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mycrofts-gunbrella · 4 years

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Remus Lupin x Reader Smut- Uncontrollable

According to your calendar, it was less than a week away until the next full moon which meant two things. One, you had to work out about a week's worth of DADA lessons as you'd be upgraded from assistant to teacher until Remus was back to his normal strength and could come back. And two, your husband was at max level of horniness and will try to grab you at any given point. You weren't complaining when it came to early morning quickies and nights of sheer pleasure but when it comes to during the day, your usual shy, private husband seems to no longer care where he is when he makes his moves. Which leads you to situations like the one you're currently in..

It had been a rushed morning with both you and Lupin waking up a lot later than usual and having to quickly get ready before you were late to class- meaning, of course, you didn't have anywhere near enough time for your morning 'routine' and naturally left your other half in a rather 'teasing' mood all day. Whether it was subtle gropes of your ass as he'd slide himself behind you or whispering his plans for later in your ear as you sat beside him at his desk, Remus Lupin really wasn't messing around. This continued throughout both of the periods before dinner in the Great Hall, with added curses that "of all days it had to be a bloody Friday" since you had no free periods all day to relieve both of your now pent up sexual frustration. With your arm hooked around his, you both began to walk to dinner.

"Do we really have to go? Can't we just use this hour for something more worthwhile darling?" Remus lightly whined. You laughed at him and rolled your eyes.

"We have to make an appearance Remus, it'll look awful if we don't show our faces. Besides, you need to eat something. I didn't even see you eat a sandwich at lunch!"

"I'm planning to eat something.. but you won't let me." Remus smirked, pulling the exact same cheeky expression that would get you both in trouble as teenagers.

"Remus!" You exclaimed, slapping his arm and looking around to make sure nobody heard him.

"Fine, fine. How about we compromise? We go, we eat and then I'll say we have a few more tests to mark before next period? Please?" He begged, pouting and moving his arm to hold your hand as you rounded the corner near the hall. You leaned up and softly kissed his protruding bottom lip and smiled.

"Sounds like a plan Moony." And with that you took your seats at the end of the table and applauded softly as Dumbledore made his little speech to the students. You'd barely been sat for 5 minutes before Remus placed his hand on your thigh in attempt to get your attention. "Not yet. 10 more minutes, I'm sure you can wait, you're a big boy." You teased in his ear before smiling and going back to eat some more of your meal.

What you didn't expect as your husband's reaction was a smirk but you tried to ignore it. At least until his hand moved towards the inside of your thigh under your skirt with his thumbs rubbing deep circles into your skin. You shot him a warning glare but he ignored you and carried on eating his food with his other hand. It wasn't long until his hand travelled higher and he started to rub your clit through your tights and underwear, causing you to moan quietly and then cough so no one would pay attention. Your hand gripped your fork til your knuckles turned white as he surprisingly hooked his fingers through the waistline of your underwear and slowly pushed two fingers in your entrance, bending and thrusting his fingers into you while you could only focus on not causing a scene at the dinner table. Damn this man and his capabilities to make you feel so good so quickly.

"Something the matter darling? You don't seem to be touching your food." Remus spoke, smirking knowingly at you as McGonagall turned to see what the commotion was.

"Are you okay Y/N?" Minerva asked from beside you, giving your softly panting form a once over. You glared again at your husband and turned to smile at the woman to your side, with Remus making no efforts to cease his movements and instead speeding up while he pretended to look concerned. You took a deep breathe as you felt yourself being pushed to the edge.

"I'm o-okay. Bit of a cold coming I think, I'm starting to get a headache." You managed to stutter out. At your final word Remus moved his hand so his thumb could rub circles on your clit and you came undone, placing your head in your hands and biting your knuckle as you came over your husband's fingers.

"You've barely touched your food and your face is burning dear. Perhaps you should go and have a rest before next period?" She suggested. You were about to try and convince her you were fine before Remus interjected.

"Must be something wrong for you not to want your dinner, my love. It tastes delicious." You turned and went wide-eyed as you watched Remus slowly lick his fingers clean of you. That's it. You couldn't wait any longer.

"On second thought, perhaps you're right professor. Maybe I should get some rest. Care to join me Remus?" You stood, taking his arm and leading him out of the hall before he could answer. "Remus John Lupin you are going to be the absolute death of me." He only laughed in response as he took control and pulled you round the corner and shoved you against the wall, pressing his lips hungrily against yours as he gripped your hips so tight you're sure it would bruise. You slid your fingers into the belt loops of his trousers and pulled his body closer to yours, feeling the tent begin to form and press against your lower stomach. His hands lifted to undo the buttons of your blouse and begin to squeeze your breasts while his lips travelled down your neck leaving little bites and kisses on their way. "What if someone sees us?" You panicked slightly, pulling away from him and trying not to moan at the sight of his dilated pupils and dishevelled hair.

"No one will be coming out for another 20 minutes and by the time we get back to our room we won't have a lot of time, it's fine." Remus tried to reassure you but the look on your face still displayed worry. He sighed and stepped back. "I'm sorry, you're right we should wait. I shouldn't have-" You cut him off kissing him again and softly tugging his bottom lip between your teeth.

"I never said we need to wait THAT long.. we'll just have to be quick.." You winked, grabbing a fist full of his shirt and turning the both of you around so his back was firmly against the wall. He almost growled in a sense of relief and went back to wrapping his arms around you and smashing his lips onto yours once more. You quickly pulled away and he gave you a look of confusion before his eyes rolled into the back of his head as you began palming him through his trousers and sinking to your knees. Unzipping his trousers, you pulled him free from his boxers and began to teasingly lick the tip of his erect cock, moving your tongue to lick the vein going down the side of his shaft until he let out a deep moan.

"Y/N.. Please.." You didn't need to be told twice and took his entire length in your mouth, moaning softly around him as you began to bob your head up and down. You reached around to grab his hands and place them on the back of your head before giving him a look of encouragement as you could feel him trying to hold back moving his hips. He slowly began to guide your head and thrust his hips in time with his movements while moaning your name softly. "M-Merlin. I don't- ffuck- deserve you." You moaned again at his words of encouragement, the vibration encouraging him to pick up speed while you reached around and squeezed his ass as you let him use you as he needed. Suddenly his movements became erratic and sloppy as you felt him twitch in your mouth and shoot his load down the back of your throat. Remus couldn't help but hold your head in place as you swallowed around him. His grip loosened and he pulled you to stand, kissing you once again but this time slower with more passion behind it.

"Better?" You smirked, brushing your hair back in place with your fingers and then fixing your husband's messy locks. He opened his mouth to speak but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps getting closer. Panicking, you hastily went to trying to button your shirt while Lupin tried to tuck his shirt back into his trousers. It was too late. McGonagall was already in front of you.

"Good to see your headache has improved very quickly." She glared at you as you averted your gaze to the ground. "Over 20 years since the pair of you studied here and I STILL catch you fooling around in the school corridors?" She lectured the pair of you and the memories of you and Lupin getting caught together in broom cupboards and corridors during your school years came flooding back. Suddenly her glare softened and she shook her head and smiled. "Never did think the two of you would ever become adults on the inside. Now please, don't let me catch you again or one of these days I'll have to report you.. 20 points from Gryffi-.." She stopped, realising that two of her favourite students now worked as staff at the school and she smiled again. "Just go away and sort yourselves out. And may I suggest cancelling your lessons to fix whatever is going on between you two at the moment because if any of the students catch on to the kind of foolery that occurred here or in the Dinner Hall there will be consequences do I make myself clear?"

"Yes Professor." You both spoke in unison as you walked back to your shared quarters and sent an owl to leave a note on by your classroom to say there would be no more lessons today. As soon as you got in and sat down you both started to laugh.

"Bless her, the amount of things that woman has seen over the years must be haunting." Remus laughed, laying back on the bed and pulling you to lay beside him.

"And that's just from us." You giggled, rolling to your side to face your husband.

"One day we probably should grow up and stop sneaking around the school like hormonal teenagers and control our urges until safe to do so."

"Well it seems pretty safe to do so now.. I doubt Minnie's going to pop her head in here." You suggested, moving to straddle your husband's waist. He smirked and began to rub circles into your hips.

"I'm starting to think you may be worse than me when it comes to controlling yourself. It might be a problem.." He smirked, sitting up to place a quick peck on your lips. You grinded your hips against his and grinned as he moaned.

"You love me really." You pouted, unbuttoning his shirt and throwing it to the side.

"That I do, darling. That I do."

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slashedthroughtheheart · 3 years

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The boy behind the wall Pt. 1

f you're anything like me, you read/heard about Hillbilly's backstory and just wanted to give the poor baby a hug and felt remorse at not being able to do anything for him.

Well, this fic is a wish-fulfillment of doing just that. Hugging and saving the poor bean from his awful family.

I was going to set it a bit further back where he was like, 14 or 15, but I know myself and I know it'll get heated later on and I don't like dealing with timeskips, so in this, Max is 19 and my original character Layla May is 18.

There shall be sadness at first, but the fluff will come, I promise. I do angst well, but I promise I soothe the ache it leaves behind. I love Max too much to deprive him of any good things. He deserves all the love and softness, please just let me hug him.

A neighbor’s niece is sent to live with them during the summer to help with her illness. The farms are warm during the summer, leaving her in better constitution there than where she lives normally. She uses her newfound ability to be outdoors longer than a few minutes here and there to explore and get to know the area. And the neighbors to her aunt and uncle.

At first, she doesn’t notice the sharpness that follows Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, jovially introducing herself as Layla May, Mr. and Mrs. May’s niece. They don’t seem to abhor her presence on the farm, and don’t mind the odd question here and there she has about the farm animals or the equipment.

It’s one midday where Mrs. Thompson agrees to let her inside for a glass of lemonade after helping her in the home garden that Layla stumbles across the secret she was never supposed to know about.

Mrs. Thompson had grown used to the young girls presence, and left her to her own devices at the kitchen table sipping her lemonade and dabbing daintily at her forehead and neck after being out in the hot sun for the better part of an hour helping her weed. She’d gotten careless, and thought the girl was too polite or too slow to wander from the kitchen while she went back outside to finish off the gardening.

Layla however was ever the curious teenager, having been stuck inside with only books to keep her company since her father worked and her mother had passed just a year after her birth.

She wandered the home after finishing the lemonade quickly, having been rather parched. She admired the pretty wallpaper chosen, and the few trinkets placed just so. It was a very quaint looking home that Mrs. Thompson had cultivated.

That’s why when she wandered downstairs and found a very… crude wall of bricks that had no door, she was confused and even more curious.

She approached the wall unafraid and unaware of the poor soul behind it. She stared at it, then gently ran her fingers across the rough surface in thought.

A soft hum of thought left her, finally alerting Max inside to the new presence. Which confused him even more than the wall confused her.

He didn’t recognize the voice on the other side, and could almost convince himself he hadn’t heard anything until she spoke very softly from the other side.

“I wonder why this is here? Maybe it’s like… a sinkhole that’s been stopped up?” She’s theorizing now, trying to put some rhyme or reason to the wall being there. Trying to find an explanation with her own limited knowledge.

That’s why when she heard movement on the other side, she spooked a little. She hadn’t thought it would be keeping something in. And the moment it passed her mind, she realized it must be because whatever inside was dangerous.

She held her breath, unsure of why, but not wanting to be heard as she slowly moved back a little to look at the wall more closely.

Max had moved to the little hole, the single brick missing, to try and get a glimpse of whoever was outside his prison.

He didn’t know how to feel, he’d never seen anyone besides dad and mama, never laid eyes on anyone else.

That’s why when he managed to get a full look at a girl, small, smaller than mama by a lot, he gasped. Well, as much of one as he could.

He watched her jump at the noise he made, she looked… he wasn’t sure, but her eyes were big, looking around the wall quickly, flitting from spot to spot rapidly before they passed over his little missing brick spot.

She almost screamed, but her hands went to her mouth, muffling her startled gasp at seeing someone on the other side looking at her. Staring. Almost unblinking.

She took a moment to find her voice, to find the nerve within herself once more.

With a shaky hand over her collarbone, seeming to be the thing holding herself together, she managed out a very soft and questioning “Hello?” while making direct eye contact with whoever was staring at her.

She noticed when the eyes seemed to widen slightly at her words, but nothing else happened.

She had her full focus on the eyes behind the wall, the need to know who it was burning through her mind and making her fingers a little numb with the sensation arcing through her body too.

She took a tentative step towards the wall, hand still clutched to her chest, the action providing her a semblance of comfort and safety as she ventured into an unknown situation.

Max was surprised at the appearance of this girl, both in her being there and what she looked like.

She was in a sundress, a cute little blue gingham one with a bit of puff to the sleeves. She looked unreal to him, her face perfect and unblemished, unlike his. Her skin was so smooth, looked so soft and her hair looked really nice. He didn’t know who she was or why she was here, but he wanted to keep looking at her.

Her hair was in a side ponytail, not pulled tight, but only just enough to keep it out of her face.

He watched in anticipation as she took two more steps closer, before she leaned down ever so slightly to be just a bit closer to level with the opening. Still standing a good 4 or 5 feet away from the wall.

“Hello? Can you hear me in there?” She asked softly, a feeling in the back of her mind telling her to not be loud both so she isn’t found snooping and to not startle whoever is watching her in case they really are dangerous.

He tilts his head ever so slightly at her words, as much as his disfigured body allows.

She seems to see it, her own body unconsciously mimicking his movements, her head tilting ever so slightly to the side.

He doesn’t know why seeing that makes him smile, but he goes with it.

She lifts her hand, waving shyly. “Hi, can you… can you speak?” Her voice is soft, nice. Much nicer than mama’s. He leans closer, almost pressing himself against the rough brick to try and see more of her, even though she’s in full view already.

He understands what she’s saying, it’s not that his parents don’t speak around him, it’s that they don’t speak to him. Just at him, and usually angrily.

Her voice though, it’s nice. It doesn’t make him angry or scared like his parents do.

His hand comes up, fingers resting in the hole he’s peering out of, to steady himself as he leans so close.

She sees the fingers pop up and then rest on the brick, confirming to her that it is indeed a person back there.

The basement is lit, but lowly. She can’t get a real good look at who she’s talking to from where she is, and now that she knows it’s another person behind there, she’s less scared about getting closer to the wall.

She shuffles a few more steps forward, until she’s just a foot and a half from the wall and kneels down in front of the little opening, coming eye to eye with Max behind it.

At this movement, a small noise does actually escape him. He hadn’t known what to expect when she moved slowly forward, and it seemed like all he could see for the last moment was the skirt of her dress near her knees before her face came into view, much closer than before.

His eyes went wide, mouth open as he got a much better look at her.

She wasn’t making any of the faces his parents ever made when looking at him, and that made him feel at ease, like she was safe.

He knew she was different. He didn’t know how, but he just knew.

“Hi. I uh… I’m sorry for sneaking around? I was just curious.” She tails off at the end, worry on her face suddenly, wondering if she wasn’t supposed to be down here. Something in her gut told her she really shouldn’t. Why would a person be behind a brick wall in a basement?

A coldness dropped over her shoulders, a bunch of thoughts racing through her head at how someone would be in that situation.

She would be even more disgusted with the truth than any of the worrisome reasons she could think up.

He didn’t know what the last word she said was, but he didn’t get why she was sorry to him for anything. She hadn’t done anything to him. He wasn’t sure what ‘sneaking’ was either, but she hadn’t done anything so he made a small grunt at her.

He didn’t have words he could speak, not really. Whenever he tried to practice talking, he would always get yelled at by one or both of his parents. So he only mouthed some words to himself late at night.

His fingers moved just a bit further out of the hole, curing the tips just slightly on the outside.

She stared at the little opening, looking back to the person behind it, or at least, what she could see.

They looked… a bit off. Not the right proportions from what she could see. But her father had been adamant about treating people who looked ‘different’ as he put it just like anyone else. Most, if not all, couldn’t help whatever made them different. She wasn’t sure what made the skin over the person’s eyes like that, nor why their nose seemed almost squished down against their face like it was getting pressed on, but she overlooked it easily enough.

She had taken note of the grunt, wondering what exactly it meant. “So, you can’t talk then?” her head tilted slightly like it had when she copied him earlier.

He understood all of that, and gave the barest of affirmative grunts. It was almost a hum, but it seemed whatever made his eyes that way might also affect more than just his eyes.

She nodded then, a thoughtful look crossing her face.

“So, if I ask you yes or no questions, you can at least do that?” her head still cocked to the side ever so slightly.

The smile on her face that followed the same affirmative grunt and the smallest flex of his fingers lit something up inside of him. He’d never seen someone smile before.

He liked it. Or maybe he just liked her smile. He wasn’t sure, but what he was sure of is that he wanted her to keep smiling, so if she wanted to ask questions, he’d do his best to give her answers.

“Ok! That’s good!” Her excitement at there being intelligence and willingness to talk to her even though the other person couldn’t really talk carried out the almost praise easily.

Another thing he’d never heard before.

A pleased noise left him, softer than the ‘yes’ he had.

And then she did something he had definitely never heard before.

She giggled.

Hand coming up in front of her mouth ever so slightly, but not hiding it. Eyes closed, cheeks smiling. And the sound, it was soft. It felt nice to listen to. Made his whole body feel warm. Made him want to laugh for the first time in his life.

And that’s what he did, a noise leaving him that startled both him and the girl.

It didn’t take her more than a split second to realize the person had joined her in laughing, and that was all she needed for a grin to fill her face, happy that the person seemed to enjoy her company enough to laugh.

Max had at first thought he messed up when the noise from her stopped and her face went back to that one look she had, eyes wide and mouth just slightly open.

But then he saw the smile come back, and her eyes looked so nice. Warm. He wanted to be closer to her, his body demanding something from him that he didn’t understand. His arms felt like they itched. He didn’t know what was going on, but he gripped at the brick under his hand a little harder, pressing his face flush against the brick again, trying to just be as close as possible since his body was crawling with the new feeling.

Her smile changed, just a little. It was a bit smaller, but no less genuine as she saw the person push closer to the wall.

What she did next took him by surprise but he didn’t stop her, or pull away.

She reached forward with one hand steadying herself on the ground and with the other she brushed them against his own.

“Nice to meet you!” She hummed out cheerily, that softer smile gracing her features.

Her touch was electric to him, a gasp leaving him, before he desperately tried to touch her hand back, fingers fumbling through the little hole, trying to touch the soft skin of her hand.

She notices this, unperturbed by it. Instead, she moves to press her palm flat against the wall, lacing their fingers together where they could reach. “I’m Layla. The neighbors’ niece.”

His heart was hammering and also felt almost absent. The touch was something he’d not felt before. It was gentle, warm, and without malice.

He had no memories of either of his parents ever touching him, and definitely not as softly as this.

He gripped at her hand as best he could with his, seeking the contact like a drowning man clinging to a life preserver.

She had gotten a better look at the face of the person behind the wall, a small wiggling bit of worry in her chest. A dark thought swept through her, the solemn words of her father reaching her ears once more.

‘You must be nice to those who look different. So few ever experience hospitality or even love in their life from those around them. And others… others get locked away because their families are cruel to them, upset that they don’t fit in right. So always be kind, it’s what your mother would have wanted.’

That dark thought was a wondering of whether or not this person was one of the ones that got locked away.

Her eyes glanced along the wall briefly, worry settling into her stomach.

She looked back at him when his fingers flexed ever so slightly at her having been looking away for too long. He didn’t want her to look away, because then she might turn away, and if she turned away she might leave.

He didn’t want her to leave.

She took in a barely there shaky breath, making eye contact again and the urging from her father’s past words bringing another kind smile on her face.

He perked up at her smiling at him, his face doing it’s best to copy her. She saw the slight crinkle of his eyes, her own smile growing just a bit at the realization that he must be smiling too.

She scooted closer, so she didn’t have to hold herself steady to hold his hand.

She sat for a moment, contemplating what she should ask the person behind the wall.

“Do… do you live here with Mr. and Mrs. Thompson?” She finally settled on asking, curious if the Thompson’s knew there was a person here. She felt silly for that line of thought, of course they’d know there was a person in their basement behind the wall.

It took him a moment to understand who the people she was talking about were, but he gave a slightly gruffer affirmative, not liking the thought of his parents.

She had been getting little glimpses of more of the face than just the eyes through this whole time, and felt confident that the person behind the wall was a boy, maybe around her age. Granted, that meant he was an awful lot bigger than her, if the way it seemed he was hunched to see out the hole was anything to go by.

That, and she was small for her age due to her illness keeping her from growing much.

She’d barely graze 4’11” if measured, quite the slight thing.

Max however was nearing the 6’ mark even with how neglected he was behind the wall. Just a few inches shy of it currently.

He was really just basking in the good feelings that were coursing through him from the smallest amount of contact, and her smiles. Her laughter was replaying in his head over and over, he really liked that sound.

She gave a soft hum, thinking for another moment before asking another question.

“Do you stay in there all the time?” She was curious, even if she was sickeningly worried that she’d just get another ‘yes’ from him.

He gave a quieter grunt at this, almost shrinking in on himself a bit at that. What he wouldn’t give to be able to leave this hell of a room.

His eyes never left her though. And he noticed her noticing his slouch.

Her fingers moved against his then, rubbing very gently. There was a look on her face he couldn’t figure out again, but it made his chest almost hurt. He clutched at her hand tighter.

“That… that must be hard.” If it hadn’t been completely quiet save for her voice in the basement, he wouldn’t have heard what she said.

But he would take her leaning even closer. “Can you leave this room?” A very small bit of hope was inside her that maybe there was a door on some other wall she couldn’t see in his room, that he could leave out of if he wanted.

But that hope was snuffed out, leaving her heart aching like it had been cleaved in two when he made the first negative noise of the day.

She squeezed their fingers together a bit more at this, not able to stop the brief grimace of pain and sorrow from crossing her face.

