess again as he climbed. It was not a cry of devotion or supplication. His voice dared demand an answer from the gods, cracking in its anguish.

You dared not move from your place even as Jimin climbed higher and higher, beyond the height of his tower.

“Goddess, you have taken everything from me! I have nothing left!” Jimin screamed, sobs choking his words that plummeted down to your ears. “Why can’t you just let me die?”

He reached for the topmost vine that curled over the wall in its escape from the garden. It broke as his fingers closed around it. Jimin fell, his cloak billowing beneath him like the useless wings of a silenced songbird shot down from its perch.

Heart in your stomach, your feet ran though you knew you were not fast enough. “Jimin!”

He landed with a nauseating thump in a thick bed of roses. The flowers’ heavy perfume burst to life in the air and their delicate petals had not yet finished alighting on Jimin’s body when you crashed to your knees beside him.

He could not be dead. Yet he laid unmoving and noiseless.

Careless of the thorns that pricked your skin through your skirts, you moved closer. Your hands fluttered over his chest, useless in your hesitation to cause him pain. “Jimin? Jimin?”

Jimin’s eyes were closed beneath his mask that miraculously remained on his face. But as you reached to remove it, his lips moved.

“What?” You leaned your ear to his mouth, holding your breath in the hope of feeling his on your skin.

“It did not work,” he murmured. “She still keeps me here.”

“The Goddess?”

Jimin’s eyes bolted open. They fixed upon yours that were so close. His eyes reminded you of earrings of tiger’s eye stone you saw in a traveling market. The darkest of umbers streaked with flecks of unearthly copper like captured stars.

“You?” Jimin scrambled away. He stood, quaking. You prayed he wouldn’t leave again. “You… came back? How?”

“I said I would. I walked through the door on my own two feet as I did last time,” you replied. You sat still as you would when approaching a wild animal despite the trepidation in your own legs fighting to make them flee. You saw people die from falls a third the height, yet Jimin lives. “How can you be standing right now? You fell…”

“I cannot die,” Jimin said, bitterness weighing down his voice. “I could fall from that same height a thousand times and not suffer the least injury. I am cursed with immortality.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You saw with your own eyes. I do not lie.”

“Magic, or whatever this is, doesn’t exist!”

Jimin laughed and spread his arms. “This place does not exist! The Garden of Loneliness exists outside of Time itself. It has no anchor to anywhere in the earthly world.”

“Then how did I get here twice?” you retorted.

His lips pursed and his gaze lowered. “I don’t know. It should be impossible.”

You rose to your feet, but Jimin did not notice. His eyes seemed fixed on the roses. You looked down and sprung back with a racing heart.

Where they had been flattened by Jimin’s body, the flowers grew straight and whole without a petal missing. Perfect.

“Did you do that?” you asked, thankful your voice did not shake.

“No. Things don’t change here. Watch.”

He snapped a rose’s head from its stem and as you watched, a new rose grew, the exact twin of the one pillowed in Jimin’s palm. Your lungs could not remember to breathe. An illusion, your mind said, but the pain of the rose’s scratches on your legs and hands prickled unlike any dream injury you could remember.

“Nothing changes, nothing dies,” Jimin said softly. “From inside this tower, I watched my friends, my family, age and grow gray with it, and die. I watched them live. They laughed and wept, found new families and friends. Without me. All without me while I stayed here unchanged and alone.”

Common sense told you to run from this madman, but you did not move. “Who are you?”

He dropped the rose and met your eyes. “I told you. I am Park Jimin. I am the man foolish enough to deny the Goddess of love and thus condemned by her to a life without love of any kind in the Garden of Loneliness for all eternity. After all you have seen, do you doubt me still?”

Words desert your dry mouth and leave your tongue heavy. Be practical, do not believe in the fantastical for it cannot be true: that is the lesson beaten into your being with word and hand. Dreams and magic of all kinds are for silly children. And you were not to be one.

But here magic was standing before you, surrounding you. Wonder at your fingertips if you only extended your hand to touch Jimin. It invited you to believe as you so wanted to in your most secret of hearts. The same heart that clutched to the memory of Jimin’s kiss with the fierceness of a lioness.

In their dark recesses, Jimin’s eyes begged you to believe in him as well.

Jimin’s gaze dropped to your hands held tightly together in front of you. His mouth popped open. “You bleed.”

You looked down to find droplets of blood, robbed of their scarlet color by the night, trickling down the backs of your hands. One drop traveled to the tip of your ring finger, hung, then fell to the grass. It landed on one of the flowers, a dark spot on the glowing petal. A breeze like a sigh drifted through the garden.

Jimin’s eyes went to the sky, scanning the stars like a rabbit inching from the bushes searches for the hawk. He darted closer to you and drew a handkerchief from his cloak, rending it in half. Rings of twisted silver twinkled on his fingers as he wound the fabric round your hands.

“You should go,” he whispered urgently. “I do not know why the Goddess has not come, but if she does and finds you, she will kill you.”

“She did not come last night and I see no goddess now,” you replied. The tiny sparks flowing from your hands whenever Jimin’s fingers brush your skin emboldened you. Goddess or no, he was yours. “Come with me. Out of this place.”

Shadowed by the mask, you could not see his eyes, but his tone was final. “I told you I cannot leave.”

“You also said no one could enter.”

Denying him the time to counter, you wrapped your hand around one of his and ran towards the open door. Blood roared in your ears with the unknown as you neared it. Elation sang in your bones with your first foot over the threshold.

Then it shattered when an invisible force wrenched your body to a halt. You turned. Jimin still stood in the garden, those tiger eyes blank in their resignation. No. You did not admit defeat so easily. Gripping your own wrist with your other hand, you pulled and heaved with your heels digging into the soft earth. Praying to whoever heard, you willed Jimin through the door, saw him walking with you on the road to the village and his freedom.

“It’s no use,” Jimin said when you at last gulped for air after wiping the sweat from your forehead, muscles weak from fruitless exertion. “See?”

He pointed behind him.

You followed his finger. A delicate rope of silver that began within the tower of sand stretched taught through the air. It ended in a loop tight around Jimin’s ankle like a suffocating snake. How you had not noticed it before escaped you.

“That?” you panted. If that was all…“I’ll make short work of that.”

No barrier thwarted your reentry into the garden. Still clasping Jimin’s hand, you knelt at his feet and pulled your pruning knife from your skirt pocket. You trapped one end of the rope beneath your foot and with a practiced movement, slid the knife beneath it and jerked the knife upward. The rope caught on the curved tip of the knife and snapped.

Warm with triumph, you smiled up at Jimin. A corner of his mouth lifted upward in a sad cousin of yours. He shook his head. You looked back down and cold drenched you.

Just as the revived rose, the rope shackling Jimin to his prison was once again whole.

“No.”

You cut again, and again, and again, hacking at it with movements driven wilder and wilder with each frustration until you threw your knife with an infuriated cry.

“It isn’t your fault,” Jimin said soothingly. Beneath the sudden tenderness was an ancient defeated submission, the kind that destroys the hearts of the strongest and those who witness it. “What are the powers of a human compared to the enchantments of the gods? Go. Forget this place and live.”

Forget me, his silent words said. Forget me as all others have while I always remember you.

Jimin’s grip on your hands loosened. But you did not allow him. You gripped his hands tighter and straightened so quickly you forced him to take a step back.

“I won’t forget you, Park Jimin,” you proclaimed passionately, staring into his widened eyes. “I will come back every night—”

“You cannot—”

“Don’t you dare tell me what I cannot do.” Too many people dictated your actions in the past, but not in this. You refuse. “I don’t care what god or goddess keeps you here. I will come back every night until I determine how to free you from this place. I promise!”

Jimin stared at you like you were a creature he had never seen before and one he did not know if he should be glad or feared of. For all that his face is hidden behind the vacant white of his mask, you saw the struggle in the tightness of his mouth and the storms in his eyes. The punishment of a god battling one of the most treacherous forces known to man: hope.

His hand hovered over yours before lightly laying on top of it. Hesitantly, he brought them to his lips and branded your fingers with his second kiss. “Come again tomorrow. If she does not strike you down then, perhaps she truly has forgotten this place... and me.”

#kpopwritingnet #kwriterskollection #kwritersworldnet #jimin scenarios #bts scenarios #jimin au #bts au #park jimin #bts jimin #bts

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

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Another Brick In The Wall: Chapter 14

It’s the end! I can’t believe it. This story that started out as a snotty protest against high school AUs somehow ended as my second longest MC and something that I’ve immensely enjoyed writing. It's been so interesting imagining these characters and the events of their lives through this lens, I just hope in the end I've done them justice. Thank you all so much for reading it, and for your lovely comments, without them this story probably wouldn't have happened. Love you all ❤️❤️❤️

Tags for: @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615 @hollyethecurious @resident-of-storybrooke @kmomof4 @bonbonpirate

Chapter 14:

Nine and a half years after the morning after her senior prom, Emma arrived home at the end of another exhausting day to find a thick cream envelope in her mail slot addressed to “Dr Emma Swan-Jones.” The Storybrooke High seal was pressed into the flap, and Emma knew immediately what it was.

She sifted through the bills and junk mail seaching for another envelope, addressed to Killian. There wasn’t one. Perhaps that wasn’t surprising, though, she reasoned. He hadn’t technically graduated with her, just passed his AP exams and gone on his way.

When Killian came home half an hour later she was sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the card the envelope had contained with a small scowl. He gave her a quizzical look and she handed it to him, without comment. He looked at it and laughed. “Of course,” he said. “The final stage in the American high school drama. The one wherein we return to the old alma mater, triumphantly to lord our brilliant success over the poor sods we went to school with.” He sat down across from her and handed the card back. “I suppose you’ll want to go?”

Emma shrugged. “I don’t know. Do we have any brilliant success to lord over anyone?” That afternoon she had given expert testimony in the trial of a sixteen year old boy accused of sexually assaulting his twelve year old sister. He’d been acquitted. The girl had grabbed Emma’s hand and begged her with terrified eyes not to make her go back home. But there had been no other option. Watching that poor child be herded away by her parents had made Emma feel precisely the opposite of brilliantly successful.

Killian gave her the soft, sympathetic look he always gave when he could tell she’d had a particularly bad day, and reached out to take her hand. “‘Brilliant’ may be too strong a word, but we’re certainly well on our way to where we want to be,” he said. “Don’t you think so, love?”

Killian was a junior professor, teaching all the hours God sent while simultanously participating in a major research project and writing the book he hoped would get him tenure. She was a forensic psychologist with the Boston PD, handed all the worst, most difficult cases by her superiors, coming home each day exhausted and ready to weep for humanity. They lived on the ground floor of a draughty old house that they paid way too much rent for, trying to save for a down payment on their own place, which at the rate they were going would only take about thirty years provided Boston house prices remained at their current stratospheric levels. She had wrinkles on her forehead now that didn’t smooth out when she stopped frowning and last week she had found a grey hair. Were they where they wanted to be?

She looked at her husband. The years had certainly been kind to him. His lanky frame had filled out and he had grown into his face, which was now covered with stubble from the thick beard he was usually too busy or tired to shave regularly. The scruff suited him, though. Everything suited him. Killian at seventeen had been a cute boy with eyes a bit too big and limbs a touch too long, teetering just on the precipice of his potential; Killian at twenty-seven was breathtaking.

She realised he was waiting for an answer to his question. “I guess. I don’t know. Oh, I can’t think about things like that now, I’m in too much of a mood.”

Keeping hold of her hand he stood and pulled her up into his arms, wrapping them tightly around her and stroking her hair. She sighed as she leaned against his solid, comforting form, drawing strength from his presence.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“When isn’t it?” she replied, unable to keep the frustration from her voice.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head as much as she could with her face buried in his shoulder. “Not really. Maybe later. Right now I just want to sit and do something mindless. Just not think for a while.”

Killian kissed her gently on her hair and then on her lips. “Why don’t you find something on Netflix and I’ll pour us some wine,” he said.

She nodded and went into the living room, collapsing on the sofa and putting her feet up on the coffee table. Killian hated when she did that, but sometimes she wanted to stretch out, she thought grumpily.

“Anything you want for dinner?” he called from the kitchen.

“No, just whatever.” She picked up the remote and began scrolling aimlessly through the options.

He joined her a few minutes later, handing her a large glass of red wine and sitting down next to her, sighing as he did. He looked pointedly at her feet, but said nothing. She felt a brief flare of guilt. His days were hard too. She took her feet off the table and curled them under her as she tucked herself against his side and he put an arm around her.

“I think ‘whatever’ is going to be pasta and a salad tonight,” he said, kissing the top of her head.

“That sounds fine. What do you want to watch?”

“Oh, whatever,” he teased, using his ‘American’ accent. She gave him a small slap, rolling her eyes.

“The Good Place?”

“Yeah, go on then.”

It was a show they’d watched a hundred times, but after their stressful days they needed some comfort viewing. They watched two episodes as they drank their wine, then Killian went to make dinner and Emma checked her email. Five messages from her boss already, and she’d barely left work two hours ago. On a Friday. Firmly she closed the app and turned her phone upside down on the table. She’d deal with work later. Now she was going to have dinner with her husband and enjoy his company.

They chatted about odds and ends as they ate, the everyday, random subjects that are common in long-term relationships.

“By the way, you never answered my question, love,” said Killian, after a short silence.

“Hmm? What question?” Emma twirled pasta around her fork.

“Do you want to go to the reunion?”

She frowned. She’d forgotten about it, and wasn’t sure she wanted to open the subject again. “Eh, I don’t know,” she said. “I guess it might be nice to see some people again. We don’t really do any visiting when we go back to SB.”

They went back regularly of course, to see Liam and Belle, who were married now with three small children, and her parents, who had a small child of their own— a surprise baby (very surprising, Snow had laughed) called Leo, who was now eight. But their trips were usually over holidays and they were so busy with their families, nieces and nephews and baby brothers, that they didn’t take much time to see old friends, especially since Ruby had moved to China and hardly ever came back.

“I’ll leave it up to you,” said Killian. “I was only at that school for a year, and everyone I really came to care about I still see frequently. Even Whale, who I in fact see far too much of for anyone’s liking.”

Against all odds Killian and Victor had remained friends of a sort and since Victor had moved to Boston three years earlier they went out together fairly regularly, though from what Killian said they spent most of that time bickering and needling at each other. Still, they seemed to enjoy it.

By the time Emma and Killian had finished eating and cleaned up the kitchen it was past nine and their eyelids were drooping. “Do you want to watch anything else?” asked Killian.

“No,” said Emma, around an enormous yawn. “Let’s just go to bed.”

She was so old, she thought. In bed by ten on a Friday night. But it was better than falling asleep on the sofa five minutes into a movie.

They brushed their teeth and washed their faces, then got undressed and before putting on pajamas they wrapped themselves around each other as they did every night, sharing a deep kiss as they each mentally played a round of the debating game they called “Are We Too Knackered For Sex Or Not?”

To her surprise, Emma discovered that her answer was “Or Not.” She was exhausted, mentally and physically, but as much as she wanted to sleep she wanted to feel that closeness with Killian even more, wanted the warmth and comfort that she always felt when making love with him. Wanted proof that human relationships could be positive, nurturing things, not like that hellishly twisted nightmare family she’d seen today. Sometimes she felt that without her loving marriage, without Killian’s unwavering support, doing her job might come at the expense of her mental health.

She signalled her intent by letting her hand slide down his back to cup his ass and pull his hips into hers, rocking her own against him.

