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iwadori · 3 years

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Haikyu boys when they take a joke/prank too far (Iwaizumi,Daichi)

Word count: 1.9K

Genre:angst,fluff

AN: In the spirit of April Fools I tried to make my first work based on that I hope you enjoy!! (LOL I can’t actually believe this was the first thing I’ve ever written)

Iwaizumi:

“Okay so it’s April Fools Day who are we going to prank?” asked Makki “One of the first years?”

“Do we have to prank someone this year..” replied Iwaizumi “so childish”

“Iwa-Chan!” Oikawa said “Don’t be such a spoil sport.”

“Anyways, it can’t be a first year they’re boring to prank a first year coach will be mad at us, we need someone else.”

Just then, you enter the gym, catching their eye as you approach the group sitting on Iwaizumi’s lap “Hey babe, I can still come over to yours to study right?” you ask.

“Yeah of course, practice finishes early so I'll be there before you.” He said

“Alright, see you then bye babe, bye guys” you said, giving Iwaizumi a kiss on the cheek sauntering off and waving at Makki, Mattsun and Oikawa.

“bye Y/N!” They teasingly responded in unison making you laugh.

As they watched you leave, it seemed as if a lightbulb pinged off in all of their heads (besides Iwaizumi) realizing who would be a great person to prank.

After a lot of convincing, they finally got Iwaizumi in on the ‘harmless’ plan, all they needed to do now is wait on your arrival.

You’re finally done with school after a long and tiring day of exams upon exams and wanting nothing more than to cuddle with your boyfriend (after he teaches you Pythagoras theorem of course.) You did think he was acting weird when you met him this morning in the gym and throughout break and lunch but you just concluded that it was because he was having an ‘off’ day.

You reached his house and used a copy of his key that he gave you to enter we just enter houses up in this bitch calling out his name “Zumi-babe, I'm here...”

“Lets get this shit over with” you said tiredly

Upon entering, you notice none of the lights being on or curtains drawn ‘odd’ you think. You go upstairs going straight to his room hopefully to find your boyfriend in his bed or on his Xbox or something. To your surprise his bedroom door was somehow locked shut (even though not having a lock on his door anyways.) Suddenly, you hear creaks slowly trailing up the stairs and an eerie feeling surrounds you... now you start to feel pretty panicked jiggling the door handle to Iwaizumi’s door as it’s practically the only place you can go.

AN: I hate what I’m writing rn but onwards we right

The footsteps on the stairs start to quicken, and you almost certain that you felt something brush pass your shoulder only adding onto the panic and anxiety that you already feel. Ok, the footsteps on the stairs are basically right near you, so doing the only logical thing you can do you body slam the ‘person’ on the stairs as you motherfuckin should as tears fill your eyes and you pick up bag bolting through the front door, slamming it shut now in full tears and shakingly scared.

You look behind you and see Iwaizumi’s front door re-open and out comes the ‘iNFaMouS sEiJOh fOuR’ in tears... of laughter. It seems that the boys were in laughing fits that their prank ‘payed off’ getting a reaction out of you. You couldn’t see Iwaizumi’s reaction, but you didn’t care you were hurt, annoyed and wanting to get into your bed.

Once you get home, you decide to block your so called ‘friends’ who decided to make you scared shitless and ignored Iwaizumi’s messages asking “where were you today”.... the AUDACITY.

The next day, the boy’s seemed to realize the consequences of their actions after spending the whole day trying to get your attention only to be straight up ignored. Iwaizumi is immensely regretful after all his efforts to try talking to you were denied, he decided after his practice he was going to get you to talk to him or at least get you to listen to his apologies on what happened yesterday evening.

You left your clubroom and made your way to the school gate to go home.

“Y/N!” shouted Iwaizumi touching your shoulder making you flinch ‘wow did we really scare her that bad?”

“What do you want iwa?” You asked very agitated

“Y/N I just want to apologize for yesterday, since it was April fools day and all the boys really wanted to prank someone and I-it just happened to be-”

“It just happened to be me. Right?” you interrupted “Gosh Iwaizumi, I was really scared.. I already had a tiring day and all I wanted was my boyfriend to teach me the stupid Pythagoras Theorem and cuddle me afterwards, but no you and your friends just had to be dicks for a day” you turn around planning to walk away before he grabs you again

“Wait! Just wait y/n, im sorry and I wont ever prank you like that again” he pleaded

“.. and i’ll help you study?” he added pulling the sweetest face of all time to try and convince you

“ugh, fine stop pulling that face... and you better teach me Pythagoras Theorem” you said rolling your eyes

“yeah yeah whatever you say y/n” he said pulling you under his arm and walking in the direction of his house.

A/N: WOW I DID NOT like the way this turned out but its my first official thing that I wrote hopefully HOPEFULLY MY WORK IMPROVES (I THINK IT WILL) SO please join me on this ‘ride’ in improving my work

Daichi:

You decided this morning that you were NOT going to participate in your annual April Day Fool’s prank with Tanaka and Noya... only because of your not-so new boyfriend Daichi saying he didn’t need his teammates corrupting you any longer so you decided to not get involved. With that being said you wouldn’t even think of your boyfriend pulling a prank on you so you didn’t think you’re getting pranked today.

In the gym, the boys were doing the usual: Hinata and Kageyama running after eachother, Tanaka and Noya oogling Kiyoko, Tsukishima listening to music, Yama and Yachi going over club schedules whilst Daichi sat with Sugawara and Asahi.

“So are you pranking anyone today?” sugawara asked

“Pranking someone, isn’t that a bit too juvenile suga?” Asahi replied

“Not you silly, Daichi” said sugawara “With Y/N on his arm they always have to stay on eachothers toes right..she’s a ‘jokester’ right?”

“...right?” Daichi hadn’t thought of it that way, he did know of all your joking escapades before you even got together and how you still liked to joke around now as you date.. He didn’t want you to think that you thought he was too boring for you ?

“Ok. What type of prank should I pull on her..”

Daichi, Sugawara and Asahi (who didn’t really contribute to Suga’s scheming) made a plan for you to meet him at the gym locker with the claims that he had a ‘surprise’ for you .. oh how he was wrong.

Daichi: meet me at the gym locker I have something to show you

Y/N: Ok!! I’ll be there in 5 minutes

Daichi was nervous, and that was an understatement he didn’t want things to go left and have you thinking he couldn’t even do a simple prank. Once you got there, he saw heard you talking to Sugawara and Asahi outside the door about him wondering where he was in which Suga told you inside the locker room.

“Hey babe” you greeted “what's the occasion in why we’re in here?”

“I...uh..um I need to get something one second” Daichi spoke quickly and rushed out the room closing the door leaving you confused. Minutes passed, and you were now impatient and kinda scared since the room was dusty, dark and cold definitely not your place to be in. You tried texting Daichi but just your luck you have no service ://

As time went on you tried opening the door but it was jammed shut no hope opening at all you forgot you left your bag outside which of course had your inhaler which did not help the sudden shortness of breath you started to get because of your asthma and claustrophobia. All you wanted was to get out of this room and talk to … Daichi.

Daichi. How convenient that he manage to slip away before the door got closed hmm but he wouldn’t intentionally prank you after ALL the lectures he gave you about not doing pranks this year right?

You didn’t notice how you started to cry and whimper wanting to leave.

On the outside, Daichi heard your cries and ordered Sugawara and Asahi to find the key to immediately get you out which it seems to take a while because Daichi has now stopped hearing your tears making him gulp in fear thinking something bad has happened to you in there.

Sugawara comes to you handing Daichi the keys, his handing shaking as he tries to unlock the door when he eventually does he finds you passed out on the ground of the dusty storage room. Very cliché I know ://

You wake up in the Nurses Office a bit confused on how you got there until your eyes land upon Daichi, remembering how you locked you in the Storage room where you had an asthma attack and passed out. You turned your body away from Daichi not wanting to talk to him right now after the hypocrisy he did.

“Y/N.. Are you alright?” He asked

“Do I look alright?” You responded in a bored tone

“I am really sorry Y/N... I know what I said to you about not doing pranks this year but Sugawara roped me into this and I didn’t want you to think I was too boring for you so I thought doing this prank would make you see me in a different light” he said

“yeah i saw you in a different light alright” you sassed, you then realised what he said ‘too boring’ kind of feeling less mad and more sad that he feels this way “Dai, you’d never be to boring for me … you’re one of the most funness is that a word? guys I've ever met.”

“really?” he asked

“Of course! I’m kind of still mad at you for letting this happen but I do sort of understand why” you said giving him a hug.

You were eventually cleared to go home and as you left the clinic you saw Asahi and Sugawara standing at the door.

“Y/N WE’RE SORRY” they bowed to you waiting on your responses

You chuckled slightly at their cuteness and ruffled both of their hair “all is forgiven, just make sure there’s ‘pranks’ this year “

Which they agreed upon.

A/N: WOW I DID NOT like the way these turned out but its my first official thing that I wrote hopefully HOPEFULLY MY WORK IMPROVES (I THINK IT WILL) SO please join me on this ‘ride’ in improving my work. Feedback is VERY MUCH APPRECIATED and request too since I will literally write whatever...

I may do a part 2 … any particular characters people want?

#haikyuu x reader comfort #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu-fluff #haikyu angst #iwaizumi x reader #daichi sawamura #daichi x you #haikyu headcanons #haikyuu scenarios #iwaizumi x you #iwaizumi hajime #sugawara scenario #daichi scenario #signedwithane😌

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beca-mitchell · 3 years

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little taste of heaven (i'm caught up in you) (1/1)

Summary: now i see daylight AU - Beca and Chloe’s first date, finally.

Word count: 3.9k

For @anna-kendrick: We've worked on this universe for the past year and holy, it means the world to both of us that you guys love Beca and Chloe as much as we do. Thank you so much for the encouragement and love, always.And of course, again, thank you to Josi who is an incredibly talented artist. Look at this art.

title from "untouchable (taylor's version)" though I did heavily consider using "our song"...i just liked the energy of untouchable a bit more.

Read below or on AO3!

* * * * *

AGE: 15/16 LOCATION: Brookline, MA MONTH: June

* * * * *

It is finally June. The warm air is only a hint of better things to come. Like the last day of school before total freedom.

Beca smiles at Chloe as she nears Beca’s locker. “Hey,” she greets. “Good practice?”

Around them, students mill about excitedly, cleaning out their lockers and making plans for the summer to come. Chloe shrugs, hair clearly still damp from her shower. “I don’t know why we keep running through practices when we have no more games for the season.”

“Got to keep the regional champions in top shape,” Beca teases. “Keep the other teams on their toes.”

“But I’m tired,” Chloe complains. She leans heavily on a neighboring locker. “Since it's the last day of school, will you come over tonight for dinner? My parents are whining about how they haven’t seen you in a while.”

Beca clears her throat, thinking about how the last time she had gone over to Chloe’s house had been when Chloe and Tom broke up...at the end of April. Over a month ago. She had gone because Chloe had been crying and upset. She had gone because even if her body ached with the anxiety of not knowing where she and Chloe stood, she and Chloe were always going to be friends first. Best friends.

Best friends who felt something more than friendship for each other. Confirmed, real feelings. Feelings that made them want to kiss each other.

Feelings that they hadn’t yet talked about. Or acted on despite both of them being extremely single at the moment.

Hell, Chloe's birthday came and went a couple weeks ago without much fanfare. Beca had been too shy to do anything remotely romantic and they ended up going to a movie with a few friends before going to an arcade.

“Bec?”

Beca nods stiltedly, pretending to contemplate her now-empty locker a bit more before turning to face Chloe. She steadies herself with a quick breath. “I’d love nothing more.”

* * * * *

Beca stares at her reflection with some trepidation.

“It’s just Chloe,” she mutters to herself, eyes tracking over every crease in the skirt she has picked out. Maybe I should go with jeans, she thinks. But it’s gross and hot out today.

She isn’t even sure why she’s nervous. It just feels like a return to normalcy of sorts, but Beca’s pretty sure that now that she knows what it feels like to kiss Chloe and what it feels like, a little bit at least, to know that Chloe feels somewhat similarly to her. It’s different. In a good way. Maybe it’s different in a scary way.

She isn’t even sure she can bring up the topic with her mother, so that’s an added layer of uncertainty: it’s additionally anxiety-inducing not knowing how her mother will react.

It’s well past the time that Beca should have already walked out the door to head next door by the time she actually forces herself out of her bedroom and down the stairs, but she figures Chloe will understand. And dinner is rarely ever prepared at the exact time stated in the Beale household anyway. Beca’s not too worried. Just nervous.

She finally reaches out to press the doorbell.

Chloe opens the door almost immediately. “Thought you got lost,” she teases.

“Were you just waiting behind the door?” Beca asks quickly, allowing Chloe to grab her wrist and pull her over the threshold.

“And if I was?” Chloe shoots back, offering Beca a lazy smile, playful in nature. With an underlying hint of something else.

Beca blinks the surprise away. “I wouldn’t be complaining if you were waiting for me. Just sorry I kept you waiting,” she offers.

“Dinner’s not ready anyway,” Chloe says, as Beca expected. They breeze past the living room area, taking a mild detour past the kitchen and towards the back porch. “I might have told you a slightly earlier time because I wanted to talk to you about something,” Chloe says lightly.

“Should I say hi to your parents?” Beca asks worriedly before it registers what Chloe just said. “Wait, what? Talk to me about what?”

“Come sit with me,” Chloe says instead. Patiently. She gestures towards the tree - the tree they used to play under all the time as children - nestled in the corner of the backyard.

It’s one of Beca’s favorite spots.

She follows Chloe, wondering if it’s too late to run home and change into her jeans because she’s sure the grass and sticks will prick at her skin, but she’s surprised, as they near, that there is a small blanket laid out underneath.

Chloe had planned for this.

“Please sit,” Chloe offers. She sits comfortably, patting the spot next to her. “I had a feeling you’d dress up a little. Didn’t want you to get a dress dirty.” Her eyes drift down to Beca’s skirt briefly before she lifts her eyes, smiling at Beca. Beca doesn’t feel self-conscious, shockingly. She feels content. Safe.

Maybe a little warm if anything, but she knows that’s probably the proximity to the girl she’s been crushing on for the longest time.

“I...wanted to talk to you because we haven’t...really talked. About...y’know.” A hint of nervousness creeps into Chloe’s voice. “When we kissed and then Tom…” she hesitates. “We just didn’t get to talk about anything. And now the school year’s pretty much over, so I thought…”

“Right,” Beca agrees quickly. Her palms begin to sweat. She sure as hell hopes Chloe doesn’t expect her to lead this conversation. It was mortifying enough the first time around when she had basically laid everything on the line while Chloe was still dating somebody else. When Chloe had left her with nothing more than a heartfelt, vulnerable don’t give up on me. Then she had broken up with Tom and that was all their school could talk about for weeks.

And now this. Somehow Beca survived all of that while slowly making sure her friendship with Chloe survived as well. They both made sure of that.

“I like you,” Chloe declares. “I mean...I think I always did. Like you, I mean. As more than a friend. But the feelings were really confusing.”

“I get it,” Beca says a little too quickly. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, laughing a little when Chloe smiles at her. “I feel like I haven’t stopped thinking about this for a while. But I never wanted you to feel pressured to talk about this with me even though we kissed.” She ignores the way her voice totally cracks over that last word.

“I never felt pressured,” Chloe assures her gently. “I am so...grateful that you’re in my life. I didn’t want to mess this up. But I think we should...try.”

“Try?” Beca echoes.

Chloe blushes. Like a full-on blush that spreads across her cheeks, visible to Beca even in the dying daylight. It makes her cheeks rosy and Chloe even flinches at her own reaction. “Dating,” she says simply once she seems to regain control of her emotions. “I want to go on dates with you. And hold your hand. And more kissing! If that’s what you want.”

Beca’s sure that her heart explodes somewhere in her chest because she suddenly finds it very difficult to control various parts of her body. She can’t control the smile that spreads across her face and the following, matching blush in her cheeks. It heats through her face with ease. And even worse, she can’t control the way her hand comes up to her mouth as if to instinctively cover her smile because somehow being thrilled that her crush is basically asking her out making her body react in embarrassing ways.

Chloe laughs at her, not a hint of malice in her laugh. Just joy. “I take that as a yes. Thank God, I wasn’t sure how I was going to convince my parents to move away.”

Beca rolls her eyes. Finally. Teasing. She can do that. “You wouldn’t be able to leave me. You like me too much.”

Chloe’s smile grows soft. “Well...yeah. I do. A lot.”

Beca’s breath catches. She’s sure she could kiss Chloe right now and the crazy part is, it wouldn’t even be totally weird. Or out there. Because they’re going to start dating. But maybe kissing Chloe again before their first date is frowned upon? Beca has no idea. She’s still only ever kissed one person and that person is sitting in front of her.

“Girls! Dinner!”

As if Chloe had been reading her mind and her intentions, Chloe shakes her head and stands, offering a hand to pull Beca up. When Beca stands, they’re somehow even closer - almost nose to nose - than they had been when they were sitting. “Saved by the bell,” Chloe whispers, breath close enough to be felt on Beca’s mouth.

* * * * *

The most interesting part is that Beca hadn’t really thought about any of this - dating Chloe - beyond just vague daydreams and fantasies about just some kind of happy utopia with Chloe by her side. It’s honestly not much different from their usual day-to-day considering how close they already are, but dating? Actual dating?

Her Google search history stares back at her accusingly.

dating tips dating best friend first date first date movies dating girl what to do

She supposes she could ask her mother, but even that brief thought makes her shrink away from her desk. Beca stands and begins pacing. She’s sure that she’s overthinking this all. That Chloe could probably care less about what they do on their first date. That Chloe’s probably just expecting them to spend time together, just the two of them. With more handholding. And maybe a kiss at the end of the night.

“Shit,” Beca mutters suddenly. She rushes back to her computer, adding another search to her list.

kiss on first date ok???

She frowns. Not quite.

kissing before first date acceptable

In the end, she is saved from her descent into a hole of online searching by a text from Chloe herself.

Chloe dinner tomorrow at south street? haven’t been downtown in a while

Beca i’m down!

The ease at which Beca replies does not at all reflect the somersaults in her stomach.

* * * * *

“Hey,” Chloe calls, putting her menu down. “Where’d you go just now?”

Beca blinks, realizing that she had glazed over the menu entirely, too wrapped up in her own thoughts. “Oh, just...contemplating…” her eyes land on the first item she sees. “Salad.” She can’t help the way her own nose wrinkles instinctively at the thought of eating salad.

Chloe is as intuitive as ever, smiling as she reaches across the table to touch Beca’s hand. “You hate salad. Especially here.”

Beca swallows, struck by both the normalcy and intimacy of Chloe’s touch. They’ve been friends for years—there is nothing extremely off-putting about them holding hands or even just randomly touching each other on the arm, shoulder, knee.

And yet—

Chloe draws her hand away, seemingly not at all aware of Beca’s inner turmoil this time. She refocuses on her menu. “Want me to order something for you?” she asks instead.

Beca nods, though she is surprised. “Sure.” Now she’s curious as to what Chloe will order for her. And if she’s being honest, it kind of makes her feel giddy, the thought of Chloe knowing her well-enough to order something. Not that Beca would even bother with telling Chloe that she’s wrong. She’d eat anything at this point, just to spend more time with Chloe.

It’s not even like they’re at a fancy restaurant. It’s a diner downtown. The bright retro designs all around plus the comfortable, plush booth seats are all appealing to Beca and she likes the general atmosphere.

But she kind of wants to just…

“Can I sit next to you?” she blurts out. Immediately, she clamps her mouth shut, resisting the urge to avoid Chloe’s curious gaze, which lifts to meet hers immediately.

Chloe grins. “I would want nothing more. Get over here.”

Beca nearly sags in relief, but focuses instead on moving around the booth so she and Chloe are sitting closer, now on side of the booth.

Beca focuses on the frequent piece of advice she had found through a few somewhat reliable Google results.

Hold her hand.

Beca does. She inches her pinky across the cool vinyl seats until she can feel Chloe’s against her finger. Then, she slips her hand over Chloe’s, gently hooking her fingers on Chloe’s palm until Chloe gets the idea.

Chloe’s hand flips slowly, their palms touching. Beca exhales, sliding her fingers between Chloe’s, already liking the easy, comfortable fit of their hands.

Chloe says nothing, content to enjoy the silence and familiarity just as Beca is content to allow her feelings to take over. For a moment, Chloe appears to be perusing the menu in silence, but there is a steadiness to the set of Chloe’s shoulders. Beca can tell, having been so attuned to Chloe’s characteristics for longer than she’d like to admit. For longer than even Chloe herself knows at this moment. She glances at her date—her date!—selfishly taking the moment to appreciate Chloe’s profile.

It’s something she has done so many times before, but this time...this time, in a diner outside of town with the soft clatter of dishes around them and Chloe’s soft, warm palm against her own, Beca knows this is different.

“You know,” Chloe starts awkwardly. “I...obviously don’t mind if you ordered on your own.”

Beca laughs. “Why’d you offer to then?”

“I don’t know,” Chloe says, exasperation in her voice. She groans and hangs her head slightly. “I asked Max and-”

“You asked your brother what to do on a date with me?”

“No!” Chloe explains before she snorts. “I just...told him I was worried about impressing a girl. And I don’t know why, but I somehow thought he’d have some idea.” She grins a little, glancing at Beca out of the corner of her eye. “Did it work?”

“Maybe a little,” Beca says distractedly. She’s more fixated on the fact that Chloe must have been truly desperate to have turned to her older brother for help.

“Oh and he totally guessed I was going out with you, by the way.”

That’s not something that thrills Beca too much. Her imagination immediately conjures up a comically exaggerated vision of Chloe’s brother threatening her with a knife. “How?” she asks. “What did he say?”

“Nothing, really. He just kind of guessed and then said ‘finally’ or something like that.”

“Well, thank you for offering to order for me. It was very...chivalrous of you.”

“Please stop.”

“Quite charming.”

“Beca.”

“I can’t wait to see what other moves you try on me. Are we going to share one milkshake?”

“...no?”

* * * * *

They end up ordering two separate milkshakes because Beca sticks to her vanilla and Chloe orders chocolate.

“Try,” Chloe commands. “You always get vanilla. Chocolate is so good.”

Beca sighs, but obediently sticks her straw into Chloe’s cup despite Chloe’s protests of “contamination” and quickly takes a sip just to shut Chloe up for the time being. It’s not horrible - Beca just isn’t the fan of how chocolate tastes in milkshake form, though she’s sure Chloe will claim there’s no difference if the milkshake were in a solid chocolate bar form instead.