“Do… do you want to leave this room?” an imperceptible tremor was in her voice now, that fear of what the truth could be hovering over her head like an axe.

At this he gave a much louder and enthusiastic grunt that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but ‘yes.’

Her heart clenched, seeing the excitement in his eyes, realizing what this poor boy has likely had to go through if he was this excited and at just the thought of leaving the room he was in.

That, and how desperately he was clinging to her hand, like it was the first time he’d ever been touched and he couldn’t get enough of it.

Then the thought that maybe it was the first time he’d ever been touched flitted through her head.

“Has uh… has anyone ever held your hand before like this?” She gestured with her free hand at their hands.

Another soul gripping grunt of ‘no’ rocked through her. At this, she pushed her hand up higher, locking their hands together even more securely, and letting her thumb rub over his pointer finger in a soft sign of affection that she was now more and more sure he’d never received before.

Especially with the way she saw his eyes light up at the deeper contact.

She fought herself inside, willing herself to not cry, it was not fair to cry in front of him. Even if her whole soul ached at the thought that someone would lock away a family member in such a way, she held out and kept her eyes from even getting misty.

Instead, she switched thoughts. “Do you know how to read?” She really didn’t expect a yes, and when she didn’t get one, she wasn’t surprised but was still feeling the stab to her heart at the thought. Not even taught to read. Or talk.

The thought of how that existence would feel made her feel so incredibly lonely. And with that single thought, fueled by all the other little ones that had passed through her mind, she came to a resolute decision. She would get him out of that room, and away from the Thompson’s.

She didn’t know how, but she’d figure it out. She’d get him out, and in a flare of self-assurance, she promised to herself that she’d do it even if it meant taking this brick wall down by hand.

A soft hum left her, mulling over her choices. “Would you like to hear a story then?”

She smiled almost sadly at the eager ‘yes’ that came through the hole, eyes bright with interest and wholly focused on her.

And that’s how she spent the next hour telling him about a children’s story she remembered from her childhood, about a boy that took a girl on an adventure, helping her learn how to fly.

She enjoyed the expressions that crossed his face as she told him such a simple story. He was eating up all the information, completely enthralled by her retelling like she was the most interesting person he’d ever heard.

She had almost lost herself to just talking to him, telling him little bits about herself after she finished the story. How she had been sick since she was little, about her father taking good care of her and always worrying about her, about all the books she’d read while being bedridden.

While she couldn’t sympathize with being purposefully locked up, she at least knew the feeling of being unable to leave somewhere. She’d been figuratively imprisoned by her own body to a bed for so long. Only barely being able to get up for changing clothes and using the washroom.

She told him about how nice being barefoot in the grass felt during that mid-morning time where it wasn’t dewy anymore, but the grass was still nice and cool while the sun was warm and felt like a hug.

He’d made an inquisitive noise at the end of that one, and she’d realized maybe he didn’t know what a hug was, so she explained that. And when she did, he realized that’s the feeling his body had been clamoring with. He wanted to hug her. To hold her close, as close as possible, to just feel another person being there and not be yelling at him. To just be holding him back. He craved it.

She gave his fingers a squeeze when she saw the look in his eyes.

Just as she was about to promise him a hug when she got him out, they were startled by a car horn honking.

Her eyes went wide, her free hand flying to her mouth to cover it while she gasped out.

“That’s my uncle! I have to go, I’m so sorry. I don’t… I don’t think I was supposed to come down here and find you. I don’t think the Thompson’s want anyone to know you’re here…” She couldn’t keep the sadness nor the distress from her voice now.

She felt him clench at her hand tightly, desperate for her to stay, but she had to gently pull her hand away. He made a pleading noise, fingers scrabbling and hand trying to push through now. He didn’t want her to leave, she was so nice, and made him feel so much… well, everything.

She quickly touched his hand, stopping him from pushing any more than his fingers through in worry that he’d hurt himself.

“Do you know what a promise is?” She quickly asked, looking at his eyes.

He grunted out a ‘no’, but stilled as she leaned in real close, face almost as close to the wall as his was as both of her much smaller hands came up to cup the fingers that had pushed through.

“A promise is something someone gives someone else, it means they will do everything they can to do what they said. Does that make sense?” She felt the deep fear of being found where she shouldn’t be eating at the back of her mind, her skin crawling with the sense of ‘you shouldn’t be here, they’re going to find you, you’re going to be in such big trouble.’

He gave a very small grunt of ‘yes’ at that, understanding what a promise meant now.

“Ok, so now that you know what a promise is, I promise you I’ll be back. I’m going to do everything I can to get you out of this room, but you have to act like I wasn’t here, like you don’t know me and that nothing happened. Okay?” Her eyes were frantic, worry making bile bubble away in her stomach and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up.

He gave a faint ‘yes’ at this, not wanting to agree to her leaving, but feeling assured that she promised to be back.

With that, she gave one final squeeze to his fingers before standing up and moving towards the stairs back up, but paused for a moment at the bottom at hearing a soft whine come from behind the wall.

She looked over, leaning over to whisper loudly towards him “Remember my promise!” And with that she went up the steps as quickly as she could, her heart twisting just as much as her stomach was, only her heart was in pain at hearing his desperate whines grow fainter as she got further up, while her stomach was in fear that she’d come up and be caught while leaving.

#Max Thompson Jr x Original Character #Max Thompson Jr #Dead by Daylight #nsft #multi-chapter #canon-typical child abuse #fluff #hurt/comfort #angst with a happy ending #eventual smut

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reality-warp · 4 years

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A/N: So I finished Jedi: Fallen Order and sweet God it was way better and more emotional than I was prepared for. And then before I knew it my mind starting rolling out this idea before I could slam on the brakes. What else is new?

With work stress, difficult physiotherapy, and seasonal affective disorder all kicking my butt right now, theres no way in hell I’m going to have the time or enegry to turn this idea into an acctual polished fic. But after the idea refusing to leave me alone several weeks I decided I just needed to sit down and get the beginning out of my system.

Not my best work by a long shot, but it’s been so good to finally get writing again after a year of struggling.

Set post-game, this follows crew of the Mantis as they start their search for others who survived Order 66, and opens with the POV of one ex-Jedi Healers padawan (alien OC) hiding out in a hospital on Lothal...

Remedial Biomancy - Part 1/5 Auri

The first thing all padawans learned when they apprenticed as healers in the Jedi Temple was that your hands were always going to be the bloodiest.

Bloodier than any knights. Bloodier than any murderer. And if you chose the path of healing, you were going to be living up close and personal with suffering, pain, and not always be able to help. It was not a job for the faint of heart, or for the thin-skinned. But Auri Madraan doubted even Master Sayf, the man who’d taught her everything she knew about the horrors and wonders of being a Jedi Healer, would have been able to remain stoic in the face of all this.

Bodybags lined the room.

Dozens of them lined up in neat rows stretching from one end of the cold storeroom to the other. Twenty-six men. Fifteen women. Forty-one in total. She knew because it had been her job to count, scan and evaluate each one of them. She’d already finished the details of the last entry on her datapad, and now she just found herself staring into the cold room, struck hollow by the stark emptiness of it against her senses.

The absolute silence of life in a room so crowded.

“Medic Rinna,” The tinny voice of her droid assistant using her fake name broke through her daze, floating over from after making his final scan. “I believe that was the last one. Shall I transmit the results directly to Head Medic Jorran?”

Auri shook her head, both in reply and attempting to pull herself together, rubbing her tired eyes and tapping the save function on her datapad. She’d been awake for well over thirty-two hours and desperately needed to sleep. But this was something she always made herself do every time there was a death.

Master Sayf had always said one should never let lost life become something that felt normal…

“No, that’s ok PANN. I’ll deliver it myself,” she answered, her voice a bit crackly from hours of not speaking.

Her Prognosis Analytic Neural Network droid—more commonly referred to as PANN—bobbed in the air where he hovered, amber optical sensors flickering over her face. She could feel him resisting the urge to share how high her cortisol levels were, and that she would start to become dangerously inefficient if she stayed awake much longer. But even if she were already tucked up in her tiny room in the hospital staff quarters, she doubted she would have been able to shut her eyes for the thoughts and images burning through her mind.

There had been another tunnel collapse in the Lothal mines a day ago, and the men and women now lined up on the floor of the hospital basement were the only ones lucky enough to have been close to the entrance for their bodies to be dug out. The initial evaluations of the first-aiders and Auri’s reports both read suffocation and crush syndrome as the cause of death—no need for full autopsies or further investigation. That was what Head Medic Jorran had made clear what he expected to see, and consequences to anyone who thought otherwise.

But Auri knew differently.

She knew the truth of what had killed these people. She’d known the moment she’d touched a hand to the brow of one of the young men, the story of his broken body unfolding out before her like a story in black bruises and shattered bone.

They hadn’t died from lack of oxygen, they’d been killed when a toxin in the earth they’d been mining had been released as a gas. The Imperial mining operation running the dig had realised what had happened as their workers began dropping, and they had quickly collapsed one of the tunnels in an effort to both cover it up and stop the gas from escaping.

No one else knew. And if her Imperial loyalist boss had his way, no one else ever would.

Only her.

The thought made her want to be sick. She might have done just that were it not for the whooshing sound of the elevator doors opening just behind her, the sounds of footfalls on the metal floor.

“Hey Rinna, I hoped I’d find you down here—” Lyle, her co-worker and fellow junior medic broke off halfway through his sentence behind her, clearly noticing the contents of the room for the first time. She heard the air leave him in a single stunned rush, like someone had jabbed him in the solar plexus. “Maker, I’d heard it was bad, but this…”

Auri didn’t answer or turn to look at him.

Lyle was another recent emergency employee of the short-staffed Lothal capital hospital. He was human, blonde, good looking, and unfortunately just enough aware of it for it to be utterly confused by her disinterest. They’d been working the same shifts for the past two months, and Auri wasn’t sure why, but he had started developing what a charitable person would have called a fondness for her. An uncharitable person would have called it annoying. Her polite but repeated rejections only seemed to urge him on, and he always seemed to turn up when she most wanted to be alone…

This was definitely one of those times.

“You ok?” He asked her earnestly, coming up and placing a too-familiar hand on her shoulder, apparently completely unaware what a stupid question it was.

No, she wanted to say. To scream.

To yell that nothing about this was ok.

That she hadn’t been ok for the past five years.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she lied, clipping her datapad back onto her belt and turning past him towards the elevator. She refused to look back at him or the forty-one bodybags filled with people who would never have their truths heard.

Who would never get justice.

She stabbed the button for the top floor without waiting, and Lyle quickly dashed after her, slipping in just in time and almost getting his scrubs caught in the door. A significant part of her really wished they’d cut him off before he could get inside.

“Rinna,” he started, once again reaching to touch her shoulder, but clearly thought better of it this time when she shifted away. “You sure you’re alright? You covered a triple shift today, and you look kinda… well, paler than usual.”

Something halfway between a laugh and a snort escaped her before she could stop it.

Ex-Jedi padawan Auri Madraan was a haedrathi, an uncommon near-human species from the Haedra system whose only real biological difference to humans was that they’d evolved in underground caverns, which meant their bodies didn’t process vitamin D in the same way. The result was naturally pasty skin, snow-white hair, and eyes so sensitive to light that they had to be covered by protective black contact lenses near constantly to prevent blindness.

She was likely the palest being on this entire damned planet.

How this guy had managed to become a medic, she had to wonder sometimes…

“I’m fine, Lyle. Just tired. And doing autopsy scans of tunnel collapse victims isn’t high on my list of favourite things…” she trailed off into the silence of the elevator, the only noises breaking the tension the whooshing of the passing floors.

She sighed heavily, rubbing her eyes again. She had been working herself harder than normal, but focus and eventual exhaustion seemed to be the only way to keep her thoughts and nightmares at bay lately. It was clearly taking its toll on her temper—and for all his dogged determination to get her to swoon over him like the other nurses did, Lyle was only being kind.

“Sorry. Yes, I’m ok. Anyway, what are you doing down here? Didn’t you finish half an hour ago?” She asked more gently this time.

Lyle scratched awkwardly at the back of his neck as the elevator continued its rapid ascent, and even though she wasn’t looking at him, she could feel his gaze running over her.

“You’re going to deliver those reports in person, right? I thought I could keep you company on the way to Jorran’s office, if you like. Give you an excuse to get out of the quickly.” he offered, an almost painful note of hope in his voice. “Look, I’ve been meaning to ask if you’d like to spend more time together? Like, maybe… as a date?”

Auri only managed to restrain her sigh by virtue of the fact that at least he’d managed to wait until they were out of the room full of dead bodies before trying to officially ask her out. If he hadn’t, her training might have failed her entirely, and she’d have simply brained him with her datapad and left him down there.

She was saved from shooting him down by her droid rounding on her, a distinctly disapproving note in its metallic voice.

“Medic Rinna, I really must insist you engage in at least one REM sleep cycle as soon as possible. Your cortisol levels are impractically high, and—”

“Yes, thank you PANN,” she interrupted the fussing droid, cutting him off before he could launch into a full-blown lecture. “I’ll get some sleep as soon as I’ve delivered the reports. Why don’t you both go on to the dorms and get plugged in to charge for the night.”

“But—” PANN and Lyle started at the same time.

“I’ll be five minutes max. No need for an escort,” she cut them both off, deliberately not meeting Lyle gaze. The elevator came to a stop at their floor, the doors whooshed open and Auri quickly stepped out before either of them could try and stop her.

Out of the corner of her eye, Lyle looked crestfallen, but PANN just grumbled, immediately floating away back towards the staff quarters at the other end of the building.

She’d tried tinkering with the little medical droids AI processor a few years ago before arriving on Lothal in an effort to improve his analytical speed, but it had somehow affected his personality algorithms too. Now instead of being a clinically detached medical encyclopaedia, he fussed when her stress levels got too high and chipped in with sarcastic commentary whenever she least needed it, and she had no idea how to fix it. It was like having a nagging metallic nursemaid following her around every day. She’d found herself cursing the fact that she’d never taken any programming courses back during her training; but metal, chips and circuit boards had never been her area of expertise…

Cal had always been way better with that stuff anyway.

The sound of his name, even inside her own head was enough to send a lance of pain through her chest. She buried it quickly before it could show on her face, forcing a small, weak smile into its place.

“Thanks for offering, Lyle. But I’d rather just get this done and go to bed. I’ll see you for the next shift,” she said over her shoulder.

“Yeah, sure,” he mumbled, failing to hide his disappointment as she strode off. “Night, Rinna.”

Auri started making her way towards the Head Medic’s office on the far side of the building, but instead of heading there directly, she turned down another hallway and made a detour towards the recovery wards.

There was someone more important she needed to see first…

Three minutes later she was swiping her ID card to enter the paediatric wing, the smallest but also most colourfully painted section of the hospital by far. The wards weren’t particularly big, only four beds to a room, and at this time of night, all the kids in them were fast asleep. The one Auri entered was at the end of the long, brightly painted hallway, and it was the only one with just a single kid curled up on his own inside.

“Rinna?” The boy mumbled, hearing the door sliding open as she entered, turning over to peer sleepily at her from under the blankets. It hadn’t been safe for Auri to use her real name in five years, but the smile the little boy gave her as he saw her was always just enough to ease the ache of missing it.

The kid coiled under the hospital blankets with bio-monitor patches all over his chest was human, small even for his years, with dark hair, coppery tanned skin, vivid blue eyes, and an infectious grin in the rare moments when he was feeling ok. His entire family had been living on Lothal since the days of the Republic, and the day he’d first come to the ward a week ago and met Auri, he’d excitedly told her that he loved haedrathi pop music, was a crack shot with a slingshot, and was going to be a pilot one day.

The name on the bed chart read: BRIDGER, EZRA.

“Hey little soldier,” she smiled at him, this time a genuine one, quietly shutting the door behind her. “I just came to check up on you before my shift ends. How are you feeling?”

“Better,” Ezra lied, trying to sit up. “I don’t even think I’ll even need my meds tonight.”

Auri gave him a sceptical look, eyeing his shaky arms struggling to support him, and the low blood oxygen level reading on his bio-monitor.

It turned out the same toxins that had killed the workers in the mines had been leaking into the water supply a couple of weeks before, and Ezra had got a heaping dose before his parents realised what was wrong. Now it was wreaking havoc on his organs, the toxin fiendishly difficult to purge, especially for smaller children whose body mass was less than an adult. Ezra was barely six, short and skinny as a rail, and he was getting sicker by the day, even with the treatments and Auri’s regular help during their checkups.

Still, he was a fighter, and stubborn as a Loth-cat. Especially when it came to foul-tasting meds.

She placed a hand on one hip, trying not to smile.

“Oh really?”

Ezra scowled determinedly, but on his young round face, it was closer to a pout.

“Really!”

She raising a brow theatrically at him.

“Then I supposed you won't need this either?”

The kids face lit up as she pulled a little album stack out of her pocket and held it up—an innocent little palm-sized chip that stored sound data and could be plugged into any system or droid to play music. She’d managed to find one of the bands he’d mentioned while complaining how boring and quiet it was in the ward on his own, and she’d promised to bring it during her next visit.

She waved the album stack in front of him before setting it pointedly on the side table.

“Meds first, then music.”

Ezra pouted at her again, but dropped his little shoulders in defeat.

“Urgh, fine,” he grumbled.

Auri couldn’t help but smile sadly to herself as she opened the medication compartment on his bedside table, and began measuring out his prescribed dose of immune boosters. A nurse or med-droid would have been round later to give him his nightly meds, but they were so short-staffed at the moment that they likely wouldn’t have finally got to him until late at night. The kid was already struggling with his condition so much, she didn’t see any need to keep wake him once he finally managed to get some rest.

And she would have been lying if she said she hadn’t wanted to visit the one person in this hospital she actually enjoyed spending time with.

Once she’d double-checked the measurements, she pressed the little measuring cup into his hands and poured him a glass of water to wash it down with. Ezra took it without complaint but pulled a face as he gulped it down.

“Urgh! Why does it have to taste so bad?”

“That’s how you know it’s good for you,” she teased, setting the cup aside and handing the glass of water over. He took it gratefully as Auri pulled a pressure band out of the side table and wrapped it carefully around his skinny arm. “Just going to quickly check your blood pressure too, then you’re all done.”

In truth, she didn’t really need the band to check his blood pressure, but it gave the excuse she needed to get close enough to use her Biomancy.

She’d had the ability for as long as she could remember—a rare talent even among the Force sensitives that let her sense and read a persons life force through direct contact. It meant she’d effectively been able to tell when a person was healthy or sick since she was a child, and after years of training in the Jedi Houses of Healing she was now able to pinpoint and identify the cause of almost any pain or illness with a single touch.

Or in Ezra’s case, it allowed her to sense every part of his body that was struggling most against the poison in his system, and do what little she could during her checkup visits to help him. She’d added specific toxin absorbers into his daily meds to try and help take the pressure off his kidneys, used tiny amounts of Force biomanipulation to boost his white blood cell count, but to be honest there wasn’t an awful lot left she could do. Pretty soon the only thing she’d be able to do was numb his pain receptors so he could sleep comfortably. She hadn’t even been able to think about how she’d break the news to his parents that he was unlikely to ever fully recover…

Frustration and regret roiled deep in her chest as she read his bio-signs, seeing barely any improvement since she’d checked the day before. If only she could just do what she’d been trained for years by Master Sayf to do. To reach out with the Force and help heal the actual source of the problem, not just clumsily try to manage the symptoms. To be the healer she’d worked so hard to become since she’d first walked into the Jedi Temple at two years old.

But it was a different Galaxy now.

She’d only been on Lothal six months. If she cracked now, used her true power and took the risk of being found out, at best she’d have to flee. Start all over again.

At worst she’d be found by Purge Troopers and executed on the spot.

“Hey, Rinna,” Ezra asked abruptly, pulling her out of her morbid thoughts.

“Mmm?” She answered, pretending to check the pressure monitor before releasing the air and removing it from his arm. He pointed at a spot around her collarbone.

“What is that?”

For a second she didn’t know what he was looking at. Then she saw that he was pointing at the cord she wore around her throat. It must have crept up without her noticing, and was now barely peeking out over the neckline of her scrubs. She shrugged it back under the grey-green cloth a bit too quickly to be subtle.

“It’s nothing, little soldier. Nothing important.”

“I always see you wearing it, every time you visit,” he pressed, a tiny pout appearing again. “None of the other nurses or doctors ever wear any jewellery. How come you do?”

“Because this isn’t jewellery,” she answered automatically, then mentally kicked herself for it. Ezra just kept looking at her expectantly, and she knew instinctively he wasn’t going to let it go. So with a sigh, and against her better judgement, she pulled it out just enough for him to see the small jade green stone bound at the end. “It’s called a kyber crystal.”

Ezra’s vivid blue eyes went wide in wonder.

“Isn’t that what’d in Jedi lightsabers?” He breathed.

“They use to be. But not anymore,” she murmured, quickly tucking the cord back beneath her shirt. “It’s just a silly trinket. But one that you have to keep a real secret, ok? I’m not supposed to have it, and I’ll get in a lot of trouble if you tell anyone.”

He gave her a solemn look and a slow nod, his dark hair flopping adorably.

“I won’t tell.”

“Swear?”

He drew an X over his chest.

“Swear.”

Auri tried to regard him seriously but eventually smiled, unable to stop herself. He was a starry-eyed kid, but he was also the most honest and genuine person in this place.

“Good. Now let’s get you tucked in. Your folks will be in to visit tomorrow morning and you don’t want to sleep through it.”

He nodded, coughing a little as he pulled the covers up to his chin again, peeking out and giving her and the album stack on the side table another hopeful look.

“Can you put the music on?”

Auri rolled her eyes with a smile, but nodded, bopping him lightly on the nose with the stack.