He hummed against her mouth. “So it’s an Or Not for you, then?” he murmured.

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m certain I can summon the energy to ravish you, love,” he growled, hoisting her up against him. She shrieked and wrapped her legs around his waist, laughing as he tumbled them both onto their bed.

Later, Emma lay with her head on Killian’s chest, listening to his heartbeat and the soft flow of his breath as he slept. She was tired in a more pleasant way now, sated and content and much more at peace than she had felt earlier, yet still she couldn’t sleep. Her fingers sifted through the abundant hair on his chest, one of her favourite things to touch, and she remembered with a smile the first night she’d spent in his arms. How she’d woken on that shining morning to the thought of how hairy he’d be one day. He had surpassed her expectations on that front. On most fronts, honestly.

She indulged in more memories of that morning, of the two of them eating pancakes and bacon on the boat, laughing, talking about nothing, getting lost in each other’s eyes. They had been so in love, so happy. So full of bright optimism for the future. They’d thought they had it all figured out.

A decade later they weren’t any less in love. If anything their feelings had only deepened and strengthened as their relationship matured. But life had not turned out to be quite as easy as they had envisioned it in that sparkling memory. She supposed it never really did.

She thought about going to the Storybrooke High reunion, seeing the people she hadn’t seen since graduation. People she had ruled back then as Storybrooke’s princess, shallow and carefree, beloved and ever so slightly feared. People who had remained in the small town they’d been born in while she had moved to New York, travelled far and wide with Killian, seen and done so much that had changed her, then finally settled into a job that exhausted and depressed her even as every day reinforced her conviction that what she did was essential work, helping people as much as anything could. What would Storybrooke think of its princess now?

Human nature being what it was, she of course wondered sometimes about the life she could have had if she’d returned after college as her mother had wished. What she would have ended up doing, who she would have been with? Would Killian really have returned with her, given up his own future for her? Even odder to imagine, what would have become of her if she’d never met Killian at all? He was such an integral part of her existence, her husband, her best friend, the love of her life, that she was literally unable to imagine herself without him. Had Killian never come to Storybrooke Emma would have grown up to be a wholly different person, one unrecognisable to the person she actually was. Whether she would have been happy in that other reality, in her ignorance both of true love and of the frustrations of the life she’d chosen, she couldn’t say. All she knew was that despite everything she was happy in this one.

Killian shifted in his sleep, his hand sliding over the bare skin of her hip and onto her lower belly as he unconsciously cuddled her closer. Her skin tingled in its wake with the low-level arousal always ignited by even his lightest touch. He was the only man she’d ever slept with, something her friends hadn’t hesitated to tease her about over the years, like it was something they thought she would be ashamed of. But Emma always just laughed, letting the mockery roll off her back. She was more than satisfied with her sex life, certain that she wasn’t missing anything she couldn’t do without. In fact, hearing her friends’ stories of unsatisfying one-nighters and awkward morning-afters and the challenges of dating in the modern world just made her even more grateful for Killian, who still looked at her like she was the centre of his universe and whose hands on her never failed to send sparks dancing across her skin even after ten years together. Why would she want to go out looking for meaningless sex with men whose faces she would barely remember just for the sake of “wider experience” when she had the sexiest man she’d ever seen already in her bed, waiting to worship her and pleasure her and love her? Why go out for hamburger, as the saying goes, when you have steak at home?

Though she’d be lying if she didn’t admit, if only to herself, how deeply she’d enjoyed the look on her college friends’ faces when they’d met him for the first time. After all the teasing she’d endured about her boyfriend who was actually a boy and about her turning down men old enough to buy her alcohol for the sake of a boy who wasn’t even eighteen yet, she had revelled in their shock, their disbelief, and yes, their outright envy. He’s mine, bitches, she remembed thinking, with her newfound college-student affinity for swearing. And you can suck it.

“All right, all right,” Tiana had said. “I get it now. You’re a dark horse, Emma Swan.”

“Does he have a brother?” Ariel had asked innocently.

Maintaining their relationship during their college years had, she realised now, been pretty easy. Alhough at first they had struggled with the distance, as they’d settled into college life and found their friends and routines and formed a routine for their relationship, texting throughout the day and FaceTiming in the evenings, they had learned to handle it. She’d missed him, of course, as he had her, but they’d always visited each other without fail twice a month, the only exception being during finals when they needed the time to study and didn’t wish to spend it on the train. Their winter and summer breaks had also been spent together, first in Storybrooke and later in either New York or Boston, working summer internships to help them get a leg up in their future careers.

After graduation, Killian fulfilled his promise to go to Oxford for three years of graduate study while Emma, hating the idea of being so far away from him for so long, had impulsively applied for a master’s programme at the London School of Economics and to her surprise been accepted.

“It’s for social and cultural psychology, which isn’t directly applicable to what I want to do,” she said. “But it sounds fascinating and it’ll give me a broader understanding of the field which can only be an advantage. And I should be able to start a PhD immediately when it’s finished.”

“I can’t say I’d be sorry to have you near,” said Killian. “I haven’t been back to the UK in five years, I’m a bit apprehensive about it. And of course not having an ocean between us is never a bad thing.”

Emma of course had never been to the UK at all, and so they took three weeks before the start of their courses to travel around the country, everywhere except London and Oxford, as they had agreed that every time they got together (trading visits every two weeks as they’d done in college) they would do one touristy thing, reasoning that this ought to give them enough time to see the major sights of both cities during Emma’s year-long programme.

Because life was insane and coincidences were real they actually ran into Milah one afternoon in Lincoln’s Inn Fields. It was early November and they were sitting on the grass enjoying an unseasonable bout of warmth and sunshine when Killian suddenly went stiff as a board, drawing in his breath sharply.

“What is it?” asked Emma, concerned, following the trajectory of his gaze to a tall woman with long, dark hair tumbling down her back in wild curls who was walking along the path nearest them, a cell phone at her ear.

“That’s her. Milah.” Killian’s voice was strained.

“Really?” Emma leaned forward for a better look.

“Yeah.” Killian’s hand tightened in hers, squeezing her fingers painfully. “Don’t stare, I don’t want to catch her attention.”

“Are you sure? We could go talk to her, if you want.”

“Definitely not.”

“It might be good, Killian, to talk about—”

“No, love, please. I’ve worked hard to put it behind me, I don’t want to dredge up old emotions that are best left in the past.”

She snuggled closer into his side. “As you wish,” she said, stealing his line, and he smiled and kissed her. When they looked up again, Milah had gone.

That night when they made love there was something almost frantic in the way he held her and touched her and thrust deep within her, as though he needed her to anchor him in the place he wanted to remain. Normally their lovemaking was very much a pair activity, but that night Emma lay back and let him take what he needed, knowing that his fingers would leave bruises on her soft skin but that she would never reproach him for them. And when he clung to her in the aftermath and she felt his tears dampen her hair she held him close and whispered that she loved him and always would, soothing him until he slept.

The next morning he was lighter than she’d ever seen him, smiling brightly as they did their touristy thing —a trip on the London Eye this time— laughing freely when she held tightly to his jacket at the top, wrapping her securely in his arms. “I’ll never let you fall, Emma,” he murmured in her ear, and she smiled. She wouldn’t let him fall, either. She hadn’t, and she never would.

When she saw him off on the train back to Oxford that evening she knew that he had left Milah and the trauma of his past behind, completely. Finally. He was free.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Killian awoke the next morning Emma was still asleep, curled up on her side and snoring lightly in the way he’d always found adorable. She still had shadows under her eyes but her face was relaxed and peaceful, which eased some of his worry about her state of mind. When Emma was particularly stressed she frowned even in her sleep, so her soft expression was a good sign. He hated seeing her so strung out but knew there was little he could do to help. It was simply her nature. She was incapable of not getting emotionally invested in the people she counselled; she cared about them and took it very hard when she wasn’t able to give them the help they needed. He couldn’t change that, nor did he really want to; her generous heart was one of the things he loved most about her. All he could really do was just be there, just offer his support and listen whenever she was ready to talk.

He stroked her cheek with his thumb and kissed her softly on the forehead, and when she didn’t waken he slid carefully from the bed, pulling on his old Harvard sweatpants as quietly as he could. She seemed pretty deeply asleep and frankly, he thought, she could use the rest. It wasn’t often she had a chance to sleep in, even on a Saturday, but today, he silently decreed, she would. She would sleep late, and when she awoke he would have breakfast waiting for her.

Pancakes, he thought. We haven’t had those in ages. And bacon. Like they’d had the morning after the prom. He smiled to himself at the memory, one that hadn’t crossed his mind in years. So many good things had happened since that when it came to happy memories he had a true embarrassment of riches, and sometimes things got lost in the shuffle. The arrival of the reunion invite had it seemed shuffled them to the fore again.

Although he could certainly understand Emma’s reluctance to go to her high school reunion and be faced with having either to hide or to explain the stresses and frustrations of the life she’d chosen to people who already struggled to understand why she’d chosen it, Killian knew she wouldn’t change a thing about their life, as he wouldn’t. All things considered they had been almost unbelievably fortunate. Finding the love of your life at sixteen or seventeen was vanishingly rare; even rarer was that relationship surviving years of separation, the stress of pursuing advanced degrees and of working long hours for low pay and little appreciation, and actually growing stronger with each new challenge thrown at it. He was immensely grateful for the last ten years with her and for all the years they had to come, for the children they hoped some day to have, for the life they would continute to build together. All they needed was each other, the rest of it—the jobs, the kids, the house— would work itself out. And if those things never came then they’d still be happy because they’d be together.

Feeling cheerful at the prospect of surprising Emma with a nice breakfast, Killian opened the refrigerator, only to discover that that they had no bacon. And no milk. Sighing, he quickly peeked into the bedroom to check that Emma was still sound asleep, then tossed on his jacket, zipping it securely as he wasn’t wearing a shirt, and slipped from the house as quietly as possible. Twenty minutes later he was back, armed with bacon, milk, and some good coffee, plus chocolate chips for the pancakes. Emma permitted him to feed her healthy food these days as long as he prepared it, but she still held on to her childhood preference for sickly sweet breakfasts. He mixed the pancake batter and set it aside to rest while he cooked the bacon and then finally put the coffee on. Breakfast was nearly ready, and if anything would lure Emma out of bed it was the smell of good coffee.

Sure enough she appeared in the kitchen moments later, wearing an old t-shirt of his and rubbing her eyes sleepily. “Is that the Guatemalan coffee I smell?” she asked, “I thought we’d run out.”

“I went to the store. It’s been a while since we’ve had a nice breakfast, and you seemed like you could use it.”

She came up behind him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he tested the heat of the griddle and poured out the first batch of pancakes. “God, I love you,” she said against the bare skin over his shoulder blade.

“I hope you’re not just saying that because I got chocolate chips for the pancakes,” he teased, picking up the bag to show her before sprinking a generous handful over half the batch.

“Well, I can’t deny that’s a major factor,” she replied, deadpan.

“I knew it.”

She gave a light laugh and squeezed him tightly before heading for the coffee maker. “It’s ready,” she said. “Do you want a cup now?”

“Yeah, please.” Killian deftly flipped the pancakes. “These’ll be done in a minute, you go sit down and I’ll bring it all in when it’s ready.”

Emma poured coffee for both of them and took their cups to the table. Sitting, she sipped at hers, letting the rich flavour and the caffeine kick both soothe and jolt her into full consciousness. She’d nearly finished the cup when Killian placed a generous stack of pancakes in front of her, oozing melted chocolate and accompanied by a pile of bacon. She laughed, the first free, happy laugh he’d heard from her in far too long.

“Are there three of me?” she asked.

“Now, darling, don’t pretend that you can’t, or won’t, eat all of that yourself,” he said, refilling her coffee cup. “Need I remind you of the Naples Pizza Incident?”

“I was twenty three then!” she protested, “The calories burned off a lot faster in those days.”

“It was only five years ago, love, not fifty.”

“It feels longer,” she said, the grim mood falling back onto her face.

He sat down and picked up his fork, deliberately casual. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She nodded. “Yeah, I think I’m ready.”

As they ate she told him about the case, the testimony she’d given, how her best efforts had seemed to make no difference, and how she’d had to send a traumatised little girl right back into the same terrible situation she thought she’d escaped.

“That fucking judge, he cared more about ‘ruining the future’ of the brother than about protecting a little girl from a predator,” she fumed. “Of course a sexual assault conviction would ruin his future, it should.” She took a large bite of pancake, chewed and swallowed before continuing. “I think the worst thing was that the smug little shit knew there wouldn’t be any consequences for him. His parents knew what was going on, they did nothing. The judge did nothing. What’s even the point of a justice system if it doesn’t protect the people who most need protecting?” She bit down on a piece of bacon with a vicious crunch.

Killian knew this was a rhetorical question; she didn’t want his help or his opinion, just his ear and his shoulder. So he said nothing.

Emma swiped her plate with the last bite of pancake and popped it in her mouth. “Looks like you were right,” she said. “I did eat it all.”

“I knew you could do it,” he replied, smiling at her. “I believed in you. I always believe in you, Emma.”

In more things than just eating pancakes, he meant, and he could tell she understood. She gave him an odd look, half soft smile, half inner turmoil.

“Let’s go,” she said suddenly.

“Where?”

“To the reunion. Let’s just go. I don’t care if we’re brilliantly successful or not, I’m happy. I’m exhausted and frustrated and sometimes I feel like all my efforts are for nothing, but then I come home and you pour me wine and fuck me senseless—”

“Um, make passionate love to my beautiful wife, I think you mean—”

“—then you make me pancakes for breakfast and listen to me complain about my day and even though that doesn’t make the problems go away it makes me feel like I can handle them. I can handle anything as long as you’re with me, and I’m happy, Killian.” She reached out and took his hand. “This is happily ever after,” she said softly, smiling into his eyes. “Everyone seems to think that that means your life is perfect but it doesn’t. It just means you’re happy despite the imperfections.”

“I’m happy with you, Emma,” he whispered, kissing her, leaning his forehead against hers, breathing her breath. “You're all I need, and I will never stop loving you.”

“I’ll never stop loving you,” she whispered back. They kissed again, deeper this time, a kiss tasting of pancakes and bacon and the years and years of joys and frustrations, triumphs and struggles, small victories and petty annoyances that they had to look forward to together.

In that moment, despite the imperfections, they were perfectly, truly happy.

#cs ff #high school au #teenage captain swan #happily ever after #and what that really means #happy ending #another brick in the wall #profdanglaisstuff #bittersweet

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sisterbestill · 6 years

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I write this on my iPhone, sitting next to my dad, who is currently getting his 4th Chemo Therapy Treatment of Carboplatin and Taxol. The drugs are chemical bombs and each week the accumulative damage grows. They pre-treat him with histamine blocking meds so he doesn’t have reactions, but he has reactions during the infusion, like he can’t breath. The nurses are well aware and calmly manage the reactions with more meds. These meds cause him to become very drowsy, so the remainder of the day becomes about keeping him from falling.

I still am trying to process all that has occurred since early August 2018. I look back on these pictures of our last outing at Lake Jocassee and never would have guessed how things would change just a week later. I’ve often wondered how cancer strikes people so quickly, now I know. I am writing this so I will never forget each minute that will forever live with me. I am also using this as a way to cope and understand something that is unfamiliar and terrifying.