However, she’s mildly distracted by the sudden proximity she and Chloe have between them. Chloe’s arm rests loosely over her shoulder, where she had put her arm when Beca leaned in to drink from Chloe’s cup. She can practically feel Chloe’s breath on her neck and her cheek.

It would be so easy to just turn and -

Beca shakes her head slightly and shifts back. Chloe takes a moment longer to slowly move her arm from around Beca’s shoulders.

“What?” Beca asks quietly, poking at her fries a little. She catches Chloe smiling at her affectionately.

“Nothing,” Chloe replies quickly. “Just...you smell nice. That’s all.”

* * * * *

“I guess it’s kind of convenient that we live together,” Beca remarks, trying not to think too hard about the way Chloe’s hand feels in her own. She winces. “Well. Not live together. But…you know. Live next to each other.”

Chloe tilts her head, smiling as they walk up the path towards their houses. “And why is that convenient?” she asks lightly.

Beca blushes. She hadn’t thought this far. “I’m…I don’t know. I was just…commenting. On the convenience.”

Chloe giggles, pulling Beca closer ever so slightly. Beca likes the way their arms press together. She likes holding Chloe’s hand. She likes lifting her other hand to curl against the bend of Chloe’s elbow.

She likes knowing that Chloe likes her—really likes her—and Chloe enjoyed their date and—and—

“This is you,” Chloe murmurs, stopping in front of Beca’s door.

Beca kind of doesn’t want the night to end. She wants to sit on the porch and talk to Chloe for a few more minutes. Maybe one more hour. Just to hear the sound of her voice and have her attention for a few moments longer.

“This is me,” Beca parrots, feeling a lot more nervous than she thinks she’s letting on. That was what people said in those movies adorning Chloe’s shelves, right? It was what the internet said. Normal first date cliches. She steps backwards, under the light of her front porch, still holding Chloe’s hand as she does so. Chloe hesitates for a moment like she wants to follow, but ultimately she simply squeezes Beca’s hand in understanding and drops her own hand away.

Beca is immediately disappointed. She hadn’t wanted that at all. She bites her lip, watching as Chloe awkwardly shuffles her feet before she glances back up at Beca. A soft, slow smile spreads across Chloe’s lips, gentle and affectionate all at once. It makes Beca’s heart pound ridiculously hard.

“I had fun,” Chloe whispers, like she’s afraid somebody else will hear her. But not because she's afraid of other people. Just afraid that their bubble will burst, like Beca is. Another step closer. Beca swallows. “Can we do that again?”

“You’d want to go on more dates?” Beca asks, just to clarify, even though she knows exactly what Chloe’s asking.

“I would love to go on more dates with you.”

“Me too,” Beca squeaks out. “I—um—”

Chloe’s smile stretches, somehow happier than before. “Goodnight Beca.”

Something in Beca snaps. She steps forward, just two small steps and calls out Chloe’s name. “Wait,” she adds hastily.

Chloe stops and turns, surprised.

“Can I—” Beca swallows, licking her suddenly dry lips. “Can I kis—”

She doesn’t get to finish her question before Chloe is covering the ground between them in two short strides, wrapping her hand around the back of Beca’s head, letting the other come up to Beca’s arm, and kissing her for all her worth.

Beca gasps in surprise into the kiss, hands coming up to Chloe’s shoulders, squeezing tightly. Gently and slowly, Chloe presses further into the kiss, her lips moving ever so lightly against Beca’s. It is so much more than their first kiss—a do-over, if anything—and Beca realizes, with a jolt, that this is something she can do now. She can kiss Chloe because Chloe likes her and Chloe went on a date with her. Chloe held her hand all night.

Chloe wants to kiss her too.

Beca hums happily at the thought, looping her hands behind Chloe’s neck. It feels instinctual even as Beca blushes at the sudden intensity of the kiss. She knows Chloe has kissed more people than she has; she knows Chloe will forever have more experience in this regard. But God, Beca thinks that she has never felt more wonderful or powerful than she does in this moment, tightening her grip on the fabric of Chloe’s light jacket.

Pulling back ever so slightly, Beca heaves a breath and rests her forehead against Chloe’s forehead. Chloe’s breathing is the tiniest bit labored as well. For a moment, neither of them dares to move, too afraid to break the spell between them.

Chloe is the first to smile—the first to press forward ever so slightly so their noses brush delicately. “What were you going to ask?” Chloe murmurs.

Beca swats her shoulder lightly. “You’re so weird,” she mumbles back, leaning in to steal just one more kiss from her beautiful, wonderful date.

* * * * *

When Beca reaches the solitude of her bedroom, she finally gets what all those high school romcoms were about. Showing their protagonist thrilled to finally finish a date so they can squeal and giggle and simply dream about their crush or date. It’s probably the first time that Beca has felt her energy rebound around her room with such happiness and positivity. The sensation is addicting—she honestly just wants to text Chloe all night.

Which, honestly, she could.

Chloe kissed her. Chloe kissed her because she likes her and they just went on a date. A freaking date.

A text from Chloe jolts her back to reality.

Chloe i miss you, is that weird?

Beca no because i miss you too. weirdo.

Chloe i have something else to tell you. that might be weird. Idk

Beca go for it.

Beca watches the text bubbles float in and out on her screen, like Chloe is typing a paragraph. Despite Chloe just saying that she missed her, Beca can’t help but feel nervous.

Chloe I just wanted you to know why i picked south street. it’s because. well. Remember when we first went there by ourselves without our parents. Sometime last year. With a few friends. And we all squeezed into that booth and sat there and shared fries and milkshakes and felt like we were at the top of the world because we were finally in high school or something stupid like that. I don’t even remember much about that night or who we were with but i do remember seeing the way you laughed at something and how your entire face lit up. and i remember thinking that i really liked you and how scary it was that i felt these things for you so suddenly and so much. Like a lot. but i’m so glad that we both got to this point - that we both feel the same way. I just really loved the way you looked when you laughed and i am so happy you’re in my life.

Chloe also i really like kissing you

Beca doesn’t even bother replying.

She shoves on her shoes again and rushes out the front door. She is only surprised to see Chloe sitting on her own front porch, staring worriedly at her phone.

“You really are so weird, y'know that?” She calls out, careful not to startle Chloe too much.

Chloe does jump anyway, but she sets her phone down quickly. “What are you doing?”

“Finishing this date off again that you confessed your big scary feelings. Through a text message.” Beca pretends to be annoyed as she stomps over to Chloe. “You couldn’t have said all that?”

“You make me nervous!” Chloe exclaims.

Beca shakes her head, mustering up all the courage she has in the world, pulling Chloe in for a kiss like she wanted to earlier before Chloe beat her to it.

“So much better,” Beca whispers, smiling when Chloe huffs quietly against her mouth.

It's the perfect end to the beginning Beca has been dreaming of all this time.

fin.

#now i see daylight #mine #my fanfic #bechloe #pitch perfect #text #writing #fanfiction #wlw #chloe tag

103 notes · View notes

spencer-reid-in-a-pool · 3 years

Text

All Cream, No Sugar

Author’s Note: Hello everyone! Here is my sfw fic that was submitted to my friend @writing-in-april for the 4th Fic Swap on @imagining-in-the-margins ‘s Discord! Not my best work because I have been struggling to manage time lately and balance everything with my school and personal life. But I hope it is enjoyable nonetheless!

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It was Thursday. Possibly the worst day of the week. Even more awful than Monday. It always felt like a barricade between the beginning of the week and the weekend. The glorious, lazy weekend. Honestly, now that I think about it...Thursday has the same kind of feel as November.

I chuckled to myself as I left my apartment. My mind was a special place, and I guess today was no different. Better than thinking about my finals, though. Literally anything was better to think about instead of final exams. That’s why I’m treating myself to a break at my favorite coffee shop. I deserve it, really, after the studying I have been doing all day. At least, that’s what I tell myself so I feel okay about spending all this money on coffee.

The car ride over there was quick enough. I lived on the outskirts of the city, but this place has the best coffee, and I would drive a ridiculous amount of time to get to it. No matter the distance, it would be worth it.

And maybe...just maybe…I would see that guy that comes in sometimes. The one with the messy hair and the sweater vests. He was so intriguing. I don’t even know his name, but I always notice when he comes in while I’m there. It was pretty much impossible not to. Hopefully one day I would work up the nerve to talk to him. Maybe that day would be today.

I walked in the building, and the smell of coffee and sweets immediately hit me. It was so comforting. Almost like a tiny sanctuary away from home, and I was always so appreciative.

As soon as the little bell on the door rang, the barista behind the counter looked up and shot me a smile. They recognized me quite often.

“Hey, (Y/N), the usual?” she called from across the floor.

“You know it,” I said with a wink.

I took my favorite seat in the shop and looked around. It was pretty empty today, which was just the way I like it. It means less time to wait for my coffee and I can sit in peace. The only thing that would make it better is if that guy came in and I got my big girl pants on to ask him his name.

After a few minutes, my coffee was brought to me and I handed the waiter some cash for my order, with a good amount leftover for a tip. His smile was bright and thankful, and it made me hopeful for today.

Each time the door opened and another person walked in, my heart skipped a beat. I stopped counting when I got to 10 people that turned out not to be him. It irked me more than I care to admit.

I was starting to lose hope, staring daggers at the dregs of my leftover coffee. Perhaps I thought I would find him there? I just wanted to see him.

A tap on my shoulder drew me out of my thoughts. Well, it startled me out of them more like. With a gasp, I jumped and looked up at the person who tapped on me. It was the barista who greeted me and made my coffee. Sophie. My favorite barista to spill all my problems to.

“You okay? You look like you’re really thinking hard about something.”

I sighed and almost smiled at how ridiculous I was being.

“Yeah, I’m okay. And I was thinking about something. Can you sit for a minute?”

She nodded, “I’m on break, thankfully.”

Once she took her seat across from me at the tiny table, I wrapped my fingers around the now room temperature coffee cup in front of me.

“So, what’s up? What could you possibly be thinking about that’s got you looking like that?”

“Um, well. There’s this guy…”

Her eyes widened and she leaned forward a bit, as if to ask me to continue.

“You might have seen him in here before. He comes in as much as I do, which is why I noticed him.”

“What does he look like?”

“Well, he’s tall. He wears sweaters a lot...um…oh, his hair is kind of messy, but in a cute way. And he has this dumb little satchel he carries sometimes-”

“Does he look like that guy?” Sophie asked as she pointed behind me.

I followed where her finger was pointing by the door and sure enough, he was there. But he was there with another girl I had never seen him with before. She had dark hair and striking eyes, along with a certain air about her that just gave off badass vibes. Of course he would have a girlfriend. And a gorgeous one at that.

I turned back to Sophie quickly before he noticed me staring.

“Uh, yeah. That would be him. But I’ve never seen that girl before. It figures, though. Just my luck.”

The pair began walking farther into the shop, talking quietly as they approached the counter to order. The more they talked and smiled at each other, the more my heart seemed to falter.

“Oh, (Y/N),” Sophie said quietly so only I would hear, “I’m so sorry.”

I didn’t respond to her. I didn’t have to. The look in my eyes was enough to let her know what I was thinking and feeling.

Her break was about to be over, so she placed a hand gently on top of mine, and with a small smile, left me there.

Well, there was only one thing left to do. Get another coffee, and maybe something sweet to drown my sorrows in.

I took a deep breath and stood up, grabbing my empty cup to throw away when I got to the front to order. I didn’t see them anywhere now. They must have ordered already and found a seat. But truthfully, I didn’t look around for them long. I didn’t want to.

I ordered a black coffee and a doughnut, and waited for a second for them to hand me my order instead of going back to my table to wait. Sometimes they put too much creamer in the coffee, so this way I could go over to the cream and sugar stand and make it myself.

Coffee and doughnut in hand, I made my way over to the small fridge they left out for customers to put in their own creamer and milk. I wasn’t really feeling the flavored seasonal creamers they had, so I just grabbed the half and half and started pouring. I didn’t really want any sugar either. I had my doughnut, which I probably wouldn’t even eat to be honest. My stomach was in knots.

A sudden voice behind me knocked me out of my thoughts.

“All cream, no sugar, huh? I’m the total opposite.”

I was so startled that my hand seemed to seize up, causing me to jerk the carton of half and half away from the cup. Now there was liquid all over the counter.

“Oh. I’m so sorry- Here, let me. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

I still hadn’t looked at who was talking to me, so when the footsteps got closer and I felt someone next to me, I decided I should finally look up.

It was him. The guy. The one I came here for. Except now he was standing right next to me.

He grabbed a handful of paper towels and started wiping up the mess on the counter while I stood wide-eyed and in shock. I should probably say something.

“I’m so sorry. I was...thinking about something and you startled me. I feel so clumsy.”

He looked up at me with a hint of a smile on his face.

“No, it’s really my fault. I’m not good at talking to people.”

Once he had finished cleaning up, he threw the paper towels away and turned back towards me.

“What’s your name? I see you in here sometimes. I guess you could say we’re both regulars.”

A lump formed in my throat that I had to swallow down forcefully. He saw me in here sometimes? He noticed me? Did he ever see me looking at him? Oh no.

“Um, my name is (Y/N). I see you in here sometimes too. The coffee here is really good, yeah?”

He smiled again, but bigger and more pronounced this time. Nodding his head, he shifted his bag and looked back at me.

“My name’s Spencer. It’s nice to officially meet you.”

Now it was my turn to smile. This was going pretty good, all things considered. It’s too bad about that girl he’s with, though. Speaking of the girl, she was walking towards us right now. Fantastic. Just what my anxiety needed.

“Spencer, we just got a call. Did you not pay attention to your phone?” the woman said in a hurry as she came closer.

Spencer jumped a bit and started to dig in his pocket for his phone. He pulled it out and laughed nervously.

“I have it on silent. Whoops.”

The woman rolled her eyes and then seemed to notice me standing there.

“Ohh, I see. You had it on mute so you could talk to this girl you were telling me about, hmm? Better hope I don’t tell Hotch”

Spencer opened and closed his mouth a few times, and I was simply shocked. He wanted to talk to me? Like, on purpose? He told this woman about me?

“I’ll meet you outside, Emily,” Spencer groaned at her.

The woman named Emily smiled at me and winked before leaving. So now it was just me and Spencer, standing awkwardly together. Great.

“I, um...ignore her. She’s a colleague from work...and apparently my wing woman now.”

I couldn’t help but sigh in relief. So she was just a friend. I had gotten myself all sad and anxious for nothing. Honestly, that’s typical for me though, so…

I could only smile. So much so that it made my cheeks hurt.

“So, do you have to leave? For work or something?”

Spencer shifted his weight nervously.

“Yeah, I um, yeah I’m sorry. I really would like to stay and talk more. I hope you don’t find it weird I told her about you, by the way. I just notice you in here a lot and I think you’re really pretty and I just-”

He cut himself off suddenly and looked at me sadly.

“I have to go, but here.”

Hurriedly, he pulled out a scrap piece of paper from his bag and a pen. He leaned over the counter and quickly wrote his name and number on the paper and handed it to me somewhat forcefully.

“Text me or call me...you know, if you want. Um, I really have to go. I’m sorry.”

He turned on his heel and began walking towards the door.

“Spencer!” I called across the shop.

Spencer stopped in his tracks and turned to look at me, almost with an excited glint in his eye.

I held the paper he gave me gently in my hand and took a deep breath to calm my pounding heart.

“I noticed you, too.”

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eldritchqueerture · 3 years

Text

Chapter 7: Threads

Hello! Long time no see! The delay was unplanned and I'm sorry about that. I had an idea in the meantime to add more fluff chapters before shit starts to go down but then I couldn't get to writing them while telling myself that I will write them eventually, and then I had other ideas, and I was writing for Summer in the Archives, and so we are where we are. I decided to just keep posting what I have and if I do feel like adding fluff that would be happening in the meantime then I will just make a separate work in the series. I'm aiming to go back to my weekly schedule (haha), so I hope I can get the next chapter out next Friday. As always, please leave me a comment or come yell at me here on tumblr, it always brightens my day and keeps my motivation up! Enjoy <3

Martin looks at Jon’s sleeping face and thoughts swirl inside his head like tendrils of the mist that has been following him, tendrils that meet in one specific place – his feelings for him. He’s not proud of the fact that this is where his thoughts end up turning every time he thinks about Jon, considering the severity of the situation Sasha explained to him, but he cannot help wondering – despite his better judgement – if Jon doesn’t share them. He replays the worry in his brown eyes, the tight hugs, always ensuring he’s there, safe, and whole… He might be adding meaning to otherwise ordinary actions, of course, but he can allow himself to hope, for when that hope sparks inside him, the fog withdraws.

Jon is wrapped in a blanket on the cot in the storage room, where Martin has laid him. They found him sleeping on the desk in his office, his eyes all red-rimmed and puffed up; they didn’t comment on it. Martin carried him to the storage room and placed his glasses nearby. Tim went to take Sasha home, so she can get some rest, too, and was supposed to come back with lunch; the events of the morning are laying heavy on all of them and have left them quite hungry.

Martin closes the door to the storage room and comes back to his desk. Working seems a bit pointless when you know that your boss is scheming an apocalypse somewhere behind your back and you can’t quit the job, but he finds himself needing a distraction, so he opens up his computer to do some follow up research on Jason North and the alleged ritual site he found in the middle of a Scottish forest. Martin’s never been good with research, not like Sasha, so he soon stumbles upon a dead end. He ends up researching pictures for Scottish forests and cottages, and he daydreams, with his poem notebook by his side. How nice would it be to just move to Scotland, to a cottage like that and forget everything. Grow your own vegetables and herbs, welcome the sun every morning with a cup of tea; go down to the town for some groceries, meet some good cows; and maybe Jon is there with him, and he finally gets through to his head that he shouldn’t make tea in the microwave, and they cuddle on the couch while reading—

“’scuse us,” comes a deep voice and Martin looks up, startled, to find two delivery men standing there, in the Archives, with a big package next to them.

“Looking for the Archivist,” the other man says, but Martin figures that just because the voice is coming from a slightly different direction. They sound exactly the same; he finds they look similar, too. Their clothes are identical; they’re different makes and all but somehow, he can’t tell these two men apart. There’s… something off to them.

“Sorry, are you two meant—” Martin blinks, but one of them interrupts him.

“Won’t take up your time.”

“Just got a delivery.”

Martin opens his mouth, trying to process the fact that they seem to be two parts of the same whole. He wouldn’t be able to explain this thought if asked, but this is what runs through his head.

“Look, you really can’t actually—”

“Package for Jonathan Sims.”

“Says right here.”

He looks and yes, there, on the package, says ‘Jonathan Sims’ in a very ordinary, unassuming writing. He glances over at the door to the storage room and back at the two men.

“Well, he’s not—”

“We’ll just leave it with you.”

“Be sure he gets it.”

Martin struggles for words.

“Okay, I will, but you really have to actually—”

“’course. Much obliged.”

“Stay safe.”

“I’ll… try?” He responds with the first thing that goes into his head.

“Your recorder’s on, by the way.”

“Might wanna change that.”

Martin looks at his desk and he notices a tape whirring steadily in the recorder.

“Oh… so it is. Thanks.”

“No problem.”

“At all.”

They both turn as one and leave Martin, the recorder, and the package alone. He hums, looking from one to the other and back.

“Well, I know for a fact that I did not turn you on,” Martin speaks to the recorder. “Maybe Tim felt in a mood for a prank. It is April Fool’s after all,” he huffs out a laugh. “Would be his style to do something, even with… all this happening.”

He stops the recording and turns to the package; before he can do anything else, though, the recorder clicks itself back on. Martin gives it a sideways look and his heart picks up the pace. He frowns and clicks stop again. One second. Two. There; it clicks the red button on its own.

Martin stands up and takes a step back.

“What the hell,” he breathes out.

Suddenly he hears a familiar laugh from the top of the stairs and energetic steps running down. Tim emerges from the doorway and gives him a surprised look.

“You okay, Marto?” He asks and places a paper bag on his desk, then points his chin at the package. “What’s that?”

“Uh…” Martin collects himself in a second. “Two delivery men just came by. It’s for Jon, apparently.”

Tim places a second paper bag and his coffee cup on his desk and walks around the package.

“No sender. Interesting.” He strokes his chin and looks at Martin with a grin. “We should open it.”

“Tim!”

“Look, boss is asleep, the package came to the Archives and not to his house, how private can it be?” Tim throws his arms up but seems to be watching Martin’s reaction more carefully. He doesn’t look very bothered, Tim assesses; he seems to be equally interested in the contents. He sighs and tosses him a letter opener.

“Fine, but you’re taking the blame,” Martin rolls his eyes with mock exasperation, and Tim’s grin gets wider.

“That’s the spirit!” He cuts the tape at the corners and opens the packaging to reveal an old wooden table; there’s a hole in the centre, Tim reckons about six inches square, and its surface is covered in intricate patterns resembling optical illusions. He frowns at it. “Huh. A table. Why would Jon…” He trails off as his eyes follow the hypnotizing patterns. “Interesting…”

Martin watches as Tim drops the letter knife to the floor, enraptured by the table. He wants to say something, to call out his name, but the fog from the edges of his vision spills out at the sight of the table and it blocks out the world; Martin stops feeling the chair underneath him and finds himself stranded in a sea of grey, thick fog.

“Tim? Tim!” He calls out but there’s no answer. There would be no answer, ever; he’s all alone here.

—

Jon wakes up to a nagging feeling that something is wrong. He blinks, trying to get rid of the sleep weighing heavily on his eyelids and gathers his bearings. He realizes he’s on the cot in the storage room, a blanket thrown to the floor next to him. He still feels too hot, and he takes off his sweater vest. What’s this feeling, gently pricking at the back of his mind?

He gets up, wobbly as he feels, and makes his way to the door. As he opens it, a voice makes its way to his ears.

“…friend mentioned poetry?” Jon squints his eyes, as light reaches him, yet he immediately recognizes the voice.

“…Gerry?” He asks and blinks – yes, he can make out the thin and long figure dressed in black, sitting on top of Tim’s desk. Tim is there too, leaning against Martin’s desk in front of Gerry, and Martin sits in the chair, his cheeks coloured just a little with faint pink. They all turn to him with surprise when he emerges. He can feel tension in the room, and he acknowledges the presence of something that looks like a table covered with a blanket in the middle of the room; the nagging in his mind grows into anxiety. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin jumps up to him with genuine worry and Jon smiles slightly, as he shakes his head.

