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austenpoppy · 6 months

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Nightfall: at dusk - Prologue: Night monsters

Ao3 link: Nightfall : at dusk - Chapter 1 - Austenpoppy - Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling [Archive of Our Own]

Fanfiction.net link: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14301937/1/Nightfall-At-Dusk

Summary:

2001. Ron and Harry are working hard at the Auror Academy to become full-fledged Aurors, while Hermione is trying to find her place in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and Ginny is training with the Holyhead Harpies. Everybody is trying to overcome what happened in the war to focus on building a better future, and life seems easier than it has ever been. However, darkness is looming on the horizon as Muggleborn and Half-Blood wizards and witches disappear before being found out weeks later, their dead bodies having been experimented upon. Meanwhile, Ron has more and more trouble dealing with the aftermath of what happened with the locket...

I can't believe I'm actually starting to post this. This is going to be the first fanfiction I publish, but it is a gigantic project that I have started years ago, when I was barely out of high school - and it's very close to my heart. It all began in a rather boring geography class in 2017 (I'm sorry, Mr. D, I can't say I care about mussel culture in Thailand) where I had let my imagination wander, doing one of my favourite hobbies: inventing stories with one of my favourite characters of all time (in case that was not clear, I'm talking about Ron). I was thinking about one scene from one of my favourite childhood movies (the fantastic "Azur and Asmar" by Michel Ocelot) and I was replacing the characters from the animation film with Harry and Ron, imagining how they could have ended up in that situation and what could happen after.

The entire universe of Nightfall was born from this one scene alone.

If you start this journey with me, my fellow Internet friend, this is going to be a long, very long ride. The story is so huge I divided it into three parts, each of which have their own "arcs" so to speak. The good thing is that I know exactly where I'm going, and I can assure you that considering there are already six years of work put into this project I am not likely to ever abandon it. You should rather feel sorry for my dear friend and beta Vivithefolle who not only had to hear me talk about this project for years, but also had to read some chapters in complete disorder, with some notes from me to explain the context or background information. Thank you so much, Vivi, you motivated me to write at a time you were my only reader and I had this crazy idea I would write all the chapters before publishing them (no this did not work out, but no one can accuse me of being impatient... six freaking years of work...).

However I want to be clear and honest to my potential readers: this is not going to be a happy-go-lucky story by any stretch of the imagination. I am going to write about mature and sometimes very dark subjects, even though if you know me, you may have guessed I rather like humour and am not really fond of cynical and hopeless works. I, however, am a sadist, as you will have the displeasure to discover once you see how I treat Ron (I'm joking, I'm joking...or am I ?). I don't want to say too much, but let's just say people who came here for a feel-good story without any angst will be thoroughly disappointed.

As a side note, I consider this work to be canon-compliant, given that I only consider the seven original books as canon and take what J. K. Rowling wrote on Pottermore with a grain of salt; but "Nightfall" is not my headcanon of what happened after the war either. Consider it more like an evil twin of my actual headcanon.

Now let me introduce you to the world of "Nightfall", or the story that has been living rent free in my head nearly everyday for the past few years. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I've enjoyed writing it, and I'm proud and extremely touched to present you with my first published fanfiction (I also feel very self-conscious, but I guess that was to be expected).

Disclaimer: All characters and events depicted in the original book series belong to J.K. Rowling. Most unfortunately.

Trigger warnings for this chapter: graphic depictions of violence, disturbing imagery

(See the end of the work for more notes).

Prologue : Night monsters

Sunday 7th January, 2001 - 2 am.

It was a very cold night. Thaddeus gripped the pants of his cloak tighter against himself, trying to warm himself up as best as he could. As he exhaled loudly, his breath came out in a silvery steam before disappearing. His lips were chapped, and he could feel the cracks on them that would probably end up bleeding.

He found himself thinking wistfully of the warm bed in which his wife was waiting for him at home. Images of himself with his head going deep into his soft pillow, pulling back his fluffy blankets over his body, and kissing Magdalene goodnight before going to sleep with a contented smile on his face flooded his mind. He fidgeted, feeling irritation slowly rising inside him. How long would he have to wait?

Magdalene was certainly trying to fight off sleep until he came back, though she was most likely too groggy to last long – Calder, who had turned three in November, was in his oppositional phase and was exhausting them both. Thaddeus had been in the Auror Task Force for more than twenty years, and Magdalene had been his wife for well over fifteen years now, but she still worried almost as much as she did back when they started dating.

She worried even more those days considering what had been happening lately. Eight wizards and witches had vanished in the last month and a half in mysterious circumstances; two of them had ended up dead, their corpses dropped in random places all over the United Kingdom. And to top it off, all of the missing people had either been Muggleborn or Half-Blood, something that the media had been quick to point out.

Of course, worried whispers had emerged ever since Fidvi Khokhar, the second victim, had disappeared, and those whispers had grown louder and louder every time another person had gone missing. A collective shiver had taken over the wizarding community, that was paralyzed with fear at the idea that somehow, You-Know-Who had managed to come back from the dead yet again.

About two weeks earlier, when Conri Hartnett's body had been found five hundred miles away from the place he had last been seen, stupor had seized Aurors and civils alike. Of course, everyone had felt very sorry for his family, though nobody had ever doubted that the former Unspeakable had been killed - there was even a strange relief that had gone hand in hand with the discovery of the corpse, since victims of Death Eater who had disappeared were very rarely found.

Yet, despite this small relief, horror and fright had quickly made their way into everybody's hearts at the knowledge that Hartnett's body had been experimented upon. Thaddeus had not seen the body himself, and photographs of the corpse had been forbidden despite outcries from scoops-hungry journalists, but he had heard other Aurors shiver while recounting the tale in the common room.

The picture those Aurors had painted was the kind that you only saw in the most terrible nightmares. Hartnett's fingers, hands, arms, legs and foot had apparently disappeared, replaced instead with translucid tentacles reminiscent of a jellyfish. Meanwhile, his head had taken up a more cubic-shaped form, while his hair had completely fallen off. Furthermore, the rest of his body had been covered with a bad rash. The Aurors who were at the crime scene had said you could barely make out the place the human body ended and the jellyfish started, as if the two were one and the same.

Really Thaddeus couldn't imagine much more terrible fate. The Auror department had not even allowed Hartnett's family to see the body, let alone get it back for a proper funeral. As of now the scientific team was still trying to figure out what had happened to Hartnett exactly. So far the only things they were sure about were that the kind of jellyfish Hartnett had been merged with was a species of the family Oceaniidae, and that dark magic had been involved in the twisted process of Transfiguration.

Two days after Hartnett, another body had been found in Cardiff. This one, too, had been awfully disfigured. After a bit of investigation, it had turned out to be Donovan Kovalenko, a British Ukrainian citizen who had worked as a secretary in the Ukrainian embassy until his disappearance, and the last person to have disappeared.

Unlike Bartnett, he had not been blended with a jellyfish, but with a bowhead whale. His face had been completely unrecognizable, and it was only because of a very specific birthmark that the scientific team had been able to identify the body.

Just like with Bartnett, Kovalenko's transfigured corpse had been found very far away from the place he had last been seen, since the Ukrainian embassy was based in London. What was more, he had also been found in a completely different region than Bartnett, whose body had been discovered in a little town in Scotland, Tobermory.

All in all, Thaddeus thought with a shudder, there was something really dark going on, but no one could tell whether this was the work of a serial killer, of Pureblood fanatics, of a human trafficking ring, or something else entirely.

Thaddeus didn't think Magdalene had any reason to fret today, though. If the situation he'd been required to deal with had been dangerous, he wouldn't be hanging around waiting for the Hit wizard on duty to come and let him know what was going on. It was probably some kind of drunk wizard who'd destroyed public property thinking Trolls were attacking him. Two months ago he'd arrested a man who had been bothering a neighbourhood in London, believing himself to be Celestina Warbeck. The fella had sung all night with a croaky falsetto voice that seemed immune to the most powerful Silencios.

Merlin, he hated being the reserve Auror at night, but he needed the extra money.

Just as his mind was going to go down a rather dark route he was nonetheless accustomed to, he noticed a familiar figure coming right toward him, looking grim. He couldn't help but raise his eyebrows in surprise.

"Harvey?" he asked as they showed each other their Auror badges and checked each other's identity. "What're you doing here?"

"Nasty business, Thaddeus", Harvey replied sombrely, shaking his head, while Thaddeus followed him. "A young witch who was on her way home after a party stumbled upon the body of Lucinda Backstreet. Lynn's team is already on the crime scene."

Immediately, Thaddeus felt his shoulders slump, and his heart constricted. It was going to be a long night. Magdalene's eyes would give up the fight against sleep well before he would be able to go home, and the first thing he would do when he did go back to his house wouldn't be to kiss his children or wife but take a huge glass of Firewhisky.

Lucinda Backstreet was one of the eight people who had disappeared in the last weeks. A young girl from Bristol, enthusiastic and passionate about the protection of magical animals. One day she had left her home to go to the weekly meeting of her club dedicated to the defense of the rights of magical creatures, and then nobody had ever seen her again. Her disappearance had really caused a stir nationwide. Not only was she the youngest victim, but her father, Cyneric Backstreet, was a well-known businessman who had made a fortune selling transportable strongboxes that were charmed to repel most common spells.

Walking toward her corpse reminded Thaddeus as to why some days he thought that he should find another job.

Neither Harvey nor he were speaking, and the only sounds that could be heard were that of their boots on gravel. After a few minutes spent in silence, they finally approached the crime scene. Thaddeus noticed that a few members of the scientific team were already there, looking for evidence and preparing the body for transport, including the Team Leader of the scientific team herself, Auror Lynn Oliver. Thaddeus gave a nod in her direction, which she answered grimly.

Thaddeus looked around for familiar faces, and he saw Monica and Griffiths acknowledge his presence with a small wave, though they quickly got back to what they were doing, both of their faces incredibly serious.

When Thaddeus finally laid eyes on Lucinda's body, he felt himself repress a gag and he had to quickly avert his eyes. The young girl was spread out on the pavement, her face turned toward the starry night. Her expression would give Thaddeus nightmares for months. Her mouth was contorted in pain, her cheeks were tear-stained, and her glassy eyes were wide open in terror, telling a story of terrible suffering.

Though her face and chest had remained human, her stretched-out arms had been turned into something else, just like the previous victims. This time, as far as Thaddeus could tell, the monsters responsible for the murders had tried to turn Lucinda into some sort of part-Phoenix creature. While the shape of her arms was visible, they had been saddled with very big wings, covered in those unmistakable red feathers typical of Phoenixes. Some of them had seemingly burnt, as they had turned black and were emitting a dark smoke that Thaddeus instinctively backed away from.

Lucinda's hands were still present, but her fingers had elongated, and were contracted, as if she had had a seizure. Her legs, too, had been partially Transfigured. Thaddeus could see feathers coming out from under her pants, that had clearly been buttoned up hastily, and her feet had been turned into sharp talons, onto which no shoe could be put, though her shoes had still been put beside her body.

"I can't believe I'll have to be the one who'll tell Cyneric Backstreet that his daughter is dead, and that her death was clearly not a quick, painless one", sighed Harvey next to Thaddeus.

"Is that why you arrived at the crime scene before me?" Thaddeus asked, his voice laced with sympathy as he looked up at Harvey. "The emergency code for the missing persons' case?"

"Yeah, I was the one from my squad on duty tonight", Harvey replied, his breath turning into vapor as he exhaled. "The witness fortunately remembered it, and I received the signal thirty minutes ago. Right now Gallaway is taking her deposition."

Harvey jutted his chin toward a young woman, who couldn't be older than twenty-five and was in a clear state of great agitation. She was standing a few feet away from the crime scene, and was talking to a black-haired Auror in uniform that Thaddeus had only met a few times.

Thaddeus crouched down to look at Lucinda. He could not imagine the horrors she must have been through, and he shuddered as he thought of her father, who had openly wept in the Aurors' Office when he had been told there were few chances that Lucinda was alive after the first two bodies had been found.

As a father himself, Thaddeus could barely bear to think about that happening to his own children. Lucinda's face was so youthful that it was just plain wrong to imagine her doing anything other than laughing with her friends, complaining that she had too much homework, or giving animated speeches about endangered species.

Feeling dejected, Thaddeus turned his face toward Harvey and declared quietly: "Poor girl. She wasn't even seventeen."

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He was stuck on a chair in the tent and felt dirty. He looked down at his hands. He had been so sure he had cleaned them several times before, yet they looked filthy, dusty - all those adjectives finishing with a - y that applied to him because he was such a terrible person.

"Nothing will ever wipe your hands off your betrayal. It's too late. But has there been a time when you were at their level? Has there ever been a time when you were worth their brightness? No, and you know it. You're a dark creature, Ron Weasley, with even darker and hideous thoughts. I have seen your heart, and it is black. You have tried to keep your jealousy and your mediocrity hidden, you have tried to ignore the calls of your inner nature, but hear me out - you have failed."

"Do you see them? They are outside, in the sun, in the light. They shine very brightly, don't they, Ron? Their skins glow, their eyes sparkle, their smiles warm up everything around them. Do you see how much happier the world seems to be with them in it? Birds sing again, flowers are blooming, and Harry Potter and Hermione Granger are the stars the sky was waiting for."

“You are in the dark, and you will remain in the dark. You are seated in dust because you are nothing more than dust yourself. Actually, to be perfectly honest, your surroundings were welcoming and comfortable until you showed up and sat down in this chair. Crazy how you spoil everything around you. See, here, the tissue the tent is made of is quickly falling into pieces. Your mere presence is enough to destroy what is around you... Unless the objects you are surrounded by somehow feel how evil you are, and they'd rather turn to dust than stay with you any longer. Choose which hypothesis you prefer."

"Aaaah, they're coming your way. I will never understand why they decided to keep you with them, despite your darkness. But I will never understand real kindness either, so I will drop the subject. It was your redemption, Ronald. They were your redemption. You could have atoned for your sins. You could have let them crush you so they would climb higher and finally reach the sky where they belong. You could have done something useful for a change. Yet you spoiled your only opportunity. You spoiled everything, as usual."

"Now you're not even worthy enough to be a footboard for them to climb. You are just dust on their shoes. Dust, dust, dust. They will be so happy to wipe this dirt off their shoes. Even coming near you dampens their spirits. Their smiles are less warm, their eyes are less bright, their skins a lot paler. So are you going to spoil them, Ronald, like you did with the tent, or will they finally beat you and turn you into dust? Given how furious they look, I bet it's the latter."

He felt cold. Harry and Hermione were looking at him with a freezing glare and a scornful snarl at their lips. He shivered. And swallowed. He knew he had fucked everything up. He knew he deserved their anger and more. He just didn't want them to be upset over this, over him and his stupidity. And if he was honest with himself, it was also terrifying to be on the receiving end of their hatred.

"Listen", he choked, "I-I can't say how sorry I am, because no word will ever be enough. I am also...I am also so happy that you accepted to take me back to help you. I promise I won't be a bother. Don't mind me. I'll just do what you need me to do and disappear from your lives forever after if-if that's what you want. Please don't throw me out !"

But Harry and Hermione were not listening to him. Their freezing glare had turned into a flaming and scalding hot look and they were burning him. He was very hot. He was sweating. He felt drops falling on his face. The locket was weighing on his chest. It was so heavy. It hurt. He felt like he was melting.

He looked down at his hands again. He was actually melting. The skin of his fingers was going brown and was softening; small drops began to fall on the floor of the tent. Ploc, Ploc. They were forming a puddle and it looked like mud. In fact, he was sure it was mud. He wanted to yell, but he couldn't. His face was already melting, joining the puddle on the floor.

Ron woke up with a start and sat up, gasping for air. It had been a nightmare. Just a fucking nightmare. He ran a hand across his face, shivering from head to toe, and felt wetness on his cheeks. Fuck it, he had once again been crying in his sleep. It was the fourth time in seven days. Even as a child Ron hadn't been that much of a wuss, even though George liked to remind him that he'd kept taking refuge into one of his brothers' beds (or Ginny's) whenever he was scared, and that until he was eight.

It wouldn't matter as much if he had been crying for anything else. Not that he preferred the other nightmares, mind you, but he just felt pathetic for turning into a sobbing mess all because he'd been too weak to resist an effing necklace. Harry was particularly affected by Dementors. Nothing less than Bellatrix Lestrange could make Hermione truly terrified. Ginny, who had been possessed by a diary, didn't flinch at the mere presence of a book.

But him ? Ron could already imagine George making grand gestures wherever he went: "Alas, my dear Sirs, gentlemen, thou shall make place for the delicate Ronniekins in his worn-out PJs, for he fainted when the dreaded locket came into his dainty view. Please bring the smelling salts while we're fanning his pasty white and freckled face and he's letting out little whines of distress. He's the king of wimps, thou see, and he can't bear the sight of lockets, less he be crying like a famished baby !"