My parents have always taken care of themselves and one another. They have been very lucky to have good health and I have been lucky to have them as energetic as they are in their eighties. When they moved up here from Florida, I was delighted I was going to finally be able to spend more time with them - like daily and weekly vs. just twice a year. They moved 15 minutes away or a lovely 60 min bike ride through rolling countryside and mountains. I was giddy and felt the universe shift a bit. I felt pulled to them. They are in fact two of the coolest, funniest, and open-minded people I know.

Shortly after this kayak trip (photos above) they decided to make a pact to live to 100 and created a “bucket list”. They were thankful for their health and never took it for granted. Perhaps the bucket list idea was a way to for them to celebrate how young they felt or perhaps they recognized they were chronologically getting up there.

Paddling on Jocassee was relaxing, calm, and beautiful; Certainly an experience they would have loved to have recreated again and I am hopeful they will. It may look different in the future, but I suspect the beauty and calmness of the lake will bath their brains in peace.

A week after snapping these pics, I got a call from my mom, she was on her way to the ER with my Dad. I was working one floor up and met them in the ER. While we waited, I learned my Dad had been feeling fatigued for several months and had developed shortness of breath over last few weeks. It wasn’t evident on the kayak trip that he was struggling, but it was obvious in the ER. My mom said they had been to their primary care several times and their primary care doc reassured him it was natural aging, as tests did not reveal anything to be concerned about.

As we sat for 6 hours in the waiting area, I was certain it was nothing serious. Afterall, my dad had no other health issues other than a little hypertension. His meds consisted of an 81 mg baby aspirin and amlodipine 2.5 mg each day - what a lucky guy. I was thinking maybe he had pleurisy or walking pneumonia.

We finally were shown to a room and labs were drawn. We were relieved to finally get things moving. By this time my sister, Lori, and I were getting silly from the fatigue of waiting. We were thoroughly entertained by a belligerent drunk guy on a stretcher in the halllway who seemed to draw all the attention of the medical staff while we well-behaved folks waited for answers.

I noticed my dad’s HR would easily jump to a sinus tach in the 130s with just a little bit of movement. Something didn’t seem right, but I was not going to speculate or think the worst. I was just his daughter, at his side, keeping the mood light.

We were informed by the physician assistant caring for us that his left diaphragm was elevated and was probably the cause of his shortness of breath. I was a little taken back as this was an unusual finding that left me with a knot in my stomach. Not too long after this finding he was whisked away for a CT of his chest.

He returned to the room and we waited for results. The PA came in with a sticky note and said she read off it: “You have a very large anterior mediastinal mass...No one here will operate because of your age...We are discharging you and you will need to see an oncologist.”

Our mouths dropped. My stomach bottomed-out as she said “mass” and my face flushed. We all just blankly looked at one another. Go home?

I spoke to a good nurse friend in recovery and she called the thoracic resident. I spoke to the PA who delivered the news and said, “We can’t go home. He is short of breath. He and my mom live alone. His Heart rate is bouncing up to 130s. He is weak. Please admit him and consult thoracic surgery.” My dad chimes in, “I’m not a throw away!” Meaning he doesn’t want to be dismissed because of his chronological age. He was far healthier than most half his age and this deserved a second look. The radiologist who read the report never actually saw my dad, but he did see a birthdate.

The next day, the interventional radiologist who read his CT and gave us the crappy news also did a needle biopsy of this baseball size mass.

We went home on a Wednesday after 2 days and waited. We were waiting for results and waiting for an appointment with a thoracic surgeon. Waiting is tough and if you are sick you will learn the meaning of patience.

We made it to Sunday when I thought something wasn’t right with my dad. He continued to have episodes of shortness of breath, but something was still off. I knew he had anxiety, but this was different. He said he felt fine and I almost left it at that. As a nurse you learn to listen to your 6th sense.

My parents live in a remote part of the county where everything is 30 min away. I left there house and an hour later returned with a pulse oximeter that I purchased from a CVS drug store. His oxygenation was 95% not bad for a guy now breathing 40 times a minute with 1.25 lung capacity. However, his pulse read 155 and I was baffled. No way?! I palpated his radial artery and it was a match. Off we went to the ER...

ER visit number II was faster as we went to a smaller satellite hospital 30 min from their home. The rhythm was too fast on the monitor to establish what it was so the ER MD attempted to chemically cardiovert him with adenosine. Adenosine is pushed quickly through an IV. It stops and restarts the heart. I can not lie, I was nervous. It’s so diffferent when this is your own family member. My mom tearfully excused herself and I stayed by his bedside. The ER doc informed my dad it would suck, and we proceeded. It sucked. He felt his heart stop and I watched his eyes bulge and panic come across his face for 3 of the longest seconds of my life. We were able to see he had an underlying atrial flutter. We were started on a verapamil drip and were transported to the main hospital for management by a cardiologist. His heart converted back to a normal rhythm on the verapamil drip before we left the ER in transport to Main hospital at 1 am. We were under the impression it was stress related to the new shitty diagnosis and having to wait on results.

The next day he had an echocardiogram to look at the structure and function of his heart. He was started on a Metoprolol a drug that blocks adrenaline and keeps heart rate lower and it was doing its’ job.

He spent 2 nights in hospital and outside of naps, lacked solid hours of good sleep. We finally got word that his ECHO results were good. No one said a word about metastatic disease to his pericardium. We were told he had a small ring of fluid within the pericardial sack, but it wasn’t a lot and certainly not something they felt needed draining. The atrial flutter responded well to the metoprolol and we were discharged home to once again wait for our thoracic surgery appointment.

We finally made it to the thoracic surgeon to learn of what was growing in my dad’s mediastinum. I was hoping for a thymoma, but instead we drew the really short stick with a highly aggressive, highly invasive cancer called: Squamos Cell Thymic Carcinoma.

WTF? Come on! Can we not catch a break here?

I had never heard of this type of cancer and neither have many in the medical field cause in addition to being aggressive and invasive, it is also a rare tumor. A rare tumor that hasn’t impacted enough lives that researchers devote a lot of time, money and effort into understanding it. Not only that, but sadly, most people die before any data can be collected. Once you get short of breath, dry cough and fatigue it is usually advanced.

PET Scan had some questionable lymph nodes light up, but no other disease was noted distal to the mediastinal cavity.

We hoped it could be removed. Excising the tumor was first choice in the management of this cancer and had the best outcomes, but to do this the surgeon would need to get clean margins. The thoracic surgeon wanted a cardiac MRI to examine if this tumor had invaded any of his great vessels. CT scans had only shown that the tumor was abutting the ascending aorta, but we needed to be certain cause the surgery involved opening his sternum with a saw and recovery would be 5-6 weeks. The surgeon emphasized that he didn’t want to operate and create trauma without being able to get the entire tumor. He didn’t want to delay care in a time-is-of-the-essence scenario.

It was 6pm on a Monday evening just days out from last hospitalization, when I returned to their house to check on him. Earlier that morning, my mom and I took his mini Pomeranian back to the vet and learned it was dying. The vet apologized and said it was time. We put my dad’s 18 y/o Pom, Ben, to sleep at 10:30. My mom held him and he passed. We were a mess. We told my dad and his response seemed flat. Distant.Something else was on his mind.

I stayed close and felt something was amiss, something was unfolding, progressing. I was thinking is he getting an infection? His temp was 100.2, slightly more SOB, and his pulse was 95-110 at rest, on a beta blocker. Nowhere near his norm and I could not ignore this or excuse it. My dad is precious to me. I looked at my mom and dad, apologized as I informed them we needed to go back to the ER. They were agreeable. I think he was relieved I recognized something was wrong.

Shortly after arrival at the satellite ER labs were drawn and ultrasound of his heart was done by ER doc. He said there appeared to be a large fluid collection around my dad’s heart. We were again admitted to ICU for a condition called Cardiac Tamponade. Early the next morning he had the fluid drained 600 ml from around his heart. The fluid build up which is inside the pericardial sac squeezes the heart. The heart can be stunned and go into failure. The fluid that was drawn off was sent for cytology. It was suspicious. It was likely metastatic disease.

In fact after annoying the cardiologist with repeated questions in the hallway, he motioned me over to his computer screen. He showed me the ECHO and pointed out the thickening of the pericardium and showed me a mass dangling from his ventricle. I didn’t need to wait for cytology. This was confirmation for me that we were very far into a disease process. My face flushed, my heart sank, and my stomach dropped as I comprehended the situation. I thanked the MD and my mom asked what he was showing me. I told her. I saw the color leave her face.

The thoracic surgeon was still hoping to remove the mass as the CT didn’t show it had invaded the great vessels, but he did want a Cardiac MRI which was on the back burner. We were still in ICU cause the Cardiac Tamponade and procedure to drain the fluid triggered a lot of Atrial Flutter and Atrial Fibrillation. We waited for the Cardiac MRI for 3 days. There is only one machine and his was repeated twice before they got quality images. The thoracic surgeon finally met with us and after consulting his partners, radiologist, and oncologist, it was decided surgery was just too risky and he wasn’t certain he could get clear margins. He stressed how he didn’t want to create more problems or delay my dad in getting treatment if there were complications. We very much appreciated the thoughtfulness of his answer. We really didn’t have a minute to spare. The surgeon decided to cut a window in my dad’s heart so the cancer did not build up more fluid and compress this vital organ again. The cancer cells would drain into his belly instead of filling the pericardial sack.

We were discharged home in a questionable state: weak. At first we were told he would stay until he was walking well, but the hospital was full and we were off-loaded unexpectedly. Home is a place with stairs. Stairs to to get in and stairs to get out and the most movement he had done in a week was walking 25 ft with a walker and that was exhausting for him. I was concerned about falls. How were me and my mom going to get 170 lb man up 5 steps safely? He was too weak. He hadn’t eaten, he had not slept in 10 days. We were behind the eight ball and chemo had not even started.

Chemo is rough. To survive chemo, one needs some level of fitness, meaning able to perform ADLs independently and move often. We were overwhelmed. The next week was labor intensive and emotionally draining. Here we were home and we were struggling. He still wasn’t eating, still not sleeping, and my radar was on constant alert. I spent my days observing and looking for subtle changes. Oh and there were changes that needed immediate attention as he flipped in and out of rapid atrial fibrillation and got urinary tract infection.

I was scared and my dad was terrified. In times when we were alone, he would ask me: “How did this happen?” He would shake his head as if disappointed in his body. Disbelief. He was unable to comprehend it and he too was terrified.

To be continued...

#thymiccancer #cancer #chemo #raretumor #cancersucks #thymiccarcinoma #thisislife

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stunudo · 6 years

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BAU Prep School AU: 2018

Welcome to the Frederick Buchanan Institute located in scenic Quantico, Virginia, a senior high academy that shapes the best and brightest minds. Its motto is “Behavior, Analysis, Unity,” the mascot the Submariners, colloquially “the Unsubs”. The small school supports the most accomplished faculty from across the country. (image link)

2016- 2017 Class of 2018

Messy

September 29, 2017 11:17pm

Luke Alvez hadn’t expected this, despite his explicit instructions to his team to do so in the case of an emergency. And yet he found his phone ringing in the late-night weekend hours from an unsaved Virginian number.

“Hello?”

“Is this Luke Alvez?”

“It is, and you are?”

“My name is Frank Broadhead and I am—”

“The principal for the International School.”

“Why, yes, actually.”

“With all due respect, sir, but why are you calling me so late?”

“Well, you see, Mr. Alvez. Or Coach? Do you prefer Coach?”

“Semantics, please continue.”

“Right, well. Phil and I just so happened to find a few of your students breaking into our football stadium tonight. Now I wanted to call Aaron Hotchner myself, but young Mr. Malcolm has convinced us that you were the right call. Are you?”

“Sorry?”

“Are you the right call?”

Luke stared at the ceiling of his apartment and whispered a few choice curses beneath his breath.

“Are you pressing charges?”

“Now, Coach, we were very lucky to have apprehended the intruders prior to any hijinks. But, either you or another faculty member come and collect the lot of them or I am calling the police, followed by their parents.”

Luke could hear various protests in the background, this was not the way he wanted to spend his weekend. He also didn’t have a large enough vehicle to cart around multiple teenagers. “Besides Trevor Malcolm, who and how many are there?”

Luke grabbed his keys and double checked his back gate as he continued with the phone call.

“Well, I have a very aggressive young lady by the name of May Howard, a more demur girl named Azalene Curtis, a disrespectful punk who refuses to tell me his name and Mr. Malcolm.”

“Alright, Broadhead, tell Brooks to sit tight and I will be there as soon as I can.”

“Thank you, Mr. Alvez.”

Luke hit the end call button and sighed. It was late enough that the bugs and occasional cars passing by were the only noises on his street. He stared at his list of contacts for a solid minute before making the call, which finally connected on the fourth ring.

“Man, you better not be drunk dialing me.” Morgan’s voice was amused.

“Sorry, Derek, but duty calls.”

An hour later, HM Hotchner, Coach Morgan and Coach Alvez all stepped out of the large black Suburban. The rival school was cast in near darkness, besides a few lights in a first-floor wing. Luke led the way, Hotch and Derek shared a glance at his familiarity with the campus. When they reached the door, Luke was texting on his phone.

“K, should be just a sec for them to let us in.”

“Anybody know about this?” Hotch looked at his two current sports’ coaches with concern.

“Honestly, Hotch, I had no idea. I gave the guys my number in case they needed a sober driver, I wasn’t exactly expecting a full bail out.” Luke admitted, scratching the back of his neck. Aaron nodded, he was grateful to have Alvez on his team.

“My whole focus has been putting in the work to stick it their football team come playoffs, Hotch.” Derek held up his hands as they were empty of precursors to the crime. “If I had heard Howard and company would be trespassing I would have nipped that in the bud.” Derek’s eyes lit up as someone opened the secure door wide.

A tall African American guy gave them an annoyed appraisal, “Look what the cat dragged in.”

“It’s nice to see you too, Brooks.” Luke sighed. “This is my boss, Aaron Hotchner,” he paused as the shook hands. “And I’m guessing you’ve met Coach Morgan?”

“Brooks. Sorry about this.” Derek patted the man on the back as he led the way through the dimmed hallways.

“That bulldozer on your line?” Brooks started. “She’s a pistol.”

“Are the students alright?” Hotch interjected.

“Yeah, the guys may have been on something, but they lost their buzz fairly quickly.”

Luke and Derek both groaned, Coach Phil Brooks led the way to the principal’s office as they passed through a waiting room. In a row, spanning the spectrum of fear to boredom sat four Submariners. Lena Curtis, May Howard, Trevor Malcolm and one Iggy Cruz. When their teachers and headmaster stepped into the room, they erupted into a slew of explanations.

“Sir, we didn’t even—” Trevor started.

“Coach, I am so sor—” May’s voice hitched as her favorite teacher looked at her with complete disappointment.

“Are you going to call my dad?” Lena squeaked, she had been crying.

“Enough!” Hotch raised his voice and the room quieted. “Submariners on your feet.” Even the coaches beside him straightened up at the direct order. Iggy was the last one to stand, letting a huff fall from his lips. “You will wait here with Mr. Morgan and Mr. Alvez. I am going to sort this out with Principal Broadhead, then we will discuss the consequences of your actions.”

October 2, 2017 12:58pm

Ms. Prentiss’s phone buzzed against her desk, but it didn’t register as she was reading going over the final act of The Crucible with her Sophomore class.