“No.” He blinks again, to chase away the sleep and looks at Gerry and his inscrutable expression. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry gets down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

Jon frowns with worry.

“Gerry, I’m serious.”

Something in Gerry’s demeanour changes as he sighs, and his expression clears.

“Well, I wanted to tell you that I’m in,” he says. “Whatever your crazy plan is, if you even have one, I want to hear it or help you make it; you weren’t picking up your phone, so I decided to come, pay you a visit.” He glances towards the table and his eyes cloud with a shadow. “And it turns out it’s good that I did.”

“What is this?” Jon walks over to the table and three pairs of hands shoot out to stop him. Gerry’s touch lingers comfortably, because apparently that’s what he does, and Jon isn’t so sure he minds it.

“An old table, with weird, hypnotizing patterns,” Tim says, and Jon detects a tinge of guilt in his voice.

“Did it have a hole in the middle?” He asks urgently and Tim nods.

“We need to get rid of it,” Jon looks in the direction of the stairs. “Put it in the Artifact Storage and make sure it’s covered.”

“Are you familiar with it?” Martin asks and Jon nods.

“Amy Patel case; the one where a person got replaced. Why would they—” Jon’s face falls and he turns to Martin and Tim. “Who delivered it?”

“It was two delivery men, really big, quite intimidating, but—uh, now that I think about it I can’t remember what they looked like…”

“Shit,” Jon sighs and rubs his face. “Okay, we really do need a plan.” He looks over their faces and his eyes stop at Martin’s disgruntled expression. “What is it?”

“What you need is rest,” he crosses his arms. “You pulled an all-nighter with Sasha, and you haven’t even slept for two hours now.”

“You do look like shit,” Gerry offers his insight and Jon fixes him with a glare.

“I can’t protect you when I’m asleep,” he says and looks pointedly at the table. “Clearly. Tell me wha—” He stops when Gerry squeezes his arm sharply. He takes note of the static in the air and clears his throat. “I want to know what happened.”

Tim sighs.

“Alright, it is kinda my fault,” he admits looking away. “I insisted on opening your package to see what’s inside. But in my defence, I thought it would be something funny; at least a bit humiliating for you, and we could laugh it off. The mood’s been horrible lately,” he grimaces. “The lines kind of… hypnotized me. I couldn’t look away and I started getting lost in them. It… It felt like being trapped in a web; the more I struggled to look away, the harder it was. I don’t know how much time had passed before your resident goth intervened. Then I came back to myself and Martin… he was grey again.”

Jon glances worriedly at Martin, who starts fidgeting with his fingers.

“I didn’t think you guys could see that,” he confesses. “It’s… it’s that fog you mentioned,” he says to Jon who nods, his lips pressed together. “It was… stronger this time.”

“He was a step from disappearing,” Gerry says, looking at Jon curiously. “I thought you guys were new here.”

“We are,” Tim says, looking at Jon pointedly. “You said you know why that happens.”

“I did,” Jon sighs and leans against the desk, next to Gerry. “I’m—Martin, I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

Martin looks away and he mutters something along the lines of “don’t worry about it”.

“The fog is… another one of the fears; called The Lonely or The Forsaken,” Jon says, looking somewhere into space. “It’s the fear that you’re all alone, that you can’t connect with anyone. Martin…” He exhales. “I have reasons to believe that your connection to the Lonely might have appeared in this… reality, along with my memories.” He finally looks up at Martin; there are no emotions on his face. “When did the fog first appear?”

“S-Sometime when I got transferred into the Archives,” he nods. “I thought it was just anxiety, but… y-yeah, it makes sense, I suppose.”

“You still don’t remember what you did to end up here?” Gerry asks and Jon shakes his head; Gerry clicks his tongue.

“So, what do we do now?” Tim looks at Jon. “What is Elias’ plan?”

“I…” He rubs his forehead. “I don’t remember exactly. I…” He trails off looking at them. They are waiting for him to tell them what to do. Martin, with colour in his eyes and something else there, something Jon doesn’t let himself think about; Tim, whom he hasn’t hurt yet, who still has hope and who isn’t filled with bitter anger and sorrow; and Gerry who’s alive, here with him, offering his help. Jon thinks about Sasha, the real Sasha who’s still there. He can’t protect them all from other Entities and Elias. Even with all of his knowledge, Elias still has more power here than him, and Jon sees that his threats weren’t a bluff. Jon deflates with a sigh. “We need to know if there’s a way to fill the tunnels with CO2 before the Hive attacks; and I need the table sealed shut - it’s not getting anyone this time. Other than that, I think we need to work the statements, like before.”

“Are you kidding?” Tim raises his eyebrows. “Elias is serving an Eye power and not letting us leave, and I’m supposed to still work for him?”

Jon swallows.

“Elias… He’s dangerous. Even with everything I know, he can still hurt us. I’m not risking an open war with him.”

“What is he gonna do, kill us?” Tim scoffs but he goes quiet when Jon gives him a hard stare. “Fuck off.”

“Murder isn’t usually his style of dealing with things, he generally prefers threats and blackmail, but he can definitely do that, too,” Jon says. “Let’s just say we don’t want to piss him off more than is necessary.”

“You literally punched him in the face today.”

“Yes, I know.” Jon grits his teeth and looks away. Tim narrows his eyes.

“He threatened you, didn’t he?” He asks and takes a step towards Jon. “What did he say?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Jon says coldly. “We need to get back to work.”

“Oh, no, you’re going back home and getting some sleep,” Martin shakes his head. “Or we refuse to work.”

Jon groans but Gerry places a hand on his shoulder.

“Go, Jon, I’ll keep an eye on them,” he promises and after a second of searching his face, Jon gives in.

“Fine. Be careful.”

“You, too,” Martin says and hands him the paper bag from his desk. “Eat this.”

Jon gives him a grateful smile and, with a last look at them, walks to the stairs and climbs up.

—

Gerry Delano sits comfortably on a park bench with a cup of coffee in his hand and sips on it slowly; he thinks about the things the new Archivist – Jon – said to him this morning. He looked tired; the bags under his eyes, the messy hair, the absolutely horrendous smoking habit (at that Gerry just chuckles to himself) and the clean but messy clothes speak for themselves, and Gerry didn’t want to say it, obviously, but it was this entire image of an absolute mess of a confused man that made him believe him. The marks are curious, yes, but Gerry has seen many things which he doesn’t understand, and he’s okay with that. No, this man is clearly in need of support and if he’s really taken over for Gertrude (and, judging by the sheer amount of his energy just screamingBeholding, that was very probable), he is in for one hell of a ride.

If Gerry would have to describe his perfect life, with his mother and Gertrude gone, he’d probably say he wants to find a normal job and get some peace and quiet; that being said, he did try that as a teenager, running away from his mother and her life. He told himself then that he didn’t belong in the normal world and would always find his way back to his mother. He abandoned that dream for a while, until Gertrude offered to help him get rid of his mother’s ghost. He thought that maybe if he helped Gertrude for a while, burned some Leitners in the meantime, maybe he’d have enough and manage to build a life that didn’t always border on getting killed by something supernatural; and so his life went on and he never really grew to feel at home in the “normal” world. He’d about accepted the fact that he’ll probably die on the job with the old Archivist, and he wasn’t very surprised to find how quickly he accepted it. It seemed fitting; much more so than getting a job at a coffee shop or other, and just living among people who had no idea what’s really out there. Then he got shot in Pittsburgh – a Slaughter case he’d tried to prevent – and he was forced to stay behind in the hospital. In some fleeting moments of consciousness he saw Gertrude holding the Catalogue of the Trapped Dead and he prepared himself to wake up as a ghost any time; instead, he woke up to an empty hospital room and a note in her handwriting – “Build your life here. Stay safe.” He thought if this weren’t his chance to build the life he’d imagined for himself then it would never come; and he was right. He soon discovered that making friends is way too difficult when you’re able to tell which Fear Entity marked them in that supernatural encounter they’re too scared to talk about, and he returned to London, searching for Jurgen Leitner himself. He thought he found him, but he ended up beating up someone who turned out to just be some pathetic old man. And here he is, back in the world his mother dragged him into without his consent. Gerry sighs and takes another sip of his coffee. Maybe the universe simply needs a pyromaniacal, angry goth who did in fact end up in the business of helping strays.

He directs his thoughts back to Jonathan Sims and the Institute. They need to form a plan and Jon said he would fill his assistants in on at least the basics. He takes out his phone and checks the time – 1 PM. He rules that’s enough time to explain the basics of the metaphysical functioning of the Fear Powers in the world.

He finds his last messages and opens the one Jon sent at his request for contact saving purposes – “Here. – Jon Sims”. He’s a creative one, isn’t he? Gerry saves the number as Jon Archivist, then changes it to Jarchivist, and grins; then swipes to call.

No answer. He tries again and it still goes to voicemail.

Gerry shrugs and finishes his coffee. He burned his last Leitner in the alley just before he met Jon, so he doesn’t exactly have any new leads. He thinks he might as well pay the Archives a visit; it’s been a while since he was there last time, with Gertrude.

The street is quiet when he walks up to the building. The aura of Beholding is quite strong here already and he looks at the Latin words above the entrance. “I watch, I listen, I wait.” Tacky.

He comes inside and turns towards the stairs leading down. He’s not surprised when the lady at the reception calls out to him.

“I’m sorry, sir! Can I help you?”

Gerry turns to her. She’s a small Chinese woman with a bob cut and huge glasses; she smiles but Gerry can recognize a customer service smile when he sees one.

“Oh, actually, I’m a friend of Jonathan Sims, the, uh, Head Archivist. Saw him this morning, I promised I’d drop a few notes.”

“Notes?” She glances over at the papers at her desk. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Gerry Delano,” he tries to smile as she checks something.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I have you anywhere as a potential source—”

“Oh, that’s weird. I worked with the previous Head Archivist, Gertrude Robinson? Jon had a couple questions about her management style, you know how it is,” he waves his hand. “New job can be stressful.”

She looks over his clothes and tattoos with a frown for a second and then sighs.

“Alright, Jon’s office is right downstairs, through the Archives, Mr. Delano.”

“Thank you very much,” he nods his head and runs down the stairs.

Gerry doesn’t know what he expected to find down in the Archives, to be honest. Probably Jon being interrogated by his assistants, or maybe no one at all; he definitely did not expect to find one tall man staring into swirling patterns of a table that gave him very mixed signals of the Web, and another man in his desk chair, staring into space with a very unnaturally grey stare and his form dissipating into mist.

“Oh, I swear to God,” Gerry curses under his nose and looks around. “Can’t I meet people normally once in a blue moon?”

He picks up a blanket that lays stranded on the ground and covers the table. He then snaps his fingers in front of the tall man’s face and waves his hand.

“Hey, you still there?” He asks and the man draws in a breath, rapidly, and blinks, then looks around in confusion.

“Wh-Wha…” His eyes land on Gerry and he frowns. “Who are you?”

“Someone who just saved your ass from something nasty,” Gerry says, turns to the other man and touches his shoulder. Still there.

“Oh, God, his eyes are grey again.” The tall man grabs his shoulders and shakes him. “Martin? Martin!”

“How did he manage to go so deep into the Lonely with you there?” Gerry asks and moves to look inside the Head Archivist’s office. Empty.

“Into the what? Martin!” He shakes him again and Martin blinks and exhales but does not acknowledge him at all. “Do you know what’s happening to him?”

“Where’s Jon?” Gerry looks at the man sternly.

“Jo—who the hell are you?” The man exclaims. “We need to snap him out of it!”

“It’s not that easy.” Gerry rolls his eyes and looks through Martin’s desk. “What does he love?”

“What?” The man looks at him confused and Gerry stifles a groan of frustration.

“Martin. He needs an anchor, something that he loves that will bring him back here.”

The man’s eyes search the desk frantically.

“Come on!” Gerry rushes him and the man groans.

“Can he hear me?”

“Allegedly.”

“What does that mean?!” He looks at him pressingly.

“It means I don’t know!” Gerry grabs one of Martin’s hands. “He might, if he’s not too far gone.”

“Martin,” the man grabs Martin’s other hand. “Martin, think about tea. Poetry. Um, about—” He’s cut off by Gerry’s groan of frustration. “What?!”

“That won’t work,” he shakes his head. “He’s in the fogs of The Lonely; he thinks he’s alone and that it’s never gonna change; that he can’t ever make meaningful connections with other people.”

The man’s eyes move frantically as he puts something together in his brain.

“Martin,” he squeezes his hand again. “I’m here with you, you hear me? You’re not alone and Jon is here too, and Sasha will be here soon, and we will all be with you here because we are your friends, okay? We’re—” His voice catches when Martin’s grey gaze lands on his face. Gerry unknowingly nods for him to continue. “Look, I know you’re convinced that you’re no help here because of that fake resume that everyone pretends not to know about, but you’ve been such an amazing friend through these couple of months and—” he searches for words before continuing. “And I know you have feelings for Jon, and you need to think about him because if you ask me, he’s head over heels for you too, and you’re just too oblivious to realize, both of you,” he laughs and a tear streams down his face. “So you need to think about him because he needs you to be here and stay here, and we need you too, okay, Marto, we—we really do…” He inhales, as Martin squeezes his hand back and blinks. The man sighs deeply with relief and leans his forehead on their joined hands.

“Tim…?” Martin speaks up with a very gentle, detached voice and then his gaze lands on Gerry who has now let go of his hand and stands back up. “Who’s that?”

Tim looks up and wipes away another stray tear, then stands up to face him.

“Yeah,” he frowns. “That’s a good question.”

Gerry smirks and climbs up to sit at one of the desks.

“Seeing how I just might have saved your lives; I’d rather think some thanks are in order.”

“I’m not kidding, who the fuck are you?” Tim crosses his arms and narrows his eyes. Gerry notices he stares at his tattoos like he’s trying to remember something.

“Eh, fine.” He rolls his eyes. “Name’s Gerry Delano, but you may know me as Gerard Keay.”

Recognition flashes in Tim’s eyes.

“We had a statement about you!” He says and immediately frowns. “You killed a man.”

Gerry chuckles.

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

“What are you doing here?” Martin asks and Gerry crosses his legs.

“Waiting for Jon, actually. I thought I may find him here, but it appears I must have found his assistants, am I correct?”

“And you know Jon how?” Martin follows up; his voice gains a bit of depth to it, and he tilts his head, much more present than a second before.

“We met in an alley outside the Institute this morning,” Gerry shrugs. “Or, late night. Morning might be pushing it. He didn’t mention it?”

Tim sighs and rubs his face and Martin shakes his head.

“Eh, that’s fine. You two look like you have enough information to process for the next two months.”

“Something like that,” Tim nods and leans against Martin’s desk. “Jon’s getting some sleep and we’d rather have no one disturb him. It’s been a… hard morning.”

“He did look like he hasn’t slept in a week, I’ll give you that.” Gerry shoots a glance at Martin; his skin is regaining color, but his eyes are still unnaturally grey, and the edges of his form are blurry; the fog still lingers. “Hey, um… Martin?” He asks and Martin looks at him with surprise.

“Yeah…?”

“Just getting your names since you haven’t introduced yourselves. But that’s okay, I’m good at picking up from context.” He smiles and continues before Tim can speak. “So, Martin, what is it that you do here?”

“Uh… excuse me?” He blinks.

“I’m just interested, tell me what your usual day consists of. What do you do for fun? Your friend mentioned poetry?”

He notes the blush on Martin’s face with some satisfaction; the dark green colour returns to his eyes, though, still, his edges remain blurry. Martin can’t answer however; as he takes a breath, he’s interrupted by the door to the storage room opening.

Jon looks, frankly, even worse than he did before; in addition to everything aforementioned, his eyes are now puffed up from sleeping and he has apparently ditched his sweater vest, leaving only a creased, light blue shirt.

“…Gerry?” He frowns at him and takes in the room. “Something happened.”

“God, Jon, did we wake you up?” Martin shoots upright and the edges of his form become solid for a second. Just a second.

“No,” he shakes his head and blinks at Gerry. “What are you doing here?”

“Watching a zombie rise from the dead, apparently.” Gerry jumps down from the desk and crosses his arms. “Also saving the lives of his assistants by accident. I know you said you’re a mess but good God.”

“Gerry, I’m serious.” Jon gives him a look and Gerry sighs, but it’s a sigh of mock exasperation which hides only fondness. From the moment he learned Jon is the Head Archivist, he knew he would be a lot different than Gertrude; even if at first it was “this kid is a proper mess” contrasted with Gertrude’s calculated craft. He can see that what actually makes him different, better, is that he cares. Even though Beholding has him in its grasp far stronger than it ever had Gertrude, he has that spark of human empathy that she deemed an obstacle. He wouldn’t be the kind to sacrifice his own assistants to stop the Apocalypse, which maybe doesn’t give them big chances of success, but makes Gerry trust him. It makes him feel safer and it makes him stand stronger, and maybe that is exactly what is needed. And that one detail, that seriousness in his voice when he asks what happened to his assistants – to his friends – and the worry in his eyes when he checks if they’re okay, that’s what fully convinces Gerry that this man is worth his effort. If they can’t save the world with a strength like that then maybe no one really can.

—

Martin opens the door to Jon’s office to see the man reading something in a book. He looks up at Martin and his lips twitch towards a smile.

“Hello, Martin,” Jon says and immediately yawns. “God, sorry.”

“I was about to ask you if you’re still working.” Martin takes a look at his desk; there’s two empty mugs pushed to the side, a tape recorder (not recording), and some books and papers. Martin notices Jon’s glasses are still where he left them after he found them near the cot in the storage room. “You’re wearing contacts now?” He asks and Jon raises his eyebrows.

“What?”

“Well, I- I noticed you didn’t wear glasses today,” Martin shrugs and points his chin at them. “You forgot them yesterday.”

Jon’s eyes stop at the pair of glasses, and he frowns.

“Huh.” He rubs his chin. “Checks out, I guess.”

“What?” Now Martin frowns and Jon looks up at him, breathing in.

“The, uh—The Eye powers,” he grimaces. “This happened before too. I don’t—I don’t need them anymore.”

“Oh.” Martin shifts. “Well, I just wanted to tell you, you should get some rest. It’s—It’s late.”

Jon smiles fondly, staring into the air. Martin wonders what he's thinking about. Is he going back to memories he doesn't have?

“I really should, shouldn't I?” Jon asks no one in particular and sighs. “Thank you, Martin.”

“F-For what?” Martin laughs a little bit confused, and Jon looks at him for a moment before he shrugs.

“For caring. For being there.”

Martin looks away and shifts awkwardly again. Jon's stare, though gentle, is piercing; overbearing. Martin can't yet decide if it's good or bad, but it is certainly a lot.

“I should—”

“Could you—”

They start at the same time and look at each other. Jon shakes his head and gestures with his hand.

“Please, go first.”

Martin takes a deep breath.

“Could you tell me what—what it is that you want me to remember?”

Jon opens his mouth and closes it. His forehead ripples.

“I...” he begins and sighs, looking at his desk. “I don't think it was you. I mean—I think that... that it was a different version of you. In my past.” He looks up and his brown eyes are sad. “So it makes sense you can't remember because it never actually happened for you.”

Martin deflates with a little “oh” and looks down. The hole in his mind is settling nicely in the fog and he doesn't question it. Why would he? It was always there. He’s only lived this life, not anything else – if anybody would know it would be Jon. And obviously, it was a different Martin that Jon fell— That Jon cared for.

“Were we…” Martin stops, the word “together" left hanging in the air, and Jon looks at him for a second before something flashes in his eyes.

“We don't—I mean, I can't really— It's, it wasn't you so...”

‘I can’t really expect you to have the same feelings now’ is what Jon does not say, but Martin, of course, has no way of knowing that.

“Right,” Martin nods, and he can see Jon's cheeks blush, much the same as his own must right now. Martin swallows the awkwardness and nods again. “Alright, I'll, uh... I'll leave you to it. Then. Get—uh, get some rest.”

He closes the door and exhales deeply. Well, that was disastrous; he thinks, as he walks towards the document storage. There’s something heavy weighing down on his chest but he chooses not to dwell on it; it wouldn’t provide him with any insights he didn’t already know.

#tma #the magnus archives #tma fic #tma oftm #jonmartin #niki.writes #new posting format because i have not heard of consistency in my life #we're back at it!!#also i promised myself that i would finish this #i Will Not abandon this #we are powering through #and we can Do this

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honestlyimstilllivinginthe90s · 4 years

Text

Golden |Drew Soulmate AU| |One|

A/n: This is the start of Golden! I’m planning on it being a 5 part, soulmate au! with Drew. I’m really excited about it and really hope you guys like it too! This part is kinda boring as we’re just starting and it’s not amazing but I have BIG plans for this series so buckle up and enjoy the ride . x

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, not a lot of Drew (yet)

Word Count: Approx 1.5k

PART TWO

Marie chewed the inside of her cheek as she sat by the pier, watching the waves crash as the sound of children playing and the smell of candy floss filled her senses. She reached up and played with the small black curls at the base of her neck, trying to swallow her anxiety but no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t help the fear that rose in her throat.

“What if he doesn’t show?” She was risking everything for him and what if Dean was wrong? What if they weren’t soulmates? But did it matter? Marie would rather spend her life with Dean even if he wasn’t her soulmate, than spend a day with her actual soulmate. Dean was special. He made her feel alive.

The sound of a motorbike made her anxiety leave her body as she jumped up from where she was sitting and ran to him, arms open. Dean got off his bike just quick enough to catch Marie in his arms as she barrelled towards him, his strong arms wrapping around her waist. Dean grabbed her chin in his large hand, pressing his lips to hers. Marie wound her arms tighter around his neck, Dean pulling her closer to his chest.

Marie pulled away, gasping for breath as she stared into Dean’s coffee brown eyes. This was it, this is what she wanted, it was time.

“Dean Ramos, I love you.”

“As I love-”

APRIL 21ST 2020 11:03AM

Y/n jolted awake at the sound of “Stockholm Syndrome” by One Direction being blasted around her shared apartment. Y/n groaned as she reached over to grab her phone from her bedside table. 11 am. Too late for excuses to stay in bed. Y/n sighed, dragging herself out of bed. As she got dressed, she thought about her dream.

That was the 10th night in a row she had the exact same dream and every night it ended at the same time, just before Dean told Marie how he felt.

Y/n saw the dream from Marie’s point of view, and although they never said their names, y/n just knew them. She felt oddly connected to them, which was weird considering that she was only 22 and had never been in love. But something about them felt so familiar.