Yeah. George'd be the kind of asshole who'd offer him a pacifier if he knew what kind of nightmares was making Ron cry in his sleep.

Ron looked down at his hands, the real ones this time. Goddammit, they were still shaking. Bloody frickity freakering fuck, he thought as he closed his eyes in frustration, why did he have no control over his own body? Why did he have to act like he was a ninety-something-old buffer who needed help to take a piss?

Why did he have to ask himself stupid questions that nobody would answer?

Even though the bedroom was completely silent at this hour of the night, Ron could still hear his heart thumping madly in his ears, and despite himself he couldn't help but feel like the locket was still whistling behind him, making his skin crawl. Sweat was running down his back and had already soaked his armpits, and yet for some reason he was cold, goosebumps erupting all over his flesh.

And he still had this impression of someone hissing near him, and the room was closing on him, and his pyjama top was glued to his skin, and he didn't like the way the sheets were trapping his legs, preventing him from moving... Unable to bear the situation any longer and feeling like he was suffocating, Ron yanked the sheets off his part of the bed and got up quickly, before pulling his sticky pyjama top over his head and throwing it on the ground.

He took his wand and started walking toward the door, though he couldn't help himself and stopped to throw a glance at Hermione once he was in the doorframe. She was sleeping peacefully, her wild brown curls framing her head like some kind of fairy tale princess. The moonlight was lighting up her beautiful face, and she had a contented smile that almost made him want to go back to bed to kiss it.

Leaving the bedroom, Ron crossed the corridor and went into the small kitchen of the flat, and immediately put water into the kettle to make himself tea. He cast a heating charm on the kettle, took his favourite mug, and put a teabag in it. Waiting for the water to boil, he put his outstretched arms on the counter and sighed, his head lowered toward the sink.

It was the third time in a week that he'd had a nightmare about the locket. It wasn't surprising per say, because it was January and it was always around this time of the year that Ron had the most vivid nightmares in regard to the locket, but it still sucked. Especially because it'd been three years already, and some part of Ron had - foolishly - hoped that the nightmares and his locket-related terror would have subsided by now.

But nope, he mused as he stared at the happy light brown dog on the mug running around and chasing a butterfly. He still had dreams in which he could feel the heavy weight of the locket on his chest, preventing him from breathing. In which he was trapped in an endless stream of dark thoughts echoed by the locket's whispers, reminding him of all the times he had felt worthless. In which he kept leaving the tent as Harry's scornful stares and Hermione's cries followed him even after he woke up.

At the same time, he knew the nightmares were the last thing he deserved for ever having walked out on Harry and Hermione. He'd never been good enough for them in the first place, but deserting them when they needed him most was irredeemable, something that the locket, whether it be through his nightmares or flashes, kept reminding him of.

At this moment a whistling sound made Ron's heart do a somersault before he realized that it was only the kettle boiling. He poured the hot water into his mug, added two and a half sugar cubes to his drink, steeped the teabags in the water, and as he adopted the same waiting position as before his thoughts went back to the place he had among his two best friends.

He was thankful Harry and Hermione still wanted him in their lives, and somehow he kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, when they'd wake up and realize he'd been nothing but a cock-up all this time. Truth be told, part of Ron had to pinch himself every morning when he was reminded that Hermione wanted to be with him, of all people, and that he got to be an Auror Trainee with Harry, who still thought Ron had his back.

So he'd keep trying to enjoy every moment while it lasted. It was not always easy, because every little thing seemed to remind him of a memory in which he'd fucked up or that showed how insignificant he was. Yet Ron had learned to cast the memories aside in order to focus on more important things, like his family, Harry, Hermione, his other friends, or his studies. The hardest part in all this was to not let his useless feelings get in the way of things.

Ron could say with some pride that he'd grown way better at dismissing his gross feelings of jealousy and insecurity compared to when he was a teenager. Sure, sometimes he slipped up because he was still a moron, he pondered as he turned a spoon inside his mug. But all in all, so far he had managed to keep his selfish desires in check - mostly.

He kept making efforts to show others, and more particularly Harry and Hermione, that he had changed. For that he needed to make sure they didn't notice he still had the same old feelings, or at least he needed to let them know that those feelings would never be a burden to them again. Of course sometimes they couldn't help but notice a few things, like this time Ron had casually let slip that he thought Hermione often favoured Harry over him and it had ended up in a huge row with Hermione as she yelled he was just being a possessive jealous sod trying to stifle her. Or this time he had jokingly told Harry he was Mum's favourite and Harry, disturbed, had replied that however important Mrs. Weasley was in his life, she was not his mother. Harry had been weird for days after that, all because of Ron, his stupid mouth and his stupid brain.

That was the reason why he made sure no one knew the extent of the mess he had in his head. While he had never been a great liar, he tried not to be too specific if someone asked him what was wrong, he tried to take their attention away from whatever face he was making, he tried to dismiss his reactions whenever they were related to this pathetic sticky, stinky magma of insecurity inside him.

And it was somewhat working, but for how long would it last?

Right as his mood was turning as bitter as the tea he had brewed, considering he had let the teabag steep for more than ten minutes, he heard footsteps coming in his direction. He didn't bother to take his wand or even turn around. Ron would recognize Hermione's light but determined steps anywhere.

She entered the kitchen and stopped in the hallway for a few seconds, before walking toward him and enveloping him from behind. Even though she had wrapped a warm nightgown around her, her hands were still cold on his chest. Yet he didn't mind. The contact of her skin on his, the touch of her curls and cheek on his back made everything better, and despite himself he closed his eyes for a brief instant, savouring the moment.

"A nightmare again ?" she asked in a low voice.

"Yeah..." Ron admitted with a sigh. "I didn't want to wake you up, but I needed to get up."

"It's okay", Hermione replied in a reassuring tone. "But I'm starting to get worried. You've had many nightmares in the last three weeks and haven't been able to sleep properly even though you have exams coming up. Perhaps you should see a healer to get a Sleeping potion ?" she added anxiously.

"Not until I really have to", he retorted firmly. "We've already had far too many problems with Sleeping potions, I don't want to risk it. Besides, I'd have to tell the Auror Academy's specialist Healer about it and I'd like to avoid it if I can."

"I know", Hermione sighed. "I'm just worried about you. You always seem to get so stressed out before your exams at the Auror Academy, even worse than I've ever been at Hogwarts. I wished you would stop doubting yourself so much."

Ron did not reply, but he squeezed Hermione's hands that were still clasped on his chest, right next to his heart. It was strange how the people around him seemed to know him so well while at the same time not knowing anything about the exact reasons that were making him upset.

"What can I say ?" He finally acknowledged after a few moments of silence, though he hoped his tone appeared casual. "You can't change old habits with a wave of your wand. I guess it's hard for me to think I won't fuck up somewhere. But you shouldn't worry about me", he added gently. Go back to sleep."

"I woke up because you were not beside me in the bed, I'm not going back in there without you", she retorted assertively.

"I'm gonna lose the debate if I try to argue, won't I ?" Ron snorted.

"Of course you would lose, I'm more stubborn than you", she said confidently, and Ron could feel that she was sporting a small smile.

"Even if that were true, which remains to be seen, that's nothing to boast about, Miss Granger", he tutted in a fake formal voice. "I've been told that I'm more stubborn than a brooding mule having been raised by Harry, so imagine what could be worse than that... Apart from Harry himself, of course."

Ron felt Hermione shake behind him as she laughed heartily. He could not help but feel a surge of pride at having made her laugh after having made her worry for no good reason. Being able to make Hermione laugh as much as possible was one of his goals in life, and the sound of her laughter was one of the things he cherished most.

"I love you", she said fondly, as if it was the only logical answer to his antics.

At that, Ron turned around, and it was his turn to envelop Hermione in his arms, her smaller body fitting perfectly with his own. He kissed the top of her head, her brown curls tickling his face, before putting his chin on top of the mass of her unruly hair.

"I love you too", he whispered, and he hoped she could not detect how emotional he was.

He was glad that she could not see his face in the dark kitchen that was only lit up by the moonbeams that went through the main window. If she had, she would have seen in his eyes, of which Hermione always said they could never lie, the one thing that kept playing on a loop in his head but that was stuck in his throat.

I don't deserve you.

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Notes:

I suppose I should add a bit of information concerning my own vision of the Wizarding World that may seem surprising in future chapters:

1. I rather like to think the wizarding community is not small. I consider that there are hundreds of thousands, or even millions of wizards and witches in the United Kingdom, scattered in many different cities and villages.

2. For the same reason, I do not think Hogwarts is the sole magical school of the entire United Kingdom. It is the most reputed one, but I imagine there are thousands of smaller schools everywhere, allowing for people who do not want their children to go to a boarding school to learn magic and to learn how to control their powers nonetheless.

3. Only old wizards and witches actually dress in robes the way one would picture a typical wizard robe. I have my own ideas of what wizarding fashion is.

#hp #hp fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #angst #mystery #psychological trauma #look this is my first published fanfiction #i feel like a young child showing their bizarre drawing to adults

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where-dreamers-go · 3 years

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I’d love a platonic Boba Fett x Mandalorian! reader where reader worked with the clones as a kid, so she got really good at telling them apart by the tiniest details! So when he meets her on a hunt or something she recognizes him immediately and they catch up over a meal. Then they maybe finish the hunt together or just just talk about fights they’ve been in? Thank you dear!!

“Reunion” Boba Fett x Mandalorian!Reader

(A/N: Requested by the awesome @the-and-sign-anon.

Here’s some platonic Boba Fett fanfiction for yah! I feel like this has taken me a year to do, but it hasn’t, obviously. I just want it to be cool. I hope you like it! This is my first time writing for Boba Fett.

Aliit - family

Beskar’gam - armor

Buir - father

Vod - brother

Warnings: Canon violence (blasters). Death (no details).

Word Count: 1,445 words)

Late afternoon on an Outer Rim planet was not out of the norm for you. The system’s small sun casted long shadows behind the roughly structured buildings. A coolness crept into the air as evening grew near.

Perched atop of a well used cantina, you awaited a clearing near your intended location across the main square. You preferred less attention where you were going. The less people at small tucked-away building’s entrance the better.

It should not be much longer, you thought.

Earlier in the day, you had staked out the surroundings and where exactly you were to get the object. The bounty of the hunt. Was the objected named by the one who hired you? No, they had only told you who had it and where. Then added that it was valuable and quite decorative.

Helpful, you mused sarcastically.

Standing up, you decided that you would make it the right time to grab what you needed. The shortcut route would be best. Not the fastest way per se, but more your style. Rooftops were fine walkways in their own right. You were more interested in keeping the high ground. Only being in the area for less than twenty-four hours was a semi-followed rule of yours. Plus there were sightings of other bounty hunters.

It was prime opportunity to get the object of the bounty and leave. No more further delays.

Armor glinting in the sunlight, you kept your shadow hidden within the growing darkness cast by buildings and their antennae.

Three buildings and clothesline away from the unguarded door, you paused.

A bounty hunter.

You knew of course that there were others hired to grab the same object, however the one that caught you eye did not tickle your fancy nor did you care for their style. Too flashy with his large weaponry and inflated attitude. He was strutting a little too close to the door of your objective. Not to forget he was causing more trouble than needed. Pushing citizens around physically and verbally was unnecessary.

Can easily get passed him while he’s occupied. You thought, boot pointed in the direction of a small balcony below. Just—

Green paint grabbed your full attention. A very specific colored Beskar’gam in the next structure over. The sight of the colors and their arrangement lead you into a pursuit. The Mandalorian was steadily leaving a building. Closer. A small dent on his helmet.

You smiled, your thoughts on the bounty pushed aside.

Time to say ‘hello’, you thought as you leaped down into the dusty path.

A blaster was already lowering from its aim as you rose to your full height, meaning he recognized you.

The Mandalorian’s stance was slightly relaxed yet bent and ready to move. There were a few moments of long silence. Two Mandalorians watching one another.

“Are you just gonna stand there quietly?” A modulated male voice spoke from the green helmet. An accent in his voice pulled the air from your lungs. The familiarity striking and comforting.

“I wanted to give dramatic effect.” You said as you lifted one of your blaster pistols.

“Not sure your knees will approve.”

“Probably not.”

The grin you held disappeared as someone rounded the corner. A tall weapon in their hand. The bounty hunter you had spotted before. Not a well known one, you had not heard much of him. Only disliked any time you crossed paths, however briefly.

“Two Mandalorians? What…are you two after the bounty?” He laughed. “Why don’t you go shine your armor.” With loud steps, he walked closer. “Something you’re good at, right?”

That one’s unreasonable, you thought.

“If you’re after the bounty, why stop and chat?” You asked.

“What are you gonna do about it?” They clicked their tongue. “I’m going to get it anyway. Can’t have dusty troopers in my light.” A gloved finger edged to the trigger of his weapon as he continued forward. “Rona Olien. I’m that good.”

You and Boba turned your helmets to face one another. A silent conversation and decision transpired.

click

You charged forward in a crouch as the first round of blaster fire came from the bounty hunter’s modified weapon. The blasts stopped as the bounty hunter, Olien, staggered back as a blasterbolt hit them in the shoulder. Boba’s doing. Using the blunt end of your blaster pistol, you hit the side of the man’s head. The bounty hunter landed on the ground in a heap, groaning.

Walking up beside you, Boba kicked the large weapon out from Olien’s grip.

“If you’re going to shoot a Mandalorian, next time have better aim,” said Boba.

The two of you started walking away from the man. That was until a laser fire hit the wall of a building beside you.

In a flash of color, Boba had angled in a twist and had fired his blaster.

thump

“They were quite rude,” you said as Boba turned back to you.

“No honor.” Your brother lowered his weapon and walked with you to the destination.

It did not take long for the both of you to enter the building and find what you were after. A little digging and Boba had it in his grasp.

“A vase?” You tilted your helmet-protected head.

“An expensive vase.” Boba clarified. Rotating the piece, he examined it.

“Is it more or less than the job?”

“A bit more. Not by much.”

“Is it enough for you?”

His green and silver helmet turned in your direction. “It’s enough that we can split the difference for the job. And don’t tell me you don’t need it.”

You raised your hands in mock defense.

“Come on,” Boba turned on his heel. “They can wait one more day for their vase.”

His words surprised you. Yet you knew deep down that family meant a great deal more to him than a job.

You and your brother walked to a decent hotel and rented a room for the night; after grabbing some food of course. Neither of you wanted to part ways immediately. Besides, communicating via two separate ships was not an ideal way of spending time with family you had not seen in years.

Once in the quiet and privacy of the room, you relaxed. The food, vase, and weapons were put aside.

“It’s good to see you, vod.” You walked up to one another and inclined your helmets together.

“I’ve missed you.” Boba took a step back. “There’s a dent in your shoulder piece.”

“I know,” you groaned. “Too bad it wasn’t on my helmet then we’d match.”

“Hardly.”

You shook your head, smiling. There were more scuff marks on his armor than you remembered. Then again, so did yours. You had not seen one another in more than two years. Taking different opportunities tended to do that.

Living in an Empire was much different than whatever it really was when you were younger. You and Boba practically grew up together on Kamino. A rainy world where all you two saw was the insides of the cloning facility. The three of you, your shared father included, stayed there together. Jango Fett, your buir, had found you on a battle-worn world and brought you into the aliit, family, where Boba was your constant companion. A vod who was your only aliit after the battle on Geonosis.

Lives could always change so suddenly. Ones who lived together and depended on one another could find themselves on opposite ends of the galaxy.

Comfortable where you were, you started removing your armor and setting it down in your preferred arrangement. It was strange to have your helmet off while in the presence of another, however your vod was a major exception. The was a freedom to it all, the familiarity and the opportunity to just be yourself with on you trusted.

“That guy from earlier…,” you started as you yanked off your boots. “Have you seen him before?”

“Once or twice. He’s sloppy.”

“And had an ego the size of a rancor’s butt.”

He chuckled at your comment.

“Tomorrow,” you sat back in your seat, “I think you should give them the vase. Just in case they think of shortening you credits because I’m with you.”

“Changing subjects fast….They wouldn’t dare.”

“Just in case. Plus the whole bounty hunter image…”

He scoffed. “You’re my aliit.” Sighing, he nodded. “Fine.”

“Now that’s settled.” You grabbed the food and brought it closer. “Let’s eat.”

And eat, you did. Lounging about, the two of you talked and joked about the past. Catching up was half the fun. Making new memories was even better.

“I really have missed you, Boba.”

“I’ve missed you too.”

~~~

Best wishes and happy reading.)

(If you love my writings and want to support me, I have a Ko-Fi where you can buy me a coffee. I would be eternally grateful.

coffee

~~~~~

DreamerDragon Tags: @cubedtriangle

Star Wars Tags: @darkenwolfy @sweetheartliz07

**Let me know if you would like to be tagged in insert readers, either through replies, ask, or message.**

#Boba Fett x Reader #Boba Fett x Mandalorian!Reader #Boba Fett #where dreamers go #star wars #requested

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solesurvivorpaigeargot · 3 years

Note

I absolutely LOVE Sketchy Saturdays and I always look forward to them!! As for my question(s)? What made you decide to start doing it(I'm glad you do but I was just curious!)?