“Now Miller wrote this during the Red Scare, what parallels can you draw from the play and those events?” She looked out into the faces of some very bored and mildly confused teenagers. Her phone buzzed again, more obvious now in the silence left by the unanswering class. “Okay, let’s try this again. Red Scare? Anyone take post World War Two history, yet?”

Five hands were raised around the room, she sighed and nodded. Then Zachary Henkel’s hand shot up as if he was electrocuted.

“Yes, Mr. Henkel? What can you tell us about the Red Scare?”

“Nothing, actually, but Ms. Garcia is waving frantically and knocking at the door.”

The English teacher’s brow knit as realization sunk in.

“It’s time?” She asked the excitable guidance counselor.

“It’s definitely time. I don’t want to into details. But, hospital, go, you now.” Emily Prentiss gave a wilted glance back to the waiting class. “Go, Emily, I’ve got them.”

“Communism and Arthur Miller. You, go.”

1:14pm

The Kirsch Memorial Hospital felt like a maze, despite the now weekly appointments JJ had been having within. Emily soon found the birthing wing and signed in at the desk.

“Your partner is in room 13C. Breathe, Mama, you got this.” The beaming nurse said to Emily, who must have looked like a deer caught in headlights.

“Right, thanks.” Emily gave a half smile and pinned her security tag on her blouse. The rooms were set up like hotel suites: very comfortable and spaced in pairs down a soothing hallway.

“Oh thank God!” JJ exclaimed as she saw Emily’s black hair peek through the double wide door.

“Or just Penelope, hey you.” Emily grabbed JJ’s hand. “Sorry I didn’t answer right away, I though it was an email notification.”

“You really need to stop being so professional.” JJ’s laughed cut short as a contraction started.

“Where are we at?” Emily watched the monitors they had on her girl and her bulging belly.

“Six minutes apart, but only dilated to 4,” JJ grunted. Emily rubbed JJ’s back with her free hand, as the pain eased so did JJ’s grip on the bed rail and Emily’s left hand.

“Good job, its like you’re ready to have a baby today.” Dr. Savannah Hayes smiled at the couple as she entered the room on her rounds. Emily watched JJ with immense pride as JJ sighed at her OBGYN.

“Ya think?”

Oct. 8 3:40pm

Matt Simmons had wrapped up his Sociology class early, telling the kids to enjoy the fresh air before a set of storms was due in for the weekend. Between his amazing stories, his looks and his more relaxed teaching style he had quickly won the hearts of the student body. He regularly received assignments early and was asked more than once if he was single, for their mothers or aunts. He politely declined the offers. Today he made his way down to the sound booth at the back of the Rothschild Auditorium to help set up for the coming musical. Rehearsals varied by day of the week as Lucas Turner was a lead this year and had recruited a few other football players for backstage work as well. The actors wouldn’t be in until 5:30pm. Matt found Alex Blake already playing with the levels as the set crew started showing up after the final bell. She held her chin in her palm, scrutinizing the coloring below.

“How’s it going?” He leaned against the door frame, his large arms folded across his chest. Alex jumped at his appearance, holding her chest. He tried to bite back his amusement, but her rueful smile told him it wasn’t going to be met with a scolding.

“Matthew! Damnit, I thought reporters liked an intro before they make an appearance.”

“Getting hard of hearing in your old age, Doc? Better keep up.”

“I am as quick as ever, thank you very much,” Alex tilted her head.

“Yeah, I bet,” He smiled at her confidence. “I’ve been meaning to ask you. What’s up with the ‘Ms.’ Did you decide to forget your PhD?”

Alex sighed, spinning to face him and away from the control desk. He had leaned back in another chair, all young and firm and handsome. “When Dave and I split, I wanted a fresh start, so I left the Doctor title behind as it was always paired with Rossi.”

“I was sorry to hear about that, and Ethan of course.”

“Thanks.” She closed her eyes at the mention of her late son. “So, what exactly brings you to teaching? It’s not exactly high adrenaline, which I recall you always chased.”

“Hannah had a rough go of it last year and I, well, I needed a change of scenery.” Matt flinched but didn’t go into greater detail.

“Did your sister ask you to keep an eye on Hannah?” Alex’s voice was low and soothing.

“Are you kidding? She barely talks about Hannah, no, Hannah and I have been close since she was little. I figured there was going to be at least a temporary opening and I reached out to Hotch.”

“JJ probably loved that.” Alex smiled, turning back to the stage.

“Yeah, well, she has her hands full now.”

“True. You sure you want to give up your nights to help run sound?” Alex teased.

“I like to be useful, plus, something tells me the Director can keep me in line.”

She gave him a look before rolling her eyes at him, “Welcome to life in the Theatre, Mr. Simmons.”

6:08pm

Jake wasn’t certain his feelings meant anything in the grand scheme of things and that thought alone made him panic. But the gnawing in his gut was getting worse with each passing day. There was something about being in the wings, the dust and ancient currents were like layers of reality, secluding and enclosing them. Michel was going over their lines and Jake was trying not to stare or break their concentration.

Michel was had contoured today and felt drastically more confident now that the itchy school blazer had been discarded. They had their sleeves rolled up to their elbows and left the top buttons open, despite the draftiness of the theatre. Now if they could just get their lines down they would earn their bad ass title for another week. After rehearsal they had a late dinner with their parents, who were briefly stateside and probably another hour of homework. So much for senior year slacking.

Jake was going to lose his nerve, but the romantic leads were going over their first scene and it felt like they would be called on for their entrances at any moment. Michel had turned to him now, “Can you read Jackson’s lines I just need to stop using the script as a crutch already.”

“Sure. But, you could always ask him to run lines.” Jake didn’t mean to sound snarky, but his self-consciousness came off as annoyance.

“Jake, you are literally doing nothing right now. Come on,” Michel huffed. Jake stood up straight and accepted Michel’s script from their out stretched hand. He leaned over the folded booklet and waited for Michel to start, their character was Bellomy, the leading lady’s father and they adjusted their stance as they got into character. Jake was transfixed, clearly, he understood acting, but watching Michel do it was like watching water boil or leaves change color. A natural transformation resulting in something completely different than who was there before.

“Oh lady le di le da loo…”

“Oh, lady le di le da loo…” Jake sounded it out choppily. Michel grabbed him tightly as the characters would greet each other in the show

“Hucklee!”

“Bellomy!”

“Neighbor!”

“Friend!”

Jake hadn’t let go of Michel, though a wall was meant to be separating the men on stage. He dropped the script and turned to his longtime friend and crush.

“How’s the gout?”

“What?” Jake looked down at Michel mystified.

“That’s the line, Jake. What’s wrong?” But before Jake could answer or Michel could stop him, his lips were on Michel’s.

Oct. 10 6:54pm

“Now ladies and gentlemen, will you please rise for the singing of our National Anthem?” The announcer’s voice boomed over the stadium filled to capacity with Homecoming crowds. The F.B.I. Scarlet Submariners were on the East side of their home field as their opponents the gold and black Kingsford Knights were on the West side. The sun had set fifteen minutes prior, letting the overhead lights illuminate the turf for miles around.

Mr. Walker raised his arms and the Pep band began the familiar bars, as Sacha Kane began to sing. The song wrapped up with thunderous applause and the coin toss followed. The teams stood lining the field as the captains returned. Sitting and stewing in their jerseys without their pads were the benched senior Ignacio Cruz and sophomore May Howard. The defense took the field and Lucas Turner sighed as his right side felt empty with an unreliable substitute. Coach Morgan had made the call, which Headmaster Hotchner backed fully. Coach Alvez had given Trevor a comparable two-game ban and a parent-approved drug test as punishment for the theatrics at the end of September.

“It had to be Homecoming,” Derek thought to himself as his back up kicker botched a punt, leaving the rival team on the Unsubs’ thirty-yard line. They went into the locker room down by six at half time. Thunder rolled in the distance. As well-spoken as Coach Morgan was, he didn’t need to say anything, the team knew they had to step it up. He let them breathe before offering a few shuffles to the lines.

“Unsubs! Whose house is this?!” Coach Morgan bellowed to the cement lined room.

“Our House!” They barked back.

“Whose house is this?!”

“Our HOUSE!” A deep booming response this time.

“Search and destroy, guys! SEARCH AND DESTROY!” The sweaty and pumped up bodies of forty teenagers jogged back on to the field to the enthusiasm of their stands. They went on to win by eleven, just as the cascade of rain flooded the stadium. After everyone had showered, Coach Morgan called Cruz and Howard over to discuss their reinstatements for the following week’s away game.

“You two care about your school, but there are better ways to defend it. Use your God-given talents to help your team, or you never were an Unsub. Behavior, Analysis, Unity. Earn it.”

Oct. 11 5:24pm

Chloe’s phone went off as she helped set the table for dinner. Her gaggle of siblings were either taking up space in the kitchen, trying to snag a taste early or lounging in the adjoining living room. All of her friends were off to take group pictures before heading to dinner at some posh restaurant or another. What a difference a year makes, the memories of last year’s dance clouding her thoughts.

She glanced down at the caller id before answering. “Lucas?”

“Hey, Chloe, listen, are you busy tonight?” He seemed quiet, like he was secluded.

“Helping with dinner right now, why?” She propped the phone against her shoulder as she began dishing out the salad.

“Well, I was wondering if you wanted to go to Homecoming. With me. Like a date?”

She had not seen this coming, but that was probably because she had avoided romantic entanglements like the plague they had proven to be.

“Lucas…” She let her voice hang in the air. “I don’t have a dress, this is really last minute.”

“Wear anything, you can go in jeans. I just, I just want to dance with you Chloe, I swear.” He sounded sweet, not desperate and demanding. But nervous and sheepish.

“Lucas, you can dance with anyone there, you’re classically trained.” His nerves seemed to be infectious.

“They’re not you, Chloe. Please think about it? Call me back when you’re done with dinner. I won’t be hurt if you say no, but just think about it.” Lucas waited for twelve seconds before she replied.

“Yeah, I can do that.”

“Thanks. Talk to you later!”

“Later.” Chloe ended the call and turned back to find her entire family had sat down to eat around her.

“Who was that?” Her mother Anita asked suspiciously.

“Lucas, Lucas Turner.”

“Well, what did the boy want?” her mother sat down and patted Chloe’s seat beside her.

“He asked me to go to the Dance tonight.”

A mix of ‘ooohs’ and teasing burst from her siblings, her cheeks flushed and she ducked her head as she fell into her usual spot.

“Do you want to go, doll?” Her father asked as he started cutting into his steak. She shrugged and then nodded.

“He’s a good guy, then, not going to get fresh?” Chloe smiled at her mom’s concern.

“He’s a sweetheart. He was there for me when I broke up with Brayden in the first place.” The name drew a stunned silence among the Roycewood family. It had gone unspoken for so long.

“Alright then, it’s settled. Aimee, you’re to help your sister get ready right after dinner. You hear?”

“Sweet! Of course, Mama.” Chloe’s thirteen-year-old sister replied, the excitement of dresses and make up turning her weekend magical.

“Thanks, you guys.” Chloe tried to bite back a smile, but her cheeks were determined to stay up.

“Anything to keep that smile on your face, doll.” Her dad nodded.

Next Chapter: The Show(down)

@mentallydatingspencerreid @dontshootmespence @ultrarebelheart @lyrasilverroseelizabethamanti @cynbx @rikersgirl22 @pllfrommars @wheresthewater @darknesstoglowing @adropintheocean1234567 @tleighstone12 @unitchiefwives @sam-carter-in-training @prettyboysjello @ddreammcatcher @thegirlinflames @night–hawk @t25luver @onlyalittleteenwolfobsessed @thismiss02 @literallyprentissstwin @usercorgis

@natalie-fangirl

#criminal minds #BAU Prep School AU #cm #Luke Alvez #Derek Morgan #hotch #Aaron Hotchner #Alex Blake #Jennifer Jareau #Emily Prentiss #Matt Simmons #BAU Team #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds au #Criminal Minds Fanfiction #CM Series #CM Fanficiton Series #Unsubs Class of 18

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i-am-made-of-memoriies · 6 years

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The Will of Fire (part 2)

A/N: Would you look at that? I’ve finished my first two-shot! Yipee!

Part one

“Come on Kohei!” Sakura coaxed, holding the spoon to the three year old’s mouth, “You have to eat some of it!”

“Mama no!” Kohei insisted, shaking his head defiantly, “I want Sarda-neechan to feed me!”

“Kohei sweetie, it’s Sarada, and she’s out on a mission. Please eat. She’d want you to.”

Sarada sneezed. Must be someone talking about me. She thought, adjusting her pack on her back. She was the captain of her first mission. Though she was still a chunin, Naruto-sama had entrusted her because of her recently fully-awakened sharingan.

“If worse comes to worse, you can always hypnotize them into doing the right thing.” Sarada remembered Naruto’s words before she left for the mission. Though he was right, Sarada was really hoping that she wouldn’t have to resort to those measures.

“Sarada-taicho,” the shortest of her subordinates started, “I can sense the Tsurigakure ninja approaching quickly. Shall we fight them?”

“According to the bingo books, they should be an easy fight.” She replied, reaching for her newly acquired katana, “Why don’t we indulge them?”

The the chunin assembled in a fighting position with Sarada in the front.

“Akoto,” she ordered, motioning to the chunin she had previously spoke to, “Stand in the back. As the healer on this team, we can’t afford having you hurt.”

“Yes Sarada-taicho.” Akoto replied, making her way to the back of the formation.

Sarada activated her sharingan and quickly scanned the area. She saw the Tsuri ninja and almost chuckled. Their chakra levels were ridiculously low and they were already arguing. Being a good shinobi, Sarada knew not to immediately judge ninja by their first appearance, but she was more than positive that they weren’t hiding their chakra.

The sub-par ninja came into the clearing, weapons brandished in the least intimidating way possible.

“You are Konoha ninja!” The supposed leader exclaimed, “We will take your precious information now and you will fail your mission while we will triumph!”

Sarada used the shunshin jutsu to appear right behind the trio.

“Didn’t you ever learn not to announce your plan before executing it?” She asked icily.

The Tsuri ninja turned their heads slowly, finally turning around and looking into Sarada’s spinning tomoe.

Akoto stifled a giggle as the trio of pathetic ninja fell like sandbags to the ground.

“I should have let you guys do a bit of the fighting.” Sarada apologized, “It’s just that they were so easy to take down, I would have been unnecessarily drawing out the fight by not taking action.”

“It’s okay taicho.” The tallest of the chunin, Yuji smiled, reassuring Sarada.

“We’re almost at Sunagakure, let’s get this scroll there and be done.” Sarada took out her long braid and coiled the wavy hair into a bun. That braid kept slapping me anyway. She thought.

“Good job you four.” Naruto placed their mission report on his desk and smiled, “I knew you wouldn’t let me down Sarada.”

Sarada grinned. She realized that today was probably the best day to ask the question she’d wanted to ask since she joined the academy. The question she’d wanted to ask since Boruto selfishly took her father as his sishou, and stole him from her. She’d moved passed the feeling of jealousy and realized that having her father as a sishou probably wasn’t the greatest idea for her, since she wanted to follow a far different path.

Once the other chunin had left, Sarada took a deep breath and walked closer to Naruto. “Hokage-sama,” she started, trying to make her voice as solid and confident as possible, “I was wondering if you would take me on as your apprentice. I understand that you don’t have much time, but I promise to work hard and carry on the will of fire.”

Naruto looked rather surprised for a second before his lips curved into a smile. “With the rapid development I’ve seen from you and the deep care for your comrades and your village, I would be happy to teach you.”