“Ok, but only on the lowest volume.”

She got up from the cot and started plugging the stack into the small radio near the door. Ezra coughed again, a bit harder this time. And then a strange noise came from him; a kind of gasping wheeze that quickly became a throaty cough, like he was struggling to catch his breath. Auri turned instinctively, feeling the pull of something wrong through her senses, only to see the colour had suddenly drained almost from Ezra’s round cheeks, leaving him a sickly grey colour.

“Ezra? What’s wrong?” She asked, dread creeping into her chest.

“R-Rinna…” he mumbled, sitting up and swaying dangerously on his cot, “I d-don’t feel good…”

He slumped sideways, almost falling out of the bed entirely. Auri shot across the room and caught him by the shoulders just in time. She tried to sit him up again, but he’d gone almost entirely limp, eyes rolling back in his head.

“Ezra? Ezra!"

He didn’t respond. Only continued to wheeze out breaths that were far more laboured than they should be.

Not wasting a second Auri rolled up his sleeve and touched her entire hand to his upper arm. That one solid point of contact brought a fresh flood of sensations, and she instantly understood, the breath slipping out of her in horror.

“Oh no…”

She could feel the frantic flutter of his pulse through her senses like a hummingbirds wings. Feel the pain of his insides and every laboured breath as if it were her own. The toxin had finally found its way into his heart, and the shock of it was causing the organ to beat wildly out of control.

Not wasting a breath, she yanked back the sheet and laid him out flat on the cot, tilting his head back to open his airway. He was so small it barely took even her any effort to lift him, his little form not even taking up half the space on the cot.

“Keep fighting hard as you can, little soldier,” she whispered, pulling out a syringe and a vial of cardiac stabiliser from the nearby emergency cart. She didn’t realise her hands were trembling until it took her three tries to get it filled correctly.

If this didn’t work…

She returned to his side, sliding the needle into his bicep and depressed the plunger, keeping a hand firmly on his arm and letting her Biomancy monitor his response better than any of the equipment around her could.

But…

“No, no come on, please…” she cursed under her breath, dread beginning to turn to panic.

It wasn’t working. She’d managed to slow his pulse and calm his adrenaline with the stabilising drugs, but it wasn’t enough. His heart was still beating out of rhythm and getting quickly worse. If that poison stayed in his body any longer she knew it was going to destroy his heart beyond any hope of repair…

The sight of those bodybags filling the room downstairs invaded her mind again. The image of one more of them, slightly smaller than the others—

No.

The thought rang through her head with the long dead voice of her master, and the panic in her chest stilled into sudden, familiar calm as she looked down at Ezra again. This time with all the years of lessons and practice she’d gone through to get here rushing in to fill the void.

To heal a hurt, you must first understand the hurt, padawan.

To ease the pain, you must know that pain.

She could still feel the poison lingering in him through her senses, could feel the damage it was doing through the contact. She also knew it wasn’t going to be enough to just remove some of it. Every last drop he’d managed to accumulate by drinking that contaminated water had to be pulled out if she was going to save him now.

So, taking one of his small, tanned hands in her considerably paler ones, Auri reached a hand out to hover over his chest, stretching out with the Force. It was like flexing an aching muscle that had long gone unused, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she was going to be able to do it.

But then, her thoughts brushed up against a cluster of something cold and foreign. Something that wasn’t supposed to be there—a knot of wrongness caught up in the complex weave of life that made up all of Ezra.

She reached out further, and her mind stumbled over another. And another. And then another. Feeling the pressure building in her own head with the concentration, she forced herself to focus harder, latching her will onto all those knots of wrongness until she could feel every molecule of the poison scraping against her thoughts—a million pinpoints on a map laid out in the shape of the boy before her.

Then, as gentle as she could, Auri began to pull on all those pinpoints of wrongness.

If anyone had been watching, it might have looked at first like the young haedrathi medic was simply praying over the kid, one hand holding his while the other hovered over his chest. But then, ever so slowly, what looked like tiny beads of pale orange sweat began to appear all over the boy’s clammy skin. At first they were almost unnoticeable, but quickly they grew, forming together into bigger drops that began to slowly rise off him entirely, floating in dozens of perfect spheres up into the air.

She didn’t stop until all of those droplets had risen off Ezra’s clammy skin, and only when every last bit had left him did she shift her hand slightly, condensing them all into a single floating sphere the size of a large marble in the air.

Her head beginning to ache with the strain, Auri automatically reached a hand towards the side cart at the edge of the room, and a test tube flew into her grip as if pulled by a magnet. Sweat began to bead on her own brow as she guided the floating ball of poison into the glass before finally releasing her focus. The pale orange liquid fell straight into the container as if someone had finally turned the gravity back on, and Auri felt her hands trembling as she quickly stoppered it.

Her perception of the rest of the room flooded back in as she pulled in a few steadying breaths, if someone had turned the volume back on for the rest of the world…

Only then did she hear a noise come from directly behind her.

Auri whirled to face it, her head spinning and heart pounding as she automatically shoved the test-tube full of poison into her back pocket. Lyle was stood in the open doorway to the ward, a confused look on his face. For a horrible moment, she thought he’d seen everything, his gaze flickering in bewilderment between her, the boy on the cot, and the empty syringe of cardiac stabilisers on the side table. But the look softened to worry as he saw the expression on her face.

“Rinna, what happened? Is he ok?”

She was saved from trying to flat out lying when Ezra groaned. She turned back to him to see the boy’s vivid blue eyes flickering open as he began to regain consciousness.

“R-Rinna?” He rasped, and she immediately knelt next to him, gently stroking his messy hair back from his face.

“It’s ok. You’re ok, little soldier. You just had a bad spell,” she assured, calmly as she could despite her own racing heartbeat. He coughed a bit and she helped him take a few more gulps of water before gently laying him back down on the pillows. “Try to sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning, I promise.”

He was out barely ten seconds later, the exhaustion of having the poison forcibly purged from his body taking its toll.

But at least now he would live.

Auri covered him in an extra blanket from one of the other beds, and set the bio-monitoring system to alert her if there was any change to his vitals. Then, once she was sure he was as comfortable and safe as she could possibly leave him, she turned back to face a concerned-looking Lyle. He was gazing at her like he was desperate to somehow comfort her, but had no idea what to do or say to help.

“What happened?” He asked quietly the moment they were both outside.

“His heart, it started going tachy right after I gave him his meds. I barely got the stabilisers into him in time…”

It wasn’t a complete lie, but she still hated the taste of it on her tongue. Lyle glanced down at her still trembling hands, and once again she could see him barely resisted the urge to try and take hold of one.

“You’ve done everything you can,” he told her, not realising the truth of those words. “But you really should sleep now too, Rinna.”

She nodded, glancing back at the door to Ezra’s room once more before turning back to Lyle.

“I’ve changed my mind,” she said quietly. He looked at her in confusion, and she gave an anaemic smile that she couldn’t quite make reach her eyes. “Would you mind walking me to Jorran’s office after all?”

It took him a second to process what she’d said, but once he did he nodded vigorously.

“S-sure! Yeah, of course.”

Auri followed her colleague down the hallway, falling into an exhausted step beside him. But not before quietly pulling the test tube of poison out of her back pocket and dropping it quietly into a nearby biohazard bin.

Much as she hated to admit it, PANN and Lyle were both right—she really did need all the sleep she could get tonight.

Tomorrow she was going to have to start planning her escape from Lothal.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

#mine #my writing #swjfo #star wars #star wars fic #auri madraan #star wars oc #ex-jedi padawan #jedi healer #5 part mini fic #My characters #alien oc #alien character #original alien race #young ezra bridger #finished Fallen Order for the third time #and now i need to get this idea out of my system #just for fun

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keeroo92 · 4 years

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Be My Nightmare Ch11

On Endings and Origins

Trigger warning - School shooting (adult students)

Word count - 3,117

~~~~Previous Chapter~~~~

_______

Michael smirked, putting extra emphasis into his stride as he walked past a particularly attractive woman in a stylish pencil skirt. The business district was so much fun to wander in, so many professional looking ladies dying to play secretary. They’d do anything not to get fired; he loved that line.

Was she looking? If she wasn’t, she was missing out. He made it a point not to make eye contact; that was a novice mistake. Never let them know you’re interested, that was rule numero uno.

She had to be looking. He was a catch; the hours he spent every day in the gym made sure of that. The carefully styled hair and overly tight shirt dialed it up to eleven, and his perfectly straight teeth to a twelve. No woman alive wouldn’t see him.

That’s right, baby. You wish you were hot enough to catch my eye…

Even from just a glance, he knew she was a seven, max. Nothing special, maybe a solid Tuesday lay if he felt like it. Too bad for her it was Saturday.

He kept going, strutting across gradually less crowded intersections like he owned the entire city. This was his palace; he was king, and the world was his for the taking. He’d earned it. The world owed him his due.

Michael was so caught up in his thoughts he didn’t notice the slim shadow that followed in his wake.

Almost there, what’s her name again? Jenna? Jane? Something with a J…

He almost pulled out his phone to check, but nothing undermined a woman’s confidence quite like being called by the wrong name. Even if he got it wrong, it’d only help him get laid. Chicks were so predictable. All you had to do was make them feel the need to prove themselves, then they were putty.

A sudden cold pressure on the back of his neck stopped him in his tracks. The click that followed froze the blood in his veins. It was a sound he’d only heard in movies and TV, but unmistakable. Who the fuck would pull a gun in broad daylight? On him, no less?

“Move and you die,” a silky voice said. “Muscles aren’t bulletproof.”

The pressure moved, sliding down his spine to settle at his waist. He tried to look back, but a disapproving tut warned him before he spotted anything useful. What the hell did this asshat want, anyway? Phone? Wallet? Dating advice?

“Turn left here,” the voice commanded. He didn’t recognize it.

Maybe he could disarm the guy? It sounded like a guy. Probably a loser, some shrimp that needed a weapon to make a move. All he had to do was remind him of the natural order, then he could get to his date, with a thrilling new story to impress whats-her-name with.

“Who the fuck do you think you are?” Michael asked.

A searing heat flashed between his ribs. Pain reminiscent of tearing a muscle erupted in his core and his bravado hiccupped. Something wet made his shirt stick to his skin, and as he looked down to see a growing red stain, the young man gagged. He hated blood.

“I used to be like you, you know. Foolish and naive, never imagining myself in peril,” the sinister voice commented. “Turn right.”

Michael obeyed, his hands busy staunching the fresh wound. The area wasn’t one he knew, full of derelict apartment buildings and shady-looking shops with newspaper covered windows. Chain-link fence lined the sidewalk, occasionally broken by a gap of unknown origin. Half the streetlights were burned out and a smell of cigarettes and sweat spoiled the air. Nothing good happened in a place like this.

“W- what do you want from me?”

The figure behind him replied by increasing the pressure of the barrel against his spine. Michael quickened his steps and tried to ignore the trail of crimson dripping from his side. If he didn’t see it, it couldn’t hurt him. No pain no gain. Ignore the pain, focus on the gain.

“That all changed in a single afternoon.”

What the hell is he talking about?!

Without knowing who his tormenter was, Michael couldn’t even begin to guess. All he had to go on was the haunting regret dripping from the man’s words.

“I don’t understand,” he replied quietly. A soft hum met his ears, another prod of the barrel guiding him toward a gravel path.

“You needn’t worry. You won’t live long enough for it to matter.”

The anxiety of moments ago seemed like a passing shadow compared to the pitch black, mind-numbing terror that filled him now. He was going to die. The guy basically just said it.

This can’t be happening! Not to me!

There had to be something he could do, some way he could get out of this. He’d talked his way out of trouble before. Talking was his specialty, second only to fucking. He just needed to find the right words and everything would be fine. Maybe he’d even get a sexy scar on his back from the…

Don’t think about it!

“That day opened my eyes to the truth, just as I shall open hers. Through there.”

At the end of the gravel walkway stood a small house, as poorly maintained as the other structures nearby. Metal bars covered the only visible window and the door featured three locks, yet all of them were open. Michael hated how his hand trembled when he pulled the door open. He was supposed to be stronger than this.

Get it together! C’mon!

Inside, a gloomy living room awaited the two men. A faded grey couch sat opposite a small television, empty beer cans and paper plates covering the rickety coffee table. A movie poster from a decade past was the only decoration. Any other time, Michael would have sneered at the slovenly abode, but not today.

“Welcome, my canvas,” the voice said.

A heartbeat later, agony flared across his consciousness. The same blade that stabbed him before now sawed through his flesh and ripped through his spinal cord, the angle perfect to slide the slim metal between his vertebrae. Fluid gushed onto the floor as his legs crumpled, numbness more intense and horrifying than any he’d experienced taking over the nerves below the madman’s wound.

I can’t feel my legs!

Michael screamed as his face struck the hard floor. More pain, in his cheekbone and eye socket this time. Worse than when he fractured his collarbone trying to deadlift his cousin, but that was the least of his worries now.

He tried to shift his legs, but nothing happened. Icy dread coiled in his stomach, growing with every second he failed to move. How was he supposed to get away now? Crawl?

“P- please!”

His arms still obeyed his commands and he managed to roll over, getting his first look at the monster that planned to take his life. Michael focused on him instead of the pool of viscous red under his body. A small figure, dressed like an idiot teenager at a skate park. Black hair peeked from the hem of a beanie, shadowed green eyes and a smirk that would shake even the bravest of souls beneath.

Michael’s eyes traced the figure’s arms down to the weapon that forced him to cooperate and he cursed. What he had assumed was a lethal firearm was, in fact, a harmless felt-tipped pen.

What the fuck?!

“Not my usual tool, but acceptable,” the man said, clicking the cap on and off a few times just to show off how stupid he’d been.

Why hadn’t he attacked when he had the chance? What was wrong with him, to meekly surrender and let this… this… devil lead him wherever he pleased? He should’ve at least tried!

“Ah, yes! Thank you, Vergil. I’d almost forgotten,” the man said. Who the fuck was Vergil? Was this guy bonkers?

The man turned away to flick on the television, straight into a film full of blood and screaming victims. He turned up the volume, then returned to his victim’s side with a sly grin.

“Each night this week, I increased the volume a little more. The neighbors are used to the screaming now. Make all the noise you wish.”

He tried to scramble away, but without the use of his legs he didn’t get far before the madman caught up. The first tears he’d shed in years leaked from his eyes as the blade struck once more, sinking deep into his shoulder and twisting. When the tip scraped against his shoulder blade, Michael’s last shred of stubborn resistance abandoned him and he released a jagged wail of agony.

“Yes, I suppose I ought to…” the man murmured once his cries faded.

He howled again as a boot-clad foot stomped on his forearm. The bone snapped and hot blood gushed from the hole it punched through his carefully sculpted musculature. All that work, and for what?

I’m gonna be sick!

The film’s screaming and his own retching mixed together as the first wave of agony lost its bite. Adrenaline was a beautiful thing, to dull away the worst of it, but enough remained to draw forth increasingly emasculating sounds. Pathetic.

Something pulled at his waist and before he had the chance to talk himself out of it, Michael looked down to find the cause.

The man was slicing off his calves. He didn’t feel any pain from it, only the pressure when the last few strands of sinew snapped away. A small blessing, wrapped in the horror or his own paralysis. Sour bile flooded his mouth at the sight of his body being pulled apart and the coppery smell of blood, another helping of vomit spilling out to mix with the precious fluid.

“Hmm, yes. That one next, I think,” the man said. Michael barely noticed; his mind was elsewhere.

Silver flashed. Volcanic agony erupted in its wake as the madman hacked off his bicep. Michael screamed again, louder than before as he felt every shredded cell split, but the film drowned him out. None would hear his cries.

The void where his flesh once rested wept crimson. His arm felt limp, as if he’d just finished a long work out. Pain choked him, the severed nerves wailing their protest as if it might somehow save him. Michael closed his eyes, mentally begging for unconsciousness to claim him. Anything to escape this hell.

“This moment is all we have together, don’t spoil it by closing your eyes…”

The blade whistled through the air, lithe fingers grasping each eyelid in turn as metal split the thin tissue apart. His eyes burned, red soaking his vision yet not enough to make him blind to the grin on his tormenter’s face. Never had he seen such a cruel image.

Tears and blood alike dribbled down his cheeks. He thought he knew pain, thought he understood the way the human body was put together. How much strain the muscles could handle before they broke down, only to grow back stronger than before.

But there was no “growing back” from this.

The madman hummed a cheerful tune as he pulled apart Michael’s meticulously toned body. Chunks of meat and sinew slapped wetly in a pile, for what purpose he didn’t have the focus to imagine. How much longer before it was too much? How many more times would his heart beat?

Not enough, yet also too many.

Please, please, please make it stop! Just kill me!

The next time the blade struck bone, Michael lost control of his bladder. As it dug against his collarbone and scraped away all he was, his mind snapped. White-hot terror and pain overwhelmed him, he had nowhere to hide from it and there was no end in sight. He drowned in agony so powerful each second felt like an eternity.

Somewhere far away, voices screamed a poor imitation of his torture as his own voice gave out. All Michael could manage now were dull whimpers.

And then, even that freedom was stolen from him as the ghoul carved his jaw open to remove his tongue. Another wet slap as he tossed it into the pile with the rest. How the fuck was he still conscious?

“I must say, you have impressive endurance.”

Michael gurgled, mangled jowls flapping. His vision blurred, darkness leaking in around the edges. Was it time? Was it finally over?

Please, god, just let me die…

“It seems our time together is at an end. How unfortunate, I was having such fun.”

Michael’s vision narrowed, the final curtain call of his life passing by. He didn’t resist it, instead mentally racing toward oblivion with all he had left. Whatever awaited him on the other side had to be better than this. Death was the only way out.

Twisted laughter heralded his release, a final flash of metal as the artist sliced open his neck. At last, blessed peace…

---V---

The artist cackled and leaned closer, staring deep into the boy’s mutilated eyes as the last glimmers of life left them. He’d never understand why others killed from a distance; there was no greater power on earth than watching another being die and knowing he made it happen. That moment, that last soft sigh as their spirit broke free…

He found it beautiful.

People revealed their true selves as they died. Their fear, their hopes and dreams, everything they valued was on full display for him. In a way, he knew his victims better than anyone else ever could. In some cases, they also knew him.

But this one…

He hadn’t lied. The boy reminded him of his younger self, before Nero’s death and all that came with it. Back when he saw the world with wonder and hope, when he’d never seen the color of blood when it gushes from an open chest cavity.

The pen he’d used to trick his target sounded nothing like a gun; the boy simply didn’t know what one sounded like. It was a lucky guess that such a fool didn’t have prior exposure to such things, but it paid off.

Still.

“Why cannot the ear be closed to its own destruction?”

The words of William Blake and the true sound of gunfire echoed in his mind as he carved the corpse like a Thanksgiving turkey. The panic, the confusion and shock when it first broke out, the look of resolve on his best friend’s face. Like a film he’d seen too many times, his mind held each frame in his memory forevermore.

“Get down!”

Nero…

He forced himself to relive it all. Those three minutes of anguish taught him more about the nature of life than his prior two decades of comfort. It seemed longer at the time; only later did he learn the true duration of his trauma.

No. Not his trauma.

His failure.

“V, what the hell?! Get down!”

He remembered the thud of the lecturer's heavy tome slamming onto the floor, Blake’s words soon to be soaked in the blood of the innocent. Dozens of voices screaming. Gunfire. Doors slamming open. Bodies hitting the floor.

He remembered smelling the coppery tang of blood in the air for the first time, tinged with piss and panic. Vomit and someone’s leftover French fries. Gunpowder, too; the same smell as New Year’s Eve.

He remembered feeling the pressure to move and how his legs refused to obey. The way his hands trembled as he stared at what would surely end his life. A warm, heavy weight crashing into his chest and knocking him to the ground.

Nero.

Whispered words and the splash of scarlet across his face when Nero coughed.

“Play dead and… take care of her…”

The light fading from his crystal blue eyes.

Tears spilling from his own.

The artist cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. Yes, it was good to remember. It reminded him of why he needed to keep going, why the blood must continue to flow. The reason for his existence. Never could he allow himself to forget – to do so would dishonor his friend. After everything Nero did for him, V owed him this much.

He remembered the empty words of others afterward, the crushing vice that held his heart captive. The weight that bent his shoulders in grief. His family, hesitant and unsure how to restore his previously carefree spirit. His teachers, the pity and discomfort in their eyes whenever they spotted him in class.

He remembered the announcement of the memorial and Professor Marx, asking him to participate. The now-familiar voice of Vergil in his mind urging him to do it, if only to maintain appearances. The gentle scrape of his brush against canvas and the tightness of his throat with each added stroke. The duality of being both numb and feeling far too much all at once.

He remembered her face, swollen and red as she declared him the reason for her fiance’s death. His shame as he accepted her words. How could he argue? She was right, after all. Going to the Blake recitation was his idea. A second, more gravelly voice in his mind, calling her obscene names and giving shape to his urge to deny responsibility. Griffon.

He remembered the unveiling, all the families gathered together to see his and his classmates’ work. Nero’s family, shell-shocked and angry but without a target. The hush that fell over the crowd as each name was read, far too many. Rustling cloth as the covering fell, and the gasps as grieving families found their murdered loved one’s faces.

He remembered his rage boiling inside him as nothing changed in the months to come. An inferno he couldn’t contain, not with the addition of Shadow’s voice; a wordless roar of crashing fury. The cacophony of all their bickering in his mind, indecision and desperation only making them harder to ignore.

He remembered breaking. The gradual creation of his plan and the sense of purpose that grew from it. The urgency of his new goal and the thrill of being reborn. Leaving home to escape the relentless pity, finding his path and walking it without fear. His fear did nothing to help him. His fear was what got his friend killed.

His fear would never control him again.

He released a shaky breath and closed his eyes. There was still so much to do. Eventually, someone would track the boy’s blood here and discover his latest work; it needed to be ready before then. Perhaps once he finished it, he could honor his friend somehow. Carefully, of course. The locals were still hunting him.

And his work was not yet done.