Hoooo boi the Sketchy Saturday Origin Story: I suppose there's two versions.

The short version reads " Moving stress, deployment depression, and isolation VS. my utter determination to DO SOMETHING whilst trapped in my home " -- Sketchy Saturday was the result of that title fight, so I guess the fandom won in the end? XD

The long version, however... Well, buckle up, cause this is gonna be a ride.

It may surprise y'all to know that two years I was eyeballs-deep in the South Park fandom. The blog still exists; my mainblog, JustCallMeButtlord, built to interact with the audience of my fanfictions-- the New Kid Stories, called NKS for short [gonna be porting those to Ao3 soon, just gotta figure out what robo-reader I'm gonna use to make a quick n dirty podfic out of the series as well as help me hunt down typos my eyes galze over]. The first 'season' of stories had ended, 8 completed fics, and I was puttering about with a bonus holiday story that was several months out of season. Not that I CARED because I was on GUAM where seasons don't exist and my time blindness gets even worse becasue without seasons changing it feels like time never progrsses even after being on the island for three cocksucking years.

I don't hate Guam, I am just not built for constant heat. I am a snow creature; I like below-freezing temperatures so I can layer up in fuzzy, fluffy things and drink hot drinks and cuddle loved ones and/or furry animals. It's a lovely island, I adored my first week there... I just wasn't made to live there.

HIlariously, NKS started out of the stress of moving to Guam. Two years and 8 fics later, the place we were renting was no longer within our price range and my hubby and I were forced to move onto base. Under the leader whom I refuse to name, military pay was given a precentage raise... but it was ripped out of bonuses and OCONUS pay. OCONUS is what a military member is paid when they're stationed Outisde the CONtinental United States. This usually means overseas bases like Japan, but it also means Hawaii, aaaaaand... GUAM. So that percentage pay increase for the military at large meant belt-tightening for every service member abroad, and we were forced to move onto base.

In case y'all haven't noticed by now, I'm a raging socialist with some issued with authority. I DO NOT LIKE EXISTING ON BASE. I do not like existing in a place where the national anthem plays twice a day, every day, at 6 AM and then again whenever the hell sundown is that day. And there's an unspoken rule no one tells you that when it plays you're supposed to stop what you're doing, face the nearest set of speakers playing the song, and stare in that direction with your hand over your heart until its over. That, if you're driving, you have to put on your emergency flashers and pull over. No one tells you this. NO ONE TELLS YOU THIS.

And then, before we had secured a place on base but we had set a move out date for the rental house, the Pandemic happened. While we were between homes. The base is talking full lockdown, Guam authorities want to shut down the island but businesses are terrified of not getting the tourist season business, we don't even know if we'll be allowed to move on to base.

Surprise, I stopped writing for a while... but I picked Fallout 4 back up again. I had been forced into the series years earlier by a toxic relationship, but the game itself hadn't been bad-- just the way I'd been forced to play it by someone who was firmly not in my life anymore. When confronted with character creation, I wasn't sure whom I wanted to make... but decided to go back to an old character. A VERY old character, whom I hadn't thought of since I'd finished ME3 at least 4 years prior, and a character I first conceived of when I was 14-ish... which is now about 15 years ago.

Paige.

I've talked before about how well Paige's story maps onto Fo4, but this was before I knew that. I knew the opening, her losing her kid, and that fit with her-- but something clicked while I was playing and the part of my brain that likes to create started wandering off. Soon enough I've got a couple chapters of a ficlet that I'm TOTALLY just writing as a personal one-shot to de-stress, no way I'm publishing this, I don't wanna get distracted from NKS, I got a whole 'nother season to write! Who cares if no one is reading it anymore because South Park Fandom doesn't like continuous plots.... right?

I was burnt out as hell, the move was looming, the Pandemic was getting worse and everything was getting scarier.

Then the news came through that hubby would be deploying again.

He wasn't supposed to, but the Navy decided the safest place for their sailors was the middle of the ocean, so if you WERENT in quarantine you were going on the boat and you were living there. Didn't matter if your spouse would be alone, unpacking a whole home by themselves.

I had a friend on base. We hung out. I met with my DND group on weekends; we all lived on base now, so we could meet up in like five minutes... and then restrictions tightened. You could be fined up to 5 grand for gathering in groups greater than 5, even outdoors, and detained if suspected of going to a home that wasn't yours. I still met 2 of my friends once a week for walks; get outside, be active, talk to other humans, but besides that? I was locked up alone in a new house in a place that I did NOT like existing in.... with a fresh new hyperfixation developing.

I think it was about a week into the new house that I made the new blog. At first I tried to run it side by side with the South Park stuff, but it wasn't long before all my attention was here... aaaand it also wasn't long before I was confronted with a lot of my own despair; of lockdown, of isolation, of watching a broken system crumble and not being able to DO anything about it, and I started to kinda lose my shit. I fuss-- I can't leave things alone, and I couldn't leave this feeling alone; of being fully and entirely helpless and hopeless.

And then I sketched a thing for a friend, and it made them happy. They were having a rough time, too, and I put something together because I couldn't think of anything else. And it helped. It lifted them up, and it lifted me up, too. Someone else had recently reblogged one of those pallet challenges that floats around Tumblr, and I decided FUCK IT LET'S DO THIS THING AND CALL IT SKETCHY SATURDAY!

Little secret, the very first Sketchy Saturday request? Was me. I was so scared no one would noticed the event, I sent myself the very first request, back when the event still took anons. Soon as that first picture was up:

BANG, suddenly four more; some people off anon. I met people that day, talked to them after the very first Sketchy weekend was over, chatted about the games and characters and art and writing and just... felt human for the first time in a really long while.

I figured I'd hold on to Sketchy Saturday until the deployment was over-- once hubby was back, I'd decide whether I was keeping it or not... but he came back, and I was still super into it, and he was supportive, sooooo I kept going! And then we did Sketchy Secret Santa, and people loved it, and my volunteers are excited about being Sketchy Elves and Secret Helpers and just OH MY GOD I DID A THING GUYS. I DID A THING-- that was just me all December and January long lmafo.

AND JANUARY! Because AH HECK, WE MOVING AGAIN! Because hubby finally got orders, and OH MY GOD we're going back to WA... but it's still a move half-way around the globe, and I was SURE I'd have to shut down the event for a month while we got our shit in order and NOPE, because here come the volunteers from Sketchy Secret Santa, and they wanna fill in all month long! Like... I didn't even ask for that shit, guys. They offered it so the event wouldn't have to take a gap.

Jesus I'm getting teary just remembering it.

So yeah. Sketchy Saturday is here because I got really lonely and stressed out while Fallout 4 provided me with some... catharsis for my situation, and then a pandemic happened.

And then y'all happened, and I'm still here. :D

#Sketchy Saturday #feels

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nikibogwater · 4 years

Text

The City Never Sleeps--a Tales of Arcadia fanfiction

“Moving to New York City is no easy task, and Douxie's been burning the candle at both ends for the past month in order to make ends meet. Fortunately, he has a family waiting for him every night when he comes home.”

Special thanks to @poetryinmotion-author for beta reading and providing me with the title!

So yes, this is my coping mechanism after the emotional trauma of Wizards. A little Found Family fluff to ease my screaming soul. Read on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830517

Or under the cut:

Why the hell was living in New York City so expensive?

Douxie had started this latest venture with at least some optimism. Protect the tiny sorceress and keep an eye out for any suspicious magical activity that could point to the return of the Arcane Order, all while remaining as inconspicuous as possible. It wasn’t that different from what he’d been doing for the last nine-hundred years.

Except for the damn cost of living.

Arcadia Oaks hadn’t exactly been low-rent either, but at least he’d been able to manage by juggling two part-time jobs and occasionally passing himself off as a streetside fortune teller (humiliating as that was) whenever finances got particularly tight. He’d had plenty of time to do his nightly patrols of the streets, chase down any rogue magical creatures, set new stasis traps, and be home in time to microwave dinner and pass out on his sofa-bed for seven hours before the routine began again the next morning. But New York City was a different monster.

He’d chosen this place for a few very good reasons. First, it was on the other side of the continent from Arcadia. Provided he’d covered their tracks right, the Arcane Order would have to scour any number of miles of the country before they could even begin to narrow down his position here. Second, the presence of magic in New York City was borderline undetectable. The area was so choked with noise, pollution, traffic, and people that picking out a magical signature from the chaos would be practically impossible. Third, (and perhaps this was the weakest reason, if he was being honest with himself) he had never been there before. Douxie had done some traveling in his centuries-long life, but somehow New York City had never ended up on his itinerary. If he was going to be immortal, he wanted to make the most of it and see the big sights. Up until now, he’d been stuck in Arcadia, trying to keep an eye on the magical stirrings there (and fuzzbuckets, there were a lot of them). Once he was free to go where he pleased, of course he was going to pick somewhere he genuinely wanted to be.

At least two of those reasons had been good ones, but that didn’t change the fact that paying for a studio apartment in New York City and feeding himself, Archie, and occasionally Nari (she only ate on days when she could not simply absorb energy from the sun) with no high-demand career skills to speak of was a herculean task. He’d had to take on three minimum-wage jobs just to make ends meet, and sleep? Well, he counted himself lucky if he got four hours in a single night.

Which landed him here, stumbling up to the door of their ramshackle apartment, fiddling with an ordinary keyring in order to keep up appearances should anybody walk by while he undid the twelve magical seals he had placed when he left this morning. He let himself in with a groan, slammed the door behind him, and somehow dredged up enough energy to replace the seals before he slid to the floor, utterly spent. What time was it? He’d gotten off work at 1:30, right? Or was he mixing up tonight with last night? Wait, was today Thursday or Friday? Fuzzbuckets, he could barely string two thoughts together in his head. He groaned again and pressed his fists against his bloodshot eyes. It was pitch black inside the apartment, and the only sound came from the small heating unit in the corner.

But he wasn’t alone. He felt a familiar form brush against his folded legs, and heard Archie’s welcoming purr close to him. Douxie sighed and blindly reached out, groping for a moment before his Familiar pressed his furry head against his waiting fingers.

“Did anything happen t’day?” Douxie slurred quietly. At this point, Archie no longer needed him to specify “anything magic related that could potentially be dangerous.”

“Nothing. All clear,” the cat told him, stepping into his lap. “Though I can’t say the same for you. I haven’t seen such a breakout since the fifteenth century.”

“What?” Douxie raised a hand to his face and felt his cheek, which was peppered with tiny red bumps. “Fuzzbuckets,” he moaned, letting his hand fall. “Think it’s the stress. I don’t remember the last time I slept through the night.” There were a few minutes of silence as Douxie stroked his friend’s fur, knowing he should move to his mattress in the corner, but too exhausted to care if he just passed out here.

“Douxie?”

His eyes slid open as he heard a small voice at his side (when had his eyes closed?) and saw Nari crouched beside him. She was wearing one of his old t-shirts, which was comically large on her tiny frame, and a part of him suddenly wished he could afford to buy her nicer clothes. He was her guardian now, he should at least be able to provide her with that. Then again, she had spent most of her considerably long life wearing enchanted armor from the Eternal Forest, so maybe she didn’t care about not having brand-name PJs. Right now, her eyes were sweeping over his face critically, her brow pinching with worry. Oh right, she was probably waiting for him to say something.

“H’llo,” he mumbled, his eyes closing again.

“Your aura is so weak,” Nari whispered, her hand coming to rest on his chest above his heart, where she could feel his magic give a pitiful, fluttering pulse beneath her fingers. “You are pushing yourself too far.” There was an element of reproach in her soft voice.

“Got no choice,” Douxie replied. “Have to keep you safe.” He heard her take in a sharp breath as though he had struck her. His lids flew open and he saw her fiddling with her hands and looking ashamed. “I....I didn’t mean...” He forced himself to sit up, pausing for a moment when his vision swam and his brain flopped around his skull like a dying Nyarlagroth. “Nari, this isn’t your fault. I just....It’s hard to make ends meet, that’s all.”

“You came here because of me,” she argued quietly, still refusing to look at him. “Because you thought I would be safe here.”

“I....Yeah. But it’s not your fault the rent’s so high. ‘M fine, I just need to sleep.” He shooed Archie off his lap and somehow managed to get to his feet, though the world spun around him and his knees wobbled like jello. Nari reached out to help him, but he ignored her offer (it wasn’t like she could provide much support, seeing as she only came up to his waist), and stumbled over to the mattress on the floor in the corner, falling onto it with a rough sigh.

“Your shoes are still on,” Archie informed him, coming to sit by his head. Douxie hummed noncommittally and did nothing. A moment later, he felt Nari untangling the laces of his hightops and sliding them off of his feet. Archie curled up in the crook of his shoulder, his purring filling the wizard’s ears and silencing his disjointed thoughts. Nari draped a blanket over him, pausing for a moment to rest her small hand on top of his uncombed hair. He felt her thumb rub a few circles against his scalp before she pulled away and stood up to return to her own bed on the other side of the room. Douxie was asleep before she’d even crossed the floor.

*****

Douxie found his eyes opening twenty minutes before his phone alarm was set to go off. He felt oddly rejuvenated for someone who had worked himself to the bone yesterday and only fallen into bed at quarter past two. He double checked the time on his phone, wondering if he’d somehow slept through his alarm. 6:13 am. He rolled out of bed, careful not to disturb Archie, who was sprawled out next to him, paws twitching as he dreamed. He glanced over at Nari, who was barely visible within a tightly-wound cocoon of blankets, her antlers the only easily distinguishable part of her. He could sense her aura, but it was dim, and scarcely pulsing, which meant she was quite sound asleep. Satisfied with the knowledge that his family was comfortable and at peace for the moment, he slipped out onto the tiny balcony, shivering as the cold embraced him. He left the door ajar a few inches in case Archie woke up and decided to join him, and zipped up his rumpled hoodie, before casting a glance around him.

The sky was a silvery grey, and he knew that the sun was peeking over the horizon at his back. The balcony faced west, and had a less-than-stunning view of a dank alleyway. It was barely wide enough for three people, and nearly half of it was occupied by Nari’s rapidly growing collection of houseplants and herbs. Douxie sat on the floor, crossing his legs beneath him, and leaned back against the brick wall of the apartment building. He gazed up at the slowly lightening sky, mind curiously blank, though not for want of energy. There was something about the stillness of the early morning that put him in a state of silence. Almost as though he were listening for something.

Or someone.

His heart twisted sharply in his chest, and for once, he let himself acknowledge it. He’d spent many early mornings like this in Camelot, perched on a battlement, watching the sunrise, waiting for the sound of his master calling him to his chores. Back then, he had dreaded hearing Merlin’s voice, knowing that it would be the end of the brief momentary peace he had carved for himself from the stillness of the morning. But now....Now he’d give anything to hear his master calling his name again.

Something pressed up against his knee, and he looked down to find Archie’s bespectacled gaze meeting his own. Without a word, Douxie opened his arms and let his Familiar settle into place on his lap. Douxie wrapped him up in his arms, clinging to his presence, suddenly acutely aware of how much his heart was aching, and Archie purred in understanding. The cat was warm against his chest, a physical reminder that although he had lost a great deal these many years, he wasn’t alone.

The door creaked, and Douxie looked up to find a very sleepy-looking Nari stepping out to join them.

“You’ll catch a cold out here,” Douxie scolded wearily, taking note of her bare arms and legs. She responded with a disinterested hum and rubbed one of her eyes blearily. Douxie sighed and held out an arm to her. She flopped down next to him and curled up against his side, one hand coming to rest above his heart, feeling his magic swirling and pulsing within.

“Your aura was twisting. You were sad,” she mumbled as he tucked her closer with his arm.

“...Maybe a little,” Douxie admitted. “I didn’t think you could feel that in your sleep.”

“Never try to hide anything from an ancient sorceress,” Archie advised from his place on Douxie’s lap. “Especially one who likes you.” Douxie breathed a quiet chuckle and gave his Familiar a scratch behind the ears. There was a moment of companionable silence between the three of them.

“...You enchanted my sleep, didn’t you?” Douxie said suddenly, looking down at Nari. She shifted, almost guiltily, and nodded.

“She does that several times a week, actually,” Archie put in. Nari opened her eyes long enough to send him the most resentful glare she could muster.

“Tattletale,” she muttered. The cat merely shrugged.

“...Thank you,” Douxie murmured. “I don’t think I could’ve survived this past month without either of you.”

“We’re going to be okay, Douxie,” Nari said through a yawn. “I believe in you. You’ll find a better job soon, and the Order will never find us.”