“Morning Sunshine!”

“Fuck you, Naya.” Y/n giggled, watching her roommate dance around their small apartment. Y/n walked over to the counter and poured herself a bowl of cereal, turning down the volume of the speakers as she walked past.

“Have the dream again?” Naya asked as she jumped over the back of the sofa and lay down, grabbing the remote and turning Netflix on.

“Yeah,” Y/n sighed, stabbing her spoon into a flake where two had merged together, the mutant flake putting up a fight. “Wait, how did you know?”

“You always do. And I went into your room to wake you up but you were talking in your sleep and it weirded me out.” Naya stated, eyes not leaving the tv screen.

“What was I saying?”

“Emmm, something about a motorbike and some dude standing you up. Maybe it’s a soulmate thing.”

“Really Naya! You know how rare soulmates are, it's probably just me going crazy.”

“It’s rare Y/n, not impossible, anyway shut up, this is getting interesting.” Naya waved her hands about in exclamation.

Y/n stifled a chuckle as she walked over to sit beside Naya on the couch.

“You can’t really believe all that soulmate stuff, right?” Y/n asked as Naya shrugged in response.

“My Gran is big into all that stuff. She used to tell me all sorts of stories about soulmates, about how when you meet your soulmate, your heart just knows they’re the one. She also used to say that you have the same soulmate in every lifetime and if you don’t find them in this lifetime, you’ll find them in the next. You should visit her, she’ll tell you all about them.” Naya took Y/n’s phone out of her hand and typed the address into her phone.

“Thank you, Naya.”

“You’re lucky I love you.” Naya teased, poking Y/n in the ribs.

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

APRIL 21ST 2020 3:20PM

“Thank you.” Dominic smiled as Y/n handed him his coffee.

Working as an assistant to a photographer wasn’t exactly what Y/n had planned on doing when she moved to LA but it wasn’t that bad. Dominic could be an asshole when he was stressed and his clients were mostly quite nice. She just wished she could be painting instead.

“You have another photoshoot at three thirty sir.” Y/n stated, as her boss finished his beverage. He groaned, running his hands through his dark hair.

“Grab me the file.”

“Yes sir.” Y/n walked over to the office, making her way to the appointment book on Dominic’s desk.

“3:30- 5:00, Mr Drew Starkey.”

Y/n grabbed the edge of the desk as a strange feeling overtook her. It was like someone had grabbed her heart and tugged, making her feel lightheaded and causing her fingers and teeth to tingle.

Yn shook her head, trying to shake the strange feeling from her body. She walked over to the file cabinet, taking out Drew’s file, her fingers still tingling.

“Drew Starkey. Born November Fourth 1993. 6’2” tall.” Y/n muttered out loud as she read the first page.

“Y/n.” Dominic called. Y/n closed the file and ran out of the office, carefully closing the door behind her.

She jogged into the studio and stopped suddenly when she saw him.

It was him. Drew Starkey stood in front of her, softly smiling as she tried not to stare. He was beautiful. He had brown hair, choppy and hopelessly adorable. His eyes were blue, a blue that Y/n felt she had never seen before, a blue she couldn’t look away from. He was tall and broad but he was kind. Y/n didn’t know how but she just knew. He was thoughtful and kind and purely golden.

“Hello y/n.” Drew smiled. God, she would die for that smile. Wait, what? She didn’t know this man. Why did she feel like this?

“Hello Mr Starkey.”

“Drew. Just call me Drew.”

Dominic, oblivious to what was going on between the two, waved his hand at Y/n.

“Show Mr Starkey to the changing room, his outfits should be on rack number 23.”

“Of course.” Y/n nodded at Dominic, smiling at Drew as she gestured to him to follow her to the changing rooms.

“You work here long?” Drew asked as Y/n turned on the light to the changing room and took out the keys to open the door to the costume room.

“About 6 months.” Y/n giggled, pulling out rack 23 and dragging it to the centre of the room.

“I’m sorry, I'm terrible at talking to beautiful women.” Drew chewed on his lower lip as he hung his head, eyes still looking at her. Y/n thought she would melt on the spot. Before she could help it, the words came spilling out of her mouth.

“Have we met before? I just feel like I know you. I got this strange feeling when we met, I sound crazy but do you know me?”

“No, I don’t think so. I’d remember.” Drew smiled, rubbing the back of his neck.

Y/n tried to ignore the aching feeling in her chest, like she’d been punched in the stomach. He wasn’t her soulmate. But why did she feel like this?”

“You probably saw me in some movie or something. God that sounds conceited.”

Y/n laughed, swallowing that sinking feeling in her gut. A cute guy was showing interest in her, who cared if they weren’t soulmates.

“Do you maybe want to grab coffee together tomorrow?” Y/n asked. She refused to let this stupid soulmate thing get in the way of a chance with a human Greek sculpture.

“I’d love to.”

“Then it’s a date.” Y/n smiled as she turned around and took the first outfit of the rack.

“Now until then, we have jobs to do.” she handed the outfit to him. He took it off her, his hand grazing hers when suddenly the world seemed to stop,

The tugging feeling in her heart came back, pulling her towards him. Her knees buckled as her ears started ringing. Drew caught her before she fell to the floor, her body burned everywhere his hands touched her. That’s when she heard it. The same voice from her dreams, Marie’s voice saying one word. “Dean.”

Tears pricked in the corners of her eyes as her heart knotted up. It was then she knew. Drew and Y/n were soulmates, but he had no clue.

Taglist: @butterfliesinthenightsky @netflix-imagines @copper-boom @starrystarkey93 @drew-starkey @maybanksbaby @poguequeen

Thank you so much for reading! I really hope that you liked it and please send your feedback! Thank you and stay safe! xx

#drew starkey #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey imagines #drew starkey x reader #drew starkey obx #rafe cameron #rafe obx #outer banks #outer banks imagine #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey series #drew starkey soulmate au #soulmate au

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ahiddenpath · 3 years

Text

Life Talk

1.) I won Nanowrimo

2.) My house is sold

3.) I’m tryyyyyyying to taking it easy

More below the cut.

So, I won Nanowrimo. It’s roughly 30K Four Years and 20K Tri: Integrity Lens. I feel very... blank about it, though. In the last few years, I’ve been trying to celebrate when I win Nanowrimo, but... I don’t have any emotions about it this year, probably even less than usual.

I should probably back up and say that, when I was growing up, I was the type that got all As, won every contest, was the lead in plays and singing events, got the good behavior awards, won state-wide science and poetry contests, was on the select sports teams. I’m not saying this to brag- I was hyper-involved in school and extracurriculars because it kept me away from home.

It got to the point at home where, if I won an award, the reaction was, “good.” If I didn’t, it was, “Why didn’t you win that award? We don’t have money for tutoring, so you had better figure it out *vague threat* ” Stuff like that.

Basically, it’s hard for me to feel proud of anything. If I succeed, that’s “baseline.” Good, I won’t be scolded. If I don’t, that’s anxiety- “I will be scolded, I will be punished.”

I can’t change that concept as an adult- it was cemented into me during my formative years. But I can see it, and I can tell myself- it’s okay. Don’t beat yourself up over not feeling a certain way.

The big thing on my mind now, still, is that we sold our first home successfully a few days ago. It’s the most enormous load off my mind. This whole time, I’ve been wondering- I keep pinning everything on when the house is sold. Will it actually be a relief? Will it actually free up emotional and mental real estate?

SPOILER ALERT: IT DID, I FEEL GREAT!

I told my therapist that I couldn’t feel “at home” and “settled” until I sold the old house, and she challenged me to not wait for some kind of... Permission? Catalyst? Like, don’t put things off citing “my old home isn’t sold” as a reason, because suddenly, a year will have passed and you still haven’t painted your room or put up photos or turned the house into your home.

I absolutely see her point, but I also see mine. Frankly, now that I’m not paying for two mortgages, I can afford to do some of that stuff (buy paint and supplies, buy a rug, buy a lamp, etc). It is true that I could have hung my photos at any time, so that was just a mental/stress block, but I do think that pointing to the money that was tied up in paying the mortgages for both homes, and for repairing things at the old home at the buyer’s demand, was... you know, a valid reason not to be throwing money at our current home.

Right now, my anxiety is free to be directed at the fact that the CDC is forecasting such drastic pandemic leaps. It’s expected to hit in about 10-ish days after today, 11/29, a Sunday that will likely be the largest single day for travel as people head back home in droves to make it to work on Monday after going away for Thanksgiving. It’s expected that we’ll be seeing 4,000 covid deaths per day in the states around week 2/3 of December.

I really don’t want to go to work physically, because I know coworkers who travelled. I wish we could all stay home for two weeks, when the symptoms will show for carriers who are not asymptomatic. I will definitely be limiting my time in the office to after 3 PM, when a lot of coworkers have gone home. It’s still a risk that I’m not sure is worthwhile.

Ah! I should probably say that my therapist is talking about ending therapy. I started in... I wanna say March or April of 2019? Is that right? So I guess it’s been... Like, 19-ish months? I’ve learned so much, but I would say... The biggest difference is that I can see my behavior patterns for what they are, and then decide what to do with them. I haven’t “changed” at my core. I can’t, not in the way people mean when they say “you’ve changed.” The same learned behaviors, belief systems, and emotions from my childhood are there. I just recognize them when they pop up and can make informed decisions about how to approach them.

Which, it turns out, makes a huge difference, even if it isn’t really “change.” I’m always in danger of being too distraught to see what’s in front of my face, though (thanks, anxiety!).

What else... My husband and I did cheese fondue and hot pot for Thanksgiving! It was easily the best holiday I’ve ever had. Holidays are always... so high pressure, always such events that turn a day off into a giant list of chores that might span weeks to complete beforehand. Plus, I’m always hoping I’m not about to be dragged into some kind of “trap” conversation by both my family and my husband’s, who have very different political views compared to me.

But on Thanksgiving, my husband and I ate amazing food, spent a lot of time together, and I felt so loved and cared for and valued, because my husband came up with the idea and made it happen, all so we’d have a nice holiday together. Honestly, I don’t deserve him. I don’t get it. He’s so amazing? I love him so much.

As for my writing, I’ve been feeling... Bad about it, frankly. I think it’s partially because it honestly looks like no one is reading Tri: Integrity Lens. I don’t get it? It was my most requested story in 2018/2019, and I know people wanted a sequel to Growing Up with You, so why is TIL doing so poorly? At first, I thought people were going back to read GUWY again first, since I saw a huge surge in hits for it. Now, I’m not sure? Like, if I open my stats, some random GUWY chapters will have over 10 times the hits as the newest TIL chapter??? ???? ???? ???? ?????

I’m wondering if it has to do with Tri itself... I think that, the more time passed, the more people who liked Tri are maybe defensive about how... negative the fandom reaction was, overall. Meanwhile, people who dislike it, I think, have maybe simply... chucked it out the window, and don’t think about it much. Whereas, when it was still coming out and directly after it wrapped up, I think people who disliked Tri were more interested in imagining ways they might have personally tweaked it.

That makes things awkward for someone like me, who thinks Tri has amazing moments basically... tacked onto a crumbling base.

Actually, let me give you my weird metaphor for Tri!

When I am deciding if I’m going to write a new fic, often what happens is... A few powerful ideas coalesce, a few themes and characterizations. Some people say they are lead by a few powerful scenes. I think of these ideas/themes/character ideas (or scenes for other people) as sparkling ornaments on a Christmas tree.

The problem is that... Ornaments in a box don’t... do much. You need to display them on a tree, right? The ornaments need to be connected and supported by a plot (unless you decide to write a focused oneshot, which is my recommendation in most cases).

In short: Tri has amazing ornaments, but the tree is... not... doing that well. The ideas are there, there are plenty of awesome moments, but something about the actual story/execution just... Didn’t do it for me. But dang, those are some nice ornaments!

That was quick and dirty, but hopefully it conveyed the general idea.

ANYWAY, I’ve been trying to decide if I’m going to continue TIL. I think right now, I would definitely finish Ketsui, since I have so much material written already. Why waste it, right? But I’m not sure what the future of the story will be- not plot wise, but rather, “is my time better spent elsewhere”-wise.

I’m not sure if I need to focus on a new story, if I should take a break, or what. I need to write for my mental health, but it doesn’t have to be a fanfic. It can be anything, as long as I explore whatever is eating at me.

And that is where I am! I hope you’re all staying safe <3

#hidden's life

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dawniebb · 4 years

Text

Collateral Damage Pt.1

So, continuing with the journey @healing-winston-pratt and I have decided to take to rise Winston and Callum from the death, here’s another fic, and this time is about Winston :) This one is a full collaboration, meaning we both wrote this, so we hope you enjoy it XD

Part 2 will be uploaded by her soon.

You can fin the canon divergence explanation here.

And Callum’s fic is here

THERE’S MILD SELF HARM MENTIONS IN HERE

When Winston woke up, all he could see were the lights. Blindingly bright lights. And he stared at the ceiling for a while, because he didn’t know what else to do besides waiting until the rest of his senses responded to him.

His gaze remained fixated on those lights; later, he began to smell; and his surroundings were penetrated with a latex odor, combined with chlorine and something putrid… in the sense that everything smelled like blood and wounds. That is, in case wounds had a characteristic smell to them. To Winston’s view, they did. Everything had a smell, just like everything could be related with a specific color.

But that was just him, maybe.

Then he started to hear. And he heard the worried, hesitant chattering all around him. People screaming orders, people screaming as they followed those orders; people bawling; people in a deep state of distress calling some person’s name; he heard questions, some of them empty, routinary ones and others filled with much more substance, meant to subtract more specific details about something.

Then he started touching, although he didn’t touch anything; he just felt the sheets beneath him, and the uncomfortable mattress and the cold structure of the hospital bed.

A hospital bed.

A hospital.

And a very...broken hospital.

The building seemed fine, of course. But the place...not so much.

From what Winston could tell, he was in the ICU, but he wasn’t the only one in his room. Not even two or three. He could hear more voices; he could see the doctors and nurses’ shoes through the small pace at the bottom of the blue curtain.

A very blue and stained curtain (Stained of what? Winston didn’t want to know).

What the heck had happened?

How come a hospital was this...neglected, with such questionable sanitary conditions?

And it’s not that he’d been in a hospital many times, but he knew they were supposed to be a clean and safe place.

And why the hell was he in a hospital bed?

Who had put him here?

Winston groaned, his eyes moving around the reduced space he was in.

Slowly, he tried to get into a sitting position, but a sharp pain ambushed him at his side; he then felt and saw the IV cannula in his hand, and Winston knew he should’ve expected it to be there, as distracted as he was.

This really was happening. Right here and right now. And yet, when a nurse came to monitor his vital signs, Winston felt as lost as ever, as if he were still asleep or trapped inside a void.

The woman didn’t say anything to him, besides asking how was he doing, of course. And from what Winston could see, she must’ve been a voluntary nurse. Probably a nurse-in-training, as she wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a plain white shirt and jeans. Still, she appeared to know what she was doing, so he didn’t feel too worried about her.

After taking some notes, the nurse left, and that’s when Winston faced his therapist, doctor Blake.

And he had never been so relieved to see her face.

Not even when he was having a bad day and really needed to talk to her.

Because right now she was basically the only person he could recognize among the crowd.

“Hi.” He greeted her in a hoarse voice, as the woman sat by the chair next to him, calm.

“Hello, sir.” She greeted back. Her face looked tired, but she still managed to direct a half-smile at him. “I’m going to make you some questions now, okay?”

Weird.

Very weird, but okay.

Winston nodded in response.

“Do you know what’s your name? Can you remember that?”

Winston frowned.

“Pratt. Winston Pratt.”

“Good. How old are you?”

“28…” Then he closed his eyes and shook his head.

“I’m sorry. 29”

“When did you turn 29?”

“I...I know all of that. I do remember.”

“But can you tell me?”

Winston clicked his tongue.

“April 1st. Can you tell me what happened, please?”

“Can you?” The doctor narrowed her eyes, although her voice was still soothing and comforting. “Do you remember what happened, Mr. Pratt? Anything?”

Was he supposed to remember something?

Winston’s frown deepened at the same time he squeezed his brain in order to reach for whatever memory he was supposed to be looking for.

But he still felt kind of heavy and dizzy, and a sudden pulse appeared on his temples, so Winston had to shut his eyes and take a deep breath to make it disappear.

“It’s ok.” He heard Dr. Blake. “You can take all the time you need.”

“I know.”

He gulped, trying harder to concentrate.

Then he remembered nervousness and anxiety. Sweaty palms and cheeks tired of being constantly smiling. Clearing his throat more than once to avoid speaking in his usual high pitched voice.

“My speech.” He opened his eyes, staring at the ceiling one more time. “I was about to give… No. I’m pretty sure I gave a speech at… The Arena?

“You’re right.” Dr. Blake slowly nodded. “What else can you tell me?”

“I gave my speech and then… Then…”

His head was filled with static, like a TV screen with dancing black and white dots, mimicking the sound and feeling of a blizzard.

He could touch and even smell the fabric of his suit. New. And there was the loud static again. Inside of his head and out of it.

Then he saw the little paper thingies flying right by people’s faces, dancing to the sound of the static.

Paper thingies.

Figures.

And that frustrating, obnoxious sound that refused to go away.

Wait a minute.

It was only then that Winston realized he wasn’t hearing static. He was hearing…

“Bees?”

He was so used to bees. They buzzed in sync with Honey’s emotions and flew around his precious sweets like greedy flies. Sometimes they were so annoying that he wanted to use some of Leroy’s plaguicides to get rid of them. Other times, he couldn’t care less about their presence.

“Did they…” he turned to face Dr. Blake again. “...attack us?”

“That’s correct. The Anarchists were spotted alongside a group of prodigies who called themselves The Rejects. Have you ever worked with them?”

“I have not even heard of them.”

“You and the rest of the city”. She smiled briefly before it faded again. “The bees contained Agent N, resulting in a lot of neutralized Renegades and so many deaths.”

“What?”

Then the flashbacks hit him.

There were tons and tons of bees buzzing and flying and stinging everything that moved.

There were people screaming and powers being shouted. He heard whistles and explosions and a bull’s cry. He smelled soaked dirt and melted candy and smoke.

He saw lots of colors at the same time, because the world started to spin and didn’t stop until he was able to stand from the ground, only to do a double take at a girl that seemed to be holding a weapon.

“Do you remember anything else, Mr. Pratt?”

It was a crossbow.

With a frozen dagger.

And goddamnit.

That girl’s eyes were so full of rage.

So much rage. So much…

Winston wasn’t one to talk about this… But he could tell she was also so, so full of pain.

“The bees…” Winston scoffed, covering his eyes as he laughed. “T-the...Queen Bee. She…she hated anything that wasn’t yellow, black or golden.”

BANG. BANG.

And it was like...an epiphany. Those hateful eyes full of pain, fusing with that other pair of blue eyes, also full of hate; full of grief; full of pain; full of…

Of lies.

“....but she wore so much red. Because she looked good in red.”

The white strips of hair trapped between her fingers.

Bang.

Over and over again, against the floor.

Jesus.

The smell of iron in the air.

Iron and...honey.

Blood and bees.

Winston shook his head, trying to breathe normally. He could feel his eyes more open than they should’ve been, as he stared at the ceiling. At the lights.

As he saw those blue eyes, while a sharp pain took over his whole body.

She was shaking with so much violence Winston thought she was about to explode, her tiny hand in the open, bleeding wound. Just like that time he had put a band-aid on her knee.

He thought that would be the last time he saw those blue eyes, because nobody died because of a bleeding knee.

However, many people died because of a wound like this.

That girl. White as snow. And her icicle.

An icicle so pointy she stabbed him with it.

But it was originally being aimed at…

“Nova” He screeched, looking desperately into Dr. Blake’s eyes. “Where’s Nova?”

-.-

The next time he woke up, Winston was sure he was not supposed to forget what he was dreaming; however, it was already fading into the void.

He knew he had to remember something, but he didn’t knew what exactly.

His stomach growled, and though he couldn’t recall the last time (or heck, even the last thing) he ate, Winston didn’t feel like asking for food.

Not that he could see if someone was available anyway.

He tried to go back to sleep, but he couldn’t, and he hated when that happened so he just remained lying, suddenly remembering that his ‘dream’ was not a dream, but a conversation.

Fuck.

He really had messed it up, hadn’t he?

First shouting Nova’s identity at the Arena, and now again but in a hospital, right in his therapist’s face.

More than once.

Winston banged his head against the pillow, thinking about how Nova was probably under arrest at this moment, and all because of him.

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Stu--

The curtain moved and the same nurse appeared, this time wearing a proper uniform, though she looked more tired than the last time he saw her.

“Sir, you need to stop or you’re going to hurt yourself.”

In that very moment, Winston took a closer look on her. Now that he was more awake, he realized she actually was younger than he had initially thought, despite looking exhausted right now.

Once again, she took his vital signs, without small talk. And then, after asking if he needed something (to which Winston answered he didn’t) she left.

Then doctor Blake came into the room, and Winston felt as if this were the post-neutralization period all over again, which was...a pretty awful thing if you thought about it. Of course, therapy had been very useful, but that didn’t change the fact the post-neutralization period remained as one of his most unpleasant memories ever, and said memory was characterized by Doctor Blake coming into his cell over and over.

Just like she was doing now.

However, she must have noticed Winston was more focused now, because she just sat with her notebook on her lap and took a deep breath before speaking.

“How are you feeling, Winston?”

Those words were enough to make his upper lip quiver. He blinked with pain. However, his first impulse was still to ask the Doctor for help, because he had been in a lying position for so long his back was starting to hurt; careful, she grabbed him by the arm and helped him up: then, she placed some pillows behind his back so the effort to hold his body that way would be less.

“Is that better?”

Winston nodded, trying to breathe normally. The bandages were wrapped around the wound were tight and sort of painful, even.

But he was alive.

That...was supposed to be a good thing, wasn’t it?

“Mr. Pratt?”

“...Yes?”

“A tragedy happened last night.” Doctor Blake spoke slowly. “Like I already mentioned, we were attacked by a group of prodigies that called themselves The Rejects, short after your speech at the arena.”

He could recall that. His speech. The bees. The panic.

“Many lives were lost, and due to the Agent N that the bees carried, many Renegades and civilian prodigies lost their special abilities. However, there was another incident reported in the first hours of the morning.”

“Fuck, no. Please.”

“The Rejects moved towards the Cathedral, taking Ace Anarchy with them, and after a couple of hours, there was a phenomenon that has been denominated the Supernova.”