Sarada tried her best not to scream. “Thank you so much Naruto-shishou!” She exclaimed, “I promise to never slack off!”

“I’ll hold you to that.” He glanced at his packed schedule and sighed, “Let’s meet on Sunday at noon. I’ll take you to Ichiraku’s afterwards.”

“I’ll see you then.” Sarada practically skipped out of the office. She ran back home, wanting to tell her parents and Kohei as soon as possible.

“Mama, Papa, Kohei!” She exclaimed happily as she burst through the door, “Guess what?”

Sakura looked up from her medical textbook and smiled at her daughter, “Well you seem mighty happy, it must be something good!”

“Yeah!” Kohei agreed, grinning with his little toddler smile, “Sarada-nee chan is awesome!”

“Thank you Kohei.” Sarada gave her little brother a hug, “Naruto-sama agreed to be my sishou!”

“That’s wonderful sweetie!” Sakura beamed, “First you fully awaken your sharingan, then you captain your first mission, then Naruto decides to be your sishou, this seems to be quite the amazing month! Let’s go eat something special as a family.”

“You’re just saying that so you don’t have to cook dinner.” Sasuke muttered, placing Kohei on his waist.

“I was going to go to that really fancy sushi restaurant, but if you want my sub-par cooking, it’s up to you.”

Sasuke looked away. “Hn.”

“Anyway, freshen up Sarada-chan. Put on something nice too.”

Sarada opened the door to her room, smiling at the uchiwa painted on her door. She really hoped that she made her ancestors proud.

Sarada pulled on her embroidered tunic and adjusted the back so the uchiwa was centered. Then she chose her favorite black pants and flats.

“I’m ready mama!” She called, standing in front of the door.

Sakura came bustling down the stairs, trying to put Kohei’s shoes on while he kicked and flailed.

“I’ve got it mama.” Sarada came to the rescue as she sat Kohei on her lap and slid the shoes on with ease. “Let’s go get something to eat, ‘kay?” She tickled her brother’s stomach and placed him on her shoulders.

“Now that you three are back from your respective training excursions,” Naruto started, smiling at Sarada, Boruto, and Mitsuki, “I want to send you on a mission. It’s A rank, but I believe that you will be able to handle it.”

“Mitsuki, you will be in charge of medical ninjutsu and healing, since Sakura’s your apprentice, and as for Sarada and Boruto, you guys will just beat up the bad guys.”

“Sounds good sishou.” Sarada replied, “I heard that there has been some previous interaction with the village we will be going to, Jomae no Sato right?”

“Yes, back when I was a genin, they sent a kunoichi to infiltrate, but she-ehm, was good friends with Kakashi and committed suicide instead of following her village.”

“Do they still feel hostile towards the leaf?” Sarada wasn’t necessarily worried since she fully trusted her teammates, but it would be a lot easier if everyone was friendly.

“They haven’t shown blatant outward hostility, but given the fact that we are stealing information from them, they’ll be angry if they ever find out.” Naruto rolled up the mission scroll and handed it to Sarada, “I will be trusting this with you. Remember, your job is to get into their information storage room, steal the scroll in question, now this is your part Sarada, I need you to make an exact replica with your sharingan. Once the replica is made, place it where you found the original and high-tail it out of there. Try not to involve in combat, but you have my permission to do whatever’s necessary.”

“Yes sir!” The three said in unison.

It was entirely her fault. Sarada looked at the blood soaked battlefield, where the unconscious bodies of her teammates lay prone to further damage. She wasn’t able to protect them, and her replica was faulty. If her teammates, the people that lay closest to her heart, were to die, she would have practically killed them. She would have killed her best friends. As she desperately held back tears, a sharp, debilitating pain blossomed behind her eyes, forcing her to scream in agony and fall to her knees. It felt as if someone was tugging at her eyes and dicing them into pieces. All Sarada could see was a searing white; at this point she wasn’t entirely sure if she was screaming anymore, for all she knew she could be dead in hell. All she could think of is her teammates blood on her hands, and the way her parents and shisou would look at her with disappointed eyes. Naruto had trusted her and she had failed. She didn’t deserve to follow her dream. She didn’t deserve to ever become Hokage!

Suddenly the pain subsided. Sarada opened her eyes, gasping when she realized that the world was clearer than it had even been with her sharingan. She didn’t linger on that thought long though because she soon saw the figures of her assailants. They were smirking at her teammates fallen bodies, making rage bubble and boil in Sarada’s body. She stepped closer to ninja, wiping blood off her face. Where that blood came from, and to whom it belonged, she didn’t know, nor did she care. All she cared about was killing those sons of bitches. She wanted them to feel the pain she did, all the guilt and terror she had been subjected to in the past hour, she wanted to unleash on them tenfold. Suddenly, she realized that she could. She looked into their eyes, instinctively pulling them into a genjutsu. She marveled at the plane, embracing the blood red sky and the amount of torture she’d be able to subject them to in this new world.

They were tied to stakes as Sarada repeatedly stabbed them, using any material she could imagine. In her rage, she didn’t notice how truly evil she was being. For once in her life, all she could think about was doing harm to people.

After what seemed like ages, she broke the genjutsu. She looked at her teammates, noticing that their blood had hardly spread, meaning that her genjutsu had lasted mere seconds, not hours.

Suddenly the implications of what she had done caught up to her. She was hit by a wave of severe nausea and proceeded to empty her stomach on the ground in front of her. Getting over her sudden sickness, she hoisted her teammates onto her shoulders and began to make her way back to the village. She ignored the searing pain that plagued every part of her body and forced herself forward.

Finally the gates were in view. She practically sobbed once she saw the beautiful village she called home, and used the last of her energy to walk into the village before collapsing.

Everything hurt. Not as much as it did before she passed out, but it still hurt. Sarada forced her eyes open, just to quickly shut them again once she saw the bright, white lights.

“Sarada, you’re awake.” A familiar voice said from beside her bed.

Sarada opened her eyes again and turned her head to see the person who spoke. It was Naruto. Sarada fought back the strong urge to cry. “I failed shishou.”

She whispered, her throat felt like sandpaper.

“You did your absolute best.” Naruto replied, patting Sarada’s hand, “Boruto and Mitsuki haven’t woken up yet, but would you like to tell me what happened. I already struck an alliance with Jomoe no Sato once they realized that the scroll you took originally belonged to the leaf village, so don’t worry.”

Sarada sighed in relief. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, trying not to visibly cringe in pain.

“The mission went well up until we took the scroll.” She started, taking a sip of water from the glass beside her bed. With a far less painful throat, she continued louder, “Somehow the guard knew we were in there despite completely cloaking our chakra. When we heard his footsteps, I made the replica really quickly, and messed up a bit. The guard noticed that and sent their top ninja to intercept us. We tried really hard to fight them, but there were three of us and ten of them, all jonin or tokubetsu jonin level. Mitsuki and Boruto got hurt first, then something weird happened. For some reason it’s kind of foggy, but my eyes started to really hurt. And I mean like really hurt. After that, I can’t really remember what happened. All I know it that I missed only about three seconds, but the enemy ninja were dead once I regained-well, vision.”

Sarada turned to look at Naruto’s expression. Instead of looking disappointed, he looked slightly frightened. “I’m going to get Sasuke.” He announced, “I suppose I don’t have to tell you to stay put.”

Sarada leaned back into the pillows and closed her eyes, drifting into blissful unconsciousness until she was awoken by someone lightly shaking her. She opened her eyes again, noting how it was substantially less painful.

“Papa.” She whispered, hugging her father as tightly as she could.

Sasuke looked affectionately at his daughter before switching to a more serious expression.

“Activate your sharingan.” He commanded, looking Sarada dead in the eye.

Sarada did as she was told, noting the clarity in her vision.

“Now try to do the same thing again.”

She looked at her father with a confused expression, but ultimately followed his instructions. Instead of having nothing happen as she expected, her vision became clearer, and some of the pain returned.

Sasuke handed Sarada a handheld mirror. “What you see in that mirror is the next stage of the sharingan, called the mangekyo sharingan. I had hoped you would never have to get to this stage, but I will take you to the Nakano Shrine once you are discharged.”

Sarada looked at her reflection, gasping when she saw that her eyes were not the three tomoe she was accustomed to, but instead a black cherry blossom in a red background. “What can I do with the mangekyo sharingan?” She asked, blinking several times to make sure she wasn’t dreaming.

“From your description, it seems like you can use the Tsukiyomi like your uncle Itachi.” Sasuke replied placing the mirror on the bedside table, “We will talk more about it once you have recovered, Sakura and Kohei want to see you.”

Right on cue, two pink haired, green eyed people came into the room, both rushing in for a hug.

“Sarada-neechan!” Kohei exclaimed, hugging his big sister, “You’re going to get better right?”

“Of course!” Sarada said with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, “I’ll better before you know it!”

“Well I can make that happen Sarada sweetie.” Sakura said, ruffling her daughter’s hair. “Now that you’re out of critical condition when I can’t operate on you because you’re family, that rule is crap anyway, I can fix you up so you’re good as new. Those doctors don’t know what they’re doing. Trust your mama!”

Sarada nodded, eager to feel at least a little less crappy.

Sakura leaned over her daughter and smiled, placing her calloused palms on Sarada’s abdomen. “I’m so proud of you sweetie.”

Sarada was well aware of the rules of the mangekyo sharingan: don’t use it unless absolutely necessary and be careful to not lose control or you may harm those close to you, but she really wanted to stick Boruto into a Tsukiyomi of him tripping over a rock for all of eternity. It would be so very hilarious and not to mention, Sarada would be able to practice using the technique. The only way she was allowed to practice was using regular genjutsu and trying to replicate the terrain. It was far from the same though.

At the moment, she was in charge of training her favorite Shin clone named Kenji. More than anything, she wanted to help him with his mangekyo sharingan, but she was not allowed.

“The best use of your sharingan disguising it with transformation jutsu then getting your enemy to look into your eyes, effectively trapping them in genjutsu.” She instructed, demonstrating the transformation technique on her eyes, “Now I want you to try it on Boruto.”

“Wait!” Boruto exclaimed indignantly, “Why can’t Kenji try it on you?!”

“Because I’m a sharingan weilder baka-Boruto. I might accidentally reverse the genjutsu and hurt him.”

“Fine.” Boruto pouted, tensing his muscles in anticipation.

Kenji looked at Boruto, his eyes a natural brown. As soon as the two had made eye contact, Boruto crumpled to the ground like a drunk.

“Have I hurt him?” Kenji asked monotonously, “Kabuto told me to feel remorse if I have injured someone.”

“No, he’s fine.” Sarada assured, slapping the Uzumaki.

Boruto woke up with a jolt. “Damn you Sarada-teme!” He exclaimed, “You only did that to humiliate me!”

“That wasn’t the only reason…” She teased, helping her teammate to his feet.

Kenji was dead. His death didn’t come as a surprise, in fact, many Shin clones were dying because of some unknown illness that ran in their genes. Despite the forewarning, Sarada was still devastated. Kenji was the closest person Sarada had to an apprentice and he held a close place in her heart as a second brother, even if Kenji didn’t have the capacity to love her. His blunt personality reminded her of Mitsuki, and the fact that she could get along with a Shin clone meant that she was moving on from her childhood grievances.

“Sarada-san?” One of the workers at the orphanage called her name, “If Uchiha Sarada would report to Kabuto-sama’s office, he has something to tell her.”

Sarada stood up and made her way through the brightly painted hallways and towards Kabuto’s office.

“Ah, Sarada!” Kabuto exclaimed, motioning for her to come through the doorway, “As you’ve probably heard, our lovely Kenji has passed away.” His unnaturally pale face dropped in sadness, “Before he died though, he did something rather uncharacteristic for a Shin clone. He showed emotion and asked if he could give you his eyes as a gift.”

“H-he did?” Sarada asked incredulously, “He knew what that would imply, since we were practically siblings?”

“I believe that he did understand that if he gave you his eyes, you would achieve the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan.” Kabuto replied knowingly. He swiveled around in his rolling chair and rummaged through his file cabinets. When he had turned back around, he was holding two vials filled with some kind of preserving serum and a sharingan eye suspended in the center. He looked at the vials with a melancholy expression.

“I hope they serve you well.” He said, handing the vials to Sarada.

“Thank you.” She replied, walking towards the cemetery.

She knew she had spent at least an hour sitting in front of Kenji’s grave, thanking him profusely for the gift, shedding tears over the fact that she would never see him again, and reminiscing over his sadly brief life.

As she was about to stand up and leave, Shizune placed a hand on her shoulder.

“Sakura told me about what happened.” She wrapped the girl in a warm and loving embrace, “I know this isn’t what you want to be talking about right now, but we need to plan the implant surgery.”

Sarada nodded, wiping away tears. She took a shaky breath, “When’s the earliest date that we can do it? I just want to get it over with.”

“We can perform the surgery today if you would like.” Shizune replied, placing her hands on Sarada’s shoulders.

“I-I would like that.” Sarada combed her long black hair out of her face and straightened her glasses. “May I go home first and spend the day with my family?”

“Of course. Report to the hospital at seven o’clock tonight.”

Sarada nodded and began to walk to the Uchiha complex. She had just lost someone she considered family, and she wanted nothing but to be around the rest of her family, to make sure she didn’t lose them.

“Kohei!” She called, running towards her little brother, “How was your day?”

“Mama said that she’d start training me soon since I’m gonna go to the academy next year!” He said enthusiastically, “Did ya know that I’m five now Sarada-neechan?” He held up five chubby fingers, “That’s a whole hand!”

“I heard!” She walked with him to the front door, “Once you start training and get really strong, you can spar with me.” Thoughts of the spars she had with Kenji flashed in her mind, causing her to frown.

“What’s wrong oneechan?” He looked at her worriedly with his big green eyes, “Are ya hungry? Mama’s making dinner.”

“That’s great. Dinner will make me feel all better.” She smiled brightly at her little brother, “You always know how to fix things, don’t you?”

“Yep!” Sarada couldn’t resist the urge to squeeze him tightly.

“I will always love you Kohei.” She whispered, her cheek right on top of his soft, pink hair.

The mission was supposed to be very dangerous. That’s why Naruto had sent Sarada, Mitsuki, Boruto, and Mirai as they were the most promising ninja of their generation.

“Our job is simply to take out the enemies where they stand.” Mirai instructed, looking at the new team seven with her large red eyes, “There is absolutely no time to reason or speak with the enemies. This is purely an assassination mission.”

“If it’s an assassination mission, why aren’t ANBU members doing it?” Boruto crossed his arms indignantly, “Silent killing isn’t really my style.”

Sarada decided to mess with Boruto a bit. Using a simple shunshin jutsu, she appeared behind Boruto, “It is my style.” She whispered icily, flashing her sharingan.

“What the hell Sarada?! That was really scary!”

“Stop messing around.” Mirai said with a serious tone. “If you’re not going to take this mission seriously, we can turn back right now and Hokage-sama can hear all about how his prestigious student and his son were simply too immature to handle the mission they were assigned to. As for the reason no ANBU were assigned, they’re all out on their respective missions.”

“Sorry taicho.” Boruto and Sarada apologized in unison, glaring at each other.

“My teammates can be strange sometimes.” Mitsuki spoke on their behalf, “I don’t understand their behavior fully, but I believe that it is called rivalry. I am yet to find someone I would consider a rival.”