“You think?” Douxie asked lightly. The wood nymph nodded sleepily against his chest. “Well, I suppose there’s no arguing with you, is there?” He squeezed her shoulder fondly.

“You argue with me all the time,” Archie pointed out, turning a few circles and settling more comfortably on Douxie’s crossed legs. “If I were any less gracious, I might accuse you of playing favorites.”

“Oh, I do play favorites, Archie. You’re my favorite person to argue with.” Archie huffed and flicked his tail, but Douxie knew he was smiling without having to look.

The mage held his small family close, staring up at the sky that was turning more blue with every passing minute, no longer feeling the pervading chill. He couldn’t say what the future would bring. He couldn’t promise that everything would work out. But he did know, beyond the slightest shadow of a doubt, that he would fight to save the world a hundred times over, work himself until he was nothing but skin and bone, if it meant he could have more moments like this.

#tales of arcadia #toa #wizards: tales of arcadia #wizards: toa #fanfiction #self-indulgent fluff #found family #the bean goddess is a good little sister

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aenwoedbeannaa · 4 years

Text

The Red Death | Geralt x Reader One Shot

Summary: Your life has never been peaceful or comfortable, but it has never fallen apart quite this way—as in, everyone in your small district in Novigrad are taken by the Red Death. You are sick, but you know that no help is coming. Your district is poor—cut off from the rest of the city and left to die. You’ve accepted your fate, not expecting a silver-haired Witcher, a philanthropic Higher Vampire, and maybe even destiny, to come barreling in at the last second.

Word Count: 3,078

Warnings: There are some descriptions of the Red Death, or what I imagine it would be—a viral hemorrhagic fever. So, if you’re extra scared of viruses and pandemics right now, probably skip this one.

A/N: I really don’t know why I wrote this. Quarantine Day 4 has me losing my mind. But I mean, I did want to be an epidemiologist until I learned I was terrible at chemistry. So. Here we are. Also maybe I’m channeling my real-life fear into fanfiction, who can say?

If you enjoy my work and want to check out more of it, you can check out my masterlist, and if you’d like to be added to any of my taglists, comment or message me and I would be happy to add you 😊. Also, I do have a ko-fi page now, and I would really appreciate if anyone is able to give a little; it would really help me out with this whole career change dream & the whole not working and not getting paid amid this disaster thing. But of course, the best way y’all support me is just by reading and sharing my work. I appreciate it more than I can say.

The Red Death & Destiny

Novigrad’s seedy underbelly, feared by most, has been your home all your life. As a half elf, you land at the very bottom of the social ladder. To the humans, you are not human. To the elves, you are not an elf—and that’s just how it’s always been. You’re used to it.

What you aren’t used to is the eerie quiet that has settled over the overcrowded, poverty-stricken district where you’ve rented a small apartment for the last three years. Even the screams have died down. You’d thought hearing the constant groans of pain floating through the shuttered windows and the thin walls had been the worst—but it doesn’t even compare to the silence.

The blankets are soaked in sweat, partially due to the stifling air in the room and partially from the fever currently raging through your veins. You bones feel like they might disintegrate from the heat. Still, you refuse to lift the blankets—you don’t want to see what your body looks like underneath; don’t want to see the angry red lesions marring your skin.

Red Death, indeed.

You can’t help but smile bitterly; of course Catriona’s Plague would make an appearance in Novigrad, and of course it would hit your small, already poor district. Once the first case had been confirmed, the district had been placed under strict quarantine—no one went out, and no one came in. Perhaps if it had been a wealthier district, they would have sent doctors in their robes and masks, or called for mages immune to most of these things, but it was a poor little district filled with undesirables.

So they just leave us to die.

You have a feeling, based on the suffocating silence, that you are the only one left. You’d tried helping your neighbors when it began, but most didn’t want you near them. Even here among outcasts, you are an outcast—one of the only elves.

Less susceptible to the disease, yes. But clearly, you are not immune; not that there is anyone left to see.

You’d ignored the symptoms first, then you’d gotten angry, slamming yourself against the door to your apartment building over and over and over until you had no strength left. Once that happened, you trudged back up the stairs and slid into bed. That was two days ago, and all you’ve managed to do since is take a few sips of water and stagger over to the bathroom.

So this is how it ends.

***

“Remind me why we came to this gods-forsaken city again?” Geralt huffs, taking a long draught from his mug of ale.

“Jaskier’s performance,” Regis answered in that way he always does, making a simple fact sound profound and thoughtful.

Geralt just nods, knocking back more of his ale. He had, in fact, told Jaskier he would be in the city in time for the grand reopening of the Rosemary and Thyme—or whatever he was calling it now. It wasn’t that he had a problem with coming to see his friend perform. No—it was simply that this city, once the jewel of Redania and now just another one of Nilfgaard’s cities, disgusted him.

Nilfgaard promised plenty of things to its citizens, namely safety and security, but from what he was overhearing, those promises were not being kept.

“The whole district was cut off… They say everyone is dead.”

“Good riddance.”

“Albert, how can you say that? There were children living there!”

“Children who would’ve grown up to be beggars and thieves. I say burn it all down, and take the plague with it!”

“Cheers to that, friend.”

Geralt winces, shaking his head. Regis studies him intently, cocking his head to the side.

“Catriona’s Plague… Highly contagious. It leaves its victims almost completely defenseless. It’s as if it were from another land, another world—“

“Yes, yes I know,” Geralt mutters, waving a hand at his friend. “I don’t need a history lesson.”

Regis just smiles softly before continuing, “But of course, Witches are immune to its effects. And I… Well, I’ve got herbs to protect against it.” He smiles knowingly at the Witcher, who lets out a deep, long sigh.

“We have to go.”

Regis nods intently, as if he’d been expecting exactly that. Perhaps he had been—he’d been Geralt’s friend for long enough now that it was easy to guess when Geralt would go involve himself in something. And, with less and less monsters roaming the wilderness, searching through a deserted

Geralt and Regis in Novigrad. Regis hears about the quarantine and wants to help. Geralt is convinced to come with—fighting tiny, invisible monsters is just as hard as fighting big ones. Maybe even harder.

***

Faintly, you hear the sound of footsteps. It pulls you out of the fitful half-sleep you’d been stuck in. You heart, despite its weakness, speeds up, and you find the strength to pull yourself into a sitting position on the bed. It is exhausting, but you manage to push yourself up onto your knees so you can peer out the window through the slats in the wood. Of course they’d boarded up your window, you were on the first floor, and you could have escaped through it and into the streets.

Between the slats, you see two men walking. One is larger than any man you’ve ever seen—wearing leather armor and carrying two swords on his back. He has long, silver hair that is pulled back halfway. The man next to him looks considerably older, but not ancient. He is wearing a brown robe, like some kind of Apothacary. Both walk with such calm confidence that you are utterly thrown off-guard.

What the hell are they doing here?

You see the swords on the man’s back, and the pouch tied around the waist of the other. Your eyes widen—perhaps they are here to burn the whole district to the ground, as you’d heard whispers about for days. They must have taken the silence as a sign that everyone was dead.

No no no no no no.

You had resigned yourself to the Red Death, not being burned alive.

“Stop!” Your scream sounds hoarse, just about how it feels—like every breath and every word is being ripped from your throat, and costing incredible energy to do so.

Instead of listening to you, both men turn their heads sharply in your direction and head straight for the window. Your heart continues to race, somehow even faster now as they approach the window. They shouldn’t be coming closer… They could be putting themselves and thousands of others at risk. They can come back tomorrow, or maybe the next day, when you’re gone—when the virus is gone.

“Don’t come closer!” You try again, fingers turning white as you grip the windowsill to keep yourself upright. “I’m infected.”

The last words come out as more of a sob than words. They had to get out, they had to go now.

But the bigger man continues to approach the window, the older man hanging back only slightly. If they are here to burn the place down, he might only be approaching the window to ensure that the last host is burned along with it. Your breath comes out in short gasps.

But, time slows nearly to a halt.

He reaches the window in a few short strides, and actually grabs one of the wooden planks haphazardly nailed to the wooden walls and rips it off with his bare hands. It is only then that you notice his eyes—the eyes of a cat, almost. Liquid gold.

He is a Witcher. Witchers are immune to the plague. All of a sudden, your brain short-circuits, your pleas changing. They’re not here to burn down the district—they might be here to help. There had been no talk of that; none at all. But you don’t have to question the hows and whys of the Witcher and his old companion’s presence.

“Please… I’m the only one left. Help me.” Your eyes lock on the Witcher’s amber-gold ones for a moment, and he nods. Relief floods over you—not relief that you will live, necessarily, but relief that you won’t have to die alone.

And then the world goes black as you fall back onto the bed, body too exhausted to do anything else.

***

Your sleep is blurred with strange dreams, as you’d come to expect now with the fever raging through your body. You dream of a man, strong but gentle, carrying you somewhere—you don’t know where, but you know that the next bed you find yourself tossing around in smells of freshly washed linen; so much so that it soothes you into sleep. Or maybe it is the strange liquid you only half-remember being given that does that.

From there, more dreams. But these dreams are even stranger than the ones you’ve been having. Now, you dream of strange cloud, weaved together of the grays and blues of a calm evening and laced with glittering starlight. It pulses with some kind of magic, like nothing you’ve ever seen.

“He is your destiny.”

It takes you several moments to realize where the voice is coming from. It seems to emanate from the cloud, going straight to your head, like the words are being spoken out loud but only you can hear them.

“Destiny?” You respond, voice strained and whisper-quiet, the way your voice always seems to sound in dreams. Of course, you have no way of knowing that you’re speaking out loud as you lie eerily still on the bed—no longer tossing and turning from fever thanks to the sedating draught Regis gave you along with several other herbal mixtures he and Geralt had quite the time convincing you to ingest.

Regis looks from you to Geralt, who has hardly left your side since they’d found an uninhabited apartment a few blocks over, one of his all-knowing glances that Geralt found both infuriating and comforting at the same time. Geralt, on the other hand, turned to look at Regis, eyebrow raised in confusion—only to be met with that look.

Geralt had bathed you as best he could, dressing you in a clean linen shirt of his own while Regis tended to washing the bedclothes. You’d shivered in his arms, and he’d whispered over and over, “I’ve got you. It’s okay, I’ve got you.”

Regis had tended to the angry red marks that marred your skin in several places, covering them in some kind of thick poultice Geralt had never seen before, but he’d sagged with relief when he saw the way your face seemed to relax, no longer in a constant look of pain, as Regis bandaged them up.

“Its… fever dreams,” Geralt attempts, glancing back to Regis for confirmation.

“If you say so,” Regis responds in that way of his that told Geralt that he was utterly wrong. Your fever had broken hours ago, after all.

But, trapped in your dream, you have no way of knowing any of this, or that your responses to the mysterious starlight cloud were being spoken aloud, in the world beyond your dreams.

“Yes, my lost girl, your destiny.”

“Destiny is bullshit,” you respond, a little stronger this time.

Outside of this dream-world in your head, Regis tips his head back and laughs, and even Geralt smiles. You sound just like him, how he’d once sounded.

“Destiny has brought you to him, it matters not what you believe.”

“Brought me to who? Why?” It is hard to keep the curious urgency from your voice now.

“To Geralt of Rivia; the one you’ve been waiting for since the day you were born.”

“Geralt of Rivia… Is my destiny?” You hadn’t even considered that you had any destiny beyond a miserable life in a miserable part of town; one likely as not to end early. One that almost had ended early.

But the voice does not respond, and you watch in mystified silence as the cloud vanishes to nothing, as if it hadn’t been there. And with it, everything is enveloped in black. A silent, dreamless sleep.

Meanwhile, both Geralt and Regis stare in somewhat of the same mystified silence, before Regis says matter-of-factory, “You never told her your name.”

***

You float back to consciousness slowly, the world full of vague shadows. You feel a soft breeze, cooling air from outside. Before daring to open your eyes, you move your fingers gingerly as if testing if your hands still work.

Apparently, they do. You feel the sheets beneath them, soft and cool and clean. They aren’t the same sweat-soaked ones you’d been tossing around in earlier. Even the air smells different—not the stuffy, stifling smell of sickness and death, but the cool, crisp smell of clean outside air. And there is the smell of herbs, sharp but not unpleasant.

“Look.” You hear the hushed voice of a man, an the memories of the two strangers walking straight into your desolate, death-filled piece of the city without a fear. Hearing the voice is enough to have you flickering your eyes open.

You are in a room somewhere, likely still in your old district. There is no way the guard would have let the two men—even if they were both apparently immune to the virus—leave with one of the sick. But this room is more spacious and definitely cleaner. You try not to think of who’s home it might have been and why they were gone. You suppose that doesn’t much matter now.

It takes only a moment for the Witcher to appear at your side, crouching down so that he level with you. Your eyes lock on those amber ones again, full of questions that you can’t bring yourself to ask, unsure if you are capable of talking. Your body still feels exhausted.

“You’re safe,” the Witcher says in a voice that is deep and gravely but calming. “I’m Geralt, and this is Regis.”

“T-Thank you,” you force out, eyes darting between the two men.

The robed one, standing a few feet behind the Witcher, speaks next, “You were nearly dead when we found you, but with a combination of Witcher’s remedies and my own herbal ones, your body was able to fight the virus.”

Your eyes open wide, in wonder and surprise. Regis talks as if he’s been alive for a good few centuries, centuries spent healing and curing people. But he can’t be more than sixty years old; or at least it appears that way.

Finally, you let your eyes drift to your own body, were you see a few bandages wrapped in various places, but you feel no pain. You even notice you are wearing clean clothes, and your skin no longer has the grimy, filthy feeling you’d grown used to in those last days. You blush slightly, wondering how exactly they’d managed that.

“How long have I been asleep?” You finally ask, surprised to find that your voice seems perfectly alright to speak.

“Three days,” the Witcher answers, eyes boring into yours. You can’t explain it, whatever is drawing you to him. Though, perhaps the fact that he’d saved your life is part of it. “It was better if you were sedated,” he explains.

“Three days…” You mumble, hardly believing it. You hadn’t expected to live. Most people didn’t, but these two had just appeared out of nowhere just as you were on the brink of death? You can’t help but think of your mother’s words—the ones that she’d always spoken to you when you were a child.

There is a reason for everything; we cannot know what web destiny has woven for us.

You’d always thought it was bullshit. But this… It was all too much of a coincidence. Though, the words brought with them a surge of guilt—what about all of your neighbors? Even if they were not kind, they didn’t deserve to die. If destiny was weaving some web for them, it had clearly fucked up royally.

But at the same time, the thought of destiny brought up some murky memory, probably of some fever dream you’d slept through over the last few days. A cloud, laced with starlight… A voice. But your mind can’t seem to conjure up any more than that.

“You spoke in your sleep,” Regis says as he hands you a flask of something that smells truly terrible. You sniff it gingerly before deciding that whatever they’d been giving you so far clearly saved your life, so you decide not to argue. You knock back the liquid, wincing as the bitterness of it slides unpleasantly down your throat.

You cough a few times before collecting yourself enough to ask, “I spoke?”

Regis, taking the flask back from you, nods with a slight smirk, glancing down at Geralt, as if he should be the one to tell you what you said. Your heart rate starts to speed up, but you can’t exactly place why. You remember a conversation… with the cloud? None of it makes any sense, it is too incomplete of a picture—so you just look at Geralt, eyes wide with curiosity.

“You spoke my name,” he says finally. “Have we… met before?”

It all hits you at once, then. The cloud, the starlight, the strange magic, and the voice. The voice going on about destiny. It is the first time you realize that he indeed hadn’t given you his name, not until after you’d woken up.

Your mind is about a million miles away as you mutter, “Holy… destiny.”

His amber eyes snap to yours, and somehow the almost electrical impulse that flows between you makes perfect sense, even though all rational thought would tell you otherwise. Time seems to freeze there, as Geralt tentatively reaches out a hand that is large enough to cover both of yours.

He doesn’t pry, doesn’t ask what you dreamed of; perhaps because he knows it would be difficult to believe, even if you tried to explain, or perhaps because he feels this same… feeling that you are feeling now. Though, he does have one question for you.

“Destiny didn’t deign to share your name with me.” He cocks his head to the side, flashing a grin that feels like home, that feels like you’d been looking at that same grin for centuries.

You can’t help but grin back, “My name is Y/N.”