~~~~Next Chapter~~~~

#fanfic #my writing #Be My Nightmare #v x reader #reader insert #devil may cry #dmc v #vitale #psycho V #tw: mental health #tw: school shooting

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fancymuffinparty · 5 years

Text

Just Say You Feel the Way That I Feel...

Rating: T; for suggestive themes and eating cake wayyyyy too fast

Pairing: Mikasa Ackerman x Annie Leonhart, Mikannie

Summary: For Day Three of Annie Week 2k19! (Modern AU) @annieweek

Prompt based on this post.

Annie needs a fake-fiance to try wedding cake samples and Mikasa’s cute and not really doing anything sooooooo...

Word Count: 1769

A/N: My first tumblr-exclusive one-shot of 2019! :O Ahhhh! I guess this coulda worked for Day One Sweets, but it’s a modern AU too so we’ll go with that! :)

Quick shout-out to Mikannie discord peeps that I haven’t chatted with in forever but i love y’all and HERE’S THE FIC I MENTIONED MONTHS AGO!!! :’D oof

*Title inspired by this song I heard at a wedding and was like-

🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰

“Be my fiancé,” Annie declares as she saunters into the room.

“Your… what?” Mikasa freezes, her coffee cup halfway to her lips.

“Only for like an hour tops,�� Annie says. Her eyes are glued to her phone, focused on whatever email or text she’s answering.

“You know it’s me you’re talking to, right?” Mikasa queries, wondering which episode of the Twilight Zone this whole fiasco is supposed to be.

“Look, there’s this amazing baker that’s been written up in the Stohess Times,” Annie explains. “The reviews claim the cakes are out of this world. I guess he’s famous in his hometown or something. Thing is he only does wedding cakes… So we’re sampling them in like twenty minutes.”

Annie mumbles something to the effect of ‘Booked it!’ after shoving her phone in her pocket, then orders: “Get your coat. We gotta go now or we’ll be stuck in traffic.”

Mikasa can’t fathom a response to the blonde’s rambling, merely staring at her as if she’d missed some sort of punchline.

“You like cake, right?” Annie asks, her brows furrowed.

“Well yeah,” Mikasa replies, still unconvinced. “But why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re here and clearly you’re not doing anything,” Annie says, slipping on her jacket. “This was also the only appointment I could squeeze us in. They’re pretty booked.”

“Why don’t you just buy one?” Mikasa asks.

“Buy a wedding cake? For myself? What do I look like? A crazy person?” Annie scoffs, grabbing her car keys.

Mikasa doesn’t have the energy to put up any more resistance, though she desperately wants to point out that Annie’s practically a monster for sweets and therefore if the blonde were to buy an entire wedding cake for herself, she doubts anyone would be the least bit shocked.

Accepting the circumstances for what they are, Mikasa simply shrugs, grabs her coat, and follows Annie out the door. They’re about to hop inside her car when she suddenly remembers the next phase of her plan.

“Almost forgot,” Annie says, handing Mikasa a silver ring. “Might wanna slip this on.”

“Seriously? This might be too far- even for you,” Mikasa mutters, tentatively easing the ring on. After settling themselves in the car, however, she can’t help but admire the subtle gleam of it. “It’s almost an exact replica of yours,” she notes.

Annie nods, half-smiling. “It looks good on you, Ackerman.”

🍰🍰🍰🍰🍰

The trip is mostly silent. When her curiosity gets the best of her, Mikasa googles the famous baker they’re due to meet in but a few minutes. He’s a friendly-looking fellow named Nikolo from the Marley metropolis. The cakes are gorgeous and she admires the artistic quality to them. No wonder Annie had been so insistent.

Mikasa sighs and rests her head against the backrest of the passenger seat. She gets a bit carried away with her thoughts, allowing herself to imagine what it would be like if this was her reality. What if she and Annie were engaged? What if they really were going to pick out a wedding cake? What if the ring she’s wearing meant more than simply putting on a show? (For free food, of all things…)

But she quickly locks those thoughts back to the darkest corner of her mind where they belong and tries to focus on enjoying the day with her newly acquired fake fiancé.

“Okay, looks like we’re here. Let’s go, dear.” Annie’s out of the car before Mikasa can make an objection to the pet name.

They quickly walk into the bakery where they’re immediately engulfed in the sweet smell of sugar. Annie feels right at home.

“Hello! Welcome!” A tall, slim man greets the duo after they’ve entered the establishment. He introduces himself politely and shakes their hands, to which Annie offers the same in return.

“Wonderful to meet you, Nikolo,” the blonde says. “And thank you for fitting us in. We’re aware of how busy you are.” Without using so much as eye-contact as some sort of unspoken cue, she reaches for Mikasa’s hand, holding it ever-so gently and continues with, “This is my fiancé, Mikasa Ackerman. Soon to be Mrs. Leonhart.”

A blush flashes across Mikasa’s cheeks, enflaming the bridge of her nose. Yet somehow, she manages to keep up with the charade, inserting herself into the exchange.

“Thanks for having us,” she chimes in quickly. “My fiancé practically worships sweets and from what we’ve read online, you’re the go-to guy for wedding cakes.”

Nikolo accepts the compliment, albeit modestly. “I’m honored,” he says with a coy smile. “Now please. If you’ll just follow me…” He makes a civil gesture before leading them into a small room away from the show floor.

There’s a small table embellished with innumerable slices of cake, each looking like a uniquely hand-crafted work of fine art almost too pretty to eat.

Almost.

“So, there are many different styles as you can see,” Nikolo explains. “We have the chocolate delight, the raspberry white dream, the red velvet luxury, the lemon supreme, and of course, the classic buttercream vanilla. Please, feel free to taste and try them all, let me know what you think. I’ll leave you to it.” He quietly exits the room, closing the door behind them to offer his guests some privacy.

“…Wow,” Mikasa whispers in awe, still marveling at the decorative array of sweets.

“Still think my idea’s insane, Ackerman?” Annie quips.

“Most definitely,” Mikasa replies without missing a beat. “But this is going to be totally worth it.”

“Well come on then. We don’t have all day.” Annie hurries to the table and sits down, eyes locked on the slice of the white raspberry dream. Before Mikasa can even pull up a seat next to her, the blonde has already devoured half of the slice.

“Mikasa, you need to try this,” Annie manages in between chewing. She lets out a tiny moan, a sound that is practically sinful.

Mikasa rushes to sit down when she sees Annie shove another bite into her mouth.

“Hey now, slow it down there, Annie,” Mikasa warns, eyeing the blonde with a slightly judgmental look. “It’s not going anywhere.”

“Not my fault you can’t keep up,” Annie sasses back, cake still stuffed in her mouth.

“As your fiancé, I demand you-” Mikasa is unable to finish as Annie quickly shoves a piece of cake into her mouth, using the extra fork on the table.

“Mmmmph!” Mikasa grumbles incoherently at first but as soon as the burst of heavenly flavors overwhelm her senses, she’s practically fallen in love.

“How was that, darlin’?” Annie asks. Taunts, really.

“You’re cruel,” Mikasa replies, eyes rolling to the back of her head. “I need more.”

“Mmmm, that’s what I thought,” Annie drawls. “Maybe if you ask nicely.”

Mikasa huffs and reaches for a different slice of cake. Appears to the be the Lemon Supreme. Her mouth is instantly watering.

“Or I can help myself to this gorgeous specimen,” she asserts.

Annie gobbles down the rest of her own slice, feigning indifference. “Suit yourself.”

She scoops up a hefty serving of the red velvet luxury cake and devours the morsel in predatory fashion. Mikasa finds the blonde’s feistiness rather amusing.

“You oughtta savor the taste, Annie,” she suggests, chewing her next bite slowly. “You’re eating way too fast.”

Annie waves her off, cheeks stuffed to the max. “Believe me, I am thoroughly enjoying this experience.”

Mikasa heaves a sigh and shrugs, stealing a small bite of the red velvet luxury.

Oh, yes, she thinks, cherishing every beautiful second of this passionate moment.

This one’s her favorite.

“You’re making that face,” Annie says abruptly, interrupting her thoughts. “You like that one?”

Mikasa quirks a brow. “What? What face?”

“The ‘Mikasa face of approval’,” Annie replies, smirking. “No need to get all self-conscious about it. It’s cute.”

“Cute?” Mikasa’s chewing picks up, as does the frantic beat of her heart.

Annie’s still admiring her fake fiancé’s bashful expression, until she notices the small crumbs and frosting smeared at the corner of her mouth.

“You got something on your…” Annie points the mess out, to which Mikasa merely tilts her head, questioning.

“I got cake on my face or what?” Mikasa asks, setting aside her fork.

Annie nods, a smug expression adorning her face. “Mmmhmmm.”

Mikasa looks away, slightly embarrassed. Before she can grab a napkin and wipe the crumbs and frosting off, Annie reaches for her face, hand caressing her cheek tenderly.

“Here, let me help,” she says softly. And she slowly leans in.

Mikasa stalls, the anticipation looming over her as Annie eases closer and closer. The blonde gently draws her tongue over the smeared frosting, then merges their mouths together in a sweet kiss; innocent yet so deliberate.

Annie pulls away, but only slightly. “I think I got it.”

Mikasa’s breathing is hitched. “Is a… second helping possible?”

“Oh?” Annie hums. “You mean the red velvet or… do you want me to kiss you again?”

Mikasa’s just about had it with Annie’s sass, so without warning she slips her arms around her waist and pulls the blonde in closer. Their lips meet again, this time in a deeper kiss.

She can still taste the lingering presence of red velvet with every curious graze of her tongue.

“Oh, my! I am so sorry to interrupt!” Nikolo stammers as he walks into the room, wondering if he should just tiptoe out and pretend he didn’t witness their passionate makeout session. “Ummm… Just wanted to see if you two were doing all right.”

From the looks of it, it seems to be going very well.

The two pull away from each other, like shy bashful lovers. “We’re doing fine. Thank you,” Annie replies, clearing her throat.

“Everything tastes wonderful,” Mikasa adds politely.

“Perfect! Well let me know if you need anything.” Nikolo forces a smile, preparing to scurry away in humiliation.

“Actually, can we order the red velvet luxury?” Annie requests. “She really likes this one.” She shoots Mikasa a wink before interlocking their hands together.

“Of course!” Nikolo replies. “I’ll be right back with the order forms.” He excuses himself with a bow and promptly leaves the lovebirds to their own devices.

“Really, Annie?” Mikasa chuckles. “You’re really going to buy the whole cake?”

Annie’s gaze lingers to their joined hands and matching rings. Her little scheme to get her crush to try free wedding cake samples has seemingly rewarded her with the best of both worlds.

She keeps that to herself, of course.

“Why yes,” Annie replies warmly. “Only the best for my fiancé.”

#annieweek2019 #mikannie #mywriting #hahahahah canon? i don't know her :'d #wow i have so many writing projects #i'm glad i was finally able to get this one ready for annie week tho! :o #shout out to rinky <3 #you're like... my mikannie muse tbh #idk if this will show up in the tags but mehhh it is what it is :/#day 3: modern au

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rehkhana · 5 years

Text

how to untwist your mentality and have better control of your mental health

This is a guide for the people who have been in a bad place for awhile and don’t really know how to get out of it; this will be more directed at students, as school can be a lot of stress for people and can be what caused people to fall into a slump to begin with, but that doesn’t mean it can’t help if you’re not a student!

You have to remember its all about constant and consistent progress, you’re not going to jump from getting by to thriving in a day, a week, or even a month. You need to set very reasonable goals for yourself, and maybe even underestimate yourself a little at first so you don’t overwhelm yourself, it will only hurt your motivations and make you doubt any progress you’ve made so far.

Remember, everyone crawls before they walk, walks before they run, and they have to keep running before they can work their way up to the marathon. Also, by no means am I saying that doing all these steps or making all these changes in your life will make depression or other mental illnesses magically disappear, but it can make it much easier to manage and have less intense affects on your daily life.

From what I’ve learned from trying to manage myself, there are five aspects that people usually need to work on to see an overall improvement:

Hygiene/Organization

Self Image

Fitness

Diet

Social Media Usage

Now all of these may seem either daunting or pretty superfluous, but they all work together and can make a huge change in people lives.

Hygiene/Organization

First off, hygiene and organization can make a huge change in people lives. Spending 15 minutes a day and tidying up your desk area, putting away pens and pencils, sorting papers into the correct folders, putting laundry away, cleaning up dirty clothes off of your bedroom floor, cleaning up dirty dishes, putting clean dishes away, wiping off the bathroom sink, anything that cleans up in a small way can make a huge difference on how you perceive your environment. Continually passing by something and thinking “I need to do this” or “I need to clean that,” can take a huge toll on your mental health if it continues to be an issue, as tasks build up and they become much bigger monsters than they should be. I know it can be difficult motivating and getting yourself to do these things, even if you know its beneficial to you. I understand the lethargy, but sometimes you just need to get up and force yourself to do it. Here’s what I started doing to get myself back on track:

Make yourself a habit tracker: don’t put every single task you want to make into a habit on there at once, because you’ll overwhelm yourself. Put two or maybe three tasks on there, and keep them on there until you do them constantly for 21 days or 21 times at the interval of your choosing.

Once you get a task down for 14 days or intervals, add another task or habit you want on there. For those of us that have the problem of forgetting to shower or eat breakfast, this is perfect. Soon enough you’ll start building habits for the little things.

Don’t put huge tasks on your habit tracker; this is for small tasks that don’t require more than a half an hour of time at max

For larger tasks, have a small planner. It doesn’t need to be extravagant, just something to get the job done. This planner is for your and you only, and it will stay that way unless you choose to share it with others, so remember that when writing down things you need to do or events you need to attend.

If you still have issues remembering and holding yourself to your schedule, talk to someone close to you and ask them to help you on your journey, or set up reminders on your phone or computer, put sticky notes around the house or apartment, anything to remind yourself.

Self Image

Secondly, and I believe this is the largest obstacle that everything else plays into, is your self image. Hygiene and organization play a large part into self image, as do the other three topics I will talk about soon, but overall there are some small (or large depending on how frequently these things occur or how closely you tie yourself to them) that you can do to improve your self image:

Stop saying self depreciating things. An excellent guide on specifically this topic can be found here that was made by @colacharm and a few others.

Have an honest self reflection session. Do NOT just focus on your flaws but also celebrate all your positive traits. The simple act of self reflecting speaks great volumes about your character. It should be an informative session for yourself rather than a session for you to chastise yourself.

For students, start de-associating your worth with your grades. Everyone fails, everyone falls, everyone has weak moments where they have to pick themselves back up. @study-fox made a great guide on how to deal with failure here. Even if you don’t get the grade you were hoping for in the end, it does not mean you’re less of a person or a bad student.

Air out your issues to someone who you trust. Don’t just drop it on them spur of the moment, but ask them if it would be okay if you rant to them a little bit or have a serious conversation about yourself with them. This will let them know that this means a lot to you and is a serious matter. If they don’t want to or aren’t taking the issue seriously, just choose someone else to talk to or seek out other help. If you have a good relationship with one or both of your parents, they can be excellent support. High school counselors can be a good person to go and air out your emotions to if need be, and most colleges have support groups that you can go to as a good option. Even if you don’t go to school or have completed school, there usually is a support group in your area if you go looking for it. I understand for many money is an issue and professional therapy isn’t a viable option due to it, but there are still other resources that you can seek out:

Anxiety and Depression Support Groups here

Depression and Bipolar Disorder Groups here

OCD Support Groups here

Managing Mental Health in General here

Realize that criticism is not meant to insult you, but help you better yourself. This is a hard lesson I’ve learned and that I’m still learning. There will always be some people in the world that are out to get you riled up, but just realize that you don’t own them anything, not a single explanation or reaction, and just walk away or leave a situation like that. People who truly want to help you improve yourself and help you on your journey won’t try to upset you and will apologize if they do.

One thing that can contribute greatly to self esteem issues and depression is feeling like you’re not doing anything or at least anything productive. Start a hobby of continue with a hobby that involves physical things or produces something that can be seen in quantity; art, writing, coin collecting, baking, cooking, ect. Even if you hobby is something that may not be able to be put into quantity, find a way to make it visible; if you have a passion or hobby of learning a language, start making physical flashcards. Having something to remind yourself that you are doing something can always help during the rainy days.

Fitness and Exercise

Another factor that can affect your mental health is fitness and exercise. Now note that I’m not saying yoga will solve all your problems or that you should go out and become a gym junkie (although do so if you would like), exercise and physical exertion in general is an excellent way to relieve stress and pent up tension. While I don’t have the studies on hand, there have been studies linking cardio exercise to improved mood for up to 8 hours after about a 15-20 minute cardio session. Doing some exercise as simple as stretching out your muscles can make a big impact on how you physically feel and can relieve aches that have bugging you for weeks or months if you just stretch it out. Personally, just doing about 15 minutes of stretches a day has made a huge impact on how I physically feel and I’ve been having less issues with my shoulders and upper back because of it. For those of you that want to add a bit of physical exertion to your day but just can build up the motivation to do so, find it too tedious to do so, or just don’t have the time for a serious workout, here are some tips that may help:

If you have a Wii, pull it out and hook it up and play some Just Dance! It’s pretty fun if you like the songs you pick out on there and dancing to about 2-3 songs depending on how long they are will get in about 10-15 minutes of cardio, which is enough time to get in that mood benefit.

If you don’t have a Wii or don’t have Just Dance, you can pull up the videos of them on Youtube or just pull up some videos of choreography to any song you want and follow along in the motions. The point here isn’t to become a professional dancer or even to become good at dancing, its to have some fun while getting in some cardio.

If you’re not a fan of dancing, pull up some of those old 80s exercise videos, some of them can be fairly intense, but they can still make exercising pretty entertaining.

If you’re more for just stretching out, put on some calming songs or sounds and just start stretching out. It doesn’t have to be an extremely long session or anything, it can be as short as 5 minutes, just something to releases some of the stress built up in your muscles.

In general, you don’t need to go to the gym for hours each day to get benefits from exercise, just 15 minutes at home doing some stretching or something to exert yourself can have so many benefits alone.

You don’t have to sit there and just run on a treadmill or bike for 15 minutes while staring at a wall. You can pull out a phone, tablet, laptop, or even flashcards and work a bit on studying, responding to emails, working on a paper, anything you want so you get two things done at the same time.

Diet and Nutrition

Now another important factor is diet. The saying “you are what you eat” has quite a bit of truth to it. If you have only an Iced coffee for breakfast, skip lunch, and eat a huge dinner everyday, your body isn’t going to have enough constant energy to keep you going all day and you will hit a wall. Also, what you eat makes makes an impact. Are you eating stuff that fulfills all your daily nutrient needs? Are you eating enough calories? Are you dispersing your food and energy intake evenly throughout the day or do you eat the majority of your daily food intake at one particular time or meal? You need to take note of your diet and see how all these play out in your daily life. My recommendation or this is writing down every single thing you eat every day for 3-7 days, depending on whether you diet is extremely varied or if you eating something fairly similar every day. Now, do not track calorie count, nutrient percentages, or ingredients in any of the foods until after you are done writing everything down; if you calculate all this during your tracking period, you will unconsciously or consciously change your diet to accommodate for nutrients you discover you are lacking or over-indulging on. After this calculating all this, figure out what long-term and permanent diet changes you are able and willing to do. I will make this comment also for my vegan and vegetarian friends out there, to make sure you buy supplements or vitamin fortified foods for nutrients majorly or only found in animal products, like vitamin B12, which is important in maintaining mental health. Now, here are some quick tips that worked for me. As a disclaimer, I am not saying this will work for you or is viable for you, but I’m sharing my own experience on what worked.

Cut down on a lot of processed sugars. I don’t eat a whole ton of really sugary foods. I still eat things with sugar mind you, I still put a teaspoon of sugar in my morning coffee and eat chocolate every once in a while and what not, but I've cut almost completely cut out a lot of things like gummy bears, sour patch kids, soda, ect. Honestly a lot of my go to snacks have become Triscuits, dried fruits, yogurts, and granola and fruit bars.

If you drink coffee in the morning, eat something before you drink coffee. Eating something in the morning makes a big difference in how you feel throughout the day, and caffeine suppresses your appetite, so drinking coffee before you eat anything will discourage you from eating or discourage you from eating enough. If you must drink coffee before you eat anything, cut down on the amount you drink before you eat, then drink the rest after you eat.

Drink enough liquids!! Water is a necessity but honestly just drinking enough healthy liquids in general is key. I like to drink one glass of cranberry juice a day a long with one glass of milk in addition to all the water I drink. It’s crazy how just drinking one extra glass or day or just drinking enough can affect your system in amazing ways. I’d recommend the app Plant Nanny to remind yourself to drink enough water, its for both apple and android.

Now, this is not something I’ve had experience with it so I’m not going to go in depth about it so I don’t mess up the facts or give anyone the wrong idea of how to deal with it. If you have an eating disorder of any kind, or think you may have one, or something seems off, please go here. I want every single one of you who read this post to be healthy, mentally, physically, and emotionally.

Do not fall for fad diets! Everyone needs carbs, everyone needs fats, everyone needs enough food! Do not get sucked into thinking that ‘cleanses’ or ‘purges’ are good for you! The best way you can become healthier through diet is by creating a sustainable diet that covers all your needs, not by following one of these diets for a month or two and getting temporary changes or results. These do a lot more harm in both the long and short run than people realize.