“That’s great Mitsuki. Let’s get back to the mission now.” Boruto patted his teammate on the back. “So can I come out and blow everything to bits with my flashy moves? Then the enemies will be so scared that they’ll let us kill them without any hesitation!”

“You sound just like your gennin self. You really haven’t changed at all.” Sarada looked at Boruto disapprovingly, “And no. Didn’t you hear taicho? This is a silent killing mission.”

“Fine, fine.” Boruto whined. “You seem like you’re in a particularly deadly mood, why don’t you do the assassination?”

“I think I will.” Sarada hissed, pulling on the black gloves her mother had given her.

All it took was one glance from Sarada and the enemies were trapped in her genjutsu. Without sparing them a minute, Mitsuki plunged his kunai into each of their hearts, killing them instantly.

“Good job you two.” Mirai commended, “Now Boruto and I will dispose of the bodies.”

“Does this mean I get to burn shit?” Boruto asked enthusiastically.

“Yes.” Mirai sighed, “Yes it does.”

The two leaned over the corpses, Mirai incinerating them with her signature Sarutobi jutsu and Boruto just threw whatever flame jutsus he had picked up at the bodies.

“Careful you idiot!” Sarada exclaimed, dodging an errant spark, “You’re supposed to incinerate the bodies not us.”

“Sorry Sarada-teme.” Boruto said with mock remorse.

Finally, a mission had gone without a hitch.

“Great, so we finish an S class mission successfully, but return to a goddamn attack?” Boruto exclaimed incredulously, “Nothing can ever go right can it?”

“No it can’t.” Sarada agreed, making her way through the rubble that was the west side of the village. “Did the civilians evacuate?”

A jonin stepped towards Sarada, “I believe that most of them have exited the village, but there might be some people left behind.”

“I’ll find them and evacuate them.” Sarada replied, “I’m sure my parents would be happy to take out the enemy.”

“Sasuke and Sakura-sama are already on it.” The jonin replied. A look of horror passed over his face, “Sakura-sama was in the middle of a load of laundry when she was called to defend the village, so she’s-well….irritated.”

“And their son, Kohei?” Sarada asked worriedly, roundhouse kicking on of the enemy’s subordinates into a building.

“He evacuated safely with the rest of the Konoha Academy underclassmen.”

“Thank god. I’m going to scour the village. Boruto, you deal with these annoying pests.” She motioned towards the dozens of Tsurigakure ninja that had decided to attack the leaf village. “I think they’re bitter about that time my team took out their ‘best’ shinobi.”

Sarada hoped that this attack would be as easy to stop as the one all those years ago, but a nagging voice in the back of her head told her differently.

Running through the damage, Sarada spotted a congregation of people. Upon arriving, she noticed that the civilians were circling around someone. After she pushed her way to the center, she noticed the nanadaime.

“Sarada!” He exclaimed with relief, “I’m glad you, Boruto, Mitsuki, and Mirai made it home safely. As you can see, we’re in a bit of a tight-”

Naruto was interrupted by a falling boulder. In the split second before it hit, Sarada had to make a decision. Judging from the size and angle of the rock, it would hit mostly civilians, but still injure the nanadaime. Sarada knew her duty was to protect the hokage with her life, but she wouldn’t be able to live with herself if she was responsible for the deaths of a myriad of civilians. Confident enough that Naruto could protect himself, Sarada activated her cherry-blossom pink susanoo for the first time and shielded the civilians.

Just as she had hoped, Naruto flash-stepped out of the way just in time, leaving everyone unharmed.

“That was an impressive maneuver.” Naruto commended his student, “I’m glad you made the right choice.”

After the Tsurigakure ninja had been dealt with and subsequently severely punished, Naruto called Sarada to his office.

“Since you have been my student, you have proven that you possess all of the traits necessary for the ideal Konoha shinobi. The will of fire seems to run very strongly in you and you never fail to protect a comrade. You wield your sharingan with grace and use your chakra enhanced strength expertly. I have no doubt you’ll represent the village spectacularly as the next Hokage.” Naruto gave Sarada a warm smile.

Sarada felt faint. Really, really faint. She was going to be the next Hokage. Oh god. The next Hokage. Like the. Next. Hokage. “Naruto-sama…” she began shakily, “I can’t believe-oh my lord, thank you! I promise to never let the village down and to protect it with my life! I mean it!”

The rosy hues of morning filled Sarada’s bedroom, bathing her bed in a soft light. She opened her eyes and smiled with anticipation since today was the day she’d become Hokage.

Stepping off her bed, she put her red glasses on and moved towards her wardrobe, knowing exactly what she would wear.

You should look formal but not overdressed. Sarada remembered her mother’s words, picking out her burgundy tunic, soft, black pants, and of course, her Hokage robe.

“Sarada!” Sakura called from downstairs, “Breakfast’s ready. You don’t want to be late for your big day!

“Coming Mama!” She replied, walking out of her room and to the kitchen. A warm plate of eggs, toast, and fruit sat waiting for Sarada at the table.

“I can’t believe my girl has gotten so grown up.” Sakura sighed, squeezing her oldest child, “Eat up sweetie. You want to be well fed so that you can show everyone how great the Uchihas are!”

“Of course!” Sarada exclaimed, smiling brightly, “I’m going to become the greatest Hokage!”

“I have no doubt darling.” Sakura fought back tears of joy as she saw her daughter walk out of the house, white robe fluttering behind her. The first Uchiha Hokage.

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jestbee · 6 years

Text

Of dogs and Disobedience

Title: Of Dogs and Disobedience Words: 2870 Summary: The five times they tried to have rules for their dog, and the one time they gave up.

Authors Note: Today has been a great day and I hyped about the tour and possibly seeing it with my pals. So, to @ineverhadmyinternetphase and @charlottekath who inspired me to write this by talking about much domestic dnp n dogs in the group chat. I am weak and I caved and now this exists. No regrets!

Also, though I never really intended them to be linked, I’ve kind of got a series of dog fics now. ‘Of dogs and something’ fics. They could all be the same universe if you like. Established fan and dogs! Read the others here: Of Dogs and Solutions Of Dogs and Bathtimes

[AO3 link for this fic]

Fic under the cut

Enjoy!

Dan often tells him that he's more badly behaved than the dog. He steals food off Dan's plate, tracks muddy shoe prints through the hallway, and if Dan is gone for too long, bounces around him upon his return until Dan gives him some attention. At least, this is where Dan draws the parallels.

He doesn't seem to mind though. And while there are no clear cut rules for Phil, not really because despite the comparison Phil isn't actually Dan's pet, there are rules for Winston.

1. No tidbitting from the table.

2. No jumping up.

3. No sitting on the sofa.

4. No sleeping in their bed.

5. No going in the gaming room

"But he's just a puppy," Phil argued, scratching him behind the ears and grinning when his pink little tongue flopped out.

"Exactly," Dan replied, crouching down as well and stroking him, "he has to learn."

It isn't that Dan hates the dog. Far, far from that. Phil knows Dan loves Winston, is absolutely head over heels about the damn thing, but for some reason he's intent on having him be a good boy and- thanks to the internet- thinks a constant, consistent approach to household rules is the way to go about it.

There is lies the problem. Because, although Phil is quite open about his flippant attitude towards the rules, he does try to stick to them all the same.

He suffers the cocked head and longing stares as he eats, the wide brown pleading eyes aimed at his slice of pizza.

"Sorry little man," he says, hitching his plate higher out of his way, and trying to eat quickly so that Winston doesn't think he's neglecting him, "no tidbitting allowed."

But Dan. Dan, with his sharp clearing of his throat as soon as Phil looks like he's about to waver, his vocal announcing of the rules at every given opportunity, Dan, is the worst.

Phil is home from his meeting. A pointless one because he knows he doesn't really want to get involved in a solo project right now, not when the second bathroom is still being renovated and they're debating that extension on the back to make the kitchen bigger. He wants to settle for a while, make the space their own, but he'd promised Jo at the management company he'd go along anyway. Network she'd said you never know for later on down the line. He knows that's sensible, so he'd gone, but he's tired now and he just wants to come home.

He knows as soon as he gets in that Dan has been cooking. The smell of food is spiralling through from the kitchen and he's never been more thankful in the knowledge that Dan will have left some for him.

He stumbles through the hallway, kicking off his shoes and placing them on the rack in the space under the stairs and pads onto the cool whites tiles of their kitchen floor. Hand picked, of course, the exact shade of white as the counters because aesthetics, Phil.

"Did you cook? Amazing. I'm famished--" he stops.

Dan is sat at their breakfast table, the round glass one with the chunky pine legs. He's bent over, Winston's tan little body and swishing tail by his feet and he's--

"Are you feeding the dog your dinner?"

Dan straightens up, wide-eyed and alert like he's been caught in the act. Because he has.

"No."

"I thought we said no tidbitting," Phil

"I wasn't," Dan maintains, and Phil pretends to go along with it.

They're both coming home late this time. They'd popped out for a coffee with friends hours ago. It's takes them longer to get into the city these days and they always misjudge what time the rush hour traffic is going to hit on the way back. It means they get caught in the rain, and they're gone a little longer than they truly intended but they're still smiling when they come in through the door, shedding wet coats and shaking out their hair.

Winston is ecstatic. Bouncing around their ankles, shimmying up onto his hind legs, tongue lolling a yappy little bark escaping his mouth every few second.

"Shhh boy," Phil is saying, trying to encourage him to stop jumping, getting caught in his own coat in the process.

"Did you miss us?" Says Dan, his own coat abandoned on the antique chair they'd picked up at that place last summer. The one they said they were going to fix up, but haven't. The one that looks good anyway, a little shabby around the edges but charming nonetheless. Definitely more Phil's aesthetic than Dan's, but it works.

He's bent at the waist, slapping his hands against his knees, laughing as Winston props his paw up there, jumping and barking in time with their frivolity.

"Hey," Phil says, "No jumping up?"

Dan continues laughing, and Phil joins in.

Dan is ill. He's picked something up from somewhere. From going outside he reminds Phil at various intervals, I told you we shouldn't do that. There has been much coughing on Dan's end and much rolling of his eyes on Phil’s as Dan huddles on the couch and whines periodically for coffee or food or a warmer blanket. But Phil is the dutiful partner, bringing him things with only the smallest amount of mocking about his fragile state.

He's on his way back from the kitchen, the mash potatoes and gravy Dan just had to have when he was ill clutched in a steaming bowl, when he spots Winston up on the couch. He's curled into the curve of Dan's abdomen, rounded and he's hunched over, coughing forlornly and stroking at Winston's ears. They look cozy. The blanket tucked up under his chin, the rhythmic way Dan is petting at his fur, comfortable and close. Phil pauses for a moment in the doorway watching the nest of his little family and smiling.

"He's up on the couch," Phil says, the barest hint of a smirk and his eyebrows definitely not raised.

"I'm sick," Dan says, coughing weakly in demonstration. "Leave me alone."

"Okay," Phil says, handing him the bowl.

He strokes Winston's head twice, the pup butting his head into his hand, then reaches to run his fingers through Dan's hair.

"Are you petting me now?" Dan says, poking the fork into the potatoes.

"Maybe," Phil says.

Dan hums, taking a bite.

Phil rearranges them on the sofa so that Dan's legs are draped over his lap and Winston repositions so he can be near to them both. They stay like that for a while, and Dan begins to perk up.

Phil doesn't often go away alone these days. Most of the time Dan goes with him, or they go away just the two of them but, when there is work and the commitments that go with deciding that yes, you do want that extension to make the kitchen bigger, one of you sometimes has to skip the family barbecue and stay home. It being Phil's parents that were hosting, Dan drew the short straw and had to stay home and suffer the awkward encounters with builders.

Phil gets back on the Monday morning because travelling on the Sunday is always busy, Dan and he knows he's in for it because he's back later than they'd agreed he would be.

It's dark in the hallway, and there is no clattering sound of tiny paws on the wooden flooring of the lounge where Winston's basket is, which should have been his first clue. Phil puts his bag down, heads straight to the bedroom because if the house is in darkness, and there is silence in the living room, Dan has most likely gone to bed. Phil doubts Dan would have left the house, but he's just going to check anyway.

The scene in their bedroom has the breath catching in Phil's throat.

Dan's curly head pokes up from their sheets, bare arm hooked over the top, fingers curled into a loose fist. Winston is tucked up under his arm, his nose nuzzled into the juncture of his jaw and shoulder. He lifts his head as Phil enters, face alert at first then tail wagging as he recognises Phil.

"Hey boy," Phil says in a whisper. "I didn't think you were allowed on the bed."

Winston cocks his head and wags his tails some more as if he knows exactly what he's getting away with but that if Dan, the mean one, had allowed him then well, what was Phil going to do about it?

Phil isn't going to do anything, just chuckle lightly in the darkness at them both and contemplate getting a snack before he goes to bed himself.

He decides against it. Disappearing instead for a spell to brush his teeth, knowing he'd only get the riot act from Dan if he snuggled up to him to sleep without doing so.

Once he's in pyjamas, teeth brushed, contacts out, he heads back to the bedroom and crawls into the king sized bed. They'd invested in the bigger one when they got the house. It's a solid wood thing with a light grey wash to it, the headboard an actual thick branch. It's perfect, matching the rest of the silver-grey aesthetic they haven't moved away from since the last place, only much bigger. When Dan spotted it he fell in love instantly. Phil took a bit more convincing, mostly over the price tag considering it was some sort of obscure furniture designer Dan knew the name of but pretty much no one else in the world did (or at least that was Phil's argument at the time). He has to admit he likes it, especially at moments like this, bone tired from travelling, sinking into the soft mattress on a bed that is big enough for the length of them both without hanging off the edge and wide enough for them both to stretch out. That, and he had a sleep-warmed Dan next to him, which is always great, regardless of the bed.

Dan hums a sound as Phil curls close, mostly still asleep, but a little bit awake.

"How'd the kitchen go?" Phil asks, getting as close as he can with Winston between them.

Winston lifts his head from Dan's chest, turns his neck, sniffs at Phil who pets him absently, before settling down between the two of them, close enough that he can touch them both. He lets a breath out of his nose, noisy, sounding like a little contented sigh.

"S'good," Dan says, voice muffled as he scoots closer, mouth obscured partly by the pillow and partly by Phil's shoulder.

"Okay," Phil says, a hand up in Dan's hair, the duvet tucker around them both.

He scratches blunt fingers into Dan's head absentmindedly and Winston sighs again like he's jealous.

"Did Winston steal my side of the best while I was gone?"

"He's not allowed on the bed," Dan counters.

Phil glances down at Winston, a circle of fluff in the space between their bodies. "Alright," he agrees.

Actually, keeping Winston out of the gaming room is difficult for both of them, but with the mass of wires and the many many expensive pieces of kit that could get damaged, they both agree it's best that the puppy isn't running around.

Winston doesn't get the message straight away though, and the whining at the door, the tentative scratching of his claws against the door. It's painful to say the least, and they pretty much break that rule simultaneously and without much fuss.

They're mid gaming video, and the whining at the door is loud enough that microphone is going to pick it up.

"We're not bad dog parents," Phil is saying, animatedly, "But he'll injure his little paws if we let him in, or he'll trip over a cable or something. He's clumsy. He gets that from me."

"He can't get that from you Phil," Dan insists.

"He can, and he did."

Dan rolls his eyes affectionately, but Winston whines behind the door and is isn't long before he's rolling backwards in his chair and opening the door.

He brings him back in, cradled in his arms and lickign at his face.