Taglist: @fairytale07 @geeksareunique @jesseswartzwelder @haru-ririchiyo @unnamedmaincharacter @lazilyscentedwerewolf @valkyriepuff @comicbeginning @alwayshave-faith @hp-hogwartsexpress @curlyhairedandconfused @superconfusedandreadytorumble @keithseabrook27 @p3nny4urth0ught5 @sinnamon-bunn @sallyp-53 @superconfusedandreadytorumble

#geralt x reader #geralt of rivia x reader #geralt fanfiction #the witcher fanfiction #the witcher fandom #the witcher #emiel regis #catriona plague #the red death #tw disease

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emma-nation · 5 years

Text

Thinking Of You (Mona x MC Fanfiction) - Chapter 10

You said move on Where do I go? I guess second best Is all I will know

Summary: Years later, Allison has everything she wants, a brand-new internship as a doctor, a handsome boyfriend… but her first nightshift won’t go as expected…

Genre: Romance, Angst

Tag list: @zoe6111, @simsvetements, @whoinvitedalx, @abunchofbadchoices, @kamilahmademedoit, @talkinlikeateen, @eagle-one-1, @andreear17, @monagf, @fal-carrington, @crazzyplays, @honorablebicycle, @teja-desai, @iam-the-fuckin-queen

Notes:

- English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

- My apologies for taking longer to update this week. As I mentioned previously, I had issues with my internet service. Also, I re-wrote this chapter as the original version had gone to angsty and dark. I hope you like what I did :)

- I’m having issues to tag people on my posts, please forgive me if it doesn’t show in your notifications. I re-typed the tag list and if your name has been removed is because Tumblr didn’t let me tag you.

“Dr. Carlson, Griffin,” Allison gulped. “What are you both doing here?”

She needed to act naturally. Two extremely dangerous criminals were standing in front of her and if they suspected she knew the truth, they’d be capable of anything.

“There she is!” Mr. Wheeler emerged from the kitchen, for her relief. “Allison, darling, where were you? Dr. Carlson and Griffin have been waiting for over an hour.”

“I’m sorry, dad. Mona and I… we spent the night with her mom.”

She discreetly gave him a signal, indicating what they had been up to.

“Oh, her mom. That’s true. Is she doing well?”

For her luck, he understood.

“Better than expected,” she proceeded with the lie. She looked at the Carlsons, with a fake smile on her face. “My friend’s mother is a little bit sick. I spent the night watching her.”

“Doesn’t she have a heart of gold?” Dr. Carlson grinned. “Just like my son, here. This is why Allison is more than welcome in our family.”

“She is, my girl is exactly like her mom,” Mr. Wheeler started serving breakfast. “Always helping everyone around her.”

The door clicked open. Allison’s heart leaped inside her chest. For a minute, her anxiety made her forget Mona was outside, only placing her car in the garage. If she didn’t play according to the plan, she could put them all in danger.

“Allison,” she entered with a scowl on her face, “is there anything wrong in there?”

“Mona,” Allison rushed to her side, “no… it’s only Dr. Carlson and Griffin, dropping by for a visit.”

“Wait,” Dr. Carlson observed her, “I think I know you.”

“I know you too, Doc.”

Mona crossed her arms, looking at him in a threatening manner.

“You do, Dr. Carlson,” Allison tried to fix the situation. “Mona was my first patient at the hospital and we kinda became friends. It was her mom I was checking.”

“The criminal, dad,” Griffin added. “She served a lot of time in prison.”

Mona let out a sarcastic laugh.

Allison discreetly elbowed her.

“Right that’s me,“ she stopped. “The most dangerous criminal in LA.”

An uncomfortable silence settled all over the living room until Mr. Wheeler invited them all to sit. Allison called Mona to the corner of the living room.

"Go to my bedroom,” she whispered. “Don’t say anything. I’ll meet you in a few minutes.”

“No way I’m leaving you alone with these two…”

“Mona! We need to act carefully. Go.”

After Mona agreed to obey, Allison joined the Carlsons at the table. She had breakfast completely quiet, only listening to Dr. Carlson to brag about his accomplishments to her dad. By her side, Griffin wouldn’t stop staring at her left hand, where her engagement ring was supposed to be. When she finished eating, she was finally ready to put an end in that situation.

“Griffin, I wanna talk to you. In private.”

“Sure, but…” it was the first time Allison noticed the coldness in his voice, “your bedroom is taken.”

“No problem,” she said. “We can talk outside.”

He followed her to the front door. Allison started feeling nervous, unsure of how he’d handle the end of their relationship.

“What’s going on, Allison? Where’s your engagement ring?”

“This is what I’ve been trying to tell you for weeks. I don’t wanna get married anymore.”

“This is okay,” Griffin calmly said, stroking her arm. “We can wait a little longer. We’re leaving to New Zealand in a couple of days and maybe, coming with us, you can change your mind.”

“I don’t think you’re understanding me,” Allison insisted.

“Of course. I should’ve known…” he shook his head in denial, smirking sarcastically. “It’s about that dirty little criminal, isn’t it? I saw it in your eyes as she walked in the house.”

“She has absolutely nothing to do with it! I’m breaking up with you because I no longer have feelings for you. Deal with that, Griffin. I’m not one of trophies to be collected.”

Allison finally could see all the malice and evilness behind her perfect boyfriend. The one she trusted for eight years. For a second, she felt Griffin wished to hurt her physically. He closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

“You have changed, Allison,” he recomposed himself and told. “Now it’s me who don’t want to marry you anymore.”

“Good,” she gave him a confident look, “I’m glad we’ve reached an agreement. Like the two grown up adults we are.”

He didn’t say anything else. He entered the house, calling his father to leave.

Allison let out a weary sigh. Half of her was relieved, but the other half worried that Griffin wouldn’t accept this loss so easily.

———-

Mona remained silent in Allison’s bedroom, listening carefully to any noises that could be coming from the kitchen or the living room. In one hand, she had her cell phone, ready to dial 911 in case the Carlsons decided to show their true colors. In the other hand, she had a pocket knife she bought at Gramercy Park for self-defense. She never knew if any old enemies from her past would come back for revenge. The only voices she could hear were the detective’s and Dr. Carlson’s. She couldn’t detect any signs of Griffin or Allison. Was she finally cutting the rope, or she would wait until he was locked in a cage? She grinned, hopeful. Minutes later, she heard the front door being opened and then closed. “Allison, what did you tell Griffin?” Mr. Wheeler asked. “The poor boy was so upset when they left.” “I broke up with him, dad,” Allison told, making Mona celebrate in silence. “Our engagement is over.” “What?! Why? What are those markings on your neck???” Mona muffled a laugh. “Sorry, pops. That’s my way of calling dibs.” “Were you really with Mona’s mother last night or this is what I’m thinking it is? Allison, how could you? D-Did you… with HER?!” “Dad! Can we talk about this later? I have important things to discuss with Mona.” “Leave the bedroom’s door open!” Mona started laughing again, but stopped as Allison entered. Her cheeks were shining pink in embarrassment. “Next time we see your mom, I’ll make sure to let her know too,” Allison playfully punched her shoulder. “You didn’t complain much last night.” “I had forgotten about my dad. I spent eight years living away from him, I got too comfortable.” “Speaking of…” Mona cleared her throat, making sure she didn’t say the wrong name on purpose, “Griffin. What was he doing here with his psycho dad?” Allison sat down at the bed, with a serious look on her face. She invited Mona to join. “He returned earlier from Africa. They’ll be leaving to New Zealand in only a couple of days.” “Escape route.” “Exactly,” Allison continued. “Griffin wanted me to go with him. He had everything set for our wedding.” “And?” Mona raised her eyebrows, expectantly. “I broke up with him, of course. I told him I no longer have feelings for him.” Mona grinned ear to ear. “Aaaaannnddd???” “And… we’ll talk about this later. There’s my dad and the investigation. Making sure they’re both arrested before they leave to New Zealand is our main priority right now.” “Okay,” Mona plugged the flash drive on Allison’s computer. “There we have it, footage of Krista leaving the basketball player’s room, the proof she’s related to Dr. Carlson…” “No,” Allison bit her lower lip. “We need more than that before telling my dad. He’ll never believe us without something more concrete.” While Allison was taking a shower, Mona did a research. She connected news from the past few years, of students who died under the same mysterious circumstances, with places Dr. Carlson worked. She called the East Coast police for confirmation. Indeed, they were starting to suspect him at the time he decided to move to California. “Is it enough to build a case against him yet?” Mona asked, after she finished reading. “I don’t know… I still feel we need more.” Mona sighed frustrated and while she was taking a shower herself, she had the most brilliant idea. When she returned to the bedroom, she announced: “We’re going to Krista’s meeting tonight.” ———- “She’s never accepting you in her studies,” was the first thing Allison said about Mona’s idea. But that was before she heard the rest of her plan. Neither of them would be attending the study, Brian was. Being a football player, he’d be easily accepted into her possible drug dealing party. With a hidden camera, he’d be capturing footage straight to Leon’s computer. Allison would provide them money for the camera and ear pieces for communication and Mona… her Halberdier would be easily recognized by Krista and her fancy neighborhood. They’d need a new car. “W-We aren’t going to…” “No, we’re doing worse.” Her father’s dealership was the last place in the planet Mona wanted to be, but there they were. David opened his usual false grin when he saw them. “W-What are you two doing here? I’ve already proved my innocence.” “No need to piss your pants, David,” Mona mocked him. “I need to rent a car, for a few hours.” For some reason, he looked pleased to help, showing them some of his models and talking about their features, giving Mona the pleasure of correcting him all the time. “Really? Don’t you have anything better?” “Mona, just pick one,” Allison rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to buy it. We’re only using it for tonight.”

“May I ask what will you be using the car to?” David asked, looking suspiciously to Mona. “Business,” she answered. “What kind of business?” “The dangerous kind, but no stealing involved.” After letting a small laugh, he told: “Then come with me.”

They walked to the back of his dealership, in a highly-secured warehouse where a few cars were hidden under dust covers. Mona wondered if they were obtained legally or if she had more in common with her father than she imagined. He lead them to the very end of the room, to the last car. “Whoa,” Allison exclaimed as David removed the dust cover. “Double whoa,” Mona traced with her fingers the glistening black painting of the Japanese vehicle. “Who’s that beauty?” “The new Santagata model,” David told. “They haven’t released for sale yet. They sent me one for a test drive, but I’ve been kinda busy. Would you like to take her for a ride?“ “Hell yeah!” Mona grabbed the keys he tossed her and entered the car. The panel had all the technology they needed. She’d be able to connect her cell phone and the hidden camera. While Brian secretly filmed the meeting, Leon would be capturing all the footage on his laptop. The best part, no one would be able to see them behind the tinted windows. “Take down that Carlson bastard,” her father told before she left. “I never liked that man.” “You can be sure I will.”

———-

The study was set to begin at 7pm. After getting all the equipment they needed and convincing Brian and Leon to join their plan, Mona drove the group to West Hollywood, where Krista’s family had a small mansion. "Remind me of why I’m doing this again?” Brian asked. “You owe us,” Allison answered. “We all know your little… secret, remember?” “I don’t,” Leon commented with an interested look. “What’s is Brian’s secret? If he’s gay, this car is the most comfortable place he could ever been.” “Leon, trust me,” Mona laughed, “you don’t want to find out.” “See? Now shut up, nerd,” Brian angered at Leon. “What did we talk about showing more respect?” Allison frowned at him. “That was right after talking…” she cleared her throat, “about malfunctioning things.” The football player scowled and stared at the window. Allison turned on the radio with a special playlist she made for the night. She and Leon started to sing along, while Mona drummed her fingers on the wheel following the rhythm. “You guys are fun to hang out with,” Leon told. “Are you sure you’re really cops?” “Me?! A cop?!” Mona shouted. “Babe, this neighborhood must have wanted posters with my face until this day.” “Because of wild parties you threw?” Brian looked at her intrigued. “No, because of the fancy cars I boosted. But yeah, sometimes we attended the parties to study the territory.” “So it’s really true, huh?” “Twice, actually. I’ve been in a jail twice.” “Wait, this car we’re riding…” “Relax, this is my dad’s. The only thing I’ve stolen recently was Griffin’s fiancée.” She glanced at Allison, who blushed a little. She had never seen Mona looking so happy and relaxed before. Allison couldn’t wait until all of that was over, so they could really enjoy their time together. She didn’t know if she’d continue her career as a doctor, or if she’d try something different, all she knew is that she wanted Mona by her side. Whether was in LA or anywhere else in the country. Allison smiled and placed a hand on Mona’s knee. “What about you, Allison?” The boys wanted to know. “I’m the detective’s daughter. I was bored with my life, so I decided to join Mona in the investigation.” “The detective’s daughter falls in love with an ex-criminal. You two sound like a 90’s romantic comedy,” Leon said, making Mona roll her eyes.

“This is a compliment, I guess?” Allison laughed.

“The question is, darling. Will you get your happy ending this time or you’re going to break this Bad Girl’s heart again?”

Mona frowned at him, with her cheeks turning a little red.

“Leon,” Allison asked. “Approach,” she whispered the answer in his ear, without letting Mona know what it was.

“What did you answer?” She wanted to know.

“Keep watching to find out,” Leon winked at Allison and they high-fived.

“Morons,” Mona playfully rolled her eyes again.

Only a couple of minutes later, Brian announced they had arrived. After recapping the plan, he attached the camera to the button of his shirt and placed the ear piece to communicate with the rest of the group. He left the car and walked a few steps, headed to Krista’s front door. Mona gave him a sign she could see him on the car’s panel display.

“Can you hear me too?” He asked, testing the ear piece.

“Positive,” Mona answered.

As Brian rang the bell, Krista showed up at the door. Not letting he see much of the inside.

“Brian,” she greeted. “I’m glad you’ve decided to join our weekly studies. Do you know what verse we’ll be studying tonight?”

“It’s a test,” Allison concluded. “A password to let him in.”

“Good one, Allison,” Mona told, remembering the list she saw on Krista’s desk. “Brian? The answer is Proverbs 8:35.”

Brian repeated and Krista let him in. She conducted him to a small office on the back of the house, where a few more students were waiting. Brian sat on a couch and waited for the next happenings.

Krista went to the desk and cleared her throat.

“We’re here tonight for our weekly study. Did everyone bring your Bible?”

The students said ‘yes’, showing their Bibles.

“I-I… don’t have one,” Brian told.

“I’m giving you,” Krista grabbed a Bible from the shelf and handed him.

As Brian opened it, he discovered the middle of the Bible had been removed, creating a secret space to hide stuff.

“Holy shit!” Mona shouted.

“Mona!” Allison reproved her.

“What? She’s the one using a sacred book for… non-christian purposes!”

They turned their attention back to the display. One by one, the students walked to Krista’s desk, taking money from their Bibles and receiving drug syringes in return. Two of them delivered her money, receiving a payment in return and more drugs to be sold. A female friend, who was always with Krista, and Doug, the student who helped her to erase the camera footage.

“Are you capturing this?” Allison asked Leon.

“Straight to your flash drive,” he assured.

“Make copies,” Mona ordered, handing him three other flash drives. “Only to be sure.”

It was Brian’s turn to buy the drug. Krista took the money and gave him one sample of the performance enhancer.

“Only one?” Brian questioned. “Come on, the trainings have started and I want to be in perfect shape for the season.”

“You need to start with a small dose,” Krista explained, keeping her head down and never looking at him, “otherwise your body won’t handle it.”

“And I’ll end like those other students?”

“Possibly. Some died for overuse, so we need to control the amount we sell.”

“The others?”

Krista went quiet for a second.

“Godfather is still studying what went wrong with them, some kind of sensibility.”

“So this is what kills them? Overuse and sensitivity?”

“You’re asking too many questions, Brian.”

“Sorry, I gotta know what I’ll be doing.”

“No problem.”

As the students finished taking their drugs, they started leaving the house. Brian though, was determined to stay until the last second.

———-

“Hey, get out of there,” Mona demanded. “We’ve already got what we needed.”

“Okay,” Brian answered.

As he said goodbye to Krista, another car parked in front of the house. One Mona and Allison were very familiar with.

“It’s the doctor.”

“And Griffin,” Allison added, seeing the two figures leaving the vehicle.

“Brian,” Mona made contact again. “You better hide. The two psychos are getting into the house. Now. I’ll tell you when it’s safe to leave.”

Brian agreed, hiding behind a couch in the living room. He placed the small camera in a strategic position. Minutes later, the Carlsons, followed by Krista, entered the room. Dr. Carlson was extremely angry, while the girl was in tears.

“Know who I spoke to this afternoon? One member of the University administration. He told me the police is THIS close of obtaining the camera footage back!”

“I… I didn’t know! Doug assured me had erased everything, Uncle Em. I swear!”

The man grabbed her by the shoulders, making her look right into his eyes.

“You’ve became a liability, Krista. And you remember what I taught you? What do we do with liabilities?”

“W-We… get rid of them.”

Griffin handed her a gun.

“Do it,” he ordered. “By the time the police comes after you, you’ll have ‘committed suicide’.”

“W-What?!” Krista yelled.

“Fuck!” Mona punched the wheel, unable to believe what her eyes were seeing. “Are you recording this, Leon?”

Leon didn’t answer. His eyes were closed shut and his hands were covering his mouth.

“I-I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“Not in this car. Allison?”

Allison’s eyes were wide and paralyzed upon the scene. Mona squeezed her hand.

“I can’t watch this anymore,” she turned her face away from the screen and grabbed her cell phone. “I’m calling the police.”