Social Media

Now this one also contributes to of the above. Social media is a wonderful invention, it gives everyone a voice, lets everyone be connected, and introduces people to new ideas and things that they may have never known about. But given all this, its a tool that can very easily manipulate your mindset into thinking that you’re not good enough or not doing enough. I will never say to cut off social media, as its become pretty heavily integrated into our culture now, but here are some thing I would recommend:

Do not use social media at all for 1-7 days. See how much more free time you have, how it makes a difference, and how you feel while not using it. Use this time to focus on a hobby, focus on yourself, or accomplish some daily tasks you want or need to tackle.

When you get back onto social media, purge your subscriptions and follows. Don’t follow or subscribe to anyone you do not enjoy seeing updates from or do not anticipate seeing updates from. You want all your posts or videos in your feed to be pertinent to you, so you spend less time searching or mindlessly scrolling in content.

Do not be afraid to clean house with your social media. If you don’t really use one form of social media and only check it just to say you did, then just get rid of it. Recently I made an entirely new tumblr account because my other one was about 4 years old and it wasn’t giving me any positivity or joy anymore and I realized was just something I was clinging to because it was habit and a huge distraction from things I needed to do. I only followed a few dozen blogs on this tumblr to prevent me from being able to mindlessly scroll for literal hours and prevent myself from being productive. Sometimes you just need to push the restart button on some things to have good impacts on your life.

Conclusions

Overall, I’d say take this guide with a grain of salt. All this advice comes from my own experiences and my own progress with my mental health. I still have bad days and bad periods, but overall they are less frequent and less intense since I started making changes like these. My experiences won’t be the same as yours, but I do hope everyone that reads this can find relief in their life and make some positive progress in managing their mental health. Here is some more resources that I’ve used in better knowing, understanding, and managing my mental and physical health:

To be able to more easily identify emotions and emotional triggers, I use the Youper App, which is available on apple and android.

One category I didn’t touch on was sleep, which is also absolutely crucial. I personally suffer from quite a few sleep issues, insomnia and sleep paralysis being the most prominent, and I use the Runtastic Sleep Better app which functions as a sleep tracker and allows me to track disturbances in my sleep, as well as the quality of sleep I get each night. Its available on both apple and android.

Keeping a dream journal can allow you to more easily recognize what is a dream and what is not while you’re sleeping, which is immensely helpful for us who struggle with nightmares.

I listen to ASMR a lot and I know its not everyone’s thing but if you haven’t listened to it I’d say try it and go into the experience with an open mind. I’d personally recommend WhispersRed ASMR and Gentle Whispering ASMR, they both have a wide range of videos that you can watch and see what works for you personally.

Think of one thing a day that you appreciate or enjoy and write that thing down. Keep it in a journal or in a jar, just somewhere those writings will be safe, where you can go back and look at them on those days that are much worse than others.

Lastly, I will say trying to manage your own mental health is hard! Please reach out to someone or a group to help you in your journey. If you can afford a professional therapist then you’re golden, but I know some cannot so even just having someone there to give you support can immensely help. I hope this guide can be helpful to some!

#mental health #positive mental attitude #studyblr #studyspo #bujo #bullet journal #mental disorder #managing mental illness #life inspiration

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takaraphoenix · 6 years

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I have a mighty need for new Jalec fics but I can't find any hitting all the right buttons :( hurt/comfort, mutual pining, our favorite pair of parabatai taking care of their bruised, bloody selves... (Jace cleaning up Alec's fingers after he made himself bleed from firing too many arrows, like in 2x05)... bed sharing... shower sharing... (or like, having to clean themselves in a river or something like that...) I want those things and I can't find them... JFA (sounds like JFK. Eh.)

(You’re lucky I have this important exam coming up and am literally doing anything to procrastinate the studying I have to do…)

Jace knew Alec wasn‘t doing well with the pressure. Well, with this particular kind of pressure at least.

Imogen Herondale was due for a visit to the New York Institute, to personally congratulate them to their victory over the Circle.

Alec was, to put it bluntly, scared shitless. Not that he showed it. But Jace could feel it through the bond. He could feel how much Alec was wrecking himself about this.

Jace knew why.

Somehow the Clave, in their unfathomable wisdom, had decided to change heads for their Institute a lot in the past half year. Robert and Maryse, Lydia, Aldertree, Imogen, Jace, Alec. Honestly, part of Jace marveled at the fact that the Institute hadn’t come apart by the seams with how unstable their leadership had been.

And while they had won under Alec’s leadership, Jace knew that if not for Robert putting pressure on them, they would have switched leaders again already during the war. So a part of Alec was nervous that a personal visit from the Inquisitor would mean another change in leadership. After all, the way Alec had become leader had been a bit… Grandma hadn’t been happy about it, so to speak. She had picked Jace to be the leader and he had stepped down the second he got the job to instead appoint someone she explicitely had not wanted as head.

(Part of Jace still wondered why she hadn’t just stepped in and undone the decision. Part of that part of Jace hoped it was due to a minimum of trust he might have already earned from his grandmother.)

Alec had been harrassing everyone into cleaning every last inch of the Institute, having everything be top notch. Everything needed to be perfect, not a weapon out of place.

But there was more.

And Jace knew it.

It was actually less about the Inquisitor coming over, it was more about Imogen Herondale coming over.

Jace bit his lips to hide the tiny grin.

Alec was nervous about Jace’s grandma. And that was partially cute. That part being where Alec wanted to earn her approval and respect, because she was Jace’s only biological family left alive.

The other part made the tiny grin on Jace’s lips die. Because Alec had the very, very reasonable fear that she might find out that Jace and Alec were more than just parabatai. That they were lovers. That they were breaking the Law.

It was still incredibly fresh. Well, them being together. Them being in love with each other…?

Jace hadn’t noticed at first. He had absolutely no concept of love. Love meant pain and fear to him, but the Lightwoods were so different and so confusing. He had nothing to go with what he was feeling for Robert, Maryse, Isabelle, Alec and Max. He could only label the feelings according to what he was told they ought to be. It became increasingly confusing when, as a young teenager, he noticed that his feelings for Alec wildly differed from his feelings for Isabelle.

So he had suggested for them to become parabatai. Because surely that might explain it? That the two of them were closer than brothers, it was a sign that they should become parabatai.

And there was not a doubt in Jace’s mind that this was what it had to be. After all, Alec looked at him the very same way, with the same level of adoration and importance that Jace assigned to Alec.

Magnus Bane had made Jace realize that maybe he had misplaced and mislabeled his feelings, because suddenly things shifted. Priorities shifted. Gazes shifted. And for the first time, Jace saw Alec look at someone else with the gazes that were his. And when the two got together, two things happened.

Jace realized that the feelings he had deemed to be special and overwhelmingly intense and possessive due to them being parabatai… well, those feelings were actually romantic love.

The other thing that happened was that Jace truly understood the pain of love, because seeing Alec happy with someone else broke his heart into a million pieces.

That they had a war going on and his family tree seemed to be changing by the minute was not helping his emotional turmoil any either.

Clary had been a wonderful distraction, at first. But it had also made everything worse, because for the first time, Jace had felt like he was losing Alec.

Little did he know that all of that had only happened because Alec was feeling the very same. Alec had hated seeing Jace look at Clary with the looks that should be reserved to Alec. Alec had hated feeling like losing Jace to Clary.

Months and a war passed and their relationship and bond took a hiccuping journey to a better place. Avoiding the main problem had not exactly helped in healing their bond though.

It all came crashing down on them hard when Jace had died and the bond had been fully severed.

It had broken something very delicate in both of them, even more so than the bond. For the very first time, losing the other had become something tangible. They could assign attributes to it now. The bitter, metallic taste, the smell of misery and burned flesh, the tight grip on their hearts, the emptiness in their chests.

They could lose each other.

And neither of them was even remotely okay with that. And as Alec, Magnus and Isabelle came stumbling toward him and Clary at the lake, something happened within the both of them. The bond snapped back into place, but somehow too tight, pulling them closer and closer and without even realizing, without being able to tell who moved first, they were in each other’s arms and doing the one thing both of them had longed for for so long - they kissed.

Retrospectively speaking, they could be lucky that only people they trusted had been present, but neither of them had half a mind to think about consequences in that moment, because the person they loved more than anything else on this planet, their other half, was standing right there, alive, breathing and within reach.

So yes, Jace’s and Alec’s relationship had shifted significantly and into dangerous territory. But neither regretted it. They loved it, every stolen second, every lingering glance, every shared kiss, brief hug. It was easily chalked up to them being parabatai that they were so physically affectionate with each other.

But Imogen Herondale was not just Jace’s grandmother, she was also the Inquisitor. She was going to spend a lot of time with Jace and with Alec, in both of her functions, and if she deemed their physical affections too close for comfort, if she saw something no one was supposed to see, then the two of them could very well lose far more than just Alec’s positon as head of the Institute.

They could lose each other.

And that? That was what truly scared Alec. Scared Alec to the bone and made him harrass everyone into being on their best behavior, made him lose sleep and instead train at odd hours, train to the point of collapsing.

“Alec. Alec, stop it.”

Jace glared as he caught his parabatai’s arm. Alec halted, muscles locking. His knuckles were bruised and bloodied where he had been hitting the punching back for the past two hours now. Jace’s glare darkened and Alec averted his eyes. Alec knew exactly what he was doing and he knew exactly that his lover was not approving of this self-destructive streak.

Hah. Talk about irony.

“Normally, I’m the self-destructive one in this relationship and you’re the reasonable one”, stated Jace softly, jockingly.

Jace tilted his head up to lock eyes with Alec and just as the archer was about to say something, his words were caught in his throat. Alec stared wide-eyed into the liquid gold of Jace’s eyes. A small smirk played on Jace’s lips as he activated an iratze rune for Alec. Yes, Jace had been training to focus his angelic powers. Because he needed to be able to use them beyond life-or-death situations. And he was getting pretty good at it.

“You look like an angel when you glow like that”, whispered Alec in awe.

Jace glared, trying to mask the blush on his cheeks. It didn’t work. Alec stared at him longingly. Sighing, Jace went to get a towel and wet it some so he could gently remove the crusted blood from Alec‘s hands.

“You’re an archer. You need those. Try not destroying them”, grunted Jace pointedly. “Also, I’m quite fond of them myself.”

He leered up at Alec playfully, this time around managing to make Alec blush. It was good that it was ass o’clock in the morning and they were literally the only people awake at the Institute.

Without another word did the two of them make their way to Jace’s bedroom. Even as he opened the door, Jace turned around to face his parabatai and before the door was fully closed - risky, they knew, but there were no cameras here and no one was awake - they were kissing. They stumbled toward the bed together and collapsed on it once the back of Jace’s knees hit the bed. He laughed softly as Alec landed on top of him.

“I love you”, stated Jace evenly, grasping Alec’s face. “And everything will be alright. Even if she notices, even if she puts us both on trial, even if they derune us, I will always be at your side.”

“I love you”, whispered Alec back. “Always.”

Jace smiled pleased. The two lazily adjusted to get comfortable on the bed while kissing, curling together around each other. By the time they fell asleep, Jace was pressed up against Alec’s chest, his parabatai’s arms wrapped tightly around him, holding him close. They had perfected the art of sharing a bed and then being ready and leaving the room casually together, as though one had woken the other up to discuss business.

Whatever would happen tomorrow, they knew they had each other.

#anonymous #jalec #jace wayland #alec lightwood #shadowhunters #phoe's tumblr drabbles #jace herondale #OTP: can't live without him

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survivorreelsmagicwithin · 4 years

Text

Episode 1B - “I'm praying to Yoncé I survive and don't get first boot.”-Jess

no words.

LITERALLY

NO WORDS.

Two points. TWO FUCKING POINTS.

I'm praying to Yoncé I survive and don't get first foot. That ain't a cute look xoxox

i'm already forgetting to search for the idols, i'm already getting paranoid about if i need to start making alliances instead of just enjoying the really cute convos i'm having with ruthie lily and kevin (max is kinda dry and annoying but... we'll try to make it work ig).... and i'm already hating every challenge we do especially this one although i actually really liked the challenge it was so creative and fun, i just hated that i have bad luck and am stupid with the deduction things, HENCE why i havent looked for the idol yet. LOL. so.... tl;dr - things are going perfectly! this hufflepuffle is workin exactly as he should!

I just wanna say we really are the hufflepuffs. 114 moves in like 5 hours, but we did it. Really proud of Ruthie, Landen, Kevin, Max, and I! Sending positive vibes to slytherin. Hope they are okay in this madness.

Yo my tribe? Kinda dope. I think that everyone worked really well together today! I think Joanna kinda took the lead and some of her ideas were... a choice. But! It got us first place! I think that this tribe has a good shot of getting to swap unscathed.

With Slytherin going to tribal, I really hope that someone I don’t know goes, but at the same time I’d be okay with Jess going? I feel like she’s such a sleeper threat in most games I’m in with her and I really just don’t want to compete with that this time around.

I kind of snapped and got myself an idol good until final 6 teehee.

I knew that the Snape's letter or writing or whatever that freak was up to was SOMETHING. Did I get lucky... hell fucking yeah.

A crackhead like me SHOULD NOT have all this POWER.

I also gave Jacob literally the worst clue ever because we are sharing clues ladies xoxoxo

The clue was:

"Snape is taken aback. “That wouldn’t be any business of yours now would it? I wouldn’t want to find out you are spreading false information. I trust you won’t have any issue with that”. Congrats! You’ve discovered Snape Storyline 2! That’s all for the moment, and will end your search for this round."

BOTH ARE HALF TRUE. Just in case he doesn't put 2 and 2 together and now I went from place to place on purpose. He's gonna think now I gave him something of value and I know he's gonna think "No way someone go an idol on day fucking 3".

youtube

CONFESSIONAL 1.1 — Walking into the Great Hall, I saw a few familiar faces... for not good reasons!

First Jacob, who I know from tengaged. He and I were in a similar friend group for a short period before he left it, but we had a rocky relationship. We flirted a bit (blame 16-year-old Nicholas), but that is in the past.

Secondly, Jess... who I just directly sent home in Eve’s The Challenge: Fresh Meat. She did not have great words to say to me (such as I’m condescending), so I was very wary and, honestly, unhappy with her being here.

But, as Kylie Minogue says, it’s better the devil you know.

Flash forward to the Sorting Ceremony, and I’m so happy to be.. Slytherin? I told Mister Vintage (Sammy) and Mister Heinen (Caeleb) that I’m either a Ravenclaw or Hufflepuff, but I suppose I’ve been lying to myself.

Then, I see my tribe: both Jess and Jacob are present. This is a curse wrapped in a blessing wrapped in an enigma. And, I love it.

I hate, hate, hate conflict and bad vibes, so I directly spoke to both. Jacob did not easily recognize me, but remembered me fondly; so, a successful reacquaintance. Jess, on the other hand, was definitely more apprehensive (as was I), but I made one thing clear: the past is the past, and I am declaring my loyalty.

I have been hurt in previous games by shoving the past aside while the other is still grudgingly aiming for revenge, but I feel Jess is different. She apologized to me about her words, which did hurt, and I apologized to her. What I said was honest, so I’m glad to see a fateful blossoming.

The first reward challenge is revealed, and honestly, I’m really bad at participating in pre-merge competitions, because I do not mind tribal. However, I do want to, since we are such a small tribe, focus on maintaining our numbers in case of a swap. We came in second this reward, and honestly, I’m glad to have eaten cupcakes (although I hate cherry). The fact we all chose a dessert and were privately messaged makes me assume someone received an advantage, but who knows...

What I DO know is that I had two separate relationships, so I wanted to lock a trio down (Me, Jess, Jacob), but I obviously did not want to gamebot this early and make the chat day one. So, naturally, i waited until after immunity.

Speaking of immunity... I took charge, because I like it, but also, I wanted to be able to take blame if we lost. I hate the whole “let’s vote someone out cuz they cost us a virtual challenge” this early in the game, it’s a cheap way to vote. I want to vote on loyalty and activity instead. That’s why I am probably going to target Jessie or Vi, but I‘m unsure as to which will be my vote. On one hand, Vi is much less social, but she also contributed a lot to the challenge. I do not want to judge a book by it’s cover, so I will reach out to her and assess her vibe.

I like going to tribal first, because my philosophy is that it’s better to test loyalties now, rather than guess loyalties later.

Regarding other players, Jules and Juls just played in a mini with me and sheeped the majority alliance to screw me over, so I’m not feeling them right now. Bitterness doesn’t exist in my mind: play well and I respect it; sheep and be stupid, and I will gladly dish out the karma.

I’m satisfied with the happenings of this game so far, and I hope to make it further!! This is one of my first real orgs so, I’m em definitely excited. x. nick

Yay we won immunity. Raffy do be carrying our tribe though!

WELL WELL WELL!!!!!!! as far as my relationships go which is where i left off last round, really nothing much has changed about how i feel about or view my tribemates, but in exciting news... we won immunity!! i am not going to be first boot that is so nice, and im hoping that we can keep winning immunity until a swap so I can feel more secure. I think I could stand a shot if we lost on this tribe but i think if so the vote would split 3-2 i dont think i can get a unanimous vote on anyone unless its myself which is NOT WHAT WERE TRYNA DO HERE !! if anything i feel like i have the best chance to wiggle myself in with the girls (lily and ruthie) Max would probably be my ideal first vote if we ever lose an immunity because I know landen can be useful in challenges, but he YET AGAIN addressed me with a name that does not sit well with me he called me a "challengewhore" yet another reference to TS 2020, so this is not a good sign. Ideally I could get landen out and still be set but i know he has a relationship with juls who i also have a relationship with and wish to continue to have in this game, and us going against each other could make that more stressful than it needs to be because i know landen avenged beck for voting juls out maybe juls would do the same for him? Much to think about, but thankfully i dont have to think about it all that hard because yet again we ARE SAFE !!! woo, anyways thats pretty much it hopefully we can keep winning :D

Ahhhh safety feels so nice, I’m glad that I’m not in danger of being the first boot. Also I love the fact that ravenclaw won the first challenge with so little moves HAHA!

I want to go far in this thing with lily and with kevin, my goal right now is to get to merge and owen be alive so I can work with him!

I am very happy to have won this immunity challenge. We barely won, but I managed to pull my tribe to a victory. Emphasis on the "I" part. I am very frustrated with my tribe's lack of challenge activeness and ability. If the time did not work for them, then I do not know why they even suggested doing it at 2 PM. This challenge would have gone faster if I had done everything myself. In the end, though, I hope this helps in me staying in the game because I am a necessity if they want to ever win a challenge in first place. I highly doubt that they could do it without me.

So I’m currently writing this with one hand because my cat decided to lie on my other one anyways Nobody is really talking about the vote which means it’s probably me going but I’ll see what I can do to change that

Here's a breakdown of my first few experiences since I am writing this a few hours before the first tribal council.

FIRST I was cast in this game along with a BUNCH of people that are icons across different formats of Tumblr Survivor - so that's intimidating. Mostly because my play style is kinda vanilla in comparison. I gotta find a way to stand out or I'm going to be thrown out fast.

SECOND There's a twist that will probably have some major effect at some later point in the game where everyone is added to the Great Hall. I think that it's for convenience of posting things like results and challenges so it only has to be sent to one chat... but also so that we can feel THEMATIC which is a lot of fun.

The game started in the Great Hall and we got sorted into our houses and the implication was that it's random but.. I don't think it's entirely true if I can read into what the hosts said to me once I was sorted into Gryffindor (something about running out of room in Hufflepuff) - because I definitely didn't say Gryffindor in my application.

THIRD My tribe has the following people: Joshua, Juls, Raffy, Autumn, and myself.

I do not know how many of theme said Gryffindor when they applied but also did not want to bring it up to them as I am masquerading as a brave idiot. :D

Anyway, I started conversations with all of them and they all seem very sweet!!

I've played in a game before with Raffy where he was super snakey but also a great ally until he tried to snake me. So there's that... he's also an "over the top" type of person so he takes charge a lot of the time and voices his opinions about everything. I hope we can create some sort of working relationship in the game, but I think that he will tell me the truth if he does align against me.

Autumn is super chill and super strategic-minded. She puts lots of thought into all of her decisions and makes calls that benefit her getting to the end while trying to align with the right people. If I can't get to the FTC of this game... TBH I want to make sure she gets there. I played with her in one game and we both were tossed out one after another when the game turned on our "side". I don't think that relationship will factor into this game as it was forever ago and we both kinda play "new" every time we start a game but I'm hoping she will want to try and play with me just because I've seen how great she is at the game.

Juls is a very fun person who seems to always be having a great time! I found out she lives in Texas too and that she was excited to get to know me because we are from the same state. I was like.. do I know you? Because when she messaged me the way she did implied that she knew who I was and I was thinking OH NO what have people said.

Joshua seems really sweet. He hasn't added incredibly much to conversations so far with him but he has contributed some fun things. I love that he tries to be entertaining, but as I see it so far he's the first person I'd be willing to vote out if it came to our tribe going to council... though of course, having said that I bet they've all declared me their first choice.

FOURTH The reward challenge was the Letter plus Number challenge so as predicted...

I did terribly and earned 0 points for our tribe and was SO happy it was not for immunity.

The immunity challenge was a Choose Your Own Adventure Puzzle.

We got a slow start in that I feel like everyone was afraid to make a move because that would put a target on whoever "failed for the team". Then me and Raffy kind of got things rolling with him taking the main leader role and me taking on a secondary role either agreeing with his suggestions or contributing a suggestion for what we should do.

There was a misunderstanding with the competition and we ended up making a whole bunch of extra moves because it was unclear to us that the letters we found at a later part of the challenge were able to be changed into numbers at a lockbox so we did a bunch of extra stuff... and I was resigned to the fact we were going to the first tribal when we go surprised that Slytherin... DID WORSE!!! O_O

Anyway... I still have no alliances or confirmed "working game" relationships and I really don't feel like starting those conversations at the moment so if I am out of the ones established or on the bottom of one that will add me to "pick me up" for later votes then I blame myself for not trying hard enough in that category.