"He can come play with us," Dan says, "I'll sit him on my lap, he won't get hurt."

"We can take turns," Phil corrects him, "he can sit with me when you're playing."

"Okay."

It's the first time Winston is featured on the gaming channel, but it wasn't the last.

They're heading back from a walk. Winston has gotten really good at not pulling on the lead and he's trotting along happily on the end of his black lead that matches his collar. That's been Dan's input. The bone shaped tag hanging from it with Winston's name and their contact information written on it had been Phil's.

"Oh, you're finally back," comes a voice from their porch as they walk up the drive, rounding the willow tree in their front garden.

"Oh god," Dan says beside him, "We totally forgot. I'm so sorry."

"No worries, you're not too late."

"Hi Louise," Phil says, offering the arm not currently holding Winston's lead for a hug.

"Oh hello," Louise says, ducking down in lieu of hugging him, "aren't you a cutie!"

"This is Winston," Dan says, his voice proud. "He's the best."

Louise tickles him under the chin and he pushes his furry head into her hand in response, licking at her a little bit.

"He's precious," she says.

They go inside, Louise relieving Phil of the lead to walk Winston inside, babbling to him all the time in baby talk.

"You're doing that mum thing," Dan notes.

"Yeah, just missing when my babies were really babies. Terrible twos have hit for the little one and I'm just… well, this isn't the easy bit. You guys have got it best with this one, he's lovely… aren't you. Aren't you just lovely."

Winston yaps once and wags his tails to show that, yes, he is lovely.

They make their way to the kitchen, Dan flicks the kettle on and fetches biscuits from the cupboard, arranging them on the plate. When they're settled around the table, drinks poured and Winston sitting at his feet, Louise gets around to asking about the renovations.

"Well, it looks a lot different in here from the last time I was here," she says.

"Yeah," Phil says, jumping up, because this is the part he likes best. He explains how it was before, what the concept was. That they're wanted to just knock through entirely but the wall was load bearing so they're settled for a lintel, made a feature of it with the spot lights. How they're chosen to keep the extension roof space open into the gable to give it that extra ceiling height, why they'd chosen to put windows in on both sides, rather than just one as the original builder has suggested. He's gesticulating wildly, he knows, but well, she'd asked.

"Don't mind him," Dan says, picking up a biscuit and breaking a bit off, "he always gets like this. He's so excited about it."

"So were you," Phil points out, "Mister we-must-have-the-exact-white-tiles-to-match-the-counters."

"Aesthetics, Phil, I've told you." He laughs, reaching down with the bit of biscuit to an awaiting Winston who scoops it from his palm delicately.

"Did you just--"

"What?" Dan asks Louise, her face incredulous.

"Did you just feel the dog biscuit from your hand?"

Phil scoffs, "Yeah," he says, "Except we're supposed to have a rule where we don't do that."

Dan shrugs.

Later Louise points out when Dan lets Winston up on the couch, when he lets him into the gaming room while they film a video and he curls up in the corner.

"You spoil him you know," Louise says, "He'll run riot."

"He already does," Dan says fondly.

"Yeah," Phil agrees, "We don't mind. He's kind of… he's like us."

"One of the family," Dan grins, looking over at him.

Phil grins back at there's a moment between them before Louise clears her throat. "Um guys?"

Dan laughs awkwardly.

"Besides," he says, "If I can put up with how badly behaved Phil is, a disobedient puppy is nothing."

Phil shoves at him lightly and Dan's smile lasts the entire time Louise is setting up the camera. And then some.

Most days, Dan insists Phil is still more badly behaved than the dog. Some days, Phil counters it with how badly behaved Dan is, and that if he's just stuck to the rules, the dog wouldn't be badly behaved anyways. Winston demands attention and despite their best efforts it's obvious who is really in charge in their house and he often runs circles right around them. He goes where he wants in the house, sits where he wants, sleeps where he wants, and they spoil him rotten. And to be honest, they wouldn't have it any other way.

#my fics #phanfic #phan #dnp #dan and phil #phanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #fic #phan fluff #domestic phan

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folklore-musings · 7 years

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If I Can’t Have You (part 2)

Summary: Very AU. Archie Andrews is dead. The only leading suspect is one of his oldest and dearest friends, Jughead Jones. Betty Cooper is forced on a mission to find Jughead and bring him in, getting herself kidnapped throughout the process. Everything is a lie and nothing is the truth in this twisted tale of love and death.

Read on AO3 here

Read Part One here on tumblr

A/N: Sorry this took so long to update I’ve been so busy with my other fic Camera Shy, my apologies. In this chapter we finally get to meet Betty! Thank you so much for the comments and kudos before, don’t be afraid to leave more if you like this! Thank you @jandjsalmon for the inspiration and @riverdalelovee for the read over. You ladies are wonderful.

Betty was sitting at her desk when the wanted poster landed in her inbox. “Do you know where we might be able to find him?”

She picked up the paper, hot off the press and scrutinized the face of the man staring back at her. Suddenly the walls were caving in and her throat felt like sand paper. Betty couldn’t believe it. Those eyes that same crooked smirk, the unruly curls falling into his face, and that stupid hat. He was 25 years old, in her opinion he really needed to let that thing go.

“No.” Betty said, face showing no emotion. “Why, what did he do?”

Kevin Keller pulled out the empty chair across from Betty and sat down. He reached over her desk and placed his hand over hers, a sympathetic gesture that Betty found welcoming. “We think he had something to do with Archie’s death.”

Betty swallowed the dry lump in her throat at the sound of her fiancé’s name. She told herself she wouldn’t cry anymore over him, at least not in public. It had been a little over a month since the murder and she’d been trying her best to move on with her life. It was a lot harder than she thought it would be.

“I think that assumption is a little far-fetched, don’t you think Kevin?” She grabbed the water bottle next to her laptop and took a sip. Wow, it was hot in her little office. She stared at the drawing some more, captivated by those haunting, pencil drawn eyes she knew so well.

“It’s Jughead, he’s capable of anything.” Kevin sighed heavily and dropped his gaze. “I need you to do me a favor Betty…”

Betty paced circles around the island in her kitchen, practically burrowing a path in the hardwood floor. She’d bitten her nails to the point where they were bleeding. How could Kevin do this to her? Wasn’t there a conflict of interest here, having Betty investigate the murder of her fiancé?

She hung her head in her hands, ripping the ponytail from hair and flexing it between her thumbs. The ponytail slipped and she watched it fly across the room, landing silently on the floor near the table. She curled her fingers into her fists like she used to when she was younger. Thankfully, she had no nails left to reopen the scars that littered her palms.

During her next lap around her island, Betty stopped just short of the fridge and opened the cabinet above and to the left. She peered inside, reaching up and grabbing the familiar orange pill bottle. Her hands were shaking as she opened it up, popping two little orange tablets into her mouth. They hit the back of her throat and Betty swallowed them dry. She gripped the countertop, hating herself for having to succumb to the prescription drugs she hadn’t taken in months. She despised feeling powerless.

Betty was about to place the pill bottle back in the cabinet before having second thoughts and pocketing them instead. If she was going to have to force herself to search out Jughead and ultimately solve the murder of her beloved Archie, she was going to need all the drugs she could lay her hands on.

She grabbed herself a glass of water, sipping slowly as she waited for the drugs to settle in. Glancing around her little two bedroom home her heart ached. Ever since Archie’s murder she no longer was capable of being alone in the dark. Every light was turned on in the kitchen and the living room beyond. The brightness was harsh to her sleep deprived eyes but Betty couldn’t handle turning them off. She was afraid Archie’s ghost would return just to haunt her; to ruin her life in the wake of his death, just as he did when he was alive.

Archie and Betty were the perfect All-American couple. They’d grown up as next door neighbors, forced into each other lives at the mere age of two. Betty had loved Archie since she was seven, and he brought her a princess Band-Aid to cover her scraped knee when she’d fallen off her bike, trying to keep up with him and Jughead. He’d kissed her knee, telling her it was all better and Betty was crushed.

Throughout high school he serial dated every girl in their grade, even the hot young teacher that came to town. Everyone had gotten a taste besides Betty and it drove her to the brink of insanity. No matter how hard she tried to be perfect, Archie refused to see her as the girl she could be for him. It wasn’t until after she dated and broke up with his best friend Jughead that Archie fell under her charming spell.

But Betty was never enough for Archie.

They dated for five years, long distance as they went their separate ways for college. As soon as they returned to their hometown Archie popped the question and Betty, without hesitation accepted the princess cut ring he forced upon her finger.

It wasn’t long until they moved in together, getting used to the pre-married life when Betty started to notice Archie’s web of lies. He’d come home in the wee hours of the morning, reeking of scotch and cheap perfume. Betty swallowed the pain the first time she saw the smeared red lipstick on his collar.

Red was never her color.

When she tried to confront him about it she’d be met with the slap of his hand across her cheek. He’d call her a jealous bitch and a child. “This is what you wanted Betty!” He’d scream in her face.

But without Betty, Archie was nothing. His parents were divorced and his father had nothing left to his name when an old business venture went south back in high school. Betty was his key to a solid a future, the perfect cookie-cutter American dream family that everyone wanted but no one ever got.

Four months before their wedding Betty threatened to leave him if he didn’t quit the drinking and the sleeping around behind her back. Despite his abuse she still loved him something awful. But Archie never stopped and thought about what Betty asked of him. And the night she tried to leave he pulled her by her golden ponytail and shoved her against the wall. “If you leave me, I’ll kill you.”

Betty fell to the floor in her kitchen, clutching the glass of water in her hand afraid it may spill. She tried and failed to hold back the tears as they fell. This wasn’t the way things were supposed to be. She’d wanted so much more out of life but all she’d gotten was the bad end of Lifetime movie drama.

Archie’s icy tone still woke her up at night, shaking in a cold sweat. It wasn’t until that moment that she realized she wasn’t safe, that she’d never be safe.

She walked on eggshells around Archie after he’d threatened her life, afraid to set him off again. She knew what he was capable of, but she never imagined he’d be capable of murder.

Weeks went by into months as their wedding loomed closer. Betty forced herself to focus on the details of the caterers, the dress and the cake, spending all the time she could away from home, away from him. She dropped fifteen pounds in a month without trying, and when she looked in the mirror, nothing but hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes stared back.

Everyone blamed the stress of the wedding, but Archie knew. And Archie thrived off her fear.

Just two weeks before the wedding Betty received a call at 3 a.m, waking her from troubled sleep. She felt the sheets beside her and they were cold.

She answered the phone with a yawn. In the background of the call she heard sirens and her heart dropped like a bomb to her stomach.

“Betty? Betty it’s me. It’s Kevin. I don’t know how to tell you this but Archie-“ The phone line filled with static and she missed the last of what he said.

“Kevin what? I’m sorry my signal is terrible. What’s wrong?” She stepped out of bed and paced down the hallway, flicking on every light as fled her way into the kitchen.

A groan sounded through the receiver. “Betty, Archie’s dead.”

Betty placed a hand over her eyes and cried as she sat on the cold kitchen floor, the memories flooding her mind like a hurricane. She didn’t cry for Archie, no. She cried for herself. She was finally free.

She grabbed hold of the counter for support as she brought herself back up to her feet. Her hands trembled as she finished the glass of water, setting in the sink. With shaky knees she walked down the hall and turned the corner into her room.

There at the foot of her bed was a suitcase full of clothes. She eyed the floral bag with remorse and reached down to the clutch the handle. It was time to go find Jughead.

#bughead #betty cooper #jughead jones #riverdale #bughead fanfiction #my writings #if i can't have you

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thecosmiccuttlefish · 7 years

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March 14th 2017

0621: I had trouble getting to sleep last night. A quirky nurse came in to draw blood. She’s was blonde m, wore a blue camo shirt and spoke in a sing songy voice. She told me “Here, just put the covers over your eyes.” In order to block out the light, and asked if I danced. “No? It must be someone else.” But she was really good at drawing blood. I barley felt it. So I’ll give her that.

0636: 50 something nurse came in. 50 something nurse asked: “Did the lab come?”, referring to blood work, and in my case the quirky nurse. She took my heart rate and blood pressure lying then standing (after standing for two minutes). After I asked to go to the bathroom, and disconnect my heart monitor (three small cords red, white, and black) she told me to change into the hospital gown because she was going to weigh me. That’s new. After I was weighed it was back into my pyjamas and off to bed after a temperature check.

“Are you feeling worse this morning?” 50 something nurse asks me with a thermometer in my mouth. I smile and shake my head. “I’m just like a dentist.” She said. “Asking questions with a mouth open.” Does she mean closed?

She also told me that my heart rate drastically improved. Up to 38bmp as my low. I should be out of the hospital soon. But, I’m trying not to think about that. Numbers and the rest. I’m just focusing on what I need right now. More sleep.

1113: So, mum came around 9am. I went to breakfast with her in the very classy “Teen Lounge” down the all. Are they waning me off of food? I had oatmeal, some gargantuan genetically modified banana, and under the green dome of destiny was toast. That’s all. I had peanut butter, let the marmalade rot, sped up it’s abandonment by the power of eating disorder. My mum was sure my heart rate was 35bpm at night and announced it when she woke me from my slumber. “Your heart rate is still low. 35.” Turns out she just saw that on a monitor somewhere. Nurse L confirmed that it was 38. Why you always gotta go react like that mum?

“Was she weighed?” Said mum.

“Yes…” Said nurse L.

“I’d rather not know.“ I interjected. “Because, with eating disorders..”

~I feel that air of electricity when I begin to talk about eating disorders like some secret cult that I am privy to and understand and others want to learn about. I sense attention and interest. Performers instinct?~

“Because with eating disorders you get competitive. Oh my heart rate was that, I need to get it back there. Oh, that’s my weight. I can beat that. So, I’d rather not focus on numbers and focus instead on what I need to do to recover” I looked down, nodded my head.

They understood. Mum would find out my weight later.

Mum also said, to the nurse that she felt my calorie intake could be bumped a bit.

“I don’t know how much she’s eating now.” Mum said in her pleasant ethereal voice. My dad has this weird voice he uses when he talks to people with an accent. My sister and I point out to each other by saying “I smell popcorn. Do you smell popcorn?” Be it with a Mexican butler, a Chinese grandpa, He enunciates his words and laughs a little too much. “Oh! Ho-ho! Okay! Haha!” My mum has a great way of getting whatever she wants when it comes to hotels and services. She sometimes speaks very pleasantly, in a slightly higher voice than normal. With pleasant inclinations of inquiry where she might cock her head to the side. “I don’t know how much she’s eating now.”

“Um. She’s on a 1700 calorie diet.” Said the nurse.

So much for numbers.

Then I had a shower. My cold is still pretty nasty, so I tried to steam the sick away.

Then mum left, I maximized walking time by going back and forth to the sink.

First by getting my tooth brush and tooth paste, walking to the sink and brushing,

Then walking back getting my retainers and the retainer case, walking to the sink brushing them and putting them away.

Then walking back to tuck my retainers away and get my hair brush, walking to the sink and brushing my tangled hair. The hospital baby shampoo isn’t stellar.

A nurse with pink pants came in at some point and told me to buzz her when I wanted the leads on.

THEN FINALLY I walked back, put my brush away, and went to the washroom, then sat on my bed.

Finally, a new girl named came in. Her name was Stephanie and she painted, and now I’ve just been typing.

1137: Grammy came in, I’m going to hang out with her now.