“But until they arrive… Brian!”

As she turned her attention back to the display, she watched as Brian lunged at the Carlsons, getting in physical combat with them.

“Run!” He told Krista, while pushing Griffin against a shelf.

The girl took the opportunity, leaving in a hurry through the front door.

“Get out of there!” Mona yelled, starting the car engine. “They’re going to kill you.”

As the older man was stunned by a strong punch on his face, Brian ran away, followed by Griffin. Leon opened the door, allowing him to enter the car as Mona started to drive. She looked at the rearview mirror, Griffin was coming after them.

“Ha! Jerkin doesn’t know who he’s up against.”

Griffin increased the speed, being only a few inches away from the Santagata. Mona narrowed her eyes and rolled down her window.

“What are you doing?!” Allison questioned. “He’s going to see us!”

Mona extended her arm outside, showing the middle finger proudly. Then, she stomped on the pedal, reaching the maximum speed the car had to offer.

“Take that, asshole.”

When she thought they were finally safe, Leon let out a sharp scream.

“Guys! H-He’s aiming his gun at us. He’s going to shoot!”

Mona easily dodged Griffin’s bullets, yet the entire group was in panic.

“Oh my god!” Allison said. “I-I didn’t even know Griffin even had a gun.”

“Oh darling. You need to change your type, because criminal never ends well.”

“Hey,” Mona angered, “watch out the c-word. I’ve paid all my debts with the society.”

Mona passed all the red lights, her car cutting the Los Angeles traffic like a thunderbolt. Griffin was following right behind.

“I don’t wanna die… I don’t wanna die…” Brian kept repeating to himself, crouched on the backseat. “I’m too handsome to die…”

Though he was having difficult to keep up with her pace and skills, Allison’s ex fiancé wouldn’t give up. Mona quickly thought on an alternative to lose him.

“Uhhhh… everyone has seat-belts on?” The group agreed. “Good. Because we’re taking a shortcut.”

She drifted, making the car spin in 180° and changed the direction, following to an overpass.

“Oh no,” Allison said. “You’re not going to do what I think you’re doing…”

“Relax, gorgeous. It’s me who’s in charge of this beautiful machine.”

“It has been years since you…”

It was too late, Mona accelerated. In a dangerous move, she smashed a barricade and jumped off the overpass, sending the car flying in the air. The rest of the group didn’t stop screaming until she landed safely on the freeway. She turned off the car for a moment, taking a relieved breath.

“Is everyone okay?” She asked, panting from the adrenaline. “That coward certainly won’t be coming after us now.”

“I never thought I’d be doing it again,” Allison told. “But I’ll be.”

“Guys?”

Mona looked at the backseat, where Brian nodded and Leon hyperventilated.

She needed to take Brian somewhere safe, after all he was seen by the Carlsons. She couldn’t think of anywhere better than Gramercy Park, where she had some contacts that would ensure him protection for the night. Leon followed along, even if his life wasn’t in any danger.

“Home sweet home,” she said, looking at her surroundings. Allison was still quiet, leaning on the car’s hood. “Up for a walk, to relax?”

Allison forced a smile, wrapping an arm around her waist as they walked together. Mona tried to cheer her up, telling old funny stories about the place and Kaneko’s crew. Then she lead her to the rooftop of an abandoned building.

“For our luck this landscape is still here.”

“What’s is this place?” Allison wanted to know.

“I used come here to clear my head and stargaze. I always wanted to share it with you but… we didn’t have an opportunity last time.”

“It’s different now, Mona,” Allison embraced her tightly. “We’ll have all the time in the world to be together.”

“So,” Mona gazed at her with a suggestive look, “it has been 24 hours and no one was shot, kidnapped or arrested. Is it too soon to ask the question?”

“I thought you may wanted to save it for a special celebration, after Dr. Carlson and his son are in jail.”

“You’re right. Let’s make it special.”

Mona softly pressed her lips on Allison’s.

———-

Still holding Mona’s hand, as she drove them home, Allison couldn’t put off the smile from her face. They were making plans together and talking about the future, everything she always dreamed of having.

“I was doing some research online,” she told. “You still could apply to college.”

“They’d hardly accept me.”

“Come on, you’re such a genius. I was reading your essay and homework.”

“Allison, that’s okay. As long as I find a decent job and a place to live, I’ll be fine.”

Allison cleared her throat. She knew it could be a big step, but after spending eight years apart, she didn’t want to be a day without Mona. Inviting her to move in to her new apartment sounded like a perfect idea for a new beginning together.

“Actually, I’ve been thinking about it. Would you…” the phone buzzing inside her pocket interrupted her. “It’s my dad. He had to rush to the precinct and he wants to see me. Alone.”

“I’ll be waiting outside,” Mona told.

“No, go home. It isn’t safe for you to be alone on the streets, especially with this car. You know what I mean.”

“True, but… be careful you too, okay?”

Mona dropped her at the precinct and they shared a long kiss, before saying goodbye.

Grinning ear to ear, Allison was walking headed to the precinct when she felt a hand on her shoulder. A strong and heavy hand.

“Hello, Allison.”

“Dr. Carlson,” she felt a notch on her throat.

“Do you have a minute for a conversation?”

#ride or die #mona #mona rod #mona x mc #playchoices #choices stories you play #ride or die fanfiction

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hopevalley · 5 years

Note

I just want to thank you for keeping this public. I have promoted you on Twitter and will continue to do so. I want to help in any way I can.

I debated all morning on how to reply to this. I know this is reference to Melinda making her blog private for Tumblr users only, and I think it’s important for me to express my opinion on that situation.

But first: thank you for the Twitter promotion! I have a Twitter account, but I admit I rarely use it (because I find it confusing to use lol). It’s @july_skies !

Regarding Melinda’s decision to privatize her blog: I support it. She works hard on her content and deserves to feel that people who like it will be capable of supporting it in a direct way (reblogs specifically). Nothing sucks more than making stuff and seeing that nobody’s looking at it or enjoying it, and whether or not that’s what it seems like to (general) you, that’s how it comes across when people don’t reblog her stuff. It’s depressing. It’s like she’s throwing her hard work right into the void.

While I’m on the subject, I’d like to talk about content creation a little more, to help give you guys a better idea of fandom and your place as a consumer of fanworks; I know a lot of you might be new to the concept, and you can’t know if nobody thinks to tell you.

For my “credentials,” let’s just say I’ve been a content creator for more than half my life and there’s something we lifers call fandom participation or fandom engagement. They are more or less the same thing, and the terminology boils down to us answering this question: “How is the fandom at large engaging with our content?”

In the last handful of years, participation is down across the board. When I first got into writing fanfiction I’d get at least 40 comments on anything I wrote. Many of my works ended up with 60+ comments on them!

Now I’m lucky if anyone comments at all, especially in this fandom. Again, it’s a problem everywhere, but I still get comments on fanfic I posted five years ago in other fandoms; meanwhile, this one remains relatively silent.

I post on AO3 for two big reasons. 1) ACCESSIBILITY. AO3′s site layout is easy to read! It’s easy to format! It’s friendly to people with issues seeing small print! And then we have 2) I do it to give people the option of commenting anonymously (in case they’re shy or nervous).

Having an account there isn’t required at all. People just choose not to engage with me when I post fanfiction.

It feels bad to spend hours of your time on something only to see 0 notes/comments/likes/reblogs/whatever on it later. Four ‘likes’ doesn’t feel that good either. Did people actually like it? Are they pity-likes? Do they even care? People mindlessly ‘like’ a lot of things; maybe they did that with your content, too. I’m not saying I don’t enjoy seeing ‘likes’ but a ‘like’ is more or less an acknowledgement that they’ve seen the content, not that they enjoyed it or want more of it.

Also, likes/kudos don’t draw in more readers: comments do. When a reader’s scrolling down the front page of their favorite AO3 fandom, they click on the ‘fics that look like they might be ‘good’ and even though it’s not always TRUE that the ‘best’ stories have the most comments, a lot of readers filter by the number of comments!

Comments tell other readers: this is worth checking out!

Let’s look at a quick example of one of my ‘fics:

This is from my AO3 account, a random WCtH fanfic. It’s not a long one, but it’s not short either. It’s a reasonable read in terms of time spent to read it, and as you can see 185 people clicked on it, 14 people ‘liked’ it (kudos are “likes”), and I have two comments: one of those comments is @trash-god and the other is me replying to her comment.

Her comment isn’t ‘less than’ because she’s a close friend, but she and I spoke at length about this story on Discord and her comment was just a nice little ‘addition’ to that conversation. Sure, the story’s about characters not many people care about, but look at that: 185 hits on the story. 14 likes. And only one person who read it took five seconds to leave a comment? Really? What about the 13 other people who ‘liked’ it?

What this says to me as a creator is that the ONLY person who is going to comment is the one person who might feel obligated to, and if that’s the case, why don’t I just save my stories to show her privately? Why bother posting them out into the void to hear nothing but silence from everyone else?

This is the direction that @whencallstheheart is coming from. What’s the point of spending hours creating these things when nobody interacts with you? Posting to silence feels bad. And look, to put it into perspective, editing gifs to post, writing fanfic, doing write-ups, maintenance of a blog, site, or social media presence: it’s super time-consuming.

Melinda and I both work full-time jobs as it is. My job hit full busy season and I’m even getting overtime now. I’m in training to take over the department next year and I’m tired at the end of the day. When I get home I have eight cats, a house to take care of, and a spouse, not to mention my in-laws live right next door and need help sometimes. We also have a property we just planted 1500 trees on by hand that we have to monitor, and my husband owns a house we rent to someone that needs work done on it, too. Sometimes, life is busy.

And don’t get me wrong! I enjoy creating, just like I’m sure Melinda does. I feel awful if I can’t “create.”

But if my choices are:

work for five hours on a fanfic or episode write-up only to get 4 likes on it, OR

play a video game or watch a movie or read a book or sit on the deck watchin’ the sun go down while I work on a crocheting project…

The latter definitely appeals to me more knowing I have to get up in the morning to go back to work again. My time is worth something. Neither Melinda nor I are getting paid to create this content. We put it together for free, in what spare time we have, in the midst of our own chaotic lives. My website costs me a chunk of money every year to keep up and running ad-free, and I could get all 1500 trees weeded in the amount of time it takes me to put together an episode write-up or decent fanfic.

All content creators ask for in exchange for their free labor is a sense of community, and that can be anything from:

comments on fanfics you enjoyed, even if they are just to say, “I read this and enjoyed it.”

messages that say, “I really like how [this edit you did] turned out.”

reblogs on Tumblr, retweets on Twitter, emails to website owners

you can even create your own blog and use it to begin conversations with those creators!

You guys have been pretty good about engaging with the show itself through us, but don’t forget to engage with the content you enjoy seeing that comes about because of the show.

Fandom content keeps the show alive even when it’s not currently airing, and supporting content creators keeps them creating. Everyone wins, then!

To talk specifically about written content...

Readers are the ones who ensure more material is created. Hands down.

And again: I love writing!! I DO. I’ve been writing seriously for more years of my life than I haven’t been writing seriously! But it’s disheartening to post a fanfic and get my one obligation comment.

Now, it’s fine if you don’t read fanfiction or even enjoy it. It’s also fine if the things I’ve posted aren’t to your specific tastes. Trust me, I get it; nobody is obligated to comment on my fanfiction, and I don’t want anyone to feel that they should be.

But please know this: if you do enjoy something, whether it’s fanfic or edits or something else, you NEED to engage with it, or it WILL disappear. People don’t like talking to walls. It’s frustrating and it isn’t a good use of their time.

(This is one of the reasons I haven’t bothered doing a novelization of the series. It could be fun, but for 0 comments it’s not worth spending the time on.)

Again, you guys have been great when it comes to engaging with the show material, particularly while the show is airing. It’s been fun speculating with you and hearing all of your different thoughts. I know sometimes Tumblr doesn’t make it easy to communicate, either, and you’ve all done a great job of getting around that.

But in between seasons things get slow on this blog and it’s hard for me (or anyone running a blog) to feel motivated to provide content of any sort if you’re not going to take the time to engage in it.

I’ll never mark this blog as private, but if I get to the point where I can’t get any engagement from the fans, I’ll shut it down. The point of having a “fandom blog” is to interact with other fans.

I enjoy providing content to you guys, but if participation drops off to nothing, I’ll be taking that as my signal that the audience is gone and my time would be better spent elsewhere.

So if you’re here and you’re enjoying things, don’t forget to take a little time out of your day to let your content creators know! Not just me and Melinda, of course, but your favorite people on Instagram, Twitter, and other sites as well. ♥ You might be surprised how happy they’ll be to receive interaction from other fans.

And another plug for fanfiction, because 1) they always get the short end of things considering how hard it is to amass the creative energy necessary to tell a good story, and 2) I noticed it’s the #2 page on my website getting visited: if you’ve enjoyed anything you’ve read for When Calls the Heart, tell the author! Here’s the section for WCtH on AO3! Is English not your native language/you’re not confident in your ability to write English? No worries! I’ve gotten many thoughtful comments in other languages and from people who spoke limited English, and trust me: I treasured every one. If you’re just not sure how to comment on fanfic, send me a message and I’ll give you some tips!

I don’t intend this as a slight against my anonymous friend up there AT ALL; I think it can be hard to be in fandom, especially if you’re newer to the scene. There’s a lot of history that’s long gone by now and missing out on it means it’s harder to step into fandom without also accidentally stepping on toes.

Sometimes we take for granted that we have an almost unlimited supply of fanfiction, gifs, memes, blogs, and so on at our disposal. But none of that comes from thin air and it never did. It’s the cumulative hard work of millions of people throwing their hearts and souls into something they’re passionate about in an effort to engage with other fans.

I hope this helped put things into perspective a bit!! Sending love at all of you that stuck around this far; I know it was quite a bit of a ramble LOL!

#when calls the heart #anonymously asked #answered mail #thank you for the kind comment but here's my perspective #in the hopes that you'll understand melinda's a little more #the lack of engagement gets me down too tbh #if i felt people would comment on and want to talk to me about #a novelization i'd start writing it tomorrow

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dearest-alexander · 6 years

Text

You Are The Reason Chapter V (Tom Holland x Reader fanfiction)

Summary: “I could be anything in the world, yet I wanted to be yours. But you don’t love me yet…or do you?“ The whole world thought you’re together but something’s stopping you, something’s stopping him.

Summary Chapter: “Dreams are excursions into the limbo of things, a semi-deliverance from the human prison.I’ - Henri Amiel

Chapter 5

YOUR POV

Much to our chagrin, traffic jam had caught up right after leaving the hospital premises. Harrison and a sleeping Gabby dropped us off first before heading back to our place. We called out the old guy at the reception who raised a mug of something at us in acknowledgement. My watch read 10:46pm by the time we reached their doorstep. Our dogs’ excited barks could be heard from the other side of the door as Tom wrestled with his keys for a bit.

“Im telling you, he’ll find a way to do it.” Tom argued, pushing the apartment door open.

“Uhm, no. Cause I know Gabby, once she’s tired, she’s tired. You can’t make her do anything not until you’re bleeding to death that is.” I debated back cheekily.

The traffic seemed to go on for the rest of the night ergo, to past boredom, Tom and I exchanged text messages whether Harrison would be able to pull his plan or won’t, among many other silly things. We still have to keep it under wraps since Gabby still has no idea. “What are you two scowling bout back there?” she asked before falling asleep minutes later.

“Fine! Alright! Let’s just ask Harrison tomorrow!” he exhaled with resignation in his voice.

. I brought a clenched fist and elbow to my knees in a sign of victory.

“Bloody hell, you don’t give up do you.” He said after a moment, putting everything on the countertop separating the living room and their kitchen.

I wriggled my eyebrows at him. His face contorted for a second to fight the smile from slipping through. He failed.

“Only for you love.” I said with a laugh, hugging my dog who won’t stop bouncing up at me from the moment we enter the apartment.

“Whatever… How are you lovely?” he knelt down to give Tessa a smooch on her gray head.

I filled the pet bowl with water before dragging my body onto the couch, face down with a heavy groan. I hate traffic.

“You wanna hit the shower first or should I?” Tom asked after minutes of shuffling in and out of the room. I propped my chin but kept my eyes closed as I replied.

“Go ahead, I need a second so these cushion could suck me in.” I wiggled my body as if it would dissipate the stiffness of my legs from sitting too long.

“You know where my room is.” He answered with a small laugh. I heard a creaking noise of the cabinet door then a wisp of wind when he threw something soft and large at my opiate position. I lifted my head when I heard him dematerialized behind the bathroom door.

I scanned the two-bedroom flat from my lying state. It was too tidy for two grown men to live in. Not a crumb or bottles of energy drinks in sight. Perhaps Gabby’s controlling nature had finally rubbed off on Harrison. He and Tom had decided to rent this place from Gabby’s cousin whenever they want to stay a while longer after wrapping up press junkets. Possibly, it was Harrison who wanted to stay longer and Tom being wherever his mate was, would stay until he pleased.