Nova.

“The cause for this strange event is still unknown, as we are yet to obtain a confession of the parties involved. Nevertheless...there were some...repercussions.”

And he didn’t want to know what those were, but he knew she was going to tell him anyway.

So fuck it.

The doctor sighed.

“After said Supernova, all non-prodigy individuals acquired….prodigy features.”

He heard her words, although he didn’t comprehend them.

Not until a minute had passed, at least.

And Winston scoffed.

“Wow, that’s so shitty.” He said, almost amused.

Almost.

“Good thing they had already taken mine.”

Dr. Blake remained straight-faced, and Winston’s half smile quickly faded.

Then he felt it.

No.

It couldn’t be.

It was all on his mind.

Winston looked at his palms, wondering when they had started trembling.

He tried to gulp but it seemed that he had forgotten how to do it.

His heart raced.

His breath quickened.

And when he saw his fingertips as they started to ghostly glow with yellow, his hands clenched into fists to turn it off.

His vision became a blur.

His palms ached due to his nails digging in the soft flesh.

He could no longer hear Dr. Blake, for an endless “beep” resonated inside his ears and filled his head.

His hands went right to his face with the only purpose to scratch the hell out of the makeup that Winston was so fucking sure was there again.

He wanted to whip it out.

Make it disappear.

He didn’t want it.

He didn’t…

He didn’t feel it fading, no matter how many hot tears rolled down his face in an attempt to wash it out.

Just like he didn’t feel the spark dissipate.

The prodigy spark that burned in his insides like a torch. Bright and scorching and suffocating.

A spark that consumed him like that the oxygen the fire needed to keep burning. A spark that didn’t let him breathe until it was gone.

But it had lightened up again.

So all that he could do, was scream.

#renegades trilogy #marissa meyer #TW: SELF HARM MENTIONS #Winston Pratt #I REFUSE TO TAG HIS ALIAS #BC BABY DOESN'T LIKE IT ANYMORE OKAY #Nova Artino #Nightmare #Insomnia #Genissa Clark #fucking frostbitch #this was fun just because we wrote it together not because we had fun coming up with the idea #but everyone recovered their powers remember?#renegades #archenemie #supernova #SELF HARM I REPEAT #trigger warning self harm

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troop-scoop · 4 years

Text

Mistakes & Regrets III

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (Slow Burn)

A/n: N/a

•••

How were you supposed to explain the real reason you wanted to help Jonathan? How were you supposed to say that, yes, you would be helping anyway, even if you didn’t have such a connection to what was happening.

You were terrified, because what if whatever got you here, is the reason Will went missing? If something bad happened to him-

No, you couldn’t think like that. That’s what caused anxiety to spike. Thinking too much. You couldn’t do that, you’d have a panic attack, and have to ask Jonathan to pull over so you could fall out of the car onto the side of the road while struggling to find the correct breathing pattern you’d been taught by your friends, one that your dad helped you with every time they saw that you were close to that point.

“Where do you want to be dropped off?” Jonathan asked quietly, turning down the music which was already low so you could hear him.

“Oh um… The motel. On Brawford.” You said equally as quietly as Jonathan had asked. But this was all too close to home. You were supposed to be going on the seventh grade field trip to the bowling alley with your little brother in April, and it was supposed to be exciting, With just enough money to go on a road trip through Hawkins, with your dads, and your little brother. But now you were here, and your dads were left in Hawkins, probably also carrying around missing person posters of you face on them. You wondered what picture they used, how they spoke of you. How broken up your dad had to be.

Dad had been the one to take off work after they had you, he showed up to every school event, took you back to school shopping, and when you hit puberty, no matter how awkward it had to have been, he took you to get a training bra. It was clear that your dad was the one more attached to you than pa. You knew they both loved you, but you were your dad’s baby. He nearly had a breakdown when they couldn’t find you after school one day, announcing over the P.A system for you to go to the front to get picked up because it was lunch, but you hadn’t heard it.

He was always anxious that something terrible would happen to you.

“You’re in the motel? I thought you were emancipated? That’s the word around school anyway.”

“Yeah? Maybe I’m just a kid who’s living in a motel cause I have no where else to go, so please, just take me back to my motel room.”

He listened, driving you to the motel, where in the parking lot you could see a familiar face, waiting by the trunk of his car, holding a thin book in hand. “Harrington knows you’re staying here?” He questioned, pulling into the parking lot.

“He’s not supposed to.” you breathed, reaching into the back seat, grabbing his shoulder bag. Pulling out a short stack of posters from the minimum of a hundred he had in the bag. “I’ll take these.” You pulled a pen out of the bag, ripping a corner off of one of the posters, and writing the number of the rotary phone you had in the motel room and handing the corner of the paper to Jonathan. “If you need help, call me. I’m serious.”

With that, you got out of the car, holding the stack of posters, intending on putting them up, and walking a few steps over to the BMW while Jonathan drove out of the parking lot and down the street.

“Your Majesty?”

Steve scoffed a bit, a smile on his face as he crossed his arms, holding what you could now tell was a black notebook, an angry red pen attached to the cover. He held it out to you, and you noticed the scribbles of ‘math’ on the front and back.

“Mrs. Jensen said to stop writing in red pen.” It was in an amused tone while you took the notebook and held it to you, putting the posters on top of the cover. He saw the papers and with curiosity, tilted down the notebook so it was parallel with the ground, letting the papers be within his eyesight. “You’re helping Jonathan? I thought that was about your project?”

You sighed a bit, pulling the notebook back, and shaking your head. Sometimes Steve didn’t understand anything. His lack of true social skills are lacking. He could be empathetic, and sympathetic, he could be kind, but you weren’t blind to the fact that he could be insensitive at times as well.

“His brother’s missing, Steven.” You used his full first name which made him shift uncomfortably. “No one at school is in his corner. Someone needs to tell him he’s not alone. And Will needs to come home.”

“He’s a bit weird, don’t you think? I mean, I’ve known him since we were in preschool, he’s odd-”

“Jonathan’s socially awkward, I wish people would actually understand that, also, his brother’s missing. I’d help if you went missing, begrudgingly.”

Steve shook his head, chuckling. “You know, every once in a while, I think you’re okay, and then you say stuff like that. and it hurts.” He mocked, pointing to his chest. “Right here.”

It got a genuine laugh out of you. Your Pa did similar things to mock you, and you always found it funny when others tried to do it, because they didn’t know she was better at it.

“Oh, am I, an interloper in this town, warming up your cold, frostbitten heart, King Steven of the house Harrington?”

His shoulders dropped a bit as he looked at you, he looked defeated. He hated when you called him any of those, but he looked down right exasperated when you said all of it in one go.

“Okay, you win.”

You smiled and nodded. “I knew I would. How did you find out I lived here?” You asked quietly, a smile fading as you looked up at him, walking over to be next to him, setting the notebook and posters down on the top of the trunk and hefting yourself up to sit on it.

No one knew you’d been living in the motel ever since you ‘came to town’ you always tried to get out of telling people. Putting down the P.O box address you’d gotten at the post office so not even the school administration would know.

“Nance said she saw you coming here a few days ago.” He spoke as if it was nothing, just something that was normal for her own personal business being seen and then spread to a guy she barely knew yet still considered a friend.

Before you could respond he’d moved to the driver’s side and opened the door, pulling a bag out from the passenger seat. The Radio Shack logo on it. “What is that?”

Steve gave a shrug, handing the bag to you when he’d gotten back. You had instantly looked in it, only to find the packaging for a Walkman, and many cases of cassette tapes.

“Steve-”

“Don’t, you do this every time I try to do something nice for you-”

“Oh yeah? Like what, buying me lunch the time I didn’t have money? I didn’t want you to, but I told I would pay you back, eventually… now I owe you like 50 billion dollars.” You chuckled a bit, the real reason for you even being here slipping from your mind for now.

You knew that Walkmans used to be expensive, and you knew he’d offered, but you thought it was a joke, you didn’t think he’d actually do it.

“No. I’m not gonna accept your money. Go enjoy your music. Consider it a housewarming gift.” He teased, giving your shoulder a gentle shove while you pulled out a Queen cassette.

“Okay, but I’m gonna sneak you your money somehow, go have fun at your party asshole.”

•••

You’d been sleeping soundly for the first time in months, having fallen asleep with the headphones of the cassette player on, Blondie playing softly into your ears, no memorable dreams occurring, just such a good time sleeping that the folds of your pillow left soft marks on your face. But something had woken you up in the late night, maybe early morning.

The lamp beside your bed flickered. The paranoia makes you pull your head up from the pillow, vision blurry from sleep watching as the light disappeared, leaving in mostly darkness. A small sliver of moonlight being allowed in from the window whose drapes you hadn’t pulled closed.

A mumble about needing to go to the motel closer to the school being uttered as you flopped onto the other side of the bed, hugging the pillow to your head before you saw a flash of red through your closed eyelids. The kind you get when light is shining on the thin layer of skin.

Suddenly, all sleep was gone from you and you were sitting up, staring at the lamp. You tried to be rational, say it was just because the power outage a few days ago. It had to be aftershocks, right?

But you were sure aftershocks didn’t happen two times in a row. But when the bathroom light quickly flicked on, the sound of electricity going through the room. You were sure aftershocks didn’t happen three times in a row.

Carefully, as thought you were five, and were going to get caught for getting out of bed, you pushed the blankets off of your body, and slowly slid off the too tall of a bed. You were going to take a step towards the light switch for the overhead but it turned on itself.

The feeling of being on a never ending drop on a rollercoaster came, settling deep down in the pit of your stomach, while you stared at the overhead, watching as it dimmed and got brighter for a few seconds before it flipped off again.

A shiver ran up your spine making you shiver and make a low and uncomfortable ‘ah’ noise, taking quick and quiet strides to the switch, turning on the overhead light for good, but that feeling was still there.

But a loud ring made you jump back, and into the wall, the switch digging into your back for a split second, making you give a low cry of pain, quickly getting away from it, a hand coming to rub the now sensitive spot through the old and stained MCR t-shirt you’d come to 1983 in.

But that was all it was. A small ring that left you terrified and standing in the middle of the room.

•••

Let me know if you want to be tagged!

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @songofcosplay @jxnehxpper

#steve harrington #steve x reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things x reader

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undercoverwizardninjaturtle · 4 years

Text

I Forgot How To Breath: A Shattered ROTTMNT Fanfiction

Summary: A Shattered Prequel, Donnie’s not the only one who needs help from time to time.

Word count:: 1,424

Pairing:Don’t you know me at this point? Wait you don’t? Oh then none, less then none

It was getting harder to breathe. Not because of some illness catching up to him, or because he was in any sort of distress. Believe it or not, the source of his breathing difficulty came from the Lou Jitsu Analog Watch he had refused to be more than three feet from for the past hour. Instead choosing to pace in front of it, glancing at it every so often

“Leo they’re fine.”

He didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know Donnie was standing behind him, arms crossed with an annoyingly flat look on his face that didn’t’ betray anything other than minor annoyance. “Mikey Dad and Raph left the convention six hours ago. Even if Raph stayed behind to take more selfies with a cosplayer they should have been back by now. And they’re not responding to our texts. Mikey promised me they’d respond no matter how many times I texted them. “

“They’re also with Dad.”

“Dad isn’t perfect, remember when he got into a fight with that Lou Jitsu Impersonator who said Lou Jitsu was straight? He could have gotten arrested. Again.”

His immediate brother gave off a tired sigh, “I don’t suppose you don’t want to sit at the tv at least where’s there’s a rug? You’re going to get dizzy and fall into the toilet again

“I’m not afraid of the toilet” He said with a narrow of his eyes. Turning back to his vigilance. Honestly he would of given the missing family members a call except eh had no reception, usually they had no problem with cell service but in Winter their network always took a nose dive (A problem that kept Donnie up late at night trying to fix for the past eight years now). Truth was that Donnie and Leo should have been with their family except that the two had been unjustly grounded (ok so they had cooked Spaghetti for dinner and slipped Splinters tail in it, so he took a bite out of himself). He looked back to the analog clock for the fifth time in ten seconds

Were they ok?

What if something happened? What if Splinter had been arrested? What if Raph had got stranded alone and went weird again? What if Mikey had an appendix burst and they had to try and get him into a hospital without alerting anyone they were mutants? What if Mikey had fallen into a portal and ended up in a world made entirely of unblemished blank walls and refused to leave unless he painted all the walls

His heart was beating a mile a minute, the seconds of the clock seemed to have come to a complete stop. and squeezed his eyes shut. HE knew he was being childish; he knew he was being stubborn. Every time he thought of walking away that annoying voice return, telling him the same thing every time

That they were gone

They were gone forever. Taken, they were all that was left. Alone, they were all alone, now weren’t they? The only ones of their kind, in an unforgiving city. Splinter was the only one of them who had regular access to money in a way Splinter kept secret, Donnie and Leo had their allowances but that wouldn’t last forever. They’d have to find a way to make a living. Could they move in with April? NO April had her parents who had no idea of their existence. OR worst what if their family needed them and they were still in New Jersey? He KNEW nothing good ever came out of going to Jersey. This was all his fault, pranking Dad had been his idea, fi he and Donnie were there latest they’d all be together-

Every second of the clock was another second part of his family was missing

Every second of the clock was another second of his worst fears becoming reality

Every second of the clock was another second his heartbeat was getting faster

HE was so focused the clock that when something large and flat fell over his head, covering him in darkness. Even though he was only a few months from becoming fourteen he let out the most immature shriek and thrashed around a few moments until he finally poked his head free in pure confusion till he saw Donnie with a bundle of blankets in his arms, he set one stack aside before taking the biggest and thickest one and flapping it out by the corners so it lay flat,” Come on Leo, if we’re sitting here all night we might as well be comfortable.”

Leo looked back to the bundle of blankets, “Don come on- “

“No don’t’ be stupid, I’m not going to sit in the living room all night by myself while you watch the door all night on a cold floor. I’m not heartless. So, stop being a child and make a fort with me.”

At first Leo was content with being a child, but when Donnie pulled out his limited edition glow in the dark Bluetooth Lou Jitsu sheets, he begrudgingly took the other edge and helped him unfold it (while not thinking about how Donnie had never EVER used these sheets, not even when Leo had the Double Grade Rat flu and begged for them on his supposed death bed)

So instead he grabbed a few extra pillows “No one said you were- “but even so he was welcomed with another blanket being thrown over his head. Thankfully without being in a panic, he freed himself intime to see Donnie pull over a beanbag chair and sit by his side in his favorite purple hoodie, “Pick out a movie to watch on the tablet, I’m bored.”

“what about the internet? I thought the last snowstorm knocked it out.”

“I downloaded them ahead of time, so we’d have something to watch. Just pick something, just so long as it’s not Jupiter Jim Sails the Seven Galaxies.”

OF course, Donnie had the worst taste in movies. Even so he turned on Lou Jitsu in ‘Its ok to cry’ (which was a way cooler movie then it sounded)’ “It’s kind of weird, you know?” he said as the credits rolled in, “I get so used making sure you’re ok, it’s kind of weird when the tables are turned right?”

Don had just poked his head back into their pillow fort, but made sure to roll his eyes, “what exactly do you mean by that?”

“You know, I’m usually the one who looks after you bro. I make sure you don’t’ get overwhelmed or flustered or calm you down.” Leo was already enjoying digging into one of the chip bags Don had brought over. He was so into shoving as many chips into his mouth as possible he didn’t see Don’s exasperated face slowly unclench and his intelligent eyes glanced away, looking to his hands. If Leo had been looking at him, if anyone had been looking at him, they would have asked him why he suddenly looked so sad. And if anyone had asked, he would have answered, with a question of his own

‘Am I really such a burden to everyone?’

But instead when Leo finally pulled his head free of the bag, Donnie threw a pillow at his face with a battle cry with all the skill of someone who spent most of their life learning how to mask their feelings. The ensuing pillow fight was full of laughter, and the breaking of lamps (eventually they would all be repaired with all the gum Leo and Donnie could chew) and overall, it was a fun night. IT was enough to finally ease Leo’s anxiety, and he didn’t even remember that Raph Mikey and Splinter were gone till they finally got a text a few hours later saying that they were holed up in a hotel because of the weather. Leo unleased d full smile and cheered nearly tackling Donnie over. They would return by the next day, and only for Donnie and Leo to get grounded again for breaking so many lamps, and time went on. Yet occasionally, Don would get that same sadness in his eyes. After his meltdowns, after he’d get overwhelmed and Leo would help him, when he was sure no one was looking. And it would drive him to ask Sunita about the store just for Yokai. To take a challenge he wasn’t sure he had been ready for. That question that would haunt him

‘Is that all you think I am? ‘

A/n

I dont’ usually do authors notes like this, but i’m making a exception. I know right now the world is scary. I wish i could offer you some sort of comfort that would last more then a few seconds. But in truth? None of us know what tomorrow will be like, but I can promise that this will eventually become a memory as all things do. I’m going to write as much as I can, even if it only helps one person because that one person will be worth it. Even though I’m one of the ‘essential workers’ right now (retail)

And as cliche as it sounds we are all in this together

#rottmnt #Rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt fanfiction #tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #leo #donnie #anxiety #prequel #shattered #undercoverwizardninjaturtle #quarantine art #tmnt fanfiction

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plaidbooks · 4 years

Text

Everyone Deserves Love chapter 3

A/N: This is the last prequel! Which means Barba will be making his entrance next chapter (and then never leaving). I’m excited for y’all to get to the main story, but I do really like how this chapter turned out. I also forgot to mention, but will say now; all names, characters, streets, or buildings that are not specified in the show have been completely made up by me, and are not based on real people. This chapter takes place during season 12.

I’m posting this a couple days early because I’m really wanting to get to Barba/chapter 4 this week, so here’s 3!

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Tags: hostage situations, domestic abuse mention, minor character death, PTSD, dissociation, anxiety, talks about death and the mentality about a profession involved with it

Words: 7k+

Apartment of Devon Motely

Monday, April 7th

It had been too long since Devon had a day off; so long, in fact, that she didn’t quite know how to take a day off. She got up at her normal, early time. She went for her normal, early morning jog, then did her normal, early gym routine before jogging home. She made herself breakfast—a simple omelet—and sat down to watch the news, something she didn’t particularly enjoy. It was more for background noise, but also to stay kind of up-to-date on local goings-on. She even decided to take a longshot; she sent a text to Detectives Stabler and Benson, asking for a lunch date. Alas, it was not in the cards for the day, to no one’s surprise.

By 11am, Devon was already bored out of her mind. I really, really, need a hobby, she thought. But nothing sprang to mind. After debating it for about five minutes, she decided to just go into her office, get a jump on some paperwork that she was behind on. She also thought that there was some filing that she could do…maybe even rearrange her office. Yeah, that sounded like a plan.

Devon practically snuck into her office, but she met no opposition. Not that she would anyways; she was allowed to come in whenever she felt like, work when and if she needed to. There was no such thing as overtime in her line of work; the only time she wasn’t allowed in was when ordered so by her boss, like after a rough case or a stint in undercover. All she had to worry about today was a long side-eye from a coworker. The building was bustling with people going about their work, but no one gave her a second look.

She was there for only two hours, elbow deep in paperwork, before she got a call from Olivia. Knowing that Liv was busy that day, and desperate for some work out in the field, Devon answered quickly, “Motely.”

“Hey Dev. I know you mentioned having a day off, but can you please escort a key-witness to the courthouse? Her name is Madelyn Rosco, and it’s—it’s really important that she testifies for this case,” Olivia had pleaded over the phone.

Devon deflated a little bit. A simple escort? At least it was something to do, Devon thought. She replied, “of course. Text me the address, I’ll head over as soon as possible.” Olivia thanked her before hanging up and sending the details via text. Besides just an address, Liv also supplied Devon with some basic info on the case.

Madelyn was the victim of severe domestic abuse for months, culminating into her boyfriend viciously raping her, almost killing her in the process. She was only saved by a concerned neighbor, who had called the police when he heard Madelyn screaming. This wasn’t the first girlfriend that he had attacked, but he was escalating; his last two girlfriends had him removed because of DVs, but Madelyn was the first he had raped. The boyfriend—Nathan Woods—had been in police custody but posted bail early this morning, hence why Olivia wanted a protection detail on Madelyn; she was afraid that Nathan may try to intimidate Madelyn…or worse. Devon checked the glock on her hip, her badge clipped next to it. She had left her knife at home, but figured it wouldn’t help her in any case. Satisfied, she left her office, catching a cab to the address Liv had sent.

Residence of Madelyn Rosco

Monday, April 7th. 2:30pm

Devon walked up the steps to Madelyn’s brownstone home. She had a weird feeling in her gut, but she ignored it; just nerves before a case, nothing new. She knocked on the door and waited. She could hear footsteps coming towards the door, but they sounded off somehow…were there more than one set?

“Yes?” a woman asked after answering the door, cracking it so that only half her face was showing. She had thick, blonde, wavy hair. She was petite; Devon stood about a foot taller than her. She looked as though she had been crying recently, eyes puffy and red. She had a split lip that was scabbed over, probably from the assault Olivia mentioned.

“Madelyn Rosco? My name is Devon; Detective Benson asked me to escort you to court,” Devon explained. She looked past the small woman into the apartment, trying to see if anyone else was there, but the door was blocking most of her view. Maybe she hadn’t heard two sets of footsteps. Maybe she just needed some coffee.

“Oh, I, uh, I’ve decided not to testify,” Madelyn sniffled. “Thanks anyway,” she said as she tried to close the door. Devon acted on instinct, shoving her foot into the doorframe, not allowing it to shut. It took a moment for her brain to catch up, something’s not right here.

“Mind if I come in?” Devon asked as she pushed open the door, not waiting for an answer. She had caught Madelyn by surprise, easily pushing her backwards. As soon as she crossed the threshold, Devon realized her mistake. She felt the cold steel of a gun against the back of her head.

“Don’t move,” a gravelly voice ordered from behind her. The bastard had been pushed against the doorframe, gun probably to Madelyn’s head throughout the whole interaction. Devon put her hands up in surrender, silently chiding herself for walking into this so easily. She looked to Madelyn, trying to convey that everything was alright with her eyes. Madelyn started crying anew, sobs burbling out of her. Devon’s heart began to race with adrenaline, but there was nothing Devon could do here. Not yet. The front door shut quietly behind her, and she heard the lock slide into place.

“Who are you?” the man asked. He pushed the gun into the back of Devon’s head, forcing her to walk further into the home. They were in a living room, couch set up with a coffee table in front of it. Devon kept her hands up in front of her, kept her breathing even.