1231: So Grammy and I went to the game room. I called a nurse to check if it was okay that I was un-tethered. “Oh you don’t need to do that” Said Gammy. “The nurses are busy.” But I was insane and did it anyways. Nurse L said it was alright. She got me some lovely water with ice and Grammy and I played checkers. I beat her once, then she crushed me. I ate all my foods.

Here’s the menu, transcribed by me:

Lunch

TUE 03/14/17

1X 2% Milk

1X Seasonal Fresh Fruit

1X Egg Salad SW

1X Creamy Coleslaw

1X Minestrone Soup

Notes about the above.

*The milk actually takes up about a 1/3rd of a small glass and it comes with a plastic lid.

*I think I’m going to start a world wide petition to stop fruit from being unfairly labeled “Seasonal” and/or “Fresh” The fruit I received had obviously been canned for some mysterious amount of time. It was all diced and cubed and had some bright pink marachino cherry bits, so really, it was about as fresh as a loaf of bread salvaged from the nuclear apocalypse sponsored by corn syrup. Also, what season? It’s spring here. Barley. The only fruit that’s growing in this climate is Apple’s stocks. Let’s do everyone a solid and stop lying to ourselves. Call it “Fruit” or put a series of question marks “???” Anything is better than deceitful adjectives.

We talked a bit about her family. She is great at telling stories from years passed, she loves it. “My sister and I often ask ourselves, why is it that we don’t smoke? After all these years, even though our parents did! Well, we always come up with the same answer.” “The dirty ash trays-” “That’s right! The dirty ash trays.” I’ve heard that story like three times but she always has fun telling it.

We talked about how sick I was. She showed me some pictures of me on her phone. She has such a great archive,How I smelt weird when I first came back, Ketonic? Was the word?

She walked me back to the room, I put my tray down, I went to the bathroom, she waited for me, Then she gave me her tic-tacs for her sinuses and left. I love her.

1246: Nurse L walked in. She is stealthy. You can’t hear her coming. It’s like she’s five and travels along her parents wood floors using fluffy socks. One more reason not to workout. I wasn’t going to anyways, GEEZ!

1251: RECOVERY THOUGHT: I never asked myself when I had enough exercise. I thought that was weakness. To truly enjoy yourself you must listen to your body, and what you want. Never be ashamed of that. Ladeeda.

1325: Okay, so Dr. Patooti came in and we talked for a bit. She suggested I talk to Psychologist #2. For continuity. My weight it actually down a bit. She asked if I felt my calorie intake should be upped. I could feel my eyes practically widen in their sockets. “My mum is bringing extra snacks today.” No need for that increase thank you. Then she asked how my Chinese was going. We talked for a while about how she has trouble pronouncing her V’s and W’s. She pulled back the tacky blinds and pointed to the window. “I used to call the a Vindow!” Das’ cool.

Still no exercise. Nurse L came and hooked me up to the heart monitor again.

In other news, I haven’t worn a bra in like three days because who am I trying to impress? Very floopy and nice. Yes.

1518: Or, 3:18pm. Anyways. I got accepted to this university program I was looking forward to. This is good and exciting and yes. It’s a very small university. Guarantee you’ve never heard of it unless you live close to where I am. It’s a two year program. It seems so long to commit, but I suppose it really isn’t when you think about… I don’t know. All of junior, middle and high school. I can do this. No worries, and time is just going to speed up right?

Anyways, I saw this exciting announcement in my email after sitting down. I was standing you see because I allowed myself 15 minutes of stretching. It was only 33% disordered. The disordered bits of it are listed below:

It was timed, which is only a little bit of a problem. I need to know how long I’m stretching somehow. The disordered part is the feeling that I can’t stop until it’s done.

I added 48 seconds to the timer. Because I need to buffer any time I might be messing around and not stretching.

Every time I had to stop, like when the eating disorder clinic gave me a call (ironically) I added a minute to my time to make up for the time, and the time I’ll need to get back into the flow.

Gentle stretching turned into isometric yoga poses.

But there, then basically I sat down to check for the email the ED person said she sent me. I didn’t see that email, but I did see the acceptance letter and that was very exciting indeed. So that’s something to talk about with mum when she comes for dinner in about an hour or so.

The day just flys by!

1545: Okay, so I’m just listening to some chill millennial music, and I’m feelin very work out ish. But I can’t think about the urge too much. It fuels it. I’ll make a plan. So, I’ll get up, go to the washroom. Study Chinese, then stretch for another 15min. That seems alright. Maybe a guided you tube stretch? It’s a pretty good alternative. Okay, go.

1750: So mum came by, and UG. UG! I ate a vegan brownie, because mum wanted me to. And two of those little greek rice wrap things and now I want to exercise, so this is where Netflix comes in. I feel on the verge of crying. Not really, but it’s in there somewhere.

She came in, I was coming out of the bathroom around 1614 after doing a hundred high knees and 25 squat jacks and she said “What were you doing in there?”

I told her.

“Naughtyyyy”

Then she revealed some presents she brought me. One of those 99 things to do when you have time that have artsy fill-it-in-yourself pages. She was looking at me very lovingly. We talked for a bit. I found out my neighbor, Emily is a model. She eats everything too!

I can get past this anxiety. Stop trying to rationalize it.

We played connect four. I won one. We tied, I think she won one. Then checkers. I was doing pretty well. Then not so well. She made a lip sound. “Shut up!!” I cried. “Margoo. Don’t get upset about a little game of checkers.” I double jumped her twice, but left myself venerable. She double jumped me.

“One little lapse my dear.” Said she.

She plugged me in, which is the modern day version of tucking me in, and then left.

I love her.

1817: I started doing squats, but the good news is Stephanie is right across from me. and that looks weird so I stopped. I’m kind of depressed. I think I want to curl up.

I’m going to watch a terrible sitcom.

1946: So, I did good things. I talked with my mum about how I was feeling, I realized that my thoughts are just thoughts not threats and I managed to feed myself. My mum watched through video chat. To be honest, I’m sort of jealous of Stephanie across from me. She hasn’t been on a computer once. She’s just painting… I want to be like her. That’s the life. Anyways… what else. I’ll go off my computer till 9pm. Or 2100 in this weird 24 hour journal I’ve got going here. Keeping tabs on my dad has made me realize how many small details are forgotten if you let it slip your mind. So… what’s the plan… Put the hummus away. Stretch for another 15min. Keep it light. Then work on Chinese. Finish the documentary. It’s good. It opens my eyes. It makes me want to help the world. Makes me think the university program I’m going into is for me. So ya, I’ll put down a deposit. Maybe I’ll fill out the form first. Then hummus, then stretching, then Chinese, then documentary, then writing, then bedtime. Good plan!

It’s funny. I’m putting away the hummus and pita… but I really want to eat it all too. I really want to stuff myself. But no no. Eat intuitively. C ya pals. Can you tell I’m getting more tired? My writing is getting more sloppy.

2152: What started as stretches turned to resetting the timer and doing lots of spider man’s and things. Awful terrible. My parents are becoming more and more convinced they need to hire someone. HIRE SOMEONE! At home. It’s awful! Humiliating. Terrible. Incredibly tumultous. I hate it. Stop. Please god stop. Please god stop please god please please please please please please please please please please. I was Facetiming with my mum, after sending her the two texts in regards to not exercising, or acting on my latest obsession to make myself sweat!:

#1“Failing.”

#2 “Faillling”

And she said psychologist #1 sent an email and cc’d me in it. Lies. I asked her to forward it to me. I don’t think I was meant to read it. It was basically talking about getting help. Here are some prime excerpts:

Dad:

.…She clearly needs close supervision as someone needs to sit with her for all meals and supervise her or else she will be exercising….my wife and I need a break of a break with this…I would like to hire someone to be with her in the house when we go to work. I don’t see Margo going back to work herself anytime soon….

Psychologist #1

….I realize that she has been trying very hard to defeat the eating disorder and associated urges but right now she is not anywhere near having enough self-control and has put herself in danger hence the hospitalization to buy time….The few days in hospital will not have helped at all if she goes back to exercising (which I understand she was doing on the ward yesterday). So, if she is going home in the next few days, I expect her to complain but accept that she is going to have someone with her (at considerable expense to the family, which she needs to appreciate, and which I think she does appreciate)…until the day when she can manage the urges on her own. If she chooses to fight this logic, I would bring her back to the notion that someone with an addiction is not left alone in a room with a line of coke or a bottle of gin and someone with suicidal urges is not left alone with a gun….

ARGGGGG NO! AWFUL! TERRIBLE! I guess I should just freakin’ accept it. Or start lying about my exercise so they stop FUH-REAKIN’ out!

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA.A

I’d exercise right now but I’m scared that they’ll pick it up on my heart monitor but I am so angry I don’t care, and am going to do an angry pyramid anyways. No! Maybe I should write an ukelele song instead? Channel it into more constructive ways?

2218: Okay, I’ve decided to not think about it till the morning. Sort of put mental blinders on the whole thing. I know I’ll feel better in the morning.

2315: Skyler, a lovely nurse who I'm growing more fond of and talked to me when I was super anxious came and took my vitals. It's my favourite part of the night because I find the stethoscope relaxing. Gentle touching is nice, not to sound creepy. Then, because I'm still angry and feel like hating myself, watched vines on YouTube till I heard poor Stephanie rolling around. Someone who paints and reads can't be offended. She's untaintable. I hope I feel calmer in the morning. I don't want to go back to this eating disorder. This fear filled hell pit. It's awful. That was my March 14th 2017 Good talking to you.

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canaryatlaw · 6 years

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OKAY. so. it’s late and I gotta wake up in 4 hours and 15 minutes and get on a plane and this was probably bad planning on my part but today was overall pretty good! I had my alarm set for 11:35 to get to my haircut appointment at 1 (25 minutes to get ready and eat breakfast, hour to get downtown), but I woke up at 10:40 and I was like I bet if I check my phone right now I’ll have a message from Jess about getting breakfast since that’s kinda our thing now so I checked my phone and I did, so we said we’d meet there in 15, at which point I got out of bed, brushed my teeth (and evidently neglected to take my pills, oops), get dressed and get out the door. I’ve been trying to diversify my meal choices because I’m generally super boring and order the same thing whenever I go to a certain place, so I’ve been trying to get some variety lol. So far I’ve had their french toast, their banana bread french toast, their french bread pudding, their caramel apple pancakes, and today I got the smores pancakes. I got the closest I’ve been to actually finishing my meal today since it was a “short stack” (meaning 2) of pancakes instead of the full order of 3. But it was quite good as always and breakfast company is always enjoyable. It was about an hour later when we finished up, so I started walking to the train from there. This is the red line, which I took every day to get to school but since I haven’t had many needs to go downtown recently I haven’t been taking it as much. so I make it on the train, everything is good, then I get off at the stop nearest to the ulta I go to for haircuts, but then my gps decided to be very weird and not terribly helpful in getting me the last like, 0.2 of a mile there, so that was kind of a pain in the ass but eventually I figured it out and made my way there. Haircut was good, I always like seeing my haircut lady because she’s super fun and I always like catching up with her, I hadn’t been in a solid 3 1/2 months since I’d been spending all of my time studying for the bar (so of course my hair was SO overgrown) and I was like oh man, she’s gonna think I left for new york without telling her because we last left off with me not sure whether I would stay here or go to NY, so I was happy to tell her I’m staying. Hair wise, I did basically the same thing as last time, short in the back and longer bangs in the front, how I like it. So that was a good interaction, we always discuss media and how it affects things, so I always give her updates about the legal position Adnan Syed and Brendan Dassey are in (and end up having to explain the tiered court system to do so, but we managed) and we talked a bit about the second season of 13 reasons why because we had previously discussed the first season so she wanted to know what I thought about that, so of course I said I feel like they went way overboard and it honestly hurts the real kids in high school going through terrible bullying or being terrible bullies by making them think “well things aren’t /that/ bad like it is in the show, so this isn’t really a big deal” which of course leads to a whole other load of issues. And of course we talked about the two scenes in the finale (you know which ones I’m talking about) that were IMO totally inappropriate and unnecessary, sheerly for dramatic effect and with no regard for how it would effect the vulnerable teenagers this show is marketed towards, and I’m basically at the point where I’m jumping off this bandwagon and won’t be watching the third season, because they’ve shown their hand as far as what their priorities are, and it’s making a dramatic show that will get them money and fame, not to actually discuss the awful things that go on in high schools that lead kids to die by suicide like Hannah Baker, which is a fucking shame because there. are. so. many. Hannah Baker’s out there who are one mean comment away from taking their own lives, and to be approaching a media project about those issues and completely disregarding how it would actually effect the real teens and young adults struggling with these issues is really just indefensible to me. okay, I’ll stop my mini rant there. But yeah, haircut was good, got back on the train and then made a stop at Target to grab a prescription and a few odds and ends (like, mouthwash, shaving cream, a birthday card, and a box for mailing purposes), then got an uber pool home partially because I’m lazy but also partially because I can’t get my public transit app to open and I’m worried I’m gonna run out of cash on it, so I’ll have to figure that out at some point. But I got home and started on all I needed to get done, starting with putting in a load of laundry. I then sat down to write out the birthday card, it’s for one of the little kids whose parents were on the staff for tour back in 2014 and he’s turning 9, and his mom posted that he really likes getting stuff in the mail and has already excitedly been checking it so she would love to get a bunch of cards sent to him, so I bought a funny one with a squirrel taking a selfie on the front, then on the inside says “hope you’re having yourselfie a great birthday” or something like that because that sounds like 9 year old boy humor, to my best estimate anyway. so I wrote all that out and then tried to make it look fun and I tried to draw a balloon on the envelope but I can’t draw so instead I have a badly drawn balloon with an arrow pointing to it saying “badly drawn balloon” because kids. Okay, enough about that. Other than doing laundry most of the rest of my day was focusing on finally getting stuff hung up in my room, started with the mockingjay posters I had in the frames. I ended up having to move things around a good amount to fit them in places because they are BIG (like 27″ by 40″) and then had to mount them on a nail on everything and was very intense lol but I managed. Then I just spent most of the time relocating the stuff I had taken off the walls to fit the posters and then hanging some of the photo ops and posters I hadn’t gotten the chance to hang yet, so now my walls are very crowded but I’ll have to figure out a few other places to hang things 😂 so basically I did that for a few hours, then when my laundry was done I sorted it and then used it to pack my bag for North Carolina tomorrow. I’m going to be there for a full week so I wanted to make sure I got everything, and I’m super annoyed at my insurance company’s mail in order program because they promised me a package for over a week now that was supposed to come today but didn’t, and now I’m gonna be low on meds for the next week add have to hassle my doctors office again about getting me an emergency supply for the third fucking time in the past work which idk if they’ll even do, so that’s another fun thing I’ll have to deal with. I just typed everything from “I’m super annoyed” on to now with my eyes totally closed and I only missed one key stroke, in case you were wondering lol. but yeah, I’m super tired. The other thing I did was put in the overtone deep treatment which has added a nice richer red color to my hair, and it’s not quite as bright as Mera’s hair but it’ll do for now being that anything else would probably involve bleaching my hair and I ain’t about that. So I packed and took care of shit then wasted time doing stupid shit and in case you couldn’t tell by the fact that I typed all of that with my eyes closed, I’m very tired right now so I should definitely sign off now. I downloaded the heathers musical bootleg onto my computer so I can watch it on the plane tomorrow just for kicks 😂 so that should be fine. alright, that’s it. Goodnight kiddos. See you on the other side.

#daily journal #July 2018 #Jess tag

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