Willing myself to get up, I grabbed my overnight bag and the towel he threw at me to his room, the wall behind the mounted television. Two dogs sniffing happily behind me.

His room reeked with ocean breeze laundry detergent and embodied late adolescence-ness. I noted the lack of articles of clothing and trainers scattered on the floor, unmade bed and wide open luggage last time I was here. His double bed stood at the center of the room, two end tables on either side and dark clothes hung and were neatly stacked on the exposed clothing rack. 10 pairs of shoes in an orderly pile on the floor.

Despite the fact that he had let me sleepover a thousand times, I never heeded nor have I ever had the slight urge to interest myself on what he is like in his solidarity. I pride myself to never the one to snoop around. The prevalent awareness of being in his room haven’t bother me. Up until now. Which was the case I found myself in, prancing around his room as if for the first time in an unnamable light.

His room can’t be categorized as neither pristine nor disorganized. Stuff that usually don’t go well with each other –not that I know anything about interior styling- somehow complemented and blended with his impulsive personality. His obsession on shameless hoarding of any Spider-man merchandise he could get his hands on endured after all these years. “What a total nerd.” I chuckled to myself, setting down his action figure on the same spot. The red and blue collection disparate from the gray overall theme of the room. Letters and artworks from his fans were all compiled inside three black dossiers.

I was lazily lugging my index finger on his dust-free shelf, along the lines of books and photographs of his family, co-star photo calls, sceneries when a solid wooden framed picture halted me in my tracks.

Memories gushed in an unstoppable wave. The picture was cropped from the chest and up. I snapped this shot right after the first successful jumping obstacles I finished with my mare. We’re smiling. His cheek pressed onto mine, his other eye was squinting in order to avoid the harsh glare of the sun and my face reddened with sweat and excitement in his riding helmet. My arm was draped around his shoulders while the other extended the camera to fit us in the frame. I remembered hurriedly leapt down to Tom, who was already reaching out for me before my booted feet even touched the damp ground. I remembered stalling in his embrace, his body radiated as if he had somehow swallowed the whole sun, his thumbs that were drawing circles on my hips, pushing down the hitch emanating from my throat. I remembered how I together with his family went to their lake house later in the evening, his dad, stood by my side, with one comforting and familiar arm on my blanket-ed shoulders, staring ahead the setting day had said, out of the blue:

“Sometimes it’s practical to test waters first cause no one wants to dive in murky water, knowing whether we’ll hit the rocks or sand. But this day..” he trailed off, smiling and shaking his head. “He may be daft sometimes but thank you for sticking by him. Thank you for everything you’ve done. Thank you for making him happy.”

Before I could even ask Senior Holland to elaborate, an added weight made the docks screech in slight objection. Tom trudged to where we were, my bottled juice in hand. Frankly, I momentarily lost contact with my body, with my surroundings upon seeing his delightful face, how his curls bounced voluptuously like he’d just been prepped for some bloody movie minutes ago.

All these years, I try not to abide on what would happen if Tom and I just.. that maybe we could… I shook my head to eliminate the thought that’s been trying to eat me ever since once upon a time.

Tom’s POV

We were left to ourselves. Again., I think Harrison and his girlfriend liked to do this on purpose. There's a part of me wanted to strangle them both for doing this, albeit, the half part wanted to get down on my knees and hug them both with praise and reverence, saying "I owe you, big time."

I turned the shower knob off and quickly dressed in a shirt and sweats. I walked out into an empty and barely lit hall. The only evidence of her presence was her dog sitting outside my slightly open bedroom door. I patted his furry head before I knocked gently. She was not the one to get un-clothe with the door left ajar so I peeked inside when I didn't hear a response. She was leaning on my table, holding a picture frame in her hands, and the other clutching the desk. She didn't look up until I spoke.

"Hey, everything ok?"

She seemed startled for a swift second before smiling at me and waving the frame in her hands.

"I had no idea you printed and framed this."

"It was a good day. I should dare you more often." I went to her side, brushing against her as I lean over to look at the picture. I crossed my arms over myself to hide the goosebumps running from the tip of my fingers up to the hairs on my neck.

"Yeah. Really was." She sighed then locked her gaze with mine. I hugged myself even tighter, my fingers dug into my palms to keep from pulling her and crashing my lips to hers.. Heaven knows how badly I wanted no, needed to kiss her. But I’m waiting for her. Waiting for something to cross her eyes that will somehow tell me that she wants this just as bad as I do. I do not want to come across as one of those hot-blooded exes of hers who tried to force her to do something she does not like. But it’s me, I try to tell her with my eyes. I will never hurt you. . I hugged myself tighter to keep my heart from sprinting out of my chest as the moment of pure electricity stretched between us.

Until it wasn't anymore.

"I uhh.. Need to.... Take a bathe." She mumbled and broke her gaze. She handed me the frame and walked away. If she was nervous or felt at least something, she’s hiding it extraordinarily. I could feel my cheeks as they started to redden. She stopped at the door and crouched down in a playful defensive stance against her dog who wagged its tail gleefully. We let out short laughs before she disappeared.

I hung my head to the ceiling and I swear I could hear Harrison say “Youre the world’s greatest idiot..” I groaned.

I couldn’t sleep. My mind has not accustomed with Harrison’s four walls of a bedroom for the past two hours.. Every time she and Gabby would come over, I’ll let her have my bed like the perfect gentleman that I was raised. I didn’t mind the couch nor Harrison’s bed because I knew my sheets would smell like her for the remainder of the week and I would wake up in the morning and bury my face in the pillow. A sweet torture.

I fluffed Harrison's pillow to try to make myself more comfortable. Laying like a starfish on the bed and stared up the ceiling, my mind recalling one type of conversation that had always seem to play out every morning whenever we were alone together..

The couple would show up, their elbows leaning on the countertop, hyperexcitable faces on the palm of their hands, kind of like children waiting for their slices of chocolate cake.

"So...... Did you do it?"

I kept quiet while rummaging the kitchen for her favorite breakfast. Eyes never leaving my task. But shook my head.. "Nah. Wasn't the right time."

"Oh c'mon man!" Harrison exclaimed, dropping his head on the countertop in between in forearms.

"Alright Osterfield , hand it over ." Gabby opened and closed the back of her hands. Harrison produced a 20 dollar bill from his wallet to give her.

“You guys are the worst. I hope you know that.” I scowled under my breath.

"Thanks H olland " She patted me on my naked back..

"Man! How can you chicken out on me like that, you said you're gonna tell her last night....or the night of last week..... or the fortnight......or the months before that." He whined, Emphasizing each time frame then his forearms inching dangerously near the breakfast I'm making. I moved the plate out of the way and my eyes darted cautiously on my bedroom door. Checking for any signs or sounds of movement.

I shrugged, frowning.

"As much as I like winning against Haz, dude, you have to make a move. That window's not gonna be open forever. Take that hunky actor from GQ for example.”

“What? Who?” I snapped my head at her. I tried to sound less nervous and irritated but even to my own ears, I knew I came up short.

“I forgot his name . But we saw him at Jamba juice last week and the punk’s leaning a bit closer, in my opinion.” she shrugged

"She doesn't like me that way." I countered, hoping to get the melancholy disappointment out of my voice. Eyes still casted down.

"She likes you. Everyone with eyes can see it. You're just both too stubborn to admit it." Gabby retorted, before gulping down a carton of orange juice.

“Why? Did she tell you anything ?” I deadpanned but a little hopeful.

"Actions, Holland. Actions. They speak louder than words, like the song, dumbass." She had an elbow leaning on the counter at my side as she regarded me with slight irk and concern.

"But no... She doesn't tell me anything. You know she's always been like that, bottling up her feelings til she knows she can hold it." She placed the cap back on her carton box.

"Well then, i think i'll just wait for that bottle to spill."

"Tom." Harrison interrupted in a quiet tone that I finally looked at him.

"You know she's not her right?. They're both, different. This is a new story. It's gonna be different this time around. You're not running blindly here, not this time." Harrison was never soft spoken and sober , not unless he could help it.

"Maybe we'll just lock you guys up in here for a week and then maybe we'll see. Don't make me do it." Gabby remarked, staring at the something behind me

"Don't make you do what?" Our heads frantically turned to the sound by my bedroom door. Dressed in a sleeveless loose top and pyjama bottoms, her bedridden hair falling on her shoulders, the palm of her hand digging on his left eye. Her healthy skin glowed along with the morning sun. Eyes still glossy from sleep and puffy lips pouted adoringly. It's almost impossible to be that alluring during this early hour in the morning.

"Hey!!!!! Good morning sunshine! Did you just wake up?" Gabby asked, a little too cheerfully, three of us following her every movement.

"Um yeah. I didn't even hear you guys come in. How was your night?" She sat on the bar stool in front of me and Gabby, Harrison seated on the stool by her side then faced his body towards her, chin leaning on his shoulder. I exhaled a great sigh of relief, our kitchen conversation safe from her ears.

"It was fantastic …” Gabby said in a haste, “ , by the way, I heard you got drunk last night?"

"I did. And I'm never doing it again." She moaned, pressing her forehead on the cold counter, arms folded in front of her.

"Here you go." I pushed the garnished plate in her direction and the glass of juice.

She smiled, "You're brilliant. Did I ever tell you that?." pulling the plate near her.

Gabby made a tsk sound then walked back round to the couch. Harrison grabbed the ripe banana off of her plate before jumping out of his seat.

"Hey! That's mine!" She leapt up abruptly but regretted it in an instant. She grunted, dropping her head onto the surface again.

"You're a buffoon." I threw the dish towel resting on my shoulder at Harrison's figure who hustled out of the way. I hand her another.

"Don't you just love them?!" She mumbled under her breath, sarcastically

"Oh and would you mind putting some shirt on Holland, she and Haz may be used to it, but I'm not besides it's completely unhygienic." She instructed, flinging the shirt I discarded upon waking up from the armrest.

"You tell me." I chuckled, putting my shirt on.

It didn’t take long before I became conscious of her little quirks: the way she would pinch her lips when she’s trying to decide about something, how she likes to pop her knuckles that always seem to creep out Harrison and how she always find something nice to say about mean people. Something about her just felt…right; like everything seems to fall into place whenever she’s near.

My body almost jumped when I felt the incessant and loud ring of my phone on the bedside table.. I clicked answer right away .

"You still up?"

"No." I kid.

"Idiot. I Can't sleep." She sighed.

"Me neither. What are you doing?"

"Reading one of your books"

"What book?" I got up and leaned against the headboard.

She laughed. "You know we can just talk to each other, You're literally just across the hall.

"Ok, let's meet."

I hurriedly put on my shirt and walked out the door. She's already on her way to the fridge when I appeared in the kitchen.

"I'm hungry. How come you don't have anything here?" She complained and closed the fridge door behind her.

"Well, we're always at your place anyway."

"Urgh! Let's order pizza. You're paying." She picked up the phone line in the living room and dialed.

I made my way to the couch and will my body to heel before I do something I will regret. Like, I don't know, maybe kissing the day lights out of her until I die from deoxygenation..

"Hey you wanna watch a movie?" I initiated, grabbing the remote from the floor.

12:47am

"You know what? Fine fine! Let's just watch The Breakfast Club and we'll see who's right." She retorted, getting up from the sofa and inserting the dvd on the player, a slice of pizza dangling from her mouth.

"You're gonna be so bummed out when I win the fourth time today." Putting my hands behind my head and stretching my feet under the blanket we shared on the couch. It's already 2 am and All attempts of falling asleep diminished after indulging on a box of pizza, 2 bags of chips and 4 cans of root beers. My previous jitters had died down to a embers as we fell back into an amiable and platonic routine.

"Ha-ha! Move." She sneered jabbing my foot with her finger.

I scooched over backwards for her to settle comfortably on the opposite side her. She rested her head on the armrest. Her sock clad feet lying near my stomach, I boldly closed my hand around them.

We watched in silence for the rest of the movie until we got to the part at the end where Claire gives John his diamond earring.

"See! I told you, I told you! It was an earring not a ring." I sat up and gestured towards the screen. "Oi yow Pizza!" When I didn't hear or feel a slightest of movement I extended my arm on the floor, half my body still sitting on the couch and look at her. I must have known she had dozed off. Her even breaths were calm and soothing halfway through the movie, her face appeared pallid against the television screen. I got up as gently as I could and sat on the floor, over her side. I watched her for a little while, memorizing the way her shutted eyes would twitch every few seconds, her long eyelashes fanned out attractively across her features, her pouted lips carnation in color. I saw a crease formed at the center of her eyebrows and felt a lump clogging my throat. "What are you dreaming about?" I whispered. I reached an index finger to carefully smoothen it out, and lingered.

"I swear, you'll be the death of me. " Before I could help myself, i pressed a feathered kiss to her forehead in replace of my finger.

8:17 am

I felt more than heard the sound of barely audible mumbles as it vibrated from my chest. I squinted my eyes open to see panting smiles from two dogs and instantly became aware of the soft weight nesting on my chest. I don't remember sleeping in this position earlier in the morning but damn it to bloody hell, I wasn't complaining.

I or she must have moved positions during our sleep because now, on this glorious Sunday morning, our bodies lie snugly on the sofa, both my arms around her, one of her hands rested underneath my shirt, atop the unsteady thumps of my heart. Her head on my shoulder. Blanket still draped over us.

"Want. Pancakes." She mumbled, eyes still closed.

A chuckle crept up onto my already- smiling face. I never knew she talked in her sleep as we've had never been in this position before. I stayed still for quite some time, careful to maintain our position in case she woke up and assess the situation with regret or something . It Could be minutes or hours;. I lapsed the ability to comprehend anything right now as I committed this moment to memory

The smell of her hair dominate the entire room, happily suffocating me to my death.

Or How every inch of her molded perfectly into mine; her breathing patterns almost lulling me back to sleep

Or How her warmth masked and overpower my senses, making me forget to think, to breathe.

A nagging thought entered my mind that I was, in a way, taking advantage of her slumberous state, and was about to separate my body from hers but was snapped out if it when I heard her next words. Making my world rattle to smithereens then build back up again.

"Mmmm.. I like you Tom.”

I looked down on her to see if she’s woken. It probably meant anything that I hope to be but still, I couldn't fight the grin that jeopardizes to split my face in half or the euphoria openly transuding over my skin. I pressed my lips on her forehead and slowly pulled her even tighter. And i could die right after this, because she shifted closer- if that was still even possible-and lightly scratched her fingers on my bare and beating pectoral.

I’ll just put the links of my A03 and Fanfiction pages. :)

#tom holland fic #tom Holland story #tom Holland x reader #tom Holland and reader #tom Holland fanfiction #tom Holland fluff #tom Holland and y/n #tom Holland shirtless #yatr #you are the reason fic

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teacupwriter · 6 years

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writing process tag

thanks so much for tagging me @katiehahnbooks!! I loved reading your answers, btw. This looks like fun and I need a bit of a pick-me-up tonight, so here goes. :)

1. What are your favorite genres and/or styles to write in?

I tend toward historical fiction and action/adventure, sometimes with fantasy elements and usually (but not always) featuring romance. I’m not a super ‘realistic’ writer so all of my stuff takes on a cartoon/comic-world quality. Probably a side effect of all the comics and Disney I consumed growing up, but I’m going with it.

2. What was the last writing project you finished and felt successful with?

Mm. Kind of a tricky question at the moment. I recently wrote and posted a Tintin fanfiction one-shot series that I felt pretty happy with at the time, but it didn’t get a great reception. So, mixed results. I think I learned that I should stick to my more natural writing mode. (As in, long drawn-out 30+ chapter stories.)

3. If you have a WIP how do you feel it’s going? What stage are you in?

I have several fanfiction WIPs (read: too many) and one original WIP. I feel it’s going at about the rate I can expect considering my current school workload. I have a title, and the core cast of characters, and a very, very rough idea of the plot, but I’m still in the research/outlining stage. Right now I’m researching the involvement of British Secret Intelligence in the Spanish Civil War (yes, England was all up in Spain’s business and, no, they were not supporting the democratic side) because my female MC’s love interest is a female British spy. Anyway, I love live for research so I may be in this stage for a while...

4. What is your favorite place to write?

Anywhere it’s quiet. Although ever since I got noise-cancelling headphones (best purchase of my life, worth every penny) that can pretty much be anywhere! I am easily distracted by other people though, so unless I’m really in The Zone I prefer to be alone.

5. Do you prefer to write long hand or type? Or some other method?

I prefer to type. I use copy and paste quite a lot when writing, and I keep a spare document open to dump discarded paragraphs/descriptions in case I feel like coming back to them. But I do brainstorming and middle-of-the-night idea scribbling by hand. Last summer when I had a job with a 1-hour both ways commute, I would record myself talking out loud about my story while stuck in traffic.