As the man led Devon towards the couch, she repeated, “my name is Devon. I’m here to escort Madelyn to the courthouse.” Once in front of the couch, the man removed the gun from the back of her head, moving to stand in front of Devon, motioning for her to sit down. She released a breath she didn’t know she was holding as the pressure left her head, though she could still feel where the cool metal had bit into her skin. As she sat, the man’s eyes widened. The jacket she was wearing had opened upon sitting, her gun and badge on display for everyone to see.

“You’re a cop? Hand over your weapons, now!” he ordered, shoving the gun closer into Devon’s face. She fought the urge to sigh, instead just exhaling through her nostrils as she moved one hand, keeping the other still in the air, and took off her gun holster, placing it on the coffee table in front of her. “Got a drop gun?”

“No,” she replied truthfully, shaking her head. “And I’m not so much a cop as a Federal agent.”

The guy looked panicked then. “FBI? Are you kidding me? For what, this bitch?” he said, pointing with the gun at Madelyn, who was still standing at the end of the couch, trying to stifle her sobs. Devon instantly stood, putting herself between the gun and Madelyn. The sudden movement startled him, making him aim at Devon once more.

“Nathan, don’t,” Madelyn said meekly, confirming the man’s identity to Devon. So, the boyfriend bailed out of jail and came straight here. Devon was suddenly glad that Olivia had sent her, even though she was now being held hostage. Better me than another detective, Devon thought. Every nerve in her body, though, screamed to get the hell out of there. Devon shoved the impulse down; she wasn’t leaving, not without Madelyn. Plus, she had experience with hostage situations.

“Shut up,” Nathan spat. He returned his attention back to Devon. “How long until cops show up here?”

As if on cue, Devon’s phone chimed in her pocket, signaling a text. The group fell silent for a beat, before Devon spoke. “You may want to let me answer that, or they will be here quicker than you’d like.”

“Fine, answer it,” he said. Devon slowly moved her hand to her pocket in an attempt to not scare Nathan. She grabbed her phone and pulled it out, but Nathan snatched it out of her hand.

“It’s from Benson, asking ‘did you make it Madelyn’s yet?’” Nathan read aloud. “Who’s Benson?”

No point in lying. “She’s a detective at NYPD; she’s the one that sent me here.”

Nathan texted back with one hand, keeping the gun trained on Devon as he sent back something. Hopefully, it was a weird enough answer that Liv would figure out that something was wrong. Come on, Liv. You know me, Devon thought. Almost instantly, Devon’s phone rang, Benson’s name and number on the screen.

“Answer it. But if you tip her off, you and Mads are dead,” Nathan warned, handing Devon the phone.

Devon hit the answer button, holding the phone to her ear. “Devon, is everything okay? What was the text you sent?” Olivia was speaking rapidly.

“Everything’s fine. Madelyn said she didn’t want to testify anymore, so I’m trying to convince her otherwise,” Devon explained, thinking fast. She realized that Nathan neglected to have her put Liv on speaker, so he’d only hear Devon’s side of the conversation. This must be his first time taking a hostage. She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes, but Nathan’s attention was outside, apparently looking to see if police cars would start pulling up. Though, he still had his gun aiming at Devon.

“Didn’t want to testify? Last time I talked to her, she was gung-ho on putting that bastard Nathan behind bars. What changed? Did he get to her?”

“Haha, yeah, I know, witnesses are fickle. It’s fine though, I think I can change her mind,” Devon replied.

“What does that mean? Wait…” Olivia went quiet for a moment. “Is he there now?”

Devon nodded, even though Liv couldn’t see her. “Yeah, yeah. Sometimes, that’s how it goes. It’s fine though, really,” she paused as if Liv said something, then added, “No, I don’t need the whole squad over here for one witness. It might make her nervous. I’ll deliver Madelyn to the courthouse by tomorrow morning.”

Olivia took a moment to think before asking, “do you need backup?”

“Yes,” Devon said clearly. Nathan finally pulled his eyes away from the window, giving her a look, and she added, “really, it’s fine. I’ll meet up with you later. Thanks for checking in, though. Talk to you soon, Benson,” and then she hung up. If Olivia didn’t get the message the first time, Devon’s use of her last name would be sure to kick her into motion.

“Did you throw her off?” Nathan asked, motioning for Devon to give him the phone once more.

Yeah, she’s definitely thrown off, Devon thought. “Yes…I also gave you until tomorrow to leave, to never show your face here again. You should take that,” Devon replied.

Nathan shook his head. “No, I should do what I came here to do.” He changed his focus, aiming for Madelyn once again. “I’m here to keep this bitch from testifying, permanently.”

Devon moved in front of the gun and Madelyn cowered behind her. “Do you really think that if you kill her, or me for that matter, that the cops won’t know it was you? Find you? All that killing Madelyn will do is turn your assault charge into a murder charge. Do you want to spend your life in prison?”

Before he could answer, sirens started to blare in the distance. Damn, that was quick, Devon thought. Never cross Olivia, or one of her friends.

“Did you fucking tip them off?” Nathan yelled, shoving the gun under Devon’s chin, the cold steel digging into her skin painfully. Devon’s heart stopped; was this the end for her?

“You heard me talk to Liv. She must have sensed something was off,” Devon explained. She could feel her hands starting to shake, and she fought to control her body. Stay calm, you can get out of this, she thought.

Nathan huffed and pulled the gun away, walking towards the window to draw the blinds. Once down, he, pulled two apart, glancing out of them. No one there, yet. But the sirens were getting louder. Devon guessed that they had a couple minutes before they arrived.

“Why not leave now? Before they get here?” Devon asked quietly, calmly. She was hoping that if she said it gently enough, it may seem like it was his idea rather than hers.

Nathan was glued to the spot, watching the world outside. Devon thought that maybe he was stuck there, frozen. This may be her only chance. She took a step towards Nathan, but he saw the movement and whipped around, gun pointing directly at her chest. Devon froze.

“No no no, I’m not going anywhere. Not until she”—he nodded to Madelyn—“is dead at my feet.”

Jesus, what does this guy have against Madelyn? Devon thought. For him to be so fixated on wanting her dead, it just didn’t make sense to her. But she made it a point to stay between the two of them, to be a human shield. He turned back to look outside; the sirens were so loud now. Devon was able to see a little of the outside world through the blinds; cop cars were lining the street. She could vaguely see shapes moving across the street; officers going to the other buildings. The evacuations have started.

“Look, Nathan, there’s only one way you get out of this alive, now. Let Madelyn go and keep me as a hostage. They won’t shoot you if you use me as a human shield,” Devon said. She wasn’t wrong per se, but she was also confident in ESU’s ability to take him out even if she was being held hostage.

“No no no, this wasn’t how this was supposed to go,” Nathan whispered more to himself than anyone else. Devon’s phone, still in Nathan’s hand, started to ring once more. Nathan jumped, startled at the sudden noise. She was shocked he didn’t drop it.

“It’s probably the negotiator,” Devon explained. “You should answer it.”

Nathan looked at it, then held it out to Devon. “No, you answer it. On speaker phone this time.”

Devon took the phone; Benson’s name was displayed again. “Olivia, you’re on speaker phone,” Devon answered, putting it on speaker phone as requested.

“Hey Dev. What’s going on in there? Is everyone alright?” she asked, voice shaky, but calm.

Devon gave Nathan a look before answering, “everything’s fine, Liv, we’re all fine. It’s just me, Madelyn, and Nathan inside. We can all hear you.” She wanted to add more, tell her about Nathan’s position, the gun he had. But she knew that Nathan would get pissed, so she refrained.

Olivia took a moment before switching to her professional tone. “Hey Nathan,” she started. “Is there anything we can do for you that will allow you to release Madelyn and Devon?”

Devon could see the gears turning in his head. If all he truly wanted was to kill Madelyn, then would he really accept anything that the NYPD had to offer? Devon wasn’t sure, nor was she sure what his next move would be.

“I—I want a car, and, uh, $500,000 in cash, uh, unmarked bills. And I want free, uh, passage to Canada. And I want no one to follow me,” Nathan replied. It sounded like he had no idea what he was asking for, as if he was copying things he’d seen in a movie. To be fair, though, Devon didn’t think he was prepared for this situation; he probably showed up to Madelyn’s with the intention of killing her, then disappearing. Her very presence really threw a wrench into that plan.

“Yeah, okay, we can do that, Nathan. It will take a little bit to get the car and money ready, though. As a show of good faith, why don’t you send out Madelyn, okay?” Olivia asked.

“No! Mads stays with me. I’ll send out your FBI buddy instead,” Nathan said.

“I’m not leaving, Nathan. Let Madelyn go; like I said, keeping me hostage is your best bet at survival here,” Devon responded gently. Like hell was she going to leave a civilian in a hostage situation.

Nathan seemed to think this through, sorting through his options. Olivia finally asked, “so what’s it going to be, Nathan?”

“Yeah, okay, fine. You,”—he pointed the gun at Madelyn, making her cringe in response—“get out of here. Go!” he yelled.

Madelyn gave one last look at Devon, who nodded, before bolting out the front door. “Hold your fire!” could be heard, the order yelled over the din of all the officers, placed around the apartment and aiming at the front. The noise was cut off as the front door swung shut. It was a relief having Madelyn out of the house; now Devon could focus solely on Nathan and diffusing the situation…or stalling long enough for ESU to storm in.

“Thank you, Nathan,” Olivia said through the phone. Nathan seemed anything but comforted, though. He reached for the phone, angrily hanging up on Liv.

“She’s just going to call back,” Devon said, watching him closely. Only thing worse than a hostage taker was a pissed off hostage taker. But she had to bide her time, wait for a moment to disarm him.

Nathan glared at the door that Madelyn had disappeared out of. “No more talk. We’re going to just sit here and wait until my demands are met.”

The last piece finally clicked for Devon; Nathan had a control problem. He felt the need to be in control at all times, and Devon, along with Liv, had just fucked up the remaining control he had in this situation. Which meant he was now very pissed, mostly at Devon, seeing as she was the only thing still there that he could even focus that anger on.

Devon stayed standing, rooted to the spot. “What’s your plan here, Nathan? Taking me and fleeing to Canada? You know they extradite back to the US, right?” she asked. No point in sugar coating the facts; Devon was going to try and scare him into surrendering. If he gets angry enough, he may make mistakes. Or he may just take out his rage on Devon, but that was something she would just have to deal with if it came to that. She sized the man up; he stood head and shoulders above her and had maybe 70 pounds on her. But, he didn’t seem like a fighter; from what Devon knew about most domestic abusers, he probably had a rage that fueled his attacks, but they usually had any sort of form.

Nathan paced a couple of steps, nervously running his free hand through his hair. Then, he got a peculiar look in his eyes, stopping in his tracks and staring directly at Devon. Devon had seen that look before many times, the look someone made when they made up their mind, and she only had a brief moment to brace herself before Nathan violently grabbed her by the hair, ripping her head back, dragging her further into the house, away from the front windows. Tears instantly sprung up in the corners of her eyes and she let out a gasp, but the pain was soon forgotten as he jammed the gun into her face. Devon’s breath caught in her throat at the sight of the barrel inches from her face.

“Maybe I’ll just get rid of you, then. By the time they find your dead body, I’ll be on a flight to Switzerland. They don’t extradite there,” Nathan spat into her face, fingers pulling her hair so hard that her head began to tingle.

Devon fought through the fog and adrenaline in her mind, trying to think of a way out of this. “Whether they extradite or not, I’m still a Federal agent. You kill me and my boss is going to track you down, no matter what rock you scuttle under.” It wasn’t an empty threat; her boss would definitely track this scumbag down.

Nathan’s chest started to rise and fall rapidly as he panicked. “Either I go to jail for life, or I die…those are my choices.” He was quiet for what seemed like forever. Finally, he spoke, “So, what if I do neither? What if I just start shooting, take as many of you bastards out before they take me out?”

Devon’s heart stopped; this was a man who no longer cared, a man with nothing to lose. And that was the most dangerous man of all. He released Devon, set his feet, took aim. The motion took a couple of seconds, but time seemed to have slowed to a standstill for Devon. There was one thought that kept creeping its way back into her brain; is this it? Is this how my life ends? In this line of work, there was always the expectation of dying in the line of duty. It always stuck around in the back of Devon’s mind, hardly acknowledged, but always there, like a dull pain that’s ignored when working. But to be faced with death, to have a madman aiming a gun at her, it was completely different. Devon heard him cock the gun and her heart fluttered in panic. So, this is really how it’s going to happen, Devon thought. She wasn’t a religious person, so she had no one to pray to. Instead, she thought about how her life has played out so far. She had regrets, sure; everyone did. Though her more than most. She had made peace with most of her demons, but her only real regret now was that her life would end this early. That she would no longer be able to help others, save other people. She thought about all the faceless people that she would not be able to protect and her heart sunk. She should have done more, been more. She thought about Olivia, about Stabler, about all her friends at SVU. Would they mourn her, lay her body to rest? She suddenly wondered if there would be a funeral for herself. The thought was so absurd, it was almost enough to make her chuckle.

Suddenly, a gunshot rang out, along with another sound that Devon couldn’t identify right away. Sound filled her ears, her blood rushing through her veins, as she watched Nathan’s body drop lifelessly to the ground. She slowly turned her head, seeing the bullet hole through the back window, her brain recognizing vaguely that the other sound she heard was breaking glass. She felt her mind slowly turning off, leaving her body as both the front and back doors flew open, armored officers rushing in. She didn’t hear what they were saying, didn’t feel them as someone grabbed her arms, didn’t see them as someone was in her face talking to her.

Olivia recognized the blank stare Devon had, eyes staring right through her, no recognition on her face; Devon was in shock and was dissociating. Liv knew how to bring victims back, but she needed to get Devon out of there first, talk to her before the medics came for her.

“Come on. Let’s get you out of here,” Liv said, holding her hand out to Devon. The agent didn’t take much coercion to follow the detective, her hand limp in the latter’s grip. Olivia led Devon out the backdoor, pushing through the ESU personnel, and had her lean against the house. She’d have to be checked out by the paramedics at some point, but it was better to let Devon breathe for a moment, instead of having people flitting all around her. Besides, she wasn’t injured, so a few extra minutes to talk wouldn’t hurt.

“Just breathe, Dev,” Olivia said calmly. She remembered an old conversation she had with Devon about anxiety, remembered the verbiage she used. “Just stay here with me, feel your feet on the ground.” She took Devon’s hands in her own, rubbing her thumbs over the backs of them, trying to return some feeling. Olivia waited until Devon’s eyes weren’t as glassy, whispering encouraging words to her the whole time, until she made eye contact with the detective before continuing, “tell me five things you see right now.”

It took Devon a couple more moments of deep breathing before she answered. “I see…a white, picket fence….I see two clouds in the sky, a tree in the next yard, a brown, tiled roof next door, and I see that you’re wearing new eyeshadow.”

“Good, that’s good,” Liv replied, smiling. Devon was calming down quicker than most, but then again, she wasn’t a civilian. “Now, what’s four things you can hear?”

They continued like this until Devon was standing up straight, breathing normally, and with most of the color back in her face.

“Thank you,” Devon said, trying to put as much emotion into those two words as she could. Devon had only been in such extreme shock a few times, but not like this. I almost died, she thought, a heaviness sinking in her stomach. “This job is really going to be the death of me, isn’t it” She meant it as a joke, but her smile faltered, and she ran a hand through her hair, trying to fight back the tears stinging her eyes. Olivia gave her a small smile before pulling her in for a hug, but before she could say anything, Captain Cragen came through the backdoor from inside the house.

“Are you alright?” he asked Devon as Liv released her. She nodded meekly, not trusting her voice quite yet. “Good. The paramedics need to check you out and we need to get your statement.”

Devon nodded, composing herself. She turned to follow him through the house. Olivia stuck by her side, taking one of Devon’s hands in hers, giving her silent support the whole way. It was like walking through a dream; Devon could feel her mind wandering. It was hard to stay focused, to think through all the events that had transpired. You’re alive. You survived, she thought. But she still felt numb, the words not meaning anything. She kept her eyes forward, refusing to look at the body bag in the middle of the floor. Making it through the home and out the front door, Devon was guided towards a paramedic. While being checked for injuries, a thought struck Devon.

“Madelyn! Is she--?” She started before Olivia cut her off.

“She’s safe. She was taken to Mercy Hospital. Fin and Munch are getting her statement now.”

Devon let out a sigh of relief. “Good…that’s—that’s good.”

Olivia studied her face closely before asking softly, “would you rather give me your statement here or back at the precinct?”

“Precinct,” Devon answered almost immediately. She didn’t want to be here anymore, out in the open like this. She’d rather be somewhere she knew, somewhere safe and away from all these geared-up officers.

“Okay,” Liv said. She looked to the paramedic, who was just finishing up. Devon, having no injuries, was cleared to go, and Liv led her to the squad car, Stabler waiting by the driver’s door.

“You alright?” he asked when the women were close enough. Devon nodded before Liv opened the backdoor for her, and she climbed in. The ride to the station was silent as Devon closed her eyes, trying to calm her still racing heart, the barrel of the gun aiming at her still fresh in her mind.

SVU Department

Monday April 7th. 5:37pm

It took a full 45 minutes to go through the whole story with Olivia and Stabler. Devon felt more awake, more alive as she recounted everything, but that could also be the coffee that Stabler had given her. She glazed over her near-death experience, brushing it off as just another occupational hazard. Even so, she saw the looks on their faces, the pity in their eyes. Devon hated it; she didn’t need pity. She was an FBI field agent, and a damn good one. Just because she had a brush with death meant nothing; she was alive, wasn’t she? She was fine, she was going to just continue working, dammit.

“Well, at least Madelyn doesn’t have to testify, or deal with her ex anymore,” Stabler commented, shrugging. Devon knew he was trying to lighten the mood, but she wasn’t in the mood to entertain him.

“She didn’t want this; no one would. She’s going to need counselling. I’ve got a good shrink if she needs one,” she replied flatly, standing up from the interrogation table. “Is she still at Mercy?”

Liv stood up with her, still looking concerned. “She is. But maybe you should go home for the night, get some good sleep…. Maybe get some counselling for yourself.”

Devon scoffed. “I’m fine, Liv. Really, I’m just great,” she thought about it, though, felt the exhaustion wash over her. “Maybe I’ll swing by the hospital tomorrow, though. Just…just give Madelyn my card, okay?” She took her business card out of her back pocket, handing it to Olivia.

“Of course. Need a ride?”

“No, I—no. I’m fine. I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Devon replied, making her way towards the elevators. She stood in the back of the elevator as the doors closed, leaning against the cool, metal wall. She rested her head back, eyes closed. She was fine, she had to be. There was no other way she could be.

Office of Devon Motely

FBI Headquarters

Tuesday April 8th. 9:05am

Devon stared at her computer screen, eyes unfocused. The FBI database was open, and she had files spread out over her desk. She had been researching a drug ring, looking up information on some lowlife front man, when her mind had wandered. She was acutely aware of her breathing; inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale.

She shook herself, hands back on the keys, trying to focus on work. She typed in some key words, started reading the information that popped up. The man was in his 40s, balding, white. His rap sheet wasn’t extensive; petty burglary here, minor assaults there. He seemed to normally roll with a partner, one that seemed a little more aggressive. While the first man had a penchant for using a switchblade, his partner was fond of his .42 caliber pistol.

Instantly, Devon was back in Madelyn’s brownstone, staring down Nathan as he pointed a gun at her, taking aim. Devon jumped, blinking, and she was back in her office, gasping for air, heart hammering in her chest.

“You alright, Motely?” a voice asked from the doorway, making Devon jump again, knocking over her half-full cup of coffee onto the ground.

“Ah! Yes, sorry, sir!” she replied, recognizing her boss’s, Jenkins’, voice. She scrambled to grab paper towels out of her desk, dropping to her knees to clean up her coffee.

Jenkins watched as Devon cleaned the mess, the latter letting her hair fall in front of her face so that she didn’t have to see her boss’s face. “You know, for someone who is generally my best undercover agent, you’re not a very good liar.”

Devon’s hands stuttered as she threw away the wet paper towels, still not making eye contact. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Sit,” he ordered, closing the door to the office behind him. Devon did as she was told, knowing where this was going. She wasn’t going down without a fight, though.

“I’m fine,” she said. She hated how her words sounded weaker than her mind wanted them to be. But she wasn’t going to lose this job; she loved it too much.

Jenkins came to stand in front of Devon’s desk. He stood in silence, waiting; he had the most patience in the world. Finally, Devon raised her head, looking him in the eye. Unlike with the SVU detectives, she didn’t find pity there; Jenkins learned a long time ago that people like Devon didn’t want pity. Instead she found resolve, strength, and just the tiniest bit of concern.

“Devon, you were almost killed yesterday. You stared down the barrel of a gun with no out, no plan. It’s okay to not be fine; in fact, it would honestly worry me if you were fine,” he said gently.

The sincerity, the rawness, of his words hit Devon more than she’d like to admit. But she couldn’t show weakness, especially not to Jenkins; he had given her everything, how could she show him that she wasn’t worth it?

“I’m serious; it’s fine. It’s not the first time I’ve been in a losing situation, I can still work, I can—”

“Stop, Dev. Just, stop,” he cut her off, placing his hands heavily on her shoulders. “It’s true that you’ve been in many life or death situations, but not like this. Something’s changed, and I want you to take some time off, go to the team’s psychiatrist.”

Devon felt a heaviness in her gut. Jenkins has ordered time off and a visit to the company’s shrink before, but this time was different. Like he said, something had changed, and that scared Devon more than anything. So, she fell back on her instinct; the instinct to not change, to stick with the familiar.

“How much time off?” she whispered meekly, eyes dropping to her desk.

Jenkins sighed heavily, pulling his hands back. “That depends on Dr. Tomlinson. She’s already expecting you.” Jenkins turned towards the door, slowly making his way out of her office. He stopped with his hand on the doorknob, saying without looking back, “emotions…fear is not a weakness, Motely. It’s an instinct; it’s what keeps us alive.” A pause. “Come and see me if you need someone to talk to.” And then he was gone.

Devon fought against the tears in her eyes, blinking them away before they could fall. He was right; of course, he was, he always was. But that didn’t mean that Devon was happy about it. It still felt like a weakness, how could it not be? Daydreaming, jumping at the slightest noise? Being unable to focus? How could that be anything be weakness? Letting out a huff, Devon gathered herself and left her office, stomping towards Dr. Tomlinson’s office, not mad that she had to go but angry with herself for needing the help.