FIFTH I definitely didn't just now search for the idol and waste two days that I could have searched other times. Nope! Not me!! :)

Anyway I went on a trip to Hagrid's Hut because I love me some Hagrid and I figured he'd let me in since I"m a Gryffindor and he loves us the best (you know, like a reverse Snape)... I dug through all of his junk and found his umbrella. Apparently I liked that it was pink and then left his hut.

To be honest, I probably should have taken his dragon's egg and turned him in... maybe could have gotten him fired.

Someone finally got me to come out of retirement- can you believe it

It's been cute so far and I have no complaints, probably cause the hosts wisely put me, Owen, and Dan in separate corners lmao. Yooo if we all make it to merge?? Hell hath no fury. But we will cross that bridge when we get there! And for now I enjoy the calm before the storm. I deadass forgot how to be an org so I need all the time I can get to socialize and reacclimate. Me checking Skype more than once a year? Don't remember ever doing that. I love Raffy, it's always good to see Chips, I think I like Juls, and I'm not sure how I feel about Joshua but it's fine. I like Gryffindor cause we have no beef and I hope it stays that way.

ok so my tribe lost :( big sad. but im def ok bc jess is soooo close to me and we made a threesome with nick so. i think jessie is an easy first boot bc shes not around as much as vi. but really its our decision at the end of the day!

here’s the hot goss.. i’m a little upset i didn’t get anyone i Know on my house/tribe but also grateful HSBSNSNN all i know is that so far i’ve been doing pretty solid in securing relationships with those on my team (at least.. i hope so :flushed:) and i’m hoping they all like me hehe. kinda praying to just mist my way to merge where i can be united with people who like me enough to keep me around still.. >:D

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beautifulletdownfics · 7 years

Text

‘Someday, Someday’ :: Tumblr Edition, #6

To be given the full attention of a teenager is both a gift and a privilege.

But the ability to hold and maintain the full attention of a teenager was a skill I was having trouble mastering.

Whoever decided it was a good idea to have an ensemble rehearsal on Friday afternoons obviously hadn’t spent much time in the real world, with real teenagers. And they certainly hadn’t tried to run a productive rehearsal under such conditions.

“Can we finish early today?” Jo, a sixth-form trumpeter asked as soon as she walked into the room at four o’clock.

“Um, we’ll see how far we get, I guess,” I answered vaguely, shuffling through the score we were working on.

After the customary fifteen minutes of set up and gossip amongst cries of split reeds and missing drum sticks, the seventeen students I had this afternoon finally settled into their spots. The comforting thing was that these were players who knew their instruments well, and I knew when they put their heads down and worked hard they were bloody good. Some weeks though, they really made me work for the twenty-five pound an hour I was getting paid.

“Circle of fourths,” I instructed quickly, “Come on guys,” I pleaded, tired from a restless night and then full day of my own uni classes.

Begrudgingly, they worked their way through the warm ups, adjusting their instruments where they needed to and eventually filling out a full, satisfying sound that I was happy with. After half an hour we were well and truly into the grove of working together and they were taking my instruction well, they really weren’t a bad group of kids—they just struggled to focus at five o’clock on a Friday afternoon. Anyone would.

“If I give you a three minute water break do you promise to be back in no less than ten?” I asked after a run through that sounded near perfect.

“Cross our hearts,” A percussionist stood up and literally crossed his index finger over his heart.

I laughed, “Okay then, ten minute break,” I stressed. “And maybe we’ll get out before six.”

There was movement across the room around me, but I trained my eyes down on the score before me, trying to figure out ways to get the result I needed from the musicians I had. They were good players, they just weren’t particularly good at focussing until they absolutely had to. And the problem with teenagers is they wanted to be the best, but they also had a tendency to be lazy. They needed to be pushed into practicing, and pushed into seeing the worth of it as well.

I let out a deep sigh, deciding maybe it was unreasonable to expect more from them today. I lowered myself onto a plastic, classroom chair behind me and pulled my phone out of my pocket. If we did a few more run throughs and I highlighted all the places they needed to work on, maybe by next week there would be progress.

Or maybe not. But by the time they were all seated in front of me I could taste the weekend as well, and I didn’t have the heart to hold them hostage any longer. With a few instructions to keep practicing and a stern word about how waiting for something to become easy breeds laziness and complacency, I finished the rehearsal with a fond, ‘Get lost, band geeks.’

By the time I left the school grounds however, it was starting to get darker, and I pulled the lapels of my jacket further around my body, readjusting my heavy backpack.

The most annoying thing about working the schools that I did was that they were both private ones in North London. We lived on the other side of the park, and because the tube system was flawed in the way it was virtually impossible to go from west to east across the city, I had a nearly eighty minute commute home, even though it probably would have been no less that twenty minutes if there was a direct line.

When I finally did get home, only Max was there.

“Hello,” I greeted breathlessly, pulling out the kitchen chair next to him and lowering my bag onto it, “Been home long?”

Max pulled his eyes away from his laptop screen, “Maybe fifteen, twenty minutes? Have you eaten?”

“I was just going to do eggs on toast, will I make you some too?”

He shook his head, “Rodg and I are going to the pub. Did you want to—

“—No, thanks,” I shook my head quickly, swallowing thickly when I knew I’d failed to be subtle.

I hadn’t left the house for anything other than going to class or a teaching job in weeks. I still couldn't shake the feel of a strangers’ hands all over me. I needed the security of being home; of knowing I could control who was in my space and who I engaged with.

Max didn’t push it, he’d been the one Harry called in the alley-way of the venue.

Max was the one who got a cab home with me when I couldn’t bear the thought of catching a packed train home. He sat outside the bathroom while I had a shower because it was the only way I could trust no one would come in. Much later that night, Max sat up on my bed, his back against the headboard as he silently waited for me to fall asleep. And he was there to wake me up from the dreams I had where I was back at the start of the gig, watching the music yet knowing what was coming later on and having no way to stop it.

Harry wasn’t there in the dreams.

Neither were Rodger or Max half the time. It was just me, a room full of anonymous people and a chillingly recognisable voice.

I’m saving you from another night as a wallflower, sweetheart.

I jumped when Max’s chair scraped against the tiles, the front door slammed half a second later and I cringed again.

“It’s about to start pissing down,” Rodger yelled down the hall, “Ants are going mental all over the steps.”

“Right, well let’s get going straight away then,” I watched Max tap the back pocket of his jeans to check for his wallet, he pushed the home button on his phone to check the time, “We’ll be early but it’s not like us to not be able to kill time at the pub, hey?”

Rodger had an easy smile on his face and he was nodding at Max’s words as he strolled into the kitchen, “Too right you are, Maximillion. Beers. Killing time equals more beers. Hey, Nina,” He bumped my shoulder with his elbow as he distributed his work gear all over the rest of the kitchen table, “You staying in tonight?”

I’m not sure why he asked, but I graced him with a response nonetheless, “Trying to get ahead with my course work.”

“Ha,” Rodger laughed cheerily, “At this rate you must be almost graduated then!”

“Laugh it up, Rodger,” I smiled, “If you come home so drunk you can’t work the front door I’m not coming down to open it for you.”

“Good thing he’s got me then! Right, mate?” Max interjected, puffing out his chest comically and pointing to himself.

Rodger rolled his eyes, “I’m fucking doomed.”

“What!” Max yelped, pulling his umbrella from out of the rack in the corner of the room, “I can work a bloody door.”

“Max, mate,” Rodger slapped a hand over his friend’s shoulder, “You’re a giggly drunk, you’d stand on the front step having a right old laugh about how this tall piece of wood was stopping you from going inside.”

I watched on as Max tried to rebut Rodger’s comment but couldn't because we all knew it was true.

“Whatever,” He finally grumbled, “I’m leaving, you twat.”

******

If you rise early enough, it’s possible to get almost the entire way across central London before the proverbial hum of a still morning lifts. You can scurry through the Tube and dodge the early foot traffic, getting yourself anywhere you want to be in less than twenty minutes. It was a whole city of peaceful moments at that time of the day, apart from the two or three faces who were frantically trying to get themselves home after not managing to arrive there the night before. For the most part though, at that time, I existed before everybody else.

Saturday was my favourite day of the week for this very reason; everyone else slept late and I could get to my weekend job in a calm and collected manner.

Saturdays were also my favourite because of all my teaching gigs, I found this one most rewarding. Initially, it was a hard environment to walk into as it was nothing like what my experience of Primary School had been. Devonshire House Preparatory School in North Hampstead was a far cry from Blackpool State School, and I’d been bold enough to assume the worst about the sorts of people that would associate with one of London’s best prep schools.

I was wrong.

Sure, the place smelt like old money and heritage, but kids were kids at the end of the day, regardless of how much money their parents earned. And kids who played instruments were ones I could relate to.

I felt like I had something worthwhile to offer them for the two hours on Saturday mornings I taught five to eleven year-olds to read a completely different language to the one they used in their classroom during the week. I taught them how shapes on a stave could direct a sound coming out of an instrument they controlled.

When I walked out of the gates this Saturday I had a text from Max instructing me to call him once I was finished.

“Max, I didn’t hear you come home last night.”

“Is that an accusation, or an appreciative comment on the fact I didn’t trip over the hallway rug and wake you up this time?” He replied quickly.

“Always appreciative, Max,” I laughed.

I could hear the smile in his next words, “Great! Then you’ll appreciate spending a fun night eating and hanging out with me.”

“I’m sure I will appreciate that, Max. I’m on the way home now, do you want me to pick anything up?”

“So you’re agreeing then?” He let the last word drag out and I caught onto an ulterior motive, or a layer to our conversation that I was missing.

I stopped in my tracks, half way to the Tube station, “Max.”

“Nina, you haven’t done anything social and out of the house in weeks and—

—Oh, what so going to work and uni and the supermarket aren’t out of the house?” I butted in over the top of him.

“I’m not dignifying that with a response,” Max said firmly, “Anyway, no, you can’t bring anything home because I’m not there … We’re spending the afternoon at Harry’s, he just got a new BBQ and is breaking it in.”

I stopped my walking to wait at a set of pedestrian lights, “Harry …” I let the name linger from my lips, assuming who Max was talking about but not wanting to refer to Max’s friend by his full name. The idea of that felt strange.

Max laughed, “Harry Styles?”

“No,” I backtracked, “I knew who you meant—

“—I’m standing in the guy’s kitchen, what other Harry do we know?”

I let out a long sigh, “Max.”

“I’m not taking ‘no’ for an answer, Nina. I will physically come and remove you from our house if you refuse.”

"I'll come," I said quietly, immediately regretting it.

"Oh," I could tell Max was stumbling over what his next arguing point was going to be, but now that he didn't need to there was a moment of pause, "Great, Nina. I'll um, I'll text you the address. It's not too tricky to get to. Call me when you're out the front though and I'll come let you in?"

"Sure," I agreed, "What should I bring?"

Max's next words we're repeated slowly and away from his phone, as if he was talking into the room around him, "What should Nina bring?" There was a beat of silence, mumbling in the background and then Max repeated what had been said to him, "Absolutely nothing, just your lovely self."

“Send me the address,” I said abruptly, briskly walking across the street and hoping with each gulping breath I’d conjure some gall. “I’ll see you soon.”

Distractedly, Max hung up the call and it was during the time I waited for his text with Harry’s address that I found myself wandering into a Tescos not far from the Tube station. No sense going and waiting on a platform only to find I’d be headed in the wrong direction.

I found supermarkets soothing, that everything had its place and category, and that everyone inside had a purpose and a sense of accomplishment.

All sense of purpose and accomplishment vanished though, as I stood at Harry’s front gate waiting for Max. I felt the space between my tummy and the top of my rib cage shrivel into something half its size and was suddenly very aware that I hadn’t any clue what I was walking myself into.

I hadn’t seen or heard from Harry since the night we all went to the Regina Spektor gig. My last memory of him is a hushed conversation between Harry and Max outside the cab just before Max jumped in with me and stayed by my side until morning. I had no idea what they’d said, but it was about me, that much I was sure. Harry had kept his head low to Max’s but it was the way his eyes kept darting back to where I was, and that his arms kept gesturing towards me in some way.

Whatever the words, it was clear I’d completely freaked out Harry Styles.

“Nina!” Max gave me a bright smile before bouncing his way straight into my personal space for a hug, “Well behaved maggots today?”

“Yes,” I confirmed, stepping through the heavy timber gate and into the front garden. “Perfect pupils this morning.”

We walked up a few sets of steps and around a bit of a garden before the front door became visible. The house was huge, all white and very English looking. There was a four-door garage to one side and three storeys worth of windows on either side of the dark blue door.

“Ah, shit,” Max cursed once he had led me up the front steps, “Bloody door closed on me, locked us out. Never mind,” He leaned across me and rang the door bell. I kicked my ankles together nervously.

I turned and looked back where we had walked. The road was barely visible through the shrubs and trunks of four large trees. Though I guess that would be the intention. A black Range Rover was parked in front of the garage along with an identical one in white.

It was Rodger who opened the door for us, he leant against the frame and gave Max a look, “Do you see what I mean about doors, Max? Completely useless.”

“Shut up, dickhead.”

Rodger only laughed and got out of Max’s way, “Hey, Nina.”

“Hi.”

His eyes fell to the plastic bag in my hand, I was more concerned about juggling two professional grade instruments on one arm, “You brought something.”

I shrugged awkwardly, “Yeah.”

“C’mon,” He waved me in.

I followed him dumbly through the house, trying not to look too hard at any one thing, my being here felt like intrusion enough. To the right was a formal looking leather couch suit and a few end tables arranged in a very refined manner. But to the left was a more casual kind of space. Comfy couches, a TV and a bookcases of novels and movies lined the wall that opened out to the backyard. The end of the lounge area led to the entrance to what I assumed was his kitchen.

I saw Max standing on the garden deck, and it seemed that all the other guests were out there with him.

“Put the bag in the kitchen and come out, yeah?” He grinned and nodded in the direction I should go. I couldn’t help but feel a little deserted but moved to do as Rodger suggested.

The kitchen was beautiful, open and airy. My step halted for a second to take it in, it was a far cry from the little kitchen in Rodger, Max and I’s place. It looked like it was from a magazine and I wondered for a second if that’s exactly where Harry had selected it from.

Harry trotted out of the far right corner carrying two handfuls of food items, surprising me, “Oh."

He turned around quickly at the sound and his neutral expression turned upward, “Hello, Nina.”

"Hi, sorry ... I ... I didn't realise you were in here." My words didn't stick together in sentences like I wanted them to, Harry kept a kind smile on his face as he carefully placed three vials of herbs, a jar of minced garlic and two loafs of bread on his kitchen bench.

He wiped his hands on his trousers and then took a few hearty steps toward me, "It's great to see you again, thanks for coming."

I was going to speak, I really was but then I caught on to his intention and before I knew it I was being briefly but tightly held to his chest in a greeting hug, "You've got bags," He continued, creasing his brow slightly when he noticed both the instrument cases I was carrying, the backpack slung over my shoulder and the Tescos supermarket bag, "Let me show you where you can a put them."

And then I was following Harry through his house, trying to keep up with his explanations for each room or the reasons why he had to have "bloody ghastly" green cushions on his sofa; because his mother had liked the painting on the wall and they were the only thing that tied the piece to the rest of the room.

"Does in here look okay?" Harry was standing in the doorway and I had to brush past him to see inside. We must have been right at the back of the house, I could hear laughter from outside.

It was a small room, lit up completely by the day's sun which came in through a large bay window looking out over a horribly gorgeous garden. The only furniture in the room was a day bed covered in boxes and a bookcase that looked like Harry was using it as more of a filing cabinet, sheets of paper were in stacks and strewn all up and down it. I wondered what all the papers were, but I could tell even from the door that most of them seemed to be receipts and financial documents.

"Here," Harry's voice was gentle and he slipped the fingers of both hands through the handles of both my trumpet and saxophone cases and lifted their weight from me, "I doubt I have to tell you to remember to take them with you."

I caught myself before I said something dumb but then he smiled and I forgot myself for a moment, "That's still the trumpet I learned to play on, the mouthpiece I use now is worth more than the whole instrument. Same with the sax too, although it's the classical mouthpiece that's worth the most, the wider, jazz mouthpiece wasn't too much. And I mean," I paused when I caught Harry's eyes widen, either at my outburst or with interest at the lesson I just gave in mouthpieces. I doubted the latter, "Sorry. Sorry, this is perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!” Harry laughed, but there was something about it that told me he wasn't laughing at me, “But don't apologise for speaking.”

It was then that I noticed the plastic bag getting twisted between my fingers to within an inch of its life, "This is for you."

Harry looked completely surprised by my thrusting the thing his way, taking it carefully and then opening it to peek inside, "Oh, Nina, you didn't have to—

“—It's lame, sorry. But I just didn't know—

“—No," Harry interrupted bluntly, holding out a palm to silence me, "No, strawberries are great. Thank you. You didn't need to bring anything, but thank you."

I tugged at the straps of my backpack when I had nothing to do with my hands anymore. Harry was just standing in front of me still looking down at my fruit offering, "My mum was the one who would send me over to the other kids' houses with a fruit platter on play dates ... Sort of humiliating at the time." I babbled, "Guess I bring it on myself now though, hey?"

Harry's neck snapped up so he could look at me, eyes wide and head shaking, "Don't be humiliated. You've been so generous, thank you."

I let my bag slip from my shoulders and placed it on the floor painfully gently so as not to make any intrusive thumping noise. My attempt at keeping the room quiet was short lived though when a strong, male voice bellowed Harry's name through the house.

"Mate! I'm coming right back!" Harry shouted back, "Shut up, you needy idiot" He muttered to himself, shaking his head and giving me a smile as he held his arm up to the door like he'd follow me out.

Harry led me all the way outside then, as soon as he was distracted by whoever had needed him I shuffled myself around to stand behind Rodger at the table. There was a vacant seat beside him, but I wasn't sure if it was only empt because someone had just left for a moment.

"Take a seat, Nina," Rodger said, not looking away from the conversation he was in but slightly pulling the chair away from the table for me.

I only sat in my own silence for a few moments before everyone started moving around their spots at the large table on Harry’s deck. He had finished his conversation and then announced he was going inside to get the food. There were a few cheers and a couple of girls got up to go with him to help.

“Shit, sorry,” The chair next to me bumped against the arm of mine, and whoever had moved it burst out a happy apology, “These things aren’t made for sideways movements.”

“That’s fine,” I smiled, not bothered too much.

“I’m Joe,” The guy leaned over a bit and held out a friendly hand, “Are you Nina? I work with Rodger.”

“Yeah, I am,” I shook his hand, “Are you the Joe who doesn’t believe in loose leaf tea?”

He laughed at that, sprawling his hand across his heart, “My reputation precedes me. Yes, I’m Teabag Dependant Joe.”

I shrugged, hoping he didn’t notice my shaking hands picking at the seam of my jeans in my lap, “Loose leaf can be a bit of a faff sometimes.”

It would seem that was all I needed to do to cease standing out like a sore thumb in a social setting. Joe introduced me to the few people was directly talking to, without making a big deal about it, and then I was able to just sit back and pretend to partake. They were mostly people who worked with Rodger and subsequently, Harry. A few musicians and two writers.

Their conversations were loud, but fond. And eventually, once the food was served and everyone was eating, the conversation opened up to be one that somehow included all fifteen or so people that were eating off Harry’s white china.

From what I could gather today's social festivities were born off the back of the drinks everyone went for last night. I hadn't been all that bothered with whoever Rodger and Max were meeting, but as it turned out there would've been a lot of the same faces as was here. It had been a successful day in the studio yesterday, someone threw out the idea that Harry’s "next million maker" had been born.

One of the girls had scoffed at that, and Harry leant over and punched her in the arm with pink cheeks at the mention of "mum would tell you off for bragging”. I immediately saw the family resemblance.

I wasn't sure how, but the next time I snuck a look at my watch almost an hour had passed since we sat down to eat. It had been an hour of my sitting switching my neck back and forth across the table, smiling politely and pretending to be involved. Harry had cleared the plates and brought out new drinks for everyone at some point, but it wasn't until someone suggested moving the deck chairs over into the sun that everyone started moving.

All those bodies moving around was the perfect opportunity for me to escape for a few minutes.

I ducked my head down and snuck around to the glass sliding doors back into the house. Then, I headed straight for the kitchen.

It was strange, I thought, the way kitchens were somehow universal. Everyone seemed to keep things in roughly the same place; detergent under the sink, plug sitting on the window sill, tea towels in the third draw. Harry's was perfectly predictable.

The window over the sink looked out into the same part of the garden as the sunroom had, and although I could hear everyone outside I couldn't see them from this angle. I was happier in this moment, where I could hear the loud friendships without having to publicly react. Half the problem with being someone who didn't feel the need to say a lot was the expectation other people put on you to at least appear correctly amused or interested. A feat that was much harder at the moment, when my body was only just allowing me to sleep properly—three weeks after the panic attack Harry saw.

"Nina, what are you doing?"

I jumped at the sound of his voice and turned around to face him with bubbly hands holding a half cleaned plate, "Nothing. I ... I mean, I thought I get a go on this for you."

Harry frowned at me, but somehow he was still smiling, "I know you though that, but I've got a dishwasher. And you're a guest."

I briefly wondered if he had seen me leave the group what must've been almost twenty minutes ago now, "I ..."

"I thought maybe you were looking for the loo," He grinned, taking steps and ending up right next to me, "Was checking to make sure you weren't lost ... Or locked in, the door handle can be tricky."

"Oh, no ... No, I was—”

"Making yourself comfortable in my kitchen," He finished for me, and I startled again when he bent down and I felt is hand on my knee, "Excuse me, just need this draw."

I stepped to the side and watched him pull out a tea towel, "You don't need to dry, they'll air," I said quietly.