6. Do you remember your first character? If so can we meet them?

Hah, okay. I could start with my LOTR hobbit OC, Jessica, whom I invented while running around with my younger brother LARPing as Merry and Pippin (we were like 8 and 10 years old, we had no idea what we were doing had a name, of course.) I would play one side of a conversation as Merry and then hop a foot away to play the other side as Jessica. (Who was also his love interest. Of course.) Or I guess I could talk about Fudgie the anthropomorphic stuffed dog who was the star of the first story I wrote at 7 years old, which detailed his voyage across the Pacific Ocean in a bathtub. Or... my Tintin fanfiction OC I created when I was 14, who was, well, not the pinnacle of originality by any means. But I have fond memories of her, and all of them, honestly. Love your ridiculous old characters. #end cringe culture 2018

7. Where do you get your inspiration?

So many places! Sometimes the architecture of an old building, or a dual-ownership home where the top half is painted a different color from the bottom half. (Which I actually saw once in Cambridge, MA. Like, imagine an enemies-to-lovers, ‘we’re stuck renting the same house because it’s a great location but we disagree on everything’ rom com!) Super mainstream action movies tend to inspire me, for some weird reason. (My favorite - the Jason Bourne movies.) I’m inspired by museums, paintings and illustrations, historical photography and comic books... lots of random stuff.

8. Do you outline a story before writing it, or does it all live in your head until the first draft gets put down?

I outline. I outline quite a bit. But I do believe that there is such a thing as too much outlining. You don’t want to entirely snuff out the element of unpredictability. You have to trust that the story might know better than you do, and let it take you unexpected places.

9. Where do you go/what do you do when you’re feeling stuck?

That’s usually when I hand write, or open up a separate word document and just start rambling. Eventually I land on the problem, and once I know the problem, I get an idea of how to fix it. Usually. If that doesn’t work, I’ll just take a break and ignore the whole thing for a while.

10. What got you started writing/doing art? (Because I always love origin stories)

The first time I put a story on paper was for a creative writing assignment in the 2nd grade. (Earlier I mentioned Fudgie the anthropomorphic stuffed dog? Yeah, this was his debut.) The page requirement was 5 and I wrote 20 before my teacher actually stopped me, explained that it was time to turn it in, and even though I wasn’t finished, I could use three magic words: “to be continued...” I never did finish it, but I think I can forgive 7-year-old me. I was probably too busy playing with my Calico Critters.

Okay, I’m tagging @kittensartsbooks, @cabaretofwords, @patomac, @gooseandcaboose, @thewriterexfriends, and @natsacespace. Please tag me if you do this, I’d love to read all your answers!! (But no pressure of course.) ♥︎

#tag game #writing process tag #writeblr love

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emma-nation · 5 years

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Thinking Of You (Mona x MC Fanfiction) - Chapter 5

You said move on Where do I go? I guess second best Is all I will know

Summary: Years later, Allison has everything she wants, a brand-new internship as a doctor, a handsome boyfriend… but her first nightshift won’t go as expected…

Genre: Romance, Angst

Tag list: @zoe6111, @simsvetements, @mvrinettes, @whoinvitedalx, @scarlet-letter-a0114, @abunchofbadchoices, @kamilahmademedoit, @janurary, @talkinlikeateen, @eagle-one-1, @andreear17, @tia-bi, @monagf, @monahott, @fal-carrington (let me know if you want to be tagged!)

Notes:

- English is not my first language, forgive me for any mistakes.

- Loving Mona’s personality, that was my favorite chapter to write so far, as it includes more of her POV than Allison’s. I hope you enjoy it too.

The following days passed quickly. Allison closed herself, avoiding both Dr. Carlson and Mona. She wasn’t ready to give a final answer, to any of them. Breaking up with Griffin and declining the opportunity his father was offering could be the end of her newly-started career. On other note, she couldn’t measure the consequences of breaking Mona’s heart. She’d probably go away and do something stupid out of anger. She felt guilty, as she’d act exactly like her ex, abandoning her all over again.

That morning though, she had no alternative, Mona had one last medical appointment with her.

“Well,” she grinned. “The latest results of your exams came back great. You’re officially discharged.”

“Yay, that means I’m officially kicked out of your house too?” Mona joked.

“Of course not. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”

“Actually, I wanted to talk to you about it, but…” she looked down at a watch on her wrist. “There’s somewhere else I have to be.”

“Oh,” Allison smiled, “where is it?”

“You’ll find out later.”

Mona blew her a kiss and left through the door. Deep down, Allison could tell she noticed how she was keeping a distance since that night. Yet, she was respecting it and giving the space she needed.

“That night…” she thought. The night she confessed her feelings, followed by the news she could be going to another continent in only a few weeks. If only she could make a decision that wouldn’t hurt anybody’s feelings.

———-

“And full freedom, finally,” Mona waited outside the hospital for a taxi. She was supposed to be meet her lawyer again in a few minutes. On the phone, she announced she had really good news for her.

A luxury car parked near where she was standing. Though she was locked up for almost a decade, she was already familiar with that brand-new model. A well-dressed man came out from it, speaking on his cell phone. She read the sign marking the spot he parked.

“The infamous Dr. Carlson,” she thought. “Nice car, Doc. In my old days, I’d love to take it for a ride.”

He didn’t notice her. The heated argument he was involved in, didn’t allow him to.

“I told you to not call me, not on this number!” He grunted, clenching his teeth. “I know… I know… I’m finding a way. I’m gonna get rid of…” suddenly aware of Mona’s presence, he changed his expression quickly. “I’m gonna get rid of this laboratory, of course. They have been causing us a lot of harm. The quality of their products certainly dropped. The medication they’re supplying isn’t as effective as before.”

He hung up and passed by her, with a smile on his face.

“Good morning, Miss.”

“Morning, doctor.”

Mona gave him one last suspicious glance. By her experience, she couldn’t help thinking how shady was the conversation she just heard.

Dr. Moron’s behavior quickly became irrelevant, when inside a hotel room, her lawyer handed her a small package, containing money from the time she worked in prison.

“This isn’t much,” Dr. Terri Williams told her. “But it’s enough to help you to settle down, while you seek for a better job.”

“As if anybody is willing to employ me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be handling that too. I have some contacts, I’ll help you to find something.”

“Are you my lawyer or a fairy godmother?” Mona grinned, throwing herself at a comfortable couch, while the female lawyer typed something on her laptop. She opened the package and handed the woman some of her money. “Here, all these trips from Philadelphia to LA, they must cost you a lot. It’s the least I can do.”

“There is no need,” she answered, distracted. “The amount I was paid to take your case was more than enough.”

“Huh?! But… you said you took me as part of charity program?”

“Oh! Nevermind! I… mistook you for another client. This one I’m reading about right now.”

“Okay…”

Leaving her alone, Mona followed to her next stop. The mall.

———-

When she arrived, carrying some bags, Mr. Wheeler was still home, for her displeasure. She rolled her eyes. He was distracted, working on an evidence board he had set on the living room.

“I have an alibi,” she announced as she entered, only to provoke him. Allison’s father looked at her and scowled in response.

“Busy this morning, huh?” He asked sarcastically, noticing the bags she was carrying.

“Yes, my money and it’s all legal. For the time I worked in prison. It’s not much, but at least I don’t have to wear Allison’s clothes anymore. And I bought myself a cell phone too.”

“Good for you. What do you plan to do with the rest? Find an apartment, I suppose?”

“It’s not enough yet. But I’ll get a job soon,” Mona sat on the couch, observing the pinned pictures of corpses on the board. “Gross!”

“This is what happens when you get involved with wrong people and drugs.”

“In case you’re implying anything, I’ve never done any drugs. I barely had any alcohol in my life. Kaneko wouldn’t allow us to drink, besides being underage, we couldn’t risk to harm the property we were supposed to deliver.”

“The property you stole, you mean.”

Mona replied with a wink, focusing her attention on her newly-acquired phone. There was a lot she wanted to find out on the internet, starting by Allison’s social network. She could spend hours admiring all those beautiful pictures she posted through the years. Then, she went to search for news from her former crew partners. With no luck. They should still be hiding under new identities.

“Do you see the link between all of them?” Mr. Wheeler asked, getting her attention.

She got up and approached, examining all the pictures closer.

“Hmmm… a bunch of rich frat boys who partied too hard?”

Detective Wheeler sighed.

“That too. But they were all brilliant students, athletes, with a bright future ahead of them. What led them to death was a synthetic drug, that promised to enhance their performance, among other things.”

“Do you have any ideas of who could be supplying them?” Mona was intrigued.

“Sadly, we haven’t found a concrete clue yet,” Detective Wheeler told. “We suspect from students, inside these universities.”

Mona grabbed a paper that was hanging in the evidence board, reading a detailed laboratory analysis of the drug found on the students’ system.

“College students aren’t capable of developing anything of this sort, Pops,” she explained. “They could be selling, but who’s creating… you need to aim higher. Someone powerful, wealth and with a big knowledge of science and chemistry. The composition here is quite complex.“

He looked at her, admired and surprised.

“How do you even know all of that?”

“Didn’t you read my files? All those scholarships I had gotten… I used to be a science whiz.”

She grinned, grabbing her bags and going to Allison’s bedroom, where she had important plans to make.

———-

Allison got home at evening, stressed as usual. She caught herself arguing with a patient’s mother, who wanted to know more than she did, and would refuse to submit her son to any exams or procedures. It was a lot of work to convince her to do so. When she entered, an investigation board was placed in the middle of the living room, with creepy pictures of corpses. Which almost made her throw up.

“Oh dad…” she thought. Mr. Wheeler wasn’t the kind who used to bring work to home. “This case is really consuming you.”

She threw her purse on the couch and followed to the guest room. Her bedroom’s door was half-opened, suggesting Mona was inside.

“Hey you,” she opened it. Mona was finishing getting dressed, looking absolutely stunning in a black dress that valuated her body features. She had also applied a perfect make-up. “Whoa!”

“Like what you see?” She teased, smiling.

“U-uh, y-you look… great. But where are you going?”

She noticed Mona blushed a little and looked down, letting her raven black hair cover her face a little bit.

“I was wondering…” she bit her lower lip nervously. “Would you give me a chance to repay everything you’ve been doing for me? There’s this new restaurant I passed in front, on the first day I left prison, and I really wanted to visit. Come with me?”

Allison stared at her in silence. She was completely torn, while she wanted desperately to accept, she knew where it could lead them.

“It’s not a date,” Mona assured. “But if you don’t want it, that’s okay. I’ll go by myself and eat until I have no strength to come back home. I’m gonna ask all the dessert available in the menu.”

“When I said you could eat normally, I didn’t mean you could exaggerate,” Allison said. “In this case, I better follow you. Only to make sure.”

“As you wish, Doc.”

———-

When they arrived at the restaurant, Allison was surprised by the place. Mona had already made a reservation for them in a VIP area outside, surrounded by trees, with a special illumination and a band, singing live-music.

She chuckled, remembering how soft and romantic Mona could be, just like when she took her to Prom, renting a limo and giving her the night she ever dreamed about. Though she spent the entire way complaining about the fact she wasn’t allowed to drive yet, she now looked relaxed and happy.

“You shouldn’t spend so much money, Mona,” she told. “You need it.”

“Chill out, Allison. I still have some to keep until I get a job. It’s just… we never had the chance of doing something like this. I mean, go out together and chat. When we were starting having it, that stupid Brotherhood…”

She clenched both of her firsts with the memories.

“Mona, it’s over. And I completely understand what you did. You only did it to protect yourself and to protect m–… all of us.”

“Exactly.”

They placed their orders, Allison was in shock with the amount of food Mona ordered for herself.

"What?” She grinned. “After spending eight years in prison and weeks on a special diet, I’m carving real food. I’ve been dreaming about this moment for years!”

“Well, I’m your doctor,” Allison laughed, stealing small bites from her plate. “I need to make sure this food is safe.”

After some minutes in silence, she decided to enjoy Mona being so open and sociable to start a conversation. Ask things she had been wondering all along.

“Tell me more about you. About these years.”

“I was in jail?” Mona gave her a confused look.

“But… don’t you have any stories or anyone you met in there?"

Mona silenced. Allison couldn’t tell if the question had upset her or if she was attempting to remember anything interesting.

"Not really, I had some really dark days. Especially after my judgment. I even considered…” she stopped. “Anyways, I spent most of my time working and studying. As you can tell, I’m not much of a sociable person, I didn’t have many friends. But it doesn’t mean I didn’t make a few girls fall in love with me.”

A hint of jealousy involuntarily erupted in Allison’s chest. As much as she tried to control herself, she wanted to know more.

“Oh, any of them still holds a special place in your heart?”

“I never said the feeling was mutual.”

Mona took a sip of her juice, her brown eyes never leaving hers, as if she knew exactly how Allison was feeling inside.

“What about you?” She wanted to know. “Any mind-blowing stories from Langston?”

“Oh, I made some good friends but I wasn’t the partying type. I’d spend most of my time in the library.”

“Please, don’t tell me you met Cliff in the library?”

“It’s Griffin, but…” Allison blushed. “Yes.”

“How boring,” Mona rolled her eyes.

That conversation brought some painful memories to Allison’s mind. The endless days she spent at the library weren’t studying anatomy or biochemistry, but researching law books, to find a possible manner to get Mona out of jail. Being in the same classes, one day Griffin joined her and his kindness helped to ease a little of her pain. Yet, she took a long time to develop romantic feelings for him. Months, years, maybe.

She still remembered their first night of love. She didn’t felt any pleasure. She spent hours crying under the shower, wishing it was Mona that was sleeping by her side in the bed. He’d never compare to her, or make her feel the same way she felt in the night of her Prom.

“Allison?” Mona’s voice brought her back to reality. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I just… some bad memories. That’s all.”

“Oh, I was starting to think I’d have to eat this giant bowl of ice cream all by myself.”

“Only in your wildest dreams!”

———-

The way back home was silent. Allison could feel Mona had became tense for some reason. They never had a conversation about that night. Allison never gave the opportunity. While she didn’t regret it, she was confused about her engagement and her move to New Zealand.

When they entered home, Mr. Wheeler hadn’t arrived yet.

“I have something to tell you,” she spoke softly, deciding it was the right moment. “About the other night.”

“It never ends well,” Mona whispered to herself.

“I got this offer… Griffin’s father will be working on a big research in New Zealand and he wants us to integrate his team. He even bought us this house and… that would make us anticipate the wedding to two weeks from now.”

Mona didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. Her face was giving away how deeply hurt and angry she was.

“You get incredibly stupid when you drink, you know?” She shook her head in denial. “But, congratulations.”

She was about to leave to her bedroom, when Allison held her arm.

“Mona, wait! I meant every word I said that night, but… I don’t know what to do. It’s a lifetime opportunity and…”

“And Griffin is not an unemployed car thief, that went to prison twice and will never be able to fulfill all your dreams? I get it, Allison. It was fun when we were young, but now? You want the real thing. A top-class job, a fancy house, a good-looking husband with a perfect reputation and some spoiled children.”

Her heart was thundering inside her chest… Three words that wouldn’t leave her mind were ready to be said loud and clear…

“I want…”

“Don’t you dare to say you want me to be happy,” Mona interrupted her. “I don’t need your pity! With the rest of my money, I’m returning to Bronx, where I should never had left in first place.”

“...you,” Allison finished the sentence in a whispering tone. Mona never listened, she had already slammed the bedroom’s door. “Damn it, why don’t you give me a chance to say it?”

All she needed to leave Griffin, the hospital and everything behind was for Mona to say it back. If she said she wanted her too, there was no more doubts or questionings, she run straight to her arms.

———-

When Mona woke up in the next morning, Allison had already left. Which was a positive thing. She wasn’t ready to see her face yet. Somehow she felt used. Betrayed.

As she arrived in the kitchen, Detective Wheeler was still having breakfast. She rolled her eyes, wondering what would be the lecture or insult of the day. She decided to spare him the work and deliver the news he waited so long to hear.

“Morning, Pops,” she poured herself some coffee. “I have good news for you.”

“Actually, Mona,” he folded the newspaper he was reading. It was the first time she called her by her alias. Something was terribly wrong about it. “I wanted to thank you.”

“Great, Allison already told him I’m leaving,” she frowned. “That only proves she doesn’t give a damn about me.”

“Our conversation yesterday. You gave me a new perspective about my case and how we could work on a solution.”

“Uh, really?” She looked at him surprised, finding herself a seat at the table.

“All we have to do is to implant someone inside an university, to observe these young students and catch the supplier, who will eventually led us to whoever is creating those drugs.”

“Good, Pops. The world is really changing, in case of causing trouble, I’ve helped the police. I’ve earned my place in Heaven after that.”

He stared her, directly in the eyes.

“My point is, I can’t think of anyone better for the job than… you.”

#playchoices #ride or die #mona #mona x mc #mona rod #choices stories you play #ride or die fanfiction

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