Apartment of Devon Motely

Sunday, April 13th. 11:36am

Devon felt better already; she had the past week off, and was off for the foreseeable future, until Dr. Tomlinson said otherwise. But her daydreams, and her nightmares, were already starting to go away. She felt less shaky, more in control of herself. She still felt her heart race when she recounted Nathan aiming a gun at her—she actually stopped carrying her glock altogether during this week, as per requested from her shrink—but it was getting better. She had visited Dr. Tomlinson every day this past week, and she was confident that she’d be back to work in another week. Now, there was only one more thing to do today. Devon pulled out her phone, opening her group chat with Olivia and Stabler.

Hey, are you guys free for lunch today? It’s on me, she texted. It was the weekend, which didn’t always guarantee a day off, especially because Stabler was normally with his family when he wasn’t at work, but it was worth a shot.

Sure, but only if it’s that new sandwich shop, Olivia texted back almost immediately. Before Devon even finished reading her text, Stabler responded:

Can’t. My turn to watch Eli while Kathy shops

Have fun, daddy, Devon wrote back while smirking. She knew Stabler hated the nickname, which only made it funnier to Olivia and Devon. He reacted with a thumbs down while Olivia put a laughing emoji. Switching over to a one-on-one conversation, Devon and Liv arranged to meet in 20 minutes.

Riley’s Sandwiches

Sunday, April 13th. 12:15pm

“Thanks for meeting me,” Devon said by way of greeting, giving Olivia a hug. Liv pulled her in, squeezing gently, rubbing her back for a moment before pulling away.

“Of course. We hardly see each other as it is. How’re you holding up after last week?” she asked. Always straight to the point with her.

“Ah, better. I’m doing better.”

They both ordered, got their food, and sat down at a table. They talked about nothing for a little, just being comfortable around each other, like how they always were. But there was a tension there; the unspoken questions building up like a wall between them. It wasn’t until they had finished their sandwiches that Devon spoke up.

“There was a reason I asked you out to lunch…well, besides the fact that I like your company,” Devon started, smiling. “I, uh, I wanted to thank you…you know, after the whole Madelyn thing. I didn’t really get the chance to sincerely tell you how much I appreciated you helping me.”

Olivia waved her off. “That’s what friends are for. I know you’d do the same thing for me.”

“In a heartbeat. But still, it means a lot. I’ve been…off since. I’ve never been through…that. My therapist has been helping me a lot, but I still have a ways to go before I’m back to myself.” It was hard for Devon to admit, but she knew out of everyone she could talk to, Olivia understood; people react to trauma differently.

“What’s changed?” Liv asked, giving her a hard, yet concerned look.

Devon took her time thinking the question over. She thought through her emotions, her thoughts from the past week, the conversations with Dr. Tomlinson. “I’m still not entirely sure myself,” she admitted. “I think I just…it really hit me, ya know? That I could die right then, that that was it. That I wouldn’t go on to help anyone else.” She looked down at her hands. “Plus, I just…I wasn’t ready to die. I know that’s selfish and stupid and doesn’t really make sense, but—”

“It’s none of those things, Dev. I don’t think there’s many people who are ready to die,” Olivia reminded her.

“But I should be…shouldn’t I? I know that there’s a very high chance that I’ll die on the job, that I probably won’t retire. And that never really bothered me before. And I can’t figure out why it does now.”

Olivia sat in silence for so long that Devon eventually looked up, eyes watery. She looked like she was deep in thought, but as Devon watched, a realization formed, brightening her eyes. “Because you’ve finally found something worth living for.”

She said it so simply that Devon just sat there, blinking at her. The words wormed their way into her brain, taking a hold in her mind. She remembered being held at gunpoint, remembered her last thoughts. They were of Olivia. Stabler. Fin. Munch. Cragen. All the wonderful friends she had made at SVU. It really is that simple, isn’t it?

“How do you continue doing this job, then? Knowing that every time you walk out your door could be your last? That you’re letting your friends, your squad down?” Devon asked in a small voice. It was exhilarating—both relieving and horrifying—asking something so personal, something that told so much about herself as much as it did about Olivia.

“I don’t really think about it, to be honest,” Liv answered. “Besides, I know I wouldn’t be letting you guys down; I’d like to think you’d be proud of the person I was. Would you honestly be let down if you heard that I had died while on shift?”

“No, of course not!” Devon blurted out. Then she realized why Olivia had asked; she already knew the answer, but now, so did Devon. “I see. Thank you, Liv.”

She shot her a smile. “Anytime, Dev. You can always come to me if you need to talk.”

Just then, Devon got a text. She glanced down. “Ah, duty calls. Jenkins wants to see me.”

“Need a ride?”

“That would be lovely, thank you.”

FBI Headquarters

Sunday, April 13th. 2:58pm

Devon was seated in a chair in front of Jenkins’s desk, Dr. Tomlinson in the chair to her right. Jenkins was behind the desk, hands steepled on the hard wood. His gaze flicked between the two of them before dropping to the file in front of him. Devon waited, knowing that he’d start at his own pace; there was no point trying to speed it up.

“Is Motely cleared to work?” Jenkins finally asked, dragging the question out, eyes pinning Dr. Tomlinson to her seat. But she was used to be under his hard gaze. She was undisturbed when she answered.

“Technically speaking, yes. But I’d wait. Give me another week with her.”

Devon hated that they talked about her like she wasn’t sitting right there, as if they were the adults and she was a child. But she held her tongue, keeping her face neutral. She thought about it; was she ready to go back to work? The talk with Olivia early had left her feeling lighter than she had all week. And she knew that she wanted to go back to work eventually. But was now the right time? Or was she trying to hide in an office?

As if sensing her indecision, Jenkins turned to her. “Are you ready to return to work?”

The question hung in the air between them. Their eyes locked, his steely grey eyes boring into her molten brown ones. He was searching for any kind of trepidation, of hesitancy. Of fear.

“Yes sir,” she replied, voice unwavering. How could she say no? It would be like quitting the Bureau right then. Eyes still locked with her boss, she felt Dr. Tomlinson shift uncomfortably next to her. Jenkins looked to the psychologist, dismissing her with a nod. Once the door closed behind her, Jenkins started in with the file on his desk.

“This is going to be a long UC op, Motely. But it will get you out of town for a little, maybe clear your head out of the city. A nice…change of scenery,” he started. Devon waited, saying nothing. He’d get to the main points soon enough. “You’re going to be a college student, attending the University of San Francisco. And you will also be a Madam, buying and exchanging young girls, working your way through pimps until you’re so well known, we round up the biggest players in the Golden State.”

The alias hit her like a punch to the gut; the city, the impending time that will be sunk into this, the shady shit she was going to have to do. A million questions swirled in her mind, making her dizzy. But she opened her mouth, asking the most obvious question she could.

“When do I start?”

#everyone deserves love #edl #edl ch 3 #everyone deserves love ch 3 #law and order svu #law and order svu fanfic #fanfic #barba x oc #my writing #I swear that barbs will be in the next chapter #this is the end of the prologue

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writethehousedown · 4 years

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And The Livin's Easy, Chapter Six (Multi) - Zyan

a/n: SHE’S HERE! i’m sorry for the wait, but she’s here. :D god, i’m already getting emotional. another fic comes to an end. i hope you’ve enjoyed the ride! i’ll try to have the seventh chapter out by the weekend. a million thanks to frey for putting up with me, and the jankie candle gc for screaming at me to finish this! love you guys. 💕

“Y’know, second place isn’t all that bad,” Scarlet comments, taking a spoonful of ice cream. Yvie hums in response, sipping on her watermelon smoothie.

It’s been a few hours since the competition ended, and Yvie managed to get second place, with Jaida winning the competition. They were sitting at the beach, sprawled in Scarlet’s blanket, eating ice cream as they watched the sunset.

“At least I got a trophy,” Yvie says, reaching for the small second place plastic trophy she’d been given and chuckling slightly. It’s not what she wanted, but at least she made it to the top three. It bruises her pride a little, though, since she won last year. But there’s always the next summer.

“And, as a consolation prize, you get a dinner with me and the finest burritos on the whole island,” Scarlet adds with a wink. Yvie laughs wholeheartedly, it sure sounds like a good plan.

“That sounds even better than the first place prize,” Yvie says earnestly, and Scarlet coos. She’s never been particularly cheesy, but she just can’t help it when she’s around Scarlet. The girl wears her heart on her sleeve and doesn’t hesitate to make cheesy jokes and comments; she’s sickeningly sweet, and Yvie tries her best to reciprocate those feelings.

Yvie looks at Scarlet — really looks at her, taking in her red hair glowing under the dying Sun, her porcelain-like skin, and pouty lips. She doesn’t think she’s seen someone this gorgeous before, and Yvie’s travelled all around the world following her passion.

She notices an ice cream stain in the corner of Scarlet’s mouth, so she brings her thumb to clean it, catching Scarlet’s attention in the process.

“You got something here…” she mumbles absent-mindedly, pulling her thumb away. “There.”

Scarlet musters a thank you, touching where Yvie’s thumb was just moments ago, and suddenly there’s a cheeky smile blooming in her face.

“Y’know, you got something on your face too,” she says, leaning in closer to Yvie’s face, and before Yvie can say anything, Scarlet steals a kiss from her.

It’s quick, but it’s tender, and it makes Yvie melt.

“There,” Scarlet chirps, barely withdrawing her lips.

Yvie hums thoughtfully, knitting her brows in a frown.

“I think now you got something on your face, here.” Yvie closes the distance between them again, and she can feel Scarlet smile against the kiss. This time, it’s slower, much more careful and soft; it makes butterflies fly in Yvie’s stomach, and it reminds her of when she was younger and kissed girls behind the bleachers.

At the back of her brain, Yvie knows it’ll be hard to say goodbye to Scarlet once their time together is over, but she doesn’t want to think much about it, so instead she cups Scarlet’s face and pulls her even closer.

Vanessa feels herself spiraling with anxiety.

Kameron couldn’t make it to the competition, but she blew up her phone with encouraging texts and promises of endless kisses and orgasms once they see each other again. A part of Vanessa can’t wait to be back between her arms and pepper her face with kisses, telling her about how much fun she’s had during these weeks and how much she’s missed her.

The other part, however, feels absolutely guilty whenever she remembers Brooke knows about them now, when she thinks of how she’s probably ruined their relationship and regrets ever asking Kameron out.

But, as Crystal said, she’s no one’s property, and she’s free to date whoever she wants, even if it just happens to be her ex’s cousin. They’re free women.

They’re getting together to celebrate Jaida later tonight at April’s hotel room. She knows Brooke will be there, so she takes a vow and decides she’ll talk to her about this and set things straight. They’re grown adults; they should know how to communicate.

Though her bravery goes out the window the moment Crystal declares she’s not coming.

“Gigi asked me out before the competition, and I said yes, because I clearly didn’t know Jaida would win. I’m sorry, Vanj, I can’t cancel it,” she says, sounding truly apologetic as she puts on her lipstick. “Listen, it’s just a little reunion, like that night at the beach. Just try to keep your cool, don’t drink much. and ignore Brooke to the best of your abilities. I believe in you, girl, as long as they don’t play ‘Tusa’ you’ll be fine.” Crystal dismisses it with a wave of her hand, putting down the lipstick.

Vanessa groans, rubbing her eyelids as she flops into the couch in Crystal’s room.

“Glass, I can’t do that and you know it. I have to talk with Brooke Lynn and put an end to this petty shit. Kameron wants me to meet her side of the family and I ain’t about to stand awkward family reunions with Brooke,” Vanessa rants, and Crystal turns her attention to her, cocking one skeptical brow.

“D’you think you’ll be able to do that without ending up screaming at each other?” Crystal inquires, staring intently at Vanessa. She knows her friend like the back of her hand, and it’s a known fact that a petty Vanessa mixed with alcohol can’t end up well. Least of all if her ex is in the same room.

Vanessa takes a deep breath and nods, “I think it’s time I woman up and talk to her like an adult, ‘cause this beef seems like something straight outta some shit rom-com.”

“You love rom-coms, though,” Crystal points out, making Vanessa roll her eyes.

“Well, yeah, but this ain’t ‘The Notebook’. I’m not gonna abandon Kameron for Brooke so we can kiss in the rain,” she replies matter-of-factly, and though Crystal wants to make a witty comment, she desists from it. She sounds dead serious.

She smiles softly, going towards the couch and sitting beside her, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“I’m proud of you, Vanj,” she says earnestly, and Vanessa smiles at her.

“Thanks, Glass. Now, you better get your shit together for that date, ‘cause between the two of us, you’re the one that’s living her Notebook fantasy,” Vanessa jokes, making Crystal laugh loudly as a blush creeps on her cheeks.

Gigi is waiting for her outside of Sal’s, wearing a baby blue dress ending above the knee with cloud prints on it and white flats, her auburn hair pulled into a ponytail; a smile breaks onto Crystal’s face, not only because she looks as pretty as always, but also because it seems like Gigi remembered her comment about finding her cute when she’s smaller than her.

They lock eyes when Crystal is near enough and Gigi smiles sweetly at her, standing on her tiptoes to give her a quick kiss.

“How long have you been waiting for me?” Crystal asks, lacing her hand with Gigi’s and guiding her inside.

“Not long; my friend Jan has a date too, I just dropped her off at her girl’s hotel,” Gigi comments innocently, and Crystal hums to let her know she’s listening as she fetches for a table.

They finally find one, near the bar that’s still closed, and settle themselves. Soon a waiter comes by, but because Crystal is already familiar with the entire menu, she places her order on the spot, while Gigi studies the card for a moment.

“You really weren’t lying when you said you know this place by heart,” Gigi giggles, looking back and forth between the menu and Crystal.

Crystal smiles giddily, wondering if she should babble about how this place has endless memories from her childhood and teenage years, holding a special place in her heart, with its menu and staff and Sal himself. She usually doesn’t give too much of herself away to girls she’s never going to see again, but Gigi feels special for some reason. As if she isn’t just a simple summer fling.

So she tells her about the first time she came there without getting into the details, when she was just eight and her gay awakening came in the form of a nice woman that caught her staring at her surfboard and offered to teach her.

Gigi laughs, quipping with her own stories about how she got into fashion — the old Barbie movies seemed to take a great part of the blame, along with making her have a short lived ballet phase.

They share stories, jokes, and dreams for their future, and it’s a whole lot more of what Crystal would give away to someone that’s going to be a stranger in a few weeks, a vague memory as years go by and her face fades from her mind. But the fact Gigi doesn’t think twice before telling her her personal things pushes Crystal to be a bit more open too.

Perhaps this is why she’s becoming a tad too attached to Gigi; none of the girls she’d spent previous summers with cared for her, let alone opened up to her. They would just shoot her messages detailing at which bar or club they would be, or what was their room number.

None of them came to see her at a competition, or texted her weird memes they’d found, sent her videos of weird shit their roommates did during the day, stayed up until the wee hours of the morning texting her or stayed longer after sex.

Gigi is special, and maybe Crystal feels so strongly about her because she hasn’t been on a proper date in a long time, or met someone with whom she just clicked, but it goes without a say that it’ll hurt when they have to part ways.

Though right now, she tries to push that to the back of her brain and act as if they both are there — and the summer is endless and they have a whole life ahead of them.

“How long do you think it’ll take until some shit goes down between Vanessa and Brooke?” Monique asks her girlfriend nonchalantly, as she nudges on her drink. Monét laughs, trying to keep it down not to draw attention to them.

There’s definitely some tension in the room, especially between Brooke and Vanessa, that glance at each other when they think no one’s looking. They’re in opposite corners of the room, with Brooke talking with Plastique, who has a smile plastered on her face at all times despite the situation, and Vanessa staying mostly by April’s side, though she drifts to talk with Jaida and the girl she brought —Jan, apparently— from time to time.

Yvie is floating around, striking a conversation with everyone and trying not to interrupt whatever Brooke and Plastique have going on.

Monét and Monique just stay out of the drama, watching everything go down as they snicker and sip on their drinks.

“Three more vodka sodas; give or take a strawberry daiquiri, and you’ll have Vanessa asking for the aux cord to play ‘Tusa’,” Monét replies after quickly scanning the room. Monique laughs in that dorky way that makes Monét’s heart flutter, and she smiles.

“I don’t know, ‘Nét, Crystal’s not here. You know Vanessa doesn’t like strawberry daiquiris unless they’re prepared by her,” Monique adds, thoughtfully. Monét hums in agreement, taking a long sip from her drink.

“Well, whatever happens, happens,” Monét declares with a shrug as Monique snuggles to her side, holding her drink in one hand and her phone in the other.

Before she can say anything, Monique snaps a picture of her as she sips her drink and smiles cheekily at her, planting a kiss on her cheek when she protests.

“Stop complaining, you look cute!” She insists, but Monét rolls her eyes playfully. To Monique, she would look cute freshly woken up, with her hair a complete mess and her face scrunched up in a frown as she takes in the light of the room. Monét finds it adorable and delusional at the same time.

“Of course you say that, you’re my girlfriend. You’re contractually obligated to find me cute,” she jokes, flipping her short hair over her shoulder and earning a playful slap in the arm from Monique.

“Oh, shut up, miss ‘I’ve been pining for you for the last two years and I’ve decided to tell you over fucking Zoom’,” Monique quips back with a shit-eating grin. Monét immediately gets flustered, looking away in embarrassment. It had been almost a year since then, and Monique still likes to rub that in her face whenever she gets the chance.

At that moment, Monét thought it was a good idea — she was spending the summer with her family in Saint Lucia, and Monique was constantly babbling about this girl she’d met during the competition, who ultimately ended up ghosting her. Monét’d been planning to confess her feelings to her, but ultimately they were crashed the moment Monique went on a rant on how girls always left her hanging and she felt like utter shit.

It had been an awkward couple of seconds until Monique admitted she always found her attractive and to hit her up once she was back in New York City.

Several dates later, and there they were, being the bane of their friends existence whenever they got cheesy.

Monique leaves a soft kiss on Monét’s lips as she goes back to snuggling against her, taking another sip from her drink.

They are too wrapped up in their bubble to notice Vanessa is now talking with Brooke, while Plastique absentmindedly sipps on her drink and Jaida and her date are trying to distract her. April is just sitting in the other side of the room, a drink in her hand, as she chats with Yvie, and they steal not-so-subtle glances at the pair.

Monique drags Monét towards Jaida and Plastique, because she’ll be damned if she misses out the drama.

“What’d we miss? We looked away just for a moment!” Monique dramatizes, trying to be subtle. Jaida rolls her eyes playfully.

“They’re trying to be goddamn adults, that’s what they’re doing,” she replies, making Jan giggle.

“At least they’re trying. My friends, Jackie and Nicky, think we don’t know there’s something going on between them, or was going on, at least. They get all weird when we mention it,” Jan babbles, slurring ever so slightly. “I wonder what’re they doing. They stayed at the house with Brita, but Brita apparently has a family dinner or something. I hope they get their shit together,” she continues, and Jaida subtly takes her drink away.

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed for them too,” Monét offers, stealing a glance at Brooke and Vanessa.

Jackie finds it horribly convenient that she and Nicky are all alone at the house after all the jokes they had to endure during these weeks.

Of course Gigi and Jan have dates tonight, and of-fucking-course Brita is also out. That leaves just the two of them. All alone in the house, and alone together for the first time in a long while.

Jackie tries not to let the memories of their last time being just the two of them get to her, because they’re on good terms now, right? Things get awkward sometimes, when they’re at the club or some bar or at whatever social gathering that includes alcohol, and Nicky goes after girls with brown wavy hair and glasses that look just an itty bitty bit like Jackie, after she’s had more than a few drinks.

Or when they’re studying together and Jackie hums along the lines of Aya Nakamura’s songs, Nicky’s favorite French singer, and the irony isn’t lost on Jackie how Nicky used to dedicate her the same songs she hums under her breath.

Or when they have sleepovers and Nicky goes to sleep on the complete opposite side of the room, and the memories flood Jackie’s mind. Of lazy mornings, sleepy kisses, and having breakfast in bed despite Jackie’s protests. “You’re going to make a mess and I’m gonna be the one that’ll have to clean up,” she used to say, and Nicky would just shut her up with a kiss and a promise of not doing it again, only to repeat the process the next time she stayed the night.

Sometimes the memories got a little too overwhelming, and in consequence she pushes Nicky away, avoids her in real life and social media, until her old feelings die out again and she can live in peace.

But now that she’s drowning in feelings she thought were buried and memories that make her heart skip several beats, there’s no way of escaping Nicky without making her suspicious.

“How do you fancy pizza from two nights ago for dinner?” Nicky calls out from the kitchen as Jackie sits uneasy in the living room couch, trying to focus on whatever garbage reality show is on. She flicks a few channels again before taking a deep breath and answering.

“Isn’t it pineapple pizza? No, thank you, I prefer cooking,” Jackie tries to sound witty as she replies, vaguely looking at Nicky, who’s perched at the kitchen’s door frame, looking at her intently, before she turns her attention back to the TV.

“That’s a good idea, though. I think there are enough spices to do some shawarma, and there’s some chicken left from when we tried to do chicken tacos,” Nicky trails off, going back into the kitchen. Jackie finally pulls herself off the couch to follow her, worried about Brita’s kitchen.

“Didn’t you burn an egg the other day?” She asks, slightly concerned as she watches Nicky stand on her tiptoes to reach the top shelve.

“I mean, yes, but that was Gigi’s fault! She distracted me,” she complains with a whine. Jackie chuckles softly, coming closer to her.

“Oh, really? How so?” She inquires, trying to sound amused.

“Um, well, she was making some dirty jokes, like she always is,” Nicky explains, her voice coming off as more airy and trembling than it usually is.

Jackie tenses, biting the inside of her cheek. She understands without the need of asking more questions.

“Ah,” she musters, shifting her weight from one foot from another. Nicky lets an excited squeal once she fetches all the spices from the shelve. “Do you want to, uh, do you want help maybe? Just to make sure you don’t burn down the house,” Jackie offers, stumbling with the words a little.

Nicky looks at her over her shoulder. “If you want to.” She shrugs, turning around, perching herself on the counter.

Jackie licks her lips, trying to keep her cool. “Alright.”

She tries their best to stay focused at the task at hand, taking over for the most part and instructing Nicky how much spice to sprinkle or how to cut the chicken, and it’s generally chill; there’s not as much tension as Jackie would’ve expected, but her breath still hitches in her throat when their hands occasionally brush or when either Nicky or her have to perch themselves against the counter so the other can cross the narrow space in the kitchen to get something.