Harry laughed, "If you can unnecessarily wash the dishes then I can unnecessarily dry them, thank you very much."

I swallowed and then forced myself to keep going, in a horrifying turn of events Harry stayed quiet as he started drying. I wondered if he wished I would talk, or the air wasn't so pregnant with awkwardness.

I was still sort of reeling from the whole event of being here in Harry’s house. With him cooking for everyone, playing host and looking like he genuinely wanted his back garden full of his friends. It was so surreal to just see him pottering around in jeans, a floppy jumper and sneakers. The whole place was clean and airy, and Harry was some sort of perfect centre piece to it all; happy and rested and kind. I couldn’t help but think how I looked in comparison, what terrible shades of muddy brown my corner of the painting might be.

"Oops, sorry," Harry apologised loudly for the splash of cold water that came up my sleeve, "Your water is so sudsy."

He had pulled the tap around over the smaller side of the sink and had tried to rinse the next plate before he dried it.

When Harry pulled way I turned the tap back on, "We'll just fill this side too and I'll rinse them for you.”

"I've only got one plug," Harry pointed out.

"Well I'm not sure how to help you then," I gave my shoulders what I hoped looked like a playful little shrug and did my best to conjure a light tone, "Even though this is the exact same dilemma my parents work through nightly."

I wasn't expecting Harry's quick response, "Your parents are together then?"

I paused with my hands in the water, "Yes."

"You're one of the lucky ones then," He said lightly.

The notion hit me hard somewhere in the centre of my chest, because even though Harry had said it causally, there was something about the far off look in his eyes and the way he forced a poised smile told me that it was a hurt he carried with him. I didn't know what to say.

"Were you very young?" I asked carefully, finding that the questions that always flew around my head whenever Harry was the person I was talking to were almost impossible to restrict.

He turned toward me and leant his hip against the side of the kitchen counter, "I guess?" He began, "Yeah, I was young. Young enough not to properly remember before. But I convinced myself that everyone was happier ... When my parents were together and my mum didn't have to work so hard and I actually saw my dad, you know?"

I didn't. So I stayed quiet.

"My loyalty fell with my mum," He coughed awkwardly and for the first time since I'd known him I thought Harry might be avoiding my eye contact, "She's the one who raised me and I suppose ... In a sense I saw it all from her perspective. There's nothing that bothers me more than the that, the thought of my mum struggling. But I also know, as an adult, that they were living an unhappy marriage so it's best they did divorce."

"I can't imagine," I finally managed to say.

Harry made what was meant to be a dismissive face, but he continued to talk regardless, "You go through waves of understanding. Because I remember being a teenager and wondering why they couldn't have tried harder. By that stage they were both happy with other people and I got angry because, I mean, why couldn't they have tried harder to have that together? That's an immature way to view things though."

"It's hopeful, I like that."

“It’s selfish,” He smiled, and it was a true smile—or as true I could measure by my experience with Harry’s smiles—that made him look humble, and well, “Just because they’re the two people that made me, doesn’t mean their lives have to fold to make mine neater. It didn’t alter how much my parents love me, so it shouldn't alter how much I love them.”

“That’s … I’ve never heard it put like that before,” I struggled with the words, completely floored by his sentiment.

“Had a lot of time to mull it over,” He replied, not sounding troubled in the slightest if only for a lingering sense of thoughtfulness that must have stirred up old memories.

It was at the mention of time that I felt a weariness wash over me. And I hated it, that just the simple mention of something that measured the space I occupied made my bones heavy and eyes droop with weariness; I wished that time was something I had a hold on but the truth was that it wasn’t.

It wasn’t an easy thing to explain, but for a regular day everything makes sense because of rest. And it’s only when sleeping at the end of a day, and waking up at the beginning of a new one is taken away from you that you consider it. I was still trying to get a grip of a any kind of sleep pattern since the night a stranger decided they could force themselves into my personal space, and my head.

“Nina.”

I caught myself at Harry’s concerned word, my elbows resting against the sink in a way I couldn't recall moving them myself, “Sorry.”

“Do you need to sit? You look …” His eyes were moving over my face, and he didn’t look able to place just how I looked.

“I’m just tired, sorry. Got carried away in my thoughts.”

“Oh.”

He looked disappointed for a second, or like if he gave one extra second of a meaningful look then maybe he would understand exactly what I meant.

“Probably more exhausted, actually,” I appeased, not sure about why I was talking but again, finding it impossible not to. “I haven’t been sleeping much.”

I watched Harry take a quick, deep breath, “Since …”

“Yeah,” I confirmed quietly.

Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair, “About that, I … I wanted to call you or … I wanted to make sure that you were alright, but I had no way of contacting you and I wasn’t sure if you’d rather I didn’t serve as a reminder—

“Harry,” He paused instantly when I said his name, “I’m fine, I didn’t expect you to do anything.”

He briefly shut his eyes when I said I was fine, “To be honest I’m still pretty shaken by what I saw, Nina. For how I saw you, I mean … I’ve got friends who get a bit panicky in crowds or don’t like hearing other people scream but I’ve never seen an attack before.”

I winced at the words, “It’s okay, Harry.”

“Does it happen very often?” His question was clear and he spoke without a hint of hesitation behind the words.

I smiled, “You don’t have to worry, I’m not going to go nutty on you here, Harry.”

Harry frowned, “Don’t say it like that, are you okay?”

His question wasn’t meant to be restricted to this moment on this day in my life, it’s border was much broader. Harry Styles was asking about my general state of well being, and I wasn’t sure that I was ready to give him such a huge answer.

But in the smallest sense possible there was a fragile truth, “I’m doing well today.”

Something of the furrowed unease on his face seemed to settle with my honesty, “Why did you come today, I didn’t think it sounded like you would when you were on the phone to Max.”

“He went all sweet on me about how we hadn’t had a laugh together in ages,” I explained, stopping my movements in his sink, lightly twirling the mug I had around in my fingers. “Never hedge your bets against anyone in direct competition with Max’s sweet side.”

Harry barked out a lovely laugh, “I’ll have to remember that.”

I picked up the already clean mug out of the soapy water and rested it on the drainage board next to me, hoping the way I didn’t carry on with a response of my own wouldn’t upset Harry. It didn’t seem to.

All too soon the distraction of the dishes ran out, and I spend a few too many minute watching the dirty water get sucked down the drain.

“Harry!”

“Kitchen,” Harry yelled back to the voice, popping me out of the bubble inside my head. I turned around in time to see his sister turn the corner into view.

“Hi,” She smiled kindly upon seeing me, the sincerity one I recognised from her brother.

“Hello,” I tried to muster a deserving smile in response.

“Gem, this is Nina. Nina, my sister, Gemma … Nina lives with Rodger and Max.”

“Oh! Right, of course, yeah, Harry said,” Gemma shook her head like that was something Harry shouldn’t have had to remind her of. “Sorry, just the girls are leaving now, Harry. Can I borrow your car to take them to Paddington?”

Harry patted his pocket, “Go ahead, the keys are somewhere … Dining table or hall table?”

“Great, thanks, H. Lovely to meet you, Nina.”

“You too!” I called back as she left, my voice a little too loud and a little too high.

Harry turned away then, striding to the fridge and verbally instructing me on where I could find some large plates. I watched silently as he plucked fruits from containers and bags, expertly slicing whatever he thought needed it and simply arranging the rest together in a beautiful explosion of colour.

I wanted to be colourful too.

“Watching you with that knife is terrifying,” I said slowly, mesmerised by the precision and speed at which he was working. It was surprising.

He looked up and the skin around his eyes crinkled brilliantly, “Why’s that? I’m an excellent cook. Chopping is a basic kitchen skill, lesson one even.”

“Eyes down, please,” I asked earnestly, feeling a little buoyant from the laugh my comment got from him.

“Can you carry one for me? I’ll get the other” Harry asked referring to the fruit plates but momentarily distracted by trying to shut the fridge door and hold a few drinks under his arm at the same time.

“Sure.”

“Perfect, thanks, Nina.”

#1dff #one direction fanfiction #fic: someday someday #harry styles fanfiction

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whatever-the-fucky-i-writes · 6 years

Text

Caught Somewhere in Time - Part 4

Word Count: 6,272 (I’m sorry)

Pairing: None (Maybe a very slight OFC x OMC)

Main Characters: Sam, Dean, OFC - Andi, OMC - Max

Warnings: Mentions of injury, Mentions of death, Swearing

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 (Final)

Series Masterlist

Author’s Note: Obviously, this is a longer part. Sorry about that. When I was doing my light editing, I couldn’t find a good spot within here to split it up and I’ve decided to have faith in my initial ruling. None of the other parts are this long, I promise.

Disclaimer: I own none of the characters from Supernatural, only my OFC and OMC. Also, the plot line is basically a mash-up of a couple different episodes so I don’t own those either.

Previously: “Son of a bitch!” I say under my breath. He’s gone. I walk up to where he was and look around. He’s nowhere to be seen. Just as I’m about to give up hope, I hear a sickening scream. It’s coming from within the alley, I run towards the sound. I can hear Sam and Dean running not too far behind me. I turn the corner of the alley. That’s when I see the poor homeless man lying there.

I solemnly walk out of the alley. I come out onto a bustling city street. People are walking left and right, cars are driving by. I quickly duck back into the alley, looking down at my attire. I’ll probably stick out like a sore thumb. I take a deep breath, steeling my nerves.

Come up with a plan, I tell myself, Find a store. Figure out when you are. Get some food. Figure out the rest from there. I hop out of the alley and once more onto the busy sidewalk. I turn and begin to walk with the flow of the traffic quickly. A few people look at me weirdly, but I ignore it the best I can, keeping my cool. “Thank God,” I whisper to myself as I see a gas station up a ways ahead. I pick my pace up a bit. Once I finally step inside, my eyes immediately find a newspaper stand. I pick up a copy and take a look.

The date reads November 16, 1947. Well, this just rocks, I think, the thought covered in a thick layer of sarcasm, I’m stuck in freaking 1947. Ughhhh… I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger. I feel a massive headache coming on. Focus, I internally tell myself, What’s the next part of the plan? Get some food. I browse around for a few minutes. One benefit of going back this far is that all this stuff is much cheaper. I buy myself a small stockpile of food with $10 out of the $20 that I found stashed in one of the inner pockets of my coat. I tuck the newspaper in the bag with my food as I step back outside. I look up and down the street. I see a park about a block and half up the street. I walk over and sit on one of the benches there. I pull out the newspaper as I begin to munch on the first thing I saw in my bag. I flip through the pages absentmindedly until something catches my eye. A report on a recent death... or deaths I should say. It didn’t say how the victims died exactly, just that it was “unusual” and that the police were basically chasing their tails.

Could be my kind of thing, I think, nodding to myself, Couldn’t hurt to check it out. Might as well get something done here seeing as how I don’t have the slightest idea as to where to start to try and get myself back home. I look down at my attire. But first, I’m going to need a change of clothes. I look up and down the street once more. Damn, this street has everything doesn’t it? I think upon seeing a clothing store. I throw my uneaten food back in the bag and tuck the newspaper in there as well. I cross the street and walk into the building. The walls are lined with clothing as is the rest of the place. I browse up and down the aisles made by the racks of clothing. I end up picking out a pair of black dress pants with a matching black button up shirt, and a pair of killer black heeled boots. I buy these with another $3, leaving me with $7. I walk over to the register to purchase the clothes. Again, another strange look from the lady checking me out, but I brush it off. She hands me my new clothes in a bag and I take them over to one of the changing rooms where I change into them quickly.

I exit the store and look back at my newspaper. It seems that the murders fell under the jurisdiction of the 13th precinct. Lucky me, it even lists the address of their building. I stop a random guy on the street and ask politely for some directions. When he’s done, I give him a rare, courteous smile, thank him, and begin my walk. It takes me about half an hour of walking to get there. Just before I enter, I remember my badge. I quickly retrieve it from within a pocket in my trench coat and stick it in one of my pant’s pockets. I look around a bit and find a secluded place to stash my bags. I’d hate to rouse suspicion in a place full of armed people. That probably wouldn’t end well. I walk back over to the doors and take a deep breath before walking in. I enter in a cramped room. It has a high ceiling with marble floors and walls. There are two hallways leading up the sides at the opposite end of the room and in the space between them, on the wall, is a giant sign with the emblem the Chicago PD. Desks line the floor in rows with one big gap going up the middle to a row receptionist’s desk. I make my way up to the receptionist. I hope I don’t look too out of place.

“Hello,” I say to the nice, middle-aged lady, “I’m Agent Jett with the FBI.” I flash my badge, not long enough for her to read the date of issue, which is some forty years in the future.

“Oh!” she says, “You must be the partner of the other guy who just got here. I knew it was odd that he was by himself. Don’t you guys usually have partners?”

Okay, I think to myself, This puts a twist in things. Say no and it looks suspicious. Say yes and we could get caught and thrown in jail for fraud. I make my decision.

“Yes,” I say cordially, “that’s my partner. Could you please direct me to him?”

“Sure thing,” she says, smiling and gesturing to her right, “Go down that hallway and up the stairs. Get off at the first landing. From there, there will be directions to the homicide department. He should be talking with Sergeant Barnes. Have a nice day!” I make my way down the hallway and up the stairs, following all her directions. I walk into another room with more desks. I see a man in a grey trench coat that looks like it’s made of wool. He’s got a matching grey fedora on with black leather gloves. I can see the top of a white dress shirt peeking out around the collar with a blue tie. He towers over the short guy he’s talking with, looking like he’s around 6’2”. As I finish sizing him up, I think,

Now or never. It’s showtime. I plaster on a convincing, if fake, smile, walking over and addressing the guy in the trench coat as I say,

“Sorry I’m late. Got caught up in some nasty traffic. I’m Agent Jett. I see you’ve met my partner. Nice to meet you Sergeant Barnes,” I say, pulling out my badge once more and then shaking his hand.

“Agent Jett. It’s nice to see you got here in one piece. I was just talking with the nice Sergeant here and he was telling me about that string of deaths we’ve come to investigate.” He’s playing along. That’s either a really good thing or a really bad thing because he’s either a fellow hunter who doesn’t want his cover blown or a real FBI agent who doesn’t want to make a scene.

“Sure was. Say, are there many women like you?” The Sergeant asks me bluntly. Some people have no appreciation for tact.

“No,” I reply, “There’s not that many of us, but we manage to keep up with the men.”

“Huh,” he says, assessing me.

“Could you please continue?” my “partner” asks.

“Sure. I’m not really sure what to make of this. The people at the brewery really want some closure, but I’m afraid I can’t give them any. Do you want to examine the bodies?”

“Yes,” I say, “That’d be really helpful. Could you instruct us the ME’s office?”

“Sure thing,” he says. He gives us detailed instructions and even goes so far as to write them down for us.

“Thanks,” the guy and me say at the same time. Weird.

“Oh,” he says quickly, seeming to have remembered something, “If any new information should be brought to light on the case, contact me here.” He hands him a card with an address on it. The Sergeant nods and we turn around and start to head out. Just as we enter the hallway, he looks around quickly. Seeing nobody, he tries to slam me into the wall. I duck and pin him up against the wall, holding a knife that I’d been smart enough to strap on my leg earlier against his throat.

“Who are you?” he spits at me.

“Agent Jett,” I reply, the lie coming out easily, “I should be asking you the same question. You’ve got sideburns that extend below your ear, which is against real FBI policy. You’d have to have them trimmed before you were even let out in the field so you’re not real FBI. And if you’re not FBI, then who are you?”

“I’m a specialist who knows a few things about some things. I’m here to help,” he says after a few seconds of consideration, raising his hands in surrender.

Great, I groan internally. I’ve heard Dean and Sam give that line plenty of times. Another hunter. Whatever, I suppose. “Sorry about this,” I say. I don’t really mean it.

“About what?” he asks right as a press the knife into his throat a little. I’d had that knife custom made to meet all my hunting needs. Forged from silver and iron with some salt and holy water mixed in. A little blood begins to leak out of the small cut. No reaction. I lower my knife. “You’re not a monster so I guess that’s good. My name’s Cassandra Singer. What’s yours?”

“How do I know you’re not a monster?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. I roll my eyes saying,

“This is made of silver and iron forged in salt and holy water.” I slice the palm of my hand, proving my humanity. He nods before saying,

“Max Harvelle. Even though this is my case, you’re already here so why don’t you stick around and we’ll work this one together?” he replies.

“Works for me,” I say nonchalantly, “Let’s get going to the ME’s.” As we exit the building together, I turn and say to him, “Do you mind if I grab my stuff first?”

“Not at all,” he replies in a businesslike manner, “Lead the way.” If this guy was going to be so formal about this, it was going to be one long hunt. I duck into the alley and retrieve my bags. “Here,” he says, “You can place these in my car.”

“And where might that be?” I ask.

“Follow me, m’lady,” he says with a comical bow. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. “I parked it right over here,” he says, gesturing to a car that’s parked right in front of the precinct. I’m met with a black and dark blue ‘35 Triumph Gloria Vitesse. “Bought her for a steal,” he says proudly, “Reinforced her until now she’s like a tank. Your bags’ll be safe in here.” He opens up one of the doors and steps aside. I place my bags in the back and step back. He closes the door and locks it. We head one building to the left of the precinct and walk through the glass doors. The inside walls are white tiles and the floor is a dull gray. The front room is small. It has a few chairs lining the walls, a door on the back wall, and a few feet to the left of it is a desk with young man sitting at it. He looks up from the newspaper he was reading and asks us,

“Who are you?” We pull out our badges simultaneously.

“I’m Agent Smith and this is my partner Agent Jett. We’re with the FBI,” Max lies smoothly. I wonder how long he’s been at this. He doesn’t look a day over 30, if that.

“Okay. How can I help you fine officers of the law today?” the attendant replies.

“Is the medical examiner in?” I ask, “We’d like to take a look at a few bodies.”

“Let me check,” he says, his boredom dripping from every word. “HEY DOC!” he bellows over his shoulder, the extreme loudness of his voice seeming out of place in the quiet building.

“WHAT IS IT NOW ARTHUR!” echoes from behind the door.

“He’s here,” Arthur tells us calmly, “Would you like to speak with him?”

“Yes, that would be really helpful,” Max says with a forced smile.

“THERE’S SOME PEOPLE FROM THE FBI HERE TO SPEAK YOU!” Arthur shouts over his shoulder once more.

“WELL WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR YOU FAT-HEAD! SEND THEM BACK HERE ALREADY!”

“The Doc will see you now,” Arthur says, getting up from his chair, “If you’ll please follow me.” He opens the door and walks us down a hallway and past a few doors to the last door on the right. “He should be in here,” he says, promptly leaving. We step inside to a pristine, but sparse office. There are no windows and only a few pictures on metal desk to the right of us. Behind the desk are a few filing cabinets and a very small bookshelf that has few medical-looking books on it. A middle-aged man sits at this desk. He has red hair with gray around his temples and ears and glasses pushed down his slender nose. His cheeks are slightly sunk in, making him look older than he probably is. He’s wearing a suit underneath a buttoned up white lab coat. He looks up from the book he was reading, closing it and setting it down.

“I’m sorry about my assistant,” he apologizes, “I would have thought it would have gotten through that thick skull of his that the FBI get sent straight back. Oh well. No use wining about it now. What’re your names?”

“I’m Agent Smith and this is my partner Agent Jett,” Max says, repeating his line from before.

“Okay Agents Smith and Jett. Welcome to the Chicago PD’s 13th Precinct Morgue. What can I do ya for?”

“We understand that the bodies related to the brewery case are being held here?” Max says, “We would like to examine them.”

“I’ve already completed my reports. Wouldn’t you rather look at those?” he asks back.

“No offense, but we’d like to conduct our own investigation of the bodies. But if you don’t mind giving us your reports, that would be helpful too,” I say.

“No, I don’t mind,” he says, turning around. Muttering names under his breath, he searches around through his filing cabinets and pulls out four manilla folders. He hands them to me, saying, “I’ll show you to the bodies.” We walk out of his office and enter the room directly across his hallway. The floor is the same gray color as the rest of the place, but the walls are no longer white. Instead, the walls are stainless steel with rectangular doors of varying sizes. There are a few autopsy tables going down the center of the room as well. There are lights hanging from the ceiling, bathing the room in a pale white light. “Let me see…” he trails off, “C4, D10, M3, and Z9…” He pulls open various doors around the room. These should be the corpses you’re looking for. I suppose I’ll leave you to it. If you should need anything, don’t be afraid to holler. Have a lovely day.” Once he’s left the room, Max turns to me and says,

“He seems oddly perky for a guy who’s surrounded by death.”

“No, he’s not,” I mutter kind of under my breath. Seeing the quizzical look I’m getting from Max, I elaborate, “I saw the extensive collection of empty and full bottles of Jack in his trash and where he thought people can’t see them. He’s not ‘oddly perky’. He’s hammered.”

“Hammered?” Max asks.

“Umm…” I say, searching for an equivalent, “Sauced?”

“Oh,” Max replies, realization dawning on his face.

“Yep, Doc over there’s got a bit of a booze issue. Anyway, you take those two over there and I’ll take these two?”

“Sure,” Max says, “Mind giving me their files?”

“Catch,” I say, tossing the files in rapid succession at him. He catches one in each hand. He’s got good reflexes. He walks over to the bodies and pulls out an EMF meter. Nothing.

“Mind if I use that?’ I ask.

“No problem,” he replies, “Here.” He sets in on one of the tables. I pick it up and run it by my bodies. Still nothing. “No EMF so it’s not a ghost,” I say, setting it back on the table.

“Their hearts are still intact and it’s not the correct lunar phase either so it’s probably not a werewolf,” Max adds, moving on to his second body.

“No bite marks and plenty of blood left in them so not a vampire either,” I say back.

“Wait, did I hear you right?” Max asks, not looking up from the body he’s examining, “You said vampire, right? Aren’t those extinct?”