Their proximity makes Jackie clench her jaw, the tips of her fingers itching to reach for Nicky’s face and capture her lips in a long overdue kiss and—

She shouldn’t be thinking about this.

She shouldn’t be thinking of Nicky like that.

Before she notices, they’re ready to fry the spiced chicken, and Jackie is rummaging through the bottom shelves to find a frying pan they can use.

“Nicks, do you remember where Brita said—” She leaves her sentence unfinished, as she turns around just when Nicky was trying to make her way to the end of the counter, so now they’re pressed against each other, face to face.

Nicky looks absolutely flustered, cheeks growing pink with each second that passes. She clears her throat before speaking, not moving an inch.

“What Brita said about what?” She inquires in the same breathy tone as before, and Jackie’s stomach twitches.

“About the frying pans. I’m trying to find one, but, uh, there’s- there’s nothing there,” Jackie manages to stammer out. The scent of Nicky’s perfume is intoxicating, it fills her nostrils and it makes her knees go weak. But she stays firmly put where she is.

Nicky cocks one of her perfectly painted eyebrows, a small smirk appearing on her face as she reaches for something behind Jackie in the counter, their faces being now closer than ever.

“It was right behind you, chérie; I told you I left it there, but you didn’t listen to me, it seems,” Nicky nonchalantly says, shamelessly staring at Jackie’s lips. Her breath is hot against her skin, and Jackie finds herself lost in Nicky’s piercing gaze.

Jackie knows too damn well that the slightest move would cause their lips to brush, and then it’d be game over for her.

She wants to move away, but she’s glued to her position for some unholy reason, just staring at Nicky wordlessly as her breath becomes ragged.

Then, Nicky aims to close the distance between their mouths.

And Jackie turns her face away, with Nicky’s kiss landing on her cheek instead.

There’s an awkward silence as Nicky steps back, seeming absolutely mortified.

“I said, ‘Don’t kiss me until you get your shit together.’ and I stand by that. Don’t make things harder than they already are, Nicky,” Jackie speaks calmly, almost somber. Her skin burns in the spot where Nicky’s lips had been just moments ago, and the tears already start prickling in her eyes.

She can’t believe Nicky could be this cruel.

“Merde, Jackie, I didn’t mean- I wasn’t trying-” Nicky struggles to get a coherent sentence out, and Jackie is already pulling away from her, their closeness too much to bear. “Jackie, listen,” she pleads, and Jackie forces herself to meet Nicky’s gaze.

She seems truly sorry.

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean- well, I did mean to kiss you. I’ve missed you in every single fucking aspect, but I missed your lips the most. God, how couldn’t I?” Nicky rambles, and Jackie just listens in silence, with her heart pounding against her ribcage so hard she’s sure Nicky can hear it. “And- and I know the reason we broke up is because you couldn’t tolerate my indecisiveness anymore, and I’m sorry. I really am. But do you know why I tried to kiss you?”

Jackie squints, shaking her head no. She can taste the words in her tongue, wants so badly to hear Nicky say them.

Nicky takes a few steps, still standing at a respectable distance, but all Jackie wants to do is push her closer.

“Because I know now, Jackie,” she declares, leaning in closer. Jackie inhales sharply. “It’s you. It’s always been you. All it took for me to realize was you ditching me, and I understand if you don’t-” Nicky leaves her sentence unfinished thanks to Jackie cupping her face and clashing their lips together.

It feels as if the last time they kissed was years ago, and Jackie thought for the longest time she had forgotten the taste of Nicky’s lips; but they’re still soft, with a hint of strawberry thanks to the chapstick Nicky often uses.

The kiss is anything but soft, and it resembles how much they had missed each other during all this time. Nicky places her hands on Jackie’s waist and pins her against the wall, and Jackie’s hands soon find their way into Nicky’s hair, softly caressing it.

God, she’d missed this terribly.

Nicky starts to pepper kisses all over Jackie’s face, making her giggle.

“Habibi, this is nice and all, but I think we’re forgetting dinner,” Jackie chuckles, smiling bashfully. Nicky kisses her more tenderly, taking her time, and Jackie is gone.

“I think I wanna eat something else now,” Nicky says nonchalantly.

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arolla-pine · 4 years

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The news

A little earthquake in our family started suddenly without any warning. Unintentionally I was the first person to hear about it. To be honest… it was sneaky of me. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop! My mum always told me that eavesdropping was not allowed and an eavesdropper would always be punished somehow. Now I knew she was right – I learnt my lesson…

I’d say that spring of 2015 was a tough time for my family. I’d just finished my final exams in junior high school and my oldest sister, Katie, was preparing for her high school finals. Luckily our parents decided many years ago that my younger sister, Jade, would start school later with a younger class. Otherwise she would also be having her primary school final exams. And that would just be the end of the world!

Three finals at the same time in one family? Way too much!

My exams were nothing new for my parents. They had already experienced Katie’s exams three years ago and my brother, Luke’s, exams last year. But the high school finals was something new. I wasn’t sure who was more worried – Katie or our parents!

One Friday evening at the end of April, I was just passing by the bedroom I shared with my sisters when I heard my mother’s worried voice…

“What to tell the kids?”

I froze.

I knew I shouldn’t be eavesdropping on my parents, but suddenly I felt with all my heart that something very important had just happened. It wasn’t the first time I’d had such an overwhelming feeling that something BIG was happening around me. I called it a hunch with capital “H” – so strong and important it was to me.

I stopped breathing and leaned against the wall.

“Everything will be fine, Alice…” my dad whispered, and I could imagine his arm around my mum.

“But… this will change everything!”

I didn’t know what to think! Mum was always confident and brave. She always knew what to do or say. So was something awful going to happen if she was so worried?

“We’ll be OK, I promise… I’m always by your side, remember?” my dad said, and I almost heard a smile in his voice.

There was silence for a moment, and I was about to leave when mum spoke again…

“Let’s not tell them anything just yet… Katie is studying for her finals… Why should we worry her even more? And Ellie…”

“Katie is stronger than you think, Alice…” my dad replied. “And Ellie has just finished her exams. Besides, it would be better if we started looking for good schools for our kids as soon as possible. And we need to find a new home so you don’t have to travel.”

What did he mean by saying ‘a new home’? Where was mum going to travel to? Was she… was she sick? Were we moving to Krakow or something? To be closer to hospital? I felt my heart miss a beat for a moment in fear.

Then suddenly I felt the opposite thing – my strange Hunch with capital ‘H’. The Hunch that gave me hope, not despair. As if it wanted to calm my fears and anxieties. As if it wanted to tell me that everything was fine with my mum…

I was a little surprised. I’d had maybe ten Hunches so far in my life. Now… I had felt it twice within minutes!

For one moment I wanted to go in to confess that I’d been eavesdropping and ask my mum if everything was OK. But at the same time I felt something inside that made me stay undercover. I went silently back to my room.

“Something’s happened?”, Katie asked me quietly when she saw me.

She was lying in her bed surrounded by piles of books and notes trying to revise as much as possible. Jade was dead to the world sleeping sprawled on the bottom bunk.

“Nope. Why?”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“It’s midnight, so you never know…”, I muttered, trying to hide my confusion.

“Mmm…”, Katie murmured and focused on her notes again.

I knew she was feeling that tension in the air as well. Maybe she had the Hunches like me. I decided to ask her about it one day.

I climbed up to my bunk determined to fall asleep as fast as possible. But that mysterious conversation of my parents was still ringing in my head and didn’t want to leave me alone. I couldn’t find any logical explanation of my mum’s worries other than her illness. A serious one that needed a move closer to hospital…

“What’s up, sis?”, I heard Katie whisper in my ear.

I looked left. My sister was standing by my top bunk and looking up, concerned. Usually, in tough times, she called me ‘sis’ or ‘girl’. ‘Girl’ was used when I overthought things, but ‘sis’ was saved for Something Big.

We looked at each other for a while.

“I heard our parents talking…”, I admitted finally.

“What did mum tell you about eavesdropping?”, Katie smiled.

“That it’s not allowed. And eavesdroppers are always punished.”

“Exactly”, she nodded, “So what’s keeping you awake?”

“The move. Because of mum. Is she sick?”, I asked before I realised what I was saying.

“I haven’t heard…”, Katie answered quickly, frowning a little. “I’m sure there’s a rational explanation”, she added.

“But mum said everything will change! And she doesn’t know what to tell us!”

“Maybe she’s got a new job? Or maybe the university is going to send her somewhere?”

“You think so?”

I was surprised by another Hunch in my heart. Or maybe it was just hope…

“We’ll see tomorrow. Now sleep! And don’t eavesdrop next time!”

“And don’t you stay awake too long.” I answered back. “It won’t help your exams…”

“Thaaanks…” she smirked. “Someone had to tell me that…”

“I’m sure you’ve already learnt that stuff.”

“Thanks, girl. Now sleep! I’m doing the 1920’s and then I’ll be asleep too.”

“Night.”

“Night, night…”

Talking with Katie always helped me calm down. I felt relief every time I shared my fears with my sister. That night I fell asleep quickly even though minutes before I’d been worrying about mum so much.

But it all came back to me in the morning. It was Saturday so I could lie in for a while and read, but the anxiety and a knot in my stomach reminded me what had happened last night. I wasn’t sure if I was more worried by my mum’s secret or by the inevitability of the confession that I’d eavesdropped…

I glanced at my sisters. Jade was still sleeping and looked like one big mess with hands and legs everywhere. Katie looked like an Egyptian mummy. Weird that we all had mixtures of the same genes! I was wondering how I looked during sleep. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was something in between.

I decided to get up as quietly as possible. I headed to the kitchen because everyone knew that tea was the best cure for sorrows. Always.

Entering the kitchen I froze… seeing my mum sitting at the table with a cup of coffee and a book. She looked up over her reading glasses.

“Couldn’t sleep?”, she asked me with a smile.

Oh, my mum had such a beautiful smile that warmed your heart! All your sorrows went away when she smiled.

“Yeah…”, I muttered, looking away. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

“I always get up so early, honey…”, mum smiled again. “My time for coffee and reading…”

I felt like an intruder. I’d interrupted her! That was terrible!

“What do you want for breakfast?”, she asked me standing up.

“Sit down please, mum…”, I protested instantly, feeling a wave of remorse in my heart. “I can do it.”

“I’m sure you can…”, mum replied and went back to her book.

Now I had no choice – I had to make my own breakfast to save mum the trouble. I tried to be as quiet as possible not to interrupt her any more, but she stopped reading anyway and was watching me. I felt her eyes on my back.

“What’s up?”, she asked finally.

“Where?” I glanced at her.

“Something’s bothering you…”

Suddenly the thought of how Katie was like our mum came to me. And I felt a hint of jealousy. I wish I was like my mum too.

I sat down at the table. My mum put her book down, and with her coffee cupped in her hands she looked at me, waiting. For a moment, it was like an interrogation even though my mum didn’t say a word. She was just waiting for me to talk. And, before I realised what I was saying, I blurted out:

“Why do we have to move house?”

Embarrassment flashed in my mum’s eyes. It was like I’d caught her red-handed.

“How…?” she began but stopped suddenly.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, mum! I promise!”, I assured her. “I heard it by accident! I know I should have told you right away but I felt so confused. And I knew you’d be angry! But I don’t know what to think about all this. Are you ill?”

Everything came out at once before I could stop it. In the middle of my little speech, my mum smiled and reached out. She stroked my tensed hand.

“Everything is fine, darling. I’m feeling OK, don’t worry!”

“S-so… wh-why?”, I stuttered.

“I’ve been trying to get a grant for my research project. Finally, after many years, the university has approved it!”, she exclaimed with sparkling eyes like a little girl on Christmas Eve.

“That’s great, mum!”, I replied, sharing her excitement. Then, a moment later, I was not so sure… “Right?”

“Of course, it’s wonderful! But… You know… The castle is quite far away – more than a hundred kilometres. I won’t be able to travel every day to work. I’ll have to find a place there. That means I’ll have to leave you…”

“But we can all go together!” I suggested immediately.

“Won’t you miss your friends?”

“I’m sure we’ll find a way to keep in touch, mum. You just can’t… You can’t leave us!”

“I don’t have to take the project, you know…”

“The one you’ve been fighting for? For years?”, I asked doubtfully, “We’re all behind you, don’t forget it!”

“You talk like your father!”, mum laughed.

And there it was! I was like DAD! But I wanted to be like MUM! I had to look disappointed because mum stopped laughing and asked:

“Is it bad?”

“What?”

“That you talk like your dad.”

“Well… I don’t know…”, I shrugged.

“Your dad is the most sensible person I’ve ever known.”, mum said, standing up and coming to me. She put her hand on my shoulder and looked in my eyes. “He’s been my support for many, many years. Thanks to him I can follow my dreams. It’s good to be such a person, you know? And I’m glad you’re like him… Now, eat your breakfast. It will be a busy day…”

I smiled. I felt better and went back to eating. And somewhere deep down I felt the Hunch that a new chapter was about to start. One that could bring big changes to our family life…

#YoungAdult #Young adult #original fiction #The Hunches #the Hunches universe #Ellie Montane #Elka Gorska #Short stories #MOMENTS - short stories #LenaKlimka

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letterstotheone-whomilovemost · 3 years

Text

12/31/2020 (14 months after the event)

Happy New Years!

It has been a rather weird year, hasn’t it? While some days from this year feel like they were only yesterday, others feel like half a decade ago. To be quite frank, the same applies to the last time I saw you. I’m sure if you saw this you would go “blah blah, you say the same thing every time you write.” While this is true, I can’t help it. I started taking new medication, as of 14 days ago. My psychiatrist, I have one of those now-- along with a therapist haha, recommended me getting put on escitalopram for my severe anxiety. It’s always been pretty bad, but over the course of the past 14 months, it has skyrocketed pretty high. Isn’t it strange how our minds develop as we get older? Survival of the fittest? Or is it just adaptation? The human body is pretty neat, let alone our brain.

I was going through my photos the other day, and got the sudden urge to delete all of them. Of course, I’m not as crazy as just upright deleting them-- so I uploaded all of them onto a drive, and then deleted them from my phone. All of them. Decided it was time for a fresh start, why not start with the one thing I open every day, right? I decided earlier today, about a week after I deleted all of my photos, that I would go into my drive to try and find a photo from September that I downloaded from a manga I was reading. Of course I got sidetracked, I scrolled to 2014 and was going through all of my old photos with my brother and my family, and then suddenly I got to 2017 and there it was. The black and white photo of you and I at the parking deck, both of us laughing as hard as we possibly could. I smiled softly of course, as the beautiful memory came rushing over me. But then something hit me. For some reason, this isn’t how I remember you. My brain forgot what you looked like, or at least started trying to. It’s been about a year since I last saw a photo of you. While the brain is so incredibly amazing, it has a bad habit of memories starting to fade, especially when it’s a person attached to bad memories as well. It works in some cases, where people are trying to forget-- but even still it does the opposite and leaves the person going “Why can’t I forget you!?”. Strange, right? The human mind is so beautiful. I can still hear you talking to me sometimes, if I try hard enough. Lately, I haven’t been so hard on myself. I’m trying to figure myself out still, and I’ve come to the conclusion that it is okay that I still love you. I know I more than likely always will. That’s what love is, right? Being able to love and never losing that love, no matter what happens.

All of this being said, I figured I would kind of recap everything that has happened in the wonderful year of 2020. It has been one hell of a ride.

January, the month of my brother’s 15th birthday. He was so happy and we all celebrated his birthday with him the following weekend. We also went hiking the same month, while it was cold; my mother, brother, and I had a blast. This month was mostly just working and being lazy on my off days. I had a fall out with my best friend.

February, I had a love hate relationship with this month. I tried dating someone new, I saw that you had gotten in a relationship two months prior and figured it was time for me to try and move on as well. Needless to say, dude was a douchebag and was a very violent individual. I left him within 3 weeks. My birth father, his newlywed wife, my cousin from my favorite uncle, whom I had never met until then, and I all went to Ruby Falls. It was quite a beautiful journey. Whilst I fought with my father, it turned out to be an okay experience. Later in the month, I ended up getting into a fight with my landlord, who was demanding that I pay extra, even though I was not behind on any payments. I ended up cooperating with them, so that I didn’t lose my home. I celebrated my little sister’s fifth birthday.

March, I lost my job. Millions and millions of other people did as well. Covid-19 struck the world. I took it lightly and just assumed that yet again, the media was blowing things out of proportion. My landlord wasn’t understanding of the fact I was put out of work, along with millions of others. They ended up being generous for the month after I showed them statistics. I ended up being lazy, doing nothing but watching Netflix and Disney plus for the entire month.

April, Corona Virus was boring at this point. We had all been told, “Oh! We’ll all be open for business again in the next two weeks!”. That was the first week of March, and it was now April. The government didn’t give us any kind of help until the last week, so that kind of fucked me. I spent most days laying in bed on TikTok. I also got super into streaming in the beginning of this month, and my platform was finally starting to take off.

May, unemployed for two months. I debated taking a job at a warehouse. Unfortunately, the media deterred me from doing so. There was a spike of cases in my state; it was terrifying. I didn’t leave my house much. I got my dog, for the first time in 4 years. It was beautiful, I cried. He was so happy to be back home. I started a routine of watching anime every morning at 7 am and then going for a walk. I wanted to get back into a daily routine, regardless if I had a job or not. I was falling behind on bills, and I really needed to distract myself. I started getting into digital art, rather than traditional, for the first time ever. I stopped making my music.

June, I reconnected with a lot of old online friends from 2013. It was strange and I didn’t really know how to feel about it. It was nostalgic in a way, spending late nights on discord calls. I didn’t really enjoy it all too much, I felt like it all needed to stay in the past. I started anti-depressants, again. This time it was Prozac. It made me feel extremely drowsy, and made me feel out of body most of the time. I tried to date, again. An old friend that I had from 2013, we reconnected and even though they were out of state, I decided-- “Hey, maybe this will be good for me. I don’t have to worry about them getting aggressive with me, we can take things slow, and we can pace ourselves.” Oh man, if only I knew. He flew down to my state, met the family, was extremely respectful and even stayed in a hotel the first trip. Everything seemed to be going okay.

July, my 21st birthday. Did I drink? No. Sounds crazy, right? I had about half a drink, and decided I just didn’t want any. I had stopped taking my antidepressants, the new boyfriend had said that I wasn’t acting right. It fed into my suspicion, that the meds weren’t doing a whole lot for me. They were just making me really sleepy and on edge all the time. The new boyfriend had come down again for my birthday and mother’s birthday, since we share the same birth week. Celebrated with my mom, her best friend, and I. July was pretty hectic, since I had decided I would be moving to West Virginia on August 5, 2020.

August, I moved to West Virginia. I packed up all of my belongings, uprooted everything I had ever known, hugged my family goodbye, and got into the back of a truck with a u-haul attached to it. I rode in the back of the vehicle for 14 hours, fell asleep in Kentucky, woke up in Ohio. It was daylight by the time we approached West Virginia. It was so beautiful, all of the mountains. I was moving into the house in which he lived in, which his sister was next door on one side, and his parents on the other side. We had the nice river breeze, since Ohio river was within eyesight. I lived in the Tri-state area so it was Pennsylvania on one side, Ohio on the other, and us-- five minutes to each state. It was a good first couple of days. Then we got into our first fight. I was unable to work, since I left my car behind. Luckily, I had saved up a bunch of money for me to be able to buy one. He hit me with really low blows, saying I didn’t need to work-- since women weren’t good for that kind of thing. It hurt, to be honest. I had never seen him like this before, in the eight years I had known of his existence. He had been with me in my hometown for three weeks and not once acted like this. I walked on eggshells, bought a car with my hard earned money, then got a management job at the Domino’s that was ten minutes from my town I was living in. Towards the end of the month, he got aggressive with me. He stopped working the same week I had moved in, he had no car. He had no ambition, he decided to just give up. Maybe that’s what I tried to see, maybe-- just maybe I could help him find some ambition. I wanted to save him, in a way? We got into a severe fight, I couldn’t take it anymore-- I fought back, and he ended up swinging on me.

September, I packed all of my belongings that I could into my tiny little Toyota, and left in the middle of the night. I had one thing on my mind, and that was to go to my mom’s house. My mother had known how bad he had gotten, since he acted such a way with my mother on the phone, unknowingly. I drove for 15 hours, well 13 but with rest stops to nap for a bit since I was running off of no sleep, but I finally ended up back home. I ended up staying with my mom for a bit. Later had to relocate, so I moved in with an old friend. Started streaming again.

October, Worked. Literally worked the entire month, my entire existence fell into dread. I became overly aware of how much time had passed. I felt like I had been doing nothing. I dreaded the last day of the month, every day just gave me more and more sadness. I didn’t want the day to come. I started dreaming of you more and more and more. Halloween came, I decided to look at it differently, I started to thank you-- rather than try to hate you. I came to the conclusion that I would never hate you.

November, Thanksgiving! I started to become grateful, moved back into my mom’s house. It was a bumpy ride, but I managed to get back into the habit of doing healthy things. Started going to the gym again, drinking more water. I told my father he was dead to me, haven’t spoken to him since. I got to spend Thanksgiving with my real family, my mother and her best friend’s family. They watched me grow up since the day I was born. It was so much better than any other holiday I had ever had up to this date.

December, I started a new form of medicine. This time it was for anxiety, since that’s the main factor of my illness-- or so we think so far. I am on escitalopram, and I started it the week before Christmas. I got to see my real family again. It was nice, but this time I got to reunite with my childhood best friend for the first time in fifteen years. It was so lovely. I have become almost bedridden again, but it won’t last long-- since it’s just a side effect of my medicine. I also got to see some friends from high school, but then I realized-- they’re the exact same way they’ve been since the beginning. They wanted nothing but to talk about drama. It just isn’t my thing, I don’t like dealing with people much anymore, because of the constant drama. I’ve learned a lot about people changing, and the lack thereof.

I think this year has been a year full of lessons for me, and it has been tough. As they say, there’s no pleasure without pain, no pain no gain, right? This year has taught me a lot about myself and the people around me, and I am extremely grateful for the things I have experienced. I’ve learned so much about who I am as a person. I’ve grown a lot, while this year has kicked my ass. I have high hopes for the next year. For the first time, since 2016, I finally see a future in myself, by myself.

To New Beginnings, Lovebug.

I love you, always.

22:27

#dear lover #dear love #letters to the one i love most #letters to the one i loved most #letters to you

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