“Nope,” I say impassionately, popping the p, “Just laying low is all.”

“No hole by the base of the skull so also not a wraith,” Max chimes in, “Besides, those tend to stick to looney bins and psych wards. Doesn’t seem to be any of the usual suspects.”

“No, it does not,” I say, accenting each word. “Nothing seems too out of place besides one gaping hole right clean through their midsection. Have you talked to many people yet?”

“I really don’t think this is the best place to discuss this,” Max says, eyes darting over to where the doc’s office is. “He might hear. Speak of the Devil.” The Doc peaks his head through the door and says,

“I don’t mean to be impolite, but you guys came in kinda late and it’s basically time to call it a night. Are you done with the bodies?”

“Yes, I believe we are,” Max says.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” I say as we walk out. Once we’re standing by his car, he says, “Where are you staying? I could drop you off there if you want. I’ve got to get a few things and then I’ll swing around.”

“Ummm…” I trail off. It now occurs to me that I don’t have a place to stay. The look on my face seems to give me away.

“You don’t have a place to stay?” He asks, quirking an eyebrow.

“No, I guess not,” I say, looking down and to the side as if the smudge on the sidewalk has all of sudden become very interesting.

“Well,” he says, his face looking as if he’s thinking something over. “I suppose you could stay with me for tonight.” I consider his proposition for a moment. I don’t really have any other options. The nights are usually too cold to spend outside this time of year. But on the other hand, I just met this guy and I don’t exactly trust him that much. It’d be very awkward, at least for me. Just for tonight.

“Sure,” I say, looking up at his face, “I suppose I could do that.”

“Now that that’s settled,” he says, opening the passenger door, “Your chariot awaits you.” I internally smile at his attempt at lightheartedness. I hop inside. He closes the door and walks back around to the driver side. We take off and start winding down an impossible number of turns and streets until we stop at an older looking apartment building on the edge the industrial district. The faded red bricks are cracked, the rough wooden window sills are rotting, and the windows themselves are smudged with soot and dirt. The cement steps that lead up to a front door that looks like it’s barely hanging on to its hinges are ridden with cracks and have whole chunks missing from them. The sad thing, I realize, is that I’ve lived in worse places on hunts. “I’ve got to pull ‘er ‘round back,” Max says, “This is a bit of a sketchy neighborhood and I prefer to keep this car in good condition. Can you just wait for me out front here?”

“No prob, Bob,” I say, grabbing my bags from the back and stepping out of the car. Max pulls away and turns around into the alley next to the building. I stand there, in the light of a single lamp post casting a soft orange light on the street and sidewalk around me. I hadn’t noticed how dark it had gotten; I could see the Sun setting behind of a few buildings, the most vibrant reds and oranges light up the horizon with hints of pink. After a few chilly minutes of waiting, Max emerges from around the corner with a rucksack slung over his shoulder and begins to ascend the stairs to the door. I follow suit and am greeted by an entryway that seems to be in a slightly better condition than the exterior of the building. It’s a narrow hallway, barely enough room for one to walk down, old, dark, wooden doors with faded bronze numbers line the walls. At the end is a spiral staircase that leads upwards.

We begin our ascent up the stairs. We pass by twelve floors before we finally reach the top floor. We trudge all the way down to the end of the hallway. Max pulls out a key from his coat pocket and shoves it into the lock, turning it. We step inside, into a small room that was probably meant as a place to hang coats and place shoes. Instead, there’s a reaper trap on the floor and a devil’s trap on the ceiling. I see some other sigils and wardings painted on the walls. Most people wouldn’t see them because the paint’s the same color as the walls and floors, but I can see it in the right light because the new paint of the wardings is oh-so-slightly lighter than the aged off-white of the walls. In front of me is a door that is made of what looks like solid iron. I can see small granules coating it, salt I presume. Max pulls out a huge key and shoves it a hole in the door. He turns it slowly and with a groan, the door unlocks. He stuffs the key pack in a pocket and shoves the door open with his shoulder. “Nice job you did on the place,” I say as we step through the doorway.

“Thanks,” Max grunts back as he pushes the massive door back into place and slides the humongous deadbolt back into place after turning on the lights. We stand there awkwardly for a few seconds and I take the time to check out his apartment. We’re in the main room. I’m facing the way we just came in and in the corner behind me and to my right is a counter, an oven, a refrigerator, and a sink. There are some dirty dishes sitting in the sink with some clean ones on the side and a few empty beer bottles laying around as well. On the wall to my right, about ten feet over from the kitchen, is a door. I don’t know where it leads, but judging from the lack of bed and bathroom in the room I’m in, that’s probably where it leads. The whole half of the room to my left is a living space with a couch, a recliner, and a few bookshelves stacked to the brim with books of all shapes, sizes, ages, and language. There’s also a table over there with a few chairs around it and a lamp sitting in the center. The furniture all looks a bit rundown, which seems to fit the apartment. There are cracks in the wall and the walls are stained and dirty. Max clears his throat, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck while gesturing around with the other and says, “Well...Umm… Yeah. I apologize for the state of the place. It’s not everyday I entertain guests.”

“It’s fine,” I say, brushing off the apology, “I’ve stayed in motels and houses much worse than this. This is like a five-star hotel compared to the place I was just staying in.” I set down my gas station bag and ask, “Do you have any place I can change? This whole FBI get-up thing is kind of uncomfortable.”

“Sure,” he says, still rubbing the back of his neck. He gestures to his left, my right, and says, “The bathroom’s through that door on your left.”

“Thanks,” I say. I open the door and step through. I was right. That door did lead to the bedroom. While the floor of the main room was a dark oak, this had short carpeting on its floors. The walls are a light gray, and there’s a small bed on my right side, the long side of it flush against the wall. A window is over it, letting in the pale moonlight. The room is sparse. Aside from a photo of Max with an older man and a man about his same age, there are no personal effects. There aren’t many clothes hung in the closet on the wall opposite the entry door. I think I see a false wall panel in the center, but I’ll leave Max’s privacy as intact as possible. I am his guest after all. I turn into the bathroom quickly. It’s better than some I’ve seen, but not by much though. The whole ambiance of the place is that it needs to be cleaned. I’m sure if he cleaned this it wouldn’t be so bad. I pull out my clothes from my bag and look over my options. I don’t think wearing the tank top would be appropriate. Besides, I’m not that comfortable with him anyway. I settle on just wearing my Henley with the jeans. I look at myself in the mirror. I frown. I’m not exactly sure if I’m right, but I’m pretty certain most women these days didn’t have tattoos winding up their arms. There’s also a few buttons undone at the top. I really wish I knew more about the standards of this era.

Ultimately, I decide I’m too lazy to fix anything so I just leave the sleeves rolled up so they’re more like ¾ length and leave the top few buttons undone. I fold up my new FBI outfit and place it inside the bag with the rest of my clothes from my time. God, my time. How I was really missing that. I redo my ponytail that I’d taken out earlier and head back out. Max is sitting at table. I think I see him raise an eyebrow slightly at seeing my apparel, but he says nothing aside from, “You done?” I nod. “Swell,” he says, “I’m going to take a shower. Make yourself at home, I guess. Mi casa es su casa.” He heads off through the door and I sit down on the couch. I sigh, looking over at his bookcase. In the back of my mind, I register the sound of the shower turning on. I wander over, running my fingertips along the dusty backs of the aged books. I stop when I reach one in Greek. I hadn’t really stopped to think much about how I got here. I figured Chronos had something to with it because, besides angels, who, by the way, don’t emit a red light when time traveling, he’s the only thing out there with enough mojo to swing this. I think again to myself,

I hate gods. I grab the book open and flip through until I find a page with the top labeled χρόνος, which I roughly translated to Time, aka Chronos. I skim through, thankful that years of hunting and research have given me a basic understanding for the classic languages. I find nothing of particular use so I put the book back. Maybe I’m not looking in the right book, I think. That seemed like more of a reference book; I needed an encyclopedia. I skim through the rest of the bookshelves and find a stack of Greek books from throughout the ages. I lay them out on the table and start reading. I’ve got multiple open books laying out across the table. I’m so engrossed I don’t hear Max reenter the room. I don’t realize his presence until I hear his voice come from behind me, asking,

“Why’re you so interested in Chronos? You don’t think he’s causing the deaths, do you?” I sigh, rubbing my hands on my temples.

Damn it, I think. I’d really hoped to avoid this conversation. But it’s better to come clean I suppose. “This is going to sound really crazy. At very least, pretty messed up,” I say to him, only slightly turning my head towards him over my left shoulder.

“We’re hunters,” he states, “If you haven’t noticed, our lives are pretty much ground zero for crazy and pretty messed up.”

Here goes nothing, I sigh to myself internally, No use in going soft, I suppose. Turning around to fully face him, I look him in the eyes and say, “I’m from the future. 2016 to be specific. My friends and I were tracking a string of deaths where all the victims were mummified. Long story short, it was Chronos, I tackled him as he was glowing with his red time energy, which apparently means he’s traveling, so I inadvertently hitched a ride to 19-freakin’-47 and I’m stuck here for who-knows-how-long now. I’m so interested in him because I’m seeing if there’s anyway to hitch a ride back or reverse this or something. I’m so interested because I just want to go home.” That last sentence comes out more as a softly spoken afternote that I actually hadn’t meant to say aloud.

“Oh,” he says, at a loss for words, “Where- I mean- When you come from, is there a lot of this… time… travel… stuff?”

“No,” I reply with a light laugh, “There’s only about 3 things that can do this without a blood spell.”

“If there’s a spell that does this,” he asks, “then why don’t you use that to go back?”

“Because when I said blood spell, it’s not just what you have to write it in. It’s the destination. It takes you to your nearest living blood relative, which I’m all fresh out of. Long line of only children plus people who didn’t have kids equals me, literally the only member of my entire bloodline left alive on the face of planet Earth,” I say with a bitter undertone.

“Oh,” he says again. Something flashes behind his eyes and he’s striding over to the bookcase. He runs his finger back and forth, pulling out a few books here and there until he’s at one of the thickest. “Here,” he says, setting the stack on the table, “These are some of the grimoires I’ve collected over the years from various witches. I know some of them could pack a real punch so maybe there’s something in these potent enough to get you back.”

“Thanks,” I say, giving him a grateful smile, “I think, though, that I’ll leave this research for a little later. There are people dying and we’re on the case… So, what do you know?” I listen attentively while quickly bookmarking all my pages and setting the grimoires as well as the Greek books in a stack over by the couch.

“Well, for starters, the people that are getting bumped off are all someway connected to the founders of this local brewery called DeWinter’s Brews. One of the co-founders, a Mr. Jonathan DeWinter, who also happened to be the brew master, died recently. Some sort of stress induced heart attack. I talked to his widow. She said he traveled a lot for work; that the company was like his baby, his most prized possession, second only to her so he’d said. She says he was the one of the kindest individuals you could ever hope to meet. The company’s going the through the process of selling out and, since he was apparently unwilling to let it go, the other three voted him out of his own company. His wife said that there wasn’t any bad blood, though. According to her, he even bought them a gift, a bottle of saké if I remember correctly, on one of his last trips to Japan to show them his forgiveness. I was going to go talk with the other owners tomorrow. The victim’s are Miss Florence Creighton, girlfriend to Mr. Ryan O’Doherty, Mrs. Thelma O’Doherty, Mr. Ryan’s mother, and Mr. and Mrs. Schmitz, the parents of Mrs. Francis Pond. In related news, Mr. Pond’s parents also recently died, although they check out as normal deaths. Like I said, the victim’s connections to each other is their affiliation with someone who’s a founding member of the brewery. Their causes of death are all the same, massive trauma to the abdomen. The sciency way of sayin’ that they got their guts punched out. There is one other strange similarity, though it’s above my pay grade. They smelled like alcohol, like they’d been buzzed when they died or something. That’s pretty much everything I got at this point.” I sit in silence for a few more moments, mulling the new information over.

“I’m at a loss,” I say at last, “I don’t think I’ve ever taken on anything like this. I suppose going to see the other co-founders is our best move at this point. I’ll go with you tomorrow to interview them. That okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, standing up, starting over to the bedroom door, “sounds swell. I think I’ll call it a night. Good night, Cassandra.” He’s halfway through the door when he finishes. He turns around and gives me a little smile before stepping through and closing the door behind himself. I sigh and turn back to the stack of books. I skim through the Greek ones, though they yield no new information. I put them back where I found them on the bookshelves and start going through the grimoires. This turns out to be more time consuming than I expected. I only make it through a few before I look at the clock sitting on the counter in the kitchen. It reads twenty-two hundred hours. It’s not like I haven’t stayed up longer, but I’d need my energy tomorrow so I needed some good rest. I lay down on the couch, getting mildly not uncomfortable. I close my eyes, but after a while, it becomes clear that this is bound to be another insomnia-fraught night. I roll over and grab my phone and earbuds out of my bag. I put the earbuds in just as a light rain starts; a November rain. I start a random song up and lo’ and behold, none other than my favorite Guns n’ Roses song comes on. I laugh a little at the coincidence. The rain plus the soothing beginning of the song are lulling me into sleep in record time as I’m fading into sleep.

I awake to darkness. I groggily sit up and quietly trudge over to the clock. I can barely read it, but I can still see it says 0500 sharp.

Right on time, I think sarcastically to myself. I really wish I’d been able to shake that habit after these years, but no dice. I wander over to the table and turn on the small lamp sitting on it. I pull up a few of the remaining grimoire’s and begin my search once more. Thank God this one’s in Latin. The other one was Romanian and that was really starting to get taxing to translate. After sifting through about half of one, I see a spell that catches my attention. I read it closer. This could definitely be of use. The name of the spell alludes to something in the neighborhood of “The Spell of the Traveler”. I nod, thinking, This could work. But there’s a catch. There’s always a catch. It’s a two party spell. One group is the person or persons traveling and the other group acts as an anchor for the first group. A traveler and a summoner.

I need to get a message to Sam and Dean, I think, But how? I think it over for a few minutes before an idea dawns on me. I know where they should be in the future, so I’ll just leave them a message from here in the past! I can write them a letter and leave a marker there for them to see in the future! Although how I’ll get their attention is another matter. I look up for inspiration. Nothing. Down in desperation. Something. I look next to the spell, there’s another spell for illuminating writing when exposed to moonlight on specific days, handy for witches trying to be secretive. And their secretiveness is my fortune today. But I’m halfway across Chicago from where they are. I’ll need a ride. Max picks that moment to wake up; I can hear him through the door.

“Hey Max!” I call.

“What?” he calls back groggily.

“Know any good places to score some wheels?”

To Be Continued...

#supernatural fic #supernatural series #no pairing #caught somewhere in time

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natrohne · 7 years

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Maxed Out

When I was in 6th grade, my elementary school did a fundraiser, which involved the students running laps around the school in order to raise money with sponsors paying per lap each kid ran. My dad is an athletic and in-shape individual and was in town for this event so he ran it with my brother and I in both our respective “heats.” I, like most of my family, am not really built like a runner so to say I was dreading this day is quite the understatement. Dad and I had made our way around the school yet another time when the two-minute mark was called. I caught just enough breath to ask my dad how many laps my four-years-younger brother had run. I thought I couldn’t run any longer and would just be done there, but apparently, he had run one more than me. I may not be very competitive but I just could not stand for that. So I mustered some hidden inner strength and busted my butt all the way around the school. I ran two full laps in under two minutes (which, trust me, is not actually impressive. I think we ran for like ten minutes.) As soon as the time was up, I crossed the finish line for my last lap. Then I puked. Everywhere. My dad was more proud of me than I had maybe ever seen him! I ran so hard I threw up! Just to prove to myself, my brother, and my dad that I could do it, that I had it in me to do more.

I grew up with this mentality (placed completely on myself by myself) that unless I was running as hard as I could, I wasn’t running fast enough. I figured that unless I was pushing myself to the absolute max I wasn’t doing enough. In a way, I placed this expectation on myself that unless I was exhausted and dripping with sweat at each and every finish line, I wasn’t holding something worth being proud of.

Rest is something not heavily encouraged in our world. High school students are driven to the ground with homework and other school expectations, extracurricular activities, household and family expectations, and yet high school students are supposed to get an average nights sleep of 9-10 hours in order to keep their growing, changing brains satisfactorily rested. How the heck is any high school student supposed to achieve that kind of time management? How do people succeed living with so much to do and keep it together without falling apart? I got really good at it for a while. I knew how to run myself into the ground and succeed and make it look like I was close to “fine.” I think to an extent everyone knows how to do this. People know how to do so much in any given day. People, myself included, however, do not know how to rest. Rest is often mentioned but how often does anyone actually learn how to do that? It is one of the 10 Commandments and still humans aren’t sure how to adhere to that command. Sleep and actual peace are vital to human success; one would think we would figure out how to do it well in that case! But alas, we don’t!

This past summer I ran myself into the ground more than I thought humanly possible. Any given day I would walk 15 minutes to the campus gym and workout early in the morning and walk another 15 minutes back to my dorm to shower and get ready for the day. Then I would walk back to campus to work 8 hours in the Admissions Office on campus, sometimes walking an additional 30 minutes to go home and grab lunch really fast. As I sat at my desk job on campus, I would edit articles for The Odyssey Online as I was the summer’s Editor-in-Chief for the region. In between articles, I would memorize more of the Gospel of Matthew for the scholarship as a “break.” After work, I would walk back to my dorm to change for my next job. Then I would walk 45 minutes to Chick-Fil-A where I would work the closing shift and then walk back in the middle of the night. But my day was still not over. I spent the last hour or two or my day trying to cram more of Matthew into my brain and review everything I had memorized so far. Then after a few hours of sleep, I would get up and do it all over again.

Three months- one full-time job, two part-time jobs, and memorizing one whole book of the Bible, and trying to maintain a healthy dating relationship all without a car, is NOT rest.

My beloved fiancé hoped I would finally calm down once my semester started. But I refused to quit two of my jobs and took on 19 credit hours of school. My only day off was Sundays (thanks to Chick-Fil-A’s No-Sunday policy, I wasn’t even allowed to work on Sundays and I know that if I was allowed, I would have.) But even Sundays were heavy and packed with trying to assist leading worship at JC’s church and doing the whole week’s homework that afternoon. By the end of the semester, I was so frustrated and exhausted and my head hurt so bad I felt like I was lashing out at just about anything. I have a brain injury and am supposed to sleep even more than the average person. But I chose to forget that little detail and fit as much into my life as I possibly could. On one hand, I did what I (thought) I had to do. Because of the Scripture Memorization Scholarship, I was able to pay to accomplish a dream and study abroad in Ireland, which is where I currently am. Because of the work I had put in I was able to build the life I wanted for myself. However, somewhere along the way, my goals became more important than my health and I ignored everyone’s advice to slow down and take a breather. I forgot the importance of rest.

Have you ever noticed the more tired you are the more things seem to go wrong? When you’re exhausted just about anything can set you off. The past few weeks in Ireland have been challenging to say the least. This is nothing like the KIVU Gap Year I did a few years ago. This is nothing like I’ve ever done before. It’s harder. But it’s harder because it’s slower. I find I don’t have very many pressing obligations. I’m not pulling my hair out trying to figure out how to get from one thing to the next and how I am possibly going to eat, workout, or sleep in the short 24 hours I’m given. Instead, I have time, something I’ve never really had.

For years I’ve heard people, mostly pastors or small group leaders encourage the congregation or group to take at least one day a week to rest. My mentor, Lindsey, has said countless times to take an hour a day to simply be. Even though I respect and admire her advice more than nearly everyone else’s, I still didn’t get it. One hour out of only 24 is so much time! An hour is worth $9.75. And $9.75 is worth a meal and a half. And a meal and a half is what most broke college kids live on! Thinking of life in this way though is one of the most unhealthy habits I have. Not everything is money. Not everything is timed. And not everything should be timed.

There’s an old Irish saying that goes, “What is for you will not pass by you.” In Ireland, things are slow. People show up a little bit late. Professors come into class and set up when they get around to it. Nothing seems very pressing or urgent here. It is often forgotten that Ireland is an island country and I have learned since being here that even though it’s not exactly tropical, Ireland very much exists on “island time.” While that may have stressed me out at the beginning due to me used to being so busy, I am learning how healthy and freeing it is. My classes don’t start earlier than 10:30am. My internship begins after my classes are done for the day. I hate mornings so this practice is very much appreciated. I’ve journaled, read books, worked on my own book, and just sat and listened to music so much. And while part of me is ashamed simply for feeling lazy, I am beginning to understand the importance of rest. I am thinking more clearly. My brain is beginning to feel better now that it has the sleep necessary to finally heal the injury. I am able to focus in class more. I find myself being friendlier and more personable. Everything is changing simply because my life has been forced to just slow down and soak it in.

If you are working yourself to the bone and getting frustrated with the people you love the most for absolutely no reason, you’re working yourself too hard. You may have to do this to make ends meet like I did. But find at least ten minutes a day to do what you love. At least try it and watch what changes. You are worth more than what you do. You are worth more than the money you make. You are worth more than simply what you bring to the table. You are human and you innately have value. Working hard is an admirable trait and I applaud you for getting stuff done. But do not forget that what you accomplish is not all that you are. You are so much more than that. Your life will work out. Things will be provided. Maybe not in the way you wanted or had asked for and certainly not on a silver platter. Work for what you want but don’t feel you have to be completely maxed out to be worth something. Run as hard as you can but know that you have value simply for running, not just for winning. Work hard, pray hard, and sleep often.

“Therefore I tell you, do not be anxious about your life, what you will eat or what you will drink, or what you will put on. Is not life more than food and the body more than clothing? Look at the birds of the air. They neither sow nor reap nor gather into barns, yet your heavenly Father feeds them. And are you not of more value than they?” (Matthew 6:25)

#rest peace maxedout

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